Twig bid both men adieu. Checkers paid him a finder’s fee of five quid, which was good money, especially since he introduced another Infiltrator to the group.

When Twig walked out the front door, Checkers turned and brought Chance through the old shop’s back door.

“We’ve got a good setup here, see?” Checkers said, leading Chance through the dark alley behind the building. “Several blocks. All ours, with no peelers.”

“Not much light either, ay, mate? A bloke could get waylaid back here, with none the wiser.”

“Pah. Nobody enters Luddie Land. Not even the beggars. We’ve a few tidiers who mind the streets for us. Mayhap you’ll be tasked with that at some point. All dependin’ on where you’re needed the most. We be needin’ new men, that’s the right truth of the matter.”

Fortunately, Chance thought, Checkers knew where they were going. He led Chance down the dark alley, turning out onto a back street in the night. They marched deeper into the inky black blocks controlled by the Luddites.

Checkers continued talking.

“This is the way I like it, see? The way it’s supposed to be. In olden days they didn’t have much light. Too much light in Ethinium and elsewhere these days, you ask me.”

Chance frowned, weighing the statement in his mind. He was no scholar, no formal education, so his knowledge of history remained limited. At least beyond somewhat recent events the papers brought up from time to time. However, he knew the steam vaults had provided many benefits for the cities sitting on top of them.

Had they provided gas, and subsequently gas lighting, down through the ages? It would be a question for Lady Blair, he decided. With her enormous private library, she could answer a multitude of nagging questions like that.

Without knowledge to the contrary, Chance simply kept his mouth shut.

Best he thinks I’m not too bright, anyways. Being too smart is a good way to die young on the streets.

At last they reached another door. Chance figured they must be smack in the middle of Luddite territory by now. Here the street remained pitch black, cobblestones caught in the shadows of taller buildings blocking out the ambient light trying to filter through.

Checkers walked confidently up to the entrance in the dark and opened it without knocking. A shaft of candelabra light streaked out the door as he walked inside, Chance following.

The interior was lit by many candles, an old-style chandelier hanging from the center reflecting the warm light with crystals. Wall sconces reflected light from clusters of candles. Despite all the wax and wicks, Chance thought the place was still dim. Gas would have provided brighter, steadier light.

He set those thoughts aside and took in the place, memorizing its layout and the faces he saw, making use of his appropriate Infiltrator skills.

Thirty men sat at workbenches in the large room, many tinkering with disassembled Mauser semi-automatic rifles. They fastidiously cleaned the weapons, running cotton swabs soaked in gun oil up and down the muzzles and wiping off individual parts before meticulously putting the guns back together again.

One table of men did nothing but open boxes of .45 automatic ammunition and load up 30-round stick magazines. They had a huge pile of fully loaded mags ready, in the middle of the table.

“Where’s Beaterus?” Checkers said, aiming his question at the nearest table and the men sitting there.

One of them nodded his head toward a door in the back. It opened just then and a woman walked out.

She stood short, and looked petite. Dark brunette hair with amber highlights fell in waves to her shoulders. She was clean, and held herself well. Chance thought she must be an aristocrat. She had the air of someone used to handing out orders and expecting them to be obeyed.

“How are the new guns, boys? Cleaning up well?”

“Aye, milady. We’ll have almost all the storage grease cleaned offen them,” one of the men replied.

“Good, good. Hallo, Checkers. What have you brought me?”

“Milady Beaterus, this here is Bunter Robinson. He’s a new recruit, he is. Just said the oath tonight.”

“Is that right? Oh, you are a juicy one, aren’t you Mr. Robinson? You’re not enhanced by any chance, are you? Any special skills we should know about?”

She looked at him with a steady smile, and Chance decided the truth might well be the best play at this point. Or at least a version of it. Although rare, some enhanced people had a skill that could discern skills in others. He had no idea if Beatrice Belle was enhanced, but he had heard from Sir Ripley and Lady Blair that her main henchman was. For all Chance knew, she could be using a discernment skill on him right now.

So he nodded, reluctantly.

“Aye, milady. I was part of the Royal Army’s special sabotage unit in the most recent Boer War. Nasty business, that.”

Also handy, Chance thought. There were secret units in some of the recent wars, and everybody knew about them thanks to certain enterprising reporters who uncovered the story and spilled the beans. The Crown’s information bureau tried to mitigate the damage by spreading very well-placed rumors that the units were purely military, using volunteers from regular units who underwent the enhancement process.

The truth was, all units operating behind enemy lines consisted of Royal Venture Society personnel, though the palace remained loathe to discuss it in public.

Chance suspected there may be international politics involved. If it were widely known King Alto used enhanced troops, for any reason, other countries might start using more of their enhanced troops, and an arms race could develop. Already there were whispers of the Prussians’ desire to build up a navy that could rival Umbria’s . . .

So, being part of the rumored Sabotage Units in the Boer Wars could easily provide a cover story for his being enhanced. Also, it was convenient for Chance because it was not easily verified. Anyone off the street asking at the palace offices about the rosters for secret Army units would be laughed out the door.

“I see,” Beaterus said, eyeing him with a gleam in her eye, now. She seemed three times more interested in her new recruit than before.

“And you’ve taken the oath?”

“Aye, milady. Mr. Checkers here led me through all the steps in the process.”

“Good.” Chance could see resolve firming in her face. “We’ll use you in tonight’s little task. I could use another enhanced recruit. Your timing is impeccable.”

“Anything I can do to help in the fight against technology, milady,” Chance said, placing his hand on his heart and giving a little half bow.

Beaterus turned from him and addressed the room.

“Finish reassembling all the weapons and bring them to the carriages out back. Tonight, the revolution begins. Tonight, we shall finance all our future endeavors!”

The men stood up from the tables, enthusiastically slapping together the last few parts of the freshly scrubbed guns. They formed a line to grab loaded stick magazines off the ammunition table.

“Come along, Mr. Robinson,” Beaterus said, sliding her arm through his and guiding him toward the exit. “You’ll ride along in the front with me and Mr. Biggun.”

Chance felt slightly uncomfortable with her touching him. Expressions of affection in public remained uncommon, and they had just met. Plus, he was married.

But he stifled the negative thoughts and feelings. He maintained a straight face, as if a woman of apparent noble birth holding his arm in public was not something extraordinary.

“On the way, you’ll have to tell me all about your class.”

“Yes, milady. I’d be delighted.”

I can lie with the best of them, he thought.

“I’m sure we can put whatever skills you have to good use, especially in our little mission tonight.”