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irritation. The stooped man watched impassively, but the tall fellow looked slightly apprehensive, like an errant pupil called into the principal’s office. “Sir Roderick, Lord Douglass. We assume you would not have lightly called us away from our one private hour of the day without good reason. So if you would be good enough to be seated, perhaps you could explain to us what that reason was? You, fetch chairs for my guests.”
    Servants cleared for the highest discussions brought chairs for the two ministers. Lord Douglass sat first, creakily lowering himself into his seat.
    “Roderick, I believe this is your story,” he said in a thin voice that betrayed no weakness of mind, merely the frailty of extreme old age.
    “Yes, your lordship. Majesty. I have the grave duty to report to you that our intelligence confirms that two days ago the Farmers General detonated a corpuscular dissociation petard on their military test range in Northumbria.”
    “Shit.” John Frederick closed his eyes and rubbed them with the back of one regal wrist. “And which of our agents have reported this? Roderick, they were at least six months away from that last week, what-what?”
    Sir Roderick cleared his throat. “I am afraid our intelligence estimates were incorrect, your majesty.” He took a deep breath. “Our initial information comes from a communicant in Lancaster who has heard eyewitness reports of the flash from villagers in the Lake District, southwest of the test range.
    Subsequently a weather ballonet over Iceland detected a radiant plume of corpuscular fragments indicative of a petard of the gun type, using enriched light-kernel cronosium. We’ve had detailed reports of the progress of the Farmers’ Jenny-works in Bohemia, which has been taking in shipments of Pitchblende from the Cape. If they’ve got enough highly enriched cronosium to hoist a petard, and if they’ve also commissioned the crucible complex that was building near Kiev, then according to the revised estimates that my department has prepared we can expect the Frogs to have as many as twelve corpses in service by the end of the year, and production running at two per month through next year, rising to ten per month thereafter.”
    The king sighed. “We cannot afford to ignore this affront. Our credibility will be deeply weakened if we are seen to ignore such a clear challenge by an agency of the French crown. And the insult of using our former territory as a test range”-his voice crackled with indignation-“cannot be other than intentional.” John Frederick straightened up in his chair. “Lord Douglass.
    This matter must be addressed by the Imperial Security Council. A new policy is required to deal with the affront. And a public position, lest panic ensure when the Frogs announce their new capability.” He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the intricately lacquered desktop. “Well. What else to keep us from our workshop?”
    Farnsworth focused on the prime minister. Douglass might be old and withered, but there was still a sharp mind behind the wispy white hair and liver-spotted wattles. Moreover, to the extent Farnsworth could claim to know the prime minister at all, he struck the equerry as looking shifty-and Sir Roderick was visibly sweating. This is going to be very bad indeed, Farnsworth realized.
    They’re using the French corpuscular test to soften him up. What on God’s earth could be worse than Louis XXII with corpuscular weapons?
    “Sire.” It was Douglass. Farnsworth focused on him. “This, ah, led me to question the diligence with which the Ministry for Special Affairs has been discharging its duties abroad. And indeed, Sir Roderick has instigated certain investigations without prompting, investigations which are revealing a very frightening deficit in our understanding of continental machinations against the security of your domain.”
    “We … see.” The king sounded perplexed and mildly irritated. “Would you get to the