the ceiling, where two swords pierced through the solid stone. They cut a wide hole, and a man in a long black wig and ermine robes dropped through on the falling circle of stone. The Sturmleichen brought up their weapons, but before they could act, the man whirled and sliced, dropping all three to the ground.

“Ultima ratio regum, bitches,” quipped the man.

“I see you have learned some new tricks, Louis. Well, so have I.” The man with the long mustache drew a wicked rapier with a black blade from his sheathe. “In the ten thousand years since this blade was forged, it has never failed to draw blood. Do you fancy your chances?”

Louis lunged, and Vlad Tepes collapsed with the blade through his throat.

“I thought… you were dead,” wheezed Tesla’s mechanical voice.

The king cleaned his blade and returned it to its scabbard. “No. I merely had an old debt to pay. You must repair Mr. Lincoln’s time machine, before HE awakens.”

Even as Tesla’s spidery robots swarmed over Lincoln’s backpack…