Angel of Vengeance

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Diogenes Pendergast hurled himself into the time portal at the last minute. It ejected him into the past — into New York City of 1880 — with such force that he was thrown onto the filthy cobblestones of the alleyway. With an instinctive motion, he twisted and rolled to absorb the impact, managing to cover himself with mud and horse manure in the process. Rising to his feet, he glanced back at the portal in time to catch a faint shimmer just as it winked out of existence. He briefly examined his soiled clothing with a muttered curse, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The quarry he was in pursuit of had jumped through the portal moments before... and was now gone. By no means must he be allowed to vanish into nineteenth-century New York.

Diogenes picked up the large leather valise he always carried with him — dropped in his fall — and hurried from the alleyway into a busy New York City intersection. His own era would call this place Times Square, but in these primitive times it still bore the name of the farmer’s field it had once been: Longacre. He made a mental note of the cul-de-sac he’d emerged from — identified by a grimy sign as Smee’s Alley — and peered around, looking for his man, taking in the horse-drawn carriages, the dusky shopfronts, and breathing in the heavy smell of coal smoke. And there he was: Gaspard Ferenc, hurrying down Broadway in the flow of foot traffic.

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