Immediately, the gentle buzzing of the woods turned into the roar of autumn wind. Branches oscillated wildly, raining leaves and twigs on the unsuspecting Japanese. Unlike real leaves, they did not gracefully glide to and fro through the air but dropped with the heaviness of steel—each leaf a razor, each twig a needle. As they made contact with Tanaka’s unshielded body, they left long but shallow wounds that looked satisfyingly agonizing.

Alas, since the trees were tools of cruel games, not efficient troubleshooting, they did not kill quickly, which was what the Princess had hoped for. Like la pièce de résistance in a formal meal, one had to brave oceans of mutilation before reaching the catharsis of death. In this case, it would be shredding leaves, whipping branches, entangling roots and, only finally, devouring trunks, each trunk offering its own unique torture. Even then, release would be long pending, since all the murder-trees were connected in a large subterranean labyrinth of deathtraps and false hopes.

But Tanaka did not play according to the unwritten rules established by generations of killer-victim relationships. He did not run or glare about wildly, like most men would in a similar situation. He didn’t scream, or beg, or struggle with overpowering mechanical branches. Instead, he changed his direction in one fluid motion and looked at the Princess, paying no attention to the red lines spreading on his kimono. His eyes were not intimidating or pleading—they simply followed where she looked. Too late the Princess realized that she had betrayed herself by looking expectantly at the branches. Perhaps that’s why her mother always said a proper lady should keep her eyes downcast while in the company of strangers. Or maybe it was her childhood hobby of counting pimples out loud. In any case, it was too late for regrets regarding lost decorum.

Tanaka nodded, as if confirming her suspicions. He jumped into the air and landed among five branches with cauterizing edges. Two trees collapsed with a metallic hiss behind him, revealing thousands of wires, gears, and levers inside. Tanaka fell to the ground, then stood and looked again at the Princess, this time with unsuppressed rage. Paralyzed by the infamous steely gaze of the samurai, the Princess could do nothing but stare helplessly.

However, whereas her knowledge had almost doomed her, her ignorance saved her life. Springing into action, murder-weed surprised both herself and her nemesis by lashing at the latter’s feet like hundreds of hungry leeches. Murder-weed! Who could think of such a low blow as this? Not even the late Tlatoni-Duke of Cleveland was as wicked.

Had Tanaka still worn his sandals, this would have been the end of him. However, his feet were shielded by the hefty magnetic boots provided by Von Schmidt, giving him a few precious seconds to attempt an escape with his feet intact. His reaction was a perfect split leap that left him lodged between two tree trunks, the murder-weed wavering ravenously about half a meter beneath his spread legs.

However, the trees still had some murder in them. Buzzing with electricity, the sliced wires jumped up and wound themselves taut around his ankles. Then, with a mechanical groan, they started moving apart with the apparent aim of splitting the splitter all the way. Something twisted in the pit of the Princess’s stomach, for while she had little sympathy for the treasonous coward, she found the prospect of watching a man torn apart at the seams a bit too much for even her strong stomach. Nevertheless, she did not look aside. She was too fascinated by the hideous process.

Tanaka, his face finally showing a shred of real emotion—abject terror—reached into his kimono and pulled out a small device. Wincing in pain, he hurled it at the ground, where it plopped in the dirt and did nothing.

Then everything did nothing.

All the plants stopped moving, the Princess’s spacesuit grew quiet, and nearby lights flickered and died.

“Yeponskaja suka!” Ivanov cursed behind the Princess and spat at the ground.

With frustration the Princess realized that while Tanaka was not dead, every electrical device in sight was, killed by what she now realized was a state-of-the-art EMP grenade. As if to reinforce her theory, her spacesuit became leaden, and she dropped to her hands and knees in an embarrassing posture of submission.

As Tanaka dangled upside down, struggling to release his feet from the wires, he shouted, “You shame ancestors with display of low-cultured treason!”

Ivanov rushed to help the Princess to her feet. As she steadied herself with the assistance of his bony shoulder, the Princess whispered in the Russian’s ear, “I don’t suppose you’d like to help our Asian ally to remove his feet by, well, removing his feet?”

Ivanov’s expression changed to one of great anger and he shouted right in the Princess’s face, “I can’t wait to be removed of both of you! Now how we climb wall, eh? Barany!”

The Princess looked back and examined the castle walls. They were as smooth as glass and there were no handles or bolts to disturb their monotony. Even a gecko wouldn’t be able to scale this wall. However, the hypothetical gecko wasn’t threatened by thousands of chornoi and two angry killers, who now seemed considerably scarier than the impoverished space invaders.

“Wait!” the Princess said, not sure who she wanted to wait and for what exactly. “I think I can figure this out.”

“Go ahead, Rapunzel. I am all ear,” Ivanov said. Tanaka was still struggling with the wires. Without the assistance of any of his clever gizmos, Tanaka was forced to fiddle with his hands which, while deft, were merely designed by millions of years of natural selection, not the Mitsubishi consortium. The Princess felt that what she suggested next would determine if these hands would be on her throat once they completed their liberation process.

“The electrical components of my spacesuit have been disabled, but the pneumatics are still operational, I believe.”

Ivanov looked unimpressed. “So? Controllers are electronic. No way to operate pneumonic system.”

Tanaka had one foot free and was busy untangling the other. He gave the Princess a brief glance that could easily produce a heart attack in a less fit young woman.

“Do you take me for a dreamy child or my nation for a union of witless imbeciles?” She tried to keep the edge of hysteria from her voice by increasing her volume to drown the fear. “The ravages of EMP are not unknown to us. Each suit is equipped with a manual controller. I daresay the pneumatics are powerful enough to climb this wall by piercing its surface and pulling us up. This is how mountaineers scaled mountains in ancient times.”

Ivanov and Tanaka looked at the Princess like two apes who’d just received a lecture on quantum mechanics.

“Suppose one climbs with success. How others follow?” Tanaka asked. It seems the long struggle with the wires had cooled his spirit a bit and he was in a talking mood again. In that particular martial art, the Princess felt she stood a fairly good chance.

“We may not have your inscrutably complex technology,” she said, “but the sturdiness of our products is second to none. Once I climb up, I’ll just throw the suit down. I’m quite sure the damage will be limited to the cosmetic realm.”

This was lamentable, though some fashion designers maintained that the appeal of military costumes was enhanced, rather than diminished, by signs of wear. Indeed, upon second reflection, the Princess found the notion of returning home in a ravaged spacesuit like some hero of the Old Brigade back from war most appealing. She shelved the thought in the back of her mind for later consideration. A young lady of excellent breeding should be as concerned about paparazzi cameras as assassins’ bullets. After all, a good shot could merely kill her. An unflattering shot could embarrass the entire family.

“I accept idea,” Ivanov nodded, “but I want climb first, Princess second, and Tanaka last. Is too dangerous for you to wait for us two up there alone and is too dangerous for me to climb in broken suit while this backstabbing ninja is above.”

“Russian barbarian disguises insult to my honor under thin veil of heroics. I take responsibility of EMP mishap. I climb first and hold roof for other two in penance,” Tanaka also nodded.

“Were we all not bruised and bleeding,” the Princess said angrily, “I’d be quite convinced we were back in kindergarten.”

“Bruised and bleeding, hah!” Ivanov laughed. “You obviously didn’t go to Russian kindergarten!” In fact, all parties present were doubtlessly raised by private tutors who’d cane them most heartily for such loss of decorum. The only time when a person of quality could behave like a kindergarten student was well into their adulthood.

“We reached an impasse,” Tanaka said.

“No impasse!” The Princess clenched her small fists and stomped like a child about to throw a tantrum. “I’m a princess! You’re a count and you’re, eh, something I can’t be bothered to pronounce. I decide.”

“But—” Ivanov blurted.

“No but! Display the proper feudal spirit and keep your lips pursed! This is the only established way to determine order of precedence, military conditions notwithstanding.”

“You assess dominance but fail to exercise authority.” Tanaka sounded thoughtful.

It must take a lot of work to express the simplest thoughts in a needlessly complicated manner, the Princess thought, trying to understand what on Terra he wanted from her. She couldn’t even decide if she was being chided or encouraged. So she just said, “Huh?”

“He says you don’t offer own order of the climb, only fault ours.” Ivanov was squinting at the top of the wall, not looking at all excited about the prospective climb.

“Ah, well, now, quite. Huh …” Until now, it hadn’t occurred to the Princess that by taking responsibility, one suddenly found oneself burdened with responsibility.

Here were the facts: she was a creature of palaces and parties, not battlefields, and so her authority on such subjects was limited. Tanaka was a man whose head would look more natural on a pike than on his shoulders, and so, any advice from him had to be treated as hostile. Certainly, it did not seem prudent to turn one’s back on this inscrutable oriental killer. Ivanov was both experienced in matters of war and the most sympathetic of her would-be kidnappers. Certainly, he was the sort of man who’d step in front of a lady to stop a blade, rather than one who’d push one into the puddle to keep his shoes from getting wet.

In truth, the Princess had taken a liking to the man. It was becoming increasingly hard to remind herself that indisputable courage and excellent manners notwithstanding, the Russian was still her enemy.

“Tanaka-san, you will lead,” the Princess pointed at the roof. “Ivanov will climb second. I will climb last.” And hopefully, by the time I get there, one of you will have already left. Preferably to several locations at once.