Victorian Fantasy. Waltzes, champagne and a crown prince’s masked ball. You came as a spy to collect a secret that could decide the fate of empires, but someone got there first. One of five masked women done this.

You are an agent of the Albenor Empire’s secret service.

At the ball in Danuvia you are to meet Herr Gottlieb Bergmann, a famous inventor and now chief metallurgist of Kessler & Sons, the largest steelworks in the Kingdom of Holmark. Bergmann has agreed to sell Albenor something the Lords of the Admiralty would pay for in gold. It is a detailed account of how to cast large crucible-steel ingots and forge them under a steam hammer into thick armor plate, together with the formula for hardening it. Albenor’s navy still builds its ironclads from wrought iron. If the reports are true, Holmark is close to making armor that Albenorian guns cannot pierce. Whoever masters this process first will rule the seas for the next decade...

Your cover is not sophisticated, but that is exactly why it works. You are an Albenorian gentleman of good family, wealthy, as everyone believes, and you take great care to keep up appearances. You are traveling the Continent somewhat incognito to ease a deep and fashionable melancholy, the usual curse of your class. Nobody asks too many questions of a bored, gloomy Albenorian aristocrat with money to spend.

Tonight’s masquerade is being held at the Zaltenbrunn, the Crown Prince Leopold’s summer residence. Like most of his entertainments, it was thrown together in a hurry, with invitations sent out barely a week ago. The Prince’s reputation is dubious at best, but he is generous in his revels, and despite all the rumors, few people can resist the chance to rub shoulders with royalty, however disgraced. As a result, the crowd is a curious mix.

But something has gone wrong. You find Bergmann in the small drawing room in his boar mask, sprawled on a sofa, red-faced, blind drunk and smiling foolishly. In the inner pocket of his coat is an envelope. The seal is broken and it's empty.

You know for certain that only a few minutes ago, the only people in this room were four ladies and a maid. A masquerade is a masquerade, and it would be terribly improper to say names aloud. But you know your trade, and you know exactly who is hiding behind each mask...

WHO WAS IN THE ROOM

The Fox: Countess Ilona Szarvay, 32. The widow of an elderly hussar colonel from the minor Danuvian nobility. She is a dazzling society figure who runs a fashionable salon, and she is witty and dangerous in conversation. Rumor has it that until a year ago she was the Crown Prince’s mistress. She has since fallen from favor but remains something like an old friend and confidante to him.

The Turtle: Mrs. Honoria Pembridge, 49. Your fellow countrywoman, the respectable widow of an Albenorian judge. For several seasons now she has been “obliged” to live on the Continent because of her migraines, her nerves and her weak chest, which can only be treated with mineral waters, mud baths and a gentle climate. She is prim and severe, knows everything about everyone and thinks the worst of them all. She “despises” continental morals, yet she never misses a ball.

The Mouse: Princess Varvara Opolenskaya, 18. A young Kerevian aristocrat. She is touring the Continent with her ancient grandmother, a dowager princess who spends most of the evening dozing in an armchair and is clearly unable to keep track of her granddaughter. Officially this is an “educational journey.” Unofficially, the rumor is that some scandal broke out back home in Kerevia, and the family hurriedly sent the girl abroad until it blows over.

The Songbird: Signorina Lucia Benvenuti, 27. A Tyrrhenian singer and operetta star engaged for the season at the spa theater. She is lively, vivid and talkative beyond all measure: in five minutes she will tell you three stories and give away four other people’s secrets. Her reputation is, to put it mildly, doubtful. She trails behind her a string of wealthy admirers, unpaid bills and whispers of a connection to some foreign attaché.

The Maid: Resl, about 20. A local girl in service at the villa. All evening she has been carrying champagne around and clearing away empty glasses, and she has been in every room. Nobody pays her any attention.

THE HOST & ''HOSTESS''

The Lion: Crown Prince Leopold Maximilian, 31. Our host and heir to the Dual Crown of Danuvia. Tonight he is mostly occupied with his new mistress and surrounded by a tight ring of flatterers, so he is unlikely to pay you any attention. He is a pompous, rather dim reveller who loves the hunt, the card table and the company of women far more than statecraft. His name has been tied to a long string of scandals, and he does not seem to care in the least. In the Empire there are big doubts about whether he will make a worthy ruler, though of course no one would ever say so aloud.

The Bunny: Anežka Lhotský, 19. The Crown Prince’s new mistress is the daughter of an impoverished baronet from the Viltavia. She is gentle and cheerful, and she seems to live half in a daydream, convinced she is the heroine of a great romance. In truth, the Prince ruined her by every measure that counts: he took her from her family’s care and installed her in a villa near his own under the thin pretense, which ended any chance of a respectable marriage. Her family is poor and provincial, so they swallowed the insult in exchange for paid debts and a brother’s new army commission, and while polite society finds the Prince’s conduct dishonorable, most of it simply pities her.

HOW TO PLAY

It’s simple. At the start, describe the mask (it will be your ''name''). This matters: it is how the other guests will see you, remember you and talk about you. Then begin your investigation. Talk to the suspects, watch, listen, ask questions and follow whatever leads you find.

By the custom of a masquerade, the masks smooth over differences in rank, at least for the evening. You may approach a countess or a singer far more freely than you could in daylight. Still, be careful around the Crown Prince. He is your host, he expects to be treated as such, and a few discreet bodyguards are never far from his side.

Above all, remember that a scandal is, to a large extent, game over for you. If you act too forceful and loud, you could be thrown out of the Zaltenbrunn, expelled from Danuvia and recalled home in disgrace. So tread lightly, be charming, and get those papers back before dawn.