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introduced as one. However, using my male disguise would probably make matters worse. Dr Anton Kronberg might get arrested by Scotland Yard for medical malpractice, murder, abduction, and hitting Sherlock Holmes over the head. The prospect was rather enticing.
    Durham led me up to my room, where my supper was served minutes later. I ate without appetite, thinking of Goff and his list of equipment and reagents. He could have assembled it without my help. My sole role was to isolate and test deadly bacteria. My assistant was too young and inexperienced for such dangerous work, but he would surely learn from me and one day I would simply be replaced, rendering my father and myself disposable. I did not plan to stay that long, anyway.  
    Goff’s relationship to Moriarty made me curious. Had the two men known each other before my assistant’s employment? He seemed to have information Moriarty would not likely share with a simple footman. I would have to assume that the two talked regularly and that circumstance would soon make my charade of a submissive female rather dangerous. Moriarty would grow suspicious if he knew.  
    Perhaps I could disguise my charade and officially play Goff’s assistant? That would make my presence at the medical school more acceptable, and my submissiveness would also suit Moriarty’s purpose. On the other hand, Moriarty would warn Goff not to trust my fake tameness.  
    I rubbed my tired eyes, pushing one problem away to deal with the next. My head was still spinning with the scientific publications I had read in the library — mostly from the Proceedings of the Royal Society of London and The Lancet, as well as historic reports on germ warfare.  
    Germ warfare was far from being a new invention. On the contrary, mankind’s history of using disease as an offensive weapon was long and diverse. Emperor Barbarossa had poisoned water wells with human bodies in Italy. The Spanish mixed wine with the blood of leprosy patients to sell to their French foes, the Polish fired saliva from rabid dogs into the faces of their enemies, and the British distributed blankets from smallpox patients among American Indians. Napoleon flooded the plains around Mantua in Italy to enhance the spread of Malaria, and the Confederate army sold clothing from yellow fever and smallpox patients to Union troops in America. The list was long and there appeared to be no limits to our resourcefulness. Mankind had invented endless methodologies for murder. The almost parallel advancement of both science and weaponry indicated a dark future for countries that were too poor to afford such research. The thought of poisoning them all with a deadly disease might appear to be a good solution. At least for someone who hated mankind. Was hate Moriarty’s motivation?  
    I had my own ambivalence towards my fellow humans. Often, I felt far away from the mass of men, women, and children. Why was that? Was I arrogant? Did I believe I had a superior mind? I was not sure, not today and not here. Moriarty had tipped my balance. Or had he? Had it not started tipping long ago? After I met Holmes, my cool distance from people had changed. I had noticed that I was no longer standing with both feet on the ground. That I was not feeling well, as I had believed for years. Gradually, but inevitably, I wanted to be a woman. A woman who practised medicine without having to masquerade as a man. Not having to cut my hair, bandage my breasts, and wear a fake cock.
    I rose and walked to the door, sat on my pillow and listened to movements in the house. The room was dark, save for the little light seeping through the gap beneath the door. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back into the labyrinth of possibilities and impossibilities. With my father held hostage, my alternatives were few. In fact, I could see none. I kept running into walls, and no matter how often I turned, I collided with yet another barrier. But there must be cracks in the structure. I