The first thing Marshal Primus did when he got back to his office was send a t-mail text to Gregory deCamp: "Do it now." He then called an emergency t-mail conference of General Tovan Middlebury of the Army, Admiral Althis Portman of the Navy, Commandant Gilbert Tridentwielder of the Marine Corps, as well as all colonels, rear admirals, commodores, and brigadiers. Colonel Siobhan Muttonchop asked if she should simply come to his office (hers being just down the hall from his), but he said that wouldn't be necessary. A few officers' secretaries said their bosses were busy, but he reminded them that he was supreme commander of the military, and insisted they put whatever else they were doing on hold.

Once the entire group was on the line, he began the meeting. "Ladies and gentlemen, war will soon be upon us. I have done all I can to avert it, but the king is clearly mad. Earlier today, he planned to have me killed, by Grand Sorreter Durell Turner. Luckily, that plan failed, and Turner has become a fugitive from the law. However, I do not doubt that King Royal will presently be announcing my termination. As he is still legitimately king, that is well within his rights. And when he does so, I will cease to have any official authority, obviously. However, we've all heard the rumors that he intends to break the law by refusing to step down when his term ends next Win'yet. I didn't want to believe those rumors, but I can now say I am convinced of their veracity. We also know that there is a secret society called the Cabal, which will almost certainly back him up. I don't know the scope of the Cabal's influence, but I must assume that at least a few of you are involved in it. I am not asking any of you to ignore my termination, when it comes, but simply to think carefully before following the inevitable order to keep Royal on the throne by force. We all have a duty to the people of the Second Order, and that duty supersedes all others, including our duty to our monarch, or any other member of government. If you all agree, then war may yet be avoided. If even one of you disagrees, then war there must be. Your thoughts?"

There was a half centhour of silence, followed by an hour of heated debate. About halfway through it, unseen by anyone but Primus, a Sorreter translocated into his office. The Sorreter spoke not a word, but nodded at the marshal, and quietly seated herself. The debate finally ended when a group of soldiers entered Primus's office, led by a major. The Sorreter rose and moved to stand beside the marshal, while the major moved to stand directly in front of Primus's desk. Everyone in the conference suddenly fell silent.

The major announced, "Poss Primus, by order of King Demos Royal, you are hereby relieved of command. You are no longer a member of any branch of the military, and are required to vacate the premises. You may have ten centhours to collect any personal effects."

"Thank you, Major, but I shouldn't be needing more than one centhour. If you don't mind, could you step to one side? You're blocking my call." The major scowled, but did as instructed. Addressing the officers on the bubble-screen, he said, "Well, it looks like my time is up. It's been a fun and hopefully productive meeting, and you may of course each feel free to continue without me, or go back to what you were doing before I called. It's been an honor serving with all of you, and I wish you all the best of luck. Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Close." The screen went blank. Turning to the major, he said, "And good day to you, Major." The Sorreter placed a hand on Primus's shoulder, and the two of them vanished.

Less than an hour after Lt. deCamp had boarded the Java Junk V, he received a call from Poss Primus. "I trust everything went well?" asked the former marshal.

"Exactly as planned. But I'm sure Lt. Bow told you as much."

"She did, though after getting me off the base, she almost immediately vanished again. I'm afraid she's currently no more a lieutenant than I am a marshal."

"So, it happened already. That was fast."

"Indeed, it seems we got Supprus and his people out just in time. How are they, by the way?"

"They'll be alright. Enjoying some lunch as we speak, and looking forward to sleeping in real beds. It'll be at least half a month til we reach our destination, but even ship's cots are better than Woodman's dungeon."

"Well, let's just hope no one figures out where the prisoners have gotten to. I daresay even with a head start, that merchant vessel couldn't outrun one of the Navy's fastest ships."

"Even if they did figure it out, Bow provided us with a cloaking spell like the one Faraway cast on Supprus's SST."

"And look how well that turned out." Primus sighed. "Anyway, until you make port, we should avoid communication, except in case of emergency. Good luck and godspeed, Lieutenant."

"Understood. Though I'm not exactly a lieutenant anymore, myself, sir."

"In that case... you might as well stop calling me 'sir.'"

DeCamp grinned. "Never gonna happen, sir. Close."

Tino had known at once what Ginger meant by 'home'; he immediately translocated her to her mother's house in Plist. Maeve Protestant had been startled to see them suddenly appear, but only slightly. "How did you-?" she began to ask, and Tino replied, "As it turns out, I'm a spirit. But that's not important." Ginger was sitting on the floor, as she'd been sitting on the ground moments ago. Tino helped her stand, and they both sat on the couch, along with Maeve. Maeve took Tino's revelation in stride, and simply asked her daughter what was wrong. Ginger did her best to collect herself, and explained to both of them everything that had just transpired. She was worried that they'd hate her for committing murder- not that she'd never killed before, but this was the first time she'd done so when it wasn't self-defense. Tino reminded her that he'd been willing to kill for her, so he couldn't possibly hold her actions against her. Maeve said she probably would have done the same thing, if she'd suddenly found out who was responsible for her husband's death.

Despite their efforts to console her, she felt light-headed, exhausted, wracked with a jumble of conflicting emotions: aside from her guilt over what she'd done, the reminder of her father's death had reopened a painful old wound, which led to satisfaction at having killed Seth, and guilt over that satisfaction. She was afraid of being arrested, yet desired to be punished for her crime. She was afraid of what others would think of her, and of what she thought of herself. She thought of her conversation with God, who had said everyone would do things of which He'd disapprove; she wondered if He'd known she was going to do this, or if it was one of the spoilers He avoided. She also remembered He said He loved everyone in spite of their actions, but she didn't feel deserving of His love, right now. To top it all off, she thought of that InterVil agent back in Tanq, who had questioned the morality of adventurers such as herself killing even in self-defense. His smug self-righteousness had offended her at the time, but now she couldn't help wondering if he was right. After all, seeking out adventure sometimes brought about the need for self-defense, in situations that might not normally arise. It wasn't as if such acts hadn't troubled her at all, but perhaps the sense of justification she'd allowed herself had desensitized her, made her capable of outright murder. If she'd never become an adventurer, would she have been able to take Seth Manager's life without hesitation?

All these thoughts and more swirled in her head, but she voiced none of them. Instead she simply went to bed and cried herself to sleep, not waking for more than a few centhours at a time until nearly twenty-four hours later. Though it was lunch time by then, her mother cooked her breakfast. While she ate, Tino told her he'd called Emma and told her where they were, while their friends were still en route to Triscot. Ginger said she should call Emma herself, to apologize for pushing her away yesterday, but Tino told her not to be ridiculous. He was sure Emma understood.

After breakfast, Ginger went out for a walk, alone. As she passed by all the familiar buildings, she began to realize how much she missed the old neighborhood. Eventually, she found herself standing in front of the church where her father had preached, throughout her youth. She hesitated for a bit, but finally decided to go in. She wasn't expecting to find anyone there on a Ha'day afternoon, and at first it seemed she was alone. She sat in her family's old pew, which her mother still used every We'ginday.

After a few centhours, someone sat down beside her. She'd been lost in thought, and hadn't heard anyone approach. Startled, she turned around to see a familiar face. "Oh! Bishop Brushmaker! I didn't know anyone was here."

The Protestant bishop of Plist smiled at her. "And I certainly didn't expect to see you, Ginger. When did you get into town?"

"Just today. No, I mean yesterday. It's all rather blurred. I don't..." she trailed off, as no more words came to mind. She turned away, feeling that she might start crying again, and didn't want the bishop to see.

But Brushmaker could tell something was wrong, so she asked about it. Ginger wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, but she supposed her subconscious must have led her to this place for a reason. So she took a deep breath, and told her story. It occurred to her halfway through that Brushmaker could turn her in to the police, but she decided she didn't care. It didn't matter that Seth Manager had been a gangster, or that he'd been responsible for the deaths of her father and countless other Protestants during the war, and God knew how many innocent people over the years since then. She was guilty of murder, and she deserved to go to jail. She doubted she'd turn herself in for the crime, but if the bishop did so, she wouldn't resist. When it came to trial, she'd plead guilty.

She told all that to Brushmaker, but the bishop said she had no intention of turning Ginger in. "God forgive me, but I believe I would have done the same, in your place. In fact, so would the majority of Plistians, I think. And I don't think many of them would feel any remorse about it. I'm not sure what that says about us... perhaps just that we're human. None of us are capable of perfection but God, and even He chose to become imperfect."

"It's possible to be imperfect and still not be a murderer," said Ginger.

"True. And you're quite right to feel guilty. I'm not even going to say you don't deserve to go to prison for what you did. But you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in this town who'd put you there. My advice to you- and I daresay it's wicked advice- is whenever you feel guilty, think of the countless people who would have been justified in killing that man in genuine self-defense, but didn't have the chance. All the people who simply died, whether by his hand or by his command. Think also of the fact that any judge would almost certainly have sentenced him to death for his crimes. And does a judge truly have greater moral authority than anyone else? I'm not saying everyone should take the law into their own hands, that would be chaos." She paused for a moment at that word, but chose to ignore it and continue. "There's a reason we have laws and courts, a very good reason. Even if judges have no higher moral authority, presumably they have greater, well, judiciousness, than the average citizen. Still, there's little doubt that the law would have condemned him to death, so on some level... how can what you did really be unlawful?"

"And yet, it is. For good reason, as you say."

"Well, if you feel that strongly about it... I advise you to turn yourself in. But let me ask you this: suppose a judge were to acquit you. Would you feel less guilty?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little. But not completely."

"And suppose he sentenced you to prison. Would you feel less guilty then?"

"I... don't know. Maybe a little. But not completely."

"Doesn't sound to me like it makes a difference, then."

"But... I.... it's not just a matter of how I feel. It's about what's right. What I deserve."

"And do you believe you deserve to be punished for his death more than he deserved to die?"

Ginger thought about that for just a few seconds before replying with a very firm "No."

"Then I'd say the guilt you feel is punishment enough. See what I mean? Wicked," she said with a devilish grin. "It's a wonder they made someone like me bishop."

Ginger rolled her eyes, then chuckled. "You know, you remind me of Tino."

"Ah yes, fine lad. You should bring him to church this We'ginday, if he's in town, too."

"He is. And I'm sure we'll be here, Bishop."

"Good. And Ginger? It's been years since your mother called me anything but 'Christie.' Maybe it's time you started doing the same."

Ginger smiled at her. "We'll be here, Christie."

Darius and the others arrived back in Triscot on Penul'day afternoon, and found that construction on a new manor was already underway. The underground caves had all been demolished, along with evidence of electric lights. (Darius reassured himself that while his family had technically been breaking one of the same laws as the Cabal, their infraction had been entirely benign.) They also found that Chief Magistrate Justicar had paid a visit to his old students, Lucia and Kuris. Justicar was leaving just as the Band's wagon landed. Before he climbed into his own carriage, he tipped his hat to Darius and said, "Good day, young man."

"Good day, sir," said Darius with a nod. As the carriage drove off, Darius asked his aunt and uncle about the purpose of the visit.

"Mostly catching up on various personal matters," said Lucia. "Saying he's glad we're alive, and all that. Although he also said he's been working on arranging a pardon for your friend Tiejo."

"The law has become a very tenuous thing, of late," said Kuris, "but it's become quite clear that there is a cabal, and it seems reasonable to believe they had ordered all of your deaths. So Thomas believes it shouldn't be difficult to make the case that Tiejo acted in self-defense, whether it goes to trial or not."

"And anyway," said Lucia, "there are more prominent legal issues dominating both the court system and the media, right now. Durell Turner has disappeared, and so have his wife and son. They haven't been charged with anything, but it does seem as if they were aware of Durell's actions."

"Well, I guess it's nice to know you can count on family," said Darius. "No matter who you are or what you've done."

Kuris laughed. "True enough. Meanwhile, Mallory Secundus has confessed her part in influencing InterVil to take actions against you, a few months ago, and issued a public apology. She plans to step down as Chief Councillor of Monab, and also offered to resign as her village's bishop, if the people wanted it. So far, it doesn't look like they do. But she's suggested a repeal of the special dispensation that allows spirit-talkers in Monab and Sorret to hold political office. She says she's come to believe Separation of Church and State should apply to all villages."

"Sounds good to me."

"Oh, Alec, you'll be interested in this," said Lucia. "Poss Primus was fired from the military, but disappeared."

"Do you mean... someone disappeared him? Or-"

"No no, he's apparently gone into hiding. But before he did, it seems he arranged the release of your friend and his platoon. No one knows where they are, now, either."

"That's great news," Alec said with a broad smile.

"It certainly is," agreed Darius. "Now... where is the clan staying? They can't be underground, and surely they're not all at Evan Wayfarer's place."

"Oh, here and there," said Lucia. "A few with 'Evan,' some with Ani or Monn. Some with Lance and Brynne. Some even went to Tanq to stay with West."

"Ah."

"As for us," said Kuris, "we've been staying at the Wayfarer estate with your parents and sister, but I've been in touch with my family in Kurok, and I expect we and the boys will go there, at some point."

"Makes sense," said Darius. "So, how did your trip go?" asked Lucia. "And where's Ginger?"

"She decided to go to Plist, to visit her mother. As for our trip, I suppose the important thing is we're all still alive."

"Went that well, did it?" asked Kuris.

"Hey, if we hadn't gone, Primus might be dead by now."

"Wait, you saved his life? How'd that come about?"

"I'd like to hear that, myself," said Tom. "Because that's not the way I remember it."

"The way I see it, our presence delayed Demos and Durell's plans long enough for Gothic and Mastera to show up. Sure, Durell would have been wanted by the police either way, but if we weren't there, he might've killed Primus and gone home before they showed up."

"And the Sorret police might've arrested him at home, instead of giving him a chance to go on the lam," said Cameron.

Darius glared at him. "Always a cloud with your silver linings, isn't there?"

Emma laughed. "Look who's talking."

"Yeah, yeah... But I think Primus being alive is more important than Durell being in jail. His time will come. Meanwhile, we're going to need Primus, if we have any chance of beating Demos in the coming war."

"Also, it would suck for a nice guy like that to have been killed," said Emma.

"Yeah, that too. Meanwhile... we should get some lunch. Who's up for the Jasmine Dragon?"

Before anyone could answer, Luni, Kar, and Tor came running up, all of them shouting, "Darius!"

"Hey, guys, what's up?" asked Darius.

Luni said, "Nelly took us into town, and we went to a bubble theater-"

He was interrupted by Tor, who exclaimed, "They played a video of you and Tom! It was awesome!"

"Me and Darius?" asked Tom. "What were we doing in the video?"

Kar said, "Fighting that Sorreter at the nightclub."

"Oh, that," said Tom. "Yeah, that was awesome."

"That was almost two weeks ago, though," said Darius. "Why is it just playing now? Or... has it been playing all this time, and this is just the first we're hearing of it?"

Luni said, "I asked about that, and this guy who worked there said someone had brought the recording to them a couple days after it happened, but the theater's manager was worried people would say it was political propa-something-or-other."

"Propaganda," suggested Darius.

"Yeah. Sounds interesting, I'd like to learn more about that. But anyway, they started playing the video yesterday, since everyone knows now that Durell guy is a bad guy, because he killed that Kizin guy a couple years ago, so it doesn't matter if it's him or one of his people trying to abduct Cameron, because... well, because we already know he's bad."

"It was awesome!" Tor reiterated.

"Yeah," said Kar. "Everyone was talking about it. You guys are famous, now!"

"Oh, hurrah," said Darius with a hint of sarcasm. "Just what I always wanted."

"Oh, were you expecting to maintain your anonymity after planning a rebellion, getting captured by the Army, escaping, announcing all this to the world, and then breaking into the royal throne room to threaten the king?" asked Tom with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Darius grinned. "Hadn't given it much thought, really. Probably should have."

"Anyway," said Emma, "were we going to go to lunch, or what?"

"Um, yeah. I just hope we don't get mobbed by fans...."

A quiet alarm sounded in Poss Primus's study, the moment the visitor reached the edge of his farm in Kimrin. He knew the Army would think to look for him here, even though he'd only rarely spent any time here, over the past decade. Still, he found it convenient, since he'd long ago had a magical security system installed, and could easily repel most intruders, or else have time to retire to a secret room no one could possibly find. And if it came to a battle, every worker on the farm would be ready to fight alongside him. However, today's visitor was expected, for he'd invited him personally. When the alarm notified him of the visitor's presence on the property, Poss went to greet him at the front door. The early warning had simply given him ample time to reach the door before the visitor did, so that he opened it just as the visitor was about to knock.

Capp Primus unclenched his fist, and lowered his hand. "Brother, it's been a long time." With a wry grin he added, "You got old."

"You're no spring chicken, yourself. Well, come in."

Capp followed his older brother into the kitchen, glancing around the room as he did so. "I like what you've done with the place. Still looks like home, but... there are subtle changes."

"I'm almost as much a guest here as you; the house belongs to the foreman and his family, now." He sat down at the table, and Capp sat opposite him.

"Of course. Jerry still working here, after all these years, or is it someone new?"

"His son, Bruce, runs the farm. Jerry's still around, but he's retired."

"Ah. If I recall, he was just seven years older than me. Seems a bit young for retirement. I know, I'm not a kid anymore, but look at you! 68, and not ready for retirement yet, I expect. I know you're enjoying some time off right now, but I'm confident you'll be back in the proverbial saddle before long."

Poss sighed deeply. "Capp, I didn't invite you here for small talk. I've been thinking about something Darius Lonewander said to me, the other day. Said we both seem like decent people, you and I. And of course, he mentioned the coincidence that we both ended up being of some degree of help to him. I believe he was going to suggest we attempt a reconciliation, but he knew I didn't want to talk about you, so... he stopped short of actually saying that. Still, perhaps it is time we talked. Like you said, it's been a long time. I'm tired, bone-tired, of being angry at you. So, please... say something that will make me stop."

"It's been twenty-six years, Poss. If you haven't forgiven me by now, I can't imagine what I might say to stop you blaming me for their deaths. Especially since I'll never stop blaming myself."

"Oh, hell, I stopped blaming you for that a long time ago. Mostly. It was at least partly your fault, but mostly it was an accident, and you couldn't have anticipated it. I know that. What I've never understood is why, instead of taking that incident as a wake-up call, and changing your ways, you did the exact opposite. Became a full-time gangster, even before the Coming made it a job instead of a kid's game. It was your involvement in a gang that led to the accident that killed our parents, so I'd think you would've wanted nothing more to do with gangs, ever."

"That's the thing, I did change. Up til then, I had no direction, no purpose. It was our parents' death that made me finally realize what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to make sure no other kids turned out like me. Poss, there have always been gangs, and there always will be. I certainly didn't anticipate what the word would come to mean, thirteen years later, but I'm glad I chose the path I did. Otherwise I wouldn't have been in a position to found LandOrder. Like you said, being in gangs used to be a kid's game, but even in the old days, bad things could happen. People could get hurt. I wanted to ensure that the kids in our village, at least, played the game with some rules, some discipline... order, rather than just chaos." He chuckled at that. "No pun intended. The point is, I wanted to make sure the kind of thing that happened to our parents would never again happen to anyone else, because of the gang. And when I learned about the Order's plans for the future of gangs in 899, I knew it was going to become far more dangerous than any game. It was then that I saw a chance to extend my own local gang's discipline to gangs in other villages. Can you imagine if inter-village gangs were run by people who had no concern for innocents? I'm not saying we don't do bad things, and I can't claim innocents don't get hurt. But things could be so much worse than they are. Believe me, brother, I'd love for gangs to go back to what they were before the Coming. But that's simply not going to happen. All I can do is try to minimize the harm they cause. If you can't accept that, I'll understand. But I've done the best I can."

Poss was silent for a couple of centhours. Finally he said, "I can't condone what you are, but I understand. And I am grateful to finally possess that understanding. And... I'm not angry, anymore. Damn, I wish we could have had this conversation years ago. But, I suppose it wouldn't have made any real difference. I might have felt better, but we still would have been on opposite sides of the law. It's not like we would have sat down to any family dinners together."

"I suppose not. But at the moment, it's hard to say exactly what the 'law' even is."

"We do live in interesting times, and that's a fact. So, about Lonewander: are you planning to help him if he goes to war against Demos?"

"Kind of wish I could, especially if his words led to this little détente. Alas, I have more immediate concerns of my own. What about you?"

"I don't see as I'll have much choice. Honestly, I don't know what to think of him and his friends, but part of me thinks he belongs in jail just as much as you do. No offense."

"None taken. I know where I belong."

"But neither of you belong in jail as much as Demos, Woodman, Durell, or whoever else is involved in that damned cabal. And if those rebels can help make that happen, well... I'm going to need all the help I can get. So, I expect I'll help them. Hard to say at this point who'll be more helpful to whom."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure that if my people did help the Chaos, that would tip the scales so that the help their allies provided you was greater than that which your allies provided them. So LandOrder not getting involved in the war means you're that much more likely to be the bigger help."

Poss looked at him quizzically. "How could that possibly console me?"

"Uhhmm... I have no idea. Sorry I mentioned it."

They both lapsed into silence for a centhour. Finally, Capp said, "Well, this is getting awkward. So unless you had anything else to talk about, I should be going."

"Yes, I think you should."

"But this has been good. Perhaps we can talk again, sometime."

"Perhaps." They both rose, and Capp proffered his hand. Poss hesitated a few seconds, but then shook his hand. "Take care, brother."

"You too, brother," said Capp. "And good luck with your war." He opened the door, then turned to take one last look around the room. "And do tell Jerry, or Bruce, or whoever, the old place looks good. Maybe I'll get to see some more of it, one of these days." With that, he departed.

"Something's been nagging at me ever since I saw the recording of Demos and Deadzone," said Gillian Mancer. "I couldn't put my finger on it until last night, though. Demos mentioned something happening over twenty years before he joined the Cabal. He dismissed the matter before making it clear what he meant, so... I didn't give it any conscious thought, myself. It seemed far less important than the more clear-cut things they were discussing, in any event. But last night, I realized that was what had been bothering me. When I thought about it, I realized he must have known all those years ago that he would be king someday, which seems impossible. Back then, the Black Prophets were the only ones who could have known that he- well, that anyone would be king. So I began studying all of our records from several years that would fit into the rough time frame he was alluding to, and found nothing. I started wondering if perhaps some incident involving Demos had been intentionally withheld from the records. And... I have sometimes felt that my mother knew more about certain matters than is common knowledge, even within the inner circle of the BP. So I asked her if she had any idea what Demos was talking about, and she said there are some questions best left unasked. She seemed a bit sad, at first, but when I persisted in questioning her, she got angry, and demanded that I drop the matter, for my own good. But I can't do that. Her reaction made me more determined than ever to find the truth, and I was wondering if you might have any ideas."

Dirk Noir paused to consider his response. "Hmmm... nothing comes to mind, though I could consult my father's private journals. Wait here a moment."

He went into another room, returning to the den a few centhours later with a small chest. Setting it on the coffee table, he opened the chest with an enchanted key, and withdrew several books. He found the one from the appropriate time period, and began skimming through it. After awhile, he stopped skimming and began reading very carefully. A few centhours later, he stopped, put the book down, sighed, and rubbed his face. He was silent for a time, then looked at Gillian and said, "I'm sorry. Please believe me when I say, I had no idea about any of this."

"Any of what?"

"It happened in 881. It doesn't sound as if Father knew whether Demos had learned of his destiny or not, but he thought it was possible he had."

"But how would he have learned that?"

"From your father."

Gillian's eyes widened. "My- wait. That was the year my father died. Mother never told me exactly how it happened. Years later, I looked through the records, and found few details, except that it happened in Monab, during that year's Pilgrimage. Now you're telling me he told Demos he'd be king someday? Why would he do that?"

"At the time, there was a debate about whether Demos should be allowed to become king. That also isn't in the records, so it comes as a shock to me. I mean, how could we possibly debate something that the future had already told us was going to happen? But according to my father's journal, your father was against it. Father himself had no idea why Rhys was so insistent on going against what we knew would eventually happen. Anyway, my father thought the matter had been resolved, but during the Pilgrimage, he got a call from one of our people saying that Demos was in Monab, which we hadn't expected. There was some concern that, having lost the argument, Rhys would take matters into his own hands by killing Demos, then and there. So Father ordered his man to do whatever was necessary to prevent that. As it turned out, it became necessary to kill Rhys, in order to save Demos's life." Dirk paused a moment, to let the information sink in. Gillian's countenance became troubled, but she said nothing, waiting for Dirk to continue. "As I said, Father didn't know whether Rhys had told Demos the truth, but it seems reasonable to assume that he did. Your father was an honorable man- as honorable as any of us Black Prophets can be- so I would assume he explained to Demos why he was about to kill him. However, before he could act, Father's man showed up, and... stopped him. The whole matter of the debate, and your father's actions, and how he died, all that was left out of our official records. According to the journal, there was no need for future Black Prophets to know any of this, because it had no effect on our ultimate mission. And he wanted to spare your father, as well as your mother and yourself, the indignity of Rhys being remembered as a traitor to the cause." He paused again before adding, "For the record, I don't consider him a traitor. I'm sure he had good reasons for his actions, even if I can't imagine what they might have been."

"It's not like any of us liked the idea of Demos being king," said Gillian. "Maybe... he just wanted to spare the world... the war that's about to happen, which surely wouldn't, if anyone else had been king."

"Perhaps. But we all know the war has to happen, which is why Demos had to become king."

"True. And yet it occurs to me... the war is now inevitable. Demos has served his purpose. He really doesn't need to live any longer." She sighed. "I can't blame your father for ordering my father's death-"

"I don't think he-"

"I mean, giving an order that included the possibility of my father's death. And I can't blame the one who carried it out. I can't blame the BP in general. I suppose I can't even really blame Demos; it's not like he could have known my father's own people would kill him. I know it's irrational, but I can't help wanting him to die, to balance the scales. My father, a man who deserved to live, died so that Demos, a man who deserved to die, could live. If you order me not to exact revenge, I promise you I won't. But, Dirk-"

"You're right. He has served his purpose. And the future has not told us anything about exactly when or how he dies. We may have speculated that he'd be involved in some of the events of the next couple of decades, but in the absence of any clear indication that that's so, I see no reason to stop you from doing what you feel is right. I do urge you to take some time to think about it. And whatever you decide, please... be careful. Our fathers were friends, and I know how much it must have pained mine to give that order, and to live with the consequences. I have no desire to lose you, my friend. We both know history has a tendency to repeat itself."

She clasped his shoulder, looked him in the eyes, and forced a wobbly smile onto her lips. "Don't worry, old friend. I'll be careful. I promise. And thank you for helping me finally learn the truth."

Mr. Yellow had spent the last few days trying to find a time when all the senior members of the Cabal could take part in a conference, but they were all quite busy, and more concerned than ever about guarding the secret of their membership in the group. It wasn't until We'yetday evening that the meeting finally convened via t-mail, and even then, there were but nine members instead of the usual twelve. As usual, the meeting was audio-only.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for finally finding the time in your busy schedules to make a simple t-mail call. First, I should like to address the matter of our declining numbers. We lost Ms. Brown awhile ago, and it has been a few days since anyone has heard from Mr. Grey. I fear he may have shared a fate similar to that of Mr. Illustri and Mr. Sanguine. I have also recently learned that the other Mr. Illustri no longer has any interest in membership. He has assured me that we can count on his silence, and I believe him, particularly given how little he actually knows about any of us. Even more recently, we have temporarily lost Mr. Purple. I feel I should inform you that those who suspected Mr. Purple was Durell Turner, were mistaken. Nevertheless, Durell was a valuable asset, whose assistance we sometimes enjoyed due to Mr. Purple's connection to him. I have been in contact with Mr. Purple, who is currently preoccupied with personal matters, but he assures me he intends to remain at the service of this council, if and when we deem it essential to call upon him.

"I know many of you have been wondering when I'll find replacements for those who have left our ranks. However, I'm afraid it is not the most propitious of times to be taking on new members. You yourselves have proven wary of fulfilling the duties that come with membership, for fear of exposing yourselves, so you can no doubt understand how difficult it would be for me to convince anyone new to join, not to mention how perilous it would be for me to risk exposing myself by even trying. It has been suggested that we promote certain mid-level members to senior positions, and I intend to take that under advisement. But you will recall that this council has not always consisted of twelve members, so I see no great need to return to that number, for the immediate future. There'll be time enough for that after the war... assuming we win."

"Speaking of which," said Mr. Cyan, "I trust you have a plan in mind to ensure that our subordinates actually follow the orders Mr. Magenta and I will be issuing, when the time comes. Some of them will simply follow orders without question, but undoubtedly some will need to believe those orders are just. Considering Mr. Gold is currently claiming the rumors that he'll refuse to abdicate next year are lies perpetrated by his enemies, it's hard to imagine most soldiers not questioning why we should support him when he does refuse to step down."

"Hang it all!" exclaimed Gold. "This is exactly why I was against destroying the SST's, and why I was against their not being armed, in the first place. We need any advantage we can get for those we know are loyal to us. Ms. Green, do you suppose you could persuade Ms. Demontalk to ask her spirit friends if they might supply us with nuclear weapons?"

"Mr. Gold," replied Ms. Green calmly, "I wouldn't dream of such a thing."

Gold quickly got his temper under control, and chuckled. "But of course, I was only joking."

"Ah. Perhaps humans and elves have somewhat different senses of humor."

"In any event," said Mr. Yellow, "Mr. Cyan is quite correct. I do have a plan, a perfectly simple one. And events, thus far, have mostly gone according to that plan. The main problem is not justifying our actions, it is determining precisely whom to act against. We can hardly have Mr. Cyan and Mr. Magenta stand before their soldiers and sailors and ask, 'Okay, show of hands, who wants to fight on the side of the Cabal and who wants to fight against it?' No, we must motivate our enemies to take clear action against us, so that we may see who they are. Alas, the way I had originally intended to accomplish this was recently bungled by Mr. Gold."

"That wasn't my fault. If Cirna Mastera hadn't discovered, God only knows how, that Durell had killed Kizin-"

Mr. Yellow cut Gold short with, "However, it was a simple matter to only slightly amend my original plan. Mr. Gold may have retained some faint hope that Marshal Primus would come to see things our way, but I was certain he would not. Had the Chaos, and subsequently Mastera and Gothic, not shown up at the palace, Durell would have killed Primus. A plausible explanation for his death would have been given, but it would not have satisfied our enemies. And in particular, it would have turned his staunchest allies in the military against the Cabal. Surely, there would be an outcry for Demos's impeachment, and the arrest of Durell and any known or suspected member of the Cabal who supported them. But, as I said, our explanation would have been plausible. It is a known fact that Primus not only sympathized with the Chaos, he also was doing all he could to protect the traitor, Colonel Supprus. I am confident the majority of the military would have believed Demos when he said Primus had become a traitor himself, and tried to assassinate the king. Demos, of course, would say it was a shame Durell had been forced to kill Primus, in defense of the king, as he had always liked and respected the marshal. Unfortunately, it was apparent that Primus had fallen under the sway of the king's enemies, the very ones who were spreading the slanderous rumors that Demos and the Cabal intended to hold the throne by force. So... our enemies would attack us, and our allies would defend us. But, obviously that didn't happen, so we had to settle for firing Primus. Luckily, he did just as I expected, and had his people free Supprus's platoon, which only further demonstrated that he'd turned traitor. And then he went into hiding, which makes him look even more guilty."

"But that still wouldn't be enough to start a war over," said Mr. Magenta.

"I should think not," agreed Mr. Yellow. "However, Primus was not the only one who supported the rebels. The one who actually granted them their freedom was Commissioner Gothic. It would be difficult to officially accuse him of being a traitor without seeming to be motivated by self-interest, since he's currently investigating the Cabal, but at the very least we could cast aspersions on him. It has also come to my attention that Chief Magistrate Justicar has had several communications with both Primus and Gothic, and has acted as another advocate of the Chaos. And more recently, he's been arranging a pardon for Tiejo Streetrat, the member of the Chaos who actually confessed to killing Macen Illustri and Zeke Sanguine. I therefore believe it would be appropriate for King Demos to fire Justicar, and for the Army to arrest him as a traitor, under the Counter-insurgency Act. Naturally, we would comply with InterVil's inevitable request to oversee the military trial of Justicar, as a show of good faith, even though the proposed amendment to the act has yet to be voted on."

"Good start," said Mr. Magenta, "but I'm still not sure that's going far enough. People are even less likely to turn against us, with all that 'show of good faith' stuff."

"That is for the benefit of those we hope to keep on our side. For those we want to turn against us-"

His words were interrupted by a sudden shout of "Demos!" Everyone wondered what was going on, but the exclamation was soon followed by more angry words. "You're the reason my father is dead."

"And you would be?" Demos asked the woman who had appeared in his office.

"My name is Gillian Mancer. My father was Rhys."

"Ah. I assume you're here to kill me, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with your father's death."

"I know it's not your fault he died, not directly. But he died that you might live. That is an injustice, whether you caused it intentionally or not. It is incumbent upon me to correct that injustice."

"I must say, it's a very old vendetta you've got there. May I ask why you've chosen this particular moment to avenge him?"

"Because I just learned-" She froze at the sudden pressure of a hand on her shoulder, and turned to face whoever it was. She expected royal guards, and was fully prepared to deal with them. However, she saw a solitary man, who was clearly no guard. It was a face she had recently come to know well, through repeated viewing of a certain recording.

"René, so good to see you again," said Demos. "Excellent timing. Have you met Ms. Mancer?"

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

There weren't many Sorreters on the Land who could have frightened Gillian; perhaps three or four, at most. But she knew what he was capable of. She'd heard from Dirk of a certain spell that had been devised by Durell, a spell that could instantly negate all her precautions. The hand he'd placed on her shoulder- She immediately attempted to raise a force field, and found she could not. She was right: he'd blocked her chakra. She could do no magic. In desperation, she swung a fist, which Deadzone deftly caught and twisted behind her back, turning her around as he did so. She now stood facing Demos. Deadzone took hold of her other wrist, and held that behind her, as well.

"Ms. Mancer," said Demos, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Truly, I am. But I can't have you trying to kill me. Under other circumstances it might be a fun diversion, but at present, I'm afraid I can't handle any distractions. Things are complicated, and they're about to become even more so."

"Please-"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Mancer. René, I hate to have to ask this of you, but could you see to it she never bothers me again?"

"Of course." Deadzone translocated away, taking Gillian with him.

Demos returned his attention to the conference. "Mr. Cyan, I assume you sent Mr. Deadzone. I thank you for your swift reaction."

"Of course," replied Cyan.

"And Mr. Yellow," said Demos, "it seems the timing of this conference was fortuitous. If I'd been truly alone just now, I might be dead. Mr. Black, I believe that woman worked for you. Really, if you can't control your subordinates better than that-"

"She wasn't acting on my orders," said Mr. Black, ignoring the sudden reeling in his head that came with the realization that his oldest friend must now be dead, and that he might have prevented it.

"Didn't say she was. I know perfectly well that your people, in general, don't want me dead. Still, you should have foreseen that this could become an issue, and taken steps to prevent it. Mr. Yellow, I know you're concerned about our declining numbers, but this might be a good time to rethink whether Mr. Black's inclusion in our ranks is entirely profitable to our cause. Nothing personal, Mr. Black."

"Oh, I quite understand," said Black. "And I apologize for Gillian's actions. However, I agree that I no longer belong in your ranks. Ladies and gentlemen, best of luck to you all. Close." His connection terminated; once alone, he vomited, then screamed, then cried. Finally, he wondered what the hell he was going to tell Gillian's mother.

"Well," said Demos immediately after Mr. Black left the conference, "I wasn't expecting that. Anyway, Mr. Cyan, I wonder if I might ask you to assign Mr. Deadzone to me as a personal bodyguard, at least for the duration of the war. It seems I could use one."

"I shall ask Colonel Woodman if he can spare him," said Cyan.

"Thank you. Now, you were saying, Mr. Yellow?"

"Ah yes. To force our enemies into action, we shall have the street rat killed. Unless there are any objections?"

They all agreed that this made perfect sense. Thus their business was concluded, and everyone closed their connection. Mr. Yellow would soon make the necessary arrangements, though he first took a few centhours for some quiet reflection on a different, but not unrelated matter.

Demos, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair and pondered an eventful night thirty-one years past. After a few centhours, he laughed and said to himself, "So that's why he did it, I bet: to prevent this. 'Wouldn't understand,' my ass; if I was in his place, I'm sure I'd have done the same. Ah, self-fulfilling prophecies, the fools you make of us all...."

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