You feel Abu Aziz’s hand on your shoulder, words shouted in your ear, but you throw him off and step back through the door. Already, the air inside is thick with smoke and screams. Discarding Apollo’s visage, you tie a handkerchief across your nose and mouth.

The ballroom is a glimpse into hell. You push past the dead, the dying, and the lost, calling "Hattie! Hattie! Hattie!" in a voice that vanishes into the chaos before it even reaches your ears.

You approach the front door, only to find it clogged with debris and broken bodies. A second bomb, meant to catch the guests as they escaped. If Miss Abernathy's in there, she's past any help you can give. If she's not, what would she do? Where is the safest place in the mansion?

Stolen novel; please report.

The terrace garden! You turn and sprint across the ballroom, leaping the smoldering remains of refreshments tables in your haste. The fire hasn't spread out here yet, you go past ornamental fountains and date palms, and, there, a slim figure dressed in silver standing against the balcony.

It's only when you reach Miss Abernathy that you realize the city behind her is burning. Dozens of fires have sprung up all across Fes, their light lurid against the white stone.

"A coordinated attack," says Miss Abernathy, distant and detached as the moon you can no longer see for the smoke. "The anarchists must have given up on buying the sextant entirely, and have chosen a simpler method. See, there, they've breached the palace wall."

The spies and diplomats have had their turn, now it's time for a man of action.