Magess Envoy of Lothrhyn has been brought to the home of retired Colonel Canus Vesuvius (and his wife, referred to as "Lady Lucia", even if they haven't any grant of nobility), accompanied by Professor Ford Jameson of the Central Museum of Antiquities. Colonel Vesuvius, despite his retired status, is at least the nominal overseer of efforts to investigate the laboratory of the "mad scientist" who created the Leviathan – and Envoy has been given the distinct impression that these "efforts" have been frozen for some time.

The parlor sports a hardwood floor, and many wooden furnishings – a sign of wealth on Abaddon, it seems, or at the very least many years of accumulation – softly illuminated by sunlight filtering in through lacy curtains and a reinforced window that would otherwise look out on the front porch and the landing deck beyond.

Mirrors with etched designs on them give an illusion of the room being larger than it already is, though the ceiling is high enough that a Titanian might feel at home if only he didn't have to duck through the doors, and there weren't so many glasswares and porcelains just asking to be knocked out of nooks.

Chairs and couch are amply cushioned with a brocaded floral design, the colors sun-faded and subdued – save for the favorite chair of the Colonel, which is upholstered in well-worn leather. The seating would be comfortable, save that they simply are not made to accommodate wings at all.

Professor Jameson and Envoy, having just recently arrived by a small zeppelin air-taxi, are ushered into the parlor by Lady Lucia, a matronly old wolf with her mane tied back tightly in a whitening bun and an apron over her flower-patterned dress. "Dinner will be ready directly," she says as she leaves them – as if the two visitors had been already expected as guests, when Jameson had only come calling just now.

The Colonel is a grizzled old wolf with many scars dimly visible through his facial fur, and who lounges in his favorite chair in an eccentric uniform consisting of a housecoat thrown over pajamas, with his medals proudly displayed. The parlor likewise proudly boasts his many trophies, consisting of the heads of odd Abaddonian beasts – most of them reptilian, though some of them look remotely akin to Gooshurms or else are such strange forms that they leave to question whether they really ever had a head at all to mount.

A model of a military-looking propelled airship rests on the mantle of the fireplace, underneath a large framed black-and-white photographic portrait of the Colonel, his wife, and a young son and daughter from earlier days. Other pictures about the room show the two children at various ages, from cubhood to adulthood, and it would seem that the Colonel is a grandfather as well.

At present, as Envoy arrives, he is engaged in some sort of argument with a priestly-looking human seated on a chair near the fireplace. "… for the sake of cooperation with the other nations," the priest says, "it is a worthwhile expenditure, to help to support the Knights."

"Taxes," the Colonel counters. "Father, it all boils down to more taxes. The world is full of worthwhile causes, and politicians intent upon throwing money at them. We could be building roads or schools or hospitals, curing diseases, feeding the poor, helping little old ladies across the street, but it all takes more and more taxes. I hardly see cause for the Expedition to cut deeper into my pension."

Professor Jameson just stands there, as the argument goes on, though he clears his throat in a vain attempt at announcing his presence. Envoy goes just as unnoticed.

Envoy tears her attention back to her human traveling companion when he clears his throat, her attention having wandered to the various mementos of the Colonel's career. The argument about taxes is just background noise to her, the sort of thing she imagines happens in just about every noble's household – or at least those that live like nobles.

Though the Colonel seems unable or unwilling to break away from a chance to get in his argument rather than to be distracted by guests, the priest, on the other hand, looks to the newcomers and smiles, rising. "Hello there, Professor Jameson. And this is … ?" He looks querulously to Envoy.

"Magess Envoy of the Sinai College Esoterica," Professor Jameson throws in, gesturing to the winged Aeolun.

At the introduction, Envoy smiles and makes a slight bow to the priest.

"Sinai?" the seated wolf gruffs, not bothering to get up, but just shuffling in place, and adjusting his spectacles. "That … ah … " He waves his hand vaguely. "… Gateway land! Right it is then. Guess you'll be translating for her, Jameson?"

Envoy blinks at this. "Expedition Standard was one of the first languages I learned after my arrival on Sinai," she explains, trying not to show too much of a Rephidim accent.

Jameson looks as if he were prepared to answer for Envoy – even if were not necessary – but he just smiles and nods at Envoy's answer.

The wolf nods importantly. "Indeed, and a good thing, too. Please, do have a seat. Everyone standing like that, you'll just make me nervous."

Choosing the second-least awkward seat for her wings (the first being an ottoman) Envoy sits down and smoothes out her robes.

Jameson follows suit, and the priest last of all. "There, that's much better now," the wolf says, putting a pipe in his mouth, fumbling about as if to look for something (matches? tobacco?) and then giving up and just chewing on the tip. Though the room smells faintly of tobacco smoke, it may very well be that this is something of the norm for him, or it likely would smell a lot more strongly of it. "Well, Jameson, what brings you out this way?"

"Well, Colonel," Jameson says, pulling at his collar and having the look about him of having preferred to put in some small talk first before getting to the point, "it's about the laboratory – "

"No," the Colonel says curtly.

"But you haven't let me – "

"No, and that's the end of it, Jameson," the wolf repeats.

Envoy blinks at this rather short discussion. "Is there some problem with visiting it?"

The Colonel turns to look at Envoy. "Did Jameson tell you, perchance, about Pugsley?"

Jameson's shoulders sink.

"Pugsley?" Envoy replies querulously. "I don't believe the name has come up before now, sir."

Before Jameson can correct the shortcoming, the Colonel starts up, while the priest makes a holy sign across his chest. "Pugsley, rest his soul, was another Jameson, I dare say. Took it upon himself to investigate the secret passage we found – and to attempt to deal with a puzzle-lock. Oh, he was so proud to have actually figured out the first four digits of – what was it? – a fifty-digit code? Trouble is, he calculated wrong on number five, and … well … " The priest signs again, and the Colonel continues, "Poor Pugsley, didn't stand a chance. Roasted to cinders, he was."

"I've dealt with booby-trapped passages before," Envoy comments, and wonders about the 'code' mentioned. "I can't imagine anyone memorizing a fifty-digit sequence however. Aside from myself."

"Aside from yourself, you say?" the Colonel says, looking briefly intrigued. "Well, be that as it may, there's nothing for you to memorize, and no puzzles to solve. It's a deathtrap, I tell you, and until we get the funding we've been asking for, so we can deal with this properly – that is, without subjecting ourselves to a madman's toys – then it simply won't be dealt with at all."

"But she has an artifact," Jameson puts in. "It might – "

"An artifact that figures out fifty-digit pass codes or disarms traps?" the Colonel counters.

"Tell me, sir, has the laboratory ever been examined by a mage before?" Envoy asks, and then raises a hand, "And yes, I know that magic as practiced on Sinai will not work here on Abaddon, but the mindset may more closely match that of Doctor Bronson. These deathtraps you mention may merely be misdirection."

"Mis-direction?" coughs the Colonel. "Downright misdirected poor Pugsley to death, they did! Oh, you're obviously an idealistic young pup like Jameson here, probably think you're invulnerable, too. Just how old are you, by the by?"

"Nearly eight years old, sir," Envoy answers. "I'm an Exile artifact, and while I'm not invulnerable… I have my strong points."

"Nearly eight years old, she says," the Colonel says, chuckling, as he looks to the father. "Nearly … " He sputters, spitting out his pipe. "Eight years old, you say? Now, see here, this is hardly a time for jokes, and as anyone will tell you, I simply haven't a sense of humor!"

"Of course not, sir," Jameson offers meekly.

The priest offers, "Do remember, she's not of our world. Though I don't seem to recall Sinai having that much different of an orbit from ours."

Envoy sighs, and wonders if she should just make up a more believable lie about her origins. Instead, she goes forward and says, "I also have with me an artifact that will quite probably detect the location of the Leviathan's power source, if it is in or close to the laboratory."

"Hmm, that artifact again. I suppose you think your toy is going to solve all our problems, eh?" the Colonel muses, rubbing his chin. "Well, fine, fine. If you've some parlor tricks to impress me with your mystical Sinai ways, I'm game for a little entertainment. Suits me just right, don't you think, Father Cadbury?"

"Well," Father Cadbury offers, "I wouldn't be so certain. The Good Book is fairly clear on matters of sorcery."

Envoy bridles at this. "I do not practice sorcery, sir."

"Hmm, but Jameson did introduce you as a magess. So you do that … ah … hockledy-pockledy mumbo jumbo sort of thing, what is it?" the Colonel says, waving one hand around.

"Actually," Jameson cuts in, "I really think that it's just another natural phenomenon, just one that the natives of Sinai have wrapped up in ritualistic trappings."

Envoy holds back her comments. No sense in causing more confusion by trying to explain things. After all, she doesn't want to be lectured about how a wind-up clock works, she just wants to know the time.

"Hmm," the Colonel says, nodding appreciatively. "I imagine so. Imagine so. Much like the Silent-Ones, eh? Almost worship those Titans of theirs, dare say they do." He rolls his eyes almost a second before Father Cadbury responds by going into a lengthy correction about the details of Silent-Ones theology. About the time he starts to wander into the finer points of their beliefs in the Star, and the differences between their faith and his, the Colonel sniffs his nose at the air. "Oh my! I do say, I think Lucia has the meal ready. Don't you?" He says the last a bit louder.

"Just a few more minutes!" Lady Lucia calls back, prompting a disappointed frown from the colonel. But it still breaks Father Cadbury's stride.

Envoy perks up a bit, but not at the possibility of dinner. He has a wife, Envoy thinks. Maybe she can convince him to let me into the laboratory, if I can impress her.

"I don't suppose you have any items of Sifran crystal?" the Aeolun asks the old wolf.

"Hmm, why yes," the Colonel says, his ears perking up. "I brought one back after the Campaign of the Seven Scythes – against the Imperial Air Armada, you know. Dreadful time, it was. Lost half my men, and ours was the last destroyer still airborne by the time the battle was over. I got this scar right here," he says, pointing to a barely visible mark disappearing somewhere on the top of his scalp, "in hand-to-hand from Imperial boarders. Had to be treated for poison."

"I'd be interested in hearing the whole story sometime," Envoy says, quite honestly. "For now though, if you can bring the crystal here, I can demonstrate the detector I have with me."

The Colonel frowns at Envoy's bluntness, and does his best to recover. "Why … yes, as a matter of fact … eheh." He reaches for a cane, and struggles to get to his feet, evidently quite an effort for him, and strolls over to a glassed-in trophy case full of curios, most of a martial nature. "Used in some sort of weapon the Imperials were going to use on us, no doubt. Always coming up with new and nefarious devices, half of them not working, the other half tearing us to shreds. This was the former, thank goodness." He fumbles with a ring of keys.

Meanwhile, Envoy extracts the crystal case from her traveling pack and takes out the crown.

The crown is already glittering more than it ought to for the soft lighting in here, though not enough to be obvious. At last, the Colonel finds the right key, and spends a few moments more wrestling the case open. It creaks as the door swings wide, and he points to an irregular-looking piece with a mish-mash of broken wiring tangled around it. "No idea what it was meant for. No good, no doubt."

"May I?" Envoy asks as she rises, intending to bring the crown closer to the cabinet.

"Ah, go right ahead," the Colonel says, stepping back and gesturing graciously. Father Cadbury leans forward in his chair to peek around the wolf, while Jameson stands up for a better look.

Envoy brings the circlet over to the cabinet, watching the crystal teardrops closely to match any reaction to the others she's seen so far.

The teardrops flare to life, glowing alternately, flickering irregularly. The Colonel raises his eyebrows. Father Cadbury signs across his chest again. Jameson smiles appreciatively.

Watching the pattern of the flares, Envoy compares it against those from the inner chamber of the Leviathan and the other crystals from the Museum, to see if this is a similar form of crystal or something new.

It bears some similarity to certain crystals from the Museum – namely, those that were mere broken shards, but not such fragments that they didn't produce any reaction at all (not that size necessarily translates into a reaction from the crown). The glow from the inner chamber of the Leviathan was far more stable, with rhythmic pulses when held just the right way.

"Whatever the original function of this crystal was, it is probably too chaotic to have worked in the Imperials' weapon," Envoy says. "The Leviathan's components were much more synchronized and steady. I imagine the power source will also be very synchronous and steady."

"Mmmm," the Colonel says, nodding. "Might be why it blew up on them. Served them right, I dare say. Er … not that we're at war at the moment now, or any such thing."

Envoy returns the crown to it's case. "If the gems react similarly in the laboratory, it may be possible to determine which deathtrap, if any, leads to the prize. That would certainly lower the funding requirements, would it not?"

The Colonel nods, frowning in thought. Just then, Lady Lucia appears in the doorway. "Dinner is served," she says brightly.

Leaving the crystal case on her seat, Envoy turns and bows to the hostess.

In the dining room of the Vesuvius household, it's nothing compared to the feasts Envoy has been served, wined and dined as royalty or simple curiosity in so many nations of Sinai. That said, there is a certain meticulous attention to detail that seems rarely matched. There is a similar clutter of fragile decor in nooks and display cases, some of them carefully united in the scheme of design, and some of them present for no apparent reason except that they must have been gifts from family and friends.

The table is large enough to comfortably seat the group with two chairs to spare, though Envoy's chair is only slightly more accommodating for her wings than those in the parlor. Several covered and uncovered dishes are already on the table, and it seems the proper thing here to pass dishes around the table and take a bit of what one wants, after a brief blessing from Father Cadbury.

Envoy makes sure to take a small portion of everything offered, and wonders to herself what dinner conversation topics are normal for Expedition households.

Jameson eats a fairly small portion, in accordance with his slim, almost scrawny frame, while the Colonel seems content to put down plenty to make up for it, and his own girth shows it. Lady Lucia's role seems to be primarily to encourage everyone to eat their fill, then eat some more, with a hint that there's going to be dessert as well.

"Do tell us something about yourself!" Lady Lucia prompts at a timely lull in the drone of conversation.

The Aeolun finds herself momentarily at a loss as to what to mention, until she thinks of the Expedition's apparent enthusiasm for entertainment. "It was some years ago, but I once performed the lead in an opera about two doomed lovers."

"The opera?" Lady Lucia sounds positively enthralled, almost gasping in a breath. "Oh, really?"

Envoy nods, and has another bite of food before continuing, "It was titled 'Chi Marie', although I'm not sure the references in it would mean much to you." Being mindful of the acoustics (and all of the fragile looking trinkets) of the room, she performs a suitably short excerpt from one of the duets, singing both roles in different voices to avoid confusion.

Lady Lucia seems absolutely fascinated with Envoy's … solo duet. The Colonel looks somewhat impressed, while Father Cadbury makes another holy sign, no doubt fearing sorcery again.

Envoy finishes with the comment, "It didn't play for very long or go on tour though, it was put on by an art lover who wanted to expose more of the public to higher culture."

"A lovely sentiment," Lady Lucia gushes. "Do you do weddings?"

It takes a few moments for Envoy to divine the actual intent of Lady Lucia's question. "I've never been asked to perform at one before, actually. I'm no longer a member of the Bard's Guild, so I'm not allowed to perform in a professional capacity anymore. At least, not in Rephidim City on Sinai."

"Mmm. Does that extend here, though? I don't think we have those sorts of guilds here," Lady Lucia offers.

"They're called 'unions', Lucia," the Colonel interjects, gesturing with a chunk of meat speared on his fork.

Smiling, Envoy says, "I'm sure it doesn't, Lady Lucia. Plus, I can always do it for no charge, to get around any local employment restrictions I'm sure."

Lady Lucia nods. "That certainly avoids the problem of taxes," she says, then frowns, as if she's said something wrong. The Colonel, however, seems to be intent on chewing blissfully on his chunk of meat for the moment.

"Are you planning a wedding in the near future, Lady Lucia?" Envoy asks, while also keeping an eye on the Colonel.

"Well, my niece wrote back, telling me about this young man she met," Lady Lucia says, smiling.

Envoy's curiosity turns up a few notches. "Really? I don't suppose they are among the pioneers settling the Pit of Himar region?" She has never really understood how courtship works in any of the cultures she's come into contact with.

The Colonel grumbles under his breath, but Lady Lucia nods. "Yes, some nice young man … oh … I suppose you might say he's originally from Sinai, really, though I suppose he's gone and brought his homeland with him."

One of Envoy's ears twitch at the Colonel's words, and she guesses at the rest. Probably a 'City' Jupani from Elamoore, although she's pretty sure that makes him a Karnor or Karnor descendant anyway. "Have you visited her there? I wouldn't mind examining some of the exposed crystal structures within the Pit myself."

"Oh no," Lady Lucia says. "I never get out. Simply too busy with the Ladies' Club and all. Couldn't spare a moment to pack up and travel, you know. And, after all, it's far too much excitement to waste on an old woman like me."

Envoy glances at some of the knick-knacks in the room, and thinks of the photographs she's seen, and grins. "Surely, someone who could raise such fine children could handle a little excitement if she wanted to."

Lady Lucia titters girlishly.

Glancing again towards the Colonel and the priest, Envoy checks to make sure she hasn't crossed some social barrier. Perhaps women aren't supposed to think about taking trips in this culture?

Perhaps it remains to be seen whether it applies to the culture as a whole, but the Colonel's disapproving frown would seem to imply that it might be verboten in his culture.

Envoy smiles to the Colonel, and asks, "If I may, sir, I'd be interested in hearing what you do with your spare time."

The Colonel raises an eyebrow. "My spare time? Well, I've been composing my memoirs into a book … for posterity, you know. A collection of my adventures during my service to the Expedition."

"Is there a large demand for such books?" Envoy asks, since she could write a few memoirs herself. "What has been your favorite adventure so far?" she asks again, trying to hint that she doesn't think the Colonel's career is over just yet.

The Colonel smiles at this. The next hour or so is spent in extravagant detail about his expedition into one of the Canal Zones of Abaddon, his narrow escape from a swarm of rotworms, his leading of his grounded crew through the hazards of the jungle, out of sight of enemy sentries, and finally back to regroup with a friendly commando force. In this case, it appears that the "enemy" would be the Confederates – fliers, all of them, not necessarily related to each other at all, but seemingly united in that one fact.

Envoy enjoys the tale, and manages to keep her questions about details to a bare minimum throughout. "You must feel sorry for today's soldiers, now that peace has broken out. What will they have to fill their own memoirs?"

"Well," the Colonel says, "I shouldn't feel sorry for them, really. It's not that I actually think a soldier's job will ever be done. Someone has to keep the peace, after all."

Nodding at this bit of wisdom, Envoy then asks, "How did you become involved with Doctor Bronson's laboratory, if I may ask?"

"Eh," the Colonel says, "an appointment from the Governor. Something to keep me busy in my retirement, you see."

"It must be a very important posting then, to need someone of your experience," Envoy says. "I imagine the Leviathan represents a possible military threat."

"Of course," the Colonel says. "It's risky enough putting it on display there in that museum. But the eggheads are all certain that it won't get up and start eating the civilians." He casts an almost warning glare in Professor Jameson's direction.

Envoy blinks and looks to the Professor as well. Perhaps he uses eggs to style his hair somehow?

Given the slickness of his hair, the possibility can't be entirely ruled out, though oil might be more likely, since it hasn't the proper smell. "It won't be going anywhere, of course, sir," Jameson says with a mostly empty mouth.

"Professor, if we recover the power source, what will be done with it?" Envoy asks.

Jameson says, "Well, we haven't gotten that far. I suppose we'd like to see what the Leviathan is capable of. Er … not in the middle of the Museum, of course."

Looking back to the Colonel, the Aeolun asks, "Will you allow an examination of the laboratory with my detector, sir?"

The Colonel frowns severely. "I really see no reason to change my mind."

Lady Lucia frowns. "Oh, dear, must you be so harsh? She's our guest … and she's come all the way from … where is it you came from again, exactly, dear? Rephidim?"

To this, the Colonel frowns even more. "Now, Lucia… "

"Please?" Envoy asks. "Finding the power source has special significance to me, and it would provide information that could aid you in getting the funding for a proper exploration."

"See dear? It means a lot to her!" Lucia says.

The Colonel looks besieged. "Really, Lucia, this is quite improper… "

The poor Colonel didn't really stand a chance against Lady Lucia. Although he didn't take it entirely gracefully, he at last relented, and arrangements were made for Envoy to visit the site of Bronson's "secret laboratory", though the Colonel made stern warnings that he would not be held accountable for any mishaps that were almost certain to occur.

Built within a cavernous underground complex, this particular seems almost anticlimactic compared to the larger expansive laboratories, full of strange devices, most of them of utterly unknown function, others akin to things Envoy has seen of Chronotopian craftsmanship.

Of more immediate import, however, is a passage accessed by a panel that slides open to reveal a fairly cramped room beyond, with blackish marks on the walls, and smelling of ashes.

There is a great deal of piping, some of the pipes ending open to the air. There is a nozzle that sticks out from the largest cluster of pipes, and beneath it is a box with some fifty dials on it, and glass-covered numeral wheel displays, each showing a 'zero' at the moment – fifty in all, though they seem to be grouped in twos.

Partially obscured by ashes, there is engraving on the box – "Prime the Pump". There are a few other scratches on the metal of the box itself. For instance, next to the twenty-third pair, there is a numeral 87 that has been crossed out, and a "3", a multiplication sign, and a "29" scratched into the metal next to it.

Professor Jameson looks nervously about, commenting, "Pugsley reported that the first pairs were zero-one, zero-three, and zero-five. The mishap occurred … well … at some point after that."

"Prime the pump," Envoy comments. "A prime number series, not a special code. Has anyone thought of running pipes in here to connect to these open ones? Then if a mistake is made, the effects could be redirected?"

"Well," the professor says, "that was requested in the budget."

Envoy hmms. "You may want to wait outside while I enter the numbers then, just in case," she suggests.

"You're … you're going to enter them?" Jameson stammers.

"Why not?" Envoy answers. "There are twenty-five pairs of digits on the panel, and twenty-five prime numbers that are less than one-hundred, not counting one."

Jameson just stands there, looking uncertain.

"Would you feel better if we plugged up the nozzle first?" Envoy asks, tapping the nozzle over the digits panel.

"I … don't think that would help much. That's what Pugsley tried," Jameson offers.

"But he started off with the number zero-one, too," Envoy points out. "One is not really a prime number, because it isn't greater than one. The sequence should be 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31, 37, 41, 43, 47, 53, 59, 61, 67, 71, 73, 79, 83, 89, and 97."

"Oh," Jameson says. "Well, that's a good theory."

Envoy taps one of the scratchings. "Someone made an error, eighty-seven instead of eighty-nine, at the twenty-third number. I think it is worth a try, don't you? I don't think Doctor Bronson memorized twenty-five random numbers for his lock."

Jameson nods, his eyes looking off toward the far wall. "True … but what if … it doesn't work?"

"Then… I suppose you'll be able to display my crown as part of your collection," Envoy says, jokingly.

Jameson shudders. "Well … if you think this is for the best."

Envoy eyes the scorch marks on the wall, then nods to Jameson. "I think my solution is the correct one. The logical one, and I feel that logic is the key component in this case. Logic, metal… and even a dragon."

"Well … I … I'll stand here, then. If you're wrong, then I'll never be able to live this down. But if you're right … I don't want to miss the chance to see Bronson's laboratory for myself!" Jameson asserts.

The Exile turns to the panel, and starts entering the series of prime numbers, beginning with zero-two and ending with ninety-seven.

An ominous grinding can be heard somewhere inside the gear-box, after she sets the last digit…

Envoy smiles to the human, and says, "I bet you weren't expecting to end up here when I showed up at your office, were you?"