I've been searching for her for months now, but nobody seems to have seen her. Or at least, that's what they're saying; there are some who I'm certain have seen her, but are unwilling to talk. Old Bailey, for one – the barmy old codger knows more than people think, I'm sure – and the Marquis de Carabas seems to have made himself suspiciously scarce.
There was some talk a while back, which I think might have been about her. Rumours of the Angel Islington, and those villains Croup and Vandemar, and Hunter. But nobody seems to know anything definite, and the people the rumours are about, if the stories are true, are all dead.
Then, at the last Floating Market, I finally found a lead. I had made my way to the Embankment, and the Millennium Wheel, along with most of London Below. The Eye wasn't the most practical setting that could have been picked; you had to wait for your carriage to reach the ground again before you could leave. It could get quite awkward, stuffed into the tiny space with thirty other people and at least two stalls, waiting to get off. But it worked in my favour; it was in such an awkward moment, after I'd asked all of the stall keepers if they had seen her, that I was jostled into the side of the carriage by a young boy – a rat speaker. This being London, I swiftly checked my pockets, but nothing was missing.
"'Choo looking for? I ain't nicked anyfing." The kid protested. I merely raised an eyebrow, disbelievingly.
"S'true, honest. Was gonna offer you a deal, but if you're not interested…" He said, beginning to turn away. Quickly, I grabbed his shoulder.
"No, I'm listening." He turned back to me, a cunning glint in his eyes.
"S'information. Good stuff. What you got for me?" Wordlessly, I held out a battered, slightly rusted pen knife I'd traded earlier in the evening. He went to grab it, but I snatched it back before he could get it.
"Only if it really is good, kid."
"You're lookin' for the wrong person – you want the Warrior. You'll never find her, but he'll know where she is."
Still suspicious, I let him grab the knife from me and race out of the carriage, which had just touched down. He must have overheard me speaking to that last stallholder – how else could he know?
A voice startled me out of my confusion.
"'Ere, you'll want to give 'im this." He said. A small, plastic doll with bright purple hair landed at my feet.
And so, here I am, fingers curled tightly around the ugly little figure in my pocket, waiting to see the Warrior. Although the girl who showed me in said he didn't like to be called that – said to call him Richard Mayhew. A London Above name if ever I heard one, which is odd, considering he's been knighted by the Earl and gained a real name for himself. I wonder how he did it. But most of all, I wonder if he can help me, or if this will be one more fruitless investigation in my quest.
So here I am, hoping that Richard Mayhew, Warrior, will be able to tell me where my sister is.
He comes out of the next room, and he's not at all what I expected; slightly round faced, attractive, yes, but not at all fearsome.
He offers me his hand; I take it.
"Hello, I'm Richard Mayhew. And you are…?"
"Ingress. I'm looking for Door – do you know her?"
A/N This has been posted on my journal for a while, and I just decided on a whim to stick it up here with the rest of my fics. I hope you enjoyed!