FOX
FOX
HETTY WASN’T CONVINCED by Benjy’s argument, no matter how sound he thought it to be. So the next morning she did what she always did when they reached an impasse: She took matters into her own hands.
When Benjy left with the cradle, she headed out to put her plan into motion.
She was going to that excursion even if it meant trickery, lies, and chasing after a train. Tickets would make things easier, and she already had a few ideas how to get them.
Hetty let a streetcar pass, and when it did, across the street was Geraldine. She stood next to a stall and held out her dodgy potions to any passersby who met her eyes. When the last to walk past didn’t, she looked away and met Hetty’s instead.
Geraldine gulped, and the vial in her hand slipped.
Hetty barreled across the street, heedless of anyone crossing her path.
Geraldine didn’t even bother to collect her wares.
She ran.
That might have worked, but this wasn’t the first time that Geraldine, or anyone, really, had run from Hetty.
Her finger slid along the stitches at the band around her neck, and Canis Major darted past her. The star-speckled dog dashed through the crowd and lunged at Geraldine’s ankles.
The other woman stumbled, falling to the ground.
“That wasn’t a smart thing to do,” Hetty said as she approached.
“Don’t be mad about Alain. He lied to me about the broken water pump, but only to make things look better!”
“What does your husband have to do with these potions you promised not to sell?”
“Don’t tell me you came running ’cause you concerned about that?”
This woman was a two-bit thief, but the fear in her face was genuine. Alain had seen Charlie’s body and might know more than he would like to admit.
“What did he lie about?”
“I’ll tell you if you bring me my wares back.” One eye opened slowly. “I’ll lose a great deal of money if I don’t get them back—you know how it is.”
“Tell me now,” Hetty said. “What did your husband say?”
Stubbornly, Geraldine shook her head, and not a single word rattled out between her lips.
Hetty was tempted to force the secrets out, but the crowd was growing and she didn’t want to draw unwanted attention.
“I’ll get your wares. Stay put.”
Hetty retraced her steps. But the small stall, the basket, and the jars were all gone.
She turned around, but she knew already the only thing she would see of Geraldine was the trail of her maroon dress as it disappeared into the crowd.
Clever trick, but pointless in the end. Hetty knew where to find her.
Without any further distractions to waylay her, Hetty arrived at a rather handsome building that, despite its best efforts, still looked like a private home instead of the headquarters for E.C. Degray.
As Hetty drew near, she saw the front door open as several men departed.
They passed her, giving her a cursory glance that glided right over her. Hetty waited until they were gone before she approached the door. She made to knock, but a prickle that started at the band at her neck had her jumping back even before the door swung open.
A man peered out and frowned at her.
“Unless you’re here to pick up the laundry, you have no business being here.”
“That’s quite rude,” Hetty said, even as she pondered if it was worth it to hit him with a sleeping spell. “You don’t even know what I’m here for.”
He coolly eyed her. “You’re no wife to any member here. Even if you had a reason, no one is here to talk to you.”
“You are,” she pointed out.
“I’m on my way out.” That man patted his coat pocket, nearly crinkling the slips of paper sticking out. Were those tickets? “There’s no one else—they’re all at the excursion.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone who can go. It’s members only, and even if you could, there’s no more tickets.”
Hetty attempted a grin. “Not even for the right price?”
He sneered. “You can’t afford it.”
Those words settled how this encounter was going to end.
“Excuse me! That’s not fair at all.” Hetty jostled forward, placing a foot firmly on the step.
The wards around the building buckled and responded just as she thought they would. Over the shrill alarm she raised her voice. “This is a club to encourage suffrage and participation in elections. It’s not some elite club that only accepts a few.”
She said more, her voice rising with the alarm, not caring at his attempts to quiet her. She lost the thread of her words after a while and started repeating phrases that sounded decent until the man held up his hands, which were glittering with magic.
“Enough!” he declared, as tiny star-speckled doves darted to the building to settle the wards. The world went quiet, and Hetty stepped back. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them. Go on with your day in peace.”
He stepped around and strode off down the street.
“Oh,” Hetty said, holding up the excursion tickets she had pulled from his pocket while chaos danced around them. “I most certainly will.”
She dashed off before her theft could be caught, slipping through a web of alleys and side streets to the blacksmith’s.
There was no one out in the front, but sounds of conversation led her into the back of the forge.
Sy clutched a hammer in his hand as Benjy pointed out a spot on a cauldron resting on the workbench.
“Try again,” Benjy said. “Focus right here.”
“You should do it—you’re better at it,” Sy protested.
“And you’re not, which is why I’m trying to teach you.” Without looking up, he called out to Hetty: “Don’t stand over there—you’ll be in the line of fire.”
Sy swung. He missed hitting the cauldron’s rim. There was a flash of light and the cauldron jumped off the table like a startled bird. It bounced, striking the other tools lying nearby and sending everything crashing to the ground.
Benjy only sighed as the last of the crashes echoed in the room, hardly surprised but disappointed all the same.
“Sorry,” Sy mumbled. He handed the hammer to Benjy before running to collect the fallen tools.
Benjy picked up the ruined cauldron and tossed it aside. Studying her for a moment, he asked, “What interesting thing brings you here?”
“I wouldn’t call it interesting.” Hetty held up the tickets. “But I managed to get these for the excursion. I’m going. As I don’t wish to go alone, I’m taking Penelope with me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Penelope won’t go.” He pulled off his apron with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose if you must have company, I’ll simply have to come.”
“Not dressed like that.” Hetty waved at the soot and grime that covered him. “We have to dress the part.”
“Church clothes it is,” he said, undeterred. “Sy,” Benjy called. “I’m leaving for the day. Bank the fire, don’t do any repairs. If someone comes around with something to mend, be vague about when it’ll be ready, especially if it’s not urgent.”
Sy poked his head over the workbench, tools clutched in his arms.
“What if Amos comes around looking for you?”
“Tell him I’m off doing work that got shoved aside for the work I did on the cradle. Practice drawing the sigil, but don’t work any magic. I’ll tell you what you did wrong tomorrow. I made the same mistakes myself when I first learned.”
This assurance lifted the embarrassment in Sy’s face, and when he said he’d take care of things, Hetty was certain the forge would be standing the next time she returned.
“That’s kind of you to teach him to repair magical objects,” Hetty said as Benjy led the way out.
“It’s a useful skill. And despite what you saw, he’s picking it up better than the last apprentice. Which is funny, since I only took him on because Penelope tricked me into giving him a job.”
“Penelope tricked you?” Hetty scoffed. “You don’t do anything that you didn’t want to do in the first place. Whether it’s fixing rooftops or agreeing to go on excursions put on by political clubs.” She looked up at him significantly as she said the last bit. “Why did you change your mind about us going?”
With a sheepish grin, Benjy shrugged. “I realized you were right.”
“Of course I was,” Hetty laughed. “I always am.”
“That you are,” he said softly as a streetcar rolled by, leaving Hetty uncertain if she was meant to hear his words or not.