The cellar doors shook with terrific force as Ham McKensie threw himself into them, but they remained firmly shut. As Ham came tumbling back down the steps, the little Russian Tsarina cried out.

“Oh stop! Stop!” she sobbed as he climbed back to his feet. “You’ll only hurt yourself!”

Ham ignored her, setting his shoulders and hurling himself up the steps once more. She threw her hands up over her ears. “Please, make him stop!”

Rueger Graves, Boy Nihilist, cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry about Ham, your Highness,” he told her over the sound of Ham making another trip down the steps. “His head’s thicker than either of those doors. He might even manage to get us out, if we didn’t have to worry about this little beauty.” He was staring down at the bomb on the table. It was a terribly complicated looking device, all whirling mechanisms, a slowly ticking clock, and looping coiled wires leading down to a stacked cluster of dynamite. Rueger stood cooly before it, his hands tucked in his vest pockets and humming slightly as he studied the device.

“Then vhy doesn’t he stop?” she asked.

“Because he gets bored easily. Believe me, it’s much better when he has a project to occupy himself with.”

Ham wiped fresh blood off his chin and laughed. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said in his rough, Brooklyn accent. “Just tryin’ to fill the time.”

The Tsarina began to shake with fright. “It’s hopeless! Ve vill surely die in here.” Her tears attracted the attention of Pip, Rueger’s small, white Terrier, and he padded over to her quickly. He put a paw up on her knee and regarded her sobbing face almost solemnly for a moment, before giving her a short, yipping bark and climbing into her lap. She clung tightly to him as he started to lick her face, but her sobs gradually started to subside.

“See, you listen to Pip there,” Ham told her cheerfully, climbing to his feet one more time. The older boy was as thick and broad as a man, with rough sandy hair and a bandage over the bridge of his nose. Despite the beating he’d taken early from the Bolchievic Anarchists and his several trips up and down the stairs, he gave her a bright, untroubled grin. “Look at him,” he told her, pointing at the dog. “He’s not worried at all, cause he knows we’ve gotten out of much worse scrapes than this.”

“Are you sure?” she asked tearfully. Pip gave another bark and jumped up and down in her lap.

“Oh, most definitely,” Ham laughed. “We’ll have you back at your palace in no time at all, don’t you worry!”

The Tsarina gave another sniffle, looking at Rueger. “Is it true, Mr. Graves?” she asked. “Vill you really get us out of here?”

A ghost of a smile flashed across the Boy Nihilist’s face. “Believe me, Tsarina,” he said, waving his hand at the ticking bomb. “One way or another, we’re definitely getting out of this cellar. The only question is at the speed…”

“Oh, thank goodness!” she said gratefully. “For a moment, I vas vorried–

There was a sudden knocking on Maine’s door and she lowered her comic book. Ifri, asleep on the foot of Maine’s bed, smoldering happily on his specially made pillow (made of the thickest, heavy-duty leather), stirred. He yawned and stretched out luxuriantly, happy to be out of the urn, and turned his head towards the door.

A harried looking Elf poked her head into the bedroom, glancing around quickly. “Miss Imi? Excuse me, ma’am?”

Miss Imi snorted and jerked her chin up off the handle of her cane. She was sitting on a chair by the door, blinking rapidly as she stared about. “What? What is it?” she asked sleepily.

The Elf gave a quick bow to both her and Maine, ducking her head. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, Miss Maierson, but we’ve run out of cleaning supplies downstairs and we were wondering if-”

“Borrow some from the Factory,” Miss Imi waved her hand. “They always have plenty, and I’ve never seen them use it.” She stirred, settling herself on the chair. “You’re new aren’t you?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes, ma’am!” she said, bowing again nervously.

“Pay particular attention to the rug in the main hall,” Miss Imi instructed. “There’s a large red stain in the corner-”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she said quickly. “It’s very unsightly. I’ll make sure to scrub it out, don’t you worry!”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Miss Imi snapped, making her jump back. “That stains more than a hundred years old! General Washington himself lay there while injured during the Battle of Brooklyn. Clean around it, if you would. Or better yet, leave it for me.” She frowned and glanced over at Maine. “I’ll take care of it when I can.”

The Elf looked over at Maine as well and nodded quickly. “Uh, yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” She bowed her way out of the room, and closed the door behind her, locking it tightly.

Miss Imi shook her head, muttering to herself, “Unsightly, bah…” She settled her head back down on her cane, her heavily lidded eyes watching Maine on the bed. Rather than acknowledge her, Maine buried her face in her book again. Ifri glanced from her to Miss Imi, then settled back down on his pillow, purring happily.

On the page, the Tsarina was clutching at Rueger’s sleeve, her face desperate. “How can ve ever get out of here?” she asked him.

“I admit, it won’t be easy,” he told her and Ham. “Those Anarchists really out did themselves this time.” As always, he wore his finely cut black suit and thin dark tie, knotted in a hang-man’s noose. The Anarchists had removed his custom made, silver six-shooter, but Maine was sure that they’d missed the other gadgets Ruger usually carried on him, like the spring mounted grappling rope, the packets of quick-lime powder he could hurl into attacker’s eyes, or the extendable blades in the tips of his shoes. She read on as Ham bent down besides Rueger, rubbing his chin as he examined the bomb.

“Looks like a right piece of work,” the older boy said.

Rueger nodded. “I’ve spotted four false kill-switches, two independent power sources, and nearly half a dozen dead ends so far, and this is just a sampling, I suspect, of what they intend to do later.”

“Do you think the Ambassador got our message?”

Rueger shrugged. “With any luck, my Father may be able to warn your government in time,” he said, nodding to the young girl. “If not, it’s up to us to stop them from unleashing WAR.” You could tell he was serious by how they capitalized the word.

“But ve are still trapped in this cellar, how are ve going to stop anything?” the Tsarina asked. “Ve need to get out of here first!”

Rueger was now reaching through the tangled mass of looping wires and ticking machinery to take hold of a single strand, seemingly no different than any of the others. “Ham might not be able to batter down those doors, but there is something here with more than enough force to do the job. I just need to stop this countdown for a moment, so I can make some modifications, then we can be out of here in no time.”

The Tsarina’s shocked face filled up the next three panels, her hands pressed against her cheeks in shock. “You vant to use the bomb?!” she shouted. She continued to stare in shock and then with an exaggerated “...” her eyes rolled up and she fainted dead away.

Maine shook her head and turned the page. “Dolly Button would’ve been okay with it,” she muttered. As far as temporary companion’s went, she’d much preferred the intrepid girl-reporter, who’d helped Rueger and Ham break up that ring of Smugglers in Morocco, over the little Russian princess. Even Bosco, the fighting bear that they’d rescued in Chile was an improvement over her.

“Eh? What was that?” Miss Imi asked, her head rising up again.

“Nothing,” Maine muttered sourly.

Miss Imi cocked a hairy eyebrow. “You know, there’s a great many things I could be doing right now, other than watching you,” she pointed out. She began to list them off on her fingers. “We’ve got to sweep up all the broken glass, repair the front doors, patch up the bullet holes in the walls and ceilings, clean up after all the guests, and thieves, and police, and workers, and who knows how many other people have been trampling through the first floor!”

“It’s not my fault!” Maine burst out. Ifri poked his head up again, watching his mistress. “I was trying to stop the Auction-”

“Which no one asked you to do,” Miss Imi was quick to add.

“I had a good reason,” Maine muttered, sinking back down. Miss Imi snorted in disbelief.

On the page, Ham was rubbing his chin as he stared at the wire Rueger was holding delicately. “What are the odds, ya thank, that that’s the right wire and it won’t leave us splattered all over the walls when ya pull it?”

The Boy Nihilist smiled grimly. “Same as they always are, Ham.” The hands on the bomb’s clock clicked closer together, but Rueger’s fingers never trembled. “Fifty-fifty. Either I’m right, or I’m wrong.”

Ham sighed and rolled his eyes. “I love your plans, boss,” he told him.

A plan of her own had occurred to Maine, and she decided to risk it. Trying to appear casual, she peaked up over the edge of the book. Miss Imi was busy glancing around the room, frowning in disapproval, so Maine cleared her throat gently, trying to get her attention..

“You know, I had a good reason,” she started to say.

Miss Imi didn’t seem to hear her. “I should’ve directed the staff to start cleaning up here,” she said, tapping her cane on the floor, “but then we’d probably never get back downstairs.”

“What’s wrong with my room?” Maine asked, looking around. Indeed, it was easy to find anything she needed; it was all out in the open. Her telescope was set up by the corner, with star-charts and maps tacked to the wall all around it. In the other corner was her work bench, scored with burns and deep chips in the wood. Her tools and projects were scattered around the table and floor, most of them stolen from the Factory; there was the heavy workman’s glove she’d tried to enchant with some of Ifri’s fur (two of the fingers were blackened and badly singed), the small engine Cherwood had lent her for practice was disassembled (that had been easy, though putting it back together was proving much more difficult), and, of course, the cages she’d tried to build to hold Ifri, back when she’d believed she might have been able to bring him with her. The cages were now stacked in a blackened pile by her bench, aside from the one that had melted so badly it was now fused into the wood.

On the other side of the room was her desk and study area, though you would’ve had to take Maine’s word that it was actually there, somewhere buried under the mess. You’d have to pick your way carefully across the floor to avoid stepping on spread open books and journals, while dodging around more piled in tall, leaning stacks that were at least as high as Maine. Crumpled, scraps and notes were everywhere on the floor, and broken bits of rune chalk crunched underfoot.

It was a proper workspace for a budding young witch, Maine thought, nodding her head.

Miss Imi snorted, tapping her cane again. “I’ve seen cleaner junk bins in the Factory yard.”

“ANYWAY,” Maine said loudly, trying to get back on track. “I had a good reason for stopping the Auction.” She waited, but all Miss Imi did was settle back in her chair, watching her blandly.

She tried again. “I said, I had a good reason for stopping the Auction.”

Instead of asking why however, Miss Imi just raised her eyebrows. “I would hope so,” was all she said.

Maine frowned, fidgeting. This wasn’t going like she’d hoped. “It’s our Family’s property. Everything we’ve collected over the years.” She sat up, and Ifri raised his head. “Gran loved all of those things,” she said forcefully. “She gathered half the collection herself! It’s not right that as soon as she’s gone, Matthew gets to sell them off just to make a buck!”

Miss Imi looked unimpressed. She cocked her head, staring at Maine. “Is that what you think Matthew was doing? ‘Making a buck’?”

She was staring so fiercely that Maine slunk back down, hiding behind her comic book again. “What else could he have been doing?” she asked sullenly.

“Saving the business for one thing,” Miss Imi sniffed.

Maine peaked up over the edge of her book. “You don’t know that for certain.”

Miss Imi gave her a look and Maine ducked back down. “Your brother has tried to keep a brave face for everyone,” Miss Imi told her, “saying that everything is fine, the business is steady, but I hear things.” She nodded, tapping her cane again. “He’s been locked in Madelyn’s office every night for the past few weeks, working long hours with Seward.” Her head dipped slightly and she sighed. “He’s been a nervous wreck, your brother. Too much on his shoulders.” Her eyes focused sharply on Maine. “And you haven’t been helping.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Maine asked, flustered. This wasn’t at all the way she’d thought the conversation would go. “Are you even really sure things are so bad?” she asked quickly. “Everything was fine while Gran was in charge, how did everything change so quickly?”

Miss Imi shrugged. “Maybe Matthew wasn’t the only one keeping a brave face.”

There was a knock on the door again and Kelphin poked his head into the room. “Miss Imi, are you there?”

“Yes, what is it?” Miss Imi asked.

“We need Maine downstairs for a moment.” He gave Maine a disapproving look, which only intensified as he caught sight of Ifri. “Matthew sent me up to relieve you.” Maine threw her comic book aside and started to climb up, snagging Ifri with one hand. “You can leave that- animal behind,” Kelphin told her quickly.

Ifri laid back his ears and hissed at the Elf, tiny sparks flying from his mouth. Kelphin backed up a step, ducking behind the door for protection. “I haven’t forgotten what he did to the dining room drapes!” he said furiously. “That thing is a menace! I don’t want it running loose in the house!”

Maine held Ifri close and nuzzled him to her neck. “He’s not a menace,” she said lovingly. Ifri let out a low sound that was halfway between a purr and growl. “He just gets upset when he’s left all by his lonesome.”

Behind Maine, smoke was starting to rise up from Ifri’s pillow. Miss Imi sighed and walked over to the bed. She started to swat at the smoking fabric with her cane, beating the fire out. “Or when he’s with people, or whenever he feels like it,” she added.

“I’ll watch him,” Maine promised, setting him down on the floor. She then snagged a small, oil lantern that was hanging off her desk chair. Shaking it to make sure it had fuel, she snapped her fingers and lit the wick inside, adjusting it to a small glow. Then she laid it on the floor, leaving the lid open towards Ifri. “Come on!” she said, clicking her tongue. The kitten looked curiously at the light, nose moving as he approached it. His head bobbed uncertainly as he drew closer, looking from Maine then to the open flame. “Yes, that’s it,” she urged him.

With a flash of light, Ifri leapt inside, becoming part of the flames. The tiny lantern roared, spitting fire with a mewling cry of joy, then Maine slammed the lid shut, cutting the sound off.

“Will he really stay in there?” Kelphin asked fearfully.

“Of course,” she said confidently. A tiny paw made of fire poked out, feeling around, and Maine shut the lid again, latching it firmly in place. “As long as he has gas to drink, he’ll be happy. I think.” At the Elf’s continued look of disbelief, Maine held the lantern out to him. “You can watch him yourself if you want.”

Kelphin let go of the door, nearing falling back in shock. “No, no! I’ll take your word for it.” He started down the hall at a quick pace, gesturing for Maine to follow.

Maine’s room was on the third floor, well away from the hustle and bustle. The hall seemed more empty than usual as Kelphin led her to the stairs. Most of the bedrooms on that floor had been unoccupied for a long time, especially now that it was just Maine and her brother. Even when Gran had been with them, the house had seemed so much fuller and alive in some way. Maine unconsciously pulled up the lantern and hugged it closer as they walked.

Kelphin noticed her movement. “I’d ask that you keep that animal inside please,” he said sharply, his nose rising upwards. “There’s only so much destruction this poor house can take in one day!”

“I will, don’t worry.”

He sniffed. “And the same goes double for you.”

“It’s not my fault!” she yelled. “I was trying to stop the Auction, save all of our things! I wasn’t out to wreck the whole house!”

“And we were so lucky you did,” Kelphin said, acid dripping from his voice. They turned sharply and started down the grand staircase. Below, they could see dozens of workers crawling over the main hall; sweeping up glass, boarding up windows, and clearing away the broken furniture. Much of the front hall was in shambles, what with Albert and the workers outside trying to force their way into the mansion during the standoff. The front door now lay in splinters, the frame hung bent and broken. Albert was still outside now, directing another team as they tried to repair the damage. There was a great deal of hammering and swearing going on, but no matter how much of both they applied, the new door didn’t look like it was going to fit into the new, warped frame of the front hall.

Kelphin stopped and leaned over the barrister. “Albert!” he called. “Have you ordered us a replacement door yet?”

Albert lowered his head, peering inside the house. Behind him, the workers were peering at the door and measuring to see what would need to be added or subtracted to fit the frame. “No, sorry, not yet,” he apologized with a small whistle of steam.

“Well, be sure to hurry!” Kelphin scolded him. “Those doors were from Tiffany’s! There was a six month wait, you know.”

Albert waved his hands soothingly. “I’ll send the order in as soon as we get the temp one up.” His team started to cut a wide diagonal section off the top right corner, sawdust flying.

“Please do!” Kelphin told him. A loud noise startled him and he flew to the other side of the staircase, peering over. “Ah - ah! Stop that! What are you doing?” he shouted down to another worker, who was kicking a broken chair to pieces.

The Naga held up the chair legs. “Dr Paicus is asking for splints and bandages outside.” He had a pile of them at his feet, along with what looked like ripped up drapes and curtains.

Kelphin ran down the stairs, his Glamour flashing with rage. “Then go find some firewood or dirty rags!” he shouted. The Naga backed up quickly as the Elf fell sobbing at the ruins of the chair, touching the fragments of wood with a shaking hand. “These are baroque, not broken! Don’t you know the difference!”

There was a sudden shout from the hall and an Elf maid ran past, clutching something to her chest. Behind her came the rush of feet and Maine blinked to see a pair of uniformed police officers chase after her. The maid was quick as a flash, running straight for the front doors, but skidded to a halt as she found herself blocked by Albert and the workers. She hesitated, looking this way and that, before turning for the ballroom, but she was too late.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Here’s our rabbit!” one of the officers shouted, grabbing her arm and twisting it around painfully. He threw her to the floor, pressing down on the small of her back with his knee. She writhed on the floor, pinned in place, her cries barely more than a wheeze. The other workers shuffled nervously, standing aside as he continued to press his weight down on her

Maine rushed forwards, grabbing at his arm. “Stop that!” He ignored her, brushing her off, and the other officer, beefy and red-faced grabbed Maine, pushing her away.

“Get back,” he told her roughly.

“No!” Maine said, trying to push by him again. “What are you doing to her?”

The officer shoved her back, even harder, but now more workers were starting to gather, not just maids, but burly looking Factory workers. An ugly murmur was starting to go through the crowd and the red-faced officer looked around nervously. He seemed to realize for the first time how outnumbered the two of them were.

“Get back!” he warned the crowd, fear in his voice. When they didn’t immediately back away, he put his hand down on his pistol and started to draw it. Everyone backed up quickly at that point with Kelphin grabbing Maine from behind and tugging her away.

“This is official police business,” the officer said with more confidence, waving them further back. “This doe’s a thief! And we’re taking her into custody!”

The workers milled around, muttering. Kelphin kept a hand clamped over Maine’s mouth as she struggled. The maid was wheezing for air now, struggling as the first officer pressed down harder on her.

The library doors burst open. “What’s going on here!?” Matthew shouted. He and Seward pushed through the crowd. Her brother took one look at the maid pinned under the officer and his face turned red. “Let her go!” he commanded at once.

The two officers looked at each other uncertainly. “I said let her go this instant!” Matthew shouted again.

Finally, the first officer eased up and the maid sucked in air, gasping and coughing. Seward motioned for a few other maids to help her as the officer stood, glaring darkly at Matthew.

Her brother pushed forwards, jabbing his finger into the officer’s chest. “What are you doing, assaulting my staff?” Maine shook off Kelphin and ran forwards to stand beside Matthew, folding her arms and copying his expression.

The officer’s face twitched and looked like he wanted to grab hold of Matthew, but he barely managed to contain himself and growl out, “Sorry, sir. Just carrying out our investigation.”

Matthew glared at the officer and then turned, shouting back towards the library. “Lieutenant Goring! I told your men they could search for clues, not harass my staff!”

“Why can’t they do both?” a rough voice laughed. The crowd gathered around them drew apart all on their own, revealing a portly man in a disheveled uniform leaning against the library door, cigarette in hand.

A vein started to throb in Matthew’s forehead, but the officer waved his hand, sending ash flying over the carpet. “A joke, a joke!” he laughed. He was quite a bit older than the other officers, with receding hair and a protruding gut. It was hard to imagine him chasing down anyone, let alone walking a beat. He hitched up his belt with effort and nodded to his men. “I told them to search the staff.”

“Why?” Matthew demanded.

Gorning shook his head as if it were obvious. “The Firstborn got into your Auction posing as the staff, right? That way they had members all over your house before you knew it, right under your nose.” Matthew flushed, looking quickly away.

Goring laughed and started to walk around the hall. “Which means they had help. Probably help from the staff.” He licked his fat lips and let his eyes roam over the crowd, picking one or two out here and there, staring at them till they started to flinch violently, then moving on. Maine glared at him, hating how he seemed to relish in the fear he was causing. Before she could say anything however, she felt Matthew’s hand close over her arm. He shook his head slightly at her, then looked back up at Goring.

“None of my staff would help the Firstborn,” he told him firmly. “They’re all loyal Maierson employees.”

“That is correct,” Seward agreed. He drew himself up straight, hands folded, scales slicked back. “The Firstborn were posing as temporary workers. I hired them myself, and am solely responsible for the fault.” He cast a cold, reptilian eye at the officers, which even they couldn’t meet. “I'll, of course, make myself available for questioning at your earliest convenience, Lieutenant.”

“Ahah, that won’t be necessary,” Goring said quickly. He shied fearfully away from Seward, looking like he was no more eager to be close to him than look in his eyes. “We’ve found, ah, that it’s usually the rank and file in these cases,” he told them, recovering quickly. “And more often than not, they’re willing to line their own pockets with a bit of plunder to sweeten the deal.”

Matthew shook his head. “No. None of my staff would steal from us.”

The maids shrieked as one of the officers suddenly lurched into their midst, pulling out the woman they’d chased by the wrist. Her Glamour was gone, her eyes red and puffy from crying, but she kept one hand clutched to her chest, refusing to look at any of them.

Goring leered at her, then glanced slyly at Matthew. “You willing to wager on that?”

The officer shook the Elf roughly. “This one tried to run when we started to search her,” he growled.

She spat back at him. “You call that searching?!” she said, her voice raw. He bent her arm painfully again and she rose up on her toes, crying out. A few in the crowd started to mutter angrily, and Matthew raised his hands quickly

He walked forwards towards the Elf, motioning for the officer to release her. The officer refused, but at least he relaxed his grip enough for her to stand freely. She kept her head down, trembling violently, and refusing to look at Matthew.

He looked down at her hand, still clutched to her chest. “What do you have there?” His voice was gentle, but she flinched at it, and the officer tightened his grip on her. “It’s alright,” Matthew told him, then looked down at her again. “What do you have?”

He held out his hand, and slowly, she extended her own clenched fist. Inside, she held a small emerald star, surrounded by tiny pearls, set on a string of silver. The emerald was small, barely the size of a pea, and a few of the pearls looked to be missing from their setting, but still Maine could see the shine from where she stood.

“Quite a pretty bauble for a Doe like you,” Goring laughed. He flicked her long ears and tugged at her eyebrows. “You’ll have to make your face a lot prettier than that if you want me to believe you earned it.”

Seward stepped forwards, taking the necklace from Matthew’s hand. He held it up to the light, focusing not at the jewels, but at the remains of a tag, partially ripped away from the clasp. “Item: J73,” he read. “Part of our Elven collection, no doubt. I don’t remember the piece, but it was definitely part of the Auction today.” He looked coldly at the maid, and Maine didn’t blame her for shivering. “Was this payment?” he asked, his fangs partially bared. “Did you help the Firstborn?”

The maid trembled, but remained silent. Goring leered at her and nodded to his officers. “Take her away. We’ll question her down at the station. Maybe she’ll be more willing to talk about her Firstborn friends there.”

“NO!” she yelled suddenly She threw herself at Matthew, clutching at his chest, tears pouring from her eyes. “I didn’t steal it!” she pleaded. “It was my mother’s! She pawned it when I was little, but I was earning it back! I swear!”

Matthew blinked in shock, unsure of what to do. Seward grabbed her hand. “How did you get it then? Did the Firstborn give it to you?”

“No, I found it while cleaning up! It was lying under the tables. It must have been lost in the confusion.” She sank down the floor, hugging her shoulders as she sobbed. “It was just lying there, waiting for me. Mother said that it would always find its way back to us if we wished that it would. Somehow…”

Seward was giving her a hard stare. The story sounded highly unlikely, even to Maine. Still though, she didn’t like the idea of handing her over to Goring. She looked from Matthew to Seward, waiting to see what they would do.

Seward snapped his hand closed around the necklace. “Regardless of how she found it, the necklace is still Maierson property and it was found on your person,” he said crisply. “Consider your contract terminated.” The Elf continued to sob on the floor and a shiver went through the crowd. Seward waited, arching a scaly eyebrow, as if daring anyone to speak up for her. No one did.

Goring laughed and stepped forwards. “My boys will take it from here.”

“No,” Matthew said quickly.

Goring pulled up short. “Eh?”

“We won’t be pressing charges,” Matthew told him. Both of Seward’s eyebrows rose now, but when Matthew looked at him, he calmly turned away. Matthew watched him tuck the necklace into his pocket and return to the library.

“You won’t be-” Goring was dumbstruck. “That little jackrabbit stole from you!” he roared. “What do you mean you’re not pressing charges!?”

“I believe her,” Matthew said simply. “I don’t think she was working with the Firstborn, so there’s no reason to question her.” He nodded to the other maids who swooped down on her, shielding her from Goring. The Lieutenant fumed as he watched the maids escort the sobbing Elf out of the hall.

He got close to Matthew, shoving his gut forwards like a battering ram. “Listen here, Maierson! I don’t know what-”

“Maierson!” another voice called out, cutting him off. The ballroom doors burst open and Trimble pushed through, in a furious state. Trailing after him came the older Tooland and a younger man that Maine didn’t recognize. They were both trying to grab hold of Trimble’s arms, tugging him back, but Trimble threw them off, his beady eyes fixed on her brother.

“Maierson!” he yelled again. “This is all your fault! Look at what they did to me! Look at what your people did!” He gestured to his clothes angrily and Maine couldn’t hide her giggle. His expensive suit was now in tatters, torn and stained in too many places to count, his tie ripped in half and one shoe missing entirely. He tried to push his lanky hair back over his head, but it refused to stay in place, instead hanging limply over his eyes.

The younger man edged closer to him, giving him a pleading look. “Please, Mr Trimble,” he said, “let’s get you back to the yard so Doctor Paicus can finish taking a look at you.”

“No!” he said, pulling his arms away. “I don’t want that monster near me!”

The younger man flushed with anger, but he kept his voice level. “Then please let me take a look, sir. You’re not well-”

“Of course I’m not well! Look at me!” he sobbed again, sounding closer to tears than fury. He sniffed audibly and then shouted, “I’ve been assaulted, held at gunpoint, had my life threatened!” He clutched at his chest as if suddenly faint and the young man lurched forwards to catch him.

“Sir, please!” He stared down at Trimble’s pale face, eyes wide and vacant. “Paicus!” he said suddenly, looking quickly at Tooland. “Call Doctor Paicus!” Tooland stared blankly for a moment, then tottered off, almost running.

“Dozens of them!” Trimble suddenly shouted. He lay in the young man’s arms, staring up at the ceiling. “There were dozens of them, beating on me for hours! Trolls and Goblins and Ogres! Werewolves even!”

“Werewolves?” Matthew asked.

“I wish there had been Werewolves!” Maine said aloud.

Trimble went on as if he couldn’t hear them. “They were animals,” he sobbed, shaking as he covered his eyes. “They just wouldn’t stop.”

Maine raised an eyebrow. It must have been the gentlest mauling in history, for all the damage that Trimble appeared to have earned was a red bump on his temple and a fat lip. Still, Trimble wouldn’t stop shaking as he waved a hand over the state of his clothes. “Look at what they did to me,” he said again. “They clawed up my suit, bit my tie, someone even drooled all over my pants.”

Something had definitely happened to Trimble’s pants, but it didn’t smell like drool, at least not to Maine, and as a few other noses started to wrinkle in the crowd, she knew she wasn’t alone in thinking so.

Matthew’s face twitched slightly, but then he seemed to take pity. “Why don’t we get Mr Trimble a change of clothes?” he said to Kelphin, and the Elf nodded, though a bit hesitantly.

“Yes, of course, sir.” He edged forwards, eyeing the still horizontal Trimble. “We might be able to find something that should fit…”

Without taking a breath, Trimble let out an ear-splitting scream, making Kelphin jump back. “A Trimble doesn’t take pity from anyone!” he shouted from the floor, clothes filthy and ruined. “We don’t know the meaning of the word!”

“How about laundry? Are you familiar with that one then?” Miss Imi asked. She tottered forward, shaking her head, and stared down at the young man. Trimble’s eyes went wide as he looked back at her. “If you don’t want new clothes, at least we can give this pair a wash,” she offered. “C’mon, let’s get this off of you and we’ll have it clean in a jiffy,” she said, staring to reach down towards his belt.

Trimble was off the floor in a flash, dashing behind the young doctor. “Don’t touch me!” he almost shrieked, crouching fearfully behind his shoulder. Miss Imi stared up at him curiously as Trimble continued to quake.

“Mr Trimble,” Matthew tried, “if you could just calm down for a moment…”

“Calm down?” Trimble asked, looking anything but. “Calm down? Calm isn’t what I need! Repayment, yes! That’s what I deserve!”

“Repayment? What are you-”

“My treasures! Where are my treasures, Maierson?” Trimble barked, almost madly. “I paid you for everything on the list, but I haven’t seen a single thing!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he stared. “Where are they, huh? Where are they?”

It took Matthew a moment to answer. “Firstly, no, you didn’t pay us for anything yet,” he said slowly, his voice sounding tightly controlled. “And second, we weren’t about to take your money in the first place!”

Trimble waved his hands as if that was immaterial. “I wanted them, Maierson! They were mine! Possessive is nine-tenths of the law, or something like that!”

Matthew opened his mouth, looking like he was going to explode, but Kelphin jumped forwards. “Why don’t we all calm down for a moment and forget who owes who what-” he started to say, but Trimble threw up his hands, backing away from him.

“If another of you monsters even tries to lay a hand on me-” he warned, his voice near to breaking.

The ballroom doors opened again as Doctor Paicus poked his head into the front hall. He blinked, looking around the room. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

Trimble froze up, staring wide-eyed. The young doctor sighed, taking his hand. “Everything’s fine, sir. Sorry to bother you.”

“Hmm, no trouble,” Paicus nodded. He started to withdraw, but then looked closely at Trimble. “William, remind me to examine that man for possible head trauma when we have a minute,” he told him.

“Of course, Doctor.”

“No rush though.”

Matthew gently took hold of Trimble’s other hand and started to guide him towards the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr Trimble,” he said soothingly. “Now, why don’t you wait out with the other guests and-”

“Get your hands off me!” he snapped, coming alive again. He pulled himself free of both the doctor and Matthew, walking to the ruined front door. “I’m not staying here a minute longer!” he shouted. “Tooland! Tooland!”

“Right here, Mr Trimble,” the old man said, popping up behind him.

“We’re leaving!” Trimble said angrily, spinning around. He made it only two steps before he spun around again, Tooland running into him.

He drew himself up, his entire body trembling. “A week, Maierson! You’ve got a week to return everything that we paid for!” he shouted.

“But you didn’t pay for anything!” Matthew shouted back, but Trimble was already gone, pushed through the open doorway by the struggling Tooland.

Maine watched the pair struggle down the steps, staggering and falling over each other, and down into the square. A battered wreck of a vehicle stood waiting at the curb for them. Albert’s workers had performed their own sort of black magic on the automobile and repaired what they could. Yes, the roof had now been repurposed into a hood, the tailpipe was secured in place with rope, and the front passenger’s tire had been replaced with an oversized wagon wheel, but despite all that, the engine was sputtering with life once again. A few Goblins were even now still hard at work, making last minute repairs. Beside them, as if supervising their work, stood a tall, muscular looking man clad in black leathers; the driver, Maine assumed, going by his outfit. Then she frowned, and looked closer.

Despite his attention, the driver wasn’t watching the car or even the Goblins working on it. He appeared to be focused on the Factory, looking up at the pyramid intensely. He continued to stare, not even sparing a glance as a Goblin brought a hammer down hard on the engine, sending sparks and a burst of smoke rattling through the car.

Trimble started to shout as he approached, waving the Goblins away and almost pushing Tooland down in his hurry to get away. The driver leapt to life, springing around towards the new swinging saloon style door and holding it open as the young man staggered towards him. He held a wordless salute as the two passengers climbed inside then swung the door shut, letting it flap open and closed behind him. Before he climbed into the car himself however, the driver turned one last time and looked finally towards the house, the dark glass of his driving goggles flashing in the sun. Maine felt herself shiver suddenly without knowing why.

She jumped suddenly as Matthew put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Now,” her brother said, a strange, forced smile on his face, as he looked at the still furious Lieutenant. “I think you had some questions for us?”

The interrogation took place in Gran’s office. Maine sat on a stool in the center of the room, holding Ifri’s lantern in her lap, while Goring stood before her, a damp notepad in his dirty hands.

“State your name for the record,” he barked at her.

Maine snapped to attention. “Maine Mock Maierson!” she shouted, throwing him a quick salute.

Seward raised an eyebrow at Matthew, but her brother didn’t respond.

Goring was scribbling in his notepad, frowning. “‘Mock’? Are you serious?”

“It’s a family name,” Matthew said quietly from Gran’s desk. He was sitting, arms folded, watching the proceedings.

Goring frowned, shaking his head. “Maiersons…” He scribbled again, then peered at Maine. “So, tell me about your accomplices.”

Matthew answered before she could. “My sister didn’t have any accomplices. She acted alone.”

“That was when she was trying to rob you?” he pointed out.

“No, that was…” Matthew hesitated.

“A prank?” Seward suggested.

“It was not a prank!” Maine protested.

“It was a prank,” her brother said definitely. He glared at her, and Maine got the distinct impression he was telling her to be quiet. “She’s fond of jokes like that. Anyone can tell you.”

Goring looked from sibling to sibling, lip curled. “Eh? I see.” He scribbled again. “And what about the Firstborn?” he shouted at Maine suddenly. “Why’d you help them?”

Matthew answered for her again. “It wasn’t by choice, they were holding me hostage.”

Maine almost slipped off her stool. Goring dropped his pencil stub. “Hostage?” they both shouted.

“Yes. The only reason she worked with them was to save my life.” The look Matthew gave his sister was thankful, maybe even adoring, and only marred slightly by the smile tugging at his lips. “My sister’s always put the wellbeing of others before herself,” he said, his voice breaking only a little.

“That’s not true and you know it!” Maine snapped angrily. Seward rolled his eyes behind Matthew.

Goring clutched at his pencil so hard that it broke in two. Grabbing the smaller end, he began to scribble. “Fine! You were a hostage! What about this secret vault then? Who knew about it?”

A flush crept up Matthew’s neck, but he responded quickly. “I did.” His eyes flashed towards Seward for only a moment. “And Seward. A few of the staff may have as well”

“So many people then,” Goring remarked, scrawling on his pad. “Anyone else? Maybe an ex-employee?”

Matthew hesitated. Maine opened her mouth, then clamped down quickly. Goring looked up, eyes flashing between the two.

“We’ve a very loyal staff with a high retention rate,” Seward answered for them. “Aside from what you just witnessed today, it’s been years since we’ve had to let an employee go.”

Goring peered at him sharply. Maine kept her mouth closed. She supposed it wasn’t technically a lie…

Finally, Goring gave up. “What about the other one then? This Fink character?” He didn’t even bother putting the question to Maine, instead asked Matthew directly. “Where’d he come in?”

“I’ve no idea,” her brother said. “He wasn’t on the guest list, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Any idea where he went? Where any of them went?”

Matthew raised his hands helplessly. “Into Old Coney. Somewhere…”

Goring stood back, shaking his head. “Three- no two groups of thieves in one day… People said the Maierson luck ran out with the Old Hag’s death, but I didn’t believe it till now.”

“Hey!” Maine and her brother both protested.

“Just a joke,” he said, feigning innocence. He tucked away his pad and pencil and looked around the room. Scraps of paper and ash still littered the floor and the vault door hung wide open. “Well, I suppose I’ll get back to our investigation,” he said again, smiling. “I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

“I hope you do a better job of it than you did this morning,” Matthew said bitterly all of a sudden. Goring turned back, raising an eyebrow. “We sent you three messages about the Auction,” Matthew reminded him. “Told you we needed extra security and crowd control. What happened? Where were they?!”

Goring nodded slowly. “So sorry, I must have missed them” he apologized with mock sincerity. “In any case, I have to cover all of Old Coney and I have only so many officers. You understand, they can’t be everywhere at once, right?”

“There wasn’t anyone, anywhere!” Matthew shouted. “There was a near-riot outside! What if it had gotten worse! What would’ve happened then?”

The Lieutenant bent down low towards him, giving him a knowing eye. “Maybe there’s been a bit of miscommunication between the both of us,” he acknowledged. “See, I don’t answer to you, or any other taxpayer. I go where the City tells me to go, and the City had other jobs for me this morning. And if you keep raising your voice to me, boy, they might have other jobs for me all the rest of the week as well,” he threatened.

Matthew glowered at him, but he wasn’t finished. “Now, your Grandmother, on the other hand, she knew how things worked,” Goring said lightly. “A regular donor to the policeman’s fund was dear old Granny, and let me tell you, we were very grateful. Grateful enough that we put her requests at the top of the list, if you catch my meaning.”

Matthew stared at him in disbelief. He looked from Goring to Seward, who gave him an imperceptible nod.

Maine watched as her brother frowned, struggling for a moment. Then he sat back, looking slightly defeated. “Maine, why don’t you go upstairs,” he told her quietly.

“Matthew! Really!?” she burst out. “He’s not going to be able to find anything!”

Matthew waved his hand and Seward stepped forwards to take Maine’s arm. He led her back to the library, still protesting the entire way, and signaled to Kelphin, who waited outside.

“Please take Miss Maierson upstairs and return her to her room,” he said coldly. The Elf nodded as Maine fumed.

“Really, dear,” Kelphin fretted as he led her upstairs, “it’s for the best. You just wait in your room with Miss Imi and we’ll sort out everything downstairs. Then, we’ll have you back at school in no time at all! Won’t that be fun?”

Maine grumbled, her mind racing. As they went down the hall, she stopped suddenly in front of a side door. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she said quickly.

Kelphin jumped, looking around the hall nervously. “Um, yes, of course, but… Can you wait until I fetch a maid-”

“No! I’ve got to go now!” She started to hop up and down, crossing her legs. Before he could stop her, she opened the door and sprang inside, slamming it shut behind her. “I’ll just be a minute,” she called through it.

Kelphin fretted, pacing back and forth “Just please be quick!” he called. After a long moment, he knocked on the door. “Maine? Hello?” There was no answer. He rattled the door knob, but it was locked. “Hello? Please say something!” he pleaded with her. He searched desperately through his pockets, almost dropping the key in his haste, and finally tugged open the door.

The bathroom inside was empty of course. He raced to the open window and stared out. He could only see the drainpipe right outside the window, and the empty alley right below it.