The Blushing Bounder (An Iron Seas Short Novella) Read Online Free Page A

and their marks already? How long have you been in London, constable?”
    “A few weeks. But we live next to the lockstitch house.” He gestured to the building. “It would be difficult not to see.”
    “You’d be surprised how many people see very little in this city, constable.”
    “Or hear very little,” he said. Though Temperance had screamed in terror through an open window, no other windows were lit. No one had come out to the alley to help or to see what had happened.
    “And most say very little, too. What else?”
    Was there more? He studied the cobblestones around the body, noted a broken brick, the smear of blood and hair on the corner. Temperance had not mentioned a brick. In the dark, she probably hadn’t seen it. “He used that to hit her with. But why? If it was a machine, the metal of his arm would be just as efficient—if not more efficient.”
    “Just as she would have used her cleaver to defend herself, yes? It would be natural, instinctive, to use a weapon in your arsenal that you are intimately familiar with. But he must not have given her the opportunity, struck her from behind.”
    “Yes, sir. And if he grabbed a brick close at hand, this probably wasn’t planned, but something done in the heat of the moment.”
    “Very good, constable. You’ll find that most of the murders we investigate are the same—for many of us, controlling our more extreme emotions after the Horde’s tower was destroyed became a difficult exercise. Most likely, he became angry, and reacted—but of course we will try to find him and ask.” She paused. “You will not irritate me if you offer your opinion now and again. Now let us go and talk to your witness.”
    She stood and looked to the man and the boy, who had been standing quietly at the mouth of the alley. They were both sizing him up, Newberry realized, and he suddenly felt like a lumbering giant next to the petite inspector.
    “Henry,” she said. “Please watch over her until the wagon arrives.”
    The man nodded. “We’ll be here. Shout if you have any trouble.”
    “I think I shall be all right with the constable here.” Turning on her heel, she gestured for Newberry to follow, telling him, “Those are my brothers, Henry and Andrew. You outweigh them both together, and already nag at me less. I think this shall work out very well. Now, tell me of this witness.”
    “My wife, sir.”
    “She saw the body from your window?”
    “She witnessed the murder itself, sir.”
    “I am fond of your wife already, constable. Was she able to describe this person?”
    “Yes, sir. She said he looked like Spring-Heel Jack.”
    The inspector frowned, looked at him. “Who?”

    Detective Inspector Wentworth didn’t look anything like the caricatures of the Mongol officials that Temperance had seen in the newssheets. She did not have bulbous lips or slitted eyes that barely opened, and her body was not misshapen, fat-bottomed, and slope-shouldered, with a curving spine. Indeed, she was rather pretty, with smooth black hair wound into a knot at her nape, emphasizing the roundness of her face and the delicacy of her features rather than concealing them…though Temperance wasn’t certain she would ever become used to seeing a woman in trousers, particularly snug ones. At least Miss Lockstitch’s had been wide and loose, like the bottoms to a Lusitanian hunter’s habit, so that when she stood it looked as though she wore a long, tailored skirt.
    But trousers or no, it was good to see her, to see a face that wasn’t pale. Although none were of Horde blood as the inspector was, men and women of every color walked the Manhattan City streets, and this woman’s presence suddenly made London feel a little more like home.
    The inspector’s gaze swept the rooms once and Temperance twice. The straight line of her mouth curved slightly when Temperance gave her the sketch.
    “This is what you saw?”
    “Yes.” Temperance pointed to the second sketch, where the