Chance woke up late, staring at a plain wooden ceiling. For a moment, he could not recall anything, and he stared up with a blank look on his face. Then memory flooded back, along with the soreness of his muscles, still protesting from last night. Everyone had pitched in to move the gold, and even with Mr. Biggin’s help it had been a laborious job.

The old wagons trundled slowly back to the city blocks controlled by the Luddites, creaking wooden planks complaining the whole way. Chance looked for an opportunity to sneak away and report back in, but the moment never occurred. Someone was always nearby the whole time they loaded the gold, and Beatrice insisted he ride back with her and Biggin.

Under the guise of a newcomer, Chance instead used the opportunity to try and glean more information from Beatrice about the organization. He also subtly probed her reasons for stealing gold in the first place.

But Beatrice played coy, not willing to give up details freely.

“You are enhanced, Mr. Robinson. That makes you extremely valuable to the Luddites. You needn’t worry about things which do not pertain to you.”

That seemed rather enigmatic, Chance thought, reflecting on the comment. Perhaps it’s laced with some double meaning or whatnot.

For her part, Beatrice tried to get him to open up about his wartime experience. Since all that was fictional, and he had no real military expertise, although plenty of Venture Society combat under his belt, he begged off by saying he felt uncomfortable discussing the war.

Chance sat up on the cot and groaned, his muscles protesting. He stood and wended his way through other cots, men sacked out and snoring, and headed for the door. He was in the same building Checkers brought him to, and the layout was simple. Opening the door, he walked into a large common room.

Here a man wearing a chef’s hat stood behind a table with a large ten-gallon pot, ladling out porridge to other men queued up with bowls. Next to the pot, a large assortment of lemons and limes provided a nice selection of citrus fruits.

They probably want to hold down scurvy, Chance thought. Smart, that.

His stomach rumbled as Chance picked up a bowl and moved to the end of the line.

Filling up a large space on the floor in the front of the room, several heavy wooden chests sat stacked in orderly piles. The chests were relatively small, but extremely heavy. Four men stood at the corners of the stacks, holding Mauser semi-autos. Beatrice had the gold guarded, even here among men who had pledged themselves to the Luddite cause.

And that’s likely a smart move, too, Chance thought. Gold has a way of making a man forget his oaths.

His turn came to receive a ladleful of porridge. Chance grabbed a lemon and moved to sit at the long table with other men. He took the side facing the gold as he reflected on his current dilemma.

If the fellow he saved last night, the driver, did the job Chance tasked him with, then word would spread to the RVS. From there, based on the amount of gold stolen, Chance suspected his message home would receive plenty of attention.

Any minute now, somebody should come barging through the door, he thought.

But as he finished his porridge, no one came. Instead, another door opened and Beatrice walked into the room.

“Good morning, gentlemen! I hope you all slept well. We are moving out immediately. We will begin by reloading the wagons. You will all stay in sight of one another as we go through the streets. No one will step out of line, and we will all show up at our destination, cargo intact. Is that understood?”

The men at the table nodded. Several stood up and stretched, ready to begin hauling the heavy cargo back out to the street.

“Too bad we couldn’t have left that lot in the wagons all night, ay?” the man next to Chance said.

He shrugged and replied, “A little labor never hurt no one.”

Biggin reappeared, the bandage still wrapped around his head. He promptly went to work with the others, hefting the chests as if they were merely bulky, not extremely heavy.

Chance frowned. Biggin seemed more himself today. His eyes looked sharper. He responded to the comments other made, and even nodded at someone who bid him good morning.

The man’s recovering, no doubt, Chance thought.

Beatrice seemed anxious, dancing about and making sure the wagons were equally loaded. They had six canvas toppers, and she wanted to make sure they would stay together through the busy streets.

In the hubbub, Chance took out a small knife and neatly cut his lemon in half. He squeezed the juice out on the table, then quickly dipped his finger in and scrawled out a message.

He was prepared to say he was just doodling should anyone ask, but no one noticed. Everyone seemed intent on the gold. He left one lemon piece on the table, then dropped the other one on the floor.

The Luddites did not appear overly concerned with neatness, but he hoped that no one would pick up the trash.

Then he stood, moving quickly to help the others with the gold.