The Chronicle:

Making our way back east, we discussed the ominous Syrneth site in Vodacce where Reginald Coleson was recklessly rushing.  Piecing together what we knew, I attempted to locate it more precisely on the charts with the help of the second compass.  Once again, I begged Captain Allende's help, which he kindly supplied.  However, we could do no more than narrow down the general area.  We discussed the matter, and Captain Allende and I agreed that I needed to seek the help of the great cartographer of San Augustin University, Professor Miguel Olivarès.  My cousins and I decided that it was worth the gamble to save time by going directly to San Augustin rather than stopping first in Carleon, and so we asked Captain Hix to take us there instead.

It would have been naively optimistic to expect the trip back to Castille to be quiet.  The Western Isles are largely uncharted and full of dangers, not least among which is the weather.  It was a little past six bells on the afternoon watch one day when dark masses of storm clouds started gathering unusually fast on the horizon.  Lightning flashed in those cloud banks, but in unnatural colours: scarlet, gold, and purples flickered.  Hix and Allende stood on the quarterdeck and consulted in low murmurs, with frowning glances at the darkening skies.  All hatches had been battened down, gear stowed, and sails furled.

Under our gaze, strange shapes started appearing within the clouds: grimacing faces, silhouettes half-guessed...  The clouds seemed to be heading straight for the Drake, ignoring the winds.  Hix turned towards the crew and barked the order to break out the small arms and prime the cannons.  From where I stood, I could see the sweat beading on his face, despite the coolness of the wind.

From one moment to the next, the sea turned from a calm surface to a whipped frenzy, and rain came in a savage downpour.  In a complete, nerve-wracking silence, the storm tossed us about and lightning sparked in brilliant colours overhead.  Brightly lit shapes skitted about in the clouds above us, swooping like swallows across the sky.  Behind them, a fleet of ethereal ships flew at a more stately pace over the water, impossible galleons and men-o-war crossing the frothy sea as if it had been mirror-smooth, their spiderweb sails holding a supernatural wind.  On the ships, we could see crews of tall, spindly beings dressed as pirates, but in colours and fabrics turned by no human loom.  And they sang...  The songs were at once heartbreakingly beautiful and as jarring and painful as the visions from the Syrneth pool.

They threw gossamer nets over the sides, going through the motions of fishing.  But when they pulled the nets up, it was not fish they pulled out of the water, but the gruesome, bloated bodies of drowned sailors, long dead.   Sometimes the nets from two faerie ships would tangle, and the crews would start battling over the dead bodies – mock battles, perhaps, but flashy with swords of light and violent attacks, one crew leaping to the other ship as in a boarding action.  They howled with pain and savagery, yet never stopped their eerie singing.  We watched in awe and, for myself at least, a measure of terror.

The Sidhe ignored us for what seemed a long while.  But one faerie ship eventually got so close, it cast its nets over the Drake!  The strands were as fine as spider silk, but stronger than any rope or cable I had ever encountered.  Anyone entangled in their mesh was caught fast.  In a hoarse voice, Hix ordered a broadside fired; it was irregular and poorly co-ordinated, but point-blank and the damage seemed to enrage the Sidhe.  Furious, some of their crew started leaping across to the Drake and striking us with those luminous swords and cutlasses.  Being struck by them was like being pierced by an icicle.  Anyone who fell to their blows was carried back to the Faerie ship.  Lucas, Sebastian, and I were soon cut down by the Sidhe weapons, and found ourselves tossed onto their ship like so many bags of flour.

Fortunately for us, our companions did not abandon us to our weak struggling efforts.  Miranda, assisted by Fergus and brother Cadfaello, jumped to the faerie ship to wrestle against the kidnappers.  But Hix's broadsides seem to be having some effect; whenever a cannon ball hit the faerie ship, all its ethereal sailors shrieked and twisted as if in pain, although we could see no wounds on them.  They started pushing away from the Drake.  Then my heart skipped a beat when I saw Captain Allende throw a grappling hook into the faerie ship's rigging, swing across the widening gap, and come to our aid.  Wielding his rapier with one hand, he clasped me to his chest with his free arm.  He fought off an opponent and, in a pause no longer than a breath, managed to catch the line and jump back across the waters to the Drake, while Miranda, Fergus, and Cadfaello rescued Lucas and Sebastian.

Captain Allende helped me to the shelter of the gun deck.  Perhaps I was light-headed from the wounds I had sustained, but I felt a bliss I had never experienced before.  It was such delightful weakness to have to lean on the captain, for my legs could not support me.  I thought fleetingly that if these wounds proved fatal, I would at least die happy.  I recognized the feeling despite its novelty; I was in love.  Once again, my companions proved oblivious, but this time they could hardly be blamed.  The ship was in pandemonium, with the crew frantically trying to put some distance between the Drake and the Sidhe vessel.  Lucas was cold to the touch, neither moving nor even breathing, though brother Cadfaello did his best to tend him.  We thought him dead and started praying for his soul.  Sebastian and I were in barely better shape, although I felt quite peaceful and even content.

The Sidhe did not attack again, preferring to continue their "fishing."  The faerie storm lasted another four harrowing hours, then dispersed as suddenly as it had begun.  And to our surprise, Lucas started stirring again.  His recovery spanned several days and seemed even slower than what the rest of us underwent.  He remained distracted and distant for several more days, although the closer we got to Castille, the more he seemed to return to normal.
 

The Drake swung south-southeast to avoid the Montaigne warships that follow the coast of Torres and Zepeda.  Although I felt the urgency of our mission and the importance of preventing Reginald Coleson from unleashing the might of the Syrneth machine, I also felt keen sadness that the days passed so quickly.  The day after the faerie storm, I went to offer my thanks to Captain Allende for saving my life.  Alas, I have not the grace and ease of my cousins, and my gratitude was expressed in the most drearily correct if earnest terms.  I did not breathe a word of my newly discovered feelings.

The crew had begun to show some new respect and appreciation for my cousins and I, and we were generally well treated – except for Rodrigo and Vincente's general attitude toward Lucas.  They detested him for the way he flirted with Didi, and "accidents" seemed to follow my cousin when they were around.  Matters reached a breaking point when a heavy block dropped from the main stay, missing Lucas by inches.  Overhead, Vincente offered unconvincing apologies.  Lucas, livid with anger, challenged Vincente to a duel.  But Lucas did not know how pirate duels are handled.  There is no fighting on board, so the duel had to wait until we could pull into the shelter of a small island, uninhabited though regularly visited by sailors and fishermen.  I suppose Captain Hix may have found it amusing to facilitate the affair, perhaps he had a small bet running.  Regardless, once ashore Lucas discovered that pirate duels are also conducted differently.  The two opponents' left wrists were lashed together with a lanyard, and the contest took the form or wrestling.  Vincente was large and strong, and an adept wrestler; he bested Lucas with very little effort.  My cousin remained sullen for the rest of the trip.

After running the Montaigne blockade by night, we finally reached San Augustin and transferred to a fishing boat to reach the city (Hix would not risk the Drake in port.)  The crew of the ship gave us a friendly good-bye (except for Vincente and Rodrigo), and I traded a quick look with Captain Allende, but said nothing.  We made our way into port, then headed for the Universidad de San Augustin.  Although it remained free territory, the city bore all the marks of the on-going war with Montaigne: damage from the enemy's cannons, collapsed buildings, mercenaries and adventurers of many nations, dispossed peasants squatting in abandoned townhouses.

We found the grounds of the university almost deserted, the gardens raided for food, the students vanished, the personnel scattered.  We could hardly find anyone able to direct us, most of the professors had fled.  Fortunately for us, we finally met someone we knew: Professor Alvaro Arciniega, patron of La Universidad de Arciniega in Altamira, who had also taught some memorable classes at the Universidad de San Cristobal and at La Ciencia.  He did remember Lucas, chiefly for his lack of attention and imperfect Théan grammar...  Professor Arciniega was only visiting here (I suspect he was on a salvage mission) but he knew through his contacts that, like many other academics from the occupied provinces, Professor Olivarès had fled to San Cristobal.  He hinted that Professor Olivarès had been afraid of someone, probably the Inquisition.  After staring at us (and particularly at brother Cadfaello) down his nose for a moment, looking stern, he briskly scribbled a note vouching for us, telling us this should still be good credentials with the "right people" – which we understood to mean, "not the Inquisition".

We pondered our next step.  We could try to find another vessel to run the blockade and take us to the capital, or we could try to make our way overland through Zepeda and Torres.  We decided for the latter solution; I think my companions felt they had had enough sailing for a while.  We obtained pack horses and started our way north.  Our first challenge entailed slipping through the Montaigne lines.  Fortunately for us, this area of the front had been quiet for the last several weeks, so the task proved reasonably easy.

The trip afforded us our first view of eastern Castille since the Montaigne invasion.  The course of life had recovered a semblance of normalcy for the common folk, yet it reminded me of the calm on a smooth sea when the glass is dropping before a squall.  Nevertheless, peasants were busy preparing the fields for the next planting, damaged towns had been repaired, and ordinary life had resumed.  But the burnt out churches had not been rebuilt, the peasants' faces looked sombre and strained, the cattle was too lean, and everywhere Montaigne soldiers patrolled the roads and markets.  The latter looked closely at us, since we were obviously too well equipped to be peasants, but generally did not try to stop or confront us.

It was a good season to travel in those areas, however: early spring, before the heat of summer and after the rains.  Still, we were hot, dusty and tired by the time we stopped one afternoon in the small town of Santa Cecilia.  We walked to the public fountain to drink, wash our faces, and water the horses.

"How, but it is my Castillan friends!" a Montaigne voice shouted behind us.  "Mordioux, but we are far from Ussura, are we not?"

We turned to face the man calling to us, and recognized lieutenant Charles du Chevalier, who had so relentlessly pursued us from Charouse to the steppes of Ussura.  He was accompanied by a group of soldiers.  Almost lazily, like a cat walking in a patch of sunlight, he strode forward, drawing his sword, and gestured to the soldiers to stay back.  He locked eyes with Lucas.

"I think we have unfinished business, you and I, monsieur, would you not agree?" he continued.  "The last time we crossed swords, we were rudely interrupted.  I trust this charming lady will not repeat her earlier choice."

Lucas glared at Miranda.  "If she does, señor, I assure you I will strangle her myself!" he growled, drawing his own rapier and returning his glance to Charles du Chevalier.

The lieutenant and Lucas fell on guard, carefully measuring each other.  The duel began slowly, with a few quick snips of the swords and careful, graceful shifting of feet.  Lucas presented only his profile and kept his left arm back, in the Aldana style, while the lieutenant fought with a main gauche he used to parry.  Both moved around a lot, Lucas in elegant, sliding steps and unpredictable turns, du Chevalier in quick circles.  We held our breath, for not only was du Chevalier extremely skilled and more experienced than Lucas, but he also looked extremely angry.

The musketeer continued to remind me of a cat: he seemed to be looking for something specific, observing Lucas with intent eyes.  His strikes were restrained, controlled.  The rhythm of the exchanges gradually sped up, the clamour of steel against steel ringing like a chime; the steps of the dance became more agitated.  Lucas scored a few touches on his opponent, but nothing decisive.  And as the feints, parries, and ripostes flurried to a crescendo, du Chevalier finally saw the opening he had been looking for: side-stepping Lucas's attack, he slipped under my cousin's rapier, flanked him, and hit a spot in Lucas's back, high on the shoulder.  We gasp in horror, but the lieutenant's blow had been perfectly measured to inflict only a light wound – in the exact same spot where Miranda's thrown dagger had hit him earlier when he had crossed swords with Lucas in Eisen.

He immediately disengaged, stepped back, and saluted while Lucas gritted his teeth, more, I suspect, in anger than in because of the pain.  A rivulet of blood seeped through Lucas's shirt.

"In Ussura, General Montegue decreed you were not enemies of Montaigne," du Chevalier said, his satisfaction obvious.  "Take care this remains true here."  He grinned – the cat had had his fun with the bird.  With this, he and his soldiers walked away, keeping an eye on us but making no threatening moves.

We took ourselves to the village inn, where brother Cadfaello bandaged Lucas's shoulder.  Miranda made herself small (or smaller than usual) for the rest of the day.
 

Eventually, our trek took us to the Rio de Delia, now the boundary between the oppressed and free portions of Castille.  We discovered that the Montaigne army was in a very different state from what we had seen less than a year before: with General Montegue gone, they had lost their best strategist and the état-major had fallen to bickering.  A large number of troops had also been pulled with Montegue's departure.  It was not so difficult to cross their lines at night and reach the river.  Crossing it was a little more difficult, since some of my companions did not swim, but those of us who did managed to help them across.  Then we had to make our way through the Castillan front, but we were easily recognized when we identified ourselves, and allowed through.  It was good to be home, or almost home, for a little while.

We easily made our way to the royal capital, and there to the university.  Unlike the one in San Augustin, the Universidad de San Cristobal was bursting at the seams, frantic with activity, full of "visiting professors" who had fled from other regions.  I took us directly to the department of geographic studies and cartography – or at least to where it had been when I had studied there, but everything was different.  No single department seemed able to maintain unchallenged hold on a building or wing, and unrelated topics were taught in the same rooms.

After much asking around and traipsing over the university grounds, we located a priest called father Dominico who knew where to find professor Olivarès.  The priest was lodged and worked in the corner of a room he shared with other academics from war-torn areas.  At first he denied knowing where Professor Olivarès was, but brother Cadfaello, looking at us significantly, pulled out the introduction letter we had received in San Augustin from Professor Arciniega.  Father Dominico's demeanour changed, and he told us to go to the third basement level of the main library, halfway down the northwestern corridor.  Then he dismissed us and returned to his paperwork

We followed his instructions and eventually found the location where Professor Olivarès literally camped between stacks of books.  It was an honour to meet him again, this time not only as one student among many but in a private conversation.  Upon seeing us, he started; he seemed to be expecting someone else.  Again, we showed Professor Arciniega's letter and explained our need for his help.  I pulled out the charts and calculations Captain Allende and I had worked out, as well as the two Æther Compasses.  He became interested in the problem, rubbing the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.  Finally, he told us that he would be willing to help if we would do him the service to take a book for him to the Headmaster of Dionna University on Villanova Island, in Vodacce.  A book, he warned us, that should not fall in the Inquisition's hands, or it would be destroyed.

This was an easy enough service (though not without risk if we were caught), and we agreed.  He pulled out maps of Vodacce, and began working on our cartography problem while I watched with the greatest interest.  Finally, he came to the end of his calculations and gave us the best co-ordinates he could extract.  Projected on a map, they fell in a vast marshy area, very poorly explored.  We thanked him profusely, took the leather-bound book he wanted us to carry, and left.

By then it was dark, so there was no question of starting our journey until the morning.  We found lodgings at a nearby inn and, after a good Castillan dinner, retired for the night.  We slept soundly, comforted by the familiar smells and sound – until the wee hours of the night, when the windows were blown to shards by thrown stones!  Awakened by the commotion, we saw that the inn was surrounded by perhaps two dozen men carrying torches, cowled men in the red robes of the Inquisition.  The one who seemed to lead them, brandishing a staff crested by a golden Prophets' cross, yelled: "You have been seen consorting with the Servants of Legion!  Gives yourselves up, heretics, repent and beg for the mercy of Theus!"

My companions and I looked at one another with the suspicion that we knew which "heretics" he meant.  The man continued his exhortations, admonishing the innkeeper to throw "the heretics" out or have his own family's doom on his head.  The innkeeper was affronted; he cursed, swearing that he would rather burn than dishonour himself by betraying his guests.  More rocks were thrown at the inn's windows, followed by lit torches.  It became quite clear that the overly excitable individuals in the street intended to set the inn on fire.  We dressed hurriedly and grabbed our weapons.  We ran downstairs as the mob was beginning to pound the door.  A heated fight ensued, but it dispelled when the light of dawn started to peek; the Inquisitors, whether official or self-appointed, did not seem willing to be seen in daylight.
 

We had little difficulty finding a ship bound for Dionna; there is much commerce between Castille and Vodacce.  The trip was uneventful for once, although I rather missed our adventures on the Drake.  Two weeks' smooth sailing brought us to Villanova Island, smallest of the Vodacce Keys.  Fortunately, I speak and read the Vodacce language and so had no trouble finding us lodgings.  We had two tasks to accomplish: bring Professor Olivarès' book to Dionna University, and visit the Explorer's Society in the hopes that Reginald Coleson had been (or even was still) there.  We opted to go to the university first, where we could both fulfil the promised service and enquire after the location of the Explorers' Society's chapterhouse.  We had only a few days left before the time was right for the constellation of the Erebus Cross to unlock the Syrneth Star Device, or so we believed based on the engravings on the Æther Compasses, and from the vision received at the mysterious pool on l'Ile de la Bête.

Dionna is a beautiful but dangerous lady who stands knee-deep in water.  Villanova Island is not so much an island as a handful of pebbles lashed together with a latticework of bridges and a spiderweb of walkways, and the main arteries of its capital Dionna are more often canals than streets.  It is home to the only university in all of Vodacce, something quite amazing for Castillans, who are used to universities in every major city.  This university is in itself quite unusual for us, since it is all lodged in a single building, a tower thirteen stories high.  However, it is well organized and it proved easy enough to find the Headmaster.  The man seemed absolutely delighted with Professor Olivarès' book, and immediately called an assistant to translate and copy it.

We took advantage of the Headmaster's satisfaction to ask about Coleson and the Explorers' Society.  We learned that Reginald had been here at the university, speaking to many professors in the department of geography.  The Headmaster directed us to speak to these people, from whom we learned that Reginald had not stayed at the nearby chapterhouse of the Explorers' Society, as was usual, but at a nearby inn.  We obtained directions to both the chapterhouse and the inn.  The chapterhouse was closer, so we thought to stop there first.  We thanked the good people of Dionna University and made our way out.

At the Explorers' Society, we were surprised to meet someone we knew: Madeline du Bisset, whom we had encountered in Freiburg.  She had been called in to deal with the mess Reginald had apparently created.  From what we could piece together, he had figured out the approximate location of the Syrneth Star Device by following his own sources; but his activities had attracted unwanted attention.  The two local members of the Explorers' Society, upon hearing of it, had gone to ask after him at his inn; they had been found a few days later, face down in a canal.

Madame du Bisset had been called in to deal with the situation, since that left no one to represent the Society in Dionna.  She was even more curt and impatient than when we had first met her.  But she did explain that the unwanted attention was from the powerful Caligari family, whose head Prince Vincenzo Caligari is a bitter rival of the Explorers' Society: he wishes to attain immortality, and to this end he has been collecting Syrneth artefacts, smashing anything he cannot hold on to.  He was the primary reason for the Society' secrecy regarding the site of the Star Device.  Madame du Bisset felt that it was imperative to stop him from acquiring control of it.  We rather agreed, and pondered what to do next.  We decided to continue as planned and go to Coleson's inn.

We were following the edge of a canal in a fairly quiet area, taking in the sights, when we heard a crash and a scream overhead.  We looked up and saw one of the ethereal walkways had buckled; a woman dressed in a Fate Witch's heavy veils and skirts (like the ones Miranda was wearing for her visit here) was hanging from its edge.  We ran up closer to the spot, hoping to catch her or climb to her, but even as we drew close she lost her handhold and slipped, plunging into the canal.  She sank directly, weighed down by her skirts and probably stunned by the fall.  I was the best swimmer of our group; I hastily tore out of my own skirts (fortunately, I always wear trousers underneath when I have to be in a dress) and dove in.  Theus was with me: I managed to find the woman underwater and drag her back to the edge of the canal, where my companions helped me to pull her out.  We were both wet and bedraggled as two drowned kittens.

She revived and started thanking us.  Her name was Lucretta Biancastro; her veil had been lost in the unexpected swim, so she held her head down, but her face looked extremely young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen.  But all conversation was suddenly interrupted by a burly man who stomped from a nearby building.

"Get away from my wife!" he yelled at us.  "How dare you touch her?  How dare you even look at her?"  He shoved us out of the way and placed himself between Lucretta and us.  We tried to explain what had just happened, but it seemed to infuriate him even more.

"You think I cannot protect my own wife?  Huh?  Is that what you are saying?"  His yelling was beginning to attract attention; half a dozen more men emerged from the house he had come from, visibly looking up to him for direction.  They carried cudgels and sticks.  The shouting man started pushing Lucas around, probably because he was our obvious leader (the only nobleman in the group!)  "You think Fausto Biancastro needs foreigners to defend his wife?"  His ruffians closed in behind him.

Irritated beyond belief, Lucas responded by drawing his sword.  Fergus followed suit with his claymore, and Miranda pulled out a couple of throwing knives.  Sebastian drew his sword as well, but reluctantly, seeing no blades in the Vodacces' hands; brother Cadfaello used his walking stick as a quarterstaff, as usual.  I grabbed a couple of nearby flowerpots to throw.

The scuffle turned into a bloodbath.  Sebastian, Cadfaello, and I tried to respond with as much restraint as possible, content with knocking our opponents out, but my cousins and Fergus did not pull their blows.   I was appalled; I yelled at them to hold back, but to no avail.  Lucas ran Biancastro through himself, and three of the man's associates or relatives were killed as well. Lucretta stared at us with cold contempt and drew back, walking away.  I had never been so ashamed in my life.

We made our way to the inn Coleson had used, and I was able to restore my toilette to a semblance of dignity.  The innkeeper was close-lipped, but let us visit the room Reginald had used; it had been cleaned since and we learned nothing from it.  When we made our way back down to the common room, the proprietor told us that "Signor Caligari" wished to speak to us.  We exchanged a glance.  The innkeeper took us to a table where a thin, high-strung man with a pointed chin sat, a plate of food laid in front of him.  By the doors and windows stood dark-clad spadassins, looking grim.

"Come, sit and order something," the man gestured at the other seats circling his table.  "I am Antonio Caligari.  I understand we have very similar goals: like my uncle, you are looking for the Avalonian explorer, no?  And for his trove.  But knowledge is a beautiful thing: it can be shared without anyone being the poorer.  If you and I join forces, we can find the silly Avalonian before he starts something he cannot stop."  We sat warily, listening to his words.  He made conversation and assured us we could all co-operate in this venture to our mutual benefit, but we were not convinced of his sincerity.

Suddenly, Antonio Caligari's eyes widened, and a trickle of blood dripped from his mouth before he fell face first on the table.  A stiletto was protruding from between his shoulder blades.  We looked around, and saw that the spadassins had all disappeared; the remaining patrons of the inn all looked carefully away, ignoring the dead man.  A man clad in elegant garb of black leather and velvet sauntered in through the front door with a smile, and made his way directly towards us.  He gestured for us to remain seated.

"Please," he said, "I must apologize for this tragic accident.  I am Giovanni Villanova, at your service."

Behind us there was a noise of hasty scuffle as the rest of the patrons hurried out.  Within minutes we found ourselves alone with the Prince.  We introduced ourselves; upon hearing Lucas's name, the Prince's smile seemed to widen a tad.  Villanova pushed the freshly deceased Antonio Caligari from his chair and sat.  He began eating from the dead man's plate.

"It is a terrible thing to let good veal parmegiana go to waste," he commented.  "Oh, by the way, the chef was busy poisoning your own plates, my men are having him eat his own preparation if you would care to watch."  He smiled again.

"My Caligari cousins have shown shockingly bad manners by arriving in my city unannounced," he continued.  "I would like you to help me correct the error.  I would appreciate it if you explained to me why my cousins are here – and why they are interested in you."

We cautiously explained, giving as little away as we could.  The Prince nodded, understanding probably far more than we said.  "I would not wager a fig for your Avalonian friend's life if Fredo Caligari is after him," he commented.  "Fortunately for you, I am willing to help you by giving you full access to my lands, provided you teach my cousins some manners."

For some reason, Sebastian seemed particularly excitable and spoiling for the fight.  This seemed to amuse the Prince.  Noting Sebastian's pin of the Swordsmen's Guild, he smiled.  "I would ask you to do me a favour, signor," he said, offering a purse.  "I would like to give you the commission of challenging my dear cousin Alfredo Caligari to a duel.  And kill him – if you can."  Sebastian took the Prince's purse and bowed, promising to fulfil this mission with pleasure.

"It is done, then," said Villanova.  He got up, bowed.  "It was a pleasure meeting you, gentlemen, ladies."  With this, he walked away.
 

We had had enough of Dionna, and time was getting short.  We found a boat that would take us to the main land the next day.  The vessel took us to the southmost tip of the Vodacce mainland; from there, we made our way northeast to the co-ordinates calculated by Professor Olivarès.  Thanks to a safe-conduct from prince Villanova, we had little trouble until we reached the edges of the marshy lands.  From there on, our progress was considerably more difficult but we pressed forward, urged on by the steady march of the constellations.

Deep into the swampy area, as we were reaching the end of daylight on the day of the Erebus Cross's zenith, ruins suddenly appeared in the middle of the bog.  Without Professor Olivarès's map, we might never have found them.  We could not guess how Coleson could find this place without the map for help.  A mosaic floor extended for perhaps hundred of yards, covered in symbols.  At various seemingly haphazard locations rose towers, now coated in greenish moss, and the occasional crumbled wall could be discerned from underneath the lush but unfriendly vegetation.  Unless one stood right at the edge of the ruins, they were invisible: the towers looked like tree trunks, and the mosaic pattern was practically unnoticeable.

As we moved towards the centre of the mosaic floor, we came upon a makeshift camp.  It looked like our friend Reginald Coleson had been here recently, and used this as base camp.  A fire burned inside a semi-circle of tents, and men chatted as they cooked dinner.  Others were busy clearing some of the vegetation, while a woman drew sketches of the mosaic patterns.  We approached them cautiously, but they showed no wariness.  We learned that they had been hired by Reginald; they were getting ready for dinner, but he was still working down in the catacombs that hid under the ruins.  At our request, they showed us the entrance to these catacombs, in a tall tower.

The doorway was strangely tall and narrow, rising to perhaps eight feet, but not quite wide enough for a man to walk through without turning sideways.  A collapsed spiral staircase had once led up, and another in better shape led down.  We descended, lighting our way with torches and lanterns.  Reggie had carefully marked the path in chalk every dozen yards or so, making it easy to follow him.  At first the corridor went down in a sharp slope, but it levelled off after a while.  The arches and ceilings closely resembled what we had seen on l'Ile de la Bête, and the walls bore intricate spiralling patterns both carved and inlaid.  Many side passages opened, but we followed Reginald's chalk marks, while I mapped our progress as best I could.

Along the way, we saw that Reginald and his group had identified several gruesome traps; one involved a large stone intended to drop from above, now hanging six foot above the ground and jammed with a metal bar; we had to pass under it, an unpleasant experience.  The second trap had already claimed a victim: we saw a dead man pinned to a wall by spears.  A few stone flags in the floor had been marked in chalk, so we carefully avoided those.

After an hour or so of following Reginald's chalk markings, we finally saw lights and heard voices ahead of us.  We came upon two men and a woman, gathered around a gaping hole in the corridor's sidewall.  A large beam protruded from it, keeping the collapse from going further, and the hole opened onto darkness below.  A rope, secured to a rock piton, led down into the void.  We learned from the three explorers that Reginald had found a large room beyond and gone down to explore it.  Looking down, we could see the faint glow of his lantern.  We called, but heard only echoes in answer.

There was naught we could do but follow.  Down a long climb, we got our first view of the Syrneth Star Machine.

Coleson's rope led to a catwalk, part of an elaborate web of such walkways, platforms, and mezzanines that put Dionna's to shame.  Except for our lanterns, the immense room was filled with darkness; but high overhead the starry sky stretched in a perfect dome.  For a moment we thought we were back outside, but then we understood: each of the "stars" was a stone in the vault stretching abovehead, perfectly mimicking tonight's sky.  The Erebus Cross pointed like an arrow down towards the machine.

Around, above, and below us, the beams of our lanterns revealed a maze of brass-like globes, cogs, clockwork, and gears on a scale that dwarfed any mechanism we had ever seen.  Their combined pattern made my head hurt in the same way that the mysterious pool's images had on l'Ile de la Bête.  But some pieces looked damaged or cracked, perhaps by the same collapse that had breached the corridor wall far overhead.  A strange, deep humming made our bones resonate, but we could not pinpoint its origin.

In the centre of the room, a platform supported what looked like controls: levers, smaller gears and wheels, knobs, and crystalline shafts.  From it rose an impossibly high, impossibly fragile-looking spiral stairways that reach to the vault and disappeared into darkness.  Standing over the "controls", was Reginald Coleson, staring with fascination.  Upon approaching, we saw two depression in the platform's controls that matched our two Æther Compasses.

When Reginald recognized us, he seemed both surprised and pleased.  He started babbling with excitement over this fantastic discovery.  We had to interrupt him to explain what we had learned along the way: the smaller device on l'Ile de la Bête, Vincenzo Caligari's unwanted interest, the deaths of his colleagues of the Society in Dionna...  Despite his easy enthusiasm over the Syrneth Machine, Reginald has a good heart and was appalled at what we described. He agreed to leave the machine alone, at least until the constellations had moved away from their key position.

And then we heard a laugh far, far above head.

We looked up to see the now-familiar figure of Lucius Malveck, lit by a torch and sneering at us from the opening in the vault.  Reginald's rope was gone.  Another man, dressed in Vodacce style, stood with him.

"Good evening, my noble Castillan friends!" Malveck called to us.  "Allow me to introduce my new associate, Alfredo Caligari!"

He shook the end of the rope in full view.  "Looking for this?" he continued.  "I guess you are not going anywhere for a while...  Let us discuss our options.  Perhaps a little trade is in order.  If you co-operate, we will let you leave.  We want the compasses."

During Malveck's speech, brother Cadfaello discreetly gestured to us, showing the two indentations in the controls, and the doors that barred the exit from the spiral stairways overhead.  Miranda, who held the other compass, nodded.  Lucas took a step forward and called out to Malveck, asking for terms and keeping him busy, while he blocked the line of sight.  Brother Cadfaello and Miranda placed the æther compasses in the two depressions and turned them, in the same way that they had worked on l'Ile de la Bête.  Above us, we heard a grating sound, and the panels that blocked the end of the stairways pulled open.

"Go, now!" Miranda exclaimed.  We started running up stairs that looked as thin as Vendel lace.

From his vantage point, Malveck yelled in anger.  "Oh no, not this time!"  We heard a wet, ripping sound, and clawing at the air he opened a bleeding hole into nothingness.  Plunging through it, he re-emerge in the same instant near the controls, trying to wrench the compass from brother Cadfaello's hands.  Our two compass holders fought to retain their grip while Malveck, with the strength of madness, wrestle them.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Sebastian was already reaching the doors in the ceiling, but met with Alfredo Caligari running to stop our exit.  Sebastian jumped through and drew his sword, opening his mouth to issue the challenge as promised to Prince Giovanni Villanova, when his eyes stopped on the pin of the Swordsmen's Guild which Caligari wore.  Sebastian bit his lip, flustered; it is illegal to issue a challenge to a fellow guild member.  He drew his steel, but hesitated, holding a defensive position.

Fergus, Lucas, Reginald, and I were strung out along the flimsy stairways between the two fights.  Below we heard Malveck's demented laughter, a sharp click! and suddenly, ominously, a series of high pitched sounds like metal grating on metal.  Sparks started flying from one end of the vault to the other, monstrous gears and spheres began moving ponderously, lightning arcs illuminated the vast room in ghostly flashes.  Miranda shrieked as something sparked near her hand and, wrenching herself free from Malveck's grasp, ran up the stairs in turn.  Brother Cadfaello followed closely behind.  Smoke rose in plumes, explosions cascaded around the room while Malveck tried vainly to use the "controls".

We erupted in the room above, where Sebastian and Fredo Caligari were exchanging tentative passes.  Outnumbered, Caligari was manoeuvring to avoid combat.  A new, louder explosion in the vast chamber below rocked the entire maze of corridors, throwing us to the stone floor.  Fredo Caligari used this opportunity to disappear.  We picked ourselves up and ran as fast as we could.  A side passage and luck led us out to ground level, billowing smoke following us all the while.

Once outside we discovered that the camp had been ransacked, supplies scattered, equipment destroyed, and the explorers freshly killed, their throats slit.  We shivered.  Fredo Caligari and his men were nowhere in sight, and tremors still rocked the mosaic floor.  Reginald's face was ashen, and he hands shook.   We buried the dead explorers in the bogs, salvaged what little equipment we could, and headed back for inhabited regions.
 

From there, we made our way back to Dionna.  Reginald had convinced us to entrust the compasses to the Explorers' Society.  We turned the two artefacts over to Madeline du Bisset, who moved them to an undisclosed safe location using her Porté sorcery.

We solicited an appointment with Prince Giovanni Villanova to inform him of the results of our expedition.  Although he remained entirely urbane and courteous, there was an undercurrent of deadly anger emanating from him once he learned that Fredo Caligari had not been killed.  He looked at Lucas for a moment, then walked over to a door in the back of his office, and threw it open.  Seated at a bare table there was a woman swaddled in heavy Fate Witch veils; she remained immobile but every line of her silhouette suggested tension.

"Allow me to introduce my brother's wife, signora Lucia Mondavi Lucani Villanova," he smirked darkly.

We gasped: the woman was aunt Lucia, Lucas and Miranda's mother!  We all started talking at the same time, but Villanova stopped us with a gesture.  He explained with cold amusement that aunt Lucia had been his older brother's fiancée before she eloped with uncle Andrès; he said he considered this previous agreement to remain the only binding one.  This twisted reasoning shook us: the rumours have it that Villanova murdered his brother himself!  But it seems he considered aunt Lucia's escape to be an insult to the Villanova family, one he had decided to redress.  I assume he obtained her by trading with the Montaigne after she was captured at La Batalla de los Vados Ganados.

I think Lucas would have tried to duel the prince right then and there, and Villanova was certainly smiling in anticipation.  He is rumoured to be a lethal blade, and we all did everything in our power to stop Lucas.  My cousin probably figured that the prince would have stacked the odds in his own favour, and managed to control his rage.  We were coldly dismissed.

It was clear that we would not be able to wrestle aunt Lucia from Giovanni Villanova's stronghold without a plan and much help.  We discussed our options that night at the inn, but had few practical suggestions.  However, things looked even more ominous the next morning.  When we woke up for breakfast, Sebastian was nowhere to be found.  His room was empty, but his meagre luggage was still there.  After a few hours of search, we were finally led by an errand boy to a dead body found in an alley.  Sebastian had been cut to ribbons by an expert swordsman, and from the style of the cuts it appeared the swordsman was of the Villanova school.

Subdued, we resolved to return to Castille.  Dionna no longer welcomed us...