“Welcome back, Jacques,” Bonaparte said drily when he spotted the familiar figure walking in the war camp next to the Gate.

“First Consul,” the man replied lightly.

“You escaped again? I was slightly worried they’d have kept you dead this time.”

“They wanted to. But curiosity wins in the end… apparently the British wanted more information on our African friends.”

“About that. Not a word. I have someone to introduce you to.”

“I used to be the first one in the Labyrinth,” Deschanel said after exchanging descriptors with the defender-style Professional. “And apparently, I’m now pushed back to third.”

“You look familiar somehow,” Nicolas Gide said.

“I was one of the guards at the Chateau de Versailles. I got the post after being heavily wounded in the First Italy Campaign. We would see each other from time to time during the last three years. Vachon – another first-timer – helped from time to time in the Gardens.”

“Ah, so you came to investigate.”

“After someone heard a commotion outside, yes. And we found a sculpted circle filled with impossible light, with you nowhere to see once we went in by accident.”

“We ended quite far away,” Nicolas said.

“The British Lords we created unwittingly ended up away as well,” Napoleon explained.

“That’s usually what happens. For some unfathomable reason, those who receive Adjustment end in smaller and underpowered zones rather than the usually expansive and lair-filled Great Gate zones. Although in our case, we ended up in an entirely different sector of the Labyrinth.”

“Is that common?”

“No. But that’s not the first time. A few years ago, three Lords from Japan ended up in a different sector as well. They’re probably still stuck in that Divergence’s area until they can survive the transit back to their own Divergence.”

“There are lots of Divergences then?”

“Usually, they open up every five to eight years in any given sheaf. But again, that changes. There’s been a rash of delayed openings those last few years. Not as bad as the ‘hiccup’ of the first century, but enough that people thought there’d been another.”

“Hiccup?”

“Yes. A proto-Divergence had all its opening Gate timers stop. The years until opening didn’t change for nearly five years, then they suddenly went back three additional years before starting to count again.”

A lengthy explanation about the abilities granted by Adjustment ensued. Before long, Deschanel realised there was a theme to it.

“So you get all that information about the Labyrinth? No useful offensive abilities.”

“Unless you count being able to retain unimproved skills even across divergent spheres, or later use the ones on gear even if you lack them, no. And we’re not yet at those Milestones,” Gide said, before instinct, or rather, a team descriptor update made him turn his head and smile.

“Madam,” Deschanel said.

“Hello… you look familiar…”

“You often made mulled hot citrus for the guards during the cold months,” Deschanel said, smiling himself.

“Ah, that must be it. So you followed.”

“So I did. But you left me in the dust, through no fault of mine.”

“What news?” Nicolas interrupted.

“They weren’t there, of course. Left a message with Cioppa – you might remember him, we met him at the Brawl last year – for Ahati-waqrat. He says it might take some more weeks, they apparently had finished their first check, and I missed her by half a week. They’re already on their way to their next target.”

“Well, they’ll be happy to know we’ve found ours. Although the Council of Panomekon wanted more verifications, apparently, so they’re going to be busy for a while,” Nicolas noted.

“So, you’re going to be our guest for some time then?” Napoleon asked.

“Sure,” she said.

He turned back toward the direction of the Gate.

“And help.”

“And help. Didn’t know it could be done.”

“So, what do you think, Jacques?”

“Sounds like good people. Dedicated, which fits the head gardener type for the man. But after hearing them, I see why you warned me.”

“The tale of a Professional with enormous powers coming out of the Labyrinth always struck me as a fanciful tale, blown out of proportion by uneducated African tribesmen. But if there are such across all kinds of those divergent Histories for centuries, that’s more plausible. With this ‘timer’ of theirs on Gate, he’d have known when the Gate would open.”

“An adventurer, bent on conquering a realm of his own?” Deschanel mused.

“Possibly.”

“Why not tell them?”

“Not until we figure out the proper angles. Maybe we can blackmail the guy?”

While dodging the troops of Chinese soldiers, Alton had brought both Jonathan and Odhran across most of Covent Garden’s area, until Jonathan realized they were headed into Saint Giles.

“Don’t tell me? We’re headed into the Rookery?” he asked.

Odhran O’Hogan swore and Alton smiled back.

“Got a better idea? But no, I’m hoping to catch the scent of an old member of the gang.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d be so desperate,” the Faire Meister said.

“I may have left the slums, but they’re still there.”

Although the battle for London might be going on, most of the residents of the area seemed not to care very much. Their mundane-looking attire attracted stares, though, as it was far too clean and solid. O’Hogan fit better, as his clothes were real mundane ones rather than low-level Labyrinth items, and had suffered during his battle with the Chinese.

Despite this, Alton talked to a handful of people, getting always back the same kind of answers.

“No, don’t know about anyone like that.”

“That old Carnall gang? They’re all gone to Van Diemen, I heard.”

“I don’t think I know her.”

It lasted until he finally hit someone willing to trust him.

“Dunno any Tilda Scenay, but mebbe the Scenay Gin House is related?”

After finally extracting a few pointers, he returned to the two.

“Okay, maybe I got this.”

Jonathan and Odhran followed him across a street, then into a tiny side street until scents hit. The sewer smells got mixed with alcoholic fumes coming out of a door, with nothing special to distinguish it.

“Scenay’s?” Alton asked a small man slumped next to the door.

“Yea. What you doin’ here? Not good for ye,” he slurred.

“Looking for Tilda.”

“Who?”

Alton shrugged and cranked open the door, and the three filed in before closing it against the cold of February.

Inside was a set of rooms with rotted brickwork, sand on the grounds, and a haphazard set of chairs and tables packed in every corner. Despite the early afternoon, quite a few people were everywhere, but they only attracted little attention from the people. Alton pointed a table to the side and then went straight to the wall where shelves of stacked glasses were visible.

“Whelp. That’s bad if we have to take refuge here,” Jonathan commented to his Irish companion.

Then he blinked because Jonas’s vitals were back up in the team’s descriptor. He looked at Alton, but the Piercer was talking animatedly with one of the men there, and even with Focus, he couldn’t make out what they were discussing.

“You’re okay?” O’Hogan asked.

“Yea. Jonas’s been resurrected.”

“Ah. That’s good then. I was worried when you said he’d been zeroed.”

“He was dead for almost two hours. A few more, and that’d be the end.”

Odhran shivered.

“Can’t help thinking being able to come back from the dead is still devilish. Even if I did.”

“You get used to it,” Jonathan said drily.

“That’s the bit that makes me think I’m better at Gatepost than the depths. Even if the rest still drags me to their lairs from time to time.”

Alton arrived and flopped into a chair, looking reasonably satisfied.

“Tilda’s around, all right. The Scenay here is a cousin of hers.”

Jonathan contemplated the three discoloured glasses filled with the blue liquid.

“Drink up, but don’t hurry. We’ll attract more attention if we don’t do it. Besides, it’s mundane gin, not your Belgian’s fabrications,” Alton said to Odhran.

“We’re probably going to attract attention, dressed as we are.”

“Nah. This is a reputable establishment.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe not for a solicitor like you. But for around, it’s a good place. They still have tables and stuff, instead of just selling the bottle to take away. They might even sell stuff to eat, although it’s probably horrid.”

“Jonas is alive,” Jonathan replied.

“What? Oh, right. Wasn’t looking. That’s good.”

Jonathan spotted the harried-looking young woman headed straight to their table and nodded, indicating to his teammate the arrival.

“By gum! That’s really you?” she said once she got a better look at Alton. “I’d thought you’d got nabbed years ago.”

“Not me. Laid low like you, while the coppers were muckin’ the neighbourhood.”

“Well, you did well for yourself,” she said, taking in his appearance. “Did you grow up? You look… taller.”

“That’s possible,” he replied non-commitally.

“And you brought friends. But that’s no social call, am I right? Not when I see you right when you start hearing cannon and guns over in London.”

“That’s the Chinese.”

“The what?”

Both Alton and Jonathan started to explain at the same time, before Jonathan stopped himself, letting his friend keep talking. Once he’d finished telling about the attacks, she shrugged.

“And why do you think those Chinese would be looking for you,” she said. “Do you think they bother with the little people? All those lords and generals, they just play their wars. Won’t change much for us.”

“They’re probably going to round up any Professional they find, if they don’t execute them outright.”

“And why would… you’re…” her voice trailed.

“Zooks! You’re telling me, you’re that Knight-Commander Raby? The one in the news and grand parade in two years ago? I found it funny he had the same name as old Alton…”

“That’s me. Jonathan here is the Gilbert you probably heard about then.”

She looked at Odhran.

“Not a Knight. Just an Irishman.”

“But how did you get Professional? They say anyone might be one, but that’s a bit stretching things.”

“I… we paid a price. Got involved in that French attack, obviously, and while we survived that one, we also got Professionalized.”

“Oh. I should probably check. If you can make it…”

“You’re not qualified,” Jonathan said, before stopping himself.

“How would you know?”

“Jonathan can read your Potentials.”

“I thought you needed big magical lenses and stuff for that?”

“Not for us. Well, not for Jonathan, I’ll probably be able to by the year’s end. Hopefully.”

She threw both Professionals a look of suspicion.

“You’re 16 in Agility and Focus, and that’s it. No better score. You need an 18 for the Labyrinth,” Jonathan announced.

“And you had that?”

“No, but it took blowing the Gate and killing my family and my fiancée’s to give me that kick,” Jonathan said coldly.

“Oh. Sorry. So, if you’re not there to offer me a trip to Professional land, then what are you here for, Alton?”

“Hide, rest a bit. I did some Professional-only stuff and I and the Irishman are down a bit and need recovery time. But mainly, try to find if other Professionals made it because it doesn’t look like we’re winning.”

“You think I know lots of Professionals? You’re the first one. First ones, now.”

“No, but you’re still there. If your cousin runs such a good house, you probably have ears around. Once we’ve got enough people, we’ll sneak out of London and find one of the armies, maybe even at Fulford if worst comes. There are probably generals mobilizing for a counter-offensive, and given that them Chinese have all kinds of Professionals, our help will be much needed.”

“Patriot, are we?” Tilda snorted.

“Well, I could probably live in the Labyrinth forever, and the Chinese would never find me. But that would mean I have to get there, and that's not likely,” Alton countered.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, standing and heading back to the back of the shop.

“Now what?” Odhran asked.

“We wait. Try to find Jonas, since he’s still alive. I hope the rest made it.”

“Can we trust her?” Jonathan asked.

“Mostly yes. In the slums, it’s all about scratching each other’s back to live day to day. She’ll expect to get something out of this, but that’s normal. I’ll skip the Power Crystals, since that’s what got attention to the gang when we found that lost crate.”

Tilda Scenay popped out of the backroom and headed back to the three Professionals.

“Okay, got one small room over, you’ll be packed, but that’s good if you can tolerate the noise from down here,” she said, looking at the other two.

“Like old times,” Alton said.

Odhran O’Hogan sighed.

Jonas found himself in a slightly different room than the one the team had been guests after the Gate had been reopened. Smaller, bare, and the only tiny window giving a view on an inner courtyard. But at least he was in a room, and not gaol or something worse. Not that he’d be able to escape easily. One attempt at blasting things in his weakened state, and the Chinaman that he’d seen taking guard in front of the door would be there in an instant.

The whole interview by the Chinese Greatest Hero, the Princess, was still slightly surreal. To think they’d be the cause of a war was preposterous, but a kind of preposterousness that made terrible sense.

Then he noticed Alton’s max health ticking up on the Team descriptor and frowned. Descriptors didn’t update fast when you were too far away, and of course, the descriptor registered all of the team as out of range – for experience count, he knew. But tick it did at times. And that meant his own would as well.

The team would know he was still there.

And deduce from the max health drops that he was held captive.