Another early morning nightmare woke Dafi in plenty of time to give another layer of polish to the new boots. The uniform had been delivered yesterday afternoon, with another package from Captain Fejes. The peace-tie was in the almost-black pine green of Adreev, braided with gold and bleu-celeste cords ending with small weights fashioned in Baron’s house badge. It was gratifying to note that the tie was of the style given to the most trusted allies, ones who did not really need to be disarmed in the Baron’s presence.
Slowly gathering herself together, she let down the soft braid Liesel had taught her, and brushed her hair out, redressing her plaits around the crown of her head, a more combat-ready hairstyle. She did not think the meeting would dissolve into a skirmish, but better to be prepared. The crown braids also fit her hat better.
When she heard the maid roll the tea trolley down the passage to the sitting room, Dafi gathered herself in her peignoir wrap, and followed. Amelia was there, also in her morning wrap. “Another bad night, Trandafira?”
Still odd to hear her proper name again, but she had not asked anyone to call her by the name Dalibor had given her, though that was what she had come call herself, since discovering the person she was on the trail. “Once we get past the meeting, hopefully they will cease to be about bloody cathedrals and rotting statues. It will take getting my feet on solid rock again before I stop having nightmares about being dropped from the skies without a parachute.”
“You do have some vivid dreams,” Liesel said as she drifted in, yawning. “Too bad I haven’t taken the courses in Vienna yet. Silly me, I thought I would need the field surgery training first.”
“You may yet need that, Liesel,” Amelia was reading a note sealed with a sigil Dafi did not see clearly. “I believe our little holiday will be making a jaunt into the mountains to the south.” She handed the note to Dafi, “Here, what do you make of this?”
Reading it quickly, it appeared to be a discussion of a night of bridge, with a good bit of cheating going on. That is, if one did not know the codes the Bergrisar used. With the codes, the military strength of Adreev was noted, both in loyal soldiers, and the traitor’s numbers. “It seems your correspondent is detailing a money pit.” A safe enough comment, if one considered how many of the hands were lost to one player time and again in the overt message. The seal was that of Vlasca, one of the neighboring counties, and the handwriting looked vaguely familiar.
Amelia chuckled, “Fair enough assessment. Liesel knows some of this, but not my specific sources. She has her own.” The older woman took the note back and put it in her pocket before pouring the tea. “We have fewer crossed wires that way, and it is very easy to check for corroborating facts. Seems like there is one in nearly every school, hm?”
Liesel chuckled, and Dafi blinked as she accepted her cup from Amelia. “There are branches in other schools?”
“Fellow travellers, more like.” Liesel said as she selected a pastry. “Sometimes the goals are not exactly alike, in the fine lines. But the broad strokes are generally the same.”
“Ah.” Dafi sipped her tea, thinking furiously. If they were candid, the Coșlar-Aed ladies could be another source of information, and at this point she needed more than just information. She was about to cast herself into unknown waters. “We have all been over the treaty and the proposed contract. What options do you see that I have?”
“The treaty is not worth the vellum it was scribed on, especially as an antique.” Amelia proceeded with breaking her fast. “You have several outs here, the most aggressive being refusing to recognize the treaty, as it has lain fallow for centuries.”
“Not a great course, especially since the Baron has gone through the trouble to arrange the meeting.” Liesel said.
Though it was still covert knowledge that the meeting was a ruse to get the traitors on board the Castle with the minimum of mercenary troops, Dafi thought the ladies knew it to be a farce. Keeping up the ruse was for their protection, giving them plausible deniability. “A last-ditch option, I agree. I would like to have some other plans in place to argue a better contract.”
“I have noticed some glaring omissions in the contract they sent. It is very vague in its wording in places, to the point that neither you nor the grand duke are specifically named, only referred to as head of house or oldest living members of the line. They may have worded it such so if the Duke did not cooperate, they could have made someone else over in his place.” Amelia nodded, “Very curious, as if they are in a hurry to have this done, and did not want to risk having to re-submit the contract for review.”
Dafi thought about that omission, as Liesel spoke up, “If that card game is any indication, they need to move in less than a month, or find another place to hide their forces.”
“The mountains there are riddled with caves,” Dafi murmured, “We had most of them cleared of bandits and watched. If they are making use of those as temporary bivouacs, it will take... a platoon or so to clean them out again. At any rate, we need to root them out before winter sets in. Passable trails become ice slides in a month or so.” The pieces began to fall into place, and Dafi began to eat the pastry mechanically as she thought. She was surprised out of her musings when Amelia’s maid brought her a proper breakfast plate of eggs, with tomato and cucumber slices. “Thank you, Flori, but why?”
“Dama needs to have her head clear and her energy up for the battle.” The girl winked as she bobbed a curtsy. Dafi then noticed the others had been similarly served while she was studying the problem. Flori replaced the teapot at Amelia’s elbow with a fresh pot. “Meteorology reports passable weather for flying today, but we are running at ceiling, due to nimbostratus clouds in the path, ma’am.”
“Ah, bright sunny vistas of puffy clouds for those on the cloud deck, but likely few people in the arboretum due to the stronger sunlight.” Amelia poured another round of tea. “Thank you, Flori. I was thinking of wearing the copper visiting suit, is that ready?”
“It can be, but I also have your verdigris walking gown ready, if you wanted to have another mark of solidarity.” Flori’s voice was soft, but her tone was not fearful.
“It does not clash with Trandafira’s uniform then? Good, I will wear what you suggested.” Amelia chuckled.
“Very good, ma’am,” Flori bobbed another curtsy and left the women to their breakfast.
Dafi tilted her head curiously, and Liesel chuckled. “I’d better hope Flori is willing to train me, or one of her cousins to assist me when I leave your household, Bunică. She has an eye for clothes-as-messages that I wished I had mastered before going to college.”
“She goes where she will, sweetling. For all I know, she may want to travel with you, next time.” Amelia chuckled.
Dressing after breakfast was managed with a minimum of fuss. Dafi had less bother with the uniform, and did not require assistance from Flori, but the Coșlar-Aed ladies were practiced in the art of the quick change.
Assembling for inspection in the sitting room, they were checked over by Flori, who seemed less a lady’s maid and more a sergeant to Amelia’s captain and Liesel’s locotenent positions. “I just got the warning of the storm front to our west,” she said, handing Amelia an ornate cane, “and if just half the people talking about attending are allowed in, you’ll be crammed in like sardines.” The tall girl gently removed Dafi’s hat, and added a tropic liner to the interior band. “One of your neighbor’s sons will be on the Duke’s side of the hall, but he is loyal to the Duke, not the advisors, and he is one of the few others allowed to wear arms in the meeting.” Taking a lint brush to them all impartially, Flori nodded to Amelia.
“It also feels like we are running hot,” Amelia tapped the deck with her cane. “They have been sneaky about it, but my guess is since we broke the cloud cover, the Castle has been easing up to their top speed. It is less noticeable when the clouds obscure the landmarks, but from the angle of the sun, we may be headed to Adreev.”
“So,” Dafi squared her shoulders, “Time to engage the enemy.”
Liesel muttered dryly, “That’s one way to look at a betrothal contract.”
Hasdeu arrived to conduct them to the conference hall. In the grand promenade, he spoke quietly, in a volume that would not reach the Coșlar-Aed ladies. “Once the doors of the hall are closed behind us, you have done your part. We just need ten or so minutes of the ceremony to go forward, to let our people get into place. The signal that we are ready will be my boss entering the hall. After that, you can take the meeting in whatever direction you want.”
“We shall see,” Dafi muttered. As they progressed to the hall, Dafi noticed an increased master-at-arms presence the closer they came to the meeting. All were in the Baron’s forces, and none of the soldiers she had noted in her trip from the hospital to Amelia’s quarters were in evidence.
She was not announced, but every head turned when the doors opened. Hasdeu led the way, but Amelia set the pace. “No silent feet,” she murmured as she took up position at Dafi’s right. She followed suit with letting her cane’s metal ferrule tap loudly against the polished wood floors, and allowing the heels of her shoes to clack. Dafi’s boots thudded as she let her steps be heard.
The looks from most of the Duke’s side of the hall were curious, but a small faction were openly hostile. Grand Duke Gavril took in the uniform, and his eyes rested on the mourning bands. He then kept his gaze lowered.
Dafi focused on the hostile ones, openly glaring at them in return. She refused to be cowed by the sneers, whether they be at the small number of people sitting on her side of the hall or that they were annoyed in general. One she was able to pick out as angry at her uniform, of all things, from the ever-so-fashionable ensemble that was wearing him, and his horror as he took in her garb.
Reviewing their crowd, there were numerous pieces of brass headgear, indicating nobility. Dafi only had Amelia and Liesel, but she had seen them fight, and would rather have them on her side than a pack of useless nobles.
When she finally focused on the front of the hall, she came to attention, and saluted. Klaus, Baron Wulfenbach, stood a head taller than anyone else in the room who was not a Jägermonster, and his shock of silver hair made him look even taller. His height was balanced by the breadth of his shoulders, and if one believed the rumors, he kept fit by sparring with the Jägercorps. The baron returned the salute, without irony, “As you were, Colonel.” To the assembled, he gave the signal to be seated.
That one change in addressing her, though she still wore the rank tabs of locotenent-colonel, gave Dafi both a pang of grief for her father, and a rush of anger at those who had engineered the attack.
The master of ceremonies began with the opening statements concerning the standard betrothal contract. When he got to the part where traditionally the participants waived the reading of the particulars, Herr Dolokhov had not yet arrived. Dafi decided a delaying tactic was in order. “I would like to have the current contract reviewed, please.” At the mutters from the other side of the hall, she shrugged, murmuring “Încredere, dar verifică.”
Amelia merely raised an eyebrow at her, but a few of the Duke’s supporters groaned. The Duke himself twitched his shoulders, but still did not meet her eyes. Instead he seemed very intent on the frieze high on the wall behind Baron Wulfenbach. The baron nodded his acquiescence to the reading, and did not seem put out by the request.
As the master of ceremonies read the document, Dafi listened carefully. Amelia’s observation was accurate, there was no mention of any of the Duke’s names, though he was referred to by the appellation the Son of Movila. Dafi’s eyes narrowed, noting that her family name had been added to one paragraph, but for the most part she was referred to as the Daughter of Adreev. Towards the end of the reading, Herr Dolokhov arrived, and handed a small card to the Baron. The master of ceremonies asked, “Is all in accordance with your wishes?”
Dafi stood. “Not as such. I have many questions, still.”
“Outrageous!” The Earl of Checagou made as if to cross the aisle to drag her to the table, when a strong voice cut across the babble.
“I would hear your questions, Colonel Hynter.” The baron remained seated, but nodded in her direction when the crowd quieted. “I understand this is not the sort of aid you sought in coming here.”
“No sir, it is not.” Dafi stood at parade-rest, facing the baron, but with about half of the duke’s witnesses in her peripheral vision.
“It is exactly what you...” Lord Travers began, but was cut off by a large hand slamming into the top of the desk.
“You will sit and be silent, the Colonel has the floor.” Baron Wulfenbach had not raised his voice, but there was a dangerous growling undertone to his speech. That growl dissipated as he spoke to Dafi. “Please, continue.”
“The wording here is very vague, and mentions nothing of what my county receives in return for this... help.” Dafi tried to keep the sneer out of her voice at that word, but may not have succeeded to those with practiced ears. “Much is made of the trade concessions for Movila, however. I appreciate your concern, Your Excellency, but I do not think this will benefit my county in specific, nor Europa at large.”
“All things being equal, I do believe those questions are warranted. If we are to continue at all, perhaps the standard prenuptial contract format should be used.” At her surprised look, Baron Wulfenbach chuckled, ”What sort of monster do you think I am, forcing unwilling participants into marriage contracts?”
Dafi answered quietly, “I had not thought you a monster at all, sir. Just a ruler who would use any tool within reach to keep his people safe.”
He nodded, “I will grant you that. However, your dower is not the lever we need here. Your continued loyalty is. Now, it should be rewarded. I have no objections to your preferred consort.”
Dafi froze. She had not discussed the findings of her research or her private preference with anyone, not Questor Hasdau, nor Herr Ples, not even Dalibor’s captain, though he had given her the seeds of the plan that was quickly blooming in her mind. “H-Have I been that obvious, sir?” She was gratified to note that the Baron was the only person in her line of vision that did not appear puzzled.
“No, you have not. But everyone is permitted use of the library, and in return, their research is noted.“ Here, Herr Dolokhov gave a small, surprised chuckle, with a light dawning in his eyes. So, he has just figured it out, Dafi realized. The Baron’s mouth twitched, as if he might smile, and he continued, “In fact, I would like to see how the delegation reacts to your... proposal.”
He was giving her permission to take what she wanted! Dafi turned, facing the delegation with a small smile that only hinted at the joy burning through her veins, and said, “The contract does not stipulate of which generation the groom must belong. This is so very vague, one could state the groom does not even need to be the seated Duke, and he could, in fact, be from a cadet branch...” she trailed off, not willing to reveal all that her researches had found.
The conspirators seemed slightly confused, but mostly offended. “What twaddle is this?” the earl sputtered. “There are no others of the line, no cadet branches!”
However, Duke Gavril sat up straighter, and finally looked her in the eye. “You mean Mare Spătar really is still alive?” He actually sounded hopeful, as a child would be when told that Grandfather Kretchun was coming.
That phrase caused an unnerved reaction within the ranks the delegation. By the looks of them, the ones that recognized the title were the Duke’s local people. They generally were surprised and one or two looked fearful, but his locals were drowned out by the blustering of the conspirator's cohort. Grand Duke Gavril was no longer paying them heed.
The Baron smiled grimly as he raised his hand for silence, “If he wishes to reclaim his name, I state again, I have no objections to that candidate.”
Dafi swallowed, remembering what he had said about the heavy baggage of her name. What if he did not want to pick up the baggage he had left behind? Nothing for it but to ask. “I would ask Domn Mihai Anton Dalibaur Kantemiroğlu Imrich Ierboase, son of Voievod Georgh Rhodrich Gregori Imrich Ierboase, and Mare Spătar of the House of Movila, to enter the contract.” In her nervousness, her voice was pitched a trifle louder than she intended, and carried with ringing tones throughout the reception room.
In the shocked silence that followed, one voice spoke.
“Hy t’ink about it.”
The heads of the duke’s delegation swiveled around to the speaker, and Dafi bit her lip as Dal made a show of considering the idea. Then his grin came out, “Ja, hokay.” He strode to the desk from his position on the Duke’s side of the hall.
The Jägermonsters showed their approval by giving a loud series of martial cheers, which was the first time they had made a sound since Dafi had arrived. Before she turned her attention to the alterations in the paperwork, she noticed the startled expressions of the conspirator’s cohort.
Herr Dolokhov stepped forward, presenting a more equitable betrothal contract, apparently prepared in advance of the meeting. He took a few moments pointing out the deviations from the basic boilerplate. “Here, the shipping fee allowances for goods destined for Adreev balances out the trade concessions for peach brandy, and the arrangements for military support to both holdings are listed here.”
“Ho, vait - dis lists me as locotenent.” Dalibor muttered quietly.
“Yes, and you are wearing the wrong collar tabs,” the baron muttered back. “Your quartermaster has the new ones for you when we are done here.”
“Ho.” He looked from the Baron to Herr Dolokhov and back, “Hy guess I am.” He shrugged, and added his name to the contract with an elegant signature.
As Dafi signed, the Baron made a gesture of inspiration, “Ah, and I almost forgot your bride-gift, Colonel. Gentlemen?”
She turned at the sounds of scuffling behind her to note the Jägermonsters had weeded out Travers, Evanier and Chauncey from the Duke’s retinue, along with their supporters.
“What is the meaning of this, Klaus?” Chauncey shouted.
“Just a bit of housecleaning. When you write your plans to overthrow the current order, make sure no-one else can find them.” He sat back in his chair. “Take them to their new accommodations, Captain.”
“Ho yaz! Ve vill take goot care of de guyz!” Fejes chuckled
“This does not end here! You have no idea what you are getting yourself into!” the earl raged.
Fejes merely laughed, “If ve don' know vat ve ist doink, den hyu ken’t figger oot vat ve ist goon’a do!” Two to a prisoner, they marched the arrestees out.
No comments:
Post a Comment