Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos

the live ammo separate from the blanks.'

'You mean this is what you'd use if you were shooting for real?' I asked. 'With old newspapers and all?'

'Sure,' Xavier said. 'I do a bit of black-powder hunting myself, and I always use the comics for the live ammo and the rest of the paper for the blanks, to be sure of keeping them straight.'

Was he pulling my leg?

'You make the live rounds the same as we're doing it,' Jess said. 'Only after you've rolled one up and closed off the first end, you'd put the bullet in after the powder before you twist the other end closed. When you come to load the gun, you tear the cartridge open with your teeth and pour the powder down the barrel.'

'One of the few physical requirements for the Continental Army,' Mel said. 'Must have two teeth that meet, so you can tear cartridges open.'

'Dental care being what it was, a lot of guys couldn't qualify,' Xavier put in.

'Couldn't they just rip the cartridge open with their fingers?' Michael asked.

'Yeah, but it'd be pretty hard, 'cause they'd already be juggling the gun and the ramrod.' Jess said. 'See, it goes like this.'

He took up his musket and demonstrated tearing the cartridge open with his teeth, tapping a small amount of powder in the firing pan, then tucking the paper cartridge into the end of the barrel.

'If I was shooting live ammo, I'd leave the bullet wrapped in this paper, for wadding, which is what made the bullet fit snug in the barrel,' he said. 'Bullet on top of the powder, of course, or it's not going anywhere. Next I take the ramrod and make sure the charge is all the way down the barrel. And take the ramrod out and put it back in its holder. Last thing we need is ramrods flying every which way in the middle of a skirmish. Now the gun's loaded. If it wasn't the middle of the night, I'd fire her off and show you the cleaning routine, but you get the idea.'

'You're not going to leave that thing loaded, are you?' Xavier asked. Jess shook his head.

'You use this worm to snake the charge out,' he said, holding up an object like a corkscrew on a two-foot stem. We watched as he dug out the remnants of the cartridge, shook the gunpowder out of the barrel into the general supply, and blew the powder out of the firing pan.

'Most any well-run reenactment either hands out ammo or does an inspection,' Xavier remarked as we watched. 'And most units do their own inspection, too, just in case.'

'Couldn't you tell by the weight of the cartridge that it was live?' I said. 'I mean, the bullets are made of lead, right? So the live cartridges have to be heavier.'

'Yeah, but in the heat of battle, who notices?' Mel said. 'You know what I mean,' he added, turning to Michael.

'I'm pretty new at this,' Michael admitted.

'Had an incident a long time ago where some fool shot a guy's hat off with live ammo,' Xavier said, shaking his hat. 'At least he was aiming high like he was supposed to.'

'And my guys wonder why the unit's insurance fees for the events keep going up,' Jess said. 'Even using blanks, you're supposed to aim over the enemy's heads. Blanks aren't harmless, you know; the paper cartridge still gets shot out, and at point-blank range that could put your eye out.'

I frowned, and looked over at Michael. Had he already heard all this from his unit, and not told me? Or was this his first exposure to the dire perils of his new hobby?

'Gruesome,' Wesley said, a little too eagerly. 'Stuff like that happen often?'

'Almost never,' Jess said, squelching Wesley's hopes of an expose on the perils of reenacting.

After a while, Michael spotted me yawning while I was trying to cut a cartridge paper and suggested that we head back to camp. We said goodnight to the cannoneers remaining around the campfire, and to the sentry when we passed him.

'Or am I supposed to say 'Gatinois chasseurs' like you did when we came?' I asked Michael.

'No, why would you?'

'I don't know. What is 'Gatinois chasseurs,' anyway?'

'It's my unit,' Michael said, sounding mildly hurt. 'I was identifying my unit to the sentry.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Sorry. I know how it's spelled, but that's not how I'd been pronouncing it.'

'I hadn't noticed that you'd been pronouncing it at all,' Michael said, chuckling.

'Well, no,' I said. 'Not out loud, anyway. But I was working my way up to pronouncing it, and that's not how I would have done it.'

'Hey, wait for me,' Wesley called, scrambling after us. 'I'm going your way, remember.'

'Give it up, Wesley,' I said. 'I'm too tired to talk about the murder.'

'Look, I need to know what happened,' Wesley said.

'Go see Monty,' I said. 'He warned us not to talk to the press.'

'It's not just for the story,' he insisted. 'I need to know for myself. I'm worried about my safety.'

'Considering some of the articles you write, I don't wonder,' I said.

'Hey, you don't have to tell me any details you're not supposed to mention, but just tell me this: could that Benson guy have been killed by mistake?'

'By mistake?' I repeated.

'He was wearing a blue coat, just like mine,' Wesley said. 'And we're about the same height and weight.'

'Wesley, dozens of men were wearing blue coats just like yours,' I said. 'And a lot of them were about your size.'

'Yeah, but how many had people who wanted to kill them?' Wesley said. 'I know things. Things I haven't written about yet. Things that could ruin people's lives and stuff. I've had death threats, you know.'

'Yes, I know. I made a few myself back when you worked for the York Town Crier.'

'Anonymous death threats,' he said. 'And some of them came from some pretty scary people, people who wouldn't just make idle threats.'

'How would you know, if they were anonymous?'

'Because I know who knows what I know!'

'Not to mention who's on first base,' Michael murmured.

'Look,' Wesley went on. 'A lot of people saw your friend Tony chasing me off in the direction of the craft fair.'

'He's no friend of mine,' I said.

'What if one of them followed, intending to do me in, and then got Benson by mistake? If there's any chance that was what happened, I have to take precautions.'

'Take them anyway,' I said. 'You know how people feel about paparazzi. Not ransacking my booth in the middle of the night would be a good precaution; that's what Benson was doing when he was killed. And not ticking off people who can lock you in the stocks. If the killer really was after you, you're lucky I came along, aren't you? Think how easily anyone could have sneaked up behind you and – '

'Don't rub it in. I'm already having nightmares,' Wesley grumbled. 'Fm going to sue that jerk Tony for every penny he has, see if I don't.'

'You'll have to stand in line,' I said. 'First, I'm going to sue him for copyright infringement.'

'You don't let anything go, do you?' Wesley said. 'I bet you still blame me for what happened after we went to the prom.'

'The prom?' Michael repeated.

'Drop it, Wesley,' I said.

'You went to the prom with him?'

'His prom, not mine; and not voluntarily,' I said. 'Our mothers ganged up on me after he couldn't get a date.'

'It wasn't like that at all,' Wesley protested. 'They asked me to do it as a favor. How many sophomores do you think went to the senior prom?'

'One more than wanted to,' I said. 'Keep it down, Wesley. We're getting close to camp.'

'You do still blame me,' he muttered. 'And don't try to tell me you didn't wear those heels