As I walked back to the table the weight of what I had done began to dawn upon me bringing down my mood even as sprightly music sprang from a band that had assembled near the far corner of the pavilion. Had I actually challenged him? What in the world could have possessed me to do such a foolhardy thing. His devices were responsible for the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds, of men and from his mien I suspected his own hands were far from clean from the stain of blood. And I had had the gall to mock him over what? A trivial insult to my pride. One I was not even meant to understand, no less? I could have simply walked away, I would have been of no more significance to him than Dinah, but instead I had to prove to him I was not the stupid girl he assumed me to be. Now he knew who I was, that was certain. Such a display would not readily be forgotten. Oh why could I not keep my temper!

My inner chastisement must have shown on my face when I sat down for Gregory said, "Don't be downhearted, he treats everyone that way."

"In what way is that?" Dinah inquired.

"Like insects he would dearly love to crush were he allowed," Georg answered.

A man came by collecting the dishes from the table.

"If he dislikes it here then why does he not leave?"

"He has his reasons. Anyway, he may be poor tempered but he is useful. He is brilliant as an inventor. Though I imagine Mr. Underhill will give him quite a run."

"Quentin, if you please." Quentin glanced up from shading his sketch to give the gentleman his plate. "And I have no intention to usurp the position of another."

"You may not have the intention. But God's purposes and our own are not always one in the same. Every one of us is here for a reason."

"And what is my purpose, I wonder?" I mused abstractly.

"Why to dance with me, of course," Gregory smiled. Standing he offered me his hand. Then he looked to Quentin, "That is, if you fiance will allow it."

Quentin did not look up from his work, "Do as you like, I have no objection."

"Then, shall we, Miss Kepler?"

"Thank you. But I must warn you, I am absolutely dreadful when it comes to dancing."

"She is not being modest," Quentin confirmed while concentrating on tracing a line. "She truly is awful. Particularly when it comes to the Polka." Which was precisely the tune being played at the moment.

I nodded.

"Well, I am willing to take the risk. Miss Underhill, I'm certain my brother is in need of a partner."

"Not at the moment thank you, perhaps a little later." Dinah demurred, still scanning the scene for a face that did not appear. Which was just as well, for all Georg seemed to care.

"Then let us off," Gregory grinned as he took my hand and swept me from my seat to the makeshift dance floor in the dusty clearing outside the pavilion where a number of other couples were already dancing.

"Is there always dancing after supper?" I asked as we turned about the floor.

"Of course, even when the weather is foul we simply put a few of the tables up against the kitchen and dance under the pavilion. It is amazing to dance to the beat of the thunder and pounding of rain. And nothing warms you up for the walk home in the winter quite like a dance." He winced as my boot caught his ankle. "Though I see that what Mr. Underhill said was not in jest."

"I'm sorry, it was not. Though we did try to convince you. Would you prefer to stop?"

"No, I'll soldier on. Only it would be easier if you would just trust me."

"What do you mean?"

"You are fighting a war of wills with me. It is as though you must have your say in every turn. You can do the step as well as any woman, but you do not trust me to guide you around the floor. Just do the step and I swear I will not lead you astray."

"I will try to keep that in mind," I said. And I did try but we still found ourselves crossing paths at every few steps.

"Here." He raised his hand. "Georg!" His brother stood up in answer to Gregory's hail and started to walk over.

"You mean to sacrifice your brother in your place?"

"No. It is only that Georg is a far more accomplished dancer than I. I believe you will be more able to trust his lead than my own." He turned as his brother approached, "Ah, Georg, would you mind taking Miss Kepler for a turn, I am in desperate need of a drink." Gregory leaned in, as if to kiss me on the cheek, and whispered, "Just keep the steps, lean back, and let him concern himself with where you are going."

Georg took me in his arms. His hold was firm, secure, yet yielding. I felt his hand span the center of my back. He looked down on me with a cool disinterest, not unlike an appraiser considering a piece, but yet with a tenderness beyond his detachment. I leaned back as Gregory had said and was startled to feel Geog's hand bearing me up, supporting my weight. He stepped to the side, moving me along with him. And suddenly it was quite easy to keep the step as we spun around the ground.

Gregory never did come back from his drink.

It was almost nightfall by the time the Bauers escorted Dinah and I back to their home. There was already a light on in the window and I was unsurprised when we opened the door to find Quentin in the main room on his feet excitedly jabbering on, hands gesticulating almost wildly as he described how the Archimedes screw might be put to use in milling operations for more efficient production if the flow of water were reversed to a seated Gregory. At least he had an attentive audience. But then, it was always something to see when Quentin was given free rein in regards to his inventions. I could watch him for hours without realizing time had passed at all, such was the infections nature of his passion; though I daresay it was only on the rare occasion I understood what he was talking about at all... or particularly cared, for that matter. The man was wonderful, but he could wax poetic about a spring.

"Gregory Mueller, don't you think it's about time you were getting home?" Mrs. Bauer scolded. "Your brother is going to be wondering about you. And I'm sure Mr. Underhill needs his sleep after his long journey."

The spell was broken. Gregory shook his head as if waking from a daze. Both he and Quentin looked out the window to find it quite dark outside.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to keep you so late," Quentin apologized.

"My fault entirely. Thank you for your hospitality." He tipped his hat hurriedly. "Well, goodnight to you all. May the Lord bless you."

"And you as well," Mr. Bauer said to the man's back as Gregory rushed from the house.

Mrs. Bauer wiped her hands absently on her dress, "Best be off to bed the lot of you. Breakfast will be served promptly at six."

I glanced at the clock, it was already past nine. And I still had a letter to write to Roger! I yawned and shook my head in a vain attempt to rid it from the notion of sleep.

"Go on, or I daresay you're liable to fall asleep where you stand," Mrs. Bauer gestured as if sweeping us off.

"Now goodnight, all!" Mr. Bauer called as we walked down the hall. "Mind you shut your doors or Max may come into your room and try to sleep with you."

"Goodnight dear." Quentin gave me a quick peck on the cheek, turning he gave the same favor to his sister, "Goodnight Dee, may God watch over and protect you until the morning."

We bade him goodnight and went to our room. The moonlight shone bright upon my bed from the window. I took a piece of paper and pen from my bag and lay down, utilizing my pillow as a desk.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Dinah asked from the bed only feet away.

"I will after I have finished this letter."

"Goodnight, Mina," she said, turning her face from the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Dinah."

I began to write:

Dearest Grandmother,

That was all the further I got. I woke up to the dawn with the pen still in hand, paper slightly disheveled from my head resting upon it.

It seemed the village was almost designed to keep a person so busy they did not have time for anything else. Despite no activity being required, I found myself constantly occupied with errands and tasks so small in themselves and so politely asked for I could not see my way to refusing them. It seemed the days were over almost as soon as they had begun and after a week I had still not written anything beyond the first line. Quentin was often off with Gregory, more often than not I would find them in the library pouring over a set of sketches or else at the foundry explaining to the blacksmith the precise specifications they needed for a particular item. Dinah was even more preoccupied than her brother, if such a thing were possible. She had opted to take up knitting, a skill she already possessed some ability at, and would spend most of the morning hours with a group of likewise occupied women. Her afternoons were, of course, entirely devoured by Menning whom she had the most curious coincidence to meet every afternoon while she was out strolling around the grounds.

Despite a poor introduction, we had come to find Rachael a most tolerable companion. She was a member of Dinah's knitting circle and began accompanying Miss Underhill to lunch at the Bauer house. It seemed Dinah had become something of an idol to her, and, of course, Dinah was not one to turn away such a pitiable soul. And pitiable she was. From what I gathered she had been quite the talk of Vienna, she had become acquainted with one of the missionaries (for that was the title Menning and those of his ilk were given) and joined the Kingdom of Munster with promises of finding a husband and raising children in a simple, Godly life. I imagine that was precisely the plan when they invited her into the village for they seemed to emphasize the importance of marriage and children almost as much as God. But it seemed she was unable to shed her society ways and the villagers began to find her tiresome, particularly her propensity to gossip (a habit, I imagine, she had formed young, and had once served her well). None of the unmarried men could bear to entertain her, let alone wed her, and thus she found herself on the fringes of society. In small doses I found her a tolerable companion.

She came by Friday afternoon a fortnight after our arrival looking for Dinah while I was attempting to stitch a number of stockings Mrs. Bauer had asked me to mend.

"Is Dinah in?"

"No, I believe she is out walking with Mr. Menning."

Rather than leave, Rachael set down beside me and began to help me with the mending. A gesture I would have appreciated had I not known it to be a sign that she was bursting to talk. After a few minutes she began, rather innocuously, "She does that frequently, doesn't she?"

"She does."

"I think I have seen them walking every day this week."

"It would not surprise me."

"Do you think she is in love with him?"

I knew the answer to this but was not willing to speak it aloud. "You would have to ask her."

"I think she is. But not half so much as he is with her. You should have seen him come riding in the morning before you came to ask the Prophetess to permit you all despite none of you being baptized. I've never seen him look so wild. You would have thought it a matter of life or death." She said these last words with a sly look as though seeking confirmation which I had no intention to give.

"Is that so?" I said, absently.

"Yes, it is so. And yet she still will not get baptized, which leads me to think she does not feel for him as he does for her."

"And what does her baptism have to do with her feelings for him?" I could not avoid the edge my irritation added to the question.

Rachael's eyes shined, she had finally managed to spark a reaction, now all that remained was to fan the flame. She pretended to be very interested in her mending. "Oh, it's nothing. I suppose it may seem, to her thinking, a kinder way of letting him down than an outright rejection, but it seems cruel to continue on in this manner if she is indifferent."

"What can you possibly mean?" I was now almost itching with irritation at her little performance.

She put her sewing down onto her knee as she regarded me slyly, "Well, he cannot propose marriage to her until she is baptized."

"Who says this?"

"It is one of the Laws. An offer of marriage must be approved by the Prophetess before it can be given. And she will never approve a marriage unless both people are baptized."

In my secret heart I had wondered at it. I knew the scene I had witnessed in the wood, I could not have possibly misinterpreted. Yet, what had seemed a certainty had not yet come. But nothing in their actions, their supposedly stolen glances, suggested their feelings had cooled by any measure. So it was her reticence to be baptized that prevented him from acting. It was a pitiable circumstance, for certain. Still, even though it must pain her, it was for the best and she must know it. No matter how much her heart might break over him, she simply could not marry that man!

"Well, that is their business and none of our own, isn't it then?"

"Yes, but it still seems a sad thing." She was not going to drop the subject until it had been played out to death unless I found something new to fixate on. Fortunately I did have a question that had been troubling me.

"I was wondering, and if you do not know the answer you may ignore it, but there was a man who arrived this past Sunday. He seemed rather young, wore spectacles..."

"Has a head strangely reminiscent of a balloon?"

"Well, I suppose that would be one way to describe it." In fact that would be only the second most accurate way to describe the features of the young man I had seen taking supper with the older children since the beginning of the week, but to use the most accurate description would mean it would be lost on Rachael for the man looked identical to Mr. Sperry. It was as though time had somehow reversed itself and deposited the younger version of the man among us.

"That is Daniel Ernst. He just returned from a mission to England. Why do you ask?"

"He just reminded me of someone I once knew is all. But they are quite different in age I think. Is he not a little young to be serving a mission?"

"God calls the young as well as the old. Besides, he is eighteen, that is quite old enough to be spreading the good news of Christ's return. Though I wish he had brought Peter back with him." She finished dreamily.

"Peter?"

"Peter Strunk, of course. He's been on mission to England almost a year, building the church there."

I could tell she wished me ask her more, so I obliged her. "So what is this Mr. Strunk like? Is he amiable?"

"Oh very, and handsome too. A bit young though. He hailed from Cuxhaven, I believe. I never did speak to him much; funny how it can be so easy to talk to some men, but to others it is near impossible. Then I only knew him a month before he was sent on his mission."

I felt a sinking in my stomach, "Pardon the question, but I'm not familiar with Cuxhaven, where might that be?"

"I think somewhere on the northern coast. He had been a fisherman before and he always spoke of the great catches he had made. Every evening after supper it was some tale or other with the other men. I always wished he would see me and ask me to dance, but he never seemed to take any notice of me at all. Perhaps, when he returns, he will be wiser."

I truly had no desire to hear another word about the young Mr. Strunk or her hopes on his return. I could see the rusty fishhooks in my hand still tinted in crimson and I did not wish to consider the possibility any further. "You said the young man's family name was Ernst, the same as Veena?"

Rachael regarded me as though I were quite stupid, "Well of course, he is the Prophetess's son."

I was rather certain Mrs. Sperry would not be keen to learn such information, given her thirty years of marriage to the man. The shame of such a scandal would be almost unbearable. Veena had almost certainly used the child for leverage. What had Mr. Sperry thought the first time he had seen his own eyes in the face of a stranger? At least, I hoped his betrayal was a result of his shame for the alternative, that he was an agent for the fanatics, was far more worrisome.

"I was not aware she had children. I did not even know she is married."

"We are not to speak of that to the unbaptized. However, she has six children and we are allowed to speak of them. Daniel's her eldest son, but she had a daughter quite a few years older, Marigold. Her grave is in the cemetery beside the ash grove."

The sound of the accented English amongst Rachael's German was quite jarring. "I'm sorry to hear such a thing. When did she pass?"

"Oh, she isn't dead."

"Then why would her grave be in the cemetery?" I was utterly perplexed by this.

"She's an apostate. She denied the teachings of the Prophetess and left the village. Whenever someone abandons the Word of God and leaves we hold a funeral for them, that we might grieve for their eternal soul which will now no longer reside with us in Christ's Kingdom in Munster, but will burn with the tempter in Hell for all eternity. We do a burial and make a grave and everything. It's a very sad occasion."

"Have you ever seen one of these funerals?"

"Once, when I first arrived. A man named Puckett, I believe. But I don't recall for certain."

"You said her daughter's name was Marigold?"

"Yes. Unusual isn't it? All of her other children have Biblical names. She must have liked the sound of it."

"Do the other children live with her?"

"Of course not! They live with the rest of the children. I couldn't even tell you which they are, though I think I heard one is named Ruth - not that that means much, for there is a Ruth in every year."

"So, when did you come to the village?"

"About eight months ago, I think. It might be nine. Time tends to move so quickly here. The days are slow but the weeks are gone before you know they have begun."

I suddenly remembered my letter. I had not yet finished it! And, at the moment, I was glad I had not for I now had some information which might prove to be quite important. I hurriedly put the stockings I was mending back in their basket.

"You'll have to pardon me, Miss Dressner, I just remembered something important I have to attend to."

"Oh, I was hoping you might tell me something about yourself," she said with a touch of a whine for that delight I had long denied her.

"Perhaps we will speak more at supper."

For such a short letter it consumed my entire afternoon and into the evening after supper. The body of the letter simply asked if I might send my next letter to her maid and requested the address. I apologized for the lateness of the letter and hoped she was well and would soon reply. The border contained a message of a rather different sort:

James,

We have been taken into the Kingdom of Munster. Their village is located in a forest directly East of Munster, just across the border into the Netherlands. There is a horse trail on the left, a few miles in, that serves as the only path. There are over one thousand residents in the village with estimates of over five thousand members across Europe and Asia. The leader of the village is a woman named Veena Ernst. I have reason to believe she has had close ties with England or another English speaking country.

M

PS: I have found the Mueller brothers.

I was considering whether I should add another line when a commotion outside roused me from my writing. It sounded like the rather distressed bleating of a lamb. I looked out the window to see a singular sight.

"Mina!" Dinah hissed as she rushed into the room. "Come quickly!"

I got up and followed her to the doorway where Quentin and the Bauers stood watching the procession. A long line of men, at least one hundred in number, each carrying a torch and wearing robes of the deepest red. The men wore almost flat, white masks which covered their faces entirely and bore an abstract resemblance to a sheep's face. I shuddered at the very sight of them. Around their necks a heavy golden amulet displaying the symbol that had become so familiar to me since the first I had seen it in that dark mine in Cwtch. They chanted in low tones words I could not understand. The head of the procession carried a young white lamb in his arms while it bleated out in fear. They continued their procession past us, toward the church. I dearly wished to follow them but could not think of how that might be accomplished without attracting the attention of the Bauers.

"The March of the Lambs," Mr. Bauer whispered to us as the sounds of their chant died away into the distance.

"But who are they?" I asked.

"The Sanguinem Agnii," he replied reverently. "The Emissaries of the Lord's Will on Earth."