Five tore his gaze away from Saira's disbelieving stare through the carriage window and then slid his focus from the passenger across from him down to his shoes. He scuffed them together as the floor started to move.

Sir Newman had said it was customary for gentlemen to offer small tokens when accepting an invitation. Five hadn't waited to see if Saira from Bath liked the fan, but it was hers now. He certainly had no use for one.

He wasn't positive he'd done the right thing with the gift. Not that he minded getting one, but had it fit the criteria? The Market Street shops weren't exactly filled with objects that said, 'thank you for the tea invitation'. They more said, 'let me impress you with my expense', or 'see how well I know you, that you would love this?', both of which felt like the wrong message. When he'd settled on the fan, he'd been thinking it was something she could use, and it matched at least one outfit that she owned. Of course, now that he had a moment's distance from the situation, he'd probably hit it too on the nose. He could only hope that his gift hadn't come across as a veiled threat to her secret identity, because that was the last thing in the world that he'd considered. Until right this second.

Damn.

Maybe Sir Newman's brandy had muddled his brain, but the gift giving suggestion had made sense at the time. And the rest of what the old man said Friday night had made sense as well. Land ownership, according to his new landlord, was wrought with favoritism. This meeting he was rolling towards was part of the revised strategy they'd discussed, placing Five in front of key people in town for the local politics to work in his favor.

Just in case it went sideways, he brought backup… who, at the moment, he couldn't look in the eye without feeling guilty about delaying the carriage.

Five had just spent time and money on a… no, not a stranger. What was she? An ally? A business partner? There was something there, and he was going to drill into it until he figured it out. Later.

She'd been so… colorful today.

He stilled his hand from tapping on the window of the coach on its own accord. But as soon it quieted in his lap, there went his leg, bouncing up and down. Stupid youthful energy coursed through his veins. He tried to think of other things… boring things, like holding his breath while adding liquid nitro to a homemade batch of dynamite.

The carriage hit a bump and jolted him to grab the door for balance. This whole thing was going to blow up in his face, wasn't it?

He glanced over at his backup and winced at Daniel's disapproving frown, like he had worn his drawers on the outside of his trousers. "You going to tell me about…"

Five snorted. "No."

What was he supposed to say about Saira? Was he going to tell his friend that he'd dropped the whole affair of hiding for the rest of his days because someone dressed in black told him he was 'safe'? Daniel would think him insane for falling for that sort of nonsense. Even if that nonsense happened to come from The Shroud.

Which he'd made a contract to keep secret.

But yeah, he did want to believe her. He wanted to believe in the way that she looked at him, the way she smiled when they spoke. She'd called them 'friends'. Was it that easy? Did one simply shake hands and agree to be friends?

Daniel was his friend, right?

Ever since they'd met,their trust went as far as the jobs they did together. Neither was privy to the other's personal plans once they parted ways. That had been easy.

"You nervous?" Daniel asked, finally breaking the silence. "I expect not. You excel at everything handsy… in the defense department, at least."

"Sir Newman's note is good for both of us," Five said assuredly. He smoothed the corner of the invitation to Bath's prestigious Fencing Club for upper crust overachievers (Daniel's words), Newman's lavish script displaying his fake name from Harrow's. On principle, he understood the Club was a solid move. But when brass came to tacks, he wasn't keen to be introduced to Society in such a public way. It was a far cry from clandestine meetings in the back of Carraway's.

In spite of his misgivings, Five was eager to handle the blades. Trained conditioning of one who 'survived all things at all costs' still hummed within him like a well-oiled machine. And though he'd vowed never to take another life, his hands itched to point a blunted weapon gentlemanly-like at other gentlemen for the sport of it.

"I won't need that invite, by the way," Daniel told him.

Five looked up sharply. "What does that mean?"

"I'm already in the Club in London. They've got a reciprocal arrangement."

Five mulled that over, which explained a few things he suspected about Daniel. The two of them weren't into the habit of asking questions, but he had started wondering about Daniel's associations. For example, his frequent trips back to the big city, and what they had to do with the society news he'd stumbled upon that morning in the Coffee House.

Daniel cleared his throat. "Are you still declaring yourself off the marriage…"

"Are you?" Five shot back. Yeah, it was time to kick the 'not asking' habit. "The Morning Chronicle took an interest in Lady Burton's arrival in Bath. Turns out her family's in an ongoing row with the Knapps of London."

"There are many Knapps," Daniel said dismissively.

"Are there many Knapps in Bath, who travel frequently to London? Between this note from Sir Newman, and now this sudden… endorsement from you, this carriage ride feels like a setup. I don't like going in blind, Danny."

Daniel looked affronted. "Newman's your man, not mine. His endorsement is like gold in this town. But you asked for my help, so I'm helping. You've got to know the right people to win this."

"Like you," Five said. "Am I the only one who will have the disadvantage here, not knowing who you are?" The question hung in the air.

"Oh very well, you've worked it out. Give the man a shot of whiskey for deducing I'm one of the London Knapps. I don't mean you any disadvantage. Quite the opposite. Look, that day you fell from the sky, I thought, 'There's a chap who can literally fly, and he's gotten himself stuck in brambles thicker than mine'. Call it what you will, but you seemed to require assistance, and I took it upon myself to provide it."

"You know I can't actually fly," Five said, marveling at how Daniel's speech effortlessly flipped from 'market vendor' to 'aristocrat'.

"I know that now. At the time, I thought that if we combined our talents, we'd make a great team. We've done well, don't you think?"

Five's accounts could attest to the wellness they'd done. He pressed on. "So you're the bastard."

"I beg your pardon!" Daniel reared back, readying his balled up fists.

"That day when I fronted for you with Lady Burton. You're the one with the double-booked calendar."

"Didn't want to stand her up," Daniel hedged.

"So you paid me to go in your place?"

"It was a cover," he retorted lamely.

"No, that's… you got me tangled up in your business, so now I need to know. Isn't that what we've always said?"

"Hmm…"

"Who is she to you, Daniel?"

Daniel looked contrite. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it for me."

Daniel stared out the window and then sighed. "Love of my life, that one. It was all going so well. And then just as things were moving forward, my mother spilled insults all over the Baroness at high tea. Mother refused to set things right, and suddenly, I'm no good for 'Tilda. You'd finished with Harrow's, and I'd finished University. It was an opportunity for a clean exit."

"And you go back frequently."

"To soulless Knapp Family luncheons so they won't reassign my portion of the estate to a distant cousin or some such. I'm not entirely forfeiting my silver platter, but I can't share the same roof with people who erected a wall between me and 'Tilda." Daniel's words fell back into his street smarts accent. "And I can't be in that town, right around the corner from her. Distance was supposed to make it easier to stay away. I need her like my next breath, Five. But needing is one thing. Getting… getting is something else entirely."

"Woah, Danny. You say all that, but you pawned her off on a dud like Garfield?"

Daniel waved a dismissive hand. "Garfield's too much of a dolt to impress anyone, let alone a Baron's daughter. The fact is, I couldn't have shown up at that tea shop. Not when I'm still no good for her."

"According to her mother?"

"I'm done being dictated to, but she has to follow the protocol for a Baron's daughter. Her last letter told me she wanted to meet when she came to Bath, and I was so excited that I hadn't thought it through. Garfield's low on the punctuality dance card, which is why you needed to keep her company until he arrived."

Five snapped the 'meetings' piece together with 'letters', and came up with a new picture of his friend. "Are you playing Romeo and tossing pebbles at her window too?"

Daniel made no comment, but it was clear by his expression that he'd do anything to be with Lady Burton if it didn't risk her reputation or her well-being.

Five had witnessed this condition before, and learned from his siblings that there was no help for it. His friend was caught up in an uncontrollable tide, just like his brother who'd 'married the enemy' at the end of the known universe. Five himself had drunkenly sung karaoke at One's wedding reception as all around them, the world fell into oblivion.

Unsurprisingly, the universe had found a way to go on.

Unlike his brother's end-of-time fairytale match, Daniel had gotten swept off the bow, and this thing called Love had him treading water without a life vest. Five wondered when that had happened. Then he recalled their last job in London, where he'd posed as a footman, and Daniel masqueraded as the Manor Lord's son and boldly strutted through the front door with announcements and fanfare. While his partner waltzed in the ballroom, Five picked locks, lifted a sheaf of papers from a study, and absconded with a large share of coins.

"Two seasons ago," he said pointedly, "did we rob your family?"

Daniel had the decency to look chastised, but his tone held a great deal of indignation. "Only Mother's holiday pin money. Payback for her big mouth."

"That's low, stealing from your own mother."

Five thought back to his other brother, Two's fiancee', and how he'd personally orchestrated the murder of her mother for standing in the way. "Or not," he added.

Daniel checked his pocket watch. "The Membership Committee meets in fifteen, which makes us miraculously still on time. All we have to do is show Newman's invite, add my endorsement, and then you're free to walk in tomorrow and claim the place. Club matches begin at half-past four."

"I see." Five's Tuesday schedule had suddenly filled up. Morning at two. Fencing after.

The carriage stopped outside a formidable building with large columns and an impressive display of trimmed hedges. As they got out, Daniel pulled Five aside before they went in.

"I had these made for you." He handed Five a palm-sized mother-of-pearl parquet case. "If you're going to talk like an old man and plan for your dotage well before your life has even begun, you've got to play the part." He patted Five's arm. "We might even get you a cane."

Inside the case, Five found a collection of hand-engraved calling cards matching the invitation. He squinted at his friend.

"How long have you had these?"

Daniel winked. "Welcome to my world."

At two o'clock on Tuesday, the serving lady threw Five a bright smile as he entered the tea shop, no doubt the same server who'd waited on Lady Burton last week. Normally he would balk at such blatant recognition, but today, he smiled back. If he had a hat, he would have tipped it.

Yesterday, three older gentlemen had fired questions about form and blade identification. Then they'd fitted him for padding and given him a ticket for today's matches. The ten-minute ordeal had given Five little to sweat about. In fact, it had bolstered his confidence about the revised plan.

Apparently, meeting people wasn't so bad.

In the back of the shop, away from the windows with all the sounds of the kitchen for cover and a back door to scoot out if the need arose, he found Saira sitting at a table for two. Interestingly, no clingy chaperone sat at her side. She rummaged in her bag, looking down and away. Five used the opportunity to slip into the empty chair. "Excellent seats," he said.

She snapped her head up in response, smiled softly, and nodded to an older woman sitting one table over, who sipped her tea and nodded back.

Nevermind, there was a chaperone. The woman had the look of efficiency about her, with long, nimble fingers holding the menu card.

Saira didn't offer him her greeting, so he didn't offer his. Except now, some kind of conversation should probably commence. That's how these things went, didn't they? He'd done well enough yesterday with the stodgy Fencing Club Membership Committee, so he took the first pass.

"You were born in India."

It wasn't a question. He could tell by her accent and the way she moved that England had not gripped her around the neck so early. He liked the fact that she wasn't a product of this drab, fog-covered country and possibly had a palate that spanned wider than boiled meat and potatoes.

"You were born in the Colonies."

It must be obvious, because she wasn't asking. The last four years had narrowed his vowels and squared his "d"'s and "t"'s, but even to his own ears, he still sounded from "elsewhere", or as they would say in his time, "not from around here".

"Actually…." Five trailed off, not because he didn't know where to begin, but because he didn't know where to stop.

He was from an America that happily coexisted with an English monarchy who no longer shunned pointed lightning rods. Five tried to sift through the details of his life, sorting through facts that would make him seem genuine and those that would cause him to seem impossible. The more he sifted, the less he was willing to share. He definitely couldn't mention that the man who adopted him was an alien from a star that hadn't yet appeared in the Earth's sky.

Five cleared his throat. "Yes. That's right." He watched as her posture relaxed and felt the tension in his own shoulders loosen. What was it about her, that he needed to make her comfortable?

"You know more than you care to say," she said.

"As do you," Five countered.

A serving lady placed a tray in front of them, the warm scent of cinnamon easing any remaining tension away.

"Chai?" Saira asked.

Five mirrored her pouring the tea and milk, moving through the dance of serving themselves. Far more milk than tea swirled in his cup, turning it a creamy brown that matched her skin.

When he tasted it, his eyes closed as warmth and sweetness passed through him. When he looked at her, Saira was smiling.

"I come here most weeks with my aunties. They mix the spices just for us. It reminds my aunties of the old country."

"I imagine you offer it to all your guests," Five said.

"You are my first," she admitted.

"Then you must be a frequent guest yourself. To someone. Who would have guests." Five's train of thought completely derailed as he watched Saira's face change. "Hold on. Are you blushing?"

Completely out of his element, Five was not at all sure that he should point out that a lady was blushing, but the deeper color on her face compelled him to find out what else she would react to.

"Or are you too busy keeping your secrets to have guests?" he added.

"I was going to ask you the same," Saira said, hiding a smile behind her cup. "And yes, I am busy."

Not wanting to slip too far from his general alertness, Five self-consciously eyed the nimble-fingered woman at the adjacent table, who was busy with some kind of stitchery in her lap. If he was somewhere, or some-when else, he might peg the woman and her needles as a potential threat.

"Did you attend school?" Saira asked.

"Yes, Harrow's in London. Before that..." he thought to where Saira was in her life and tried to make a loose connection that she might understand. "I studied at home with my family. There were seven of us. All adopted. You?"

"I am an only child."

She said it so sadly, that Five had to say something else. She'd invited him here because they had more to talk about, hadn't she?

"What did you mean when you told me I was 'safe'? Of all the words to use, that would be the last word I would use for myself."

"You felt safe."

"From what, exactly?"

Saira thought about that. "It feels like you are untouchable. Whatever you are hiding from, you are safe from that, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Yes. My suppositions are often correct. I have come to trust them. But with you, I only get one image, and I've already told you how it makes me feel."

"I see."

His fingers itched under the table. Today, they hadn't touched, which was a strange thing for Five to miss, since he rarely touched anyone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he put his hand on the table.

"Care to try again?"

He read the hesitation in her face, her hand hovering over her teacup, but just as she looked like she was about to reach out, the server interrupted.

"Biscuits?"

Saira's hand gripped her cup, and a bright smile draped over her startlement like a veil. "Biscuits, Mrs. Lanchester?" she said in a louder voice, getting the older woman's attention.

Biscuits were served, but only Mrs. Lanchester seemed to enjoy them. Five and Saira sat staring at each other's hands on the table.

"I cannot do that here," she breathed, still intent on Five's hand. "But I can tell you what I didn't See. No one is following you. You are in no mortal danger. Whatever you are running from, it hasn't found you."

You found me, he wanted to say. But that was ridiculous. She was the last sort of person he would want to run from.

"I won't be running," she said, surprising him with her declaration. "And I won't be hiding either," she said softly.

"Are you in trouble?" Five asked, alarmed at the thought.

"My father," she said, softer still. "My aunties and I are leaving him to be on our own. By this time next year, I will be an independent lady." She said it with so much quiet conviction, that Five couldn't imagine anything less.

"It seems we have something other than secrets in common. I intend to have a long, independent existence with as little human interruption as possible."

"Are you hiding from your family?"

"Not exactly," he said thinking of his siblings. "But I would prefer to never see my father again. When someone has that much control over you, it's liberating when you can finally slip away."

He tried to freeze that moment in time when he'd experienced that initial euphoric feeling, where everything had been new and wild and free. Saira was young and beautiful and had a whole life of independence to build for herself. Five could see her playing her cards well and coming up aces in the end.

Saira nodded agreeably. "And you are an Engineer. A talented one, if the Baths hired you."

Five noted the strategic change of subject, and followed suit. "Engineering is one of my many talents. I'll do whatever work that gets me closer to retirement."

"Retirement!" she exclaimed, and then threw a hand over her mouth, because it was the loudest thing she'd said since he'd sat down.

"Retirement," she whispered. "That's such an odd thing to say."

Five mentally kicked himself. It was such an old man thing to say. Not that he was old. Older than her. Maybe not even as old as her chaperone.

What the hell was he doing?

He knew exactly what he was doing. He just didn't understand why he allowed himself to continue on about it. She made him feel as if talking about himself was a natural thing to do. Worse, she made him feel like talking about himself would make her trust him more. Make her like him more.

The only people he ever felt this close to were his siblings who shared his past, knew each other's faults, and supported each other anyway.

What if...

No. Just listen to yourself.

But what if…

The question that he refused to let surface became louder, clamoring for air.

Alarm bells rang in his ears, drowning out all sound except the negative thoughts fighting for his attention. Five picked up his cup and sipped his tea and looked at the lady in front of him, trying to get back to the place where this was fun and interesting, and lovely. She was clever and resourceful… admirable traits. And she had asked for his company, so what was his problem?

He had been as honest as he could be. And he knew she was being honest with him as well. Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he'd talked like this with someone that he actually liked.

When her expression shifted, he could not stop the tenseness from bunching in his limbs, the way his body made ready for the unknown.

Relax, he thought, gritting his teeth. Friends. Building trust. Having tea.

"How old are you?" she asked, peering at him with those relentless eyes.

Ah, hell.

The floodgates in his head opened, and all his internal warnings whooshed back into his consciousness like a dam breaking. What was he thinking, having this conversation with a young lady who compelled him to spill all his secrets? A Seer, no less. He'd dealt with powers of the mind before, and if his sister, Three, had wanted to dig into him, he wouldn't sit idly waiting for her to bare his soul. He'd be on the other side of the planet, shielding himself until whatever it was blew over.

It was a simple question that he absolutely could not answer without Saira thinking it was a lie.

That was it. That was the end of this social experiment. He should never have come. He should never have let anyone get this close to him.

How old are you?

"Getting older by the minute," he said, standing so abruptly that it rattled the saucers.

Saira paled at his sudden change. "I didn't mean to pry," she blurted.

"No need to apologize," Five said to her. "I have somewhere to be."

Anywhere but here.

Saira stood up herself. "It was very nice speaking with you, Mister?"

She extended her hand.

Five looked at it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and also like it would be the death of him in that moment, if he took it.

"Good day, Miss," he said, attempting to extricate himself as completely as possible. He scanned the tea tray and uneaten biscuits, realizing that he had brought nothing to take, except for the mangled feeling that he shouldn't see Saira of Bath again.

With the last of his good mood suffocating under her expression of hurt and confusion, he strode out of the tea shop. No carriage waited to carry him away, so he didn't look back, didn't imagine how she might sink back into her chair and whisper to her chaperone that it was time to leave.

Didn't imagine how she might be covering for her embarrassment that his abrupt departure might cause, or the detriment it might cause her social standing in this town.

Damnit, he'd forgotten about that stupid custom in this backwards place with its rigid modes of behavior. Under any other circumstance... that was a laugh. What circumstance would allow him to fit in here? Oh, that's right. There weren't any.

It hadn't escaped his notice that at the end, she had asked him for a name. He'd told her the truth before. His name was Five. Not because he was hiding the rest of it from her.

Because it was the only name he'd ever known.

He couldn't explain to her why he lacked a surname or couldn't talk about anything specific to his past. Rank and lineage were of the greatest import in this world, and exactly the things he didn't have. He would never be suitable company for her, or for anyone.

And now that he'd allowed himself to believe for one second that he could have a friend (other than Daniel, who knew better than to ask him questions he couldn't answer), he'd just proven to himself the reason he'd known all along that it couldn't be possible.

He was unknowable. To these people. To this time.

It was unfair. All of it was so unfair. To her. To himself. Five stepped up his pace, heedlessly bumping into a top hat with a scowl, not offering an apology. He had no idea how to kill the few hours before his next appointment, but he needed to get away fast, before nothing in this world made sense to him anymore.

The Fencing Club was housed in a large, atrium-sized room flanked on both sides with hip to ceiling arched windows. Except now, people occupied every square yard of the floor. Unlike his back row seat in the coffeehouse, where he could watch the antics of the mercers, bakers and coachmakers without notice, these likely Lords, or sons of Lords were all staring at him.

In his rush to get away from Saira and her damned personal questions, he'd walked straight into another situation that commanded him to give away even more of himself.

Apparently they wanted a demonstration of skill.

He busied himself with the gloves, the double-lined doublet, and face mask, checking everything for holes or tears. As he triple-wrapped the practice foil's blunted tip with leather, he continued to avoid eye contact, or any other body language that might make him seem approachable.

When someone came up from behind, Five reined in his frustration, but it swiftly evaporated when he saw Daniel. Another man, about Daniel's age stood slightly behind him. "This is Chadwick," Daniel said. "We met at Oxford. He's the Welcoming Committee, meaning that he's here to give you the rules, and I'm here just in case you need any interpretation."

Five looked at him with the unspoken question.

"Because you're not English," Daniel confirmed.

"Ah yes," the Welcoming Committee spoke up. "I hope to travel to Italy next year on my tour."

Five gave Daniel another look, who smoothly continued, "Give him your card."

Five did so, having to admit that the name he'd used at Harrow's did have a Mediterranean ring to it.

Chadwick pointed to a gentleman across the room shoving his arms into his padded doublet.

"Your first match is with the greeter, which will determine your starting rank. If you score on him, we'll set you up for other matches."

Daniel groaned. "Oh, Great House of Lords, is that who I think it is?"

Following his gaze, Five felt like his world had well and truly slipped sideways into an abyss of nonsense and absurdity.

It was Garfield.

The one and only fencing class Five had attended at Harrow's had ended with an unfortunate episode of a younger Garfield calling Five out on some unfounded cheating charges (as if cheating at fencing was even possible). Consequently, Five had taken part in a bit of childish payback, where he'd learned that not everyone found the act of embarrassing a Lord's son as gratifying as he did. With a profuse apology and a substantial bribe to the headmaster after running a week's worth of Garfield's undergarments up the school flagpole in the middle of a severe thunderstorm, Five had made a hasty exit from the school before the ink dried on his completion letter.

Five tried to keep his face neutral as Garfield did a quick side-to-side shuffle with turned-out toes. But he couldn't hide his wince as the man then jabbed with a bent elbow at the wall, severely bowing his blade. Clearly, this buffoon hadn't learned a damned thing about proper footwork or point control since the last time they'd crossed swords.

When the Welcoming Committee approached Garfield to inform him of his greeter duties, he looked just as pleased about the arrangement as Five, which was not at all.

Five leaned in to Daniel, feigning the need for interpretation. "Am I allowed to sit this one out?"

"I don't see a way around it, mate. Good luck to you."

Five's face fell. He didn't need luck. What he needed was a triple-padded lame' and a high-quality mask. There was no doubt he would win, but Garfield would have to score a point or two as a measure of fairness, and Five was going to come away with bruises.

Once in position, Lord Archibald Garfield saluted Five with all the finesse of a trained ape. Ironic, since Five had been trained by a very adept fencing master who happened to be a genetically modified chimpanzee. Just by thinking the insult, he felt like he was discrediting his own mentor.

Five deftly parried Garfield's first lunge. On his opponent's second lunge, Five made contact with the thick edge of his blade for a parry, but instead of swiping the tip away, he directed the point of Garfield's blade into the center of his own chest, grunting as it made contact. He'd have a bruise there for sure.

The scorekeeper tallied the shot. Garfield's eyes lit up behind his mask and then dimmed abruptly. "You did that on purpose."

Okay, one point to Arseface. Time to get on with it. Five jabbed in Garfield's direction, but the ape's uncontrollable swishes didn't even come close to parrying.

Five couldn't take it anymore. He caught Garfield's hilt in his tip and flipped it out of his hand. Heads turned as it clattered to the floor.

"Oi!" Garfield called, bending to pick up his blade. As soon as he had it in hand, Five did it again.

"I can't fight you if you keep dropping your blade," he said evenly.

"I can't fight you if you don't stand still," Garfield retorted.

"Your loss." Five scored a hit on Garfield's arm. Then on his leg. Then two right smack in the center of Garfield's mask.

He looked to the scorekeeper. "Is that enough?"

The scorekeeper shrugged. "As you wish."

Five opted to sit out the next match, feeling his control slipping away. He was still upset over tea. And then having to cross blades with a buffoon.

With Daniel in the middle of a match and clearly not ready to leave, Five accepted a second match from the Welcoming Committee. He could have enjoyed trading blows with Chadwick, who turned out to be a decent fighter, except they had the misfortune of being within earshot of Garfield, who had mounted his practice blade on the wall rack and ran his mouth to whomever would listen.

"She's got the dark complexion of her mother," he was saying. "It's not that she's undesirable. There's a certain exoticness to her that could be appealing."

Five stiffened, almost missing a parry. He tried to convince himself that there had to be more than one dark-skinned woman in town. He'd seen plenty throughout England, but regrettably, most of them were on the serving side of society and didn't take tea in public.

"But her father's land is worth any domestic inconvenience she may cause."

Garfield was so damned loud and his words so damned grating that Five couldn't help his attention from veering away from his opponent. That is, until his opponent's blunt tip rebounded off of Five's hilt.

"Ah, have you stopped trying?" Chadwick asked congenially.

"Sorry. Let's go again." Five saluted, and carried on in spite of something regarding "Indian tea", "skin like cinnamon" and "wonder how spicy the rest of her might be", where he barely kept up with the blade in front of him.

"I've seen her about town with her aunts, though I've never actually made her acquaintance. But her father seems to live at the Assembly Halls. He's even got his own table, but he's got a horribly unconvincing bluff. When he turned over deuces against my kings, he all but gave me rights to claim her right there at the table!"

Five couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but when Garfield responded with, "Well, of course I will have to win her over, but how hard is that going to be? All I have to do is show up Friday morning, make noise about her dress and her smile, and tell her it's all for the best," Five ended the match, planting his tip into the center of his opponent's chest before he completely lost his mind. He couldn't stand by and listen to someone talk about Saira like she was a slab of meat slung up on the butcher's rack.

He tore off his padding, and shoved his overcoat on. Whatever he said to Chadwick had been enough for a cordial handshake and an earnest 'come 'round again soon'.

Then, before he completely lost his composure, which would likely land Garfield in a headlock with a knife at his throat, Five left the building.

Outside, Five charged the coach and slammed the door after him. Once he was safely inside and away from Garfield, he breathed through the hammering pulse between his ears.

The coach door opened, and Daniel clambered in after him, still pulling off his thick gloves. "What was that all about?" he asked, a bit of crossness in his voice, but mostly alarm and concern.

"I hope the rest of your week is clear. I'll pay you for your time if necessary."

"You got another job?"

"Listen, the woman I was with yesterday."

"Ohhh…. Now you're going to tell me."

"I have to find her."

Daniel chortled.

"Shut up and listen. This is serious." The carriage gave a jolt, and Five grabbed the seat for purchase.

"What's her name?" Daniel asked.

"Saira." When his friend waited, Five coughed into his hand. "I only have a first name."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, and the back of Five's brain wheeled around, wondering if he had learned how to do that, or if it was a genetic predisposition.

"No matter. Where does she live?" Daniel prodded.

"That's what I need to find out."

"Right. Do you have anything else?"

"She shops on Market Street, and I had tea with her earlier today. Unfortunately, I left under the assumption that I wasn't going to see her again."

"Ahh… Wait a minute. You met a lady for tea and didn't get her proper name? Next, you're going to tell me you did it without a chaperone!"

"There was one of those, I believe. Older woman. Severe-looking. Liked the biscuits."

"And she didn't demand proper introductions? What name did you use?"

Five bit the inside of his cheek to stop blurting out obscenities. He'd used his name. The real one. But he wasn't about to tell that to Daniel, the man he'd made swear five years ago to never say it out loud.

"Grapes and garters, Five! You can fly loosey goosey under the bridge when you're nicking a loaf from Market Square, but you can't cut protocol with womenfolk! I'm surprised her chaperone didn't string you up, slice you open, and feed your entrails to the pigeons!"

"The woman remained blessedly non-verbal through the whole matter. Look. You know people… and things… Garfield's got invited to some morning thing at her house, and I have to warn her about all that nonsense he spewed at the club about wooing and cajoling and… claiming! He's bragging that he's already sealed the deal, even before he's met her."

"You don't think she can handle Garfield?"

"We just had our first proper conversation today, so I don't know who or what she can handle. And after how it wrapped up, I thought that would be the end of it."

"You like this woman."

"No, it's not…"

"You took her to tea, decided never to see her again, and now you're rushing out of the club to warn her of a potential suitor. You keep telling me you're not in the market, but then you act as if Garfield's declaration is the end of the world. Which is it?"

Five sighed. "I'm not… fine. If this were some other place and time, and I didn't have firm plans, I might consider acquiring a friend… possibly… I don't want her trifled with by someone like Garfield."

"No decent man would offer anything to Garfield past a handshake," Daniel said. "He's been turned down so many times at assemblies that it's become a drinking game. 'Every time Garfield sulks in the corner after a rejection, everyone empty their goblets!'. I wonder how he managed a house invitation."

"Apparently her father has miserable luck at cards."

Daniel looked at Five. Hard. Then his face softened, and he sighed. "That's serious business. Of course I'll help, you mutton!"

"We've got until Friday at ten." Five slammed his shoulders back into the seat, a strange cocktail of relief and hope and nervous energy swimming in his gut. He had no idea if it was even possible to find her in time.

With Daniel's involvement, his odds had gone up considerably.

He wasn't trying to save her. That's not what this was about. They both had the same goals to thwart the constricting status quo, of which he had been steadily succeeding, and she was still struggling against all odds to win. The inequality of it bit at him like a hatched nest of bedbugs. He would do this for any… friend. Right?

Five had grossly miscalculated the situation. He had underestimated his emotional attachment to the circumstances… or rather, he would throw himself in front of a mail coach on a moonless night before he allowed a certified buffoon to take advantage of someone like Saira.

"What are you going to do when you find her?" Daniel asked.

Five pressed his palms into his forehead, working through his options. First, he was going to apologize for his 'unseemly behavior'. Then he was going to warn her against Arseface Garfield's ill-intentions. After that…

"I have no clue."