A woman in a long, wolf fur coat that almost dragged the floor and a hat with a wide, sweeping brim decorated with a spray of green feathers stood observing them with a look of mild interest on her mature, handsome face.

"Mother Veles!" Libuše cried, instantly leaving off attempting to kick him for attempting to rise. He let her push him away, then propped himself up into a sitting position and watched as she scampered, dressing gown open and hanging off one shoulder, into the woman's open arms.

Mother?

"There, there, Libuše. It's alright. I'm here now." Mother Veles made soft clucking noises as she stroked Libuše's head. The diamond rings on her slim hands glittered in the gas light. "I'm sure he didn't mean whatever it was. Did you, Perun? Tell your sweetheart you didn't mean it, and everything is fine."

"She knows it is," he said. "How did you get in here, Mother?"

"The door was open."

That was a lie, and they both knew it. The silent visual exchange that took place over Libuše's head warned him to keep silent and he seemed only too happy to oblige. He was as emotionally exhausted as he was wound up as tight as a watch spring. All he wanted to do was drop himself in a corner and cry himself to sleep.

Before, he'd thought he could simply load her into a carriage and take her to a clinic when she'd taken her powder and was dead to the world, but had feared what would happen when she woke up. The raging, screaming and accusations he'd expected, but the doctors who didn't know her might have deemed she was mentally unstable and refused to keep her, recommending instead an asylum. She needed scrubbed of the powder's influence that was all. She wasn't insane.

But who could tell the difference when she was in one of her rages? Only he could. Only he could take care of her. Now that her supplier was gone and she'd fought her rage out, perhaps it would be better. Perhaps they'd be able to make their life together work. Without the powder.

Distantly, Perun could feel himself clenching his fists. You still think you've got a chance, don't you? You still think you can bend the situation into what you want. Is she going to force you into disaster before you open your eyes?

Smacking the fog out his former self's head would have been a pleasure, but he realised that it wouldn't have done much good. He was too far into his own version of reality to see any other. It was starting to dawn on Perun how he easily could have slipped off the rails himself.

He crawled to his feet and ran both hands back through his hair to make it presentable, and ordered his clothing.

Mother Veles watched him with an inscrutable expression. A flush of embarrassment heated his cheeks.

"Perun, you're greatly needed tonight in the second warehouse. I've come to collect you," his mother said, still hugging Libuše who was sniffling into the fur of the coat like a lost child, her shoulders trembling. "I'm sorry if you had other plans for tonight."

No, she wasn't but he gave a weary nod anyway. Of course, why else would his mother be here if it didn't have something to do with business? He was only irritated that she'd entered his flat without knocking or ringing the bell, showing up like a ghost and catching him in a compromising situation. She wouldn't say anything now, but she'd have questions for him later. Direct, difficult to answer questions. He knew she always did when anything didn't fit the established order of things. Under no circumstances could she find out about Libuše's condition; she'd order him to break off the relationship and that he'd never do. He'd have to think up some plausible lie before they were alone together.

Somewhere, Perun had always known he'd had a mother, he'd been born at some point, but he had assumed he was an orphan with no living relatives. No one had told him any differently. He'd always lived as if it was he, the Hammerfist alone, who ruled the roost, answerable to no one but himself. And now here she was, his mother, dressed in a hat and coat fit for a duchess.

His former-self didn't spare her a glance, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he passed by and into the corridor to put on his coat and hat, but in the few seconds in which he was only a few hand-lengths from her, Perun got a very close look – and alarm bells began to ring.

She looked like . . . no, it couldn't be.

The round chin, the dark, sparkling eyes, the nose . . . she was a female version of the Veleček he'd seen when he'd first entered the old man's office. But then, hadn't he thought he was seeing two people at the same time? Two versions of the same person? This woman wasn't like that at all. She was clearly female. There was no trace of male in the handsome face he passed, just the observant, highhanded countenance of someone who didn't take kindly to being contradicted.

Perun didn't know what to think. Was he only seeing a family resemblance? Was Veleček his uncle? And this was his sister, Veles? Were they twins? That might explain it. Questions piled up in his mind as he pulled on his coat again and reached for his hat.

"Mother Veles, I was so worried! He sai—"

Libuše began to speak, but his mother hushed her. "Come, dearest, let's take you to bed. It's late and you need your rest after all you've been through."

In the hallway mirror, Perun saw how she gently manoeuvred Libuše out of the salon and down the corridor. Libuše didn't spare him a glance.

As they passed by, Veles whispered, "Wait downstairs in the carriage. I won't be long."

He did as he was told, slipping his gun out of his pocket into the drawer of the dressing table, before going down the stairs and climbing into a waiting carriage pulled by two grey horses, gentle clouds of steam rising from their nostrils. The inside of the carriage was comfortable, but too cold. Perun pulled a blanket over his legs and stared out the window, rubbing his hands together as he waited.

The door of the carriage was pulled open after a good ten minutes and his mother helped inside. Most of the journey passed in silence, neither one of them interested in talking. There seemed to be no need.

His former self continued to stare out of the window at the passing city, making it impossible for Perun to observe the woman sitting only an arm's length away. Finally, as they entered a cobbled courtyard, and swayed to a stop at the far end, Veles said, "Two wagonloads came in this evening, instead of the usual one. Both need to be unloaded and bottled tonight. I'm sorry for pulling you away from your fun, but we're inexcusably behind schedule. I wouldn't ask you to do this otherwise."

"No, I understand. Did they give a reason for the double delivery?"

"Problems on the road. The usual complaints."

Perun could feel the waves of emotion washing around in himself, lapping and foaming over each other. The love he felt for his mother was like a fine, incandescent filament that glowed warm and deep, but at the same time, he was beginning to resent being at her beck and call.

It grated on him that she referred to his life with Libuše as "his fun," as if she'd pulled him away from a game of marbles. As if he weren't a grown man. As if he hadn't just murdered someone. She couldn't know that, of course, and he almost opened his mouth and told her, just to see her face, but at the last second thought better of it. He leaned over, whispered a kiss onto her cheek, and then opened the door and hopped out of the carriage.

The warehouse was small, but packed to the rafters with equipment. Wooden casks containing illegal, homemade alcohol had been unloaded and stacked up on one end, and a series of large, glass vats with copper hoses like shiny snakes curling out of them meant for filling the hundreds of empty bottles stood in the middle. It was warm inside and he shed his coat and jacket, falling into easy and practiced step with the worker men in their shirtsleeves busy carrying, packing and unpacking.

Perun was impressed. He'd never seen a bootlegging operation on this level. The crisp factory-produced labels on the bottles were of well-known brands of gin, vodka, cognac and absinth, but what was going into them came from that manor house in the forest.

If they were passing these bottles off as the genuine article, and there was no reason to believe they weren't, Perun considered as his former self worked, then his family's operation must have been taking in tens of thousands per year. Maybe even more, depending on how far distribution reached. Was this wing still in operation? And if yes, were his own establishments customers without being aware of it? What about the rest of it? Did stop and start with bootlegging or was there more? He couldn't remember and his former self had no time for extra thoughts. He was glad to be given something physical to do to keep his mind off the events of the time, off of the fight with Libuše.

Each time her big brown eyes or the gentle curve of her lips floated to the edge of his mind, he thrust it away with a grunt and attacked the next work load. When all the bottles were filled and sealed – sometime just before sun up – he volunteered to drive one of the delivery wagons to avoid having to decide what to do with himself. Home wasn't on the cards. He didn't want to sleep alone in his own bed and think about nothing but Libuše. Or attempt to drown her in whatever alcohol he had in his own liqueur cabinet. Work was better, so he pulled on a borrowed coat, hat and thick mittens and went out into the dawn.

From his observing vantage point, Perun wondered how much of this he needed to see? It was interesting to see a part of Prague he wasn't used to waking up. Sleepy-eyed shopkeepers opening their doors, children on their way to school or running errands, dogs trotting home and himself on the wagon in the middle of the street, creaking into alleyways and unloading crates into anonymous back doors and storerooms.

There was one thing that tugged at his sleeve, not leaving him be. It had been coming up all night and Perun didn't quite have an answer for it.

The explanation of being short-staffed he just didn't buy, even if his former self did. Men who asked no questions for cash-in-hand were plentiful. Brothers, cousins, neighbours. Men could be borrowed at any hour of the day or night. Why had Veles deemed it important for him to be here? In other words: She wanted him occupied where she knew where he was. Did she think he might turn up somewhere else unexpectedly and ruin a secret business transaction? Perun plundered his memory, but could come up with nothing.

Finally, when there was nothing more to deliver and he found himself back at the warehouse, the horses rubbed down and in their stalls, the other workmen leaving or having already left, he still didn't know what he wanted to do with himself or where to go. He slowly put back on his own clothing and stood in front of the doors in the unsympathetic morning air, unable to decide.

Someone had parked his motor wagon in the corner of the courtyard. At least he wouldn't have to walk. . .wherever.

Its varnished sides and blood-red upholstered bench seat were inviting in the early light of morning, and he considered going for a ride around town, but quickly rejected the idea. The theatre? No, too early. Nothing for him to do there but stare at walls. A bar? Oh, no. He'd only end up drunk and passed out snoring on a table for any man to rifle through his pockets and be off with his wallet.

Perun rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn.

He'd have to go back to Libuše, there was nowhere else. He'd tiptoe in, and crawl into bed with her. Try to make her see reason. She needed a sanatorium. He'd pay, naturally, he'd pay. He always did. Money meant nothing to him as long as Libuše was healthy. He expected resistance, she had a strong will, but with love and a firm hand. . .

He climbed into the motor wagon, rubbed his eyes again, and drove, sputtering over the cobblestones, back to his darling.