The door burst open to admit two spear points, followed moments later—somewhat cautiously—by the appearance of two helmeted heads. After a brief but thorough perusal, the guards to whom the heads belonged barked a simultaneous, "Clear!" and darted through the doorway, before drawing themselves up to attention on either side. More armour-clad pairs followed in similar fashion, flanking the original two, until the reception chamber was completely lined with men. Only then did their apparent leader see fit to saunter into the room.

In his velvet and lace finery it was clear the plump young man was no soldier, yet he nevertheless radiated the assured arrogance of one accustomed to command. With a lazy smile, he took in the scene.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? Could it be some sort of get-together? A meeting or a confab, perhaps? Possibly something of a"—wispy blonde eyebrows waggled above his pale blue eyes—"secwet wendezvous?"

Once again comfortably seated, the Nanny smiled back at the newcomer before taking an indelicate slurp from her cup, making him wince.

"Why, hello there, Farty. Care for some tea?"

The smile wavered. "I weally must insist you addwess me as Lord Hirschnopple, Nanny. The title, after all, has been mine ever since the cuwious and twagic and completely unexpected passing of my father. And is weally nothing more than my due—particularly fwom a servant such as yourself."

"Oh, come now, Farty. I've known you since you were knee-high to a snotling, running about playing knights and knaves with Vazor and all the other little knobbly-kneed nobles. Surely you wouldn't expect the woman who wiped your nose, and changed your trousers when it all got a bit too exciting, to call you lord? I recall some other nicknames, if you'd prefer? Let me see, there was Poop—"

"Enough!" Hirschnopple stamped a silver-buckled shoe. "You know vewy well how I should be adwessed."

"Very well, Farty it is." The Nanny waved her cup at the men surrounding the room. "Still playing at soldiers, then?"

"Playing? Oh, I think not. When it comes to the secuwity of the wealm, I can assure you I don't play, Nanny. I'll have you know I take the matter vewy sewiously." The young lord looked around at his troops with evident complacency. "Particularly given my spi-...that is to say, my friends here in the woyal quarters tell me former members of the disbanded Irmshield have been seen cweeping about the place. And natuwally, given your position as a longstanding and valued member of the woyal household, I am of course also concerned for your safety. As those malcontents can have no good weason for being here, they're quite clearly up to something. It would be dweadful to think anybody in the palace might be aiding and abetting them in their nefawious schemes. Don't you agwee?" He gave the old woman a pointed look. "Now, perhaps you'd care to explain what is going on here?"

"I should think that's quite obvious, Farty." She smiled demurely at the young lord. "I'm having some lovely morning tea."

"Well, yes. I can see that for myself. But who is it you are having tea with? That is the question."

The Nanny looked in turn at each of the three empty chairs around the table. As if on cue, the bum-shaped indentation still borne by the padding where Hobe's sturdy nether regions had rested slowly rose back into shape. She shook her head sadly.

"Oh, dear. I know you were a great one for imaginary friends, Farty—after all, beggars couldn't be choosers—but don't you think it might be time to grow out of that little game? Quite clearly, I'm not having tea with anybody. No, it's just little old Nanny. Tea for one. But as I mentioned, you're welcome to join me. The pastries really are very good."

Hirschnopple's eyes narrowed. "I see. Just you, is it? If that is the case, tell me this"—expression triumphant, he jabbed a beringed finger at the table—"why are there thwee other cups?"

"Ah." Expression guilty, the Nanny regarded the incriminatory crockery. "Yes. It would seem you've caught me out, Farty. I'm afraid you've discovered my secret."

"I knew it!" exclaimed the aristocrat, pumping his fist. "I knew you were up to something, you wetched woman. It's a conspiwacy, isn't it? A plot to wemove me from my wightful position at the head of the High Council? I knew it must be something like that. Guards, wemove this woman. Take her to the dungeons!"

"Oh, Farty. What a load of old tosh. You always were one for a fanciful tale. Those brutes of yours will stay right where they are, if they know what's good for them."

"But...but..." stammered Hirschnopple, face reddening in rage, "I discovered your secwet. You admitted as much!"

"Yes, Farty. I did, didn't I? And the secret is"—she held up her cup—"that I love my tea. Only a little too much, I'm afraid. After all, as you've pointed out—with a frightful lack of tact, I must say—this is my fourth. Shameful, isn't it?" Leaning forward, her expression grew conspiratorial. "Don't tell anyone, will you?"

"I...but...you..."

"Enunciate, Farty. As I told you when you were a little fellow, you must e-nun-ci-ate. And of course, take it easy on the beans. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid all that tea necessitates a visit to the little nanny's room. Ta-ta." 

Slash couldn't help but feel secret doors opening onto hidden passageways really should lead to somewhere more exciting than musty old parlours badly in need of a good dusting. But if his military career had taught him one thing, it was that the stuff you expected to be exciting very often turned out to be anything but. The trouble with excitement was that it tended to come along just when you weren't expecting it.

Still, at least the armchairs were comfortable. And, fortunately—given Hobe's tuneless humming and Carri's restless roaming of the room—they didn't have long to wait before the sound of a key in the door heralded the Nanny rejoining them.

"Sorry about that," she said, taking an armchair for herself with a tired sigh. "Needless to say, the high and not-so-mighty Lord Hirschnopple does not share my desire to see Vazor's return. While I've tried  to conceal Squelon's issues as much as I'm able, the High Council knows all too well he's not fit to rule, and most of them think that's just dandy, provided it means they get to stay in charge. And if the High Council stay in charge, it's Farty who means to be in charge of them. Mark my words, if he gets wind of your quest, he will do everything in his power to stop you. And despite all the bluster and buffoonery, that man has a ruthless streak a league wide."

"Our quest?" queried Carri. "That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it? We haven't even agreed to go."

"No," said the Nanny, looking at each of them in turn. "I suppose you haven't. But you're going to, aren't you?"

Carri held her gaze for a moment—and then lowered her eyes. "Well, yeah."

"Sign me up, too" said Hobe. "If I'm cracking skulls anyway, it might as well be for the good of Irmway."

"And me," added Slash. "Seems like the right thing to do." He was pleased to find he meant it. His spirit of duty—the fire in the belly that had driven a fourteen-year old kid to leave the comforts of home and family behind in order to take up a sword in service to the realm—had long since been worn down by the failed campaigns and inept leadership of recent years, and the sense of a kingdom crumbling at the edges. It came as something of a relief to find at least a vestige still burned on.

"The thing is," he said "even if we do find the prince, who's to say he'll agree to come back with us? I seem to recall young Vazor being just a bit—"

"Independent and free-spirited?" interrupted the Nanny.

"Incapable of doing as he was told?" suggested Carri.

"Of a pain-in-the-arse?" added Hobe.

"Well..." Slash grinned in recollection. "Yeah. He was all of the above. So, given that, what makes you think he'd even want to come back with us?"

"Oh, he'll come back." The Nanny's smile was pure complacency. "When duty calls—when the kingdom calls—a Manticore will answer. It's in Vazor's blood, no matter how much he may have tried to deny it. Plus, I know he was quite partial to all three of you, and I'm sure the feeling was mutual. While for some the Irmshield was nothing more than prestige, shiny armour and a paycheque, for others—for a precious few—it was much more than that. If I'm any judge of character, I number your three among those few. For all his lack of years, and his wayward nature, Vazor was quite mature enough to recognise loyalty and devotion when he saw it. And he saw it in the three of you. An appeal from you will be that much harder to deny."

"Loyalty? Isn't that supposed to be a two-way street?" Carri's crooked smile was quite unlike her habitual look of smug self-satisfaction. "I would have laid down my life for that kid. And he just up and left."

"Yeah," agreed Hobe, the expression on his bluff features sombre, "he did. But maybe we shouldn't be too hard on him. After all, he was just a kid."

"And doesn't loyalty means taking one in the teeth every now and then, but staying loyal regardless?" asked Slash. "Staying the course, even when you can't see there's a course to stay? When I signed up for the Irmshield, I swore an oath to serve and protect the royal family. To serve and protect the Manticore, both present and future. And when I joined the legion, I swore an oath to serve the realm. Now we have the chance to do both." And, he decided not add, maybe even score a sweet peerage along the way.

"Yeah, yeah," said Carri, face once again composed. "Rah-rah, Irmway forever, huzzah, etcetera. Spare us the oration, alright? I never said I wasn't going. Just that I'm not about to get all misty-eyed about it." 

"Excellent." The Nanny gave a decisive clap of her hands. "That's settled, then. Now"— she retrieved a jingling bag from within her robes—"this should be ample to get you a decent riverboat down at the docks, with plenty left over to cover your expenses. I wish you all the best of luck."

The others stared at her.

"Surely you don't expect us to go straight away?" asked Carri. "I have to pack. I have cases and clients to attend to. I need to prepare."

"And I have a shift every night this week," added Hobe. "Nell's have a load of new girls fresh in from the Sky Reaches, so things are a mite rowdy. It's been all hands on deck."

"And I'm a professional soldier," said Slash. "I can't just take off on a whim. I'll need to request leave."

"No," said the Nanny, shaking her head. "Oh, no, no, no. Out of the question. While I may have thrown Farty off the scent for the moment, he's not stupid. I mean, he is a fool, but he is not stupid. It won't take him long to put two and two together and come up with Vazor. And with Squelon's majority so close, I won't be able to conceal his issues from the public for much longer. If you're to have any chance of succeeding in your quest—and heaven knows, Irmway needs you to succeed—you must go. You must go, now."

Slash stood, considered for a moment—and then accepted the proffered bag of gold. Features serious, he turned to the other two. "She's right. This is bigger than missing pets or rowdy brothel-goers or potential courts-martial. This is the fate of Irmway. We can't afford to be bound by rules or obligations or personal needs. We're soldiers, after all. We're adaptable, we're iron-willed and we're able to overcome." He stood a little straighter. "We're Irmshield. Let's go."

"Fine words, young man." The Nanny gave a little round of applause. "Fine words, indeed. Having said all that, you'll of course be popping in to see the Oracle before you go, won't you? Stands to reason, for a quest such as this. Do give him my regards."