I was glad the darkness and rain hid my blush. I hadn’t realized I’d had an audience.

   Light shining from the windows provided patchy illumination, and a wide-brimmed hat shadowed much of the man’s face. I could really only make out a long, scraggly dark beard and a number of scars scattered across rough skin.

   “Don’t sound so down about it, girl. It was a good threat, and you were pretty convincing. But it’s not going to work.”

   Annoyance pushed my apprehension aside. “What makes you say that? You hear a five-minute talk and think you’re some kind of expert?”

   “When it comes to this sort of thing? Yes. I am an expert. You scared her. But not enough—otherwise she wouldn’t have locked that door on you. Once she’s had some time to settle down, she’s going to try to call your bluff. She’ll convince herself you won’t really go through with cutting up her face.” He paused meaningfully. “Will you?”

   “I—I don’t know,” I lied. I could just barely see his dark eyes in the shadows now. Their gaze seemed to bore right through me.

   “Well, you should know,” he said. “Don’t make threats you’re not ready to follow through on.”

   I lifted my chin at his condescending tone. “Thank you for the insight, but now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go inside.”

   “How? The door—” He paused to cough. “The door’s locked.”

   “That’s my problem.”

   He coughed again. Or maybe it was a laugh. “Yes, it is. And I’m going to help you with it.”

   From his baggy coat, he pulled out what looked like a small wallet. When he opened it, I saw several thin metal tools of varying lengths. Some were simply straight, and others had curved or hooked ends. He examined a couple in the window’s light, angling his face in a way that gave me a glimpse of a star-shaped scar on his left cheek and a small nick on the outer side of his earlobe.

   “You’re going to pick the lock?” I asked. The rain was lightening, and I pushed back strands of sodden hair.

   He didn’t look up as he sifted through the tools, but his voice held surprise. “How do you know that?”

   “Well . . . because you’re holding a lock pick kit.”

   “That wasn’t what I— Never mind. If you’re so smart, I guess you don’t need me.” He started to close the case.

   I reached toward his arm and then pulled back. “No, wait. I do need you. I’ve seen these before, but I don’t have my own.”

   He waited a few moments, maybe to make me worry, and then opened the case again. He selected a tool with a hooked end and inserted it into the handle’s keyhole. After a few quick motions, I just barely heard a click. He straightened up—as much as his stooped form allowed. “There you go.”

   “You got it on the first try.”

   “This is a common kind of lock.” He slid the tool back into its holder. “It’s not always this easy. Sometimes you’ve got to listen. Feel out the tumbler inside.”

   I reached for the handle. “Well, thank you. I appreciate the help.”

   “Then let me give you a little more. You want that girl to leave you alone? Don’t do it with brute force. That has its place, sure, but information is real power.”

   I let my hand drop back to my side. “What do you mean?”

   “Well, that’s what she’s got over you, right? Information?”

   “Not information. Slander. It’s not true. I’d never—”

   “You’re proving my point,” he interrupted. “Look how worked up you are—over words. So get some on her. She’s got something in her past. Everyone does. Uncover that, and you’ll be the one with the power.” He held out the pick kit. “Take this. It’ll help you get into places you shouldn’t. That’s where you’ll find your answers.”

   I didn’t take it. “I can’t accept this.”

   “I’ve got three more sets at home.” He pushed the kit into my hand and turned around. “Now I’ve got to go find the other chaps before they head back to the village. Stay out of trouble.”

   The man trudged off into the darkness, leaving me with the lock picks. I had a sudden urge to call him back, to ask why he would help me without expecting anything in return. And what in the world would he need that many kits for? Instead, I slipped back into the kitchen and up to my room.

   Tamsin, one of my roommates, was busy writing a letter and gave my rain-soaked state only a brief glance. “I don’t even want to know.”

   Our other roommate, Adelaide, had been sprawled on her bed with a book and bolted upright. “Well, I do! Six, Mira. What happened to you? You’re practically naked.”

   I glanced down and realized she wasn’t entirely wrong. The soaked nightgown clung everywhere. I quickly wrapped a blanket around my body and hoped it had been too dark for the laborer to notice much. “Eh, nothing important. I just accidentally got locked out.”

   That drew Tamsin’s attention back. Little escaped her notice. “Who did it? Clara?”

   “It’s doesn’t matter. Let it go,” I said, wringing water out of my black hair. Clara’s rumors hadn’t reached my roommates yet, and I hoped it stayed that way.

   “Of course it bloody matters.” Tamsin slipped into her Market District dialect when she got emotional. Mistress Masterson would have been horrified. “Do you know how much trouble you’d get in if you were caught out there? Mistress Masterson would think you’d lost your head for some man and were having secret meetings with him.”

   Adelaide laughed and flounced back. “I don’t think anyone would jump to that.”

   “Don’t treat everything like a joke,” Tamsin returned sharply.