Maurice Thorez was still fighting a bit of nausea that refused to go away. That was what got to you if you started stacking too many things together.

Lingering Death. -50% of potentials and vitals, regeneration halved.

Sacrifice. -25% of potentials and vitals, regeneration reduced by 25%.

He contemplated the Chateau from afar. For all the devastation visited on it, it seemed intact and peaceful. But the corpses strewn next to him belied the scene. A handful of people had escaped, and some adventurous souls had gone back to find and drag out whomever they could. But with most of the cadre of the Dominion gone, that was an absolute disaster. They would lose quite a few still because the timers were ticking.

In about 40 minutes, both status values would tick down by one per cent, and he’d be able to bring another low tier-three back to life – barely. Then he’d be as weak as a new-born kitten, and there wouldn’t be enough time to do anything else, but that was okay. He'd done what he could, trying to save the low four and three, the future cadre of the Dominion.

Thankfully, their enemy had retreated when they realized the Eagle was not home.

He laughed a bit, drawing odd looks from the drawn-out Professionals. But there was nothing else to do, except...

“What’s the status?” a voice came out.

Thorez turned and spotted the figure of a Professional, running from Versailles proper. He hadn't paid attention, but the town had smoke plums all over it. They'd attacked there, obviously. But as here, some had survived. And the man rushing toward them, at a speed his full plate mail would not normally sustain, was familiar. A fresh tier six, Rocco Malenpent. Probably the highest-ranking Dominion still around, with the rest of them sliding toward True Death, unless someone could fight its way to the corpse pile in the Gardens.

Not that they could resurrect all of them even if they ever recovered the corpses. Maybe one or two, before the timer expired. No, their only hope was that Napoleon would come back just in time. If he could.

“They’ve retreated to the Gate. There are too many, a dozen-and-a-half, maybe two, and they're guarding it heavily…” Thorez replied, before hesitating.

“You… can see a descriptor atop the Gate. It says it’s locked.”

The tier six closed his eyes in half-despair. He knew about Gate closing, of course. He hadn't been there in London, but everyone had cheered when it happened. And this time, the damned Brits had turned the tables on France, closing their Gate this time. By now, he knew it would reopen, over time. But meanwhile, the way to the Labyrinth was closed, and Napoleon was in exile.

Malenpent's eyes snapped open.

“Locked? Is the surface still active?”

“Uh. Yes. Yes, it seems to be. The only thing that’s different is that descriptor.”

Then, the defender realized, there might be a way to warn Napoleon. If you were fast enough to run between high tier Professionals and had enough health and skills. He could do it. Or fail, for his country. He checked his descriptor and frowned.

“Okay. One locked Gate, I can understand. But how did they sent people out to lock three???”

Jonas contemplated the extinguished Gate.

“Single-digit integrity. Well, that’s a Gate that won’t restart for a very long time,” Millard said finally before turning.

“Congratulations everyone. We did what we had to. Time to head back to Gatepost. So… Recall and Fast Travel, depending.”

Jonas was pulling up his location descriptor as a handful were already alighted in Recall lights when mutterings began.

Location

Zone: Agenmart

Locale: Gate to Earth

Recall: Grailburg, Gate to Earth

Recall: available

Gates: 4/4

Tier 1: Zolferras (disabled)

Tier 2: Donerkal

Tier 3: Zilbarn

Tier 4: Warsemial (disabled)

Fast travel: 2 charges, 19 until next

“Disabled gate? What the blazes?” Ira blurted next to him.

People interrupted their own Recalls as more cries of confusion rose.

Millard yelled.

“Okay. Everyone, keep calm. The Grailburg Gate is okay. Unless someone sees it disabled???”

He scanned the crowd, but no dissenting claim came.

“So, Recall, then Fast Travel immediately. I want everyone at Gatepost as soon as possible. Go!”

Rainbows swirled around Jonas as he and his team directly went to the Gatepost clearing.

The clearing was peaceful. Mostly. The only odd thing was a quartet of Professionals milling in front of the Gate. Jonas immediately walked to them, listening.

“Anyone ever seen that? I mean, disabled Gates? Even the Great Gate wasn’t last year.”

“What’s happening,” he asked.

The Professional turned and explained.

“We’re going… well, we were going to Gosmoston, a tier four. We have a license for three Ancient lairs there, so there’s no way we’d miss checking them. But the Gate from Nindarul to Gosmoston says disabled now. Can’t even select it as a destination. Tried to pick the other Gates before cancelling, they all seem to work, though.”

Jonas was startled. Nindarul… that was the zone where they had the trunk entrance, he recalled.

Then a packed group of Professionals exited the Great Gate, and Jonas recognized, from the team descriptor, people from the French assault. Seconds later, Jack Millard appeared as well, and Jonas breathed a little easier.

“Sims, any news?” he immediately asked.

“Not much… you’re among the first after we Recalled. Although those gentlemen here appear to have a disabled Gate as well.”

“Wait, you guys have a disabled Gate?” one asked.

“Two here,” Jonas said. “A tier one and four.”

“Only one,” Millard said, “the one at tier four for Nindarul.”

“To Gosmoston?” the original Professional asked.

“Yes, that one?”

“That’s the one that says ‘disabled’ for us too!”

The other Professionals were milling around, adding their claims to the disabled list. Then six swirl of rainbow appeared next to the Recall Stone, depositing a team, with one Professional who appeared well geared, accompanied by five plainly clad ones. The higher level Professional was swearing like a pissed sailor.

“What happened to you?” Millard asked.

“I was escorting a set of newbies from our company. We were headed to Cheogary for their first tier-two set of Professions, and when we got there, the Gate was empty. There was just the Gate circle, but no gate surface. And it had a descriptor saying ‘disabled’. The driver is bringing the carriage back, but we Recalled immediately.”

The Gate disgorged a Professional who immediately stopped seeing the number of people gathered in the clearing. Millard turned to her and asked.

“Any difficulty in using the Gate?”

“Uh… no. Should I have?”

“None of your Fast Travel options saying ‘disabled’?”

“What does that mean? Uh, no. Grailburg, Vukodalar, Kampand are all… okay?”

A new set of people from the raid came out, joining the growing crowd. Millard hesitated for a few seconds before raising his voice.

“Gemma! Stay here, and start making a list. Everyone who comes in, ask which Gate – if any – they have that has stopped working.”

“Will do, Applied Ringmaster,” she answered.

“I’ll be at the Ministry, in London. Once it seems you have figured out most, if not all of them, get someone to relieve you and bring the list fast.”

Millard turned back to Jonas, frowning.

“Okay, Resilient Spellwrangler. You and your team, follow me. We’re going to report to the Marquess. Arthur Wellesley needs to be notified and quick.”

He turned and plunged straight into the Gate. Jonas looked at his team, shrugged in apology and rushed to follow.

By comparison with the mounting confusion on the Grailburg side, the Gate area in London looked completely ordinary. Guards in position, and a pair of teamster carriages being loaded with crates of Labyrinth materials almost certainly carried from Gatepost a bit earlier.

Millard was already walking briskly toward the road out of the Queen’s Gardens toward the central governmental alley. Jonas hurried after him. Although the man had certainly hundreds of Agility on him, he still managed to catch him by running, before he slowed down his pace to match his. The team descriptor, still full, told Jonas the rest was just behind.

The British Scouts’ leader was silent for a while, but Jonas could very well guess what was going through his head. Pretty much the same thing that went through his, probably.

He looked back briefly behind him, at the team that followed them grimly, the same confusion and worry gnawing at him written on their faces.

Around them, as they slid into the London foot traffic that went next to the Gardens, people walked, drove and busied themselves, unaware that the Labyrinth might have just undergone its greatest perturbation. Bigger than the one last year.

He looked briefly upward, startled that the London skies were overcast. The sky of France had been perfect. But the one over England promised… nothing. Nothing but unknown dangers.

The only thing Jonas could think of was that nobody could have foreseen that one. He was certain his team wasn’t at fault. Even if it was responsible.