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They stumbled and snuck and tiptoed for hours Branwell hadn’t really any idea which way to go, but he’d chosen this way, and he meant to stick to it This as his way It would lead thery How long had it been since porridge? How long had they been here? How long had they slept?

“Bran, look!” Anne pointed up ahead

A dark golden light spilled out into the hallway They hurried after it They were so thirsty for light!

The light was coh a little

row of alcoves and pillars in the endless, blank stone wall It wasn’t endless and blank at all They stood on a long balcony overlooking a room filled with candles, torches, and three hearths at full blaze Branwell and Anne tucked thee

“That’s Napoleon!” Bran hissed excitedly

“Shush!” Anne hissed back

Napoleon Bonaparte hunched over his war table in that glowing roo, white bones It y room Miniature models of the cities of Glass Town covered every table and chair Papers littered the floor Marengo, his loyal rooster, roosted by one of the hearths, his own green fla chicken snores One of the arlittered by candlelight

Brunty was there, too, sitting at Old Boney’s side He looked exhausted His pages hung limp The headlines on his waistcoat read: IS THIS THE END FOR BRAVE BRUNTY? and THE INDUSTRY OF WAR GRINDS ON, and DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI The wooden scroll-knob of his belly lay open The bat-tree burbled aeakly inside Napoleon poked at the machine that powered Brunty now He lifted up a few of the thick saucers with the barrel of his rifle-arain

“Is all very well and good, mon ami, but what am I meant to do with it? How shall we make more? We can’t even take it out of you You just fall down At first, it was a bit funny,up and down and up and down like a windup Brunty But nohat? One of these does ood I need one for every beautiful toad in Gondal And then a fewit? Bat-tree? That’s awful Misérable No style to it”

“It’s a Voltaic Pyle,” Brunty wheezed “It’s devilishly simple, really The discs are copper, zinc, and silver, wrapped in scraps of a housewife’s dress or so, soaked in brine Back where it came from, it makes an electrical current, and the wires conduct it, and it stores the energy for you It’s their ot it across the borderlands, it perked up soazine Man coughed—“a littleover here”

“Voltaic Pyle Too long,” Napoleon grunted “Monsieur Grenouille, co better!”

“Right away, sir,” the bundle of cast-off ar answered He sunk his chin into his chest, deep in thought

Brunty closed the scroll-knob He wiped dried ink off his papery mouth

“Our azine Man said “I sent hihost with a letter that explains all the technical rubbish that weakling Volta said to me It must be terribly sad to be a breather They break so easily At any rate, it won’t be a problee of supplies in Wellington’s tents The first shipot three of everything over there while we’ve got one or none Isn’t that always the way?”