A/N: StarWest45 pointed out that Ginevra is the Italian form of Guinevere. (It pays to read the reviews.) In the world of the Empire, the Roman (Italian) and German States are united in a loose confederation known as the Holy Roman Empire. The Plantagenets have held the title of Holy Roman Emperor since 1280 when Henry III was elected to that position (although he did not become King until 1283). In 1420, after the First Baltic War, when Harold I reigned, the Imperial title was declared hereditary in the Plantagenet line. Richard the Great was the first Plantagenet to inherit the title of King and Emperor.

Chapter Thirty Seven: Breathing Spell

Lieutenant Henry Planck lay in bed wondering what he had stumbled into. His visions of marriage had crumbled around him in minutes. The wonderful young lady he had married was little more than a scared child. He remembered how he almost panicked when she admitted she was thirteen, her birthday had been the day before they were married. When they talked last night, however, it was about nothing. Jenny would not talk about her past, and he found himself refusing to talk about his. But they knew they shared one thing. Fate had thrown them together and neither of them had anyone else.

Henry felt Jenny shift her weight as she slept next to him, her head snuggled under his arm. There was a secret about her, something she was afraid to talk about, something that tied her to him. But he had a secret, too. He had been alone all of his life. Now there was someone else in it, and he wanted to keep her in his life. She was, he thought, someone to look forward to seeing. He smiled to himself as he remembered there was someone else. He wanted to keep them in his life.

That was when he understood himself. He was home. It was a cramped one room flat. It was always noisy, even at night. The bed made his hammock seem more comfortable. But it was home. He had never had one before unless it was a ship.

He smiled at the girl next to him. He would make this marriage work. Jenny could keep all of the secrets in the world from him, as long as she was there with a smile on her face. He would do everything he could to make her happy. Jenny stirred and opened her eyes, and Henry leaned over to kiss her.

"Angel, I love you."

"Henry, could you hand me that basin."

Henry was on his feet instantly when he saw Jenny being sick. He put on his trousers and ran out of the room to the concierge, and began banging on the door. An angry, sleepy woman in her fifties answered the door. "What is it?"

"My wife. She's ill. Where is the nearest healer?"

"And you are the husband? It's only the morning sickness."

"Morning sickness? It's not serious then?"

The angry woman laughed at him. "You don't know what morning sickness is?" She closed the door on him.

Henry walked back to the room, but Jenny was gone. The basin was gone as well and he realized where she went. He sat on the bed and waited until she returned, her face washed and the basin cleaned, wearing the simple dress she had worn the day before.

"Jenny, dear. I was told you did not need a healer."

His wife looked embarrassed and amused at the same time.

"I've been thinking. If it's a boy, I'm going to name him Henry. After his father."

Henry smiled. "If it's a boy?"

Jenny walked up to him and took his hand. She placed his hand on her stomach and asked him, "What should we call her if it's a girl?"

Henry swallowed hard. He had always dreamed of having a family, but this was never the way he imagined it. Then he remembered going to sea. The ship was never what he had imagined. It ended up being hard work but he ended up loving it. It seemed that marriage and life were the same way. "I will have to think about it." He looked at her. "I'm sorry I left you."

"You had to." Ginny told him. "But I will admit that I was afraid. Afraid you would run away."

"I did run away. But I had to. I'm not Scottish." He smiled at Jenny and explained the jest but she was grinning at him. Then she began to sing:

The Bonny Scottish sailor boy

He came home from the sea- o

Sea-o, See-o, Riddly-i-a-o, Sea-o

His own poor wife to see-o.

Henry laughed and joined his wife.

Oh wife, oh wife oh darling wife

I am home from afar-o

Far-o, Star-o, Riddly-i-a-o, Far-o

To you, my wife, my star-o

And have you come my darling boy

Your own poor wife to see-o

See-o, Sea-o, Riddly-i-a-o, See-o

That you left for the sea-o.

I'm poor 'cause no money you have

So your poor wife can live-o

Live-o, Give-o, Riddly-i-a-o, Live-o

Come see what I can give-o.

He ducked the pot and then the pan

turned his back and then he ran-o

Ran-o Man-o, Riddly-i-a-o, Ran-o

Back to the sea he ran-o.


"It is this way," Robert explained to Colin. They were walking along the dock in the early morning, the sun newly risen. "When the war began, we were short of officers and men. Any midshipman with any experience was ranked simply to fill the places needed. Now that we are approaching a complete war footing, most of those promoted are being reviewed to determine if they should keep their ranks or be set back. There is no disgrace attached, however, if you are set back. It only means that you need more experience."

Colin laughed. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? Well, I know something that you don't. The reviews are over. Yesterday was the last day."

"But I have not been called," Robert said, as understanding filled him.

Colin stood up and saluted. "The Admiral's compliments, Lieutenant. He requests the presence of all officers at breakfast. I am to ask you for a reply."

"How much time do I have, Mister Creevey?"

"Fifteen minutes," Colin said. "You can make it if you run."

As Robert took off, Colin yelled after him, "Is that a Yes?"


For over a month, Harry had been training. He was First Lieutenant on the HRMS Nautilus. Except for Captain Harte, he was also the only officer. The ship only had twenty souls and two guns. But the Nautilus could do something that could only be done by two other ships, also in the docks. It could submerge.

The Nautilus, as well as its sister ships, the Atlantis and the Neptune, was one step past the experimental stage. It was about to take its maiden voyage, and Harry was eager to be off. He had been told where the ship was going. Gibralter. Robert was there.

The mission was simple. Port Gibralter, by a stretch of the imagination, was operational. Hence, it needed a Port Admiral. The Nautilus would deliver him.

Harry laughed as he opened the door to his cabin. It was six feet long, thirty inches wide, and five feet high. His hammock would hang over his sea chest which would hold his belongings. He could put up the hammock and lower a panel in one wall which would act as a desk. His chest was designed to also act as a chair. Any remaining floor space was used for storage, and the entire wall of his cabin could be removed if need be. On a ship this small, there was no room to waste.

He put his sword away. It would be too cumbersome to wear. And he paused to think. "This War is all because of me."


Lieutenant Lord Henry de Somerset, nee Harry Potter, was right in only the limited sense. It was not him but the knowledge of the control stone that was the cause, or at least the excuse. For centuries, the Anglo-French Empire had been growing. Its growth had never been fast, and could not always be measured. After the failed Polish breakout in 1939 Ano Domine, the Empire had the distinction of being the preeminent sea-power. Trade became the staple of the Empire, and it entered a Golden Age. It also became dominant.

The Scandinavian Empire was always an ally, although not always close. They were also the strongest rival the Empire had. That was because every capable man had to spend a certain amount of time in the military. That meant that every adult male in Scandinavia was also a trained soldier.

The Byzantine Empire, commonly known as Roumeleia, was the oldest empire in the world, except possibly for far Cathay. It was also past its prime. As the Empire grew, and the Polish Empire rose, the remnant of the Roman Empire declined. It was still a recognized power, but never what it had been in the past.

The fifth major player was the Caliph of Baghdad. He was the figure that unified the Turkic Sultanates that bordered Roumeleia in the west, then flowed south around the Holy Land and through Egypt across the northern coast of Africa, ending in Grenada.

The Caliph could unite all of these by calling a holy war, a jihad, but that only happened if the council of advisors told him to. History tells of one Caliph who did so against the advice of his council and died that very night. The new Caliph revoked the order the next day, claiming that God had made known His will.

In this world of Empires, a holy war was not that unusual. The Anglo-French Empire had fought several of them in its history. It had even declared some of them. That did not change things. War was still war.

The combined efforts of the Byzantines and the Turkics had one specific purpose, to weaken the Anglo-French Empire. The Byzantine goal was simple. Its Emperor wanted to secure prestige, and a possible influence in the Roman States. One of Kyril's official titles was Holy Roman Emperor. The Sultans and the Caliph wanted to secure the Iberian Peninsula and establish a foothold in New France. Both governments, through their spies, knew about the experiments with the Traveler Stone and the development of the control stone. But they knew that the Empire was not using the stones to their full potential. The Emperor in Constantinople even knew why, but that was not important. What was important was that it gave them the excuse to form an alliance. What was also important was that, despite the initial failure of their surprise attacks, the alliance was working. The Anglo-French Empire was barely holding its own, and knew it.

It is because of these circumstances that the old adage rings true. Politics makes strange bedfellows.


"My Lord Ambassador," The Lord Seneschal stated formally to the small entourage. "His Gracious Majesty will speak to you on this matter. If you will follow me."

Count Gavloskoya, Ambassador to the Royal Court of the House of Plantagenet by request of his Slavonic Majesty, Casimir IX, followed the Lord Seneschal into the Royal Court. With him were his secretary and Admiral Ashton of His Royal Majesty's (Eastern) Mediterranean Fleet.

His Majesty, John IV, sat on his raised throne. With him, on either side were the Lord High Admiral and the Field Marshall. The Ambassador, his secretary and the Admiral all genuflected until they were told to rise.

"We welcome you, Ambassador, as the representative of Our brother, Casimir, We hope that He is well."

"Quite well, Your Majesty. And your Gracious Brother also wishes you the best of health and a long reign." He paused. "May I speak plainly, Your Majesty?"

"That is why you are here, Ambassador. We wish to clarify certain points of this treaty you propose."

"It is simple, Your Majesty. Your Admiral, faced with the loss of his fleet, surrendered his ships to the Polish Empire rather than to an active enemy. For all these months we have honoured our agreement with him and kept his ships intact and her crew whole. We openly offer to return them to you, and we ask for a favor."

"And this favor is?" King John knew the price, but he wanted to hear the man say it.

"A small thing. We are massing what warships we have. We should have sufficient power together to break out of the Sea of Marmara, and from the Black Sea into the Mediterranean. In exchange, we ask your help in securing a seaport in the Balkans, which are rightfully ours, so that we can resupply at need. Our army will help supply a diversion by liberating the Balkans from the north. If we are fortunate, we will have a port from which we can continue to aid our, um, allies."

John IV smiled. One of his enemies would be distracted from the war if he let another enemy has access to the Mediterranean. Circumstances now made this acceptable.

"Ambassador, We have never objected to His Slavonic Majesty's right to rule over his own lands. Neither do We object to the offer of mutual assistance. We will even state this fact in writing."

The Ambassador took the scroll from his secretary and handed it to the Lord Seneschal who in turn handed it to the King. The Lord Chancellor entered with the Royal Seal and presented it to His Majesty, who then affixed His seal to the document, next to that of Casimir. A treaty of mutual defense now existed between two countries which had been active enemies for over two hundred years.


"Somerset," Captain Harte called. "Look at this."

Harry stepped over to the periscope. After four days at sea, or under sea, he was used to the cramp quarters. He was even used to the smell of twenty bodies in a confined area.

He slid his lens cover over the eye piece and looked through the scope. The lens cover was an ingenious thought. Weak eyes were common enough. The lens permitted him to see as though he were still wearing his glasses.

Harry admitted his awe at what he saw. It was a Dreadnaught patrolling the waters east of the Straights of Gibralter. "She has African markings, Sir."

"She does, Mister Somerset. From the Sultanate of Morocco if I am correct. Part of the Caliph's Atlantic fleet."

Admiral Quincey tapped Harry's shoulder, and Harry backed from the scope, removing his lens. The Admiral then looked at the enemy ship. "Captain, this ship is armed?"

"It is Admiral."

"Would you like to test her guns?"

"I would, Sir, but we are supposed to keep our presence a secret."

The Admiral smiled. "I will wager that the only secret you are keeping is that we are here. We have bested the Greeks. I would like to bloody the Africans as well, but the choice is yours. I will not order you, but you do have my permission."

The Captain hesitated. "Sir, I am reluctant because my guns have not been tested. If they do not function properly . . ."

Admiral Quincey smiled as he would to a small child. "I do understand, Captain. It was only a suggestion."

"With all due respect, Admiral." The Captain let his anger show. "Your safe passage is my top priority. If I test my guns and the results are catastrophic, then you are lost and no one knows the reason. Once you have been brought to land, I will be more than happy to test my guns on any ship. But not while you are on board."

Admiral Quincey politely nodded. "Your point is made, Captain. I will not trouble you further." As the Captain stepped to the controls to confer with the pilot, the Admiral mused to Harry, just above a whisper. "My boy, this should be a lesson for you. Never hide behind your orders. If you are afraid to do something, you should admit it, and learn to face it." The Admiral shook his head. "It was such an easy kill."

Harry was grateful when the Admiral went back to his Cabin, which was the unused storage area. He walked up to the Captain. "Sir, the Admiral has retired."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The Captain paused. "Harry, are you upset?"

"No, Sir. You were right about not attacking the ship while the Admiral was on board."

"I was referring to his words."

"Again, Sir, I would have to say no. The Admiral is eager to win this war, and has confidence in this ship. He was venting his regret."

Captain Harte grinned. "Harry, have you ever thought of the diplomatic corps?"

"It has been suggested," Harry said with a grin of his own. "Where do we stand, Sir?"

"We are almost to the Straights." The Captain sighed. "We will hopefully deliver the Admiral in time to have dinner on shore." He looked aft. "Assuming we do not have to find a dreadnaught to sink."

"I would not mind either one," Harry admitted, "although I would prefer the meal."

Harry walked from the control room forward to the gun room where six men were sitting around, bored. "We should dock before evening, Mister Swinton."

"Hooray," The gunner's mate said without excitement. "I heard the Admiral ask us to use our guns. I would'na minded the work."

"Priorities," Harry murmured. "We can not make everyone happy."

"Then wake us up when we get there," Swinton said with a grin.

"Only if the Captain remembers to wake me," Harry promised.


"A curious situation," The Admiral said with a smile. "An enemy ship in our path. And this close to the Straights. Because this is now a battle situation, I will assume command."

"Sir," Captain Harte said earnestly, "I would recommend waiting. We are in no danger, and the frigate will surely leave its position before sunset to report."

"I disagree, Captain, and I have exercised my prerogative. I am now in command. Order your men to load the guns. We will enter Port Gibralter with an example of what a submersible ship can do."

The Captain scowled. "Lieutenant, order the guns to be made ready."

Harry opened the hatch to the forward compartment. "Mister Swinton, make ready the guns."

"Sir," Swinton said with a degree of surprise. He had thought his earlier remark a jest. "Are you aware that these guns have not been tested in sea conditions? We were to test them with powder after . . ."

"The Admiral has decided that this is to be the test." Harry remained by the hatchway to relay orders. When the gunner's mate informed him, he informed the Captain and the Admiral that the guns were ready.

"Pilot," the Captain ordered. "Turn her three degrees starboard." He waited until the turn was complete, and said without conviction, "Give the order to fire."

Harry looked into the forward compartment. "Mister Swinton, fire your guns."

"On the mark of three," Swinton called. "One, Secure the hatch." Harry closed the hatch and locked it. Mentally, he counted two and three. Then the forward compartment exploded.


"You will live." A strangely accented voice said, but Harry could not open his eyes. He seemed to be blindfolded. The way his body hurt, he decided they were bandaged. Arabic words were shouted and the stretcher he was on was lifted and carried. By the change of the rocking motion he knew he was being taken from ship to land, but he could only guess which land. He was obviously not among friends.

Harry felt himself being carried through the hot sun as the familiar smells of the docks mixed with strange smells he could not identify. He was brought inside and his stretcher placed on the dirt floor. Then he was left alone. Eventually, he fell asleep from exhaustion.


Lieutenant Robert Somerset looked in surprise when the Atlantis surfaced at the dock. He was even more surprised when the First Lieutenant opened the hatch and called him Harry. After a brief conversation, he called for the runner. It was Colin.

"Runner, find the Admiral. If he is not in his office, have him meet us there immediately. RUN."

Colin ran as fast as he could, and Robert turned back to the Lieutenant, but the man was already calling to the Captain. As the Captain emerged, Robert called to the docking crew to see to the needs of the ship's crew. Then he repeated the order. The men were still staring at the strange ship. He led the Captain to the Admiral's office, then returned to his duties as best he could. It seemed that Harry was supposed to be coming to Gibralter, but he was late by over a week.

Colin received the news stoically. It was as though Robert had told him that it was raining. But Robert knew his friend. The midshipman would express his feelings later, after the shock wore off.


"By Your Majesty's request," the Lord High Admiral said as he saluted. "Naval Status reports through the month of August."

"We as pleased that we have a secure link to Port Gibralter."

"Yes, Your Majesty, but the blockade of Marseilles is still in place. We are not yet able to take action. We must still concentrate on the African ships in the Atlantic. We fear another major battle in that theatre."

His Majesty, John IV, sighed. "And our shipping is at their mercy. Have you any good news?"

"Port Adelaide in the Duchy of Quoba is functioning fully. Our ships in that theatre can now be resupplied and repaired without crossing the Atlantic. The Commodore requests a Port Admiral to assume command."

"Inform the Commodore that he is to assume acting rank until further orders." The papers were leafed through. "The Nautilus. What is the most current report?"

"It was definitely an explosion. Eight bodies have been recovered, including the Captain. Our latest reports tell us that, besides Admiral Quincey, the Sultanate of Morocco has three others in custody. Their Navy actually claimed to have sunk the gunboat while it was sneaking past them. It should be noted that they assume it was a gunboat, with a faulty gun. Our secret is safe if that . . ."

His Majesty interrupted. "We will assume the worst, regardless. You know what We are asking you."

Admiral Smith nodded. "We think one of them might be the Lieutenant on board. We are trying to negotiate parole."

The Lord High Admiral noted the lack of reaction. His Majesty had great concerns for his nephew, considering his connection to the other world. But the boy was a popular figure in his own right in this world. His presence at Naval Intelligence proved useful, as did his not so quiet transfer to the Engineers Docks at the Firth of Forth. "If Lord Harry can do it, why not you?" the enlistment posters read. It helped spur the initial volunteer efforts of both the Army and the Navy.

"Your Majesty, if I may say something."

"My Lord Admiral."

"This matter has great political value. I believe that is why Morocco does not reveal the identities of the crewmen. They are waiting for us to acknowledge that he is missing. They know we must make such a report."

John IV looked at the Admiral. "What do you propose?"

"Send orders to Lieutenant Somerset to return to London. When he arrives, we will announce that his brother, Lieutenant Lord Robert Somerset is missing and presumed dead. We let the Caliph and the Sultans worry about what to do."

John IV frowned. "But Lord Henry Somerset has a scar on his forehead, in a distinctive shape." His Majesty took the folder that he was handed and read the medical reports for Somerset, Lord Robert, Lieutenant. Then, he laughed.


Robert had already said his goodbyes as he approached the sloop, Whisper. It was said to be the fastest ship of its class. He had his orders to return to London.

News traveled slowly and his worst fears were only recently confirmed. The submersible ship that Harry was in had been destroyed. Experts who managed to salvage pieces of the wreck determined that one of the shells had exploded. That it was Harry's ship was confirmed when his sea chest washed up on shore. Native fishermen, eager for profit, sold it to the Navy for much more than they would have received otherwise. They liked their new neighbors because of things like that.

Robert would return Harry's sword to Dumbledore. He had no idea of what else he should do.

"Lieutenant Somerset," a vaguely familiar voice said behind him as Robert reached the gangwalk.

"Lieutenant Farley?" Robert asked as he turned around.

"As though you could forget me, Harry."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. You have mistaken me for my brother."

"Do not jest with me, Harry. I know you." He reached over and pushed Robert's hair aside. "Your distinctive scar tells me which one you are." Farley winked. "Oh, I brought your orders for you."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Farley."

"Ben," Farley said as Robert broke the seal on his orders. "You always call me Ben."

Robert looked up at Farley, then back to the envelope. Both the envelope and the letter inside were addressed to Harry. But there was a small note inside the letter. He unfolded the paper and recoiled. He recognized the handwriting.

"Robert, You must do this. For Us. For the Empire. For Harry."

Robert took the note and crushed it into a ball. He had to destroy it, least chance cause it to be found. Shrugging his shoulders, he put it in his mouth and began chewing. The ink tasted terrible.

"I have some water," Farley offered.

Robert gratefully took the water and drank. As he handed back the flask he asked, "Ben, if it is convenient, could we go somewhere and talk over old times?"

"My thoughts exactly, Harry. My quarters are quite private." As they walked onto the deck, Farley added, "I could not help but notice that you are wearing your brother's sword."

Robert noticed that others were listening, simply because the ship was always crowded. "I thought to wear it until I could return it to my uncle."

Farley deliberately stopped him. It was obvious he wanted witnesses. "Then you have not heard the most recent news? Lieutenant Lord Robert Somerset is alive and a prisoner. The Navy is arranging parole for him as we speak."

Robert started to shout Harry's name but caught himself in what became a strangled cheer. "He Is Alive?" Robert asked in a voice that begged God not to wake him from this dream.

Farley smiled broadly. "Yes."


The Gypsy looked at the sleeping boy. She did not know how well the negotiations in London were proceeding but she understood leverage. This boy would be the perfect tool.

"We are safe for the moment, My Lady," a coarse man whispered. Harry would not have understood the man if he had heard him, because the man whispered in Polish.

"Keep your blade ready. I will wake the boy." The Gypsy waited as the man, still holding the bloody knife, went to watch the door. Then she began to speak in Anglo-French. "Harry? Wake up, little one."

Harry stirred to the insistent prodding of someone's hand. He opened his eyes to see who his visitor was. Except for rough voices through the door and necessary food through the gap under the door, no one had bothered to come inside his cell after the first few days. Now he opened his eyes and saw a vision of beauty.

"Are you an angel?" He asked hoarsely.

"You have won my heart, darling boy, but no. Can you walk?"

"Yes." Harry was confused. "Who are you?"

"Explanations later."

Then Harry noticed the blur of a man at the open door. "We're escaping?"

"You will follow me. And do as I tell you."

"My glasses," Harry asked quickly.

"I will buy you a new pair when we get to Krakow."

"Krakow? Who are you?"

The Gypsy knew she needed Harry's cooperation. She told him the truth. "I am the one who tried to kill your brother, Harry Potter. I did that because it was my job. I failed in that task because your brother would not cooperate. Now my job is to return you to your Empire. It is for you to decide if I fail in this task."

Harry nodded. "Tell me what to do."

"Follow."

Harry walked out of the cell behind the two people, everything around him a soft blur. He made out the bodies of three people, the guards. The woman was standing in front of another cell, speaking Arabic. Then Harry heard a key turn and a door open. He was then told to follow quickly. As they rushed up the stairs, there was the clear sound of other doors opening.

Harry smiled. The other prisoners were being released. It would add confusion and aid their escape, provided they were far enough away before someone heard the noise.

They came out of a doorway and two other men were there, standing by a cart. They quickly grabbed Harry and pushed him into the cart under some blankets. Two bodies were pulled out from those same blankets and dumped on the ground. Two more guards. Then, the Gypsy screamed.