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the Matterhorn by mule halfway and then boot, rope, and ice axe?” Uncle Milo shook his head. “And then repeat the whole journey, but in reverse. No, it won’t do. Won’t do at all. We’ll miss the wedding by a week.”
    “There won’t be any wedding!” I shouted, pounding on the table.
    “Be quiet!” Henri glanced nervously at the door.
    “If we only had a faster means of travel,” mumbled Uncle Milo.
    There was a short moment of silence that, on reflection, should have been much shorter. Then we all started talking at the same time. It made for a very confusing conversation.
    “I know what we can. . . !”
    “Should’ve thought of it before we. . . !”
    “I’m such an idiot to not have. . . !”
    “Yes, you truly are an idiot, and. . . !”
    “I can’t believe I didn’t. . . !”
    “Would you three stop shouting like a collection of lunatics?”
    The voice came from the other side of the room. Startled, we all turned. Celeste closed the door behind her and glared at us, her hands on her hips.
    “All the way down the hall, I can hear you,” she said, frowning. “Is this the way to conduct a conspiracy? Yelling and—what is the correct word?—ollering!”
    “Hollering,” offered Uncle Milo.
    “Ollering , ou i . No, no. You must whisper, huddle close, look suspiciously at other people , tu comprend s ? We French have very much practice with the rebellion, with the conspirac y. We do it with style.”
    “So you wear berets,” mumbled Henri. “So what ? Ouch ! ”
    He looked as if he was going to expound further on this subject, but he changed his mind after I nudged him firmly in the ribs with my elbow. The time for discussion was over. It was time for action.
     
    ***
     
    The moon that night hid obligingly behind ragged banks of clouds, only peeping out every now and then to spy on the proceedings. Uncle Milo and Henri were dressed in black, from their black hats and scarves tightly wrapped around their faces down to their black boots. I, of course, was not, even though I had argued strenuously that I should be allowed to accompany them. Uncle Milo and Henri had both been firm in their refusal, declaring that my job was the hardest. Stay and man the castle. Or woman the castle, if that made more sense. Keep up the appearance of things, they had said. Deceive them until the hour of their grand return, and all that kind of nonsense. I had agreed to do my part in good humor and without much complaining, other than kicking Henri in the knee.
    Between the two of them, they had knapsacks stuffed with everything anyone would want if they were about to embark on an adventure. Extra socks, maps, a spare umbrella, several tins of sardines and just as many bars of chocolate, a collapsible tent that could also double as an inflatable boat, a copy o f Baedeker’s Guide to the Best Restaurants of Europ e , two sets of cutlery and crockery, an alarm clock, some mysterious-looking equipment from Uncle Milo’s laboratory, and a great deal of money. They also had walking sticks with rapiers concealed inside that Uncle Milo had produced at the last minute. I was exceedingly jealous.
    “Now,” whispered Celeste, “we release the pigs. Jean-Luc?”
    The youngest member of my retinue of footmen stepped forward. He looked embarrassed. We were crouched behind a hedge on the edge of the great lawn. The moonlight cast deep shadows across the expanse of grass. A deeper, vaster bulk of shadow hulked above the far edge of the lawn: the hot air balloon of His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Fenris of Delmania. The contraption was deflated, of course, but it still was an enormous bulk due to the wooden ribbing inside the rubberized leather globe. Three Delmanian soldiers paced slowly back and forth on guard, rifles on their shoulders.
    “Do I have to do this?” complained Jean-Luc. “I despise my talent. Some magic it is. It is mortifying.”
    “You must,” I said. “For Bordavia. Besides, it’s a very nice