The adrenaline had long left him, and Rip felt almost morose.

He sat in a much smaller room inside the Venture Society headquarters, free at last from the pressures of the outside world.

Earlier, a crowd had gathered to watch the slowly dying airship as it floated down the Thames. Someone recognized him. Evidently, one of the many newspapers in Ethinium had already published a special edition about the hearing from this morning. Rip managed to snag a copy on the way back.

Of course, it was out of date almost immediately because there was no mention of the Darhaven attack on Doctors’ Commons. Still, he was impressed by the speed at which they got the info out. It wasn’t quite the Internet, of course, but he thought it seemed impressive considering their technological limitations.

About the time police had to start telling bystanders to back off, a huge steam truck pulled up, smoke belching from a pipe on top.

The back doors opened and a dozen Venture Society people jumped out, including Bixby’s Bandits, Sharp’s Swashbucklers and members from two other groups Rip did not recognize.

Sharp took charge of the situation, flashing his badge at the officers and vouching for Rip. He demanded they release Rip into RVS custody immediately.

This request was met with some resistance. The police wanted a statement from Rip, and seemed unwilling to let him go without one.

The situation was resolved when Bixby approached the group and hinted the officers were interfering with royal business. And by royal, he literally meant the king.

“His Majesty met with all of us personally this morning, and requested Sergeant Coulter here keep him personally apprised of all developments. We shan’t keep him waiting any longer than necessary, if you please, gentlemen.”

This was enough to pry Rip loose from the police. He piled into the back of the heavy metal steam truck with several other people. One of the other groups took off running down the riverbank to chase after the downed airship, leaving plenty of room in back.

As the truck’s primitive transmission ground into gear, its metal wheel began clattering on the cobblestones while it slowly picked up speed. Rip thought it reminded more of an armored personnel carrier than anything else. Three small slits near the ceiling on either side provided the only view outside.

He looked a mess, and he was still wet, but he sat down with the others. Blair sat beside him on a bench seat along the wall, openly holding onto his arm. Hilda and Liza glared at Blair for this open display of affection as the truck made its way back to Doctors’ Commons. Blair and Rip ignored them.

The truck pulled into the grounds for the Venture Society, and they were able to exit without fanfare. Bixby took Rip to a locker room set aside for men, and showed him the showers. When Rip got out several minutes later, Bixby had fetched a standard Venture Society outfit for him, with khaki pants, shirt and jacket.

“Hope they fit, old chap. Here, I got four sizes of boots for you to try on. I’ve no idea of your shoe size.”

Rip thanked him and changed clothes.

All of that seemed to have gone by in a blur. Now he sat in a hearing room, and he realized this one would not be public like the last one.

That, at least, is some good news. I hate speaking in public.

Both Sharp’s group as well as Bixby’s sat around waiting. Hilda and Liza sat off to one side, whispering and angrily glancing at Blair every now and then.

Twig and Chance likewise kept their own counsel on the other side of the room. Sharp and Bixby sat with Blair near Rip.

One of the wooden panels in the room clicked, and Rip was unsurprised to see the doorway to a secret passageway open.

Hedgefield stepped out, followed by the king and Sir Prescott. The same stenographer from this morning stepped out, too, wordlessly setting up her machine in a corner.

When Allo walked in, he smiled at Rip.

“You singlehandedly took down a Darhaven airship. Not bad for your first day as a Royal Venture Society member.”

“It’s unprecedented,” Hedgefield said.

“I’m afraid I might have damaged Big Ben,” Rip said in an apologetic tone.

Allo said, “What’s that? Oh, you mean the Grand Clock Tower. I’ve never heard it called that. Well, think nothing of it. It’s due for renovation anyway. You might have toppled the spire up there, but it’s a small price to pay. We have never been able to capture a black airship, so I’m sure any minor property damage in the process can be overlooked.”

“The boffins are more upset with Twig’s dynamite, I reckon,” Chance murmured softly.

Twig smirked.

“So. Let’s hear your report, Sergeant.”

Rip nodded and told them how he jumped onto the last dangling rope. He shot down the other rope and tossed out the fat man watching over things.

When he mentioned how he threw dynamite into the lounge area filled with sewer troopers, both Chance and Twig cackled in glee.

He discussed sifting out the “Achilles heel” of the machinegunners, a term nobody else had heard of, and how shooting them through the eyes proved effective.

Shrugging, he then described the man who called himself Dar Caul. This brought the most interest among all present, and they listened attentively.

He described their battle, killing the pilot, and how the tall man evidently escaped the dirigible, swimming to the opposite side of the river.

When Rip finished speaking, Allo rubbed his chin.

“Few have survived an encounter such as yours. There are sewer troopers, and there are elite sewer troopers who have been enhanced. Then there are the Dar themselves.”

Rip gave him a blank look.

“I keep forgetting you’re not from this world. A history lesson, then. ‘Dar’ is an old Reman word that means, essentially, ‘sent to die.’ You are aware that those with no hope on the surface, the truly destitute, can seek out work in a city’s steam vault?”

Rip nodded, recalling what Blair and the others had told him.

“Right. It’s been that way since the Remans established them so many centuries ago. They invented concrete, allowing them to build massive architectural wonders in Remus and throughout their empire, some of which still stands, at least in part. Later they developed a type of enhanced steel that does not rust. This is the material used for the steam vaults, which powered all their innovations, starting about a thousand years after Christ. Are you with me so far?”

Rip nodded again.

“So, for centuries the steam vaults produced warmth and energy for those above. We still use them, even though the Remens are long gone. Empires have been built on top of the vaults, including ours. But a funny thing happened. Or rather, did not happen. No one, it seems, has been very deep inside one of the vaults and come back out to tell us about it.”

“That’s a long time to go without knowing what’s down there.”

“Indeed. We do have some records from old Reman days. But in modern times . . . what’s the deepest anyone in the RVS has gone?”

“Heldenfeld’s Heroes made it to the 26th level of the Catherus vault in 1791,” Hedgefield said.

Then he cleared his throat and added, “Only one in that group made it back out to file a report.”

“There, you see?” Allo said. “Returning from Gretna Green’s Level 13 is quite an accomplishment. It’s also disturbing what they had down there, and what they were having poor Dr. Oggolopoli do. Anyhow, back to the subject at hand.”

Allo paced around the small room now, talking.

“A couple centuries back, we noticed a sort of contamination in some of the vaults. No one has been able to quite figure out what’s going on down there. But some have gotten bad enough that surface settlements around them have been abandoned. Swarms of men dressed in black, wearing gasmasks, began coming out at night and raiding settlements. People and livestock disappeared, stoking fears. Odd smoke began appearing during the day over some vaults, while strange lights flashed at night.”

He sighed and stopped in his circuit around the room, staring at Rip.

“A few in the raiding parties were caught. We learned some things. They say they are from ‘Darhaven.’ They called it that no matter what steam vault they crawled out of. In time we discovered the elite troopers, thankfully small in number. But it meant the Darhaven figured out a way to enhance their people. We also heard of even more powerful individuals who apparently lead the troopers. These are known as the Dar, which they use as the equivalent of ‘Lord,’ from what we can gather.”

Rip nodded, taking it all in.

When the king did not continue, he said, “And that’s all you know?”

“There is one more thing,” Allo said.

“What’s that?”

“Everything within the contaminated vaults seem to be getting worse.”