As they continued on through the city center in search of Grace, Trinket couldn't stop thinking about the poor butcher. A completely innocent man had been accused of murder and arrested. Even if he was released, there was no doubt that this incident would severely affect his business and reputation.
"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" she asked Booker.
"Help who?" he asked, preoccupied with searching the crowds passing them by.
"The butcher."
"Oh. Right. Help? What do you mean by help?"
"You and I both know he didn't kill that young man. Isn't there a way for us to help clear his name?"
Booker hesitated as he gazed down at her, his face twisted in obvious confliction. Finally, he released a sigh. "I don't see that there is. We have no proof that the Mice did it. And if we go to the police, it will likely implicate us in the case. Our involvement will only muddle the situation."
He was right. And yet she couldn't shake the guilt. "Why did they have to involve an innocent person? Why couldn't they have left the Resurrectionist's teeth in a bag on our doorknob like they did with Mr. Wotton's eyes?"
Letting out a crude laugh, Booker glanced at her. "You've been spending far too much time with me, my dear." His face softened. "I'll try to think of something. Maybe I can persuade Jewkes. He may not be the most pleasant chap, but he's the one bobby willing to listen to reason."
"Perhaps I should speak to him instead. He seems fonder of me than he does of you."
Booker's brow furrowed at this remark, but before he could respond, something snatched the top hat from his head. They looked up and discovered Gin sitting on a stack of crates, a crude fishing pole in her hands. His hat was dangling from the end of the line. The young urchin grinned at his baffled expression.
"Practicing for when the waters thaw?" Booker asked, attempting to grab at his hat.
Gin pulled the line up, keeping it out of his reach. "What waters? The only fish around here are in barrels. And they're not nearly as much fun to bait."
"What use is this method, anyhow?" he asked. "There's no stealth about it."
"True. But it serves as a good distraction while my cohorts pick your pockets."
Both Trinket and Booker looked about for other urchins with sticky fingers. There was no one in sight, although that didn't mean they hadn't been there moments before. Street children were a wily bunch.
A thump came from behind them, and they turned back to the crates to find Gin standing before them, holding Booker's hat out to him. "Don't sweat it. I'm working alone today. I just saw you two being all cozy and couldn't resist."
Trinket felt a blush run up her neck at the urchin's comment, but thankfully, Booker was too busy dusting his hat off to notice. He returned it to his head and gave Gin a disapproving frown, which quickly turned up into a smile that bordered on proud. "Did you hear the commotion?" he asked.
"Heard a police whistle go off earlier," Gin replied. "Another corpse show up?"
"No, I think we've seen the last of our experimental corpses."
"Really? So you found the guy who made them?"
"Not exactly. Let's just say a new round of this game has begun."
"That what the police whistle was all about?"
"Not quite," Trinket said.
"They took the butcher away," Booker explained. "Turns out they discovered a more forbidden meat amongst his regular cuts."
Gin's eyes widened, and Trinket was surprised to see a hint of fear in her expression. She was reminded of the young girl's musings not so long ago about how she might die. The idea of being hung up on a hook like a pig carcass now seemed far more possible than it had at the time of their conversation.
"Did he really do it?" Gin asked.
"That's up for debate," Booker said carefully.
A shiver went through the urchin's body. "Who do you reckon the poor sap was?"
He and Trinket exchanged a look. "Someone with exceptional dental hygiene," she said.
Gin gasped. "No way. The Resurrectionist? But I thought you two were going to meet up with him?"
"There were a few complications," Booker said. "I think this little incident was a Mouse's way of expressing his unhappiness with how last night turned out."
"So wait. They chopped up an entire body and snuck it into the butcher's shop all in a matter of a few hours?"
"That appears to be the case."
Gin let out a bark of a laugh. "Lord, Booker, you sure do know how to make enemies, don't you?"
A crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "I'm remarkable in more ways than one."
The amusement in Gin's face quickly faded into concern. "But this is a real threat. You need to be careful. Scales is not happy. And when Scales is not happy, people tend to die. Gruesomely."
"As we've already seen with the Resurrectionist," Trinket added.
"It's fine, it's fine, I'm not going to die," Booker insisted, though she could see a glimmer of something like worry in his eyes. "On a different subject, how is your arm, Gin?"
The urchin shrugged a shoulder. Her good one, Trinket noticed. "It's fine. Nothing to fuss over."
Booker's brows knit together. "You should really let me put it in a sling. It's not going to heal properly otherwise."
Scoffing, Gin waved him away. "You're such a nag. Don't worry. I've dealt with worse things than dislocated shoulders. I've broken nearly every one of my toes, and part of my left foot is completely black from frostbite. But I'm still kicking. It'll take more than a hothead with a shovel to knock me out of the game."
With a sigh, Booker shook his head. "Very well, but I'll be keeping my eye on you."
"Right back at ya."
"I do have a question for you, though."
"Shoot."
"Do you know where Grace is? She wasn't at her apartment this morning."
Gin raised an eyebrow, her gaze flitting to Trinket, then back to Booker. "Little strange to be taking your pretty assistant on a roll in the hay with a night flower."
Heat rose in Trinket's cheeks as she averted her eyes.
"No, I'm not looking to partake of her services," Booker said. "Well, not those services, at least. I wanted to ask her if there have been any new night flowers on the scene."
"I haven't seen her all morning. Might've had a long night. Some of her customers like her to keep their beds warm late into the morning. She's pretty popular seeing as she still has all her teeth."
"Do you remember when you last saw her?"
"Nope. Sorry. But I'll keep my eye out and let her know you're looking for her."
Nodding, Booker tipped his hat at the urchin. "I thank you, Gin. And if you don't mind, keep your ears open for any strange goings-on."
"Don't I always?"
He smiled. "Indeed. I know I can rely on you."
Gin gave a crooked grin. "Any hint as to what you're hunting now?"
Turning to continue on through the center, Booker flashed her a guileful smirk. "Only that this game may seem a little more unnatural than the last. Some might even say supernatural."
With those parting words, he and Trinket joined the growing crowd in the street. They checked several more locations in search of Grace, but with no results. The night flower was nowhere to be found.
"Blast it all," Booker said as they made their way home. "I was hoping we'd find at least one clue."
"Well, we did find the Resurrectionist," Trinket said. "Or what was left of him."
"Yes, but that doesn't bring us any closer to Benedict. If anything, Scales destroyed a perfectly good source of information, leading us further away from our goal. Although, I believe we got all we could out of that young man. I doubt he would be any more use to us."
"I'd like to remind you that someone is dead and we should not be rejoicing or speaking lightly of his passing."
"Right. Sorry. The effects of being surrounded by death on a regular basis, not to mention training yourself to view human bodies more as objects than living things."
Trinket recoiled. "That's horrible."
Panic swept over Booker's face, and he practically tripped over himself to explain. "No, no, I meant no disrespect. It's just that when you have to learn how to cut open bodies and remove limbs and the like, it's easier to disconnect. Seeing them as people can cause you to hesitate. And hesitation can lead to fatality."
Nodding, she focused on the road ahead. "I suppose that makes sense. But it must take away from the satisfaction of seeing a person healed from your efforts."
"I didn't get into the medical field for altruistic purposes." He glanced down at her. "Though as of late, I've been persuaded to think a tad differently."
A smile tugged at her lips. "My corrupting influence?"
"Indeed. I daresay my old teacher would be quite thankful to see my human side returning." He hesitated before adding, "As would my mother."
Trinket stumbled slightly, unable to hide her surprise at Booker's mention of his family. "Your mother?"
He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes. I believe she would be a bit disappointed in the way I've acted in the past. She was a very kind woman. Perhaps not wholly good by society's standards, considering she got pregnant out of wedlock and spent her remaining years with a man she was not married to. But she believed in treating people well. Which makes me wonder at her choice of beau."
Swallowing a knot in her throat, Trinket asked, "When did she die?"
"When I was nine. Her beau didn't much care for me, and since he had no legal obligation to me, he sent me off to the orphanage. Honestly, it was the best thing he could have done for me. I wouldn't be the brilliant man standing before you today if he had kept me. I'd be a lecherous dandy like him."
"I'm certain you'd still be rather brilliant. Even as a dandy."
Booker smiled at her and gave a soft chuckle. "Yes, well, taste in men aside, my mother was a beautiful, intelligent, willful woman. She would be proud of my achievements, but I believe she'd be a little disappointed to see me lose my humanity in the pursuit of science."
"Sounds like a good woman to me."
"Yes, she was. I think she would have liked you."
Trinket's heart nearly leapt into her throat, and she had to steady herself to keep from tripping again. She glanced up at Booker warily. "Me?"
He nodded, his expression soft and cautious. "Yes. I think she'd like your quiet strength. And she'd be grateful to you for keeping me in line."
A nervous smile spread over her face. "I would have liked to have met her."
There was a warm sadness in Booker's eyes as he gazed at her. Shaking his head, he let out a sigh and set his focus forward. "Yes, well, there's no point in moping over the past, is there? We must look to the future. Vampires and all."
Trinket tried to process their brief conversation as they approached home. Booker had never mentioned his mother in such a tender way before. It had all been stated in cold facts. But that look in his eyes just now; he had truly loved his mother. And to share with Trinket such cherished memories and feelings was surely a sign of humanity.
And it was that glimpse of humanity that made her all the more worried about finding his long-lost friend. Would Benedict, with his gruesome experiments and morbid curiosity, cause Booker to regress? It wasn't that she wanted him to give up his mad science. She simply didn't want him to cross over into psychopathic territory, a territory in which she feared—with the sudden appearance of a vampiric young woman—his old friend had found himself.
Would Booker soon be joining him?