The Dreadful Problem of Finding Good Help - BY HEATHER

"There are few things that I tolerate, Conrad, and one of them is attempted murder. Especially my murder... truly, Conrad, bad form."

She was a solid woman, sitting across from Conrad Krauss with a cup of tea in hand and a mildly irritated look in her eyes. Mrs. Kerrigan was no one to be trifled with, her husband had been an attorney before he met a rather untimely end. Derigible accident. She never much cared for he and his flying machines, instead her interest was on the water and the world beneath the sinking city.

Conrad Krauss is, or rather was, her engineer on retainer. That is, of course, until he attempted to switch her sugar with cyanide.

Mrs. Kerrigan never cared much for blue.

"Mrs. Kerrigan, I-"
"I've no need for excuses, Conrad, I've interest in results. If you had intended on killing me, then you should have done it with your damned aquatic vessel. I could have drowned and no one would be the wiser."
"Mrs. Ke-"
"Of course," she started, "then you would be out the money I paid you for its design. You are lucky, Mister Krauss, that I am a cruel and vicious woman."

Conrad Krauss looked at her with horror, then nervously down at his tea. His hands began to shake and he felt weak. He felt himself growing nervous, faint, pale and useless. It he dropped his tea cup and stood.

"You wouldn't-"
"I would, and I have."
"Missus Kerrigan, please, I am begging you have mercy, I-"
"I am afraid I have no room for mercy in my employ Mister Krauss. I am afraid I am terminating your contract."
"You won't get away with this, Kerrigan," Conrad growled.

Mrs. Kerrigan, for her part, looked confused. She looked down at her tea, then looked at the teacup on the rug.

"I am afraid, sir, that I already have. Good day, Mister Krauss. My man servant will see you out. In the next life, I suggest you find better last words. Yours lack poetry, sir."