Eloise had no nightmares, as it turned out, but I slept fitfully. I was full of dread for the discussion I knew we would have with the Comte. I finally climbed out of bed an hour after sunrise when I accepted I would get no rest.

I went for a walk, and enjoyed watching the morning mist on the smaller river, which calmed my nerves somewhat. Heading back, I saw Beanpole about fifty meters away, also out for a walk. But he was heading away from me, toward the fields where they held the tournament and festival twice a year.

Feeling the need for companionship, and hoping I could maybe talk to someone who would understand my fears, I broke into a light jog. In seconds I caught up with him. He turned at the sound of my approach.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Didn't want to. I want to look at the Tripod, and I want to do it with as few people around as possible. I don't include you in that, obviously; I mean the locals. I actually wished to be out here an hour ago, but even I need sleep."

"Looking forward to the day's discussion with the Comte?" I asked.

"Not really thinking about it."

I wanted to tell Beanpole about the worry gnawing at me, but even after all these years, I sometimes couldn't predict what he would understand and what he wouldn't. Every now and then, another person's emotions, or a personal problem they were facing, would be completely alien to him. And sometimes, even when it wasn't, sympathy was still in short supply. He might sympathize with my dread; he was just as likely to be irritated and scornfully tell me to snap out of it (and might be correct to do so).

I didn't have the energy this morning to play a guessing game, so I opted for simplicity and walked with him in companionable silence.

We reached the Tripod's feet first and proceeded slowly along its length. I knew Beanpole was analyzing it because it was his job as well as his personality. Any scrap of information or knowledge, even indirectly, was good to have. I had learned that by now.

Everywhere I looked, I saw tiny cuts of superficial damage. "It's covered with sword and lance marks," I said.

"They must have attacked it as a mob, and taken years of rage out on it," Beanpole said. "Their arms were probably sore the next morning."

We reached the dome. The Tripod was lying such that its three large portholes were completely in the ground, facing slightly left. The number of attack marks here was maybe ten times greater.

The control room hatch was about fifteen feet off the ground, and Beanpole looked at it intently. The hatch frame had buckled a bit, enough that there was a small gap between it and the door, but it was still closed. The gap meant that very little, if any, alien air remained inside. The human room hatch, which we could see when standing on the other side, was also closed.

"No one has gained entrance," Beanpole said. "Good. I was afraid they had gotten inside and touched the radio."

"Or caught some horrible disease from the corpses," I said.

"Or that."

"It's only a matter of time before an animal, such as a fox or a bird, explores that opening, looking for food or a nest."

"And possibly brings a disease from within out into the rest of the world," Beanpole mused. "That gap should be sealed. I'll speak to them about it."

We looked it over for another ten minutes, but didn't see anything else remarkable.

As we headed back, Beanpole casually said, "Do not worry about arguing with the Comte, Will. He is a strong and intelligent man. He will not hold it against you, or reject you in any way."

I just smiled and shook my head in wonder.

 

Beanpole returned to his room. Still a bit restless, I didn't want to return to mine, so I felt at a bit of a loose end. But then I saw Henry alone on the veranda, so I joined him. He was sitting in a chair near the edge and holding a cup, his feet propped on the balustrade.

"They have coffee here, Will," he said with a contented sigh. "I'd forgotten that. It's common in the Americas, but only a rich man's drink here, so it's been weeks since I've had any. You'd be surprised how attached a person can become to this stuff. It's a long walk to the kitchens, but worth it if you want some."

I smiled and said, "I'll get some later." I swiveled a chair to face the river and sat. The morning mist I'd enjoyed earlier had dissipated in the rising sun.

I said, "A couple weeks ago, I wrote a letter to my parents, and asked them to share it with your father. I told them about us, and said you were well."

He nodded. "That's good."

He said nothing more about that, which I understood. His mother had passed away when we were thirteen and he had never really been close to his father, so he may have cut all emotional ties to Wherton. I didn't pry.

He said, "Will, I'm dying to know – what's the inside of a Tripod control room look like?"

I told him, and he asked more questions, then more. Halfway through our conversation, Eloise pulled up a chair and joined us. Henry wanted to know every little detail about every control, and was utterly fascinated with the method of walking and using tentacles.

He said, "When I first started to learn a little about machinery, I really wondered how they could use a metal tentacle with such precision. The best I could imagine was a complicated array of switches, dials, and levers, but I knew even that would be nowhere near good enough. The truth is so much more bizarre, but makes perfect sense."

 

A little after noon, our group enjoyed a pleasant lunch with our hosts. It was a large affair in the great hall, because we were joined by a number of regiment commanders, knights, and even a few squires. It wasn't obvious, at first (well, not to me, at least), but as lunch progressed, I slowly realized that everyone present was there to participate in the coming discussion. My heart sank as I realized that meant the Comte wasn't even planning to discuss whether he should attack.

We had intended to use the afternoon's meeting to dissuade him from attacking, whereas he had invited all his commanders and knights and was going to use the afternoon's meeting to plan the attack. So there went our agenda. Great.

We did have one lighthearted moment. Near the end of the meal, a servant handed a letter to the Comtesse. Eloise, sitting next to her, noticed this, and let out a small yell of surprise. "That's the letter I sent you from Freetown!"

"Well, I guess I should open it to see how you're doing!" the Comtesse said, and they laughed.

As servants cleared the dishes, Beanpole unrolled several maps on the tables and weighted their ends with mugs. Each map, with its precise text and drawing, was obviously from ancient times. The largest map showed the entirety of the French region, but with old national borders and roads which no longer existed.

The Comte and many of the knights and commanders peered quizzically at the maps, and I suddenly remembered that the Capped never used maps because the Masters repressed that need and knowledge. I joined Beanpole as he quickly explained to the group what a map was and how to use it. "The blue is water. We are here, the great-city of the ancients is here, this is the coastline. This land across the water to the north is England."

As they crowded around and looked at the maps in fascination, the Comtesse appeared at my side. "Guillaume, will you do me the honor of joining me for the afternoon?" she asked.

I stole a look at Beanpole, who nodded.

"The honor would be mine," I said.

 

My future mother-in-law and I strolled through the courtyard. A few white clouds dotted an otherwise clear blue sky.

"I find fate capricious," the Comtesse said. "Five years ago, we wished you to join our family, but you had another agenda. Now, you have returned, and will join our family after all."

For just a moment, I thought about confessing that I had almost joined her family the first time. But considering the event which changed my mind, that would have been unnecessarily painful for both of us.

I said, "We only knew one another for about six weeks. After five years, I am astonished that you actually remember me."

She smiled. "You were the only romantic interest our daughter ever had. Her departure is the single most important thing I have ever experienced, and I remember everything associated with it. That includes you. I remembered you had two companions, but I could not recall their names or faces. But yes, Guillaume, I have always remembered you."

I let her choose our wandering path, and she led us beyond the courtyard to the large flower garden. It had been carefully cultivated with such a variety that, at any time during spring and summer, color was everywhere. A few butterflies and bees shared the vast space with us. Our feet made small crunching noises on the fine gravel paths.

"When we discovered you had left, we assumed it was because you, being uncapped, were unable to understand Eloise's departure and were too heartbroken to stay."

"Well...the heartbreak part is true enough."

"But you never forgot her."

An image flitted through my mind: standing next to my Master, finding Eloise on display like a hunter's mounted animal.

"No," I said, quickly choking back emotion. "No, I never forgot her."

"And you have brought her back to us." Her eyes welled with tears.

"She would always have returned."

"But she is free to do so because of you. And we are free to love her properly again, because of you."

Now I understood what she meant. "Me, and hundreds of others. We all do our part."

She smiled. "From what I have heard, your part was more important than most."

"No. Bigger, maybe. Riskier, certainly. Easier to understand and to romanticize. But not more important. The scientists who re-created the Masters' air and the slave masks, the scouts who found a Tripod to capture, the leader who devised the plans, the commander who thought logically while I simply reacted, the man who runs the barge to bring us our supplies, the ones who take care of the vagrants. Even the people who prepare the food and the sentry whose name I don't know. And the ones who have died. These people are just as important. Eloise would not be here, and you would not be free, without all of them. And there are still others who are alive and well because Eloise, in her turn, does her part."

She looked at me keenly. "Yesterday, I privately asked Eloise if she was sure you are the one for her. If her heart was filled with the true peace of conviction. She not only said yes, absolutely, but she told me that you are wise beyond your years, yet refuse to see it."

"She has expressed her frustration in that regard from time to time," I said with a light smile. "I'm sure whatever my faults, she will always be there to hold a mirror in front of me."

"For your faults, and for your good qualities, as well."

"True. She will also do that."

"And what about you, Guillaume? Is your heart truly at peace with your choice? Do you harbor any doubt about your plan to live the rest of your life with Eloise?"

"No doubt whatsoever," I said, instantly and with total conviction. "I could search the entire world for years and never find another like her. She's extraordinary. Compassionate. Wise. Thoughtful. Fun. Educated. Witty, with a very quick mind. She sees further than almost anyone I know. She's loyal, and dedicated, and selfless."

She was silent for a few moments, then said, "I never had any doubts, myself. But I still wanted to hear your answer."

"And you have every right to ask for it. I expected nothing less."

She smiled at this. "Have you had any contact with your own family since leaving them?"

"I wrote them a letter two weeks ago, and I have every hope it will reach them before winter. But I will not return to them until we have won the war, or until Julius no longer needs me."

"Do you know what you will do with your life once this war is over?"

"I haven't thought about it much," I confessed. "All I know for certain is that there's a man living on a river island I need to apologize to for stealing his boat. If he's still alive, I would like to see him and explain. But other than that and visiting my parents, no, I don't know what my future holds, or what trade I will take up."

"I would like to meet your parents some day."

"I'd love for you to meet them, as well. Someone would have to convince my father to leave the mill in someone else's hands for a while, but I believe my mother could make that happen."

"So they could travel here?"

"Yes."

"Or...I could travel there."

I tried to imagine it. "Well, Wherton does have a manor house. I've never been in it, so I have no idea if it's fit for a comtesse."

She gave a grand smile. "I do not always need a manor or a castle, Guillaume. I can sleep in a normal bed as well as anyone."

"And would the Comte make this trip, also?"

She gave a little shake of her head. "No. Although he would be interested to meet your parents, he would not travel such a distance to do so. But I would."

"Then maybe both trips can happen. You can visit Wherton, and a few years earlier or later, my parents could visit the Chateau de la Tour Rouge."

"I would like that. I would enjoy meeting your family much more than you would enjoy debating war with your future father-in-law."

I smirked. "Is it that obvious? I tried to hide it."

"Oh, you hid it from him. He is blind to such things. But I have eyes. You disapprove of his plan, but your engagement makes it difficult to say so. So, yes." Her eyes twinkled. "It was actually very obvious."

"Did you ask me to join you to spare me the agony of the battle discussion?"

"Eloise isn't the only one here with compassion, my dear Guillaume."

I tilted my head back and laughed loud and long. Then I said, "Oh, how very French!"

"Merci beaucoup."

In the distance, there was a sound of galloping hooves on cobblestones, getting closer. A man shouted and whistled.

"My word," the Comtesse said. "Who could be arriving in such a hurry?" She rushed to the nearest garden gate and opened its wicket door, giving us a view of the front drive.

A horse carrying a man with an unkempt beard and muddy clothes raced to the front gate.

The front gate was open, as it usually was during the day. Nevertheless, two very alarmed guards quickly planted themselves in front of it. The man dismounted easily, displaying solid horsemanship. He was tall, with a broad chest. He began anxiously entreating with the guards, though we couldn't make out the words.

"We had best see what the commotion is," the Comtesse said.

We went out the garden gate and crossed the side lawn. I was anxious not to walk in front of her, but equally anxious to shield her in case this wild man was a threat. Certainly, one would have to be desperate or insane to arrive at the chateau so unwashed. Even a farrier at the servants' entrance wouldn't do that.

The man saw us approach and took a couple steps in our direction. The guards quickly interposed themselves between him and us. The man ignored them and called in a strong voice, "Dear Lady, I am a member of the resistance. I bring vital news! It is imperative that I speak immediately with the Comte and with the resistance members I have been told are here!"

"Guillaume, do you know this man?" the Comtesse asked.

I scrutinized him. His face was muddy, his beard gray, and his lower lip had a nasty scar. "I don't recognize him, no."

The man asked me, "Are you one of the visitors from Freetown?"

"I am. Who are you?"

"My name is Stefan. I have found the Tripods, the ones who are not dead. And I know what they're up to! Julius must know! Everyone must know!"

I peered at him keenly. When he said my name is Stefan, something about his voice's timbre and inflection struck a chord.

"Did you once pose as a vagrant in England?" I asked.

He gave me a strange look. "I did, yes."

"And the name you traveled under when you did this?"

"Ozymandias."

I gasped. "You recruited me, sir!"

"I don't remember you, but I'll take your word for it."

I saw it now. He'd had the beard when I met him five years ago, of course, but back then it had been red and well-kept, and he didn't have the scar. But beneath the mud and the wild look, I now saw the man who saved my life. And the look in his eyes was one of pure sanity and honesty, just like they had been then.

I turned to the Comtesse. "I know him and vouch for him. He speaks the truth."

The Comtesse told one of the guards, "Fetch the valet. Give this man every courtesy and whatever he needs."

Before the guard could move, Stefan said, "Do not bother the valet. The only thing I need is to speak to the Comte and to the resistance. Please forgive my wretched appearance, but I have no time to bathe. The situation is too dire."

"Follow me," the Comtesse said.

She led us inside and we headed toward the great hall. As we walked, Stefan asked me, "What is your name?"

"Sorry," I said. "Will Parker. I was thirteen, living in a village called Wherton, when you met me."

"I still don't remember you, but I've heard your name a few times over the years. You were the spy who brought back all that crucial information from the alien city, right?"

"One of them, yes. You're about to meet the other."

We entered the great hall to find that the large discussion had actually broken into groups of smaller discussions, all hovering around the table with the maps like chicks around a hen. But as people noticed Stefan, their talk began to subside, and faded more with every step the three of us took. The commanders and knights looked with incredulity on this bizarre newcomer, and glanced at each other uncertainly.

I made eye contact with Beanpole, Fritz, Henry, and Eloise, and nodded toward Stefan just a bit, to let them know this was truly important.

We halted in front of the Comte. All the members of the resistance gathered around.

"Comte, please forgive my wretched appearance," Stefan said. "My name is Stefan, I am with the resistance. I am not an uncouth man, merely one delivering news of such dire urgency that it cannot wait. I have scouted the Tripods who still live. I bring information you need to know at once."

Beanpole grabbed him by the elbow and ushered him to the maps. "I am Jean-Paul." He quickly made introductions by pointing. "Fritz. Henry. Eloise. Tell us what you know."

Stefan stepped to the largest map and placed a finger on a city of the ancients called Bayonne, on the shore of the Atlantic. "This is an ancient abandoned city," he said. "It was once a major port, and there are still gigantic ships of the ancients in its harbor. This is where the active Tripods have gathered."

I looked closely. It wasn't a vast city like Paris, but it was certainly many times larger than a village. I suppose it might have been as big as Winchester.

"Are you from the Paris cell?" Henry asked.

"I am."

"We expected to hear from you over a week ago," Fritz said. "We thought you were dead."

"Some of us are. This was no ordinary scouting mission. These Tripods are hypervigilant. They know what's at stake. One stands sentry while the others work on the waterfront behind it. And when that sentry sees the tiniest movement, even a rat, it reacts instantly and without mercy. Four of us died trying to get close enough to see what they're doing. We saw the remains of another scout team, as well.

"There were three of us left. We decided to approach from the side, along the shore, as their sentry seemed only to watch the approaches by land. The ancients built a waterfront along the shore, with materials similar to rock and mortar, but it has long crumbled and the sea has reclaimed parts of it. So we built a framework of branches, broad enough to cover two people, and covered it with seaweed. James stayed with the horses while Alexander and I held this framework over our heads and crept through the mud along the ruins of the waterfront. We took some food and two canteens each. We could only make progress at low tide. It took two days to advance close enough to spy on the Tripods, another three to observe them sufficiently, and another two to retreat. But we did it."

"And what did you see?" the Comte asked.

"There are five Tripods in addition to the sentry. They are building a massive naval platform! They're constructing it out of four of the huge cargo ships of the ancients, each ship larger than this chateau."

Many people gasped, clearly unable to imagine ships that size. I understood, for I had the same reaction years ago.

"How long ago was this?" Beanpole asked.

"We left the area six days ago, so it has been eight days since I observed the Tripods. Speed was of the essence, so we traded our horses for ship passage up the coast, then purchased new horses near Charron."

"You've been wearing mud from the shoreline in Bayonne for eight days?" I asked incredulously.

He got a chuckle out of that. "No. This mud is from this morning. A fawn spooked my horse and he threw me into a ditch."

"How were the Tripods carrying out this construction?" Beanpole asked.

"They have at least thirty of those special floats Tripods attach to their feet when traveling over water. We don't know where they got so many. Either they carry floats with them as standard practice, or they traveled broadly to cannibalize dead Tripods which had them. Most of their work is on land, but they used these floats occasionally, maybe two or three times a day, but never for very long. And the Tripods produced bright fire from their tentacles to repair and merge the ships."

"Bright fire from their tentacles?" Beanpole asked, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

Stefan shrugged. "The tips of their tentacles produced some kind of fire. Not fire such as you and I know, but I don't know how else to describe it. It was obviously heat, and so bright it was impossible to look at directly. And each light produced a constant shower of sparks."

"They were using this fire directly on the metalwork, weren't they?" Beanpole said.

Stefan gave him an odd look. "Yes."

"A technique of the ancients called welding," Beanpole said. "It's similar to what a blacksmith does, but using more sophisticated tools and more than twice the heat."

"If you say so," Stefan said. "All I know is that each ship was partially rusted through, so they were repairing them one by one, as well as joining them together."

"Did they ever pause in their work?" the Comte asked. "Did they ever sleep?"

"Sometimes their work would slow, and a few Tripods seemed to rest in rotation. But at any given time, at least two were always working. Sometimes all of them. So no, they never actually stopped.

"But the most crucial thing is: they're almost finished! I have no idea what they intend with this platform, but it fills me with dread. If all they wanted was to cross the sea to take refuge in the third city-"

"They wouldn't need an entire platform," Beanpole said quietly, his hand on his chin.

"Right," Stefan said.

"They're afraid," Henry said, realization dawning. "They're afraid we can still destroy the third city! They're creating a backup base of operations!"

"A naval platform is ideal for that," Fritz said. "They know the chances are low that we have any ability to attack them with ships. And they're right, we don't. All these years, our enemy has always been on land, so our thinking has been land-based. Additionally, a naval base is mobile: if you find it one day, you could lose it the next and have to find it again, and again, and again." He shook his head in admiration. "A naval base neutralizes us almost completely."

"Almost?" the Comte asked.

"We might be able to use the technology of the ancients to attack them from the air," Beanpole said. "We've made a little progress in this area. But to attack a target hundreds of kilometers from land? And a mobile one at that?" He shook his head. "That is beyond our ability, and will be for several years."

"How could a naval platform save them?" Eloise asked. "When their air runs out, they will choke at sea as easily as they will on land."

"They could make port across the ocean and replenish their air and water from the third city," Henry said. "Then they could install one of their air-making machines on the naval platform and live in their Tripods."

Everyone was silent as the implications sunk in.

"This platform," I said quietly. "Would it be big enough to form the landing area for their spaceship?"

Every single face in the great hall looked at me in horror.

"Oh...my...God," Stefan said.

Beanpole leaned on the table, stunned. "That's what they're doing," he whispered. "Even if we destroy the third city, as long as that platform exists, we would not be free."

"If we destroy the third city before the platform gets there, these Masters will still choke on their own air!" Eloise said.

Beanpole shook his head. "We're not ready. We need three months to set up the attack on the third city, minimum! But it only takes weeks for a ship to cross the Atlantic." He looked at Stefan. "Are you sure they're almost finished?"

"As I said, I last looked upon their work eight days ago. At that point, judging by the progress I had seen them make over the previous three days, I estimated they would finish within another ten days, give or take a few." He spread his arms wide. "Knowing nothing about these subjects, you may take that estimate for what it's worth."

"You strike me as an intelligent and observant man," Beanpole said. "In the lack of any better information, we have no choice but to assume your estimate is accurate, and that they'll have an unassailable naval platform within two days. If they don't have it already."

The Comte said, "If your organization truly has the ability to strike from the air, it must attack this naval platform now."

Beanpole thought furiously for several moments, then finally said, "We do have the ability to strike from the air. We have re-created the flying machines of the ancients, and they can drop explosives."

Everyone looked at him in astonishment, including me.

"But we have no means of contacting the pilots in charge of the flying machines, unless Paris has a pigeon whose home is their base, which I doubt. Using the radio in Paris is out of the question because the Masters would hear. And even if we could contact the pilots, our current level of technology and knowledge requires weeks of setup to do even the simplest air operation, for it is exceedingly difficult to do. And even if we could somehow launch an air attack on a brand new target in a few days – which we can't – the third city would learn of our secret weapon, which is exactly what we don't want!" He slammed his hands on the table in frustration and kept them there, leaning, bowed under the weight of these awful developments. His arms shook.

This alone terrified me. If Beanpole was scared...

Fritz traced the route on the map from the chateau to Bayonne, and said, "Your army..."

"Useless," the Comte said, shaking his head. "If I understand the distances depicted on this map, these Tripods are a forty-day march away."

Eloise was looking at the table. Softly, she said, "We have fast weapons." Then she looked at the rest of us. "The ones we've been training with."

"They're in Freetown," Fritz said. "And we have no radio to contact them."

"Pigeons?" Henry asked.

"Freetown hasn't existed long enough for its pigeons to know it as home," Fritz said. "Much less transport them anywhere for use."

"James, Alex, and I were riding for Paris," Stefan said. "When an innkeeper told us members of the resistance had come to the chateau, I diverted here in case you could help. But James and Alex will reach Paris in two days, at which point they can use the radio to tell Julius. Hopefully, he will come to the same conclusion we have, and send your commandeered Tripods to do battle."

Fritz shook his head. "The Paris cell can't say any such thing over the radio. The Masters would hear."

"They might hear," Stefan said. "We have to gamble they would not."

"It is no gamble, sir," Fritz said. "It is a certainty."

"Then we carry this information to Freetown by word of mouth," Eloise said. "How far to Paris?"

"Two days," Henry said.

She continued. "Over the radio, we say something vague which means nothing to the enemy, such as, Send the crews to come get us. Our Tripods come to fetch us and we're back in Freetown six hours later with all this information."

Henry snapped his fingers and pointed at Eloise. "That would work."

"Asking someone to come get us would be a deeply strange request," Fritz said. "Even if we found some other way to phrase it, it would send up all sorts of red flags among the enemy. They know we don't do idle chatter."

"It is the least risky choice in an array of risky choices," Stefan said.

"Getting the information to Freetown two days from now will be too late!" Beanpole said tightly, his face wound up with frustration. "We would have to try, anyway, of course...hope Stefan's estimate is wrong, but..." He shook his head, looking utterly lost.

"Perhaps the radio is the best answer," Fritz said. "Say something vague, hope Julius understands what it means, hope the Masters don't understand what it means, then hope we're in time." He sighed and shook his head. "But...the idea that the enemy would not pick up on a strange request is simply absurd! They might not figure out that we have commandeered Tripods, but they'll know we have something unusual, so they'll be extra prepared for anything we do!" He looked defeated. "Eloise is right, we have the means to destroy these Tripods. But unless we get this intelligence to Freetown immediately, without letting the Masters hear anything about it, it doesn't do the slightest bit of good!" He turned away from the table, utterly distraught.

I had never seen Fritz lose his cool, and after all he and I had been through, that was saying something. This was clearly a day of firsts. My terror doubled.

A deep cold silence descended throughout the hall. It was a shared despondency such as I had never known.

Beanpole stood upright again, and to my astonishment, his face was suddenly calm. "The Tripods in Bayonne will be dead within 24 hours," he said.

I looked at him as if he had a fever.

"There is a way to get all this information to the crews in Freetown without the Masters overhearing," he said. "Tonight. No radios or pigeons necessary. Tomorrow morning, our crews will assemble. By sundown tomorrow, the Tripods in Bayonne will lie in ruins."

"We have no means of achieving this miracle," I said.

"Yes, we do." He gave a tiny smile. "It's made of metal, weighs 4,000 tons, and is lying face down in the field outside."