Summer 1881 – A Web Woven by Fortuitous Accident

Herkos tightened his grip upon my arm. He leaned in. His breath smelled of clover, beer and old spices. He said, “It was Podovkin, was it not? He sent you. He knew I had not died and he sent you to lure me out.” 

I moved my arm suddenly, breaking his hold. His eyes widened in surprise. “No. I know Podovkin. We are not friends or allies. He gave me a notebook of addresses for members of the Promethean Soladity. I do not trust the justifications he gave me for revealing these secrets. I found most of the places listed therein, abandoned or worse than derelict. His notebook simply lists addresses. I do not know who you are.”