Louis XVIII, King of France, stood in front of the Chateau. His entourage was fretting.

“You should leave, your Majesty,” one courtier said nervously.

The sovereign sighed.

“As my brother attempted, you mean?”

The older Bourbon didn’t wait for a response and turned back. From a distance, rumbling sounds came, and flashes of light were seen over the forest top. He thought for a brief moment of artillery, although he’d never witnessed a battle or military engagement in his life. And now, the Bonapartists, or so the rumours said, were coming back for him.

He was tired of running, tired of exile. Marie Joséphine, his wife, had died two years before in the Village, which he’d razed as soon as he was back on the throne. If the supporters of the Consul of the Dominion were coming, he’d meet them as a proper King. Even if his legs were hurting in the winter’s cold.

Movement at the edges of the gardens startled him. It looked like the enemy troops had broken through. Flashes of light started again as the Professional team that the British had kept launched spells, but he could see green flashes, as the incoming Professionals used whatever unnatural defences the Labyrinth offered them.

The standing guard at the Great Gate turned suddenly and vanished behind the Gate. He couldn’t see anything behind the lighted surface, but he could easily guess they had used their powers to flee into the safety of the Labyrinth.

Bloody Englishmen. Turncoats at the first occasion, he thought.

The first elements of the enemy vanguard reached the Gate and surrounded it, as Louis XVIII waited to see what would happen. He realized that most of the courtiers had vanished as well, leaving him almost alone to await the Dominion forces.

One armoured knight reached the steps leading to the Chateau and looked at him. His visor vanished suddenly and Louis was startled as he beheld a black face. The man looked faintly unnatural, in the way that all high-tier Professionals were, but his appearance suggested that the Dominionists had pulled forces from much further than he’d expected.

“I am Louis, King of France,” he said.

“France has a new King,” the knight said.

“Bonaparte never styled himself King,” Louis replied, confused.

“He is not in charge,” the man replied, increasing his confusion.

“So, that is where they did it this time,” Mhambi Meshindi said.

Transit: Earth 113 - Argenmart

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There were mutters among the various Zulus gathered around the Great Gate.

“You now see what the Labyrinth hides from you,” he added.

“What does this mean?” one Mender blurted.

“That someone did something forbidden. And now, the price must be paid.”

The gigantic figure reached for the metallic circle, and sparks arced toward his hand. The God-King removed the hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet. First, we consolidate our position.”

“Sending messages to the homeland is easy, but getting them won’t be,” Kwazele said.

“This is going to make communication with our Chinese helpers awkward. Even I cannot be in both places.”

“Their King has surrendered,” Kwazele added.

“Their King is irrelevant. What matters is the French Labyrinth-walkers. They’re the ones who can stand against you.”

Meshindi turned back to face his Chosen.

“Find them. And end any of them strong enough to face you.”

Cowen and the other four of the team stepped out of the Great Gilded Gate into the bustle of the London side. The flow of materials coming out of the Labyrinth was almost as large as usual, as if the upcoming celebrations weren’t a thing.

“Must be a momentous thing, boss,” Waldo Aubert said.

“Being roped into a procession and speeches, you mean?” Augusta Cowen replied.

“You know you can’t say no when called upon. Besides, there are not many of the first-day ones around,” Myrl Douglas noted.

“You mean not many foolish enough to jump into a Gate?”

“It is good that foolish can be fixed,” Habborlain’s rasping voice came from under his hood.

Cowen didn’t even turn her head to look at the other day-one Professional of her team.

“I sometimes wonder for me.”

“Your path started higher. You didn’t have to stand up,” he said.

“John Rennie was pissed at losing his best note-taker,” she countered.

“Probably even more at being barred from entering himself, if I remember right? I always wondered what it felt being first. By the time I was tested, everyone knew about how the Labyrinth worked”, Emory Foale said.

“Thanks to the boss,” Aubert added.

“Even Jack entered after you left,” Myrl said, referring to the current highest level among the British Scouts.

“Keep doing that, and maybe I’ll start thinking it’s time to renew the team,” Cowen growled.

“Who are you going to pick to replace me? Will Burress? He’s a manager for Laufrey’s and still tier-four,” Myrl laughed.

“He did a good Flame Bolt in the day. And he found the Gate back for us three,” she countered.

Cowen turned and spotted large stands that had been assembled recently for the occasion and started toward what looked like a tent for the London organizers.

“Let’s see what’s really planned for tomorrow,” she said.

Jonas looked at the distant stands that workers had erected at the edges of the Queen’s Gardens. Seating for the various nobility assembled, the important industrial and merchant powers behind the wealth of the British Empire. He might have snagged a seat, being a Knight of the Bath and all that. Guss, Ira and Laura had, and Alton and Jonathan had considered it before settling for the parade on the streets. As for him, a look at Sylvia’s face at the prospect of spending half a day stuck in a seat listening to the glories of the British Empire had sufficed.

“Have you ever considered what you’d be without the Labyrinth?” she asked, seeing his look.

“I guess… well, I’d still be a junior leatherworker apprentice. Maybe working on my way to have enough to open my own shop?”

“No, I mean, if the Labyrinth had never opened at all.”

Jonas stopped and looked toward the great metallic hoop in the distance. He considered the concept carefully.

“Who can know? I was not even a toddler when it opened. I always knew the world with the Labyrinth. I can’t really imagine what the world would look like without it. You?”

“I was six when the Great Gate opened on Manhattan. And I was actually on the island itself on that day. Of course, I didn’t see it. It doesn’t look like that today, but there was no one living nearby at that time. But I remember when I learned there was this huge circle that swallowed people and then brought them changed.”

She considered the banners hanging all over the streets surrounding the park of the Queen’s Gardens – Labyrinth Park as it was officially named today, not that anyone used the term.

“If the Labyrinth had not come, I’d probably be married to a dashing rich young gentleman, introduced to me by Father. Maybe from Boston?” she mused. “With lots of kids, of course. Not that it’s going to ever happen, because I’m certainly not retiring for a while.”

“You’ve got all the time you want,” Jonas replied.

“I know, I don’t look like it and I certainly don’t feel like it. But I’m 26, Jonas. Time stops for no one. Even if there’s been a few older women,” she admitted.

“It does for us.”

“Us?”

“You. Me. All of the Professionals. We are immortals.”

“It’s been twenty years only, Jonas.”

“Yes but there’s one who knows.”

He hesitated, before correcting himself, “Well, I heard about it.”

She looked at him askance, and he fretted, thinking he was looking foolish.

Well, well… that confirms what they were coming for, she thought, remembering the fake affiliation of the two Zulus. Jonas Sims, fate magnet. Should have expected this, really, because why not. I need to get him to the States.

“You shouldn’t pay that much attention to rumours and legends on the Labyrinth, Jonas. But you intrigue me. What is this about immortality?”

Her Highness Charlotte of Wales, heir to the crown, finally stopped fussing. For a celebration of the Labyrinth opening, she’d have much liked actual Labyrinth clothes, who always fit well. But she was going to be the symbol of the Crown first and foremost.

The day I’m Queen, I’m setting the fashion, she swore to herself.

“You’re fine,” her husband said.

“He’s right, Charlotte,” the King added.

“And to think I liked parades when I was younger,” she said.

“The Labyrinth changed you,” George III said.

“Maybe it did,” she acknowledged.

Then she frowned.

“I might be fine, but you?”

“I’ll live. That’s what the Menders are for.”

“You still look tired. After Father’s death last year, you are down so often. This last bout lasted longer than any.”

“I know I am not getting any younger. And neither are you…”

“I told you, we won’t know until late and I start to show,” she dismissed the King’s concerns.

Arthur Wellesley rarely came into Lord Bathurst’s office, and certainly rarely in a packed office like that. The presence of both Lord Castlereagh, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, the Admiralty, the Master-General of the Ordnance and almost all of the senior officers of the War Office immediately impressed the Duke of Wellington the seriousness of whatever had caused the ministry to send for him at home.

“Ah, Wellington. Good to be here. As I was saying,” Henry Bathurst said, “we have a major problem in our hands.”

“As in?” he inquired.

“There were rumours coming over pantograph over the last few days of Bonapartist forces landing and forcing their way to the Capital.”

“The loyalists were dispersed all over. The only strong forces they had were the ones on the Ottoman front, and those formally surrendered to the Royal authority last month,” he countered.

“Well, someone mounted a serious counter-offensive. You haven’t heard yet, but the team we left to monitor the Great Gate at Versailles had to retreat through the Labyrinth. They report they were facing a large force of what looked like high-tiered Professionals.”

The Duke of Wellington shrugged, prompting inquiring looks from the various ministers and officers present.

“It’s not as if they can do anything. Unless the Tyrant has managed to slip through another Gate, he’s still stuck in the Labyrinth. Did he?”

Everyone winced at the idea.

“Not that I’ve been notified,” Viscount Castlereagh said, “but I’ll ask. If that happened, nobody informed my ministry.”

“So, we are still safe on that point. But this is almost certainly going to sour the celebrations.”

“Hopefully, neither the Times nor one of their competitor will have wind of this too early,” one officer offered.

“And here I thought I’d have a few days off,” another said.

“Thankfully, no one will think odd of us if we skip some celebrations,” the Duke surmised.

“HMSS Sunbearer has been dispatched to scout the exact situation and report,” Lord Melville of the Admiralty said.

“Meanwhile, we’ll start the mobilization as soon as the celebrations have ended. And save the throne of France yet again.”

“Poor Louis, barely restored and already threatened.”

The ships were receding incredibly fast, despite the heavy side winds, and the captain confirmed that they wouldn’t be able to pursue. With the narrowing of the sea passage, that was the third time they’d met a British naval contingent, and now the second time they’d escaped.

“Let them,” Zhuangjing sighed.

As if we have a choice in the matter.

Her Zulu “advisor” Phesheya was watching the distant coast and spotted the details he was watching for.

“According to our maps, this should be the Thames river entrance. The accessway to the capital of the British Empire,” he said.

“Time is of the essence,” she replied. “It’s a matter of hours before a message goes out. All forge ahead. Three aetherists in front of all times, and blast anything that could slow us down. We need to hit the capital fast, secure the Gate, and take their King prisoner. The generals will fall down easily after.”

The captain turned and ordered the communications pavilions to be raised for this last run.