Dorian drove them back into Seoul, relishing the wind in his hair, the dark road ahead, and the brooding man at his side. Whatever the mix-up, it had the Major in deep thought and, miraculously, ordering him to follow until further notice. Did Klaus really think Eroica would let him go with the job unfinished?

Eroica very much enjoyed being ordered to park his impertinently gorgeous convertible in a reserved "Security" space, and he followed and watched with admiration as the Major cut through the layers of guards around the Arts exhibits and offices. The offices themselves were half-lit and nearly empty with only two of the Major’s alphabetical subordinates at work. They did not seem surprised to see Major Eberbach walk in unannounced at this post-midnight hour. Mr. D, in fact, looked up with an expression bordering on relief. "Sir! Mr. A left this for you." He proffered a sheet of typescript scrawled with hand corrections.

Neither subordinate paid the slightest attention to the Major’s distinctly unofficial breaking-and-entering costume, or to the Major’s dashing and similarly garbed companion.

"Stay in here," said the Major, almost absently, to Eroica, as he accepted the paper from D’s hand. His eyes scanned the sheet rapidly, and the dark web of tension that hovered almost visibly around him tightened further. He stared at the paper for a moment after he’d finished reading, not moving, and said, "Get me the Chief, in Bonn," with flat lack of emphasis.

That surprised the subordinates, though the only sign of it was a glimpse of startled Nordic face as Mr. F swiveled from his monitor desk to a telephone switchboard. Considering how Klaus felt about his Chief, Dorian thought, the instruction was probably a rare one.

No one told Dorian not to listen. Mr. F’s Korean was extremely basic, but it served, his English was adequate, and his German sounded fluent to Dorian. The Major, ignoring everyone, stalked to a desk isolated in a far corner, switched on itslight and sat there staring into space, eyes hard and face white, waiting for the Chief to come on the line, doing nothing else. He wasn’t even smoking.

Dorian leaned against an unoccupied desk and gazed around this place where Klaus worked. It was efficiently arranged, undoubtedly would show itself to be severely clean if the light were good, and it was totally without esthetic value. He smiled. That was all right. It was all of a piece with the Major’s personal values, which Dorian intended to change. Just a little. Just enough to let Klaus enjoy life, with Dorian’s help.

F spoke one last time into his telephone and pushed another button, then hung it up. He and Mr. D traded speaking glances, and proceeded to concentrate on their work in silence. The Major had picked up his receiver, and a low mumble of Teutonic consonants came from the far corner.

Dorian, purely to prevent himself from becoming bored, began to saunter around the gloomy office, angling gradually toward the pool of light in the corner. Before he had completed the first leg of his calculated path, however, Mr. F lifted his face from the monitor board. "Do you need something? Can I help you?" His accent, in English, was Nordic to match his face.

"Is there coffee around here somewhere?" asked Dorian. Every office like this had a coffee machine.

"Oh. There." F pointed toward a table at the side wall opposite the Major’s corner. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." Dorian took a leisurely route to the table and poured himself a paper cup of terrible military coffee—bad coffee was the same anywhere in the world—but did not drink it. Carrying the cup, he continued to wander, still thinking about Klaus. The Major wanted him to stay close. Dorian paused at a meaningless schedule chart on one wall and smiled at it with unfeigned rapture. Klaus wanted him…

He moved on, casually, and eventually set the cup down on someone’s clean desk in the last row before the clear space around the Major, and listened without compunction.

There were some references to "Frankreich," and "Turkei," and one to "KahGehBeh." The name, "Fräulein Delannes," came up with fair regularity, and then the tone changed and he heard, "Eroica."

Dorian wanted to lean closer and listen with every ounce of concentration, but he’d already established apattern of carefully casual movements and pauses; stillness would alert the Major or perhaps Mr. F. He moved casually to the next desk over and leaned against that.

Klaus was nearly spitting, and Dorian could guess that the reference was not complimentary. "Sie sollen seine Nachricht hören. Wenn Sie ihm glauben können, werden Sie mehr wissen als ich!" The exclamation point was perfectly clear. The rest made little sense to Dorian. Klaus listened to the receiver for a moment in scowling silence, but he was less acerbic when he said, "Wir werden morgen früh nach Bonn zurückkehren. Ich werde auch Ah einen Bericht…"

Klaus, animated with anger, looked perfectly lovely in the sharp light of the desk lamp. Dorian gave up trying to understand German on such short notice. He’d heard "Bonn," and "morgen." Bonn tomorrow, or in the morning. Morning would be in about two hours, the Earl reckoned. And Klaus wanted him to follow. Klaus had failed his mission, he’d said, and now he was going back to Bonn to report in person.

Dorian remembered to move, casually, as Klaus continued to snarl with agglutinative grace into the telephone. "Frankreich" reoccurred, and something about "dieser Weiber," but the rest faded behind him as Dorian took a meandering course back toward the front of the room. He had no doubt Klaus and his Chief would have many words to say to each other yet, but there was no time to waste.

The effort of maintaining a nonchalant front had never been greater. As he passed the two occupied desks, Mr. F looked up at him again, politely inquiring.

"Where’s the men’s room?" asked Dorian plaintively. After the coffee…

It worked. "First corridor on the right," said F, "a few doors down."

"Good." Eroica moved, casually and carefully not creating any new excitement to attract the Major’s attention, out the door.

He turned right, which fortunately was the way back to the parking garage, and didn’t stop until he was back in the seat of his car, on the streets of Seoul.

The Major would follow him. Dorian smiled and shook his curls in the breeze. Klaus wanted him, now, for his investigation of Katya Delannes and also… Dorian laughed aloud. That wonderful, angry, passionate bundle of wire ropes would come after him, and tell him where to find the Delannes treasures, whether he wanted to or not. Dorian had no intention of evading him. It would be delicious. Meanwhile, it would do no harm to let Peters and Bonham know where the Earl had gone and what to do in his absence. Grand passions should not be allowed to disrupt one’s household more than necessary.

* * * * *

He walked in on—not chaos, exactly; Peters would never allow chaos—but a muted disturbance of activity, in the jasmine-and rose-scented penthouse. The butler’s exasperated look was somehow familiar, even in the faint dawn light of the antechamber windows. After a moment the Earl identified it, and then the distant sound of sobbing from somewhere inside. Mr. James must be back.

Oh. This would require finesse. What on earth could he tell Mr. James?

Well, he’d think of something. "Peters, I’ll be leaving Seoul within the hour, alone. Can you manage a suitcase that quickly? The rest of you should go back to England as soon as it can be arranged. You’rein charge of the household. Bonham’s in charge of the team. I have to talk to James now. Are there any emergencies ahead of him?"

"No, m’lord. James…" There was a muffled crash, somewhere, and renewed sobbing.

"Yes?"

"He’s heard the latest household news. Couldn’t be helped."

"I suppose not. James is a member of the household. Need I add that it is not to go outside?"

"No, m’lord. It won’t." Peter’s rotund face tilted toward the noise. "Nor from him. Not if he knows what’s good for ’im."

"As you say," said the Earl grimly, and swept into the staff’s sitting room to find and calm his hysterical accountant.

James, huddled forlornly in one of the hotel’s magnificently comfortable armchairs, was a sodden mess, which was a pity. Mr. James in good spirits was really rather attractive. Not that it mattered now. "James darling! Now nice to see you back!" The Earl held out both hands in greeting.

Mr. James took it as an invitation and launched himself into the Earl’s arms, soaked handkerchief, Casio-mini calculator and all. Clutching the familiar little body, Dorian sank helplessly into the armchair, holding James on his lap.

"Wharu…no’…truissit?" said a tearful voice. The Casio-mini’s readout flashed a dim 1298452831.52 from where it was clutched in James’s left hand. "Brought you something," whispered James into his shoulder, snuggling wetly. It was, Dorian reflected, just this position that had got him into trouble with James ever so long ago, and had prevented him throwing James out a number of times since. James, though he indulged in more than his share of tiresome moments, had a distinct charm and an absolute devotion to the Earl. This was going to be difficult.

Dorian put it off. "What’s that? Did you have fun in Tokyo?"

"Ohh, yeesss," moaned James, nuzzling at the black jumpsuit. "See?" He displayed the calculator. " Did it all for you."

"That’s marvelous, James. What is it?"

"’S my Casio-mini," said James a little reproachfully.

On a closer look, James didn’t seem any less hollow-eyed than the hapless T’ang horse team—or the Major—nor was he making any more sense. That feverish look about the eyes, in fact, was extremely like Klaus’s… Before he thought of the consequences, the Earl bent down and kissed his accountant, just because it was so easy. It was very nice. He really shouldn’t have, now, but it was very nice, and Mr. James was going to kick up an enormous ruckus anyway; it couldn’t possibly make the situation worse.

"Ohhh," said James again. "Can’t be true, can it, m’lord?"

"Whatever," said the Earl. "Tell me about the Casio-mini."

"I carried it all the way here without clearing it," said James, "just to show you." He waved it proudly. "See?"

"Yes, that’s wonderful, darling, but what does it mean?" The numerals in the readout window still showed 1298452831.52. When James was excited about large numbers, it could only mean one thing. "Is that money, Mr. James?"

"Uh-huh, yen," said James. "It’s all waiting for you in the Nihon Ginko. They wouldn’t let me take it out in cash." He hiccuped and went on snuggling in the Earl’s lap. "Even when I cried."

Dorian read the figures again. One-thousand-million yen and a lot of change. It was a nice big number. It might be useful, one way or another. He smoothed Mr. James’s straggling dark curls. "In one account, James? In your name?"

"Y’rs ’n mine," murmured James, both arms around him now. "Jointly. Isn’t that nice?"

"Very nice," said Dorian, trying not to be overwhelmed. James was not tall, brooding, deadly or reserved. He was, however, overwhelmingly loyal and enthusiastic about exactly two things: money and the Earl of Gloria. This was really going to be more than a little difficult.

"Isn’t it worth a reward?" asked James, lifting his face.

"Awfully," said Dorian, feeling like a heel. " But something’s come up."

James, who had been looking hopeful and not entirely unattractive, crumpled. "So it’s true!?" He set up a howl of anguish, tears flowing onto a soaked handkerchief and Dorian’s shoulder. "You’ve caught that…that…militaristic machine? Aah-waah—and you still want him?! Aaah-are you mad?"

"Maybe that’s it," shrugged Dorian. " I’ve always been ruled by whims."

"Ohhh, nooo…" wailed James. Dorian did not let him go, nor was James struggling to escape his embrace. James, shocked and disappointed as hemight be, was still a useful member of the household, and currently the sole holder of a fortune in hard Japanese yen. And he knew far too much about the Major and the Earl. It was worth an effort to keep his loyalty.

"There’s a little more to it just at present, though…"

"Ohhhh, noooo!"

"Do you remember the T’ang horse we were after here?"

James stopped wailing and nodded, eyes wide. "There’re two private collectors who’ll pay for that. We can make them bid against each other, and put the price up and up and up—"

"Not this time," sighed Dorian. "That militaristic machine caught me in the middle of stealing the horse, and so there was nothing to do but agree to his terms."

"Nooooo," shrieked James, clutching the Earl this time in terror, although other impulses could be detected as Dorian, not quite in spite of himself, clutched back.

"Yes," said Dorian. "I have to do what he says, or we’ll have NATO telling Interpol everything they know about me—and you—which is more than I’d planned on coping with this year."

Mr. James sobbed in his arms, fright and excitement equally evident in his frantic cries. A great deal of the front of Dorian’s jumpsuit was moist by now, and there were patchy tearstains on the chair as well. Dorian stroked James’s hair again, which was the least wet part of him, and said, soothingly, "So you see, the best thing for all of us is for me to cooperate with the Major for the moment."

"Are you sure you must?" It was an unhappy, but resigned, little whimper.

Dorian kissed him again, carefully not letting it go too far. " Yes. But there’s a bright side. I’ve made him hire the team, so NATO will be paying everyone’s way home." If the Major did drag Dorian to Bonn without so much as a by-your-leave, Dorian thought, he would let Mr. James bill NATO for the return airfare for a staff of sixteen and all their sundry luggage, minus one T’ang horse. What does he see in that ancient, wonderful figurine, if not beauty?

"Wonderful!" breathed the accountant, almost forgetting his woe. "That’s as good as…can we go first class? Will you…" Dorian shook his head, trying to look regretful. "Ohhh, you won’t go with us?!" And he was sobbing again. "Isn’t it horrible for you, being with someone who likes metal more than art? How can you bear it? Do you have to? Ohhhh…"

"I have to," said Dorian, shifting to a more comfortable and slightly more decorous posture. "I don’t have the choice." I don’t choose whom I love. Fate chooses…

"He’s not b-b-beautiful," sobbed Mr. James. "It’s b-beneath you to associate yourself with him."

"No, it’s not," said Dorian firmly. I love associating myself beneath him. "Think of him, never having any fun. He needs me. He doesn’t know," whispered Dorian conspiratorially into James’s waiting gaze, "what pleasure is. Don’t you think he ought to find out?"

James’s dark eyes opened very wide and shining tears spilled out. "He doesn’t deserve it!" He leaned against Dorian’s chest and wept, wetly, while the Casio-mini with its enormous readout came to rest on Dorian’s knee.

But I do. Dorian sighed and cradled the sopping bundle of grief. Mr. James, in his way, needed love as well, but not at the moment. At the moment he had a thousand million yen, which should be a feast even for Mr. James.

"Perhaps he doesn’t," said Dorian soothingly, "but I have to go with him. It’s one of his missions, you know."

James sobbed and wriggled closer to the Earl, who didn’t resist very much. "Will you—"

The Casio-mini joggled off Dorian’s knee and crashed onto the floor.

"Ohh! My beautiful calculator!" cried James and scrambled, at last, off the Earl’s lap to pick it up and examine it. Ominous tinklings sounded from inside the battered casing, and the readout would not change from 1298452831.52 for any combination of button-pushing. James’s face screwed up for a deafening scream of loss.

"I’ll make NATO buy you a new one," said Dorian hastily. James’s scream froze into a surprised peep. "After all, it’s their fault it broke," pursued the Earl.

In the moment of quiet he could hear something going on at the suite entrance, something like an irate NATO officer being put off, without success, by a well-trained butler limited to weapons of etiquette. That wouldn’t stop Klaus at all, if he was after something he wanted.

Dorian smiled beneficently and ecstatically upon Mr. James as he levered himself out of the armchair. "You’ve done beautifully, darling, and I want you to rest now. Aren’t you tired from all that hard work?"

"No," said James, gazing misty-eyed up at him. "S’fun to be at a big exchange. Makes me excited." The dark curls flopped over his face and he shook them back. " Won’t you have time for—"

The door slammed open at that moment to reveal Major Eberbach, looking furious. Dorian’s smile widened in welcome—he couldn’t stop himself—but he stood where he was with one hand on Mr. James’s shoulder. Dorian had his whims and intended indulging his passions, but he also had some loyalties to uphold.

The Major’s anger was no surprise; it was the eruption of screaming from Mr. James that startled Dorian. James leapt for the tall figure in the impeccable FRG uniform, Casio-mini forgotten on the floor, hitting out with shrill intensity and no science at all.

The Major, distracted from Eroica, replied to the attack with two swift moves that left James frustrated but unharmed. Howling like a siren, the accountant renewed his blind assault and drew two more lightning motions that did not bother to attack in turn. The Major wore a slight smile and wasn’t even breathing hard; Dorian thought he was probably enjoying himself.

"Sto—" began the Earl, in a moderate shriek, but he couldn’t hear it over James’s screaming, and just then the Major apparently decided that James wasn’t going to stop, and took the initiative himself. Being able to watch Klaus in action was an unexpected delight. "Go on, go on!" yelled Dorian, into the continuous barrage of noise.

The Major waited, poised, for James’s next dash, seized him neatly by the arms, clamped them to his sides, andlifted him, struggling and kicking futilely, into the air. In a moment, the screams died into an indignant gurgle of compressed, laboring lungs, while the Major wore a rather smug expression of pleased exertion. The Major, eye-to-eye with James, scowled terrifyingly. "Get. Out." He opened his hands, and James fell eight inches to the floor and sprawled onto the Casio-mini, unharmed but gasping with now-silent fury.

The Earl helped him to his feet, gathering up the broken machine as well. James whimpered, theatrically.

"Do as he says, for now," murmured Dorian. " Go have some tea, and ask Peters to bring some here, in a few minutes. Are you all right?"

Mr. James clutched his beloved, wounded Casio-mini and nodded, eyes fixed first on the Major and then, pleadingly, on the Earl. "What’re you going to do now?"

"What I have to," said Dorian. He bundled James to the door, and out into the sympathetic and highly curious auspices of Jones and Bonham. He made sure the door was firmly closed before turning back to thelove of his life, grinning, he knew, like a maniac. "That was the most fun I’ve had since…yesterday, Quinquin. What shall we do now?" He moved over to a large, dry sofa and sat down, willing Klaus to follow.

Klaus moved only to face him, anger coming back to him after the pleasant interlude of activity. "I told you to stay in the Security office," growled the light of Dorian’s days and the beloved of his eyes.

"And I came back here to give Peters some instructions," said Dorian calmly. "I’m sure you didn’t want me tying up Security lines with my trivial household affairs."

"You careless idiot! Don’t you know how easily you can be reached here? I got in with hardly a question asked, and those men of yours are useless against anyone who’s determined."

"You mean they didn’t delay you," interposed Dorian. "But you see, they have orders not to interfere with you. For good reason." Klaus showed no signs of sitting down, so Dorian got up and paced closer.

Klaus took a step back. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be a retreat. "What have you and your gang of bunglers ever done but interfere! If you don’t have the sense to follow simple instructions, how can I know where you are?" Dorian, encouraged, took another step toward him. "Sit down!" ordered the Major, pointing back at the sofa.

Dorian backed up and sat. "I must finish my mission, which means bringing you to report on certain actions you have taken and certain objects you should not have seen. Until you so report, you are not to leave my sight, for security and safetyreasons. Is that clear?"

"Oh, yes," said Dorian happily. "Come and tell me all about it." He patted the sofa’s rose-brocade upholstery. "I just love being secure and safe…"

Klaus’s face went blank, and for a moment Dorian was afraid he’d pushed too far. The Eberbach temper was nothing to trifle with, as Dorian knew from experience. Mr. James had been let off very lightly, but then Mr. James hadn’t been any kind of challenge to Klaus.

The stiff, straight figure clenched its fists at its sides and the expressionless mouth parted to say, "You are a thief; and a frivolous thief. You believe in nothing. You understand nothing but selfish pleasure. You are totally thoughtless toward everything outside your own sight. You are…"

He went on for some while. Dorian stopped listening after the second sentence and watched Klaus’s face become animated, his anger more expressive, as he told Dorian what he thought of him in flowing, precise English. His body language, Dorian thought, was quite beautiful.

The Earl’s serene, besotted smile came to Klaus’s attention after some minutes, and the rhetoric faltered. The quick eyes scanned over Dorian’s delighted face and attentive posture. Dorian let the smile widen slightly and said nothing.

"…Worst of all," continued Klaus, "your followers never even understand the wrongs of your…your…" Dorian had opened his eyes more fully. "Verdammter…Dorian! Are you listening?"

"Of course. Do go on," sighed Dorian.

"Your gang of thieves are no better than you, without even knowing… Eroica, what have you told them to do now?"

"Nothing," said Dorian, smiling dreamily up at him. "Sit down and let’s talk about it."

Klaus stared at him. "All this has no importance to you, does it?"

"Oh, no, a great deal," Dorian assured him. " You hired me and my team. I assume NATO does not want a highly-trained group of thieves loose in Seoul trying to find their missing leader. My men would look for me if I disappeared with no word. It might lead to some disturbances. They are," he added thoughtfully,"all very loyal."

"And what have you told them?"

"That I’m leaving," said Dorian, leaning back into the sofa, "with you. Immediately. They are to return home. I hope that suits NATO’s needs?"

Klaus said nothing for a moment, looked around the room, at the closed door, at the sofa long and wide enough to lie down on, and back at the Earl. He stood very still, neither advancing nor retreating from Dorian, who watched him with interest."Sit down, Klaus," he said calmly. "Peters will bring us tea in a moment. I need to speak to him a bit more. You can stay here with me until it’s time to leave. I won’t run away. Incidentally, where are we going?"

"Bonn, as soon as possible," said the Major, not moving.

"I see. Why are you in a hurry?"

That put the hard, tense look back onto Klaus’s face, but it no longer frightened Dorian. Klaus was working. "Your bolting off cost us a flight to Germany! We’ll lose hours before I can commandeer another, and those hours could lose me any chance of rescuing the mission! You fool!"

"Would reservations on the next JAL flight to Europe help?" asked Dorian. That massive bank account of yen could buy a lot of airfares, and NATO would reimburse them in marks.

"Possibly," said Klaus, as if the word hurt him. Yes, he’d detest taking Dorian’s help. He’d have to learn that his lover would and could help him, sometimes.

"Good, then, I’ll have Peters make them for us as well as the staff," said Dorian. "Immediately. First class is tolerably comfortable." He stretched out an arm for the nearer telephone on its end-table, only to have it chime under his fingers. Whatever reply Iron Klaus had been ready to throw at him died as the Earl picked it up.

Mr. D’s too-perfect English demanded the Major. Dorian lifted his eyebrows and offered the receiver to his adored antagonist. " It’s for you."

Klaus took it, listened, and spat merciless German into the instrument, but when he hung it up he wore a hard smile. "The reservations will not be necessary. We are departing one hour from now, or as soon as we get to the airfield, on a Danish military flight. There is no time to spare." He advanced upon Dorian’s position at last, stopping just short of the sofa. "Get up. We are leaving now."

Dorian did not move, except to pick up the telephone again and punch two numbers. "I think you can give me five minutes, surely?" C-ch-ching, sounded on the other end of the line. Dorian looked up at the Major. If Klaus chose to manhandle him, Klaus would receive amorous cooperation and more delay. He seemed to realize that. Good. C-ch-ching. Where was Peters?

"Suite 1000," came the butler’s voice.

"Peters. Speak to Mr. James, please, about financing the trip home for the staff with yen. I suggest JAL and a stopoverin Tokyo. Insist that he buy himself a new calculator. Keep the receipts for bookkeeping, of course. I must leave soon, unless…" Dorian cocked an speculative eye at the man glowering in front of him. "Would you like tea before we leave? Breakfast?" He was perfectly sure of the answer.

"No!"

"…Very soon. I’ll ring up the London house in a day or two. Hold any operations until further notice. Tell Bonham. Can you handle the rest of the details?"

"Yes, m’lord."

"Excellent. Good luck with Mr. James." Dorian rang off, still without removing his eyes from Klaus, and spread his empty hands. "I am at your disposal." He smiled.

"Get. Up." Dorian rose, gracefully. He wanted very much to touch Klaus: that aura of primed explosive was catching, and this might be their last moment of privacy for hours or days. But Klaus’s mind was in the outside world already. Dorian contented himself with a level gaze into the cold green eyes at his own height, and did not venture within arm’s length. "Anything you say, Quinquin."

"Come with me. Now."

"Gladly," said Dorian, and couldn’t resist: "I love coming with you any time." He invested the words with immense lecherous implication, but Klaus didn’t notice until he added a rude snigger.

"Whatever you’re thinking, stop it immediately. We are leaving, now. Mr. D will bring a car. Behave, Eroica."

"Or else what?" needled Dorian, pulling open the door to find the front sitting room occupied by Peters, a serving cart full of tea things, and a small suitcase.

Klaus, faced with the outside world in actuality, had no reply. However he did not try to pull Dorian away from the tea cart as the Earl snatched a cup from it, filled it, and drained it, all in seconds.

Dorian wrapped two scone-like objects in a napkin and turned to the Major. "Let’s go." He just had time to pick up the suitcase before the Major dragged him out the door.

Klaus drove, with a bare minimum of respect for the morning traffic and none for caution. Mr. D winced periodically, but Dorian rather enjoyed the trip to the airfield, which turned out not to be the Kimpo airport, but an American military base hosting, very temporarily, an apologetic Danish flight crew and their massive and virtually empty jet.

Klaus and one of the flight crew exchanged obscure military greetings, sounding surprisingly congenial. Dorian guessed that the language was Danish, since it wasn’t German. The two pilots and one whatever-it-was chuckled at some comment, and the one Klaus had addressed first looked around at Dorian. "We shall leave immediately. Please board." The Major glanced at him, too, and nodded.

Dorian climbed metal stairs into an impressively austere metal cabin, herded by Klaus’s impatient steps bounding up the stairs behind him. He wondered what the Major had been saying about him, and thenwondered whether the man could really travel, as he appeared to be doing, totally without luggage.

He found a place to stow his suitcase and was directed to a comprehensive seatbelt on a severely functional seat. Minutes later, the plane thundered down a runway and lifted westward into the air.

It was eight timezones to Germany, which meant at least that many hours, Dorian calculated, with no entertainment at all except Klaus, who likewise had nothing to do but sit here with him. It was a bargain.

Dorian sighed happily and leaned over toward Klaus’s seat, where the Major was staring out at the horizon below. "What shall we do now, Quinquin?"

END