Perhaps more was known about the planned rebellion in the name of the Old Ones than Balthazar suspected. Kormak had come along with a new admiral, a relative of the King no less, and a small army of troops. Coincidence? When the rebels were almost ready to strike? That would be too much to hope for.

A shadow detached itself from the verandah of his mansion. His factotum, Lorenzo, moved out to greet him. The broad, bullet-headed man rubbed his hands together then bowed. “Welcome home, Master. Count Balthazar awaits you in the sanctum.”

Lorenzo was loyal, but he had no idea what Balthazar truly was. “Very good. I will see him at once. Bring food and wine.”

The servant nodded and then cleared his throat. Orson knew him well enough to know that it showed he was nervous. “And a soldier arrived. I did not recognise him, but he said he came from you. I allowed him admittance and told him to wait in the hall. He went straight into the sanctum to talk with the Count.”

Orson cursed. And that would be the accursed changeling. He had at least remained in disguise on the ship and restrained himself from attacking the Guardian.

“I asked him to leave, but the Count told me that he could stay and . . .”

He let the words trail off. Orson understood too well. Few defied Count Balthazar when he chose to exert his will. “No matter, old friend. I will sort the matter. See that we are not disturbed.”

Lorenzo looked grateful. “Of course, master.”

Orson scratched at a mosquito bite. Sweat made his fingertips moist. He wanted a cold bath but, as always, business would have to come first.

“Ah, Orson, welcome home!” Count Balthazar’s resonant voice rang out as Orson entered the room. He raised his goblet in a toast with as much ease as if he had been sitting in the guest room of his own rundown manor. Still in the form and dress of a marine from the Pride of Siderea, the changeling also raised a glass.

Orson strode across the richly furnished room, took an antique stone pitcher from the heavy oaken table and poured himself a goblet. He swigged it down unwatered, slumped down into a massive overstuffed armchair and studied his companions.

Balthazar looked the same as he had when Orson departed for Siderea.