Ms. Lilith,

First of all, my compliments and gratitude for you telling Geraldine she didn’t necessarily have to kill me. I appreciate that amount of leniency.

I am happy to rep;ort that we are all in relatively good health thanks to Geraldine. We’ve escaped that nasty situation in that rotting cabin and made it to St. Louis. Hardly a clean getaway. If the Marshal hadn’t gotten stuck in the snow, we wouldn’t have pulled it off. But we’re safe for now, though not for long. If the Marshals can’t capture a suspect with standard methods, they do have the legal ability to commandeer the municipal resources of a city, or even a state. And if they weren’t nervous about your boy before, they can’t be happy that he slipped out right between their fingers.

I’m arranging transport on a steam train heading East. I made a point of charming some of the men at the station in case something went wrong with my previous employer and I had to exit Missouri at speed; I count it a testament to my skill that they blushed when I refreshed their memory. Gigi - that would be Geraldine - is currently purchasing supplies to last us for the rest of the trip, along with some replacement equipment for the horrocraft she and he get up to. She’s also getting access to a cannery for an hour; jars are not going to hold up on a locomotive and if one of them cracks and your pink flesh stuff leaks out, I am not scooping it back in. It’s like wet clay and salami at the same time.

Your son…that is why I’m writing, along with informing you of our current plans. He’s been a wreck since the escape. He lasted long enough after our arrival to talk to some folks at the docks, call in some of your benefactor’s favors in exchange for cash and a place to hide. But he got a small crate of hooch from some sailor there and he’s been swimming in it for days now, dodging me and Gigi when we try to intervene. He’s free to drink himself to death when he’s not in the middle of dragging us across the country, but until then I need him to straighten up.

I do not plan to betray your son. As infuriating as he can be, I do owe him a debt. But I do not want to spend the next so many days forcing him to dry out, and the bastard won’t talk to me, and my patience is not infinite. If you want your son back safe and sound, it benefits us both if he is sober, and I would appreciate some guidance.

Matilda,

I took the liberty of educating myself, Ms. Walstead. Hicks has someone on the outside bringing him food, water and news; I just ask for some older news every once in a while. You have quite the list of accolades. Performed in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, sometimes in rather large theaters. Charged with indecency in two, never convicted. Most editorials either compliment your wit or condemn you as a harlot. But no accusations of fraud or violence, no matter how vitriolic they are to you.

Someone took your faith in the goodness of the world at an early age, and you still seek recompense from someone who’s long out of your reach. You see no reason to play by the standards of the world until a reason grabs you beneath the hood at your neck. You know better than to mock me but not well enough to stop yourself. You’ve brought up Ruth and Naomi in arguments before, back when you bothered to have arguments, before you knew nobody would listen to you unless you made yourself impossible to ignore. You’d tell a joke at a funeral just to see how people react. You’d break the law just to show that it can be broken. You’d rather walk on a spiked fence than choose a side to fall into. Am I close?

I know my history, even when it has someone else’s name on it. You’re me without blood on your hands, cheeky little cobra, and you think that puts you above your elders. Do you think you’ll stay that way? Do you know the stakes at the table you’re sitting at? Or do you plan to hedge your bets and roll whatever bones come your way until you get lucky? I think I have a right to know. You are working with my son. And those are my bones you’re rolling.

But you are helping, and I am not so bitter as to ignore that. My advice? Victor, my dear boy, is a very proper man. He is doing very improper things, I suspect, for my sake, and yours, and Macy’s girl. He hates the taste of alcohol, so he is trying to drown something in his mind before it drowns him first. He needs a confessor, someone to open a vent in that clacking steam engine of a brain he has. I suspect between you and Geraldine, it’ll be you. Be respectful. I will not ask you to be kind if he has truly aggreived you, but without respect, you will not restore him.

We have had to move twice in the past two weeks, and we still haven’t heard from Victor’s father. So godspeed, if God is listening to us. I am looking forward to your arrival; I am quite curious as to how you and my son became acquainted. I also expect to have answers to my questions when you arrive, and you wouldn’t disappoint a woman of my reputation, now would you? According to all the books the scholars wrote, I am quite the vicious harlot.