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June 8 - June 13, 2022
Stoker was my concern—specifically the powerful emotions he stirred within me and what, precisely, I was going to do about them.
Every time, my thoughts went to him, like pigeons darting home to roost.
We were solitary creatures, Stoker and I, but we had discovered a mutual understanding beyond anything we had shared with others.
The original design had been my own, but the pockets were entirely Stoker’s doing, both in conception and in execution. He had learnt to stitch as part of his training both as a surgeon and as a taxidermist. The fact that he occasionally used those skills to alter or mend my clothes was a particular pleasure to me.
“Miss Speedwell is a skeptic, poppet. She believes in what her eyes can tell her. She has yet to learn there is more to see than what the eyes can perceive.”
Where others might whisper little poetries, Stoker and I engaged in badinage, each of us certain that no one else in the world understood us as well as the other.
“Clever Veronica,” I said wryly. “You thought to protect him from being hurt and instead you have mauled yourself.”
“There is no truth so terrible as the unknown,”
To be engaged in an investigation once more, sparring with Stoker, was to be more myself than at any other time. I felt a rise of excitement and a sudden ferocious joy as heated as that of any butterfly hunt.
I were to admit the depth of my feelings for him, I risked the ruination of the dearest thing in the world to me—his friendship.
“Hearts are the same as bones, you know,” she said as she picked up her tankard again. “Are they?” “Aye. One may be broken into a thousand pieces, but when they are bound together again and a heart is made whole, the love it gives will be all the fiercer.”
He might have surprised smugglers or pirates and is being held against his will in a lair—” Tiberius made a strangled noise and Stoker shook his head. “You’ve over-egged the pudding with that one.” “I never claimed all the options bore equal likelihood. I merely said they were possible. And you must admit, there is a history of piracy in this place.” “Not since the days of Elizabeth and her privateers,” Stoker argued. “Feathers. As long as men sail the seven seas, those bent upon mischief or profit will find it,” I countered. Tiberius held up a hand. “I have never, in all of my life, needed
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“I am scientist enough to believe that there is much we cannot explain and that it is arrogant to presume we know more than we do,” I replied.
Stoker’s smile was slow and terrible. “You think that is love, brother? That I should kill for her?” He shook his head, his eyes locked with mine. “You are the fool, Tiberius, because you still do not understand. I do not love her enough to kill for her.” He stepped to the edge of the rock. “I love her enough to die for her.”
“So, another adventure,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his features, illuminating his face like a pagan god. “Shall we begin? Hand in hand?” “And back to back,” I added with a grin. “The better to see our enemies.”

