Trinket drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she made her way to the Clocktower. Though it was a rather warm night, goose pimples rose up along her arms. Her eyes darted about the street. It was strange to be going to the alehouse on her own. Not that she hadn't done it before, but she'd known what to expect those times. While she was confident she knew who had summoned her tonight, she was completely in the dark as to the reason. And with Scales looming about, clearly watching her every move, it left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As she slipped inside the Clocktower, her feet automatically took her to the back where several tables and chairs were tucked away in the shadows, empty but for the rats nibbling at crumbs on the floor.

"Ah, your intuition guides you well."

Her heart jumped, and as she turned towards the voice, she found Ms. Langtry sitting at one of the rat-infested tables, sporting the same easy smile she'd had on in the coffeehouse. Motioning with her partially mechanical hand, she invited Trinket to join her.

"It's not so much intuition as it is habit," Trinket replied, bumping a rat with the toe of her boot and sending it scurrying over to the next table.

Ms. Langtry raised an eyebrow. "You and Mr. Larkin prefer the company of rodents as well?"

So the rats were real. That was more of a relief than it should have been. "We prefer to observe without being observed."

"Not an easy task in a city like this. Or for a person like Mr. Larkin."

"Is there a reason you reached out to me and not Mr. Larkin, Ms. Langtry?"

The woman's placid smile twitched, threatening to reveal a shadow of humor. "Just as impatient as he is, I see. You two are quite the pair."

"I'm certainly not perfect, but I daresay I have more patience than Mr. Larkin."

"Yes, you do, don't you? But he doesn't raise the bar very high."

Trinket held back a smile. "I simply wish to get to the point because I left without informing Mr. Larkin of my whereabouts. I'd hate for him to discover me missing and go tearing through the city in search of me."

Ms. Langtry chuckled softly. "And he would do that, wouldn't he? For a man who spent so many years establishing a reputation of cold indifference, he's more recently been wearing his heart quite blatantly on his sleeve. I fear this will not bode well for him in the near future."

"So you think he was better off feigning heartlessness?"

"Oh, I didn't say that. I think it's good for his heart. It just might not be so good for his survival. But we must be willing to die for what we love, no?"

Trinket's chest ached, an unbidden image of Gin broken and bruised coming into her head. "Is that why you asked me here? To tell me I'm killing Mr. Larkin?"

"No. I thought to warn you about a client who came to me not long after you and Mr. Larkin departed."

"How do your clients concern us?"

"When they come in pursuit of the same information you're after, I think they should concern you."

Trinket's stomach dropped. "Scales?"

"Indeed. He came asking about any information I might have regarding these numbered corpses. I assumed, based on how quickly his visit followed yours, he was tailing you."

Of course he was. Even without the Mice at his disposal, Scales was still determined to find Benedict. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth. I have no information on the corpses."

"And he accepted that?"

"No, he did not. A long discussion ensued in which he reminded me of what happens when people are uncooperative with the Dead Mice. He only left when I told him about the code and promised to give him whatever information I found before handing it over to Mr. Larkin."

Clenching her fists beneath the table, Trinket narrowed her eyes at the woman. "You betrayed us? After what Mr. Larkin did for you?"

She motioned to the woman's mechanical fingers. Ms. Langtry gazed down at them, and when she returned her attention to Trinket, her easy smile held just a tinge of sadness. "Do you know how I lost these, Miss Trinket?"

"Mr. Larkin said it was an overturned cab."

Ms. Langtry's eyes crinkled slightly, as if she were in pain. "Yes, that's what I told the good doctor. However, the truth is I lost my fingers due to a debt owed to the Dead Mice."

Trinket inhaled sharply. Her gaze wandered over Ms. Langtry's face and then flickered back to her mechanical fingers. "The Mice?"

The woman nodded slowly and laced her fingers together as she rested her chin on them. "Yes. I had recently moved into an apartment and found that my fortune-telling was not footing the rent. I naively accepted an offer from one of the Mice, thinking my business would pick up quickly enough for me to be able to pay off the loan in a timely manner. But then I caught ill and became even more behind in my expenses. After several warnings, they took the first finger."

She held up her mechanical pinky, wiggling it slightly. Trinket couldn't help but be fascinated by the way it moved just like a real finger.

"And with every week I didn't pay, they took another. After the first one, though, I was spooked enough to find extra work on the street."

From the woman's strained expression, Trinket knew exactly what sort of work she'd been forced to resort to.

"By the grace of God, I managed to pay the loan off before losing my entire hand. Sometime down the road, when Mr. Larkin first started visiting Tinkerfall, he offered to replace my fingers with his clever inventions. And here they are today, still going strong."

"Why did you not tell Mr. Larkin the real story?"

"It's not my most shining moment, begging for money from notorious thugs. And once Mr. Larkin discovered my profession, his opinion of me visibly soured."

"Yes, he's rather disgusted by superstition."

"The only thing that redeemed me in his eyes was my talent with numbers."

"It redeemed you quite well, actually. He says you're brilliant."

Ms. Langtry grinned. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"If you didn't want to tell Mr. Larkin the truth about your fingers, why are you telling me?"

"Because I want you to understand my actions. I'm sure to you it appears I am cowardly and treacherous. But I've been in the Mice's clutches before. My betrayal was an act of survival, and I'm certain anyone in this filthy city would agree with that."

Though she wanted to be angry with the woman, Trinket found herself sympathizing with her. Heavens knew she'd spouted plenty of lies in order to survive. She was in no position to judge.

"And I didn't just ask you here to warn you but also to inform you that I've pored over the numbers," Ms. Langtry continued. "From the two sets Mr. Larkin left me with, I see no apparent message. It's gibberish at best. My guess is the person leaving these bodies is conveying a message by a different means."

Trinket raised her eyebrows. "But you do think it's a message?"

"Most certainly. However, I'd wager the code to this message is more personal. I don't believe it's anything someone like myself can help to decipher. Mr. Larkin will have to be the one to solve this riddle."

It made sense. Booker and Benedict's relationship went back many years. Why wouldn't it be personal? "You seem to know an awful lot about the nature of this message," Trinket said, eyeing Ms. Langtry suspiciously. "Did the spirits tell you about it?"

That easy smile returned. "Without payment, I am not at liberty to say."

Trinket nodded. "So is that all? I'm not completely certain why you had to summon me for this and couldn't inform Mr. Larkin himself."

"Because meeting with Mr. Larkin would attract attention from the wrong people, and I am doing my best not to rattle any more cages than I already have in agreeing to help him."

"I'm just as familiar to those who are in competition with him. I may very well attract as much attention as Booker would."

"Yes, but you have a way of making yourself small and unnoticeable. A trait you've had since your youth."

Every muscle went stiff in Trinket's body, and she resisted the urge to swallow the thick knot in her throat. "Excuse me?"

Ms. Langtry raised an eyebrow. "Loneliness. Fear. A desire to please." She reached out and took Trinket's hand, running her fingers over her palm. "All leading to heavy, burdensome secrets, which you still carry today."

Trinket pulled back as if the woman's touch burned like a hot stove. "I ask that you and your spirits stay out of my business," she said sharply, cradling her hand against her chest.

"Are you afraid to know what we know? Are you a believer?"

"I don't know what I believe, but I don't appreciate people, dead or alive, trying to dig up supposed secrets from my past."

"Even your paramour?"

Furrowing her brow, Trinket shook her head slowly. "What?"

"Are you opposed to him knowing the dark truths you hide in that frightened heart of yours?"

An electric jolt passed through Trinket's veins, her stomach twisting with guilt. Something fluttered by her face, making her jump as scattered feathers settled on the table before her. She snapped her attention to the next table over where she discovered a white dove perched on a chair. It looked up at her with curious eyes, its head tilting to the side as it considered her.

Ah, poor bird, take thy flight.

Merrill's voice filled her ears. She rose to her feet, still clutching her hand as she searched the crowd. He was here? How had he found her? Had he come to forgive her? To bring her home? Or was he here to drag her back to Elysium?

But then her senses returned, and reality came crashing down once more. No, he wasn't here. And he never would be. The knife she'd plunged into him had made sure of that. He would never sing that song to her again.

She turned back to the dove and nearly let out a strangled cry. No longer perched on the chair, she found its lifeless body lying atop the table in a pool of blood. Blood that also stained her own hands. Blood so familiar, she could almost hear him calling out from it.

"Miss Trinket?"

Ms. Langtry's voice brought her back. She turned to the fortune-teller who was watching her carefully. What were the spirits telling her now? Or were there any spirits at all? Perhaps she was a fake, like Booker assumed. But what if it were true? What if there were spirits? Was Merrill one of them? Was he telling this crafty woman what she'd done to him?

"I'm sorry, Ms. Langtry," Trinket said, wiping her sullied hands down her skirt, trying to get the feel of the warm, sticky blood out of her mind. "As you can see, I'm not nearly as good at going unnoticed as you thought. I thank you for your assistance and promise to relay your message to Mr. Larkin. Now if you'll excuse me, I left dinner half-prepared and must be on my way."

Not even waiting for a reply, Trinket made a beeline for the door. It took everything in her not to look back at the dead dove. It wasn't real. She knew that. Just like the blood on her hands wasn't real. But the memories were real. And the blood she'd spilled back then was as well.

Ms. Langtry had to be a fraud. If she'd been the real thing, she wouldn't have had to ask if Trinket was opposed to Booker finding out about her past. If she'd been a true soothsayer, she would've known the answer. Trinket would do anything to keep him from discovering what she'd done.

Because if she could keep him in the dark, maybe someday she'd be able to forget her sins.