Booker enjoyed the temporary respite from his self-righteous maid. Shortly after she left, he returned his parlour to its original arrangement and doubled up on leaves when he made his tea. It was so refreshing to once again be able to walk about his own home without the fear that every corner he turned would bring him face to face with Philomena's stern gaze. In fact, he enjoyed it so much that he decided to do some of his research and experiments in the main part of the house rather than seclude himself in the laboratory.

The result of his above-ground work, though, was that in only a couple of months, the house returned to its former disastrous state. He was reluctant to hire a maid, worrying that he would be stuck with another Philomena. But after he discovered a mouse nibbling on an eyeball that had somehow found its way out of the laboratory and into the kitchen, he gave in and put out word that he was looking for new help.

Thinking that he might have better luck with someone a bit younger, he hired Song Qiu, a young, bright-eyed girl who radiated excitement and eagerness to please. She was only sixteen, and unlike Philomena, was in complete and utter awe of him. When she saw the interior of his house, she gasped in disbelief, rushing outside to look at the crumbling brick facade and then returning inside only to run back out again.

"This is brilliant!" she exclaimed as she returned to the foyer.

Booker closed the door behind her, trying to hide his self-satisfied smile. "Yes, well, I'm quite fond of it. Unfortunately, my work prevents me from keeping the place in good order."

Song peered into the parlour, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the room. Wincing, he joined her in the doorway. He had attempted to tidy up a bit before she arrived, but now he was noticing the number of teacups he had missed.

"I am sorry about the mess," he said. "I tried to—"

"This room is beautiful!" Song interrupted, making her way further inside and spinning about as she gazed at every odd furnishing and hanging mirror. "And so unique."

Her praise inflated his pride, and he cleared his throat as he leaned against the door frame. "I feel it's a good reflection of me. Wealth and beauty with a smattering of the bizarre." His eyes caught on a deformed cat skull he had forgotten to bring downstairs that was now decorating the mantle. "Some of it more intentional than the rest."

"I love it." Song's face fell suddenly, and she straightened herself up, regaining a sense of decorum. "I apologize, Mr. Larkin. I did not mean to be so informal. The wonder of your home swept me away. I do promise to be more professional in the future."

She dipped into a curtsey, and Booker waved her formality away. "No worries, my dear. I think you'll find I'm not a typical employer. I don't expect much from my help, simply to keep the house in decent condition and to respect the boundaries I set in place."

Song tilted her head to the side. "Boundaries?"

"Yes, mainly regarding the basement. The door will remain locked at all times, and no one is to enter but myself and those whom I choose to bring down with me."

The maid's eyes lit up. "How mysterious."

He raised his eyebrows and gave a cheeky grin. "Indeed. I am a man of all sorts of intrigue. Anyhow, aside from those conditions, I don't require much. I have very few guests and eat very little, so your duties will mostly involve cleaning."

"I've been a maid for several years, sir. Cleaning I can do."

He took one of her bags and nodded towards the stairs. "Very good. Allow me to show you to your room."

She followed after him with the rest of her luggage, gawking at everything they passed. He hadn't thought his home was that out of the ordinary, although he was aware that his tastes and interests had never been exactly normal. Still, it did stroke his ego to have a pretty young woman in such awe of both his home and himself. Perhaps this maid thing would work out after all.

"Here it is," he said, opening the door to Philomena's old room.

The young maid's mouth fell open as she gazed about the bedroom. She dropped her bags right in the doorway and hurried inside, taking in everything from the small writing desk to the standing mirror to the streetside view.

"It's spectacular!" she exclaimed as she opened the wardrobe doors and stuck her head inside. Pulling it out again, she smiled up at Booker. "Exquisite!"

"I'm sorry if it's poorly furnished," he said, placing her bag at the foot of the bed. "Being a bachelor, I am sorely uneducated on a young lady's needs. But if you require anything, I'll be more than happy to reimburse you."

"Oh, no, this is lovely," Song said, plopping herself onto the bed and running her hand over the quilt.

"Glad to hear it. Feel free to take the day to get acquainted with the place. You can save the cleaning for tomorrow. If you need me, I'll be downstairs. Just knock."

Song rose to her feet and dipped into another curtsey, flashing him a bright smile. "Thank you, Mr. Larkin. I so look forward to serving as your maid."

With a short nod and a soft smile, Booker closed the door and made his way back to the laboratory. Song was a far cry from Philomena. He quite liked her readiness to please. And her fascination with him certainly didn't hurt, either.

Yes, she seemed like she was going to fit in just perfectly.

~

A knock came from the laboratory door, breaking Booker's concentration. He blinked hard a few times to settle his vision. Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time to see that hours had slipped away while he'd been working on his latest project.

He gazed down at the jars of powder on the table before him. After weeks of studying the effects of various plants and drugs, he had come up with several concoctions that he hoped would lessen the amount of sleep he required to function. With so much work and research to do, he needed to be awake as often as possible. Unfortunately, being human, he eventually succumbed to exhaustion like any other ordinary person after hours of mental and physical exertion. However, with these new mixtures, he would now have more time in the day—and night—to devote to his devices, as well as to finding Benedict.

Picking up a jar, he examined the fine powder inside. He wasn't going to lie that he was a little nervous about testing it out. Nothing he used was deadly, of course, but botany and toxicology were not his strong suits. They had always been Frieda's forte. For once, he almost wished she were around so that he could bounce ideas off of her.

Another knock came from upstairs, and he was pulled away from his thoughts. Leaving his experiment behind, he proceeded up the stairs and unlocked the door to find Song standing before him.

"I made tea, Mr. Larkin."

"Ah, thank you, Song," he said as he came up out of the stairwell. "I quite lost track of the time."

"I figured you were hard at work," she said, craning her neck to see past him. There was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes when he closed the door, but she maintained her cheery demeanor as she returned her attention to him. "That's why I thought you might need a break for tea."

She led him into the parlour where a silver tray of tea and pastries waited on the table before the settee. "It looks wonderful, my dear," he said as he sat himself down.

Song poured the tea and handed him a cup. He accepted it with a grateful smile and took a long sip. However, when the incredibly sweet liquid hit his tongue, it took everything in him not to spit it back out. It tasted as though she had filled the pot with sugar. He managed to swallow it with great effort, but before he could comment on the taste, the young maid held out to him a small plate with a pastry sitting on top.

"They're sweet bean cakes," she said. "An old family recipe. They're my favorite."

Booker smiled politely and took the plate. "Thank you. You seem to have found your way around the kitchen well enough."

"Oh, yes. I've familiarized myself with it thoroughly. It's a lovely kitchen, though a tad bare."

"Yes, I'm afraid I haven't kept up with it. I subsist mostly on tea and mysterious stews at the Clocktower."

"Well, fortunately, you now have me to keep you well-fed. How's the cake?"

He had yet to taste it, but her expectant gaze was too precious to refuse. Hesitantly, he took a bite. It was very sweet, and as he chewed, he tried not to grimace at the strange texture of the filling. He'd never had sweet beans before, but he could already tell he didn't like them. Still, he didn't want to disappoint the young girl who was watching him hopefully, so he forced a smile and swallowed.

"So? Do you like it?" Song asked.

"It's delicious, really," he said, picking at the cake as he eyed the cup of sugary tea. "You're an exquisite baker."

She beamed. "Oh, good. I do hope it gives you energy for your work."

"Oh, it's certain to encourage me to get back at it."

"So what is it you do for work again?"

"I'm a doctor."

"Just a doctor?"

He glanced up and found that Song had taken several steps closer, leaning in as she waited for an answer. Clearing his throat, he placed the plate back on the table. "Yes. I mean, I do surgery as well. Actually, I'd say I'm more a surgeon than a physician, but I dabble in both."

"I've heard you're a very unusual doctor."

He furrowed his brow. "Well, I do work on some rather shady individuals, if you can call that unusual."

Song raised an eyebrow. "How interesting. And what exactly do you do for these shady individuals?"

Picking up the cup of saccharine tea and taking a sip to buy himself a moment to think, he eyed the maid suspiciously. What was she getting at? Knowledge of his mechanical prosthetics had been spread throughout the city, but most people didn't come out and confront him about his work unless they were in need of his services. They seemed to fear he might drag them down to his laboratory and turn them into some morbid experiment if they pried into his business. So he was a tad surprised to have this young maid so brazenly probe him for information.

"Oh, the usual," he said at last, returning his teacup to the table. "Amputations, stitches, setting broken bones. Nasty business, but someone must do it."

Song deflated slightly, but her expression remained bright. "Well, it sounds fascinating to me. And I'll be sure to keep you properly nourished so you'll be in tip-top shape to tend to your patients."

He gave her an uncertain smile, the sugar from her tea and cake still on his tongue. "Splendid."

~

Though not quite as meticulous in her cleaning as Philomena had been, Song proved to be an efficient maid. She was often distracted from her work by the various eccentric items Booker had lying around the house, but he found this quirk far easier to deal with than his former maid's judgement. And the young girl's eagerness to please him was flattering, even if it meant enduring cup after cup of tea saturated with sugar.

Gin, however, was less than fond of the girl.

"She's way too cheery," the urchin said after Song left her and Booker in the parlour.

Booker took a seat on the settee, crossing one leg over the other. "Is it possible to be too cheery?"

"Yes. And she's proof of it," Gin said as she sat down beside him.

"She's better than the last one. I don't feel as though I'm about to be cast into hellfire every time she looks at me."

"Tea for you and your guest, Mr. Larkin," Song said as she appeared in the doorway with tea for two.

"Thank you, Song," Booker said with a smile.

"Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"

"This is plenty good, my dear."

"Well, if you need anything at all, I'll be right in the kitchen."

She flashed him one of her bright grins and headed back into the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Gin snorted as she picked up a cup. "Talk about sucking up."

"Pardon?" he said, turning his attention to her.

"She might as well have been licking your boots."

"I don't wear boots."

"And that smile. It looked like it was gonna crack her face."

He chuckled. "Yes, she is eager to please, isn't she?"

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with working for a handsome young doctor."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Am I handsome?"

Gin choked as she took a sip of tea. "What the heck is in this?"

"I'm afraid she's a little heavy-handed with the sugar. But it's a small price to pay for a decent maid."

Setting the cup back on the table, Gin focused on him. "Let's forget your stupid maid and get to why I'm here."

"Right, I was curious as to your sudden arrival. Have you something important to report?"

She nodded. "Overheard some folks talking in the market. They were visiting friends in Noxbury, and apparently there's been some strange things happening there."

Every muscle in Booker's body tensed, and he uncrossed his legs to lean in closer. "What kind of strange things?"

"Bunch of animals have gone missing. People's pets, livestock, even a few well-known strays."

"It's not a wild animal killing them?"

Gin shrugged. "Maybe. But there've been no signs of a fight. No blood, no fur, no feathers. Seems like if an animal did it, there'd be more evidence."

Memories of one of Booker's first experiments with Benedict flashed through his mind: Nuada, the cat with a missing limb, which they replaced with a dog's leg. It was amazing that the surgery succeeded, considering their inexperience and the sorry excuse for a laboratory in which they worked. But succeed it had. What sort of monstrosities had Benedict created now that he had real tools and years of experience under his belt?

"It's something good, isn't it?" Gin asked.

He snapped back to the present moment and smiled down at the urchin. "Indeed, it is. Well done, Gin. You are proving to be a fantastic informant."

"Better than Adelaide?"

"Adelaide does well with local gossip. You, though, know how to get me a wider scope of rumors." He leaned forward. "To be honest, that's the sort of information I'm most interested in."

Gin puffed out her chest with a triumphant smirk. "And I don't need to sleep around to get my information."

He frowned. "I'd never expect you to do that, Gin."

"Don't worry," she said as she rose to her feet and adjusted her bowler. "I'm too clever to have to sink that low. Anyhow, I'd better be on my way. I got a little heist planned with Madison, and I don't wanna be late."

"I'll see you out."

Stepping into the hallway, they were greeted by a sharp gasp. Song was standing covertly by the doorway, and when they caught sight of her, she quickly averted her eyes.

"I wondered if you and your guest might want some cake to go along with the tea," she said, fidgeting with one of her dark brown braids.

"Ah, no, thank you. She was just leaving," Booker said.

"Very good. I'll clear the teacups."

The young maid scurried into the parlour to grab the tray and then hurried into the dining room. Gin sneered at her retreating back before turning back to the front door.

"Watch out for her, Booker," she said as she stepped outside.

"What do you mean?"

"She's trouble. Mark my words."

"I think she's just a little curious. I mean, I can't fault her for that, being a man of science. Curiosity is an admirable trait."

Gin shook her head. "I'm telling you. She's trouble. Mark. My. Words."

She raised her eyebrows and then scampered off into the street. Booker closed the door and returned to the parlour. Song had forgotten one of the teacups. He picked it up and sniffed at its contents, recoiling as a waft of sweetness filled his nostrils. Surely Gin was only being overly protective. Song was a sweet young girl who was eager to please. She was harmless.

~

Over the next few weeks, Song's curiosity became more apparent to Booker. Perhaps it had been Gin's warning that made him pay more attention, or maybe it was that the maid was becoming bolder in her actions. But he began to notice her sneaking about upstairs, looking through the different guestrooms, and perusing the library. He had no issue with her exploring his books, but it was clear that she thought she was somewhere she shouldn't be, and that bothered him. Once he even walked in on her in his room. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and she mumbled something about getting lost, although, after nearly two months of working in the house, he highly doubted this was the case. Still, he let it slide. After all, he was a mysterious man with a very intriguing home. He couldn't really blame her for being curious.

However, one early morning, when he was coming down the stairs on his way to the kitchen to brew himself a less sugary cup of tea, he found Song in front of the laboratory door. She was jiggling the doorknob and messing with the lock, so engrossed with what she was doing that she didn't hear him approach.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She gave a gasp and turned to him with an anxious smile. "Mr. Larkin. Good morning."

His eyes darted between her and the door. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Oh, this? No, no. I just, I heard something crashing downstairs, and I worried that maybe you had passed out or hurt yourself, so I was trying to get in to help you."

He raised an eyebrow. "I see."

Her smile grew more desperate as she nodded emphatically. "Yes, I had visions of you bleeding to death and sort of panicked. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

Again, his eyes flickered to the door before returning to her.

"Anyhow, I should go make you some tea and breakfast," she continued, turning to leave.

"Actually," he said, drawing her attention back to him, "I was hoping you could run out and fetch me a few things?"

Her eyes lit up. "Of course. Anything you need, Mr. Larkin."

"If you could get me some parchment and pens."

She gave a small curtsey. "Right away, sir."

"And some more tea," he added. "And perhaps some flowers to brighten up the house."

With an enthusiastic nod, she brushed past him and hurried out the door. He let out a long breath. That would keep her busy for a while. He turned back to the laboratory door. While he was certain she meant no real harm, it made him uneasy to think of her attempting to break into the laboratory. Her curiosity was rather endearing, but not when it led her to places she didn't belong.

"Perhaps I should add another lock," he mumbled as he tested the knob to be sure she hadn't damaged anything.

After grabbing a quick cup of tea, he went down to the laboratory to retrieve one of his latest acquisitions: a hand with an extra digit. A cut on the former owner's arm had turned gangrenous, and it was necessary to remove the entire thing to prevent it from spreading. However, Booker thought it a shame to destroy something so spectacularly bizarre. So he saved it, and over the past few days, he had meticulously cut away what he could of the flesh. He was now left with the bones and bits of muscle that could not be removed by his own two hands.

"With the maid out and about, this will be the perfect opportunity to finish this up," he mused as he collected the bones and headed back upstairs.

In the kitchen, he fetched a pot and filled it with water in the scullery. After lighting the stove and letting the water come to a slow simmer, he carefully set the hand inside, making sure it was fully submerged. When he was certain every piece was covered, he leaned against the kitchen table and watched the pot. It was a lengthy, tedious process, but he had to be sure the temperature did not reach boiling or else the bones would be ruined.

"A watched pot never boils," he mumbled to himself with a smile.

After several uneventful minutes, the front bell rang. Though he was reluctant to leave the stove, the continuous ringing made him worry it could be something important. He rushed to the front door to find a man clutching his bleeding abdomen.

"Knife or gun?" Booker asked as he ushered the fellow inside.

"Knife."

"All right, come along, let's get that taken care of before you bleed out."

Booker led him down to the laboratory and quickly got to work sterilizing his tools. After wiping away enough blood to see what damage had been done, he discovered an impressive stab wound. In addition, the man's intestines were hanging out, despite his efforts to hold them inside. Luckily, the knife had not nicked the large organ, increasing his chances of recovery.

"This could be tricky," Booker said as he mixed some alcohol with warm water and fetched a rag. "We need to clean this before sewing you up or else infection could set in. How did this happen?"

The man gasped in pain. "My wife."

"Your wife stabbed you?" Booker said as he cleaned the intestines.

Nodding, the man squeezed his eyes shut.

"Why did she do that?"

"Caught me."

"Caught you?"

"With her sister."

"Ah, I see. Well, let's get you patched up before she comes back to finish the job."

Once the man's guts were safely tucked back inside of him, Booker got to work sewing up the wound. When that was complete, he spread a good amount of honey along the stitches and bandaged him up carefully. At some point during the process, the man had passed out from the pain, but once Booker was done, he roused him with some smelling salts.

"All set, my good man," he said with a smile. "I'd recommend coming back every day so I can watch for infection and apply the needed ointments and whatnot."

"Thank you," the man breathed as he considered the bandaging around his abdomen.

"Now, I have to warn against over-exerting yourself in any physical activities. Could rupture the wound. Of course, based on your predicament, I'm guessing you won't have to worry about that."

The man grumbled something under his breath and reached into his pocket to pull out a handful of coins, which he shoved into Booker's palm. Booker then led him back upstairs and saw him to the door.

"Take care, my good sir," he said.

The man mumbled a farewell, and Booker closed the door. He heaved a sigh and was about to return downstairs to clean up when he heard a scream from the kitchen, followed by a crash.

"The bones," he hissed as he raced down the hallway.

Skidding to a halt in the doorway, he found Song on the floor clutching her hand to her chest. The pot that had been on the stove was now upside down beside her. There was water all over the floor, as well as the bones Booker had been cleaning. The pot must have come to a boil when he was working on the stabbing victim. Though he was disappointed by the destruction of the specimen, he forced himself to focus on Song.

"Give me your hand," he said as he knelt beside her.

Extending her arm to him, she revealed a trembling hand with a bright pink burn that was already beginning to blister. Fortunately, her fingers and palm appeared to have been spared.

"Go run this under cold water," he said as he helped her to her feet.

She nodded and hurried into the scullery while he returned to the hallway. He rushed down to the laboratory and gathered up some soft bandages and a jar of aloe before heading back upstairs. Song was still in the scullery with her hand under the faucet.

"All right, let me see," he said as he led her into the kitchen.

They stood at the table, and he examined the burn once more. It was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. There weren't too many blisters, and there didn't appear to be any damage to the nerves. She would be in pain for a few weeks as it healed, but there would likely be little scarring.

"Song, what happened?" he asked as he applied the aloe to her hand.

She winced at his touch. "I came back from fetching the items you asked for, but I couldn't find you. Then I saw steam coming from the kitchen. I thought maybe you had left the kettle on, so I went in to check."

A hiss of pain interrupted her story, and she squeezed her eyes shut as he began to loosely bandage her hand.

"And then I saw the pot boiling and smelled something awful," she continued, opening one eye to watch him tend to her hand. "And I was curious, so I went to take a look and—"

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to him briefly before they squeezed shut again.

"And then you saw the bones," he finished for her.

Without opening her eyes, she nodded solemnly.

"And you panicked and knocked the pot over, spilling the boiling water on your hand," he added.

Now she dared to meet his gaze. Contrition was written all over her face, and it tugged on his heartstrings to see her so downcast. "I'm sorry, Mr. Larkin. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I was just curious," she said.

Letting out a long sigh, he released her hand and leaned against the table. "Curiosity can indeed be an admirable trait, but it can be a dangerous one, as well. I'm sorry, Song, but I don't think this is going to work out."

The young maid's eyes widened in panic. "Oh, please, please, please, Mr. Larkin. Give me another chance. I swear, I'll be good. I promise."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't take the risk. I'll pay you for the rest of the month."

Song's lower lip trembled, but she dropped her head onto her chest and nodded. "I understand, Mr. Larkin."

"Come on, let me help you pack your things. I'm sure I can find you some decent accommodations."

"No, it's fine. I can do it myself. I don't want to put you out any more than I already have."

Resigned to her fate, she shuffled out to the hallway, her bright cheerful glow now turned to a cloud of gloom. She reached the laboratory door and paused. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Booker's gaze, and for a moment, that curiosity was reignited in her eyes.

"Mr. Larkin, if I may ask?"

He raised an eyebrow.

She laid a hand on the door. "What do you keep locked away down here?"

A smile tugged at one side of his mouth, and he shook his head as he walked towards her. "I'm telling you, Miss Qiu, that curiosity of yours," he said, leading her away from the laboratory and up the stairs. "It's going to get you into more trouble than just a burnt hand."