Jean-Baptiste Astier brought up his telescope, looking at the odd ships that had appeared over the horizon half an hour ago.
“I spotted the large one first,” the sentry on the citadel’s parapet said. “Then the rest started coming out.”
The man in charge of the fortress at La Rochelle was a recent promotion. King Louis XVIII had wasted little time in sending replacements to every major military post in the Kingdom of France, and while a few Bonapartist die-hard loyalists still resisted in various places, the old port whose prominence had been lost after the end of the slave trade last century had switched sides with nary a hitch.
All of which made Astier wary. A couple of ships showing up was one thing. But this looked like a fleet. Dozens of ships of a strange shape, without any pavilion. His imagination filled with stories of pirate fleets attacking coastal cities, although those would target weakly defended and isolated settlements, not a fortified port.
In the distance, he spotted movement. One of the ships was lowering a small craft. He couldn’t see much, but he spotted a few people boarding the skiff before it headed toward the port. Astier breathed more easily. At least those people, whoever they were, weren’t immediately shooting cannon. La Rochelle’s walls were sturdy enough, but a siege was never a pleasant thing.
The people coming out on the quay were all black men. People like the ones that La Rochelle traded in the old days, Astier assumed, and certainly the last people he’d expected to see coming.
And they all wore Professional gear. Once you’d met a few of those, you’d recognize the signs anywhere. The presence of black men had him fearing this would be some incredibly bold Barbary pirates, but the presence of so many Professionals made him even more confused about what was happening.
His confusion deepened as the first one came to him and surprised him by using flawless French.
“I am Kwazele, of the Zulus.”
“I… am Jean-Baptiste Astier, governor of La Rochelle by the leave of the King of France. May I enquire of your intent?”
“The Zulu Confederacy is laying claim to France,” the Zulu bluntly stated.
Astier blinked. The sheer preposterousness of the idea was unbelievable. Then he grimaced. The armour-clad man in front of him was certainly someone you didn’t laugh at. Astier had never dealt much with Professionals, which is how he got that post today, but he did suspect this was a powerful one.
“France is not so easily taken,” he managed to reply.
“My King would beg to differ,” the Zulu smiled, turning.
The figure that stood from the skiff was more than a Professional. Covered in dark skins who glowed from an inner fire, as if the stitching was made of burning thread, he seemed to be a gigantic black creature, bearing a humongous copper-bladed pole who seemed to reflect a sun that was invisible under the winter clouds. And he towered over the others, at least half again taller than any man should be.
Then Astier felt the impact of Presence and knew that, whatever this titanic figure was, it was not one to be denied.
“Kneel before your God,” the emissary said.
----------------------------------------
Sylvia Underwood stepped out of the Great Gate into the British clearing. She was in a foul mood. Her suggestions of a major celebration for the twentieth anniversary of the opening of the Federal Gate had fallen on deaf ears – mostly because it was a British idea originally. Father had been receptive, but unwilling to start the thing so late. “It’s a thing you plan a year in advance, not less than two months before the day,” he’d said to her when she broke out the possibility.
Add the fact that Manhattan was currently blanketed by storms from the Atlantic, and under three feet of snow, and she was pretty upset about the whole thing. Tier-five Professionals were not truly bothered by harsh weather conditions, but there was an ineffable difference between a snow zone and mundane winters. You knew snow zones were snowy. It was a given and they remained thus all the time. But Earth offered… other possibilities. And denied them.
Hopefully, the London weather would be much better. She debated briefly with herself on whether or not to cross back and make sure Mivart’s had her reservation. This time, there was no way she’d stay at the Gatepost Inn from last time. Mivart’s might not be as good as her family’s Westchester in Manhattan, but it was upscale from the Professional-oriented accommodations like The Frozen Boar.
No, first thing, I drop a note at his headquarters. Jonas will expect that, she decided.
She unfolded her last letter, looking at the stamp briefly. The unfamiliar mark glued on the letter depicted in sepia tones an ornate circle, along with the mention “Express”. Given that the letter was dated from four days before she got it, she could hazard a guess about how it had crossed the world so fast. But what fascinated her was the simple idea of a flat rate, pre-paid postage across the world. Benjamin Franklin would have smacked his head, had he known about the Labyrinth and its shortcuts. And copied the British idea as fast as he could print it.
Despite the fact that he’d died a few years before she was born, she could admire that particular Founding Father.
“Oops sorry… Sylvia?”
She whirled and turned. The two men who had nearly bumped into her were familiar from the last time… a man in mismatched plate armour and a pair of swords, and one with a feathered hat with equally diverse leathers.
“Alton and Jonathan… right?”
The Piercer-build man bowed to her with a flourish.
“Well, I’m having a stroke of luck meeting you then,” she said. “I was heading toward your headquarters to see if Jonas is about.”
“Probably not. He, Ira and Guss are out and about in the Labyrinth for some errand. You’d found only Laura, maybe, if she’s not busy doing some dealings or stuff.”
“And you?”
“Well, I’ve dragged Jonathan out for a while.”
The dour defender shrugged.
“Okay, maybe some of my old dives are intimidated by a pair of Professionals, but you’ve seen that most of them don’t care,” Alton added.
“We need civilian clothes. Armour doesn’t do,” he replied.
Sylvia repressed a laugh. The former solicitor wasn’t wrong with that. Professionals understood the use of Labyrinth gear as an everyday outfit and didn’t care, but it always threw off mundanes.
“Why not?”
“My old clothes don’t fit anymore,” he said.
“Uh? Did the Labyrinth fix some youth problems?” she asked, curious.
“It’s not that… but I need to build a Labyrinth set. Got an Old Wood Puppet recently, but nothing really to use it with yet,” he said.
Sylvia shrugged. Sure, sometimes people with stunted growth got brought to their full Potential by the Labyrinth, but once that phase was over, you could invest… But the man had been raised with certain expectations, maybe.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Told you, anything leather will work,” Alton said. “And if you want to stand out a bit, just use that old mask.”
“Mask?” Sylvia asked.
“A hyena-hide mask. Got it on my first lair completion. It’s still weird that you have this leather thing over your face without eye holes, yet see clearly.”
“Yea, it would give you style,” Alton insisted.
“Oh, one of those,” Sylvia realized. “If you think that’s weird, wait until you see one of the really weird ones.”
“Like what?” Alton asked.
“Like the Mane of Pride.”
Mane of the Korthios Prideking
Head
Artefact
Requires: Level 459
Provides: +344 defence rating, +85 PRE, +66 FOR, +59 CON, +56 INT, +797 hp, +791 aether, +5% fire damage, +4% regeneration, +3 Burning Aura ranks, +2 Flame Pane ranks
“If you wear it, you get this enormous mass of totally red hair.”
“Wait, it does change your hair colour? Really?”
“Not permanently. Your hair reverts to normal size and colour if you remove the leather bandanna. But while you wear it, your hair remains almost impossible to cut. Not that it provides any additional defence, but that’s funny. Also, the tint is unmistakably… Labyrinth.”
The three Professionals started in the Gatepost street, heading to the Labyrinth Office headquarters, leaving Sylvia with an opportunity to check.
“So, you’ve made your way into our sector? Jonas did intrigue me with this question on lairs ownership.”
“Yea. We haven’t progressed much, since we’re exploring properly each zone as we go. But… well, Jonas will explain it. We had a question about how you deal with lairs.”
“It’s not as if it is complicated,” she said dismissively.
“If, hypothetically, for some reason, there was an interesting lair discovered by British explorers, but a lot closer to the American Gate than the British one… how would that work?” Jonathan asked.
“Uh? For the most part, it’s first come, first served… we don’t have all your heavy bureaucratic parcelling of lairs. It’s what I can’t understand with you British, that rigidity of rules. So, whoever goes in gets the loot. If you like that, then it works out better for you. Why?”
“As I said, Jonas will probably explain it.”
Sylvia shrugged.
Of course, Jonas will explain it, she thought. That’s why I cultivate him. Although the suggestions of possible marriage are a little… too much. Not that the Federal Bureau was stating it outright, at least not yet. But there was such a thing as too much involvement. Jonas might be sweet, in his naïve British way, but he was definitively not her style. Marrying for the sake of getting him entangled… no, definitively not.
Besides, Father would never approve, so she was safe on that side.
“No, they’re not back yet,” Laura Harvey said.
“Then… then just tell him I’m staying at Mivart’s. I’m going to check the news to see what’s planned, of course, but maybe he’ll have something specific in mind,” Sylvia answered.
“Where’s that?”
“London. That’s what I always tell Jonas. There’s a life outside of the Labyrinth. I mean, Professionals are a thing, but there are a lot more people outside than inside,” she explained, waving expansively.
“Mivart’s. Noted. As soon as they come back, I’ll tell them.”
Sylvia hesitated briefly but decided not to press. Having half of your team split up happened, of course. But that usually entailed Earthside stuff rather than people going into the Labyrinth. She’d get the details out of Jonas later anyway.
She waved at the three in the headquarters’ common room, turned, and left.
“I see what Jonas finds in her,” Alton said.
“Uh?” Laura asked.
“He’s always worried about messing up. She never does. She’s always sure of herself.”
“Noble. Well, not noble, those Americans don’t do that. Instead, rich is the new noble,” Laura said dismissively.
“Always been,” Alton said. “Those merchants start by being rich, then they get a peerage.”
“It’s a bit more complicated,” Jonathan countered.
Alton half-repressed a laugh.
“It always is. Only the Labyrinth is simple. Tiers, levels, gear, those are there for the ones who want to take it, and not for those who sit on the sidelines.”
Laura almost joined, before softening.
“I wonder what happened. It’s been a bit longer than I thought it would go. They’re not supposed to take that long to meet up… and the Full Moon was a few days ago.”
“Don’t fret. The only thing that can happen is the Zulus’ changing ideas and stopping talking to us.”
“Yea. Oh, and by the way, Alton, you should check with the quartermaster.”
“Uhhh… why?”
“Surprise,” she smiled.
“Ah, there you are!” Jonathan said, standing up from his seat in the common room. The room was packed, as more teams than usual were coming back from the depths for the anniversary celebrations.
“Yea. Waste of time,” Ira said.
“Oh?”
“Either we misunderstood, or they’ve lost Gates as Guss suggested. And now, I have to report a failure to the Duke,” Jonas said.
Then he frowned. Alton… looked a bit different. The black leather jacket he’d gotten last year was now pale and had lots of studs.
“New stuff? Good trades at the Faire?” he inquired.
“Nah, we went in the Labyrinth, and it turns out we don’t even need Guss for healing, there’s this new guy…”
“What?” the Mender said, as laughter erupted behind them.
Jonas turned and spotted another High Labyrinth team. Woolhalan’s team was absolutely grinning, for no reason he could discern. The Competing Mauler smiled at him, and Jonas frowned.
Did they really pick…?
Laura couldn’t keep the charade much longer.
“Hand-down. That’s the first useful underleveled heroic our quartermaster got. Most of those get clumped in the two-hundred range or in the fifty-sixty range,” she explained.
Grey Studded Leather Vest
Torso
Heroic equipment
Requires: Level 158
Provides: +129 defence rating, +24 FOC, +19 DEX, +18 PRE, +249 aether, +3% physical damage
Jonas turned again and recognized the vest’s look on the man sitting next to Nolan Woolhalan.
“Our team got that one. Alois got the full-level version already before the Chateau,” he confessed.
Grey Studded Leather Vest
Torso
Heroic equipment
Requires: Level 336
Provides: +183 defence rating, +45 PRE, +41 FOC, +39 DEX, +491 end, +5% regeneration
“That Ancient for the vest is stingy – shows only a third of the time, and he has like only three different items hanging on display,” Woolhalan said.
“It’s always variants around the same theme, regardless of levels,” Laura explained. “You’re not seeing those at the Faire, because almost every company hoards them – like ours. The single-team ones are very rare at higher tiers.”
“There’s Abdington’s company. His only team is all upper tier-four, although Buford Bowditch might be tier-five now. Haven’t met them for half a year, since we joined,” Woolhalan said.
The mention of Ancient variants prompted Jonas to ask.
“By the way, is it confirmed that the trunk’s guardians are always the same type and max levels of gear?”
“Not many doing it. Byron might know?” Nolan said, referring to the highest tiered High Office team.
“Present!” a voice from the back came.
The tier-six Tempered Shieldmaker, Byron Edye came over.
“Yea. I can confirm. We’ve done Umontikal several times since November, seeing as the Gate from Nindarul is still open. Those level 500 Ancients are rough, even at early tier six, but doable. And I can confirm, there’s nine of them, on a nineteen-day cycle. All 500 plus-or-minus 10, and always level-appropriate gear.”
“The quartermaster must be ecstatic.”
“We’ve almost all upgraded multiple pieces first. Also, we share the zone with one British Scout team, so we alternate clears, but they confirm the loot. Once the trunk becomes official, everyone is going to want to license it. Tier-five and six zones may end up with slightly more Ancients totals, but the guarantee in such a small zone is insane,” Edye said.
“Look at this one,” he added, raising his fist.
Thorny Steel Plate Mittens
Hand
Heroic equipment
Requires: Level 478
Provides: +252 defence rating, +61 CON, +61 STR, +60 DEX, +3% team defence, +2 Perfect Move ranks
“Whoa,” Ira exclaimed upon seeing the wicked glove’s descriptor.
“That’s why we’re doing at least two, three clears before moving to tier-five lairs. We can tackle some easy tier-five Ancients, but the amount of useful gear we got in four months is more than we’d get in two years otherwise. That trunk is pure bonus gear.”
Ira leered again at the glove, prompting mirth from the higher tiers.
“Well, get a few more of those, will ya?” Woolhalan asked. “Level 475 is in four months for us.”
“You’re not even a defender, Nolan.”
“No, but Cornelius would love that one. And besides, I’m sure you’ve got some slick Mauler-build gear around. Just leave some at the armoury.”
Jonas smiled at the banter. Of course, level 475 wasn’t in the cards for a few years. Not the decade it would take normally, but still a ways off. Having exclusive access to loot was a pleasant experience his team knew well. And if the so-called “long lair” had steady loot for 8 Ancients, it was also going to be extremely popular and possibly spark a rush. Which reminded him…
“Laura? Has Sylvia…”
“Yes, she has. She was there earlier today. She’s staying in London this time, at Mivart’s. Wherever that is.”
“It’s one of those new hotels,” Jonathan added.
“I’ll probably find it,” Jonas said.
“But first, report,” Ira countered.
“Yea, the Duke’s probably wondering why we haven’t come earlier.”
“Can’t let the boss wait,” Edye said, reminding Jonas of his presence. “Whatever you’re doing for him these days. Me and my team, we’re ordered to get levels – and gear! – for when the Great Gate of Versailles reopens. It’s expected this summer now, although nobody knows for sure. And who knows how many levels Napoleon’s minions will have by then.”