Since they moved him, they had not been as diligent in ensuring his captivity. On the ride there they had not even chloroformed him. They had just blindfolded and gagged like they did the first time. They had not even bothered to cover up the noise of the nearby shops or the busy clop of hooves on cobblestones.

When they had gone to tie him to a chair with his hands behind his back and feet bound to the legs, he had taken a deep breath and flexed his muscles, examining the room closely. There was a fire in a grate at the far corner of the room, and a window with several sharp shards just about waist height. Murdoch catalogued these items and waited. The glass was too high, but the fire, if the manipulation did not work, would be the best option. He knew he was on the main floor of an abandoned or ill-used house by the look and the fact that he had not been forced down or up stairs.

The door closed shortly later amidst threats that failed to scare him. They had not killed him yet, and he didn't think they would until they got their money. Mutilation did not bother him too much either; his brain could sustain him if nothing else.

He wiggled and exhaled, trying to loosen the bonds. He worked the length of cord around his left wrist first, first pulling down the loosest piece around his thumb and then twisted his wrist so that he could feel the base of the first knot with his other hand.

Patience, he though as he worked the rope. His fingers felt raw from the pulling and every time he loosened one length of rope another would tighten but he kept going. There was always an option to burn the rope off, but if he could Houdini his way out of it, he would much prefer it to singeing his skin and blistering his hands.

He took a breath when he felt the second last tie give and struggled out of the last binding piece of rope. He grinned, but his excitement was short-lived when he heard his captors coming back towards the room. Frantically, and with adrenaline pulsing through his veins, he set to work on the binds that held his legs. Fortunately they were messy and loose, and he slipped out of them with a couple seconds to spare.

There was a bookshelf in the corner by the fireplace and an iron poker wedged between two large logs. The bookshelf provided a small, man-sized cubby between it and the wall in which to hide. Murdoch made a dash for the poker and forced himself between the bookshelf and the wall, breathing shallowly.

Grimesby swore loudly and Murdoch could hear him cross the floor to the window. His breath was ragged and he said in a menacing half-whisper, "If you are still here, Detective, come out- come out wherever you are. You are a dead man."

Murdoch heard him before he saw him.

Thrusting the poker out like a sword, he burst from his hiding place just as Grimesby was moving towards it. Grimesby screamed in agony and held the grotesquely misused poker, a pole jutting from his gut, in his hands, eyes wide and fearful.

Murdoch barely paused to make these observations, however. Knowing that Grimesby's partner was most likely very close by, he crossed the floor to the window where he kicked out some of the largest shards from the frame and maneuvered his way out.

He felt a piece rip his pant leg and slice deeply into his calf and then his arm, but the adrenaline and shock were making it impossible to feel the injuries properly. He found himself in an alley, and, looking both ways, streaked off towards the road he could see close by. He recognized the district as China Town, and forced his way into the crowd.

People walked about, oblivious to his plight, though some gave him dirty looks as if they believed him to be a drunk stumbling through the streets. He almost did stumble when the pain shooting through his leg became apparent, but he forced himself onwards, searching for a familiar landmark.

Feng Choy's was near the corner, and he hobbled as fast as his legs could take him. Mei Li was at the counter sorting herbs, and when she saw him she cried for her grandfather. Mr. Choy helped Murdoch into a seat in the back (as much for hiding Murdoch as preserving business, he suspected,) and rung up Station Four as well as the closest available Station House. As his English was poor, Mei Li explained what had happened and confirmed the location with small nods and affirmations. When she hung up she seemed agitated and crestfallen.

"They are all at a funeral," She said, "We must take you there on our own."

"I could not allow that," Murdoch replied automatically, "Not with—with them following me." He did not elaborate on who exactly "them" were, but she did not press.

Mei Li seemed not to care what Murdoch said, and called her grandfather, speaking rapid Cantonese. He disappeared out the door and was back within minutes with a bowler and colorful hanfu which he made Murdoch put on and adjusted so that his eyes were almost obscures by the hat rim.

He then helped Murdoch to his feet and to a cab which waited outside, its Chinese driver wearing an annoyed frown. Mr. Choy ordered Mei Li back into the shop but she resisted with a pouty frown. Mr. Choy attempted to argue, but she was adamant. They spoke for a moment longer when Murdoch was safely inside the cab and he saw Mr. Choy throw up his hands in a defeated gesture. Mei Li smiled and jumped into the coach alongside Murdoch, giving directions the coachman as she closed the door.

"My grandfather will stay at the shop," she said smiling, "but he wants to pick me up later if you cannot bring me home."

"I'll see to it that you find your way unharmed," Murdoch replied, pain and exhaustion making him dizzy and mind blur, "I haven't been to China Town in the years since we investigated your grandfather; its prettier now."

Mei Li nodded slightly and made a little face as if she did not know how to take that comment. Murdoch, suddenly feeling an itch on his leg, went to feel it and found his hand to be slick with blood. He looked from his hand to Mei Li to the floor. Already a small puddle of deep crimson blood had begun to form around his ankle.

Mei Li gasped and pulled out her hair ribbon, letting her thick black hair fall about her face. She tried to tie a tourniquet, pulling tightly on the ribbon and saturating it with blood, but Murdoch feared that it did not work when a second later he felt his vision become fuzzy and his mind go blissfully blank when he slumped against the opposite wall of the carriage.

When he awoke, moaning from the pain, he felt several pairs of hands lifting him out of the coach and onto a stretcher. He tried to make out shapes and was sure he saw Mei Li's shock of black hair, then Julia's mass of auburn curls but he could not be sure.

"Julia," he managed to whisper before receding once more into blackness.

AN: Haha! The longest chapter so far (stands and grins,) woot! So what are the thoughts on this chapter? Murdoch is in rough shape, (hint-hint,) so his fate is up for debate! Wahahaha! (I'm done now)