"The Duke of all people, hm?", I mumble under my breath and shoot a glance at Thomas who, upon arriving at the station with the rookie in tow, gave me the files of today's crime scene.

"Didn't know this city has a duke," I hear Andrew chime in, lazily flipping through his staple of pages. He is expecting me to read everything and just advise him during the job. I don't really care enough to correct him in his assumption. He'll learn the hard way.

"He's not a Duke," Thomas starts to explain, "his last name is Duke. But he is a very special fellow and adamant to be addressed as Duke. Like a Duke, not Mr. Duke."

"What if I don't?" Stupid question.

"You'll see," I answer absent-mindedly while still going through the file. "He hasn't learned a thing since our last job, it seems." I look up at Thomas and he shakes his head, almost as if to apologize on the Duke's behalf.

I know I said I'd rather run than take on another dangerous job, such as highly dangerous and carnivorous plants or animal enclosures – but I can't, can I now? There's this pride I feel yet again. I can't possibly pass on a job when I take the rookie with me. With any other rookie maybe, but not with this one. I'd hear about it till the end of my days. And I pretty much don't want to hear anything from Andrew in general.

He doesn't seem to be too happy with my answer, but at least he knows better than to keep me from reading through the file. After all, he still expects me to autopilot him. Rookies are a weird thing at jobs like these. We know how hard our work is and how extremely exhausting every single crime scene can be.

We're aware of the toll it could take on us mentally and physically, so most of the cleaners are a little too soft when it comes to rookies. But some take no shit from rookies, it's the only people Andrew has yet to work with. I guess it's my turn because I probably won't go too hard on him compared to the others that are left. I'm the one step he has to make before he gets confronted with the really ugly side of this job.

I hand the file back to Thomas and grab my trusty suitcase, "Let's go. This will be yet another awful long job." With that I turn on my heels and so does Thomas, the rookie just follows.

We don't get far though, then Andrew voices up.

"So you have worked at the Duke's before?"

"Yes," I answer, but I don't really want to elaborate. Knowing the rookie, he'll ask what he's interested in, and I am proven right.

"What was the previous job?"

"Cleaning up a crime scene."

"Helpful as always…" He pouts yet again, and I can tell he is as annoyed as I am.

"You do have the file, reading up on it might help to answer your question."

"What's the point, you have it all memorized, haven't you? It's kind of useless if we both focus on planning. One should do the planning, the other the hard work."

"Mhm…" Right. Planning is probably harder than just cleaning, but I bite my tongue and change the topic.

"Say," Now it's my turn to ask, "What have you worked with so far?"

"Do you ever listen when I tell everyone about my work day?"

"No."

"That… was unexpected." I hear his boasted but hurt ego drip from his words – we're officially off to a good start.

Did I just shut him up? I guess someone so full of themselves doesn't expect others to just not care. And since I know how much he blows his experiences out of proportion when re-telling them, I don't care to listen. The little information I could gather from it is more work than it's worth.

I'm not a cleaner to deal with lies and deception. That's the wealthy's job, not mine. They are all about talking their way into and out of shit, lying to everyone, and being lied to in return. That's not my maze to navigate, and it shouldn't be Andrew's either.

With my question remaining unanswered, I just shake my head, dismissing the whole thing. It really isn't worth it.

“How’s Mrs. Lane doing?“, I just switch to something completely else. I don’t care about that either but it is something I can talk about with Thomas, hopefully saving me from socializing with the rookie.

“Good, I guess. Saw the doctor the other day, she recovered but she’s dealing with some memory loss.”

“How so?”

“She can’t remember Constantin or what happened that day.” Thomas sounds pretty casual, as our conversations out in the open mostly do. It's the only way we talk about jobs, the way that makes it seem we're just talking about our social life, not the jobs we have worked on. Despite the casuality I know he feels sorry for her in a weird way.

“Maybe it’s for the better. She doesn’t need to lie to her husband, nor does she have to deal with the memories of what happened.” I sound just as casual, but while I really think it is better for everyone involved, I can’t deny that I try to give him a positive perspective on her situation.

"You're probably right." I see him send a timid smile my way, it's gone in an instant but it affirms that he needed that little uplifting thought. I'm not really a positive thinker, but I am painfully realistic. And sometimes, reality isn't that bad.

Thomas, on the other hand, is rather positive-realistic. He is by no means overly positive about everything, but he tries to see the good things. But sometimes we all struggle to see that side, sometimes we're unable to let loose of the ever-downward spiraling thoughts. We get stuck on our perspectives – even people like Thomas who try to see the best in everything, even if the best is still bad.

So the least I can do is try to give him a new perspective. It doesn't always work, but it did this time. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a wry smile as a response. It's all I'm willing to muster with Andrew present.

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Suddenly, silence fell over us. Which is unexpected, to say the least. I didn't imagine it was possible with Andrew around. I throw a short glance over my shoulder, just to see why he was so silent. He seems to be sightseeing, looking around almost bored, in the hopes of something that can catch his interest be it just for a second.

I don't mind one bit. The longer he stays silent, the better. In no time we reach the square, the only place in this district with a proper streetcar station. There are only three lines, and all of them can only be accessed with a pass of transportation. The kind of pass depends on the line, and they are always extremely expensive.

Mostly it's the workplaces that issue them for their employees, as the latter can't afford them. There's one line going up right into the heart of the district of the rich, and even a normal pass won't get anyone past the watcher checkpoint. The Lanes were filthy rich, but getting into their district wasn't a problem.

But getting to the Duke? That's a whole other story. We don't even have to wait a minute for the streetcar to arrive and out comes one of the watchers. He doesn't greet us, he doesn't even ask for the papers, because he knows he doesn't have to.

Thomas hands him our papers and after a quick but thorough glance, the watcher hands them back and lets us enter the wagon. It's old, as they stopped making new ones quite a while back. This one is probably around 30 years old, older than I am. They are expensive and the magic needed to run them is insane. I've heard in other cities they are powered by electrical wires above, but these are powered through the rails.

It's always funny when I feel the temperature rise on longer rides, given I get into the first ride of the day. They could invest in upgrading or reworking them, but why should they waste the money of the rich when the rich themselves have their own transportation system that needs to be run on quality and opulence?

Now Andrew speaks up again "Damn, I vaguely remember that thing's first ride," he mutters to himself while taking in the interior. That's just the right thing to have Thomas chime in. Fine by me.

"You must have quite the memory, that thing first set of 27 years ago." Ah, I was close in my estimation. Still before my time, so I take it as a win.

"Oh, my memory is excellent, Mr. Ashworth!" Naturally, he has to boast about it. But to be fair, he does seem to have a good memory, especially considering all the things he makes up; he can re-tell them again and again accurately, without stumbling over his own exaggerations and lies. Credit where credit is due.

"I was three back then; Nancy was so excited to experience a ride. It was something completely new, otherworldly almost. She convinced our father to apply for one of the maiden voyage tickets. He won the raffle. I never set foot in one again ever since."

I just listen to their conversation and take a seat. My suitcase is extremely heavy again today, something the rookie doesn't have to worry about. He has his suitcase with him, but he isn't allowed yet to carry the important tools, so here I am, carrying them for both of us.

"You probably once in a while if you make it as a cleaner."

"You take the streetcar often?"

"No, not at all, mainly when we work in the upper city. It's one way to get in without drawing too much attention, something these clients often approve of. So if they organize transportation for us, this is often part of it."

"So the Duke," Andrew starts but draws out his last word, kind of expecting us to autocomplete what he wants to ask, "paid for this ride." I complete his question with the answer, as dry as ever.

"Neat."

"Don't get used to it." Thomas tries his best to ground the rookie a little bit, but it's hard with Andrew. He's probably already assembling the story he will tell the others.

"Why? One more month and I'm officially a cleaner, I'll be going places!"

Thomas looks at me, suppressing a faint chuckle, "Do you want to explain it to him or should I?"

Oh, oh, that's one I can't skip out on. Not because I'm full of myself. I hate bragging, I hate to draw attention. I more often than not wish people would just forget about me and not think about me at all, but right now it's a little different.

It's time to get Andrew down from his high horse, put his feet on the ground firmly. I doubt word will do, but we have to start somewhere.

"You won't be dealing with such clients." I have to look at him while confronting him with the truth, somehow I don't want to miss his reaction. And his reaction is one of confusion.

"Why not?"

"Because they are my and your sister's clients."

He knits his eyebrows together, as if unable to understand what I'm saying, "Care to elaborate?"

"No, but I'll do so anyway."

I clear my throat and straighten my back, he's under my supervision after all, he's the rookie, I'm the professional, and while I am not looking down on him I do get into a position that puts us apart. I was casual with him, whenever I didn't avoid him completely I treated him as an equal, but I just got my own friendly reminder that I somehow have to step up to be a mentor, be it just for one day.

"There are only a handful of cleaners at our station that deal with the upper city. Miss Morell, Mr. Ockwell, myself, and then there is Ash. But Ash is… well he's different. Let's leave it at that." I make sure he can follow me and my words, but before he can open his mouth – and I see that he wants to – I continue,

"First, you have to be arch-trained in this branch. Your education at the Arch gave you a good reputation and probably into this job, but your field of expertise doesn't align with ours. You're specialized in the history of artifacts. It's a good start, but it won't teach you how to handle them in action."

"I beg to differ," now he catches a moment to get his words out, and it sounds like I insulted him. Which maybe I did. I'm bad at socializing, so what do I know about insulting people. I didn't swear him out, that's something he should be glad for, "knowing different artifacts puts me ahead of your limited training."

"See? That way of thinking will get you killed. I don't need to know what an artifact does or doesn't do, I don't need to know its name or what it looks like. I know how it sounds like, how it feels like, and that's all I need to know to act accordingly. I can understand it, and you need to learn to understand it. You have too little respect for the severe influence artifacts have because you think you know everything about them and are therefore safe. But you won't know what it does to you before it's too late."

Now he stays silent, his expression a weird mixture of poutiness and seriousness. He doesn't want to hear it, but he can't help but understand it. He is a braggart but he is not stupid, even if he acts the way more often than not.

"Second, you're unable to keep your mouth shut. There is not one day at the station you don't brag about your jobs. For the jobs you do, it doesn't matter, but the upper city wants their cleaners to shut up, even among their own. Working for these clients means keeping their secrets – you're assigned to make sure nothing has ever happened. Thomas is probably the one field agent I work with most; he'll never learn a single detail from a job I handle alone. And I ask you to think about how many times Miss Morell told you about her jobs."

He hisses at me in annoyance, because he knows I'm right, but I guess it's just another thing he doesn't want to hear about.

"And third; time. You're new, and you'll be new for another two to three years. You don't get to my or your sister's level right out of training. You have to work for it. And even then you may be stuck as a cleaner handling petty crime scenes. Because the people who assign us can't be easily impressed. They often have to decide on minimal information on who to send to a scene. And maybe you get lucky and an initial boring scene turns out to be the one case to boost your reputation," my last job probably had done this for me if I didn't already have my reputation.

"And maybe this will lead to them considering you for other high-level jobs. So don't get your hopes up."

He looks at me, now he is grimacing. He seems extremely upset, and maybe there is a hint of anger, at least that's what I am catching, but I'm really not the best at reading people. I watch him being silent as if I could see the thoughts rushing through his head. I can't, but whatever it is he's thinking about it slowly but surely soothes his expression.

"Guess you'll better be ready then for me to take over." He suddenly grins, and I just sigh. I won't try any harder, he'll learn eventually. If not from me then from others, or his first job alone. He wouldn't be the first one to quit after the first solo assignment and he wouldn't be the last either.