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“In St. Louis?” Lloyd squawked.

“In America—which has long been the jewel of contention in the holy war of dreams and ideas, yes! This nation was founded on just such conflict. But this area in particular has now become a cauldron. It is a focal point for the ravenous plans for expansion and development—the struggle over land and railroads, the erosion of the Indian’s ways—and for the spread of the hideous practice of slavery. You are well aware of the slave pens scattered throughout the city that are operated by the auctioneering companies. There is one on Olive Street, and another on Fifth Street that specializes in the sale of children. Children, Lloyd. Younger than you! Your own family walks a razor’s edge.”

The hairless cat leaped back into Mother Tongue’s lap. The coon dog never flinched. Lloyd set the pine ladder-back rocking like a clock pendulum.

“If this time and place is so important, then why is a woman in charge?”

Mother Tongue’s eyes flamed and then she smiled again, wrinkling every cleft and furrow in the pudding of her face.

“Spoken like a true little boy. The simple answer is that we are losing the war, Lloyd. I hold the position of authority that I do now out of desperation. We have recently lost a valuable colleague in the South, who was supposedly teaching slaves how to read the Bible. For that, he was ostracized. When it was discovered that he was really teaching them mathematics, he was hanged. Our leadership is embattled, our fund of knowledge is in tatters. The lights you saw—we know how to turn them on and off, but the man who was beginning to understand their secrets is dead. Others throughout the world who might understand them we dare not approach, because they are under close enemy surveillance or we are in doubt about their affiliation.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lloyd said, yawning. “But my family sleeps in a smelly stable. And I still don’t understand what this all has to do with me.”

“My boy”—Mother Tongue smiled, her bright green eyes flaring—“the great mission of the Spirosians has been subverted. Our work has been sabotaged and our membership has been preyed upon. Operatives in Europe and abroad have been deposed. Others have defected—won over by greed or fear. Or delusion. We know that deadly new weapons are being made in Germany—and right here in America, in Connecticut and Rhode Island, Mobile and Charleston. Meanwhile, marauders,slave speculators, and any number of professional rascals and rabble-rousers are pouring into Missouri daily. There is trouble brewing in Kansas and Texas. Impending war with Mexico. And still the monster of slavery grows. Our abolitionist agents are all under threat—those that have avoided outright assassination. One day soon, I will be gone. Wolfgang, too. The rest, scattered through the nation and overseas, will go the same way. We need new blood, Lloyd. We want you to join us—to become ordained. We want you to leave your family and the path you are pursuing to be given tuition in ways of thought worthy of your emerging genius. Your friend the showman talks of ‘marvels.’ I am offering you the chance to change America and the world!”

For an instant there was a mad glitter in the old woman’s green eyes that did scare Lloyd, but the words blurted out of his mouth anyway.

“You want me to … leave … my family?” As much as he had sometimes dreamed of this, it was something he could never do.

The cat uncoiled in the old woman’s lap and began to bathe itself with its tongue. The dog dozed on indifferently on the sofa.

“I know that in your heart you are still very young, Lloyd, even though you take much responsibility for earning the family money.” The old woman sighed, regaining her composure and evenness of tone. “Your loyalty is admirable. It takes desperate times and dark challenges to make the dissolution of yet another family acceptable. Believe me, I do not make the proposition lightly. But there are such things as casualties of war.”

“I’m not at war with anyone,” Lloyd responded, and then paused. “Unless, of course, you won’t let me