Nero's Fiddle by A W. Exley Page B

and her idea of playing knuckle bones was to stare at one under a microscope.”
    “What’s a microscope?” one child lisped between missing front teeth. She was also missing an arm and rested a stump on one knee as she leaned toward Cara, unconcerned by the stranger in their midst.
    Cara tapped her chin as she thought how to explain the device. “It’s a piece of glass that makes something little look very big.”
    The child frowned. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
    She gave a soft laugh, remembering Amy bent over her microscope while she disappeared out a window. “It wasn’t. I much preferred climbing trees since I could do that on my own.”
    The child held out her hand to the scowler in the corner. The knuckle bones changed hands and then she slid them over to Cara. “You can play if you want.”
    “What’s your name? Mine is Cara,” she asked as she picked up the yellowed bones.
    “Rachel,” the little one said. With her stump, she pointed to the girl wearing the frown. “That’s Sarah and those two are Timmy and Jimmy. They’re twins.” She imbued the word twins with a sense of wonder, as though they were a world oddity.
    Cara didn’t have to pretend to be bad at the game, she had lost the knack of how high to throw to scoop up the bones on the ground. They kept raining down around her and soon the children were giggling at her efforts.
    “What happened to your arm, Rachel?” Cara picked up the bones and tested the weight in her palm. Around her the children fell silent. They exchanged glances between themselves. The unspoken question shot around the group, how much to tell the new person?
    “Poppa did it,” she whispered.
    Cara missed her throw with the bones and they scattered over the porch timbers. “Why?” she asked as she picked the pieces up.
    The girl wet her lips. “We didn’t make enough begging. Brandt said we would get more if I was a cripple.”
    Her heart crumpled for the life these children lead. She would have pulled Brandt’s heart out herself if he materialised in front of her.
    “A pleasure to have your company in St Giles, Lady Lyons,” a soft Irish brogue addressed her.
    Cara turned to find a man on the street watching her. He wore a heavy wool cloak and a scarf wound around his neck. His head was bare and revealed tousled black hair. Laughing brown eyes watched her.
    “You know who I am?”
    A wide smile crinkled the corners of his face. “Not too many pants-wearing, gun-toting women wander into the Rookery dragging little Patrick behind them.” He waved a hand in Brick’s general direction on the last part.
    “I guess when you describe me like that it does narrow down the available options. But what do you mean little Patrick?” She laughed and glanced at Brick who frowned at the new comer.
    The Irish gent gave a wink. “Ask the runt yourself.”
    The curious child with the missing teeth elbowed her. “That’s Liam, he’s in charge around here.”
    “Is he?” she whispered back.
    “Liam O’Donnell, I guess you could call me the mayor of the Rookery.” He doffed an imaginary hat and executed a bow.
    “You’re Nate’s man.”
    “I’m my own man, but Lyons holds my loyalty. Would you care for the guided tour?” he asked.
    “Yes, thank you.” She rose and dusted off her knees and bottom from where she had been sitting. She waved to the children and promised to visit tomorrow, before she joined Liam on the street.
    He fell into step next to her and Brick followed behind. “As lovely as it is to have you grace our streets, might I enquire as to the purpose of your visit?”
    She made a gut decision to tell the truth with the self-proclaimed mayor of the Rookery. “Curiosity.”
    He laughed. “I have heard that about you.”
    “Oh?” She frowned, who exactly was talking about her? Her mind considered chasing that rabbit, but gossip about her wasn’t the reason for visiting the poorest part of town, so she hauled her dog back to the original