Thorn,

You feel good about setting me loose? I know it had to be you who talked King Ivory into sending me against Freestone. Pity for the grieving father, is it? I’m not going to thank you for it.

There was a marshal waiting for us, about to arrest Freestone. Didn’t think to scry for them. Didn’t expect them to finally become competent. We managed to lasso the n****r and get the hell out of there, but we wasted most of the homunculi covering our escape and we’re stuck hiding in the woods outside the city with stolen horses. Peters lost all of his homuns; I keep sending him ahead to scout so we don’t have to watch him fume about it. When he gets real upset, he starts beating the Negro, and while I would love to have a proper whipping boy, we’re travelling as fast as we can through the dead of winter. If we hurt him too badly, he’ll die before we can kill him.

Oh, and your rival from the circus got knocked out by a Marshal. I’m sure you’ll find that amusing.

Bitters told me about when he used to catch slaves, before this n****r shit tore his mind apart. Half of them would scream their heads off at first and then spend every moment watching you like a wild animal, waiting for you to drop your guard. The others just went limp in the eyes, broken in the middle, because they really did think they were good enough to make it. The one thing that would have made this worth it was seeing Freestone with terror in his eyes like a cornered hare.

Do you know what he does?

Do you know what the son of a bitch does?

He talks. He doesn’t beg, doesn’t scream, he just talks like we’re all just drinking at the bar. He waits until we’re navigating a tricky bit of terrain or when we’re eating dinner and he’ll chime in saying that one of our horses looks like it has worms or that the brandy Peters keeps in his flask is actually making him colder instead of warmer. Peters slapped him for that one, but it didn’t shut him up. It’s just unseemly for a Negro to speak like that even when he’s not tied up.

We sleep in shifts to keep watch in case the Marshal or anybody else tries to track us down. I woke up for my shift last night to see that Freestone had escaped his ropes. You know where I found him? Six feet away, sitting next to that dolt from Arkansas, Nelson, fixing up the broken nose he got in Chicago. Nearly broke it again I was so furious. The bastard had already cracked his face open and I couldn’t figure out how to close it, so I just had to stand there with a gun trained on him while he got to pretend he was a real doctor, complete with small talk to the patient. I could see the pity on Nelson’s face in the firelight when I tied the son of a bitch back up.

Today, Peters filled up his flask with water instead of brandy. I want to break the n****r’s jaw but I’m sure Peters or Nelson will let him repair it the minute my back is turned. He acts like he’s going to pluck himself off the tree and walk away three days after we hang him. I keep suspecting that Prince Remus is going to jump our claim, but no matter how many times I throw the bones or stare into the black mirrors, I’m not seeing any surprises. But I didn’t see that bastard tear my baby girl apart either.

Slipping this to you through the dream channels. Yes, I took some hair from you back at the circus in case I’d need to do this. I don’t expect any lip from you about that. If the scrying bowl is true, there are two Marshals in Chicago right now; going back there is not an option. If we want to hang him with an audience, we can’t do it in Illinois. Talk to Inkbiter, give us a new location.

Steelheel,

I was more than happy to let you sit in your cell and mope. Either King Ivory wanted to give both of us a chance at revenge, or he still doesn’t trust me to run things properly. Surely the rest of the League realizes that women of proper bering are just as wise and cunning as a man. After all, it was the damn burlesque dancer who actually sent us to jail. I truly wish I could have seen her get knocked out by one of the men - if you can call them that - whom she believed would save her from her petty life.

Inkbiter wanted Louisville. Something to invigorate whoever’s still in the old Confederacy. Take him to Cincinnati instead. The North distrusts the South; if we claim our victory there it’ll always be in question. If we execute the Mad Cutter in one of their own towns, they’ll know we’ve won. We’ll use the rails; I managed to get out east with them without much trouble. I’ll send some telegrams tomorrow, call on some remaining contacts, might do some travelling myself. A train heading east from Chicago will need to make an emergency stop a few miles out; be there. You’ll have food, warm clothes, and a crate with holes that you can throw Freestone in. Are you really so unsettled by a Negro who doesn’t know their place? Remind him, and remind yourself that you’re a man while you’re at it.

P.S. A woman notices when her hair’s been tampered with while she’s asleep. I’ve already taken my recompense, you pig.