Flight or Fight, Chapter 12

The warning came just a bit late, Dafi realized. She also knew she really shouldn’t have thrown the beer pitcher, but damn it, these were not soldiers, they were jackals! She was not about to let them prey on the civilians!

As soon as they started dragging her towards the door, Dafi twigged that that this was not a night on the town for these scum. She caught sight of an insignia, improperly hidden by the jerkin worn over the cote of one of her attackers. The crest on the shoulder of the uniforms was of the Duchy of Movila, in subdued embroidery. She wondered if the Duke knew these mercenaries were wearing his colours.

Four of them, she might could take in an unfair fight. First priority was to make it as difficult as possible for them to carry her off. Unfortunately, the largest men of the brawlers were the ones that had grabbed her. Though she struggled fiercely, they had her by her arms and legs and were still able to travel well in spite of her struggles.

They had not blindfolded her, so she was able to note the landmarks as she struggled. They were not headed to the Wanderer’s gate, but other than that, she did not know the town. She thought she should be able to find her way back.

She got a leg loose and managed to kick the other leg carrier in the head hard enough to make him drop her. This section of town did not have as many lamps, and the fountain in the derelict square she managed to stop them in was dry. There were no curious bystanders, much to her chagrin, but at this point, anyone else showing up was suspect.

 

Kicking furiously, she managed to get herself free, tumbling across the square. Since they had not had time to disarm her, she still had her boot knives. But that was all she had been carrying when they went down to dinner. The full moon was rising over the rooftops, so seeing where her attackers were was not a problem.

The fact that each of them out-massed her by half again was a problem, however. Loose cobbles in the pavement made footing uncertain, and the odds, even if she did fight dirty, were extremely slim. Not that she was giving them the benefit of the proper École de l'Epée rules. They were built like shield-men, but that didn’t mean they weren’t able to fight like gutter-rats.

They did not give her but a few seconds to make these assessments before two of them lunged for her. A quick sidestep for one and a punch to the solar plexus to the other as she danced away made the other two pause. The first wheeled about, grabbing for her hair, and she tumbled out of his way.

Still not using the knives yet, she held them against her forearms. She had no wish to kill, even in defense, but they might not give her the option. Keeping track of the four of them was still possible, and they had not shown they were trained to fight together, yet. Keeping the fountain to her back, she watched the thugs re-evaluate the situation.

~=*=~

Not caring who got in his way, Dalibor ran through the streets, tracking her scent. Wholly giving himself over to the instincts to hunt, he ignored the cries of dismay as he plowed through the busy crowd in the pub district.

As the scent of her led him away from the crowds into the warehouse district, he growled. Ten years ago this was a bustling business area, but now there were derelict buildings and broken street lamps. The scents of decay mingled with boiled cabbage, rank water and a thread of opium smoke, but the other scents were merely pushed away in his tracking of her.

~=*=~

Dafi’s awareness narrowed to recognition of movement and the patterns they followed. From there her conscious mind focused solely on the estimation of possible next moves, dropping anything that did not involve getting out of this fight alive. Seconds stretched endlessly in her view as she dropped into her tactical analysis battle mindset.

The first one she had kicked was still gathering his wits, but the fact that he was getting up after a boot to the head meant she could be dealing with boneheaded muscle, or perhaps enhanced soldiers. For all their braggart's ways in the tavern, they were deadly silent now. The group had worked together before, if the half-formed hand signals were any indication. One was still getting his breath back from the punch to the gut, leaving two still on their feet and unfazed.

She moved, feinting a dash back for the street, and gauging the speed at which she was blocked. Good, they were heavy fighters, but not augmented, so she would not be dealing with inhuman speed.

Slipping sideways, she managed to connect with her boot to one knee, and the grunt of pain was satisfying, but there was no crunch behind it. They were wearing light armor under the uniforms? No, not all of them had it, but somebody had thought to wear cuisse and greaves under their trous. Damn.

The opening moves testing the defenses on both sides completed, the thought that her father would be disappointed in her if she should die in a street fight ran through her mind as she dodged another attack, alerted by the scrape of boot-sole on cobblestone. The two she had counted coup on earlier were beginning to get their feet back under them when she rushed the closest of them in a move normally learned on the rugby pitch rather than the drill field. Driving her shoulder into his stomach before he was fully on his feet, she was able to make him stumble on a hole left by a missing cobble. The crack of his head hitting the pavers was satisfying enough, but she could not stop to check - the other three were rushing her in point formation. She scrambled and rolled under the feet of another, pausing only long enough to drive the heel of her boot up. Her target twisted at the last moment, so she hit his hip instead of something more damaging, but the force of her kick left him off balance, and tumbling.

Unfortunately, the pause was enough for one of the others to get a grip on her hair. Hissing at the pain as he jerked her head back, she pulled back her elbow sharply, connecting with his ribcage, but the angle was not enough to cause satisfying damage. However, it was enough for him to loosen his grip on her braids, and she jerked free, hairpins flying. Rolling across the abandoned square gained her room to move again.

The one she had dropped on his head still hadn’t gotten up, but the one she had kicked in the hip was limping away. If she could not get out of this before he brought reinforcements, she was lost. She had trouble enough with the two that remained, as it was.

~=*=~

 

 Dalibor had just made the turn into a darkened alley when he caught the movement at the other end of the block. A drunk, staggering home, would not be in this district, and the dream-smoke houses were behind him. Running at top speed, he clotheslined the lone man before his light footsteps could echo.

Even in the dim light, the uniform was right, and the scent was dead on. Slamming the man up against the stone wall, Dalibor hissed, “Where iz she?”

The answer was a sleeve-knife, wielded under the cover of drunken flailing. Dalibor’s grip shifted to the throat of Dafi’s assailant, until the man passed out. His instincts screaming at him to drop the thug and keep tracking, Dalibor took a few seconds to secure the man, but he did not waste time looking for a peace officer to hand him over. Demons driving him, he ran, tracking her again.   

~=*=~

With their numbers halved, the thugs pressed her harder. Circling her, one would try to harry her into the attack of the other. She refused the invitations, slipping out of reach or skipping aside, which seemed to anger them more. When she was able to make one of the thugs forget about the unconscious one behind him, causing him to stumble, the other lunged for her. Unable to fend him off with simple application of force, she had to resort to the knife. Pulling the blade across his abdomen, and up, he was soon more concerned with keeping his innards from hitting the pavement.

The response from the one recovering from his stumble was the first time any had spoken since taking her from the tavern. “I don’t care if they do want you alive, bitch! They can reanimate you for the ceremony!” With that, he pulled out his long-knife - a blade long enough that with his arm length, he would be able to best her reach easily.

~=*=~

Dalibor saw the strike begin as he entered the derelict square, and roared as he sped over the cobbles. There was just enough conscious thought left to keep him from snapping the neck of Dafi’s attacker, but it was a near thing. He switched to a sleeper hold at the last moment, just as the thug swung his fist, steel glittering in the moonlight as his arm arced towards Dal’s neck.

Then Dafi landed a solid kick at the thug’s groin, causing him to drop the knife. The shrill exhalation coupled with Dalibor’s hold made the thug finally fall unconscious, with a chance to live later. Dalibor kept the hold a few moments more, making sure the thug had not played dead to gain an advantage.

However, he dropped the man unceremoniously when Dafi spoke, “Dal? I think that’s enough.”

“Nut for vot he tried to do to you,” He resisted the urge to kick the unconscious lump. Turning swiftly to her, “Are you hurt?”

“I think I might have strained some muscles, trying to keep at least one alive for questioning. One got away, and...” She sounded tired, but in control, and her voice only wavered when she admitted, “I think I might have mis-stepped with one of them...”

A fight with four street-toughs turned soldiers and she’s worried that she might have killed one of them? Dalibor gave in to his instincts and swept her up in an embrace. “Hyu’re  zafe, dot’z all dot metterz.”

He held her as tightly as he could without injuring her, carefully gauging his strength against hers. His conscious mind nearly made him release her when she squeaked in surprise, but it lost the argument when she returned the embrace just as fiercely. 

He reluctantly eased his grip on her, “Ve must secure de rats, ne?”

“Yes, We should.” She was slow to let go of him, as well.

The discovery that the one of the quartet that Dafi has to use her knife on had not quite expired caused some consternation until the patrol caught up with them. The city watch thankfully had a medic with them, who nodded at the wound description. “Sure, and this one will live to see tomorrow, but not be back to duty, I think. Let’s go, boys.” He and the stretcher bearers took off at a trot, leaving the rest of the patrol to mop up the rest.

The sergeant of the patrol interviewed Dafi on the sequence of events, while his second went over the particulars with Dal, both of them well outside earshot of the others in the patrol, standing guard over the two that were slowly regaining consciousness.

Dalibor spoke carefully, “Hy caught vun of dem a few streets over, same uniform und scent, knocked him out ven he pulled a sleeve knife on me.”

The second nodded, “Thought that might have been you. We got him, and they’re all headed for lockup tonight.” He looked a little nervous when he continued, “We need to get you all back to the station-house, because the sergeant will want the captain to take your statements, too.”

Dal lowered his voice, “Hyu gots more trouble than just some boyz gettin’ outta hand, ja?”

“Can’t say for sure, sir. Sergeant Valobos might defer to the captain on that .”

~=*=~

Dafi turned over her knives for inspection to the sergeant of the patrol, who secured them in an evidence wrap. “I’m afraid that’s all I know, sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am. However, knife fights in the streets have a specific protocol. We will have to take you back to the station-house, have your statements reviewed by the captain and validated by the registrar. More than that we will find out from the captain.” His eyes darted over to the two sitting on the cobblestones. “We may need to take care of some other issues on the way. We should get moving, though.”

Dafi felt Dalibor looming over her shoulder as the sergeant’s second joined them. “Preliminary reports completed here, sir?”

“Aye. Those two able to walk?”

“Well enough.” The second seemed to pause a moment, “Sir, the commander and her sergeant were staying at my uncle’s tavern...”

“Yes, I know.” Valobos nodded. “We’ve got enough here to have three on each of the participants, let’s go.”

Marching order worked out, with the sergeant making one of the three escorting Dafi, she murmured, “We gave our word to attend the captain, but this means you don’t get accused of favoritism?”

“Too right, ma’am.” Valobos also kept his voice low. “One of the things we will have to do is stop at the tavern. Just because you made it out of this attempt doesn’t mean this is the end of it. Ionnesceu will take them on to the station, but we have to make a show of escorting you and your goods out of the tavern.”

Dalibor rumbled, just within the sergeant’s hearing, “You expect another attack on the tavern?”

“I’d like to keep the fire watch bored tonight, yeah. If you are publicly escorted out, there’s no call for untoward accidents.”

Upon reaching the tavern that is exactly what happened, but Dafi refused the refund the innkeeper offered. “You need to replace at least three beer pitchers due to my actions.” In an undertone, she added, “Check with the city armorer if they can make shield trays for the girls?”

The innkeeper nodded gravely, “As such, all balances are paid, no damages to follow. Thank you, commander.”

~=*=~

Once everyone was recorded in the incident book, Dafi and Dal were escorted to the Interview Room. Blank walls, no windows and a single door made it too much like a cell for Dalibor to be comfortable, but he did manage to refrain from pacing.

A medic arrived, performing a cursory medical examination of them both, documenting and treating what few injuries they had from the fight. When questioned, he shook his head, “I’ve not got leave to release any information, other than the captain should be here shortly.”

When the captain finally did arrive, it was with a corpsman and a tea tray. Once the corpsman had left the room, the captain had offered tea, and began speaking first to Dafi. “There are several things I am glad to have seen tonight. First, the man you sliced is stable, and in the lockdown infirmary here. The number of witnesses reporting you were abducted outnumber the few unreliable non-residents who tried to say you went willingly.” Returning her knives to her, he stated, “The knife-fight was within the rules of self-defense, but you are officially warned to not get in such a situation again.”

He referred to the reports in front of him. “There are papers with the four that are from the next duchy over that say they are looking for an escaped sanatorium patient. These papers seem to superficially describe you, but do not name you specifically. The level of white lung those papers say the patient has would be highly contagious, but I’ve seen people that sick. Yes, they can look fine, but not at the exertion level you have demonstrated tonight. That was the reason for the examination. Our medic has been able to confirm you are not the patient they seek.”

He then turned to Dalibor, “Sergeant, we did find the soldier’s knife, marking you as the one attacked in the alleyway, and you did report the incident as soon as you were able to find a peace officer. Therefore, no charges are to be filed by the city. I doubt your attacker will sue, considering the charges the city will be filing against the four aggressors.”

Then addressing them both, “This is the official line. You have been warned to keep the peace for the duration of your stay, and released on your own recognizance.” He sighed, and then spoke in a different tone. “This is not the only incident we have had with this type of soldiers from across the border. However, this one was large enough we can finally limit their movements in town. For that you have my professional appreciation. On another level, you also have my personal gratitude. My half-sister works in the tavern where you were attacked. As such, I’d like to offer you the hospitality of my family. This is not as Captain, but as a son of my house.”

Dafi was the first to speak, “Honored as we are by your offer, I would rather not put your house in danger, what with the warning we had for the tavern.”

The captain nodded, “Much as I would like to make a statement with a torchlight procession, we are still not able to note where the spies are here. My sister would be able to lead you through some... unorthodox paths to the house of our cousin, a scholar who lives by the Baron’s Gate, which was your stated destination when you entered the Wanderer’s Gate this afternoon.”

She looked to Dalibor, eyebrow arched in question. He considered a moment before giving a slight nod. “Thank you, captain. We would be honored to receive the hospitality of your house.”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 11

It was still early afternoon, not long after the crew had sung the short railway Nones office, when the train hit a steeper grade. Dafi looked up from the last of the books, Third Son and the Waffle Wolves of Wallonia, glad to leave off reading in the middle of the batter battle. Dal woke from his half-doze about the same time as she asked, “Should we make ready?”

The conductor shook his head, “Not for a little while. We have to go in the header first, then back into the spot where we can drop you off.”

“I will take my leave of you at the first pause,” the youngest bowed, stiffly. His wince told Dafi he was still in pain from the beating that morning. “Switching the rails over as we traverse, and... since I am unwell, it could take a bit.” He raised an eyebrow at the conductor.

“Ah, that it could, that it could,” the conductor chuckled. “We are all moving a bit slower today.” He addressed Dafi, “It might only be an extra hour or so, but if you are able for mountain trails, the next town is just a couple of kilometers away, across the ridge. So we will get to town a little after sundown.”

“If anyone is looking for you on the train, they will meet us at the abbey,” Lucian said, scanning ahead through his spyglass. “That way, you will be able to get into town without being harassed, perhaps.”

“Look here,” the young flagman sat on the bin across from them and pointed out the window to the switchback tracks. Dafi noted they travelled up the steep side of the ridge and slightly to the east. “I will be getting off the track when we stop the first time, to operate the switch,” he said, pointing to the steps cut into the cliff-face. “You will get off there when the train stops the second time,” and he pointed to the end of the first switchback, near the tree-line.

The conductor handed her a map from the file, “I cannot let you keep that, but take a look at the topography of the ridge there. The circles here and here  are where the bandit camps were. They’ve been removed, but you never know what might decide to den up there before winter.”

Dalibor leaned over her shoulder, to get a better view of the map, and Dafi had to concentrate to keep her focus on the map. He rumbled, “De schlope on de odder side iz not az schteep. Vhy doez de train go op de cliff?”

“The rail line needs a more stable base than the surveyors found on the other side of the ridge. This side is solid rock, the other is mostly gravel and soil. Horrible from the surveyor’s point-of-view, but usable for the old western trade road, here.” The conductor pointed out the road on the map.

“It also has good tree-cover. That’s why the bandits liked it.” The young monk was retying his boots, making ready for his exit point. “The first reverse stop is over a small drop-off, and there is a goat-track going over the shoulder from about that point.” He stood, stomping his feet to check his work, “It’s no walk in a pleasure garden, that’s for sure, but the Baron’s mountain patrols call it a ‘moderate’ trek,” he said took a shoulder-bag from another cabinet. Then he gave them both a blessing for soldiers.

The flagman’s words of taking leave seemed to be directed to the group in general, “Remember, you can't straighten the world with just your shoulder, Onorat Spătar. You also need a place to stand,” then he left by the rear exit.

“What was that last bit about?” Dafi asked, answered only by the shrugs of the others.

~=*=~

Dalibor winced inwardly at the youngster’s parting shot. Probably deserved, the way he outed the young man’s Moviloraş accent earlier in the day. And it was also a reminder to keep his head down. Speaking of which... “How schould ve exit for bezt coverage, brodderz?”

Brother Lucian, still scanning the area with the spyglass, answered, “There is a bit of a curve to the tracks, following the outward curve of the cliff-face. If you exit on the outside stair, and follow alongside the tracks behind the train, then climb down behind the barricade, you should be hidden from any vantage points in the cars. The trail passes just downhill from that, and I do not think the climb down would be a problem for either of you.”

The time-keeper handed over a scrap of paper, “Here is the rough report on the places to look for statistical data on the unrest.” Dafi took it and slipped it in her pocket, handing the keys to the storage bins to him. “If there is any chance you can get that to the attention of those who can *do* something about the problem, that will also give you the document locations for more information.” He unlocked the bin with their gear, and helped them unload. Dal did not miss the fact that the time-keeper had slipped the books in Dafi’s pack.

As the train slowed, the elder monk said, “I should make another pass through the train, and be in the passenger cars about the same time you debark. I will pray for your safe travels.” He also blessed them before leaving.

Brother Lucian, still scanning the train and the cliff-face with his spyglass, murmured, “You may want to sit in the floor near the back as we reverse. There are a few heads popping out of windows.” He put the spyglass down, and smiled at Dafi, “Write to me at the abbey, and let me know where you land for Christmastide, or if you need sanctuary again. It has been too long since we talked, and this was not a good trip for it.” Then the brother gave a neutral nod to Dal with an even gaze.

Dal had the oddest feeling that he was being sized up, but not as an enemy. Something in the back of his head nagged him that it felt like being evaluated as a potential suitor by a young lady’s older sibling. Nah, he told himself he was imagining things, it was just wishful thinking. The animal instinct was getting sneaky.

~=*=~

After all the skulduggery, leaving the train proved to be rather simple, and anti-climactic. Dafi found that after a day on the train, it was a relief to cross the ridge, and hear only birdsong. She supposed that Lucian must be used to the noise, or deaf to it.

The goat track was not a difficult trail at all, the late autumn day was temperate with light breezes, and the mid-afternoon sunshine through the trees tugged briefly at her half-forgotten memories of sketching and watercolour while at the Academy. She stretched her legs, picking up the pace a bit, unaware she was humming under her breath until she heard the harmony to the old folk song being hummed behind her. Dafi chuckled as she realized it was the same song Dal had sung during the jump from the airship.

As they came within sight the road, the track widened, and she adjusted her stride to walk beside him. “For all our plans of avoiding contact with people, we keep ending up in the company of others.” That did not quite sound right to her after she said it, but she continued. “No help for it in the next town, since it covers all routes through the pass.”

Dal grunted, “Goot reazon for it, too. Dis iz vun of de few pazzez low enough to be uzed year-round. Ontil de airschipz vere zafe enough for crozzing de rangez, dis vaz a major  choke-point for de armiez. Now, it’z moztly de traderz, traveling schowz und de Rom dot uze de roadz.” He pointed off the road to a clearing visible through the trees, “... und before de Mazterz schtarted cleaning tingz op, dis vaz a prime hunting ground for de ratz.”

From their higher vantage point, Dafi saw it was not so much a clearing as a crater, roughly about the size of a football pitch. The thing that was the most frightening was not the destruction, but how sharply the destruction left off from scorched earth to virgin forest. Knowing that the targets were likely bandits did not alleviate her shiver at the precision. The use of such weapons was rare, but the fact that those weapons were under the chain of command of the Baron brought home the thought that he was forced to make difficult decisions for the greatest good.  

She was silent as they passed near the bare circle, climbing over felled trees. There were signs the forest was reclaiming this ground, but it would likely not be used for an overnighting spot in this generation. The travelling families she knew near the fortress avoided battle-stained grounds, saying the unquiet spirits of those slain in strife tried to pass their bad luck off to the living. It was too far from the road and too close to the town to be a legitimate campsite, as well.

Indeed, the smoke from the town’s chimneys was smudging the sky just above the trees in the distance once they gained the road. “How long has it been since you have been through this town?” Dafi asked as she strode towards the town.

Dal settled into an easy pace beside her. “Ho, dis vun vaz only about ten yearz ago. De road goez to de Vanderer’z Gate, juzt pazt de kumpania groundz.”

That did not sound good. “They do  not allow the Rom in the town?” That could mean trouble for any travellers.

He laughed and shook his head “Not enough room for de kumpaniaz to overnight, inzide de vallz, und dhey don’t much care for de pricez inzide, eidder. Na, de town keepz de forezt down for about a hundred meterz avay from de vallz, to make vatching for banditz eazier. De kumpaniaz get to schtay dhere for free, zame az de travelling schowz, az long az dhey don’t leave a mezz.”

“Prices inside the walls high last time you were here?” They had such good luck up to now, she hoped it would hold out a little longer.

“Meh, about vot hyu’d find in any town on a trade route. Ve can get an idea about bezt placez for zoldierz from de gate guardz, maybe.” He looked down at her, “Ve going in vith our real facez, or schould ve be zumbody elze?”

Dafi chuckled, “Why, did you have to leave town suddenly? Something that doesn’t have a statute of limitations on it?”

“Hah! No, not for me. Und ve are juzt schtaying overnight, headed out to de air schtation op de ridge in de morning.” Dal nodded, “schort und to de point, zo dot if dhey zeparate uz for de interview, ve both giff de zame answerz.”

Dafi blinked, and realized she had not even thought about the guard cross-checking their information. “Just in case, the rest of the story. We can’t really tell them we were on the train, because then they would ask why we left the train before town. So... we were recently re-assigned, but are not yet on duty?”

“Zoundz about right. Ve vere lazt at...” He closed his eyes a moment, “Iasonescu Pazz. Dot’z de fortrezz at de odder end of de road. Qviet, de main job dhere iz guarding de accezz to de convent hermitage, zo dot explainz you high rank vithout you femily tiez.” He tapped the rank tabs on her shoulder. “Hyu haff to report to de Baron, Hy’m juzt along for de guard duty. Dot might keep anyvun from delaying uz.”

She nodded, “Asking at the gate for an overnight bivouac recommendation lets them know we are not planning to meet anyone, maybe.” She was a little out of practice with being diversionary from the traveller’s side of the question. Her last stint as a gate-guard was three years ago, and that was as a commander, for a spot that was a second line of defense for the fortress. Realizing that they had to hide who they were from guards that were carrying out their sworn duty, though they likely would not stand in the way, Dafi rationalized that they were not intending harm to the town. Being devious made her head hurt.

~=*=~

Dalibor waited to hear any further thoughts she had on the procedure to use at the gate, but Dafi fell quiet, and settled into an easy-going pace that still moved quickly.

His last trip through town had also been a single overnight, with a road inspection patrol. They had not had any trouble then, but that was with a full patrol. Mixed courier pairs were not unknown, but they also were not all that common. Letting the guard know she had been on the hermitage guard duty could either get them the safest bunk in town, or sent to a bordello. Hopefully, the issue would not come up.

~=*=~

“What was all that muttering with the captain?” Dafi asked as they entered the early evening traffic streaming past the Wanderer’s gate.

Dalibor shrugged, figuring it was safe enough to tell her now, “Hy vaz making sure dhey vere zending uz to a nize plaze, inschtead of a cathouze.”

“Excuse me?”

He chuckled, “Hyu got two reactionz from zumbody juzt off hermitage duty. Zum vant a plaze for qviet contemplation. Mozt of dhem are ready to prove dhey ain’t ready to tek vowz.”

He wondered if that shocked look she was giving him meant he had crossed the line, until she asked, “You mean they will take non-guild freelancers in the bordellos here?”

He laughed, and she giggled with him as they headed down the street to the inn. The  lamp-lighters were out in this section, as the light faded from the sky, so that meant it was at least expected they would not be beset by the footpads that preferred shadow. Besides, any pickpocket who tried for one of the Jägerkin as a mark was either that good or that insane.

When they came to the place, it was a matter of moments to find the innkeeper and arrange for a bivouac. The place smelled clean, which might have disappointed some of his brothers-in-arms, but meant a better place for Dafi to sleep. It was a small room, with an east-facing window, and had been cleaned before they arrived, so he nodded to Dafi. She took care of the haggling, while he stood grinning behind her.

“You did not need to frighten them into giving us local guardsman rates,” she murmured to him as they sat in the public room, waiting for their evening meal to be served.

“Hy vaz not threatening dhem, Hy juzt schmiled.” he responded. She raised an eyebrow at him and sniffed. It made him chortle, “Juzt being de friendly zort, kommender.”

The rest of the clientele was giving them a respectful distance. He did not think they were so much fearful, as just staying out of their way. The uniforms helped, as did the fact that though they were travel-worn, they were clean. So the townies were thinking the two of them were on duty - all to the good. Tomorrow morning, they would be out of the place as early as they woke.

Dalibor was about to broach the subject quietly with Dafi as they finished their meal, when a group of obviously drunk soldiers rolled in. The uniforms were not of the town, or the duchy. From the reactions of the barmaids, this crew of louts were entirely unwelcome to them, but they were not permitted to throw them out, even when entering the bar belligerently.

Another oddity - either these boys couldn’t hold their liquor, or they were on something else. Yes, there was a good deal of beer spilled on them, but their sweat did not smell as if they had been drinking, certainly not enough to be that roaring drunk. Dal began to smell a set-up.

He managed to get Dafi standing, and headed to the stairs, when the one with the most rank decorations shouted, “Me an’ the boys are here to get laid!”

Dafi nearly stopped, but Dal had her by the arm, blocking the line-of-sight between her and the soldiers. “Keep moofing. Zumting iz wrong about dhem,” he muttered as they threaded their way across the room, and not hurrying.

The innkeeper blustered, pointing out that the bordellos were in the next district over, and the ranking one backhanded him, “Women in a drinking place are corrupt, so they’re all whores!” Then he grabbed the nearest barmaid.

The beer pitcher smashing into the lout’s head had come from behind Dal, and he glanced back long enough to see Dafi grabbing another. Then he turned his attention to the fight she had started. From the barmaid’s reaction, these guys were fair game, but there were a few others wading in on the side of the soldiers.

He was just beginning to enjoy the fight, when the tone changed. He realized Dafi was no longer at his back, but was pulling one lout off the youngest serving girl. Dal shifted his tactics to get back to her, just as four of the “drunks” grabbed her. A corridor opened up in the fight and they hauled her out. The rest of the soldiers and their allies turned their focus to him.

He could not drop into berzerker mode while there were civilians involved, but he did stop pulling his punches. Some idiot tried beaning him with one of the few intact beer pitchers left, but did not dodge the shard Dal returned to him.

Finally, he gained the door, only to have it blocked by another double-patrol of soldiers. Dal was just able to recognize the city guard uniforms, and pull up short before he plowed through them. Instead, he was able to shout, “Dhey took her! Did hyu zee dhem?”

The delay as the innkeeper and barmaids vetted him as a legitimate guest made him want to howl, but the captain of the town guard caught on quick enough. “Go! We’ll mop up here and follow!”

Finally, he burst out into the street, “HY HUNT!”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 10

Dalibor found Dafi’s calm reassurances touching, and closed his eyes to concentrate on getting himself under control. The thought at the back of his mind, that she *was* calm when he was angry, curled up with his desire to protect her, and made it all very easy slow his breathing. Restraining himself from changing their cramped position into a cuddle, he murmured, “Ja, ve vill make sure zumting iz done.”

He was beginning to worry that the monks intended to keep them in the bin until they crossed the border, when someone tapped, very gently, on the side of the bin. “Commander? Can you pass the key out to us now?” That was when he realized they had been holding the keys together all this time. Unlacing his fingers from hers, Dal worried that he might have bruised her hand when he had been angry. Her fingers moved well enough, and he had not heard any crunching, so fractures were mostly ruled out.

Then seeing Professor Monk’s black eye distracted him from checking Dafi’s hand. His rage resurfaced when he realized the monks had been beaten, even though they had not defended themselves. All were marked with bruises, and the youngest one was holding himself very straight, as if any movement of his torso was painful. The roaring in his ears was cut across with a sharp order, “Sergeant! We are NOT permitted to hunt!”

He looked down at the Commander, snarling, and her calm expression was marred only by the anger and frustration reflected in her eyes. “We do not have the luxury of indulging in a personal vendetta against sovereign entities.” Almost a direct quote from the regulations, and the strain in her voice bit into his anger.

Slowing his breathing again, he nodded tightly, “Yes, understood.”

~=*=~

Dafi was shocked that Dalibor’s accent was completely gone for his capitulation, and had she not been staring him down at that point, she might have thought it was one of the others speaking. But was he losing his accent, or was her understanding of him growing? She distracted herself by checking on Lucian and the others. It seems most of the delay was spent in treating each other, while the train passed around the next ridge.

“Not a bad stop really,” the youngest said. His back was turned, so he missed their shocked reaction. “No property damage this time, and just minor injuries,” and then he winced as he reached out to steady himself.

Dafi asked before Dalibor could react, “This happens a lot when you are stopped?” She placed her hand on the sergeant's shoulder, ostensibly to steady herself while standing, but also restraining him from standing up. She was afraid he might still leap off the train to beat the patrol senseless. It was what she would have liked to do, at this point, but it would have only gotten her killed and him delayed.

Lucian answered, “The surprise inspections in the countryside are the worst ones. When we have a passenger car in the train, they usually limit themselves to verbal abuse.” Lucian’s lip had been split, and he moved cautiously. However, Dafi noted their sturdy and practical uniforms could hide a good bit of physical damage, and wondered if they were also lightly armored. Though she might hope so, she doubted it. Lucian continued, “The cargo trains have the added incentive to loot, and fewer witnesses.”

“Not to worry, though,” the conductor added. “The border crossing area is also a switching yard, so more witnesses, and less violence.”

“Switching yard... will you be reassigned there?” Dafi asked, finally sitting next to Dalibor. She was unaware that she still had her hand on his shoulder until he patted her fingertips.

“More like we will collect the passenger cars from the Capitol line, and be due at Tânărăjugul station by... late afternoon-ish,” the conductor said, rocking his hand back and forth to indicate an estimation. “It will depend on how many cars they add to us for the ridge crossing, and if they add enough engines.”

She frowned at Dalibor’s growl, then realized it was his stomach when hers answered in kind. He shrugged and gave a weak smile. She fished out the key to the bin with their packs, and unloaded one of the packages of cheese and cold cuts the aunties had hidden on her that morning, along with one of the less-crusty loaves of bread. The flagman chuckled and checked on the stew-pot clamped to the top of the stove.

~=*=~

Dafi was reading another of those books after luncheon. It annoyed Dalibor that she seemed to be studying the blasted things. He kept his mind off the stupid stories by watching the landscape. It seemed that there were a few more farms in this section than the last time he had passed through.

Many were planted with wheat varieties, though it was late in the season. This was a new innovation for the district, and it seemed the southern slopes were either being terraced for grain, or were covered with orchards and vineyards. So the area should be prosperous.

Why then, were the farmers he saw dressed in old, faded colours? It could be that wearing bright colours had gone out of fashion. It made sense that when someone was spending the day in the fields, they did not wear their best clothes. But the women’s head scarves were either many-years faded or un-dyed linens, and none of the men had bright kerchiefs at their necks. It bothered him to the point he go out his own spyglass and watched for people in the fields.

~=*=~

When Dafi finished Third Son and the Brass Spectre, she looked up to see Dalibor scowling through his spyglass. “What is it?”

He was clearly angry when he handed the spyglass to her, but in control. Pointing to a knot of farmers working in an orchard, he asked, “Do dhey look normal to hyu?”

It took her a few seconds to focus, and then she saw the group clearly. “They seem rather... drab. The villagers near the … near home usually have some cheerful colours, even in the fields... oh, I see. They seem to be in... their oldest clothes, some of them be wearing several layers.” She handed the spyglass back to Dalibor, but now she was frowning as well.

The flagman shook his head, “Dyes are expensive, hereabouts. Not many have the extra to spend on things not grown locally, and some don’t have time to gather the natural dye ingredients.” He sighed, “There’s still a market for the kettentilipan pullovers for the tourists, and that’s where the dyed wools go, for the most part.” He shrugged with only a minor wince, “It keeps the taxes paid.”

Dafi watched Dalibor’s face cloud over, and to forestall a thunder-storm, she touched his arm, “We cannot do anything here and now, but we can let someone know.” He still frowned, but nodded, turning his attention back to the fields.

Half an hour later, Lucian grunted. “We are about to crest the ridge into the valley, and it looks like the switching yard is busy today, from the smoke plumes.”

The conductor stood, key in hand, and Dalibor stood at the same time, saying “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘No’, Sergeant?” Dafi stood between him and the door to the rear of the train, but that did not preclude him leaving.

“Hy vill drop off here und meet hyu on de other side of de valley.”

Dafi felt a thrill of anxiety at Dal’s refusal, but she did not have time to reason with him. “Get in the bin, Sergeant.” The conductor had raised the lid, but backed off for the moment.

“It iz bezt for everyone, und Hy can get more information...”

Dafi lost her temper and punched Dal in the arm, hard, before he could finish his sentence, “GET IN THE BIN, NOW.” She held his gaze with her glare, pointing at the cabinet.

Dalibor froze, with his nostrils flaring and an odd feral grin. Then he growled, “Az hyu vish, Kommender,” and gracefully folded himself into the space.

The conductor paused a moment before offering his hand to help Dafi into the bin, “Will you be all right?”

“I had better be, until we get to the other side of the valley,” she murmured. Dafi gingerly lowered herself into the space left by Dalibor. Was it her imagination, or was the space smaller than it was this morning? The previous time in the bin had not been bad, so why should she be so nervous now?

~=*=~

Damn, he had scared her, and she had lashed out. Dalibor tried to slow his breathing but her scent was intoxicating. She had been voluntarily touching him all afternoon, and then that flash of anger when he had suggested running the ridges to the other side of the valley....

He should have started running instead of letting her get him worked up. She was stiff and still in the space he had left for her. It took all his control to keep from nuzzling her ear and telling her.... What could he have said? Nothing that would have helped. Telling her everything would be all right was a fallacy, and admitting that he found her attractive - that usually had the normal girls running for the hills, and in their situation, it might make her panic.

Stupid idiot that he was, he had pushed an issue for her, and didn’t realize it until just that moment. He throttled his baser instincts down, knowing she was still likely balanced on a knife-edge. It had only been a week or so since the attack on her home, and she had been holding up the façade so well he could forget how brittle her control might be.. Of course she would not want to put anyone under her command at unnecessary risk right now - even if he was not officially assigned to her, they had been acting the parts when dealing with others.

After the conductor had passed the key back to them, she cleared her throat and murmured, “I am sorry I lost my temper. We had discussed the problem this morning and I did not want to risk...”

“Ja, ja... Hy know.” His voice was a little rough, but hopefully not in a way she would interpret as angry. “Hy am sorry Hy made hyu opset... Juzt hiding und letting dhem beat de monks, though... Hy don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” she turned in the small space so that she was comfortably fitted against him, “but if we are going to get the papers to...”

He lightly touched her lips with the tips of his fingers in the darkness, “Hy know. It iz duty before pleaschure.” If he kept telling himself that, maybe he could stop scaring her.

She took his hand and twined her fingers with his, and again he felt the keys between their palms. “If there were more of us, yes. We will just have to come back to flog them later.”

He chuckled, and a few moments later, she murmured, “I am sorry for teasing you.” Oh, she was not making it any easier for him. He forced himself to chuckle again, as it it were no matter, and they settled in for braking of the train.

This time it was a more gradual affair, and the sounds of the train yard were less strident than those of the patrol in the wilderness. Then the sounds of the rails changed, and the train came to a halt. There was a lurch, and all was quiet.

The monks muttered among themselves, commenting on the activity in the yard. From their comments, Dal picked up that the yard was at a normal level of busy. Brother Lucian’s comments helped the most, noting how many patrols were in the yard, the evident arms and artillery pieces at hand, and their relative positions to the kabuis. He could feel Dafi mapping out the points of defense, tracing them on his forearm, and squeezed her other hand lightly.

Then he heard three or four pairs of boots on the cinder-gravel of the rail yard, walking toward the kabuis. One set ascended the stairs at the back, and knocked politely at the door. This time there was no roughness on entry. Dalibor waited for the reaction of the inspector.

“Blessings upon you, Captain,” the greeting was given by the professor-monk, who Dafi had said was the time-keeper on the train.

“What happened, Brother Francoi?”, the new voice, allowing a trace of surprised worry show though, had a local accent - and to Dalibor’s ear, the speaker was either upper class or fairly well-educated.

“Ah, there was a rough patch of rail at Schnitzerwald, that’s all,” the professor monk chuckled, weakly. Dalibor was surprised at Dafi’s grip on their key hands, and he held her closer in response.

“Mmhm, and everybody was unprepared.” A sigh, and quiet murmur, so that Dal had to strain to catch it, “You have to be more careful, Uncle. I can only report so many incidents before they start looking at curtailing the rail access.” A little louder, “You should keep an eye on your tracks, brother.”

The inspection this time was more careful, and more thorough. When the captain got to the bin with the packs, he calmly accepted the reason the key was not available. The same reaction occurred at the bin Dal and Dafi were hiding in, though Dal thought he could hear an exasperated sigh.

“One other thing, there has been a fugitive reported in the area. Have any of you seen this girl?” Muttering amongst the three, and Lucian asked, “What are the charges?”

“Poor girl is mad, and not with the Spark. She wandered away from her keepers. With it getting cold in the evenings, they are worried she might catch her death.” More vague comments from the brothers, but the officer did not seem to press the issue further for an answer.

A muttered warning from the youngest of the monks. “oi! ‘ware m’lord!” before there was a rumbling thunk-clack, and the kabuis was shoved back on the tracks. “Oi’l be checkin’ da glad’ands, beggin’ yer pardon.” Seems the lad was working hard at disguising his accent here.

There was some shuffling as people regained their balance, then the captain said, “All is in order, thank you. You will have three passenger cars, but those have been inspected and cleared before your arrival. Peace be to you.” And with that parting sally, the captain left, and the crunching footsteps receded.

Someone let out a relieved sigh, and the time-keeper muttered,  “Hang on to that a while longer. There is something odd about what he said about the passenger cars. I will let you know when I get back.”

They waited for the better part of an hour before the train started moving again, and yet the time-keeper had not returned. Dafi shifted, possibly trying to get comfortable. When he moved with her, she stopped, but eventually she relaxed, and still they waited.

~=*=~

The flagman seemed to be twitchy as well. His question, “So, we count the confessional as sanctuary, as well?” garnered a chuckle from Lucian.

Dafi feared the officer who inspected the rail-car might have had a portrait of her. She thought it was probably an old miniature or a sketch made by someone who was given a description of her, as she had not sat for a portrait in years. She shied away from the thought of where a miniature could have been be obtained.

The conductor returned, and muttered, “They are sending out some serious hunters, now. There’s a group of Gradinaperete in the middle passenger car. They are in duty uniforms, yet their conversations were about being off to Vienna on leave.”

Lucian spoke after a few moments, “They usually do not send them out on leave in big groups. Not sure as I have seen more than two at a time on a train at once, unless they were rotating out of a duty station.”

“We let them off at the station, they will be seen.” This was from the young flagman, who sounded worried. “No matter how busy the station is, one of the soldiers could spot them. That wouldn’t help at all.”

Lucian again: “They gave us three passenger cars, but no extra engines. I get the feeling we are supposed to be delaying them on their way... only we have to speed another set of travellers ahead of them.”

There was a knock on the cabinet, “Commander?” the flagman asked. “We are out of sight from the switching yard now. Ready for the key?”

Dafi passed it out through the gap, eager to hear the reports. The small voice at the back of her mind said she could hear them well enough from her current spot, but that was being unkind to the sergeant, who might need to stretch out. Her first question, before she got out of the cabinet, “Is it an accurate image?”

Lucian snorted, “I would be hard pressed to say that was a picture of anyone I knew.” He chuckled, “If that picture was supposed to be you, the artist never met you, I’d wager.”

Dafi began to relax, “That bad?”

“This was worse than the portrait they did of our class for the great hall at school,” he laughed. “Besides the fact that I have never seen you in a court gown, and have serious doubts that you are capable of simpering.”

Dafi blinked, and decided to take it as a compliment. The conductor said, “However, if you need to stretch out, I suggest you do so sitting on the floor. The troops on the train are much more disciplined than the rabble we met on the tracks.”

Dalibor nodded, “Vill dhey come beck here, hyu tink?” He had sat up, but made no move to get out, nor did he seem impatient for Dafi to move.

The conductor shrugged. “If they could get away with the curiosity, maybe. That’s why I locked the luggage car doors on both ends. It does not preclude them from climbing over...”

“But there is a good chance they would know we are watching the train, and not try it.” Lucian concluded.

“That still does not get the commander and her sergeant across the border ahead of the Gradinaperete,” The flagman said. Dafi managed to control the flutter in her chest at the mention of Dalibor being her sergeant. It was just a situational assignment, not even official, and that was just until they got to the Baron. That thought deadened any excitement she felt.

The conductor thought a moment, then retrieved a folder from the desk drawer. “I think... yes, we got a report that the Baron’s troops cleared out the bandit nest on Sunshadow Ridge. So we should not have any problems on the switchbacks.”

Lucian chuckled, “Then there is not a problem. Commander can handle a goat track, maybe well enough Sergeant has to work to keep up.”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 9

Dalibor ducked his head to make sure his hat cleared the door-frame of the crew car, and was greeted by the other two brothers inside. Once Brother Lucian closed the door, he announced, “Brothers, this is now a confessional.” Dafi gasped, and the brother held his hand up, “We do not need to know your mission, but if anything should slip, we are required to not reveal it.”

“Tenks for you caution, Brodder. Hy hope ve vun’t need hyu protected dot vay.” Dalibor dropped his packs to the floor. “Kommender, if Hy ken help?” he eased Dafi’s pack from her shoulders.

Luckily, Dafi caught the clue, “Thank you, Sergeant. We will only need assistance in getting into Prahova.” Dal held his breath, but she did not tell the brothers they were headed for Tânărăjugul. “Beyond that, I do not wish to inconvenience you.”

Brother Lucian nodded, and one of the other brothers opened a cabinet under the window bench, “Your gear should fit here.” After helping fit their packs into the cupboard, the brother locked it and handed the key to Dafi. “Understand that the owner of the contents of that cupboard has the key, and I am unable to open it.”

Dafi’s eyebrows went up, but Dalibor understood, “Hyu get zearched at de border?” he asked, not quite keeping the growl out of his voice.

Brother Lucian nodded, “That started year before last. Before that, it was only an occasional thing, and generally, it was the Baron’s soldiers, when there was a dangerous experiment loose. Now...” he shrugged, sighing. “These days, it is as likely that the soldiers are bored as anything.”

“Or they think they can get away with confiscating something they want by calling it ‘contraband’,” the youngest of the trio snorted. To Dalibor’s estimation, he looked just old enough to have taken his vows. “Everyone knows Duke Gavril has not publicly announced additions to the proscribed list, but getting a complaint to him...” The tall and lanky monk held up his hand, “Wait, grab on to something...” and the kabuis jerked violently.

At Dafi’s look of alarm, “The engine hit the grade change, that was normal.” The shortest of the brothers explained, “The train’s change of speed caused the cars to shimmy down the line. Probably a good reason for both of you to sit whenever possible. Give me a few moments to recalculate for the stop and your weights, and I can give you an idea how long the trip will be.” He sat at the little desk with a compact analytical engine bolted to the top.

“If hyu are boarded, iz dhere anodder cabinet dot Kommender vould fit in?” Dalibor caught a twitch in Dafi’s mouth, but the others might not have noticed. “Hy could probably jump off und run around de blockaded area...”

“Not a great idea, Sergeant. The farmers here are under pressure to report everything. Being blind is not an excuse.” Brother Lucian shook his head, “We can hide both of you, I think. That would be a better idea.” Then he climbed up into the cupola, watching both the train and the surrounding area with a spyglass.

The analytical engine announced the solution with a soft chime barely audible over the sound of the singing rails, and the brother at the desk grunted, “Not a big difference, if we take advantage of the next downhill.” He passed the card up to Brother Lucian, “Do you think we can risk it not being noticed, since the crossing has been quiet the last few weeks?”

Tall-and-Lanky laughed, “Not likely. I’d say let the driver know, your next trip up the cars. Not that we have passengers, just that the extra stop was for cargo,” he tapped the cabinet with the toe of his boot, “to explain the compensation.”

Dalibor cocked his head; the monk’s accent was passing familiar, and the attitude seemed to fit, but he was not quite sure about him yet. Instead he asked, “Hyu do not truzt a long peazeful schpell?”

The monk shook his head, “It means it’s more likely the guards are bored, and will harass us because they can get away with it.” He shrugged with a resigned air, “The duke has been paying less attention to the local soldiers since he started gallivanting with the rest of the Fifty full-time.”

Dafi said quietly, “You speak as someone who has been here, not just passing through.”

Tall-and-Lanky nodded, “I was one of the locals, before I got a vocation.”

“More like hyu’re from Moviloraş, Hy’d zay.” Dalibor watched the young man’s reaction.

The reaction was a little chagrined, “That means I need to watch my accent. Not many recognize it.”

~=*=~

“Being from the capitol city is a problem?” Dafi asked. Dalibor shook his head at her, and she subsided. More questions than answers in the past few minutes, so she watched the scenery roll by. This was a picturesque area, and roughly defensible. Searching her memory, she sifted through what every child who went through formal schooling learned about the sovereign states of Europa. Movilă was noted for sheep and goat herding, so villages were bound to be few and far between.

The capitol, however, was wrapped around a mountainside (a small one, by Dafi’s standards) with the ducal seat perched just under the summit. The river in the valley was deep enough to make trade profitable, and the town itself was a series of highly defensible walls. Why someone would want to hide the fact they were from the capitol was lost on her, though.

The brother who had the conductor’s watch on his belt stood from the desk, and retrieved the card from Lucian, “I had better let them know about the time. We did not stop long, so I shall give them the option of making up the time or not.”

When he left, Dafi thought about it a moment, and Dalibor murmured, “If it izn’t impawtent, it iz op to de pilot to make it op or not?”

“Driver,” she corrected, then nodded, slowly. “Hm, that makes sense. Makes it less noticeable, if it is not given more weight.” She shifted her position in the window seat on top of the cabinet. “I ought to have brought something to read”, she muttered, looking out the window, and hoping she did not sound as petulant as the thought in her head felt. She heard a soft chuckle, and a well-thumbed groschenroman landed near her seat.

She looked up at Lucian, and he grinned, putting his gaze back on the horizon with the spyglass. “We find those on the train every trip we have a passenger car on this route, sometimes more of them than the Heterodyne Boys books.”

Dalibor craned his head around to read the title, then grunted in disgust and turned his attention outward to the countryside. Dafi, curious at his reaction, picked up the cheap paper book and began to read about Third Son and the Paper Tigers.

Within the first chapter, she knew this would be one of the implausible stories Dalibor had warned her about. She thought she could see places in the narrative where the author might have embroidered events. By the time she reached the middle of the book, she spotted several events that were obviously created out of whole cloth. The mad chase scenes, with the Third Son hunting the counterfeiters through the printing houses of Vienna with a pride of clockwork predators made from origami was howlingly unbelievable.

There were a few things that stood out for Dafi, though. The hero was never named anything other than Third Son. Though it was never explicitly stated, there were broad hints that the hero was a construct. What sort of construct was rather vague, but comment was made that he had the strength of a dozen men and was able to run through a duchy in a day. Towards the end of the story, the phrase “a man apart from men” caught her eye.

She finished the book in a few hours, and accepted a cup of tea from the flagman. “I wonder if the writer ever was in the military. I do not think so.”

“At least this one got the geography right.”  The young monk passed a cup to Dalibor as well. “Some of the wilder ones we leave in the passenger car rubbish bin to get confiscated. Most of them are produced locally, but rumor has it some are coming in from England.”

Dafi ignored Dalibor’s snorting into his cup, and asked, “How can you tell?”

The conductor chuckled, “Most of those are easy to spot, because they are the stories that make Baron Wulfenbach the villain of the tale and are generally stories nobody has heard of before. Sometimes, there are subtle hints that the author is someone who is used to writing in another language. There are some others that you can tell the writer was uneducated, but they are comfortable with the local language. Ten years ago, the scholars generally agreed there were six to eight established writers of Third Son stories, based on their styles.”

Dalibor choked on his tea. “Dot menny?!?” he asked when he caught his breath.

“Oh, undoubtedly!” the conductor chortled,  warming to his subject, and possibly not noticing Dalibor’s distress, though it was obvious to Dafi. The brother continued, “there were dozens of one-off print runs that did not match the styles of the more prolific writers, and likely there might have been more authors to add to the list by now.”

“You seem to be very knowledgeable about this, are you studying folk-tales as an hobby?” Dafi asked.

He grinned, “Commander, I once taught the subject at Beetleburg, and the maths were my hobby. When my last paper was not well favored, I was... encouraged to take a sabbatical. It was Providence that I did take it, for while I was travelling and collecting more of the oral traditions, I found myself in the company of the Brotherhood more often than not.” The conductor nodded his thanks to the flagman for his tea. “Though many scholars among us might disagree, it has not come to blows over the varied disagreements. That which cannot be proven by mathematics and physics is still considered open to interpretation.”

Dalibor left off his muttering (Dafi had picked up the words “prolific” and “six-to-eight authors” mixed in with words soldiers used a great deal, but generally not in confession) and asked, “De schtories are getting more popular? Dhey aren’t dying out?” Dafi thought his tone was rather desperate.

The conductor-professor reassured him, “Oh, more popular than when I was teaching the subject, undoubtedly!”

Dafi likely thought it was not the reassurance Dal sought. His next question made her think it might be for good reason. “How long haff dhey been gaining popularity?” Was it her imagination, or was Dal’s accent losing its Mechanicsburg weight, becoming smoother?

The flagman answered gravely, “It has been a steady climb, as long as I can remember, but we started seeing a spike in the novels appearing in the passenger car a year after the young Duke ascended.” He and Dal exchanged a look, and Dal nodded.

The conductor finally twigged to the fact the stories had an upsetting aspect for Dalibor. “Oh, I see now - the patterns from the past! These stories gain popularity when unrest is on the horizon.” He frowned thoughtfully a few moments, then set his cup in the holder on his desk, rummaging through the file drawer, “I think I know what markers the statisticians would recognize for the next estimation of anarchy in the duchy...” he was selecting reports, noting the number and date on a scrap of foolscap.

Lucian explained, “We will not have all of the indicators in our reports, but the dates should match reports for other problems. The brothers at the Abbey of St Blaise specialize in this sort of thing.”

The conductor was still making notes, “I will not have everything ready by the time of the border crossing, but by the end of the run I should have a full report to file with the Abbot.” Then he turned the Dal and Dafi, rubbing the side of his nose with a grin, “and I am not all that careful about scrap paper, since the dates and document numbers aren’t useful to anyone who does not have access to the Central Station Records.”

“Heads up people, “ Lucian said from the cupola. “Looks like an inspection team around the next rise, signaling for a stop.”

Dalibor scanned the area, “No chancez of getting off de train unseen, here.” Dafi noted what he saw, the terraced slopes of farmland, with naught to provide adequate cover.

The conductor gestured for them to stand up, and pulled another key from the neck of his tunic, unlocking the bin they had been seated upon. “Right, in you get, sergeant first, I think.” Dalibor looked at her and shrugged, then folded himself into the space, curled on his side. “Quick now, lass,” he handed her in, with Dal’s help, to curl into the remaining space, then covered them with a dark blanket. “Cover up completely after I hand you the key.” Then he closed the bin, locked it, and then lifted the lid as much as the lock would permit, and slid the key through the space afforded. Almost as an afterthought, three of the groschenroman were slipped in as well.

Dafi took the key and twitched the blanket to cover them both. She whispered in between the squeals of the brakes, “I am not happy that they had to learn to smuggle people like this. Especially this efficiently.”

Dalibor gently covered her lips with his fingers and breathed in her ear, “Hy know. Later.”

She nodded, and they began the wait for their own personal siege.

~=*=~

Dalibor was glad he had chosen to put his feet toward the engine when he had climbed in the bin. The force of the train braking to a rapid stop would have been uncomfortable on his neck, and might have actually caused Dafi problems. Of course, she was causing him problems by her proximity, but she could not help it. She was just a wonderful armful.

He turned his attention turned to the new voices approaching. The accents were not right. These men were not local, not by leagues. A few flat-lander accents here and there, but for the most part, the accent was from the mountain ranges to the far south and west. These soldiers were mercenaries, and very far from their home. He concentrated on combing out what he could hear outside the train.

What was said in the local language was innocuous enough. Bored soldiers kvetching about being stuck in the back-end-of-nowhere and not a bar within two day’s hike. Two low-ranking soldiers, speaking some variant of Castillo, complaining about pulling the short straw and having to crawl under all the cars looking for “the officer’s shopping list”. Then the group of non-coms muttering in Napulitano, about the “girl-knight”.

Dal tensed, and stretched his hearing as best he could, catching only a few bits about the search for this person, when someone pounded on the door of the kabuis. “Open op! Time for l'ispezione!” Dafi stilled in his arms, and a protective instinct made him curl over her.

He heard the sound of the door opening, Brother Lucian greeting the then a shuffling of boots as the mercenary entered. Dalibor thought it sounded like the soldier had forced his way in, unnecessarily shoving the brother out of the way. Then another set of footsteps entering from outside, and the sounds of the doors of the cabinets being opened. Sounds of someone casually rummaging through the items, then the slam of a door.

This repeated through half the car until someone jerked on the lid of the bin they were in. “Oi! Wassamatta wit’ dis’ pict’cha?” This was the same voice that had demanded entry earlier. “Ispezione mean ev’vyt’ing!”

Dafi moved a fraction, putting her hand in his... and the keys between their palms. “This is a secure shipment.” said the voice of the shortest of the monks that had hidden them. “The owner of the items has the key.” Even in dire straits like this, she was making sure the monk did not commit the sin of lying. He froze as the lid was jerked up again, but not slammed. With the blanket over the both of them, he could not see, but he guessed someone was peering in. Luckily, the soldier apparently did not have a sword to poke in the gap.

Much the same conversation occurred at the next bin, the one with their packs in it. The soldier was getting less intelligible with each calm response from the professor-turned-holyman. The search continued, the sounds of rummaging becoming more pronounced, sounding more like someone ransacking the cabinets than carefully searching them.

Apparently the final straw came when the soldiers found a third locked cabinet. This time there were no questions, only an enraged shout from the soldier, and the sounds of a scuffle followed. Someone landed heavily on their bin, and the soldier called the monks several biologically-impossible things in Napulitano. The soldiers stomped out, and eventually the train started moving again.

~=*=~

A low mutter came to them, “We will be able to let you out once we are out of sight of the soldiers, give us a little bit.” Dafi was worried about the sounds outside, but she was willing to wait. Dal had begun to shake when the fight started, and she did not think it was fear that fueled it, but rage.

Oddly enough, being locked in a trunk with an angry Jäger did not call up fear in her, only worry for his well-being. She felt a twinge of something that she rationalised into concern for a fellow soldier - she told herself it was the reflexive consideration of a commander. Dafi turned her head, so that she could keep her voice low, “What is it?”

Dal muttered something about the Duke either losing control or losing honor, but his anger made the growling statement a mix of accents, difficult for her to decipher. She touched his shoulder gently, and murmured, "We will take the report to the Baron. We can make sure that something is done to make things right for the people here. Whether it is the Duke being unaware or...” she paused, not wanting to malign the Duke unfairly, “...having lost his way - we can see to it that something is done."

Flight or Fight, Chapter 8

Dafi returned to their rooms to find Dalibor reading through the papers they had brought. He nodded for her to lock the door, “Ve might haff more trouble in de next villagez. Toma pazzed on zum newz dot de duke’z new friendz are cauzing trouble.”

“We really do not need to borrow more trouble on this mission.” Dafi shook her head and began to sort out the damp clothing she had hidden. From the looks of the room, her guess was someone had slipped in here to straighten up while they were at supper. She was glad Dal had insisted on keeping the papers with them.

Dal grunted, “No need to borrow, zinze it came to uz anyvay. De vun name dot Toma could giff me vaz ‘Chancy’. Too cloze to de name in de letterz for it to be coinzidenze.” He handed her one of the documents she had spirited away from the courier. “Read dot - Hy tink de Duke dhey talk about haffing in dheir pocket might be de young Ierboaze-Movila.”

She read the letter, and covered her mouth in shock. “Oh, no... I think you are right. Wait...” She handed him the letter and pulled her document tube out of her blouse. “...something  about having several hooks in him...” She shuffled through, and found the letter she remembered, “Here, where they talk about his gambling debts - he was already in some debt before they set him up for more.”

“Ja, Hy mizzed dis vun...” Dal frowned, “Dheze are de only mentionz of him, Hy tink. Bot schtill - it makez travelling in de area more dangerouz. If any of de t’ree are local, oddz are dheir heaviez know vot hyu look like."

Dafi frowned, “I am torn - we need to get these papers to the Baron as quickly as possible, but if we were able to gather any more information....”

Dalibor cut her off sharply, “No! Nut if ve put hyu at rizk. Ve need hyu to schtay alive, zo dhey dun’t get de fortrezz. Hy juzt dun’t know how ve are going to get hyu to de next duchy ofer, in zecret, und get to de air courier schtation before de next run.”

“I have an idea.” It had hurt to be put back in her role of Dama so quickly, but she did understand the need. “When we leave here in the morning, I want to take a look at the map at the station. I do not want to say anything more about it until I can see that.” She gave a little jerk of her head to the door.

He shook his head, and murmured, “Dhere’z nobody nearby, bot goot idea on keeping it qviet. Dun’t vant any of de youn’unz to dezide to be heroez before dhey’re ready.”

“Following in the footsteps of their hero, Third Son?” At his grimace, she said, “I am sorry, I did not realize you did not care for grand tales of heroism.”

“Pfui. Load of codzvallop, dot.” The sergeant began packing the documents away. “At leazt dot vaz vun of de schlightly beliefable vunz.” 

Dafi perked up, “There are more tales with this hero?”

“Ja, und dhey are about az veird az de Hetrodyne Boyz talez. At leazt de Boyz vere Schparkz.” Dal made a face, “De Thord Zon talez make him out to be a zaint.”

“You know better, I take it?” she said casually, hanging her damp clothing near the fire.

“Dafi, madboyz und monzterz are all men onder de schkin. Dis idiot getz put op on a pedeschtal for helping out a village, und zuddenly he’z tvelve feet tall vith a sword of flamez.” Dal was clearly uncomfortable with this subject. “Juzt unnat’ral, it iz.”

“I am just glad the story they told here does not have the Third Son as the monster that ate the madboy.” Dafi giggled.

“Heh, nah - madboyz ain’t koscher.” He stretched, and said, “Hyu vant de bed? Hy can take de floor if hyu like.”

“There is only one bed?” Dafi blushed slightly, “I-I suppose they think we are shield-mates, or that we would sleep in shifts...” She stopped to arch an eyebrow at him, “You were about to keep watch all night again.” The set of her mouth was not quite a frown.

He smiled crookedly, and shrugged, “Zort of. Ve haff a zecure location, und de chair iz goot for dozing. Dot’s goot enough for tonight, ja?”

“As long as I am not putting you out.” Dafi paused at the door to the bedroom, “Do you have everything you need?”

He looked as if he were about to say something, then shook his head, “Hy’ll be hokay. Rezt vell, Dafi.”

There was no window in the inner sleeping room, and the cupboard bed was built onto the back of the fireplace. A small night-lamp had been left on a shelf beside the bed with a carafe of water and a small plate of sugar biscuits. The bed had been turned down, and looked very inviting. A portion of her mind suggested the bed was just big enough for the two of them to share, but she sighed and resolutely put that thought away. The sergeant had been friendly, but apparently knew where the limits were. Darn it.

Not that she was going to cross the lines, either. The rules for girls were stricter, and even more so as Dama. It was stupid, but she was expected to be inexperienced when presented to her future husband. Whoever he might be. She really hoped the Baron would not need her for an alliance marriage to some stupid twit in the noble set, at least not right away.

Mourning for her father, once this mission was completed, might keep her insulated for a little while, but not forever. She folded that pain away for now, as she took off her boots. As she undressed, she considered her options. There were no contracts for her that she knew of, and if there were no alliances the Baron needed, she could make the argument that a veteran was better suited to the post than an aristocrat. Being in an unfamiliar place, she did not blow out the lamp, but did dim it as much as she could without extinguishing it. Slipping under the covers, a grain of a plan settled in the back of her mind.

~=*=~

He watched the door a few moments after Dafi had gone. She had latched it, but not locked the door. It was not an invitation, no matter what his baser instincts insisted. He toyed with the thought of telling her to lock it, but she might have another nightmare.

When he had returned from leaving the great hall the last time for the evening, his inspection found no untoward surprises. He had checked his pack when he had gotten his parachute, and found that someone had gotten the clothes he had worn before the bath. He hoped the ones who were on laundry duty could get the gear to them before Dafi roused in the morning. Even if there was not a window in her room, he did not expect her to sleep much past sunrise.

He glanced at her delicates hanging by the fire, and chuckled. Much like her, they were functional with a slight nod to being feminine. She seemed unused to blushing, as if she had not had much practice. He thought she probably wasn’t ticklish, or had trained herself out of that as soon as anyone pointed out it was a weakness. The thought made him frown again. It seemed that her father had trained her to be self-sufficient, a patrol member, and a commander, but not that she could have a partner.

Not really his business. But it did make him sad for her future.

~=*=~

Sunlight on the clouds, but now she felt the wind cutting through her jacket. The hand on her wrist was joined by a strong embrace. She could hear screaming... and woke up in Dal’s arms. “Ve’re zafe, Dafi... vake op, iatagandraga...”

“ergh...’m here... did I wake anyone else?” Dafi asked, not quite awake yet, and rubbing her forehead against his chest.

“Nah, hyu voke op before hyu got too loud. Hy tink dhey haff uz by ourzelvez, bezidez.” He held her a few moments more until she straightened up. “Do hyu need to talk about it dis time?”

Dafi shivered, “It begins to feel like a memory, only it is so unreal. I was young enough I wasn’t in uniform, so I was younger than eight. I was not wearing a heavy coat, but the wind was cold...”

He nodded, “Dot zoundz like a high-flying airschhip. It can get bitter coldt abuff de cloudz, zumtimez, efen in high zummer. It vould alzo egzplain de bright zunlight.” He reached behind him and snagged the carafe of water for her.

“That is odd - I don’t remember being on an airship before the one where we met.” She drank a few sips of water until her hands stopped shaking. “What time is it?”

“Hy dunno. Hyu get zum more schleep, Hy’ll vake hyu vhen breakfazt iz cooking.” He replaced the carafe and tucked her under the covers. He paused, as if were going to say more, but turned to leave.

Dafi snaked her hand out quickly to catch his, “Dal? Thank you.”

He smiled and lightly gripped her hand, “Schleep vell, Kommender.” Then he was gone, back to the sitting room.

She had had to suppress the impulse to pull him under the covers with her. Part of her brain told her impulse that she was a big girl now, and could sleep alone. However, the impulse had not been a childish one.  Waking up in Dal's embrace was getting to be a habit. True, in the tree, there had been little choice. It was also not an unpleasant way to wake up, but there were other concerns at hand. The nightmares could cause them trouble if they had to bivouac in unsecured territory. She turned the thoughts over in her mind, not realizing she had drifted off to sleep until the sergeant woke her the next morning.

~=*=~

The laundry had been delivered by one of the younger girls, just as they were finishing packing. “Mistress Charlot bids me invite you to join her for breakfast, please, if only to replenish your journey-rations.” She curtsied at Dalibor’s nod of thanks, left the stack of laundry on the chair nearest the door and closed the door after her.

Dal sorted through the clothes, removing his from the stack before taking them into the bedroom. “Hyu heard de invitation?”

“Yes, and after last night, I doubted they would let us go without making sure you were properly taken care of.” Dafi quirked a half-smile up at him, “I suppose I am grateful that their care for you spills over to me.” Her smile faltered at his expression, a fleeting succession of surprise, apprehension and sadness. “It is the same with aunties everywhere, I think.” She took the laundry and finished packing. But they do not name their children after an occasional visitor, she thought.

Breakfast was a much subdued affair, with less than half the people who attended supper in the kitchen. Dafi found the mistress of the house had a table to herself, away from the fire where the old aunties and uncles had gathered with their morning tea. One of the older children, kitted out for kitchen work, brought tea and scones to them as Dafi and Dalibor sat. Another of the kitchen helpers brought jam and butter, and Mistress Charlot murmured, “I was hoping you were able to rise early. Most of the active children are working in the barns before breakfast. In an hour, they will be trooping through the laundry for a wash-up, and you might be able to get away without tag-alongs.”

Dafi smiled, “I thank you for your discretion. I did not wish to have to tell a youngster that we cannot slow down for them. That usually leads to them being lost in the woods when they try to prove different.” Dal grunted, and nodded, watching the cook’s helpers warily.

“Not to worry, the ones on duty this morning are apprenti, and well suited to their tasks,” Mistress Charlot said.

“And quite happy to find a place here at the inn that suits us as well,” a lanky young man said as he placed a plate of sausages on the table. Dafi had the impression that the youngster would be a giant by the time he grew into his hands. “Some of us are just homebodies,” he said with a grin, before turning back to assist the cook at the huge iron stove.

“My youngest, Costica,” Mistress Charlot said fondly. “His older brother, Neculai, I told you about last night. We hear from him about once a month unless the Baron has his patrol out on the borders of the Empire.”

Dal grunted again, “Need to teach dot boy how to schtage letterz zo he dun’t giff avay vhen he iz out dhere. Hy’ll write to him about it.”

“Thank you, you are always a great help to the ones in the services,” Mistress smiled into her cup as another apprentice brought out the omelets with a plate of cucumbers and tomatoes. “Now, as this is the end of the season, and we have a store of hunter’s journey rations, more than we generally use over the winter. I do hope you will stock up before you leave.”

~=*=~

Dalibor managed to convince Charlot that they would only need enough supplies for a week, and he hoped they would not need more than that. As it was, it was impossible to get away without the kitchen aunties pressing another sack of provisions on them. Dafi would try to turn down another loaf of bread and one of the others would slip more packages of mortadela & cheese in her pack. He would have laughed if it didn’t slow them down.

Only the fact that Costica was watching the crews headed in from the barn and could warn them that the younger kinder were washing up let them get away in time. The rush to get away before the adventurous sorts got out of the wash house made the auntie’s goodbyes less disturbing - even if it did feel like they were saying goodbye to a pair of newlyweds.

The carriage drive was a little less than a kilometer from the inn to the train station, a nice stroll along the lake. Dafi seemed to be moving much better, and using the train tracks as their path would be faster, but the track went through towns, which they should avoid. This was without dealing with the duchy guards posted in each town. He was still puzzling over it when Dafi studied the map and schedule in the tiny station. There was no ticket booth, only a sign on the wall saying tickets could be purchased from conductors on regular passenger trains.

“Yes, here we go - good timing, we only have to wait ten minutes at the most.” Dafi was reading the fine print of the winter schedule.

“Goot, ve can crozz de bridge after de train, und not get caught in de middle. How ve are getting t’rough de townz, though...” Dalibor made to leave the building when he noticed she was rummaging through the bins. “Dafi, vot are hyu...”  

“Aha! Thought they would have these. Now signaling should not be a problem.” She took out two small semaphore plaques from a cabinet. “So we do not excite questions, we signal for a non-urgent message. If they are on an emergency run, they speed on through. If not, they stop and we see if we can negotiate a quiet ride.”

“Hope hyu know how to uze dose tingz. Hy ken zignal airschipz, bot if it iz different for trainz, Hy dun’t know.” Dal shrugged. The Corbettite monks were autonomous, and did not answer to the local authorities. This could be the best way to get around the problem of getting to the border, and at a good speed.

Dafi’s smile was dazzling, and he could not help smiling back at her. She said,  “It is close, but there are some differences. We might even get a crew that is willing to get us there without ‘seeing’ us, if we find the right people.” Then she turned, hearing the triple whistle from down the track.

The train was perhaps a half-kilometer away, coming around the bend to meet the lake when she began to signal. It looked a bit like the same sort of signal one would give to an airship to tell the pilot there was a mail pick-up. The answer came as a squeal of brakes and a whistle pattern of one long, one short, and another long whistle. Dafi nodded, signaled “received”, and then stowed the paddles back in their cabinet.

Dal was a bit confused when the locomotive seemed to pass them by, but the precision was aimed at placing the kabuis right in front of the station. The conductor stepped off, blessed them with the sign of the square and began, “How may we assist y- wait, Hynter? What are you doing out of your mountains?”

Dafi sighed, and gave a hand signal that was as old as Dalibor’s days at the academy, “Brother Lucian, my companion and I have Dire Need for Great Assistance, in the Service of Peace.” Dalibor managed to keep his jaw from hitting the floor when the brother gave the return signal. The old clubs were still active at the academy? And Dafi was part of the Bergrisar?

“Get on board, we’ll talk while moving,” Brother Lucian motioned them into the kabuis, and signaled to the driver. The locomotive started pulling away, all within moments of Dafi’s original signal. Dalibor almost could not wait until they were alone to ask her what form the supper clubs had taken in her years there. If the hand signals and verbal cues were still the same, were the goals the same as well?

Flight or Fight, Chapter 7

    Dafi counted herself lucky that it would not be as noticeable at the supper-table that her black hair had been braided up wet. Also lucky that their rooms had a fireplace where she might be able to get her uniform blouse and her delicates to dry during her watch tonight. She hoped the aunties would not be offended that she had washed them herself in the bath, but she only had one spare set with her, and the opportunity was not one to be wasted.

    She guessed the sergeant was hungry, and wanting to clean up before dinner with the assembled staff, by his haste to enter the bath. The polish he had put on her boots was quite fine, but he apparently had not had time to work on his own. The opportunity to return the favor was not lost on her. She settled in, and her mind wandered to the last time she had polished papa’s boots for him...

    She wrenched her mind away from the fortress and the recent memories, when the sun caught the rail lines, making them blaze in the last light of the day. That started her mind down another trail of thought. The Corbettite order had traditionally been neutral, to the point that no one was quite sure which of the seven Popes they owed obedience. However, they were known to assist those who favored benevolent order. Though the Baron was not always seen as benevolent, but he did see to it that the Peace was kept, and allowed the trains to run on time. Perhaps the next train through might have one member of the order that could see things that way. Something to think about, to help make up for the lost time in the tree.

    The time was not entirely lost, to her mind. Tactically, yes it was a frightful loss of time - but the rest had done her leg good, and they had not slept the entire day away. Where their wakefulness overlapped, they had been able to discuss how classes at the academy had changed over the centuries. From there is was a step to favorite tacticians, and then on to some favored authors that were not entirely military in their applications. She hoped Dalibor could write, and might be willing to correspond after... it was rare to find someone with similar tastes to hers when it came to books. So few “gentlemen” of her set thought women were able to comprehend military history or the great philosophers, much less discuss them intelligently.

    Vigorous splashing from the bath-house and memories of the rain uncoiled a series of  thoughts a well-brought-up young lady should not have. True, she was not as well-brought-up as some of her classmates had been but she knew she should not be imagining what his tawny-gold skin would feel like against hers. She absently polished the boot in her hand in lazy circles, wondering what it would feel like to have been snuggled skin-to-skin. His hands had been gentle when he had treated the wound on her leg, and comforting her after the nightmare. She blushed as her imagination took his hands up her legs, or around her shoulders down to her hips, causing the most un-lady-like feelings to stir all over. Feelings she could do nothing about, unfortunately.

    She realized she was caressing instead of polishing his boots, and straightened up, finishing the job just as he exited the bath-house.

~=*=~

    Supper was a homey affair, and luckily for Dafi’s mood, nothing like that to which she was accustomed. Meals in the fortress were done in shifts, as eating was rarely a focal point of celebrations, unless they were at the village at the foot of the pass. Here they were brought into the kitchen itself, and seated with Master Toma’s family at one of the several tables in the brightly lit preparation area. Another difference was here the children ate with the adults, though their laughter and loud conversations were only a part of her confusion. The kinder were up and down, running for things from the warming ovens, taking pitchers around the tables, it was chaos - and lovely.

    Dafi sat quietly, letting the waves of conversation swirl about her, picking up information here and there. Master Toma’s wife, Mistress Charlot, was catching Dalibor up on who had stayed, who had taken up service, and who had passed since his last visit, some seventy years ago. It was certainly an eye-opener. It seemed that he had an investment in the village, as there were perhaps a child in each generation named for him - but oddly, it did not feel as if this was his home village. She could not put her finger on the clue that triggered that supposition, that he was an honored family friend, but not family.

    While Dafi was unsuccessfully refusing a second helping of apple pie from a nonagenarian auntie, she heard Dalibor ask if the great hall was still open, as he wanted to repack his parachute. Immediately, the children gathered about, asking if they could help. Dalibor gave a small, pained smile, when Dafi casually asked Master Toma, “Would the children prefer a story from my home county?” A dozen or so young heads swiveled about, as it was the first time she had spoken up in the large group. She suspected her accent marked her as “interesting”, and if inn children were like military dependents...

    “Commander knows new stories?” a little girl in the back piped up. Dafi smiled at the girl, who was as fair as Dafi was dark, and shrugged.

    The master of the inn leaned back and scratched his chin, “Hm, I don’t know, the load of them should be helping the kitchen staff clean up...” and suddenly the children were everywhere, clearing the tables that were empty, sweeping the floor, gathering plates for the scullions and putting away the cleaned cooking implements while the cooks finished their tea, smiling fondly at the bustle of activity. In the confusion, Dalibor gripped her shoulder in gratitude as he and Master Toma slipped out.

~=*=~

    “We likely have the better part of an hour before the kitchen aunties let them go,” Toma told Dalibor as they left the kitchen. “Meet you in the great hall - I have some news for you.” Dal nodded and swiftly retrieved his parachute pack from the room, finding Toma building a fire in the great hall fireplace, with rush-lights burning in the stands. Ostensibly, to casual observers, Toma was assisting in laying out the parachutes. In reality, he hadn’t the faintest idea what these were, but held a lamp for Dal to see, and quietly asked, “You make reports to the Baron, yes?”

    Dalibor nodded as he walked out the lines from the canopies, “Ve all do, but hyu got zumting dot maybe needz schpecial eyez on it, neh?” He kept his voice low, out of habit.

    “We still trade with the neighboring villages, for local things, and get freight in from the Brothers when we need anything else.” Toma walked beside Dal as he paced the lines and making sure they were straight, and teased out the tangles. “South and east of here is still all right, but north and west, there have been a fair number of grumbles.”

    Dal nodded, “Ho? Und vhy iz it needing zumvun’z schpecial attention - tingz haff been bad before, und tingz schtraightened out.” Satisfied that the dead-man chute lines were good, he began folding it into its pouch.

    Toma adjusted his position so the lamp gave better light, but he was not treading on the other lines. “Trouble it is, but it ain’t all home-grown this time. Lightning bless his pointed little head, the baby dukeling has been picking up some strange friends. The loan-sharks we’re used to after three generations. These are a new brand of sinister.”

    Dalibor was silent as he wrapped the static line around the metal loop at the top, hooking it into the primary chute’s lines. He frowned when he finished and looked up at Toma, “Hyu got any namez yet?”

    Toma shook his head, “They go about insisting on the honorifics, but not the names - I think that one of them might be English, they have been calling him ‘Chancy’ or summat.”

    Dal frowned inwardly as he began the process all over with the main chute, repeating the name silently in his head. It was too close to be coincidence. “No odder namez hyu haff heard?”

    “None you say in polite company. I was getting worried that we might have to send one of the game-keepers to the Baron, quiet-like, to get the word out.” The inn-keeper shook his head again, “I really don’t like the noises I hear from the direction of the capital town, and riots are bad for business.”
 
    Dal finished folding the main chute, and sighed, “Lightning blezz de pointed leetle headz of de houze of Ierboaze-Movila, becauze Hy tink dhey finally gotten full-op of schtupid. “ He stood up, shouldering the parachute pack in one easy movement, “Hy’ll do vot Hy can, und hyu let dhem know to keep an eye out.”

    “You know, we actually had some improvements, when Gavril took the seat. Not startling changes, but it looked like more were coming.” Toma put the lamp on the mantle and stared into the fire. “Then rumor has it he started running with a fast crowd on the edge of the Fifty, and these hangers-on showed up. So there are rumblings that he might could be salvaged.”

    “If dhere’z ought to zave, de Baron’z de vun to try.” Dalibor grinned, “Hyu know de zaying, ‘Baron knowz de right monzter for de job’, neh?” He clapped his host on the shoulder and headed off to the room to stow the parachute where at least *little* hands would not get into it. So, the Ierboase-Movila house was involved, at least peripherally. Things just got a little more personal.

~=*=~

    Fast as the children moved, they still were not finished in time to Help The Sergeant, which caused quite a few long faces, but Dafi had an idea of how to turn about the mood. “Do you know the story of the fowler’s son and the crow?” When the children shook their heads no, Dafi scanned the adults quickly. Only one old uncle seemed to recognize it.  She quirked an eyebrow at him, checking to see if it was all right, and he nodded for her to continue.

    Dafi smiled and straightened her spine to imitate the old baba that had told the stories to her and the other children at the fortress, “Hearken and attend, for I tell a tale of spirits and princes! Long, long ago, there was an old fowler living in the woods with his son. The young man had not wanted to learn his father’s craft, content that the old man would do it forever!” Here there were giggles and sidelong glances to a young man off to the side being smacked in the back of his head, by either his mother or older sister, by the looks of them. Dafi outwardly ignored the interaction, but grinned inwardly. There was one in every village.

    “Thus it came to pass, when the old fowler died, the young man had to fend for himself, and he tried to set his father’s bird snares. He became despondent when after months, he had caught nothing, and the stores laid by were growing thin. Many snares were ruined or stolen, and with the last of them he carefully set the snare on a tree. At that moment a crow flew down upon the tree, but as the snare was finally properly laid the poor bird was caught. The youth climbed up after it, but when he had got hold of the bird, the crow spoke, begging him to let her go, promising to give him in exchange something more beautiful and more precious than herself. The crow begged and prayed till at last he let her go free, and again he set the snare in the tree and sat down at the foot of it to wait. Presently another bird came flying up, and flew right into the snare. The youth climbed up the tree again to bring it down, but when he saw it he was full of amazement, for such a beautiful thing he had never seen in the forest before.”

    Dafi then caught sight of Dal’s golden eyes reflected in the firelight from his spot in the shadows and nearly swallowed her tongue. She recovered quickly, and continued the story of how the young fowler was aided time and again by the crow until the Padishah rewarded his vigilance with the position of minister, and the Queen of the Peri released her punishment on the crow, who was once again a beautiful maiden, permitted to marry the fowler.

    The youngest ones were beginning to nod off when the story was completed. Then the old auntie that had insisted Dafi was too skinny (and kept adding more food to her plate) said it was time for bed, and instantly every youngster in the hall was wide awake and insisting on another story. Dafi asked, “It might be a familiar story to you all, but I would like to hear the tale of how your village came to be running an inn.” She regretted asking almost immediately, catching Dalibor’s  flinch out of the corner of her eye. “If it is not an imposition?”

    But the children were enthusiastic about sharing their history, and proceeded to tell the tale themselves,  “Long-long-long time ago, before even the oldest uncle and aunties here were born, we lived underwater!” “NONONO! The village was in the valley, but the water wasn’t there!” “An’ the only one in this house was the madboy!” “He made weird animals, which is why we don’t go out in the woods by ourselves!” “He got in a fight with anudder madboy, who couldn’t hit the broad side of barn, but made things that went BOOM!”

    Here all of the children provided sound-effects, and one of the older children said when things quieted down, “We don’t know what the fight was about, but there used to be a mountain south of here. That’s the south end of the lake, now.”

    The old uncle who had recognized Dafi’s tale took up the thread. “We were not the target, but as usual, we took the damage. Luckily, this was in high summer, and the river was low, so there was time to salvage what we could. We had no place to go, other than another village and start over, when the Third Son came to see what the explosion was.” The children cheered what was evidently a favorite hero. Dafi had not heard this version of the tale, and was her curiosity was piqued by the way the old man named the hero. “He saw that the mountain had shifted, and also saw that the river would fill the valley in a year or two, but that the first of our housen would be flooded by Yule. Now, since the madboy that was living in this lodge was the favorite of the Duke-that-was-then, we could not take our grievance to his court.” The children quietly hissed. “The Third Son helped the Mayor, the one that was young Toma’s great-great-grandfa, put together a plan. They lured the madboy out of his lair with tales of a new monster in the area, one that he did not build. The madboy did what all madboys do, he had to go take a look. And whaddya know, he did find the monster.” Here the old uncle chuckled ruefully, “or rather, the monster found him... delicious.”

    Now all of the children chimed in with a well-rehearsed, “EEEEEUGH, Yuck!” with snickers and gasps.

    The old woman sitting beside him smacked his arm, and when the children had settled again, she said, “That set us up for the winter, but come spring,  we would need to pay the tax-tithe. The harvests could be got in for that year, but what of the next? The town council met many nights in this very hall, trying to decide our next move. For if we could not pay the tax, all of us would be taken over as land-serfs. In those days, there was no way out of that sort of debt. The Third Son had heard the monks were building that rail line and sent word to them that we might need their help. The surveyors came, and found the north end of the valley to be a good route, and they could do something once the lake had found its level. We had found a warren of rooms built back into the mountain, enough that we could comfortably keep the village here, and still have grand rooms left. Then someone mentioned that it might make a nice inn if the lake settled properly.”

    “It was a scary few first years, according to my great-great-granfa’s journal, but once the lake was stable, the railroad came through, we have been able to make our tax-tithe, and still make a profit,  every year since.” Master Toma concluded. “It was due to the Third Son’s help that we were able to get back on our feet, which is why we honor his help by aiding others of his kind,” and then he bowed to Dafi, “the travelling lone soldier, and their like.”

    This time, the call to bed was not to be ignored, Mistress Charlot chivvied the children out of the hall, “I’ll not have you burning daylight tomorrow, we still have an inn to winter up.” The good-natured grumbling was brief, and the adults began straightening up the great hall and extinguishing the rush-lights. Master Toma banked the fire as Dafi headed back to their rooms, wondering when Dalibor had left. She also wondered at the omissions the sergeant had made to the tale he told. A hero named the “Third Son” made her think of the order of precedence in a House of the Fifty.  And yet, the kindness was specifically to a lone travelling soldier?  Why was this Third Son, if he was noble, a lone soldier? Considering the supposed animosity towards nobility, the reverence of a Third Son, without naming his house, made a little sense. How to get the the story behind that, without letting them in on her own scant nobility? She’d be asking more questions later, when she knew what to ask.