Amanda stared in amazement and reached out to take Henry's empty hand. She turned it over and over. There was no way he could have hidden a silver mirror of that size on his person.
"Henry, you truly are a magician," Kaylee said. "How did you do it?"
Pete, with his loose tongue, had already told everyone about Henry's talent for magic. So, Henry had decided to put on a small show, performing a few simple tricks.
"I'm sorry, Kaylee," he said with a smile. "A magician never reveals his secrets."
The young women looked at him, their hearts fluttering. The mystery, the unknown, was an irresistible part of his charm.
"So, Henry," Chris asked, "you said you are skilled at boxing, fencing, music, and dancing as well. Are you truly a master of all those things?"
"Yes," Consuelo added. "Especially boxing. It's such a brutal sport. So few gentlemen practice it."
She was right. In this era, bare-knuckle boxing was a bloody, savage affair with few rules. It was officially banned in many places.
Henry's gaze swept over the group, and his eyes met Edith's. He gave her a slight smile, then said, "I don't know how strong I am. I only know that I have never met my equal."
A collective gasp went through the small audience.
"Boxing is an excellent form of self-defense," Henry continued. "Sometimes, all you have are your bare hands. And besides, the modern sport of boxing originated in Great Britain."
"Consuelo," Amanda asked, "who are the boxers you've invited to perform at your party?"
"The underground champions, John L. Sullivan and Paddy Ryan," Consuelo replied.
"Wow!" Mark exclaimed, eager to show off his knowledge. "They're both incredible fighters. Sullivan, especially. They say he's undefeated."
All eyes turned back to Henry.
He just shrugged and held out his right hand, resting his elbow on the table in an arm-wrestling position. "As I said, I'm just a man from a small town. I'm not familiar with them. But I doubt they would last long against me. Here," he said, looking at Mark. "See if you can move my arm."
Mark stepped forward and put all his strength into it, but Henry's arm was like a bar of solid iron. With a casual flex of his wrist, Henry slammed Mark's hand to the table.
Three other young men, all of them strong and athletic, tried their luck. The result was the same. None of them could even budge him. The group was now utterly convinced. Henry wasn't just boasting. His physical strength was truly superhuman.
Later that night, long after the other passengers had gone to sleep, Henry sat in his compartment, studying the black market files.
He now had a much deeper understanding of the organization's power, and of the true nature of America's Gilded Age. The black market was deeply entwined with the Tammany Hall political machine, a corrupt organization that controlled New York City by exploiting the immigrant population, especially the Irish. They had their tentacles in every aspect of the city's government, especially law enforcement.
The black market's true leader was a shadowy figure known only as "The Banshee," a man who rarely appeared in public, and when he did, always wore a crow's mask. Henry now knew he couldn't just cut the head off the snake; he didn't even know where the head was.
But he also knew he had an advantage. He was a ghost, a man with no connections, no family, and no past. He had a list of the black market's key locations across the country. And he had a power that they could not comprehend.
He thought of the innocent, doll-like face of little Becky, and his resolve hardened. He would not allow these men to bring their world of violence and corruption anywhere near her.