Brigadier Tobe Duffey was no stranger to Professionals. Being commander-in-second at the Gilded Gate post meant he’d see plenty of them, teams coming and going to the Labyrinth. Still, being next to Cowen as they made their way across the devastation in the Queen’s Garden could unsettle any mundane man, even a high-ranking officer. The Imposing Knight could not be ignored, especially when she was in a cold rage like now.

Augusta Cowen, though, was still angry at herself most of all.

Got played, like a mummer’s trick. See shiny, ignore not-shiny…

She threw a look upward, at the one remaining skyship making slow circles above the Queen’s Gardens. Just like Deschanel, it was a distraction. The Crystal-enabled dirigible platforms were invaluable as observation posts for military purposes, but in an urban environment like London… they were a sham. Notifying the ground of anything they saw presumed they could spot something. In London, they were at best a statement, which hadn’t even slowed the French in the slightest.

She was supposed to be the one who actually stopped the reported French agents from whatever they’d come for, and she’d completely missed the mark. The killing blow on Deschanel wasn’t changing that.

Even if that’s not my normal job, she berated herself.

The two stopped at one watch post. The top half of the stonework was… melted. Melted and half-missing, as if the stone had started to flow like mud, then a circular bite of stone disappeared. This close to the metal circle of the Great Gilded Gate, all kinds of damage was apparent everywhere, pieces of carriages and barriers strewn all over the central Gardens. There were already teams at work, painstakingly trying to clear most of it.

“The bodies were removed. What we found, that is,” Duffey said.

“I know. I came over after they broke the Gate and saw… what remained.”

She threw a look to the side. In the distance, the street’s buildings bore traces of the area-of-effect skills the French spy had used recklessly. A few houses had huge holes in their walls, barely consolidated and covered by flapping tarps.

Cowen made a face, remembering the insane devastation that followed what the Times already called “The Massacre of London”. Many people had been caught in her battle against Deschanel before they ended him.

But the worst had been the Gardens themselves. Far too many people had rushed in, trusting in the vaunted indestructibility of the Gate. Not realizing it was the target.

It was always the target. Who could have suspected…

Most of the casualties had been the soldiers, trying to cut down the French Professionals before they could finish their work. They’d failed, but they gave their lives trying to. That was all they could do. But soldiers, civilians, the destabilized gate had claimed them all indiscriminately, leaving mangled bodies everywhere. There had been a survivor huddled next to the Gate itself, a small young boy. His mother had died on the street where Cowen had been fighting, a victim of the fire and lightning thrown around…

Many would end up in anonymous graves in the nearest graveyard. Even if you assumed next-of-kin trying to find them, the raging Gate surface had done more in a second than an artillery barrage on a battlefield or even her battle. London – and Londoners – would bear the scars for a long time.

“Ah, Cowen. Come, see this,” Resilient Spellwrangler Babbage called out.

Transit: Earth 113 - Grailburg

Integrity: 83%

Powered Off

Stability: 0%

“I still can’t wrap my head around the Gate having a descriptor. Nobody ever saw one,” Cowen, said contemplating the empty sculpted metal circle.

For all of its indications of low integrity and instability, the Gate frame showed absolutely no damage, discolouration, chipped details or anything. Only the empty frame hinted at the damage.

“There are two things interesting about it. Well, three, if you really want to dig in,” Babbage countered.

“Hmm?”, Brigadier Duffey answered, looking flustered.

“The first one you can see for yourself, Brigadier. Until now, only Professionals ever saw descriptors.”

Charles Babbage pointed toward the Gate.

“Anyone can see it. It’s quite interesting. It shows that the descriptor mechanic is not something that’s exclusive to Professionals, but it’s rather a property of the Labyrinth itself. But since the Gate is… well, damaged, it doesn’t protect itself anymore from sight. So anyone, including non-Professionals, can see it now. That, alone, is priceless knowledge. It tells us that a lot of what we think about Professionals is probably wrong.”

Cowen’s surprise must have shown on her normally impassive face because Babbage laughed softly.

“Even from disaster, knowledge acquired is precious.”

She glowered at him, but the foremost young Royal Society scholar on all things Professionals and Labyrinthine wasn’t flustered in the least by someone two tiers above and twice his levels.

“What’s the second thing?” Duffey interrupted.

“The ‘power off’ thing. The Integrity and Stability numbers haven’t moved since the Gate got assaulted, but the mention of power could very well mean that the gate is simply… a mechanism.”

“Uh?” grunted Duffey.

“People usually think of it as some supernatural happening, a gift of God if you want. But a gift of God wouldn’t need to be disabled by lack of power.”

“You don’t think God made the Labyrinth?”

“Oh, I do. What earthly power could make such an incredible place? But at the same time, it does obey rules.”

“If it’s a machine, can you power it back again?” Cowen asked.

Babbage laughed.

“Been trying to stick Power Crystals on the frame. There’s no obvious way to lock them to anything, although the Crystals empty themselves almost immediately upon touch. If the Gate requires Power Crystal sources, it obviously requires a larger one than we can supply. Or some source entirely different,” Babbage speculated.

“Meanwhile, we’re not going to wait,” a voice behind them said.

The two Professionals and the Brigadier turned and saw a nobleman walking toward them. As one, they bowed when they recognised who was coming.

“My Lord Eldon,” Duffey said.

John Scott, Earl of Eldon, Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain stopped next to the three, contemplating the emptiness of the Great Gilded Gate.

“We need to figure out what to do. And for this, we need to know what happened on the other side of that Gate.”

“But how?” Duffey asked.

“As painful as it is, we’re going to have to ask the former… Colonies for help.”

From the look on his face, the prospect seemed bitter to Earl Eldon. He was a strong proponent of waging an active, permanent, total war on Napoleon, and the recent events were going to cement his position. But he also held the position that the growing ambitions of the United States of America would inevitably put them into direct conflict against the British Empire at one point. Again.

“We are nominally at peace, and I’ll make use of that if I have to. Cowen.”

“Yes, Chancellor?”

“You and your team, make haste to Portsmouth. There will be a modern fast cutter ship waiting for you. You shouldn’t take more than a ten-day to get to Manhattan.”

Cowen’s closed fist thumped on her breastplate.

“Will do. With your leave, my Lord?”

“Go. There’s a fast horseless carriage waiting for you and your team. Unless you have preparations, I want you headed south immediately.”

Cowen immediately moved toward the Queen’s Gardens main entrance.

“Aubert. Waldo? WALDO?!? Stop sightseeing and get your ass in gear, we’ve got a new mission!”

A man that Duffey had taken for a seaman surveying the damage turned, showing up a half-mask of black-and-white leather. Even from there, Duffey could see the slight grin on the man’s lips below the mask and the way his fingers stretched and flexed indicated anticipation that made him slightly uncomfortable.

The rest watched the pair making their way out before the Lord turned and contemplated the Gate again. Duffey then asked Babbage, “What was that third thing you mentioned?”

“Oh? Well, it’s the transit mention.”

“Earth to Grailburg? What’s surprising about it. I mean, it’s well known that the zone just behind our Gate is named that way.”

“Yes, but why Earth 113? There are only four Great Gilded Gates open on Earth, so why would London’s Gate be the number 113? Does that mean there are more Gates ready to open? Or that Gates did open in the past and were forgotten in the age of legends?”

Both the Brigadier and the Chancellor looked at Babbage incredulously.

“Or even something else entirely?” the Spellwrangler speculated.

“I’d love to see the number on the American Gate.”

Resilient Spellwrangler

(tier 4)

Required: 85 INT, 36 FOR

Provides:

+7 health/+5 endurance/+10 mind/+18 aether per level

+1 Milestone per 12 levels

Resilient Spellwranger Milestone: +9 INT, +5 FOC, +4 FOR, +3 STR, +1 DEX, 2% ice damage, 3% earth damage

Skillset: Aether / Control