Peter woke with the dawn the next morning, opening his eyes to see light streaming through the window. He threw off the bedclothes and stretched, yawning deeply. No matter how menacing the Lords and their castle might be, they certainly knew how to make a guest comfortable. Peter was not one to decry the pleasures of a warm, soft bed, especially after a night spent on the ground and a long walk over rough terrain.

He looked around him and noticed that the ragged, dirty cloth he had arrived in had been replaced by a set of clothing fit for a prince. He fingered the rich material, noting with some surprise that a twist of paper lay atop the breast pocket.

He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, finally realizing that it contained a handful of gunpowder.

He'd forgotten about it until now—two nights ago, back in Oxford, he'd been experimenting with his chemistry set when his grandmother had announced that it was high time he get to bed. He'd scooped up the product of his experiment and twisted it into a bit of paper, then shoved it in his pocket and forgotten about it.

Strange—that his original clothing had been replaced by a white robe, but this bit of powder had come along into this world.

He changed quickly, pausing only to admire himself in the mirror, and shoved the gunpowder back into his pocket. One never knew when that sort of thing might be handy. Science—now there was something one could rely on. Nothing chancy or magical about science, was there? And then, deciding that he was going to do some investigation and clue collecting, just like Sherlock Holmes, and figure out all the mysteries of this place, he went to go find Julia.

She was already awake and dressed when he got there—awake and dressed and ready for business. She'd been wondering exactly what was going to happen at this meeting in the Great Hall and how on earth they were going to maintain this ruse about being emissaries from Albion, and, to that end, had already written the beginnings of a list.

"Oh good, you're up," she said tersely. "Sit down and help."

Peter did as indicated.

"Now: our object is to overthrow the lords and free the slaves." She indicated this written at the top of her list. "So…"

"Pardon me?" said Peter. She looked up.

"What's wrong?"

"That's our object?" he said incredulously. "How do we know that's our object?"

"Because…" She thought again of the garden, and the monk's warning that Peter could be kept safest through his ignorance. "Because this isn't how it should be. Slaves and tyrannical lords and all that."

"We don't know that they're tyrannical, Julia."

"What do you think they are—benevolent? With those horrible masks? The Jackal and the Leopard and the Wolf?"

"I don't know, and that's just the point." Peter paused for a moment, looking very puffed up and pleased with himself. "We have to use reason here. Observation. Look for facts, and use them to draw our conclusions."

"Oh, honestly." Julia slammed her list down on the table in a huff. "Truth isn't always logical, you know."

"Of course it is," Peter said smugly. "I thought I'd start in the library—you know, do some reading on this place's history."

Julia was about to say something snide and possibly regrettable about her brother's capacity for reason when they were both startled by a knock on the door. Before either of them could answer the door swung open to reveal a red-robed, bejeweled figure: Anaximander.

"Our Lords of Aedyn request your presence," he said grandly, and with a sweeping gesture stepped aside and indicated the door. Peter and Julia rose and followed him, glaring at each other just for good measure.
 

The Great Hall was empty but for the lords, whose masks were no less imposing than they had been the previous day. Peter and Julia went forward and bent down in a low bow, Julia quietly gritting her teeth.

"Welcome, my lord and lady," said the Wolf. "Come, tell us something of your land. Tell us of Albion."

Peter looked at Julia. Julia looked at Peter. He shrugged almost imperceptibly, and so she began.

"My lords, the great nation of Albion lies far over the western seas. Our great Emperor wishes to establish peace and mutual prosperity throughout this region. We offer assurances of security. In return, we ask for your guarantee of neutrality and non—" What was her father's word? "Non-aggression."

The Wolf listened patiently as Julia outlined her proposal, his long, pale fingers pressed together at their tips. He nodded as she finished, and touched his fingers to a dark amulet that lay against his robes.

"My Lady Julia, we are indeed honored that the Emperor of Albion should take notice of such a small nation as Aedyn. Might I ask what led you to single us out for the special favor of your visit? It seems vastly in excess of our size and importance, if I may be forgiven for saying so."

"We did not wish to omit you when we consulted with our neighbors, my lord. It is our hope to build friendship with all nations, great and small, and to…to share our knowledge with each other." Julia smiled, trying to think fast. By now she had exhausted every item on the list she'd made earlier that morning and had absolutely no idea what to say next.

"Share knowledge?" The Wolf leaned forward.

"Yes," said Julia with a noncommittal smile. She was trying desperately to sound like an emissary—trying to sound like someone who was too important to execute—but she was out of ideas. She glanced at Peter, trying to privately indicate desperation.

"Like this, my lord," said Peter, reaching into his breast pocket. "See here a small example of our skills!"

Julia couldn't quite make out what it was that Peter had in his hand. He crossed the hall to an enormous candelabra and held whatever it was to the flame, then threw it down in the lords' direction.

The room exploded, the detonation reverberating throughout the enclosed space. Acrid smoke filled the room, and as it cleared Julia could see the three lords cowering before their thrones in positions of abject terror. The Leopard was coughing violently, trying to waft away the choking fumes, and the Jackal had his hands clasped firmly on his ears. The Wolf rose first, and pointed a shaking finger at Peter.

"What was that devil in your hand?" he hissed.

Guards were now pouring into the hall, swords drawn against the unknown enemy. The Wolf waved them away with a few quick words, never taking his eyes from Peter. There was a long silence.

"What have you to say for yourself, boy?" he spluttered. "What black magic is that in your fingertips?"

Julia noted at this point that Peter was looking rather smug. She disliked this intensely, and wished she could have a moment to consult with Peter before he said something really stupid. But Peter was looking directly at the hideous mask which hid the face of the Wolf, and spoke slowly and with authority.

"My lord, that is a very small example of our power. This room and this castle would be destroyed, along with everyone inside them, were I to demonstrate the true power that Albion commands. It is called gunpowder."

There was not a great deal to say after that. The emissaries had shown their superior hand, the lords were quaking in their boots, and Julia was feeling more than a little apprehensive. She made a great show of bows and smiles and good wishes and fairly dragged Peter out of the hall.

"That went well, I thought!" he said when they'd returned to their chambers.

"Well! Gunpowder! Weapons beyond their comprehension! Oh, marvelous, marvelous indeed!" Julia paced the room.

"You said the object was to overthrow them."

"I don't know what we're supposed to do, but it certainly didn't involve an explosion in the Great Hall!"

Julia was very close to tears, and it may have turned into a nasty fight indeed had Julia not at that moment realized that she'd left her cloak in the Great Hall. It had lain loosely about her shoulders and, when she had flung herself to the side during the explosion, it had fallen off. She hated to leave it down there where it might be trampled on and she wanted an excuse to get Peter out of her sight, so she announced shortly that she would return soon and fled the chamber.

She stalked moodily down the corridors and down the massive flights of stairs, wishing a little desperately that she had never seen a silver glow in the garden. She didn't know what to do or how to rescue any slaves—and, at the moment, didn't see any reason why she ought to bother. And Peter, throwing around tough words and explosions when he didn't understand what was going on…Peter was just impossible.

It was in such a mood that she once again reached the Great Hall.

Something stopped her from entering—even from knocking. There were voices within. She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently, struggling to hear what they were saying. One voice was dominant—a menacing hiss that she immediately recognized as the Wolf.

"But there is still the risk of revolt from the slaves to deal with," he was saying. "The scouts are still hearing rumors of runaway slaves in the great forest of the west. You will recall that the detachment of guards we sent to find them two months ago never came back, and I fear…" There was a long pause. "I fear those slaves in the forest could be the nucleus of a revolt."

Another, more rasping, voice took over the conversation. The Jackal.

"But with this new weapon we can destroy those slaves in the forest. It will be the end of any revolt!"

"The slaves are not stupid," agreed a third voice. "They'll fall into line as soon as we show our strength. We're safe."

Julia could hear the unmistakable sound of wine being poured from a bottle into glasses, followed by sounds of clinking and coarse laughter. She had heard enough. She melted back into the shadows and retraced her steps to the bedchamber.

Continue to Chapter Eight.