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our father sips his new wine, imported by tinker trickery, and raises them in his esteem without questioning their custody of the lands he’s granted them, our future king asks hard questions. He’s a born leader, and we are lucky to have his like.”
    “I’ll drink to that. Long live the king!”
    “Long live … and long live the prince!”
    “Indeed, long live the prince!”
    “And may we live to see the day when he succeeds his father to the throne.”
    “May we-” (Coughing.) (Pause.) “Indeed, my lord. Absolutely, unquestionably.
    Neither too early nor too late nor-ahem. Yes, I shall treasure your confidence.”
    “These are dangerous times, Otto.”
    “You can-count on me. Sir. Should it come to that-”
    “I hope that it will not. We all hope that it will not, do you understand? But youth grows impatient with corruption, as dusk grows impatient with dawn and as you grow impatient with your jumped-up peddler of a neighbor. There have been vile rumors about the succession, even as to the disposition of the young prince, and the suitability of the lion of the nation for the role of shepherd
    …”

    (Spluttering.) “Insupportable!”
    “Yes. I merely mention it to you so that you understand how the land lies. As one of my most trusted clients … Well, Otto, I must be moving on. People to see, favors to bestow. But if I may leave you with one observation, it is that it might be to your advantage and my pleasure for you to present yourself to his grace of Innsford before the evening is old. In his capacity as secretary to the prince, you understand, he is most interested in collecting accounts of insults presented to the old blood by the new. Against the reckoning of future years, gods willing.”
    “Why, thank you, your grace! Gods willing.”
    “My pleasure.”
    transcript ends

2: Rumors of War
    Meanwhile, a transfinite distance and a split second away, the king-emperor of New Britain was having a bad day.
    “Damn your eyes, Farnsworth.” He hunched over his work-glass, tweezers in hand, one intricate gear wheel clasped delicately between its jaws. “Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me at the bench?”
    The unfortunate Farnsworth cleared his throat apologetically. A skinny fellow in the first graying of middle age, clad in the knee breeches and tailcoat of a royal equerry, his position as companion of the king’s bedchamber made him the first point of contact for anyone who wanted some of the king’s time-and also the lightning conductor for his majesty’s occasional pique. “Indeed you did, your majesty.” He stood on the threshold of the royal workshop, flanked on either side by the two soldiers of the Horse Guards who held the door, his attention focused on the royal watchmaker. King John the Fourth of New Britain was clearly annoyed, his plump cheeks florid and his blond curls damp with perspiration from hours of focus directed toward the tiny mechanism clamped to his workbench.
    “Then what have you got to say for yourself?” demanded the monarch, moderating his tone very slightly. Farnsworth suppressed a sigh of relief: John Frederick was not his father, blessed with decisiveness but cursed with a whim of steel.
    Still, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “I see it is”-the king’s eyes swiveled toward a mantel covered from edge to edge in whirring clocks, every one of which he had built with his own hands-“another thirty-seven minutes before I must withdraw to the Green Room and prepare for the grand opening.”
    “I deeply regret the necessity of encroaching upon your majesty’s precious time, but”-Farnsworth took a deep breath-“it’s the Ministry for Special Affairs. They’ve hatched some sort of alarm or excursion, and Sir Roderick says it cannot possibly wait, and the prime minister himself heard Sir Roderick out in private and sent me straight to you forthwith. He apologizes for intruding upon your majesty’s business, but says he agrees the news is extremely grave