Nero's Fiddle by A W. Exley

started at steel-riveted work boots and rose up, and up. The man stood at least six foot six and could barely squeeze through the door frame.
    “You call him that because he’s built like a brick sh—”
    “Yes, he does bear a striking resemblance to an outdoor convenience.”
    The man’s eyes stayed locked on the middle distance, not meeting her stare. Like all of Nate’s men, he kept his hair military short so an opponent had nothing to grab. Tree trunk arms folded over a barrel sized chest. He’s a flesh-covered automaton. Although a well-dressed flesh-covered automaton. Nate’s standards dictated all the men wear suits and waistcoats, handmade by his own tailor to conform to the large and muscled bodies. This one wore a wide green pin-stripe. Black leather peeked out at one cuff, holding the blade strapped to his forearm.
    She walked around the man, spotting various bulges, and tried to guess what weapons he concealed about his person. “Where do you find them, Nate? Big and brawny?”
    He kept his hands in his pockets. Over the last few days, he found other things to keep them occupied rather than reaching for her, and honoured his word to give her space, both physical and mental. “Many of the men are pugilists looking for better employ. I recruited Brick five years ago. He normally works the machine room, but Jackson hand-picked him to protect you.”
    Cara remained to be convinced; knowing Jackson selected her new shadow made her suspect an underlying joke. She just didn’t know what the punch line was yet.
    “He tells me you won’t be giving Brick the slip.” The faintest smile quirked his lips and then vanished.
    Cold dread formed in her gut. What has Jackson lumbered me with? Raw power and menace rolled off Brick like he doused himself in eau d’lethal. She gave a sigh. Nate would let her go, but he would make sure someone had her back. “The airship is waiting, let’s go.”
    Nate searched her face; after a pause, he reached out and took her hand. He stroked his thumb over her skin. “Be safe in London. I will join you after New Year’s.”
    The Hellcat made short work of the trip back to the captial and she avoided her new tail the entire time. Cara stood at the bridge and stared out the window, watching the patchwork of fields below turn into houses and streets. They descended and landed on the ample lawn of the Mayfair mansion. Cara trotted over the frozen snow and headed straight inside.
    She paced in the familiar warmth of her study while she pondered what to do. She cast a quick glance to her new personal guard and tried not to let the knot of worry chew all the way through her stomach. “I have a few things I want to do in town. Starting off with an expedition to the St Giles Rookery.”
    A frown carved deep lines in his brow. “I don’t think you want to go there.”
    “Oh I’m going there, you either do your job and tag along or I go alone.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “Jackson said you got into more scraps than a nosy kitten.”
    “Nosy kitten?” She gave a snort. “Remind me to use him for sparring practice next time he’s in London.” Her plan for the next few days took form in her head. If she was going to reconcile herself to Nate’s actions she first had to understand why he became involved in the Rookery. She couldn’t imagine anything further from the Mayfair mansion and society events he frequented.
    “After I drag you through St Giles, I have an even bigger challenge for you.”
    He puffed out his mammoth chest. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”
    She gave a sly smile. “I need to go see my modiste. I expect you to hold fabric swatches.” Jackson hated the dress maker’s studio, and she was certain he would rather face a charging rhinoceros than a bolt of silk. However, the threat of shopping didn’t elicit the expected reaction.
    A smile cracked over Brick’s face and he clasped his hands together. “Oh, lovely, I’ve heard all about Madame