His hackles rose at the thought of that queer Dome, and Richard shook his head. But all his derision was delivered in a bit of a daze. He'd always been a man who felt solid on the earth -- strong and quick after years of darting between targets and snatching purses and holding up carts and out-gunning the French. His fingers twitched and he half-believed he could reload his rifle with more speed, now. That's how elegant each simple movement now felt. And that thought made his heart race faster. Rifles were slow, unwieldy things to reload but if he could fire at a musket's pace...

"And the spirits--?" He gasped, surprised to find himself sounding so breathless. His anticipation was getting to him. God, he felt like a young man on the eve of his first battle. "Do you think I can contact them now?"

Likely, he could always contact them. He just never believed it. He just never tried hard enough. But here was his confidence; here was his emperor's clothing.