The Romance of the Way

by Q the Professor

"The Romance of the Way" is my personal tribute to Admiral Styles' admirable RPG, "Love and War", though it also owes a debt to Lun Calsari's "The Way" and Flare's "Romancing Walker". "Love and War" ends on a cliffhanger, so what happens next? What becomes of Ryan Eramond and his friends? Read on!

12. Chapter 11: A Time for War

CHAPTER ELEVEN: A TIME FOR WAR

"Too long have I had my dwelling
among those who hate peace.
I am for peace; but when I speak,
they are for war."
- Psalm 120: 6-7.

"Wow," Emily said, looking at her grandmother with wide eyes. "Did Grandpa really do all that? That's awesome, Gran!"

"I'm afraid that was only the beginning for poor Grandpa," Lavie said, straightening one of Emily's bows for her. "You see, sweetie, though he had come back a hero, and was moving on with his life, the world wouldn't let him. Hard times were about to come, and both of us were caught up in them, though we never expected it."

"You mean….war, Gran?" Emily shivered. "Mummy always says war is one of the most terrible things ever."

Lavie shook her head sadly. "She's right there, you know. When Ryan and I were young, we didn't quite realize how dreadful it could all be, darling. We were all caught up in the excitement, and thought we were being heroes and heroines. It took a second war – the one my children lived through themselves – to teach us that we were all wrong, and that war was not something beautiful, but rather ugly and stupid. I wonder if we've learned our lesson, even now."

"Don't worry, Gran," Emily reassured her. "I will. If I can ever do anything to prevent it, I will."

"My, what brave words, sweetie," Lavie said, with a distant expression on her face. "How glad Kaleb would have been, if he had lived to hear them." She sighed, and Emily recognized the expression on Lavie's face, both proud and regretful – it was the same that Mummy had on her face whenever she mentioned Uncle Kaleb, her big brother, who was a war hero, and whom she'd never known. Uncertain how to respond, she remained silent on her grandmother's lap, looking at the floor.

"Oh, don't be downcast, dear," Lavie said, brightening. "Instead, let's go on with what happened back then. The Zions were mourning their dead, and they had guests from Galvenia at the time, including a Princess and an old man we'd both already met.…"

xxx

A week had passed since the formal proclamation of Terrin Hipper as President of the Commonwealth, and an uneasy silence had settled over most of the Zion Empire as the day of Prince Wilhelm's state funeral dawned. Nowhere was the palpable sense of unrest clearer than in Caledonia, where, ever since the deaths of Koketsu and now of Andreyev of the Varald, the spectre of armed conflict hung in the air. Loyal citizens of the Empire were also concerned by the lateness of their Crown Prince's funeral. Though a small ceremony, presided over by the Archbishop of Caledonia, had already been conducted at the Palace and broadcast over the radio, the populace were still unsettled that such an august figure should be treated in such a modest, even inglorious manner.

"The Emperor is unwell," wiser heads had said. "It is unjust to expect him to stage a public display at our convenience rather than his, particularly at a moment like this."

Others had laid the blame squarely on their neighbours. To appease the Galvenians of the South, whose military assistance would be required should war break out, Charlemagne was awaiting the arrival of their King and his retinue before a formal funeral could take place. And what further proof of this was required, they claimed, than the fact that not only the King, but the Queen and the Princess – who had survived the same journey that had claimed Wilhelm's life, and returned to Galvenia in triumph – were all attending the ceremony? Some of those making the claim viewed this as a shrewd move on the Emperor's part; after all, they said, he would require every possible means of assistance if involved in a conflict with the Varald. Others were unhappy; the grief of the people, they countered, should be allowed expression, and should not depend on the convenience of a neighbouring ruler, and a weak one at that.

Neither of these explanations was completely correct, but they both had the advantage of supporting evidence, and their proponents sounded authoritative enough to convince many, and to still the worst of the grumbling. To Agent William Striker, who was being briefed on the security arrangements for the procession by Chamberlain Engel, it did not really matter either way. It was early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen, but both men were early risers, and this fact did not perturb them unduly.

"I trust these arrangements are satisfactory," he said, going over the plans, which Engel and his men had sketched out on a large map of the streets of Caledonia, once more. "We do not anticipate any real hazards, but there is always the danger that an over-enthusiastic group may begin demonstrating, and demanding immediate reprisals against the Varald. This is most likely to happen in the following areas" – he circled three residential districts on the map with a quill of his own – "and we have set up a cordon there, just to be safe. A separate detachment will remain with the Royal Family of Galvenia throughout, from the moment they land at the military docks until the moment they depart the way they came."

"They are an added complication," Engel said, fussily, glad that this young man was taking on so many of the responsibilities he assumed he would have to shoulder. "Arlbert himself would have been all right, but the presence of the Queen and the Princess is a problem, particularly if she is a target herself."

"A target? Surely you jest, sir," Striker said, shaking his head and smiling as his quill traced a line from the military docks to the Royal Palace, where Arlbert and his family would be received before proceeding to Saint Geraud's Abbey. "Whatever dangers surround that young woman, she is surely safe in Zion. We are no longer in the days of Johan II, who had a Galvenian princess murdered when she no longer served his purposes."

"Still, Agent, remember that she is alive, and Wilhelm is dead," Engel said, cautiously. "There may be some people who resent that."

"Granted, Sir, but we are prepared for that contingency as well. Leave it to the Intelligence and Tactics Divison, if it should come to that," Striker said, laying down his quill. "Are we expecting any other visitors from Galvenia? I know Socius and Sheffield are staying home, to run the show in the King's absence – though some would say that they do so even when he is present."

Engel laughed. "How true that is, Agent," he replied. "The weakness of Arlbert and the pliability of Socius have certainly served us well. There is only one more guest from Galvenia, to my knowledge, who received a personal invitation from the Emperor – a retired scholar who has lived in Itaria for many years, and who was one of the late Prince's tutors. Upon learning that the man was at King's College, Charlemagne felt it would be fitting to ask him to attend."

"A scholar from Itaria?" Striker's voice was suddenly stern. "Why were we not informed of this?"

"My apologies, young man," Engel said, "but surely it was not of much importance, was it? The man is apparently quite old, but the Emperor said that he was his son's favourite teacher; he even resided in the Palace for a time in the past. His papers are quite in order, including a bona fide from the Pontiff of Itaria, whom he served as a member of" – Engel consulted his notes – "the Pontifical Council of the Evangelium. He has recently resigned this post, citing age, and has been granted a visiting professorship in his homeland; a sinecure, surely."

"The Council of the Evangelium?" Striker said, in a low tone. "This is disturbing, Chamberlain. The Council is said to be infested with religious extremists, who consider Charlemagne a traitor for not opposing the Varald and their repression of the Church more strongly. One of their sympathizers, a theologian named Gray, was recently in King's College himself, though he did not receive a very warm welcome. Apparently he insulted Socius during a lecture, and most of his audience walked out." He laughed. "Perhaps it is because I have lived in the service of the temporal power rather than the spiritual, but I distrust the current Itarian bureaucracy and their ideology, and I wish this old man were not coming."

"I do not think he is a man of that sort, Agent," Engel reassured him. "In fact, I know the man myself, for I have met him briefly on several occasions, when he came to teach our late Crown Prince. His name is Marlborough, and he is a gentleman's son. He is said to be temperate in his views; in fact, he may have resigned from the Council precisely because he disagreed with the sort of elements you mention. He will arrive today, on a passenger ship, soon after Arlbert does."

"I will have him watched closely, nonetheless," Striker replied. "The Varald without, the Galvenians and the Itarians within. This promises to be interesting, Sir."

"Indeed, Agent," Engel said. "And I must say I'm glad I have someone as efficient as you to assist us with the – ahem – arrangements. Though I must confess I was expecting someone older, you impress me favourably, young man. Good fortune to you."

"Thank you, Sir," Agent Striker said, warmly, shaking hands with the Chamberlain before departing. As he walked back to join his men and rehearse the final arrangements, but despite his outward poise, he was far from composed.

Providence has a cruel sense of humour, indeed. he thought to himself, giving his instructions with a detached look on his face. This is an added complication. I need to be careful about that man and his movements, or all may be lost before we have even begun to fight.

xxx

The reception for the Galvenian Royal Family, at the Emperor Friederich Military Bay, was respectful and even warm, though not exuberant, as befitted guests of importance who were, nevertheless, passing through on a sad occasion. A small detachment, led by Admiral Wells, Captain Baker, and their men, preceded the royals themselves, who carried themselves simply and with dignity, without expecting any undue pomp or display. As Carranya reached the end of the landing, and stood on Zionese soil for the first time, a strange sense of achievement – of homecoming, even – surged through her. She looked out at the rising sun, which seemed to be a good augury in itself. Francis, she thought, I'm here at last. I never thought I would see the day so soon, but I have. Where are you?

"Are you quite well, dear?" Queen Katarina asked, observing the far-away look on her daughter's face.

Carranya flushed. "Quite well, Mother," she replied, politely. "It's just that – this feels strange and wonderful, somehow. Perhaps it's just that I've never seen Caledonia, except in books and paintings."

"I know," the Queen replied, indulgently. "I was quite taken with the place when Arlbert and I – I'm sorry, I mean, the King and I – came here, twenty-one years ago."

Carranya laughed. "Did you come here as newlyweds, then, Mother?" she asked. "That sounds just like one of Mr. Tremfein's plays!" The one I acted in, to be precise, she thought, hiding her smile behind her veil.

"Indeed, my daughter," Katarina said, looking at the sunrise with quite a nostalgic expression herself. "We arrived early in the morning, on a fine summer's day, just like this one. But, hush, I shouldn't be chattering like this. There comes your father, dear, so let's all get ready for a procession, shall we?"

"Of course, Mother," Carranya said, fondly. The King was now standing at the top of the landing, escorted by his own personal bodyguards, and descended slowly, with small mincing steps. Reaching the landing, he took the Queen's arm, and Carranya took her position in front of them. The military band began to play a subdued, instrumental version of the Galvenian national anthem, as Philipp Durer, the Foreign Minister of Zion, came forward with the men of the 3rd Imperial Battalion to greet them. As if on cue, the Galvenian cortege began to march forward, and when they met, Durer broke ranks to greet the King and Queen.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he said. "The Emperor could not be personally present, but he will receive you in state at the Palace. We shall now accompany you there, and you may rest and refresh yourself before the funeral, which will begin at noon at Saint Geraud's Abbey. On behalf of the Zion Empire, we welcome you and your family to our shores."

"Thank you, Minister, that will be quite satisfactory," Arlbert said, affecting a Zion accent himself, and causing Katarina to suppress a giggle. "Let us proceed, then."

And the procession marched forward, closely watched by members of the Zion Special Forces and the Intelligence Division, including Agent Striker, who had been asked by Engel to "keep an eye on them, in case the men with old Durer were caught napping." As he saw the Royal Family pass by, he looked at them closely.

How like her mother the Princess is, he thought. It's certainly a pleasure to see her again, though these are hardly the happiest of circumstances. I hope I won't have to shoot anyone for her sake, this time, though. The idea brought a smile to his face, though it did not last long, preoccupied as he was with his own work.

The journey to the Palace was short, and was completed in a little over half an hour. As they stepped across the bridge, and through the massive gates of the Palace itself, the band – perhaps growing tired of playing the same song – began a rather spirited rendition of "Daughter of Glory", sans the words. The familiar tune brought back memories of Davenport, and the Princess – recalling the eventful days she had spent there – thought of Lavie, and Ryan, and the Brotherhood of the Raccoon, and laughed.

"They really shouldn't be playing something as cheerful as that," Arlbert complained, in a low tone. "Aren't they supposed to be mourning their Prince?"

"I never really knew Wilhelm myself, my King," Katarina replied, "but from all I've heard, he was a brave and noble young man. Surely he would not have wished us to wail and weep all the time, like the Old Republicans do."

"Perhaps you're right, my dear," the King replied, as they entered a large room, where the Chamberlain stood in ceremonial uniform, arms extended in welcome.

"Your Majesty," he said, kneeling before the King, "welcome to Caledonia. We trust that your journey was satisfactory."

"Quite so," the Queen replied, brightly. "In fact, Carranya was even able to help me with the sea-sickness, so it was quite a pleasant experience. I see the Palace has changed little in over twenty years; it has still retained its charm and dignity. And I must offer you my condolences on your loss, Chamberlain. I know we sent you an official message, but such things are cold comfort. How is the Emperor?"

"He is as well as would be expected, Your Majesty," Engel said, pleased at being thus addressed by the Queen of Galvenia herself. "But remember that the Prince was the only child of his old age, and therefore, the blow has struck him hard. However, he faces it as a true Valtemond would."

"When may we meet him in person?" King Arlbert enquired.

"Very soon, Your Majesty," Engel replied, politely. "Our men will show you to the East Wing, where you may prepare yourselves for the afternoon, and recover from your journey. At eleven o'clock, we will bring you to the Throne Room, where the Emperor will receive you personally. You will all depart together, in his own train, for the Abbey at half-past eleven. Refreshment is being arranged for you in the Banquet Hall of the same wing, and I shall leave two of my assistants with you, to help you with anything you may require. Is this satisfactory, Your Majesty?"

"Indeed it is," Arlbert said, and after some more ceremonial greetings – which we need not dwell upon unduly – the three of them, and their attendants, were escorted to their temporary quarters in the palace, from whence they would be summoned in three hours. The King, eager for some rest, had gone ahead with his guards, while his wife and daughter followed at some distance, admiring their surroundings.

"I must say, this is quite a classy place, Princess," Naomi Festa – who had been appointed the Princess' personal dressmaker after the events of Davenport, and had prepared the Queen's costume as well for the day's formalities – observed, looking around curiously at the portraits and statues that lined the corridors of the East Wing. "Just look at these carpets!"

"The Zion have always been extravagant, Naomi," the Queen informed her. "I'm sure you must have seen that for yourself, on the Paradiso!"

"Indeed, we did, Mother," Carranya replied. "I think they had exactly the same sort of carpets on Deck B, where the Zion nobility stayed. I wonder if that ship will ever sail again, after what happened on it."

"It probably will," Naomi said, confidently. "Oh sure, they'll take their time to fix it, rename it, clean it up, and maybe have it blessed by one of those clergymen of theirs. But that ship will sail, even if it's suffered a shipwreck now. It's meant to. That's the way of the world. Besides, think of all the investors who'd want to recover their profit!" She chuckled. "Mark my words, Princess, you may be asked to break a champagne bottle over it, when it begins its next journey."

"I should like to do that," Carranya said, dreamily. "That's a nice idea, Naomi."

"But aren't sailors generally superstitious?" Queen Katarina asked, gently. "They may not want to sail on a ship that is 'haunted'…"

"Hmph, that's what the Itarian priests are for, Your Majesty," Naomi said, dismissively. "Now, I don't hold much with that Church of Infinity, and all the additions they've made to our good old religion, but those priests are fine men – some of them, at least – and they'll take care of any bogeys that the sailors are scared of."

And talking happily in this way, they made their way deeper into the Palace.

xxx

I'm a little early, Henrik Spenson though, checking his papers carefully to make sure nothing was missing for what seemed like the hundredth time. A bit early even by her standards, and I know she's one of the most punctual persons on Terra.

He looked up at the stark sign on the wall of the building he was outside of, opposite the bench he was sitting on. King's College – Registration for New Students. Open Today. Working Hours: 0900 to 1700 hours. The disappearance of the Princess had caused a delay in most aspects of administrative life in Galvenia, but with her safe return, the letter asking him – and every other new student – to come down and register had arrived fairly soon, to both his and his father's satisfaction.

"Henrik! There you are!" He did not need to look up – the now-familiar voice, and the strange sense of lightness that accompanied it, were enough to assure him of the speaker's identity, even as she waved at him – almost dropping her own thick folder as she did so – and walked up to join him on the bench. "Goodness, did I keep you waiting for long? Your letter did say eight-thirty, didn't it?"

Henrik rose to greet her, and they shook hands before sitting down together, comfortably, side by side. "Good morning, Bernadette, it's good to see you," he said, warmly. "And no, I wasn't waiting long; I had to come here a little early, because they'd asked to meet me at the Museum early in the morning. I finished my work there, and then I settled down here, knowing you'd come soon."

"The Museum? What for?" Bernadette asked, leaning closer to him.

"Remember that Memory Crystal we found in Clarissa's warehouse? I took it over to them, after leaving you at St. Nealus'. They weren't that interested this time, because it was a big one, but they did give me one thousand Commonwealth dollars for our pains. Here's your share." He took a five-hundred-dollar note from his wallet, and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Henrik," she said, blushing a little. "By Saint Integra, a few more Memory Crystals, and we can both retire and live off our fortunes!"

"Not sure about living off it, given the cost of living these days," Henrik observed, "but there are still plenty of things we could do. For example, we could sail to Itaria, and visit the Seat of the Faith ourselves…"

"How perfectly lovely," Bernadette said, enthusiastically. "Perhaps King's College will send us both on a field trip, as part of the course on Religious Literature, since all the best scholars live in Itaria City itself."

"That sounds like a great idea," Henrik replied, feeling more than a little pleased at her "both". "But actually, there's more to tell you about the Museum. This time, I didn't get to meet the Professor; she had gone to Zion University for a doctoral defence, or something like that. I spoke to one of her assistants, a green-haired lady who seemed rather scatterbrained, and kept dropping her glasses, but was actually very sharp. Her name was Aline Sheldon."

"Her glasses? Oh, dear, that sounds just like Father," Bernadette said with a smile.

Henrik laughed. "Anyway, she told me that the crystal we found in the warehouse, and the one I told you about, from the sewers, were both made by the same person; she'd analyzed the sounds quite carefully, and they matched. The one I found first was defective, which was probably why it had been thrown away. But there's more."

"Tell me about it," Bernadette said, kindly. "What did Miss Sheldon have to say?"

Henrik lowered his voice. "Well, actually, what I'm about to tell you is a bit strange. She was chattering away happily, but what she had to say was actually quite serious. She asked me if I was a Church member, and I said yes. She then told me that a Church chaplain had come to the help of a dear friend of hers when he was dying, and that she owed them a favour in return. The she asked me if I knew someone from the Church to whom important information could be given."

"Why, Henrik, you shouldn't be telling anyone about this, then," Bernadette said, gravely.

"You're not 'anyone'. You're my dear friend, and you're the only person my age I can trust when it comes to discussing Church matters," Henrik said earnestly, causing her to turn red with pleasure.

"Thank you, Henrik," she replied. "And I know I'd trust you that way too, if I were in your place."

They remained in silence for a moment, before he spoke again. "Anyway, what important figures in the Church do we know?"

"Well, there's Father Riordan," Bernadette observed, "and Sister Miriam, and of course, Father Marlborough, whom we've just met, but who seems to both kind, and very learned! Do you know, I found a book of his in our library at St. Nealus', quite a recent one. It was in the reference section, though. It was called 'The Zion University Study Guide to the Holy Book', and it had chapter-by-chapter notes, historical details, and archaeological findings." She beamed, as if she had found a treasure chest of her own.

"Well, now I know what to get you as a birthday present," Henrik said, brightly, causing her to laugh again. "Anyway, I thought of Father Marlborough too, since he helped us out with looking at Thomas' house. I wrote him a letter, care of King's College, telling him what we'd found on our earlier trip to Davenport, but I didn't get a reply so far. But this was something I wanted to talk over with you, first."

"With me, Henrik? Why, I'm flattered." The pair laughed, and then Henrik went on. "Apparently the first Memory Crystal – the one we found at Davenport Beach, remember? – started playing by itself one day, and both she and Professor Hernandez saw what was on it."

"What? That's – that's quite incredible!" Bernadette said, clutching at her hat as a stray puff of wind almost blew it off her head. "Father told me a lot about Memory Crystals, but I've never heard of one that runs on its own. Some need light or heat, others need a touch, and some respond to a key word, but this is the first I've heard of such a thing!"

"Your father certainly knows a lot of things," Henrik said, appreciatively. "Perhaps we should discuss this with him, too. Anyway, she was sworn to secrecy about what was actually on the crystal, and was asked to go to Darington herself, to meet with a professor from Zion there. They spoke for quite a while, he viewed the Crystals himself, and at the end he told her that he would handle matters from there. However, he did tell her that there was trouble threatening both Zion and Itaria, and that if she knew anyone from Itaria who was trustworthy, she was to pass on the information to them. She was at her wit's end, because the chaplain who'd helped her had passed on some time ago, and she knew of no one else until I happened to come by."

"Henrik to the rescue!" Bernadette said, teasingly. "You seem to be making a habit of coming to the help of young women with problems, Mr. Spenson."

"Oh, come on," Henrik said in mock protest. "She was forty if she was a day."

"I was just pulling your leg," she said, brushing the hair away from her face. "But let's be serious for a moment. Did she say what kind of danger it was?"

"I think she wanted to, but the Zions had probably threatened her with dire consequences if she did," Henrik said, recalling Aline's nervous expression when they had met. "But she did say one thing more. She mentioned a name, a person's name, and asked me if I'd ever heard it. When I said no, she dropped the matter, though rather reluctantly."

"And what was the name she mentioned?" Bernadette asked, as they drew slightly closer to each other, so that a stray lock of her hair was tickling his face. Henrik did not object to this – in fact, he rather enjoyed the sensation.

"Just a single name," Henrik said, shaking his head. "Robert. I don't know any Robert, though. Was there a Robert in that prayer group of yours, the one Thomas Perrin belonged to?"

Bernadette closed her eyes, making an effort to remember. "Why," she said, amazed, "I do believe there was. A young man, named Robert, who used to play the guitar for the music group. He only came by a couple of times, because Father Gruner generally preferred us to sing without accompaniment."

"We've got to find out more about him," Henrik suggested. "And I think Father Marlborough could help us with it. Maybe we can try to meet him after we finish our registrations."

"That's an excellent idea, Henrik," Bernadette said. "I think it might be time for us to join the queue, though!" She pointed to a slowly growing line of students, which was lining up to enter the students' office, and which they had somehow not observed till then.

"Qua? I didn't even notice that!" Henrik said, springing to his feet. "I hope we aren't late."

"Well, they say patience is a virtue," Bernadette said, stretching herself as she stood up, and slipping her hand into his. "Come along, let's finish this, and then try to get an appointment with Father."

"Sounds good to me," Henrik said, as they walked, hand in hand, to join the line.

xxx

Two men were seated in the small office of the Explorers' Guild. One of them was pacing nervously, wrapping the folds of his cloak close around him, while the other, taller and more richly clothed, seemed to be staring out of the small window, watching the sun set over the eastern districts of Lorean.

"You failed me," the second man said, in a level tone. It was not an accusation, but a simple statement of fact. "And not once, but several times. Really, I wonder why I even bother."

"Sir Lugner," the first man said, haltingly, "I offer you my apologies, but I must remind you that the circumstances were exceptional."

"We live in exceptional times, my friend," Lugner said, drawing his sword and resting it on the table. The two-edged blade gleamed threateningly in the light of the room's single lamp, and the cloaked man swallowed nervously. "And we require exceptional services. It seems the men in your employ are far from skilled at their task. Bandits who know nothing of banditry." He laughed.

"Sir, we could not count on the presence of that other bandit," the first man protested, "nor on the fact that a Zion soldier would cross the border so freely and involve herself in the affair."

"Listen to me carefully," Lugner said, standing up, and pointing his sword down at the ground. "It was bad enough that that fool Talmadge became greedy for lucre, and endangered our mission at the very start, leading to the death of Kodenai. Yet, we found a replacement for him. It was worse when the very gods themselves, and a foolish girl, conspired against us to foil our plans on the Paradiso. Yet, we shall have our war. But it is far, far worse" – and here, he paused meaningfully, sending a tremor down the other man's spine – "when something as simple as recovering our goods cannot be accomplished, simply because some foolish youths and one Zion soldier happened to get involved."

"You forget the other man, Sir," his companion replied, running a hand against his damp face. "The one with the sword, who could apparently use magic."

"A magical bandit?" Lugner laughed contemptuously. "I am not here to listen to excuses. I will even overlook the package you failed to 'intercept', as you so poetically put it, since your men seem to quake at the sight of Zion soldiers. I will even concede that the loss of the Memory Crystal was an accident, which you had nothing to do with. But I need it recovered. The fewer people know about it, the better."

"I shall try again, Sir Lugner," the man said, with a shudder. "I have men across the border…."

"'Trying', my friend, is not good enough. If that Crystal is seen by ordinary men, or even by the Emperor, it will mean little to them. But there are still wise men in Zion, who may be able to understand it, and if they do, then our plans are seriously compromised. Go, but if you fail, remember that not only your payment but your life is forfeit. The stakes we play for are too high for your stupidity to compromise them."

"I shall recover it, Sir," the man said, backing away from Lugner as he stepped closer. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little work to do at Mount Lorea Mine, and my time is precious to me. May fortune favour you, my good Robert – I shall continue to call you that, for now – because if it does not, I shall prove implacable."

"Yes, Sir," the man said, as Lugner strode out of the room calmly. Sinking down in a chair, he buried his head in his hands, and groaned. I'll watch his every move, he thought vengefully. He foiled me more than once, but he will not do it again. For I, more than even Lugner, know his weakest point, and I know how to strike at it. He raised his head and smiled, and drawing a flask from his cloak, began to drink heartily, his confidence slowly returning.

xxx

Two hours had passed since the Royal Family of Galvenia had arrived at the Imperial Palace, and the Queen was suffering from a headache – a common enough complaint for her, especially after a long journey.

"I hate to trouble you, dear," she told Carranya, "but could you go and fetch the physician who accompanied us, just to be on the safe side? After all, I've got to be in good shape for the ceremony, and he has all my medicines with him. He said he'd been given a room down the corridor, the third room after the left turning. I'd send one of the others, but the guards are all with the King, and Naomi is busy getting our clothes ready."

"It's no trouble at all, Mother," Carranya said affectionately, as she set out in search of the doctor. However, absorbed as she was with thoughts of a certain young man, she missed the first left turning – which, to be fair to her, was not a very obvious one. She headed down the second, counted three rooms with mathematical precision, and found a room with its door ajar, which she entered confidently.

"Doctor Melbourne?" she called out. "Are you there? Mother was asking for you…."

But no sooner had the words left her mouth, than she realized her mistake. The room was a library, and not an accommodation of any sort, and the only person inside was a thin elderly man, wearing a brown robe, and leafing through one of the books on a top shelf with what seemed to be great concentration.

"I'm afraid I don't know either Doctor Melbourne, or your mother, my child," he said kindly. His voice had a quaver in it, which fitted well with his general appearance of frailty and his loose clothes. "But – Oh, my goodness, by Saint Guibert and his seventy scholars. Good morning, your Highness." He bowed politely, and replaced his book. "I must say, this is quite the unexpected pleasure."

"Do you know me?" Carranya asked, confused.

"Only by sight, Your Highness," the man replied, politely. "I was to have visited the Palace once I returned from this mournful affair, and been formally presented to your august parents, but I see that at least some of that honour has been anticipated. Truly, the Infinity is not only good and truthful, but humorous."

Carranya laughed. "I've never thought of it that way," she said, "but perhaps we learn more about the Infinity as we grow. When I was a child, I thought the Infinity was a sort of cosmic governess or tutor, with long lists of what should and should not be done."

"So did I, Your Highness," the man replied, amiably. "That is one of the unfortunate by-products of the old way of learning doctrine, using rote memory and lists of questions. It does have its charm, especially to the legalistic or logical mind, but it is far from perfect. Perhaps our ancestors had the same idea, and that is why they called him the Purpose. But let me remedy my rudeness, for I have not introduced myself. My name is Terence Marlborough, and I am actually one of your subjects, though I have lived in every continent of Terra at some time in my life. I have now returned home, in my eightieth year, to teach at King's College."

"King's College? We look forward to receiving you at the Palace," Carranya said, impressed. "What brings you to Zion, Professor Marlborough?"

"Ah, it's a sad thing. A little while ago, when I was still a young man of seventy or thereabouts" – he twinkled at Carranya, who laughed again – "I had the honour of being invited by Emperor Charlemagne to teach some of the children at the Palace: to wit, both his son, Wilhelm, and his nephew, Renaud. They were both very gifted pupils, though in rather different ways."

"You were Prince Wilhelm's tutor?" Carranya exclaimed. "Professor, I must say this is quite the honour for me as well. What did you teach him?"

"Many things, your Highness," Marlborough replied, looking into the distance as he recalled those days. "History, which is my own particular passion. Archaeology. A little theology, or at least what was appropriate for a young boy's mind. Philosophy, though they had a better teacher for that. And, of course, instruction in the faith of the Church, as befits all future rulers of Zion. I was here for about three years, and they were memorable ones. I was quite upset to hear of Wilhelm's death, and the Emperor was kind enough to invite me, so that I could pay my last respects."

"I am truly sorry, Professor," Carranya said, softly, "and I offer you my condolences."

"At my age, Your Highness, death is a fact of life," Marlborough observed philosophically, "one that we must wait for with as much dignity as we can muster. But the death of a young man like Wilhelm, who could have undone some of the errors of his predecessors, is a tragedy. I still remember him as a boy of twelve or thirteen – brave, imaginative, a true son of the Valtemonds." He shook his head, sadly. "What a sad waste. But in the midst of tragedy, the Infinity still shows mercy – he has spared you, Your Highness. Praise be to him."

"Yes, indeed, Professor," Princess Carranya replied, trembling as she remembered how she had been saved not once, but twice. "It was a miracle that I survived."

"Indeed it was," the Professor said, looking at her as he would at a favourite student. "Though I would love to converse with you at length, Your Highness, I am sure you have other tasks to attend to on this solemn day. If you are looking for the rest of your retinue, I believe they were given rooms at the previous turning, and not this one. The error is natural, because the first turning is not an easy one to spot."

"Oh, goodness," Carranya said, abashed. "I forgot all about poor Mother. Thank you, Professor. I'll go and find Doctor Melbourne, now. I hope we will have the pleasure of your company in Lorean."

"I seem to be making a habit," Marlborough said, bowing as she turned away, "of meeting quite remarkable young ladies these days, in the strangest places. Perhaps it is a good sign for the kingdom of Galvenia. Farewell, Your Highness, and peace be with you."

"Farewell, Professor. Peace be with you, as well," Carranya said, as she turned and left, hurriedly, in search of the physician and his physic. Marlborough looked at her with approval as she left, and suddenly, an idea – suggested by a rather amusing memory from his past – came into his mind.

Poor Wilhelm always had a sense of humour, he thought. Though of course such a thing is now not only improbable, but impossible.

xxx

At the very same time as the funeral procession was about to leave for Saint Geraud's Abbey, an equally solemn exercise, though a less tearful one, was taking place on Unity Isle.

"Gentlemen, this is leading nowhere," Terrin Hipper said, mildly, trying to placate the furious men who sat on either side of him. "Neither you, not the Senate, have been able to reach a decision that would carry a majority. I move, therefore, that the Varald Directorate conduct its own investigation into the death of Lev Andreyev, and that the Zion submit a copy of the report pertaining to their findings in the death of Koketsu. If the Executive Council, after reading both these documents, feels that Commonwealth intervention is required, let us have it by all means. But if not, let us not start an unnecessary quarrel."

Jansen looked at Hipper with a smile. "I accept the President's decision. The Geheimpol will uncover the truth behind the death of our beloved Deputy Director."

"We object!" Kanoi said, irritably. "The Empire objects most strongly. As per the Commonwealth Code of Procedure, the documents submitted by a non-Commonwealth body have no legal status, except as hearsay. The scurrilous ramblings of the Geheimpol will be of no value to the Executive Council."

"My dear Kanoi," Representative Jedda said, with a sly smile on his lips, "I am afraid that the Code of Procedure applies only when the matter does not fall under the purview of the Charter. Under the Charter's provisions, it is clearly stated that the opinion of the President, along with at least two members of the Executive Council, is enough to grant legality to a document, and have it admitted as evidence for internal enquiries."

"Very well," Lord Lucan said, officiously, "but tell me, Jedda, who apart from Jansen endorses this proposal?"

"I do," Jedda replied, calmly. "Gentlemen, while we argue over the relative vices, real or imaginary, of the Zion and Varald, Terra is paying the cost. Already, trade across the border has fallen off, in response to rumours of war. The value of the Commonwealth dollar has fallen by fifty-seven cents, ever since the death of Koketsu. I vote we settle the matter once and for all, in the Commonwealth, and avert an armed conflict, as much as Kanoi would love to see one."

"The motion passes," Terrin Hipper said, with a nod of approval in Jedda's direction. "By the powers vested in me as President of Terra, I vote that the documents I have mentioned be produced at the earliest, for perusal by the Council. The matter rests, gentlemen."

"Charlemagne was a fool to think that yielding to Hipper was ever going to work," Kanoi grumbled under his breath. Archbishop Mazarus, who was sitting next to him, smiled sarcastically.

"Commissioner," Lucan said, politely, "now that the President has set the proper procedures in motion, surely we can reassure the populace that there is no possibility of an armed conflict."

"I am afraid that depends on the results of our enquiry, Lord Lucan," Jansen said, stiffly. "If the Zion can be exonerated, then there is no cause for war, true. But if the opposite is true, then…."

"Let us not deal in counterfactuals, Jansen," Mazarus said, in his best 'lecturing' tone. "Now, on behalf of the State of Itaria, I have with me a message from the Pontiff, to be read to President Hipper on the occasion of his election."

"I needed an afternoon nap, so this would be a good time to read it," Jedda said, yawning and stretching his arms and legs. "Your Pontiff, like Lord Lucan, is good at saying nothing using many words. But unlike Lucan, he cannot say it with style."

"Is there any need to be so offensive, Jedda?" Mazarus said, annoyed. "If you wish to have a siesta, there is a hammock out in Unity Garden."

Kanoi chuckled. "By the Infinity, Archbishop, I didn't know you possessed a sense of humour. I am impressed."

"Gentlemen, let us not squabble," Terrin Hipper said, serenely. "Please read out the missive, my dear Archbishop."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Mazarus said, and drew a scroll from within his bishop's robes. "This is what is written:

"From His Holiness, Carolus Pope Pious XXI, Pontiff and Sovereign of Itaria, to his brother and fellow ruler in the Infinity, Terrin Hipper, President of Terra."

"Fellow ruler? I like that," Jedda said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Mazarus glared at Jedda, then continued. "I join the Archbishops, Bishops, Clergy, Religious, Councils and Citizens of Itaria in sending you my heartiest felicitations on the occasion of your election. In the light of the recent tragedies that have befallen us, Terra stands in need of peace, and it is my firm hope that you, Mr. President, will work to the best of your abilities, and ensure that the vision of St. Geraud endures, three centuries after the Commonwealth was born.

"True peace, of course, can only come when men realize their place and vocation on this world that the Infinity, in all his goodness, created for us. Man's highest yearnings…."

It was at this moment that a guard from the Commonwealth Special Forces, carrying an envelope, entered the room. Saluting the President, he walked up to Mazarus, who was beginning to get into the spirit of his Pontiff's message, and handed the envelope to him.

"Can this not wait?" Mazarus said, a trifle annoyed, but still speaking loftily.

"It is a message of importance, Sir," the guard said.

"Very well, soldier," Mazarus said, as he slowly opened the cover, running his finger along the seal and breaking it neatly. He read the message within, and the Pontiff's scroll dropped out of his hands and onto the Council's table.

"Saint Geraud, protect us," he said, swaying and holding on to the table for support.

"What is the matter, Mazarus?" Lucan asked, sympathetically.

"Gentlemen," Mazarus said, in an unsteady voice, "it is clear that we are facing a chastisement here. May the Infinity have mercy on us all. Pardon me, Mr. President, but there are some things that a man must face alone, or not at all." And saying this, he walked away from the Council chamber, almost tottering, with the guard following on his heels. The telegraphic message lay on the table, forgotten.

"Good heavens, what is the matter?" Kanoi said. "You'd think the Pontiff had died, or something."

Lucan picked up the piece of paper and read it, then handed it to Kanoi with a stunned expression. It was short and ungrammatical, but its import was terrifyingly clear:

ARSON AT ST ANNETTES CONVENT STOP FORTY FIVE WOUNDED EIGHT KILLED STOP RIOT AT ZION EMBASSY STOP REMAIN ON UNITY ISLE AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS STOP.

xxx

At Saint Geraud's Abbey, amid a crowd of thousands who had come to pay their last respects to the much-loved Crown Prince, the funeral liturgy was almost over. The Archbishop of Caledonia, flanked by seven other priests – of which, Carranya noted, Professor Marlborough was one – conducted the prescribed rituals with a silent pomp and dignity that left the audience, if not happy, then at least satisfied that enough had been done for the late Wilhelm.

This isn't just display, she thought. They really cared for him, perhaps far more than for the Emperor himself.

Finally, as the flame was lit in front of Wilhelm's coffin, the Emperor – accompanied by the Empress Antalya, his second wife and Wilhelm's mother – knelt down in front of it, and received the Archbishop's blessing.

"All comes from the Infinity," the Archbishop said, placing one hand over each of their heads, "and to him we must all return. Receive, O Infinity, the body and soul of one who was to have been God's hand on Terra and on Zion, that he may find eternal rest in thy sight, and remain forever with thee in Paradise. Receive, O Heavenly Father, the body and soul of Wilhelm Albrecht Francis Hohenzollern Valtemond, only son of the Emperor, so that he may find in thee a greater kingdom than any that exists on this earth. For this, we all pray."

"So let it be," the crowd replied in chorus, drowning out the Emperor and Empress' quiet replies.

Queen Katarina, moved by these proceedings, wiped away a tear, and turned to look at her daughter – only to find, to her surprise, that she had turned pale, and was holding on to the arm of her seat for support

Poor Carranya, she thought. We all show our sympathy and grief in different ways. My daughter seldom cries, but I can see how this has affected her.

Father Marlborough, stepping forward to the lectern, placed a pair of glasses on his nose, and raised his hand. A hush came over the crowd, as the master of ceremonies announced that Wilhelm's tutor, at the Emperor's invitation, would deliver a brief eulogy.

"I hope he isn't going to bore us too long," King Arlbert muttered.

"My friends," he began, in a gentle, solemn tone of voice. "There is little that one can say or do at a time like this. His Imperial Highness, who has most graciously invited me to speak on this occasion, suffers two-fold – as the ruler of the Empire, and as a most devoted father. Before I say anything more, I ask the Infinity, and all his angels and saints, to protect our beloved Emperor and Empress. He hath ordained them to this position, and may he grant them the strength to endure this terrible ordeal. May he comfort them, that they in turn may comfort you, the people, who mourn the untimely loss of your beloved prince."

Many of the audience had their handkerchiefs out by now, and Antalya was leaning on the Emperor's arm for support.

"I could almost wish that miraculous powers, like those of the legendary past, were granted to me now, that I could bring hope to a monarch, and solace to a mother's heart. But since this is not possible, I must do what Wilhelm himself would have wanted me to do. I was his tutor, but it is only fair to say that I learnt as much from him as he did from me. I have sometimes imagined that if Saint Geraud, from his heavenly abode, had sat in consultation with the Creator and designed our next Emperor himself, they could hardly have done better than the noble young man who now lies before you."

"Carranya," Queen Katarina asked, anxiously, looking at the pallor of her face, "are you quite all right?"

It's just a fancy, a foolish idea, Carranya told herself, forcing a smile. I must be wrong. "Yes, Mother, I am. Poor Father Marlborough, I'm sure he's also quite overcome."

"Wilhelm was always brave," Father Marlborough went on, "and it was his bravery, his willingness to place himself on the front lines in the service of the Empire, which cost him his life. He remained the same in his manhood as he was when yet a young boy – adventurous and daring, but also loyal and just. He dared to dream, but he also had the courage to bring those dreams to fruition. People of Zion, Wilhelm would want us to stand strong, and remain true to his dream – a vision of a world where the people of Terra would live in freedom, where the Empire would not be feared and loathed, but loved and respected. Today, he calls out to you from beyond the grave, asking you to remain loyal to him in death, as you would have remained if he had lived and reigned over you."

There were cries and sounds of approval at this, and he paused, letting the crowd give vent to their feelings, before they grew silent again.

If Father Marlborough – who would never willingly have caused pain to anyone – had known the effect his next words would produce, he would have sacrificed his tongue, and placed it in a reliquary, rather than speak them. But foreknowledge in its highest form is a divine and not a human quality, and, composing himself, he went ahead with his speech.

"Today, men and women of Zion, you grieve, and you are afraid. There are rumours of war in the air, and a feeling that your own safety, like that of Prince Wilhelm's, is no longer assured. You may feel that, because of your loss, your very citadel is in danger. And it is here that I remember a little story that your Prince narrated to me, when he was just a child of twelve."

"It seems that when he was on a vacation – and Wilhelm loved to travel, both as a boy and as a man, and visit places beyond the Empire – he once met a young girl on a beach, with whom he made friends."

No. The single word, like the sound of a clock striking, ran through Carranya's mind, and she held herself upright.

"Now, the two of them were building a castle out of sand, and it was quite a lovely one. However, someone accidentally trampled it, and it was ruined, leaving his little friend rather upset. Later that night, he came out to the beach alone, and rebuilt that castle by himself. I do not know how long it stood, and neither did his friend, whom he did not see the next day. He promised me that, one day, if he ever met her again, he would comfort her and tell her that no matter how many times their castle would fall, it could be rebuilt."

The priest's words echoed, in a blur, in the Princess' ears. Francis. It was the only word that would come to her mind, and she felt unable to speak, or even move.

"I do not know if Wilhelm met her again," Father Marlborough concluded, bowing his head and speaking softly. "Perhaps he never did. And perhaps, like her, you grieve because will not see him again, my friends. But today, Wilhelm would have wanted you to take comfort, and to believe that, even in the midst of this great tragedy, your citadel can be rebuilt, stronger than it was before. May the Infinity, who granted us the gift of Prince Wilhelm for all too short a while, give you the courage that he had, the consolation that he would have wished on all of you, and the strength to rebuild your citadel. May the rulers and the populace of the Zion Empire believe that this is possible. May they not yield to despair, but live for his sake. This is his prayer for you in Paradise today, and it is mine on Terra. So let it be."

"So let it be," the people repeated with one voice, one that was muted, but brave.

It would be inaccurate to say that Carranya fell or collapsed. Instead, she seemed – to her horrified mother – to simply crumple to the ground, wounding her head against the carved stone arm of her chair as she did so.

"Carranya!" the Queen cried out, and all of a sudden, the eyes of everyone, including the Emperor and Empress of Zion – or so it seemed to an embarrassed King Arlbert – seemed to turn to the Royal Gallery where he and his family were seated. There was a rush of movement, and the Princess – still not quite conscious – was replaced in her chair by her mother, blood trickling down her right temple. She was only partially aware of two men standing beside her, one of whom was holding a compress to her head.

"How convenient," Klaus Engel said, sarcastically, to no one in particular. "These Galvenians certainly have a sense of the dramatic."

"Please do not move, Your Highness," one of the men said, and the King recognized him as Agent Striker. "Doctor, please take good care of her. I must return to my post."

"Certainly, sir," the second man said, as he felt for the Princess' pulse, but the Zionese agent was already gone.

"Dear me," said Father Marlborough to the Archbishop in dismay. "That poor young lady. I hope it wasn't something I said."

xxx

The border between the Zion Empire and the Varald has a rich history. Thousands of years ago, when the Varald Directorate was the Kingdom of Gyrus and the the Empire was the Kingdom of Meldia, a ruler of Gyrus named Leskar – angry that his offers of a military alliance had been refused – marched five thousand of his men across the border, laying waste several villages, and destroying a temple that had been dedicated to the Dragon Goddess, a serpent-shaped idol with a woman's head that had been one of Meldia's principal deities. Such was the indignation provoked by this vicious attack that not only Meldia but Factoria rose in retaliation, and marching together in alliance, they launched a counterstrike that pushed the border of Gyrus back by several thousand miles. So angered were the people of Gyrus by their ruler's error that they rose against him and had him hanged, and his successor – a distant cousin for whom the word war itself caused nightmares – hastily signed a treaty of peace, swallowing his pride and accepting the new frontier.

In the years after the fall of Meldia and the rise of Zion, border disputes between Arlia and Ghetz continued to feature prominently in the annals of history. The last great war across this frontier – the "Great Zion-Varald War" during which the Galvenian rebellion took place – ended in the boundary mark being repositioned halfway between where it originally stood, and where the folly of Leskar had moved it. With the coming of the Commonwealth not long after, the boundary had remained in an unaccustomed state of peace for over three hundred years.

"What I wouldn't give to be back in Darington, or even Caledonia," Captain Schneider, the officer in charge of border crossings on the Zion side, said to his men, as he listened to their mid-day reports at 1400 hours that same day. "I agree that a little quiet is good, men, but this is beyond ridiculous. We're doing the jobs of customs officers. They should just hand this place over to the police, and deploy us where we're wanted. To think that we could have been at Wilhelm's funeral, as part of his guard of honour, instead of twiddling our thumbs and filling out forms."

"It is the Emperor's will, sir," his second-in-command, Sergeant Lautier, replied, rather pompously, eliciting a scowl from Schneider. He disliked Lautier, who was the son of a minor noble, and enjoyed lecturing and philosophizing at the slightest opportunity. "Besides, we have been asked to remain on alert in the light of recent events."

"Recent events, hmph," Schneider said, sitting down in his seat and crossing his legs. "Your Emperor took the deaths of Koketsu and Prince Wilhelm lying down, and even accepted Hipper's presidency. He has gone out of his way to appease the Varald. What reason do they have to open hostilities, now that they have things their way, Sergeant?"

"Sir, the assassination of Lev Andreyev…" Lautier began.

"Oh, don't give me that, Lautier," the Captain said, irritably. "What is it to me or thee if the Varald have internal troubles and rebellions? They ask for it, the way they treat their own people."

"Sir," the guard at the door said, entering and saluting, "there are five men who wish to speak to you personally."

"Five men, soldier?" the Captain said, getting up from his chair. "Lautier, see what they want."

"That would not be fitting, sir," Lautier protested, in his most 'aristocratic' accent, further annoying his superior. "You are our leader, and they request an audience with you."

"Begging your pardon, sir," the soldier replied, "like the Sergeant said, they specifically mentioned wanting to see you."

"Unless they're royalty, I don't see why I should," Schneider said, "but since you insist, let us have a look." He headed to the security gate of the post, where five men in cloaks were waiting for him.

"What may I do for you gentlemen?" Schneider said, sarcastically. "A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," the first man replied. "We would just like to show you something, before we cross the border."

"Well, go ahead," the Captain said, uninterested.

"Look ahead of you, Captain, to the west, and you may be a little more attentive," the main said, in a stern voice that was almost an admonition.

The Captain looked up, still annoyed at being disturbed in this trifling manner in the middle of his work, but what he saw made him freeze on the spot. Trained directly on the border post, several miles off to the west, were two cannons, any one of which could have reduced the post to wreckage with a few rounds.

"Wh-What is the meaning of this preposterous insult, you fools?" the Captain replied, struggling for words. "Do you mean to…"

"Yes, we do," the man replied, and raised his hand. A rain of shells began to fall upon the post, as the speaker and his four followers, agile as hares, ran as fast as they could, dropping their cloaks on the way to reveal the red uniforms of a Varaldian armed division.

"This – this cannot be happening!" the Captain shouted, in a panic. "Lautier – Men, evacuate the post! We are under…."

But that was all he said, for a shell struck the roof of the gate, dislodging a block of concrete which fell directly upon the unfortunate Captain. As he felt his life slowly leaving him, he could hear the sounds of further rounds of fire, and though he could see nothing, he was certain that the entire building was collapsing around him his men. Lautier, running out in horror, was struck directly by one of the shells, and fell beside his Captain, achieving a closeness in death that would have been impossible as long as they both lived. The sounds of artillery continued to echo in the air, despite there now being not a living soul left to hear them.

xxx

But none of these events, as strange and awful as they were, had become common knowledge yet in Davenport, where Lavie Regale, along with her mother and father, were sitting down to tea. Sigmund, switching on the wireless, looked with approval at Lavie, who was reading a book as she waited for Carmen to arrive with her steaming teapot and her little cakes.

"See, Daddy," Lavie said proudly. "I actually started reading a wider range of books, just like you told me to!"

"Very well done, my daughter," Sigmund said, looking at her tenderly. "So which author has managed to extract you from the grasp of Roxanne Winters?"

"Oh, Mr. Regale, sir, that's my fault," Carmen said, entering with her tea-time paraphernalia and smiling. "I'm the one who gave her Farewell, My Summer to read when she was laid up with a toothache, after all."

Hmm, I wonder what's up with Daddy, these days! He's been extra-nice to me ever since Bernadette came by, and we had such fun at Lorean last week! It's only a pity that Ryan went goofing off with Armin, or he could have come with us as well. "It's a play by Mr. Tremfein, Daddy," Lavie said, "and it's pretty good! It's about the Galvenian War of Independence, and Prince Derren and Lady Penelope."

"Dear me, Sigmund," Emily said, pouring out a cup of tea for him and smiling. "Didn't we see that play ourselves, long ago? It must have been even before Lavie was born!"

"Really, Mom?" Lavie said. "That's funny, because Ryan said he saw it being performed on the Paradiso, too!"

"You're right, Emily," Sigmund said, taking a bite out of one of Carmen's little cakes, and nodding in approval. "We went to see that play soon after we returned from Itaria, and it was quite good. I remember Hugh Lightfoot as Prince Derren, and that young girl – what was her name, already?"

"Deborah something or the other – Ah, yes, Festa. She was a little thin for Lady Penelope, but she was quite a wonderful actress," Emily said, sipping her tea with appreciation, and beaming at Carmen. "Thank you, Carmen, this is quite delightful. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, as I had to sort out what we were giving to the Brothers of Goodwill when they came around."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Regale," Carmen said. "I do wish Juan would take me to a play or two, but his job doesn't let him."

"Working hard and saving up, huh?" Lavie said, giggling. "I've got to admire your fiance's dedication, Carmen. He must be very fond of you!"

"Or of my cooking, Miss Lavie," Carmen said, winking at Emily, who laughed in turn.

"Here comes Radio Galvenia," Sigmund said, as the familiar strains of the Galvenian National Anthem played over the wireless, announcing the beginning of the evening news. The broadcaster reminded them all of Prince Wilhelm's funeral, which had been attended by the Royal Family that afternoon. Sounding a little disconcerted, he informed them that the Princess had been indisposed during the ceremony, but was now quite recovered.

"Ohmygosh, poor Princess," Lavie said with concern. "She really shouldn't push herself too much. Even when she was here, she was walking all the way to Serin's Peak to cure somebody, though she told me she'd been wounded by the pirates."

"A brave woman, Miss Lavie," Carmen said appreciatively. Her ideas of Royalty were a little hazy, and derived mostly from historical novels in which the Princess was either a damsel in distress, or a heroine who donned armour when her men had failed in their duty to protect the kingdom. "She'll be all right once she returns to Lorean, mark my words."

Next, the announcer said, there was tragic news from Itaria. Miscreants had apparently attacked a convent dedicated to Saint Annette, mother of Saint Mikhail and a popular figure of devotion in Itaria City itself. No one knew who was responsible, but several of the nuns had been wounded, and at least five were reported dead."

Sigmund laid down his teacup with a soft clink. "In Itaria? Good heavens, the world's last peaceful place, and they're now victims of this sort of vandalism? The world is going to the dogs," he said, disapprovingly.

"Poor Sisters," Lavie said, sadly. "I wonder if Sister Miriam knows about it at all."

"May the Infinity receive their souls in peace," Carmen said, looking up with a solemn expression. "This is a troubled world, Miss Lavie. What we need is another saint, like Geraud, to come around and make things right."

The disturbing news past, the announcer went on to regional and sporting news. Apparently Inderness had defeated Caledonia by an innings in the semi-finals of the Arlia Cup, and would now move on to face either the Galvenian Armed Forces or Darington in the finals.

"I remember going to several cricket matches as a girl, when Father would receive invitations to the Lords' Box," Emily said. "It's a pity the game never really caught on in Davenport, I was always rather fond of it."

"Cricket's all right," Sigmund said, "especially when it's written about by a good chronicler. Those old volumes of the Arlia Almanac were favourites of mine at University. I even played a little myself, though I wasn't very good."

Lavie laughed. "Well, that's better than me at least, Daddy! I'm not even sure which way to hold the bat, to be honest!"

There was a short report from the Museum of Science and Lore in Lorean, announcing recent breakthroughs in small engines that would make road transport, without animals, a reality in Arlia very soon.

"Don't they have those already in the Republic?" Lavie asked.

"It's a question of capital, my daughter," Sigmund said, rather pontifically. "Internal combustion vehicles will arrive in Galvenia when the market is ready for them, and when that happens, I hope to be ready as well!"

Finally, the newsreader was about to bid his listeners farewell, when there was a series of clicks on the wireless, followed by a thud.

"Are you joking, man? I can't read this!" a muffled voice said. "It's…."

There was silence for a while.

"What on earth happened?" Emily asked.

"Perhaps that silly Armin and his boys in masks are playing a prank at Lorean," Lavie suggested, with a smile. "They burst into the office and gave the reader a telegram saying Mayor Saunders had become king, or something."

Sigmund laughed. "Sweet Infinity, may that never happen!" he protested. "Fortunately, that won't ever happen, except in a nightmare! Imagine the future of industry in Galvenia with Saunders as our ruler."

"Imagine the future of anything except afternoon naps, if he's our ruler," Lavie joked.

There was a crackle of static, and another voice – a deeper one, reading slowly and hesitantly – began to speak over the waves:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this broadcast to bring you news of the greatest importance. Today, at 1415 hours, a band of Varaldian soldiers, accompanied by two shell cannons, opened heavy fire on a border post of the Zion Empire, killing all seven men within and destroying the building itself. While awaiting the intervention of the Commonwealth, Emperor Charlemagne has begun mobilizing troops towards the border, and His Majesty, King Arlbert of Galvenia, has delayed his departure from Caledonia to finalize a Treaty of Alliance. The rest of the Royal Family has departed for Lorean in the interests of safety, and are on their way to the border now. We ask you to observe a moment of silence for our brave Zionese allies, and assure them of the solidarity of the Galvenian people. Thank you."

There was a sound almost like a sigh or a sob, and the wireless began to play a mournful dirge.

A sound of broken crockery echoed through the room, as a saucer slipped from Carmen's numb fingers to the floor and shattered.

And the Regales stared at each other, horrified, as they realized exactly what this would mean – for them, and for their country…..

xxx

"We've checked the hospitals in Lorean and Alton, and there's no sign of any of Dad's men," Ryan said, with a sigh, as the helpful nurse turned from answering his queries to tend to her other patients. "I wonder what's become of the man who was delivering the small box. I hope he's safe."

"Probably hiding somewhere in the forest," Armin said airily, as they both left the Royal Dispensary at Alton. "Or maybe the wolves ate him, or something."

"Dude, not funny!" Ryan said, irritably. "Seriously, Armin, Sergeant Burnfist isn't here anymore, so stop trying to make a one-liner every second, okay? One of the men working for my dad could be hurt, and we need to find him and make sure that he's all right."

"Sorry, Compadre. Anyway, we could always check the other towns," Armin said, apologetically. "I doubt he'd have made it all the way back to Davenport, but we could check out Glendale. There's an old doc there whom many people seem to like, for some reason. Probably because he doesn't charge much!"

"That's actually a decent idea, Armin," Ryan said. "Let's get going."

"Fine with me," Armin said cheerfully, as they headed quickly to Glendale. Their journey was fortunately without any further encounter with either bandits or tortoises, and it was almost nightfall by the time they reached. The worst of the heat had passed by as they entered the city gates.

"Any idea where this doctor is?" Ryan asked, looking around.

"Dunno, Compadre," Armin said, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe we could ask at the police station." He pointed to a large stone building ahead of them, with the word "POLICE" displayed on a modest sign.

"Heh, I know the guy who works there!" Ryan said, brightening. "He'll surely help us. After all, Lavie and I did him a good turn some time ago."

"Did you say Lavie?" Armin said, incredulously. "What is it with you, Eramond? Marianne, and then Lavie? Next you'll be eloping with Jennifer Clarkson and migrating to Varald."

"Shut up, Armin," Ryan said, stifling a laugh. "Strange as it seems, it's true. I, Ryan Eramond, actually survived a trip to Glendale and back with Lavie, and actually ended up doing something useful."

"How did she get to go with you in the first place?" Armin asked, with a look of suspicion on his face.

"It was all Dad's idea," Ryan grumbled. "Geez, if I didn't know him better, you'd almost think he was trying to set up one of those arranged marriages, like they do in the Republic!"

Armin burst out laughing. "Funny idea, Ryan. Imagine. Your dad says he's found you the girl of your dreams, you remove the veil, and out pops – the one, the only, Lavender Regale! Aaargh!"

They had reached the police station by now, and Inspector Bosley greeted Ryan warmly. "Sparky! Good to see you again! What brings you here, another necklace or something? And who's your friend with the mask? Sorry, son, this isn't a bank, you can't hold me up."

"This mask gets no respect, I tell ya," Armin said irritably. "What have you got against raccoons, Chief Inspector?"

"Nothing really," Bosley replied, with a chuckle.

"Inspector," Ryan said, "we're looking for a man who was probably wounded or attacked near Lake Derren. We checked the hospitals in the nearby towns, but there was no one there. Did someone like that come this way?"

"Why of course he did, just a couple of hours ago, in fact!" Bosley said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "In fact, he even reported the theft, and I've sent the report on to the Lorean police. He wasn't really wounded too much, just stunned, so I asked him to see Doc Mellon before he left. He may still be there, if you want him. Was this another of your dad's packages?"

"Yes, it was, and we suspect there are bandits in North Galvenia who are behind this," Ryan said, and proceeded to briefly explain what had happened in Fossen's house. "We took one of them to the authorities at Lorean, and they've detained him for questioning, but he wasn't saying much."

"Well, you could try at the doc's," Bosley said, "though he's not the most communicative of folks. He's a good doctor, though, and the people around here trust him, even if they find him rather grumpy."

"Thank you, Inspector," Ryan and Armin said, as they set off for the doctor's house. It was quite close to the inn, and their knock on the door was greeted by a suspicious look from a middle-aged man within. He was not quite old, but there was something stooped about his posture that added a few years to his appearance.

"What do you want?" he said, looking Ryan straight in the eye.

"We're looking for a man who was working for my dad," Ryan said. "He was attacked by a bandit, and Inspector Bosley said we might find him here."

"Bandits? Ah, that's only to be expected," the man said with a harsh laugh. "As it happens, your man is here, though he's resting a bit. He received a blow on the head from a club, probably nothing serious, but I'm keeping him under observation till tomorrow, just in case. We can expect plenty more marauders in the days to come, the way things are going. You might as well come in, if you want to see him," he went on, rather ungraciously.

"Why d'ya say that?" Armin said, looking around the doctor's room. There was a license to practice medicine from the Royal Guild of Surgeons framed on the wall, and another plaque, which stated that the owner was a certified member of the Galvenian Armed Forces Medical Corps.

"Good heavens, boy," the doctor said irritably, pointing to a couple of chairs, "haven't you heard the news?"

"We've been travelling all day, Doctor," Ryan said, apologetically. "What news? Has a gang of bandits been discovered here in Galvenia?"

"It's much worse than that," the doctor replied, sitting down behind his desk and drumming on the table. "It's war, boy. War. Something that you may not know much about, but which I've seen too much of in my life, already."

"War?" Ryan exclaimed. "But…..What do you mean, Doctor Mellon?"

"Good heavens, boy, you really should listen to the GBC, instead of tramping about the highways and wearing silly costumes!" Doctor Mellon said, angrily.

"Hey, my mask is not silly….." Armin protested, but Ryan motioned to him to remain quiet. "Anyway, Doctor, what was the news on the GBC?"

"Some damn fool Varald soldiers attacked a border post near Zion. They were nice and polite about it on the radio, mumbling about the accursed Commonwealth, but I've seen too much to believe in them. It's going to be us and the Zion, against the Varald. No quarter, and no prisoners. You boys will probably be drafted pretty soon." He gave Armin a nasty look, and laughed. "Especially this one. You want to wear a costume, lad, you'll soon have to, at his Majesty's pleasure."

Ryan and Armin stared at each other, aghast, not knowing quite how to respond.

xxx

Earlier in Caledonia, a solemn procession had returned to the Imperial Palace, including the Galvenian royal family, who were by now quite over their scare. They had returned to their temporary quarters, and Carranya was seated in a chair, her head resting in her hands.

"Forgive me, Father," she had said, almost as soon as she had regained consciousness. "I suppose I'm still feeling the effects of my injuries from the Paradiso."

Arlbert, glad at this rapid recovery, but also concerned for his child's welfare, did not have the heart to admonish her. "Think nothing of it, my daughter," he said, as he offered her his arm for support, with the Queen following behind, solicitously. "Now, we shall have to meet the Emperor, and offer him our condolences in person once more. That's the standard protocol. But I think you ought to rest, Carranya. You shouldn't strain too hard and ruin your health."

"I assure you, I am feeling quite well, Father," Carranya replied, gently but in an insistent tone. "Having come all the way from Lorean, it would be amiss if I did not speak to the Emperor myself."

"But Carranya," her mother protested, "how wise is that? I've heard that some of those poisons can remain in the body for a long time, leaving you feeling drained and tired. You really should listen to your father, at least this time."

"Please, Mother," Carranya said, holding out her hands in supplication. "I am already ashamed of my weakness, and I would not wish to compound the offence on a solemn day such as this."

And Arlbert – anxious to make a good impression on his older and more powerful ally – finally yielded. With a little help from Naomi and the court doctor, her wound – which was not serious – had been made almost invisible, and in the short span of an hour, she seemed almost herself, though her expression still seemed troubled, at least to her mother.

"Is something the matter, my child?" Katarina asked. "Are you in pain?"

Carranya forced herself to smile once more. "Just a little, Mother. I should be quite well, presently."

And at that moment there was a knock on the door, and Naomi opened it to find an Imperial army captain – accompanied by Engel, the Chamberlain – standing outside.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he said, addressing Arlbert with a polite bow. "I hope that her Highness is not suffering too much."

"I am quite well, Sir," Carranya said, standing up and holding herself straight. "It was merely an accident."

"A regrettable one," Engel said, nodding his head slowly and gravely. "His Highness, the Emperor of Zion, will receive you now in the Throne Room, if you are prepared."

"We are," Queen Katarina said, brightly, as she stood up and linked her arm with the King's. "Please lead us on, Sir. As a mother, I can understand the sufferings of the Emperor and the Empress, and though I cannot say much, I must offer my sympathies."

"Well spoken, Your Highness," Engel said, his voice and expression both suggesting approval. "Kindly follow me. It is not a long way."

And the three of them, accompanied by the King's bodyguards, began their slow march down the corridors of the Palace. Carranya, following closely behind her parents, continued to hold herself in a manner that would have made her teachers proud, and even Engel, for all his earlier sarcasm, was impressed.

I must say, he thought, as he led them forward, that Princess of theirs may be tougher than I originally thought. I wonder what the Emperor would make of her.

Only the Queen – with that peculiar intuition that the Infinity seems to have granted to most, if not all, mothers – realized that all was not well, and continued to keep a watchful eye on Carranya. As they crossed the threshold of the room, she heard her sigh, almost inaudibly.

There's something on her mind, Queen Katarina thought, shaking her head. It's not just a wound or poison. I wish she would tell me what it was. There is such a thing as being too Galvenian, and though my child is a true Lionheart, she is also just a young girl. Something is troubling her, and I wonder if she can carry it alone.

Before any of them could realize it, they were in the Throne Room, which was strangely silent. The Zionese flags within were all flying at half-mast, the electric lights had been switched off, and there was no one besides them, except Charlemagne and Antalya, seated on their thrones.

"My friends," Charlemagne said, in a voice that was surprisingly strong, given his gaunt appearance, "it was good of you to come."

"It was the least we could do, your Highness," Queen Katarina said earnestly, as she bowed and curtseyed before the Emperor. "As the good Father said, there are no words suitable for an occasion such as this. But please accept my sympathies, not only as the Queen of Galvenia, but as a mother who has almost lost her own child herself. I share your sorrows, as do my husband and my daughter."

The Empress, touched by this spontaneous – if rather informal – little speech, smiled at the Queen. "Thank you, your Majesty," she said. "We appreciate your support at a time such as this, when it truly seems as though darkness has fallen upon our lives."

"Your Highness," Carranya said, in the earnest tone that many people – from William Striker to her own father – had learned to dread, "allow me to add my own condolences to those of my father and mother. Today, more than any other day, we are allies – allies in grief, but also allies in resolve to live bravely for the sake of Prince Wilhelm. May the Infinity grant us all comfort, but especially to you, Your Highness." Her voice faltered, and a tear ran down her cheek, surprising Charlemagne.

How nicely that girl speaks, he thought. And I've seen enough insincerity, in sixty years at the Palace, to know that that child is sincere. She must inherit it from that little mother of hers, and not from that fuss-budget Arlbert, who wouldn't know how to be sincere if the Infinity himself came down from Paradise and gave him lessons. "Thank you, child," he said, kindly. "You are young, but you speak wisely, and I am sure that my son, had he but lived, would be moved by your words himself."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Carranya said, bowing and kneeling before him.

"The Kingdom of Galvenia, and I as its ruler, express our deepest and most heartfelt condolences, Your Highness," Arlbert said hurriedly, feeling that he was being rather upstaged by the distaff side of his family here.

"Thank you, Arlbert," the Emperor said, slowly, straightening himself with some effort. "Please be seated, now. We await the arrival of the Itarian delegate, as well as the ambassadors from Varald, Fulton and Zion, who are all refreshing themselves after my son's funeral. Once they are here, the Archbishop shall pray with us, and the Empress and I shall light the eternal flame, in Wilhelm's memory."

He would probably have said more, if a tall man in military uniform had not burst into the room, with an expression of the utmost dismay. "Your Highness! Sire! News from the border!" he exclaimed.

Charlemagne raised his eyebrows, and noted with disapproval that the intruder was not merely a guard, but General Rohmer, third-in-command of the entire Imperial Army, and chief of the Royal Guards. He could forgive nervousness and impetuousness in a guard, but years of experience with Rohmer had led him to expect a more dignified approach.

"Must you erupt in this manner, General?" he said, in a tone that suggested a strong rebuke was forthcoming. "This is a day for solemnity and silence."

"But Your Highness," Rohmer said, his voice growing louder and even high-pitched, "I bring news of the gravest import! The border post outside the town of Lesser Cornelia has just been attacked, leaving no survivors. Initial reports suggest that the attack was carried out by Varald artillery, Your Highness!"

The Empress started forward. "Are you certain of this?" she said.

"Sadly, your Highness, we are. Captain Schneider and his men have all been reported killed, and the post itself is half reduced to rubble."

"So he was right," Carranya said, so softly that even her mother could only see her lips move.

"My goodness!" Arlbert exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. "That's terrible!"

"By the armies of Heaven, General," Charlemagne said, slowly, as if choosing each word with caution, "is that all they have done?"

"For the moment, there is no news of any further troop movements, Your Highness," the General replied, a little more calmly. "As soon as we received the news, we deployed the 17th Border Battalion to patrol the area and watch for further incursions, and also began moving our own artillery from Greater Cornelia into battle positions, but there has been no further move on the part of the Varald so far."

"Are you quite sure it was the Varald, General?" Charlemagne asked, taking up his scepter tentatively.

"Who else could it be, Your Highness?" Rohmer argued. "No Republican battalion could cross through the whole of Varald, even if they wished to attack, and the intensity of the firepower involved is beyond the capacities of the Republic."

"Very well, General," Charlemagne said, shaking his head with an expression which suggested annoyance rather than distress. "Kindly inform the Varald Ambassador of this – news, and inform him that he will have to remain with us a little longer, until we look into the matter. Also, Engel" – he turned to address the shell-shocked Chamberlain – "have Kanoi informed at once, and ask him to raise the issue before the Executive Council by sunset. Let the 17th Border Battalion remain in place, and strengthen it with further detachments from the garrison at Meldor, until further orders. Is that clear, General?"

"Yes, Your Highness," the General replied, amazed by his monarch's apparent calm, but pleased with his instructions. "It shall be as you say."

"Very good, General, you may leave. Also, Engel, wire Yatsu and tell him we may need his services shortly. And ask that young man who helped you with today's security to meet me, for I will need him on a particularly delicate task."

"Do you mean Striker, Your Highness?" Engel said, stumbling over the words.

"Yes, that would be the man," the Emperor said, dismissively. "He is young and ambitious, but he is also efficient. Godspeed, Engel."

As the Chamberlain left, Charlemagne turned to look at King Arlbert, who was tugging at his beard nervously.

"Arlbert," Charlemagne said, after a long silence, "I believe it was your charming daughter who said that we were well and truly allies. How strange that you should have the chance to put those words to the proof, so very soon."

Arlbert, suddenly feeling as though he were trapped, looked at the Queen nervously.

"I stand by my words, Your Highness," Carranya said, suddenly, holding her head straight and looking the Emperor in the eye. "Such acts of brutality and treachery – on the day of Prince Wilhelm's funeral, of all days –must be condemned, and you may count on any support we can offer."

"Carranya!" Arlbert said, feebly. "Let me speak, girl!"

"Truly, Princess, we are encouraged to hear you speak thus," Empress Antalya said, with a nod of approval.

And Charlemagne, despite the grief and the weariness he was feeling at that moment – not to mention his apprehension at the thought of what would probably be a long and bitter conflict – could not but smile a little, too, on listening to this exchange.

xxx

At around the same time, a rather more mundane scene was taking place at King's College, or rather on its outskirts.

"Henrik," Bernadette said, clutching her brand new copy of The Zion University Study Guide to the Gospel of the Infinity (subtitled An Up-To-Date Translation from Itarian To Common, Based On The Most Ancient Source Texts, with Annotations by the Rev. T. Marlborough and Introductions by Archbishop Paul Mazarus) to her chest with a blissful expression, "you really shouldn't have!"

"Qua?" Henrik said, feigning ignorance. "I just found it in the King's College bookstore, and I thought you might like to have one."

"But Henrik," she protested, not very convincingly, "wasn't it rather expensive?"

"Students with scholarships get a discount," Henrik explained, "and I was just browsing there, since they called me to register earlier than you did."

"Thank you so much, Henrik," she replied, looking up at him and beaming. "Did you pick one up for yourself, too?"

"I didn't need to," Henrik said with a grin. "Father knows a few publishers, and one of them works for Zion Press. He gave me a spare copy a month ago. They were discarding because it had a typo on one page, believe it or not."

"Oh, dear, I hope it wasn't a serious error," said Bernadette.

"No, it was a rather amusing one; in the last chapter of the Book of Origins, the name of Lexus is misprinted as 'Nexus'. Quite natural, since the L and N are quite close together in typesetters' presses."

"Nexus?" Bernadette laughed. "Poor lady, I wonder what she would think of that!"

"According to the Holy Book, she was quite forgiving; if she could forgive the man who accidentally killed her, I doubt she'd mind a misprint," Henrik pointed out.

"But even with a discount, wouldn't it have been quite expensive?" Bernadette said, a little guiltily. "I know you've always been exceptionally kind to me, but…"

"No 'buts', Bernadette," Henrik said firmly. "The money from those Memory Crystals was burning a hole in my pocket, anyway. Plus, since I don't know when your birthday is, consider it an advance present." He grinned.

"Actually, it's very soon after we reopen," she replied, shyly. "The twenty-eighth of August."

"Well, that's not too far off. So if you want me to confiscate it, and give it to you only then…" Henrik teased.

"Very funny, Henrik," Bernadette said, opening the book and running her finger lovingly across a colour illumination of the two Survivors of the Catastrophe. "I think I'll hold on to it for now, thank you!"

"As you wish, my friend," Henrik said gallantly. "Anyway, we're done with registrations, and college won't start for over a month. Unfortunately, Father Marlborough isn't around. I just enquired at the information desk, while you were finishing your paperwork, and it seems he's gone to Caledonia, to attend Prince Wilhelm's funeral."

"What a pity," Bernadette observed. "It looks like we will have to wait quite some time before meeting him. Is there anyone else we could speak to?"

"Well, there's Father Joaquim back at Davenport," Henrik said, "though, considering he's been sworn to secrecy about poor Thomas…..Which reminds me, I think I actually figured out what the passages in that geography book meant! The trouble is, I'm not sure."

"You did?" Bernadette replied, excited. "What did you find?"

"Well, you see…" Henrik began, but he was interrupted in mid-sentence by the sight of a middle-aged woman in a nun's habit, calling out his name and running towards him in a way that suggested great urgency.

"Goodness, that's Sister Miriam!" Bernadette said, raising her gloved hand and waving back. "She seems to be looking for us."

"You're right," Henrik said, as they both began walking towards her.

"My children," Sister Miriam said, breathlessly, adjusting her coif, which was in danger of falling off her head entirely. "Thank the Infinity that I found you, Henrik. Your father told me you'd come down here for your registration, and I remembered that Bernadette would be here, too. I must talk to you both, soon!"

"What's the matter, Sister?" Henrik asked, looking at her anxious expression with concern.

"There is so much to say," Sister Miriam said, apologetically, "and I'm not sure how to say it. Terrible things have happened today, and I was only just informed of them. First of all, Saint Annette's in Itaria City has been attacked, in a fire attack that seems just like the one at Saint Nealus', but much worse. Radio Itaria says that eight nuns have perished, and many more are injured."

"Saint Annette's? But that's – that's just a mile or two away from the Pontiff's Palace!" Henrik said, shocked.

"A fire attack?" Bernadette seemed to shrink and sway, and Henrik placed his arm around her to steady her. "Sweet Infinity, why? Why?" Her tone was dazed, as if she could not understand how such a thing could ever happen.

"We don't know," Sister Miriam said, shaking her head. "Next, there's been a report that the Varald have attacked a border post in Arlia. We hardly have any news yet, but it looks like the Zion may choose to retaliate. Dear me, this is a sad state of affairs." She looked at the numb expressions of the young pair before her – Henrik standing firm and impassive, and Bernadette leaning on him for support - and prayed with all her heart that they might be spared the ordeal to come. Those poor children. If things had been different, they would have gone on to college together, and learned to love each other, like any other young man and woman on Terra. They would certainly have lived ordinary, happy, peaceful lives. But now that girl is implicated beyond recall, and Henrik with her. This world of ours is cruel sometimes.

"War between the Varald and the Zion?" Henrik said, quietly. "I wouldn't have thought the Varald would be fool enough to provoke them into that. And surely, it's too much of a coincidence that both Itaria and Zion were attacked on the same day…."

"A good observation, Henrik," Sister Miriam said. "Now, I think the time has passed for any of us to remain silent, for the stakes are too high. If you are willing, could you come with me back to St. Nealus'? Father Joaquim and the Rector are waiting there for me, and there are things that we all need to discuss with them."

Bernadette let go of Henrik's arm and stood up. "We will," she said. "The Infinity forbid that we should be thrown into a war, but if he so wills it, we must play our part."

"I'm with you there," Henrik said, as the two of them followed Sister Miriam. They walked silently and swiftly to Alton, huddling close together as they followed the highway. When they arrived at St. Nealus', the nervous novice who let them in stared as if she had seen an apparition, though Bernadette tried to set her at ease with a smile and a kind word.

"The Rector is waiting for you in the office, with some other people," she said, hurriedly, before scurrying away in the opposite direction.

xxx

"Commander, answer this, and answer this truthfully. Who gave you that order?" The words, in the native tongue of the Varaldians, had a hissing menace that they lacked in Common, and General Basil Lyzhnov – Supreme Commander of the Varald Armed Divisions, and second only to the Director himself in authority over the entire military – flinched.

"Our instructions were clear, Sir," he replied, slowly. "Following the murder of Mr. Andreyev, we received your directive, informing us to mobilize troops at the border, but take no further action until the results of the Commonwealth enquiry were made known to us. I followed those instructions to the letter."

"Then," Russell Kievan – Director, or rather dictator, of the Varald Directorate, said, in a smooth and even deceptively friendly voice, "what is the meaning of today afternoon's drama, Commander? Have you, perhaps, decided to take a little initiative of your own?"

"I swear to you that I did not, Sir," Lyzhnov replied. "I can confirm that the 45th Border Division received orders to send five men forward at 1200 hours, and attack the Zion outpost at Lesser Cornelia, but those orders did not come from my Command. As soon as I received this news, I countermanded the order, but the damage had already been done."

"Where, then, did the order come from?" Kievan asked, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that, Lyzhnov knew, could mean rigorous punishment, even death, for the one responsible. "I bear no good will towards the Zion, much less towards those imbeciles, Charlemagne and Koketsu, but I do not enjoy having a war started without my consent, Commander."

"Sir, I have since received a reply from Brigadier Gulnik, the leader of the 45th Border Divison," the Commander said, speaking in a rush, and handing the Director a telegram. "He confirms that he received a personal order over the wire, from….from you, Sir, even giving your own code and personal call-sign. Seeing this, he decided to obey. His men have since returned to their post, and await further instructions."

"From me? How very amusing," the Director said, though he looked far from amused. "So tell me, Commander. Who is there in the entire land of Varald, apart from me, who would know such things?"

"I do not know, Sir," Lyzhnov replied. And that's the truth, by Mikhail. Andreyev, who might have known, is dead. Bronfeld, the head of the Geheimpol, would know, but he would never dare to interfere with the military. The Director is a widower, and he has always been careful to let his only daughter stay away from politics; she's training as a classical dancer, and has been raised by an aunt, far from Zhemu. It's insane, he thought.

"Do you know, Lyzhnov, neither do I." Kievan laughed, and his laugh was surprisingly good-humoured. "It seems that I have friends, or perhaps enemies, that even I do not know of. Tell me, Commander, do you play chess?"

"A….a little, Sir," the General replied, surprised by the unexpected question. While the image of Varaldian officers playing chess was almost a literary cliché, Lyzhnov was actually quite a talented player, and had composed several problems himself, though he refrained from saying so to Kievan, who was a mediocre player and was known to demote anyone foolhardy enough to defeat him across the board.

"Don't be modest, Commander," Kievan said, still smiling. "As a good player yourself, surely you've heard of situations where a player makes a bad move, but further analysis shows it to have been inspired."

"I have heard of such things, Sir," Lyzhnov replied, exhaling slowly. He seems to be settling down now, but I'm hanged if I see why. It's good news for me, though.

"Well, my friend," the Director replied, "it seems like we are in a situation of this sort. I do not know who had the audacity to give an order in my name, and if I ever do find him, he shall hang for a fool and a traitor. Having said that, he may actually have done us a service, by making us fire the first shot. The Zion are not the force they were, Lyzhnov, and I am not sure if they realize it themselves."

The General sighed with relief. He's going to go ahead with it. That's good for the army, and good for me. I hoped he would take this line, but I'm surprised he would do it so easily. "Yes, Sir," he said, respectfully. "What are your orders?"

"Inform all the divisions that they are not to respond to any instructions by wire, unless they are personally confirmed by you," Kievan said, smiling. "Prepare the rest of the border forces. Seal the border with the Republic, for we never know whom those vipers will bite. And as for the brave men of the 45th" – he laughed cruelly – "place them near the front and order them to cross over into Zion if we receive no word from the Commonwealth by tomorrow. Let them learn that discretion, as well as valour, is essential to a member of the Varald Divisions. You may go now, Commander."

Poor 45th. Rather them than me, though, Lyzhnov thought. "At your order, Sir," he said, and saluted as he left.

xxx

As Sister Miriam and her two young friends entered the room, they were confronted by a strange group of people. First, looking nervous and unhappy, was the Rector himself, with a large glass of Itarian wine on the table in front of him. Second, looking stern in his brown robes and spectacles, was Father Joaquim, the normally kindly Pastor of Saint Hilda's Chapel at Davenport. The third was a short, grey-haired gentleman in a suit, whom Henrik recognized as Bartholomew Perrin, Thomas' father. And the fourth, Bernadette observed with a shock, was her senior, Amelia Rushden, whose implacable expression reminded her of the pictures of heroines that she had seen in her father's books of myth and fable, intent on vengeance.

"Thank you, Miriam," Father Joaquim said, firmly, as the three of them found places at the table, Henrik and Bernadette sitting close together next to Amelia, and Sister Miriam joining him. "Good work finding them so quickly, because we need some answers, by the Infinity."

"Good afternoon, Father," Henrik said, bowing respectfully to both the priests. "We just heard the news from Sister Miriam, and…"

"One thing at a time, Henrik," Father Joaquim said, kindly. "I have been speaking to both Mr. Perrin and Miss Rushden at some length, and what they have told me is of the greatest importance. Let me apprise you of it first. Riordan, would you like to begin?"

Father Riordan took a sip from his glass, and began, speaking hesitantly. "I have served the Church of Infinity faithfully for over twenty-five years," he said, "and in all these years, I must confess that I have never felt as afraid as I did today. If there is one thing I know now, it is that few evil deeds are as dangerous as those that are done with good intentions, or a good motive. And now, it seems, the tragedy that enveloped Mr. Perrin and Miss Rushden two years ago has now become a threat, not only to the Church, but to the world at large."

"I was never personally a member of the Infinite Revival, though – being a conservative churchman myself – I was quite in sympathy with their views, especially those on politics, and therefore, I allowed them to use our campus for their youth meetings, though they were open only to school students and not to my own girls. I was wrong to do so."

"The first signs that something was wrong were in 297 C.E., three years ago. I would attend their regular meetings when I had the time, and I noticed that three of their most enthusiastic followers – two boys and a girl – were no longer attending meetings. When I asked Father Gruber what had become of them, he was quite apologetic, and said that they had been carried away by politics and had left the Church. Since this is a not uncommon event in adolescence, I did not press him further on the matter. I should have."

"A year later, Miss Rushden joined the College. Though she has always been one of our best students, it was clear to me – with my many years as a teacher – that something was troubling her. On more than one occasion, I asked her if she wished to unburden herself, either to me, or to another member of the staff, but she seemed unwilling and even afraid to do so. Following Sister Miriam's recent visit, however, she has been bold enough to speak her mind to me freely. Miss Rushden," he went on, gently, "would you like to tell these people of what happened yourself?"

Amelia Rushden rose from her seat, and took a step forward. The impassive look on her face was gone, and she seemed both determined and angry.

"Thank you, Father," she said. "I am here, and Thomas' father is here, because we want justice to be served. I will tell you all that I know, if you want me to."

"Come now, child," Sister Miriam said, "we're all among friends here. Joaquim and I already know something of your pain. Let it out."

"Sister…." Amelia paused, and turned to look at Bernadette, who gave her a smile of encouragement. "Very well. It was about two years ago that I joined the Revival, and encouraged Bernadette to join along with me. It was there that I met Thomas, who was from the Academy at Davenport, and who was my own age. We all found our places in the group; I was involved in the prayer and worship services, Bernadette looked after the music and the readings, and Thomas was always more involved in social and political issues, and would organize discussions on them."

"I must confess to you that I know very little about politics. I'm fully aware that the Church is persecuted in the Varald Directorate, and I pray for them each day, but Thomas took it more personally. He felt that the Zion Empire – which had backed us in the past – was now abandoning us for their own selfish motives, and that this would bring the anger of the Infinity on them. I'm sorry, I'm not putting this very well. Thomas would have said it better."

"My wife's brother was a member of Brothers of Goodwill, and was imprisoned by the Varald for his charitable work there," Bartholomew Perrin explained. "Thomas took it rather hard, poor boy."

Amelia sighed. "At any rate, about six months after I joined, Thomas and I went out for what would be our first date, on Davenport Beach. He was excited, and told me that Father Gruber had been spending a lot of time with him, and was keen on sending him to Itaria, to train for missionary work of some sort. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, and I was, so I asked him to find out more."

"To Itaria?" Henrik asked. "For a scholarship of some sort, or to a seminary?"

"He didn't know. A week later, we were both having lunch at the Harp and the Sea in Davenport, when he told me that he'd spoken to Father Gruber about it, and Father was rather upset that he'd told me at all. He said the work was very important, and that Thomas ought to keep it to himself. He even implied that Thomas was weak in his faith, for spending time with me when he ought to be getting trained for his future task. I'm afraid we quarreled a little about it, and Thomas went away without saying much more. Thomas…" She leaned against the table, and Bernadette rose to support her.

"Take courage, Amelia," she said. "If what we all suspect is right, you are honouring Thomas' memory. May his soul rest in peace."

"Thank you, Bernadette," Amelia replied, her voice growing stronger. "About a month or so after that, he met me after one of our meetings, and apologized for what had happened the last time. He said that he'd been wrong to take Father's rebuke so literally, and that he….needed me in his life." She smiled, and went on after a short pause. "We spent a lot of time together after that; we went trekking in Northern Galvenia that week, and we'd make the most of the time we had, though we lived in different towns. in fact, the rest of that year was perhaps the happiest time of my life. But it ended….it ended too soon." She trembled.

"Amelia, my sister, why don't you sit down?" Bernadette said, gently. "I'm sure none of us would mind. We aren't in a magistrate's court."

"Quite right, Miss Aquary," the Rector said. "We appreciate your frankness and your courage, Miss Rushden. Please be seated."

Sitting down, Amelia rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve, and then began to speak again. "The new year began. It was our last year of school, but Thomas was spending a lot of time studying books that Father Gruber had given him, and he confessed to me that he wasn't doing too well in his classes, because his work with the Revival took up a lot of his time. He was also growing disturbed at some of the things he'd had to study. A couple of times, he told me he wanted to discuss things with Father Joaquim, who was his Pastor, but Father Gruber had warned him that Joaquim was lax on many important issues, and might give him bad advice. He wasn't sure what to do. Poor Thomas, he was quite upset."

Father Joaquim snorted. "Gruber was singing quite a different tune when he lay dying, I can assure you, Miss," he said, with some asperity. "Go ahead, Miriam and I are a little more familiar with the rest of your story, but the others aren't."

"I calmed him down, and told him….that I loved him, and that he could always confide in me. And that's what he did. He told me that three people like him had already been sent ahead to Itaria – the young people you mentioned, Father Riordan. They hadn't 'left the Church', but had pretended to do so in the eyes of the world, so that no one would ask inconvenient questions."

"Dear me," the Rector said, looking puzzled. "Where was the need for such an extraordinary proceeding?"

"He told me," Amelia explained, "that they, and others like them, were being recruited to work for an elite group in Itaria City, whose purpose was to put political pressure on the Pontiff and the Council of the Evangelium, as well as make appeals and draft statements to the Commonwealth. I didn't understand why there was such a need for secrecy, because it all sounded quite harmless. But Father Gruber had told him, it seems, that there were conservative groups on the Council who were opposed to change, and it was because of them that things had to remain confidential."

"I wish Marlborough was here, so that he could laugh at your statement, Miss," Joaquim said, folding his hands together. "Poor Gruber seems to have told your young man a pretty pile of stories."

"The year went on, and Thomas grew more troubled. Though we were still the best of friends, I could tell that….something had changed. He was affectionate to me, but his heart and his mind were somewhere else. He was carrying a load, and despite my best attempts, I couldn't get him to share it with me. I'm sorry, Mr. Perrin," she said, looking at Thomas' father sadly.

"My poor child," Bartholomew Perrin said, remorsefully, "I was his father, and I had no idea about all this myself. I just thought he was being political, as all the Perrins are. When I was his age, I would neglect my own schoolwork to spend time with the Young Conservatives, and I thought he was just following in his father's footsteps. I am only grateful that you were able to make him happy in the last years of his life. Don't blame yourself."

"Thank you, Mr. Perrin," Amelia said, warmly. "It was a little before the summer break that something strange happened. We'd agreed to take a trip to Lorean, to visit the Hall of Heroes, which is where we'd shared our first k…I'm sorry," she said, blushing and collecting herself. "I shouldn't speak of such things."

"Think nothing of it, child," the Rector said, kindly. "Go on with your story."

"On the way, Thomas seemed worried, and his hand kept going to his pocket, as if he had something valuable in there. Just as we entered the city, he asked me to excuse him for a moment, as he had something to look up in the Royal Library. We headed there, but I got the impression that he wanted to be alone, so I went to another section and was just browsing there. Thomas was in the Mythology wing, and he was going through some of the reference books."

"I wouldn't have interrupted him, if it hadn't been for an accident. A soldier had come in, a short gentleman in a rather fine uniform, and he was inebriated. He began to sing an old drinking song, and was leering at the women around him, including me. I felt uncomfortable, and told the security guard there about it; he told me that he would take care of it quietly, and asked me to move away for now. I was quite scared; I've always been scared of drunk folks, since I was a child" – she shivered, and Bernadette patted her hand – "so I thought I'd stay close to Thomas."

"Miss Rushden's late father had a – drinking problem," the Rector explained to Father Joaquim, in a discreet tone.

"He was absorbed in the book he was reading, and didn't notice me until I was very close. He started from his seat, and closed his book with a bang, looking nervously around, though he seemed relieved that it was only me. He said he was finished with his work, and was eager to leave. I could tell that he was hiding something, but I was also ready to leave, because that soldier was making me nervous. He was still making a scene, saying that if he was removed from the library, he would complain to some noble or the other; I can't remember the name he used. We both left, and headed for the Hall of Heroes, where Thomas seemed a little more relaxed."

"What was the book he was reading, Miss Rushden?" Henrik said, suddenly.

"I couldn't really see the page, because he shut it so quickly. It was a big illustrated volume, called Legends of Janwen, from the Age of Wanderers to the Age of Cities. Or something of that sort," Amelia said, closing her eyes.

"It makes sense, now!" Henrik said, excitedly.

"What is the matter, Henrik?" Father Joaquim asked. "Do you know something about this?"

"I believe so," he replied, taking a book of his own from within his jacket, "but let Miss Rushden finish first."

"An excellent idea," Sister Miriam said, beaming at him. I'm glad we have Henrik with us at a time like this, she thought. "Go on, Miss Rushden."

"Soon after this, Thomas seemed to be keeping a little distance from the Revival, and for a while, it was almost like the old days of the year before. But one day, after the liturgy of our meeting was done, Father Gruber asked to meet Thomas after the final hymn, and took him aside. They spent quite some time together, and even though they were behind closed doors, I could tell that Father was shouting, though Thomas wasn't. I couldn't hear what the argument was about. When Thomas came out, however, he wasn't scared; he looked angry and determined, and asked me to forgive him for being rather distant of late. He had made some wrong decisions, he told me, but he was going to try and set them right."

"A little after this, Thomas invited me to his home for tea. I'd already met his parents before, and was happy to see them again, but when I arrived, they said he'd been locked in his room upstairs for most of the day, and wouldn't come out. He did come down to tea, but he didn't say much."

"By this point, I was a little worried, though I thought he and Amelia had just had a quarrel," Mr. Perrin added. "But she assured me this wasn't the case."

"After tea, Thomas returned to his room, and on an impulse, I followed him. I entered his room just as he was about to close the door, and he gave a shout when he saw me…."

xxx

"Amelia…..Please, please, leave me. Leave at once. It's not safe for you, darling….." Thomas said, with a look of abject terror on his face.

"Thomas? What on Terra is going on?" Amelia exclaimed. "I've been so worried about you…"

"They've come in here," he said, still staring, not at her, but at something beyond, something that had him scared almost out of his wits. "I don't know how, but they've been in my room, they've even taken the notes I'd made. Infinity, help me." He sat down on his bed, hiding his face in his hands.

Amelia sat down next to him, and touched his arm gently. "Thomas, please….please trust me. I don't know what has happened, but if there's anything I can do to help you, I will. Believe me."

"No," Thomas said, recovering his poise and shaking his head. "It's too dangerous. For all I know, my own life could be in danger, if what I've learned is right…..Oh, Infinity, why did I ever agree to this in the first place?"

"Thomas," Amelia said, cradling his head against her shoulder, "please – if you love me, tell me what's wrong. I can't bear seeing you like this. We can always get help from someone else in the Church, if you've had trouble with Father Gruber…"

"Amelia," Thomas replied, standing up all of a sudden, and looking at her sternly, as if ashamed of his earlier display of fear, "this is far bigger than the Church. We've made a terrible mistake. I only hope I can try to set it right, and that the Infinity will forgive me."

"But what have you done?" Amelia asked, bewildered.

In reply, Thomas handed her a small book, bound in leather. The cover read simply, "Prayers and Devotions of the Church of Infinity."

"Keep this with you safely, darling," he said, pressing it into her hands. "Don't lend it to anyone, but if a time ever comes when you can't see me again, read the book carefully, and you will know what to do. Please, Amelia, do this for me."

"Thomas…" Amelia sobbed. "Please, Thomas….don't try to be a hero! If anything were to happen to you, I don't know how I could go on…"

"You will, darling," Thomas said, firmly, with a note of courage in his voice that made him seem far taller than his five feet and six inches. "If the time should come, look in that book, and look for the truth. Please remember this. And now, leave, I beg you. I still have so much to do, and time is running out."

"Thomas, I won't leave you…" Amelia began, and suddenly the two were clinging to each other, as if both afraid that a mighty wind would arise out of somewhere and tear them asunder. "Don't ask me to leave you…"

"Amelia, I want you to live. There's still a good chance that I may be able to defeat them, and if I succeed, then we'll be together, always. I promise you that. But I have to try, Amelia. Please understand me."

"Always?"

"Always," Thomas answered, letting go of her reluctantly. "Goodbye, Amelia." Gathering her bag, into which she had thrust the small book, hurriedly, she rushed down the steps, and stammered a quick farewell to the Perrins as she ran out of their home, a storm raging within her.

xxx

Amelia stifled a sob and bowed her head, and Bernadette hastened to comfort her.

"Do you still have that book, Miss Rushden?" the Rector asked, when she had grown more calm.

"Not anymore, Father," Amelia said, shaking her head. "It was burned when a fire broke out in our dormitory, along with most of my other books. But it wasn't the book that Thomas wanted me to have. I learned that the next week, when Father Gruber told us he'd left the Church. Fearing the worst, I waited till I was alone at home, and went through the book. It was an ordinary prayer book like the ones we all had, except that one of the prayers was circled with a red pen. It was the Afternoon Hour for the day of St Mikhail's martyrdom, and the line circled was 'In memory of the glorious son of Varald, who died rather than renounce the true faith.'"

"What does that mean?" Sister Miriam asked, wide-eyed.

"I also found this at the same page," she said, and removed the glove on her left hand, displaying a bracelet with a medallion of St Nealus – commonly worn by many girls in the College – around it. Next to the medallion, clipped on like an additional charm, was a small metal object about the size of a thumbnail. She removed this, and handed it to Father Joaquim.

"What on Terra is that supposed to be? Miriam, my eyesight isn't what it used to be. Could you take a closer look?" he replied, shaking his head.

"It's small, but remarkably heavy," she said, weighing it in her hand. "It seems to be metal of some sort, but it has no markings or engravings on it."

"Actually, I think I know what it might be," Henrik broke in. "Miss Rushden, am I right in guessing that Thomas died soon after that?"

"You're right, Spenson," Bartholomew Perrin said. "Soon after that, we returned from a visit to a neighbor to find Thomas – hanging." He shuddered, but went on, though his voice was weak. "We called the police immediately, and they were very secretive about the whole thing, taking measurements and even calling in a coroner from the neighbouring village to help them. A day or two later, the police inspector called us both to the station, and questioned us closely, asking us about Thomas' friends, and if he had any enemies. At the end, he admitted that, from what he could see, Thomas couldn't possibly have hanged himself – he couldn't have reached the beam from which he was hanging, even with the chair or table in his room, given the length of the rope…."

"My God," Henrik said, horrified. "Then…"

"I didn't want to face it, and neither did my wife," Mr. Perrin went on, "but at the same time, though I knew Thomas was having his problems, I couldn't believe that he had – taken his own life. The Inspector told us that it was going to be difficult to proceed, because there was little evidence to go on, but he promised he'd help us. However, the next day, we received an anonymous letter, threatening us. It said that if we tried to look any further into the matter, then not only we, but Amelia, would all be murdered."

"Sweet Infinity!" Amelia cried out. "What is the meaning of this….this horror?"

"We were scared stiff," he continued, "and stayed up all night, wondering what we should do – when Fiona suddenly spotted something in our backyard. A fire had broken out, and we ran to put it out. As we did, we heard someone speak, though we couldn't see him. He said that if we didn't leave town soon, we would all pay the price. I tried to see who it was, but he ran away before I could do so. The next morning, we decided to make a run for it; it wasn't the bravest thing to do, but we couldn't risk poor Amelia's life, as well as hours. We had a quick, quiet burial, and moved away as soon as we could, staying with Fiona's sister at Trinden for a while, and then settling down in Westchester. We've lived with this for two years, until we received Father Joaquim's wire."

"I have already told you about Father Gruber's death," Father Joaquim said, "and while I am not at liberty to reveal all he told me, his story was consistent with Miss Rushden's account. Apparently the Infinite Revival had made some rather strange friends, and they had silenced Thomas because he had learnt a little too much about them. To think that anyone associated with the Church would do such a thing…" He shook his head, slowly and disapprovingly. "And going by their modus operandi of arson, I strongly suspect that these wretched people, whoever they are, were behind the attacks on the Perrins' home and on your college, Riordan, as well as today's outrage in Itaria. Gruber may have believed he was making a valuable alliance, but his fine friends have betrayed him – and they intend to do further damage to Itaria and Zion, if they are permitted to do so. He had received information before his death that the Paradiso would be attacked, though he knew no details. Miriam and I passed this on to Archbishop Elias, the Pontiff's secretary, and they told us they would inform the concerned authorities in Zion."

"But why?" Bernadette asked, bewildered. "Why would anyone associated with the Church, and its message of peace, choose the path of terror instead?"

"I would love to know the answer to that myself, child," Joaquim replied, "but first, I think Mr. Spenson has something to tell us."

"Bernadette and I came to quite similar conclusions, based on what Sister Miriam and Father Marlborough told us," Henrik explained, in a calm tone, trying to conceal the turmoil he felt at Amelia Rushden's revelations. "We found that someone had planted a Memory Crystal in Thomas' old house, to create the impression that it was haunted. And we also found this book." Henrik turned the pages, until he found what he was looking for, and laid it open on the table, in front of the two priests. "Note that there are passages underlined on several pages, all of which deal with the geography of Northern Galvenia and Zion, near the border. That can't be a coincidence, especially since Thomas was reading about Janwen. Both Janwen and Estrana, the city built on its ruins, are in that area, according to archaeologists."

"Is that all?" Father Riordan said, disappointed.

"No, Father," Henrik said, confidently. "There's more. On several of the pages, words beginning with the capital letters E, N and C have been underlined twice."

"E, N, C…..An encyclical!" Father Joaquim exclaimed. "The boy must have been trying to refer to a Church document."

"No, it's something simpler than that," Henrik went on, pointing to the tops of four of the pages. "Now, if you'll look here, you'll find that four page numbers are underlined, two of them once, and two of them twice. The numbers are 2, 7, 19 and 53."

"Those are all prime numbers," Riordan observed, "but…."

"I was racking my brains, too, until I went home and looked at my own bookshelf, and saw the book I'd used the most in my last year of school, and that Thomas would have had to use often, too: the Galvenian Students' Encyclopedia. Neither of us could have finished our homework without it."

"An encyclopedia! That's clever, Henrik. I suppose the page numbers are entries in it," Sister Miriam said.

"I tried pages 2, 7, 19 and 53, but they didn't make any sense," Henrik said. "Then I tried combining them in various ways. Finally, I found something on pages 219 and 753. Page 219 is about the Duchy of Inderness conflict, and mentions that some of the survivors of the massacre sought refuge in Itaria, and even petitioned the Pontiff to condemn the actions of Emperor Friederich during the battle. Page 753 is about Thorium and its alloys, and says that one of the uses of Thorium, according to Zion scientists, was to make memory storage devices, similar to crystals but using metal alloys instead."

Sister Miriam looked at the object in her hand with an awed expression. "This little thing is a - Memory Crystal? But how do we view it?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure there's something important on it, Sister. Thomas may have found it by mistake, viewed it, and found something compromising on it; not knowing what to do, he passed it on to Miss Rushden, whom he trusted. Unfortunately, he died before he could explain things to her further. But I'm sure that we'll understand things better, including the tragedy at Saint Annette's, once we figure out what's on it, and what are the links between Inderness, the Infinite Revival, and Itaria."

"By Saint Guibert, I must say you make a good case, young man," Father Riordan said, appreciatively. "Now, Miss Rushden and Mr Perrin, I must ask you to make a decision."

"Me?" Bartholomew Perrin said blankly.

"Yes, since you are the ones Thomas cared for during his life, before his untimely death. If you wish us to place the entire matter into the hands of the Galvenian police, and have a formal investigation into his murder re-opened – for I do not doubt anymore that it was murder – then we will surrender these objects, the metal card and the book, to your custody. But if you wish us to handle the matter, then we will work discreetly, and try our best to ensure your safety. We can leave tomorrow morning, with Mr. Spenson and Miss Aquary, for the Museum of Science and Lore, where I know someone who can help us with this unusual object."

"You mean Aline Sheldon, right?" Henrik asked.

Father Joaquim raised his eyebrows appreciatively. "I can see how you won your scholarship to King's College, Henrik. You may lack your father's skill at constructing a brilliant sentence, but you are certainly well ahead of us in this particular matter. Yes, Aline would always be willing to help us out. But it's getting late, and it might not be safe for you to travel now, Mr. Spenson. Besides, given the kind of people we are dealing with, an able-bodied man on the premises would be welcome. Could you stay with us tonight. We will accommodate you and Mr. Perrin, if he so wishes, and I suggest Miss Aquary stay with Miss Rushden in a room nearby, for safety's sake."

"No problem," Henrik said, nodding his agreement.

"Thank you, Father," Amelia said, earnestly. "Father Riordan and Bernadette have always been good to me, and I trust them. I will entrust my troubles to you and to the Church, and I hope that Thomas, and those poor Sisters at Saint Annette's, will be avenged some day. I do not speak of personal revenge, but I want justice to be done to his name."

"That is a long way off, my daughter," Riordan said, "but we can always hope. There is always hope. May Saint Annette pray for us all, and may the Infinity preserve us."