She smiled. “I like the lacy dresses and smelling like flowers. I like living in the city, where I can demand modern conveniences. Do you realize I can send for Terris food at any hour of the night, and have it delivered?”

“Incredible.” It actually was. He hadn’t realized that was possible.

“As much as I like reading about the Roughs, and though I may like to visit, I don’t think I’d take well to living there. I don’t mix well with dirt, grime, and an overall lack of personal hygiene.” She leaned in. “And, to be perfectly honest, I have no problem at all letting men like you be the ones to belt on revolvers and shoot people. Does that make me a terrible traitor to my sex?”

“I don’t think so. You are pretty good at shooting things, though.”

“Well, shooting things is okay. But people?” She shivered. “I know the Ascendant Warrior is a model for self-actualized women. We have classes on it at the university, for Preservation’s sake, and her legacy is written into the law. But I don’t really want to put on trousers and be her. I feel like a coward for admitting it sometimes.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “You have to be yourself. But none of that explains why you are studying law.”

“Oh, I do want to change the city,” she said, growing eager. “Though I feel that tracking down every criminal and punching holes in them with pieces of metal moving at high speeds is a terribly inefficient way to do it.”

“Sure can be fun, though.”

“Let me show you something.” She dug in her handbag a little more, and came out with some folded-up sheets of paper. “I spoke of how people generally act in response to their surroundings. Remember our discussion about the Roughs, and how there are often more lawkeepers per person there than here? And yet, crime is more prevalent. That’s the result of environment. Look here.”

She handed over some of the pages. “This is a report,” she said. “I’m putting it together myself. It’s about the nature of crime as related to environment. See here, this discusses the major factors that have decreased crime in some sections of the city. Hiring more constables, hanging more criminals, that sort of thing. They are of medium efficacy.”

“What’s this at the bottom?” Waxillium asked.

“Renovation,” she said with a deep smile. “This case is where a wealthy man, Lord Joshin himself, purchased several parcels of land in one of the less reputable areas. He began renovating and cleaning up. Crime went way down. The people didn’t change, just their environment. Now that area is a safe and respectable section of the city.

“We call it the ‘broken windows’ theory. If a man sees a broken window in a building, he’s more likely to rob or commit other crimes, since he figures nobody cares. If all the windows are maintained, all the streets clean, all the buildings washed, then crime goes down. Just as a hot day can make a person irritable, it appears that a run-down area can make an ordinary man into a criminal.”

“Curious,” Waxillium said.

“Of course,” she said, “this isn’t the only answer. There will always be people who don’t respond to their surroundings. They fascinate me, as I’ve mentioned. Anyway, I’ve always been good with numbers and figures. I see patterns like this and wonder. Cleaning up a few streets can be cheaper than employing more constables—but can actually decrease crime to a greater degree.”

Waxillium looked over the reports, then back at Marasi. She had a flush of excitement in her cheeks. There was something captivating about her. How long had they been here? He hesitated, then pulled out his pocket watch.

“Oh,” she said, glancing at the watch. “We shouldn’t be chatting like this. Not with poor Steris in their hands.”

“We can’t do more until Wayne returns,” Waxillium said. “In fact, he should have been back by now.”

“He is,” Wayne’s voice said from the hallway outside.

Marasi jumped, letting out a faint yelp.

Waxillium sighed. “How long have you been out there?”

Wayne’s head poked around the corner, wearing a constable’s hat. “Oh, a little while. Seemed like you two were having some kind of ‘smart people’ moment. Didn’t want to interfere.”

“Wise of you. Your stupidity can be infectious.”

“Don’t use your fancy words ’round me, son.” Wayne strolled in. Though he wore the constable’s hat, he was otherwise normally dressed in his duster and trousers, dueling canes at his hips.

“Did you succeed?” Waxillium asked, standing up, then reaching down to help Marasi to her feet.

“Sure did—I got some scones.” Wayne grinned. “And the dirty conners even paid for them.”

“Wayne?”

“Yes?”

“We’re dirty conners.”

“Not no more,” he said proudly. “We’re independent citizens with a mind toward civic duty. And eating the scones of dirty conners.”

Marasi grimaced. “They don’t sound that appetizing when described that way.”

“Oh, they were good.” Wayne reached into the pocket of his duster. “Here, I brought you some. Got a little mushed up in my pocket, though.”

“No, really,” she said, paling.

Wayne, however, chuckled and brought out a paper that he waved at Waxillium. “Location of the Vanishers’ hideout in the city. Along with the name of their recruiter.”

“Really?” Marasi said eagerly, rushing over to take the paper. “How did you do this?”

“Whiskey and magic,” Wayne said.

“In other words,” Waxillium said, walking up and reading the paper over Marasi’s shoulder, “Wayne did a lot of fast talking. Nice work.”

“We need to get going!” Marasi said, urgent. “Go there, get Steris, and—”

“They won’t be there anymore,” Waxillium said, taking the paper. “Not after having several of their members captured. Wayne, did you manage to get this without the constables hearing?”

He looked offended. “What do you think?”

Waxillium nodded, rubbing his chin. “We should probably go soon. Get to the scene before it gets too cold.”

“But…” Marasi said. “The constables…”

“We’ll drop them an anonymous tip once I’ve seen the place,” Waxillium said.

“Won’t be needed,” Wayne added. “I set a fuse.”

“For when?”

“Nightfall.”

“Nice.”

“You can show your appreciation with a big fat nugget of a rare and expensive metal,” Wayne said.

“On the desk,” Waxillium said, folding the paper and sliding it into his vest pocket.

Wayne walked over, glancing at the apparatus set up on the desk. “I’m not sure if I want to touch any of this, mate. I’m rather fond of all of my fingers.”

“It’s not going to explode, Wayne,” he said dryly.

“You said that—”

“It happened once,” Waxillium said.

“Do you know how bloody annoying it is to regrow fingers, Wax?”

“If it’s on par with your complaining, then it’s likely appalling indeed.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Wayne said, scanning the desk until he found the bottle of bendalloy flakes. He snatched that, then backed away warily. “The most innocent-looking of things have a tendency to explode around you. A bloke has to be cautious.” He shook the bottle. “This isn’t much.”

“Don’t act spoiled,” Waxillium said. “That’s far more than I could have gotten you on short notice if we’d been out in the Roughs. Drop the hat. Let’s go look at this foundry your notes mention.”

“We can use my carriage, if you like,” Marasi said. To the side, Tillaume walked in, carrying a basket in one hand and a tray with tea in the other. He set the basket beside the door, then set the tray on the table and began pouring tea.

Waxillium eyed Marasi. “You want to come? I thought you said you wanted to leave the shooting to men like me.”

“You said they won’t be there,” she replied. “So there’s really no danger.”

“They still want you,” Wayne noted. “They tried to grab you at the dinner. It’ll be dangerous for you.”

“And they’d likely shoot either one of you without blinking,” she said. “So how will it be any less dangerous for you?”

“I suppose it ain’t,” Wayne admitted.

Tillaume walked over, bringing a cup of tea for Waxillium on a small tray. Wayne plucked it off with a grin, though Tillaume tried to pull the tray away.

“How convenient,” Wayne said, holding the teacup. “Wax, why didn’t you ever get me one of these chaps back in Weathering?” The butler shot him a scowl, then hurried back to the table to prepare another cup.

Waxillium considered Marasi. There was something he was missing, something important. Something about what Wayne had said …

“Why did they take you?” Waxillium asked Marasi. “There were better targets at that party. Women closer to the bloodlines they wanted.”

“You said she might have been a decoy to throw us off,” Wayne said, dumping some bendalloy into his teacup, then downing the entire thing in one draught.

“Yes,” Waxillium said, looking into her eyes and seeing a flash of something there. She turned away. “But if that were the case, they’d have wanted to take someone that wasn’t close to the same bloodline at all, not one who was a near cousin.” He pursed his lips, and then it clicked. “Ah. You’re illegitimate, then. Steris’s half sister, by Lord Harms, I assume.”

She blushed. “Yes.”

Wayne whistled. “Wonderful show, Wax. Usually I wait to call someone a bastard until the second date.” He eyed Marasi. “Third if she’s pretty.”

“I…” Waxillium felt a sudden burst of shame. “Of course. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s quite all right,” she said softly.

It made sense. Marasi and Lord Harms had grown so uncomfortable when Steris had spoken of mistresses. And then there was the specific clause about them in the contract; Steris was accustomed to infidelity on the part of a lord. That also explained why Harms was paying for the education and housing of Steris’s “cousin.”

“Lady Marasi,” Waxillium said, taking her hand. “Perhaps my years in the Roughs affected me more than I’d assumed. There was a time when I gave thought to my words before speaking them. Forgive me.”

“I am what I am, Lord Waxillium,” she said. “And I have grown comfortable with it.”

“It was still crude of me.”

“You needn’t apologize.”

“Huh,” Wayne said thoughtfully. “Tea’s poisoned.”

With that, he toppled to the ground.