It was currently boring her, simply because Marius and Cosette were just talking about how much they loved each other and it was all overly dramatic, and far to romantic for her taste.

She laughed to herself, remembering how she had explained to Huggins, a friend of her's whom she had met when she was a street Arab after escaping her "parents" house, about when Marius was stupid enough to try to follow Cosette home.

"That sounds like stalking. No wonder the old gentleman wouldn't want that pathetic excuse of a mental case near his daughter."

"Huggins," responded Amelia, "you are the worlds true opposite of a romantic."

"Your one to talk then?"

No, that was true. Amelia fond it rather pathetic as well.

She glanced up from the books pages, with half a mind just to skip that part until Javert found Valjean again, and tried to arrest him, or at least until something interesting might happen. Basil was currently fretting over the odd residue on the paper that he simply couldn't match. He could find out everywhere it'd been, but until the residue was discovered, he was at a dead end. Amelia watched him for a moment, waiting for him to figure it out. She sighed haggardly when he didn't, not wanting to say a thing, but knowing she had to.

"It's a perfume, or an incense or something!" said Amelia.

Basil turned abruptly around. "What was that?"

She sighed, putting the book down.

"You don't have to say a thing," she thought. "If you do, you'll both just wind up arguing." She knew that, and another fight between she and Basil was the last thing she wanted. But if she didn't say something, the case might be at a loss.

"It's a perfume of some sort."

"Why didn't you say something before!?"

"I tried to tell you!" she cried desperately. "But you weren't listening. I'm not used to perfumes, and I knew you weren't, so I assumed you'd noticed. With all the chemicals you work with, you must have missed it! Anything you would have done would have been fouled up by the perfume residue."

He opened his mouth to yell at her incompetence, but held his temper. No, this time, he had been very mortal, and made a very mortal mistake. Besides, she obviously hadn't done it to spite him because she was looking very unhappy about the whole thing. He sighed, giving a small bow.

"In this you are correct. Brava to your deduction, Miss Amelia."

Amelia looked absolutely shocked. But rather than start another argument by commenting on this, however innocent her words may have been intended, she simply said "Good night Basil. I'm going to bed, because I can't stay up any longer, watching you work away, and this book is putting me to sleep," she said with a quick curtsey.

The human who owned it's name was William Nelson, a gentleman with his wool suit and beaver hat, both of which were practically ancient. He had not been born into the class of gentlemen and women, born in 1820. At the age of twenty, he went to Nova Scotia for five years, making his fortune in the Fur Trade, which, was at that time, still booming. But when the five years were over, the fur trade was steadily declining. At Fort Vancouver, the main Pacific North West post for the Hudson's Bay, the English company, 66,000 whole pelts and 24,000 partial pelts had been shipped out a year. This could not be continued forever of course, and so rival products came on the market. Nutria from South America, but these failed miserably compared to the fashion of the Beaver top hat. Any gentleman had to have a hat like this, but these, costing one hundred pounds, and most men only making about 25 pounds a year, posed a problem. Thus entered the Silk Hat, from China. Costing only five pounds, these hats were not as delicate, but just as handsome. The beaver hat was doomed.

But Nelson was a stubborn man, and wore the fashion's of yester-year. The wool suits and beaver hat's of the forties he had known.

While in Nova Scotia, he had fallen in love with a breed of dog there called the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, tolling being a form of luring in ducks. These sweet and gentle companions looked like the Golden Retriever's of England, only even darker a red then even the darkest he'd seen, and much smaller, being the smallest of all Retrievers. They also might have a white stripe down their nose, a white T on their chest, white paws, and a tail with a tip of white on the end. They were wonderfully friendly, incredibly intelligent, grand watch dogs (if horrid at fighting for their Master's property) and made all in all grand companions.

Naturally, Nelson refused to leave Nova Scotia without at least one of the dogs he absolutely adored.

He left with five.

I thought about how many he had now. At least fifteen, having a large kennel of them. He also had a small barn for horses, property on which to ride them daily, and a fair sized pond were he would take the apples of his eye, his dogs, out, to hunt ducks.

"Speak of the devil," I thought as one of his favorite Toller Bitches, Cassiopeia, or Cassie, came trotting up to me. She was a year and a half, with all of the beauties of an adult dog, yet the frivolousness of puppy hood. She had a fine gate and a gentle nature, but when not occupied, she could become the most annoying of nuisances. Named for the constellation Cassiopeia, the joke was that she was Queen of the Sky.

The other Highness was little Cleopatra, named for the Queen of the Nile, but she hardly acted so regal. She was a nuisances quite a bit of the time, but the cutest nuisance that ever was born. She, being a year younger then her full blood sister, was far from like her. She was a sweet heart, but didn't like to obey, and followed Cassie everywhere, if not to try and steal food out of her mouth, to demand to play with her. She was a little sprite.

Cassie licked me happily, turning and snarling at Cleo, having just enough of her company today. I laughed, grabbing at the soft ears and climbing by the leather collar that Nelson gave all his dogs, with their name on it.

"Come on Cassie. Take me to the horses. I'm sure there must be some oats left."

I hated oats if not properly cooked, but I was to starving to care as Cassie gently loped into the barn and I scrambled into the feed bag, stuffing down the dry, chewy oats. I patted the dogs nose as I did, and fell asleep amongst the grain, tired as I was.

Amelia nibbled at the toast, never eating much out of habit. Basil paced wildly and excitedly across the room, pausing every once in a while to sip his tea. She put down the toast, picking up her cup and watching him with her eyes over the steaming brim.

"...and, this shows that it's been written in the dry, powder ink, developed in the far western United States, partial created by the local natives there, developed when we still had establishments there. It's also been introduced to coal smoke, but--"

While Dawson watched with interest, Amelia could not understand how the coal would matter a bit.

"But Basil, millions of people use coal. That wouldn't narrow it down a bit!"

"If I would be allowed to finish..." he said as the two shot horrid looks at each other from across the table. "It's the kind of coal soot, not found in fire places, but of a new sort of burning fuel, mixed with whale fat. It's supposed to burn better, but I hardly believe it. Invented by a French Mouse, who's actually paying people to use it as testers until he's sure about the products abilities."

"And you would know where this was distributed?" she questioned. To question one another's abilities was quite normal. The only time Dawson would worry was if they didn't bicker.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I would happen to know."

"Fine," she said, putting down the tea cup. "As long as I don't have to climb through anymore chimneys."

I awoke with a frightened squeak. There really wasn't a reason to fear Nelson, but all instinct dictated that I never have contact with a human. I jumped from the burlap sack I had fallen asleep in and tore off in the direction of the road.

"Wait!" he cried, but he and I both knew that was in vain. He shook his head. "I wonder how many more mice I'll find feeding off my horses grain, eh Aideen, my Flame?" he asked his Chestnut mare, patting her nose. "You never find just one mouse."

"So much for my safe haven," I thought bitterly as I now wandered the crowded streets of London. "There's no way I can go back for at least a few days without being caught and killed."

"What's this now? The little street urchin making her rounds? What do you sell today Amelia? Matches? Wild flowers? Or maybe you've run out of both!"

"Garrison," I thought, as my black paw clenched into a fist, while my right paw nervously clutched at a fold of my ragged dress. Well, Garrison's never with out....

"Yes!" teased another voice, hitting the black spot on my head. "Maybe she must sell her self now!"

....Jeffery. But there's no way my trio of Step Brother's would be complete without....

"Can't be much market for that, now can there?"

....Winslow. The three started cackling that horrible high pitched wheeze of a laugh of there's.

"Leave her alone Garrison. Don't consider yourselves upper class. Amelia has dignity," said a voice as it's owner rounded the corner. Huggins.

"Come to my rescue again?" I whispered to him as I crossed over to join him and the others. The Three liked just about no one, but respected Huggins. Everyone respected him. It was a law of the streets.

"We were just joking a bit..." said Garrison, staring intensely at the pavement. "Besides, Amelia's to come with us. Mother needs her for an errand."

"Errands." I hated "Mother's" so called "Errands." This was because they usually consisted of theft or even grater humiliation of my person. But, to quote Cushing, "The mind may be above all that the body does, but both are used to eating."

"You don't have to go," said Gilly, tugging at my sleeve.

I smirked. "Don't worry. I can fend for myself," I lied.

"But that's the way the wretched world works," she thought.

"Now, now, Miss Basil," said Mrs. Judson, as she served up some tea. "Mr. Basil and Dr. Dawson will return in a few hours or less."

"I know," she sighed. "But I am getting so tired of Basil's fickle moods. He and my father are brother's are they not? I would think that the would act some what the same."

"Mr. Basil? Behave like your father? No, Mr. Basil isn't enough of a gentlemen."

Amelia smiled, but sadly thought, "Come home soon Father. Or I may go mad."

"Or your white fur may have another black spot, only this one won't be hair. It would be a bruise," warned Garrison, with a clenched fist.

Not that it mattered if they hit me. They're method of thievery gave me enough bangs and soars that added ones wouldn't be noticed.

I sighed. "Yes brother."

"Good," said Jeffery as they dragged me into the side walk. A good aimed shove and...

BAM!

I had collided with a gentlemen. I winced as my shoulder felt like coming unattached from the rest of me.

"I'm so sorry sir, I must watch where I'm going."

"No, it's quite alright," said the kind, warm voice. My stomach felt queasy as I looked up and saw the mouse I had collided with.

He was light brown with cream around his nose. His eyes were warm and glowing. He held out a hand to help me up, which I gratefully excepted.

"I...umm..am most terribly sorry...." I got out. I felt Winslow's arm wrap around my shoulder.

"Thank goodness you found her sir. Can't keep track of her, this one!" he then whispered to him, "She's not quite right in the head, the poor dear...."

"If you don't let go of me, you won't have a head!" I hissed into Winslow's ear.

"It is alright," said the Mouse, and he bowed to me, and walked on.

I wiggled out of Winslow's arm, as I saw Huggins round the corner. I ran up to him.

"Huggins, you could find anyone in the city, couldn't you?"

He gave me a funny look. "If I pleased, why?"

"Can you find out where that one lives?" I asked, pointing out the gentlemen.

"What's in it for me?"

"Are you fond of your tail?"

"Quite."

"You won't have one if you don't follow him!"

"I'm going, I'm going!"

I cried out as I felt someone grab my arm and pin it behind me.

"What's the matter Amelia? You don't like our little profit?" said Garrison.

"Your profit, my heart ache," I spat at him.

"Fine," he responded, placing the watch in my hands. You have till sundown. If you bring the watch back, then you have one less chance at being murdered. If you return it to the gentlemen, all I can say is, watch your back," and the three of the stomped off in a huff. I stared down into my hands. What on earth was I to do?