"Well, I guess there is something Dead in there," Grace mumbled as they watched the young Mouse disappear around the bend with Coils.

Trinket gripped her arm, her eyes wide and her heart pounding against her ribs. "I know what the smell is coming from," she whispered.

The night flower narrowed her eyes, looking at Trinket as though she'd lost her mind. Then it seemed to dawn on her. "Oh, no, no, no. I am not getting wrapped up in this."

"Please, Grace. It's important."

"Booker always says it's important. According to him, anything that serves his purpose is important. I can't tell you the number of cretins I've slept with for his 'important' causes."

"This is different. Incredibly different. Lives could be at stake here."

"From the smell of it, lives have already been lost."

Taking a deep breath, Trinket tried to steady her nerves. "If you could wait here until I fetch Booker, that would be all we ask of you in this instance."

Grace's lip curled up in a snarl, but she didn't refuse. Of course, she didn't agree, either.

"And, as a bonus," Trinket continued, "we'll get rid of that awful stench for you. You'll be able to sleep in your own bed."

Looking as if it were causing her actual pain to consider the options, Grace finally let out a frustrated groan and leaned against the doorframe. "Fine. But I'm not touching anything dead, you hear?"

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to. I'll be right back."

As quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself, Trinket made her way back home, all plans of visiting Ms. Langtry abandoned. She'd have to find another opportunity to thank her. Surely, with her intuitive ways, the woman was aware of how grateful Trinket was.

Closing the front door behind her, Trinket rushed to the laboratory and hurried down the stairs. Her pulse raced with excitement, eager to tell Booker they had a lead on another body. But when she reached the last step, she paused.

Booker was hunched over a workbench, his magnifying goggles on as he carefully worked with tiny gears and shards of metal. His concentration was so fixed on the project in front of him that he hadn't even heard her come down the stairs.

She slowly approached, clearing her throat loudly to catch his attention. He startled a bit, but ever steady-handed, he did no damage to what could only be the new fingers for Madame Spenlow's hand.

"Ah, my dear. Didn't hear you come in," he said, flashing her a big grin that looked goofy with how magnified his eyes appeared behind the added lenses on the goggles.

Returning the smile, she peeked down at his work. "My goodness, you've done quite a bit in such a short time."

"I luckily had a few fingers that met the lady's measurements, so I only need to tweak a few things here and there. I may even be able to do the procedure earlier than expected."

He glanced down at the pieces that to her were as confusing as Ms. Langtry's numbers. There was something different about him as he sat there, surrounded by gears and notes and tools. With all that had been going on, she hadn't realized just how tense and stressed he'd been as of late until that very moment.

This was the real Booker. The unconcerned, brilliant, delighted genius. This was where he was meant to be. In his element.

"Is there something you needed?" he asked, looking back up at her.

There was a tiny smudge of grease on the side of his nose, and the sight of it drew a smile out of her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't take him from this peaceful respite. As much as he wanted to find Benedict, he needed this time to be himself.

"I only wondered if you wanted some tea," she said as she made her way to his side, reaching down to wipe away the bit of grease.

He took her hand and laid a kiss on her knuckles. "Thank you, my dear, but I think I'm quite fueled by the twenty-odd cups I had this morning."

His teasing smile brought such warmth to her heart that Trinket almost considered forgetting about the potential body in Grace's building and staying in the laboratory just to watch him create. "Very well. I have some errands to run, but if you do need anything, Daphne should be upstairs."

She reluctantly pulled herself away from his side, and he didn't waste a moment getting back to work. Glancing over her shoulder to be sure he was preoccupied, she quietly unlatched his medical bag and stole a scalpel and a small knife. Still keeping one eye on him, she tucked the tools into her pocket and headed up the stairs.

Thankfully, Daphne was nowhere in sight, so Trinket was able to slip out the door without any questioning looks. However, before leaving, she backtracked into the parlour where Booker's medical book was still lying on the table. She scooped that up as well, clutching it to her chest as she hurried out the door.

Grace was waiting rather impatiently outside of her apartment building, and upon catching sight of Trinket without Booker, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't like where this is going," she said.

"Booker's busy with work," Trinket explained, her gaze darting about the street to make certain no one was watching before she pulled the door open.

"No, no, no, no," Grace said, following after her. "I am not handling any dead bodies."

Trinket stationed herself by the offending door, nearly knocked over by the stench that seemed to have somehow gotten worse in her absence. "I'm not asking you to. I just need help getting inside so I can handle the dead body. Now, you're sure the young woman who lives here is at work?"

With a defeated sigh, Grace nodded and leaned against the stair rail. "Yes, most definitely."

"And she has no family?"

"I've only ever seen the beau."

"Excellent."

Trinket reached for the doorknob and twisted, only to be met with a stubborn refusal to turn. Oh, right. He locked it. A Mouse wouldn't be stupid enough to leave something as valuable as a numbered corpse unsecured.

"Grace, by any chance, do you know how to pick locks?" Trinket asked, turning to the night flower hopefully.

"I'm a prostitute, not a thief. I feel like I should be offended you'd even ask."

Resisting the urge to utter one of Booker's oft-muttered curses, Trinket turned back to the door. There was blood leaking from the ceiling here, too, forming a puddle at the edge of her boots. How was she going to get inside? Gin had never gotten a chance to teach her the art of lock picking, though Trinket had been hesitant to accept the urchin's offer in the first place. She should've known it would be a skill she'd need in the future. Perhaps Madison knew. He'd spent years with Gin doing all sorts of illegal things. Surely he'd be able to help.

"All right. Change of plans." She turned to Grace and took a deep breath as she continued to hold Booker's book close to her chest. "I'm going to go find someone to assist with the lock. You wait here and watch. If someone goes inside, we can't risk breaking in."

Sitting heavily on the bottom step, Grace rolled her eyes. "Fine, but if you take longer than ten minutes, I'm gone. I already feel like I might hurl, and I had a nice breakfast this morning that I'd rather not waste."

Trinket gave a nod and went to leave. But she fell back a step and gasped when she found they were not alone. Frieda stood in front of the building door. She'd changed out of her mourning garb and was now in a stylish walking dress that matched her dark red lips. A small-brimmed hat sat at a playful tilt atop her head with a train of black tulle cascading down her back, partially obscuring her copper locks that were tied into a surprisingly demure chignon.

Alas, despite the picture of elegance that she was, the dangerous smile she was sporting betrayed her true colors beneath the satin and lace.

"What are you doing here?" Trinket asked breathlessly.

"I was on my way to be sure my darling Booker made it home after last night's excitement when I noticed you running down the street. I assumed the two of you were off chasing another dead body, so I followed you." Her brows drew together and her smile faded as she looked about the hallway. "Wait, where is Booker?"

"Mr. Larkin is busy with work," Trinket said. "Grace and I were just—"

She drew in a sharp breath when she realized Frieda being here was a perfect solution to their problem. Her skill with picking locks was undeniable, and while Trinket loathed the thought of asking her for help, it could take a while to find Madison. If they didn't get this over with soon, they might lose their chance.

Swallowing down her reservations, she hugged the book closer to her chest and took a breath. "Frieda, I need your help."

Frieda raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"We need to get inside this apartment before the tenant comes back."

"Breaking and entering? Tut, tut, such bad behavior."

"Please, Frieda. This is important." Hesitating for a moment, Trinket bit her lip. "I think there might be a numbered corpse in there."

Examining her nails as though she couldn't be more disinterested in the conversation, Frieda asked, "And why would I be interested in helping the likes of you?"

"Because you wouldn't be helping me. You'd be helping Booker."

At this, Frieda paused. She tilted her head in thought and then let out a sigh. "Very well. I'm bored anyhow. At least this will give me something to do."

Sauntering over to the door, she pulled a pin from her hat and daintily knelt down in front of the lock. Grace shot Trinket a questioning look, but Trinket just gave a quick shake of her head. She didn't have time to explain. Besides, she wasn't sure Booker wanted the citizens of Tinkerfall to know about his past.

It didn't take long for Frieda to overcome the lock, and with a smug smile, she held the door open for them, giving a flourishing wave. "After you."

Trinket hurried inside and was instantly struck by the thick scent of death. Yes, there was no doubt this was the right place. She quickly covered her nose, tears welling up in her eyes as she searched the tiny room for the source of the offensive stench. But there was nothing. In fact, everything was rather neat and orderly. The bed was made, the floors swept. There were no dirty dishes or soiled clothing scattered about.

"Good Lord, this smells worse than my husband's morning breath," Frieda said as she stepped inside.

Grace was lingering at the entrance, her handkerchief pressed firmly to her nose and mouth. "Where's the body?"

Turning in circles, Trinket tried to make sense of where the corpse could be stashed. There was no wardrobe or chest. A small bureau sat in the corner, but it couldn't possibly be housing an entire human.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But it has to be here. Nothing else could be creating this smell."

"You're not as brilliant as Booker thinks," Frieda said, sitting herself down on the bed.

Trinket resisted glaring at her. "I take it you know where the body is?"

Raising her eyebrows, Frieda playfully kicked her feet in the air. "Clearly you've never had to hide incriminating evidence from your husband."

She ceased her kicking and slowly slid the toe of her burgundy boot along the floorboards until it reached the edge of the bed and slipped underneath.

Of course.

Dropping to her knees, Trinket stooped over and was met with such a horrific odor she nearly passed out. However, when she was able to get past the stench, she discovered a human body tucked beneath the bed frame.

"Someone help me with this," she grunted as she grabbed hold of the rotting corpse and attempted to pull it out.

It must have been there for days. There were maggots crawling all over the ashen skin flaking off under her touch. But between her and a very reluctant Grace, they managed to drag it out from under the bed, exposing the gory mess.

Someone had already opened it up. And not very well, at that. The ribs were splintered and broken, the chest practically torn apart. Every organ had been removed and clumsily tossed back inside, some even having been destroyed altogether. Between the decomposition and the butcher job of an autopsy, it was almost impossible to tell what the poor soul had looked like in life. But he was clearly male, given his build and the thick hair above his upper lip.

"Well, isn't this just lovely?" Grace mumbled, turning away from the gruesome sight.

"How fascinating," Frieda said, still perched on the bed. "Seems we have some novice doctors about the city. Booker would be so proud."

Ignoring them both, Trinket went straight to the man's head. Part of her worried the Mice had already found the map piece, but if that had been the case, they wouldn't have kept the body. No, it had to still be in there. She just had to figure out where.

Thick, dark bangs covered the man's forehead. When she moved them aside, she found exactly what she was looking for. A number.

807.

She opened the medical book and flipped through the pages anxiously.

And there it was.

The Eye.

"Oh, wonderful," she sighed, glancing at the man's closed eyelids and nearly gagging at the thought of digging through the sockets.

Before she could pull out her stolen scalpel, though, the door creaked open. Every hair on her body rose in fear as she turned to find someone in the doorway. It was a pale young woman, thin and scraggly with a rather large nose and wide eyes.

Trinket had to come up with an explanation. Anything. But what would explain being inside the girl's apartment uninvited and standing over a massacred body?

Fortunately, she didn't need to think of a story to tell. With wobbly, uneven steps, the girl came further into the room. She barely seemed to register that they were there, and as she gripped the side of the door, she raised a hand to her forehead and took a shaky breath.

And then collapsed to the floor.