Figuring out how to fire a dog out of a cannon was not going to be easy. Munchkin was very likely, however, going to suffer most of all. He couldn't help it, Jacques Montpelier contemplated as he unwrapped another package of gunpowder. The gauntlet had been thrown, and he had too much honor be back down from a direct challenge to his manhood, his poise and his sense of ingenuity. Jacques couldn't help it if he had moved his wife and family into a neighborhood of engineers; what he could do what shut their mouths once and for all -- just as effectively as Gigi had opened them. The tramp. But how many? The French were innovative, for the love of Peter, they could do anything when they put their mind to it ... even something as tricky as luring Benjamin Franklin into the salons of Paris to trade the United States of America to Lucifer in exchange for wine, women and a list of experiments and anecdotes that the devil carried around with him in his hip pocket. Jacques had read the secrets. He knew all about Franklin and Lucifer and their courtship. Thomas Paine, too. They were all whores. Jacques was a whore. Everyone was a whore. Everyone except Munchkin, the firing of which out of a cannon was not going to be easy.