The meeting lasted for hours, stretching into the night. Every detail, every sliver of minutia was discussed, rolled over, digested, and discussed again. Not a stone was left unturned, and no idea was left behind. The longer Mr. Thomas articulated in the specifications of how the Triumphant was going to sink, the larger the knot in my stomach grew. 

Whenever I thought the meeting was coming to a close, a new subject was introduced and a longer conversation than the last would dominate the table. Mr. Thomas, Miss Alice, and Dianne seemed to have this kind of unfettered ardor whenever they spoke. It was like watching three philosophers debating the issues of self and the meaning of existence. Considering the lives of whoever was going to be on the Triumphant, they might have well have been doing just that. 

The lives of the rich, the politicians, the military figures, as well as the crew and servants would all be lost in a spectacular, grandiose display of resistance. All in the name of Freedom's Cause. At least, that was how George had framed it. He was the one doing most of the talking, but I noticed he didn't add much to the discussion pertaining to the specifics of the mission.

"Sinking the ship would echo the notion of how serious Freedom's Cause is, not just to the city of New York, not just America, but the entire world! Everyone in existence would have on their lips the name of Freedom's Cause. It will become a dinner table topic for months, possibly years to come, I know it!"

The more George talked, he seemed to become less charismatic and more annoying. But everyone in the table seemed to be energized by his chatter, and no one seemed to disagree with anyone. Every idea was a good idea. A great idea, in fact. Blow up the engine hold with explosives. Intentionally take over the brig and captain's crew and send the entire vessel headlong into an iceberg. Puncture the hulls of every lifeboat with minuscule holes so that fleeing survivors would meet a watery grave once out in the ocean. The ideas kept coming like chocolate sweets on a conveyor belt in a factory.

"So, what do you think, Mr. Emerson?" I looked up and saw Mr. Thomas's piercing gaze directed at me. I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again, and then looked down at the blueprints. The table was more occupied now, with silverware, plates, bowls, and cups covering nearly every square inch of the oaken finish. George had an empty tankard in front of him, and Dianne swished hard liquor in a shot glass, sniffing it. She downed it in one gulp, slapped it down on the table, and looked at me.

"You seem to be real quiet over there, Jake." Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Excuse me, Mr. Emerson."

I frowned, replying, "Sorry, I was just thinking about-"

"About what?" Dianne leaned in, a loop of her brown hair falling down between her eyes. She blew at it, and it swung lazily back and forth.

"I was just thinking about how exactly we're going to get on the ship in the first place," I spoke slowly and carefully, looking into the middle distance above the table. "If this ship is going to be carrying the elites of society, I suppose there will be a lot of security included as well."

I looked over at Mr. Thomas. He looked over at Miss Alice and George, and then looked back at me. His intense gaze increased by a degree.

He said. "We had already discussed that before drinks went around. Weren't you listening?"

I could feel all eyes on me. The knot in my stomach enlarged to the size of a small walnut. My throat became parched. I thirsted for some of what Dianne had been drinking, but there was nothing left in the bottle. All the liquor had been consumed hours before.

I said. "I'm sorry, but could you refresh my memory?"

Mr. Thomas grunted in distaste, but he complied, saying, "Well, for those of us who were listening would know-" Mr. Thomas gave me a harsh glare from underneath his mask. "-that the way we intend to infiltrate the ship is to assume the disguises of Night Watchmen. There is a Night Watchmen station just southeast of here. By that method, we will simultaneously acquire explosives needed to sink the Triumphant. Taking out two birds with one stone, you see."

Miss Alice nodded, clarifying, "The explosives are blasting dynamite charges used for mining and quarrying. In the next few days, a shipment will be in the storage warehouse of the Night Watchmen reserve on the peninsula of Throgs Neck. It had once been a Naval base, but has since been occupied by Night Watchmen." Mr. Thomas put both of his hands on the table, causing the table to shudder slightly. He sighed. "Does that adequately refresh your memory, Mr. Emerson?"

"I believe so," I replied, picking up a glass from the table and taking a swig. I tried not to choke on the burnt, smoky flavor of the whiskey as the beverage slid down my throat. I felt it burn all the way down. I set down the glass and saw that Emily was looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

She said. "That was my cup." I blinked, then slid the cup over to Emily's side of the table. She gave me a flat smile and then scooted the cup farther to her left, out of my reach.

George yawned, "Well, ladies and gents, I suppose we have everything in order?"

"In the loosest possible sense of the word, yes." Mr. Thomas sighed and looked over to Miss Alice. "What do you think?"

"I think we can plan all we want," She contemplated as she ran a finger over the mouth of her glass. "But all of this only matters when it comes to us actually executing it."

"That's why we plan," muttered Dianne, steadying herself by putting a hand on her chair armrest. "So we don't fail out there."

"All this talking is frankly putting me to sleep," bemoaned Miss Alice. 

George seconded Miss Alice's comment with an affirmative "Aye" as he took up his tankard and stood. Emily beside me stood as well. Mr. Thomas and Miss Alice followed suit, and I shakily got to my feet. Dianne was the only one sitting down. She looked at all of us standing, taking a second to realize that the meeting was over. Planting both hands on the table, Dianne pushed herself up and out of her chair, wavering slightly as she did so.

"We can smooth out any details at breakfast tomorrow," suggested Miss Alice as she patted down at the crumbs on the front of her white dress. "This meeting is adjourned. William," The man in the frock coat who had opened the door for me straightened from his leaning position against a rotting timber near the stables. He nodded at Miss Alice and went over to the front door, opening it. 

Outside I could see that it was indeed night, and a cold breeze wafted in. I felt myself yawn as the winter air caressed my face. I also felt a hand grab the inside of my elbow and I looked to see Dianne clutching me. She had a sullied grin plastered on her face, and her eyes were half-closed. 

She jabbed a finger into my chest and slurred, "You had better get some sleep. You looked like you were gonna fall asleep--you know that, right?" She laughed, her head nodding forward. 

I recoiled from the stench of her breath, but I kept her upright by grabbing her by the waist with one hand and led her out the barn with the other. The men in the frock coats stayed behind. I could hear the clattering of dishes and the silent mutterings of them making conversation.

Dianne pulled at the front of my jacket as she tripped out the door. I could barely maintain my balance as I looked ahead and saw the rest of the group making their way farther into the forest. Mr. Thomas and Miss Alice walked together, talking and laughing as the lantern Mr. Thomas held swayed back and forth. 

George and Emily walked side by side behind them, also carrying a lantern. They were discussing something private, their heads close together, their voices lowered in a hush. Beside me, Dianne said something unintelligible about socks as I urged her to keep on moving.

"Come on, we are going to be left behind," I pointed out. 

Dianne only chuckled in response, but she made an effort to hurry. Mr. Thomas and Miss Alice disappeared into the tree line, and then so did Emily and George. As we reached the edge of the road connecting with the bridge and the mainland, I noticed that the dog that had barked at me earlier in the day was now gone. I squinted in the darkness, trying to make out the distinct shape of the dog shed. 

There was no dog, but I did spy the glint of a chain serpentining out from the entrance of the shed. I made sure that Dianne and I curved around the dog house, just to be sure. Making our way across the gravel roadway, we eventually caught sight of a path hidden among the bushes and overgrowth of the treeline.

"Over there," I said, having to shake Dianne awake. She blinked hard for several seconds and then raised her eyebrows at me. 

"Jacob?" she muttered, wincing, her face filled with shadow from the light of the moon. It was clear skies tonight. 

Thank God, I thought. Hauling around an inebriated Dianne in a snow blizzard wasn't exactly my idea of a pleasant night. I sighed and led the way, stepping onto the beaten path. It appeared it was some kind of hunting or animal trail, curling and bending like a snake. The lantern light of the rest of the group flickered and shone through the trees. 

Despite there being foliage, the forest seemed to suck in the light from the lanterns. Pretty soon, the light from the group would disappear entirely, Mr. Thomas, Miss Alice, George, and Emily would all be sucked into the heart of the woods. I readjusted my hold on Dianne, feeling my hands slipping on her vermilion dress.

"I'm sorry, Miss Whitfield," I sighed, muttering through the corner of my mouth. "But you should really choose your drink carefully next time."

Dianne grumbled, seeming to gain back a sliver of her sensibilities. "Just help me back to the cabin."

"There's a cabin in these woods?"

"Yes, of course silly." Dianne punched me weakly in the side. "You'll like it when you see it. It's very nice."

"I'm sure," I replied, concentrating my gaze on the ground in front of us. 

The path was filled with rocks and stones and roots sticking up out of the snow. We trudged on, the night growing somehow colder as we continued deeper and deeper into City Island. The pale moonlight was the only source of light that aided in us being able to see much of anything in the darkness. 

I half expected us to end up in a snowbank or fall into the brush, but we managed to stay the course, despite a drunken Dianne dragging me down. Eventually, after a few minutes of stumbling, I saw the hint of light swaying back and forth through the trees, and I knew we had caught up with the rest of the group.

"Jake?" Dianne muttered, her voice all quiet. "Jacob? Jacob."

"Yes?" I answered, looking down at her. Her head was tilted up at me, her gaze still clouded by liquor. She smiled and said. "You don't like it."

"Like what?"

"The mission."

I felt the knot in my stomach reach the size of a grape. I was nearly stumbling like Dianne. She chuckled, seeing the look in my eyes. Then she averted her gaze into the woods, nodding at the light from the lanterns of the rest of the group.

"They don't know you as I do. You're foreign to them. But I know you. We've worked together for how many years? Five? I know when you're scared out of your mind."

"I'm not scared."

Dianne chuckled, "Sure, you aren't."

I could see Dianne's face. Even though she was still heavily under the influence of alcohol, there was an air of lucidity in her gaze. 

She continued, "I could see you squirming back there. You don't like any of this, do you? You say you do, you try to act like you do, but you don't. I know you. . . I . . ."

"Dianne?" I said, feeling her slump in my arms. Her grip on my jacket loosened and she let out a soft groan. I felt her starting to slip out of my grasp. I hoisted her by her armpits and leaned her against me. Both of us stood there, in the middle of the trail. 

I looked up into the night sky; into the expanse of the starless, cloudless night. A soft cool breeze filtered through the trunks of the trees around me, and it kissed the edges of my brow. I closed my eyes as the knot in my stomach grew ever so slightly. I looked down at Dianne, whose eyes were now closed.

I muttered under my breath, "Why do you always have to be right?"

We made it to the end of the trail, which opened up into a clearing. In the middle lay a cabin, just as Dianne had said. It was a large, two-storied log cabin, with an old fashioned back house offset to the side. To the right of the log cabin was a giant fire pit where wooden beams and logs that had been burned recently lay crumbled in ashes and snow. Around the hollowed pit were tree stumps. Emily sat on one of those stumps, as she patiently waited, her lantern laying down beside her in the snow. 

I called out to her, raising a hand. "Em! Dianne's had too much to drink."

"That's terribly unfortunate," Emily said, getting up from her seat and walking over to us. She came up under Dianne's right side and helped me lift her, both of us equally bearing her load. Our heads were almost level with one another's, while Dianne's head lolled forward in between us. 

Emily looked at me and said, "Dianne was never good at holding her drink."

"Oh really? I didn't notice." I grunted, readjusting my grip as both of us made our way to the cabin. Emily chuckled, and I felt my cheeks flush. When we were nearly halfway to the porch of the log cabin, I heard Emily say, "Come on, then."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ask your question." She stated, smiling coyly. "I know a ponderous look when I see it."

I pursed my lips, then asked. "How long have you been working with Freedom's Cause?"

"Not that long," Emily replied. "Probably less than a year. A year and a half at most."

"Oh," I responded, looking down at my feet sloughing through fallen snow that was weeks old. "If you don't mind me asking, how do you know the Lion of Queens?"

"You mean George?" said Emily, an eyebrow raised. "I've known him ever since I was little. He was practically my older brother for a good remainder of my life." 

Emily leaned her head in my direction and whispered, "And I wouldn't call him the Lion of Queens. He doesn't like that nickname. You can call him the Lion, or George, or Mr. Garza. But never the Lion of Queens."

"Why is that?"

"Simple" Emily shrugged, Dianne's right shoulder coming up and down in the bodily gesture. "It's because he hates Queens."

"That's a little silly, isn't it?" I scoffed, my hand reaching out to the doorknob of the front door to the cabin. It swung open unexpectedly. George Garza stood there, an expression of amusement on his face. He looked in between me and Em, and then glanced down at Dianne hanging in between us. George scratched the side of his jaw and said. "Oh dear, not again."

"I'm afraid so," Emily replied as she handed off Dianne's limp right arm over to George. He took it and I let go as Dianne's body was caught up by the Lion. Being held in his arms, Dianne's small frame seemed diminutive compared to George's tall stature.

George nodded at me and said. "Thanks, Emerson, I'll take it from here." And he turned around and made his way inside. Em and I followed suit and I closed the door behind me. Inside the log cabin house was so much better than outside. 

I could feel the stiffness in my stomach recede just a bit, and the tips of my freezing fingers and toes buzzed from the sudden change of temperature. I felt my cheeks flush and I wiped at my forehead, the back of my hand coming away with sweat. I wiped it off on the back of my jacket and Emily smiled at me. 

She leaned forward and said, "I have some excellent tasting coffee if you would like to have some." She winked. "It's straight from Ethiopia. I think you'd like it."

I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on a nearby coat rack. "I would surely appreciate that, Miss Emily."

"Em, please," Emily replied, smirking. Then she eyed me closely. "But since I answered a question of yours, I think it's only fair if you answer a question of mine."

"And that is?" I prompted, raising an eyebrow. Emily's smirk grew into a smile, and she turned around, beckoning for me to follow with a flick of her wrist.

She said. "We'll discuss that over coffee."