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50

IN ONE CORNER OF THE BACK SEAT, MISS PIMM SNAPPED COMMANDS: "Faster! Cut this corner! Go faster!" Her voice was soft and yet it carried the authority of a sergeant major's. In the driver's seat, Stringer was howling in terror, but apparently doing exactly what she wanted, like a puppet on strings. The big car swung around the bends, trees and hedgerows streaming past in an impossible blur. Thank the gods there was no other traffic . . . so far.

In the other corner of the back seat, Smedley had clenched his real fist until the nails dug into his palm, and he could not feel his imaginary one at all, just when he needed it. This was downright maniacal! A country lane like this was only safe at about twenty miles an hour, and they must be doing seventy at least. And uphill at that! The engine would boil. Even a Rolls made a din at this speed.

"Prepare to overtake!" Miss Pimm said. She seemed quite relaxed, holding her oversized handbag on her lap. "There is a lorry ahead."

God in heaven! What had got into the crazy old bat? She had been perfectly sane until about fifteen minutes ago. And then . . . well, they had gone through Vicarsdown like a Sopwith Camel. A miracle they hadn't killed someone. When he had expostulated, she had told him to stuff a sock in it.

"Pull over—now!"

The Rolls seemed to tilt almost onto two wheels as it hurtled around the corner on the outside. The back of an Army lorry swelled instantly from nowhere to fill the gap from hedge to hedge. Stringer shrieked and somehow shot the Rolls into the slit on the right. Branches snapped and whipped along the coachwork.

"Stay on this side!"

Straight ahead! A cyclist! Smedley yelled, "Look out!" Stringer screamed at the top of his lungs. There was a momentary image of an impending disaster, a loud impact of metal against metal, and Edward Exeter was sitting alongside Mr. Stringer in the front. Then another! More noise . . . something like a wheel whistled past the window . . . and Alice Prescott was on the back seat between Smedley and Miss Pimm. "Stay on this side!" Miss Pimm repeated. A bright red roadster rushed straight at the windscreen, veered at the last second, missed the lorry by inches, and plunged headlong into the woods with a noise like an artillery barrage at close range. Smedley caught a glimpse of its wheels and chassis as it reared vertically, plastering itself against a tree. Then the Rolls was around the bend and humming up a long, straight hill on a peaceful, sunny afternoon.

"I think that went well, don't you?" Miss Pimm said, in the tones of one who had just pulled off a daring finesse in a game of auction bridge. "You may pull over to the left now, Mr. Stringer, and reduce speed."

Alice opened her eyes. Exeter said something in a harsh foreign tongue and twisted around to look at her. They were both brightly flushed and apparently out of breath. He studied Alice, then Smedley, and finally Miss Pimm.

"Is it legal to enter a car at that speed?" Smedley inquired weakly. His heart was doing a thousand revs. If he had been skeptical of magic before, he must certainly believe now. Those two had been outside, on bicycles, and boring straight into the lorry like howitzers and here they were quietly sitting . . .

"Mr. Stringer, why are you stopping?" Miss Pimm demanded sharply.

"I'm a doctor! There has been an accident. And, by heaven, the police are going to ask some—"

"Drive on! We need not worry about the law. Unfortunately, nobody was injured. The soldiers will discover that the other car had no driver, whatever they may have thought they saw before the crash. They will not be able to explain the bicycle debris either, but that is not our concern. Pray continue." The class will now hand in its dictation.

"I'm alive?" Alice whispered.

"Only just!" Miss Pimm said. "I apologize for my tardy arrival and the unruly procedure."

Exeter squirmed around to kneel on the seat, leaning over the back. "I saw you at Staffles!"

"Being a guardian dragon? And now I am the deus ex machina."

His eyes gleamed with delight. "Dea, surely? And in machina, not ex?"

How could he possibly be capable of making jokes already? Alice was still paralyzed. Smedley had just discovered that he had bitten his tongue.

Miss Pimm smiled her barely visible, thin-lipped smile in appreciation. "At the moment I am going by the name of Miss Pimm."

"But when I was at Fallow, I used to address you as Jonathan Oldcastle, Esq?"

"You did indeed! Well done." Move to the top of the class. "I don't suppose your handwriting has improved at all, has it?"

Exeter was grinning as if all this insanity were just enormous fun. "Unlikely. Colonel Creighton said you were a committee."

A faint spasm of annoyance crossed her face. "I was chairwoman."

"Was it the pillar-box? You had a spell on it?"

"No, Edward. It was your fountain pen. Turn left at the intersection, Mr. Stringer."

"You read my diary?"

"No. It was excessively uninteresting."

Exeter scowled and looked at Alice. "You all right?" He reached out a hand, but the car was too big for him to reach her.

She let out a long sigh. "Yes, I think so. I need an explanation!"

"We have time for that!" Miss Pimm adjusted her handbag on her lap. "The real credit goes to Mr. Stringer's brother, the brigadier. He recognized Edward. He guessed that whatever had happened was beyond the scope of normal military procedures and very gallantly took the risk of shipping him home, notifying—"

"Dumping the whole mess on me!" Stringer snarled, turning left at the intersection. "I will kill him! Where are we going?"

Nextdoor! Smedley thought. Olympus!

"Straight on until I say otherwise. I became aware of your cousin's return when he reached England, Miss Prescott. I placed a mark on him many years ago. It is not operative outside this world, and even here its range is limited. I investigated. I decided he was in no immediate danger. It took me a few days to make arrangements—"

"My secretary eloped with a sailor!" Stringer growled.

"Quite so. Love at first sight. The very morning I took up my new duties—"

"Excuse the interruption," Exeter said softly. "But what do you do when you are not being my nursemaid?"

"Many things. I am with the organization you refer to as Head Office, of course. My portfolio is the British Imperial Government, excluding the Government of India. Mostly I burrow around Whitehall like an invisible mole, arranging this and that. For example, it was I who was responsible for your father being appointed D.O. at Nyagatha. That was an interesting challenge, as he was twenty-five years old, with thirty years' experience."

She smiled her schoolmistress smile again—Smedley wondered what age she was. He realized that he could not tell. At times she seemed quite young, and at other times quite old. Dowdy and unattractive, she was yet lording it over all of them. Charismatic?

"We wanted to see if we could demonstrate the advantages of nondisruptive techniques in elevating the social systems of subject races. But I digress. As I said, that very first morning Captain Smedley came blundering in."

Exeter looked at Smedley and smiled fondly. "Bless him!"

"He turned out to be a confounded nuisance," Miss Pimm said sharply. "But he has named his reward, and we shall see what he does with it."

Exeter's smile widened. "What did he do wrong?"

"He involved Miss Prescott. The Blighters have a mark on her. When she suddenly left London on a weekday, they were alerted. The rest, I think, you can work out. Right at the junction, Mr. Stringer."

The surgeon snorted. "You haven't asked me what reward I want!"

"I catch images of myself being burned at the stake," Miss Pimm retorted, "so I shall not inquire about the details. Try to concentrate on the interesting weekend you are having."

"We must need petrol."

"No, we don't. We have a fair distance to go, and the Opposition will be after us. Did you get a good look at their agent?"

Exeter scowled. "If you mean that joker driving the fire engine, then I think so, yes. He had mauve eyes."

"Ah! Then it was Schneider himself. I thought as much."

"He's dead now?"

"Not at all. And as soon as a suitable vehicle comes within his reach, he will be on our heels. He has probably summoned reinforcements. You have bruised his vanity too often, Edward."

"I did warn him!" Exeter glanced at Alice. "And that is not all I should like to bruise."

"But you are a native here, so you have no chance whatsoever of doing so. You must leave him to us. Now I have to teach you all the key to the portal—"

"Not so fast! You want to cross over, Smedley?"

"All three of you will cross over!" Miss Pimm said sharply. "It is the only way to put you out of the Blighters' reach. I have better things to do than guard you twenty-four hours a day, Edward."

"Not me! My duty is to enlist. I will not return to Nextdoor."

Miss Pimm's eyes narrowed dangerously, as if she considered ordering him to wash out his mouth with soap. "Then why did you go to Harrow Hill?"

Exeter was looking dangerous himself, or at least implacably stubborn. "I have a message to send, that is all. There is a traitor in Olympus, but if Julian is going, then he can tell them for me."

"Who?" she demanded.

"Jumbo Watson!"

"Absolute rubbish! I have known Mr. Watson for—for more years than you would believe."

Exeter sighed and shook his head. "I would very much like to agree with you, ma'am. I like Jumbo personally, like him a lot. But remember he was Home in 1912? Somebody tipped off the Blighters where the guv'nor was hiding."

"No, they didn't. Soapy Maclean came over by way of the Valley of the Kings. That portal had been compromised. We did not confirm that until much later. The only person to use it since was Colonel Creighton, in 1914, and there was so much confusion that summer that he managed to shake off the followers he had acquired."

"Really?" There was an oddly pleading expression on Exeter's face.

"Certainly. Jumbo was confident that your father would still oppose the Liberator prophecies and would try to prevent your fulfilling them—he had no motive to kill Cameron and Rona Exeter. Furthermore, the Blighters obviously believed that they had caught you in the massacre. They ignored you for two years after that. Jumbo knew you were at school in England, although I would not tell him where. You cannot blame Nyagatha on Jumbo, Edward."

Exeter sighed. "I'm glad! But he was the one who dumped me on the battlefield. It was a deliberate attempt to kill me, and it was certainly Jumbo who did that. Even if he wasn't the rat at Nyagatha, he's a rat now."

Miss Pimm frowned and bit her lip. After a moment she said, "I cannot recall anyone from Nextdoor ever crossing over by way of Belgium. That is not a portal known to the Service. So who told Jumbo about it?"

"Zath, I expect. The Chamber."

"Of course. Cannot we go a little faster, Mr. Stringer? We have a long way to go."

"I am a nervous wreck!"

"You will be a physical one also, if you try to resist me now."

Exeter caught Smedley's eye and grinned. Miss Pimm was a most formidable lady.

"Faster!" she said. "Undoubtedly the Chamber informed Jumbo, Edward. But how? They must have an agent within the Service, but who? If Jumbo were here, we could ask him who told him about that portal. We could ask him who taught him the key, and who assured him that there was a tended node at this end—which I assume he told you was the case? You were deceived by someone you trusted, but perhaps that person had been deceived also?"

Exeter was nodding.

"You are making charges of the most serious nature," she continued. "Undoubtedly, the Service will bring whoever is responsible to trial and impose the death penalty if he is convicted."

"I will drink to that."

"But is Jumbo the culprit, or was he duped? Captain Smedley is an unknown on Nextdoor. He is also—forgive me, Captain—a man who has recently undergone a grave ordeal. If he turns up unannounced in Olympus mouthing accusations of treason against one of the Service's oldest and most senior officers, then he is not likely to receive a serious hearing. At the very least, the individual responsible will have enough warning to make his escape. If you want revenge, Edward, if you want justice, then you must deliver the message yourself. An accused person has the right to face his accusers."

Now that was telling him, Smedley decided joyfully. Exeter obviously agreed, for his frown was thunderous.

Alice was smiling. She was pretty when she smiled, not at all horsey.

Exeter said quietly. "My duty is to enlist."

A shadow of exasperation passed over Miss Pimm's crabby face. "Spoken like a true Englishman," she said cryptically. "But to do so here would be rank stupidity. I cannot guarantee that I shall always be available to pull you out of the wreckage. I will make you a much better proposition. Do you know the sacred grove of Olipain?"

"In Randorvale? I know where it is."

"And you can get there from Olympus?"

"It's not far. Three or four days' walk."

"Very well. I shall teach you the key to it. It leads to a tended portal in New Zealand. In fact, that was how your father came Home in ninety. Your mother was born not far from there."

She paused, but Exeter just waited for her to finish, eyes steady and unreadable.

"You will return to Olympus this evening, taking Miss Prescott and Captain Smedley. When you have laid your charges and given your evidence—when honor is satisfied, and I know I can trust your judgment on that—then you can make your own way to the grove of Olipain. You will not need to ask the Committee's permission, fair enough? That key requires no additional drummer. You will enlist in New Zealand. The Dominion forces are playing a noble part in this war. The chances of your ever being recognized in their theaters of operation are remote. That is a reasonable compromise, is it not?"

"I have no intention," Exeter said icily, "of sitting out this war guarding some bloody sheep farm on the wrong side of the—"

Smedley exploded. After he had outlined the Gallipoli Campaign and the reputation Anzac forces had earned on the Western Front, he subsided as suddenly as he began. He apologized to the ladies for his language. He had rather surprised himself, and he had certainly astonished Exeter.

"I didn't know!" He swallowed. "I'll have to swot up on all this! But I apologize. I accept your generous offer, ma'am."

"That is settled then!"

"Not me!" Alice roused herself for the first time, sitting up straight and seeming to pull herself together. "I stay here."

"Alice!" Exeter said.

Smedley wanted to tell him that he was being a fool. She kept a man's dressing gown in her flat. A woman had greater loyalties than cousins. For a moment nobody spoke.

At last Alice said, "No, Edward. I warned you. I have my reasons, Miss Pimm."

Miss Pimm nodded.

Exeter moaned. "Alice? Please? The Blighters may come after you!"

"No, Edward. If they are using me as a Judas goat, then I think I will be more valuable to them alive than dead. Correct, Miss Pimm?"

"I hope so. One cannot tell, but it may be so. You must go faster, Mr. Stringer. I shall warn you if there is any traffic coming."

"There is a car behind us. It has been there for some time, a Bentley, I think. Is it a threat?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Nobody I recognize. I shall watch them, though. Carry on. Now, do not be tiresome, Edward. Your cousin is quite old enough to make her own decisions."

"But—"

"No buts. Attend carefully, please, Captain Smedley. All portal keys are very ancient and very complicated. They involve rhythm, words, and a dance pattern. They arouse primitive emotions to attune the mind to the virtuality. Think of that as sanctity."

"Exeter described them." Smedley had begun to feel excited again. "He mentioned beating drums, though, and I'm short a few fingers now."

"I don't think that will matter, as long as someone is drumming for you. Have you ever felt a sense of uplift in church, when the anthem soars?"

"Um. Yes, I suppose so."

"You are not tone-deaf, I hope? You can dance?"

"No and yes, respectively." His leg was throbbing like the dickens, but he could move it.

"Then I foresee no difficulty. Your wrist has healed sufficiently that it will not open if the sutures are lost. We shall begin with the words."

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Framed