"Now about this business with the Diamonds," Doyle said. "I have just the man for it." He opened his desk drawer and took out a business card. "Name's Jake Bower. Does good work." He handed me the card. "Just a few doors down. Tell him I sent you."

Jake Bower was a blocky man, forty or so, dark as a Diamond with a ready smile. He had short, wavy black hair, wore a dark blue suit, and walked with a limp. He reminded me of Julius Diamond, if the man had any humor to him. Jake met me at the door of his office, and after a moment's hesitation said, "Come in."

I went inside. Through a partially opened door, I glimpsed a small room to the left, which held a neatly-made bed and several portraits on the walls. A short, unlit hallway lay straight ahead. To the right, the front room was almost completely lined with dark wooden bookshelves and file cases. A small desk stood underneath the window; an oval table in the same dark wood stood in the center. He gestured for me to sit, and he sat across from me, folding his hands on the table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was referred to you by Doyle Pike."

"And you might be?"

I could imagine his confusion: I wore a scullery maid's dress, yet spoke like an upper. "That comes later. First, tell me of your work and qualifications."

He laughed, long and hard, as if my words delighted him. "You're no scullery wench. Very well. I have no appointments today. If you can't pay me, at least you're amusing."

Good. He took payment in advance, as I did.

"I assume you know what I do. What I do not do is work for the police."

Even better. "Are you a Diamond?"

He laughed again. "Not that I know of. My family has been in Merca since before the Catastrophe. But my looks do come in handy. It amuses me to dress up and stroll the Diamond promenades alongside those moneybags from time to time."

Alone? I saw no evidence of a wife. "Master Bower —"

"That's Mr. Bower, if you please, miss." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a long story. A reason I have nothing to do with police." He paused. "Just so we're clear. Please continue."

"My apologies, sir." I hesitated, not sure how to proceed. "First of all, this is a Family matter."

"And if I'm not mistaken, involving the Diamonds. Correct?"

"Yes. So anything I tell you must remain here, between us. Do you understand?"

He straightened. "I should not call myself a professional otherwise."

"Even if you were to face a torture room?"

His eyes widened. "I've never considered such a thing. To be in such a room would mean certain death, yet I suppose I would do my best."

I smiled. If we were fortunate, it would never come anywhere close to that. "Excellent. Then next, you should know you have the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Jacqueline Spadros. I wish you to find information on Master Jack Diamond."

Mr. Bower stared at me in shock. "I'm not sure whether to be more surprised at your face, your name, or your target."

"The face is makeup. The name is inconsequential. Jack Diamond is the true problem."

He took a deep breath and let it out. "Indeed."

I gave Mr. Bower an abbreviated version of the events of this new year: the kidnapping of David Bryce; the murders of the two young men who searched for him; the firefight at the Diamond Party Time factory. "This is personal, and direct, targeted to torment me. I have seen a man I believe to be Jack Diamond twice involved with this Frank Pagliacci. I can remove that villain myself; to get Jack Diamond, I need proof of his crimes to set before the Four Families."

Mr. Bower sat motionless, watching me for several seconds. "What sort of proof do you need?"

"Records of any kind linking him to the locations I saw him and the known dates of the disappearances. Anything which links him to these murders. Witnesses." I shrugged. It would be a miracle if anyone was willing to speak against Jack Diamond, but it would do no harm to try. "There must be something."

He nodded. "That I can do. Anything else?"

"If you can't find anything ... perhaps a way to make him hesitate to torment my people further."

Mr. Bower's eyes widened. "Blackmail? It would need to be something quite extraordinary to cause Master Diamond to care if it be released. Unless you want me to go after his family —"

"No," I said, thinking of Jon and Gardena. "Absolutely not. Under no circumstances are you to put them in harm's way."

"Very well."

After that it was merely a matter of details.

***

A group of elegantly dressed women stood talking at the taxi-carriage stop. One woman with curly red hair had her back to me. She spoke in an animated fashion, waving her arms around. As I drew closer, it became obvious by her accent, which was quite strong and distinct, that she was an outsider. When I walked past, I glanced over at the group — and stopped.

"Zia?"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Blaze Rainbow and his younger sister Zia had led me to believe that she was deaf and mute. Yet here she was ... talking! The other women stared at me, then at Zia. Zia's face, at first puzzled, turned white.

I took a step towards her. "Zia, where's your brother?"

She turned and ran.

The women called for help. Ignoring their shouts, I chased Zia down alleyways, along streets. We pushed past promenading families, cart vendors. She stumbled over a sign outside a shop, knocking it over, shaking off the shopkeeper's outraged grasp. Then she turned right into a long narrow alley. I caught up to her, grabbed her arm. "Where's Blaze Rainbow?"

She shook me off. "Leave me be!"

"You're not deaf or mute. Why did you lie?"

She reached down for a weapon. I dropped my basket and put my boot-knife to her throat before she even reached hers, forcing her back up against the wall. "None of that, now. I've no need for killing. Show me your hands." She put them up against the wall. "Where's Blaze Rainbow? He owes me money!"

She laughed, unafraid. "He owes me too. Your precious Blaze Rainbow is mad. He tried to kill me!"

"What? When?"

"Right after your little boat ride. He's nutty as a fewking loon, going on about Frank Pagliacci."

"You know Frank Pagliacci? What did he say about him?"

"He kept going on bout how he was a murderer."

I stared at her. "Frank Pagliacci IS a murderer."

Her nose and eyes reddened, disbelieving outrage crossing her face. "You're a liar!" She moved incredibly fast, swiping my knife down and aside, dodging away as it clattered to the ground. She threw a right hook at my face, but I twisted left. A grating slipping sound and a crash came from behind. When I turned, Zia lay on the sandy cobblestones, breathing heavily, the stack of wooden boxes by her head tumbling to the ground.

Perhaps I should have thanked Roy Spadros for the practice in dodging his blows over the years.

Zia lay on the ground, face turned away, still panting.

I felt sorry for her. She really believed Frank Pagliacci was a good person. I walked to her, leaning over to help her up. "Come on, Zia ..."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She threw sand in my face and ran. By the time I could see clearly again, she was gone.

Damn.

A dark patch stained the ground where she lay. I went up the alley and retrieved my knife; a line of blood ran along its edge.

I wiped the knife clean and put it away, silently thanking Josephine Kerr.

"Again," Josie said. "Faster."

She was just one year older but I always felt like a little girl beside her. "I'm trying."

She shook her head, then her knife appeared in front of my eyes as if by magic. She wasn't even sweating. "Trying will get you dead. Do it again. Faster."

The day I pulled my knife as fast as she did, she let me become one of the Watchers. I was fourteen years old and a fast runner. I wanted to run with the gang, but she said no, I couldn't be risked with that. At the time, I felt as if I wasn't good enough.

After the past six weeks, though, I was beginning to wonder if Josie might have had an inkling of what was going to happen to me, even before I did.

I coughed. Grit irritated my eyes. I was dirty, my hair was a mess, and I must have breathed some of that dust in, because I kept coughing. Weary, I undid my hair, shook the sand out, then wrapped it in the scarf again.

What a day.

Whistles and shouts came from the street, accompanied by the sound of feet running my direction.

Damn that woman! Not only did she get me dirty, she set the police on me for good measure.

I grabbed Anastasia's basket, her shawl, and the large red kerchief covering it from where they lay on the ground and ran around the building. It was then I realized I was near my friend Anna's shop. So I hurried down the back alley, pulling my hair free of its white scarf and shoving it under the red kerchief. I couldn't change my dress, but that I could.

Shouts and feet came from around the corner behind me as I twisted my hair into a bun. I peeked around the corner. No one was there, so I rushed across the alley and up the stairs to Anna's back door, which she always kept unlocked. I slipped in, locking the door behind me.

I slid down the door and sat. That was too close.

Anna Goren was an apothecary, the woman who sent my morning tea. Over the years, she had helped me identify many strange substances I found during my cases.

Anna's back room was full of various testing mechanisms. A small lemon-yellow table and two wooden chairs stood in the corner at the far end, across from the door to her shop. To my left, a bed and small end table lay in the corner, both piled high with books and papers.

The lock rattled behind me, and I crouched behind one of Anna's machines, which sat quiet. If I peeked out, I could see the open doorway to the front room. Anna hummed to herself as she moved about the storefront. But I didn't dare show myself yet.

My caution turned out to be justified: a few moments later, Anna's front door jingled as someone entered.

"Can I help you?" Anna said, her high-pitched quavering voice sounding wary.

"Probationary Constable Paix Hanger —" the man said.

The last time I had seen the man, he was a full constable, and working in Spadros. I felt a twinge of guilt for his present situation — demoted and confined to Market Center, I imagined — but this lasted barely a moment.

"— I'm looking for a woman, beaten about the face, dressed as a scullery maid. There's been a knifing; the woman was last seen running in this direction. She's considered armed and dangerous. Have you seen her?"

"I have not," Anna said. "No one's been here for an hour."

"Have you no customers?"

Anna sounded offended. "I am no tradesman; I provide apothecary services to the entire city. Only those bringing in and picking up orders arrive on a regular basis."

"I see. I would like permission to search your shop, in case the woman slipped past you."

"You may certainly not have permission," Anna said. She moved towards the doorway. A bookcase stood just on the other side of the doorway; a baseball bat leaned against it. "This is my home, under protection of law — you need a warrant to come any further." She stood in the doorway, her back to me, her lined brown hand on the bookcase just above the bat's handle.

"My apologies, mum." PC Hanger's voice retreated. "If you should see this woman, please notify us at once."

Anna didn't move until the door jingled once again. Then she let out a breath. "You can come out now." She turned towards me. Today she wore a deep purple cotton dress with a white apron. "I heard the lock rattle; I know you're still here."

I emerged from behind her machine. "I'm sorry to cause you trouble, Anna, but I didn't know where else to turn."

She frowned. "How do you know my name?

"Anna, it's me." I took a step towards her. "Mrs. Spadros."

She stared at me as if she had seen a ghost. "Good heavens! Did you really cut someone? Are they dead? What happened to your face?" She paused. "Did they hurt you?"

"The makeup is a disguise, Anna, like the dress. I had to come here in secret. And yes, someone did attack me, but she was alive when last I saw her. I need help, and I don't have much time."

A long strand of curly brown hair fell beside her face from its untidy pile atop her head. She put her hand to her heart. "By the Shuffler! I'm so grateful you're not hurt." She fanned her face. "What can I help with, dearie?"

I studied her. Perhaps ... "There are two matters —"

"Anything, my dear. Those horrid police constables won't hear of you from me."

I shook my head; if she were going to do that, she would have when PC Hanger was in her shop. "What have you learned of the Magma Steam Generator? Can it be fixed?"

The Magma Steam Generator two miles deep under Spadros Manor was one of many which powered the city of Bridges. Our Inventor told me last month that the drill tube which allowed access to the lava was failing. This meant that the rest of the city's tubes probably were as well. This would bring the city, an immense mechanism, to a standstill, making it unlivable.

She took my arm and brought me to the table. "Sit, please. Would you like some tea?"

I chose the chair which put me out of view of the street. "If you have some made."

She blinked. "Ah, yes. Well, no."

"Don't trouble yourself then." I coughed. "If you might just tell me what you've learned ..."

Anna sat across from me. "I've learned little of it, even in the libraries. But I've considered the matter thoroughly." She paused, then spoke slowly, as if measuring every word. "If there is a particular way the tube was supposed to have been tended, by means of a mechanism to keep it from deteriorating, as your Inventor says, then the mechanism should still be there. And if the mechanism is there, the controls to it must be close by. If you might be able to set that right, the problem may take care of itself. I'm not sure if this is possible." She shrugged. "Perhaps someone has already thought of this. But perhaps it might help."

I felt chagrined that I not thought of this simple thing. "Thank you, Anna, I'll pass this along." Inventor Call had probably already thought of it, but perhaps it might help.

She smiled fondly. "No trouble at all, dearie."

"May I borrow a dress? If I go out like this, I'll never get off the island."

"Certainly!" She bounded from her chair and went to her bed. Beside the foot of the bed, right where I had crouched, she pressed on the wall panel. This panel clicked open, turning sideways on hinges to reveal a hidden closet. In it hung several dresses and shawls on hooks. A black hat and a white bonnet sat on a small shelf above the dresses. "Come here." Anna began dusting me off. "Never fear," she said, "I won't let you come to harm." The door jingled again, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "I'll leave you to dress — take whatever you need." She went out to the front room. "May I help you, mum?"

I surveyed the dresses as Anna talked with the woman in the front of the store. I needed something light which I could change out of myself; I still must appear in front of Anastasia's man as a scullery maid. Then I had an idea. Since Anna wore a larger size than I did, I put one of her dark purple dresses on over mine. Fortunately, the hat had a veil.

A dark purple dress and a black hat seemed suspiciously like mourning garb; I wondered who Anna had lost.

The door jingled again. A few moments later, Anna returned. She hurried over, took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead, as she always did. Then she put the hat on me and adjusted my veil. "Now off with you." She wagged her finger. "And don't use that horrid disguise again near me ever again."

"I'll send your dress in a day or so."

"Don't fret, dearie, just get home safe."

"I will, Anna." She let me out of the back door, and I waved as I went off to find a taxi-carriage.

***

On the ride back to Anastasia's house, I considered Zia. I could see an outsider pretending to be deaf if she didn't want anyone to hear her speak, but obviously she had no problems speaking in public. Why would Morton go along with it? How was it that his sister was an outsider? Was she even his sister? And why pretend she was deaf? Why would they lie to me?

Zia didn't speak about Morton as a sister would. She held no sorrow over his trying to kill her, for one thing. She either was lying about him trying to kill her or she wasn't his sister at all. Or something was seriously wrong with her mind.

Perhaps Zia was Morton's lover, and they had a falling out over her loyalty to Frank Pagliacci.

But then I remembered Eleanora's words about her visit to the police station, the day I went to her shop:

"What did the couple look like?"

Mrs. Bryce smiled like a young girl. "Nice looking, especially the man!" She fanned herself with her left hand. "They were about your age, and the lady had red hair."

This sounded suspiciously like Frank and Zia.

At least Morton made it back to the boat safely. That was some small consolation.

Did Morton really try to kill her?

I couldn't see him doing that. He was reckless, and at times less than a gentleman. But whether she was his sister or his lover, I couldn't picture him trying to kill her.

***

The taxi-carriage deposited me near a fir thicket several blocks away from Anastasia's mansion. After the carriage left, I hid from view, pulling Anna's dress and hat off. I put her items in the basket, covering them with the red kerchief. I then put the scarf over my hair and the shawl around my shoulders before venturing down the street. Honor and the driver stood talking; they gave me a brief glance then went on as before. The man at the side gate ushered me to Anastasia's rooms without a word.

When her door closed behind me, Anastasia said, "You look as if you've had quite a day."

"I feel as if I need another bath."

Anastasia laughed as she dusted me off.

I began combing the sand out of my hair then stopped, surveying my face in the mirror. "You must show me how to do this makeup — it's quite convincing."

"Oh!" Anastasia said. "I can do better." She went into her closets. Several minutes later, she emerged, carrying a book: The Essentials of Stage Makeup.

I gasped in delight. "Wonderful! This will be ever so helpful."

"It's yours," Anastasia said. "I'll get some cold cream for your face." She returned to her closets, emerging with a jar as I finished combing my hair. "What happened?"

While putting the cold cream on, I told her what happened between Zia and I — without mentioning names.

Anastasia said, "You're investigating Frank Pagliacci."

I reached for a cloth and began wiping the makeup off my face. "I did ask about him for a reason."

She shook her head. "You must not pursue this man. I beg you. Stay away from him. He's much too dangerous." She paused, her head down, shoulders drooping. "I wish we had never met."

"I'll be careful."

"His associates are even more dangerous than he is. Promise me you'll avoid him. Those who've crossed him are dead."

Anastasia sounded so afraid that I took her hand. She was an old woman; no need to upset her. "I promise."

"You'll do as you please, of course, as you always do." She paused. "You must stay safe; I want to show you the city when you visit."

I went back to removing my makeup. "Where are you going?"

Anastasia put her finger to her lips, eyes wide. "No one must know, not even you. If you were to be caught .... No. With my men here, I'm safe for now, but not even they know. I can't chance Frank finding me in a strange city, unprotected."

She's truly afraid of him. Frank Pagliacci didn't seem so frightening that day in the factory, but she seemed to know him much better than I. "I understand."

"When I've arrived, I'll get word to you. I promise."

I chuckled. "I'm seldom difficult to find." Then it occurred to me: if Frank Pagliacci (or Jack Diamond, for that matter) truly wanted to capture me, they had many opportunities to do so which they never took. What did it mean?

By the time I cleaned my face, put on my usual makeup, dressed, and returned home, it was past tea time. Tony came out of his study when I arrived. "I hope everything went well?"

He sounded worried by the amount of time I had been gone. How much longer I could keep deceiving him like this? "Very!"

Pearson began helping me from my coat.

"With the help of Anastasia's maids, we got three whole rooms packed. She was quite grateful for my assistance."

Tony gave a fake smile. "I'm glad." He took my arm and drew me away from Pearson. "Someone's here to see you."

"Me? I have no callers scheduled today."

Tony opened the door of his study. A man wearing a dark brown suit lay on the pale blue sofa. "He was unexpected."

As we walked in, the man raised his head. He was in his mid-thirties, with a crooked nose, short, light brown hair and pale skin. His face was bruised and his lip was split, but I recognized him at once. "Master Rainbow?"

He nodded. "Forgive me if I don't rise. I feel unwell."

I no longer needed to look for Morton. He had come to me.