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faking it. I had been in that pleasant state between sleep and waking. That drowsy, comfortable place where everything is serene and peaceful and nothing bad existed, such as poison ivy or endless state dinners or engagements.
    Engagements!
    I opened both eyes and sat up in bed. I almost screamed out loud. I had fallen asleep looking at Henri’s face, and now I was waking up looking at him. He glared at me from the window.
    “That’s quite a disturbing face to wake up to,” I said crossly.
    “Oh, save it,” he said rudely, climbing in over the sill. A greying, balding head popped up into view after him.
    “Uncle Milo,” I said, somewhat surprised. “What are you doing?”
    “Climbing the ivy,” he said. “I find it strenuous and full of spiders.”
    “We couldn’t use the door,” explained Henri. “There are Delmanians everywhere. Nobles, servants, soldiers. I counted no less than twelve trumpeters marching around in the back pasture, blaring away and scaring the cows. I wouldn’t be surprised if their entire court was here.”
    “What a nuisance,” said Uncle Milo, settling into a chair with a sigh. “Though I must confess a great interest in that hot air balloon of young whatshisname—”
    “Fenris!” growled Henri.
    “Yes, that’s his name. I wonder if he’d be willing to lend it to me? I’ve never ridden in a hot air balloon before. Absolutely fascinating conveyance. You’re his fiancée, my dear. Would you be willing to—?”
    “Don’t remind me!” I wailed. A tear trickled down the end of my nose and dropped onto my silk nightgown. Silk spots very easily. Particularly from saltwater.
    “Sir! That’s exactly the reason why we’re here. Don’t you remember what we talked about? We’re going to save her! The idea!”
    “Oh, ah, yes. That’s right.” Uncle Milo looked contrite. “The idea.”
    “The idea?” I said, trying not to sniffle. “You’re going to save me? What do you mean, the idea? Is it your idea? What’s the idea? Tell me the idea!”
    “Yes, yes. The idea,” said Henri rudely. “Stop repeating it like a parrot.”
    “A parrot? I’m not the one with a nose like a beak!”
    “At least mine isn’t as red as a beet!”
    At this point in the conversation, Henri ducked in a cowardly fashion when I threw a small, ornate clock at him that happened to be close at hand on my nightstand. The clock shattered against the wall. Cogs and springs bounced across the floor.
    “Children, children,” said Uncle Milo reprovingly. “This is no way to treat such a fine example of Swiss ingenuity. That particular clock was made by the firm of Sprüngli and Jodl of Bern. If I did not make my own clocks, I would be sure to buy them from Sprüngli and Jodl.”
    “And speaking of Switzerland,” said Henri, eyeing me warily.
    “Yes?” I said. “Speaking of Switzerland? And don’t you dare say anything about parrots!”
    We sat down around the table in my sitting room. Uncle Milo prodded Henri encouragingly in the ribs. Henri cleared his throat. I refrained from telling him that he sounded like a strangling duck.
    And then he began to explain the idea.
    When Henri had finished, he sat back and looked at me with a sort of anxious expression on his face. I stared at him. Uncle Milo’s eyes were closed as if he had fallen asleep.
    “You don’t like the idea,” said Henri.
    “No, I love the idea!” I said quickly. “It’s brilliant! But how do you. . . how do we. . . ?”
    “Ah,” said Uncle Milo, opening his eyes. “The question upon which all else turns. How do we get to Switzerland in time? And not just Switzerland, but the top of the Matterhorn ? And then back, of course. In less than one week. That is the question. That is the fulcrum upon which all else tilts.”
    “We could take the train,” said Henri.
    “The night train to Vienna, switch to the Zurich line the following day, and then horse and carriage to Thun. A boat across the lake and then up to the top of