“I have a job for you,” said the Brigadier. “If you're willing.”

He and Malone were eating breakfast in the canteen of the Helberion embassy in Farwell. The Brigadier looked resplendent in his civilian aristocrat clothes, despite the fact that he'd spent most of the night in the telegraph room, conferring with King Leothan and other dignitaries in Marboll. He couldn’t have had more than a couple of hours sleep, and yet he looked fully refreshed and rested, while his clothes looked freshly washed and ironed despite the fact that they’d been in a suitcase continually until their arrival the evening before, long after the embassy's laundry services had shut down for the night. He couldn’t possibly have ironed his clothes himself, could he? Had he gotten any sleep at all? Even Malone found it hard to believe that he'd been awake and active all night after a long carriage journey, and yet the evidence was right there before him.

“What kind of mission?” he asked.

The Brigadier cut a slice of sausage, added a small slice of bacon, perched a thin slice of tomato on the end and dipped the whole thing in blood sauce before popping it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, savouring it, while he considered his words, and looked around to make sure none of the members of embassy staff currently having their breakfasts were close enough to overhear. “I believe the Radiants are trying to drive the Empire into civil war, as part of their overall strategy of destroying our civilisation before we make the scientific advances that would make us a threat to them. I believe they have agents among the lower classes, stirring up discontent, making people believe that they are downtrodden and oppressed. I also believe that they have agents in government, making them believe that the people are close to rebellion and that they have to crack down hard to keep them in line. I suspect that there is one person in overall control of the whole thing. That's how I would do it. If we can discover his identity and present proof to the Emperor, we can hopefully prevent the civil war and enlist the Empire into the international scientific effort that we must create.”

“You want me to infiltrate the rebellious commoners,” guessed Malone, picking at his own breakfast.

The Brigadier nodded. “I can tackle the government end. I have contacts among the Kelvon aristocracy and I can make social contacts with government officials by playing the playboy aristocrat. Not a role I'm really comfortable with, but needs must. If there is indeed a worm gnawing away at the very heart of the Empire, I will find him. I need you to identify the mastermind behind the popular movement. You will need to pose as a down and out vagrant. The lowest of the low. The fact that you are not fully human will help you there. People will look down on you, treat you disrespectfully. It won't be pleasant for you. I know I'm asking a lot...”

“I'll do it,” said Malone. “Anything I can do to help.” He picked up a couple of mushrooms on his fork, dipped them in blood sauce and ate them while nodding.

“You'll have to lose your good clothes. I'll have someone find some dirty street clothes for you, to make you look the part.”

“I can find some clothes for myself,” said Malone, though. “The fewer people we involve the better, I think. I'll steal them from a clothes line or something, leave my good clothes as replacement...”

“No, don't do that. I know I've brought you up to believe that theft is wrong, but the mysterious exchange of old clothes for new is one of those things of which urban legends are made. It could cause trouble for you. Just throw your good clothes away somewhere. The loss of a few clothes isn't going to be a major hardship to anyone, no matter how poor they are.” Malone nodded.

“You'll have to concoct a cover story for yourself. Say that your parents were killed by government troops. That'll garner sympathy for you among the people you're infiltrating, and give you a good reason to hate the Kelvon government. Say that you come from some far flung corner of the Empire. The south, I think. Not the west. That's where our enemy’s plans have advanced the most, he'll be familiar with western accents, but the south will be obscure and unknown. Welton is in the south. Say you come from there. You came to Farwell because you heard the streets were paved with gold.”

“What if someone recognises my Helberion accent?”

“I really doubt they will. The kind of people you’ll be associating with will never have gone far from their homes. Even if someone you meet has been to Helberion, just say it’s a coincidence that your accent sounds similar. The Empire is vast. For all we know, maybe one of the southern provinces really does have an almost Helberion accent.”

“It may take a while to make contact with the agitators.”

“I imagine it'll take quite a long time. It may take months. Don't rush things, that’ll just make them suspicious. Just act angry and resentful towards the government while mixing with as many people as possible. Maybe they’ll make contact with you.”

“I will. I won't let you down, I promise.”

“I know you won't. If you think it’s getting too dangerous, give up and come back here. I don't want to lose you. Having said that, though, there will inevitably be hardships and violence. You will almost certainly be involved in combat. Dirty, hand to hand street violence. I have no fear for you in that regard. I've trained you well, you can take care of yourself, with or without weapons. It's possible that you’ll come under suspicion, though. If that happens, get out as fast as you can.”

“I will. I'm too fond of my life to take that kind of risk.”

The Brigadier took another mouthful of breakfast, using a slice of toasted bread to mop up the last of the grease. There was a look on his face as if something else was bothering him, and Malone waited for him to speak. “We will find a place to meet up from time to time, to compare notes,” he said. “Even so, we'll be apart for long enough that the parent bond between us will probably break. It will reform when this is all over and we can spend time together again, but it will inevitably delay your elevation to fully human.”

“That's okay. To tell the truth, I've been like this for so long now that I can't really imagine being any different.” He fingered the downy hair that still covered his face, his wet nose, his canine teeth. Nothing like as long and prominent as those of an unaltered dog, but still too long and powerful to be human. “I'm okay being this way for a little while longer.”

The Brigadier looked at him, and there was a look on his face that Malone had never seen before. “I should have said this long before,” he said, “but I am so very proud of you. You are everything I could ever want in a son. You are a credit to your original parents, to the army, to Helberion itself, and I could not be more proud of you. I will still be proud of you even if you decide not to do this thing. The truth is, there is very little real chance that you’ll actually meet any of the ringleaders. This will probably be nothing more than several months of hardship and danger experiencing Farwell's grim underbelly. You would be perfectly entitled to refuse, and I would think no less of you.”

“I said I'll do it and I will. I've wanted to do my part for a long time, and now I've got my chance. Thank you for giving it to me. And... And I want to say that I'm very proud to be your son. Very proud indeed. No-one can ever replace my real parents, but I can think of no-one I'd rather have to finish my upbringing. I've never really thanked you for adopting me...”

“That's not true. You've thanked me many times.”

“I’ve said the words, yes, but I want you to know that I really mean it. I am so grateful to you... I can never thank you enough for what you've done for me.”

Malone could see that the Brigadier was growing uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, so he changed the subject. “So, where are we going to meet up to exchange notes?” he asked.

☆☆☆

The Brigadier had to ask some of the embassy staff for a suitable rendezvous. A tavern called the King's Shilling that catered to a wide range of people. Both working class labourers and middle class traders and merchants whom the Brigadier could imitate with a careful choice of clothing. The Brigadier would spend an evening there once a week, posing as a foreign trader, and Malone would turn up if he was able to. So long as the Brigadier was careful to keep his true identity secret, it wouldn’t look too unusual if anyone saw them speaking. Homeless vagrants often looked for a day’s work loading and unloading cargo, while traders liked to speak to locals to find out what kind of goods were likely to fetch a good price in the neighbourhood.

Malone took his time finishing his breakfast, possibly the last decent meal he'd be having for a few days. When they’d both finished eating they went up to the room the Brigadier had been given, where the older man sorted through his money pouch for some small change in local currency, which he handed across to his former batman. “Leave all your own money here, as well an anything that’ll identify you as being from Helberion. This will buy you a couple of meals, you'll have to find employment after that. If you really find yourself starving, come back here and we’ll call the whole thing off.”

“I won't starve. I'll be fine. I reckon if anything were to happen to you, I could make quite a good living on the streets. There’re always pockets to pick, houses to burgle...”

He smiled as he said it to show he was joking, but the Brigadier frowned. “You won't accomplish much in a prison cell,” he said. “In fact, the Empire has the death penalty for many more crimes than Helberion has. If you find yourself on the gallows, I won't be able to help you.”

“I wasn't serious!”

“Some things you don't joke about. One thing you must not do is get involved in a criminal gang. There will be plenty of honest labourers caught up in the rabble rousing. That is where you must focus your efforts.”

“Understood. Well, unless there's anything else, I'll be off then. No sense waiting around here.”

“I was thinking you might want to wait until nightfall.”

“No, I'll go now, I think. I want to see the city in daylight. Also, the doors in the wall close at sunset.”

“You're going to the outwall districts? I think you'll find there's plenty of aggrieved labourers within the walls, and it'll be a lot safer around here.”

“Harper had a saying. When you stick your hand into the cookie jar, stick it in up to the elbow! He meant never go for half measures. If you're going to do something, do it properly.”

The Brigadier nodded, trying not to show the distress he was feeling at the reminder of the men who had died under his command. Not that he had ever really made an effort to engage socially with them, but he had liked to listen in on their conversations and now that he thought about it, he realised that the words ‘Up to the elbow!’ had been cried out by one or another of his men many times during their journeys. He had never, until now, realised what it meant. There had been a gesture as well, he remembered. One hand plunged downwards, the other hand gripping the elbow. One of his rare smiles touched the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, you should go to outwall,” he agreed. “Just promise to be careful. I've lost so many men...”

“You won't lose me,” promised Malone. He held out a hand, and the Brigadier took it without hesitation. They held each other’s hands for a few moments, sharing a moment of camaraderie, something that would usually have made the Brigadier feel awkward and uncomfortable, but this time he entered fully into the moment. He squeezed Malone's hand, Malone squeezed back, and then he nodded. “You'll be okay,” he said. “You might even have fun.”

“Of course it'll be fun!” agreed Malone, pulling his hand back. “Next time I see you, I’ll have some tales to tell, and I bet you will as well. See you Sunday, at the King's Shilling.” He then turned and trotted out of the room. He paused in the doorway for a moment, looked back at the Brigadier and smiled, and then he went, gently closing the door behind him.

The Brigadier stared at the closed door for several moments, then moved to the window that looked out over the street below. After a few moments, he saw Malone passing through the gates of the embassy grounds. He paused a moment to look back up at the window, and the Brigadier saw another smile on his face. Don’t wave, he thought anxiously. Someone may be watching. Malone didn't wave, to his relief, but the anxiety returned as the young man sauntered off down the street. The Brigadier watched until he passed out of sight, then sighed and turned his mind to his own business.

☆☆☆

With the help of Frederick Mornwell, Helberion’s ambassador to the Empire, the Brigadier drafted a letter to the Emperor requesting an audience during which he would reveal matters ‘of great importance to both our great nations’. The ambassador promised him that it would be sent with the day's mail “but Tyron rarely grants audiences based only on a mailed request. And remember that relations between Helberion and the Empire are not at their best at the moment. You have a greater chance than most, because of your reputation, but you should not get your hopes up.”

“I understand,” replied the Brigadier. “How long should I wait before knowing whether my application was successful?”

“If you haven’t heard within six months, you’ll know you’ve failed.”

“He won't send a rejection letter back to me? Not him, of course, but a member of his staff.”

“In all likelihood, some junior secretary will give your letter a brief glance before throwing it straight into the waste bin and forgetting it. If you really want to meet him...” The ambassador thought for a moment. ”I've been invited to a reception in a couple of weeks, to be hosted by the Emperor himself. I could ask permission to take you along as my guest.”

“I would be grateful if you could do that. I take it that such a request also runs the risk of failure.”

“Well, the invitation is for me and a plus one, but they pretty much expect me to bring my deputy, Ingallis. They know him, they've seen him plenty of times before. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a reputation, a reputation that may have been greatly exaggerated. This is what they will think, you understand.”

“I understand.”

“They will want to assure themselves that you don't represent a threat to the Emperor, and the fact that you are a military man, owing his allegiance to a country suspected of acts that run contrary to Imperial interests, will count against you there. You certainly won't be allowed to take any weapons.”

“If all goes as I hope, I won't need any.”

“Also, it is entirely possible that my own invitation will be rescinded. This is something I've been bracing myself for for some time. The fact that it hasn't happened yet is cause for hope, but it is still something we should be prepared for.”

“All I ask is that you do what you can.”

“I'll certainly give it my best shot. That's what I'm here for, after all. To give what assistance I can to Helberion citizens in this country.” He pulled the stopper from a bottle of taga and poured an inch of the deep red liquid into two glasses. He handed one to the Brigadier and took the other for himself. “May I ask what it’s all about? What is this matter of great importance to both our countries?”

The Brigadier took a sip of his drink and winced as it burned its way down his throat. He wasn't a great fan of strong alcoholic drinks but didn't hesitate to drink when the situation called for it, and he was going to need this man's help a great deal over the coming weeks and months. He had to make the right impression and, sadly, with some people, this meant drinking strong alcohol. He didn't yet know whether Mornwell was this kind of man, so he decided to take no chances. “Carrow is not the only threat to our country, and not the greatest. There is a greater threat, one that threatens the Empire as well and has already done it great harm, although few people are aware of it. I hope to make the Emperor aware of this threat, so that our two countries can combat it together.”

“What could possibly be a threat to the Empire? All the other countries in the world, combined, wouldn't be a threat to it!”

“The threat comes from within. A conspiracy at the highest levels of the Imperial hierarchy, plotting to sow discord and riot in order to seize power. We can be reasonably certain that the Emperor himself is not involved, unless he's trying to increase his personal power base. Reduce the ability of the Constituent Assembly and the Imperial Council to keep him in check, but from what I've heard of him, that would be atypical of him.”

“I would agree with that assessment. He tries to be fair and just, but his ministers see that at weakness. His government is a pack of wolves forever circling, snapping at each other, seeking advantage. You have no idea which of them might be involved in this conspiracy?”

“I would like to learn more about Minister Skelby. The Minister of State.”

Mornwell took a long swallow of his drink, and the Brigadier noted with concern that he barely reacted to the strong liquor. “Skelby hasn't been seen for several weeks,” he said, pouring himself another measure. He offered the bottle to the Brigadier, who put a hand out in polite refusal. He took a small sip of his own drink, just for show. “The word is that he’s ill. His deputy, Tiver, is running the internal affairs of the Empire until his recovery.”

“Ill?” A sudden certainty filled the Brigadier. “Tell me about this Tiver.”

“A man fond of his pleasures. Eating, drinking, gambling. He is repulsive to look at. Corpulent, covered in sores and boils, but this only seems to accentuate the aura of power that hangs about him, as if he knows he doesn't have to charm people. He is very intelligent, although possessing of a low cunning might be a better description. They say he is a dangerous man to cross, that those who get in his way are dealt with brutally, although when asked no-one can, or is willing to, give an example of this. I do know of people who have argued against him in council, though, who have later changed their minds and supported his position for no apparent reason.”

“And no-one finds it strange that Skelby has fallen Ill, requiring this man to take on the burden of his responsibilities?”

“Apparently Skelby has been seen by the finest doctors in the land and his illness is genuine. If he's been poisoned or something, it was a subtle poison that cannot be detected or identified.”

“Well, this Tiver is now at the top of my list of suspects. Will he be at the Emperor's reception?”

“I doubt it, but you’ll be able to meet people who know him better than I do. Don't trust everything they say, though. The reception will be crowded, people all around will be able to overhear your conversation. Anything they say about him may find its way back to him, and that will make them careful about what they say.”

“I never just assume that people are telling me the truth. Sometimes, what they don't say is much more revealing. There is one more thing you might be able to help me with. I need to know where the movers and shakers of this city go to relax. A club, a tavern, something like that.”

“The sort of place you want is likely to be members only. You have to be recommended by a member, and then they spend the next five years considering you for membership.”

“That's no good for me. I need a less reputable place, the sort of place where all you need is money. A place that doesn't advertise, that relies on word of mouth, where people go to gamble, smoke opium, other illegal activities, but which attracts powerful people. Very powerful people. Do you know the sort of place I mean?”

“Yes, I do. There are many places like that in Farwell, although I'm not personally familiar with them. They're known by reputation, though, and I can tell you that they’re constantly on the lookout for undercover guardsmen. Any new face suddenly showing up will be regarded with suspicion, may even get his throat quietly slit and his body dumped in an alleyway.”

“That sounds like exactly the sort of place I need. If you can give me the addresses of a few, I’ll go check them out. I need to make the acquaintance of a corrupt government minister, it doesn't matter which one.”

“You wish to bribe a government minister? Of all the stories I've heard about you, I've never heard that you're rich.”

“I am a man of some means, although I don't advertise the fact. No matter how rich I was, though, I would not attempt something as dangerous as bribery. A man who betrays his country for money will betray you just as easily. No, I just want the friendship of such a man, which I hope to accomplish by persuading him that I am just as corrupt as he is.”

Mornwell gave him a careful look, then went to the door of his office, opened it and spoke to his secretary for a couple of moments. “We have a dossier of every building in the city,” he told the Brigadier when he’d returned. “Every office, every club, every factory, every shop. What it’s used for, what kind of reputation it has. We have a team of thirty people whose only job is to keep it up to date. We also have dossiers of every important person in the Kelvon government. We can cross reference the two, find the place you need. If you go there, though, you're on your own. We can't protect you. If you’re murdered by other club members or the club management, or if the authorities raid the place and you get arrested, there's nothing we can do except lodge an official protest with the Kelvon authorities, a protest that is likely to be completely ignored.”

If you can give me the address of a suitable club, you’ll have done much more for me than I dared hope for. You will be doing not only me but the whole world a great service.”

“The whole world, eh? So the Brigadier is off on another of his famous adventures!” He chuckled as he gulped back the last of his taga, then stared at the bottle regretfully before putting it back in the little cabinet that stood beside his desk. He looked at the still almost untouched glass his visitor was holding, and the Brigadier gave an inner sigh of resignation as he drained the last of it in one long swallow. It took all his self control to prevent himself from gasping at the strength of the beverage. “You stock a good cabinet,” he told the Ambassador as he placed the empty glass back on the table.

“I knew a man of quality such as yourself would appreciate it. I'll get you the information you need as soon as I have it.”

“Thank you. I'll be sure to tell the King how much help you've been to me.” He was a little sickened to see the smile of pleasure that appeared on the other man's face, and he turned to leave before he read it in his face. He needed this man too much to risk alienating him.

He closed the door behind him, while pondering the behaviour he would have to exhibit in order to accomplish his aims. He would have to display a persona that was ordinarily quite distasteful to him, but if that was what was required to protect the human world from the threat it faced he would do it cheerfully and do his very best to carry it off. Passing a window, he looked out across the city and saw a Radiant drifting serenely across the sky, shining like one of the mythical messengers of Those Above. You will not destroy all we have built, all we have accomplished, he silently promised himself. You will not turn the human race into caged farm animals! I won't let you! I will fight to prevent that to my very last breath!

He stared at the creature for a few moments longer, then left the building, looking for a good tailor. He would need a new suit of expensive clothes to match the person he intended to become.