The next day, I went to Madame’s shop for my fitting. Her store front had been tidied, and she met me out front as usual, but stiffly, without a smile. “Come in.”

My outriders dismounted; one went each way, another followed us. Madame turned to Honor and said, “You men aren’t allowed in here.”

Honor hesitated, but Tony’s other man said, “He goes in, or I do. Or we return to the Manor. Your choice.”

Madame glanced at Honor. “Better a footman than a thug.”

The other man snorted in amusement, then faced the street. After Madame, Honor, and I entered the store, Madame turned the placard to “Closed: entry by appointment only,” and crossed to my private curtained dressing room. “He will not come inside.”

Honor said, “Certainly not. But men watch each end of your back alley until we leave together.” He turned to me. “I’m sorry, mum.” He opened the curtain, letting it fall behind us.

Madame whispered, “It would have been better if you didn’t come here.”

“What do you mean?”

She said nothing.

“I want to continue having you as my dressmaker, very much so. I don’t know what threats my husband gave you, but I had nothing to do with it.” I turned away. “I hate him for it.”

“Ah, cherie ...” compassion laced her voice, “the decision was mine. He wanted me to spy, and I said no.” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be troubled by it.”

“But why mustn’t I visit? The sentiment against the Family?”

Her sleeve had slid up: a large purple bruise lay on her arm.

“That’s part of it,” she whispered. “But ...” she glanced at her arm, then flinched away, covering the bruise with her hand.

I felt horrified. “Who hurt you?”

She snorted. “Spadros men. New ones, in Spadros livery. I didn’t inform the Family of my ‘extra’ income over the years.”

Shame flooded me, and remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “I still have my teeth, and nothing is broken. I must pay double fees now.” She sounded weary. “But I’m alive.”

Tenni peeked in. Madame said, “Come in, dear girl, it’s safe.”

Tenni held the partially-completed dress. After helping me undress, Tenni and Madame pinned my new dress around me.

“May I ask something, Madame?”

“Of course.”

“Did you find anything missing? From your files?”

“There were several purchase orders gone — all ones your husband signed.”

How would they even know such papers would be there? “Has anyone been in your office? Did any unusual event happen before the break-in? Anything at all?”

“No ...” Madame said, but her eyes gazed far away. A line appeared between her perfect brows. “Yes. There was one thing odd. Several months ago, a young woman asked to be measured. She was to be married in another city and needed notes for her dressmaker. I receive several requests like this each year.

“I measured her as I always do. I brought her to the office, wrote the measurements, then opened my cabinet to take out a folder. Just then, a messenger boy arrived with a letter. I took it, tipped the boy, then turned back, that quickly. I gave the woman my notes, she left.” She shook her head. “The letter was blank.”

“Can you describe her?”

Madame smiled, color rising to her cheeks. “Very pretty, very young. A lovely figure and straight black hair. Porcelain skin, blue eyes. Ah, a gorgeous girl.”

This sounded suspiciously like that woman Birdie. “Do you have her file?”

Madame stared at me, mouth open. “I do.”

Honor gave me a surprised glance over his shoulder as the curtain flew open.

Madame returned with a thin file. On the tab: “Eunice Ogier.”

A windswept cemetery, an empty grave. Men strained at the winches as they lowered a coffin inside. Molly held my hand. I looked up at her. “This is how we do for our dead.”

I nodded. Not left on the street for the rats and crows like in the Pot.

But I couldn’t see her inside that box, and I couldn’t sit next to her, or comb her hair. I couldn’t hold her hand, and no one let me take her rings. They’d never be sold to help her people. I didn't understand.

Eunice Ogier was old, old. She didn’t call me a Pot rag like the others. One night, she told me she and her family left the Pot to stay with the first Acevedo Spadros when she was a little girl, back when the Pot was good, just before the war. He told her they would be in his family now. “I’ll always remember him for that.”

Some nights, she cried about him dying.

Could there be someone else in the city with that name?

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Surely not. She had no children. Her relatives died long ago.

Who knew I used the name Eunice Ogier on my cases?

* * *

For the rest of the visit — and on the way home — I pondered the question. My contacts were the only ones who could connect me with that name. An elderly servant at the Country House. A few people in various government offices on Market Center. Thrace Pike. And Mr. Blackberry at the Bridges Daily.

Mr. Blackberry was at the Clubb desk for years before he became editor. He’d given me all sorts of information, never asking for anything in return. Could he be giving my information to the Clubbs?

But Ottilie, Treysa, and Poignee had been stealing my letters: they knew this name too. This was the first real evidence they might have been in league with the Red Dog Gang.

I could understand their petty attempts at blackmail. I could even understand stealing my letters out of curiosity. But to send my personal information to someone wishing me harm? What had I done to them, other than offer a better life?

* * *

When I returned home, I went straight to Tony’s room. His manservant Jacob Michaels was helping Tony into his jacket when I walked in. “Jacqui? What is it?” Tony said.

I said to Michaels, “Please leave us.”

Michaels bowed, shutting the door behind him.

“Why did you kill my kitchen maids? What did they say?”

Tony sat heavily on his bed, not looking at me. “They talked amongst themselves. They — they accused you of giving yourself to the Apprentices gladly, because I was incapable.”

“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!”

Tony sounded defensive. “They did say it, Jacqui.”

A laugh burst from me in spite of the chaos inside. “First, you are capable, and you know it. Second, I have no desire for Apprentices. Third, in case they had some mad desire for me, the Inventor paid me escort the entire time. Why care so much about what some silly women say?”

Why did you have to kill them?

Tony spoke slowly. “They swore allegiance to the Spadros Family, Jacqui. I stood outside the kitchen window on a public street and heard them. To speak against us in public is betrayal.”

And betraying the Family meant death. I nodded, overwhelmed by grief. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Jacqui —”

“I’m going to my rooms now.”

Poignee spoke whatever words came into her head, usually biting ones. Treysa and Ottilie went along with anything Poignee said, especially Ottilie, who was younger.

They never understood the danger.

* * *

I ate dinner in my room, with little appetite. And I couldn’t sleep. If the men attacked Madame Biltcliffe, who else was next?

Vig Vikenti helped me numerous times, the most recent being the night I found Marja dead outside his saloon. If something happened to him because of me, I could never forgive myself.

When Tony slept, I put on my robe and went to the door.

Blitz Spadros patrolled the hall, and I waited for the glow of his candle to approach. Besides being our footman, Blitz played piano at Vig’s saloon. “Mrs. Spadros, how may I help you?”

“I’m sure you know what’s befallen Madame Biltcliffe —”

Blitz shook his head.

“She’s been beaten for helping me, and I find myself fearful. Is Vig Vikenti well?”

Blitz glanced away, let out a breath. “Vig was supposed to report his dealings with you to Mr. Roy, but he didn’t.”

Fear struck me. “What happened? Is he —”

“Dead? No. They broke his nose, destroyed his saloon, but he’s alive.” Blitz rubbed the back of his neck. “Angry. But he knew the consequences for breaking the rule.”

“What rule?”

“You live in Spadros, you report to Mr. Roy. It’s the only rule, besides paying fees. Didn’t you know?”

Was everyone in Spadros reporting my whereabouts to Roy?

Three of Tony’s men were there that night. Sawbuck was Molly’s nephew and should be safe enough. It seemed Morton got out of Spadros Manor just in time. “What’ll happen to you?”

“Me? I don’t know.” He grinned, and when he did, he reminded me of Tony. “You can’t care about such things when you align yourself against a man like him.”

My loyalty is to the Spadros Family.

To the Spadros Family. Not Roy.

“Why did you do that?”

He glanced away. “Spadros quadrant deserves better. Bridges has a brutal, bloody past, but we also have a good and noble one.”

“A secret Royalist, then?”

Blitz snorted. “You don’t need a king to live in peace. People want someone to lead them. But they want to take pride in their leader and be motivated by goodwill, not fear.”

What happened to Vig would make him hate the Spadros Family even more than he already did. “Is there a way to help?”

“Vig? Best way to help is to stay away for a bit. I’ll let him know you asked.”

The way Blitz smiled just then ... Vig’s misery when he thought I was using him ...

I sighed. Vig found me attractive, even desirable: many men did. But since the night he rescued me, I feared this might happen. “Tell him I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt him. Tell him ... I remain his true and grateful friend. Say it just like that.”

Blitz nodded. “I will.” He bowed. “Good night, Mrs. Spadros.”

* * *

I closed the door, leaned against it. Tony lay asleep.

They broke Vig’s nose? Destroyed his saloon?

I stalked to the bed, threw the covers off Tony. “You promised my friends wouldn’t be hurt!”

Tony turned towards me. “What? Jacqui, what’s wrong?”

“You promised none of my friends would be hurt if I told you about my business. You lied!”

Tony held up his hand. “Jacqui, wait — what happened?”

“Madame had bruises all over her arms. Your men beat her!”

Tony shook his head. “I never told them to do that. Blitz!”

Blitz entered, stood before us. “Yes, sir?”

“Who’s responsible for hurting her friend?”

Blitz glanced away. “Your father’s men. I told them not to do it, but they beat the man within a —”

Tony said, “Man? What man?”

I brought my hands to my mouth, horrified. I never told Tony about Vig. What was Blitz doing?

Blitz looked between me and Tony. “Were you not speaking of —” He frowned. “Who did you mean?”

Tony grabbed Blitz by the collar. “What man?”

Blitz glanced at me, afraid, then back at Tony. “The saloon owner Vig Vikenti. Wasn’t that who you meant?”

I put my hand on Tony’s arm. “One of my contacts, Tony. A friend, nothing more. Vig saved my life more than once.”

Tony let his arms drop to his sides. “My wife was in a — a saloon — and you never told me?”

“No, sir.”

“Tony,” I said, “it was the —”

Tony punched Blitz in the face, knocking him to the floor. “What the hell do I have you guarding my wife for?”

I grabbed his arm. “Tony, stop! It was when Marja was shot.”

Tony turned to me. “Why were you there? How long have you known this man?”

I shrugged. “Since I was sixteen. Tony, I asked Blitz and Ten not to say anything. You were so upset all the time, and —”

Tony growled, flinging my hand off his arm. “Everything you do makes my problems worse.” He confronted Blitz, who still lay on the floor. “How long have you known about this?”

Blitz sat up, giving Tony a wary look. Blood lay on his lip. “It was the night you were out late. In February.”

I glanced at Tony. Some message had passed between them. “As I said, it was the night my friend Marja was shot. Ten and Master Rainbow were there too. They followed me.”

“Who saw you there? What else haven’t you told me?”

I sat, telling the story: disguising myself, arriving at Vig’s saloon, talking with his mother. I said, “Blitz, is his mother well?”

Blitz shook his head. “She’s dead, mum. The doctor said it was her heart. The strain of all those men destroying her home —”

I leapt to my feet. “Gods damn you to Hell! This is what Vig gets for helping me? Get out, both of you.”

Tony pulled Blitz to his feet then turned to me. “Jacqui, we didn’t hurt your friends.”

“You promised my friends wouldn’t be harmed. Nonetheless, two are beaten, and another is dead. So you have no power to promise anything.”

Tony didn’t meet my eye.

“Get out,” I told Tony. “I don’t want to see you.”

After Tony and Blitz left, I locked the doors, then got my cigarettes, a glass, and a bottle of bourbon, then sat in bed.

Vig’s mother helped me since I was sixteen.

How could she be dead?