client?â
It had been dark and blustery all day, and, already being damp and cold, I had hardly settled my bustle and skirts into place on the carriage seat (which is a task easier spoken about than accomplished, considering the numerous layers of fabric involved, and the awkward bump of the bustle low on my spine). My thick hair was turning into bric-a-brac kinks, and I was in no mood to be lectured. âMiss Stoker. One doesnât âfind outâ things when one is investigating. One observes, then analyzes and deduââ
â
Mina
.â Her eyes blazed and I thought she might lunge across the carriage at me. I believe I also heard the sound of her teeth grinding. Apparently, she was in no better mood than I. âWhat have you
deduced
about Pixâs client? Is it the Ankh?â
I resisted the urge to hush her; we were, after all, in her private carriage, and Middy, the driver, couldnât hear anything we said. âI shall tell you all about that later. I have had limited time to spend on the scrap of paper, due to the more pressing matter of the Betrovian visit.â
âThe Betrovian visit is more important than knowing if the Ankh has returned? Blooming Pete, are you
mad
?â
âI did not say it was more
important
. I said it was more
pressing
. Of course it is of the utmost importance to determine whether the Ankh has returned. But, unlike others in this vehicle, I have no intention of blazing off on a trail without a plan, or at the very least, solid information. I, for one, wonât be standing up in the middle of a meeting and shouting accusations and jeopardizing our investigationânot to mention ourselves.â
This was, of course, a reference to the time Miss Stoker had announced our uninvited presence at a secret meeting led by the Ankh. We were there anonymously until my companion stood up in the back of the chamber and demanded answers from the villainess. We barely escaped with our lives, and that was only the first time Miss Stokerâs impetuousness had endangered a case.
Miss Stokerâs face turned pink, and then red, and I was uncertain whether its cause was shame or fury. I didnât care; we werenât far from the museum and I had information to share.
âIâve done some research about the Betroviansââ
âI donât
care
about the Betrovians. Blooming fish, Mina, whatâs wrong with you? Are you
afraid
the Ankh has returned? Is that it? You donât want to face her again? Youâre avoiding the investigation becauseââ
âI am not avoidingâdonât be
absurd
. Thatâs ridicââ
âWell, you nearly died. No one would blame you if you didnât want to get involved again.â Her voice had become quieter. Almost sympathetic.
I struggled to keep my temper and expression under control. I wasnât about to admit Iâd clawed myself out of a nightmare early this morning in which I was reliving those terrifying moments of being strapped to a statue, preparing to be electrofied by the villainess herself. Aside from that, Iâd felt that same sort of underlying sympathy coming from Evaline more than once in the last few weeksâsince weâd realized my mother had been Miss Stokerâs vampire-hunter mentor. Neither of us had attempted to discuss this discovery; it had been a strange and unsettling moment, leaving us both silent and uncertain. Even I had no desire to talk about it. And so the knowledge hung there between us like a puffy black cloud.
âMake no mistake, Miss Stoker. I fully intend to find and bring the Ankh to justice. But for now, we really must focus our attentions on the matter at hand. The museum is just two blocks away, andââ
My companion gave a derisive snort and slumped back into her corner. I took this as invitation for me to commence with educating her about the history between England and Betrovia. âThe relationship