“Only magisters live around the park up there. Farther east, it’s just regular people—that is, until more magisters move uptown and shove them out. You can take a cab.” He gestured as a magically powered carriage passed, looking rather naked without any horses pulling it. I knew my budget wouldn’t extend that far. As the bus rattled away, I allowed myself a weary sigh before gathering my strength to walk to Third Avenue to catch the bus there.

“Hey, miss!” a voice behind me said, and I turned cautiously. A newsboy stood nearby, a stack of papers at his feet and several held so he could display the headlines to passersby. The banner at the top declared it to be the World, a newspaper with which I was unfamiliar. He wore a flat cap pulled low over his forehead. Dark hair straggled past his collar in the back, and his thin face was smeared with ink and dirt.

He gave me a cheeky wink as he raised the papers he held and shouted to a passing man, “Parliament renews the colonial tax act! Straight off the ether from London! How will it really affect us? You won’t read the truth anywhere else!” The man tossed him a coin, which he deftly caught while handing over a copy of the paper. The customer folded the paper and tucked it inside the breast of his coat as he walked away. When the customer was gone, the boy said, “You’re tryin’ to get up to magpie land by the park?”

I assumed that “magpie” was his slang term for the magisters. “Yes, I am.”

“What would you wanna do that for?”

“I have an interview for a position as governess.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You want to work for the magpies?”

“I want to work for someone who will hire me.” I couldn’t help but allow my discouragement to creep into my voice. “Now I suppose I had better start walking or I’ll be late for my interview.”

“Don’t go just yet.” He glanced around, then gestured for me to come closer. “You can get a ride from here if you wait. Some friends of mine’ll be along any minute now.” He flicked a small gear wheel with a red ribbon tied through it that was pinned to his oversize coat and waggled his eyebrows like he was conveying some hidden meaning. I wasn’t sure what the significance of the gear was, but I nodded as though I understood. “Ah, I had you figured for one of us,” he said with a grin. He stuck out a hand blackened with newspaper ink. “The name’s Nat.”

I shook his hand, grateful that I’d worn black gloves instead of white. “And I’m Verity.”

A shrill whistle rent the air, and Nat gave a satisfied nod. “Here they come, right on time. Wait’ll you see this, Verity.”