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and went back the way they had come. Ben noted that neither Robert nor their benefactor allowed their weapons to waver until the Muscovites were well out of sight.
    “Now, then,” the newcomer said, finally returning his weapon to its proper place at his belt. Robert’s rapier lingered in the air for a second or two longer, and then hissed back into its scabbard.
    “I would not believe them, if I were you,” the man advised. “I heard them in the tavern. Their plan was to take you hostage.”
    Ben looked the fellow over. He was a year or two one side of forty, with sea-gray eyes peering over a regally arched nose, lips tight with a sort of grim humor. A battered tricorn jutted over a high, balding forehead. He exuded the sort of competence that Robert did, but more so, giving the impression that he could have easily dealt with all five men.
    “You’ve done us a damn good turn,” Ben said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Benjamin Franklin, and greatly grateful to you.”

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    “Yes, so I heard them call you,” the man replied. “My name is Peter Frisk.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Peter Frisk,” Ben replied, as they shook hands.
    “And me,” Robert added, taking Frisk’s hand next. “And might I suggest that we move along? Rats’ll scurry away, but they always come back f’r the cheese.”
    “Indeed,” Frisk replied. “I’d be happy to escort you wherever you might be going.”
    “No need fer that,” Robert answered. “We’re just headed back ‘t’ the Charles Bridge.”
    “Well, I’ve a mind to see that side of the river myself. Would you allow me to accompany you?”
    “Please,” Ben said. “I want to hear more of this kidnapping plot.”
    Robert shrugged acceptance, and the three of them began winding their way back toward the river.
    “I take it,” Ben said after a moment, “that you speak some Russian?”
    “Some,” Frisk said, a tinge of surprise in his voice. “What makes you ask?”
    “Those fellows were Moscovados, I think. If you heard them speaking amongst themselves…”
    “Ah. I see. Yes, you are quite right. They are Russian—in speech at least.”
    “And did you gather why they wished to abduct me?”
    “Not really, only that they did intend to do so. They seemed to think you a person of some importance.”
    “You don’t know who I am?”

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    Frisk smiled. “Take no offense, sir, but no, I do not. I heard them tell that you were the apprentice of some man named Newton—whose name I believe I have heard remarked—but that is my balance of knowledge concerning you. I am recently come, you see, to Prague. I have scarce been here for two days.”
    “I understand you never having heard of me,” Ben allowed, “but how odd that the name of Newton is not prominent in your mind.”
    “Mr. Franklin, I have been on campaign for so many years I have had little time for news of any sort.”
    “With what army?” Robert asked.
    “I marched with Charles XII of Sweden in the year seventeen hundred. I have not seen my home or family since that time.”
    Robert whistled. “The Muscovy campaign! I should say you have been busy for a time. I commend you on your survival.”
    “I thought Charles defeated,” Ben remarked.
    “We were broken at Pruth, but not destroyed. Charles rests with the Turk, watching for his chance.”
    “And you?”
    “I have decided that enough of my life has been wasted in a war that will never end, and I have no great love of the Turk. And so I have come here in hopes of earning my way back to Sweden.”
    “I fear that you will not find the north as you left it,” Ben replied softly. “You may have been better off with the Turk.”
    Frisk shrugged. “I hear the stories. That may or may not be, but I shall find out for myself.”
    They had now reached the Moldau and the dark, massy bridge that spanned it.
    The castle looked down from their right, banners whipping in the wind.

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    Ben