Page 16 of Hawk & Sparrow

The relief on all three of their faces was instant.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” said Nell.

Vesper offered a small smile as she set her satchel on her desk, then headed for the door at the back of the newsroom. It was paned with frosted glass, and the words EDITOR-IN-CHIEF were emblazoned on it in flat gold lettering. Vesper stopped before it, girding herself, then rapped her knuckles against the polished wood.

“In!” bellowed a deep voice on the other side of the door.

Vesper turned the handle and entered the small windowless room. Stacks of old newspapers lined all four of its oak-paneled walls, and a lingering smell of shoe polish hung thick in the air. Vesper looked around, confused. The office appeared to be unoccupied.

“Tom?”

“Down here!”

A man popped up from behind the wooden desk in the center of the room, looking slightly frazzled. Vesper resisted the urge to laugh. She’d known her editor for over a decade, but had never gotten used to the fact that he bore an uncanny resemblance to a walrus. He was a large, stocky man with a dark brown complexion like hers and a graying bottlebrush mustache that stuck out in all directions. As though he could read her thoughts, he gave Vesper a dour look as he resettled in his chair.

“Evans.” He gestured, and she took a seat in a chair opposite his desk. “I wondered where you went this morning,” he said without preamble. “You’re usually the first one in the office on Saturdays. How’s the exhibition piece going?”

Vesper fidgeted in her seat. Tom must not have heard about Mr. Gladwell’s murder yet. He was still expecting her original assignment, and she hadn’t quite worked out how to tell him that it wasn’t ready yet.

“I had to run a quick errand this morning,” she said, “but I’ll have it ready soon.”

Tom made a noncommittal sound as he leafed through a stack of papers.

“I saw a man leaving as I came in,” she said casually. “Seemed to be in a rush, was he important?”

“Nothing to worry about.” Tom looked up from the papers. “Did we order more coffee for the break room?” he asked. “I’ve had it on my mind to order more from Guillermo, but I keep forgetting.”

Vesper paused. It wasn’t like her editor to be evasive. She waited until he’d finished with the papers before she spoke again, this time more directly.

“Tom, who was that man? Everyone’s worried. Apparently they heard the two of you shouting before he left.”

Tom finally looked up. Her editor looked more tired than she’d ever seen him before. He sighed. “The man’s name is William Burbank,” he began. “He’s our new landlord.”

Vesper frowned. “What did he want?”

Tom folded his hands on the desk. “He came to introduce himself, then notified me that, effective immediately, this building’s monthly rent has gone up, from four thousand gild to five thousand.”

Vesper nodded. “We can pay that, right?”

Tom didn’t meet her eye. “I’m not sure we can.”

Vesper tilted her head. “I don’t understand. I know subscriptions have been down, and a few advertisers haven’t renewed, but—”

“Evans.” There was an unusual softness in her editor’s voice, and that scared her most of all. “I’ve never lied to you and I won’t start now. Things are not good. Our expenses are exceeding our revenue. We have bills to pay, but we’re not making enough money.”

Vesper went still. She’d known the Globe had been struggling for the last few months—local newspapers sometimes had slow spells—but she’d had no idea that it was this bad.

“We’re two months late on rent,” Tom went on. “In the past, our old landlord was willing to work with us. Mr. Burbank, however, is not as lenient.”

“Tom.” Vesper’s voice sounded hollow in her ears. “What exactly does that mean for the paper?”

Tom stared at his hands for a long time before he answered. “We have until December first to come up with the rent for October, November, and December,” he murmured. “That’s almost fifteen thousand gild in total, plus the bills we need to pay. If we don’t…” At last, he met Vesper’s gaze. “We lose the building, and the Globe will have to shut down. We have some time, but…”

Tom was still speaking, but the words were garbled. Vesper felt as though she’d been plunged into an icy lake and left him above its surface. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. If The Basalton Globe shut down, she’d be out of work. Reporter jobs were already hard to come by, and harder still for a woman, even one with her experience. She’d lose her apartment, and winter was a terrible time to try to find a new one. If she couldn’t find work, or a place to live …

This time, anxiety was no fluttering bird in her chest. It was a snake, coiling around her body and constricting until she couldn’t breathe. Her teeth clenched as the memories she’d buried deep resurrected, and she closed her eyes, willing them away.

“Miss Evans?”