Raising his head more out of reflex than will, Adrian caught sight of Charles Walker—short hair, mild jowls, starting to succumb to a bit of middle-age bloat—standing in the midst of the crowd, which could now be described as adoring. As usual, Charles was holding court, his hands waving in the air in front of the shiny brass buttons of his double-breasted suit. No doubt, the buttons were antiques, most likely bought at auction, perhaps once belonging to some minor Revolutionary officer. There would likely be a story tied to them, which Charles would tell at cocktail parties and academic gatherings, over and over; the more drinks he’d imbibed, the more dramatic the tale, and by the end of an evening like tonight, Adrian could imagine those buttons would have already crossed the Delaware and deflected a bolt fired by King George himself.

To many of his colleagues, Adrian might have seemed the peacock; but in Adrian’s mind, Charles Walker leaned heavily into the second syllable of the adjective. Somehow stiff and bombastic at the same time, with a flair for the fantastic. Everything Adrian hated about the current state of his profession—

“Professor Jensen, is that you?”

Adrian felt his stomach drop as he realized Charles was looking his way. Adrian quickly lowered his eyes—but too late. Charles separated himself from the crowd and was suddenly bounding across the tavern. A moment later he was leaning over Adrian’s table, so close Adrian could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“The whole point of a conference is to confer,” Charles said, through a grin. “And what better way to confer than over a few drinks—”

“I prefer to drink in the company of my intellectual equals.”

Charles looked at the empty seat next to Adrian, and his eyes dimmed a bit. But he was still smiling. It might have been the booze, but Adrian could see something in the man’s rounded face; a level of confidence that seemed out of character, even for someone as pompous as Charles.

“We’re in the same sandbox, Adrian. You should learn to play nice. I didn’t see you at my lecture this morning. Though it was hard to pick out faces in such a crowd. Quite the reception.”

Without asking, Charles reached forward and grabbed one of the rolls out of the bread bowl. Adrian watched in disgust, as Charles spoke between bites, flecks of grain leaping from his lips.

“Boston is big enough for both of us. It doesn’t always need to be a competition—”

“There’s no competition. I simply don’t like you. You’re a flawed and foolish fantasist. So why don’t you go back to your fan club at the bar, maybe regale them with another wonderful tale brimming with muskets, triangular hats, and wild, unverifiable theories.”