Nero's Fiddle by A W. Exley Page A

Levett.” An animated brown look rested on her and an open expression transformed the man. “God, I’m sick of working the exoskeletons and being covered in grease all day long. What I wouldn’t give to have a nice chiffon in my hands instead of rough spun cotton.”
    Cara blinked, unsure of what she just saw and heard. “Pardon?”
    A frown settled on Brick’s face and his eyes resembled a puppy caught peeing on the good rug. “Did I say something wrong? Jackson said I could be myself with you, that you wouldn’t judge me for who I am on the inside.” A meaty finger tapped his chest.
    Her mind whirred, making sure she understood the subtext before she burst into laughter. “Oh, Jackson, you are such a crème brûlée.” She linked arms with her bodyguard. “You are most certainly free to be yourself around me. I suspect we shall get on swimmingly.”

    Cara decided on a direct approach for the issue keeping her awake at night, and walked down New Oxford Street, which cut the St Giles Rookery into halves. If you drew a medieval map of London, the Rookery would be a blank space with the narration here be dragons . Londoners considered it the birthplace of crime and vice, and skirted away from its overcrowded streets. The government sought to clean it up by laying a new major road through the middle, but the residents weren’t so easy to budge. Like water, they parted and flowed around the obstacle.
    Why did Nate get himself involved here? She pondered as she walked the visible face of London’s notorious underworld. The streets were busy with vendors and pedestrians despite the snow and cold. Faces pressed to dirty windows above her head and watched her progress. The buildings were worn with chipped facades and dirty brickwork. There were no turbines on the roofs here to power electric lights. Even the gas company stopped at the boundary and lanterns flickered in darkened interiors. The cries of infants drifted through cracked windows along with the laughter of older children. A hundred eyes bore into her as they walked the pavement.
    Her mind catalogued all she saw, but none of it made sense. The area was poor but seemed no worse than any other poor neighbourhood. If anything, it seemed slightly better. The drains were clear and she hadn’t seen a single body lying in the street. She needed to talk to people, to understand their daily lives.
    “You’re scaring people away,” she muttered to Brick at her side as another woman closed her front door after gawking at Cara.
    He gave a snort of laughter. “I was born here, I’m not the problem.”
    She stopped to look up at him. “What was it like?”
    He gave a shrug and gestured for them to continue walking. He manoeuvred her down a side road, this one narrower and the overhanging buildings offered some protection from the weather. “You know what people in the Rookery are really good at?”
    “What?” She heard it was drunkenness and licentiousness, which would Brick chose?
    “Dying. That’s why I got out.” His gaze swung back and forth, checking out the environment. Occasionally his attention would be caught by someone and he gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment.
    Up ahead, she spied a small group of children playing in the shelter of a wide porch. Sitting on the ground, they took turns tossing knuckle bones into the air and catching them. The children had dirt-smeared faces, but wore smiles that revealed gappy teeth. Their clothing was worn and second-hand but the holes were darned or patched. They all wore heavy socks and boots to keep the cold from nibbling at their toes.
    An idea tumbled into her mind and she approached the group. “Can I play too?” she asked, crouching down to their level.
    Suspicious looks swung her way. One child scowled, another snatched the knuckle bones as though they thought she would steal them.
    “Why?” the scowling child asked.
    Cara shrugged and sat on the cold wood of the porch. “I only had one friend growing up