Kritzinger hadn't expected Balsa to welcome his presence on his flying kingdom and he hadn't been disappointed. From the moment he'd set foot on Fortress Six, access beyond his private quarters had been restricted to the common areas. It didn't really matter. He had done everything he could to ensure the failure of this mission. It was out of his hands now. What he hadn't anticipated was being abruptly confronted by two of Balsa's soldiers and having his cane and sidearm confiscated.

They ushered him silently, at gunpoint, to the tower summit that served as the bridge for Fortress Six. Kritzinger couldn't help but wonder whether his treasonous actions had somehow been discovered. Had he been foolish to trust Vale? He cursed himself for having accepted so readily that Vale's allegiance was indeed to the Brigade and not the Commission. Had he been turned? Promised Kritzinger's job perhaps? Had he been working for the Commission all this time, shadowing Kritzinger in order to undermine or thwart his efforts? He swallowed hard. It was entirely possible, he only now realised, that he may have handed a Commission double-agent plausible reason to return to the Brigade in order to secretly engineer its defeat.

"Have we received any further signal from the tracking device?" General Balsa asked, staring out the reinforced glass that stood several storeys high. A stream of smoke rolled from his mouth and ash trickled from the ember tip of his cigar.

Flakes of snow grazed the panorama of glass walling the bridge, the chilled air frosting the corners of its iron panes. Mighty winds greeted their arrival, buffeting the fortress slightly, but they were no match for the strength of the massive war fortress that hovered just shy of its destination.

"Not since it went dead three days ago, sir," answered one of the helmsmen, "Its final transmission came from somewhere within that mountain." Balsa eyed the peak skeptically.

"Tactical, prepare the main cannons to fire," he ordered. "Let's see whether there really is anything inside that barren crag."

"Aye, sir."

Balsa turned to see a stony-faced Kritzinger in the doorway.

"What is the meaning of taking my sidearm, Balsa?" Kritzinger demanded. "Secretary Umei decreed we would be equals. Instead, I'm being treated like a prisoner."

Balsa was in full military dress, right down to the ceremonial sword that hung loosely at his hip.

"Equals?" he scoffed. "We have never been equals, Kritzinger. And never have you been so far from the station." He snapped his fingers and two of Balsa's soldiers stepped forward. One faced Kritzinger and drew his pistol while the other handed Kritzinger's pewter-capped cane to the general.

"The Kimonese are such a clever people, contriving such easy to conceal devices, not only to track one's prey," Balsa said, tapping the knob of the cane, "but to listen to them. Quite the clever folk indeed."

Kritzinger stiffened. Had Balsa managed somehow to plant a listening device in his cane? Had he captured Kritzinger's exchange with Vale? Perhaps Vale hadn't betrayed him after all.

Balsa leaned menacingly into Kritzinger's face. Kritzinger drew back slightly when the man's sour, tobacco-laced breath assaulted him.

"I warned you, Kritzinger. I warned you not to get in my way."

"I haven't the faintest what you're on about—"

"Don't play the fool with me," Balsa hissed. "You are a filthy traitor, and there is nothing I hate more. Your most trusted lieutenant has been a spy, likely since he first came under your command and you were too blind to notice. And just when a tiny ray, a slithering speck, of competence shines through, when you finally figure it out, imagine my shock, my personal moral outrage, when you throw your lot in with the enemy!"

Kritzinger looked at him with contempt. "So you know. Why wait until now to say something? Why allow me to come along and Vale to escape?"

"Because, unlike you," Balsa said, his tone scathing, "I know something of strategy and have turned this paltry rebellion of yours into a strategic advantage. No doubt, after receiving Vale's warning, our enemies will have gathered in expectation of us, like nails awaiting the hammer." As if to demonstrate his point, Balsa slapped the cane against the palm of his hand. "Suffice it to say, not one of them will be coming out of this alive." He eyed Kritzinger. "That needn't be your fate, however. The First Secretary is offering you a chance to earn her clemency. Do your job. Assist us in learning all we can about the city and your end need not be as messy."

"And if I don't?"

Balsa's expression darkened.

"There is a certain breed of filth that festers in the dark corners of the world. It is a blight that has lingered since that dark era when war had become all too commonplace and longs for the return of those terrible days. Knowing you consort with such filth drives me to distraction. If you don't do as you're told, I will put you down like the two-faced dog you are." His eyes narrowed into slits. "And I will do so with fantastic satisfaction."

"Be careful, General. One day you might wake up and find you're the one with dirt on their hands."

Balsa sneered. "Think about what we've talked about. After the city is ours, I'll be back for your answer." Balsa tossed the cane to one of the guards. "Take him to the brig."

"The main cannon is loaded and ready, General," a helmsman said, as Kritzinger was escorted out. "Awaiting your order to fire, sir."

Balsa nodded.

"All hands," the man's voice blared from the loudspeakers mounted throughout the fortress, "brace for main battery discharge, sixty seconds."

******

Hamish Vale had been checking the plane's radar hourly for any signs of Fortress Six. It was a cold, wintery morning on the fifth day following his arrival when he returned with word of its approach from the south. Since there was no other way into the mountain's interior than by air, Herrera anticipated that the giant fortress would enter the bluff by force. Members of the Brigade took up their positions well away from the anticipated target, which was several blocks from the palace. The golem, acting on Dorothea's wishes, had dispersed, vanishing completely from sight. The only one that remained was Emet. She had no intention of letting him come to any harm, having grown attached to the little being.

Turner stood with Dorothea on the third floor balcony of the palace library, looking out over the city. It was snowing outside the mountain, and flakes could be seen flittering in through the crooked fissures in the cavern's crown, trailed by a celestial light from the hoary sky beyond them. They gasped when Fortress Six came into view. It made no secret of its approach. A roar, like that of a surly giant, sounded from beyond the mountain and a great hole blew open in the cavern's stone skin. Chunks of rock rained down on the city blocks below and a thick cloud of dust blanketed the empty streets.

Fortress Six looked every bit as large and formidable as when they had first seen it at Rainbow's End. It drifted into the cavern in malevolent silence, held aloft on black zeppelin wings that spread like arms, ready to reach down and sweep aside the sullied districts it eclipsed from their very foundations. Hundreds of lines shot out from beneath the fortress, their speared ends burying themselves in the ground and surrounding buildings, anchoring the great fortress in place. From the top of the long cables that reached the city streets slid the same armoured soldiers that had assailed Rainbow's End. With sparks flying from their tethers, they arrived on the ground with the same daunting weaponry as before, their eyes red as a crimson morning sky.

******

Behind the building concealing the plane, Herrera, Bastion and Collin watched and waited as Fortress Six entered the cavern. Not a single defensive shot was fired. Vale was buckled into the pilot's seat, the other three strapped into their own chairs, weapons ready in their laps.

Meanwhile, the Tartaruga sat tucked inside a fissure overhead. As the fortress anchored itself, the Tartaruga broke cover and began its descent. It hovered over the northern end of Fortress Six, dropping more than two dozen hastily created explosives. They weren't particularly powerful devices, but they would serve admirably in their intended role as decoys.

"Now, now, Mr Vale, we fly!" Herrera shouted and the plane's engines answered with a roar. The plane taxied quickly down a narrow stretch of road and left the ground. Vale, white-knuckled, navigated the plane past the web of steel tethers anchoring the fortress, heading south. Below them they could see the top of the fortress, which appeared like a cross between a military facility and an industrial complex.

The Tartaruga continued its assault on the northern side. The munitions didn't cause much damage – there wasn't much on the face of the fortress that could burn, its iron and steel makings being less than combustible – but it wasn't damage they sought with their attacks but attention. Strangely, the Tartaruga's blatant assault hadn't attracted so much as a single retaliatory shot from those manning the fortress below.

"Think it's safe to land?" Vale asked Herrera, who was strapped into the co-pilot's seat. "There doesn't appear to be any threat, although the worst threats often appear such."

"No time for doubts, Hamish.  Set us down wherever you can."

Vale flicked on the intercom, eying the only feasible landing site on the fortress, a concrete quadrangle. It was going to be tight. Very tight. "Buckle up, folks."

He opened the throttle and pushed the nose down hard, pumping the rudder pedals. The plane plummeted towards the quadrangle at a dizzying angle. Just as Herrera was convinced they were going to crash, Vale pulled back on the yoke. The landing gear met the ground with brutal force and Vale stood on the brakes so hard he was lifted out of his seat. Rubber shredded off the wheels and metal screeched, as if the plane's rivets were being forcibly ripped out by some unseen hand. A perimeter wall loomed at an alarming speed. Vale yanked the plane into a hard turn, losing a wing to the wall as he did. The plane shuddered to a stop near the edge of the fortress. Vale exhaled heavily, his face a deathly white. Herrera opened his eyes and began furiously unbuckling himself as the crew began to move.

Guns in hand, the four fighters rushed from the plane and took cover. The Tartaruga could be seen up ahead, dropping bombs yet taking no defensive fire. Other than the occasional groan of metal beneath their feet, the fortress was oddly devoid of sound, no sign of life anywhere. They looked around with puzzled glances.

"Does anybody see the enemy?" Herrera asked. "Bastion?" The gunslinger had the best eyes out of all of them. But he shook his head.

"Would have expected somebody to take exception to our making quite the mess out of their backyard," Collin said.

"I would have thought, too," Herrera said. "This feels very wrong."

"How do you want to play this?" Hamish asked.

"We continue to the tower, but let us be especially vigilant."