Leximandra Reports, and other tales Read Free

girl
without the traditional complement of limbs. Born with one arm
missing, Lexi hadn’t exactly been an attractive prospect to most of
Glour’s employers. Brysold had given her a chance: she couldn’t let
him down.
    Besides, if the
paper closed then her job would vanish with it.
    Leaving
Brysold’s office building, she stepped into a bustling street. The
moon was setting over Glour City: the wakeful hours were drawing to
a close, and the streets were full of citizens hurrying to finish
the day’s tasks, or on their way to evening entertainments. It took
Lexi some time to work her way from the fourteenth circle to the
fifth where Lady Glostrum’s house was situated.
    It was one of
the richest areas of the city, and the house itself was fully
worthy of its station. Four storeys tall, it was a handsome
structure of fine grey stone, with enormous windows and an
exquisitely grand doorway. Lexi stood outside it for some time,
puzzling over her dilemma.
    She was no good
at her job, not really. As a reporter, she was far too diffident,
too unsure of her welcome, too unwilling to pester. And pestering
was exactly what she must now do. She would have to be pushy,
refuse to be dismissed or discouraged, make a nuisance of herself.
Not for the first time she wished that someone other than Brysold
had been willing to give her a chance.
    No matter. She
would do as she must. Lifting her chin, she stared down Lady
Glostrum’s house as if defying it to vanquish her. Then, with a
deep breath, she approached that imposing portal and rang the
bell.
    After the
briefest of intervals the door sailed smoothly open to reveal an
elderly gentleman with terrific posture and the most perfect
uniform Lexi had ever seen.
    ‘ Er.
I’m here to see Lady Glostrum.’ Lexi lifted her chin and tried to
look confident.
    ‘ Is
her ladyship expecting you, miss?’ The butler’s voice was faintly
rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in some time.
    ‘ Er,
no,’ Lexi replied, her composure floundering. ‘Not exactly. I mean,
I’m here from The Society Week.’ The butler made no reply. ‘It’s a
newspaper,’ Lexi explained hopefully. ‘Weekly articles on all the
latest society news, with a fashion supplement once a
moon.’
    ‘ Her
ladyship is not at home,’ the butler replied.
    Lexi didn’t
believe him. ‘Please. I really need to see her. My job depends on
it. I won’t anger her, I promise! I just want to ask her a few
questions.’
    She thought she
detected a slight softening of the man’s features, but he remained
unmoved.
    ‘ Her
ladyship is not at home.’
    ‘ Not
even for five minutes?’
    ‘ If
you would care to leave your card, I will inform her ladyship that
you called.’
    Lexi stared at
him helplessly. The likes of her didn’t carry calling cards! He
knew that, of course. Her hope faded and she stepped
back.
    ‘ All
right,’ she said tiredly. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’ She trotted
back down the steps and into the street.
    When she was
sure that the door had closed behind the butler, she stopped
walking and took her image-capture device from her shoulder bag. It
was a complex piece of machinery, brand new: its manufacturers were
calling it The Depictioner, and the name had already become a
byword among journalists. It was expensive. If she lost or damaged
it, Brysold would have her head.
    She shook off
her short cape and sat cross-legged in the street. Balancing the
Depictioner on her knee, she used her one arm to wrap it up
carefully, binding it with ribbon. Surveying it critically, she had
to admit that it did not look that much like a special delivery.
But if she did not show it too closely to anyone, it would
pass.
    Gathering her
resolution, she found her way around to the rear of the building
and knocked at the much less imposing servants’
entrance.
    The rear door
was answered by an alarming young woman with a red face and a mass
of frizzled black hair.
    ‘ Yes?’ she snapped. Her eyes roamed over Lexi’s frame,