Like the ancient monarchs of Morocco or the emperors of China, Frederick’s family and his personal life were kept carefully hidden within his wondrous Palace. The truth was that the King had no legitimate heirs. But the Hansa could rewrite history any time they wished.

“This has happened five times before, though not for decades. It is perhaps our most important task.” He distributed the filmscreens, and each envoy activated the thumbpad. A sequence of images appeared, showing young men taken in candid poses. Obviously, the subjects had not known they were under surveillance.

“These are complete dossiers of our candidates. They contain spy footage, photographs, and informational summaries of each young man compiled over the years. Our operatives are constantly on the lookout for eligible trainees for the job of Prince. These are the candidates Mr. Pellidor has selected, the best young men to help us fulfill the Hansa’s destiny.”

Basil summoned the envoys to the largest crystal table, and they spread their filmscreens on the tabletop so they could compare notes and discuss the possibilities. For hours they studied the records and photos, arguing about options, comparing impressions. It took less time than Basil had feared, and by the blaze of a coppery sunset, he himself cast the deciding vote.

He touched his finger to the image of a dark-haired young man. His intelligence was high, his personality was soft and likable, his voice was charismatic—and, Basil hoped, the candidate’s character could be made malleable.

“This one has the most potential,” he said. “Given his background and social status, he’ll never be missed. And most important, he even vaguely resembles King Frederick.”

18RAYMOND AGUERRA

Far from the private meeting chambers in Hansa headquarters, Raymond Aguerra scrounged for dinner in a small apartment on the eighteenth floor of a mass dwelling complex.

Trying to be optimistic, he scratched his dark hair and stared at the supplies in their cupboards and the cold preservation unit. He would have to scrape the bottom of his imagination to make these ingredients resemble a satisfying and nutritious meal for himself and his family.

The counters were cluttered with small boxes, toys, secondhand electronic gadgets, hand-made potholders and keepsake printouts. No amount of care or housekeeping could make the cramped apartment look more organized. Raymond’s two youngest brothers, nine-year-old Carlos and six-year-old Michael, chased each other pretending to be monsters, then fell into a laughing heap, wrestling on the kitchen floor.

Raymond playfully nudged them out of the way with his foot. “If you make me spill your food, you’ll have to eat it off the floor.”

“Might taste better that way.” Carlos giggled as he tried to dodge Raymond’s swift kick, which landed on the boy’s bony rear end.

Their mother, Rita, rested in her chair in the main room, half watching an entertainment program but deriving little enjoyment from it. Years of practice allowed her to ignore the roughhousing. Next to her, ten-year-old Rory complained about being forced to do his homework while his younger brothers were able to play.