“Hyu neet to schtop moping, Dal.” Fejes pitched the fifteen kilo medicine ball at Dalibor’s head. “Ist nut proper schneaky.”
He caught the ball one-handed and returned it underhand. “Hy know, but der rumors are nut goot, und Hy got no goot intel on vot ist really heppenink.”
“Der schrawny keed nut kepin’ hyu opdeted?” Fejes frowned at the the underhand loft of Dalibor’s return, and spun into a skyhook bounce aimed at the other’s midsection. “Hy feex dot.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye caused Dal to catch the ball and spin in the direction of the doorway. The young man there crouched, ducking out of the logical line of fire, but keeping his eyes on the Jägers. Dal quickly reviewed their conversation, and relaxed marginally when he realized they had not mentioned Dafi, or even used a feminine pronoun. Still, he watched the interloper critically.
When there was not an immediate attack, the young man rose slowly. “Begging your pardon, I was misdirected.” His clothes, though sensible for exercise, marked him as nobility, but his accent was what caught Dalibor’s attention. ”I had asked for directions to the public gymnasium.” The more this unknown spoke, the more Dal noted the cadences of someone from Moviloraş... not just the city, but the court.
Dal shrugged casually, bouncing the medicine ball in his hand. “Ve kin schare, iff’n hyu ist hokay mit it.”
Fejes picked up on Dal’s thickening accent, and grinned in a feral-friendly manner. “Ve vos playink king’s court. Hyu vanna choin in?”
The young man warily watched the two Jägers, but did not bow himself out. Dalibor thought his body language was less like a noble out to bluff and bluster at lowly soldiers, and more like the new kid at the village square. “With just two players? I am not sure I know those rules.” The tone was curious, without being condescending.
“Vait, ve gotz rulez?” Dalibor turned to ask Fejes, who shrugged.
“Dun lose hyu het?” Fejes grinned again.
“Hokay, vun rule.” Dal nodded, and lobbed the ball to the noble. Interestingly enough, the young man dodged only far enough to be able to get under the ball, and made a creditable - for an unaugmented human - pass to the captain.
Play continued for a half hour, without the unknown man asking for their names, or even to request a switch to a lighter ball, though the strain was starting to show in the last quarter. No one kept score, but when their guest began to falter, Fejes called a halt, “Ho! Hyu nut so bad et dis game! Ve drink nao!” and gathered the sweating, wheezing player under his arm. “Hy am Fejes! Vot dey call hyu, keed?”
“Haa... haa... hy’m Nicul.” Had to give it to him, the young man was keeping up with the captain without stumbling or running. For all his legs were short, Fejes had a deceptive strolling gait that moved very fast.
Dal figured it was as good a cool-down as any other activity, especially as it looked like the captain was taking them to the messdeck for mixed soldiers on board, as opposed to the closer Jägergesellschaft. “Hy’m Dal.” If he kept quiet, there could be more information forthcoming after the good beer. It would also mean not having to watch his accent as much.
However, it seemed the captain had even sneakier ideas. When they got to the bar, Fejes found them seats with good views out the windows, which coincidentally also gave good lines of sight to all the exits. To get that geometry, they just happened to sit at the station of the pretty girl who would not hesitate to smack anyone who got out of line. “Sofi, mein schatz kriegsaxt, ve needs Radlers, vă rog?” His smile at the bartender was flirtatious.
Dal scanned the room. It seemed as if the duke’s retinue had not found this place yet, and he hoped that would stay that way for the rest of the week, at least. Non-threatening public location, low- to non-alcoholic drinks, and the camaraderie of sportsmanship; the captain may have had a thunderbolt of brilliance for the situation, if they did not lean too hard. The bartender even seemed to be in on the act, because she was mixing the drinks in front of them, and leaning more on the limon than the helles.
When the drinks were set up, Sofi smiled at them, then, when the young man seemed hesitant to drink, she chuckled. “Noroc!”, she saluted him with his drink, and took a sip from Nicul’s glass, wiping the rim with his handkerchief that he had left on the bar.
“OI, why nut hyu do dot for me?” Fejes laughed at her.
She huffed, and did the same to the captain’s glass, only this time, before she could wipe the rim, he got the glass from her, and turned the rim to drink from the same spot. She swatted at him, growling, “Na, und? Where’s the ring?”
Fejes responded, “Mebbe ven hyu mama is nut so skeery!”
Nicul had begun to sip from his drink, but then put it down to keep from choking on it.
Dal’s eyebrows shot up “Hyu done met da mama?” he asked. This was something nobody had even murmured about in the barracks, and Jägerkin were devils for gossip.
Fejes glared at Dalibor, “Hy hev nut, and hyu ken’t prove nutin!”
Dalibor chuckled into his drink, seeming to not notice Nicul’s covert interest in the exchange. So, so, so - there could be some information trading as well.
~=*=~
All things considered, being a lady is bone-numbingly boring. Dafi had continued to read, requesting books from the library about the Duchy of Movila. Herr Ples had taken to sneaking in the occasional groschenroman sandwiched between the drier reference books he brought for her. The sitting area in her room included a small secretary desk, which Dafi was careful to have clear anytime she was not performing research.
While it might make her seem to be a bluestocking to anyone checking what she read, it did provide her with some additional ammunition. The change to cash crops had been tried in the duchy before, with disastrous results. The soil was poor, and without amendments, they had perhaps three more years before the harvests would begin to fail on a yearly basis. Orchards and sheepherding, yes - those would make the land prosper, but not at the rate someone wished.
River trade had made the duchy rich, before the advent of safe air travel. It still was the mainstay of most trade, but recent elevations in the portage and lock fees were beginning to make people find ways to avoid shipping anything through. There was little about it in the few newspapers of the region, save that it had started another round of airship building. The random raids on the rail shipping made more sense in light of the full view.
Even in the circles that the Duke’s court ran, there was more income being generated than the court had seen in years. The scandal rags that made the actions of the Fifty entertainment for the masses hinted that the current pack of nobles hanging about Movila were not in the habit of paying their bills. It left the question of where was the money going?
One thing Dafi knew was the cost of maintaining an armed force, and if that was where the money was draining, it was going to be a very large, very well equipped one growing somewhere. She passed her notes on this to the quester, and began requesting more information on the financial situation.
After two days of this, Dr Shriram brought someone to introduce to Dafi. The small woman did not wear the uniform of a nursing sister, nor the insignia of any of the medical staff. “Dama Hynter, may I present Inger Cocarlea? She is one of the Castle’s finest seamstresses.”
The lady curtsied, and demurred, “I have solid workmanship, even if I was not trained in Paris.” She said this with a slight sniff, as if aggravated.
Dr Shriram patted her arm, “Perhaps not, but you are precisely the sort of designer that can help us get the Dama ready to be seen in public, yes?” Dr Shriram’s nod to the door with a raised eyebrow caught Dafi’s attention. So they might be overheard? Something about the dressmaker’s attitude and accent made Dafi think they could work together.
Dafi kept her voice low, as if she was shy, “I would not know how to act in some of the things I saw in the social sections of the newspapers Papa got from the cities.” She rolled her eyes at how she sounded to herself, and Fraulein Cocarlea covered her mouth to stifle a small chuckle.
“Not to worry, Dama. We can have you presentable by the time you are ready to reenter society.” Fraulein Cocarlea’s eyes danced merrily.
~=*=~
“So, nu,” Fejes began, after the boy had regained some of his equilibrium, “hyu like hour game?” He grinned, this time without guile. Dal got the impression the captain was impressed with Nicul’s performance. Dalibor certainly was - not many nobles would have even attempted a game without rules. True, the Jägers had been playing at an easy pace, but the boy had kept up with them.
“I think it is more taxing than my usual workout, but that may be a good thing.” Nicul smiled, “I had been getting lazy in the past months.”
“Ken’t hev dot, de gorlz dun like lazy.” Fejes winked at Sofi, who threw a bar towel at him as she passed.
“I needed to make sure I still fit in my formal waistcoats.” Nicul’s smile faded, and his voice dropped to a murmur, “not that my love will be able to appreciate it.”
Something in Nicul’s manner gave Dal pause. He dropped his voice to be heard only by the boy and the captain, “Hyu got ha... duty to fam’ly?”
A sigh and a shrug, “Not I, but he does.” Nicul had responded at the same level. While it was accepted in some circles that there were those with different appetites, not all in the empire were at peace with the habits of others. He toyed with his glass, shoulders pulling in slightly, as if bracing for something.
“Pfft. Fam’ly ken be ha pain,” Fejes grumbled. “Hyu boyfrent schould tell them off.” He took another sip of the shandy, grumbling under his breath, “Otta be able to marry who hyu vant.”
“Mmn.” Nicul watched the Jägers out of the corners of his eyes, under his lashes. While he might be in agreement, he also did not encourage further discussion. The increased tension in his shoulders might mean he expected to be shouted out of the bar for his preferences, or could mean he was considering other issues.
Dal noticed he was pretty good at covert observation for court politics purposes. That spoke of years of practice. Now, to Dal, this meant he could have been a plant, someone trained in espionage and put into place recently. The problem with that theory was the boy’s accent, that was hard to disguise, as he well knew. Conversely, it was also hard to fabricate well enough to fool someone from the same area. With the captain stewing over his love-life, Dal let his eyes wander the mess.
Spotting a good diversion, he chuckled, elbowing Nicul to direct his attention to the grease monkeys from the troop ships having a dance fight. They had made enough progress for an opening introduction. The next step would have to wait, for they would have to see if he came back to the gymnasium tomorrow.
~=*=~
Fraulein Cocarlea was a fast worker. Within a day, Dafi had been sent two lovely peignoir sets, with slippers. Though lighter than the hospital issue, they seemed more substantial, if only because they were not meant for invalids.
Dafi welcomed the additional pockets, and in one pocket of the dressing gown, found a crochet chain, made of fine flax threads. One end was a simple loop, but the other end had a chatelaine clasp. It was not long enough to go around her neck, but wrapped twice around her wrist, it just fit. Adding the button to the clasp made it quite comfortable.
Quester Hasdeu made no mention of her change in wardrobe when he made his daily visit for tea in the afternoon, other than an appreciative smile. Ostensibly, he was making sure she was alright. In reality, he was updating her on the progress of the multiple pieces in play. “Your fortress has been quiet, but long-range scouts have been able to confirm eighty percent of your original staff are still in place. The village is secure, and we think they know something is up, because there are fewer people venturing out alone.”
She nodded, keeping her voice low, as did he. For propriety’s sake, the door was open, and they were sitting in full view of the nursing sister on duty. “What movement has there been from Cormac to the south?”
“Still no outward signs that they know Adreev has been compromised, but the commander has sent messages confirming they are ready to work in concert with the Baron’s forces when we arrive.”
Dafi nodded, and her eyes flickered to the door as a porter passed the door. “How soon will we get there?”
“Not long now, hopefully within a fortnight. The Duke and his retinue are now on board. Arrangements for the contract signing will be a few days after your discharge. Dr Shriram indicated she is just waiting for us to give the go-ahead for the timing.”
Dafi frowned, and asked very quietly over the rim of her teacup, “How is he?” She would not risk an eavesdropper knowing who she inquired after by naming him, but his absence was keenly felt.
Hasdeu gave a small smile, before answering, “Doing his best to follow vague orders. Wearing himself out in the salle. Worried about you.”
“He was my responsibility, if only for a short time.” Dafi paused, and swallowed past the knot in her throat. “I would not have him injured for that association.” She would not go further, as it was not her place to ask for more. Keeping her hands busy with the serving of tea, she shook her head and changed the subject. “The ceremony will still occur on schedule, then?” Her tone was more suited to asking about the funeral of a mutual acquaintance, than her betrothal.
With his back to the door, Hasdeu could not be sure of who was there to listen, but he winked at her when he said, “Begin on time, yes.”
Dafi sighed, knowing that there was still a chance she would be ordered to complete the signing, and she dreaded that possibility.
Two days after Fraulein Cocarlea took Dafi’s original measurements, the seamstress arrived to make final adjustments on the first outfits for informal social occasions. The walking suit and the day dress were quite fine, and a touch more elegant than Dafi would have chosen for herself, but Miss Inger had encouraged the designs.
“There, I knew these would suit you. Clean lines, and the ability to move.” Fraulein Cocarlea snipped a thread and checked the drape of the jacket again. “Much better for you than what those fatuous weasels kept after me about.” Though her hands were gentle, her voice gave away her anger.
“What weasels, Miss Inger?” Dafi had some idea what could be about, but surely they were not going to be that obvious?
Inger’s next words proved Dafi wrong. “That lot from Movila. Oh, the duke and his personal retinue are normal enough, but some of the people around them?” She made a rude noise, “They keep insisting that ‘Paris knows best’ when it comes to clothes, and that ‘the Dama will surely want to be in the height of fashion’. Load of balloon juice, that is. Never even met you, and now they think they can dress you? Hah.”
“Hm.” Dafi looked over the deep aubergine walking suit, and noted that the slight change from black to purple was only noticeable in strong light, but was a better choice for her coloring. While she herself did not know fashion, she had come to trust Fraulein Cocarlea’s taste and sense. Inger had suggested, after Dafi had mentioned her father’s passing, which colours would suit the mourning customs of her home district, and still be recognized by those on the Castle, giving Dafi some social insulation. The deep pine green of the day dress was another bit of armor, both a subtle signal signifying she was not ready for gaiety of the social whirl, and a comforting color similar to her undress duty uniform. “What have they suggested?”
“I have been ordered, mind you, to make up designs without showing them to you.” Fraulein Inger was the picture of righteous indignation. “Besides being officious, they are wasteful. The designs they chose are not only restrictive, they are hideously ugly.” She brought out a folio with newspaper clippings, showing the height of fashion from Paris, Vienna and even some scandalous sketches from London-Under-Glass. “I am to find something here that suits you, and I am hard pressed to see if it would suit anyone.”
Dafi noticed there were a large number of gowns that were listed as appropriate for bridal parties, and all of the gowns had narrow skirts, tight sleeves or other trim details that would make even some dances difficult. It was clear that this was just the beginning of the restrictions someone wanted to put on her. “All right, then - they specified formalwear?”
Fraulein Inger huffed, calming down in the face of Dafi’s unruffled inspection of the designs. “Yes, Dama.”
“Something that ‘suited me’, they said?” Dafi began to grin. It was not a proper court simper.
“Oh, yes!” The dressmaker’s eyes lit up as she caught up to Dafi’s scheme. “Something ‘befitting her coloring and station’ were the exact words, Dama.” She opened the other design book, which turned out to be the uniform standard guide, to the pages for the mountain patrol duty uniforms. Then Inger began to busily sketch out a more formal version of the Adreev uniform, “I always thought this one could use a riding skirt. Formal, yet practical, and still not trousers, you see?”
This was something Dafi had not dared hope for since she had been made aware of the mess dress uniforms of some of her classmates at the academy; someone who understood uniforms and design principles enough to give the Adreev uniforms a formal polish. “Oh, yes! Very good! Now, is there a cobbler that can get me riding boots?”
Fraulein Inger chuckled, “Combat riding boots, with steel toes and a very fine polish in oxblood, Dama?”
“I am glad to see we understand each other.” Dafi’s smile faded. “I will also require the formal mourning bands, if you would be so kind.” Not that Fraulein Inger needed the reminder, but Dafi had been struck by the thought that this was another thing she would not be able to share with her father.
“Oh...” the older woman’s face softened into a sympathetic smile. “Yes, of course, Dama.” Then her chin firmed. “You will want to speak to the Jägers in charge of security for the meeting about formal blades, I think.”
“Yes, I will need to speak with a Jäger about the ceremony.” Dafi’s frown had less to do with weapons and more to do with feeling secure.
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