Wolves and Daggers_A Steampunk Fairy Tale Page 12

  The carriage rolled to a stop outside Lord Dodgson’s home. I smoothed my white apron and grabbed the packages sitting on the seat beside me.

  “Your Grace,” the footman said, opening the door.

  Lord Dodgson sighed heavily, folded his paper under his arm, and grabbed his cane. His bad knee would be aching after his walk through the market, but I guessed he wouldn’t complain. He’d had too much fun shopping for his niece’s birthday. The parcels I juggled were proof of that. I don’t think there was an item left at the market suitable for a girl around the age of six. What would other six-year-old girls receive for their birthday now that His Grace had purchased the lot? Of course, when I was six, I’d been at the workhouse laboring on a machine until I’d found different employment in the city. It’s amazing how quickly little fingers can learn to do very evil deeds. But young Charlotte Dodgson, the lord’s niece, would never have to worry about learning how to pick a pocket. A better life was reserved for her, and I didn’t begrudge her for it.

  “Your Grace,” the footman called, his voice full of alarm.

  A moment later, Lord Dodgson cried out in pain.

  I emerged from the carriage to see that he’d slipped on the cobblestone, landing on his bad knee.

  I dropped the packages, cringing when I heard the telltale clatter of broken glass, then rushed to help him up.

  “Steady him,” I told the footman. “Easy, Your Grace. We’ve got you.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Lord Dodgson muttered.

  “Manners, Your Grace,” I said as I gently lifted him.

  Despite himself, Lord Dodgson laughed. “Ow,” he said, then laughed again. “Ow…oh, Alice.”

  Steadying him, the footman and I helped our master stand up.

  A moment later, I heard feet rushing quickly down the cobblestone toward us. The sound of it set my nerves on edge, and my old instincts kicked in. The runner didn’t slow as the footsteps approached. I moved to grab the knife hidden out of sight under my apron, but my hands were all tied up with Lord Dodgson. If I let go, he would fall.

  “Watch yourself, boy. What? Hey,” the footman called.

  A boy with a mop of striking white hair, wearing an expensive but oversized waistcoat, slipped between us and was gone again in a flash.

  “My pocket watch! My grandfather’s pocket watch,” Lord Dodgson cried, clutching his vest where he always kept his pocket watch. “Stop that boy. He stole my pocket watch. Alice!”

  I glanced up the street to see the boy dangle the pocket watch teasingly before us.

  “Rabbit,” I hissed.

  “Your Grace…I need to—”

  “Go, Alice. Go.”

  The footman held tightly onto Lord Dodgson so I could let go. I turned and faced the boy. Rabbit, the little albino street rat, was grinning at me. Sneaky little pickpocket. What was he doing in my part of town? He’d grabbed the watch so deftly. Not bad. Some people said he was almost as good as I used to be.

  Almost.

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