Steelheel,

You’ve been spending every spare moment scrying in your wagon since we got here. Pray tell, what exactly is taking so long with your oh so important mission? I gave you some time to clean yourselves up after your homunculus stunt went off-script, but you were supposed to lynch a n***** quickly so we could get back on tour. I’m going broke here! It’s October and we’re surrounded by farmers who couldn’t afford a slave if they could still be bought. Arriving during harvest time means these least of landowners have some money to spare, but it also means they’re too busy harvesting to waste time with us. I’ve been checking the moneybox every night and at this rate, I’ll have a dozen tar-faced fools telling jokes for table scraps by November.

Two weeks. Three at the most. Then I’m taking the talent back south to see if I can salvage what’s left of this tour, unless you’re willing to cover the lost revenue. I’m no n*****; you’re talking to a former Confederate lieutenant. My talent isn’t n******; that’s just burnt cork on their faces. You say you need my troupe? You say you need us as cover so you can fight the good fight against President Grant? Then you better start saying that with gold and silver, because we can’t pay bills with words. Your superior (and it is humiliating to us both that ‘Thorn’ outranks you) has never caused me this amount of trouble across several engagements, and yet you foul up my accounts on the first go. Is this what our great, sorcerous generals have come to? Was my plantation lost in vain?

Don’t think you’ll find better with the other performers. Most of them still swear by Dixie, but they’re not martyrs and they’re not n******. They know they might not get paid at this point, and they’re tired of sleeping in the wagons. Do you know what happens to common white folk when they’re bored and poor? They get frustrated, start causing trouble in the towns and and bring the Marshals, stomping in with their stone feet. I’m surprised that East Coast harlot hasn’t left yet; it took me months to convince her that Missouri wasn’t full of humorless farmers. Time probably wasted now, thanks to this fiasco. Are you following me? You’re not just wasting your time; you’re wasting everybody’s time.

Now listen. I want you to succeed here, push you past Thorn in the wizard hierarchy. But as an ex-lieutenant, a good officer has to use all their resources. You’ve already got my talent watching everyone who comes to see the show; maybe send them to Henshaw to look at what your magic mirrors can’t see. I’m sure I can get the other performers to lend a hand if you actually explain why we’re here. Prospero would adore working with some real wizards, Pemberton will take any opportunity to try his new prototypes for the elixir of life, and, hell, Benton’s hands start to clench if he even sees a free n*****. Hell, maybe the Blue Wench can seduce whoever your target is. Those jungle folk often have powerful lusts; maybe she’d stop complaining after one has their way with her.

Either kill the bastard or let us help. I want your answer before your next show. And don’t forget your spurs next time; the audience is paying for the real deal here.