"Now, now. You must be courteous to your uncle," said a grinning Basil as he was studying the letter carefully. Amelia muttered curses at Basil under her breath to herself, wishing she could do him the service of giving him some painful and equally unpleasant injuries of his own.

"If you weren't father's brother, I'd have half a mind to--"

"Shshsh!" he silenced her, studying markings and penmanship and such. It was, in fact, true that Amelia was not really Myerricroft Basil's daughter. In all truth she was his adopted daughter. This made little difference to anyone as Amelia would do anything for her "father."

"I did treat up that burn rather nicely Miss Amelia," said Dawson from his own chair. "I doubt it will leave a scar, and if it does, it'll fade." He personally would be disappointed if such an ugly mark were to mar such beautiful white fur.

Amelia smiled at the doctor. "Yes, and I thank you for it. But there are some people who--" she said, raising her voice slightly at the comments directed at Basil.

"Hush!" he said again, still studying the paper.

"Oh how I hate flowers!" she said angrily, that being the principle of why she was here. Myerricroft was traveling to Paris to get a rare flower to take care of, a little hobby of his, and seeing as he would not take her with him, and he would not let her stay alone, she instructed Sherringford to be ward for his daughter while he was out of town. A week had passed, and they still had another to spend in each others company.

Myerricroft had also instructed Basil to teach her something. He didn't care what, for there was a lot she already knew. But she was a bright pupil, easily bored. This was the biggest problem between she and Basil. They would argue tiny details of the lesson until they were completely off the original subject. Both had tied so far in the amount of arguments won, and both were detesting each other more as the days went by. But Basil was currently quite pleased with her on this evening for she had retrieved what had been asked of her. And she was twice as angry at him for being tricked into running his dangerous little errand, and for getting the rather nasty burn for it.

There was a moan from Basil as he dropped the letter to the floor, walking over to his chair, sinking into it. He grabbed for his violin, playing it mournfully.

"What?" demanded Amelia. "What does that mean?"

"It means," said Dawson worriedly,"that something has gone a miss with Basil's deduction process."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Well I'm not going to have climbed through an air vent, burned my shoulder against a hot brick, and risked life and limb for that stupid letter all for nothing!" she shouted at Basil, who wasn't truly hearing her. "Oh!" she yelled again, stamping her foot impatiently as she snatched up the letter. "Let me see it!"

But poor Amelia's father disappeared for reasons never discovered, making her cruel step mother her legal guardian. But she too remarried, to a man as cruel as she. Amelia was the scapegoat in her cruel family of three step brothers, step mother, and step father. Amelia began to starve from lack of food, come close to death from lack of medical treatment, and close to suicide for lack of love.

"I don't care," I told myself. I truly didn't. I was often the cause of complaint for my "parents".

My mouth watered slightly. "They're cooking cabbage" my stomach said. Cabbage had never been a favorite of mine, but living on what one could scrounge had led me to eat anything and everything I could.

"I want out of this attic. It's July! It's hot! Oh, I think I might die of heat and starvation! If only the attic were this hot in January. I would revel in it then! How many more hours till they sleep?" I asked myself. It didn't mater, since there was no clock up here, and practically no light to see it with.

"Is the corner hole unblocked? Maybe I can see the sun....." the sun was setting, I could tell, but that might take several more hours until it was fully down, and my "brothers" were rowdy and might not sleep until midnight. I knew I couldn't stay up that late, weak as I was. So, it was risk missing my chances staying in this attic, possibly dying from the heat, or risk getting caught and beaten going down stairs and stealing out the back. I simply had to go with the second choice.

It took kicks to open the door to the stairs which led to the lower story of the house. Kicking would create noise. Nosie which I could not afford to be heard. Luckily for me, I had mastered the art of opening this door without kicking. A few moments later, the door opened, silent as a lamb. I knew where to step to avoid creaking and snapping boards.

One final, and quiet leap, and I was outside of the door that led into the kitchen, the kitchen to the back door, and the back door to my freedom. I pressed my ear to the door. Nothing. I waited still, not making a sound, hardly daring to breath. Still nothing. I opened the door silently, peeping out. Nothing. Utter darkness. I hadn't realized that my carefulness had taken me hours. I opened the door slightly wider, slipping out silently.

On silent paws I raced through the kitchen to the door. As I began to open it I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was extreme self control that kept me from screaming. I turned slowly, seeing the huge form of my "father."

"And where do ye be off to, ya lass of the streets?" he said, pausing from time to time to hiccup. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I didn't answer. I stood, paralyzed with fear, my great, crystal blue eyes not even blinking.

"This is it," I thought. "One blow from that ugly fist and I'll be dead." I was about to shut my eyes tight and brace myself when I realized he was beginning to slump over. I dogged the falling mass of drunken stupidity to avoid being smashed.

"Pleasant dreams, you rat of the sewers you," I sneered softly at him. I opened the door just enough for my slim, starving figure to squeeze through, shutting it soundlessly.

"No lead," moaned Basil again, still playing. Amelia listed off whatever else she could find, her voice getting softer as her choices became slimmer. Each time Basil would respond with "No lead."

Finally, Amelia too slumped into a chair.

"Well, apart from finding what it's made from, I don't think there's anything left to look at...." she said, nursing her shoulder. In a split second, Basil's playing had come to a screeching halt.

"Find out what it's made from....." he murmured to himself. "Find out what it's made from....Find out what it's made from?" he said again, his voice gaining more strength. "Find out what it's made from! Ha ha!" he shouted triumphantly, sweeping Amelia out of her chair and spinning her around a few times, his up and down emotions on a high again.

"You brilliant girl! You brilliant, ingenious child!" he cried as she collapsed back into her chair.

"Basil, you've gone mad!" exclaimed Amelia. Basil didn't hear her. He was too involved in muttering equations to himself as he tore the letter into little pieces.

"What on earth are you doing?" she cried again.

"By finding out what the paper has been through, we can find out where it's been!" he shouted jubilantly.

"Yes, but Basil-" started Amelia. Too late. He had already ripped the paper into shreds. Amelia moaned and sank back into her chair.

"Well what's the matter with you? It was your idea remember?" he said angrily.

"But the paper--"

"Yes, yes, I know, but you will not have burned your shoulder in vain! This will tell all!"

"But Basil it--"

He silenced her again.

"This might take awhile, and since it's already late...." he said directly to Amelia. The two shot daggers out of their eyes for a moment.

"I'm staying till I find out everything!" she declared stubbornly. "I'm not going to be able to sleep wondering if I'm going to have a scar on my shoulder for absolute fop!"

"Well," said Dawson, "I for one, am tired enough to wait until morning to discover if it's fop or not. Good night Basil. Good night Amelia."

Again Basil didn't listen, but Amelia responded with a good night.