A Singular and Whimsical Problem by Rachel McMillan

One
    November, 1910
    The blade was at Merinda’s neck.
    I had a revolver in the pocket of my trousers. We were clad in men’s clothes, three steps ahead of the Morality Squad and legions away from feminine propriety. My shaky fingers felt for and slowly extracted the pistol.
    â€œYou’re sure taking your time, Jem!” Merinda cried.
    â€œQuiet, or I’ll finish the job.” A dark voice echoed between the surrounding walls.
    â€œAll right, all right!” I held the gun out. “There! Consider yourself threatened!” I cocked the pistol as Merinda had taught me, and though perspiration trailed into my eyes and my hand was far from steady, I aimed it just above her shoulder blade and at the breast of her captor. He was larger than she and far taller too.
    â€œDon’t shoot me !” Merinda pleaded. “Cracker jacks, Jem! Do you want him to slice me in two?”
    â€œCould he really slice you in two?” I wondered in a wobbly voice. “He could just slice your neck in two… ” I peered at the man in the shadow.
    â€œPut the gun down!” he challenged.
    â€œNot until you let her go!” I screeched.
    The prop knife clicked closed and Constable Jasper Forth of the Toronto Police, our long-time friend, folded it into his pocket, gently disentangling Merinda from his hold. “Self-defense class is over. You fail, both of you.”
    â€œFail!” Merinda stretched a crick in her shoulder. “We did not fail.”
    â€œYou fail because any real criminal would have killed you both by now. It was a mistake to think I could teach you. These lessons are over.”
    â€œPlease don’t say that. You’re a wonderful teacher,” I pleaded. Upon Merinda’s whining, Jasper had agreed to teach us some tricks of his trade, and I didn’t want the lessons to be over before they got going.
    He shook his head, sighing. “I never in a million years expected to provide pro bono training for Merinda Herringford and Jem Watts, lady detectives.”
    I passed Merinda the ivory-handled pistol. “Jasper, I wish we could use a fake gun. This one worries me.”
    â€œThere are no bullets in it, Jem.”
    â€œBut what if…?”
    He took the pistol, unlatched the cylinder, and shook it demonstratively. “See… ”
    Merinda and I gasped as a bullet fell from the overturned weapon to the floor.
    â€œOh Merinda, I could have shot you. Or you, Jasper.” I teetered a little, the weight of what might have been hitting me full force. Jasper caught me tightly around the waist. When I looked up at him, my world was still turning.
    â€œEasy, Jem,” he coaxed, his face all concern. “Nothing happened.”
    I shrugged off the dizziness and slowly straightened. Guns made me woozy.
    â€œYou have to stop fainting, Jem,” said Merinda. “I won’t be able to carry your slumped figure while darting after a perpetrator.”
    â€œIt’s not Jem’s fault she keeps fainting.” Jasper looked at me kindly. “Normal people have natural responses to dangerous situations. They don’t dart after them.” He winked at Merinda. “It’s not decent.”
    â€œI don’t give a hang for decency and I never did!” She pulled a pocket watch from her vest. “Come, Jem! Back to King Street! You know we have an appointment.”

    The days were dawning early and cutting off shorter as November sank into December. Night and a swift sparkle of snow fell outside the broad window of our flat. For it was indeed ours : Merinda’s and mine. No husbands, no parents. Just two bachelor girls on the wrong side of twenty, our comings and goings noted only by Mrs. Malone.
    That kindly old housekeeper had chosen the most inopportune time to visit her sister. We possessed little talent for housekeeping, having been so long dependent on our dear Mrs. Malone, and our flat was in disarray.