burglary

The rozzer tries the door as he walks past. Two minutes until he reaches the end of the block, two minutes that seem to last forever. As soon as he’s around the corner, I’m moving. The key works perfectly and I’m in, I lock the door behind me and crawl behind a desk. Another eternity and I hear the door rattle again. I count to twenty and head for the safe. And stop dead.

The watch in my pocket is buzzing like a wind-up toy. There’s strong magic here. I turn my head and squint, seeing what I fear, the faint wavering that means the safe is warded. At the least, someone will know when they’re disturbed; at the worst, they might trap me here or paralyze me for hours.

I’ve spent three days watching Mister Ellison’s office, day and night, taking turns with Ned Crabbe so we get some time off. We have a pretty good idea of the routine at this point; opens at nine, closes at seven, everyone leaves promptly and the manager locks up. There’s no watchman, but the beat rozzer passes by every nine minutes. The office is a storefront with big plate glass windows looking onto the street which is a bit of a nuisance. I sum all these things up as I watch the manager hop down off the omnibus. I hop down right after him and follow, hoping he doesn’t decide to stop for a drain on the way home.

On my way back from the ladies’ I stop and look over the crowd below. The music’s stopped for bit and the dancers are congregating around the bars for a drink or two. I watch for a bit, then look up to study the tiers. There’s Mister Worth with Miss Sophia on his arm, and it looks like he's watching something. I follow his gaze and see he's watching Ned and Bill talk.

“What's he up to?” I wonder, because Fatty Ellison is a big man with connections to all sorts of people and robbing him would be like cutting your own throat, pretty literally.

"It's eighteen shillings a week, no attendance, plus gas and coal." Mrs. Hooper says, crossing her arms over her ample bosom and looking around the two bare rooms.

"Hmmm." Eighteen shillings is a bit dear, but no attendance means no maid poking her nose into my things and the location over a milliner's shop in a quiet neighborhood is certainly much nicer than the Rookery. There is even a bit of back garden, shared with the small hotel next door, leading to the alley behind the house, useful for slipping in and out.

"I'll take it." I say, handing Mrs. Hooper a sovereign. "Let me know how much, if there's more for the gas and coal."

"Shouldn't be more than another shilling or two." The older woman says with a smile, as she pockets the coin. "You can stop round the kitchen if you're needing a bit of hot water."

I am looking at the insides of this ticker that I am christening and it is very obvious that it is not just a ticker.  Mister Wade had handed me two tickers to christen so he could sell them on; the first had been easy, just a simple set of initials that came out with a bit of buffing and some polishing.  The other ticker has some posh coat of arms that means remaking the case a bit which is why I have opened it up.  I think this is very interesting, so I carefully slide the works out to take a better look.  Now I think that it is a shame to sell this interesting bit of work to some cove who won't take proper care of it and it just so happens that I have a spare ticker or two lying around so I put the other workings inside the case and save the interesting bit to look at later.  All Wade cares about is if it works or not.