Six days passed without a single Wolf sighting, even with Booker and Trinket rising early and staying out late to search for it. Two more bodies were discovered, though, both belonging to folks indebted to the Mice. The "bite" marks were similar to those that had been found on Vern and Mrs. Wotton but still too neat and precise to match the ones on the Lipstick Woman.

"They're clever, but not clever enough," Booker said, shrugging on his coat as they prepared for an early morning stroll. "They'll slip up eventually. I'm sure of it."

"I certainly hope so," Trinket said, trotting down the stairs and tugging on her gloves. "This blatant disregard for life is getting a little ridiculous. I'd like to see it come to an end."

"My dear, you're delusional if you think being found out will keep the Mice from killing."

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was already well-established that I'm quite delusional?"

He chuckled and pulled open the door.

A bulky man stood on the doorstep, a large fur hat in his pink, chapped hands. He gave a nervous smile, running chunky fingers through his blond hair tied back with a lovely black ribbon.

"Good morning, sir and miss," he said, his accent thickly North Eastern.

"Ah, good morning," Booker said uncertainly. "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, I wonder if I can help you."

Booker leaned against the doorframe. "That depends on who you're affiliated with."

"I am with no one, sir. At least not yet. I heard word that you have been searching for something."

"I've no time to beat around the bush, my friend. Get to the point."

Nodding, the man inclined his head and lowered his voice. "There is tell that you are eager to capture wolf."

"That's really no secret."

"I believe I can help. I think I know creature you are searching for."

Booker narrowed his eyes and looked the man up and down. "Who are you?"

The stranger straightened his posture and extended his hand. "My name is Boris Sidorov, but most people have known me as Ignatius."

Trinket drew in a sharp breath.

Ignatius.

The Wolf's caretaker.

Booker's demeanour went from wary to delighted in a heartbeat. "Mr. Sidorov. What a pleasure to meet you. Please, come inside."

~

Boris sat rigidly on the settee and smiled up at Trinket as she placed a tray of tea things on the table before him. "I thank you, miss."

Offering him a gentle smile in return, she turned back to Booker who was sitting in the armchair, legs crossed and chin perched atop his folded hands. It was no wonder their guest was as uncomfortable as he was, what with the master of the house watching him so intently. She stationed herself beside Booker and cleared her throat, hoping to remind him to be polite.

It seemed to work. He broke his concentrated stare and gave his head a quick shake. "So where have you been staying, Mr. Sidorov?"

"At Clock House," Boris said, stirring some milk and sugar into his tea. "It is very rowdy, but I am used to such noise. I have been guesting at inns and pubs for some time now."

"Since the Baron's wolf went missing?"

He hesitated before nodding. "Yes, since then."

"Did the Baron let you go?"

"He did. But I would have left if he did not."

"Why is that?"

The man returned his cup to the table. "People do not like me. I am foreign, I talk funny, I smell funny. Humans are cruel. But I have always had way with animals. Since I was small boy, I worked in circus, cleaning and feeding animals. They loved me. We understood each other. People pointed and laughed at them, just like they pointed and laughed at me. When I lost job because of—well, because of reasons, I looked for work in town they left me in."

"Broadfall," Booker said.

Trinket's heart clenched.

Broadfall, Broadfall, Broadfall, Broadfall.

"Yes, Broadfall," Boris said. "But no work there would have me. Then one day, I heard loud noises coming from big box on wagon. Men trying to take it down were clumsy and weak and dropped it. It broke open, and out came big wolf. Well, everyone screamed and ran, but I went right to her."

"And she didn't attack you?" Trinket asked in awe.

Boris chuckled. "Well, at first she did try to rip out my throat."

She jumped as he clutched his throat dramatically.

"But I talked to her nice and easy and calmed her down so they could throw rope around her neck. Baron saw all of it and offered me job to take care of his zoo. Ever since that day, Valka and I have been closer than kin. She trusts me, loves me. And I love her. She is my friend."

"So when she went missing, you were devastated," Booker said.

Boris' eyes gleamed with tears as he pounded a fist to his chest. "It was like my heart was ripped from me. I failed her. I let her get taken. She trusted me to protect her, and I failed her."

He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking in what appeared to be an effort to keep from crying. Trinket's heart ached at the sight, but Booker seemed unmoved.

"So what brought you here?" he asked, sounding annoyed by the man's blatant display of emotion.

Boris lifted his head and took a steadying breath. "Some men came searching for me," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "How they found me, I do not know. But they said there is wolf loose in their city and they think it is Valka. They want my help to catch her."

Trinket gripped her skirts. The Dead Mice. How had they found Boris when Booker had failed to? Did their influence surpass even his?

"So I come and meet with man. Ah, what was his name? It sounds like something with snake . . ."

"Scales?" Booker suggested, his jaw twitching.

"Yes, Mr. Scales. He tells me his company is looking to catch Valka, to rid her from city since she has been killing many people. But I do not trust Mr. Scales. When he talked, he looked like he had eaten bird and was waiting for seconds. He was lying, I know. Valka would not kill. She is gentle and sweet."

Gentle and sweet? Was this the same wolf that had maimed and killed?

"I tell him I will try to help," Boris continued. "But I am afraid if I help him, he will do something terrible to her. So last night, I was trying to think of way to catch her without him knowing, and I hear people talking about wolf. They said some mice had it? And then they said there is doctor wanting to catch it. I talked to girl with bandaged arm, and she told me about you. So first thing this morning, I sneak off before Mr. Scales can find me. And that is how I am here now."

"And what do you want from me?" Booker asked.

"I want to help you catch Valka."

"Why me? You don't even know me. I could be just as untrustworthy as Scales."

"Yes, but talking to you, I do not see lies in your eyes. And she," he gestured to Trinket, "seems like good, sweet girl. Good, sweet girls do not stick around mean, bad men."

Her cheeks went hot, and she tried to ignore Booker's teasing grin. "Well, she is far sweeter than I am, but appearances can be deceiving, my good sir," he said. "There is a lot you wouldn't know from just looking at her, and there is plenty about me you won't ever know."

Boris leaned in closer. "When I was talking to Mr. Scales in Clock House, everyone around us was jumpy and nervous, kept darting eyes at him, not talking loud. They were scared of him. Not normal scared. Terrified. Scared for their life. When Mr. Scales left and people started talking about you, they did not talk with fear. They talked with excitement. Fascination. Eh, and some irritation. But only some."

"I do have a tendency to rub people the wrong way."

"When I hear them talk about you, I think, That man is who I will help. That man I can trust."

Booker gazed at Boris for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the arm of the chair. "Very well, Mr. Sidorov. I accept your offer."

Boris' entire face lit up, his thin lips stretching out in a smile, revealing very large, yellowing teeth. "You are good man, Mr. Larkin." He turned to Trinket. "And you are very sweet girl, no matter what he says you look like."

She gave an uncertain smile.

"So, how do you plan to catch Valka?" Booker asked, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward eagerly.

Boris' eyes twinkled, and he raised a finger. "I was caretaker for Valka for quite some time. I trained her myself."

Digging into his vest pocket, he pulled out a long, thin whistle, the shine clearly tarnished away from both time and use. Already small, it was dwarfed in the man's large palm.

Booker took it from him and turned it over, examining it closely. "What is it?"

"It is special whistle that only dogs—and wolves—can hear. It catches their attention, sometimes drives them to howls."

Boris put his hand out, and Booker returned the whistle. Bringing it to his lips, the former caretaker blew long and hard, but not a single sound came out.

They sat in silence, waiting.

Booker furrowed his brow. "I don't—"

He was interrupted by the frenzied howls of the local strays in the slums outside. Boris beamed as Booker and Trinket exchanged a look of surprise.

"With Valka, I taught her to come running to sound," he said. "She was trained very well. Never failed."

"Brilliant," Booker murmured as Boris tucked the whistle into his pocket. "However, it won't do any good blowing it during the day. As far as we've been able to observe, Valka only comes out at night."

"Then we go at night."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, sooner is better. I want to find her before Mr. Scales does. I will meet you back here at eleven chimes."

Booker's face fell. "Perhaps it would be wiser for you to stay here rather than return to the Clocktower."

"No, I think I need rest before our adventure."

"You can certainly rest here. We have guest rooms. Well-outfitted, I might add."

"My things are at Clock House. It will be fine."

Booker let out a sigh. "Mr. Sidorov, I must advise against returning there. If Scales gets wind that you have been inquiring about me or that you have visited me—and I'm certain he's already found out—your life could be in danger. He will not hesitate to kill you, even if it means losing the chance to catch Valka himself. All that matters to him is that I don't find her."

Boris waved away his concerns. "Mr. Larkin, I am not made of soft material. I have been attacked by wolves and bears and men with guns and knives. I have more scars than any man I know. I think I can handle myself until tonight."

"Mr. Sidorov—"

"It is fine, Mr. Larkin. I will be back tonight, we will find Valka, it will be happy ending."

Booker glanced at Trinket, as if begging her to help him, but Boris was already on his feet and shuffling towards the hallway.

"I am so glad I met you both," he said, taking his furry hat from the coat rack and plopping it on his head. "You are good people. I know with your help, we will find Valka."

"Are you sure you won't stay for breakfast, Mr. Sidorov?" Trinket asked as she and Booker followed him into the foyer. "We have crumpets."

"Yes, please, my friend. Stay," Booker said. "They're absolutely delectable. I guarantee you'll be a helpless addict after just one."

Boris let out a hearty laugh. "You are funny man, Mr. Larkin. I like you already. I will see you tonight."

Before they could think up another way to convince the man to stay, he waved goodbye and was gone.

Booker leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "That stupid man is going to get himself killed."

"Maybe he'll be all right. I mean, he did work with wolves and bears."

"Scales is far more dangerous than any wild animal." Heaving a sigh, he grabbed his coat and hat and hastily threw them on as he pulled the door open.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To find Gin. I'm going to have her keep an eye on our friend. I'll be back shortly. Lock this door. Don't open it for anyone."

"Of course."

Gripping the doorframe, he met her eyes, and the flicker of fear in them made her stomach drop. "We can't lose this early in the game."

Sucking in her lips, she nodded slowly. "We won't, Booker."

He gave a sad smile and slipped outside. She closed the door behind him, making certain the lock was set. Letting out a long breath, she wrapped her arms around herself and went to clean up the parlour.

You're going to fail.

You'll ruin it all.

Like always.

There were howls in the distance. Was Boris using his whistle again? Or were they in her head?

Your head, your head.

It'll leave them all dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead—

The howls grew louder and more vicious,. She gathered up the tea things and brought them to the scullery, praying the voices' taunts weren't ominous warnings.