The weather was warmer that night than it had been of late, but there was still a pervading chill in the air as they made their way to the Clocktower. Daphne hadn't batted an eye when Booker informed her that they would be going out and were not sure at what hour they would return. She simply bid them farewell with a smile and a wave and returned to tidying the kitchen.

"Do you think this could be a trap?" Trinket asked as they neared the alehouse.

"Why would it be a trap? And who would be setting said trap?" asked Booker.

"That girl seemed awfully nervous. What if the Mice are using her to lure you in?"

He shot her a skeptical look. "In the middle of the Clocktower? I would hope they're smart enough not to accost me in a public place where I am well-known and well-loved."

"Well-loved?"

"Fine, well-known. I agree that she was unusually jumpy, but I think perhaps it's due to the sensitivity of her information. Trafficking and dead bodies are not subjects one typically speaks of in polite company."

Though Trinket was still uncertain, she nodded and followed him into the Clocktower.

Even at midnight, the alehouse had a plethora of customers, all of them drunk and lecherous. Night flowers used the men's intoxication to their advantage, charging higher than usual prices in the hopes that they'd be desperate enough to not give the expense a second thought. Booker kept a firm hold on her arm as he led her to a table where they could have a good view of the room.

"Do you see her?" he asked as he took his seat.

She looked around, but there was no sign of her. "No. Are we early?"

"Not really. I'm sure—"

Someone slipped out of the crowd and pulled a chair over to their table. Though her head was down and her hair was tucked under a large top hat, Trinket saw that distinctive scar and knew this was the same girl.

"I apologize for my secretive behavior," she whispered.

"Somebody have a price on your head?" Booker asked, looking her up and down.

"Not exactly. It's just that you're not the only ones searching for this information."

Booker leaned forward. "Who else is interested in it?"

The girl's gaze wavered slightly, as if she were resisting the urge to glance about the room. "Bad men."

"And you think I am not a bad man?"

There was a glint in his eyes. He was back to his old self.

"Not as bad as them," she said. "Besides, you helped someone dear to me."

"Did I?"

"She goes on and on about what a lovely doctor you are."

"She's one of my patients? Who?"

"For her safety and mine, I can't give you that information. But because of her, I've decided to tell you what I know about a certain subject I think will be of interest to you."

Booker motioned for her to go on.

"First, the trafficking. There's no trafficking here in Tinkerfall. At least not with regard to night flowers."

"How do you know?"

"I may or may not have been involved with it in a nearby town."

Trinket's gaze strayed to the girl's scar. "You're a night flower?" she asked.

The girl averted her eyes. "No. I was on the other end."

The other end? She was one of the ones doing the actual trafficking?

"I got out of it recently, when I moved here," the girl continued. "But I know for a fact that Tinkerfall was on the no-trade list."

"And why was that?" asked Booker.

"The local gang wouldn't have it. Kept sending back our girls. Well, their bodies. And eventually they found our contact and sent him back, too. In pieces."

Swallowing hard, Trinket glanced at Booker, but his eyes were fixed on the girl. "So if these bodies aren't coming from trafficked night flowers, where are they coming from?" he asked.

The girl shook her head. "I don't know that. But I do know something about that fellow with the dirty nails and white smile."

This was what they really wanted to know. Even if he wasn't the one in contact with Benedict, there were too many coincidences involving him to ignore his presence.

"How do you know I'm interested in him?" asked Booker.

"Word gets around."

"All right. So what do you know about him?"

"He—"

The front door slammed open, and the girl's eyes widened as she caught sight of the customers who had just entered the Clocktower. Trinket followed her stare and immediately went stiff when she recognized Scales. He scanned the room with an easy gaze, a haughty smile playing on his lips. He was flanked by two other men—one short and muscular, the other thin and greasy. As they proceeded further into the room, Trinket ducked her head down and turned back to the girl.

But she was gone.

"Where did she go?" Booker said, craning his neck to see where she had run off to.

It was no use. She hadn't even left a trace. He cursed and moved to get up and search for her, but the girl's chair was soon filled by another body.

"Larkin. Just the man I was hoping to meet."

Lowering himself back into his seat, Booker glared across the table as Scales smirked at him. "You're out late tonight," Booker said.

"Important men never sleep. You would know that, wouldn't you, Larkin?"

"So you've been looking for me? Miss my pretty face?"

Scales' lip lifted in a snarl. "Haven't seen you about in quite some time. I was worried someone might have murdered you in your sleep."

Booker gave a crooked smile. "In the event of my death, you can be certain the entire city would be in an uproar."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. Because the person who can succeed in taking my life will certainly be a terror to behold."

Leaning forward, Scales flashed a grin. "Oh, believe me, I am."

A chill went through Trinket at his ominous words, but Booker didn't flinch. "Is that all you wanted? To make sure someone didn't beat you to the punch?" he said.

"Where's the girl, Larkin?"

Booker's eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, they flickered to Trinket.

"Not your strumpet. The girl. The girl with the information."

He was after the girl with the scar. Of course he was. Who fit the description of "bad men" more than the Dead Mice?

"I don't know," Booker said.

"Don't play dumb with me. I know she was meeting you here tonight. Where did she go?"

"I don't know. When she saw your ugly face, she went running for the hills."

The rage behind Scales' eyes could have set the table on fire. Trinket moved her hand under the table and grasped Booker's knee, trying to keep him from further incurring the thug's wrath. Her touch momentarily distracted him, but Scales pulled him right back in.

"You seem to believe you run this city, Larkin. But you are sorely mistaken."

"Do you think I don't know how politics work, Scales?"

"This is my city."

"The lord mayor would beg to differ."

"Where is the girl?"

Trinket flinched at his raised voice, but Booker gritted his teeth and said in a hushed tone, "I. Don't. Know."

Lunging forward, Scales went to grab for Booker, but he paused when he realized the entire alehouse had gone silent. All eyes were on them, waiting to see what would happen next. Cracking his neck, he stood up from his seat and adjusted his jacket before shooting the room a cold glare. The other patrons immediately returned to their chatter.

"You're making a grave mistake, Larkin," he said. He leaned down to whisper in Booker's ear, but his eyes fell on Trinket as he did so. "And you'll pay. Mark my word."

As he moved back towards the door, his two cronies appeared from amidst the crowd and followed him outside. Even after they had left, the atmosphere remained somber. The Mice surely knew how to make a scene.

Her heart pounding, Trinket faced Booker, not realizing that her hand was still on his knee. Apparently he hadn't noticed, either, as his gaze was locked on the door, like he expected Scales to come storming back in.

"You need to stop goading him," she said.

Snapping out of his daze, he turned to her. "I'm afraid I can't help myself around him. He just boils my blood with his arrogance."

If she hadn't been so shaken by what had nearly happened, she would have been tempted to point out how very similar he and Scales really were. But as it was, Booker looked as unnerved as she felt.

"Shall we head home?" she suggested.

His eyes darted to her, and he hesitated. Glancing about the room, he ducked his head towards her and whispered, "How do you feel about renting a room for the night?"