The shores were barely visible at the side, but they were there.

“That’s the Americas?” Jonas asked.

“The name’s Nova Scotia, but it is. They merged it with the other provinces around when they grabbed it but kept the name. I guess Latin was good enough. If it had been named New Scotland…” Captain Boyle speculated.

“Been there, Captain?”

“I’ve been a few times,” he replied before shutting down.

Lieutenant Bollen came up to Jonas. After the relatively short squall had ended, the three cavalry officer had started to recover quickly, and Jonas’ aide-de-camp had finally shown up on top after a week down. He still looked unsteady and slightly pale, but he now had enough willpower to move around.

“Are we far from our destination, Captain?” he asked.

“About a day. We’ll lose sight of the land again soon, but we should reach Rhode Island tonight. We should reach the port in New York City by late morning tomorrow,” he replied.

“Good. We won’t have to wait overmuch, then,” Jonas said.

“About that, Sir. Best not to get your hopes up.”

“Why, Bollen? I mean, their President himself signed the invitation. In person,” Jonas replied, surprised.

“And if you read the acceptance letter, you are invited for a visit… but they do not mention any details about that visit.”

Jonas frowned.

“It is implied, of course. But it is not explicit. I would expect them to try to find out more before they let you do whatever you’re supposed to do. I assume it deals with their Gate to the Labyrinth or their first Zone, since that’s the obvious implication of coming to New York instead of Washington City, but…”

Bollen quickly cut Jonas as the Professional was starting to speak.

“Don’t tell me. If it’s confidential, then…”

“As you said, it’s obvious. And if you’re supposed to help me, you do need to know what I’m after. So yes, I’ve come to see their Gate. At least.”

“Just see, Sir?”

“Just see. The Duke said something about making sure I don’t muck with their Gate, and you might be right about the Colonials stringing me along for a while, but that’s really all I need to do. Get a good view of the Gate. I probably need to be close enough to see it well, I remember back in Gatepost we couldn’t see it with just…”

“Don’t give me the details. Make sure you get a clear view. Got that.”

Jonas sighed. Cloak and dagger stuff was not what he really was about. But he could admit that such a strategically important – and irreplaceable – thing like a Great Gilded Gate would make everyone nervous.

Avery Randell found himself waiting for a British ship to discharge its Professionals on American soil again. Well, a single Professional in this case, but it still made him nervous. Of course, this time, the visiting Professional was expected, and he was not in charge. There was a Jonathan Atkinson, a highly placed man at the Gate Office, delegated by the Secretary himself, Tompkins. But the Lieutenant General wanted to keep watch on things happening in the State, and thus Randell found himself again on a quay at the southern tip of Manhattan.

A man came running to the waiting delegation, handing a message to Atkinson. The official looked at the notice quickly before addressing the people present.

“Watchers at the Long Island tip managed to snatch a view. They noted a robed man on the ship’s bridge.”

“So, either the Hospitaler or the Aetherist.”

“And I’m pretty certain it will be the Aetherist,” added another man.

Atkinson turned toward the Professional that had just spoken.

“The file about their team says that Jonas Sims is their team leader. That’s the kind of man you’d send on a mission if you are Professionals. Team leaders are usually the ones that adapt in combat and make the tactical or the strategic decisions. Plus, if you split a team, sending away your defence or healer cripples your ability. So… it’s going to be Sims.”

“You’re sure, Blackeye?” the Gate Office man insisted.

“My Professional opinion, Mr Atkinson,” Steadfast Pathmaker John Blackeye replied.

“Okay. Then option A it is. You stay here to be the official figure and face of the American Professionals…”

“Of course I am.”

“… and the rest of you have other places to be and things to do now. Get on with it, people.”

Jonas found a small gaggle of people gathered at the bottom of the ramp to the ship, their breath steaming in the cold morning. He made his way down, watching the Americans waiting for him. None of them looked… well, except for the tall man to the side. He was pretty sure this man was a Professional, even though his clothes did not look the part. You could do a lot of things, but turning down your Presence was hard. Doable, but hard.

“Welcome to the United States of America, Mister…?”

“Sims. Solid Aethershaper Jonas Sims.”

Jonas noticed the well-suppressed slight start of the man he suspected to be a Professional.

“I thought you were notified of my arrival?”

“Of a distinguished Professional, not specifically of you. But do not worry, Mr Sims, we have prepared everything you might need for your stay, regardless.”

“Well, I hope I will not be too much of a bother. You are?”

“Oh, sorry. I am Jonathan Atkinson, personal assistant to the Gate Office Secretary himself, Mr Tompkins. Mr Tompkins would have come to greet you, but he’s away to Washington. He is commuting often between here and the Federal capital. I will be your main liaison with the Office for the duration.”

“I am Avery Randell, deputy for the Lieutenant General of the State, and here to make sure New York properly welcomes you.”

Jonas started to feel a little overwhelmed. He had no real idea how the American government was structured, but it did look like quite a lot of important people were quite preoccupied with him. He should have expected it, but it still came as a surprise for someone who, six months ago, was a leatherworker apprentice in a small outfit at the edges of London.

The other two men present were quickly introduced, and then Atkinson turned to the last man, the one Jonas suspected to be the only Professional in the group.

“And here is…”

“I’m Steadfast Pathmaker John Henry Blackeye, of the Lenape. It’s a pleasure to meet yet another British Professional,” he said, offering his wrist.

Jonas took a peek at the man’s descriptor and nearly whistled. A tier seven Professional, as the Profession name hinted. With hundred more levels than Cowen or her team, which had been the highest Professionals he’d ever met.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Steadfast Pathmaker,” Jonas managed to reply. “Another?”

“I got to escort the last ones who came through New York. Which, now that I think of it, were also the first ones.”

“Ah, it is a small world after all.”

“There are not that many Professionals around. Us old-timers that have been plying its zones since the first days are bound to bounce against each other. Here, or in the high tiers.”

The lieutenant Bollen chose that moment to drop – slightly loudly – his baggage, including Jonas bag that he had insisted he had to carry “for proper etiquette”.

“Ah. The lieutenant here is Mr Bollen, who accompany me. And here are Mr Ahern and Mr Manning. They are here to make sure everything goes well.”

Atkinson smiled at that.

“Ah, then we will probably meet quite a bit. We didn’t know how many people would be there, but we made sure there were rooms at the Westchester. If you want to accompany me, then. It’s not too far, but there’s a couple of horse carriages so you do not have to carry your luggage all the way.”

“I thought the Gate would be further…” Jonas started.

“We will see about the Gate later, Mr Sims. As you can expect, there are some people at my Office that are cautious, and we have many details about your visit to settle yet. So the Westchester is a good hotel not far from the port, and it will serve as your accommodations for the duration.”

Jonas and Bollen exchanged glances, with the lieutenant hinting “told you so”. For Jonas, it felt a bit disappointing. But he dutifully followed the Gate Office man toward the end of the quay.

“What was that about,” Atkinson hissed at John Blackeye as the group started loading the carriages.

“Trust me. He’ll probably react better to one fellow Professional seeming to help than a mundane official whose importance he has no idea about,” replied the Lenape.

“And fuck, the files were saying about an Aetherist. He introduced himself as… what, a tier three? He’s supposed to have been around for less than six months, for Christ’s sake!”

“There’s a bit more to his special Professional status than just the ability to muck about Gates, Atkinson. Got a look at his descriptor, and it is as interesting as they said.”

“Interesting how?”

“He gets an additional fifteen in every Potential. That doubles the base average for people. That’s how he got far ahead – he’s got the equivalent of a pair of tier one and two Milestones for his Profession. Plus a big reduction in the amount of experience he needs to get the real Milestones,” Blackeye explained.

“So, you’re saying… he’s what? The equivalent of a year-old Professional?” Atkinson asked.

“Not entirely. His growth as Professional is not in any way normal. And by the way, don’t talk too loudly or anything. He’s still low level, but he’s got high Focus. More than a tier three of his build should have. If he takes an interest in what we’re talking, it won’t be hard for him to overhear us if we don’t take precautions.”

Jonas had been surprised at the sameness of the houses. They were all bricked facades, arrayed in straight lines. They were mostly different, but they still had a kind of sameness to them that felt alien for a Londoner. They looked very different than the warrens of his native Covent Garden or the recently built areas of Waterloo where he’d been living for nearly two years before the Labyrinth.

The carriage finally dropped them at a huge building, occupying a large chunk of its city block. The name “Westchester Hotel” adorned the façade, and Jonas found himself swept into a posh lobby, with carpets and plush seats everywhere, as porters and others came out of nowhere and started fussing around the party.

The hotel reception quickly found him and his staff “good rooms overlooking the thoroughfare”, quickly making the luggage vanish as he watched bemused the commotion. The only comparison he could make would be their invitation at St. James after the reopening of the Gate, and the Palace staff made less of a fuss than the whole of the American hotel.

“So, what are we going now?” he asked Bollen.

Before the lieutenant had the opportunity to think of a reply, the voice of Blackeye came from behind.

“You relax from your sea trip, enjoy a good American hospitality, and let your staff do the boring things,” he said.

Jonas turned to see the Pathmaker standing in the middle of the lobby, while the Gate Office man was still talking animatedly with the reception about duration and service levels.

“Don’t expect anything to happen today. At best, Mr Bollen here will have a long talk at the Gate Office, but I wouldn’t even bet on it.”

“So that’s all I got to do? Wait?” Jonas said, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“Well, you can visit this great city of New York. But you are a bit… conspicuous in your Aethershaper gear. Congratulations by the way; from the look of the descriptor, you literally ran from the Plaza to the ship.”

“Mostly. I wanted to get that out of the way.”

“Admirable,” Blackeye commented.

“Got some non-Professional clothes… but it’s very formal wear, British style,” Jonas said, referring to the clothing he’d gotten for the knighting ceremony. “It would certainly look odd as well, from what I’ve seen in the streets.”

Blackeye pulled out his finger, tapping in the middle of his brow.

“I have the man for you. I know a clothier not too far in Manhattan, he can work fast. I’ll talk to him, he’ll come at your room to get your measurements. You’re a pretty solid fellow, but it shouldn’t be hard to have something to suit your build. Then, you can enjoy the city.”

Jonas found himself lost at the hotel bar. The bar was a separate part, but interconnected to the hotel. It was half full of all sort of travellers. From the look and conversation around, it was mostly merchantmen, people coming and going to commercial offices based in the city.

He was still in his Professional robes, of course. The tailor John Blackeye had spoken about had come, taken all kind of measurements from top to bottom, pronounced the Basic Burlap Sandals unacceptable, and the ceremonial shoes a bit light for New York. Apparently, they had a very cold snap the week before his landing, and the man had informed him that the weather could be quite savage come early winter. Before leaving, he told Jonas to expect a basic suit to be delivered to his room by tomorrow noon “no later”.

He was still debating on whether to try the local ale or get something stronger as his Stamina would let him handle pretty much anything the bar offered when a man, who’d been obviously watching the crowd, stood up and came to greet him.

“Why, hello! You are the famous British Professional, right?”

“Uh, yes. You are?”

“Dunlap. Ulysses Dunlap, of the New York Evening Post. Pleased to meet you.”

Jonas guessed from the introduction that the man was a columnist of sorts at a local newspaper. Which meant the news of his coming might not be very confidential at all.

“Well, I have to admit I have no idea what’s in the Evening Post at all. But you’re welcome.”

“Ah. Wouldn’t expect the Post to make all the way to London, after all. Still, my boss would love that, I’m sure.”

“So what brings you here, Mr Dunlap? Me?”

“Of course you. I may have missed out the first British Professionals to set foot on American soil in recent history, but there’s no way the Post will be left out on your stay. Most of the stories come with The Times, but here you are. And New Yorkers want to know all about the British's most famous Professionals.”

The man all but dragged him to a table nearby, signalling a waiter.

“What do you take? It’s my treat.”

“Well… what beer do you have?”

The waiter departed with an order for a wheat beer while Dunlap put his current glass precariously close to the table’s edge and turned back to Jonas.

“Now, what is it to be the most Professional talked about in all of England? Did you get picked to be a kind of ambassador? Do you mean that there’s larger cooperation between the States and the Kingdom to come?”

Jonas felt a bit overwhelmed by the deluge of questions.

“If you have questions you can’t talk about, it’s okay. There’s all kind of interest to be had about where you come, how you got Knighted…”

Jonas looked at the receding figure of Ulysses Dunlap. The man hadn’t taken notes or anything, but he’d noticed that he never asked the same question twice, but always a related question. He felt like he’d been turned all over. He had barely had time to sip on his beer as the man started immediately as soon as there was a lull in the kind-of-conversation.

At least, he’d learned the Evening Post did not do pictures and that he wouldn’t end up badly drawn on the front page of the newspaper.

A peal of laughter sounded behind him and he turned to face a young woman, in her late teens.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. But reporters are always funny. And obnoxious, but usually after the fact. I couldn’t avoid but notice you being swamped by the man. If you weren’t a Professional, I probably would have tried to save you.”

“Am I so visible?”

“Pretty much. Not many people walk around in Professional garb. May I?”

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

She moved around the table and sat in the chair formerly occupied by Dunlap and reached across the table, proffering her wrist. Jonas took it, surprised, but noticed immediately the descriptor coming up. Precise Ancillary Sylvia Emily Underwood. A tier five?

Sylvia obviously noticed his surprise.

“I don’t look like tier five, I surmise.”

“You look a bit… young?”

“Youngest Professional in the States. Not a complicated story; many schools around do a visit at least once to the site of the Federal Gate. It's a great excursion, in the middle of the country on the island. I was thirteen. We decided to play a great game of “let’s turn around while running” by going over the Gate and leaving by the same side we were running in. A bit childish, but very fun.”

Jonas could guess the next bit.

“And you ran in and found yourself at a Plaza instead.”

“And I found myself with a weird descriptor saying I was in the middle of someplace called Marsden and I was some Mender. At least I’d heard of what Marsden was, so I guessed pretty quickly what happened. And that was my last day in school, ever.”

“Well, I was pretty surprised to find myself in the Labyrinth too. For very different reasons, though.”

“Yea. I know the British have ways of measuring potentials now, so very few people aren’t exposed to your Gate without knowing in advance if they qualify or not. Us Americans still do it the old fashioned way; try and see if it works.”

“You did not seem too surprised by my descriptor.”

“Well, I did. I’m just polite.”

“Or the Adaptation is too famous, you mean.”

“That? Yes, but that’s not what attracted my attention.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Fire Funnel. What is that skill… I pride myself on anything aether-based, and I’ve never ever heard about or seen any Fire Funnel at any tier…”

Jonas was stumped. Of all things… she immediately aimed at the skill he’d unlocked at the Archives. That’s what attracted her attention.

So he ended up explaining about skill unlocking and how they’d ran behind the gate, a bit like her, but not exactly like her, and the evening moved on.

“And so, that French guy escaped.”

“Why… yes. Everyone’s still pretty miffed. The London Gate is supposed to hold Professionals tightly,” Jonas said.

“Keeping someone under Lingering Death permanently… Christ, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone…”

She added, inquiringly, “And he’s run back to Napoleon?”

“I think so. No doubt they’ll plot something else against us.”

Precise Ancillary

(tier 5)

Required: 145 WIS, 116 DEX

Provides:

+13 health/+9 endurance/+11 mind/+27 aether per level

+1 Milestone/11 levels

Precise Ancillary Milestone: +12 WIS, +7 CON, +5 DEX, +4 FOR, 0.5 aether per WIS

Skill set: Aether / Control