Kol guided Max out of the cabin and across the camp, toward the telegraph station. Max could move at a surprising pace, even without his wheelchair’s motor, but he was noticeable. They didn’t hurry, just two officers going about their business.

Kol watched his brother. Max was wearing his intelligence-officer persona, moving with purpose and the reserve of trained, educated command. He’d always been naturally even-keeled, and his years as an officer had turned that nature into habit.

The same could not be said of Kol. His emotions had always stood in his way. One bad decision had caused his maiming and Max’s. Now he was going to destroy their lives again. His instincts had been wrong for what felt like his entire life, leading him from disaster to disaster. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this choice – to warn Littlefield and the Corwins and the Aesir crew – was just the latest catastrophe he would cause, but what else could he do?

Those who saw them did not question them. Most had seen Kol before. All saw his armor and the ‘special assignment’ badge he wore on his shoulder.

But Kol didn’t know whether he’d forced the fear from his face. Many around him were surely afraid, as well, but they hid it, and the anticipatory energy had buoyed most of the forces. The crowd felt more like a tailgate party than the prelude to a massacre, to the butchering of an entire innocent town. Hopefully, anyone who questioned Kol’s abrupt demeanor would dismiss it. He was an officer and one with a vital mission – such people were supposed to have a different energy to them.

No one stopped them. Few greeted Kol, as they passed through the camp. He saw no sign of Brielle, Sloan, Nine-flails or any of their assembled forces who knew him.

“We need use of your station, Sergeant.” Kol entered the telegraph station, his identification ready. “I have updates and communications to send in service to the Lost Park Office.” He showed his Captain’s Seal to the young man watching the telegraph machine. The Sergeant looked at the badge and glanced at Max, who had remained, just outside.

“Yes, sir.” The Sergeant nodded, stood and left his post, stepping out and around Max.

Kol turned back through the door and pushed it wide open. There was a small lip, to enter the building, but it was low enough for Max to maneuver his wheelchair into the telegraph booth, without assistance.

The stool was another matter, a tall metal model, waist-high on Kol. Max needed Kol’s support under both arms to maneuver onto it.

“If the keyboard were adjustable, that wouldn’t have been necessary.” Max sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Kol eyed the Sergeant out the door before shutting it. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“This is similar to the keyboard models I worked with, before. Good. It shouldn’t be long.” He began to look over the telegraph machine, carefully holding onto the shelf, both to get a closer look and to help keep balance. He examined the keyboard and the attached apparatus. Kol tried to watch what he was doing, but other than the modern-looking keyboard, the machine had the appearance of an antique meteorological device, and he simply couldn’t follow it.

“What are you doing outside, Grummond?” A man yelled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Sergeant said. “A Captain Maros on Special Assignment is updating the Lost Park Office.”

“Maros? Did you see his identification? Do you know this for sure?”

“How’s it going?” Kol whispered in Max’s ear.

“Nearly set up,” Max said.

“I saw it, sir,” the Sergeant said. “He and another man are working now.”

“Another man?”

The brief sound of footsteps was the only warning they received. The booth door was thrown wide open. A captain with a thick mustache and very little hair on his head marched inside.

“Who told you a civilian could be in here? What command are you? You’re a northern brat – tell me I’m right. Well, this is my command, I serve Governor Sloan and you and your buddy…” He reached toward Max’s shoulder.

“I am Captain Kolben Maros.” He gripped the man’s hand with his prosthetic. His strength was irresistible. He forced the man’s arm backward. “I serve at the direct command of his excellency the Czar. This man is my advisor, a Naval veteran of the Downfall War. He fought on Ambush Day. I didn’t realize officers on special assignment for Czar Hawthorne were expected to clear their messages or their choice of advisor with remote communications officers. I think the Lost Park Office will want to resolve this procedural confusion before the Corps goes national.”

Kol released the man’s hand. “I trust this will be the only time you interrupt our work. But if you have a problem with this, you can file your complaint with the Lost Park Office.”

The other Captain stared at Kol and Max with a deer-in-headlights expression. He swallowed.

“My apologies,” he said. “Please make sure to log your communication time and recipient.” He closed the door behind him.

Kol found Max staring at him. He did not speak and waited until the sounds of the other man’s footsteps had passed out of hearing. He felt his heart in his ears, like his entire being had been reduced to the pounding of his own pulse. He realized, distantly, that he should have gotten the man’s name.

“I’m ready when you are,” Max said. “Can we move me closer?”

Kol was always surprised how light Max had become. In his mind, his brother was massive, the fit young sailor who could carry him under his arm. But now, Kol moved the stool forward without trouble.

“Do you know what you want to say to Lost Park?”

“Of course.” Kol took two deep breaths. “Are you ready for me to begin? Do I need to tell you when to end phrases, erm, stop?”

“Speak slowly and I will do the rest.” Max rested his hands on the keyboard.

“Attention Czar Hawthorne. I write from Governor Sloan’s camp. Despite my concerns, the attack on Littlefield will begin tomorrow. I have reason to believe that the Aesir has vital Dreamside Road information. I do understand the danger they pose. After the battle, I may need to request added help to search the remains of the Aesir and the town. I request now that a thorough search for any and all Dreamside Road-relevant items occurs before construction begins. Very respectfully, Kolben Maros.”

Kol waited for Max to finish typing. He wasn’t sure how long a telegram took to send after the typing concluded, if there was any sort of lag time. Max made a few adjustments on the indecipherable mass of machinery.

“You have the written message?” Kol asked.

“It’s in the small compartment beneath my wheelchair’s cushion. The special one I added.”

Kol found the hidden compartment and reached inside. There he found two things, a small notecard and a book – Orson Gregory’s memoir.

Kol handed the card to his brother. It gave a list of all the notable armament and capabilities of Governor Sloan’s War Force, or at least those that Kol was aware of. It gave the time of the attack. It gave everything that could offer Littlefield a fighting chance.

Max propped up the notecard so he could read it and type. “I’m about to start.” He whispered. “You’re sure there are no relay stations between us and the Corwins?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Once I do this, it cannot be undone.”

“Do it.”

* * *

Orson slept through the morning, finally able to rest with the threat of a possible listening device mostly out of the way. He still heard the interference, from time to time, but the sound was faint and weak, and stayed that way.

Jaleel and Enoa woke him before they left to run errands. He was back in the ship’s main cabin, watching Wesley.

“So you’re okay having a team pet?” Eloise asked. She and Carlos sat on the ship’s couch. “That’s a surprise.”

“Yeah.” Orson watched Wesley curl up in the padded inside of his incomplete pen. The aeropine slept almost immediately. “He’s a pretty dangerous little guy, and I mean, it’s not like Kappa made him to be cute, so he’ll be safer with us than most pets would be.”

“Yeah…” Eloise shifted her weight and looked at her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Orson asked. “I know that look. What happened?”

“I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but Sirona’s going to be one of my bridesmaids. I asked her a couple months ago, and I wanted to tell you over the holidays, but you weren’t here again. The two of us used to be really close, but I think she decided you should get me after the breakup, probably because she knew you didn’t have a huge support system in your life.”

“Why would that be an issue?” Orson hadn’t considered the possibility of ever seeing Sirona again. The whole five-year-plus mess of their relationship felt more and more like a faded dream, a fiction, a lie. Only the adventuring and danger were real. Everything else in his life was a half-forgotten coping mechanism.

“You had a pretty rough breakup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone drink that much without getting seriously sick.”

“Was it worse than Ernesto?” Carlos asked. “My friend Ernesto is almost a teetotaler except when he’s had a breakup.”

“Way worse,” Eloise said. “It’s like he was an alien or an elf from some place where even the water is fermented.”

“I wasn’t that bad!” Orson yelled. “It was… I don’t remember all it was, but it was over the course of days, not months. You act like I went off the deep end, long term, and it’s really more complicated than that.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “And you’re sure that you won’t be super upset seeing her?”

“No, of course not.” He watched Wesley stand up and shift positions before returning to his sleep. “Did you warn her about me being there?”

“No, I didn’t. Sirona’s moved on with her life. You haven’t.”

“Moved on? You think I’m planning to chase after her for the rest of my life? We dated a long time, but we’ve been broken up almost as long now.”

“Do you still have the ring for her?” Eloise asked. Carlos sank lower in his seat, like he hoped the couch would hide him from the difficult conversation.

“It’s pretty hard to return something when the store’s been destroyed in societal collapse.” Orson still had the engagement ring in his bedside storage compartment, where it had been for over half a decade. “I have it somewhere, yeah.”

“Still, you haven’t really dated…”

“I dated Elizabeth, remember?” He interrupted. “You know her. It only lasted a few months, but not bad for someone who travels all the time.”

“First of all,” Eloise said. “She doesn’t count.”

“You can’t say she doesn’t count!” Orson raised his voice more than he intended. Wesley moaned in his pen.

“You can decide whether his girlfriends count?” Carlos whispered. She squeezed his hand.

“It was a fling for her and a delayed rebound for you,” she said. “It only lasted as long as it did because you’re moving all the time. And you dated her more than three years ago, Orson. She’s married with a baby!” Eloise paused, a full stop, visibly struggling with her words. “Orson, that’s not my point. I just want you to be happy, and I saw how much happier you were with Sirona. You’re never happy now. I’ve wanted to talk to you about everything, since you got here. What are you doing?”

“You’re a real buttinsky when you’re worried, do you know that? I’m in a lousy mood, okay? I’ve been in fight after fight since the New Year and, for the record, you have no idea who I’ve dated. I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Orson, you’ve been getting weirder and weirder since you and Sirona broke up. I didn’t know if it was that… that tough for you or if she was just some kind of tether to stabililty for you. And this Dreamside Road thing… It’s like you’re spiraling. You have been for a long time. Enoa and Jaleel are awesome, but they’re at the adventuring age. Why are you with them?”

“Everyone in the original crew was older than us,” Orson said. “Who taught us all this stuff? Haydn is almost twenty years older than us. Wayne and Franklin are both ten years older. What do you mean ‘adventuring age’? Enoa and Jaleel are smart kids, but they still need me, like we needed Haydn and Ophion. Think of Ophion! I don’t even know how old he is. He’s wizard age.”

“Unless there’s something you haven’t told me, we haven’t seen Arthur or Wayne or Ophion in half a decade. None of us have. They’re bad examples.” She yelled, exasperated. “Why are you still doing this to yourself? That’s what I’m trying to ask you.”

Orson didn’t say anything. How could he? He didn’t want to dissect his life, the path he’d taken since he was a teenager, everything he’d done as an adult. He’d need to tear himself apart and examine all the places he’d been broken, all the places where he’d sacrificed a piece of himself to the highway. The story of his life had led him to the Dreamside Road.

Orson finally spoke. “Jaleel is working for me as part of a legal agreement put together by Pops and his lawyer. It’s a long story. Enoa needs to get to that island. Who else is going to take her there?”

“And, personally, I’m in this until it’s done,” he continued. “You know who wanted the Dreamside Road. There are a lot of things that need to be fixed before the world can be whole.”

“I know what you told me.” Eloise’s expression changed from concern for her friend to a broader worry, almost fear. “You told me all of them are dead. You told me He is dead.”

“And they are,” Orson replied. “He is, as far as I know.”

Eloise stared into his eyes, as if she could read his mind and search for honesty. “Then will you be done after you go to this island? You could help one of the alliances rebuild. Jaleel could work for you there, too, and you could make a real life for yourself.”

“It’s not so simple. There’s Hierarchia shit lying around everywhere, for starters. The world of relatively low-risk adventures, the crap we got into at twenty, that doesn’t exist now. There are threats everywhere, rising to fill the global power vacuums. Someone has to deal with that, and the League of Nations failed the first time. They could just as easily fail the second. And what about Littlefield or Nimauk or San Tomas or any of the other places that have counted on me? Everyone else is out of adventuring or vanished or dead. Who else, in our circle, is reachable in times like these?”

“I will always be grateful for everything you do here,” she said. “But I’m not convinced. I’m not.”

“Not convinced of what?”

“I’m not sure you’re telling me everything. I think you know or suspect more than you’re letting on and…”

“Are you in there?” Mr. Corwin shouted outside. All three of them jumped, at the sudden sound. “Are you in there?” He yelled again, his voice strained. He left no time to reply.

“What’s wrong?” Eloise ran for the door, Carlos and Orson right behind her. Her father stood outside, panting, one hand braced against the outer hull of the ship. His skin was pale. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I am.” But it was clear he wasn’t. Something was terribly wrong.

“Come on in, sir,” Orson said. He and Carlos helped Mr. Corwin aboard. His hands shook when he didn’t hold himself up against the hull. In one of them, he held a small square of paper.

Mr. Corwin walked with tentative steps, like he feared his legs wouldn’t carry him. Eloise guided him to Orson’s vacated armchair.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Eloise crouched next to the chair. He seemed incapable of speech, stammering, stuttering. “Did you forget your medicine?”

“No…” he said. “I…” But finally, he gave up on words and handed his daughter the paper – a telegram.

Orson turned back to the door to close it and discovered that Wesley had slipped away. The aeropine flew, squeaking, out into the yard. Orson began to give chase, but he stopped when Eloise started to read.

“Warning to Littlefield and Orson Gregory,” she read. “Liberty Corps War Force will attack at dawn – stop. 30 Iron Shapers led by Sir Adrian Nine-flails – stop. He plans to kill Captain Gregory first to crush resistance – stop. 700 guns. 500 spears. 2 tanks. 3 cannon-mount mechs. 1 railgun. At least 3 airships. Littlefield to be demolished by Sloan. He wants to kill everyone to set example – stop. Plans already approved for new base by Baron Helmont – stop. Take over Corwin farms to feed forces – stop. I am in great danger sharing this – stop. I must protect innocent lives – stop. Good luck.”