Matthew sat at the little writing desk in his room contemplating...

Matthew sat at the little writing desk in his room contemplating, half a cup of cold tea and a plate of biscuits, with only a single bite taken, close to hand. It had once again been a frustrating day. Police forces throughout the Empire were notoriously circumspect when dealing with the Press, but those of the St. Louis City of Light were far worse than any he'd ever encountered before. The sergeant he'd argued with most of the day had only one response, and refused to vary it, even in tone. If Matthew heard the phrase “I'm not at liberty to speak on that matter” spoken in the flat tone of rote memorization one more time, he'd likely spend good deal of time getting to know some jailers.

If Detective Investigator Ambrose Filcher had a supervisor, this sergeant wasn't at liberty to speak on the matter. If the police force had a police chief, this sergeant wasn't at liberty to speak on the matter. If the city had a mayor, if there was a local parliamentary representative, if God had created Eve from the rib of Adam, this sergeant wasn't at liberty to speak on the matter. If there even was a Detective Investigator Ambrose Filcher, the sergeant wasn't willing to speak on the matter. Matthew couldn't even learn from the bore if there was someone who could speak on the matter. If the St. Louis City of Light Police wanted to keep the public uninformed of their actions, they would have been hard pressed to find a better way than to make this man their public face.

Matthew had returned to his room, late for Tea, to find a letter waiting for him. He hadn't dared make any inquiries regarding Lady Conolly when he was at the Police House, so it was a surprise that her barrister had apparently managed to smuggle out letters from her, and that she had deemed to send one to him. He was, after all, only a photographer, and not known for swaying the public's opinion or having the ear of anyone remotely powerful in the government. He'd been sent here for one simple, if long, assignment: to document primitive activities. He had always tried to remain neutral in local affairs. Now he found himself struggling to remain neutral, and not even sure that he should anymore. This eloquent letter raised one final question for him to struggle with; who were the real primitives in North America?

He stood up from the desk and put on his coat. Perhaps dinner and a good night's sleep would give him a fresh perspective. Tomorrow a trip to the Library and City Hall should provide some of the answers he was looking for today. After all, Mr. Filcher's sin against the Press was not to be forgiven, regardless of the local political environment.