Hedgefield squeezed past everyone and led them down a long and dusty corridor. Rip looked at the lamps as they passed, noting how flickering gaslight served as the sole source of illumination.

At long last they came to their first intersection, but Hedgefield continued straight. Then more passages appeared out of the gloom and he began leading them off toward the left.

“I’m certainly glad you know where you’re going, Thaddeus,” Bixby said with a smile.

“If you spent more time here at home, Tommy, instead of gallivanting through the steam vaults at every opportunity, you’d know your way around our passages as well as anyone.”

Bixby looked over his shoulder and smiled at Rip.

He said, “Thaddeus and I went to school together.”

“Eton?”

Hedgefield stopped, forcing everyone else to a halt in the narrow passageway.

He said, “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. We have an Eton on my world, too.”

“Fascinating.”

Hedgefield continued on, taking longer strides now, as if making up for lost time.

At last the corridor widened. At the far end of a large room, three round platforms waited. Judging by the ceiling above them, Rip thought, they rose to different floors above.

“We’ll take the middle one,” Hedgefield said, pulling out a key.

Everyone stepped up onto the platform while Hedgfield turned the key in a panel on the wall. Then he pulled a large lever sticking up out of the floor, and the platform smoothly elevated.

“This is a sight faster than that ancient lift in the steam vault, eh Colonel?”

“Indeed, Mr. Chance.”

One story up, the platform smoothly stopped, filling in a large hole in the floor. They now stood in a far more luxurious room, with marble flooring and wood paneling. Even the ceiling seemed ornate, with frescos depicting scenes of nature.

Two guards in red vests and black wooly hats stared at them, emotionlessly. They were both armed with submachine guns, currently aimed down at the floor but obviously ready to whip into firing position if necessary.

Rip looked closer at the guard standing nearest to him. He noticed replacement drum magazines hanging from either side of his belt, along with the one snugly fitting in the gun.

“That’s 300 rounds of ammo these men are carrying,” he said with a note of respect in his voice. “Impressive.”

“Indeed, Sergeant.” Hedgefield said. “Please remain on the platform until our escort arrives. These gentlemen would prefer we not enter the royal bureau alone.”

“I guess those Hobnobbers won’t be coming in here,” Rip said to Blair with a smile.

Bixby said, “Hobnobbers? What’s this about?”

The others stared at them while Blair smiled.

She said, “We met a couple Nobbers on the way in, out in the park. Once the sergeant and I took care of the situation, I sicced the nearest peelers on them.”

“Most unusual,” Hedgerow said, glancing at the guards. They continued staring at the group wordlessly, refusing to engage. “I can’t remember the last time a Nobber even tried to go near Doctors’ Commons. They must have come through the trading sector.”

“Or the park,” Bixby said. “Once over the walls, the interior is not patrolled that well. Just a handful of peelers standing around to keep the peace.”

“Indeed. I will look into this. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Lady Brooke.”

“Not at all. I’m more curious as to what they wanted with our world traveler, Sergeant Coulter here.”

Everyone stared at Rip.

“Good point, Lady Brooke. Mr. Chance, you’ve infiltrated the Hobnobbers before, haven’t you?”

“That I have, Colonel. I still have a few contacts lying about, if you like.”

“Indeed. After we’re finished meeting with His Majesty, why don’t you hit some of them up and see what you can find out about today’s little episode?”

Chance nodded and rubbed his hands, as if ready to run off right this minute on the errand.

Before anyone could say anything else, a distant door opened and closed. Rip recognized the man approaching. He had been with the king in the box seat earlier, the one obviously not a bodyguard. He passed the two guards and smiled at the group, his eyes lingering on Rip.

“Gentlemen, Lady Brooke.”

“Sir Prescott,” Bixby said. “A pleasure as always.”

The man turned to Rip and made a formal bow.

“Sergeant, my name is Sir Jefferson Prescott. I am the Lord High Steward of Greater Umbria.”

Rip acknowledged the statement with a nod, but he had no idea what a “Lord High Steward” entailed. He decided to read more from Blair’s library tonight.

“If you will all follow me, His Majesty is quite intrigued with your latest mission. And with you personally, Sergeant.”

Prescott led them past the guards, who kept close watch but did nothing to stop them from entering the royal office complex.

They walked through a doorway, made of thick, solid wood. Rip found himself wondering how much effort had gone into building the place. Everything looked old, but meticulously cared for. The paneling on the walls even seemed to have been oiled recently.

Gaslights lit the way. Rather than the simple sconces down in the tunnel, these were set in brass, cheerfully reflecting the light.

It definitely gives off a warm glow, Rip thought. Literally.

The hallway ended in a much larger room, the most elaborate one Rip had yet seen in this world. The ceiling arched up 30 feet. A giant fireplace, big enough for all of them to walk in and still have plenty of elbowroom, roared with a merry blaze. Paintings, portraits of royals past and other artwork Rip suspected might be priceless, festooned the walls.

“It looks like a palace, I don’t care what you say,” Rip murmured to Blair.

“You should see a real one,” she whispered back.

Sitting at an elaborate desk at least 20 feet wide on the far side of the huge room, the king glanced up when they came in. He smiled as they approached the desk.

Rip’s eyes wandered over the desk. He noted a typewriter, a wind-up gramophone with an assortment of wax cylinders ready to play music, and a telegraph key with leather headphones nearby.

King Allo pushed his oversized wingback chair away from the huge desk and stood up to walk around it.

“I am glad you all came. Let’s dispense with formalities. Won’t you please have a seat over here?”

With a gesture he pointed to a cluster of sofas and chairs closer to the fireplace, a silver tea set waiting on the low table in the center.

Once everyone sat down, with the king in the largest leather fireside chair, Prescott served everyone tea.

After taking a sip, Allo steepled his fingers over his chest once more.

“I’d like to hear your account of the venture once more, Baron Swathmore. This time, the less sanitized version. The one that the public shan’t ever hear.”

Bixby smiled grimly.

“Indeed, your majesty. The mundane troopers showed considerably higher intellect than usual. I grew careless on the lower levels, and let us get caught.”

Blair opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand and she held back.

“Once in the cells, a worker tried to have his way with Lady Brooke.”

The king raised an eyebrow at this statement.

“She handled the situation admirably, but the fortuitous arrival of Sergeant Coulter facilitated the scoundrel’s demise.”

Allo glanced at Rip for a moment.

“Do you truly believe our Sergeant here is from another world?”

“I do, Your Majesty. Everything, almost everything, seems completely foreign to him. That sort of ignorance cannot be so easily faked.”

The corner of Rip’s lip quirked up. He was not so sure that was a compliment.

The king turned to Rip.

“Tell me more about your world, Sergeant. Don’t hold back. There is no press here, and nothing leaves this room.”

Rip nodded and started trying to describe life as he knew it. He talked in broad terms about how the empires of old mostly split apart after the First World War. He mentioned massive conflicts, nuclear weapons, the rise of superpowers and heinous forms of government such as communism that wreaked so much havoc on the world.

He ended by giving a brief rundown of modern day technology, trying to avoid terms and experiences the king would have a hard time relating to, such as NeuralNet.

He finished well past noon. Sir Prescott had a sumptuous meal brought in, featuring pheasants and rice, with peas and carrots on the side and nutty pudding for dessert. A waiter brought in a fresh tea set as well.

Rip spent the remainder of lunch answering the king’s many questions about his world.

“Moving pictures. Now there’s a thought.”

He exchanged a glance with Prescott.

“I believe the Lumière brothers are doing something similar in France, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s far more advanced than magic lanterns, is it not?”

Rip furrowed his brows at the question.

Allo noticed and said, “That’s a light show device. Rather primitive compared to what you are describing.”

“Yes, well, it sounds like we have a hundred and fifty years or so of technological improvements over you guys.”

“Indeed. Sir Prescott, do you think the sergeant here might be able to assist us in developing contraptions that would help in our fight against Darhaven?”

“Without a doubt, Your Majesty. However, he should be enhanced first. He will be of much more use to the crown once he’s gone through the procedure.”

“Yes, yes. You’re right, of course. Good call. What do you say, Sergeant? Let’s finish eating and we’ll have the Lyceum enhance you.”

Rip sat back in his seat with a slightly wary expression on his face.

Blair noticed.

She leaned closer and said in a low voice, “You want to be enhanced. Trust me, it’s worth it.”