Darkness quickly gathered as Amadeus and Amy left the British Legation, stepping onto Legation Street. As they walked together, Amadeus pointed out his nation's black, white, and red tricolor flag to her, which stood a mile distant and caught the last few rays of sunset. "I'm stationed there," he said, "it may be on the other side of the world from home, but it's enough."

"Where's 'home'?" Amy asked.

"Deutschland," he answered, "but you probably call it 'Germany'."

There were few streetlights, but the various legations did have their own electric lights; their combined strength, alongside the grey haze from last night's fire, cast the Quarter in a patchy yellow glow that reminded Amy of strong, yet sickly moonlight. Though this light was enough to comfort the old fox, it gave Amy the creeps.

She hugged the baby to her on instinct. Amadeus saw this, and he felt his heart break a little more. "Would you feel better if I led?" he asked. Subconsciously, he rested a hand on the butt of his broomhandle pistol. Amy was about to answer, when the baby stirred and opened her eyes. Amadeus looked into those eyes and saw Vanilla's face. He swallowed the gasp that threatened.

A smell, familiar to Amy and somewhat foreign to Amadeus, wafted into the smoke-stained air. Amy's nose wrinkled, and she sighed. "Damn it. That's the sixth time today."

Amadeus forced a chuckle. "Would you prefer if I carried her?"

Nodding, grateful to give her tired arms and back muscles a break, Amy handed the old fox's daughter to him. His hand left the pistol to cradle her. They kept walking. "Where's Germany?" Amy asked.

"Have you seen a map of Europe?"

Amy had. Vanilla had sometimes used maps when she taught, to give her congregation a better idea of the distances the Apostles had to travel in order to spread the Gospel. Off the top of her head, Amy knew that Rome was halfway up the boot that jutted into the Mediterranean, that Corinth, Ephesus, and Thessaloniki were all in the mess of islands that made up Greece, that Capernaum stood by the Sea of Galilee, and that Jerusalem was further south. "Yeah, I have," she said, "It's somewhere north of Rome."

"Many miles north, beyond the Alps and to the east of France." He decided to quiz her further, to see how much of Vanilla's schooling had stuck. "Do you know who Martin Luther is?"

Amy paused. Both Vanilla and the Belfast priest had briefly talked about Luther, the former declaring the man a "needed breath of air to all Christendom," and the latter condemning him for a "damned fool apostate". Amy didn't know enough about Luther's teachings to form a detailed theological opinion of her own, but she did have an opinion of Luther himself. "He was a brave man. It must have taken all of his guts to nail that scroll to his church door."

Amadeus nodded in approval. "Germany was his homeland."

Amy nodded back, continuing to walk beside the old fox. "What's it like there?"

For the first time in weeks, Amadeus truly smiled. When Vanilla had asked him the same question, he'd gushed about the rolling green meadows of Seelow Heights, about the quaint fishing villages of the Prussian coast that brought up enormous halibut and succulent crabs, about the majesty of the medieval castles that dotted every commanding view from the Meuse to Memel. He looked into the wide, warm, chocolate brown eyes of his daughter, who stared up at him. God, she's practically a photograph of her mother. The same long ears, the same mouth, the button nose, the pale, creamy brown fur. Meine Zückersahne, my sweet Sweet Cream, born again.

But in those huge chocolate eyes, Amadeus sensed something: a certain calculation, an inquisitiveness, like she was studying him as carefully as he studied her. Miles often wore the same sort of expression. He didn't know if Vanilla had a name in mind for their daughter, but Amadeus decided there and then what it would be. Sahne. Meine Sahne. My Sweet Cream. "It's beautiful," he said reverently.

Amy smiled. Several facts clicked together in the back of her mind, but she wasn't yet aware that they had. Seeing this strange old soldier light up, and the baby not crying upon soiling herself as she had been doing all day, it somehow felt...right.

Beyond the sickly yellow light, beneath the shadows of an American oak tree one hundred yards east of the American Legation, Chu studied Legation Street. Across the street, directly ahead of him and about half a mile distant, stood the British Legation; to the left, the Russian Legation sat directly opposite the American Legation; and to his right, the sluggish, half-dried canal that split the Quarter in two. A wide stone bridge allowed the street to continue another mile eastward. All three legations possessed outer walls that varied between ten and fifteen feet in height, with a blockhouse above the main entrances. These walls protected multiple buildings within them, many of which rose another ten feet above the walls: this allowed defenders multiple vantage points from which to fire down onto the street. This also allowed anyone with a good throwing arm the opportunity to hurl a torch or a bomb into the windows.

A few trees grew directly next to the walls of the British Legation, both inside and outside. While these may allow a few Fists to get in and cause some chaos, Chu knew that it wouldn't take long for the foreigner to figure out what was going on before they cut down the trees. If any of these miniature fortresses were to be conquered and not simply damaged, one would have to take the entrance blockhouse, then clear out each and every building inside, all while taking rifle fire from each adjacent legation. Fire alone wouldn't get the job done.

Liu approached him from the right. The wet sound of his feet slipping against sandals told Chu that the Manchu boar had climbed down the eastern canal wall, walked through the ankle-deep water, and then climbed back up to meet him. "Tell me what you've seen," Chu ordered in a whisper.

"They're deserting two legations on the east and north side," Liu told him, "the Austrians and Italians."

"Why would they do that?"

"They left with three wagons each, and only a couple dozen men defending them. I don't think they had enough soldiers to defend their walls."

"Are they leaving Peking?" Chu dared to hope.

The boar shook his head. "No: Liao-dao tells me they're shacking up with the Japs and the French."

Chu cursed. If he'd thought to scout this place sooner, he might have gathered many more Fists, and caught the foreigners in mid-evacuation. "Have you heard from Ping and Wen?"

Liu shook his head. "I sent them west, up Chang An Street. They wanted a closer look at the Brits' rear walls."

Chu nodded, looking back at Legation Street. "Good. When everyone meets back here, we'll-" He stopped. "Look. There's the pink one from last night, the witch."

Liu saw them too, the old starched officer and the roughspun young woman, as they began to cross the bridge. They were talking amiably, and the officer appeared to be carrying some kind of bundle. He looked to Chu. "What are you thinking?"

Chu's golden eyes tracked the strange pair. "Wait here."

Liu grabbed his arm. "What are you thinking?" Chu pulled the Peacemaker from his belt and waved it meaningfully. Liu let go. "Be careful."

Chu checked the cylinder of the pistol: five rounds, which he had scrounged from a fallen Qing soldier. Chu wasn't entirely new to firearms; his father had owned a breech-loading rifle that he and Chu used to kill snakes and other pests. The device in his hand even used the same ammunition. But because the weapon itself was much smaller and the fire rate faster, there was a temptation to squeeze off as many rounds as possible in the heat of the moment. He'd made that mistake when hunting the chipmunk; now, he would be patient, and take his time lining up a shot. "Wait here for the others. If you hear shots, follow the Tartar Wall west, and make for Tiananmen Square. Understand?" Liu nodded. "Good."

Liu watched Chu stride toward the canal, clamber over the railing that kept people from stumbling and falling in, and then disappear from sight. He sat down, leaning against the great trunk of the tree, and it was then that Liu realized how tired he was. He'd been up for almost two days, running from fires, fighting, dodging bullets, looking for Liao-dao and Wen through all the chaos- oh Zhang above, he was too old for this sort of life, and he knew it.

Nevertheless, he knew that the foreigner had forced all of this excitement upon him. As soon as they were gone from China and the rains returned, Liu would go back to his village outside Shiwei, make a pot of tea, and share it with his grandchildren as he told the heroic story of the Society of Righteous Fists. He must have dozed off, because Liu was awakened by the click of a pistol action and a harsh command. "Schweinedrek. On your feet."

As the old fox and the young hedgehog crossed the bridge, night fully fell on Peking. The next streetlight was about a furlong distant, just before the grounds of the Spanish Legation. The German Legation stood half a mile away, its tricolor standard waving slightly in the dry evening breeze.

Amadeus's ears pricked up, and he stopped. Amy stopped, too. "What is it?" she asked.

Amadeus thought he heard a splash, several distant ones actually, somewhere off to the right. Unlike those of Amsterdam, Paris, or even Berlin, the canal beneath the bridge was not populated with jumping fish or frogs; in fact, its intended function was an open sewer that drained out of the city. The filthy water, plus the shade offered by the bridges, allowed colonies of brown and black rats to fester, and they came out at night to forage for food.

Another faint series of splashes, which definitely weren't coming from directly below the bridge, and seemed to travel in the same direction that he and Amy were going. He looked down the canal, his eye straining to pierce the darkness. That's either the father of all rats out there, or a person trying to head us off. I should have gone to the hospital on horseback. To Amy, he said calmly, gravely, "Take her. Stay on my left, and do not move ahead or fall behind me." Gently, he handed Sahne-who had fallen sleep-to Amy, and drew his broomhandle. He clicked the safety to off. "Now keep in step."

Amy's eyes were wide with fright as she cradled the baby. The old fox's demeanor had shifted instantly. Where the doting grandfather had stood, now stood an ice-blooded colonel. He radiated such authority, that any contradictions she may have offered fled from her mind. She obeyed, trying to keep herself from trembling as she walked. "Boxers?" The fear in her voice turned her whisper into a pained moan.

"Quiet," he answered softly, aiming the pistol into the darkness.

Chu ran behind the general store, past it, and took cover behind the rear wall of the bank that stood between the general store and the walls of the German Legation. He peered around a corner and saw the dark gap between the walls of the Spanish and Japanese Legations, which spanned about ninety feet. He thought he saw movement in the shadows, and a figure creeping toward the edge of the dim light on the street.

Wen, maybe? He hoped it wasn't Liao-dao: at Liu's urging, Chu had given that dolt an opportunity to redeem himself tonight. After last night's foolishness, Chu still mistrusted him, but Liu had argued that under the circumstances, it was a miracle that anyone had kept their heads. Liao-dao's brother Wen, though...well, he was still a kid, but at least he possessed a cool head and some common sense.

The figure came a little closer, into a spot of half-light between the walls, but thankfully nowhere near the street itself. Chu ground his teeth: it was Liao-dao. Listening for the footsteps of the youthful witch and the old officer, Chu came down the gap between the general store and the bank, into a similar spot of half-light near the street. Liao-dao waved. Chu pointed, put a finger to his lips, then made an emphatic turn around, go back gesture with the same finger.

To his credit, Liao-dao understood, and soon retreated into the darkness. With long backward strides, Chu did likewise, and he ducked behind a small column of empty wine barrels that leaned against the general store's wall. Tonight, he would not miss; tonight, he would kill that witch, and break the last hold the foreigner's god had on his old friend Knuckles. Slowly, he cocked the hammer of the pistol. Then he waited.

To Amy, the shadows around her suddenly felt much darker, like forests from the fairy tales that kindly old nun had read to her as a child. She remembered the stark illustrations of Little Red Hiding Hood, lost in the black forest with dozens of gleaming yellow eyes peering menacingly from the trees around her. She realized that Amadeus was leading her away from the yellow glow of the streetlight, to the general store opposite of the Spanish Legation. "What did you see?"

"I heard someone in the canal," he said, "it may be a Boxer." He pointed to a gap under the wooden plank steps to the store entrance. "Hide there. Don't come out until I tell you, and do not make a sound. Verstanden?" With that, he left her and his daughter there, and pressed himself against the face of the store.

Further down the road, beneath a streetlight in front of the French Legation, he saw what appeared to be a group of soldiers unloading a wagon. Austrians. Of course the Austrians were taking their time about such a vital endeavor, the lazy bastards. He let out a sigh of relief, now knowing exactly what to do. He pointed the broomhandle into the sky over the bridge, and calmly squeezed off three slow shots.

Crack, crack, crack.