"Let me in, Sirrah! I am–" you snatch the first name that comes to mind, "–Captain Hoff of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force! I cannot allow any ally of Her Majesty's to be overrun by blackguards like these anarchists while I am at hand! Just let me in and I'll give them the old what ho! See how the unwashed masses like the taste of imperial steel, eh?"

You wave Abu Aziz's cutlass in the face of the dumbfounded palace functionary. You wish, rather intensely, that you had worn your dress uniform tonight instead of this ridiculous gold Apollo costume.

Miss Abernathy collapses in a fit of coughing you very much suspect is laughter in disguise. Abu Aziz rushes forward and speaks to the functionary in rapid-fire Arabic. From somewhere he has procured a battered coat and a fez and now looks entirely the part of a servant.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He must be very convincing, or else God smiles on the reckless, because you are let into the palace. A minute later you are rushing down tiled hallways.

“They are keeping the sextant in the north wing,” says Miss Abernathy.

“We must try to get around the anarchists,” says Abu Aziz.

The instant the words are out of his mouth, you round the corner and collide with a group of dirty men in worker’s clothes with red armbands. You cut down two of the surprised anarchists, Abu Aziz snatches the rifle from the third and impales him on the bayonet. Miss Abernathy’s pistol barks, and the fourth anarchist crumples against the wall. It’s Pyatnitsa!

The pirate and the Heiress are already moving on.