Unraveled (Turner, #3)

Silence met this pronouncement. Her pulse beat. More dangerous than working for the Patron was refusing to work for him. One didn’t say can’t to a representative of the Patron.

But it was either that or cross paths with Lord Justice once more. Miranda clenched the broom straw in her fingers, waiting.

A sigh came from the other side of the screen. “Then your association with the Patron is at an end. You’re not a slave, child. You have always been free to make your own choices.”

“Th-that’s it?”

“Of course. Consider the old arrangement dissolved, if that is what you wish.”

“I do.” Her words were quiet, but she almost swayed on the stool, dizzy with blossoming hope.

“The Patron’s blessings upon you, child.”

She stared at the rosewood screen, waiting for some signal. But a minute passed without any more word. For all she knew, the figure who’d spoken had stolen away in the silence. She couldn’t quite believe that everything had worked out so easily. She had landed that backflip for a second time, and she felt suddenly warm, despite the draft that fluttered the curtain. She stood and patted her dress into place.

And that was when the voice spoke again. “Of course,” came those whispered words, “if you are not bound by any agreement, neither is the Patron.”

Miranda shivered. The straw snapped between her fingers.

“Robbie is…your brother, is he? He is so eager to help. So interested, when his little friend Joseph shows him the treasures that he’s obtained by offering me his scant assistance. He chafes, making a mere pittance as a runner.”

Robbie wasn’t her brother; he was something akin to her ward. They had a long and complicated relationship. But she was responsible for him, and had been for years. She couldn’t walk away from that kind of a threat. Miranda sat back on the stool.

The voice continued in singsong tones. “He would leap at the chance to be included in one of the finer opportunities the Patron offers. There’s a house that needs burgling, and he’s just the fellow to do it.”

“He’s never done anything like that.”

“The Patron is aware of his history.”

“He’ll get caught,” Miranda said miserably.

“Most likely.”

“They’ll hang him for burglary.”

“It seems probable,” the voice agreed carelessly.

“Then why have him do it? There’s no profit in it for you.”

“The Patron has little interest in Robbie’s death. But he takes a great deal of interest in you, Miss Darling.”

If she could just go back to the moment when she’d first struck this bargain… She’d been seventeen and new to Bristol, with a nine-year-old boy in tow. She had thought she had no choice at the time. It had been either the Patron, or…

She’d been raised in a troupe of traveling players. She could sew any costume, take on any disguise. She could change her voice until she hardly recognized it herself. She’d thought herself very clever, offering those services. So sure that the Patron would see her value.

He had. Unfortunately.

“If Lord Justice has me imprisoned, I’ll not be of much use,” she essayed.

“The Patron will take your protest under advisement. For now, it is important to determine what Lord Justice truly wants of you. To that end, tomorrow you will go back to the records room at the Council House, and ask to see the papers on—”

“Tomorrow?” Miranda echoed in shock. “But we had an agreement—I was to owe you a favor no more than once a month, and nothing dangerous or so unsavory as to—”

“Child,” the voice interjected, “you had an agreement with the Patron. You dissolved it. This is the new bargain.”

She stared at the screen, her hands cold. She could protest. She could argue. She wanted to scream and run away. But there was no need to force the Patron to repeat his threat toward Robbie. He could make good on it.

Robbie was twelve, now—headstrong and growing, believing he knew what was best for himself without understanding how vulnerable he was.

Well. She had no choice. There was nothing to do but smile, and hope she could make the landing instead of breaking her back.

“Very well, then,” she said. Her voice didn’t quiver. She refused to show the fear that welled up inside of her. “Tell me what I must do.”





Chapter Four




“WHAT IN BLAZES IS this thing?” The voice, haughty and arrogant, came out of the records room.

Smite paused in the hall of the Council House. Beside him, Ghost skittered to a halt.

He should just walk on. He didn’t need to intervene; in fact, the men who worked here were quite adept at explaining the necessary procedures to difficult fellows.

But he recognized that voice—that spoiled drawl, from a man who’d never worked a day in his life. A regular plague, he was.

Paper rustled in the room beyond the open doors, and the voice of the harried clerk sounded. “My good man, I—”