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The porter held his head. “They might have been brown… or maybe green? Both feel right, but I don’t see how that can be.”

“Oh, it can be,” Gunter said.

Jack turned to Gunter. “You know the man he’s describing?”

Gunter looked far too pleased with himself. “I do. He’s a maggot that should have been dead years ago—a ranch hand who once worked for me. He’s a rather distinctive fella, actually—he has one green eye, one brown. And the mark of the Antistasi on his wrist.”

A WRONG TURN

1904—Denver

Once free of the crowd, Esta caught sight of Pickett moving away from the big top. He’d dismounted and was leading his horse toward a corral. After handing off his mount, he headed toward the village of tents. She tossed one more glance over her shoulder, to be sure she wasn’t being followed, and then went in that direction as well.

Luckily, most of the other performers were still in the arena. Even without using her affinity, it wasn’t difficult to follow Pickett through the grounds. Finally, he stopped at a cluster of smaller tents located at the back edge of the encampment. They were a little more faded and worn than some of the ones closer to the main big top. Outside, a couple of buffalo soldiers sat talking. Pickett greeted the pair before disappearing into his own tent for a few minutes. When he came out again, he was wearing fresh clothes—the jacket a bit more elaborate than the one he’d been wearing before. He joined up with the war veterans, and together they made their way back toward the main tent.

Esta waited a little longer to be sure no one was around before she slipped inside Pickett’s tent. The cramped space held only a narrow folding cot for a bed, a small chest, and a table with clothes draped over the chair that stood nearby. It wouldn’t take long to find out if the dagger was there. She started with the bed, but nothing was concealed under or within the thin mattress, so she moved on.

Her stomach sank when she saw the lock that secured the lid of the steamer trunk. It seemed too old and too simple to be the kind of lock that protected anything important. If the Pharaoh’s Heart wasn’t in the tent, it meant that Pickett was either carrying it with him… or it could already be gone.

Esta refused to think about that second option. Making short work of the lock, she started going through the contents of the trunk. Mostly it contained some clothing and papers, but the bottom seemed higher than it should have been. When she pushed aside the rest of the contents, she found that the floor of the trunk was actually a thin piece of wood that had been placed like a false bottom. Carefully, she pried it up, and when she saw what waited beneath, she felt the smallest spark of hope. A metal box was hidden there. It was secured with a combination lock—and it was about the same size as the dagger.

Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking a little, but Esta examined the lock. She could have just taken the whole thing, but Bill Pickett was more likely to notice the missing box faster than he would notice if its contents went missing. It might take a little longer to open the box, but if Pickett didn’t realize it was empty, she would have more time to get farther down the road.

Leaning her ear close, Esta began to rotate the tumbler to find the combination. She relaxed into the simple normalcy of the task. The first two numbers were easy enough, and she was well on her way to the third, when she realized that something was happening. Outside the tent, she heard voices. Just a little farther… and there. The final number snapped into place, but a new noise outside the tent stilled her hand. There was nowhere to hide, and without her affinity, Esta had no way to escape without being seen.

“Esta?” a familiar voice whispered from outside, and a second later Jericho Northwood stepped into the tent.

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “What are you doing here?”

North’s expression was unreadable as he glanced down at the box she was holding. “Is that the dagger?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten this open yet,” she told him, scowling.

“Well, bring it with you. We have to go,” North told her.

“I can’t just take it,” Esta explained.

“You’re a thief, aren’t you?” He peeked out from the flap of the tent without looking back at her.

“Yeah,” Esta shot back. “But I don’t usually tip off my mark by doing something as dumb as leaving a mess like this.” She gestured to the contents of the trunk she’d piled on the ground to get to the box.

“You’re going to have to,” North said flatly, stepping toward her. “We have trouble.”

“The marsh—”

Before she could finish the word, North held a finger to his lips. Then she heard it too. Voices. Men’s voices, right outside the opening of the tent.

“Take the left side there, and I’ll take the right,” one man said, his voice a rough bark.

“It’s some kind of raid,” North whispered. “We saw a group of marshals arrive not long after we split up, but we couldn’t find you in the crowd.”

“They’re looking for us,” she said, certain.

North frowned like he didn’t want to agree. “You saw the headlines, same as I did. But I don’t think we should take any chances.”

“Where’s Maggie?” Esta whispered.

“Safe.” He was already pulling his watch from his pocket. Despite the calmness in his voice, Esta didn’t miss the way North’s hands shook.