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The trumpets grew triumphant; the oboe grew overjoyed; the drums grew delighted.
Now the day approaches when
Fair Glass Town shall prevail!
For our boys live and live again
While theirs must die and fail!
“Why?” Charlotte whispered, horrified. “Why do they keep attacking, if you can’t die and they can?”
Sergeant Major Rogue looked up at the moon, his eyes full of shadows. “If they win, at least their children will live forever. What would a man not do for that?”
Our journey through the veils of time
Is drawing towards its end.
Remember when I take my bow
How I have been your friend!
A hundred people leapt to their feet, applauding wildly. Wolf whistles and hoorays bounced merrily around the walled garden. Charlotte and Emily cheered and jumped and snatched up flowers from the lawn to throw at the stage. Only Lord Byron kept his seat, smiling to himself. He drew out a pocket watch, checked it, and put it back in his lavender waistcoat. Even Adrian and Mary Percy reluctantly stood and clapped quietly. If a man made of ash could go pale, young Douro had. But he gritted his glowing teeth.
Young Soult was breathing heavily. His thin peppercorn chest rose and fell as he gulped for air. His voice rang out—but now it trembled with terror. It trembled, but it did its work. This show, of all shows, must go on.
But wait! My tale is not complete!
My story is not done!
AMBITION’s not yet quit the field,
Nor has VIRTUE won.
The long-nosed, black-and-red cloaked puppet representing Ambition rose up again, rubbing his wooden hands together in demonic glee. A murmur passed through the crowd. Seats were taken once more. Silence settled over the garden like a fisherman’s net. Young Douro glared icily at the stage, his nostrils flaring in fury.
In innocence has Glass Town danced,
Thinking all was saved.
You do not know what Young Soult knows:
A BARGAIN HAS BEEN MADE!
Confused cries of protest fired out from the throng like bullets. This was not any part of the familiar story they’d come for, the patriotic pageant designed to make them resolute and eager for the final campaign against Gondal and Boney.
“What’s happening?” Sergeant Major Rogue said nervously. He looked toward the stone archway, the only exit.
“Dunno!” Crashey shrugged. “I like it, though. I am always presentary and accounted for if there’s going to be a bit of audience participation!”
“What’s happening?” Emily whispered.
George Gordon, Lord Byron, turned to her and smiled fit to light up heaven. It was a terrifying smile. All the gorgeous pelts of his face seemed to rearrange themselves into something both ferocious and full of fun.
“I told you, darling.” His golden eyes glittered—so near! “I’m going to bring a house down.”
And then, though he ought to have had better manners, being a Baron and only having just met this strange silver person, Byron let the moment get caught up in him. He kissed Emily suddenly, shockingly, scandalously. It was only quick, but Emily thought she might very probably never get her breath back again. When the poet pulled away, her silver paint was smeared all over his lips. He touched his mouth, wiped it off, and looked curiously at his fingertips.
“What a funny little thing,” he said wonderingly. In fact, he was wondering so hard, he nearly missed what he’d been waiting hours to see.
