Trinket froze, torn between wanting to rush to the poor girl's side and knowing she should use the opportunity to get the map piece.

"Well, now, things really are getting interesting, aren't they?" Frieda said with more excitement than seemed appropriate as she gleefully got to her feet and made her way to the fallen girl.

"I have to tell you, I don't much fancy being arrested," Grace said as she closed the door. "Can we please finish up here?"

"Frieda, is she hurt?" Trinket asked, still kneeling by the dead body.

"Not that I can see," Frieda said, crouching beside the girl. She placed a hand on the girl's forehead, and her expression turned serious. "She does have a rather high fever, though."

Removing her hand, she slipped the girl's arm around her shoulders and lifted her onto her feet. Apparently, the girl was still slightly conscious, as she let out a weak moan and fluttered her eyes open.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked Frieda. "Did Lem send for you?"

"Yes, yes, that's exactly it," Frieda said as she led her over to the bed. "But silly me, I seem to have forgotten my medical bag. Tell me, do you have any herbs? Or spices? Or maybe some deadly flowers?"

The girl, now sitting on the bed, blinked at her, not seeming to fully understand the questions.

"Bloody useless, really," Frieda mumbled. "Good thing I'm always prepared."

She retrieved a small vial filled with powder from her bodice and scooped some water out of the washstand by the bed with a cup she found on the bureau. As she sprinkled a pinch of powder into the water, Trinket's pulse stuttered.

"Frieda! You can't poison her!" she objected, lunging forward to grab the container away.

Moving with enviable grace, Frieda dodged her. "Oh, would you settle down? I know how to make mixtures that help people just as well as I know how to make ones that harm them. The harmful ones are just more interesting. Go finish up with that thing over there before anyone else walks in."

Though reluctant to leave the girl to Frieda's mercy, Trinket knew she was right. There wasn't much time. So instead of arguing, she returned to the body and again took up the scalpel. The map was in one of the eyes. But which one? Would she have to remove both of them? The thought made her ill.

"Trinket, we need to go," Grace hissed, still by the door.

Biting her lip, Trinket chose an eye at random and wedged the tip of the scalpel into the socket. She had to close her own eyes as she dug deeper and applied more pressure. How hard was it to remove an eyeball? If it had been removed once already, wouldn't it come out more easily?

And then she felt it give. Daring to peek through slitted lids, she found the eyeball dangling from the socket by a thick bit of muscle. Again, she resisted the urge to gag and, using the scalpel, moved the eye aside to look for the map piece.

Nothing.

Blast it all.

She glanced up at Frieda who was coaxing whatever mixture she had concocted into the sick girl's mouth. "There, there, now, just go to sleep and forget everything you saw," Frieda said.

"If you're drugging her, I—"

"You'll what?" Finished with the cup, Frieda tossed it over her shoulder and eased the girl back onto the bed. Already the girl's eyelids were drooping, and Frieda flashed Trinket a devilish smile. "People act as though drugs are the worst thing in the world. But just ask a doctor. Ask Booker. They're quite useful. And fun."

Shaking her head, Trinket turned to the corpse. There was only one other place the map could be. With a deep breath, she repeated the process of removing the remaining eyeball. This time it came out with less force, and when she dug inside the socket, she discovered a very small metal cylinder, far smaller than any of the others they'd found up to this point.

"Got it!" she said as she pulled the container out and tucked it into her pocket, along with the scalpel.

"Lovely, so now what?" Grace asked, opening the door a crack to peek outside.

"Well, I did promise we'd get rid of the body so you can go back to living in your apartment," Trinket said, standing up and gazing down at the corpse. "Just not sure how we're going to do that."

"Honestly, I'm not that concerned. I've got plenty of customers who'd be glad to let me spend the night. Let's just get out of here before someone finds us."

Trinket nodded and did her best to push the body back under the bed. Frieda lent a very unhelpful hand, nudging the corpse slightly with her foot. When it was as well-hidden as it was going to be, Trinket picked up the medical book, and the three of them hurried out the door. Grace and Trinket waited anxiously as Frieda messed with the lock until it was again secure.

"Well, that was fun," Frieda said as she turned to them with a wide grin. "Where shall we break into next?"

"This was a onetime thing," Trinket said, though that certainly wasn't true. This was, in fact, the second time she'd been involved in breaking and entering. "Thank you for your help, but if you'll excuse me, I really need to get back home."

Slipping through the front door, Trinket hugged the book close to her chest and hurried down the street.

"You are such a wet blanket," Frieda said, somehow keeping up to Trinket's harried pace even in her elaborate outfit.

"What do you want, Frieda?"

"Don't get all excited. I'm not following you for the pleasure of your company. Like I said earlier, I was on my way to see Booker, so that's where I'm headed now."

"You can't see Booker. He's working."

"We'll let him make the call on that."

"There's no need." Trinket stopped short and turned to glare at the woman. "I am his assistant, and as such, it's part of my job to be sure he's not disturbed when working on delicate projects."

Frieda's lips twisted into a snarl. "You're awfully bossy for a servant."

"Yes, I am. Thank you again, Mrs. Younger, and have a lovely day."

Trinket continued on home and was thankful when she didn't hear Frieda's footsteps following after her. By the time she reached the house, the brazen woman was long gone. A small part of Trinket worried that her firm refusal would cause trouble later on, but she brushed that aside as she snuck into the house.

The sounds of pots and pans banging against the metal sink echoed down the hallway from the kitchen. With Daphne busy in the scullery, it was easy for Trinket to slip upstairs undetected. She stopped in the washroom first and gave her hands and the scalpel a good scrub before locking herself in her bedroom.

Gently laying the scalpel on her nightstand, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out the metallic cylinder. It winked up at her in the light streaming in through the window. Trinket could almost imagine the look of excitement on Booker's face when he saw it.

If he saw it.

Unscrewing the top, she fished out the paper inside. It had been folded down quite a bit to fit into the small container. As she smoothed it out, she found more streets and squares that seemed to represent buildings. While only one road was labeled, two of the buildings had names: the old brothel and a gambling den. She was familiar with the brothel, as Gin had often used the abandoned building as a place to sleep at night. But the gambling den was new to her.

How did Benedict know this place so well? He hadn't lived here nearly as long as Booker had. And St. Spittel at this point was a pile of rubble and refuse. Only long-term citizens knew much of anything about the thriving den of sin it used to be. He had to have talked to people in order to gather this information. How had he gone undetected all this time?

Clutching the map piece, Trinket considered her options. She could give Booker the map. She should give it to him. It was her job to assist him, and helping him piece together this mystery was certainly part of her duties.

But if she gave him this piece, it would bring him one step closer to Benedict, and she still wasn't certain that was the best thing for Booker. Benedict was clearly unhinged and did not care about the human lives he inflicted pain upon. He would be a terrible influence on Booker. A danger, even.

Booker was better off without him.

Trinket chewed on her lip, and as she gazed down at the map, her attention was caught by a roach crawling up the wall opposite her with unusual speed. It was followed by another and another until there was a long line of them climbing towards the ceiling.

Sighing, she closed her eyes against the vision. As often as she saw them, they still upset her. They were reminders of how she would never get better. How she would always be a danger to those around her. But at least she was no longer at the mercy of Elysium. That was one consolation. And not a small one at that. She was very fortunate to have found Booker. How many doctors would be willing to let a mad girl live in their house? And of those who would, how many wouldn't force drugs and treatments on her?

Booker was different. He respected her. He cared about her. He wanted her to be happy. And he didn't try to tell her how to be happy; he let her decide on her own.

Opening her eyes again, she returned her attention to the map. A tiny cockroach scurried across it, as though traveling along the hand-drawn roads.

This wasn't even a question. It would be unfair of her to dictate who Booker could be friends with. What right did she have to interfere with this game? Besides, she needed to have more faith in him. Even if his old friend turned out to be an awful, cold-hearted person, that didn't mean Booker was going to follow suit.

No, she couldn't keep this from him. Even if she didn't agree with the way this game was playing out, she had no right to stop Booker from seeing it to the end. And because she loved and trusted him, she'd stay by his side and do her best to prevent him from regressing into the uncaring facade of a man he was when she'd first met him.

She tucked the map piece into her pocket and returned to the hallway. The roaches swarmed the walls as she headed downstairs and made her way to the laboratory. She paused in front of the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob as she remembered the way Booker had looked down there—working on his mechanical creations, focusing on something that made him truly happy. To distract him from it seemed a shame.

Pulling her hand away, she continued down the hall and into the kitchen. The map could wait another day or so. Let Booker enjoy doing something helpful and worthwhile. Something that lifted his spirits.

Besides, Benedict wasn't going anywhere just yet.