Wicked Bronze Ambition

6

Pular Singe is a rat woman, descended from mutants created by sorcerers several centuries back. She stands about five feet tall when she forces herself into her most upright stance. I sort of adopted her when she was an adolescent. She has become the heart and soul of my investigative business. I go out and have fun digging while she stays home managing records, finances, the house, and all the other stuff I let slide because it’s boring. She has a genius for it. She keeps everything abovewater.

Singe is also the best scent tracker in TunFaire and, maybe, the best in the Karentine Kingdom. She makes a little cash on her own, on the side, doing contract tracking, usually for the Civil Guard when they’re willing to pay up front.

None of those guys work for pride alone, but they seem convinced that the rest of us should donate our time and take physical risks entirely out of a sense of civic duty.

Singe didn’t say a word as she let us inside.

My housekeeper and cook, Dean, came out of the kitchen drying his hands. He was ancient. He had begun to develop a stoop and was moving more gingerly than he had just weeks ago. His voice was strong when he greeted us, though.

Dean was a huge fan of Strafa Algarda.

A rattle and thump thundered down the stair from the second floor. The racket ceased a moment before an utterly cool, studiedly indifferent, totally cute little brunette of fourteen stepped into view. “Oh. It’s only you. Well, hello.” She headed into the kitchen as though that had been her plan all along.

Penny Dreadful is not a huge fan of Strafa Algarda.

She is my partner’s pet. Another adoptee of the house.

We’re all strays. Even Strafa made some bones that way.

“We came to see Himself,” I told Singe.

“There is a surprise.”

Dean turned to follow Penny. There would be tea and cakes soon enough. There might be some real food later.

Shadowslinger was too frugal to waste food on visitors.