I was underdressed for the Astor's dining room, and I knew it. Prim and proper be damned, I was hungry, thirsty, and frustrated beyond belief.

You'd think it wouldn't be that hard to find a job, any job really, in a town like New York. Yet he world seemed determined to keep me tracking down bounties. 

At least my knife moving through fine steak was a bit of catharsis for a day traipsing between government workers, day-laborers, and factory foremen. Catharsis interrupted by a rather loud argument breaking out between a man and woman, both dressed in finery that was ostentatious even in the dining room of a place with the reputation of the Astor. 

I did my best to ignore it, only picking up pieces as they carried over the air. 

Something about a betrayal of the woman's trust on the man's part, and his refutation of it. 

His accusations of impropriety and general embarrassment at what it will do to the family something or other. Even being forced to half listen by their volume, it sounded to me like he was more concerned about the later than the former. I took a long drink from my wine glass as restaurant staff approached the table with what looked to the corner of my eye as genuine fear.

I managed to force the rest of the confrontation out of my senses for a few minutes, blocking out that table in my mind. That is, until I heard the sharp sound of a slap. I sighed.

"Oh boy."

Sibilant hissing so loud it threatened to draw blood from my eardrums, undercut by the sound of grinding stone and distant bloody screams. Horse hooves, whoops and hollers, followed by gunshots and the thrum of bowstrings. The chest-rumbling pop of my great grandfather's musket, fired by my father as he shouts in defiance. Brothers, sisters, and mother all shouting and screaming as a thunder-like sound seemed to herald the earth cracking, splitting as if struck by the weapon of a god of war, and heaving as it attempted to swallow us all. 

A carnival of sounds that had arisen in my mind like literal demons against me every time I tried to sleep for the past fifteen years.

I didn't sleep because of it when I could help it. That's what made my current condition so odd. Eyes closed and lying down on an uncomfortable bed is not a feeling I have regularly. When I did sleep I preferred to sleep sitting up, in any case.

I tried to pry my eyes open but found that they refused to respond. Curious. 

A bit more concentrated effort and the lids shot open so fast I felt like they were going to crack like a lion tamers whip, but was spared the sting that would have caused.

Above me, I found the rotting slats holding up the stained, run-down mattress of an upper bunk bed. Not a great start. 

Suddenly aware of bone-deep soreness radiating from every inch of myself, I slowly but surely sat myself up, letting out a groan as I slid my legs to the floor. A hard stone floor. One barred window letting in a beam of gold-amber light. On the other side of a stone room was a large door made of metal bars. 

"Well, I'm still clothed," I mumbled to myself, taking stock. "Still got my boots to...Not too bad. Gunbelt's gone, no surprise there... I seem to have wound up incarcerated."

"How astute of you, Mr. Gelt." A voice from outside of the bars stated in a hard, gravelly voice. "Welcome to a New York jail cell." 

''Why thank you, kind sir. Would you happen to know when breakfast will be served?" 

"At about 9 o'clock, a wonderful spread will be set out for guests to join at their leisure. Steak, eggs, bacon. All the fixings." He rumbled back, no change of intonation.

"Sounds wonderful. Oh, would you kindly open up this confounded door? I wish to partake." I said, faining a yawn and stretching. Once this guy leaves I can just stoke up the winds of magic, part the bars, form them back up behind me, and hopefully, no one would be the wiser. "And I seem to have misplaced my room key."

"I'm quite sorry sir, that's not a service we provide." The voice returned with the barest touch of mirth to it. In the shadowed corner the voice was coming from, I heard a match light and saw a pinprick of light appear before it became two, the second light a more reddish orange, then the first moved rapidly and disappeared. "Do you know why you're here, Mr. Gelt?"

"Straight to business then." I started to rub at my eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra cig-

"This is important, I don't have much time." He cut me off with much more urgency than he had started with. "Think very hard, what did you do to end up in a jail cell awaiting the rope?"

"Wha-, I-, I don't-" His sentence fully sank in, throwing me off.  "I'm sorry, did you mean to imply I'm going to hang?"

"I did, now I can't help you until you help me. Answer the question. What happened last night?"

"I..." It should be a simple question, right? What happened last night? "I came back to the Astor after talking to a few firms in the city. Need a place to keep my trunk while I look for a job. Night came around, I came back, and went to dinner." 

"Anything out of the ordinary?" His tone now suggested that the question wasn't curious about my day, but was looking for something specific.

"No, I don't think so... I spent some time at the bar, before sitting down to order and...."

"And what?" 

"I... I don't know, nothing else comes after..." I tried to rack my mind. I had to know, it was only the previous day. Did someone club me over the head? The man outside the cell grunted like I had told him something that he already knew. "I've got some vague images after that, but they're hazy."

"I thought so." 

"'Thought so'? What's that supposed to mean?"

Somewhere else in the jail, a loud banging thundered out. I imagine the cell door in front of me made a similar door when it opened. I could hear the man shuffle in response, but couldn't quite interpret what he was doing. The light of the cigarette moved a little but stayed mostly in place.

"We're out of time." His statement was punctuated by the ruffling of fabric. "Here, take this."'

A faint metallic ring, followed by a glint of something with a silver shine passing through the beam of light shining from the cell window, then bouncing across the floor like a dropped coin. 

I stood up from the bed and went to retrieve the object from where it had rolled. It was a coin; silver and densely engraved with lettering across its whole surface. The winds whispered that it was pure silver, but I couldn't identify the symbology on it.

"What is this?" I asked, still looking at the coin. "I can't tell, what's the language this is printed in-" 

"What exactly it is, doesn't matter. Just keep it on you at any cost, even if you have to swallow it in front of the guards. And whatever you do, don't try to magic your way out of this. If you do, you'll be hunted down and won't make it to a jail cell next time. I think we can help you out." 

"Who is 'we'? And what do you mean you think you can help? I don't even know who you are, and you're not exactly filling me with confidence." He did not answer immediately, nor attempt to quiet my inquiry. "Hello?"

The cigarette's light had seemingly gone out, and I couldn't hear any sound that would betray a man standing in the shadows. I was alone, left to ponder the weight of what I had just been told.

I'm to hang? What on God's green earth for? I'm fairly certain I'd remember committing a crime that required the rope and would have been slightly more concerned about the possibility.

I suppose I'd made some enemies over time, came with the territory of some of the work I'd done while trying to make ends meet. Most people don't take kindly to them and theirs catching a bullet, even if the one doing the catching had deserved it, legally speaking. If I was the introspective type, I might have contemplated the feeling I had now, and what it meant for those who had spoken with conviction that they'd done nothing wrong.

Before I could have any sort of revelation, I was interrupted by an officer in blue coming into the space outside the cell with purpose, followed by a man in a priest's stole and a dozen symbols of the new world denominations wrought in metal hanging from his neck. 

"Alright, convict, it's time for your last rights." The officer said without preamble or care. He didn't even look into the cell, instead staring at the cracks in the brickwork.  "Father O'Sullivan, feel free to do your work. Just say something if he gets too handsy. Or if he's too rude for your liking." 

"Oh, I'm sure it will be fine, son." The priest said in a light brogue, with a knowing smile. 

"Whatever you say Father, just keep in mind he's admitted to the killing of one of the Shepard's. Who knows what else he's willing to do if he's done one of them in."

The priest paid him no heed, stepped close to the bars, and pulled a leather-bound tome from within his robes. As he opened it, the officer grabbed a stool from somewhere and placed it so the priest could sit a bit more comfortably.

"Please, my son, come closer-" He said, sagacity plain in every aspect from his voice to the way he set his shoulders. I obliged, crouching down next to him.

"Father, I warned you-" The officer said, going for blackjack on his belt.

"I know what you warned me off, Officer. I also know that this man poses no threat to me." The priest only slightly turned his head towards the officer as he responded, before leaning closer to the bars. "Now, young man, do you have faith?" 

"I, uh...I suppose I don't, really." I said, a little sheepish when confronted by what looked like an earnest man of the cloth. 

"That is quite alright." He looked down at the book in his lap. Each page was ornately inscribed and gilt edged. "Now, do you have anything that you wish to discuss with me. Concerns about your immortal soul? About the afterlife? Confessions of your crimes?" 

"I didn't do it, father." I said, stone serious. There was no desperation in my voice, just me trying to impart the truth of my words on him. Maybe if I could somehow convince the priest, I can get god and his myriad faces on my side. "I don't know what's going on here, but I haven't killed anyone." 

"I know, son." He said, with no hint of disbelief. My posture must have changed, as the officer looked my way with fire in his eyes and dropped a hand to the blackjack again, but he didn't make a move towards me.

"You know?" Ignoring the officer's aggression, I pressed the holy father. This was maybe my only chance to get some answers. His eyes took on a hint of sadness, instead.

"I am quite observant, and see many things in my travels. Things that include what you got yourself into last night, though I know it was simply because you acted selflessly.'

"But what did I get myself into last night? Father, I have no idea!"

"I know that as well." His response was matter of fact.

"What-"

"But there is nothing that can be done about it. Nothing in my control."

"Then I'm still just as fucked as I was before..." I finally slumped back, sitting fully on the floor.

"Don't lose hope, my son. It is rarely ever completely gone ." He reassured me, but I barely heard him. I needed some sort of plan. Something better than walking to the rope without a complaint. Unfortunately, the best thing I had at the moment was to listen to the shadowed man who'd thrown me the coin. Something was wrong about the whole situation, and his warning rang true.

"Well father, completely gone or not, it doesn't seem like I've got any in my hand right now."

I was hauled out of the cell without preamble, and father O'sullivan was gone before I was even outside of the bars. 

Two other officers came in, joining the first, each one seizing one of my arms.  

"Ready to go, convict?" The first officer asked without asking, a wicked smile playing across his face. I opened my mouth to give a response, but his blackjack struck me across the face the moment I did. Too preoccupied with checking to see if any of my teeth had been knocked loose to do anything, they hauled me off with surprising strength.

I was too deep in thought to make any noise, other than the sound of leather on stone coming from the tips of my boots dragging across the floor. Should I listen to the man from outside my cell? I couldn't really think of any reason that he would lie to me. What sort of gain would that get him?

"There are few things I enjoy than a public hanging!" The lead officer exclaimed to no one in particular. He was walking ahead of my two companions and I, and had quite the taste for his own voice. "But yours is something special, I do say." 

"Why's that?" I couldn't help but ask. He twisted around, walking backwards to look at me as he spoke.

"Because you're the rare chance to see a truly horrendous societal example hang like an apple from a branch. I only wish my superiors had signed off on a more painful way to take care of the murderer of one of the Shepards. " 

"Am I supposed to know that name? You keep saying it like it's a given." 

I truly tried to rack my brain again, attempting to find even an image of myself pulling the trigger on someone recently and still came up blank. Last person I could think of that bore that name was my childhood neighbor, and he died long ago with everyone else.

"A little late to be trying to lie your way out of this. I know you're about to hang, but..." With a draw I found rather impressive, he pulled the blackjack from his belt and smashed it against my skull. My vision went starry, and I only remained upright due to the grip of the officers dragging me. "Don't try to play me for a fool." 

"I don't really have to try."

The next strike blew out my candles.

When I regained my faculties, I was in the back of some sort of prison transport. Completely enclosed in metal plating, with a heavy duty door built into the rear wall. The only way I could see outside would have been the currently closed metal slat in that door. The only thing I could focus on was the coin the man had thrown into my cell. I used the cool sensation it left on my palm as a focal point. My words were muddled as I tried to get my unruly thoughts in order after the beating.

"What in the world is your-." A sudden sense of nausea stole my words for a moment. Can't say I'm a fan of concussions. "-is your problem? 

"I don't enjoy mouthy prisoners." The lead officer sat directly across from me on the bench, the other two still flanking me but far enough apart that I could lay down between them. I don't blame them, I drool.

"No kidding...You never answered my question."

"Hm?"

''That name you kept saying as if it was gilded. Shepard. Who are they?" 

''What, you really don't know?" 

"I have no idea." 

His expression changed, that cruel smile on his face getting sharper for a moment before disappearing into a frown. He seemed to appraise me, attempting to see if I was trying to play him for some kind of fool he wasn't already. I wasn't sure how long he looked at me like that, still trying to pull my thoughts back together as I was, but the time I felt it took would have been enough to ride clean out of New York and into the New England countryside, never to be seen again. 

"The Shepard's are the best thing to happen to this city since the revolution. They're kind, generous people, who have done nothing but fill-...fillo- filll-"

"Philanthropize?" I offered.

He kicked me in the stomach, doubling me over and setting my efforts to sit up back to zero.

"That's the word. They've done nothing but attempt to make our lives better. They put in the cities plumbing, repaved the roads. They even spent a large fortune renovating houses in the poorer parts of the city." His eyes narrowed again, that cruel smile falling back into place. "And you murdered one, right on the eave of them leaving town to head out west to tame that whole savage land. Thank God you murdering one of their family hasn't darkened their hearts."

All that sounded like he was giving a speech he had practiced in the mirror that morning.

Had I murdered anyone, and if I believed in people with the sort of influence being described being truly philanthropic individuals, I probably would have felt at least a little bit bad about the death of the person in question, whoever they are. Luckily, I maintained a healthy feeling of skepticism on the topic.

As I thought on the murder that I apparently committed a particular sound started to filter it's way through the seams of the metals walls around us. The sound of a crowd, cheering and shouting. I couldn't make out any particular message or sentiment, but it sure as hell was getting louder.

Just as the roar of the crowd reached what I thought was a crescendo, the armored wagon trundled to a halt and whoever was driving banged on the roof.

"Well, well, well, looks like you're out of time." My main tormentor started, standing to his full height and opening the rear door. "I can't wait to tell my kids about this day. Do you think that I can convince the photographer to get me a photo just for me?"

Once the door swung all the way open, the yelling out there became a thunderous roar as it echoed off of steel walls. Hands tied by leather cord as they were, I couldn't cover my ears in any meaning full way. My guards decided to help me with that, hauling me towards the door and tossing me to the dirt road bellow. 

The impact rattled my skull and caked half my body in mud. Already having been struck a few times that day, I barely felt it. Probably a bad sign. Picking myself up, I came face to face with a crowd filling the space before me, baying for blood. Every open space in this spot of central park howling for my throat to be in a noose. 

The two guards dragged me to my feet and forced me forwards.

Looking around, I found every space that wasn't the path we were on filled with people. At least half the crowd were in worn workwear, stained with dust, mud, paint, or some combination of the three mixed at random with other unidentifiable materials. Some looked as if they'd walked off the job to come here. The other almost-half dressed the same, but must have had the time to change clothes.

Given how some looked close to literally foaming at the mouth, I assumed some of them had done exactly that.

A smaller number, though more of the first group than the second, were the whitecollar and those that looked wealthy in my eyes. 

The whitecollar, a speckling of store owners, clerks, and maybe a handful of small bureaucrats judging from the aprons, suits, and spectacles I occasionally saw make an appearance as the crowd around me writhed. As we walked, I saw one of the foreman I had interviewed the other day throw some sort of rock or rotting vegetable that sailed right over me and struck someone in the other side of the crowd. If they weren't focused on me, this is exactly the sort of crowd I'd expect to break out into a riot.

Farther back, I noticed some grandstands had been constructed. After wondering if they had set them up just for me, or if there had been a baseball game the previous night that they were simply taking advantage of, I couldn't decide which answer I preferred. 

There I saw more affluent looking individuals. All fine suits and neckties, the glint of gold rings and necklaces. One silk clad lady had a diamond so large I could see it plain as day even from The stands were much more reserved than the crowd. A few made standing speeches to the crowd around them, but no one paid any heed from what I could see. 

A few tracked my journey to the wooden structure at the end of the dirt path we were on, but most were speaking closely with one another, heads bowed to hear each other over the shouting. In the center of the benches, empty seats isolating them from the other affluent society members and making the black mourning clothing stand out even further, I saw those who I could only assume were the family of the person I was accused of killing.

There were nearly a dozen of them, dressed finely even while all in black. Each of their heads tracked me with the same intensity, the image all those heads following me in unison made me shiver. 

The emotions playing across their faces were subtle, but wrong. No sadness, or tears from a single one of them. A bit of anger from a few youngers, but only just. From the distance over the crowd's heads, it seemed more like annoyance. One lady sitting at the top right had a smile I could only describe as sadistic, while another seemed to stare right through me as his head followed my journey, but most were stone faced. 

I only realized how much of my attention had been dedicated to my appraisal of the assumed Shepard family when my vision was wrenched away, and pain bloomed on my cheek.

I stumbled back, nearly toppling down into the mud we had been tromping through before pulling my feet back under myself. In the path to the gallows stood a man in plain clothes, fists raised above his head and shouting to the crowd, which roared back in excitement. 

Seeing I was still standing, the man approached again.

"Well, is anyone going to stop him?" I asked, looking over my shoulders at the flanking guards. The grinned at me, but made no move. His punch lacked any sort of form, backed only by the energy he'd picked up from the crowd. The kind of strike you make at a barroom on a rowdy night, and regret the next morning as you spit out the remains of your teeth amidst a pounding headache. 

As much as I'd have loved to give him that lesson, duck in and place a fist right into his jaw, I thought it prudent not to incense the crowd any further. All I could do was pull my head back, let his fist pass right by head with a near graze. He threw a few more punches, each avoided the same way as the first, before he tripped and fell into the mud. Exhausted, the officers had to hoist him up over barrier and hand him to the crowd. 

Despite the new pain in my face, I was left with the truth that it was a pleasant distraction from the resumption of the journey to the gallows.

It didn't take long to arrive at the foot of the gallows stairs. I spent the remainder of the journey scanning the crowd, trying to find any trace of what was supposed to happen with the coin that was still clamped in my hand, despite it all. I was unsatisfied with my appraisal when we arrived at the top.

Despite my second-guessing, there was nothing to be done as the officers pushed me up the stairs. 

At the top, I saw my end. Swinging in the cool midmorning breeze. On the far side of the platform, a heavy-set man in a black hood stood with his arms crossed as if this whole presentation was interrupting his morning.  

From the gallows' platform, I could see the crowd in its entirety. The unwashed mass standing below, staring up with hateful eyes. At least a thousand had turned out to see me at the end of a rope. Impressively, the lust for my death had brought a few faeries, at least one ruby-eyed vampire that I could see, and a couple more rare Peoples that I couldn't identify. A victory for racial relations everywhere.

The grandstands had maybe one hundred occupants if I was really counting. Though I will say that I was far more preoccupied with trying to see any sort of thread to the coin-giving-man's supposed plan.

Something, anything at all to indicate I wasn't being hung out to dry in the cruelest way I could think of. I looked for masked men moving through the crowd. Any subtle movement of the lorewinds around me that would indicate a spell being woven over the park. Maybe some kind of judge arriving at the far side of the crowd to finally reestablish proper law. 

I would remain disappointed. 

When the man in the black hood stepped toward me, I realized that I should have admitted to myself that I had been fooled far sooner than that moment. I might have been able to do something about it then. Even if the man who had spoken to me outside my cell had intended to help, he had convinced me and in turn I convinced myself that he had something that could get me out of here. Now I was here on the trap door, surrounded by civilians who were out for blood and more than two dozen officers who all seemed to more than welcome my hanging.

My hands started to tremor and I squeezed down on the coin I still held, now overly tight, in the same hand it had somehow managed to remain. I thought it may be digging into the flesh of my palm, drawing a drop or two of blood, but steady the tremors it did.

The man in the hood used my shoulder to center me on the trapdoor of the gallows, before grabbing the noose in his hands and turning towards another figure that had made their way onto the gallows platform after me. Another officer, but this one dressed more ornately, had their back to me, looking over the crowd. Her hair was done up in a way that befit an officer of standing, and the revolver at her hip engraved in gold and ivory. She pulled two things from within her coat, I couldn't see what from my position, but she unrolled it and started reading aloud while holding the other object up towards her mouth.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" The voice she spoke in was confident, but rough with age and cigarette smoke. The crowd ceased its raging as she spoke, but still whispered amongst each other under the magically enhanced volume of her proclamation. ''Today we stand here to see justice done in our fair city. While I'm not a fan of such expedient justice, it has been deemed necessary. I shall read the official charges before we carry out his sentencing." 

The crowd roared again as she unfurled what she had drawn from her coat like they hadn't known exactly what my crimes were before showing up en mass to see me choke.

"The accused, Rudolph Ulysses Gelt-" She had to wait for a chorus of boos to run their course. "-has been tried and found guilty of public disturbance, assaulting an officer of the law, fleeing from the law, public damages, emotional damage to the people of New York City-" 

With each bullet point, the crowd regained some of its fervor until they were back to nearly frothing at the mouth once again. I think I spotted a cadre of peltchangers out there, as they took to frothing rather literally.

Seems like my missing benefactor left a few details out about what exactly I was accused of. Or the list expanded in the time between my cell and here. If they were able to get me on that gallows in a day and remove my memory of the previous night, I suppose anything was possible for these 'Shepards'.

"-and the capital crime of murder." She looked back at me a moment, the faintest hint of regret in her eyes. "The sentence is to be hanged by the neck until dead."

Even though I knew, having been told in the cell and had held it over my own head the whole way to the platform, those words still turned my blood to ice. In that same moment, it boiled. I froze in place as the two feelings warred inside of me. 

Fear of what came next and rage at this other and final thing being stolen away from me. Suppose I should have guessed that whatever primordial entity I had pissed off in a previous life wouldn't just let me walk away at any point. One last tax to pay, like it or not. 

"Before we commence, the condemned will have a chance for final remarks." The woman turned away from the crowd and crossed the gallows boards towards me. My throat locked up at the prospect of last words. When she was next to me, she lowered her voice until it was just above the sound of the crowd. Like her eyes, it held that same feeling of being forced to put on a show. "Well young man now is the time. Do you want your last words broadcast to the crowd or simply taken down for posterity?"

All I could do was shake my head no. She put the small metal object she had been speaking into back into her breast pocket.

"Anything you'd like to say?" She asked. Her dark skin was creased with lines on her face.

"I... I don't suppose it would do me any good, but... I'm innocent." I said with a choked laugh and as wry a smile I could manage. "I haven't done any of those things on that list, at least not that I could remember..."

She said nothing but nodded her head.

"I, uh... I have a baby sister at a boarding school in Maine, Saint Helena's is the place. Her names Claudia. I send money to her every month... I hate to ask, but can you go to the hotel room I was staying in and look through my travel chest to find a lock box engraved with silver and a letter with her name on it? Send both to her as quickly as you can, and there should be enough to get her through the last of her schooling..."

"I can do that." 

"Oh, and my horse. I was keeping him at that stable on the west end-" 

"Your horse is already in our care. Confiscated when you fled the scene from what I'm told." 

"I... I see."

A pregnant pause passed between us. I had nothing else to say, and she knew that. She said nothing either, simply nodding to me and then giving another nod over my shoulder. Suddenly, my vision was completely blocked by white fabric as a bag was placed over my head. 

Instantly, the crowd threw itself into greater heights, vibrating the platform I was on with their shouts. I didn't know what to expect. Maybe some sort of final statement from the officer, beseeching some god for mercy upon my soul. I clutched the coin ever tighter. Had I let go, I'm almost certain it would have remained embedded in my palm. Then there wasn't anything beneath my feet.

I'd like to say I didn't feel a thing, but I felt two. 

The first was that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning after sleeping a bit strange and you twist your neck and get the release of pressure you didn't quite realize was there, buta hundred fold. 

The last was the coin, now so cold on my palm it burned like any red hot metal.