As Labyrinth went, the zone was a dud. A tier four zone, moderately far away from any heartland zone. But more importantly, a zone that had only connections to tier threes, three of them. It might be useful as a ground for getting some experience or some standard gear, but it was not one that would be very popular by dint of being a dead-end in a Professional’s progression to tier five. Not even useful as a sideways.

Some of its lairs might be considered a good ground to hunt. The lone building nestled in the mountainside was not. Partially underground, you needed to rummage through its many rooms, slaughtering the packs inside, until you found a key that unlocked its only door, behind which stood the only guardian of the entire lair. No one who had attempted it had ever seen an Ancient; it was even only a lone elite – albeit higher level than the rest – nearly half the time.

Which, of course, made it perfect for the two black Professionals that had found their way to one side room, made themselves comfortable, and waited.

One was wearing a huge spear, and a metal-encrusted gear denoting his status as one that stood on the path of defence. The other had the floating light gear that betrayed the use of the aether as a primary means of offence.

Despite the difference, the two were brothers. Not as Professionals, but by blood. Such a thing was rare, but not entirely impossible. A long, long time ago, when the two youngsters had stood among the others presented to Mhambi Meshindi, and the God-king had deemed them both worthy to be Chosen, to be sent to the Labyrinth they’d found pride in the fact.

Of course, later, they’d found out that Mhambi Meshindi usually simply picked the ones with the highest potentials, based on who was missing in his armies, and not some grand criteria. But that was later, after the novelty wore off, and the grim grinding progression of a Chosen of the Zulu Kingdom replaced it.

The small sound coming from the side room alerted Kwanele. A second, then a third sound of garbage being knocked made him relax. There were no hostile critters to be fought – one sound might be an error made by someone checking the lair. Three in succession warned them that they did not need to start pretending.

Unlike both of the Zulu, the newcomer was wearing extremely plain gear. Something that might not even attraction from far away, if someone was to notice something. Neither brother was fooled – the man would instantly switch to his combat gear, should the circumstances require it.

“So, what have you got for me,” Jacques Deschanel said.

The Frenchman twirled the small bottle, looking at the murky liquid within.

“Unlike many things, this is one your wisemen could maybe figure out themselves, so it will not attract attention. But for your war machines, this is very useful. A suspension of ground depleted Crystals in thickened oil, and none of your axles will wear out or grip for a long time. And the oil remains together and will not leak.”

“Your brother is smart, for one that cannot even enter the Labyrinth,” Deschanel offered.

“That one is one of his own inventions. He did not need the God-king to give him an idea to try to test this one.”

“There is something, however, I am interested in. If you have one, and I am pretty sure you have one.”

“What is it?”

“A Gate Opener,” Deschanel said.

“Why do you need such a thing? Are you worried that your enemies will steal the device you were given, and close your Gate?”

“No. We actually would like to close and open our Gate. Repeatedly. And preferably without having to wait for three months, as the English did before they reopened theirs.”

“The English did what?”

“We did reproduce your Gate Closer devices. Eventually. And, of course, we did it to our enemies first. But, three months later, they reopened the Gate.”

“Such a thing is not possible. Mhambi Meshindi said there was no device known to man or god that could force a closed gate open. If the British were to wait a few years, their Gate might end up reopening on its own, but if you closed it…”

“They did not use a device. They used people.”

“How could the British have such people?”

“Well, they were made when the Gate was closed. We are fairly sure of how that happened. They took people that could not enter the Labyrinth, and they changed them so they could during the Gate closure. And if we can control our Gate… then we could do it ourselves.”

He leaned forward.

“Think about it. Maybe your third brother could enter the Labyrinth.”

“That still does not make your tale believable. Even if the British became Chosen, how could they control Gates.”

“They got a special Milestone that Professionals do not. Well, more than one rank, but that’s a Milestone that is not a Profession.”

Jacques Deschanel could not miss the look exchanged between the two Zulus. It was not a look of incredulity at a mere European’s tall tales. It was the look that said, “how did he know”. Interesting. He pressed on.

“Come on. Do not tell me you can’t force a Gate open again. My Master was so paranoid about the whole thing, anyone save the most trusted people were kept under lock and key. And the only reason they are still alive is that, if you kill people working for you when they become inconvenient, pretty soon nobody works for you.”

Zenzele was the one who steeled himself to answer.

“Of many things I will not speak of. Some of the details, if anyone were to utter them in front of the wrong people, and those came back to the God-king’s attention, would start a war. Mhambi Meshindi is cautious, and will not move until he is ready, but if he feels threatened, he will not hesitate. And believe me, no one is ready for Meshindi’s wrath.”

“Then, tell me what you think I need,” Deschanel reassured his contacts.

Zenzele started his tale.

“For many years, since I was presented to Mhambi Meshindi, I felt honoured. But it was clear that Mhambi Meshindi has a vision of the Zulu and their place, and this vision is one of Meshindi’s vision, not the Zulu’s vision. Still, one does not second-guess his God.”

The man relaxed, his voice taking him back years… presumably, before the two hatched their plan and started to reach to the sides of the Zulu Labyrinth, to the French and Chinese.

“Few, if any, of the Chosen ever go with Meshindi anywhere. The God organizes all of his Chosen’s endeavours, but only the most trusted Chosen get into the Labyrinth with him.”

“Looks like me and Napoleon,” Deschanel remarked.

“But Meshindi never allows himself to be touched and read. He takes no concubine, even among the unchosen, he has no close team. The closest I ever came was being in his team for a mission in the strange corners of the Labyrinth… and of that zone, I will not speak of, since it, too, would betray that one of us has spoken. That was the only time, and this, I will also not tell you about, for knowing his Profession would betray one of his closest Chosen since they are the only ones who go with him.”

“Come on. It’s not as if Professions are a close secret, not when anyone can read a Plaza’s description,” Deschanel replied.

“Not here,” the Zulu replied curtly.

“Now, there is a skill that none among the Chosen of the Zulu are allowed to take. If you get it as a base, so be it. But increase it with a Milestone, and the Chosen cadre of Meshindi will come and take you away. And that skill is Gauge Enemy.”

“Ah. I have it. And found it slightly useful.”

“At higher ranks, one can start to unravel a Professional’s descriptor from afar. After knowing Mhambi Meshindi’s secret Profession existence, I swore that I would find out more, for it should be the source of his power. So I hatched a plan.”

“And you were not found out.”

“Why would I be, for I did not raise the rank of the skill. But, instead, I waited. Over the years, I collected the greatest items from the Labyrinth…”

“… that had the skill rank bonus. Clever.”

The Zulu bowed, acknowledging the small praise.

“And so, on one day, I was close enough to Mhambi Meshindi, and I had my Puppet ready. As no one watched, I flickered the equipment, and kept myself focused on the descriptor.”

“And you found out what the Profession of Mhambi Meshindi did.”

“And I found out that Mhambi Meshindi had Milestones for which there was no Profession.”

“Like the British guys I told you about.”

“If these British have the power of Mhambi Meshindi, then they must be terrifyingly powerful. Although I do not know how one gains Milestones without a Profession, I could see how that makes you… a God.”

Interesting, Deschanel thought. So some Zulu did what the British did. Or… well, what might have happened with the Versailles Head Gardener. Be there at the right time when the Gate open, get swept in and adjusted. And come out of the Labyrinth with enough Adjustment to impress the rest of them.

“Well, now you know that your God-king is not unique. And, as I said, if we can do this, your brother may become one.”

“We must think about it. But know this – Mhambi Meshindi does not need a Gate Opener, so none exist.”

“In two moons, then?”

“Two, it is agreed. We will ask our brother if such a device is possible.”

They both slammed spear and staff on the ground, and Recall light enveloped them, bringing them back toward the main Zulu realm.

Jacques Deschanel smiled, the vial of labyrinth lubricant in his pocket half-forgotten. Today, he got one of the juiciest bits of intelligence ever. All he needed was to find a way for him and Napoleon to benefit from it.

“You shouldn’t have spoken of our brother. He doesn’t even know we do this, so he can’t betray himself,” Kwanele said.

“That was done and gone long ago. You cannot swim back that river,” Zenzele replied.

“If Meshindi finds out about those British rivals, he will launch his war, no matter what.”

“Let’s hope no one reports that to his ears, then. But… if the British have obtained the powers of the God-king, maybe we chose the wrong allies to start with.”

“Ultimately, we would have needed all of them. Making sure Mhambi Meshindi falls in war and release the fate of the Zulu requires it.”