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won't ask you to do that, then," Riordan muttered to himself. Louder: "Right. So, if we asked you to deliver a cargo weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds into the Hjalmar Palace you could land in the courtyard-as long as we've got the usurper's men out of that gatehouse-you could probably fly out of it on your own, but if you had a problem on takeoff you'd hit the wall, and again, the usurper's men would have you in rifle range for a minute or two. You can't fly at night, and you can't fly low enough to drop anything useful on the enemy without them riddling you with bullets. Am I missing anything? Is that a fair summary of your limitations?"
    Rudi blinked. "Yes, sir, I think so. Uh, that and, we need more gas. Sorry." He shrugged. "I think we've got about five gallons left. Avgas, not regular."
    "Damn." Riordan glanced round. "Steward? More coffee." He turned back to the table. "Have Joachim and Stefan reported in yet?"
    Vincenze looked thoughtful. "Not unless they've come in since we started in here."
    "Go and chase them up, then."
    Dismissed, Vincenze rose. He nodded at Rudi. "Good luck, cuz."
    Startled, Rudi watched him leave.
    "The cornet has no need to know what I'm about to tell you," Riordan said quietly. He paused while the steward placed fresh mugs of coffee in front of them. "That will be all."
    "Sir." The steward bowed then left the room.
    Rudi waited until the door was shut. "Sir, you obviously have something in mind?"
    "Yes." Riordan fell silent. Then: "I sent Joachim and Stefan out to buy some office equipment. Most of a print shop, in fact-a laptop, graphics software, a printer, a scanner, and equipment for making badges."
    "Badges?"
    "You know of our long lost cousins, I take it?"
    Rudi nodded cautiously. "I've never met any of them."
    "Hmm." Riordan raised one eyebrow. "You will, soon enough." He picked up his coffee mug and blew on it. "When Joachim gets back he's to run off two hundred laminated color cards with our lost cousin's knotwork seal on it."
    "Their-"Rudi stopped. "It's not the same as ours, is it?" he asked.
    "No." Riordan put his mug down. "According to the duke, they became lost two centuries ago when-you know the story about how the seventh brother went west, to make a home for himself in the outer kingdom, what the Americans call California? He fell on hard times, and lost his sigil. Later, he tried to recreate it from memory, and got it subtly wrong. That's why neither he nor his descendants could visit the United States; they found themselves in another world, only slightly different at that time. Anyway, we have a copy of the lost family's sigil, and we are going to make enough duplicates of it to equip every world-walker in the Hjalmar Palace. As its doppelganger site in Massachusetts is crawling with federal agents, and we have not accurately surveyed the terrain in the other world, you're going to fly the badges in."
    Rudi's thoughts spun. "So I won't need to fly out?…"
    "No. The duke's men will help you dismantle your aircraft and carry it with them when they leave. Lady Olga is developing the evacuation plan and will organize your logistics. The larger goal is to present the usurper with a tempting target, and then give him a nasty surprise when he tries to take it. Do you understand?"
    "Yes, I think so. But I thought he knew about our talent? And is clearly taking pains to avoid situations where we can use it?"
    "Indeed." The earl grinned humorlessly. "I'm counting on it. Egon knows about world-walking, and plans his moves accordingly. Which makes his behavior predictable… and I'm going to use that fact to kill him."
     
    Mike Fleming was trapped in the basement of his apartment, trying to figure out how to get out, when the phone rang.
    It was the colonel's fault. "Son, I'm relying on you to stay home and convalesce," he'd said sternly, after handing over a brown paper bag containing an anonymous mobile phone and a semiautomatic pistol. "I want you back in the saddle as