After they sat down, they bowed their heads for a moment of pre-meal prayer, even little Becky looking prim and proper.
Henry just went through the motions, his mind silent.
Less than a minute later, at a nod from Linda, they began to eat.
Before Henry even had a chance to ask, Linda brought up her plans.
"Henry, I plan to spend the next two days packing. We should be ready to leave the day after tomorrow."
"I've given Mr. Benjamin full authority to handle the sale of the house. The Steinway piano is for you. And I'd like you to take Paul as well, if you'll have him."
Henry nodded. "Of course. I've always been fond of Paul. Thank you for the gift, Linda. I'll take good care of the piano."
Linda let out a quiet sigh of relief. The piano and the dog were both precious to her. The former was a symbol of her and Bryan's love; the latter was family. But with two small children and so much luggage, she simply couldn't manage them on her own.
"Linda," Henry continued, "traveling alone with two children is too dangerous. I'm sending Pete and his wife, Mary, to escort you to New York."
A look of surprise and gratitude washed over her face. "Could you really do that?"
"Of course," Henry said with a firm nod. "Besides, Pete has been saying he owes Mary a honeymoon. It's the perfect opportunity."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Linda said, beaming. "Thank you, Henry."
"It's my duty," Henry said gently. "If I weren't so tied up here, I would take you myself."
Linda looked at him, her eyes filled with emotion. "Henry," she said softly, "I don't know what we would have done without you."
Henry just smiled. "I've read the papers. New York can be a dangerous place. Be careful which neighborhoods you go into. If you run into any trouble you can't handle, send me a telegram immediately."
Her eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded silently.
"I'll speak with Mr. Benjamin about the piano," he added. "I'll arrange to have it moved after I've had some time to clear a space for it. It will take him some time to finalize the sale of the house anyway."
Linda just nodded again, unable to speak.
Henry said no more, focusing on his meal as he began to plan his next moves.
After dinner, he played with Becky and Andre for a while, only leaving when the two deputies assigned to the night patrol arrived.
He checked the leaf in his door jamb; it was still there. He unlocked the door and went inside.
He went straight to the training room, pulled on a pair of boxing gloves, and went to work on the heavy bag. The 100-pound bag shuddered under the explosive impact of his fists.
After a while, he switched to the rapier.
There were two great schools of European fencing: the Spanish and the Italian. His own LV 4 Fencing skill was of the Spanish school, La Verdadera Destreza—the "mysterious circle"—a highly mathematical and philosophical style that focused on precise, efficient movements to strike the opponent from the perfect angle. It was a deadly dance, fought with a rapier in one hand and a parrying dagger in the other.
He trained for over an hour before heading for a bath.
The one question that still nagged at him was the true extent of his LV 3 Constitution. The two 25-kilogram dumbbells in the training room were far too light for him to get an accurate measure of his strength.
The only things he could measure were his 4.22-meter standing long jump and his 1.2-meter vertical leap. But he had no idea what the world records were in this era, or if they even existed. He could only guess that he was at the level of a top-tier athlete in all aspects: speed, reflexes, and power.
He decided that after he escorted Linda to Denver, he would find a proper gymnasium and test his limits.
After his bath, he checked the time. It was nearly 9 PM. He headed back to the Phoenix Saloon. The meal at Linda's had barely been enough to fill a third of his stomach.
When he pushed through the swinging doors, the saloon once again fell silent, only to erupt in an even louder roar of welcome. The place was packed, men standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar. He was pleased. Good business meant a bigger cut of the profits, and more importantly, a better flow of information.
"Sheriff Henry, over here!" a voice called out. It was Thor, the young recruit, waving from a table by the window. He was with another new deputy, a man named Hank. They must have just finished their patrol.
Henry changed course and walked over to their table.
He took a seat without waiting for an invitation. "Sit," he said. "How was the patrol? Everything quiet?"
"Very good, sir," Thor said excitedly. "I've been in town before, but I never realized how many new shops have opened up."
Hank, a German with a thick beard that made his twenty-five years look more like thirty, was still a bit nervous around his new boss. Henry paid it no mind and rattled off his usual order to Trish, the waitress.
When the food was ordered, Trish sashayed away toward the kitchen, her hips swaying. Thor and Hank couldn't help but follow the movement with their eyes.
Henry was about to tease them for their taste when he felt it—a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes on him from a card table ten meters away.
The man was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a blue, wide-brimmed hat and a simple wool shirt and black vest, but he wore them with an air of quiet dignity that made him look more like a lawyer than a cowboy. A massive pile of cash and coins sat in front of him, marking him as a seasoned cardsharp.
He was a man with a powerful, charismatic presence. But he was more than that. Henry felt an inexplicable certainty that the man was a master gunman.
But he sensed no killing intent from him, so he let it be and focused on the massive meal that had just arrived.
Across the room, Barrett withdrew his gaze. The boy is sharp, he thought, and turned his attention back to his cards.