The Zulu Knight was still laughing at times, even after a month at sea. And Zhuangjing, who was still only barely warming to one who was, after all, a fellow conspirator in multiple endeavours – even if a barbarian one – could understand why. The weirdness of the situation still baffled the daughter of the Emperor of the Middle Kingdom.

“Who knew you had so many pirate ships roaming your seas.”

“I am still surprised as well. But Madame Ching apparently… enjoyed some nearly-formal relationships with our prominent admirals. And we were able to sweeten the deal with potential looting. Otherwise, there was no way we’d have enough ships capable of the trip for all of our Heroes.”

“Her ships are even faster than we feared would be. We would have provided help, but the God-King never anticipated requiring help and waging war so… early.”

“Did he?”

“He always said we would inevitably clash with the world. And he pushed all the Chosen Ones, those near him and the rest, as hard as he can. Providing help in giving the right zones for each Profession in advance, picking easy paths to growth. He built our ships because ‘assaults over the Labyrinth’ are hard.”

“I’m curious about those, though. We didn’t see your fleet, it was already on its way,” she gestured at the thin line at the horizon.

“Well, he is no shipwright, that’s sure. But he gave many suggestions to the Dutch craftsmen we brought in, after the fall of the Cape Town.”

“He is a strange one. To have roamed the heavenly Planes before they opened,” she said.

Phesheya fell into contemplation.

“Zenzele is the one who figured out the most about him, I think. Mhambi Meshindi is the exemplar of strangeness. He seems to revere odd persons, odd places. After he came through, he went straight to a small village, in the middle of the old country, searched for a specific house, and then said ‘this is my house, this is where I will dwell’ and grew it into his palace, even if he usually stays close to the Great Gate. And while he seems to harbour no overwhelming enmity to the English, he dislikes them, and says they must be kept away, lest they overrun the world.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that truth. They used opium against my country to get the money to pay for the goods they were ‘purchasing’ from us,” she replied.

“Have you tried it?”

Zhuangjing blinked in surprise before realizing the exact nature of the question.

“Of course not. That vile substance is an affront to anyone of virtue.”

“I mean before you became Chosen. After you become one, most of those herbs’ effects dissipate far too fast compared to normal. You barely feel them before it’s gone. And at your tier, you might be smoking grass.”

“Oh.”

The Zulu shrugged.

“Can’t hold proper ceremonies for the ancestor spirits once you are Chosen of the Labyrinth.”

“Us Immortal Heroes are apart from mortals,” she noted.

Zhuangjing turned back to the sea, before commenting further.

“And we are truly immortal if what you say is true.”

“It is known among the Chosen. Meshindi himself said so to us, and it is borne out by experience. You surely have noticed you are still in the flower of age, like a maiden ready to be married?”

“It could be attributed to regeneration smoothing out wrinkles and keeping you fit… but yes. It’s a bit harder to see in men, and most of the bannermen that ran into the Labyrinth during the first decade were mostly young even then. Zhan Bao should be… fifty-six now.”

“But he looks little different from when he was just under forty.”

“The old Dao masters thought you had to refine your body and achieve immortality before you stepped into the Heavenly Planes. And it turns out it’s the reverse,” she said, smiling at an unseen memory.

She contemplated the sea silently, before asking.

“How old do you think He is?”

“No one can truly know. But Zenzele… he’s been trying to figure out by calculations from his levels, even with the weird ‘levelling speed’ value changing everything. At least a century. Maybe two. Maybe more. Who can truly know, except himself?”

The Zulu looked in the distance, sighing.

“He is Zulu and not-Zulu. And that’s what frightens everyone who stops fawning over him and thinks for a while. For it is one thing to revere ancestors’ spirits giving you protection from afar, and another to see them walking among you and reordering your life.”

Despite the fact that their Office general manager wasn’t there, Jonas had not waited to update the status on the board of the company office. Then, he had checked the notice board, which only held four notes for teams across the Labyrinth. And his.

Well, not strictly his team. More for himself, specifically.

Foreign Professional Sylvia Underwood enquired about Jonas Sims.

Asked to be notified A.S.A.P.

She stated she’s staying at the Frozen Boar.

Fleming

He blinked a couple of times, hardly believing the content of the note.

She had said she might come at some point, but nearly a year of correspondence had passed without anything coming out of it, and he was beginning to think of it as an empty promise.

Of course, he had also been busy, far too busy to go back to the States anyway. Maybe that was also the case for her. Dedicated Professionals could afford to slip a bit behind in levelling, but not too much over a long time.

Yet here she was.

Jonas stumbled a bit as he entered the Frozen Boar’s familiar common room. Sylvia Underwood looked as she’d been waiting for him or something, sitting in the main room of Inn, surrounded by what looked like newspapers and books. He did not even have to inquire about her.

“Jonas!” she exclaimed as she rose, seeing him come in.

A smile came to his face, unbidden. She looked very different from the woman back in Manhattan’s New York City. She wore an obvious Professional outfit rather than the mundane clothes he’d seen her at the hotel where they’d stayed, and despite everything else, it made her more… Professional. A good thing, in its way.

“What you taking? Come here,” she added.

The bartender – and owner – laughed and replied, “He always took the same thing when his team was staying here.”

“Then the same it will be. Unless…?”

“It’s fine,” Jonas finally said as he sat on her low table.

She swept the spread books and newspapers, deftly stacking them to the side. Jonas fidgeted a bit as they both stayed silent for a few instants. Then she extended her wrist, and Jonas immediately exchanged descriptors. She’d come up a bit since his visit. A new tier-three Profession being advanced, marking the climb to tier-six, he could guess. Her build was a kind of hybrid between healing and spellcasting anyway.

“My. You’ve grown a lot since last year,” she said, eyeing the flame-imbued robe. “Artefact? To whom did you have to indenture to for one of those?”

“Special circumstances,” he admitted.

“Must be interesting. Most of the raid teams – at least in the USA, don’t know how you Brits do it – treat those underleveled ones as almost as valuable as full ones. You might not want them, but the right person will pay good prices for one.”

“We have some high tiers in our Company, but that one came… from a tier-six team. The ones who rescued us from the Labyrinth.”

“Ah… Cowen it is then,” she pulled the name from her memory. “They’re still helping you?”

“Our paths cross often.”

Jonas then realized that he actually wore a second Artefact, although with the gear not being directly visible on the shared descriptors, and with the gloves that actually covered the ring, she would not be aware of it. He hesitated a few seconds… explaining one Artefact could be okay. Two… if she started asking, he would hate himself for having to dissemble.

Like Cores, he doubted the existence of the Trunk would remain hidden for very long. But he’d learned the lesson of saying as little as he could. Even in Sylvia’s case.

“Interesting build as well. That’s probably the shortest side Profession anyone ever took…”

“Special…”

“Circumstances? Again?” she laughed.

“We had to. Don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve managed to finally beat France.”

“I could hardly miss it,” she said, waving at the newspaper stack at the edge of the table.

“Well, we were on the assault on France. But they wanted a minimum of tier-four for the assault, on the account that it was the least survivability. So, we took a shortcut to make sure we had enough time to unlock that tier four.”

She frowned.

“Didn’t you say that…”

“Adjustment? Yes. But sometimes, it is worth it. We were all willing to pay that in this case.”

“So, you did get your revenge,” she said.

“It’s not exactly revenge. Not for me, that is. But yes. It’s probably not entirely over, but the war has been turned.”

“Jolly good for you British, then. The dawn of a new era?”

“Maybe.”

Jonas’s glass had materialized on the table at his side somehow, and she raised her own, and they toasted, almost automatically.

“Been waiting for you,” she said.

“I apologize, but…”

“But you’re busy in the Labyrinth, as we’re all too often. I understand. Doesn’t make me less cranky, but I do recognize the logic. You’re finally back, so there’s that.”

“So I am…” Jonas said.

“I was afraid I’d have to go back without catching up. Sometimes, teams spend multiple months in the Labyrinth without coming back, and your manager wasn’t sure of how long you’d be away.”

“We collected lots of gear, we had our bags full actually,” he explained.

“Oh? That sounds like… an interesting problem to have,” she laughed lightly.

Jonas started to explain the note system in use at the Faire.

“That’s so… un-American,” she said finally.

“How so?”

“We simply use dollars. It’s not hard to value gear. Percentages, Ranks, Potentials, Vitals, it’s easy to get the relative worth. There are expert appraisers at the Gatecross if you’re not sure. They’ll give you the expected price exact to the last cent. Put it for sale, purchase what you need outright. I’m sorry, Jonas, I shouldn’t disparage your country, but you’re sometimes a little bit weird.”

“Well, the one who created the whole Faire is an Irishman.”

Seeing her uncomprehending face, he added, “Irish are a bit weird, even for us Englishmen.”

She shrugged as if to answer ‘if you say so’, before swallowing more of the local beer.

“Well, I have to go back. I should have, already, but I could still afford to wait for at least a little more. It’s a bit late, but are you free this evening?”

Jonas hesitated.

“Well, this isn’t quite the Westchester…”

“Jonas. Are you even stepping out of the Labyrinth?”

“I…”

“It also felt weird to me, building an entire town inside the Labyrinth. But you know there is a city just beyond the Gate? Don’t tell me I know your own London better than you do?”

“What do you have in mind?” he managed to ask.

“Why, I spent enough time checking the area. London, not Gatepost. The eateries are not quite to the standards of the Westchester maybe, but there are a few who have snagged French chefs. And some even allow women.”

She stood up.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Professional garb makes for fine high-tier wear,” she countered, as her practical trousers flashed, replaced by a silky pleated skirt.

“You never had oysters?” she asked, as the waiter of Rules brought the first plate.

“Fish, certainly. But this is weird.”

“There are good shellfish restaurants in the States, but you Brits do it correctly,” she said.

It had taken a few minutes of negotiations to get a table. Sylvia had dined there only by virtue of her family connections – having a very wealthy merchant family, even if a foreign one – but the perspective of unattached man and woman dining together seemed to frazzle the staff. Jonas being a Knight-Commander of the Order of the Bath had finally smoothed out the thing. Their status as both obvious Professionals – Sylvia didn’t even attempt to reign in her Presence – had helped a bit as well, but only helped. Without their mundane status, it would be almost impossible to get in, or even secure a reservation in advance.

It’s much simpler in Gatepost, Jonas thought. You were among your peers there. The one thing that distinguished you was your build.

Okay, maybe the perspective of being the Heir to the Crown could also change a few things. But there was only one Charlotte of Wales in the Labyrinth.

“I’m going to miss it, stuffy as it is,” she said, waiting until all was properly served and the waiters departed.

“So you’re going back soon?” he asked.

“I actually delayed going. I came to see what the fuss about the Gates was, and that’s quite obvious,” she said.

“Ah.”

“There’s even a tabloid saying that you were covert agents of France, and you did it in revenge for the attack. That’s how Napoleon knew and left before. Spins a full tale about you having been recruited by Bonaparte with an offer to become Professionals if you helped in the distraction when they attacked the London Gate.”

If he had been drinking yet, Jonas might have ruined the napkins. She laughed.

“Remember that journalist back in the States? It’s the same all over the world.”

“No, seriously?”

“I’ve kept that one. I’ll give it to you to read. It’s funny. Well, at least for me, it’s probably less funny when you’re a target.”

Jonas managed to distract himself by pecking at the oyster. He mostly copied Sylvia, not knowing how to “properly” eat one anyway. He couldn’t decide if it wasn’t supposed to be fussy, or if she simply didn’t care. Maybe both.

“That being said, it’s us. Well, at least Jonathan.”

“Jonathan? He’s one of your defenders, right? Double-defenders isn’t that common, but it’s considered a good thing if you attempt lairs above average. When the swarming begins, two is better than one, even if it’s slower the rest of the time.”

She folded the table cloth, smiling, “Not that there’s anything average about you. Or your team.”

“He’s the main defender these days.”

“Wasn’t that your friend Ira?”

“He volunteered for an experiment by the Archivists after I came back from Manhattan. Netted him an additional Milestone, and with his build, he’s slightly above Ira. Most of the time, they alternate.”

“Any juicy abilities?”

Jonas ended up explaining the newer ability. He’d talked about the chest descriptors in his correspondence, but Jonathan’s new discovery was far too recent for her.

Sylvia blinked.

“People have descriptors.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise. I mean, you have aetheric gauges. They measure almost perfectly Potentials on non-Professionals. So it’s not a stretch to think that the Labyrinth can provide a fully accurate descriptor. Even outside. After all, we do have our own descriptors at all times.”

“You see… so many things barred to us,” she wondered.

“This one’s going to wait until tier-five,” he said.

“Next year. Tier-five in under three years. You know how to make a girl jealous,” she said. “Took me over seven, and in addition of being almost forbidden to go for two years, since I was ‘way too young’ for the Labyrinth.”

“Well, Jonathan will also get the next tier. If not a bit earlier,” Jonas said.

She sat there, pensive, and almost startled as the waiters, having managed to avoid their Focus somehow, presented the next course. Then she shook her head and decided.

“I’ve known since we met in that hotel you’d go far. You and your friends. In a decade, you’ll be ahead. A fast British ship overtaking the lumbering American three-mast.”

Jonas winced at the metaphor.

“Tiers… they only matter if you’re on the same team in the Labyrinth.”

“And you have yours. And they’re the only ones who will keep pace with you. Me, I’d hate to be shackled to the same team forever.”

She noted Jonas's suddenly pensive mood.

Well, they’re his friends for now. Life’s too short to stay stuck with the same people until you retire and die. At least for me, she thought.

She raised her glass, and toasted, “To the team!”

“To the team!”

“So what is this about,” Ira asked as they followed Jonas across the streets of Gatepost in the late morning.

“Sylvia’s leaving soon. And well, I talked a lot about you back then, but she’s never met you all. The Frozen Boar is a good place,” he said.

“You know, usually, you present her to your parents…”

“What?” he sputtered.

“Do I see red tints?” Ira asked Laura.

“It’s not that…”

“Just kidding, just kidding,” Ira placated.

“Besides, the Labyrinth makes sure there are no unplanned complications,” he immediately added.

Jonas realized that the more he tried to reply, the deeper the hold would be, so he took a long breath, and trudged on.

He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he’d noticed a titter coming from Guss.

The Frozen Boar had team tables, of course. Although at seven, they were slightly crowded around the Labyrinth “Grailburg Oak” planks. The classic stews were there, with plates and a semi-informal arrangement of picking and eating out-of-order.

“Your arrangements in mandatory companies still baffles me. So you’re all working for the government?”

“Not the Duke as a member of the government, the Duke as a hereditary peer. That’s a specific distinction,” Jonathan explained.

“And if we get dissatisfied, we can resign. We just have to find another company willing to take us on. Or a noble willing to make one,” Guss added.

“As if there’s a difference,” she said.

“Well, that’s how it works anyway,” Guss replied.

“And with a number of serious reasons and precedents, stemming from the breakup of the Royal…” Jonathan started.

Ira managed to cut the legal lecture short by raising his tankard: “To the Labyrinth, where lawyers are not needed!”

“You’re defending first on the next Ancient,” Jonathan replied drily.

Sylvia contemplated her own tankard for a while, then suddenly spoke.

“It doesn’t have to be that way if you want to.”

“How so?”

“Well, we – us, Americans, that is – don’t have those shackles. The only requirement is registration of your build at the Federal Bureau of the Labyrinth Affairs, at least one update a year, and that’s it. And you don't even have to write it yourself, they just read your descriptor and you're good.”

Most of the team looked at her, uncomprehending.

“If you were to operate from the States, you’d be free to do whatever. Almost everyone prowls the Labyrinth as an independent. Sure, there are a few corporations, mostly for pooling resources, but that’s just convenience.”

“That’s… preposterous.”

She shrugged.

“Maybe. But that’s entirely possible. Besides… you can walk from London to Manhattan anyway. From what Jonas said, you’re not quite halfway, but not too far.”

She pulled out a sheet of paper and a graphite pencil, favoured by Professionals all over, and quickly drafted a list from memory.

“The shortest path would require going to tier-four, which might be a little tricky given the descriptors you have, but right now, it’s useless anyway, since Machenlenso is cut. There’s a longer path, going down and up, and none of the Gates on that one are blocked.”

She handed out the list to Jonas.

“Keep that. You don’t even need to fund a ticket on a passenger ship. I know, you told me you need to get gear for the future. But there’s no reason not to come and visit and see how you like it in our Labyrinth.”

“Would that be authorized?”

“Like last year? If you come in from the Labyrinth, there’s little the Federal Bureau can do. They’ll huff and they’ll puff and nothing will happen. The magic of a fait accompli. Excuse my French.”

“You Americans are very irreverent with your institutions.”

“First, a decade and a half old Bureau isn’t an institution. Second… why, yes. And that’s why I think you’ll fit better in the USA. You’re not… simple. I’ll see what I can do, but I know a lot of Professionals who would be delighted to have you around.”

Jonas accompanied her back toward the Frozen Boar’s stairs to her room.

“You’re really leaving?”

“I waited for you and your team to come back, despite having basically what I got sent here for. But I got Recall here in this weird London district of yours. Don’t worry, next letters I’ll drop directly at your office rather than wait weeks for them to cross the Atlantic. Recall is cheap, but you won’t always be there when I use it. I know.”

“You know… Gates should be starting to reopen in three months… and that’s the twentieth anniversary of the Gate. There will be a grand commemoration. Given that we finally won, it’s going to be both celebrations.”

“You know, I don’t think we do that kind of festival you’re hinting at… I wonder if I could introduce the idea. It’s probably a bit too short as it is… Let me see…”

She pecked at his cheek.

“Thanks for yet another potentially great idea!”

Sylvia Underwood started shoving the various sundries she carried into her duffle bag. She travelled lightly anyway; a Professional quirk that extended even to her, despite the efforts of the family to straighten her upbringing: if it didn’t fit in a Puppet, it wasn’t worth much. But toiletries didn’t go into one, and she tolerated the field trips, but not the stay in civilized countries.

Now the big question was, how to turn all that she'd seen into profit. It was a bit impulsive, even for her. But there was almost certainly an opportunity to be had if she could snag that team from the British Crown’s grasp. Merely the ability to scan for Potential the way you saw critters’ levels and vitals in the Labyrinth? Scanning boards were complicated, slow, and expensive still, and just knowing with just one look? Worth tens of thousands per month already.

And each Adjustment gave them additional abilities. Who knew what hidden gems lay within. That Jonathan person was worth cultivating further.

Of course, if it was only Jonas, it would be easy. His friend Jonathan, the one that possibly had broken the Gates was doable – leaving a painful memory behind for a fresh start was a good temptation. The problem would be the resistance of the entire team. She didn’t see Jonas leaving on his own or even with just his friend Ira. Fullmore, in particular, might be quite hard to persuade to leave his family behind.

Bah. That’s one lesson she’d learned from her father before she even discovered by accident that she qualified as a Professional.

Good things happen to those who push for it.

Now… the only hard thing would be to convince Atkinson that grabbing that particular team was in the States’ interest, not just her own.