Rip invited Rucker to stay for lunch. After all, the man spent nearly three hours telling the group everything his agency knew about Marienberg Fortress.

Rucker had started by saying, “There are no windows. There is a massive air circulation system with a large vent on the roof, but it has a curious feature. It and all other openings, of which there are few, are all lined extensively in silver. Silver plate is everywhere, wherever there is a door or window, or ventilation opening.”

Everyone turned and stared at the princesses.

Liza shrugged and said, “I don’t think they want us going in there.”

“That,” Blair said, “has to be the understatement of the year. This place has been specifically designed to keep you two out.”

When Rucker finished, he declined Rip’s offer for lunch. Rip thanked him, and walked him downstairs. At one of the desks on the way out, a clerk stood up and handed Rucker an envelope with a check in it.

“We may call upon you again in the future,” Rip said at the door. “I wanted to let you know your guards are very good. Quite professional. We appreciate the level of service they provide.”

“Always glad to help,” Rucker said, placing the envelope in his suit coat pocket without opening it to look at the amount. “And if you or anyone in the RVS ever gets tired of the venture business, our firm is always looking to hire anyone who has been enhanced.”

Rip smiled and said, “I’ll let people know.”

Rucker walked back toward the gate. Once he passed the fountain and was safely out of sight of the door, he pulled out the envelope and opened it. He raised a surprised eyebrow at the number of zeroes on the check. Mentally, Rip’s status as a client rose by several notches.

Rejoining the group upstairs, Rip arrived just as a group of servers wheeled in carts laden with food. The sisters were presented with extremely rare steaks, almost raw, along with their glasses of water. Everyone else received plates piled with grilled asparagus, baked potatoes with large dabs of butter, and ribeyes cooked medium-well with just a hint of pink in the center.

Chance cut into his steak and savored his first bite.

“Mm, this is good. You brought in a chef, too? Must be French. Umbrians don’t cook this well.”

Rip nodded and said, “I think the guy in charge trained in Paris. We installed a state-of-the-art kitchen and stocked it with food so we could feed everybody onsite. The employee cafeteria is downstairs, but the staff can serve any room up here easily enough. They use the dumbwaiters. Meanwhile I’ve got Sergio’s old group working on propane refrigerators.”

“How do those work?” Blair said, looking up from her plate. “You’ve talked about them but I don’t quite get the concept. By burning propane they cool the air inside?”

“Actually, I’m not quite sure. I just know they work. I told the guys about it and I’m certain they’ll figure it out. I know air conditioning works by running air over tubes filled with Freon, but this far north we don’t really need it. Still, it’ll make us a lot of money in warmer climates. And everybody can use refrigerators to help preserve food.”

“These things work, too,” Chance said, pulling out a growler full of ale from his interspatial wallet.

He took a long sip and smacked his lips.

“Tastes as good as when it was poured at Tomfoolery’s.”

Rip said, “Yes, but not everybody will be able to afford an interspatial container. Very few people, I suspect. However, the day is coming when practically every household will have a refrigerator.”

When they finished eating, Rip gave Chance a tour of the house. They walked past the living quarters on the third floor, conference rooms and offices on the second, then the training rooms and research centers on the ground floor.

“We’re sitting on ten acres here, so there’s room outside for additional things, such as model airplanes and other mockups. I even had them build a tower for testing parachutes and other things. Plus, we can use it to board airships when we want to be picked up from here instead of having to travel all the way to Carlyle Aerodrome. Of course, when airplanes get in vogue, dirigibles will become obsolete. But that’s still a few years off.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Ripley. I’m not trusting meself to no ‘fixed-wing aircraft’ any time soon, though. Give me a gas bag with a couple propellers on it, any day.”

Rip smiled and said, “How’s that bicycle?”

“It’s the best thing since Turkish Delight! A right sight expensive it is, though.”

“Well then, you’re not a complete technophobe. Airplanes will be better than dirigibles someday, just like bikes are better than walking.”

“If you say so,” Chance said, still not convinced.

“Let me show you the basement. We’re still working on it.”

Rip led him down using a set of stairs in the back. On the way, they passed a group of workmen punching out a wall.

“What’s that about?” Chance said.

Rip shrugged.

“We’re adding a couple of secret passages here and there. This place had none when we bought it, if you can believe that. It’ll feel more homey when we’re done. Here’s what I wanted to show you.”

They came down the stairs and stopped at a large hole in the basement, big enough to drive a truck through. A man trundled out with a wheelbarrow full of dirt, a miner’s lamp on his head lighting the way.

Chance said, “I wondered what that was all about. I saw a dump truck heading off when I walked up with Mr. Rucker this morning.”

“Yeah, we’re expanding. And we have a lot of room underground.”

“Ten acres, you said.”

“Right. All our tunnels and rooms down here will be reinforced with concrete and have adequate drainage. Takes a while, but we’ll get there. We’ll add electric lighting, too.”

“Not gas?”

“Nope. Not for us. In fact, that’s another long-term project, wiring the house for electricity. We’ll get there.”

Rip led Chance back upstairs and they ended the tour in the front room with all the desks.

“When you come back tomorrow, we should have a good array of equipment laid out for the mission. Be ready to practice with it.”

“Just how do you plan on getting the sisters in there? The place is locked up tighter than a miser’s fist full of coins.”

“How would you do it?”

Chance shrugged.

“I suppose I’d try blowing a hole in the side of the wall so they could mist through. That’s if I wasn’t worried about being subtle. Problem is, most of the outer walls are at least three feet thick, according to Mr. Rucker. And they didn’t worry about making arrow holes or anything like that. Still, it would take an awful lot of dynamite, but I’m sure I could at least put a crack or two in them slabs.”

“And if you were trying to be subtle? What would you do then?”

Chance thought for a moment, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling.

“I suppose I might try punching a small hole through the airshaft on top, or near enough to it. Away from the silver, you know. The girls don’t need much space to mist through. I seen ’em go under doors, through keyholes, and into the seams of robots. If you could find somewhere to drill a small hole inside, that’d be plenty big for them.”

“Thanks, those are some good thoughts. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chance nodded and walked out the door. Outside, he mounted his bicycle and pedaled for the gate, leaving the mansion behind.