“Vot heppen to hyu?” he asked, without preamble.
“Fell down a few flights, is all.” Nicul tried to smile, but it came off as a grimace.
After exchanging a look with the captain, Dal said, “Hy t’ink Hy know how t’get ‘im seen mitout buncha fuss.”
Fejes nodded, “Hyu do dot - I got to see somevun habout some stairs.”
“No!” Nicul said quickly, but the movement to rise caused him to hiss in pain. “N-no... I need to -ha- be not important.”
“Ho?” Fejes raised an eyebrow. “Nu, hyu got ha line on ha feesh?”
Nicul’s breathing was short and shallow, through the nose, in the manner of someone used to hiding pain. “More like... got sharks following my fleet, ‘n’ I need to lead them off.”
“Hrm.” Dalibor frowned, then grunted, “Hyu stay here. Ve get hyu fixed op, but schneaky-like.” At Fejes’s nod, Dal took off for Hasdeu’s quarters, taking shortcuts through the maintenance corridors. Catching the quester in the corridor outside his berth, he murmured, “Hy need a medic for a guy in de gym over de flight deck.”
Hasdeu yawned, and shook his head, still waking. “One of yours?”
“Nut my vork, but might be my responsibility,” Dalibor raised an eyebrow, looking Hasdeu over, “kinda like ha schrawny keed Hy useta know.”
“Yeah, yeah - I get you. Come on,” Hasdeu turned down the hall, taking Dal with him, “Any chance I can meet the new addition to the flock?”
“Nut dressed like dot.” Dal snickered at his friend’s bureaucratic finery, knowing that the wardrobe was there for a reason. Continuing in a more sober vein, “Hyu might be recognized.”
They stopped at another door in the hall, with Hasdeu tapping a rapid code. When the door opened, Dr Shriram’s greeting was “Who’s bleeding?” She was not wearing her usual duty suit, but Dalibor was relieved to see she was dressed for company, not sleep.
Dal said, “Dun’ know habout bleeding, but dere might be broken ribs.”
“Right,” she reached behind the door for her kit, and followed them out. “Any other signs of damage?”
"Nut dot Hy could see, bot Hy didn’t schmell bloot, chust bruises.”
Hasdeu left them at the lift, “I’ll check in with each of you after I get the updates.”
Escorting the doctor to the gym, Dal mentioned, “He dun need ha lot ov fuss made, if ve kin manache, ne?”
“Then why did you pound him?” Dr Shriram asked as they crossed to Nicul.
“He didn’t.” Nicul wheezed. “I ran afoul of some... stairs. Officially.”
“Hm.” Dr Shriram began the examination by checking Nicul’s eyes. “These stairs have names?” She carefully began working her fingers across his scalp.
"Not until they can be neutralized.” He hissed as her fingers found a knot behind his ear.
“Stubborn, and hard-headed, but no concussion,” she chuckled.”Let’s get your jacket off.” The doctor helped the young man ease off the fencing uniform while the Jägers conferred a few paces away.
“He dun vont to mek a fuss. Dot ist nut normal for nobleguyz.” Fejes shook his head, noting the bruising under the protective gear.
Dal shrugged, “Hit iz for somevun who vants to be ha beeger target, to draw fire. Hyu remember vot dot Rattenfänger in Bissendorf did?”
“Ho. Ja.. Dot vun didn’t last long.” Fejes frowned, nodding towards Nicul. “He’z actink like vun uf us, but he’z schtill a bit fragile for dat.”
“I just need to last long enough to take out the assassin.” Nicul hissed in pain as Dr Shriram taped his ribs.
“Hokay, now hyu gots to talk habout dot!” Fejes was suddenly Captain of the security troop. Even if he was not the only security officer on board, he was the one here now.
Nicul sighed, and shook his head. “Not like that. The target is not the Baron, but my duke.”
“Shh.” Dr Shriram held a finger up in front of the noble’s lips, not touching. “Let me finish this and get out of earshot, first.” She finished off the bandage she was wrapping, “What I do not hear I cannot be asked about. Here we go,” she pulled a small bottle from her bag, handing it to Nicul. “This is for the bruising; apply it after you bathe and let it dry before you dress. It is concentrated, so use it sparingly. Even though it smells like garden-variety liniment, it dissipates when it is dry, so don’t go overboard with the cologne to cover it.”
“Thank you, Doctor...” Nicul raised his eyebrow in query.
“Dr Ioana Shriram, and do not tell me your name.” She smiled, collecting her bag. “If you need to contact me, just say you’re the stair-racer.” With a nod of the head, she turned to Dal. “Teach him to fall with the punches, and roll with the kicks.” Then she left the gymnasium.
Fejes settled in beside Nicul, and said quietly, “Nu, time to tok ov azzazzinz, ne?”
~=*=~
By the time Dafi was to be discharged, she had amassed a small wardrobe suitable for a gentlewoman of some means in mourning. Though she suspected some of the timing of her discharge from the hospital was scheduled around Fraulein Cocarlea’s ability to get the first ensembles ready, there was also the question of who was aboard, and where Dafi would be bunked.
Fraulein Cocarlea bustled about the hospital room, “The uniform will take a little longer, but will be ready by the time of the ceremony.” Final fittings were done, and she had helped Dafi into the dark lapis blue morning receiving gown. It was horribly early by the standards of society, but Dafi was still finding it difficult to ignore military scheduling. On the day she was to be released from the hospital, it was the only way to get everything done in time.
The seamstress had delivered the tea gown and fencing outfit with all the underpinnings along with the supposed “necessities” for a lady. Luckily, there had also been what was called a “small lady’s travelling trunk” sent along by the quester. The thing stood chest-high to Dafi, and the limited gear Dafi had brought with her took up less than a tenth of the space the trunk provided. “I do not know how I can repay you...”
Inger Cocarlea waved off the offer, laughing. “Not to worry, I’m billing the weasels for all I can get out of them.”
Dafi frowned, remembering what she had seen of the workers while on the train. “I hope they have their own monies.” It might have been crass to discuss finances in society, but mountain folk tended to be more pragmatic than the flatlanders when it came to debts.
“That kind never does - but if they do not pay, it gets reported to the Baron’s accountants here.” Fraulein Cocarlea tapped the side of her nose, “Those boys can get blood from a stone, never fear. I will get paid, and from the right pockets, too.”
They were interrupted by a light tap on the door. Dafi had to remember her training in the current social niceties to keep from answering it herself, and instead allowed the seamstress to open the door. It seemed so silly, but she was supposed to be one of the flighty chits, especially when so many eyes were upon her.
Doamnă Amelia nodded her approval as she entered, and sat at Dafi’s invitation. Fraulein Cocarlea bowed herself out, having completed the delivery of the “barest minimum” wardrobe essentials. It was more than Dafi had bothered with in her life, and would likely abandon it when the time came to retake the fortress. It did not sit well with her to have that much effort put into something temporary, but she told herself it was another type of weapon.
The doamnă wound a little music box and set it on the floor. Dafi did not hear music, but when the box was placed on the deck, she could feel a small vibration through her day-slippers. She raised an eyebrow at Doamnă Ameila, who chuckled, “A little something to keep everyone’s ears short.”
“Oh, that is lovely. Is the maker taking orders?” Dafi smiled.
“Not at the moment, but I will drop a note to them for you.” Amelia was using her ‘lady-manners’ still, something that told Dafi they could still be overseen or interrupted. She offered tea, but the doamnă shook her head. “I came because I had worried that you do not have a sponsor here. Now, we do have the connection of alumni, and the introduction from the...” she chose her next word carefully, “upset?” She smiled to invite Dafi to share in the irony. “Rather than have you be saddled with a chaperone that your suitor’s people chose for you, perhaps we can arrange something more suitable.”
“Oh... hmm.” Dafi thought quickly, remembering that though Hasdeu had introduced them, there had been the warning to not discuss current events with the doamnă. While there had been discussion concerning her discharge, there had not been mention of where her berth would be. “May I take some time to consider your invitation, Doamnă? I must speak with my regional representative to see what measures have been...” Dafi was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Yes?” she answered without going to the door, but stood with a firm grip on the back of her chair.
One of her porters, Vadim, opened the door. “Message for you, Dama.” He handed the sealed note to her, his bow short and quick. Dafi responded with a similar quick nod, reflexively dropping into military manners, for that moment.
Quickly thumbing the note open, Dafi read the few lines, and frowned. Folding the note, she put it into pocket. “I may have an answer for you by this evening, if that is suitable, Doamnă?” she asked, as if they had not been interrupted.
Doamnă Amelia nodded, scooped up the music box from the deck and stood. “I do understand, dear.” Taking Dafi’s hands in hers, she smiled. “This is all so different from how we live at home, and quite unsettling. I hope that if you have other arrangements made, you will still come visit for tea.” The doamnă took her leave, unbending in her protocol enough to nod to the nurse on duty as she exited.
Amelia had slipped a note in Dafi’s hand just before she left. Rather than immediately read the note, she poured herself another cup of tea, drinking it thoughtfully. The note from Hasdeu had been short, stating he would be there before luncheon for her discharge, and that there would be more news. Under the cover of re-reading his note, Dafi read the card the doamnă had left in her hand.
Upon reading it, Dafi had the sense this was not from Doamnă Coșlar-Aed, but from Amelia, the woman who got up early to fence every morning. It was her formal calling card, but on the reverse was the whist card code to indicate a roughed trick. An odd addition, as they had not discussed any card games, but the sequence was also used by the Bergrisar for marking escape routes. Was Amelia offering her a way out of the contract with Movila?
~=*=~
“No, you do not understand! I cannot say anything, not without proof.” Nicul’s color did seem to improve after his ribs were taped, and Dr Shriram’s medication took hold.
Dalibor quietly said, “De vord uf a man uf goot character iz enough for furdder investigation.”
The young man quickly glanced at Dal, shocked, before staring back at the mats. His breathing was shaky, before he spoke. “There are not many who would consider a man of Movila to be of good character.”
“Izt nut de mhenny hyu hef to vorry about, chust de right vuns.” Fejes rumbled.
Nicul shook his head again, “There’s only the one phrase that made me think there was danger to more than the name of the house, but to root it out.” His voice was a mere thread, as he cast his eyes about.
In a tone that could barely carry to the young man, Dal asked, “Vat vas said, and by whom?”
Turning his head toward Dalibor, his eyebrows furrowed, Nicul answered in the same volume, “Lord Travers to Sir Evanier, asking if Gav did not get his wife pregnant in the next quarter, what would they do then, and the answer was to have a weeding of the family plot if the wedding did not take care of her, and frame Gav for it to hang.” The young man’s eyes burned with anger, which shifted to surprise when he saw it reflected in Dal’s expression.
“Vere hyu caught?” Dal’s whisper was urgent.
“No, this was three weeks ago. That’s why I need their bodyguards to think I am a soft pouf, or a silly court haunt.” Nicul shook his head.
“Vot heppen today?” Fejes asked.
“Today was because I was trying to obtain a private audience with Gav before the reception tonight.” He chuckled weakly, tapering off to a hiss as his ribs protested the movement. “Evanier’s night guards decided I needed to find other things to do today.”
“Zo, hyu come here?” Dal frowned, “Hyu dun vant hyu court buddiez to know hyu got beat up by de guardz, and come here for uz to beat hyu?”
“No, no, I - I don’t know why, I just... followed my instincts. No idea why my subconscious told me I would be safer with Jägermonters, but there you have it.”
“Yea, tough Hy valk trough de valley uf de shedow uf death Hy schell fear no evil, because Hy em de meanest son-uf-a-schpark in de valley.” Fejes chuckled, “No vorriez keed. Hyu kip hyu head down, kip schvimmink, und ve'll vatch for hyu sherks.”
“I still am keeping my ears open, but that one conversation was enough for me to make ready. That’s why I was looking for a place to practice without the rest of the hangers-on of the Fifty knowing. I have to be ready, without being obvious about it.”
“Hyu vill be, lad,” Fejes growled. “Und now ve all vill be.”
~=*=~
The quester was in his guise of Regional Speaker Hasdeu, arriving just as Dafi had put herself together in her walking suit. He chuckled softly as she offered him tea. As was customary, the door was open, and he sat with his back to the door. “Ready to break out?”
Dafi murmured at the rim of her teacup, “The siege is not over yet. Speaking of which...” She raised an eyebrow in query.
“News, yes - but perhaps better suited for a different venue. I understand you have had an invitation?”
“Mm, yes. I did not refuse the invitation, but I also did not accept it immediately, as... well, it was an agreeable offer, but I did wish to discuss it with you, first.” Dafi hoped that her tone would be interpreted as shyness by those who could be listening, instead of having to work out how to ask direct questions with indirect phrases.
“I had hoped she would offer, as it does give you another sort of protection. She’s well-situated enough to be seen as eccentric, but still respected in the Fifty,” Hasdeu wrote a quick note at Dafi’s desk, and stepped to the door to flag down a porter for delivery. “Having her sponsor you will help keep the worst of the hangers-on away from you.” Turning away from the door, he settled in his customary chair. “Hopefully, we get an answer from her in time for your discharge. You still haven’t asked about the ceremony.”
Dafi shook her head, “There is nothing to ask, until there is more to the offers. The duchy is headed for a horrid collapse if someone does not correct course, and soon.”
“Hmn.” Hasdeu viewed her speculatively. “Do you have any reports on that?”
“Yes, I know, I am not the expert.” She pulled a folio from the desk, presenting it to the quester. “I only know what it is like to manage a small county with a military post. But I also know it is beastly difficult to milk a cow after it has been butchered. Someone is gutting Movila, and I have only supposition as to the reason.”
He read through the pages quickly, and nodded, “You understand the problem well enough. We need to find the place that is getting the surplus. To do that, we need more time.”
“Time my county may not have.” Dafi kept her voice low, but there was no mistaking the stress there. “They are hiding now, but come winter and they are still there, there is a good chance Adreev is to be their staging area, with the villages acting as a shield at worst, and at best, there are still innocents in the line of fire.”
“The balancing act is not lost on me, Dama. If it is within my power, we will have you settled and everything restored in plenty of time for the harvest festival.”
Dafi frowned, “It is the manner of settling that worries me.”
“You do not sound enthusiastic about settling down.” Hasdeu, with his back to the door, indulged in a wicked grin.
“I... would welcome it, if it were advantageous to those in my care.” Dafi ground her teeth momentarily, keeping herself from swearing vociferously at Hasdeu. “I am not... opposed to marriage, but there is much to consider in the bargain. There would be little I could offer other than the possibility of issue.” She frowned, hiding it by keeping her head down as she poured herself a cup of tea. “I am afraid I am not an elegant court flower.” Dafi had to struggle to keep her voice even, but did not bother to hide the anger in her eyes as she glared at him. over her teacup.
He chuckled quietly, “If you had your choice...”
“I do not have that luxury.” Dafi cut him off. She kept her voice low, but steady. “I have known that was not an option for the better part of two decades. My choice is to be guided by the needs of my people, and not by some addle-pated poet’s vision of the world.” Yes, it was a truth she had known for years, but it cut her deeply to admit it aloud, especially now.
The quester had straightened up at her tone, but his response was sad, “I understand, Dama. My apologies for presuming.”
