"Good morning, princess. You're early." Nicholas said, jumping down from his perch in a large tree. "I see you came alone."

"As you requested. What do you have for me?"

"That depends. What do you have for me?" I reached into my bag and pulled from it a loaf of bread and three apples, passing them to him. "I see you went above and beyond. As expected."

He handed me a sheaf of letters and telegrams, I flipped through them. "These are all from the month before the conflict. Where did you obtain them?"

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"The office raid." I answered my own question.

"You'll find everything you need to prove your case in there."

"Unfortunately we are unable to pursue it."

"Yes, I heard about your meeting with Boss Magee."

"You did?"

"You cannot honestly believe I am not having you watched."

"No, of course not."

He took a stone from the ground and tossed it into a place where the rainwater had pooled into a temporary pond. The stone skipped before sinking. "It makes you sick, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"You know what Frick is, what he's done, and you can't touch him."

"It is infuriating," I allowed.

"It is beyond infuriating. I know you too well to believe fury is the extent of your feelings."

"Fine. If you must know, it is maddening. I see the man and I do have sympathy for him. But then I consider those children who have lost their fathers, wives who have lost their husbands, and I think there can be no justice in this world if a man is allowed to get away with such acts and I can see why Berkman acted as he did. But then I see his family and I fear what taking him from them would do. Is it right to take away one more father from their children?"

"There are other ways."

"What do you mean?"

"A man such as Frick can be punished without doing anyone any harm."

"I don't believe I see a way that such a thing might be done."

"I ask you, if there were a way to bring some semblance of justice against him for the massacre, without hurting any innocent people, would you consider taking it?"

"What are you proposing?"

He put his finger to his lips, grinning like a sphinx. "Shhh. It's a secret."

"How am I to consider a thing if I do not know what it is?"

"I was only asking if you were interested."

"I am, at least, curious."

"Good. Then I shall see you tomorrow, Princess." He said and darted off up the hill.

A few moments later I heard a crashing through the brush, a familiar face appeared. "Brownie!" I cried as the pup bounded up to me, hopping all about me. "Now where did you come from?"

"Brownie!" the familiar Irish trill of the housekeeper intoned. "Brownie!"

"Come on, let's bring you home," I said, grabbing hold of his collar and walking him home.

The next day was much as the first. I found Nicholas once more hiding in a tree, playing birdsongs on a tin whistle. "So, have you thought about my little proposal, Princess?" He asked from his perch amongst the branches.

"I have."

"And what is your answer?"

I produced a loaf of bread and a hunk of bacon. "I should like to hear more."

The right corner of his mouth raised in a smile. "Mina Moore, you always do manage to surprise me." He hopped down from the tree, landing much more gracefully than one would expect of his forty four years. But then, nothing but a few lines about his face would give anyone the impression of his age. Rather than marring his looks, age had accentuated them, particularly in those large brown eyes, so capable of conveying resplendent joy as easily as withering chill. But now a steely coldness lurked behind them. For all his generosity toward the Union, he was a man capable of taking a life, any life regardless of personal attachment, for his cause. I could never forget that, the scar on his cheek bore witness to it. "Walk with me," he said, offering his left arm. I took it, my hand brushing against something hard and glass on his wrist.

"At the moment we are about the business of gathering evidence."

"Evidence for what purpose?"

"To strike a blow against Frick even Magee and the papers can't ignore."

"And what would that entail?"

"That's more than I can tell you without a commitment to help."

"And let us say I were to give my aid to your cause, what would be my role?"

"You speak German, right? Gruber said you did."

"Yes."

"Fluently?"

"Would you expect any less from me?" I said in perfect low German.

"No." he answered in English. "I'd probably put you on carrying messages to the members in Deutschtown. Perhaps give a speech or two at the salon. Nothing that would put you in harm's way. I've lost you once, I have no intention of repeating that error a second time."

"You are too familiar with me. You speak as though I were not married."

"It is difficult for me to accept, and to Lord Norbert no less! It must be quite the tale how he managed to win your heart."

"It is," I spoke with not a little pride for my spy.

"Still, I have always valued your friendship and our conversations have remained some of the few my pleasurable memories of my past. I've paid twenty dollars for conversation that was far less enlightening from one far more famous. I would not want to lose something so precious as one who will speak her mind to me without flattery or fear." He stopped and turned so his brown eyes met mine. "Come, Mina, the woman I knew could never sleep on the feather mattress of a mansion while others suffered injustice. I do not believe you have changed. I can see it every time you bring more than the price of my conversation how much you wish to help the people of Homestead."

"It is not my place to interfere."

"If not now, when? If not these people, who? You have the ability. The way you speak, it stirs the hearts of the people. They can see the way your heart burns for them. It blazes like the fiery furnace. It consumes all doubts and galvanizes belief. We need you. The people of Homestead need you." He gripped my shoulders. "I need you. You give me strength. Simply having your support strengthens my resolve." I tried to look away but he gently guided my cheek back. "Mina, you must help me."

His eyes shone with sincerity. There was an honesty in his plea that loosened my tongue. "I will.

He drew back as if in surprise, pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and began writing. "There's a new construction, you'll see it when you arrive," he said as he wrote. He handed me the paper. "Meet me there in two days if you mean what you say."

"What about your hunting lodge?"

He gave a low chuckle. "That is mine alone. Only my lieutenants are allowed to know the location. You may believe they would sooner die than divulge its whereabouts. I must warn you, if you do come, there will be no turning back. Think hard on it. I will hold no ill will toward you if you decide not to come."

"I understand," I said.

"Good." He nodded in affirmation. "The I will see you in two days, my Princess."

Upon returning to Clayton I went immediately up to my husband's room, allowing not a moment as he gave an astonished "Mina!", I grabbed his walking stick and smashed the top open, digging my fingers inside and fishing out Quentin's miniature camera.

"You realize Quentin is going to be furious with you when he finds out you smashed his creation," Roger said.

"He will understand it was necessary," I said, stitching the camera beneath a large bird on my hat, concealed between a field of jewels and a canopy of feathers.

Roger strolled over to where I was sat and peered over at my work. "Your stitching has improved."

I held up the needle in warning. "Would you like to test that supposition?"

He smiled in that carefree way only possible because he did not know the true identity of the man called Nikolai. "So, may I inquire as to why you felt the need to ruin my walking stick?"

"There was something Nikolai said. It is only a hunch, but if it bears fruit..."

"Are you willing to divulge what he said to me?"

"Not yet. Do you still have Officer Wolfe's information?"

"Of course."

"Good, I will require it."

"So this mystery has something to do with New York?"

"I'm not certain. I'm not certain of anything right now. But I will be."

"Speaking in riddles, darling?"

"Once I have confirmation, I will tell you."

"Does this mean we are staying a while longer?"

"Yes. Possibly quite a while longer. I will need you to be patient with me."

"I don't like being left in the dark."

"I'm sorry, Roger, but it is essential you keep acting your part."

"And you think if I know any more than this I will somehow fail to continue to do so. You underestimate me."

"I assure you, I do not."

Roger raised his brow, piqued. "It is that serious then?"

"Yes." I watched a shade fall and remain still from the corner of my eye.

"Then I will continue as I have been. Should I inform Grimsby of our intention to remain longer."

"No! Wait... yes." I thought of Evans, how the lack of normal correspondence regarding our change in plans would appear. He would certainly report the aberration.

Roger leaned over that his lips were beside my ear and spoke in a low voice, "The communications are not to be trusted, then?"

"Neither within or without," I answered, tilting my head toward the door where the shadow of two feet showed in the slit of light between door and floor. "Certainly, inform our solicitor at once," I said more loudly. "And see if you might learn how our friend fares as well." The feet disappeared with the sound of light steps down the hall.

I arrived at the location two days later. It promised to be a large building of great height, at least two stories above its neighbors, with three grand arches decorating the front. Though it was nearing completion it still possessed some of the skeletal steel appearance of construction. Grant waved me in. "We're on the fifth floor," he said, pointing to the stairwell.

Nicholas stood in the center of the second arch, smiling. "You came." He did nothing to disguise the joy in his voice.

"I said I would." I stopped myself before adding that I was never one to go back on my word. There was no sense reminding him of the time I had, when I threw his ring to the ground. Instead I contented myself to stroll about the open expanse. The interior walls had not yet been put up. "This is an interesting meeting place you have here."

"It serves our purposes for now. We'll have to move on in a few weeks, but by then, the plan should be done."

"And what is to be my part?"

His manner changed abruptly to that of business. "Nothing more than delivering letters for the moment, though I would like you to speak at the Salon next week."

"About what in particular?"

"Justice, the rights of man, Unions, truly whatever strikes your fancy that you have a passion for. But be careful not to mention any word of violence or revolt. Suggest that it is in the hands of the right people and all we require is their support."

"Financially?"

"If they wish it, but never ask. We don't want to simply give a speech and pass a plate - they can go to church for that. What we want, more than anything, is their trust. We can't afford another incident like Berkman to occur now, while the eyes of the world are still upon us. Rally their spirits, but keep them in line. As for the deliveries, I don't need to tell you not to open them. Deliver them and leave. Do not speak, do not watch to see them open it. Simply hand them whatever it might be and go."

"Will there be anything else?"

"I may have something for you in a fortnight that will make use of some of your, shall we say, unique skills. Depending on how well you do. That will be all. Grant will hand off your first drop at 7:20 in the morning by the Kaufmann's building, just below the Statue of Liberty. Come by after you have made the deliveries."

I began to leave.

"Oh, and Mina?"

I turned, "Yes?"

The way he smiled so warmly was truly disarming. "It truly is good to see you. I'm glad you are on my side this time."

I immediately made my way to the nearest portrait studio and paid a handsome sum for use of their dark room and chemicals, under the guise of purchasing a photograph of myself, for I could see the one Nicholas had named The Reverend was watching me from the alley, appearing just as willing to shoot me as he had been on our first meeting.

It was an easy enough position to fill and I did it ably, disguising my sojourns as long walks about the neighborhoods. Often I was back well before lunch and would help Ada (as I was now accustomed to calling Mrs. Frick) with the children and a neighborhood girl, Sally, who was keen to come around and play with the girls. I found myself growing quite fond of Ada and was often able to persuade her to show me some of her favorite shops and restaurants around the area. It troubled me to think I was actively acting against her husband, who, though she had grown cold to since her infant's death, she still professed to love dearly. Childs and I indulged in evening walks with Brownie where he would endlessly indulge his interests in all things natural, occasionally picking up a bone for me to identify and reacting with amaze when I did so easily.

Nicholas was becoming a growing presence in my life. My initial wariness had begun to waiver as I watched him work and plan. I found I enjoyed speaking with him at length, as we had before, but this time without chaperone. It was an easy thing to be seduced by the purity of his ideals, the tenacity of his desire to see them realized. The charitable works he engaged in were legion. He often joke that he was the hidden Boss Magee, but for the working man alone, for he sought no recognition for himself.

But there were still things which bothered me. The explosives he had stolen from Berkman. Was it as I suspected? And if so, for what purpose? I could almost convince myself the purpose may have simply been to stage the scene at the office but prevent Berkman from doing any real harm. Berkman would have purchased the explosives regardless and might have discovered the frauds before. But I chastised myself for employing such mental gymnastics - Nichols Martin was a man content to use violence to bring down two empires by violence, why should he not be willing to employ such techniques again? I asked him several times their purpose but he only granted me Mona Lisa's smile and told me no more. It was difficult to tell whether he were doing this simply out of amusement (for he did love to tease me) or that he was unable to tell me without lying.

But as the days passed they had the added effect of distancing me further from my husband. The secrets I kept were all encompassing. And with at least one of Nicholas's spies in the house we could not even hold conversation.

I waited eagerly for the post each day, hoping for confirmation, but it was another letter which arrived the next Monday which left me stunned, for it was from Sarah. I opened it quickly, expecting the worst. I imagined they would wish me to hear it from her. I read the letter quickly. Re-reading it to make certain of what I had read. Hamburg was still under the scourge of epidemic, but Heinrich Menning, that dear man, had managed to sneak into the city to Russell's apartment and had found there the signs of a struggle and a body. But it was not that of Mr. Shaw, but of Klugman, the Sanguinem Agni member Russell had been sent to watch. Even after a week, Menning was certain of the identity. He had known Klugman many years. Tracing the path Russell might have taken out of the city and into the woods he found another body, that of Mr. Fenstermacher, floating face down in the reeds of the diebstech. Which only left The Dutch. Menning continued his search but lost their trail to the south.

Of course Sarah was certain this was proof Russell Shaw was still alive, that he had merely not made contact because he was not yet out of danger, and, protocol be damned, she was going to tell me of this development. It was enough to give me hope, though I knew The Dutch to be lethal with his weapons, that is to say, whatever he felt might be used as a weapon at the moment, though his preferred tool was the razor blade and he had quite a collection. I knew, for I had removed a number from his victims, personally.

The day of my speech arrived. When I arrived at the drop point all Grant had to say was that Nikolai wished to see me. He greeted me with his usual unassuming smile, Gruber at his side. After some small talk he began to explain the process for the meeting, what would occur and when. Finally he said, "Mr. Gruber will meet you here and escort you to the salon." He leaned forward on his makeshift desk of plywood and brick. "So, have you decided on a topic?"

"I was thinking something on the needs of man for each other. A sort of treatise on philos. I thought I might draw inspiration from the government of Germany and its overthrow. But to be certain to point out that, while they had ideas, it was their lack of cohesion in them that caused their government of the people to fail and tyranny to win out. A promotion of unity while speaking against rashness, if you will."

His smile grew broader. "Why you clever girl. It is perfect. Many of them came here from Germany as political exiles, or their parents did. I only wish I could be there to hear it. Perhaps you might give me the finer points? I've only heard of the failed revolution, but know little beyond that."

"Of course." I began to explain the history of the revolution and soon we were deeply embroiled in it, Gruber having long since left for work. The conversation grew to include all the revolutions of Europe and the effects both at home and in America. We continued the topic throughout the morning and into a Chinese restaurant on 2nd avenue. Roger was partial to Chinese dumplings, a taste he had developed in Hong Kong but that had eluded him since his return, and I was glad to finally understand why. Though this I did not mention to Nicholas for we were now discussing Ireland in earnest and the ideas coming out of there. In the end, I never did return home, sending my regrets by delivery boy that I had decided to visit the exposition and intended to remain in the city that evening. It had been years since I had felt so free to discuss these topics, and certainly never with a revolutionary. Particularly not one as well spoken as Nicholas Martin. Gruber was surprised to find us still in conversation when he came to pick me up.

"It has been a wonderful day, Princess." Nicholas said, taking both my hands in his. "I wish you good luck with your speech." He leaned in and appeared to hesitate, finally deciding on a kiss on my cheek.

Gruber was silent for the walk. The speech went as well as could be hoped. I saw Tom in the crowd with his friends from work. If looks could kill, I was not certain whether he or Gruber would have been sliced finer for how they stared at each other. I spoke to Gruber after asking what was going on, but he only muttered something about me being Nikolai's woman, and that it wasn't his place to impose, slinking off to the bar to nurse his wounded pride. I was surrounded by Germans all congratulating me for a stirring debut when a strong hand grabbed me and pulled me outside and away from the salon.

"Now what in tarnation was that!" Tom said angrily. "I don't hear a word from you in two weeks and now yer up there givin' speeches and pal'in' up to Gruber like yer old chums. We're supposed ta be partners!"

"I was able to gain the attention of Nikolai. He asked me to join his organization and I accepted."

"What? Are you crazy? Do you know what he does to people? The Monster of the Mon just struck the other day. Couldn't identify the man he was in so many pieces."

"I'm not sure he is this monster of the mon."

"Well two weeks ago you were."

"That was before I met him."

"Ah. I see how it is. He's got you all wrapped up in his spell like everyone else. How could you be so stupid?" His voice was catching harshly on the words. Strangely. The syllables emphasized. "And to not even tell me? Do you know how much danger you are in?"

"Acutely."

"You should have told me. Brought me in with you. To protect you."

"I couldn't. He knows you are a Pinkerton. He specifically requested I not."

Tom drew back, his voice returning to normal as he said, "He knows I'm a Pinkerton?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well you damn well better tell me. Or I'll find Gruber and make him tell me." He pulled his gun.

"You wouldn't."

"You wanna try me? I'm not lookin' to find myself on the wrong end of a bullet if I can prevent it."

I looked around. "Follow me," I said pulling him further away. "We'll need to hurry." I found an narrow alley between two warehouses and, scanning both directions, pulled him along with me.

"Now tell me-"

"Shhh" I put my finger to my lips and waited, watching the dim glow of both ends of the alley for shadows. None appeared. Evans must not have seen us leave. "It's safe."

"From what? Tell me why we couldn't do this at my apartment."

"Because that would be the first place he would look."

"And who's he, exactly?"

"Evans."

"Wait- Evans?"

"Yes. He's one of Nikolai's lieutenants. He's been feeding him information on the Pinkerton movements for months."

"Why that dirty double crosser. If he's one a' Nikolai's then wouldn't that mean he knows about-"

"Yes, James and I both. And he knows of The Poet, but not who he is."

"Wal' good, hope we can keep it that way. Don't reckon he'd take very kindly to threats. You don't want ta see him mad. I'll tell you what, there's a reason Sherman took him from Georgia to Kansas and it weren't cause he was bad at poker." He cracked his neck. "Guess ah know what ah'll be doin' tonight."

Though I knew nothing of this Sherman character there was an ominous enough tone to that I did not need to ask. "Don't kill Evans," I said.

"Why not, he's a traitor."

"That he very well may be, but if he dies Nikolai will know I told you. I need you to give me more time."

"Why should I? Why not just cut the head of the snake and be done with it?"

"Because, I have made that error before, only to find there was a more terrible snake waiting to consume the first. Give me more time and I promise, when I have my answers I shall tell you."

"Fine. But you find out anythin' you tell me straightaway, ya hear? I ain't gonna let nobody kill ya. That's my job, an I take it seriously."

"Thank you."

It was five days more before the anticipated letter from New York came. I tore it open not certain I wanted the answers contained within. If I was wrong I had wasted a good deal of time chasing a ghost. But were I right- Oh Nicholas! How I hope I was wrong about you. I braced myself as I read.

Dear M,

I hope this letter finds you well. I did as you asked and took the photograph to the Zum Grosse salon while Miss Goldman was there. Sat right next to her and everything. I tells the barkeep I'm looking for a friend of mine and show him the picture. Says he doesn't know him. I ask Miss Goldman and you could tell she recognized him right off but she says she don't know him either. I say that's too bad. She asks what his name is and I say they call him Nikolai. She says she'll keep an eye out for him. So I finish my drink and accidentally drop the picture on the floor as I go to talk to some other people. I see Miss Goldman in the mirror and she picks up the photo and puts it in her purse. I don't know who this man, Nikolai is, but she sure seems to. If you need anything else feel free to write, or you can call the precinct in an emergency.

Give my best to the kid.

Stan Wolfe

That was all the confirmation I needed. Nicholas had been the man at the shop who had given Emma Goldman the money, meaning he had heard of their plan and needed it to go through, even if he had to fund it himself. The explosives were not, could not, be incidental to his plot. I had to confront him. I must know his plan for the explosives.

I passed Grant on the way into the building. "You might not want to go up there right now." He warned as I strode by him.

"And why not?" I said, not even trying to conceal my fury. He followed gingerly behind me.

"Well, the boss, he's with someone right now."

"Well he'll be with me in a moment," I said, marching up the stairs.

"Suit yourself, but I don't think he'll be happy to see you." I heard Grant mutter, but I was already at the second landing.

As I approached the fourth floor I heard Nicholas's voice. "When did this happen?" he demanded.

"A few weeks ago," another man's voice cried.

"A few weeks ago? What did you tell him?"

"Nothing!" There was the sound of something impacting something soft and a shout of pain. "I swear," the other voice panted. "I didn't tell him anything."

I carefully crept further onto the floor of lain plywood. Dust sheets hung down from the ceiling, giving the appearance of walls and rooms to what was otherwise an empty floor lit by the grand window frames. Behind a sheet wall I could see Nicholas pacing back and forth, like the panther in the London Zoo, in his hands I could see two steel rods, not more than a foot and a half in length. I could see what appeared to be a man sitting on a chair but it was difficult to make out behind the slowly undulating sheets.

"You wouldn't just be saying that, would you?"

"No!"

Nicholas swung back, slamming the steel baton into the man's shoulder with a sickening crack. The man howled in pain. I knelt low, creeping along behind the curtains. A gust caused them to sway out. I could see the terrified face of the man from the mill Roger had interrogated. He was covered in cuts and bruises and lashed to the metal chair so tightly his neck, the only free part of him, besides the head connected to it, bulged forward. On a cheap wooden table nearby where a number of tools, most already bloodied. Brass knuckles, a shining straight razor, a hammer.

"Please! I didn't tell him anything!"

"See, the trouble, Hank, is I know you. I know you told him something and I need to know what that was." Nicholas shoved a balled up cloth into the man's mouth. He took the straight razor and trailed it along the width of the man's neck as the man strained back against the seat, trying vainly to avoid the blade. "The thing about razors is a good one can be sharpened so you don't even realize you've been cut. A bright red line traced the path the razor edged had traveled. He brushed the razor against the forming drops and held it up to the man's eyes. Hank's eyes bulged as he fought against the ropes, grunting loudly what would have been screams of abject terror. "Relax. I didn't cut you that deeply. Now then," he removed the cloth from Hank's mouth, "tell me what you told that man."

"I didn't tell him nothing about the plan, I swear."

"So you told him something."

"I told him I'd never tell. I didn't want to end up like that girl you made drink acid." Nicholas shoved the cloth in the man's mouth, picked up his steel batons and slammed them down on his shoulders. I heard the crack of the bone and the pop as the humeri dislocated. Another hit slammed the man's vitals below his ribcage. Then one to his ribs, shattering them. The cloth flew from Hank's mouth. "Please, no more." he begged between ragged breaths, blood from his aspiration freckling Nicholas's face.

"You have the power to end this now. Just answer my question. What else did you tell him?"

"I told him - I told him I was surprised you hadn't killed Berkman when he stayed with you."

"And why would that surprise you? I'm not a monster." Nothing in the scene before me would testify to that claim.

"Because, you thought his plan would cause trouble for us if he killed Frick."

Nicholas raised his baton and appeared as though he were going to smash Hank in the face with it. Hank flinched. But no contact was made. "So you did tell him something of the plan. That would explain why they visited Berkman again. Thank you." Nicholas took a few steps away, I could see the cool calm on his blood-flecked face. He dropped one of the steel batons onto the floor, letting it clatter on the soft wood. Hank visibly seemed to relax. Then Nicholas spun the baton in his hand, turned, and slammed it into back of the man's neck, with such force the head flew from the body and landed some yards away. He turned, and for a moment appeared startled. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket and smiled as he rubbed it against what appeared to be a watch attached to his wrist.

"Do you like it?" he said, wiping the speckles of blood from the glass face. "Ingenious little things, aren't they? I took it off a German corporal before I took his name, as he was no longer in need of it. They certainly would not allow Nicholas Martin passage to America. Fritz Bruenig or something like that. Funny that it would be the Germans to come up with such an item for their military while we still labor with watch pockets as though war were a gentleman's sport where time was of no great import."

"You're him. The Monster of the Mon." I breathed, pistol in hand.

"At your service." His smile chilled me to the bone, though it was the most true one I had seen from him.

"You killed that man whose head they found in the river."

"He was incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Much like this one here." He pointed the remaining baton at the headless body, still fastened tightly to the chair.

"What of the girl, the one they say you forced to drink acid?"

"What was her name? Ursula, perhaps? I did not force her to do anything. She was infatuated with me, she fancied I might share her foolish feelings. But she was never anything more than a maid, and not even competent at that. All she was asked to do was remain in her position at the hotel until Mr. Burton could make the drop, and she could not even manage such a simple task. I believe my exact words to her on her firing were: Kill yourself." His face lost all expression as he said those two words. "At least she was capable of doing that."

"You're a monster."

"Now now, Miss Moore, no need to repeat yourself."

"What is the plan? Tell me or I'll shoot."

"And what good would that accomplish, other than that I would be dead?"

"That would be rather a lot of good."

"Oh Princess, you wound me. But it is not as though you have not before." He ran his finger under the scar. "I expected you would find out eventually, though I had hoped to avoid it for a while longer. But you have been useful to me, so I will allow you to leave if you swear not to speak of this to anyone."

"And why would I do that?"

"Simple. Because if I even so much as suspect that you might tell your husband or the authorities of our plans, I will have he and your daughter murdered. Before your very eyes if I can arrange it, but whatever is most expedient. As for that Pinkerton of yours, well, let him serve as your warning I am serious in what I say. Go home, Miss Moore, and do not return."

I ran without thinking as to where. To Rialto street. I had to see for myself. I heard gunfire. I took the stairs that ran along the side of the foul muddy road two at a time. Three men were lying dead outside the front. "Howdy, Mina," a voice called from the doorway. "Sorry, you missed the party." I saw The Reverend peek over the window sill in the room behind Tom, pistol leveled.

"Tom!" I cried.

Tom threw his gun arm behind his shoulder so that the gun was held upside down and fired. The Reverend fell back with a shot through the eye. "I thought I heard four. Dang these Pinkerton guns. Can't hardly shoot straight with 'em. I was aimin' for the center of his brow. Mighta been the window though. Not much good for reflectin'. Anyhow, prolly time for me ta be moseyin' along afore their buddies come for me. Or the landlady. Think I'm gonna need a place to lay low for a bit. You wanna come along?" I nodded, still panting from the run.

We traveled for sometime until we had reached what the Pittsburghers called the South Side. A seedy area of tall houses and orthodox churches, where you were just as likely to meet a nun as a cutpurse in that maze of narrow streets and back alleys. Tom tore a few planks from a boarded up doorway. "Ladies first," he said, gesturing for me to step through the hole.

The house had long been abandoned to all but the dust and mice. Tom busied himself at the fireplace where there was a miraculous pile of fresh logs and old newspaper. "The Poet set up this place in case one of us came to trouble. Even that rat Evans don't know about this place. If he sees the smoke he'll come see what's goin' on."

"Does he not trust the agency?"

"The only man he trusts is himself. And me on account of I saved his his life."

"How did that come about?" I asked, grasping for something to occupy my mind that was not Hank's head.

"I don't care ta talk about it. But, since it's you, I'll make an exception. My unit was called in ta help with some trouble at the Pine Ridge Indian reservation. There was a gathering of Lakotas there, huge group, all of them Ghost Dancers. Ya probably don't know what that is, but basically it was a dance that was supposed to make the white man leave their lands. It was pretty spooky to watch. Anyway, there was rumor that Chief Sitting Bull was among them and he was going to be arrested by the Indian police. They wanted us there to keep the whole thing from turning into another New Ulm. Well, by the time we got there things had gone south. Seems the arrest hadn't gone off as planned and one of the Indian police shot Sitting Bull and killed him. That set the Lakota's ta dancing in this place they called Wounded Knee. Our orders were ta get their guns, keep them from bein' able to do more than just dance. A lotta the men were scared. Shaking. They kept tellin' stories about the New Ulm massacre. How one of them saw a man cut to ribbons and another was tellin' about how the braves took a pregnant woman, ripped her open, and nailed the baby to a tree. Jest horrible stuff. By the time we was standin' at the edge of the holler where they was camped half the men was seein' guns and tomahawks that weren't even there. Thinkin' any moment we'd hear a war cry and they'd be upon us with arrows and axes and guns, tearin' our scalps off, cutting our... you know... our ears off."

He lit a cigarette and took a puff. "Ya want one? You look like you've had a day of it."

"No, thank you. Do go on."

"Well, I saw Frank and he was serving as an interpreter, tryin' ta get them ta give up their guns. And ya know, some of 'em did, some said they didn't have any. Found a bunch no one would claim even when they were in their bags. But in another part of the holler there was some sort of scuffle. One of the Indians didn't want to give up his gun. It turned into a fight. Then there was a shot, and then all the guns they said they didn't have suddenly came out and it was a firefight. They was jest tryin' ta defend themselves, I think. I mean yeah it was men, but it were women and children too. And they all got shot jest the same. I saw one of the braves take aim at Frank, he was in the thick of it ya see, fighting off a buncha them. Well, I did what I had to. He looked up where the bullet came from an saw it was me. Picked off a few others so he could get free of it. Look, I ain't prouda what we done. It warn't a fair fight. But that's what happened an I can't change what I did anymore'n anyone else. But enough of that. It sounds like you've gotten yourself into a fair pickle." He took another drag of his cigarette. "Said something to upset the boss?"

"Something like that. I walked in on him murdering a man."

"Sounds like a party." He took a drag of his cigarette. I noticed the glint of the sun off his wrist. Looking closer I saw it was a watch, attached by a leather band to his wrist. I had not noticed it before. To be more true I had not even thought to expect such a thing to look for it.

My hand hovered over my pistol, still tucked neatly in my belt. "Your watch. Only members of the German military are issued wrist watches. You are him. You're Georg Mueller."

His face lost all expression, morphing instantly from jovial to impassive. "And you killed my brother, Fraulein."