Chance walked out with Beatrice Belle, who thankfully no longer held onto his arm. The other men followed.

They were a motley sort, he thought, casting another glance over his shoulder at the ragtag group. Everyone carried new Prussian-made submachine guns.

The hardware doesn’t match their outfits, he thought.

He fit in well, his clothes matching what the others wore. His body odor matched, too. If the stench of unwashed men bothered Beatrice, she made no mention of it while leading the procession toward a line of cargo wagons parked along the street.

Each canvas-topped conveyance had the company name “Ned’s Textiles” stenciled in white. The men piled in, draft horses stamping the cobblestones with the sudden jostling of their loads. Candle lamps on the wagons cast fitful shadows, mirrors behind glass reflecting the feeble light at odd angles.

Chance followed Beatrice to the lead wagon. She pulled aside the rear tarp and climbed in without help, motioning for him to follow.

Inside, a giant man sat on the bench, his head covered with a white bandage wrapped tight around his forehead, then down below his ears to cover the back of his head.

His eyes looked unfocused, and he did not acknowledge the newcomers’ presence.

“This is my existing enhanced help,” Beatrice said, waving at him while she took a seat on the opposite side.

She patted the bench, encouraging Chance to sit near her.

Chance climbed in, making sure he maintained adequate space between them.

“What’s his story? Don’t seem like he’s all here.”

“He’s not. Somehow, best we can tell, he got slapped off a moving train while standing on top of it. We think it must have gone under a bridge.”

Chance, of course, knew the story from Rip and Blair. But he feigned ignorance, his eyes widening.

“How fast was the train going? I can’t fancy him being alive after something like that, even enhanced.”

The driver released the wagon’s break and they lurched forward as the two horses set off down the street.

Beatrice smiled and said, “Mr. Biggin here was enhanced elsewhere, quite unlike your process in the Lyceum. It was a superior process, making him hardier than the typical Umbrian who is enhanced. We think he will regain the full function of his faculties given enough rest. For now, he can serve as a sort of shield for us, if nothing else.”

Chance gave her a skeptical frown.

“Shields are useless if you can’t move him. That bloke looks like the lighthouse is shining, but no one’s manning the lamp.”

“Don’t worry. He responds to orders well enough.”

Beatrice grew quiet, and Chance followed suit. He continued staring at Biggin, who maintained a blank face, gently rocking with the motion of the wagon.

After several long moments of silence, save for the clip-clopping of hooves and clatter of wheels, Chance said, “Any particular place we’re going to, or is this just an evening jaunt?”

Beatrice looked up and smiled, snapping out of her reverie.

“The Potomac is docking tonight, here from Boston, and we know the route the Bank of Umbria’s armored steam truck will take from the port into the city. As you are probably aware, gold shipments from the colonies head straight for the royal vaults as soon as they arrive from overseas. Tonight, that truck will be making an unscheduled stop.”

Chance raised an eyebrow and said, “Seems risky. The Bank of Umbria won’t be easy to roll. I’m sure their trucks are fully armored.”

“I’ve thought of everything, Mr. Robinson. I only require you to handle any unforeseen complications which may arise. That is where your enhancement may prove quite beneficial, particularly the part about your being bulletproof.”

He raised another eyebrow and settled back on the bench.

“Are you quite alright with that? Serving in this capacity, I mean.”

“I made my oath, milady. I’ll do as you require.”

“Good man. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

They both lapsed into silence once more.

As time went on, Chance noted a slight change in the cadence of hoof beats. The second time he noticed it, he decided wagons in the back of the line were stopping.

He opened his mouth to ask about it, then decided against saying anything.

She already knows I’m enhanced. No sense letting her know I can hear better than most, he thought.

More wagons peeled off until at last Chance could hear only a couple behind them. Then, all three stopped.

“Ah, we’re here,” Beatrice said, moving aside the flap.

“The ambush spot?”

“Precisely. Mr. Biggin? Follow me, if you please.”

The big man slowly turned his eyes toward the sound of her voice and her snapping fingers. Beatrice crawled out the back of the wagon and gestured impatiently at him. He moved, shifting his weight, and the boards groaned in protest. Once he stepped out, Chance followed.

They stood in a narrow street, well lit by gaslight. The driver of one wagon repositioned it so that his horses and the conveyance blocked the way completely. Men in back jumped out and unloaded several large spindles of cloth and scattered them about. The driver produced a sap and thunked one of his horses on the head, knocking it out.

Good thing Twig ain’t here, Chance thought. He’d go apes right about now.

The driver reached over and knocked out his other horse. It slumped down beside the first. He untethered the harnesses on both, then he pocketed the sap and moved to help the men with the spindles. Together, they rocked the empty wagon back and forth until it tipped over on its side.

“Do you see what we’re doing, Mr. Robinson?”

Chance nodded. “Faking an accident, you are. Well done. That will stop the truck. We still have the wee problem of getting inside.”

She smiled brightly, seemingly pleased he had figured out this part of her plan.

“Watch and see. You’ll be glad to know we’re getting in without using dynamite.”

Up above, on the rooftops, one of the Luddites appeared, waving. Another man on the opposite roof approached and waved back. The first one guided several fellows as they hoisted a huge wooden pole over the side of their roof. Carefully, they pushed it over until men on the other side caught the end. Working together, both groups suspended it above the street. Chance saw a rope tied to the middle, the end stretching back to the first roof.

Before he could wonder what the rope had to do with anything, the sound of puffing steam engine drew near.

“That’s the one!” someone shouted.

All the men on the rooftops scrambled to secure everything. Chance could not see what they were doing from his spot on the street below. Beatrice caught his eye and he shifted his attention to her.

She gave him a very unladylike smile, like an evil Judy in one of the puppet theaters, he thought.

“Time for the show!”