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London

Jack stood aside from the other guests in the museum's grand reception room. He held a small plate of hors d'oeuvres given to him by an indifferent stewardmouse and favored his stiffening Vanderbilt leg; its fluids running low. Around the border collie, socializing with one another, were the remains of the representatives' cortège from a treaty signing earlier. Jack stifled a yawn and sighed as he watch the tittering aristocracy flutter from one group to another, each country of the treaty recognized by their formal wear and their species. The largest and most diverse company circled a pair of otters from Luxembourg, all eyes wide and shining at the two who appeared to be reveling in the attention. The trill of a stringed autoconcerto floated in the air while the hum of its engine whispered behind.

"Hoe gaat u genieten van een partij?"

Jack started, straightened up and turned his ears to face a hedgehog dressed in a blue and white uniform highlighted with red. He wore a matching cap atop his head quills. The hedgehog smiled and gestured to the room with a clawed paw, holding a glass of champagne.

"Hoe gaat u genieten van een partij?" The hedgehog repeated.

"I'm sorry," Jack shook his head," I don't speak, uh, you." Jack shifted his weight absentmindedly and felt the pistons in his left leg starting to give. He shifted his footing back to his natural right leg and heard a tiny hiss of air as the pistons refilled.

"English?" the hedgehog sniffed, wiggling his nose out of a tic more than scenting. He spoke with a thick, lilting accent, "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Very much," Jack lied.

"Good. Good," the hedgehog nodded, "And I thank you and your country for, ah, inviting us." With a raise of his glass, the hedgehog moved to join a small contingent of guests at the base of a musical water fountain, the centerpiece of the room. He shook, paw-to-hoof, with a boar dressed in a plain black three-piece suit donning a Union Jack pin. The boar eyed Jack, smiled, and started walking towards the collie. Jack took another glance around the room, the nearest other gathering was too far for his gamey leg.

"Jack Morgan!" the boar gave a toothy grin and lifted his champagne glass to Jack. His polished tusks caught the light and shined, "I didn't think you were going to make the reception. You ducked out of the signing early."

Jack bared his teeth in a forced smile, "Perceptive as always, Thomas, but no. I stayed for the officiating."

"Oh," Thomas' eyes widened. He took a gulp of his champagne, "No one would have blamed the famous Lance Jack if he bogged off for a bevy and nosh." The boar slumped a meaty arm around Jack's shoulder and Jack felt his balance waver. "That Dutch-hog, the one you were talking with, thought you were the host!" Jack smelled the champagne on Thomas' breath. It was subtle, Thomas wasn't drunk yet, but he wasn't completely sober, either. "It must be your uniform. The poor git doesn't even know you were just a Lance Corporal. I don't think he even knows what an actual serviceman's attire looks like."

"Probably not," Jack forced himself to not take Thomas' bait and looked around at the rest of the dress and uniforms in the room. There were representatives for all ten of the Great Powers, but he couldn't tell the ranks apart, either.

"It was diplomatic of you to show up, anyways," Thomas removed his arm from around Jack's shoulder and gave Jack a pat on his back. Jack wavered again on his artificial leg.

"It would have been discourteous of me to decline a personal invitation from the Duke of Albany," Jack shifted his weight again, creating space between him and Thomas.

"Ah, yes," Thomas nodded, "Why wouldn't the Duke want to parade Lance Jack, the American Yank who fought against the Zulis in England's southernmost colony in Africa?"

"It does help the Empire to be represented by its citizens who've contributed to the welfare of the nation," Jack countered.

"Au Contraire," Thomas reached out with a thick-nailed, manicured hoof and plucked a pastry from Jack's plate. The boar tossed the petit fours into his mouth and chewed with low, throaty grunts. "I helped to secure a seat for the Volpacchios who were otherwise going to be ignored, not having a stake in the treaty." Thomas gestured to himself, "See my suit? I had a tailor on Savile Row copy a Furioni and those foxes didn't know the difference!"

"Very shrewd of you, Thomas," Jack bared his teeth in what he hoped would pass for a smile.

"Very shrewd indeed," Thomas chewed and sniffed, his wide, pink snout wiggled from side to side. "I wager that lot will want to show their appreciation to their envoy for securing their seat and let me tell you, Lance Jack, old boy, do I have plans for them!"

"You have your father's candor," Jack sipped on his champagne and looked around the room again for any other different faces. He kept his ears focused on anything other than the boar in front of him.

Thomas coughed and stared at Jack. Thomas opened his mouth to speak a thought and closed it. The boar took a breath and searched Jack's face, stopping at Jack's heterchromatic blue and gold eyes. "And you have your mother's eyes, Lance Jack."

Jack felt his fur rising, his tail stiffen, and his pulse quicken but urged himself to suppress it and keep his poker face, "Thomas, don't be so crude." The last word he stretched, but not by much.

Thomas stepped back and took another look at Jack. The boar's beady eyes darted to the sides, searching, but they were the only ones engaged in their particular conversation. The reception went on around them and the mechanical birds of the musical fountain sang watery notes. An orrery of tinted lenses painted the vaulted alabaster ceiling with rivers of color. Thomas spoke, his voice low and sober, "I wasn't going to reveal this just yet, but I have been in contact with the Lord about my properties in the colonies. Since the civil war over there has weakened the new country, I have taken the opportunity to further research in matters very agreeable with the Lord and His Majesty - no, I should say for all of England and her colonial dominance in the world. I daresay the Parliament is rumored to be giving me the dominion of Canada. So you can see, my work here, today, extends to more than being just for show. State affairs such as this treaty signing require a certain, hm, pedigree," Thomas stretched the last word just slightly, but Jack caught the hint. "And while I am sure you inherited some admiral stock, these procedures are best conducted aside from the whimsies of a Duke." Thomas gulped the last of his champagne and let his eye wander from Jack back to the room.

Jack let his hackles rise and his tail stiffen as he glared at the boar. His paws squeezed the plate and champagne glass, both made of some divine material that wasn't shattering under his grip. He opened his mouth and started to speak but movement out of the corner of his eye gave him pause.

"Mister Jack Morgan and Mister Thomas Hudson Lowsley, my this is a pleasure indeed!" a svelte purr tickled Jack's ears. The two males turned to an approaching female black tabby. Her pink silk taffeta dress with black trim hugged her form as did her matching black satin gloves. Her demure stare was betrayed by a brazen, wide grin.

"Ah, Miss Danvers!" Thomas straightened up and cleared his throat.

"Ophelia!" Jack did the same, as best he could.

The tabby eyed the males and nodded to Thomas as she wrapped her arms around Jack's right arm, "Please forgive me, Mister Lowsley, but there is a matter to which I must have Jack attend."

Thomas, wide-eyed, shook his head and cleared his throat once again, "Not at all Miss Danvers. Please call me Thomas."

"Why thank you for your courtesy, Thomas," Ophelia smiled. And with her leading his arm, Jack followed with his slight limp.

She led Jack past tables of food and cortège circles until they stood alone on a balcony overlooking the museum grounds. The glow of street lamps beyond the grounds illuminated the streets of London and, in the distance, dark columns of foundry smoke obscured the starry sky.

"You boys and your pissing match," Ophelia gave a small laugh, "I smelled the testosterone from the veranda so I thought I'd come rescue you."? "The boar started it." Jack placed a paw on the banister encircling the balcony. He had given his plate and glass to a servicemouse as he and Ophelia walked through the hall.? "You always say that." She gave Jack a scolding, knowing look.? "And I'm always right!" Jack shrugged.

"Don't let that pikey pillock wind you up." Ophelia touched Jack's arm. Jack felt himself relax and dropped his tail and ears. "Careful, Gidget" Jack smiled back, "You're starting to sound like him."

Ophelia gave a small sigh and dropped her smile, "You know as well as I do that, despite what his half-brother may say, he's still an heir to the Vanderbilt railroads, past what he already owns. And with that money, I've heard he's buying land in America that contains a lot of oil."

"Yeah," Jack nodded and rolled his eyes, "I heard that, too. What he does with that is none of my business."

Voices of many species tittered and laughed as a representative with her own party came out onto the balcony. Nobody gave Ophelia or Jack the presence of mind as they all commiserated in a foreign tongue. Jack was about to pay the same heed to the group when he spied spiky, dark hair and a broad snout flanked by tusks.

"Shit," Jack whispered.

Thomas broke off from the group and sauntered lazily toward Ophelia and Jack. The boar reached into a coat pocket and procured a cigarette and matchbox.

"Miss Danvers?" Thomas lit a match and held out the cigarette.

"No thank you, Mister Lowsley," Ophelia smiled and purred.

Thomas lit his cigarette and drew a puff. The boar turned his gaze to Jack and let loose a slow breath of smoke.

Jack snapped his arm back as quick as a piston and bored his fist square through Thomas' nose. The boar's eyes went blank and he rocked back from the recoil.

Ophelia sprang forward and slowed the boar's fall. She turned to the group that was still ignoring them and yelled, "Help! Mister Lowsley fainted!" The group turned to look at her and gasped at the boar on the ground. A female lemming hurried into the building.

Jack watched as Ophelia lowered Thomas to the ground and call out to the group. He stood, not knowing what to do until Ophelia looked up at him, giving Jack a 'get the hell out of here' look. So Jack did, leaving the boar in Ophelia's silken paws.

Jack sat next to a glowing circulating stove while kids of varying species ran about the wide room. A dozen cots with pillows and blankets lined the walls. An elderly ermine sat near Jack's Vanderbilt leg and worked on it. With every movement the ermine gave to the leg, Jack's left side rocked with it.

"Any more butter cookies, Mister Jack?" A small female mouse looked up at Jack with crumbs in her whiskers.

"I'm afraid those were the last I was able to get," Jack patted her on the head. Her ears and whiskers dropped and she let out a sad, "okay."

"That's what I told the other kids," Jack reached inside his jacket, now folded over the back of his chair, and procured a round, yellow cookie, "but for you, Violet, this was my secret cookie I was going to eat, but you can have it."

"Can I really?" Violet looked at the cookie with awe and back at Jack. Jack winked with a smile and Violet let out a small chirp as she took a bite. "Thank you, Mister Jack!"

"You are very much welcome, Violet." Jack exchanged a glance with the ermine and the ermine returned a smile and nod.

"Andy, Charlie, and Danny found a home," Violet took another bite of the cookie and used her forearm to wipe away crumbs.

"Oh, did they?" Jack looked down at her but Violet twirled the cookie in her golden paws. "Hey, I think Camella wants some help over there. Why don't you see what she wants?"

"Okay, Mister Jack!" Violet looked up at him with a smile and scampered off.

When she was off, and the other kids had moved to the other end of the room, Jack looked down at the ermine who looked back, unsmiling. "All three of them were adopted while I was away? I wasn't gone for more than a few weeks."

"I'm sorry, Jack. There was nothing I could legally do to stop it." The ermine pushed against the false footpad and watch the hydraulic pistons of the leg retract and extend.

"What do you mean, 'stop it', Manfried? Who adopted them?"

Manfried set his tools down and wiped his slender paws with a used cloth, "Leighton Pace visited again while you were gone."

"Leighton Pace?" Jack sat up in his chair and retracted his leg. With that quick movement Jack felt his leg working again, but ignored the result, "You let Leighton Pace adopt - which one? Charlie?"

"All three," Manfried folded his ears back and looked at his paws, wiping absentmindedly.

"All three?" Jack repeated, raising his voice. Jack looked at the children playing, but all of the little ones were engrossed in their own activities. "How could you let him adopt all three? He's going to throw them into the smelting foundries and they won't be seen or heard from again! Not to mention if that iron workers strike is to be believed, they could be put in serious jeopardy."

"I did my best!" Manfried hissed, his eyes wet. "Under the law Leighton Pace could adopt all three as his children. And, as his children, we do not have any say in how he treats them. At this point we can only hope they are living better than here." Manfried looked at the kids, still running around. "Okay kids, bed time! Go wash up."

A chorus of groans and protests sang from the kids as the older ones led the smaller kids out of the room. Manfried turned back to Jack and grabbed his tools, "Your leg's fixed, it wasn't a bad leak. Your room is still the way you left it aside from a couple rascals who I caught snooping around it last week."

Jack stood and tested the leg. It held his weight easily and moved comfortably, "Thanks Manfried. I'll meet you downstairs after lights out."

Jack walked to his room, passing the line of kids at the bathroom. A few waved, some were complaining, the younger ones stepping onto wooden stools or being held by the older kids to reach the edge of the wash basins. Some were wearing their nightgowns while others were still changing. With Andy, Charlie, and Danny gone, Jack noted, the oldest kids were no older than eleven years of age. Jack walked down the rickety stairs, creaking under his metal leg, passed the front door, the entranceway, and made his way to a side closet that had served as his bedroom for as long as he could remember.

Jack lit his hanging tubular paraffin lamp followed by a cigarillo procured from his vest's inner pocket. He took stock of his small room, the bed, the cupboard, the small washbasin, and a footlocker. Jack unbelted the worn, tanned straps of the footlocker and lifted the lid. From his waist he procured his arc-gun and gave the lever a couple pumps, feeling the winding of the gears inside and hearing a soft crinkle of electricity building up. Jack released the hammer with his other paw and felt a steady, weak electric current flow through him, standing his fur on end, until the hammer was safely uncocked. He held the gun over the lockbox and stopped. Inside, Jack saw the corner of a piece of yellowed parchment and withdrew it from the lockbox. He smiled and gave a quick sigh as he examined the drawing. The paper was of him in pilot gear in front of an airship titled, "L'E'tolle du Nord". Jack had long forgotten who sketched the drawing, but whoever had drawn the picture also drew his airship with its engines on and the steam billowing around Jack's boots. He looked much younger in that drawing, and he had both legs.

Jack's ears swayed towards his still-open door and he turned his head to listen. He waited, ears at attention, but he didn't hear anything. Instead, he realized he felt - more than heard - a thumping noise coming from outside his room. Jack kept his eyes on his open door and stood up, placing the photo sketch inside his vest and keeping his arc-gun ready. Stepping outside his room, he took stock of the dark entryway. The strange thumping sound had stopped and no sound came from the children upstairs. Wait, he cocked an ear towards the stairs and a different kind of thumping made its way down the stairs. From the heft and weight, Jack suspected it was Manfried, done with putting the kids to bed.

"Good heavens, Daniel!" Manfried's voice ran high and breathless from the middle of the stairs and Manfried's heavy footsteps hurried down the remaining steps.

Jack holstered his arc-gun and ran from his doorway to the base of the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, where Manfried had already reached and was crouching down to examine, was a dark lump. Jack could smell both wet and charred fur. A sickly, acrid smell rose with the char. The dark shape took form as Jack got closer and he could see the lump was a small hare. Patches of the hare's fur were black, down to skin, along with one ear. The boy was breathing laboriously.

"Daniel?" Manfried repeated, "Daniel, what happened? Keep your eyes open, boy. What happened to you?" Manfried looked up, over his rectangular spectacles to Jack, "We have to get him to a hospital."

"I thought Daniel was adopted by Leighton Pace, why is he here?" Jack examined the wounds over Daniel's body, assessing how grave and how much the leveret was wounded.

"He was, and I don't know," Manfried sighed and moaned. Jack heard the start of tears in the old ermine's voice, "I don't suppose Mister Pace is going to search for Daniel?"

"He might," Jack nodded, standing up. "I'll take him to Saint George's. If you are able, try to reach the constabulary and I will meet you at the hospital. I don't fancy leaving Daniel anywhere unattended by either one of us."

A rattling bang shook the front door of the orphanage, both Jack and Manfried snapped their attention to the rattling door. Dark shadows played on the windows of the building followed by a soft, orange glow. Muffled voices sounded on the outside of the building and the soft glow grew brighter.

A window burst open and a flaming bottle shattered at its base. Yellow flames licked the floorboards and rose to the shattered pane. A second window burst with flame and the fire blossomed on the floor.

Jack ran to the door, flanked by flames. He felt the heat against his sides and his ears. He grasped ahold of the doorknob and reactively withdrew his paw from the doorknob. "It's stuck," Jack called back to Manfried, "And on fire!"

"The children!" Manfried stood up, "We have to get them out!" He started to run up the stairs.

"Try their windows," Jack ran to Daniel and cradled the boy, "I'll be right behind." Jack, with the tenderness of a lamb, lifted Daniel off the floor. The boy was light, and his breathing shallow. Smoke started to fill the air behind him and he started up the stairs.

Halfway up, he heard screams and cries from the children's room. From where he was, he already saw orange light from their bedroom. The light diminished as Manfried appeared at the entrance. Smaller shapes of the children filled in behind him. "The windows are blocked from the outside, we are trapped!"

"No we're not," Jack countered, shaking his head. "This used to be a slaughterhouse, right? There should be a drain in the kitchen connected to the sewers that we could use. Have the kids make a chain and follow me."

Jack made his way back down the stairs, holding the mitten of an older mouse pup and carrying Daniel as best he could. The flames at the entrance reached out across the floor and Jack walked with his head below the smoke, into the kitchen. "There!" Jack set Daniel down and pushed aside a cabinet. Above him he could hear the roar of the fire above. Behind him he heard the crying and whimpering of the kids. Around him he could feel the kitchen becoming hotter. Cool air rose from beneath the cabinet and through a haphazardly shut grate. It would be tight for him and Manfried, Jack appraised, but the kids would fit fine. "Manfried, lead the way and I'll lower the kids to you."

"Yes sir," Manfried hurried to squeeze himself into the hole. As soon as he was through, Jack lowered the youngest kids who couldn't make the rungs themselves, into Manfried's waiting arms. Jack lowered Daniel to Manfried and the older kids who could climb down without assistance, followed. The ceiling above Jack cracked and groaned and he dove down the hole as the building collapsed around him.

Jack was cold, wet, and tired when he reached the door to Ophelia's manor. His back ached from crouching in the sewer while carrying Danny. He stank as well. They all stunk, all twelve children, Manfried, and himself. The children had been quiet, too, whether from shock, from exhaustion, from cold, or all three. Ophelia's butler, a billy named Jeffers, had answered and let them in. The children were treated to warm, automated baths in brass tubs with scented soaps, and given fresh undergarments to sleep in. Manfried and Jack also cleaned up with permission from Ophelia while Jeffers left with Danny for the hospital. After their own grooming, Manfried and Jack joined Ophelia in the parlor and told her everything that happened in the orphanage after Jack came back "But what I don't understand is why Leighton Pace would want to burn down the entire orphanage instead of demanding Daniel to be returned to him." Ophelia's fur shined bronze from the fireplace she sat next to. A tray of tea and biscuits sat on a low, white table between her, Manfried, and Jack. Ophelia set her teacup and saucer onto the low table. "I'm afraid the only clue we have," Manfried reached into his old bundle of clothing, having changed into one of Jeffer's attire after the bath, "is this." In Manfried's paws was a small, pink and white, 5-petaled flower with a tube in the center instead of anthers. Ophelia stood, her black tail lashing, wide-eyed and grinning. She stated, "Adenium obesum!" and walked over to a bookshelf. She started paging through timeworn leather-bound volumes. "Where did you find that?" Jack leaned toward Manfried, glancing at the small blossom, a little over an inch long. "It fell out of Daniel's pocket when you lowered him to me, Jack," Manfried passed the flower over. Jack turned it over in his paws. "It's also called a Sabi Star, Impala Lilly, and Desert Rose," Ophelia walked back to her seat with a yellowed tome. Her long black tail ticked side to side like a metronome. "It's an evergreen, but grows kind of like a cactus. It is found in Abyssinia and Arabia - along the southern part of the Red Sea. I remember my father used to teach me about flora from Africa, to Persia, to Asia. It also says here that the sap is used as arrow poison." She looked up as Jack dropped the flower into his lap, holding his paws above his head. "It's only in the roots, dear," Ophelia laughed. "But then how would Danny have come by this African flower?" Jack looked at the pink petals in his lap. "Did Leighton Pace export any of his iron? I thought Great Britain had a tight control over her limestone and ore deposits." "It's possible," Manfried spoke softly, "That indeed Mister Pace has control over his iron smelting, and that whatever iron he's producing has permission from the Crown to be exported." "What makes you connect this to The Palace so quickly?" Jack turned to the ermine. Manfried cleared his throat and looked at Jack and Ophelia, "In a few days the Eastern European Exhibition will commence in Paris. While this means largely a showing of science and engineering by Prussia, Austria, and Hungary, France is said to be unveiling a new type of cannon. Remember the smell on Daniel, Jack? America, despite having a civil war, is going to be represented by a new kind of fuel that may replace steam, petrol." "Thomas Lowsley?" Ophelia looked at Manfried, but the ermine shook his head. "Mister Lowsley, despite his parentage, has been recognized as British aristocracy while, excuse my boldness, Jack, border collies are uniquely American." "No fault of your own," Jack nodded to Manfried, "I grew up Colonist despite your upbringing." "I would surmise that while Britain could attend as an observer, Britain would want to showcase some new technology to compete with the Eastern Europeans. Cambridge has been experimenting with Australian gold to power their automations, but I suspect something else is being formulated." "How do you know about the Exhibition in detail?" Jack set his own teacup he had finished onto a silver tray resting atop the table. Manfried's ears swept his skull. His long whiskers twitched, "I still write to some of my former colleagues in Hanover. Gregor Mendel is to be speaking at the Exhibition and I had so wished to hear him speak. To be honest, I believe the treaty you two observed, and this Exhibition, are to prevent a war between the Northern German Confederation - Prussia - and, hm, Lesser Germany. The Luxembourgers are renowned in their spring making while the Bavarians excel in their craft of shaping gears. Both are vital to Britain's machinations. But there is something else that has been bothering me - with that flower." "What's that?" Ophelia held her finger over a page of the book she was leafing through. "You said it came from near the Red Sea, possibly from Africa, correct, dear Ophelia?" "That's correct," Ophelia nodded. Manfried closed his eyes, leaned back his head and sighed. When he finished, he opened his eyes and sat up in his chair. The fireplace crackled in the silence. "Around twenty years ago, before I came by you, Jack," Manfried looked at Ophelia and Jack, "My colleagues in Hanover marked an expedition to Egypt to study the pyramids; this was before the Convention of London, mind you. A fellow by the name of Franz Von-Riley was certain there was something more upstream of the Nile in an area called the Valley of the Negasi. He took a separate group of explorers to find out, but they never returned. Nobody knows if he even reached his destination. Later, when my correspondences stopped answering my letters, I inquired with other acquaintances I knew. Apparently those who were on the Egypt expedition had disappeared. Assumingly they left Europe but no one really knows." "What interested Von-Riley so much in Egypt? Gold? Diamonds?" Ophelia's ears were alert to Manfried and she stared at him. "Nothing as trivial as gold and diamonds, my dear," Manfried waved her off, "What he was looking for, from what I gathered, was something even more precious than that; something no less than the origin of our existence and - quite possibly - immortality." A knock came from the door of the parlor and all three turned to watch. An old goat with swept-back horns opened the door, Jeffers, and returned the trio's gaze. "I'm afraid to inform you, Miss Danvers," Jeffers shook his head, "Leighton Pace was found dead earlier this evening." Jack swiveled an ear to Ophelia as he heard her gasp and turned back to Jeffers, "What do you mean? How did you come by this?" Jeffers stood, professionally, at the door, and turned towards Jack, "I took master Daniel to the hospital as per your instructions and saw to it he would be properly looked after for the time being. Afterward I went to the Met to report the fire at the orphanage when I overheard two officers discussing the demise of Mister Pace at the smelting foundry. They suspect he was killed by one of the striking foundry workers. The fire at the orphanage was categorized an accident." "Wow," Ophelia blinked. They sat in silence, digesting the news, with only the sound of a splitting log burning in the fireplace. "So what do we do?" Jack stared at the fire and cleared his throat, "Well this is what we know: Daniel came to the orphanage burned, carrying a flower that only grows around the once-Ottoman-Empire. The person he ran away from, now dead, is exporting precious commodities to that area - an area you have some knowledge about, Manfried?" "Only from my colleagues' letters, now up in smoke, I'm afraid." Manfried sighed. Jack nodded and continued, "Now due to the workers' strike at the foundry and the docks, it would be suicide to try to track any shipments from there. Gidget?" Ophelia looked up at Jack, "Yes, Jack?" Jack looked at Ophelia with a somber but widening grin, "Fancy a voyage to Cairo?"