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HoopsHype Luis Scola rumors
Sam Amick: Deal that will send Luis Scola to Pacers, I'm told, gives Phx Miles Plumlee, Gerald Green, & Indy's 2014 1st rounder (lotto protected). Twitter @sam_amick
Paul Coro: The #Suns have agreed to trade Luis Scola to Indiana for Gerald Green, Miles Plumlee & the Pacers' 2014 1st-round pick (lottery-protected). Twitter @paulcoro
Andrew Perna: ESPN treating Scola trade as done deal, based on publicist. My understanding is that it isn't complete yet. #Suns #Pacers Twitter @Andrew_Perna
Juan Sebastia, who runs Scola's website, tweeted Friday night that a trade to send the Argentinian big man to the Pacers would be officially announced Saturday. Neither team commented in the immediate aftermath of the tweet, but sources with knowledge of the talks told ESPN.com that one trade scenario on the table would send swingman Gerald Green and future draft considerations to Phoenix in exchange for Scola, whose arrival in Indiana would only strengthen a front line headlined by center Roy Hibbert and the recently re-signed David West. ESPN.com
The Indiana Pacers are nearing completion of a deal to acquire Phoenix Suns forward Luis Scola, league sources told Yahoo! Sports. The Pacers and Suns were finalizing the players and possible picks involved in the deal on Friday night, and front-office sources expected an agreement to be finalized overnight. Indiana has been pursuing Scola for several weeks, and had become available to teams because of the Suns' movement toward a rebuild under new general manager Ryan McDonough. Yahoo! Sports
Sources told ESPN that subsequent reports out of Argentina about former All-Star swingman Danny Granger being included in the trade were erroneous. ESPN.com
Marc Stein: Early word on this Pacers-Suns deal is that Phoenix will receive Gerald Green and draft considerations in exchange for Indy-bound @LScola4 Twitter @ESPNSteinLine
Julian Mozo: Luis Scola is moving to a contender, Indiana Pacers. It will be officially announced tomorrow Twitter @JulianMozo
Marc Stein: Original tweet from @juansebastia in Argentina had Scola going to INDY by tomorrow. Follow-up report that Granger in deal strongly shot down Twitter @ESPNSteinLine
Adrian Wojnarowski: Phoenix and Indiana are engaged in serious talks about a trade that would send Luis Scola to the Pacers, league sources tell Y! Sports. Twitter @WojYahooNBA
Adrian Wojnarowski: Indiana has been pursuing Scola for several weeks, and close to landing him, sources tell Y! Sports. Twitter @WojYahooNBA
First, let's do a roll call shall we? The following were present at the game, either participating in the game or watching from the sidelines: Yao Ming, Tracy Mcgrady, Joakim Noah, Metta World Peace, Luis Scola, George Hill, Kyle Lowry, Ricky Rubio, Chris Singleton, John Wall, Damian Lillard, Jrue Holiday, Chinese players Yi Jianlian, Wang Zhelin, Sun Yue, Liu Wei, Wang Zhi Zhi and super-famous Brazil and Real Madrid soccer/futbol player Kaka. Yes, that Kaka. (Bonus: Here's a hilarious picture of Kaka with Yao and Wang Zhi Zhi from last night.) SLAM
What advice did you give Pablo before he signed? Luis Scola: I told him, 'I think you should go and I will push hard for you. I think it's the best thing for you and your career.' Not only that, I thought New York was the perfect team for him. The team has such great players like J.R. Smith and Carmelo [Anthony], and they have a great pick-and-roll player in Tyson Chandler. I'm not surprised they play well with him on the court. ESPN.com
Scola and Dragic were asked whether they would recommend interim head coach Lindsey Hunter returning next season. Both players punted the topic. "That's a tough question," Dragic said. " ... I'm here to play basketball. It's not my decision to make." Dragic did say he liked Hunter's approach to practice. "Alvin (Gentry) was a great coach for the veteran players; he knows when to give them a day off, but for our team we have a young team and we really need to practice hard every day," Dragic said. "When he (Hunter) took over the team I think we maybe had one or two days off. I think it should be like that." Arizona Republic
Scola said he thought Hunter did "a great job. Circumstances were bad and he did as good as he could. But I don't make those decisions. I'm just a player." Would a third coach in less than a year be unsettling for the team? "I think it would be a sign of things being bad," Scola said. "But things are bad." Arizona Republic
Rarely have the Suns strung together four quarters of solid play in a single game. "We can't just play the game and pick out the good parts of the game and say we play well for a quarter or two or three. If you don't play well for 48 minutes, you don't play well," Luis Scola said following the team's most recent loss Sunday against New Orleans. Arizona's Sports Page
He was just getting started. "We just don't know how to play well," he continued. "We don't know how to play basketball and that's why we lose. Until we learn how to play 48 minutes of basketball, we're not going to win games. I'm surprised we won (23) games playing this way. Many of the games we won, we did the same thing. We just overcame it somehow. I'm also surprised we didn't fix it. We saw the problem pretty much the first week and we couldn't fix it. It's very frustrating. It's a bad year." Arizona's Sports Page
This season's disappointment is hard for Scola to hide behind his supreme work ethic. He battles physically, runs like a cartoon character and talks with rare maturity in the locker room. "It's hard," Scola said. "It's not what I thought it was going to be. But I can't say it's somebody else's fault. I know I have to be part of the blame. We have to work hard and finish the season strong. "I feel like I'm a big part of the team, and when a team goes this wrong, you can't say it's everybody else. If it went well, I'm sure people would talk about how much of an influence I had. So it's only fair to take that kind of blame when things go wrong. It's hard. I never thought it was going to be like this, but it's only a good challenge to change things around and do things the right way." Arizona Republic
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TNT 'Titans' TV Series: Changes to Classic DC Lineup Revealed?
by Kevin Fitzpatrick February 2, 2015 @ 12:45 PM
It's been some time since we've heard anything on the development of TNT's proposed 'Titans' series, based off the DC Comics Teen Titans, but at last pilot casting may have begun. That said, the leaked lineup for the pilot script may tease some major changes to the comic team, as well as some surprising Batman inclusions.


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The bring up the corruption issue because for most people, even most politicians, a criminal conviction is remarkable. I know standards are low here, but still.
Best Political Comeback Miami 2008 - Raul Martinez
For nearly 25 years, Raul Martinez ruled the city of Hialeah with a grin and a book's worth of pithy quotes. He was a charming Democrat in a solidly Republican city, a big thinker in a small town. He ushered in affordable housing and improved Hialeah's infrastructure, all while campaigning successfully for eight straight elections. He even pulled off a courtroom miracle. After prosecutors nailed him for corruption, el gigante had the ruling overturned by an appeals court. When he retired from office in 2006, it was hard to believe he'd be content with eating early-bird dinners and living the rest of his life on a golf course. Sure enough, in early 2008, he announced he was going to take on another Cuban-American icon: U.S. Congressman and Republican Lincoln Diaz-Balart. The contest is expected to be the talker of the year, and Raul seems up to the task. After all, he's got cojones, whether he's talking about why the district needs a Democrat or about his controversial history. "I would debate any fucking Republican about my past," Raul told the Miami Herald. "We'll have a debate mano a mano if they want to take me on. I'm going to take them on."


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I'm trying to write a IL Weaver with Mono.Cecil, and for it to remain debugable in VS2010, I need the PdbReaderProvider class, or some similar implementation of ISymbolProvider. I've downloaded the latest Mono dlls from http://mono.ximian.com/daily/, but in the zip there is no Mono.Cecil.Pdb.dll. I've downloaded the source code from https://github.com/jbevain/cecil/tree/master/Mono.Cecil but I can't seem to be able to get that particular project compile under .net 4.
Could somebody help me out and point to a compiled working .net dll of Mono.Cecil.Pdb, preferably with a working PdbReaderProvider inside?
Take the 2-minute tour
Stack Overflow is a question and answer site for professional and enthusiast programmers. It's 100% free, no registration required.
Indeed, you need to get the source from Cecil's github repository. Then you just have to open Mono.Cecil.sln inside VS 2010, select the solution configuration net_4_0_Debug (or net_4_0_Release) and build the solution. The solution is self contained so you don't need anything else. You'll get both Mono.Cecil.dll and Mono.Cecil.Pdb.dll inside bin/net_4_0_Debug (or bin/net_4_0_Release). |
Alternatively, get the NuGet package which includes all Cecil assemblies. If you're on the MS stack, of course. |


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TD-Complete Submission
What to expect when you're expecting (an acceptance letter)
4.14 / 5.00 3,788 ViewsA New Gripping Epic Bio Docu into the life of The Cat, The Emoticon, The Legend.
It doesn't even load for me and considering what other people have commented, I'm probably better off for it. Please, if you are going to post something, put in the effort for something that actually works.
So you're opinion goes off of other people's. Thanks man you're really helpful...
How to begin:
- First: the lack of preloading screen + play button, and also the replay one.
- Second: The annoying low volume and lack of different voices for each character.
- Thirst: Not interesting or funny, sorry, and no effort putted on animation neither dialogue.
Fine to share with your friends for a couple of laughs, but not here, thank you, also, you should wait to see the score that your promo one gets before thinking about uploading another one, just common sense, you know.
yeah sorry, my mother was a heroin user.


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Moss and Horiuchi receive five-year, $1.6 million grant
Professor Cynthia Moss (Psychology/ISR) and Assistant Professor Timothy Horiuchi (ECE/ISR) have received a five-year, $1.6 million grant from the National Institutes of Health's Division of Neuroscience and Basic Behavioral Science, part of the National Institute of Mental Health.
The grant is for their work in "Dynamic Sensorimotor Control for Spatial Orientation." It will advance understanding of the integration of auditory information with motor programs for spatially-guided behavior in mammals. It will also advance general understanding of auditory information processing and adaptive motor control for spatial orientation. February 4, 2004
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ARC Lab holds inaugural open house
Science, Technology and Society Program Students "Save" an Armory
UMD Hosts 3D Maryland Expert Group Meeting
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Robots learn kitchen skills by watching YouTube videos
UMD Online Engineering Programs Continue to Climb in Standings
Workshop on Geometry of Collective Behavior organized by P. S. Krishnaprasad
Alumnus Matteo Mischiati is lead author of sensorimotor control study in Nature
Paley Awarded 2014 E. Robert Kent Teaching Award for Junior Faculty


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Office of the President
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Making history as the first permanent female president in the institution's 127-year legacy, Elmira Mangum, Ph.D., began her tenure as the 11th president of Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University (FAMU) on April 1, 2014.
A seasoned administrator, Dr. Mangum has served at the executive level of nationally recognized institutions of higher learning for more than 28 years. From 2010 until her appointment at FAMU, Dr. Mangum served as vice president for planning and budget at Cornell University. While at Cornell, she was the senior administrator charged with managing the university's resources and annual budgeting process.
Prior to her successful tenure at Cornell, President Mangum served in various administrative capacities for nine years at the University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill, including serving as senior associate provost. Her career in higher education leadership began at the University of Wisconsin Extension, Geological and Natural History Survey as an operations specialist. She also served as an assistant dean, associate provost, and vice provost at the University at Buffalo (SUNY).
Dr. Mangum received a bachelor's degree in geography and education from North Carolina Central University. She graduated with honors from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with a master's degree in public policy and public administration, and earned a second master's degree in urban and regional planning. She received a doctor of philosophy in educational leadership and policy from the University at Buffalo.
Dr. Mangum's commitment to public service is exemplified by her service to numerous boards and organizations, including: the American Association of University Women, the American Council of Education, Higher Education Resource Services (HERS), the National Action Council for Minorities in Engineering, Inc., the National Council of Negro Women, the United Way, and Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc.
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Aug 23, 2008, 07:28 PM | |
I'm no expert, but here are some of my observations:
You are right that the current crop of profiles seem to have less camber than in days gone by. I think the thought is less drag in section, and you can add camber with a little TE drooping. You would then adjust the section to suit your task. I like this way of thinking, since I fly F3F only so far. Why reflex an undercambered foil to make it less draggy when that is the (my) primary focus?? The other question is that many of the new crop of design vary either the thickness of the root section as it narrows towards the tips, or they use a different variant of the profile altogether. That allows the tips to work better than you think they should. As for what's the best section? Ha! Ask ten people, you'll get propably ten answers. There are lots of good new sections out there. But even some of the older ones are still competitive. If I were going to scratch build, I would look for a section that has a reasonable thickness percentage, especially at or near the hinge line. That will allow building a stiffer structure more easily. Good luck with your design. Target PS. Here's a link you may be interested in: http://www.aerodesign.de/modelle/3S_F3B.htm |
Aug 24, 2008, 08:24 AM | |
F3b design, hah easy (not)
Well, I've been dabbling a bit in both Profili and Xflr5 developing my design ( several hundred hours so far ! ) Firstly you need to consider the launch. Given the limited power available on the modern FAI winch, the model size should be limited to around 60dm². Since the foil should be biased towards fast flight due to F3b scoring implications (see below), the camber will be low. A larger leading edge radius can help to improve the max Cl. Of course the low camber helps in the zoom where Cl is close to zero. Of all the tasks, speed is the one that gives the pilot the opportunity to win. Thermal and distance are tasks where you can only loose points, so the modern model is orientated towards speed. The low area also helps here, as does selection of a good profile, minimisation of parasitic drag etc.. So, for speed performance, the important factors are 1) Launch performance, 2) straight line speed and 3) turn performance. For launch performance (1) you need a model size matched to the winch power, and a profile that can deliver high Cl. For straight line performance (2), where profile drag is the highest you need a profile that has extensive laminar flow, and for turn performance (3), a profile that can deliver high Cl, with low drag. These are conflicting requirements. Modern F3b foils are low camber, but to obtain a wide drag bucket they are still around the 8 - 8.5% thickness mark. I would suggest having a look at the website http://www.agm-penig.de/ On that site, they describe the development of the Freestyler, a currently popular Feb/F3f model (profiles AH37, AH69). Take note of the use of MH31 bottom surface on the profiles, and the benefits that surface gives with extensive laminar flow. Looking closely at the Radical, Ceres, Shooter; these models appear to have a similar bottom surface which is substantially flat (or slightly convex) from 30% chord rearwards. These foils don't need a large amount of reflex to go fast. Also reflex creates a discontinuity on the bottom surface that is sure to disrupt laminar flow. Choose the profile to drive speed performance, so it should be low camber, and not require much reflex flap. The shape of the top surface appears to be much more important for launch, thermal and distance, and not so much for speed. The biggest factors for thermal performance are wing loading and aspect ratio. At slow speeds, induced drag is king, and that is determined by aspect ratio and the operating Cl. Low wing loading reduces the operating Cl for a given (slow) flight speed, and high aspect ratio reduces it further. This creates another conundrum. Increasing aspect ratio for a given wing area reduces the reynolds number. This is not all bad, at least for speed. As you have commented, as the reynolds number increases many profiles start to actually produce HIGHER drag at Cl=0.05 (Re= 500K - 1000K). This can be verified by looking at type 2 polars in Xflr5 or Profili where the polar turns to higher drag at low Cl. Profiles with the MH31 style bottom surface don't suffer as much. You would think that sorting out the performance at slow speed and high speed would guarantee performance at mid speed (distance) - not so. At these speeds the effect of reynolds number is most pronounced. A high wingloading helps here, and a profile chosen carefully to minimise the top surface separation bubble that will occur at distance speeds. Choosing a top surface on the profile that allows the flap/aileron hingeline to act as a natural turbulator may be of benefit. The goal here is to try for laminar flow to the 75% chord point (the hingeline). This of course creates compromises at slower speeds. So, at this stage, I'm reading that the state of the art is to choose a profile that gives extensive laminar flow on the bottom surface at high speed (ie low camber and minimal reflex flap), and uses a top surface that controls the laminar flow to the hingeline where turbulated transition to turbulent flow occurs. OK. So far we've been talking about the average profile on the wing. What about transition? Some posts have already commented about matching the profile across the wing to the local reynolds number. Eric dahl Christiansen http://www.gliders.dk/ comments on his website about planforms. Basically, an elliptical planform to about the 90% semi span point seems to be most efficient. After that the tip is lost in 3D flow and vortex. For reynolds number effects, see the design study by Frits Donker Duyvis on the fletcher http://www.aero.lr.tudelft.nl/~frits/fletchtxt.html). Basically the profile at the 90% span point should be thinner, and have a more forward thickness point. There is however one more consideration, and that is at the root of the wing, where the profile is operating under the turbulent influence of the fuselage (N-Crit is smaller) Profiles at that point tend to be thicker (due to structural constraints) and have a more rearward thickness point (to try to maintain a longer laminar flow in the allready slightly turbulent oncoming flow) Sorry for the long reply, but thats the story as I see it! |
Aug 24, 2008, 07:04 PM | |
Winglets can offer advantages at intermediate to high lift coefficients, providing they are designed correctly. At low lift coefficients they give more drag than a conventional tip.
Have a look at http://www.mandhsoaring.com/articles/ostiv97.pdf where an example is shown for full size sailplanes. Because flying fast in full size operates at lift coefficient around 0.2 - 0.3, a benefit is seen for the whole flight envelope. For F3b, flying fast is Cl around 0.0 - 0.05. Winglets in this regime increase the profile drag and don't help with induced drag, because there is very little at these low Cl's |
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Question | What is F3B, F5B, F5J etc.??? | cwayland | Slope | 2 | Apr 26, 2007 03:26 PM |


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There's a catch, but it's not what you think: This phone can be yours without any kind of contract.
The plucky smartphone maker, which was founded by ex-HTC execs, today rolls out a host of new devices it hopes will lure shoppers away from Samsung.
Big Red's latest Android is aimed at first-time smartphone buyers.
Short version: it took me about 20 minutes to knock about 25 percent off my monthly bill. Plus: Chromebook deal!
This is the third time that AT&T has added unlimited calling to Mexico in its different plans. The company previously brought it to World Connect Value and its subisidiary Cricket Wireless.
You'll still have to pay for a monthly wireless plan on the carrier's Alcatel OneTouch Pop 7 promotion, but the tablet's cost is on T-Mobile.
The microcomputer designed to get kids interested in coding powers down when hit with high-intensity, long-wave flashes from cameras.
RadioShack's long decline continued this week thanks to a bankruptcy filing, but there is reason for hope. Also, the latest on the Galaxy S6 and more in your look back at the week in tech.
Polaroid could debut a new family of Android smartphones next month at Mobile World Congress. You read that right: Polaroid.
It's called Big Cola and it's designed to mimic the iPhone 6, but with some big differences -- namely more power and a sapphire screen.


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From the Publisher
The action shifts rapidly among the three worlds in the fourth successive thriller in a fantastically thrilling series.
Miriam Beckstein is a young, hip business journalist in Boston. But her very well-connected family comes from an alternate reality, where they are a little too much like the mafia for comfort. Having escaped to yet anther world, Miriam remains in hiding from both her Clan and their opponents. With a nasty shooting war going on in Gruinmarkt, the world of the Clan, Miriam is shielded from danger, but also from information. And there's a secret yet for Miriam to discover; something that she's really going to ...
Want a NOOK? Explore Now
Miriam Beckstein is a young, hip business journalist in Boston. But her very well-connected family comes from an alternate reality, where they are a little too much like the mafia for comfort. Having escaped to yet anther world, Miriam remains in hiding from both her Clan and their opponents. With a nasty shooting war going on in Gruinmarkt, the world of the Clan, Miriam is shielded from danger, but also from information. And there's a secret yet for Miriam to discover; something that she's really going to hate--if she lives long enough to find out.
Readers unfamiliar with Stross's Clan Corporate(2006) and its predecessors should hunt them down before diving into this breakneck fourth Merchant Princes episode. The clan, a Machiavellian trading dynasty whose members can cross among parallel universes, are losing control of their own affairs, embroiled in a shooting war with local royalty on the Gruinmarkt world and racing modern American black-ops agencies to unravel the secrets behind their world-walking ability. The latter subplot adds science-fictional flavor to a series already rich with economic and political themes and dense action scenes. The cost comes in characterization: familiar figures appear only briefly, and new players acquire little depth. Miriam Beckstein, journalist turned mercantile heiress, is still the nominal protagonist, but she spends most of this episode stuck one universe sideways from the main action. For sheer inventiveness and energy, this cliffhanger-riddled serial remains difficult to top. (Oct.)
Copyright 2007 Reed Business InformationChapter One
After the wedding party
The wreckage still smoldered in the wan dawn light, sending a column of grayish- white smoke spiraling into the misty sky above Niejwein. Two mounted men surveyed it from a vantage point be
side the palace gate house.
"What a mess."
"Unavoidable, I think. The best laid plans . . . have they found his majesty yet, your grace?"
The first speaker shrugged. His horse shuffled, blowing out noisily: the smell of smoke, or possibly the bodies, was making it nervous. "If he was inside the great hall we might never find identifiable remains. That could be a problem: I believe the blast must have far exceeded the plotters' intent. The soldiers found the Idiot, though—what was left of him. Near chopped in half by the rebels' guns."
It was not a cold morning, and the second speaker wore a heavy riding coat: nevertheless, he shivered. "If these are the spells the witch families play with, then I think we may conclude that his presumptive majesty struck not a moment too soon. The tinkers have become too accustomed to having the Crown at their convenience. This could well be our best opportunity to break their grip before they bring damnation to us all."
The first speaker stroked his beard. "That is the direction of my thoughts." He looked pensive. "I think it behooves us to offer our condolences and our support in his hour of need to his majesty; a little bird tells me that he is of like mind. Then we should look to our own security. His lordship of Greifhalt has a most efficient levy which I think will prove sufficient to our immediate needs, and for the honor of his grandfather he has to come to our aid. We can count on Lyssa, too, and Sudtmann. For your part ...?"
"Count me among your party, your grace. I think I can contribute—" He paused, thinking. "—two hundred? Yes, two hundred of horse certainly, and perhaps more once I've seen to the borders."
"That will be helpful, Otto. The more you can send, the better—as long as you do not neglect the essentials. We cannot afford to feed the scavengers, of whichever kind." The first speaker shook his head again, looking at the smoking rubble. Stooped figures picked their way through it, inspecting the battlefield for identifiable bodies, their movements as jerky as carrion birds. "But first, an appropriate demonstration of our loyalty is called for."
The Duke of Innsford nudged his horse forward; his companion, Otto, Baron Neuhalle, followed, and behind him—at a discreet distance—the duke's personal company followed suit. The scale of destruction only became apparent as Innsford rode down the slope towards what had been the Summer Palace of Niejwein. "It really does appear to have been visited by a dragon," he commented, keeping Neuhalle in view. "I can see why that story is spreading..."
"Oh yes. And it came to dinner with his late majesty and half the witch families' heads of house hold at his table for the feast," Neuhalle agreed. "They'll draw the right conclusion. But what a mess." He gestured at the wreckage. "Rebuilding the palace will take years, once the immediate task of ensuring that his majesty's reign is long and untroubled by tinkers and demon- traffickers is completed. And I do not believe that will be easy. The old fox will move fast—"
Neuhalle broke off, composing his face in an expression of attentive politeness as he reined in his horse. "Otto Neuhalle, to pay his respects to his majesty," he called.
"Advance and be recognized." Neuhalle nudged his horse forward towards the guards officer supervising the salvage attempt. "Ah, my lord. If you would care to dismount, I will escort you to the royal party at once."
"Certainly." Neuhalle bowed his head and climbed heavily down, handing the reins to his secretary. "I have the honor of accompanying his grace, the Duke of Inns-ford. By your leave...?"
The guards officer—a hetman, from his livery— looked past him, his eyes widening. "Your grace! Please accept my most humble apologies for the poor state of our hospitality." He bowed as elaborately as any courtier, his expression guarded as a merchant in the company of thieves: clearly he understood the political implications of a visit from the duke. "I shall request an audience at once."
"That will be satisfactory," Innsford agreed, condescending to grace the earth with his boot heels. "I trust the work proceeds apace?"
"Indeed." A lance of royal life guards came to attention behind the hetman, at the barked order of their sergeant: " 'Tis a grim business, though. If you would care to follow me?"
"Yes," said Innsford.
Neuhalle followed his patron and the hetman, ignoring the soldiers who walked to either side of him as if they were ghosts. "His majesty—the former prince, I mean—I trust he is well?"
"Yes, indeed." The hetman seemed disinclined to give much away.
"And is there any announcement of the blame for this outrage?" asked Innsford.
"Oh, yes." The hetman glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if trying to judge how much he could disclose. "His majesty is most certain of their identity."
Neuhalle's pulse raced. "We came to assure his majesty of our complete loyalty to his cause." Innsford cast him a fishy glance, but did not contradict him. "He can rely on our support in the face of this atrocious treason." Although the question of whose treason had flattened the palace was an interesting one, it was nothing like as interesting to Neuhalle as the question of whom the former crown prince was going to blame for it—for the explosion that had killed his father. After all, he couldn't admit to having done it himself, could he?
They rounded the walls of the west wing—still standing in the morning light, although the roof of the Queen's Ballroom had fallen in behind it—and passed a small huddle of Life Guards bearing imported repeating pistols at their belts. A white campaign pavilion squatted like a puffball on the lawn next to the wreckage of the west wing kitchens, and more soldiers marched around it in small groups or worked feverishly on a timber frame that was going up beside it. "Please, I beg you, wait here a while."
Innsford paused, leaning on his cane as if tired: Neuhalle moved closer to him, continuing the pretense that their escorts were as transparent as air while the hetman hurried towards the big tent, his progress punctuated interminably as he was passed from sentry to sentry. The guards were clearly taking no chances with their new monarch's life. "A bad night for the kingdom," he remarked quietly. "Long live the king."
"Indeed." Innsford looked almost amused. "And may his reign be long and peaceful." It was the right thing to say under the circumstances, indeed the only thing to say— their escort looked remarkably twitchy, in the shadow of the ruined palace—but Neuhalle had to force himself not to wince. The chances that King Egon's reign would be peaceful were slim, at best.
They didn't have long to reflect on the new order in peace. The guards hetman came loping back across the turf: "His grace the duke of Niejwein awaits you and bids me say that his majesty is in conference right now, but will see you presently," he managed, a long speech by his standards. "Come this way."
The big pavilion was set up for the prince's guests: royal companions and master of hounds at one side, and smaller rooms for the royal functions at the other. The middle was given over to an open space. The duke of Niejwein sat on a plain camp stool in the middle of the open area, surrounded by an ever- changing swarm of attendants: a thin- faced man of early middle years, he was, as Innsford might have remarked, one of us—a scion of the old nobility, the first fifty families whose longships had cleaved the Atlantic waves four centuries ago to stake their claims to the wild forested hills of the western lands. He was no friend of the merchant princes, the tinker nobles with their vast wealth and strange fashions, who over the past century had spread across the social map of the Gruinmarkt like a fungal blight across the bark of an ancient beech tree. Neuhalle felt a surge of optimism as he set eyes on the duke. "Your grace." He bowed, while his patron nodded and clasped hands with his peer.
"Be welcome, your grace. I had hoped to see you here. Rise, Otto. You are both welcome in this time of sorrow. I trust you have been apprised of the situation?" Niejwein's left eyebrow levered itself painfully upwards.
"In outline," Innsford conceded. "Otto was entertaining me in Oestgate when the courier reached us. We came at once." They had ridden since an hour before dawn from thirty miles down the coast, nearly killing half a dozen mounts with their urgency. "Gunpowder and treason." His lips quirked. "I scarcely credited it until I saw the wreckage."
"His majesty blames the tinkers for bringing this down upon our heads," Niejwein said bluntly.
"A falling out among thieves, perhaps?" Otto offered hopefully.
"Something like that." Niejwein nodded, a secretive expression on his face. "His Majesty is most keen to inquire of the surviving tinkers the reason why they slew his father using such vile tools. Indeed, he views it as a matter of overwhelming urgency to purge the body of the kingdom of their witchery."
"How many of the tinkers survived?" asked Innsford.
"Oh, most of them. Details are still emerging. But beside the death of his majesty's father and his majesty's younger brother—" Otto started at that point. "—it appears that his majesty is the only surviving heir for the time being." Niejwein nodded to himself. "The queen mother is missing. Of the tinkers, the heads of three of their families were present, some eighteen nobles in total, including the bitch they planned to whelp by the Idiot—" Otto startled again, then contained himself. "—and sixty sundry gentles of other houses. The tinkers not being without allies."
"But the main company of those families are untouched," Innsford stated.
"For the time being." Niejwein's cheek twitched. Has he the palsy? Otto wondered. "As I said, his majesty—" Niejwein stopped and rose to his feet, turning to face one of the side panels. A moment later he dropped to one knee: Otto scrambled to follow suit.
"Rise, gentlemen." Otto allowed himself to look up at his new monarch. The Pervert—no, forget you ever heard that name, on pain of your neck, he told himself—was every inch a prince: tall, hale of limb, fair of face, with a regal bearing and a knowing gleam in his eye. Otto, Baron Neuhalle, had known Egon since he was barely crawling. And he was absolutely terrified of him.
"Sire." Innsford looked suitably grave. "I came as soon as I heard the news, to pledge myself to you anew and offer what ever aid you desire in your time of need." Not grief, Otto noted.
Prince Egon—no, King Egon—smiled. "We appreciate the thought, and we thank your grace for your thoughtfulness. Your inclination to avoid any little misunderstandings is most creditable."
"Sire." Innsford nodded, suppressing any sign of unease.
Egon turned to Niejwein. "Is there any word of that jumped-up horse thief Lofstrom?" he asked offhandedly. Neuhalle kept his face still: to talk of Angbard, Duke Lofstrom, so crudely meant that the wind was blowing in exactly the direction Innsford had predicted. But then, it wasn't hard to guess that the new monarch—who had hated his grandmother and never seen eye- to- eye with his father—would react viciously towards the single biggest threat to his authority over the kingdom.
"No word as yet, sire." Niejwein paused. "I have sent out couriers," he added. "As soon as he is located he will be invited to present an explanation to you."
"And of my somewhat- absent chief of intelligence?"
"Nor him, sire. He was leading the party of the tinkers at the past evening's reception, though. I believe he may still be around here."
"Find proof of his death." Egon's tone was uncompromising. "Bring it to me, or bring him. And the same for the rest of the upstarts. I want them all rounded up and brought to the capital."
"Sire. If they resist ...?"
Egon glanced at Innsford. "Let us speak bluntly. The tinker vermin are as rich a target as they are a tough one, but they are not invulnerable and I will cut them down to size. Through magic and conspiracy, and by taking advantage of the good will of my forefathers, they've grown like a canker in my father's kingdom. But I intend to put a stop to them. One tenth of theirs, your grace, will be yours if you serve me well. Another tenth for our good servant Niejwein here. The rest to be apportioned appropriately, between the Crown and its honest servants. Who will of course want to summon their families to attend the forthcoming coronation, and to take advantage of the security provided for them by the Royal Life Guards in this time of crisis."
Neuhalle shrank inwardly, aghast. He wants hostages of us? He found himself nodding involuntarily. To do aught else would be to brand himself as a rebel, and it seemed that Egon had no intention of being the bluntest scythe in the royal barn: but to start a reign with such an unambiguous display of mistrust boded ill for the future.
"We are your obedient servants," Innsford assured him.
"Good!" Egon smiled broadly. "I look forward to seeing your lady wife in the next week or two, before the campaign begins."
"Campaign—" Neuhalle bit his tongue, but the prince's eyes had already turned to him. And the prince was smiling prettily, as if all the fires of Hel didn't burn in the imagination concealed by that golden boy's face.
"Why, certainly there shall be a campaign," Egon assured him, beaming widely. "There will be no room for sedition in our reign! We shall raise the nobility to its traditional status again, reasserting those values that have run thin in the blood of recent years." He winked. "And to rid the kingdom of the proliferation of witches that have corrupted it is but one part of that program." He gestured idly at the wooden framework taking place on the lawn outside the pavilion. "It'll make for a good show at the coronation, eh?"
Neuhalle stared. What he had thought to be the framework of a temporary palace was, when seen from this angle, the platform and scaffold of a gallows scaled to hang at least a dozen at a time. "I'm sure your coronation will be a great day, sire," he murmured. "Absolutely, a day to remember."
A damp alleyway at night. Refuse in the gutters, the sickly- sweet stench of rotting potatoes overlaying a much nastier aroma of festering sewage. Stone walls, encrusted in lichen. The chink of metal on cobblestones, and a woman's high, clear voice echoing over it: "I don't believe this. Shit! Ouch."
The woman had stumbled out of the shadows mere seconds ago, shaking her head and tucking away a small personal item. She wore a stained greatcoat over a black dress of rich fabric, intricate enough to belong on a stage play or in a royal court, but not here in a dank dead end: as she looked around, her forehead wrinkled in frustration, or pain, or both. "I could go back," she muttered to herself, then took a deep breath: "or not." She glanced up and down the alley apprehensively.
Another chink of metal on stone, and a cracked chuckle: "Well, lookee here! And what's a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?"
The woman turned to stare into the darkness where the voice had spoken from, clutching her coat around her.
Another chuckle. "Let's ask her, why don't we?"
The woman—Countess Helge voh Thorold d'Hjorth, to her vast and squabbling extended family, plain Miriam Beckstein to herself—took a step backwards then stopped, brought up against the crumbling brick wall. Figures solidified out of the shadows beyond the flickering gaslight glow from the end of the alleyway. Her gaze darted across them as she fumbled with the pockets of her coat.
"Heya, pretty lady, what have you got for a growing boy?"
"Show us your tits!"
Miriam counted three of them as her eyes adapted to the darkness. It helped that she'd just stepped over, across a gap thinner than an atom—or greater than 101028 meters, depending how you measured it—from a lawn outside a burning palace, the night punctuated by the roar of cannon and the staccato cracking of the guards' pistols. Three of them, she realized, a sick tension in the pit of her stomach, one of them's on the ground, crouching, or...?
The standing figure came closer and she saw that he was skinny and short, not much more than a boy, bowlegged, his clothing ragged. At five foot six Miriam didn't think of herself as tall, but she could almost look down on the top of his head. Unfortunately this also gave her a good view of the knife clutched in his right hand.
Desperation and a silvery edge of suppressed rage broke her paralysis. "Fuck off!" She stepped forward, away from the wall, hands balling into fists in her black velvet gloves. "Right, that's it. I've had enough!"
The evening had started badly. She was already under house arrest in Niejwein, with a suspended sentence of death hanging over her head, and Miriam's great-uncle had casually informed her that she was to be married off to the king's youngest son—damaged goods, brain-damaged goods at that—and the betrothal would be announced that evening. Then, at the very court reception where she was due to be bought and sold like a prize heifer, something had gone so very badly off the rails that she still could barely believe it. There'd been blood flowing in rivers on the marble- floored corridors, brutal figures moving through the palace with guns in their hands: and she'd cut and run, only to find herself here: facing a back-alley mugging or worse on the streets of New London, shadowy ragmen lurching out of the muck and stench to menace her with their demands—
The man with the knife looked surprised for a moment. Then he darted forward, as if to punch her. Miriam felt a light blow across her ribs as he danced back. "Oof!" He was skinny, and short, and she outreached him, and his face was a frozen picture of surprise as she grabbed his arm, yanked him closer, stomped down on his foot, and then jerked her knee up inside his thigh. Just like teacher said, she thought, remembering the self- defense class she'd taken—what, two years? three years?—ago. Her assailant made a short, whimpering gasp, then dropped like a log, rolling on the ground in pain. Miriam looked past him, hunting for his friends.
The one standing behind him took one look at her as if he'd seen a ghost, then turned tail and fled. "Doan' leave me!" wailed the third in a thick accent, waving spidery arms at the ground: there was a rattling noise. Miriam stared. He's got no legs she realized as he pawed at the ground with hands like oars, scooting away on a crude cart. Why did the other one run—she put a hand to her chest. There was a rip in her stolen coat. That's funny. She frowned, stuck a finger through the hole, and felt the matching rip in the outer fabric of her dress where the knife had slid across the boned front. "Damn!" She looked down. The little guy with the knife lay at her feet, twitching and gasping for breath. The knife lay beside him in the gutter: the blade was about three inches long and wickedly sharp. "You little shit!" She hauled up her skirts and kicked him in the ribs with all her might. Then she knelt down and took the knife.
The red haze of fury began to clear. She looked at the moaning figure on the cobblestones and shuddered, then stepped round him and quickly walked to the end of the alleyway. Cold sweat slicked her spine, and her heart pounded so hard it seemed about to burst. I could have been killed, she thought dizzily, tugging her coat into place with jerky motions, her hands shaking with the adrenaline aftershock. It wasn't the first time, but it never failed to horrify her afterwards. She moved unconsciously towards the street lights, panicky- tense and alert for any sign that knife- boy's friends had stopped running and were coming back for her. He tried to stab me! She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, and her usual post-world- walking headache had intensified unbearably, thumping in time with her pulse. I've got to get help, she realized. Got to find Erasmus.
Miriam had grown up in Boston, in the United States of America, in a world where things made sense. Random spavined beggars in alleyways didn't try to gut you like a fish. There was no king- emperor in New York— New London, as they called it over here, in this world— no zeppelins, either. She'd had a job as an investigative journalist working for a leading tech business magazine, and a mother who she knew had adopted her when she was a baby, and a solid sense of her own identity. But it had all gone out of the window nine months ago, when she'd discovered that she was a long- lost relative of the Clan, a tight- knit body of world- walkers from another, far more primitive world.
The Medicis of their timeline, the Clan traded between worlds, parallel universes Miriam had heard them called. Which was bad news because the Gruinmarkt, where they came from, hadn't progressed much past a high-medieval civilization of marcher kingdoms up and down the eastern seaboard; in the world of the United States, the Clan was the main heroin connection for New En gland. Miriam's ingrained habit of sticking her nose into any business that took her interest—especially when it was explicitly forbidden—had landed her in a metric shitload of trouble with the Clan. And things had gotten even worse with the shockingly unexpected fight at the Summer Palace in Niejwein. Miriam had ducked out (with the aid of a furtively acquired world- walking locket) and ended up here, in New London. In another world that made little sense to her—but where she did, at least, speak the language passably well.
I've got to find Erasmus, she told herself, holding onto the thought as if it was a charm to ward off panic. The twisting road at the end of the alleyway was at least lit by rusting gas lamps. There was nobody in sight, so she put on a burst of speed, until she rounded a curve to see a main road ahead, more lights, closed shop fronts, a passing streetcar grinding its wheels on the corner with a shower of sparks from the overhead pickups. Whoa. She slowed, eyebrows furrowed, shoulders tensing as if there was a target pasted right above her spine at the base of her neck. I can't go anywhere like this ... !
She stopped at the end of the side street, panting as she took stock. I've got no money, she realized. Which was not good, but there was worse: I'm dressed like ... like what? Clothing wasn't cheap in New Britain; that had been a surprise for her the first time she came here. People didn't wear fancy dress or strange countercultural outfits, or rags—unless they could afford no better. If she'd had the right locket to reach New York, her own world, she might have passed for an opera buff or a refugee from a Goth nightclub: but here in New London she'd stick out like a sore thumb. And she did not want to stand out. To mark herself out for special attention might attract the attention of the police, and the word had a different (and much more sinister) meaning here. I need somewhere to blend in quick, or get a change. Contact Erasmus. But Erasmus was what, two hundred miles away, in Boston? What was that place he mentioned? She racked her brains. Woman called Bishop. Some place, satirist, Ho garth, that's it. Hogarth House, Hogarth—
A cab was clattering along the nearly- empty high street. Miriam took a step forward and extended her right hand, trying to hold it steadily. The cabbie reined in his horse and peered down at her. "Yuss?"
Miriam drew herself up. "I want to go to Hogarth, Ho garth Villas," she said. "Immediately."
The cabby's reaction wasn't what she expected: a low chuckle. "Oh yuss indeedy, your ladyship. Hop right in and I'll take you right there in a jiffy, I will!" Huh? Miriam almost hesitated for a moment. But he obviously knew the place. What's so funny about it? She nodded, then grabbed hold of the rail and pulled herself up. The cabbie made no move to help her in, other than to look down at her incuriously. But if he had any opinion of her odd outfit he kept it to himself, for which she was grateful. As soon as she was on the foot plate, he twitched the reins.
I'm going to have to pay him, Miriam thought, furiously racking her brains for ideas as the cab rattled across the stone pavements. What with? She fumbled in her great-coat's pockets. One of them disgorged a foul- smelling cheesecloth bag full of loose tobacco. The other contained nothing but a loose button. Oh, great. They were turning past Highgate now, down in what corresponded to the East Village in her world. Not an upmarket neighborhood in New London, but there were worse places to be—like inside a thief- taker's lockup for trying to cheat a cabbie of his fare. What was the woman's name, Bishop? Margaret Bishop? I'm going to have to ask her to pay for me. Miriam tensed up. Or I could world- walk back to the other side, wait a couple of hours, and—but her headache was already telling her no. If she crossed back to the Gruinmarkt she'd be good for nothing for at least three hours, and knowing her luck she'd come out somewhere much worse than an alley full of muggers. For the time being, returning to the other side was unthinkable. Damn it, why did James have to give me the wrong locket?
The journey seemed interminable, divided into a million segments by the plodding clatter of hooves. Probably a yellow cab in her own familiar New York would have gotten across town no faster—there was less traffic here— but her growing sense of unease was driving her frantic, and the lack of acceleration made her grind her teeth. That's what's wrong with this world, she realized, there's no acceleration. You can go fast by train or airship, but you never get that surging sense of purpose—
The traffic thickened, steam cars rattling and chuffing past the cab. The lights were brighter, some of the street lights running on electricity now: and then there was a wide curving boulevard and a big row of town houses with iron railings out front, and a busy rank of cabs outside it, and people bustling around. "Hogarth Villas coming up, mam, Gin Lane on your left, Beer Alley to your right." The cabbie bent down and leered at her between his legs. "That'll be sixpence ha'penny."
"The doorman will pay," Miriam said tensely, mentally crossing her fingers.
"Is that so?" The leer vanished, replaced by an expression of contempt. "Tell it to the rozzers!" He straightened up: "I know your type." A rattle of chain and a leather weather shield began to unroll over the front of the cab, blocking off escape. "I'll get me fee out of you one way or the other, it's up to you how you pays."
"Hey!" Miriam waved at a caped figure standing by the gate, pushing the side of the leather screen aside. "You! I need to see Lady Bishop! Now!"
The caped figure turned towards her and stepped up towards the cab. The cabbie up top swore: "Bugger off!"
"What did you say?" Miriam quailed. The man in the cape was about six feet six tall, built like a brick outhouse, and his eyes were warm as bullets.
"I need to see Lady Bishop," Miriam repeated, trying to keep a deadly quaver out of her voice. "I have no money and it's urgent," she hissed. "I was told she was here."
"I see." Bullet- eyes tracked upwards towards the cabbie. "How much?"
"Sixpence, guv, that's all I need," the cabbie whined.
Bullet- eyes considered for a moment. Then a hand with fingers as thick as a baby's forearm extended upwards. A flash of silver. "You. Come with me."
The weather screen was yanked upwards: Miriam lost no time clambering down hastily. Bullet- eyes gestured towards a set of steps leading down one side of the nearest town house. "That way."
"That—" Miriam was already halfway to the steps before several other details of the row of houses sank in. Lights on and laughter and music coming from the ground- floor windows: lights out and nothing audible coming from upstairs. The front doors gaped wide open. Men on the pavement outside, dressed for a good time by New London styles. Women visible through the open French doors in outfits that bared their knees—oh, she thought, feeling herself flush. So that's what's going on. Damn Erasmus for not telling me! Halfway down the steps, which led to a cellar window and a narrower, grubbier, doorway, another thought struck her: a brothel would be a good place for Erasmus's friends to meet up. Lots of people could come and go at all hours and nobody would think it strange if they took measures to avoid being identified.
Even her current fancy dress probably wasn't exceptional. Erasmus Burgeson, almost the first person she'd met on her arrival in New Britain, was connected to the Leveler underground, radical democrats in a country that had never had an American revolution, where the divine right of kings was still the unquestionable way the world was run. Which meant—
The door was snatched open in front of her. Miriam looked round. Bullet-eyes was right behind her, not threatening, but impossible to avoid. "I need to see—"
"Shut it." He was implacable. "Go in." It was a scullery, stone sinks full of dishwater and a couple of maids up to their elbows in it, a primitive clanking dishwasher hissing ominously and belching steam in the background: "through there, that way." He steered her towards a door at the back that opened onto a narrow, gloomy servant's corridor and a spiral staircase. "Upstairs."
Another passage. Miriam registered the distant sound of creaking bedsprings and groaning, chatter and laughter and a piano banging away on the other side of a thin plasterboard wall. Her chest was tight: it felt hard to breathe in here. "Is it much further?" she asked.
"Stop." Bullet-eyes grabbed a door handle and shoved, glanced inside. "You can wait here. Tell me again what you came for."
Miriam tensed and looked at him. She'd seen dozens of men like this before, hard men, self- disciplined, capable of just about anything—her heart sagged. "Erasmus Burgeson told me I should come here and talk to Lady Bishop next time I was in town," she managed to explain. "I wasn't planning on being here quite this early, without warning." She sagged against the door- frame, abruptly exhausted. "I'm in trouble."
"Has it followed you?" His voice was even, quiet, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as if someone had stepped over her open grave.
"No," she managed, "not here. I lost it on the way."
"Inside. I'll be back." She stumbled into the room. He flicked a switch and a dim incandescent bulb glimmered into light. "I may be some time." The door closed behind her. The room was a servant's bedroom, barely longer than the narrow bed that occupied half of it. There was a window, but it opened onto a shaft of brickwork, another darkened window barely visible opposite. Click. Miriam spun round, a fraction of a second too late to see the lock mechanism latch home.
"Shit," she moaned quietly, "shit!" She sat down on the bed and rested her head in her hands, her energy and will to resist fading frighteningly fast. It had been a long and terrible day, and even standing up felt like a battle. What have I done? Erasmus was nuts, or playing a sick joke on her, sending her to a brothel to talk to the madam: although, on further thought, it didn't seem particularly strange compared to the rest of this eventful day. She'd been dragged out of her house arrest, shanghaied into a forced wedding, just missed being blown up by a bomb, seen the king and the prince she'd been engaged to gunned down (and who knew what the hell was going to happen in the Gruinmarkt now?) and run into an old heartthrob (and what the hell was he doing there, working for the DEA?). Then she'd fled for her life, been attacked by muggers, menaced by a cabbie who thought she was a prostitute, and finally locked up in another goddamned prison cell, this time in a brothel. I'm going to go mad, she thought dizzily, lying down on the lumpy mattress. I can't take much more of this. But instead, she fell asleep. And that was how they found her when they came for her, an hour after midnight.
It was shaping up to be a night to remember for all the wrong reasons, Mike decided. The flat metallic banging of musketry outside blended with the screams of wounded men and the sullen roar of the burning palace to form a hideous cacophony, punctuated by the occasional crack of modern smokeless- powder firearms and shouted orders. This is worse than that mess down in Colombia, that mountain village. What was it called?
He inched carefully out from behind the broken wall. The stench of burnt gunpowder and charred wood lent an acrid taste to the nighttime air. About four meters from the wall, the indistinct shapes of a row of trees loomed out of the darkness. He turned his head, looking around cautiously.
That nameless village on a forested mountainside in Colombia: he'd been there as part of a DEA training team, working with the Colombian army to weed out cocaine plantations in the hilly back country. What he hadn't realized at first was that the cocaine plantations belonged to the other government—the Maoist guerrillas working to overthrow the authorities controlled vast swathes of territory, had battalions of expressionless men in green with machine guns and rifles. It wasn't a police raid, it was more like an army spearhead advancing into hostile territory. And then the shooting started...
He twitched back into focus, scanning the area for threats. The palace behind him was burning merrily, flames reaching through holes in the steeply pitched roof. Doors and windows had been blown out: some were half-blocked by improvised barricades where the defenders were trying to hold out. It was full dark, and they were trying to fight a battle against attackers who were shooting from outside the circle of light. The noises were getting louder, Mike noted. More banging of muskets, the hollow shotgun- like thump of a blunderbuss, then yells and a distant drumming of hooves, the sound of many horses running. He turned to face the darkness, closed his eyes for ten long seconds to let them adjust, then rose to a crouch and dashed towards the tree line, zigzagging madly and praying he'd make it without putting a foot in a rabbit hole or catching a tree root.
At least I got Miriam out of there. He dived past a tree, ducked under a low branch, and crouched down again to scan for watchers. Wonder if she'll call. It was just too weird: he'd known she'd be here, hell, that was the whole reason they'd inserted him, to see if he could make contact—but actually seeing her in the midst of all this weird medieval squalor, dolled up like an extra from a historical drama, brought it all home to him. She was part of the Clan: she was a world-walker, one of the narcoterrorist dynasty that was running drugs up and down the eastern seaboard. And she wanted out!
But he'd blown it. You're going to make her an offer she can't refuse, said the colonel, and instead he'd come out with the truth, limp-dicked and apologetic, and as good as told her to go to ground. Phone me in a week or so, he'd told her. Yeah, right. And all because he'd seen it coming, like a slow- motion train wreck: Miriam was about as unlikely to cooperate with Smith as anyone he could imagine. And he couldn't stomach the idea of them turning her into a mule, like the guy in the cellar with the collar-bomb and the handcuffs, terrified that Mike was going to execute him.
Something moved in the brush behind him. Mike spun round, gun raised.
"Sir!" The hissed voice was familiar: Mike lowered his pistol immediately.
"That you, Hastert?"
The shadow in front of him nodded. "O'Neil's twenty yards that way. Go to him now." Bulky night-vision goggles half-covered Hastert's face, in surreal contrast to his baggy trousers and chain mail vest. He'd acquired a gun from somewhere, some kind of machine pistol with a bulky silencer attached.
"Okay, I'm going, I'm going." Mike scuttled away, his pulse hammering with the adrenaline aftershock. Hastert and O'Neil were part of the forward support team in Zone Blue, specialists yanked out of Delta Force to handle the sharp end of the Family Trade Organization's intel operation on the ground in the parallel universe the criminals came from. Dangerous men, but it was their job to get him out of this alive. I could have told her to come with me, he told himself. Could have lied, offered her witness protection. Hell, she asked for it! We could have gotten her out.
But Miriam's potential value to Colonel Smith lay in her connection to the Clan hierarchy; and everything had gone to pieces. "They've got my mom," she'd said conversationally, right after he'd shot the soldier who was trying to murder her. And the royal they'd been trying to marry her off to against her wishes was dead—what the hell was going on? "O'Neil?" he whispered.
"Over here, sir. Keep down."
O'Neil was crouched behind a deadfall. "What's going on?"
"Looks like they're making whoopee." His grin was a ghostly crescent in the darkness. "Don't you worry, we'll get you out of here."
A moment of rustling and crunching, and Sergeant Hastert appeared. "Sitrep, Pete."
"Sam's on point." O'Neil gestured farther into the trees, where the ground fell away from the low hill on which the palace had stood. "He's seen no sign of anybody in the woods. Bad news is, the aggressor faction have got sentries out and they're covering the approaches from the road. There's maybe thirty of them and they've got riders—we're cut off."
"Get him back here, then."
O'Neil vanished into the darkness. "How bad is it?" asked Mike.
"Could be worse: nobody's shooting at us." Hastert turned to look at him. "But we'd better be out of here by dawn. Did you get what you wanted?"
"Yes and no." Mike hunkered down. "Everything we thought we knew about what was going on here is out of date. I got to talk to my contact, but she's in deep shit herself—didn't have much time, they were trying to kill her—"
A noise like a door the size of a mountain slamming shut a hundred meters away rocked Mike back on his heels.
"Down!" Hastert lurched against him, shoving Mike's face down on a matted bed of branches. Moments later, debris thudded off the branches above their heads, spattering down on the summer-dry soil. "Get moving, we're too close."
The next hour passed in a nightmarish crawl through the dark forest, heading always away from the boom and crash of gunfire and the shouts of the combatants. The royal palace, although nominally within the city of Niejwein, was surrounded by a walled garden the size of a large park—large enough that the palace itself was out of easy gunshot range of its neighbors. But in the chaos of the apparent coup, the shooters seemed to be inside the compound. Stray shots periodically came tearing through the treetops, so that Mike needed no urging to keep his head close to the dirt.
After an interminable crawl, Hastert tapped him on the shoulder. "Stop here, wait till I get back." He vanished into the darkness as silently as a ghost. Mike shivered violently. Trouble? he wondered. There was nothing he could do; on this part of the mission he was baggage, as much as Miriam would have been if he'd tried to extract her from what ever the hell that weird scene back at the palace had been about. I can't believe I shot that guy without warning.
Mike reran the scene in his mind's eye; the perp—even now, he couldn't drop the law enforcement outlook—with the knife, trying to stab the woman in the black gown, the stink of burning wood, snarling fear, taking the time to aim carefully, waiting for a clear shot as the woman shoved back hard against her assailant . . . then the shock of recognition. It's her! Despite the longer, intricately coiled hair, the drawn expression, the bruise on her cheek, and the rich Victorian widow's weeds, it was like nothing had changed since that ambiguous last dinner at Wang's, just off Kendall Square. The shock of recognition was still with him: the realization that, all along, the world he moved in was smaller than he'd realized, that during the whole fruitless search for the east coast phantom network he'd been dating a woman who could have—if she herself had known what she was— put him right on top of it. If. Getting involved hadn't been good for her. They've got Mom. And something about an arranged marriage. The smell of raw sewage running through the gutters in the middle of the unpaved road—
"Wake up." A hand touched his shoulder.
"I'm awake." Mike looked round. Hastert crouched beside him.
"There's an open area about fifty yards wide before the wall, which is eight feet high. Just the other side of the wall there's a road. O'Neil's setting up a distraction. We have"—Hastert glanced at his watch—"six minutes to get to the edge of the apron and wait. Then we have thirty seconds to get over the wall and across the road. Take the second alley on the left, proceed down it for twenty yards then take the right turn, fourth door on the left is transit house gamma. You ready?"
Mike nodded. "Guess so."
"Then let's get going."
"Shit. He didn't."
"I'm afraid so."
(Sigh.) "That means we're down by what, two? Three? Seats on the council. And the king. This is an absolute disaster. Who else have we lost?"
(Pause.) "Of our party, most of them. The dowager Hildegarde is yammering her head off, but she survived, as did her daughter. James Lee, we rescued. He's concussed but will live—"
"Small mercies. Damn her for—damn her!"
"It's not your fault, your grace, or hers, that this had to happen at the worst time." (Sigh.) "Continue." "We lost Wilem, Maris, Erik, three juniors of Hjorth- Arnesen's cadet branch, and four others of middling rank.
Excerpted from The Merchants' War by Charles Stross
Copyright © 2007 by Charles Stross
Published in October 2007 by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.
Posted July 9, 2012
A series that started out by capturing my interest based on the existence and possibilities of parallel worlds is rapidly devolving into a cross world guerrilla war with very little to maintain interest unless you want to read a war novel. For a series that started with such potential it seems to have lost its way.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.I've liked all of these books. A fun read with good characters and an orriginal slant on an old sci fi topic.
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Posted February 3, 2013
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I booked this hotel online to stay in Charlotte after the NASCAR race. The owner said he had just taken over the hotel that day. It is in bad shape - run down, old furniture falling apart, bed springs worn, tub in bad condition. There was a hair dryer, microwave, and small refrigerator, which some hotels evidently don't have. The... More
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Dakota and Elle Related to Kate Middleton |
Posted by Madison on June 3rd, 2014
Earlier in the day on Wednesday before arriving in LA, Dakota was out in New York, seen after stopping in at La Colombe Coffee. We also have two HQ shots of her at the recent AMMA Studio Launch Party.
People.com recently published an interesting article, which reports Dakota and Elle are related to King Edward III and Kate Middleton through their mother, you can read more about it here. The article of course mentions Elle as Princess Aurora in Maleficent which opened last week, but don't forget Dakota's Night Moves opened in the US on the same day! If it's playing near you and you haven't yet seen it, why not check it out and support Dakota, Kelly Reichardt and everyone who worked on the project? Hope it's not too far away for me!
02 • Public Appearances > 2014 > AMMA Studio Launch Party
14 • Out and About > 2014 > May 28- Leaving La Colombe Coffee, New York City


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Recent bills about North Carolina
Jan. 7, 2015 |
S.55Offshore Fairness ActReferred to Senate committee. Status: Read twice and referred to the Committee on Energy and Natural Resources. |
Jan. 6, 2015 |
H.R.151To correct the boundaries of the John H. Chafee Coastal Barrier Resources System Unit L06, Topsail, North Carolina.Referred to House committee. Status: Referred to the House Committee on Natural Resources. |


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With 4 sealed burners, including power and precise simmer burners, this Premier Pro Series P30S3102P 30 freestanding gas range makes it easy to prepare your favorite dishes. The EvenTemp oven delivers even heating for delicious results.Large, commercialstyle knobs Enable simple operation. Electronic ignition provides reliable performance 3.9 cu. ft. oven and 2 heavyduty oven racks Accommodate multiple courses simultaneously, so you can cook for a large group in less time Continuous castiron grates Allow for easy movement of pots and pans between burners Two 9,100 BTU burners Deliver the heat needed to prepare a variety of dishes Simmer burner Delivers between 600 and 6,000 BTUs to slowly heat specialty food and sauces without scorching. Power burner provides 15,000 BTUs of heat for efficient cooking EvenTemp oven Cooks food evenly and thoroughly for flavorful results. Keepwarm function allows you to maintain an ideal temperature until serving time Easyaccess broiler with a 2piece smokeless pan and tray makes it easy to prepare delicious dishes Sabbath mode Safely maintains a temperature for an extended period of time in order to comply with kosher cooking practices Sealed burners Eliminate the space between the burners and the cooktop to keep spills from spreading Oven window Lets you monitor cooking progress without releasing heat. Interior oven light provides bright illumination for a clear view Stainlesssteel design Offers a sleek, stylish look. Stainlesssteel commercial bartype handles provide a secure grip Gas connector is sold separately and is not includedBroiler Location: Drawer Burner BTU Rating: One 15,000 BTU two 9,100 BTU one 6006,000 BTU Color: Stainless Color Cooktop Surface: Black Convection Oven: No Cooktop Style: Gas Depth: 26 Drawer type: Broiler Electronic Ignition: Yes Energy Star Compliant: No Fuel Type: Gas Grate Material: Cast iron Height: 371 2 Number of Burners: 4 Number of Racks: 2 Oven Capacity (cu. ft.)
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Democracy Now: A new study confirms how deeply gun deaths in the United States are shaped by race. The Washington Post reports blacks 10 times more likely to be shot dead as white people. Whites are five times more likely to commit suicide with a gun than to be killed with a gun. But for each African American who uses a gun to commit suicide, five are shot dead by other people. Meanwhile a poll by The Washington Post and ABC News says three-quarters of African Americans support stronger gun control versus half of white people.
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Janet Shan is a freelance journalist and managing editor of the Hinterland Gazette, who is working on her first novel, a mystery based in the hills on Montego Bay.


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Beautiful, Newly Renovated 2BR in Park Slope!
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This property is in the 11215 ZIP code in Brooklyn, NY. This property has 2 beds and 1 ½ bath
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Type GreatSchools Rating Distance Schools in New York City Public Schools Brooklyn Secondary School For Collaborative Studies View Rentals Public 4 0.8 mi Secondary School For Journalism View Rentals Public 3 0.9 mi Secondary School For Research View Rentals Public - 0.9 mi Secondary School For Law View Rentals Public 2 0.9 mi Brooklyn School For Global Studies View Rentals Public 3 1.1 mi Private Schools Al-noor School View Rentals Private - 0.4 mi Al-madinah School View Rentals Private - 0.6 mi St. Saviour High School View Rentals Catholic - 1.1 mi Bishop Ford Central Catholic High School View Rentals Catholic - 1.2 mi Mary Mcdowell Center For Learning View Rentals Private - 1.3 mi -
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This property is no longer active on Trulia. Luckily, we have tons of available rentals nearby!


text: Kendall Jenner is best known for being on Keeping Up with the Kardashians. These days, though, Kendall is trying to make her better known for walking down the runway. In an effort to distance herself from her famous family, the aspiring model has even gone as far as to drop the Jenner from her name…. Read more »


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Product Description
Available while supplies last.
This mistress to Louis XV of France lies bathed in silken bed clothes, the light from an open window showcasing both her exquisite beauty and Boucher's skillful eye. Perhaps the most celebrated decorative artist of the 18th century, this French Rococo painter was known for his idyllic and voluptuous paintings and illustrious portraits. The authentic stretched canvas replica painting captures the original work's texture, depth of color, and even its subtle brushstrokes, which are applied by hand. With bas-relief organic styling, the multi-tiered, replica European style frame is cast in quality designer resin and highlighted with an aged gold-toned finish.
- Authentic stretched canvas
- Hand applied brushstrokes
- Hand cut frame
Listing: | Quick Ship | |
Application | Residential | |
Number of Pieces | 1 | |
Framed Art Subject | Portrait | |
Application | Indoor |
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Style | Traditional - 143 |
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Gift Guide For 1-Year-Olds
20 Great Gift Ideas For 1-Year-Olds
by Lisa Horten
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20 Great Gift Ideas For 1-Year-Olds
Whether it comes in the form of crawling, scooting, or taking those first few steps, one thing's for certain — 1-year-olds are active little people! That's why it's important to provide them with toys that will satisfy their desire to explore the world around them and provide plenty of action. Check out our favorite picks, from push-along toys and blocks to shape sorters and more, for your baby's first holidays.
11 weeks
hands down THE BEST gift for 1 yr olds and MOMS is Spacey Anti-Spill Toddler Bowl. This is like my dream come true when cleaning up after my little rugrat. i got it off jiver http://jiver.com/gift/spacey-a...
2 years
If you upload your child's photograph to "My Custom Kids Books" , you can get a professionally printed book starring them! Fun and educational stories. Your child's face is put on a bunch of different adorable characters, the stories are rhyming and adventurous. Great gift idea!
Link Love
- 11 photos that show birth is beautiful, no matter which method you choose — HuffPost Parents
- Michelle Williams on being a single mom in show business: I'm exhausted! — People Moms & Babies
- If babies used Pinterest — BabyCenter Blog
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People | 6 |
Bedrooms | 3 |
Bathrooms | 3 |
Property type | villa |
Minimum Stay | 3 - 7 nights |
Sea at first sight. Mar de Pulpi is an extraordinary beach front villa located in San Juan de los Terreros, Almeria. The complex is located directly on a beautiful sandy beach with only a walking and biking path in between to encourage the morning exercise routine. History buffs will be intrigued by the castle constructed in 1764 located a short distance from the complex. The pool and jacuzzi are only steps away, sure to be refreshing under the warm sun that shines 300 days a year. Unobstructed views as you are enjoying your morning coffee from the Spanish tiled patio will encourage all who venture to visit this outstanding location to return on a regular basis. The villa has 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms with a double on the main floor. The roof-top solarium provides not only a breathtaking view of the ocean but also a cooling shower after an invigorating afternoon of reading and relaxing. There is also a stone BBQ for that mid day or evening meal.
We are a Canadian family that loves to travel. This will be our 10th condo...my husband tells me its time to stop!
Peggy Yelland purchased this villa in 2011
Oceanfront in Spain only 10 minutes from a castle and a hop to numerous towns and historical sites. We lack history in Canada and now I am completely surrounded by it.
Location and amenities are right on site. Tennis, paddle ball, soccer and basketball courts, outdoor fitness, restaurant, playground, and the complex keeps on growing
We spent a week in that fantastic luxury apartment in December. It was clean and well decorated. It corresponded exactly to what we saw in the website. All furnitures seem new. There were more amenities than one can imagine and in excellent condition.
We spent a fantastic week.
Hi I had the benefit if renting this compact 3 bedroom condo . It has all the comforts you need and a winding staircase to the 2nd story for the second bedroom full bath and balcony
The main is as I say compact and had all the necessities to make your stay pleasant has a view of the water and morning sun .
All in all a great price and marketed for its location, space and amenities
A thumbs up
What was exceptional was the owner Peggy's constant contact and helped with every concern!!!!!! Always available !!
Our stay at Mar de Pulpi was great. The property is practically new and the commercial center next door is nice. The weather, the beach in front and specially the beach bar on the water were very convenient. There are many secluded beaches in the area, however, the beach in front was OK with us. Hello to Peter the barman who was very friendly and helpful in many ways. Travel from Malaga, Granada to Cartagena was very easy-many good empty roads. If you like privacy and absence of holiday crowds-warm sea and weather, September is the time to go...
We had a fantastic holiday. The house is very well equipped and incredibly comfortable. The views are incredible and San Juan de Los Terreros is a beautiful part of Spain with amazing beaches and very good restaurants which are such good value. I would highly recommend this holiday home.
The property is gorgeous as is the resort itself. You're looking at the Mediterranean not at another unit. The beach is very nice and clean with a great little beach bar/restaurant with fresh fish right on the beach. The village is convenient with some very nice restaurants. There is a beautiful golf course just a few minutes away. The Villa is very nice Mediterranean style, with a great kitchen and the upstairs patio is a perfect place for evening tapas or sunbathing. We absolutely loved our stay!
Здравствуйте, мы итало-русская семья, живущяя в Великобритании, поэтому и отзыв я оставлю на трёх языках. Огромное спасибо Пегги за прекрасное состояние виллы. Мы провели 2 незабываемые недели на этой вилле. Вилла оснащена всем необходимым для проживания. Хорошая и удобная мебель, удобные матрасы, что на отдыхе тоже играет не последнюю роль. Большая коллекция ДВД, книг и настольных игр. Абсолютно потрясающий вид на море. Замечательный бассейн с джакузи. В 10-ти минутах езды, в супермаркете «Меркадона» свежая рыба, вина, фрукты и овощи по очень низким ценам. Мы безумно довольны нашим отпуском и надеемся, что ещё раз воспользуемся гостеприимством Пегги.
Hello, we are an Italian-Russian family living in the UK. Therefore, I will leave a review in three languages. Many thanks to Peggy for the excellent state of the villa. We spent two unforgettable weeks in this villa . The villa is equipped with everything necessary for living. Nice and comfortable furniture, comfortable mattresses that rest also plays a role. A large collection of DVDs, books and board games. Absolutely amaizing views of the sea. Wonderful swimming pool with Jacuzzi. In a 10-minute drive in the supermarket "Mercadona" fresh fish, wine, fruit and vegetables at very low prices. We are incredibly happy with our holiday and we hope that once again we will use the hospitality of Peggy.
Ciao, siamo una italo-russa famiglia che vive nel Regno Unito.Molte grazie a Peggy per l'ottimo stato della villa. Abbiamo trascorso due settimane indimenticabili in questa villa. La villa è dotata di tutto il necessario per vivere. I mobili sono belli e confortevole, e i materassi sono molto comodi . Una grande raccolta di DVD, libri e giochi da tavolo. Assolutamente spettacolare vista sul mare. Splendida piscina con jacuzzi. In 10 minuti di auto dal supermercato "Mercadona" ci po comprare pesce fresco, vino, frutta e verdura a prezzi molto bassi.. Siamo incredibilmente soddisfatti della nostra vacanza e ci auguriamo che ancora una volta usiamo l'ospitalità di Peggy.
Family Platania.
San Juan de los Terreros is located near the border of Murcia and Andalucia. The beach is famous in this area since it shelves gently making it safer for families then most beaches on the cost. This vacation rental villa is situated less than one hour from the airport in Almeria. San Juan de los Terreros is located only 8 km from the busy fishing port of Aguilas and just 12 km from Pulpi, the capital of the municipality to which it belongs.
History buffs will be intrigued by the castle constructed in 1764 located a short distance from the complex. The walk up to the castle is worth the effort since it provides splendid views up the coast as far as Cape Cope and down the coast to the Castle of Roldan in Carboneras. Just out to sea lies the two islands of Negra and de Terreros, parkland.
The sharp jagged peaks of the mountains behind frame the skyline and if you are tempted to climb them you will be rewarded with lovely views of Huecal Overa and miles of lovely coastline.
Rental Period | Minimum Price | Additional Nights | Weekend Night | Weekly | Monthly * | Event Price | |||
4 Jan 2015 -
31 Mar 2015
3 night minimum stay
for 3 nights
Notes: Rates are based on 4 guests; add €5 per night, per additional guest | |||||||||
Spring/Early Summer
1 Apr 2015 -
15 Jun 2015
3 night minimum stay
for 3 nights
Notes: Rates are based on 4 guests; add €5 per night, per additional guest | |||||||||
16 Jun 2015 -
15 Sep 2015
7 night minimum stay
for 7 nights
Notes: Rates are based on 4 guests; add €10 per night, per additional guest | |||||||||
My Standard Rate
3 night minimum stay
for 3 nights
Notes: Rates are based on 4 guests; add €5 per night, per additional guest |
Cleaning | €100 |
Notes |
*Rates are quoted in euros and based on a maximum of 4 persons for nightly and weekly stays
*Monthly rates are based on 2 person occupancy. €250 euros PP per month extra for 4 person * €50 per person per week up to 6 people maximum * Security deposit of €300 paid to manager upon arrival (fully refundable) * €100 euro cleaning included in summer rentals only * Deposit of 50% is due within two day |
* Approximate monthly price. Actual pricing will depend on the days of the month you stay.
Please Note: The owner of this property accepts payment in the original currency specified (EUR), before use of conversion tool. The conversion tool is provided for your convenience only. The owner may accept other currencies if specifically agreed in advance.
Learn more about this vacation rental at the manager's website:


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wanted: anything that will survive in small water garden in az
TamTrible(9)October 7, 2013
I have a small water garden (about 17" across and 15" tall) that's in a shady spot in Phoenix. Everything dies there, except for one little local-adapted bog plant (Anemopsis californica, or Yerba Mansa) that keeps throwing off babies.
I will trade babies of my Yerba Mansa for anything that has a snowball's chance of surviving in shaded, alkaline, somewhat salty, and occasionally somewhat too warm water. I also have some I'itoi onions (a local-adapted bunching onion) and assorted garden seeds (of varying vintage) that I'd be willing to trade.
This post was edited by TamTrible on Mon, Oct 7, 13 at 4:00


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Slow Cooker Recipes 38
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Looks fabulous. Making this tomorrow.
Looks good-how do I get the recipe?
Here is the link to the recipe: http://aggieskitchen.com/2009/09/30/slow-cooker-beef-bourguignonne-and-simply-mashed-yukon-golds-and-another-giveaway/. :)
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text: Her name was Maria, and she was born April 2, 1602 in the town of Agreda, in Castile. She is said to have been a very beautiful woman, and a very devout one from childhood. She supposedly took a vow of chas- tity at the age of eight. In 1618 her parents converted their home to a convent and took vows as monk and nun. The next year Maria took holy orders as a nun of the Poor Clare order at the convent in Agreda. The habit of the Poor Clares, at the time, was blue. The Poor Clares were a cloistered order, never leaving the convent. She took the name of Maria de Jesus, to which was appended 'de Agreda' to identify her birthplace. Sister Maria was a mystic and a writer, and her works which still survive include books called The Mystical City Of God and Divine History Of The Virgin Mother Of God. Both books were written from repeated visions the abbess had. She died in Agreda on May 24, 1665, at the age of 63. Thus far we have seen the life of a not-particularly remarkable Spanish nun. Now, give a listen to Father Damian Massanet, as he writes to Don Carlos de Siguenza y Gongora, a high-ranking Spanish official in Mexico, in 1690. "While we were at the Tejas village, after we had distributed clothing to the Indians and to the governor of the Tejas, the said governor asked me one evening for a piece of blue baize to make a shroud in which to bury his mother when she died. I told him that cloth would be more suitable, and he answered that he did not want any color other than blue. I then asked him what mystery was attached to the blue color, and he said that they were very fond of that color, especially for burial clothes, because in times past they had been visited frequently by a very beautiful woman, who used to come down from the heights, dressed in blue garments, and that they wished to be like that woman. On my asking whether this had been a long time since, the governor said it had been before his time, but his mother, who was aged, had seen the woman, as had also the other old people." Father Massanet went on to say that this was certainly the Reverend Mother Maria de Jesus de Agreda, whose story was already well known. It seems that the visions that went into the books weren't the only ones Sister Maria had. Between 1620 and 1631, Sister Maria regularly went into what seems to be cataleptic trances, after which she described a strange dream in which she was carried to a strange and wild land, where she taught the gospel to strange and wild people. Between 1621 and 1629 numerous missionaries in east and west Texas and into New Mexico reported encountering Indians who had apparently never before been contacted by Spaniards or Frenchmen, who spoke no Spanish or French, who carried crosses, knew Roman Catholic ritual, maintained recognizable altars in their villages, and knew Catholic liturgy—in their own tongues. When the Spaniards asked how they had learned these things, they described a beautiful young woman in blue who had been coming among them for years, teaching them the new religion in their own languages, who told them to welcome the white skinned Christians who would eventually come to see them. But who was this mysterious woman in blue? "She came down from the heights to us, she taught us the new religion, she stayed among us for a time, she told us you would come and to make you welcome, and then she went away. That's all we know." And that's all the Spanish could get from them. Fray Alonzo de Benavides, father-custodian of New Mexico—which at that time included most of the American southwest including Texas and California—determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. The mysterious woman was dressed in blue. The nuns of the Poor Clare order wore blue. He found a painting of a Poor Clare nun and showed it to some of the Indians who claimed to have seen the mystery woman face to face. "Is this your woman in blue?" he asked. No, it wasn't. The dress was right, but the woman in the picture was older and somewhat fat. Their woman in blue was young and very beautiful. At least Father Benavides was on the right trail. If the Indians were telling the truth, the 'woman in blue' was a Poor Clare nun. The trouble was, Poor Clares were cloistered nuns—from the day they took their vows to the day they were laid out for burial, they almost never left their convents. Was there perhaps a renegade Poor Clare who had somehow made her way to New Spain, who was wandering for thousands of leagues across unexplored country—from the forests of east Texas to the valley of the Rio Grande in what is now New Mexico—crossing uncharted rivers, traveling unescorted through territory claimed by extremely warlike tribes, learning complicated languages at the snap of a finger, and teaching Christianity to widely scattered tribes of Indians? Father Benavides began writing letters to fellow priests in Spain. The letters said, in effect, "Fellers, there's something almighty strange going on here. There's apparently a Poor Clare nun who's wandering all over this country, teaching Christianity to a whole collection of unrelated Indian tribes in their own languages. See if you can find out anything about this and tell me what's going on." It apparently didn't take too long. Somebody went to the convent in Agreda and asked the right question, which went something like "Does anybody here know anything about a Sister who's in New Spain teaching Indian Christianity?" The Mother Superior, Sister Maria, said "Yes. I'm the one." "But Mother Superior," they objected, "you've never been out of Castile. You haven't even been outside the walls of your own convent since you took your vows." "Not in body," she said, "but in spirit." She apparently also told them enough that a letter went back to New Spain, to Father Benavides, saying "You better come over her and talk to this woman, because there is decidedly something very strange going on." In 1631 Father Benavides went to the Poor Clare convent in Agreda and met, at long last, the lady in blue. Father Alonzo de Benavides come back to New Spain convinced. Sister Maria de Jesus had to be the mysterious Poor Clare. At the age of 29 she was a remarkable beauty, just as the Indians had described her. She gave him detailed descriptions of the clothing and customs of the tribes she taught—which she, as a cloistered nun, could not have know about because they either had never been written down or had only recently been observed and recorded. She gave him names of tribes and of specific individuals in tribes that he either knew or later found to be accurate. Sister Maria had definitely been to New Spain and had done what she claimed—of that he had no doubt. She had also never, since taking her vows in 1619, set physical foot outside the walls of the Poor Clare convent in Agreda. There are people today who call this sort of thing 'bilocation' or 'astral projection'. They work at it with symbols and wands and religions from obscure places. Some even claim to be able to do it. I don't think Sister Maria would have found much kinship with those folks, nor would she have had such fancy names for what she did. If she'd been asked what she called what she did, she likely would have replied in the same vein as the reply she gave Father Benavides when he asked her where she learned to speak all the Indian languages. "I didn't," she said. "I simply spoke to them—and God let us understand one another"