Chapter Three: The Last Adventure

"Never set to work at anything if you have any doubts about its prudence."
(Balthasar Gracian, "The Art of Worldly Wisdom")

"Gran?" Emily looked up at her grandmother, whose eyes were closed, with a gentle smile on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, dear," Lavie said, opening her eyes and stroking her granddaughter's head. "My, but this does bring back memories. You know, all those things happened sixty years ago, but now that I'm here, telling you about them, I can see myself again in that little chapel. Me, and my father…I'm not sure what I would have done, if he hadn't been there."

"Are you feeling tired, Gran?" Emily asked, with a sympathetic look in her eyes. "Maybe you should rest a little, and tell me more later. You haven't even eaten yet."

"I'm not tired, Emily. And since Maria hasn't quite finished yet, I think I may as well go on," Lavie replied.

"Were you very frightened, Gran, when you heard that Grandpa's ship was in trouble?" Emily asked.

"I was, darling, I was," said Lavie, slowly nodding her head. "But don't you go getting frightened. Your Grandpa managed to make it out safely – if he hadn't, you wouldn't be sitting on my lap right now!" She laughed a little.

"That's right, Gran! I almost forgot," Emily said, looking relieved. "So what happened next? Did you go searching for Grandpa?"

"No, dear, I didn't, though I'm sure that, at that time, I would have willingly tried to do something of the sort," Lavie said affectionately. "How well you know me. But now I must tell you about what was happening back in the town of Davenport. Someone new had just landed in town, and she didn't exactly get a warm welcome at the first place she went to…"

xxx

Davenport was in mourning. It did not mourn elegantly, as Lorean did, or dramatically, as Caledonia did. But there was no doubt that things were not the way they usually were. Most shops – even Clarissa Crenshaw's "souvenir" shop – were closed, the Galvenian flag atop the Mayor's house flew at half-mast, and from time to time, men and women – both soldiers and civilians – would walk slowly down the path to the graveyard, some carrying flowers.

As Henrik Spenson walked slowly away from the gravestones and back to his house, he reflected on how quickly things had changed. It was just four days ago that his life had seemed like the most pleasant of dreams; he had been accepted at King's College, an honour that any student in Galvenia would either die or kill for. And then… things had happened. He and Ryan had gone adventuring, and it was on the top of Davenport Peak – when he had been forced to intervene to prevent bloodshed – that his friendship with Ryan had come to a tragic halt, perhaps permanently. And the very next day, he had been summoned to the bedside of Colonel Whitworth – his mentor, a man who in many ways was like a father to him – to find that he lay dying of the illness that had threatened his valiant life for seventy years.

Davenport had mourned him, and was mourning him. Even Mayor Saunders, notorious across the kingdom for his sloth, had made a rare public appearance and delivered a brief but heartfelt eulogy. Now Walter Whitworth lay, buried with as much pomp as Davenport could summon up, in the graveyard, along with Franz Juno, Gustav Eramond, Lord Flynn… and Henrik's own mother, Barbara Spenson. His wooden sword, his sentences that invariably ended with "what what?", his master swordsmanship – all these were no longer on Terra. As he had said with his last breath, he was now embarking upon his last, and greatest, adventure – his journey to the Infinity, to his final reward.

An age is ending here in Davenport, he mused. With the passing of men like Lieutenant Juno, Gustav Eramond, and now the Colonel, Davenport has no more of its military heroes, no more brave men from a generation that still valued courage and determination. Now we live in an age of peace and compromise, of trade and negotiation; an age that belongs to Mayor Saunders rather than to Colonel Whitworth. Father was right after all. The real world was changing, and adventure would soon be a thing of the past.

While reflecting in this vein, he had reached his house, and stepped across the threshold with a sigh.

"Henrik," his father said, in his usual cold voice. "I'm glad you've returned. I know you need to study, but could you help me with something?"

"Yes, Father," Henrik replied. "What is it?"

"There's a woman who came here some time ago," Alphonse Spenson said. "She said she was collecting donations for the Galvenian Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, or something of that sort. I told her I was busy, but she said she wanted to distribute some…literature pertaining to her organization. Could you kindly see her off?"

"Of course, Father," Henrik said, puzzled. What is the GRSPCC doing collecting funds now?

"I've told her to wait out in the backyard until you came back. I cannot be interrupted now, Henrik. Please see what she wants, and make sure that she leaves me alone."

"I'll take care of it, Father," Henrik said. Poor woman, I don't think she would have expected that cold a response. Not that Father was always like this; it was only after.. He brought himself back to the present with an effort, and walked around the house into the backyard.

"Good afternoon, sir," a voice called out from behind him. "Were you searching for me? I'm sorry, I was just admiring your silk-pod tree. It is quite impressive!" Henrik turned to look at the person who had just addressed him. She was much slighter in stature than he was, with wavy blue hair and a rather pale complexion, and the delicate slant of her eyes suggested a woman of the Republic, rather than a resident of Arlia. She wore a simple blouse and a long skirt, almost a school uniform, but perched on her head was a rather large and incongruous blue cap, shaped almost like a mushroom. She could not have been much older than he was.

"Er, good afternoon," Henrik replied. "I'm not sure if you should be calling me 'sir', I'm sure we must be about the same age."

The woman smiled – no, beamed would be a better word. "If you say so," she said, holding out her hand. Henrik shook hands with her. "So what brings you here, Miss…er…" he began.

"Oh, I apologize, I haven't yet introduced myself!" she said, kindly. "My name is Bernadette Ellis Aquary, but most people just call me Bernadette. It's an honour to meet you."

"Henrik Spenson," Henrik replied. "Well, Miss Aquary, how can I help you?"

"Allow me to explain," Bernadette Aquary said, looking earnest. "I'm a freshman – or rather, a freshwoman – at St. Nealus' School of Divinity, which is in the town of Alton."

"St. Nealus'? I've heard of it," Henrik said, encouragingly. "Isn't it the only college in Galvenia that is run by the Church of the Infinity?"

"I see you're well informed, Mr. Spenson," Bernadette replied. "Anyway, King's College has just launched a course on the study of Religious Literature, and St. Nealus' was keen that one of their students should take the course. I managed to make it past the qualifying exam, thank the Infinity, and I'll be going down to King's College this semester. Unfortunately, none of my credits from St. Nealus' can be transferred, so I'll be starting as a freshman again."

"King's College has a course on religious literature? That's pretty interesting! I'm heading to join King's College as a freshman myself, once the summer vacation's over." Henrik informed her.

"Goodness, that practically makes us classmates!" Bernadette smiled. "I'm glad that I'll have at least one familiar face to look out for when I make it there!"

"I guess so," Henrik replied, sensing her nervousness, and trying to put her at ease. "Are you from Alton, Miss Aquary?"

"Not really, Mr. Spenson, I just study there. My ancestors were Zionese, but my parents settled down in Darington just before I was born – and soon after, we moved to Hartridge, which is where I grew up. Both my parents are Church members – in fact, they'd first wanted a son, so that he could train for the priesthood – and they've always encouraged me to study the Holy Book from my childhood onwards."

"I'm a Church member, too," said Henrik. "But tell me, why did you come to visit us? My father mentioned that you were from the Galvenian Royal Society for…"

"You are? How nice!" Bernadette said brightly. "To answer your question, St. Nealus' still wants me to complete a month of witnessing, before I leave for King's College. One of our assignments is to distribute literature about the GRSPCC and its aims, because the Society receives substantial charitable aid from the Church at Itaria. I'm not soliciting funds – in fact, I tried to explain that to your father, but the poor man was very busy – rather, I have to hand over at least five of these pamphlets at Davenport."

"I see," Henrik said, sympathetically. "Well, I'll definitely take one of those, Miss Aquary, and I can give you this for your pains, as well." He pulled out his wallet, which was pleasantly full from his recent expeditions with Ryan, and handed her a hundred-dollar note. "The GRSPCC has been doing excellent work, especially under Martell Socius' government, and I'm always glad to contribute to a good cause."

Bernadette's face changed colour, as she handed over a pair of pamphlets to Henrik. "Mr. Spenson, I can't…"

"Please accept this, Miss, it's the least I can do. I'm afraid you've come here at a bad time, though. One of our city's most respected men has just passed away, and many people are staying indoors as a mark of respect."

"My condolences, Mr. Spenson," Bernadette replied, taking the note from him. "Did you know him well?"

"Yes, to be honest," Henrik replied with a sigh. "He was my trainer and mentor, Colonel Walter Whitworth."

"Colonel Whitworth? The same Colonel Whitworth who fought at the battle of Chespa Bay?" Bernadette exclaimed. "Good heavens, how sad. Is there anywhere I can pay my respects?"

"He's buried in the town graveyard. You just need to go a little north from here, and then take the path going west," Henrik explained. "His grave is right at the top, next to the grave of a man named Gustav Eramond."

"Then I must be going," Bernadette said, bowing slightly towards him. Henrik, recognizing the gesture – an archaic, but time-honoured salute among older Church members – bowed back. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Spenson. Thank you very much. Do keep me in your prayers."

"I certainly will, Miss Aquary. Good luck. You could try the Regale house, over to the east. They're the 'first family' of Davenport, so as to speak, and their housekeeper belongs to the Church. Peace be with you," said Henrik, with a friendly expression.

"And also with you," Bernadette replied, smiling back as she walked away towards the cemetery.

Nice girl, Henrik thought appreciatively. Well, I'm glad I don't have to go about handing out pamphlets, but I can always admire those who do. Maybe I'll take that course on Religious Literature she was talking about, myself. I could probably learn a bit from her.

Feeling a little lighter, Henrik entered the house, where his father was waiting. "Has she gone at last?" Alphonse Spenson asked.

"Yes, Father. She was a student from the College of Divinity at Alton, and they'd asked her to hand these out; they call it witnessing."

"Witnessing, indeed," Alphonse said coldly. "I'm glad you never went in for these things, boy. Now I'll be in my study, so try not to disturb me."

"I won't, Father," Henrik reassured him. "I still have some revising to do."

"Good, good," Alphonse said, though his expression remained unchanged. "Remember, Henrik, those entrance examinations are difficult. I'm glad to see that you've realized that."

"Yes, Father," Henrik said quietly, as he returned to his books.

xxx

Several hours later, having fit as much into his mind as he possibly could that afternoon, Henrik decided to take a walk through Davenport Beach. Laying aside his books with a sigh of relief, he slipped quietly past his father's study, where Alphonse Spenson was typing away furiously. "Father," he called out, "I'm just going down to the beach to stretch my legs for a while. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Nothing for now, boy," Alphonse's voice said in reply. "If you see Melody Tamas, though, tell her that her last dinner left much to be desired."

"Yes, Father," Henrik answered as he left. Actually, Mrs. Tamas' cooking isn't half bad, especially for a couple of single men such as Father and myself. It's just that when he's busy working out an idea, he can be quite demanding, he thought indulgently. Though he understood little of his father's writings, he was finely attuned to his moods and whims.

I wonder how that girl from ' is getting on, he thought. The only people who might give her the time of day would be Mrs. Juno, and maybe Mrs. Regale. Anyway, it's none of my business, really. As he followed the path down to the beach, lost in his own thoughts, a soft voice broke in on him.

"Henrik, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Henrik recognized the voice instantly, and turned to face Constance Juno, Franz Juno's widow. Living alone with her son since the death of her husband, twelve years ago, Mrs. Juno tended to keep to herself; Henrik's late mother had been one of her few friends. Though hardly twice Henrik's age, her hair was already greying, and the veil she wore most of the time made her look like a Sister of the Church.

"Of course, Mrs. Juno. How can I help you?" Henrik enquired.

"It's my son, Makarov," she replied, a worried frown on her face. "I… I'm afraid that he's gone."

"Gone?" Henrik exclaimed, more loudly than he intended. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

"A couple of nights ago, he came home looking rather grave," Mrs. Juno explained. "I asked him what the matter was, but he wouldn't tell me. He just said he had to work on some plans of his, and stayed in his room alone for most of the next day. Yesterday morning – the morning of the funeral – I wanted to take him with me when I paid my respects, but I couldn't find him anywhere. The only thing I found was this letter…" She held out a single sheet of paper, which had been folded in two.

"Can I have a look at this?" Henrik asked.

"Please do," Mrs. Juno said, sadly. Henrik slowly unfolded the paper, and read the following short epistle:

"Dear Mother. By the time you read this, I should have reached the border of Northern Galvenia. I regret making my departure in this precipitate manner, but the time has come for me to prove my mettle, as my father did before me. There is a scourge that menaces our fair country, and I must play my part in seeing it extinguished. Farewell."

Below these lines was Makarov Juno's ornate signature. "What do you think it means, Henrik?" she asked him, softly.

"Perhaps he's gone to Lorean to sign up for the Military Academy – he is eligible, now that he's finished high school and is past the age of eighteen," Henrik suggested. "But in that case, why would he mention reaching the border of North Galvenia? That's far beyond Lorean. Of course, there's an advanced training facility there, but they would hardly let him in before he'd gone through his basics."

"Unfortunately, there's no one I can ask for help," Constance Juno replied, her voice shaking. "John Reckland must be at sea, and when I called on Sister Miriam, they told me she'd been called to Checkpoint Bravo on urgent work. Could you… possibly try to find where he's gone, Henrik? Please?"

Father will certainly be thrilled if I go hunting for Juno, Henrik thought sarcastically. Not only does he hate the army and everything to do with it, including Juno's dad, he'll get on my case and ask me to keep studying for that entrance test. "I'll try, Mrs. Juno," he said gallantly. "Let me first see if I can enlist anyone to help me out with the search."

"You're the only boy his age that Makarov is willing to talk to in Davenport," Mrs. Juno went on. "I know I've tried to give him his freedom, as his father would have wished, but I wonder…is this about a girl, or something?"

"A girl?" Henrik was taken aback at the very suggestion. Juno was a combat nut, who lived for the day when he could become a Galvenian soldier or even a Rough Rider himself. The idea of Juno and girls was as strange to him as moving to the Varald Directorate. "Why would you think that, Mrs. Juno?"

"I don't know, really," she replied, shaking her head. "It's just that I've noticed a change in him since that Senior Prom; he refused to attend, and he's been more silent, more bitter ever since then."

"Well, I wouldn't know about that, ma'am," Henrik said, "but I will keep my eyes open for him."

"Thank you so much, Henrik," Mrs. Juno said, dabbing at her eyes with her veil. "You've always been good to us – you and your mother. Peace be with you." She made a small bow in his direction.

"And also with you," Henrik replied, bowing in return. This sounds serious, he thought, as he watched Mrs. Juno's retreating, gray-clad figure. Of course I know what he's after; he's gone in search of Lugner, or of whoever it was who was helping Kodenai escape. But why Northern Galvenia? Maybe he's gone to look for more clues in the mines.

He had almost reached the beach now. I can't let Makarov do anything foolish, especially after…what happened between him and Ryan, he thought, confused. But how will I ever convince Father to let me go off searching for him? He'd never agree, and unfortunately, I don't want to cross him now. Stepping on to the sanded path, he walked close to the shore, looking out at the afternoon sun. I've got to think of something, hang it! Mrs. Juno needs my help.

"Hi, Henrik!" a little girl of about seven said cheerfully, as she trotted up to him. "Look what I found!"

"Hi, Michelle," Henrik replied, patting her on the head. "Looking for buried treasure?"

Michelle Bradley giggled. "It was Viola who gave us the idea, after Jimmy and I got bored of playing hide-and-seek," she whispered. "Jimmy's searching on that side, and I picked this corner. And look!" She held out a small object, no larger than a soup cube, but gleaming white, with a pearly finish on its upper surface.

"That's nice, very nice," Henrik said, taking it from her. "So what's it meant to be?"

"I don't know," Michelle admitted. "I was thinking of taking it to Clarissa's shop and selling it to her! Of late, she's been buying shells from us kids, at ten cents a shell."

Shells? I wonder what crazy Clarissa scheme is brewing under that bonnet of hers, Henrik thought, with a laugh. She'll probably paint them green and orange, and sell them as "Tribal Souvenirs from the Amazon Women of Zion", or something like that.

"But when I went to look at her shop, it was closed," Michelle went on. "Would you like to buy it, Henrik?"

"Me? What would I do with it? I don't own a souvenir shop, kid," he said.

"You could give it to your girlfriend," Michelle tittered.

"Very funny, Michelle, very funny. But you know what, I do think it looks pretty. Maybe I'll just take it anyhow. How much should I pay you?"

"One dollar, please," Michelle said pleadingly. "I need it to buy myself a new ribbon for next week's trip to Serin's Peak, otherwise Amanda and Erica will keep making fun of my old bow!"

"Ah, yes. You're all fashionable young ladies now," Henrik joked. "Well, I can certainly spare a dollar, so here you go." He handed her a shiny new one-dollar coin, which she accepted with a triumphant little jump. "Thank you, Henrik! You're the best!" she squealed. "I'm going to look for more treasure now!" And with these words, she moved a little further down, and began to dig about enthusiastically with a little plastic spade.

Looks like a puzzle piece from some sort of game, Henrik thought, looking at the white cube again. Maybe I should ask Ryan's dad about it, when I get the time. Traders know about all sorts of things….

"Mr. Spenson! Am I glad to see you!" a cheerful voice called out from ahead of him. Looking up, Henrik saw Bernadette Aquary waving both her hands at him excitedly, and almost running towards him. "Wait for me!" she called out.

Henrik quickened his steps a little, wondering what she was so pleased about. "Miss Aquary, what…"

"I just thought I'd look at the beach, here," Bernadette said, breathlessly. "And I happened to see you there! I just wanted to thank you, honestly. I stopped by at the Regales' place, and Mrs. Regale offered me the most delicious strawberry tarts I'd ever eaten! She was feeling rather alone, she said, because her husband and daughter had gone on a boat somewhere."

A boat? Why would Lavie and her father go on a boat alone? The Regales go on cruises quite often, but why would they leave Mrs. Regale at home? Henrik wondered. "So were you able to, er, fulfill your quota, Miss Aquary?"

"Please, call me Bernadette, Mr. Spenson," she said, looking at him appealingly. "And yes, I did! The next place I went to," she said, speaking more slowly, "was with a lady called Melody Tamas, who had a nice little boy with her. She was interested in hearing me talk about the GRSPCC's work with abandoned children, and took a pamphlet, too. I then met a widowed lady, a member of our church, who accepted one as well. Then I went round to the Queen's Head, and believe it or not, the bartender's daughter took one! Finally, I met a young lady who was playing with her kitten, and she agreed to take one because her kitten, um, sort of scratched me by accident," she ended ruefully, her hand going to an angry red streak on her left cheek.

"I'm sorry, Bernadette," Henrik said, looking at the wound with concern. "Does it hurt much?"

"Oh, it's just a scratch!" she replied, dismissively. "And anyway, wounds don't bother me too much. Just watch!" She bowed her head, folded her hands, and then touched her cheek with her right forefinger. There was what looked like a flash of light to Henrik, and when he looked again, the skin of her cheek was smooth and unbroken. "As good as new."

"How on Terra did you do that, Miss Aquary?" Henrik gasped in amazement. "I mean, I've heard of such things in books of legends, but…"

Bernadette laughed. "Oh, the Aquarys have been healers for generations, or so my father always taught me," she replied. "It's a gift, you know, and only some people are born with it. It's like being a mage. Our family tradition has always been to use our healing abilities for good, and when I was just a child, my father taught me how to put them to the service of the Infinity. I'm still not very good, though; I can manage superficial wounds and bruises, but I have a lot more to learn."

"That's…..pretty impressive, to say the least," Henrik said, admiringly. "I can see we're going to have some very interesting times, when we get to King's College."

"Do you really think so, Mr. Spenson?" Bernadette said gratefully. "Apart from my parents, you're one of the first people I've heard say that. Abilities of this sort were sort of frowned upon at St. Nealus', and in fact, some of my more….straight-laced classmates thought I was some sort of fraud or trickster." She looked upset for a moment, then brightened up. "But I'm sure King's College will be quite different."

"It will, Miss Aquary, it will," Henrik replied. "Just be careful you don't end up being the subject of research; I've heard that Galvenian scientists are working hard on probing the 'science' behind magical abilities, from what I learned when I visited the Museum of Science and Lore."

"I love that place!" Bernadette said, with a slight flush on her cheeks. "Some of the people there are very friendly, and they've even let me watch some of their mahou shoujo exhibitions."

"Ma Who what?" Henrik said, scratching his head.

"It's an ancient Zionese term for young women with, er, magical abilities," Bernadette explained. "From time to time, the Museum has visits from Zionese women mages and healers, who put on a bit of a show. Haven't you ever seen it?"

"I'm afraid I haven't," Henrik said regretfully. "But I must say, again, that I'm very impressed, Miss Aquary. I'm very grateful for the chance to have met you."

"That's sweet of you," Bernadette replied, lowering her eyes a little. "And, please, do call me Bernadette. 'Miss Aquary' makes me sound like your school teacher!"

"Very well, um, Bernadette," Henrik said, a spot awkwardly. "Please call me Henrik, then. After all, we'll have to use informal addresses if we….take the same courses together, and all that."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you in that Religious Literature class, er, Henrik," Bernadette replied. "I'm sure we'll…." There was an awkward silence between them for a moment.

"Speaking of things and persons magical, a little friend of mine found this while playing on the beach," Henrik said, with a view to easing the situation. "Do you have any idea what it is?" He held out the tiny cube to Bernadette, who looked at it for just a fraction of a second, then stepped back, stunned.

"By the Infinity! Henrik, how did you…." she exclaimed, her voice trailing off, and raising one hand to her mouth.

"Bernadette, I'm sorry! Did I….do something wrong?" Henrik said, with remorse in his voice.

"N…not at all, it's just that…Do you know what that is?" continued, in a voice filled with awe.

"Isn't it a sort of a puzzle piece, or something? Like I said, this was just flotsam that a little girl found here. She wanted me to buy it for a dollar, and I just did it on a whim! Is it…something dangerous?" he asked.

"Henrik!" she said, excitedly, looking up at the sky. "There's a tiny chance I could be wrong, but if what my father taught me is right, this is… a Memory Crystal of some sort. It's a very, very rare and advanced piece of Zionese technology; I've heard of these things in legends, but this is the first time I've actually…" She looked forward out to the sea, her eyes bright with excitement.

"A Memory Crystal? I've heard of those! They're like… records of voices and images, stored in the structure of the crystal, aren't they? I've seen a much bigger and uglier one, once, but even I haven't…." Henrik said, surprise getting the better of him as well.

"Henrik, we've got to take this to the Museum of Science and Lore!" Bernadette said. "That's where such things have to be handed in, according to Galvenian law. The scientists there will study it, and tell us where it came from. This is… simply amazing!"

"Can we…watch it?" Henrik asked.

"Small ones like this, Father told me, need to be exposed to a strong light source, such as a fire or an electric light. But we can try holding it up to the sun, though we won't get the full contents of the recording. Would you like to try?" Bernadette said, taking a step closer to the shoreline.

"Why don't you hold it up?" Henrik offered. He placed the cube in her hands, and she held it up to the sun, adjusting her position so that the sun's rays struck it squarely.

"How many…." a rough male voice began to say. A faint image, almost a shadow, stood in front of the crystal, resembling the outlines of two persons wearing hoods. "How…bastards….." One of the figures raised its hand, as if to strike the other. "Couldn't….H…..honour….." , another, smoother voice seemed to say. Then there was a short burst of noise, and the image ceased.

"Well, that was cryptic," Henrik observed. "And I must apologize for exposing you to that sort of language."

"It looks like it could have been a combat scene," Bernadette observed, closing her eyes, "or perhaps a record of a duel, or some similar sort of confrontation. Only a stronger light will tell us more." She opened her eyes, and smiled at her new friend. "Henrik, could I take this to the Museum, please? I have to go to Lorean anyhow, to do some more witnessing there."

"I'm not sure if you should do that," Henrik said, gravely.

"Why not?" Bernadette replied, looking hurt.

"Because it's not safe to travel there on your own. Remember, the Princess' birthday celebrations are going on today, and everyone will be on alert. A young woman, travelling alone with an artifact of dubious origins, might attract suspicion," Henrik explained.

"So what should we do with it?" she asked. "Should we wait a few more days, and then…"

"I have a better idea. Bernadette, would you…mind if I accompanied you?" Henrik asked, the words coming out in a rush.

Bernadette Aquary blushed. "Accompany me? Of course I wouldn't mind, Henrik, but wouldn't….wouldn't it be a lot of trouble to you?"

"Not at all. First of all, I have my own reasons for wanting to head that way, which I'll explain to you shortly. And second, I'm the one who found the object in the first place. I can't let you take risks on your own. Let's do this together, Bernadette," Henrik said, holding out his hand to her in a gesture of comradeship.

"That's very, very good of you," Bernadette replied, placing the cube in his outstretched hand. "I think your idea is excellent, Henrik. Shall we get going, then? If we walk fast, we can reach Lorean by night, stay at an inn, and make it to the Museum first thing in the morning!"

"That sounds like a plan," Henrik said, nodding in agreement. "Let me just tell my father, first. Meet me in the city square, I'll be back in an hour or so."

xxx

Alphonse Spenson's permission was given quite readily, especially once he had seen the object for himself and exposed it to the bulb in his home, eliciting a couple of words. "An ancient artifact like that belongs with the scientists, boy. As long as they reward you for it, I permit you to travel there. But on your return, I expect you to work harder to compensate. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father. Thank you," Henrik said, appreciatively.

"Hmph. I remember, when I was at Zion University, they were crazy about Memory Crystals. Crystals here, crystals there. There were even old wives' tales about crystals the size of a fingernail, but which could capture the entire length of a theatre play. Absurdities, boy. But we need every penny we can spare if you're going to King's College. Go ahead, but don't dawdle."

"I won't, Father." And while I'm there, I'll try to look out for Juno, and bring him back. But I must tell Bernadette about him, too. Quickly packing a few essentials, and strapping on the giant sword he'd found quite accidentally in Mount Lorea Mine, he rushed towards the city square, where Bernadette was waiting for him, seated on a bench.

"I take it from your expression that your father gave his consent," she said cheerfully, rising to greet him. "Well, I've bought myself a few potions for the road, just in case. Shall we leave?"

"Of course," Henrik replied. "But first, there's something I must tell you." Choosing his words carefully, he told her about Juno, and the encounter on Davenport Peak, though he passed over the death of Kodenai with as little detail as possible. "And from what I know of Makarov, he's probably gone off to hunt real or imaginary traitors. He's not a particularly great friend, but his mother and my mother were close, and she's counting on me to find him. I'm not sure I can convince him to come back, even if we do find him, but we can at least reassure his mother that he's… more or less safe."

"Oh, that poor lady," Bernadette said, frowning. "Of course we must try to help her!"

"We? Bernadette, you don't have to get involved in this! Makarov can be, er, quite a difficult character to deal with at times, and we don't know what exactly he's involved in. It might be dangerous."

"But Henrik," Bernadette argued, "I'm a member of the Church. Just like you, and just like Constance Juno. Wasn't it St. Geraud who taught us that, to truly love the Infinity, we must also look after each other and take care of our mutual needs?"

"You do have a point," said Henrik, "but still… you're a stranger to our town, and unlike both Juno and I, you've never been trained in combat. It's not that I don't want you to come, it's just that I don't want you to get hurt…"

"Henrik, please," Bernadette pleaded. "This concerns me too. I'm a citizen of Galvenia, just as you are. And I'm sure you'll be able to protect me, if the need should arise."

Henrik flushed. "I'll try my best, Bernadette. But promise me one thing. If the situation starts getting out of hand, don't hang around; instead, run and inform the nearest authorities. Can you do that for me?"

"I will," said Bernadette. "But first, we have a museum to visit. Let's go!" She slung her handbag over her shoulder, and began to walk down the path through the woods.

"The woods? That way's longer," Henrik called out. "Why don't we just leave through the city gate?"

"Henrik, you said yourself that Juno was involved in a confrontation in the woods. For all you know, he may have gone back there. It's not that much longer," Bernadette replied, with enthusiasm. "Come on! We haven't got all day!"

"As you wish," said Henrik. One last adventure before King's College, and I even have company, he thought, smiling to himself. One last adventure, Father.

xxx

They had not gone far into the woods when they were alerted by the sound of feet marching in order.

"Who could that be?" Bernadette wondered aloud, looking around her. "City repairmen, perhaps?"

"Well, they certainly have work to do here," Henrik noted, looking at the crumbling, overgrown footpath that they were following. "But with our Mayor being the way he is, I doubt very much that he would have even thought of dispatching them here."

"Mayor Saunders? He's quite a legendary figure, Henrik," Bernadette said, laughing, as she looked admiringly at a tall tree in front of her. "What magnificent oaks you have here. But…" her gaze suddenly fixed on a large section of the tree's trunk, which seemed to have been scored or mutilated, "it looks like not everyone loves them the way you do."

"Er, that particular bit of vandalism…. It's a long story, really," Henrik said, apologetically. "A friend of mine found that his girlfriend was cheating on him, so he sort of had a brainstorm and walked down here, and gouged out his declaration of love from that tree."

"How terrible!" Bernadette exclaimed, drawing in her breath sharply. "I do hope he's all right now."

"I guess so," Henrik said, slowly. "Us teenage boys are like that, we take our knocks and then we get up after some time. He should be fine." Ryan, Henrik thought. Was his recent, reckless behavior – including his conduct on Davenport Peak – all because he hadn't yet gotten over Marianne?

"We all do, I presume," Bernadette said brightly. "Now let's take a little detour, and see if we can find any traces of your friend…."

"Halt!" A voice came out from a little deeper in the woods. Henrik and Bernadette stopped abruptly, and looked to see a small band of five armed men, marching in a single file as they drew closer to them. "Lieutenant Perkin, Galvenian Territorial Army," the band's leader introduced himself, raising the visor of his helment. "I'm sorry, kids, but Davenport Woods is out of bounds at the moment."

"What seems to be the matter?" Henrik asked.

Lieutenant Perkin ignored him, and walked closer to Bernadette. "Miss," he said, with a stern expression on his face, "what is your name?"

"Bernadette Aquary," Bernadette replied, speaking clearly though she was obviously nervous. Instinctively, Henrik stood closer to her.

"We haven't seen you around these parts before," the man said. "Where are you from?"

"She's from Alton," Henrik explained. "Her college has sent her here for some, er, summer coursework. She's quite all right, Lieutenant."

"If you don't mind, Miss, could you show me a letter, or any document, from your college, to support what your friend is saying?" the Lieutenant said, not unkindly.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Bernadette said, handing him a folded letter, which he took and read cursorily. "Hmm, this all seems to be in perfect order. Now, could you take the glove off your left hand?"

"My glove?" Bernadette seemed amused by the request. "Could you hold this for me, please, Henrik?" She deftly peeled off a blue leather glove, and handed it to him.

The Lieutenant looked at her hand, and then let out a sigh of relief. "One last thing, Miss. Could you remove that hat of yours?"

Bernadette looked shocked. "Henrik…" she said, pleadingly. "I…I can't…"

She must be a 'traditional', Henrik realized. Strange, I thought 'traditionals' usually taught that women shouldn't go to college…."Excuse me, Lieutenant," he said loudly, "but Bernadette is a traditional Infinitus, a follower of some of the old teachings of the Church of Infinity. They don't allow her to remove her hat in front of men, unless they're family or Church priests. Could you please excuse her?"

The Lieutenant looked at Bernadette, who was holding her breath, obviously distressed by the request. He seemed on the verge of making a sharp remark, but stopped himself. "Well, if the Infinity himself says so, I won't stand on formality, Miss," he said. "Just stay out of the woods, there are infantry exercises going on here today." He clicked his heels, made an about-face, and left.

Bernadette let out her breath, and her face softened. "Thank you, Henrik," she said, warmly, "though you did unintentionally tell a falsehood. I'm sure the Infinity will forgive you, though."

"A falsehood? Do you…do you mean you're not actually a traditionalist?" Henrik asked.

"No, though it was very intelligent of you to think of that explanation," she said, slowly. "The fact of the matter is that, though I know it's very vain of me, I'm not really happy to let other people see this." Saying this, she quickly raised her hat where it covered the front of her head – and Henrik saw, to his horror, that her forehead had been badly burned, including the front of her hairline. Though the wounds had healed, there was still a large, scarred area where her brow ought to have been. "Actually, I'm not too different from that poor tree, there," she said, with a faint smile.

"Bernadette, you didn't have to…." Henrik said, stricken, his hand reaching out to pull her hat back down. She did not oppose the gesture. "Who did this to you?" he asked, looking intently at her.

"A couple of months ago, just after we took our tests to see who would get sent to King's College, a fire broke out in our dormitory," Bernadette said, her face pale. "We still don't know who was responsible. Four of my friends and I were all burned, though, thank the Infinity, no lives were lost, and no one was crippled. The Alton police investigated our rooms quite carefully, but all they could say was that the fire wasn't started using natural means; there was no sign of an electrical defect, or traces of anything that could be used as kindling. They suggested it was done by someone who could use a Fire Elemental spell, but a low-power one."

"A Fire Elemental? You mean they suspect a mage, or mages, to have been responsible?" Henrik asked, bewildered. "I thought almost none of them survived the massacre at Inderness, almost a century and a half ago…"

"That's what I thought, too, but I'm not so sure now," Bernadette said, leaning against a tree. "Sorry, Henrik, the shock has made me a little light-headed. We can continue now."

"Would you like to rest a little?" he replied, with a look of concern. "We could always get you a room at the Davenport Inn, and leave tomorrow morning."

"I'll be all right, Henrik. Thanks for the support," she said, more steadily. "Let's head back to Davenport, and leave town the usual way."

"That would be the most sensible thing to do," Henrik agreed. In a few minutes, they had retraced their steps, and now found themselves about to leave Davenport through its main gates. "Ready, Henrik?" said Bernadette with a smile.

"I'm ready when you are," he said, as they left Davenport for the second time.

xxx

"Fascinating! I wouldn't have believed a couple of kids could just find a thing like this on the beach, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Professor Sandra Hernandez said, placing her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "A high-density Memory Crystal, if my eyes do not lie."

"High density?" Henrik asked. Their journey to the Museum had been mercifully swift and uneventful, broken by a quiet and delightful supper at the inn in Hartridge. "What exactly does that mean?"

"You see, Mr. Spenson," Professor Hernandez said, leaning back in her armchair, "most of the Memory Crystals we have are large, unwieldy things, which can record only a few minutes' worth of audio and video. Have you ever seen one?"

"Yes, but it only held audio data, and had been corrupted," Henrik said.

"I've seen a Crystal of the Evangelium at St. Nealus'," Bernadette added. "It was a gift from the Zion Imperial archives, from the days when the Church was stronger in Zion, but it was mostly speech; all the chapters of the Holy Book had been recorded in archaic Common. It was quite huge, even larger than a fully annotated printed version of the Book."

"Those are both excellent examples," the Professor replied, "of what we would call 'low-density' memory crystals, which store information in a very inefficient form. However, at some point during the reign of Emperors Johan and Linois, Zion scientists figured out a way to transfer information efficiently into small crystal lattices, which increased their storage capacity by over a million-fold. The Holy Book you mentioned could easily fit into this little cube, and there'd still be place for colour pictures."

"Impressive," Henrik said, letting out a whistle. "So why aren't they more widely used?"

"Simply, young man, because the techniques involved in making them were kept secret, and perished with the guild of Zionese physicists who designed them. Unfortunately, they left no known traces of their work, and though we're making progress in understanding how they work, we're far from being able to duplicate the technique. We'll get there someday, I'm certain."

"So can we see what's on it now?" Bernadette asked, eagerly.

"I'm afraid that's against the law, young lady," Sandra Hernandez said, apologetically, brushing a stray lock of grey hair away from her forehead. "Because of their historical context, there's every likelihood that those crystals contain information that could be embarrassing, or even prejudicial, to Zion-Galvenia relations. Of course, some of them are harmless family chronicles, and we even found one dating to many centuries after Linois, involving a Journeyman addressing his disciples on the value of meditation. But as for the rest… let's just say that we keep quiet about them for a reason. Under the Commonwealth Privileged Information Act, the crystals can only be opened in front of a team consisting of one Zion delegate, one Galvenian delegate, and a neutral Commonwealth observer, usually an Itarian or a Varaldian. I, personally, have only sat on one such panel in my life. It wasn't pretty."

"I understand, Professor," Bernadette, with a friendly smile. "Thank you for taking the time to explain it all to us."

"And thank you, Mr. Spenson and Miss Aquary, for taking the trouble to bring this along. Heaven knows what would have happened if this had fallen into the hands of those rogues in the Explorer's Guild.."

Henrik looked uncomfortable and shifted his feet around at this statement, but remained silent.

"….we're truly fortunate that it fell into the hands of two civic-minded young Galvenians like you. On behalf of the Commonwealth, I'm authorized to give finders a cash reward, which in this case – given the value of what you've found – amounts to ten thousand Commonwealth dollars, to be shared between the two of you. Once again, you have my eternal gratitude."

"Wow," Bernadette said softly. "That's a lot of money."

"You've certainly earned it, Miss. Have a good day, and we hope to see you at the Museum again some time." The Professor bade them both farewell, after handing each of them an envelope filled with money, and they left.

"Well, I can honestly say that this was a very, very fruitful day, in more ways than I could ever imagine," Bernadette said, placing the envelope securely in her bag, and adjusting her hat. "I'm sure even your father would be happy with the way things have turned out. Thank you, Henrik."

"Yes," Henrik said. "And I couldn't have done it, if you hadn't identified that cube as a Memory Crystal in the first place! Thank you, Bernadette." They shook hands, and then looked up at the sky. The sun had already set, and they were just in front of the gates of Lorean.

"It's getting late," Henrik said. "I don't think we'll make much progress looking for Juno right now, so let's just check into the inn here, and we'll resume our search tomorrow. That is, if you still want to come along."

"Henrik!" Bernadette protested. "I thought we already made it clear that I would accompany you."

"Sorry, just teasing," Henrik said, laughing quietly. "Now, let's get to that inn."

The gatekeepers opened the way to them in studied silence, and both of them were stuck by the solemn appearance of most of Lorean's inhabitants, as well as the total absence of any decorations, fireworks, or any other signs that a future monarch was coming of age on that very day.

"I don't get it," Henrik said. "Isn't today the Princess' birthday? I thought they'd all be celebrating, or something."

"Something must have gone wrong," Bernadette agreed. "Maybe the Princess was taken ill, or something of that sort."

"Well, the Inn is straight ahead, so let's…." Henrik began, only to find that his path was barred by two armed guards.

"Excuse me, Sir, may I know your destination?" one of the guards asked, rather loudly.

"We're just heading for the inn, actually," Henrik replied. "We came from Davenport to complete some work at the Museum, and we'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

"Then please proceed, Sir, Miss," the guard replied. "But the Royal Palace and its surrounding area, including the Hall of Heroes and the Albrut Memorial, are out of bounds. No one may enter without the proper authorization. Good night to you." With this, the guards let them pass.

"You're right, Bernadette," Henrik said gravely. "Something has happened. Perhaps a security threat, or a bomb scare."

Bernadette was silent for a while, then turned to look directly at Henrik.

"I think it's something more than that," she replied. "Do you remember those soldiers in the woods? They didn't ask you for much, but they scrutinized me much more carefully. I think they're looking for a woman."

"A woman…. You know, that makes sense; a woman who can be identified, perhaps, by a particular mark, such as a scar or a birthmark on her left hand. Or something to do with their hair or head, which was why they wanted you to remove your hat. But who could that be?"

"I really couldn't say," Bernadette said, and then stifled a yawn. "Sorry, Henrik. I guess I'm just feeling a little tired. It's been a long day."

"No problem," said Henrik. "I'm feeling pretty sleepy too. Let's check in at the inn, and see if we can find out anything there."

A short walk to the northeastern part of Lorean brought them in front of an inn, its windows brightly lit. Henrik pushed open the door, and the two of them stepped inside. The waiting area in front of the reception was empty, except for a man in a black suit who looked at them curiously.

"Could we have a couple of rooms for tonight?" Henrik asked the innkeeper, an elderly lady wearing a thick pair of glasses. "We'll be gone in the morning."

"I'm afraid not, son," she replied. "The inn is jam-packed with Royalists, who've all come down for the Princess' festivities, and aren't in a very good mood right now. I could fit you both into one room, if you don't mind a bit of a draught."

"Why aren't they happy?" Bernadette asked her.

"Haven't you heard? You must be from quite a distance away!" the innkeeper exclaimed, raising her eyebrows and squinting at them. "Are you Zions, or something?"

"Not at all," Henrik explained. "We've just come here from Davenport today. I live there, and Miss Aquary is from Alton. We haven't heard any news from the capital, because we've been traveling by road all day."

"Oh, I see," she said, looking at them with less suspicion. "Well, let me introduce myself. My name's Ruth Stone. My husband owned this inn, and I've been running it myself for the past four years. What are your handles?"

"I'm Henrik Spenson," Henrik said, coming forward, "and this is Bernadette Aquary. What is happening in town, Mrs. Stone? We thought the whole of Lorean would be alight to celebrate Her Highness' nineteenth birthday, but everyone seemed rather quiet to me."

"Hmmm. What we've been told so far, by the Palace and the town announcers, is that the Princess is ill, and that the festivities have been postponed on that account. But there are rumours floating around."

"What sort of rumours?" Bernadette asked her. "When we were on the way, we were stopped by a troop of soldiers. They insisted on looking at my left hand, and…."

Mrs. Stone's eyes grew as wide as her glasses, and she seemed to be staring, not at Bernadette, but at the wall behind her. "Hush, now, you children must be tired," she said loudly. "I think I'll show you your room now."

"Wh- Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you, Ma'am," Bernadette replied, as she caught Henrik signing to her with his hand to play along.

The three of them climbed down a flight of stairs, and came into a room that was large and spacious, but had obviously not been occupied for some time. There were two comfortable-looking beds covered with striped quilts, a table, a chair and a sofa, and a single wardrobe. "This used to be a guest room," she explained, "but I'd be glad to let you have the use of it for tonight. You might want to dust out those sheets a little, but otherwise, you should be quite comfortable. The washroom and bath are off this way."

"Tell me, Mrs. Stone," Henrik asked. "Who was that man behind us?"

"I'm quite sure he's one of those nosey reporter types," the innkeeper said, pronouncing the word "reporter" as if it referred to a species of Baron Snakes. "That's why I didn't want you to say too much there, Miss. You see, working in an inn, you get to hear all kinds of things, and one of the things I heard, from a bunch of soldiers who were drinking it up in the afternoon, was that the Princess may have gone missing."

"Oh no!" Bernadette said with alarm. "Do you mean she's been abducted by someone?"

"Abducted, maybe; or maybe she left on her own," Ruth Stone said, "All I know is that those soldiers said they were looking out for young women in their late teens or early twenties, especially those wearing gloves. And beyond that, I can't say anything, Miss," she ended, darkly. "Good night, young ones, and be careful with that black-suited man. He's trouble."

"Thank you indeed, Ma'am," Henrik said, as she disappeared up the steps to take up her usual post. "Well, this is certainly alarming."

"I hope nothing has happened to the Princess," Bernadette said, compassionately, "and I hope those rumours are just rumours. After all, they could just be searching for someone else."

"Let us hope and pray for the best," Henrik reassured her. He took a look at the clock on the wall. "It's almost eight o'clock now. Would you like to have something to eat?"

"I wouldn't mind at all," Bernadette replied, "but I wouldn't be comfortable going up to the dining area, if that journalist is still there."

"I'll ask Mrs. Stone if she can fix us something here," Henrik suggested, and this proved to be remarkably simple. In a quarter of an hour, the two of them were sitting down to a simple meal. Bernadette said the traditional meal-time prayer, and they continued discussing the day's events as they ate.

"What do you think of our Royal Family, Henrik?" Bernadette suddenly asked him.

"The Royals? Well, they're the figurative heads of state, but I think they're only as good as the Prime Ministers they get. Socius is a good leader. I don't really follow politics too much, to be honest, though I do vote Liberal Unionist as a matter of principle."

"So do I, actually; our family have been Unionists for quite some time," Bernadette replied. "But I would like to see a woman becoming Queen of Galvenia in our day and age. It might be interesting."

"It certainly would," Henrik agreed. "I don't know much about Princess Carranya, though. Like most Royals, she is kept discreetly under wraps until she either comes of age, marries, or ascends to the throne."

"To be frank, neither do I. I suppose we girls are just fascinated by Princesses, in general," said Bernadette, laughing. She walked up to the sofa, where her handbag was resting, and pulled a small book out of it.

"The Itarian Missal?" Henrik said, looking with interest at the book's cover. "Do you all have to compulsorily recite the Four Hours of Prayer at college?"

"It's not compulsory, but it's 'highly recommended', according to our chaplain. And ever since they allowed us to say the prayers in Common rather than in Itarian, it's actually not all that hard," said Bernadette.

"Mind if I join in? I used to be quite regular at the Hours in my school days, but I'm afraid I've slacked off a bit during vacation, and I've always found the Nocturnal Hour particularly enriching," said Henrik.

"I'd always be glad to have company," Bernadette replied, handing him the book. "We generally say it together at college, so reciting the prayers and chants aloud always makes me feel rather odd."

"Well, most of my friends aren't particularly religious, and I'm kind of used to reading it alone," Henrik admitted. "So I'm also grateful for the company. Shall we begin? In the name of the Infinity, from whom all life and all blessings come," Henrik intoned, clasping his hands together.

"So let it be," Bernadette replied, bowing her head.

"Today the Church recalls its faithful servant, Saint Frederick the Great of Zion. Wise ruler and pious saint, his example reminds us to be virtuous in the exercise of whatever power is granted us from Above," Henrik read on.

"And so we pray: St. Frederick the Great, guide all the rulers of the nations. May your intercession deliver them from all peril, and make them obedient to the Infinity, and worthy rulers over their brothers." Bernadette read, slowly and clearly.

"So let it be," Henrik replied…

xxx

Henrik woke up with a start in the middle of the night, and looked around. Both he and Bernadette, exhausted by their hours of travel, had fallen asleep shortly after their prayers, and she was lying curled up on one side in her own bed, with a half-smile on her face. Her cap had fallen from her head, but her long blue hair had come uncoiled in the process, and mercifully covered the scars above her eyes.

Henrik allowed his gaze to linger on her for a moment. I'm glad at least one of us is able to sleep peacefully. Pleasant dreams carry you to the morning, Bernadette, he thought, then looked around, trying to find out what had woken him in the first place. He listened carefully, and heard the sound of voices, which seemed to come from the floor above. One of the voices was high-pitched, almost insinuating, while the other was cold, formal, almost like the stereotyped speech of a noble in a stage play.

Let me see what's going on, Henrik said. Getting up slowly, and closing the door without a sound to avoid waking his companion, he crept slowly up the stairs, until he could see directly into the small waiting area where he had checked in earlier. The man in the black suit, who had aroused Mrs. Stone's ire, was still there, huddled close together with a tall man wearing a long cloak.

Sweet Infinity! Henrik thought. Could it be…? He took a further step forward, and craned his head forward, trying to catch as much of the conversation as possible.

"I'm telling you," the high-pitched voice, which clearly belonged to the reporter in the suit, was saying. "It's all but official. Koketsu has been…"

"Silence," said the lower voice. "I am uninterested in the machinations of the Zion Empire, except insofar as they relate to my objective. So tell me, what have you heard about the man named Lugner?"

Juno! Henrik thought. And he's looking for clues to Lugner's whereabouts! Should I

"Precious little, Sir, though I know one thing for a fact. He's not a Commonwealth official, but he's not a Varald, either. He's not working for any Government particularly," the journalist said.

"But it is self-evident that he was collaborating with Kodenai, to the ruin and detriment of Galvenia," the second voice replied. "What are his aims with respect to this country?"

I'd better make myself known, Henrik thought. Summoning up his courage – he was unarmed at the moment – he walked casually up to the two men. "Makarov… is that you?" he said, trying to sound as light-hearted as possible.

The man in the cloak looked up with an annoyed expression on his face. "Well, well. Spenson, I never thought we would meet under such circumstances."

"Is he another of your friends, Mr…" the reporter began.

"Silence! Let me speak," Juno shot back, glaring at him. "What business do you have with me, Spenson?"

"Makarov, your mother has been worried sick about you. In fact, she asked me to look for you as a personal favour. Just what the hell are you doing?" Henrik said, in an even tone.

Juno looked closely at Henrik. "Spenson. Before I answer this, tell me. Is Eramond with you?"

"Ryan? Ryan's gone to Caledonia, Makarov. His father has sent him on an errand there. He's nowhere around at the moment."

"Then I can speak frankly. Spenson, I have acquired important information about the man known as Lugner, and his designs on Galvenia. I cannot disclose them to anyone, not even you, at the moment. I shall remain in Lorean for a day or two more, to confirm certain suspicions of mine, and then I shall return to Davenport to plan my next course of action. Tell my dear mother not to worry on my account. I am quite capable of defending myself," Juno said coldly.

"Makarov, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea…" Henrik began.

"Leave me to make my own decisions, Spenson, and I will respect you. But I will give you one final piece of advice, as a token of my goodwill. Remain here no longer, but return to Davenport immediately. You may be needed there."

"What do you mean?" Henrik asked.

"I can say no more, Spenson. I wish you good luck. As for me, I shall follow the Way." Juno looked away, and motioned to Henrik to leave.

The way? Henrik thought, as he climbed quietly up the stairs. What does he mean by that?

As he climbed back into bed, he reflected that, all things considered, he had done quite a good day's work. And to the Infinity be the glory. So let it be…he reflected, as he drifted off to sleep.

xxx