“Space travel? But that’s impossible,” Sir Giles protested. His eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You are using the secret funds to build spaceships? How? We know nothing of spaceships—”

“That is the real secret,” Dougal said carefully. “And I would very much rather it remained a secret even from you. It will be the strangest secret you will ever hear, and even a hint — a hint — to the Imperial Navy would destroy all our hopes.”

“I see.” Sir Giles sat again and rested his chin on both hands. The veins on their backs showed darkly against his neat white beard. He turned to the king. “I suppose, Sire, that this hideously expensive expedition to Makassar has something to do with this? That you expect those men to spy out the secrets of spaceships from traveling in them, and bring that knowledge back to us?”

A good cover story, Dougal thought. “Yes.”

“It can’t work,” Sir Giles said. “Sire, my lord, you have not a technical background. I am many years away from my training as an engineer, but I can tell you this: there is not a factory on Prince Samual’s World that could build such a thing even were the Imperials to give us free run of their ships. We haven’t the basic tools, we don’t even know what the problems are. This scheme is madness!”

“There is more,” King David said. “We have hopes for more. We have hopes that our expedition to Makassar will return the most priceless cargo ever to come to Prince Samual’s World. A cargo of freedom.”

“How?”

“Our secret is fragile,” Dougal said. “Worse, the Imperials themselves know Makassar’s secret—”

“This talk of secrets,” Sir Giles said. “You don’t understand at all. Your expedition is no secret. The Navy knows your men went there. As to their orders to spy out the ‘secrets’ of the Navy ships, were you to tell the commandant he would be no more than amused. My lord, you do not appreciate the difficulties involved! It will be a hundred years before we are able to build spacecraft—”

“Perhaps,” Dougal said. “And perhaps not.” There was an ominous silence as Dougal coldly studied the Prime Minister’s face. “You are determined to have it all, aren’t you? You leave me few choices. Either I must tell you the rest or have you killed.”

“Lord Dougal, I forbid it!” The king’s voice was sharp and loud. “I have deliberately turned away from learning of many of the things your police have done in my name, but by Christ you will not sit here and threaten my Prime Minister!”

Dougal spread his hands. “I said I had two choices, Sire.” And another behind that, he thought. My men are outside, and the king has few guardsmen here …

“I had not known you were disloyal,” the king said. “Your thoughts are obvious to one who has grown up at court.”

“I am loyal, Sire,” Dougal protested. “Loyal to Prince Samual’s World, Haven, the dynasty, and you.”

“In that order.”

“Yes, Sire. In that order.” He stood, a small man in plain kilts, unarmed, his rabbit features almost comical, but the room was filled with menace. “Majesty, Sir Giles, there is nothing I will not do to keep this world free! We will not be ruled by outlanders! Prince Samual’s World has been our home for centuries, and what claim has. Sparta or Earth itself to rule us?” He visibly fought for control of himself.

“The secret, Sir Giles?” Dougal’s voice rose. “It is simple enough, so simple that a careless word will doom our great plan.” He smiled wryly. “And I needn’t shout it, eh?” He sat again, and lowered his voice. “There is a building on Makassar, a building which the locals believe to be no more than a temple. But inside it is an old library…”

Sir Giles listened with growing horror. It was obvious that neither Dougal nor the king appreciated the magnitude of the problem they had set themselves. When the policeman had finished talking, Sir Giles poured a drink and thought furiously. How could he tell them?

Simple enough. He couldn’t.

“There. Now do you understand? Will you aid us?” King David asked anxiously.

“Sire, your cause is noble and just,” Sir Giles said. “And certainly the knowledge that your expedition may bring back to us could change our world. But—” He paused, and felt Dougal’s cold stare. “There is more to building a spacecraft than knowledge,” Giles said. “You will grant that I know more of our technical capabilities than you. And I do not think that even with detailed plans we will be able to build a ship.”

“We can try,” Dougal said.

“And this is where all the money has gone.”

“Much of it went to finance the expedition,” Dougal said. “The rest is being invested in expansion of the Haven shipyards, and in establishing a secret military base in the Corliss Grant Hills. We have sent many young scholars there. Always there have been legends of communications without telegraph wires … and already we can do that. The devices are crude, but they work. In the shipyards we are studying metal working, ostensibly to build metal craft that will travel under the sea — but if we can make them water-tight we can make them air-tight as well, to withstand the aether of space. Sir Giles, we are doing all we can—”

And worth doing, too, Sir Giles thought. But not for the reasons you think. There is no possibility of a spaceship. Yet, if I say so, they will kill me. The guardsmen and Dougal’s secret policemen would cooperate on that. There is only one way I will leave this lodge alive.

He rose and went to the desk. “This is my resignation,” he said. He took it and threw it into the fire. “I will help you. But you will forgive me if I am not certain that you will succeed—”

“None of us are,” Dougal said. “We cannot even be certain that MacKinnie will return. But without him there is no hope at all.”

The harbor at Batav was lined with stone steps leading to the waterfront, and patrolled by great warships flying the Temple flags and banners, saffron-robed acolytes standing in the bows to challenge newcomers. The harbor entrance was closed by a massive chain stretching between huge rafts at the ends of a log boom.

Loholo explained to the guard boats that they were from Jikar, but at MacKinnie’s orders did not tell them the ship was commanded by men from the stars. One of the patrol boats escorted them past the chain. Subao moved slowly, sails furled, the crew working the sweeps. The bottom was visible below the ship, and gangs of men stood in water to their waists to scoop out mud from the main channel.

“Convicts,” Loholo said. “You don’t want to run afoul of the priesthood here. But they do keep the harbor open. Finest harbor on Makassar.”

They were shown to a gray stone dock, a niche cut into the harbor sea wall and lined with log rafts so that the ship could be tied up without concern for the enormous tides on Makassar. Nearby another crew of convicts strained at pumps to force silt into barges. Another barge had been filled and was headed out to sea.

“The Temple priests run everything here,” Loholo said after they made Subao fast to the raft. “There’ll be one of their junior deacons along in a while to make you an offer on your trade goods. You’ll do best to stall him until you find what the local merchants will pay for part of the cargo, but you’ll have to sell some of it to Their Holinesses. If you don’t, we’ll never leave this harbor.”

MacKinnie stood on the quarterdeck of Subao and watched the traffic along the harbor street in front of him. In contrast to Jikar, there was activity, but not as much as Nathan would have expected for a large city like Batav. There were not many ships moving about in the harbor, either. Draymen unloaded a cargo vessel four rafts down from Subao, but the intervening slips were empty, and there was another large space before the next ship.