The three Professionals were forced to walk, burdened as they were. Ira finally exited the street at the edge of the Queen’s Gardens park area and his eye was attracted to the other side, toward St James Palace. Flashes of light sparked between distant silhouettes. Casters blasting spells at each other, swords raised and brought down with sparks trailing.

“Is that Cowen?” Guss asked.

“Not enough Focus to be sure from here,” Ira grumbled.

“Whoever she’s fighting, we’re not going to make a difference,” Laura said.

They carefully followed the other edge of the park, until they reached the Queen’s House and finally saw the Great Gilded Gate. A lot of troops were now massed next to it, meaning someone was expecting an attack.

Ira also recognized the futility of the gesture. Just like when the raid had attacked the Chateau de Versailles, a company of soldiers might be able to stop a small team, but against multiple high-tier teams, like the enemies seemed to have brought… no chance. Maybe if the British Empire had powered armour with repeaters like the Americans had developed, but normal troops… would fare about as well as they did against the Chinese in Asia.

Bugger me, that’s what they are, Ira realized.

The odd name of the damage source, the weird eye and faces. He hadn’t paid any real attention to them, taking them the same way you had weird-looking critters in the Labyrinth, but it was obvious right now.

The soldiers kept their muskets aimed at the three as they approached, but the fact that they were carrying corpses helped.

“What’s going on?” one lieutenant asked.

“Invaders on the quays. Serious tier Professionals,” Ira answered.

“Has Napoleon come back?”

“No. Looks like it’s the Chinamen invading,” he said.

“Wait, what?” a voice came from further in.

“Brigadier,” Ira said.

“You said Chinese?” Brigadier Duffey asked as he arrived.

“Looks like. There’s too many of them, and they don’t look like French troops,” he confirmed.

The Gate commander was stumped by the news. He seemed to have a hard time digesting the fact.

“We’re bringing dead Professionals, if someone’s high enough to resurrect them,” Laura said, shifting under the weight of her double burden.

“Bring them to the Gate. We’ve got a few Professionals standing guard, they’ll know what to do,” Duffey replied.

The troops parted, letting them pass. The three trudged a bit further, arriving at the flat area surrounding the Gate landing ramp. There were two obvious teams flanking both sides of the Gate, but what Ira immediately noticed was an additional team literally surrounding Princess Charlotte, acting as obvious bodyguards, despite her tier-four status.

“Perseverant Strategist Wilbert Nisbet. Those are…?”

“People killed at the banks, where the invaders landed,” Laura replied.

“Good thinking,” the man said.

He checked briefly the descriptors.

“We have time, put them here. I’d rather not bring them back now, because Sacrifice will hamper us heavily in case the fighting ever comes here. You are?”

“Light Destroyer Laura Harvey. We’re all tier-four, 162 to 168,” she replied.

“That’s too low… oh, you’re the Adapted team then. That’s why you can be that low for the tier. You’re, what upper-three in terms of vitals then? Can you do it?”

Ira almost asked to do what, before realizing the obvious.

“Health too low. Most of my gear is back at headquarters,” he said, lamely.

“Get in there, then. We’ll strip them to barebones anyway, and hopefully, you’ll be able to help at least one. I’m a bit sorry, but…”

“No worries. With gear, maybe we can act as support. We’ve got almost a team with us three anyway.”

The tier-five snorted.

“Well, that’s true.”

A muffled boom came from afar.

“Get geared!”

The three wasted no time and plunged into the Great Gate.

The Gate clearing of Gatepost in Grailburg looked normal, compared to the controlled chaos back earth-side. Now unburdened, they could speed up, but the peaceful streets bothered Ira quite a lot. Before long, they spotted a handful of Professionals out and about. Headed to the bank, of all things, was his guess.

“Hasn’t anyone heard about it?”

“About what?” one replied.

“About London…”

Before he had time to elaborate, the sound of a bell tolling started. One of the Professionals frowned.

“What’s going on?”

“As I was going to say, invasion.”

“What? Did the French…”

“No, Chinese. Which is worse, because they haven’t their high-tiers locked away. Don’t know how many have landed, but they had lots of ships.”

The three Professionals all swore simultaneously.

“Pass the word. We need reinforcements.”

Weapons appeared in their hands, with hats changing into other headgear, as they brought their main equipment out of their own Puppets, and they started running toward the Gate, their bank errand now forgotten.

Guss and Laura started to sprint again toward the periphery of Gatepost where the headquarters of the High Labyrinth Office lay, and Ira followed a few paces behind.

“You were right, this is still nice,” Sylvia said.

“I wish we could visit,” Jonas replied.

“I don’t think even my name would get me in if it were back in the States,” she said.

Judging that she’d be disinterested by speeches about the glory of the British Empire – and its Professionals of all stripes, of course – he’d picked one of the advertised attractions for the day, namely the sky docks. His own last visit dated back from years ago, at the launch of the first skyship, HMSS Skyforged. Most of London had gathered there, and the docks had been packed to bursting point. All of Oakden’s leatherworker apprentices had come along their master, and so did fresh Jonas Sims, to gawk at the might of the Empire.

There were a lot fewer people around today. Familiarity bred disinterest, he guessed. But the sight of the four structures slowly inflated as their internal Crystal engines super-heated air, causing them to lift almost synchronously before they turned on their propellers to manoeuvre toward the Queen’s Gardens… that had been as impressive as the first time.

“I’m still going to try to negotiate,” he said.

“Then I’ll stay away. If they notice I’m an American, they might worry I’m there to steal the secrets of British technology, or something,” she noted.

“Oh.”

“Yea. But you don’t have to tell them,” she smiled. “I’ll think I’ll check those weird stalls selling potatoes and fried fish. Catch me when you succeed… or in any case.”

“I’ll be right back,” Jonas confirmed.

The handful of men at the entrance to the sky docks were, unsurprisingly, unimpressed by Jonas.

“I know, I watched the parade in 1818. You’re still not allowed in,” the tier-three Professional with whom he’d exchanged descriptor said.

Then he made a grimace, rather than apologize.

“Not even being a Knight-Commander?…”

“Even if you were Lord Bathurst himself unless you’re allowed…” the man’s commander replied.

Jonas shrugged. He had tried his best, and that’s what anyone could do. He turned and spotted what looked like a naval parade. A handful of ships had turned around the bend in the Thames, heading further in toward the London Bridge.

He had but a moment to wonder about why the ships were looking a bit weird and odd when a pair of balls of fire spurted from the front ship. A second later, blasts of smoke and pieces of stone came from the side of the Tower of London further upriver.

“What the deuce???”

Before Jonas could answer, more bolts – that looked like Flame Bolts, except no Flame Bolt ever had this kind of range – came from another ship, headed into the distance. Spurts of flame and smoke came from a distance, just before cannon sounds came out.

“Bejabbers!” another voice’s came out, as Jonas felt his jaw almost detach at the impossible spectacle. Then reality asserted itself.

“Enemies,” a voice came from aside.

He looked to the right, and spotted someone in full chainmail armour, an enormous two-handed mace in hand. There’d been no one with that kind of regalia before, but… Puppet effect. For once, he lamented not having one. Not that the four-item ones the team could use would be of much use. Sylvia had promised to teach him a trick with those…

He looked around, but there were people running everywhere, and he couldn’t see her. A company of soldiers were pouring out of the sky docks, rushing toward the quays running around the dock sector.

Chaos reigned supreme, and he was lost. Instinctively, he rallied around a bunch of people. Most of them had pulled out weapons, maces, swords, a hammer that should have belonged on a forge rather than the battlefield. But despite the mundaneness, they felt right. Professionals, one and all.

“Come on guys, let’s reinforce our troops,” called the higher-level defender.

Without his gear, Jonas was hobbled. His unknown-tier spell might be good in proper circumstances in the Labyrinth, but here, he lacked all the boosts that his non-physical Potentials gave him. Still, he steeled himself.

The weird ships were passing over, spell bolts impossibly elongated striking at the defensive posts that watched over the Thames in London. Jonas didn’t bother counting, what mattered was being ready. Although he wanted to know more about those bolts. The range…

It reminded him of the extended spells the French had been using, back when they had assaulted the Gate. That was when they’d broken all the rules. Sure, the British had stolen and reproduced the devices, but they’d been the ones to upend the normal order of things.

“There's the toads!” someone yelled, clearly having had the same idea.

One of the ships was drawing close to the quay, and the soldiers were already firing at it, although they were doing little damage, and nobody was showing his head over the railings.

Then a trio of people showed up, jumping over said railings, and landing heavily twenty feet lower. Of course, the Frenchies would use Professionals. Then Jonas did a double-take at seeing two of the so-called Frenchies. Because they didn’t look like them.

“Stand fast… and fire,” yelled one of the Professionals at his side, and Jonas immediately launched his first spell.

Elemental Spray hits for 134 fire damage (249-125).

The enemy he’d selected had an insane amount of defence. Almost certainly in the tier-six levels of gear, for all he didn't look like a defensive-geared one. The defender guy from the docks smashed into the enemy Jonas had been shooting at, and Jonas ignored the notifications, focusing on launching more spells.

He could only do his best, as the three dozen Professionals massed on the quay scrambled to the enemy.

He hoped Sylvia was okay. She was high enough in spellcasting…

Another pair of Professionals jumped over the ship’s railings, joining the fray.

“More troops,” Jonathan noted.

The two were still hiding in side streets, at the edge of Leicester. Every attempt at getting close to the Great Gate had ended with them running afoul of some small squads of Chinese troops. They had not seen many higher tiers, but Jonathan couldn’t see any list of Potentials on any of the almost-mundane looking troops, meaning they were Professionals too. It didn’t matter if they were too low a tier and mostly ungeared. Alton and Jonathan didn’t have much on them, and enough low tiers would win against the two of them without support.

They waited until the troops had left before risking coming out. Alton almost automatically took notice of the closest street corners.

Like old times, back when the gang was still there, he snorted internally.

Half a dozen soldier corpses in red uniforms told him about the battles on that particular part. There were not many garrisoned in London proper, and they’d been caught disorganized. He hoped that some commander had finally taken over, realized what was happening and… well, do whatever he should do.

“Not many officers will have prepared for that,” he said, realizing just after that he’d spoken aloud.

“Yea. Fat chance,” Jonathan grumbled. “Not that they had done better against the French.”

Alton shrugged, before noticing a shape in leathers holding a sabre near the soldiers' corpses. He pointed the fallen man to Jonathan.

“Professional?”

“Doesn’t look like he’s cavalry. That’s the only mundane I’d expect to use those.”

The two slinked to the corpses, watching out for any enemies.

“Dratted! I know him,” Alton exclaimed.

Odhran O’Hogan

Deceased, 21 minutes

Health required: 711

Yes

No

“What do we do?”

“Can’t leave him. Laura will be bummed if the Faire is dissolved.”

Jonathan looked oddly at the piercer.

“Why? That’s true. You, or me?”

“Does it matter?” Jonathan replied.

“No,” Alton said, before acknowledging the prompt.

The Irishman almost screamed, and Alton moved to muffle him, but the Professional turned and started heaving, and he thanked God that he hadn’t put his hand in the wrong position.

“What…” the fairemeister spluttered.

“You lost against whoever was there,” Alton said drily, checking his new status.

Sacrifice: -25% to all Potentials and vitals (25 hours remaining)

“Soldiers, except they had weird names on the notifications,” O’Hogan said.

Alton knew the man was going to be way worse. He’d been at a lower level already when they’d met him over a year ago, and had neglected to level, too busy managing his business venture. Having only 50% of his Potentials left him in a daze. And halved regeneration was even worse. His current health was barely that of a child, and his endurance would be equally low.

Alton hadn’t died much, but he knew what that did to people.

“And a weird man. He almost one-shot me with his spear.”

“They’re Chinese, that’s what we found out,” Alton said.

“Do they have black Chinamen? That’s what the man who killed me was.”

Both Alton and Jonathan exchanged looks.

“What do you mean, black?”

“Yea. I hear there are dark-skinned people in the Indies. The man with those soldiers was wearing some high-tier chainmail, though. And a weird spear, with two blades taking half the length of it… almost looked… like an Artefact?” O’Hogan concluded.

Jonathan frowned, and Alton was equally confused. What was a Zulu doing along with the Chinese? Weren’t the Zulus supposed to be some kind of allies? At least, according to Jonas. The only times the two of them had seen Zulus was the team they’d spotted when exploring that zone beyond the trunk, and only Jonas, Ira and Guss had talked to them later.

It was very confusing, and right now, they had a problem. They were out in the open, in the middle of a large avenue next to a new theatre, and the next troop of Chinese that stumbled upon them would be a disaster.

“What now?” O’Hogan asked as he started to straighten himself, health slowly returning.

“Can’t make it to the west side and the Gate,” Jonathan explained. “Too many enemies. We’re close, but every time…”

Alton suddenly had a smile, and Jonathan looked oddly at his teammate.

“I got an idea. I think Tilda Scenay is still around. She’s avoided penal deportation four years ago, when they broke up the gang, and she knows the Covent Garden area well.”

Then he spotted the descriptor and said a single word.

“What?”

Ira was greeted by utter chaos as he stepped out of the Gate, full gear now in place and Claymore of the Doneri Bull at the ready.

Where the Gate had been a quiet place, with just smoke palls over London to indicate troubles, the first thing he heard as he exited the Gate’s surface was a volley of muskets firing.

And not just that, but he could see spells being exchanged. As he watched, a pillar of flames fell from the heavens, and mundane screams were heard, as dozens of soldiers were obliterated by the splash. Thankfully, those spells required lots and lots of ranks to cover larger ranges, which limited their efficacity in mundane circumstances. But that was no comfort for the hapless troops. Against a tier-three or four, they might have survived to deal whatever damage they could in return. But against what looked like high-tier teams, their chances were close to zero.

Jonas was right, the American’s Guard Units are the only thing a mundane can use, he thought. That, or the French landcruisers and their artillery, although using them in such a city assault…

“Cowen’s there!” Guss said, pointing to the side at a familiar armoured figure. Or rather, almost familiar – the Imposing Knight had swapped the plated half-helmet Ira had always seen her with for a chainmail coif with two different metal colours that covered entirely her blonde hair.

Ira and the two made their way to the team. Aubert’s usual seaman’s garb still looked singed. It would repair itself soon, as all Labyrinth items did, but the signs of battle were still there.

“Knight Cowen. We thought we’d seen you near St James.”

“That’s probably right,” she replied, spotting Ira.

“We had everything in hand, grinding down the enemy team. Then another four came out of nowhere, and we were outmatched and had to retreat or die on the spot.”

“Outmatched?”

“Tier seven is my guess. Four Professionals, a shieldbearer, a caster… well, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the caster was almost level 1150. One more rank on Gauge Enemy and I’d known for sure of her tier, but she had enough Artefacts on her for an entire raid.”

“A woman? We haven’t seen any woman among those invaders,” Laura noted.

“Yea. I think the Chinese are too traditional when it comes to acceptable genders, even if the Labyrinth doesn’t care…” Cowen’s voice trailed.

“Even a princess can be a queen of the Labyrinth,” Habborlain’s gravel voice came from under his usual hood.

“What?” Guss asked.

“The Chinese don’t have female Professionals. Except… that’s Princess Zhuangjing,” she said.

“Who?”

“One of her day-one Professionals. The daughter of the Emperor of China, herself. That’s who we were facing. One of the most powerful – maybe the most powerful spellcaster in the world.”

“Well, bugger me, but that might explain why we had to turn tail,” Aubert swore lightly.

Cowen seemed about to reply something when a loud clamour rose from the front. Ira turned and saw more flame pillars fall, despite the fact that there shouldn’t be enough room for that to happen.

“Retreat! Retreat! REZ, DRAG AND RETREAT!” a voice came.

“What? No way,” Guss swore, almost simultaneously with Ira’s own incredulous voice.

Cowen pointed to the Gate.

“Don’t bother checking. If you can, resurrect one, then run if you can’t.”

There were dozens of corpses next to the Gate. Others had had the same idea, obviously, but until now, no one had Sacrificed.

Ira, Guss and Laura started to run. Cowen’s team easily overtook them, even with the less than thirty feet separating them from the Gate. True to her orders, all five of them bent over the first corpse they got to, then before the men – or woman – could even start puking they grabbed them and dragged them toward the Gate.

Ira bent on a corpse at random and swore. Under the linen drape, the shape of the woman was clearly visible, and his hand had struck flesh. But…

Docia Elsa Stevens

Deceased, 6 hours, 27 minutes

Health required: 6179

Yes

No

He straightened and felt rather than saw a Flame Bolt coming at a Professional not too far. He abandoned the Professional, feeling guilty, and rushed toward the Gate.

At the last moment, he stopped. But he was bowled over and fell into the Gate’s surface, with the last sight being etched in his mind-view.

Team

Professions

Health

Mind

Jonas Sims

Resilient Spellwrangler (173)

0/2029

0/1886

Jonathan Gilbert

Calculating Guardian (183)

3701/3701

1882/1882

Ira Heard

Solid Guardian (168)

5812/5812

1680/1680

Guss Fullmore

Imposing Fixer (165)

1933/1933

1888/1888

Laura Harvey

Light Destroyer (162)

2698/2698

1863/1863

Alton Raby

Abiding Stabber (165)

1208/1208

971/971