Author's Note: Between increased work responsibilities, a shift change, and the amount of reworking most of these sequences needed, finishing this chapter was a lot harder than I thought it would be. That said, I'm back now, and I hope you all enjoy it!

June 20th, 1900. 10:00 AM

Today, the Reich would wash its hands of Clemens von Ketteler.

It was hot. Not even the shade from awnings and overhangs on the streets lessened it. Sonic rubbed the bruise in his lower back, knowing full well it would hurt afterward: but much like scratching a mosquito bite, the act of rubbing it gave him a moment's relief.

The bruise took its vengeance when Sonic ceased rubbing, sending a shooting ache up his back. Tails had told him the pain would go away in a few days; Sonic needed it gone now.

As Sonic trotted by Ketteler's palanquin–essentially an ornate wooden box, carried on the shoulders of four Chinese servants– Ketteler stuck his head out. "Hauptmann." No "Herr" in his address: something must have irked him.

The resemblance to a coffin borne by pallbearers struck the captain as oddly fitting for Ketteler. The Qing may want him alive for the immediate future, but extended captivity would almost certainly result in the minister's death. Sonic ignored the discourtesy, and brought his horse to a slow walk beside the palanquin. "Herr von Kettler?"

Ketteler looked slightly more annoyed than usual, and a little bleary-eyed. As he dabbed his glistening forehead with a handkerchief, Ketteler asked: "Are you well?"

"Yes, sir. Just took an awkward fall the other day."

Ketteler nodded curtly. "Good. Send for Herr Prauer, we need to go over a few notes."

Sonic saluted, and was about to gallop to the head of the column when Ketteler spoke again.

"I want our progress to be as efficient as possible. Fire a few shots in the air if you need to clear the way."

Sure, want me to blow off a few heads while I'm at it? I could use the target practice. "Very good, sir. Am I dismissed?"

"You are." Ketteler waved him off, and Sonic spurred his horse onward, past a second, identical palanquin carried by four more servants, and flanked by three men on each side instead of two: a decoy, in case a rogue local decided to take the Qing's justice into his own hands.

Thankfully, no such threat was forthcoming. The crowds of Chinese peasantry, sprinkled with the red robes of Boxers, easily moved aside for the advancing Germans. Despite this, Sonic could feel the collective anger and indignation in their stares. They knew.

…keep Sally strong. And Knuckles, and Tails, and…

Amy was on her knees in the middle of the bedroom floor, eyes shut and head bowed, when the door behind her quietly swung open. She knew it was Sally; Tails preferred to announce himself with a knock, whether or not the door was ajar. She didn't move when Sally sat on the floor beside her.

Before meeting Vanilla, Amy had prayed aloud, knelt by her bed. But after living with her and Sally for the past three years, she'd come to appreciate the simple silence they practiced, even if she hadn't taken their particular faith for her own. She felt freed by it, like she could just sit down and talk to God as she would with Sally. It felt more…honest? Yes, that was the word she wanted. It felt more honest.

Amy opened her eyes to glance at Sally–who'd already bowed her head and shut her eyes–and then went back to her prayer.

And Amadeus. She wouldn't weep when the Qing was through with Ketteler, but Amadeus was taking a big risk by going to the meeting with him. It didn't sit well with her at all. Keep him safe. Bring him home. Amen.

Her eyes opened, and met Sally's. "You okay?" Amy asked.

Sally looked more tired than Tails did these days. "Yes, I was just unburdening myself. To Him."

"How's Cixin?"

Sally looked at the floor, shaking her head. "He's burning up. I laid hands on him with Knuckles and Falun, and we prayed for…" She sighed. "I don't know for how long. An hour, maybe. But it was no good."

She looked back at Amy. "He wanted me to put some mud on his eye and heal him, as Christ did for the beggar at the pool. I…I turned him down. I told him he would have it back when Christ comes again."

Amy slowly nodded. "Do you know why you turned him down?"

"Cynicism. Maybe. I don't know. I just didn't have the…" She trailed off.

"When did this happen?"

"Just before Ping. Minutes before. It didn't seem possible at the time, you know?" Sally visibly collected herself. "I should have done something then. Anything."

Amy frowned and smiled simultaneously. "Now don't you start. He needed hope, and you gave him that."

"You're right." Sally smiled weakly. "God wills what He will." She paused, then asked: "Did Tails go with Ketteler?"

"No, he's on wall duty." Amy shook her head. "Poor man, stuck up there in the sun, while his da's going into the city like that." She sighed. "Did Amadeus really have to go with that bastard?"

"Ketteler would need a reliable interpreter," Sally pointed out, "He hates Tails, and he doesn't know me, so that leaves the colonel."

"I guess," Amy replied glumly, "I just…I don't like it."

Sally felt her expression change, and through her exhaustion, she felt…something. She wouldn't have been able to describe it in that moment; but whenever she saw Amy chatting with Tails, Amadeus caring for the baby, or Tails cleaning his weapons, she felt it. Oh, did she feel it.

Her eyes fell on the belt, and the feeling intensified as she patted Amy on the back. "He'll be fine." The reassuring tone she wanted to convey came out–blunted? Colored? Strangled?–by this strange feeling.

Amy heard it. "What's wrong?"

Sally tried to play it off. "I'm worried. If the plan falls through, what happens then?"

A lot of people would have been fooled, but Amy saw through it. Her hands rested unconsciously on the belt buckle. "Sal, what is it?"

Sally took a breath before she spoke. How to explain? "I'm worried about you."

"About…me?"

Sally gently took one of Amy's hands. "I don't think it's wise to get so involved with these Germans. Not like you've been doing."

Amy cocked her head. "Why not? Vanilla married Amadeus, doesn't that count for something?"

"The colonel has a good heart," Sally admitted, "I can see that now." A frozen memory of Tails in the bathroom, gun to his head, popped into her mind and vanished. "But I'm concerned that you're setting yourself up for trouble."

Amadeus reigned up beside the palanquin. Apart from Sonic, he was the only man ahorse. He was also dressed rather plainly: instead of his white summer uniform, he wore the same khakis that Sonic did, albeit with a crush cap instead of the slouch hat, and the thin gold shoulder epaulettes that denoted his rank. Despite the strange cloud of excitement, relief, and fear that had settled on his mind, he managed to effect casual politeness when he spoke. "Herr von Ketteler?"

Ketteler leaned a little further out of the palanquin, careful not to send it sideways onto the hard, yellow-brown dirt. He tried to lower his voice, but not lower it so much that he couldn't be heard. "I've heard a few disturbing rumors lately."

"Rumors, sir?" Amadeus wasn't a man given to alarm; but despite the awful heat beating down on him, he suddenly felt a cold tingle in his stomach.

Ketteler nodded. "The Boxers appear to be sabotaging the railroads, not just the telegraph lines. They may also be targeting the water infrastructure."

It was yet another issue that loomed large in Amadeus's mind. The possibility of cncerted Boxer attacks on Legation Quarter was bad enough; the destruction of the railroads meant that all food would have to be carried in by cart. To a city of three million people.

Even if the expeditionary force arrived within the week, Peking would go hungry for months. If the Boxers were willing to sabotage the water supply, in the middle of a drought–

Sonic trotted up to them. "Apologies Herr Oberst, our Qing escort's around the corner. Looks like Fuxiang men."

Amadeus looked back to Ketteler. "I will have to speak with them now, sir."

Ketteler gave a weary sigh, but seemed to relax a little. "Very well. We'll discuss the issue later."

Sally tried to explain. "Tails isn't well. And I don't think the colonel is, not after…" She swallowed. "Not after Vanilla."

Amy attempted a smile, but her voice was soft and glum when she spoke. "I don't think any of us are." She glanced at the door, then got up to shut it. She leaned against the door as she spoke again: "Sal, what's this really about?"

Oh, for God's sake.The look on Amy's face was one Sally knew well. That concentrated set of the brow, that small, sour pout of the lips, that slight sideways tilt of her head; all of it told Sally that Amy was preparing to not be convinced.

Sally chose her words carefully: "Tails understands grace rationally, but it's not ingrained in him. Things like that take years, you know that. And I'm not certain that he won't slip into the mindset that caused him to snap at you."

Amy's brow furrowed deeper with thought, then she shrugged. "Whatever you told him, seems like it worked." She returned to Sally, sitting on her knees and facing her as she did so. "He apologized. He even said I was right, and he even took me out to–" She stopped, her face beginning to flush.

Sally's eyes narrowed. "Where did he take you?"

"T-to the…" Amy's flush deepened, and she scratched the back of her head. "The gardens," she admitted, "We fed the fish."

Sally cocked her head inquisitively. Her expression said What aren't you telling me? "'We?'"

"He, uh…we…" Amy swallowed. "He kissed me."

Not now. Father above, not this, not now. "Was that all he did?" Sally immediately regretted the sharpness of the question.

Amy's voice rose in pitch, her face turning scarlet. "It wasn't like that!"

Sally studied her. She's not lying. Wisdom. Father, I need wisdom, and I need it now. She made an effort to soften her tone: "Amy, I don't think that was wise. For either of you." Her mouth worked as she tried for words. "He's not…"

"Not what?"

"Stable. I just don't...I don't want him to hurt you. By accident, I mean." Suddenly, the words came tumbling out. "Tails is a soldier. He could die out there. And he's seen death, you know how he handles it, and God knows how much more he's going to see."

Amy chewed on this. "Sal, we've seen our share of death too. Your da, Vanilla, Ping…" She huffed. "It's awful. And if he's gonna see more of it, you don't think he needs people who know it? You don't think he needs someone who understands, even a little?"

Again, Sally's reply came out sharper than she'd intended. "That doesn't mean you should throw yourself at him like this." What the hell is wrong with me?

That stung both of them. "Sal, I didn't throw myself at him. Even if I did, he's a good man; he saved you, even gave me this so we could get the mission back on its feet!"

Amy gripped Tails's belt and gave it a slight shake for emphasis, and the tenuous control she had over her father's Ulster brogue began to slip. "You know what this is made of? Gold. Real gold, that he fuckin' paid for! The whole thing's a hundred dollars, ya don't think that counts for somethin'?"

In another life, a hundred dollars was petty cash for Sally. Her voice began to shake, even as she made the effort to stay calm. "I'm not saying he's not brave, nor that he's not generous. He clearly is. But he's not safe."

"So that's it?" Amy asked, "We should just stop because he saw a kid die and couldn't just fuckin' take it?"

Sally tried to soften her tone again, desperately trying to contain the secret she carried on Tails's behalf. "Amy, it wasn't only Ping, and–"

The younger woman's embarrassment and indignation morphed into anger. "'Stable.' Like you're any fuckin' better!"

Sally's eyes widened with shock. "Excuse me?"

"What, ya want me to back off you too, 'cause your da topped himself? That's not how it wor–" Amy stopped, gaped, suddenly realizing what she'd said.

A terrible silence fell on the room.

Chu was glad that he didn't have to stand in the open on such a scorching day as this. Blaze had picked out a saloon for him and three other Boxers–plus two of her own men–that sat on the T-shaped intersection where the Germans would meet their Qing escort.

As drinking establishments went, the saloon was small, only fifty feet deep and about fifteen feet wide, with half the width taken up by the bar and seats. The only lighting came from the sun shining through the open doorway and the small window beside it. Beyond the few feet of sunlight, the saloon was cast in hazy shadow.

All six of them were armed with swords and revolvers, but Chu also had a rifle slung over his shoulder. All of them wore the red cloth hats, ammo belts, and the thin, voluminous tunic-and-pants of Dong Fuxiang's soldiers.

Even though Blaze had told him that armed patrols frequented this place, Chu was surprised at how little the monkey bartender paid attention to the weapons his customers carried. Thankfully, despite the crowds milling about outside, the saloon was otherwise deserted. It saved any awkward questions.

Chu glanced down the bar. One of Blaze's men was nursing a beer, but his own all had cups of water. Good. He might have allowed Liu a glass of beer if the old boar asked, but the otter twins? Absolutely not: tipsiness was the last thing Wen and Liai-dao needed right now.

The big cat's golden eyes idly ran along the shelves behind the bar. Barrels of water, kegs of beer with indecipherable names printed on the sides, bottles of black and brown and green glass that reflected the milling crowds outside.

The bartender calmly, studiously approached. "See something you like, sir?"

Chu decided to humor the man. "Gin." Gin? Why?

"Single or double, sir?"

"Single." His gaze turned back to the street outside. The crowd began to move faster.

The bartender nodded, and went searching among the shelves.

Why gin?

Knuckles's voice whispered out of the past to him. "Shangdí showed me the way out of that life."

Why gin? Chu recalled how, just before leaving the orchard, Knuckles had acquired a taste for the stuff. It was one of the many poisons the foreigner had brought to his country.

In some ways, it was worse than opium: where opium put men into hours of pleasant stupor, gin had sent Knuckles into awe-inspiring rages. Worse, gin was apparently what the British railways paid their workers, in lieu of hard silver. So why am I ordering it?

As the bartender collected the tiny copper coin Chu had placed on the counter, his gaze followed Chu's. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he shrugged and tucked the coin into the purse on his belt.

Eyes still fixed on the street, Chu lifted the glass and slugged the warm gin. His lips, then his mouth and throat burned, as if he'd consumed liquid fire. He gasped, then made a half-nasal, half-guttural sound that turned Liu's head. Chu cut off the old boar's question with a shake of his head. After a moment, the burn gave way to a pleasant, intensely herbal taste, like pine. Was that what you saw in this stuff?

The activity outside hastened, and Chu caught a glimpse of a familiar khaki uniform atop a slender black horse. He got up from the seat, pausing at the door: yes, those were Germans. His heart began to pound as he looked to the right, then left: ranks of men, dressed and armed identically to himself, marched smartly toward him from the left.

Chu turned back into the saloon, and made a clenched fist in the air. It's time. They all got up from their seats, and followed him silently out the door.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Sally wanted to run out of the room. Now. She sat there, silent, her horror mirrored in Amy's face. Numbly, wordlessly, Sally got to her feet.

"Sal?"

Don't say a word. Be ye angry, and sin not. Breathe.

Sally turned away to the door. She couldn't look Amy in the eye.

Breathe.

Sally felt her eyes water as images and sounds floated through her mind with startling clarity; of Ping drawing his last hacking breath; of Tails at her father's writing desk; of her father standing in front of the sink; of both men with a pistol raised to their heads, their faces blank; of the the click of a revolver's hammer, cocking back, then falling, as Chu pulled the trigger.

Breathe.

Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, turned it. She could barely hear; she could barely think. In the back of her mind, she realized it wasn't anger she was feeling. Not exactly. It was far, far deeper than that.

Be…ye…

Amy got up to follow her. "Sal, wait a second, I-I didn't mean it like that."

Be…

It wasn't anger Sally was feeling. It was fear.

Out the door.

Her mind wanted to run; her feet walked.

Amy caught up to her, reached out and put a hand on Sally's shoulder. "Sal. I didn't mean–"

Sally lunged at her.

As the third line of Fuxiang troops rounded the corner to greet the Germans, as Amadeus was talking in low voices with Blaze at the head of the column, the first shot rang out.

CRACK.

Sonic knew it came from an alley. It had to. It sounded like a rifle.

CRACK.

Sonic and Amadeus spun around as the second shot ripped through the baking air. The servants carrying Ketteler's palanquin were running in all directions, and the civilians up the street screamed in alarm; the palanquin itself lay on its side.

CRACKCRACK. CRACK.

Broomhandles. His own men were shooting back. "Ceasefire, ceasefire!" Sonic barked, drawing his weapon and spurring his horse back down the column. The Fuxiang troops gripped their weapons and rapidly glanced at each other in confusion.

CRACKCRACKCRACK.

"Ceasefire, damn you! Cease–"

In the corner of his eye, Sonic saw one of the Fuxiang troops fall over, and his heart jumped into his mouth. He's dead. We're dead.

A deep voice roared an order in Mandarin, and the remaining Fuxiang leveled their weapons to fire. Adrenaline promptly swept aside the bruise, Ketteler, and any hypothetical future that might have come from any hypothetical meeting.

CRACK, SNAP.

Sonic ducked as a bullet whizzed by his ear. "Return fire!" he shouted, leveling his pistol in the direction of the voice and squeezing off several rounds. "Return fire! Return fire! Return and retreat!"

Chaos ensued. Exchanging fire all the while, Fuxiang and German soldiers took cover in alleys, in doorways, behind barrels, boxes, awning poles, market stalls, anything to break the enemy's line of sight. Sonic's horse reared as it took several rounds, throwing him from the saddle and falling to the ground on its side.

Sonic rolled away from the thrashing, dying horse, hearing the swish of a hoof and the snap of bullets flying by his head. He kept rolling until his head cracked into the leg of a market stall. For a moment, his vision doubled and his mind swam, and he felt someone grab his collar to pull him behind cover–a hay cart, as it happened. He looked up.

Kosschorreck, that brave yellow mink from Hamburg, had grabbed him. "Orders, Herr Hauptmann!" he shouted.

Sonic's vision cleared as he sat up against the big wooden wheel of the cart. He had to shout to be heard above the firefight. "Where's the colonel?"

Kosschorreck indicated a cluster of barrels across the street, as he broke open the shotgun to reload . "I saw him take cover over there, with that cat lady!" He put in two shells.

So I have to run straight into the enemy. The barrels were stacked two high, some were knocked over; and to Sonic's dismay, they were mere yards from a pair of Fuxiang men, who had dropped into a slight dip in the dirt street.

"Give me that shotgun," Sonic ordered, internally cursing himself for not bringing the Yellowboy. "Any grenades?"

"Just two," Kosschorreck replied.

"Those as well, I can throw further." Once the private had complied, Sonic added: "When I start running, don't. Stop. Shooting. Once I bring the colonel back here, we're going to make a headcount, and then a fighting retreat. Verstanden?"

"Ja, Herr Hauptmann."

Sonic got to his feet, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and holding a stick-handle grenade in each fist. Instead of pins or fuses, these grenades were armed by pulling a cord from the base. "Ein, zwei…DREI!"

Sonic ran. Kosschorreck fired, and fired, and fired.

Sonic yanked one cord, threw the grenade; it landed squarely in the center of the defilade. Both of its occupants jumped to their feet, and Sonic shot them. Two seconds later, the grenade detonated in a swirl of yellow-brown dust, obscuring the line of fire for a few precious seconds.

He kept running, quickly reaching the barrels and ducking behind them to avoid a volley of return fire. "Herr Oberst?" He looked around, finding no trace of him nor Blaze. Shit. He broke the shotgun open and reloaded.

More bullets skipped over his head, the ricochets taking chunks out of the wood and plaster of the walls in front of him. Sonic popped up and shot two Fuxiang men that were running at him, swords drawn. They pitched forward into the dirt.

A third Fuxiang–this one a red tanuki–was right behind them, then past their bodies, then within arm's reach of Sonic, his shortsword flashing white in the baking sunlight!

There was no time to reload. Sonic parried the swing with the barrel of the shotgun, then tried to jam the muzzle into his attacker's throat; he missed, glancing off the tanuki's chin. The tanuki stumbled back, spat out a mouthful of blood, then came at him again.

Sonic backed down the alley behind him, parrying and dodging the tanuki's cuts and thrusts all the while. Wielding the shotgun like a spear, he thrust back; the tanuki parried, kept coming.

Then Sonic feinted low, jabbed high, and felt the tanuki's windpipe crunch. His opponent dropped to the dirt, clutching his throat, his eyes huge with shock.

Gripping the shotgun by the barrels, Sonic clubbed his foe over the head; he kept clubbing, until the tanuki's skull no lomger resembled a skull.

A gleam in the dirt beside the body caught Sonic's eye, as he finally broke open the shotgun to reload: a pair of golden epaulettes. He scooped them off the ground for a closer look, and saw patches of frayed khaki fabric on the ends. They had been torn from Amadeus's shoulders.

Sonic turned to look further down the alley. Faint tracks in the dust, left by a man and a woman running.

"Boxers!" someone shouted above the firefight, about twenty yards down the street.

Shit. Sonic ground his teeth, and battle fury engulfed his mind as he put in fresh shells and closed the shotgun. He was not going to die here.

He duck-walked back to the barrels to keep out of sight, readying himself to run back to Kosschorreck and figure out how to salvage the situation. What was he going to tell the men? Missing. Just say "missing."

Sonic yanked the cord on his last grenade harder than he needed to, waited a second, hurled it toward the Fuxiang positions, and bolted. A storm of rifle and pistol fire snapped all around him; but as he'd intended, the explosion and dust obscured the enemy line of fire.

Just before he reached Kosschorreck's hay cart, a white sting ripped through Sonic's calf, which caused him to stumble and fall flat on his face. Groaning, more with anger than pain, Sonic crawled into cover beside the mink.