The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Uncomfortable Situations (and Blades Too Heavy to Wield.)

I end up getting home too late to help Mrs. Crawford close shop, and then spend the better part of the night walking around town scooping up discarded newspapers.

Normally, I wouldn't have to do this, as I buy a newspaper from every town press as part of my daily routine... but I've been busy. It takes me hours, but I eventually get a week's worth of old papers from all four publishers.

I'll go to the library tomorrow, I think. I realize belatedly that Morgan might not be accompanying me, this time, as her other two appearances were those of strict necessity. Technically... she doesn't have to help me pour over about a thousand gruesome diagrams of every murder that's ever happened in Libitina, Cavilien.

But I'd like her to. I haven't had a friend in a very long time, other than Ben who is more an awkward unfamiliar sort of brother than anything else.

It's not for lack of trying, it's just that nobles tend to only speak to you if they want something. I have too much to give, and thus friendship with another Lady (note the capital L) is impossible. That's part of what makes me so willing to help in other ways, now that I have more people at my disposal— it's refreshing to be asked to sew instead of the same high class bullshit I'm used to.

The ironic part is that now that I have options other than my "peers," I am too busy for personal business.

I lie on the couch and try not to think about my general hopelessness or the case, because I've got a long shift waiting for me tomorrow. I fail on both accounts, and end up getting ready for work two hours early, having only slept a few hours broken up into many unsatisfying naps. (Most of my time "sleeping" was spent awake with one or two cats lying on top of my chest, glowering at me every time I tossed or turned.)

Morgan shows up, to my surprise and delight, half an hour before my shift ends. She looks a bit rough around the edges— er, rougher, I guess, than usual... but she's here. Though now that I think about it, she really shouldn't be if she looks this sick, even from afar. Unfortunately for me, I never get to ask Morgan about it because my mother also shows up, fifteen minutes after her, and Morgan melts into a shadowy corner of the bakery, leaving me to deal with the carnage.

Real noble of her.

She slips out the doors right as my mother storms up to the front counter, fuming.

"You're here again? I only came here on a whim, but it seems I was right to guess..." She exclaims, voice raising, before realizing that she has an audience. "Come along, Lucia, darling. Your cousins have dropped by, and missed you dearly."

My "cousins" don't visit. Ever. They're from the capital, and they think my father's side of the family is too poor and rural to even sneer at from a distance.

I slip off my apron, giving Ben an apologetic look, and hop over the counter instead of going around... just to make my mother let out a strangled shriek. Then, and only then, do I follow her out to the carriage— looking back just in time to see Ben set down his pen, mark his place in his textbook, and take over my place at the register.

Sorry, pal.

I take my seat in the carriage, noticing only then how shaken-up my mother looks. It's unusual, because she's a bit like me in that she never lets things get to her.

"Well. What's all this about? Found out you actually can't manifest a replacement heiress just by hating the one you've got?" I joke, but my mother refuses to answer.

"... you'll see, when we get home. It's what all this nonsense has wrought, with your insistence that you're some kind of investigator. I didn't think you had a job, Lucia, I can't believe— you know you could get someone to take care of you just by nature of who you are, correct?"