Duke Gavril gaped openly at the retreating corps, until Dal muttered, “Shut hyu mout’ before de birds schtart nestin’ in it.”
He closed his mouth with a click, “Ah, yessir.”
There was just a patrol of Jägermonsters left on guard, and Dafi noticed most of them were also wearing mourning bands, as was Dal. A few nodded and smiled at her, and she was teased with a dim memory of some of them standing at the back of the chapel. She nodded back as the baron addressed the duke.
“So, Gavril Stephan Imrich Petru Ierboase, Grand Duke of Moviloraş... what are we going to do with you?” Baron Wulfenbach frowned thunderously at the young duke.
“Erm... bust me down to mudlark?” he asked, hopefully. His friends moved closer, as if to protect him.
“Oh, no, no, no,” he chuckled, darkly, “you are not getting out so easy as that.” Baron Wulfenbach leaned back in his chair. “What say you, Locotenent?”
Dal crossed his arms, and frowned, “He’s got lotz ov vork to do, from vot Hy been zeeink in Movila.”
“Colonel?”
“I agree, and unless there is evidence that implicates him as more than just a convenient blind for those who engineered the attack on the fortress,” Dafi paused, to control the growl that had crept into her voice, “Much better to keep him in his position, and taking care of his responsibilities.” Dafi nodded, noting relief in some of the faces behind the duke. These were the half-dozen people relegated to the back rows before the conspirators and their compatriots were removed.
“Yes, quite.” The Baron snorted, and leaned forward, with his elbows on the desk. “You have been observed, Gavril. Not just for your inability to say ‘no’ to a card game, but also in the matters of finance.”
Gavril sighed, “I know, and spending good money after bad at the tables to try to clear my debts was the first of many major mistakes,” he shook his head. “I had started seeing, over the last year or so, what the advice I was getting from them was doing to the duchy. Even so, by then they had insinuated themselves in the works, and I could not find a way out.”
“You could have asked for help,” Dafi noticed that the young man who spoke was wearing the badge of the Pfaltzboier for the judeţe of Dolj. “I would have...”
“No, Nicul - I did not want to be the cause of you getting hurt again, not if I can help it. My keeping you near me nearly got you killed. If anything permanent had happened to you, I would not have been able to continue.”
Gavril’s expression was familiar to Dafi, because she had been wearing a similar one until the rules had changed.
She turned to the baron, with a raised eyebrow and an open hand. He nodded slightly, but held his hand palm down. So she waited.
Dalibor, however, sighed and crossed his arms, “How moch hyu owe dem, boyo?”
“By my last accounting, nearly two hundred thousand lei.” A shocked silence followed - even giving over his entire yearly household budget for the next twenty years to the creditors would not pay them off. Dafi scanned the loyal few left, and most were as shocked as she was, save for the old woman in the very back row. Her sorrow was palpable even at this distance. Duke Gavril continued, his voice heavy with regret. “Yes, I know - the interest is killing me. I have sold off what is solely mine, which to be honest, was not much. I cannot in good conscience take funds from the running of the duchy to pay the rest.”
“At leas hyu got some ov de answers right.” Dal glanced briefly at the baron before addressing the duke as if he was a young boy who had been caught tormenting a younger sibling. “Hyu know de duchy iz grinding de vorkers, ja?”
“Some of it. Those three tried to keep me from seeing it, when I objected, but I was still able to get some reports in,” Gav smiled briefly at Nicul, then sobered. “I have not been so successful in halting their military spending, and I am not sure even now how many mercenaries have been hired in my name without my consent. Then there are the reports of what I set as the tax rate has been doubled, and even tripled in some remote areas where they thought I would not find out, by their agents when it came time to collect, but only a quarter of the originally projected revenue has ever reached the duchy coffers.” He reached into his jacket, bringing out a small sheaf of papers. “I had hoped to drop this with someone, as my last messenger went missing a month ago.” He presented the papers to the Baron.
Baron Wulfenbach quickly scanned the ledgers with a raised eyebrow, and nodded, handing the papers to Herr Dolokhov. “You do know how this came to pass. Now, what would you plan for the future?”
“First thing I have already done, which was swearing off cards, even ‘friendly’ games with no stakes involved,” Gavril said. “Next, is releasing the unnecessary mercenaries hired in my name when the contracts for the registered companies expire. I do not know what I will be able to do to get the unregistered groups out of Movila without causing harm.” The young man’s gaze turned inward, his expression growing thoughtful. “Reversing the agricultural orders will take a season, but at least it is an order the farmers would likely be happy to get, especially with the taxes being returned to what I had originally set. There are a number of laws that need to be reviewed, only I had thought maybe we could get a representative council together, with the towns sending their questions and suggestions.” He ground to a halt, before muttering, “I have to fix a lot of things.”
He jerked upright when Dalibor clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hy dun got no two honnert thousandt, but Hy kin help some. Who holds de notes on de debt?”
“The Rue Garreau Apaches held the first note, Campionato Testarossa was the group brought in by Evanier, and then...” Gav shrugged, helplessly.
A young man wearing the colors for Prahova interjected, “I managed to pay off the Normandie Rookery, but there are some I looked into - quite a few, actually - that might just be jumping on the bandwagon, as the notes they hold were not signed by Gav, nor any of his approved representatives.” He bowed slightly.
“Pfaltzboier Michal? Investigating?” the baron chuckled, “That is dangerously close to actual labor, something I recall you having issue with when you were here as a student.”
The young man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yes, well - it was for a friend.”
“Thank you, Michal. You really did not have to do that.” Gav was coloring up a bit, but kept his carriage upright.
“As I said, for a friend.” Michal nodded his head to the baron, “I did not bring my notes to the meeting, but I do have them aboard. Once we get things organized here, what is our next step?”
“As much as I would like to say the next task is to escort the bride-elect home, and helping her with a vermin problem, I would hope there can be something more done about my... soon-to-be-cousin’s situation.” Dafi said. She refrained from glaring meaningfully at Baron Wulfenbach, but she did raise an eyebrow. Really, there was a good deal more that they could handle right here and now, and unless they were right over the fortress, they had time for negotiations.
The baron raised an eyebrow in return, while the corner of his mouth twitched, as if suppressing a smile.“I agree. There is more that can be done here, I think.”
Gav frowned, “Even if half the debt is manufactured, I need a way to pay it, and stay alive while doing so.”
“Ho, ist der guyz hyu owe money to skeerier den Jägermonstern?” Dal chuckled.
“No, but if I cannot guarantee the safety of those around me, what good is being related... unless...” Gav turned to Dalibor, “Do you have any heirs?”
Dal grinned hugely, “Nut yet.” Then he sobered, “Hyu nut lookink to abdicate, ne?” The growl in his voice gave indication of what he thought of that idea.
“No, but I thought, if I named an heir that had the entire Jägercorps as godfathers, they would be safer.” Gav shrugged.
“Dot ist... mebbe a goot idea.” He looked at Dafi. “How menny kids ist ve gonna have, Dafi?”
In her surprise, Dafi answered truthfully, “I - had not thought that far, but we could plan on at least trying to have a few.” She shook her finger at both of them, “However, I want to wait to see which ones are suited to the specific tasks before we designate positions.”
“Oh, yes, yes - just make sure the next head of the House of Movila is smarter than me, please?” Gav laughed shakily. “Duke or duchess, as long as they can avoid the mistakes I made!”
“Pfft, hyu did hokay ontil de parasites got to hyu. Ve kin visit so de kinder see vot dhey might be in for, ja?” Dal grinned again, looking to the baron, “Zo, ve kin zee who owes vat, und den get de repayment skedule?”
“A reasonable compromise,” the baron said. “If you are specifically requesting a formal audit, there will be some things we can negotiate.” He held out his hand for a document, and Herr Dolokhov took it from the folder he had brought - while taking notes on the discussion with his other pair of hands. The baron scanned it, and placed it on the desk before him. “Review this request, and see if it suits the situation.”
“All right...” as the duke reached to retrieve the document from the master of ceremonies, he began to sway, and Dal pushed him down into a chair. Gav passed the document to Nicul, “Please, could you...?”
“You skipped breakfast again,” the one called Nicul muttered as he sat next to the duke, but he did not attempt to hide his scolding attitude as he read through the paperwork.
Gavril chuckled weakly, “I have not had much of an appetite, lately.”
“Yes, well - wasting away is all very romantic and glamorous, I am sure. But you cannot afford to lose more strength.” Nicul’s chiding had a worried undertone to it. He reviewed the papers, nodding. “It is a solid request, and though it does give his accountants a free hand to delve into everything attached to the treasury, it is only for five years. It might be enough time to repair the damage, if the reports we received are correct.” He returned the document to Gavril. “However, it also puts the duchy in canton status for that time. You would be giving up your seat for those five years to a regent named by him.” Nicul nodded toward Baron Wulfenbach.
Gavril nodded. He appeared to be sitting in deep thought. He finally turned, searching those behind him, holding his hand out to the old woman, “Dădaca? I got into this by not remembering, and not listening. Am I remembering correctly, now?”
The old nursemaid frowned at him, “Think in the tale of the Prince of Bátoriová, and his battle with his in-laws.” Then she came to stand behind his chair, placing her hands on his shoulders. “My boy, there are many wrongs to right, but the Mare Spătar has not removed you from your seat. There is still time.”
Gav’s eyes flickered to Dalibor, and he nodded before turning in his seat to take the old woman’s hands. “I remember the tales you told me. This is the stick for forgetting my primary duty, isn’t it?”
“And the carrot for the people, yes.” Dafi noticed the old woman was focused on Gavril, and had not spared a look for anyone else for this lecture. “Five years is not a long time when the horizon is clearing. I have served your house ten times that long, and you will serve your people properly in return, yes?”
“Yes, Dădaca - I do remember my duty, finally.” Gavril smiled. ”I hope you will help me remember the tales to relate them to my heir.”
Dafi could not help but interject, “You have tales of the Mare Spătar in the city?”
“Well, not so much in just the city.” The old woman nodded to Dalibor. “The house tried to suppress the tale of your return home, and though your name was forbidden, they had none that would take the place of commander and right hand of the lord. Not that the one left in the seat was of a mind to divide any of the power over the lands. So, when the tales of the lone wanderer who was aiding the people reached the manor, we knew who it was, and could not speak the name by orders from above... but the title was not forbidden. My ever-so-many-greats Aunt Stela brought back news to our village from below stairs.”
“Sche got home hokay, den?” Dal nodded, “Goot dot sche lived, bot mit her spreading der tales, hrm...”
The nursemaid chuckled, “Those tales gave the village hope, and helped us brave the strain of service to the House, to keep the tales in the ears of those who needed to hear them. The House knew the tales were spreading, but not how. They hired tutors for their childer, to teach them as the House would have them see the world.” Then she patted the duke on the shoulder, “Sometimes, those of us in service could add another viewpoint for them to consider.”
“Sometimes the view included a way to see ourselves as something other than a copy of a sire,” Gav said, placing his hand on the old woman’s. “Though I am afraid the stories that ended in a happy-ever-after consisting of wedding the princess did not resonate with me.”
“Pfft, sweetling - I knew you would only have children through extreme scientific effort since your first formal presentation.” She giggled lightly, and kissed the top of his head.
Gavril’s expression was one of deep surprise. “If you knew that long, why did you keep introducing me to the girls?”
“I had to protect you from your father, my boy. If I was handling the introductions like a nosy village baba, it meant he didn’t see the need to interfere.” She smiled at Nicul, “and he also didn’t notice how often you and your friends took off to the hunting lodges. However, that is the past, and now you need to look to the future. With a plan in hand for an heir, you know what to do next.”
“I do?” Gavril seemed confused for a moment, before he brightened and repeated with more conviction, “Yes, I do.” He stood, and his companions got to their feet as well. The duke stepped before the baron, signing the request for the formal audit. When he straightened, his carriage was the upright posture of a noble, but rather than straining to stand straight under the regard of others, he seemed to be lifted by purpose. “I do hereby request an audit of my holdings, and will cooperate with the regent assigned to the duchy. I would also wish to formally state that my heir will be chosen from the children of my cousins, Colonel Hynter and Locotenant... “ here he paused to grin at Dal, “Dalibaur. Training of the heir will be discussed when the children arrive, and will depend on the available schools and the wishes of their parents.”
Baron Wulfenbach raised an eyebrow, and addressed Dafi and Dal. “Do you agree to this initial request?”
Dafi looked to Dal, who shrugged with a grin, “As long as ve kin be involved in de trainink und schoolink, Hy kin live mit it.”
She nodded, “With respect to being flexible for an unknown future, this is a suitable arrangement.”
“By this agreement, I would be expected to not sire children myself, and I believe it would be best for all concerned that I did not enter a contract for issue,” Duke Gavril sounded more relieved than aggrieved by this development.
The baron chuckled. “Aha, so this suits you as well, then.” He considered Gavril darkly over steepled fingers as he rested his elbows on the desk, “Considering you will have five years of regency tutelage to complete, I hope you realize this is a long-term plan.”
“Your Excellency, before today my plans could be numbered in the hours, perhaps days if I were lucky. Now, they include years and even decades! I can now plan to survive long enough to give my heir time to have a family of their own, a stable duchy to administer, and peaceable relations with the neighbors.” Gavril’s grin showed a confidence and joy he had not exhibited at the beginning of the meeting.
“Hm. After you complete the recommended changes to straighten out the major problems your ‘advisers’ caused, and if you agree to take on a... small list of tasks for Europa,” the baron’s expression was solemn, save for that twitch of his mouth that Dafi hoped was a suppressed smile rather than a nervous tic, “then there should be no problem solemnizing your relationship with your companion.”
Gavril spun about, going to his knee before his beloved, “Nicul Anton Doru Bogdan, Pfaltzboier Dolj - it would be my honor, should you consider me worthy, to offer myself to you as husband... would a five-year betrothal be too long?”
The young man sat heavily in his chair, his mouth working as if attempting to form words to respond, before sliding out of the chair to kneel with Gavril, holding him tightly.
“I hope that is an acceptance,” Dafi muttered.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Flight or Fight, Chapter 24
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.
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.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Flight or Fight, Chapter 23
Dafi awoke in terror.
It was the early hours of the morning the day before the meeting when she clawed her way out of sleep. The nightmares had changed, but variety had not improved her sleeping patterns. Tonight’s horror featured her being dragged into a handfasting by the corpses of her parents, with the ceremony binding her to a crumbling marble statue. It was not as baffling as having screaming fits over bright white fluffy clouds, for there were no doubts in her mind why the thought of being bound to an immovable object in disrepair was a terrifying prospect to her. Calming her breathing and heartbeat, she listened for footsteps. Either she had been able to wake without screaming, or the soundproofing of the suite was excellent, as no one came to investigate.
In the hospital, there had been Vadim or Ksionski there at the door, knocking to see if she needed the doctor. In the doamnă’s quarters, she was given privacy, which was a blessing, most of the time. She was finally giving free reign to her grief in the hours she was supposed to be sleeping. During that time, she mourned the loss of her father, she remembered what she could of her mother, but she also missed the presence of the sergeant.
Curling up in the berth, she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, as she reviewed the reasons why she feared the meeting. True, Hasdeu had promised she would not be pressured into signing the contract, but there was always the possibility she would be needed in that aspect by the Baron. If not here and now, there could be a time when it could happen. She tried to not think of it as a threat hanging over her head, but truth be told, being traded to someone to gain peace was not a palatable duty, now more than ever.
Glancing at the clock at her bedside, Dafi noted it was a scant hour before they would be making the long trek to the fencing salle. It was difficult to believe that any space on the airship city was in disuse, but here and there, pockets of difficult-to-get-to or someone-else’s-problem areas could provide a modicum of privacy. She got up to dress without ringing for the maid, knowing the girl had likely gone to bed at least an hour after the “ladies” had retired.
Before retiring the evening before, Doamnă Amelia had suggested that the riding corset would be enough support under the fencing uniform, when at home, Dafi would have done without altogether. Then she recalled that Fraulein Inger had provided another “formal” corset, admitting that the extra boning had been added to protect against blades rather than to control her figure. The fact that the seamstress knew how to make ladies’ formal armor pieces told Dafi more than anything else about the social situation here. The Baron controlled the territory, but he could not completely control someone taking advantage of a situation. She was taught to minimize danger, and guard against attack, so the added armor of the corset was donned before the jacket of the fencing uniform.
There was a knock at the door just as Dafi finished lacing her boots. Taking her saber from its scabbard, she opened the door cautiously. Liesel was in the hallway, and nodded as if her caution was nothing to comment about. “I have tea ready, if you want a cup before we go.” Dafi nodded and sheathed the blade before entering the passageway.
In the sitting room, Doamnă Amelia greeted her with a quiet smile. “We have a few moments before we should go. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Dafi took the cup, and sat with her saber across her knees.
“Not sleeping well?” Amelia’s question was casual - worried, but not in a smothering way. It was asked much in the manner of conversations at the officer’s table at the fortress.
Dafi shook her head, and sipped her tea, “No, and not likely to get better until a long time after Adreev is secure again.”
The older woman nodded in understanding, “Probably a good idea to have a solid workout, and then see if you can rest after breakfast.”
As they finished their cups, Amelia’s maid arrived to clean up. “Weather report called for fine flying conditions this morning, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Flori. We should be back in two hours at the latest.” Taking up their gear bags, Amelia explained, “Fine weather means the arboretum and the cloud decks will be open, getting any other early-risers out of our way.”
“Not that many of the Movila delegation are likely to be out.” Liesel explained in the lift, “From what the downstairs grapevine says, early for them is noon.”
Dafi frowned slightly, “Doamnă has the nobility bringing her gossip at the tea and card tables, you have a link to the servants’ whispers, do either of you have the soldier’s scuttlebut?”
“That’s where we hope you come in, Commandor,” Amelia said with a smile. “Hasdeu, as you saw yesterday, is cautious around me these days. However, if he is on his toes, he might bring a link for us to the salle.” The lift locked into place at their floor,
“The captain he mentioned?” Dafi asked. “We shall see. Not everyone agrees with female officers.”
Their destination, midships just under the squeak deck, was where no-one who wanted to be seen practiced. The salle would be described as “adequate” in size and appointments by the average fencer. Sparsely utilitarian in design, Dafi noticed it was kept clean by somebody, yet it was very lightly worn, if at all. “Why is this not used?”
Liesel dropped her equipment bag on a bench, and retrieved her foil, “Mostly because it’s so out of the way. Additionally, there are also several other areas to practice, some limited to the soldiers, and one specifically for the students, but all the rest are open to visitors. Up here, we are very far from the grand promenades that run down the sides of the ship, so it’s not a place where one can casually show off their skills.” She shrugged. “I’ve heard this is sometimes used by tutors for the students that need help beyond what the fencing clanks can provide. Beyond that, I’m not sure who else uses it.”
“We are permitted to be here, though?” Dafi was worried not so much about getting caught where they should not be, but just being caught out in public.
“Yes, you are,” the answer came from the door. Hasdeu was followed by a Jäeger who carried captain’s rank tabs on his collar. “Doamnă Coșlar-Aed, Dama Coșlar-Aed, Dama Hynter, may I present Captain Fejes?”
Doamnă Coșlar-Aed stood at parade rest with her foil balanced before her. “You may. What news have you, Captain?”
The captain grinned, and moved as if to give them a court bow, but then straightened up to salute. “Ladiez.” Switching to a relaxed stance that could have been distantly related to parade rest, he chuckled, “Hy ken’t tell hyu alla de security meazurez in plaze, bot Hy kin tell hyu zum ov it. De room ve vill be usink vill nut be de cloud deck, as de Movilraz hed reqvested, but de interior conference hall. Dis means it vill be a less public area, vich iz vat you Representatiff reqvested.” The captain gave a short nod to Hasdeu. He then continued, in a gentler tone, “Dere are also no vindows in dat hall, as vun ov mein sergeanten soggezted. Vun less ting vor us to vatch.”
Dafi frowned slightly, ruthlessly stomping the thrill that she felt at the mention of a sergeant. Noting that Amelia and Liesel were armed with foils she asked, “Are there other arms available for practice?” She gestured with her saber, intended for cavalry use more than the piste, but it was still her preferred blade.
“Ho! Hyu are practicink?” This time the captain did execute a florid ballroom bow, and came up with a long dagger in his hand, “May Hy hef dis dance?”
Dafi noted that Hasdeu was relaxed, even settling in to watch the show, so she saluted the captain. “I would be delighted, sir.” She stepped into the ready stance the eastern schools used.
The captain laughed and leapt at her, but his arc was higher than a traditional lunge. Dafi dropped to the left, opposite of the captain’s weapon-hand, and blocked his attack. Her use of the leg-sweep was cheating by competition rules, but apparently not unexpected, as he jumped it nicely, twisting to grab her ankle. She used her other leg to pin his arm as she kicked out of the grip then pushed off his back to regain her feet. Fejes pursued her, but rather than be backed into the corner, she charged him, planting her shoulder in his solar plexus, and managing to keep out of the sweep of his blade by dropping and rolling again coming up in the guard stance she learned from the Torinesi swordmaster at the academy.
The odd sound of the captain giggling made Dafi pause to see if he was alright, and he called a halt, “No vonder vot leetle brains he got hef torned to porrich! Hyu izt a schneaky gorl, Hy like dot.” Fejes sheathed his blade, moving to one of the benches against the wall. “He did say hyu took out four guyz in da schtreet fight, Hy chouln’t be zurprized.”
Dafi whispered, “I needed help with the last one.” She kept her grip on her saber, but was shaky on her feet as she went to sit beside him. “Is... is he alright?”
“He’z nut sleepin’ propah, bot at least he ain’t tryink to drink de airchip fuel.” The Jäger shrugged with a small smile. “Hyu vorriet ‘bout him?”
“Yes, I am. He was my responsibility,” she stopped and shook her head, “but I worry too much, he is a strong warrior, he took care of himself for years before we met, he will be fine without...”
“He mizzez hyu.”
Dafi stilled, listening to the ring of the Coșlar-Aed foils as they practiced more conventionally on the piste. Hasdeu was across the salle from them, watching the ladies fence, but Dafi kept her voice low. “I miss him as well, but I cannot ask him to make himself a target.”
“Nah, Hy know. Bot, hyu know, vunce ve get dis Movila keed schtraightent oot,” the captain shrugged, expressively, “hyu could ask vor, say, a platoon ov guyz or zo, to help mit der clean-op und zome huntink, ja? Hyur poppa, he vas a goot guy, solid fighter, ve vant to help. Iz vy der rest ov us volunteeredt, ven Dal asked to be hyur guard et der meetink.”
“He volunteered...” Dafi frowned, sighing. “and I am not strong enough to say no.”
“Hy tink hyu ist nut eskink der right qvestion, ne?” Fejes chortled.
“If I were permitted to ask that question for myself, it would have been asked before we left Tânărăjugul.” Dafi rubbed her eyes. “I would very much like to have your platoon at the fortress, but that would be too tempting.”
“Ho, chust az vell,” the captain chuckled, “Hy gotz to schneak my schveetie haway from her mama to der chapel before ve go mit hyu. Bot hyu dun need to miss hyu opportunity vhen hyu getz to chooz, ja?”
“I will keep my eyes open,” Dafi stared off into nothingness, contemplating her future, “but I know what I will be required to do, eventually.” Her tone did not hide her sorrow.
“Pfft, hyu izt two ov a kindt. Op!” Fejes lunged from his seat and hauled her up with him, “Hyu mopink too moch, ve needt to get hyu a vorkout!” He then put Dafi through as thorough a sparring session as she had ever had, in school or in active duty.
He was right about one thing, it did clear her head of cobwebs, and made her tired enough to sleep dreamlessly when the ladies returned to their quarters.
Dalibor was worried enough to take himself off to the gymnasium before the nervous energy he was expressing was reflected in his squad. Yet another day without an assignment, and they were already keyed up. Tomorrow was to be the meeting, and most of the Jägers in his platoon were in the process of shining up whatever they considered their mess dress uniforms. Some had not wanted to bother, until the rumor about there being at least one warrior-woman there to impress.
He had not bothered to point out that to them that the most dangerous woman there would likely be the fiancée-elect, but it had also not let it stop him from making sure his formal uniform was in proper order last night, and that he still had mourning-bands for it.
Meeting Fejes coming into the barracks complex as he was leaving, he raised an eyebrow when the captain reversed course to accompany him. Dal was silent, striding along the corridor, thankful there was none of the usual banter. However, Fejes strolled along with him, grinning in the manner of the cat who caught the canary. A Jägermonster with a satisfied smirk was not the most frightening of expressions, but it was among the most disturbing. The effect was such that everyone gave them a wide berth as they headed for the gymnasium.
The smirk, combined with Dalibor’s thundercloud expression served to clear the smaller of the wrestling arenas of spectators. Generally speaking, when two Jägermonsters were at odds, getting out of the line of fire was the wisest course. He had no idea why the captain was so pleased with the world, but is definitely served to make Dal even more irritated. The first thing Fejes said in the ring made things worse.
“Hy talked to hyu gorlfrien dis morning. Sche izt vorse den hyu mit der moping aboot.”
Dalibor had enough, and launched himself at Fejes, growling. However, the captain was a better wrestler, and quickly had Dal pinned. “Hyu gonna behave or am Hy gonna have to mop de floor mit hyu?” After a few moments of silence, he continued, “She izt hokay, bot she dun like de idea ov marryink der Movilas keed. Hy t’ink she vants hyu.”
Dal kicked and rolled, “Hy know! Hy also know vy she ken’t say zo!” His anger flared again, and without being able to change the societal pressures in play, he vented his rage into the wrestling match. When it came to wrestling Fejes, the rage only added strength, not skill.
The captain pinned him again, “Ho, zo dot’s how de vind blows. Hyu tell her hyu vant her?”
“No! She feelz bad enough az it iz!” Dalibor struggled to free himself, but Fejes had a firm grip. “Hy dun need to mek it vorse!” Then the fight drained out of him. “Hy know vat izt holdink her beck, und onless ve kin change de vorld overnight, hit vill still be de same tomorrow.”
“Perhaps the world has been changing enough to give you a starting point.” Hasdeu said from the door as he closed it behind him. “She still is not required to sign by the Baron’s plans for the meeting. That was never part of the scenario.”
“If nut de Movilras keed, den somevun else, down de line.” Dalibor muttered into the mat. “Izt de vay of de feudal zyztem.”
“Tch, nut like de oldt dayz hannymore, hyu know?” Fejes let him up, and stepped out of the ring. “Hyu know dot de Baron dun kip de gorlz from de jobz dey kin do. Und he dun care vot de Fifty t’ink of vat he do.”
“Well, there is some consideration given to public opinion, but for the most part, that’s accurate.” Hasdeu sat on the edge of the ring.
“Ja... bot hyu schtay off dis scent!” Dal pointed at the captain. “Hyu go arount bein a village baba, hyu vatch out. Hy kin still talk to hyu gorl’z mama!”
“Oh, realllly?” Hasdeu chuckled. “I did not know you were courting in earnest, Captain. Should we start filing the paperwork?”
“Hyu schtay oot ov dis, keed. Hy gotz der goot plen. Hyu dun needtz to mess it op.” Fejes growled. Dalibor chuckled, then turned to Hasdeu. “Hyu come in goot time, Nistor. Ve gotz zum newz on de Moviloraş crew.” he nodded, dropping to sit beside him. “Hyu know dot der boy izt tryink to pay hiz porsonal debtz?”
“Heard something about that, and the rumor is he has fewer trunks than anyone in his retinue. The only clothes he has are traditional pieces owned by the house, not him.” Hasdeu sat thinking a few moments, “You have contact with someone in his group?”
“He gotz zum oldt freindz der crowz hain’t skeered off dot vant to get dey fishink buddy beck alive and in vun piece.” Dalibor mused. “Hy tink dey kin help mit der clean-up. Dese boyz iz villing to see vat izt goink on outside der valls.”
“You know, the new crop of nobles are from the first set of students that were here.” Hasdeu looked thoughtful. “Good to know the school provided some of them with new ideas.”
“New ideaz dot de Baron soggeztet, ja?” Fejes chuckled. “Like zeeink ‘dis ist der vay ve allus did it’ ain’t allus a goot reazon vor doink zomezink?”
“Maybe so, maybe no - but they are definitely thinking about consequences, and not just to themselves, anymore.” Hasdeu turned his gaze inward as he studied the problem. “I have reported to the higher-ups about Dama’s actions above and beyond the letter of the rule. They know she is willing to follow orders, but that there are some that will take a lot of reasoning for her to accept.”
Dal lay back on the wrestling mat, muttering, “Sche desorvez bettah.”
“Zo! Ve getz schtarted un de papervork to be azzined to Adreev now, or after ze veddink?” Fejes chuckled.
“Ho! Din’ know hyu had azked hyu gorl already, Keptin! Ven hyu gettink married?” Dal asked, then quickly rolling out of Fejes’s reach.
It was the early hours of the morning the day before the meeting when she clawed her way out of sleep. The nightmares had changed, but variety had not improved her sleeping patterns. Tonight’s horror featured her being dragged into a handfasting by the corpses of her parents, with the ceremony binding her to a crumbling marble statue. It was not as baffling as having screaming fits over bright white fluffy clouds, for there were no doubts in her mind why the thought of being bound to an immovable object in disrepair was a terrifying prospect to her. Calming her breathing and heartbeat, she listened for footsteps. Either she had been able to wake without screaming, or the soundproofing of the suite was excellent, as no one came to investigate.
In the hospital, there had been Vadim or Ksionski there at the door, knocking to see if she needed the doctor. In the doamnă’s quarters, she was given privacy, which was a blessing, most of the time. She was finally giving free reign to her grief in the hours she was supposed to be sleeping. During that time, she mourned the loss of her father, she remembered what she could of her mother, but she also missed the presence of the sergeant.
Curling up in the berth, she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, as she reviewed the reasons why she feared the meeting. True, Hasdeu had promised she would not be pressured into signing the contract, but there was always the possibility she would be needed in that aspect by the Baron. If not here and now, there could be a time when it could happen. She tried to not think of it as a threat hanging over her head, but truth be told, being traded to someone to gain peace was not a palatable duty, now more than ever.
Glancing at the clock at her bedside, Dafi noted it was a scant hour before they would be making the long trek to the fencing salle. It was difficult to believe that any space on the airship city was in disuse, but here and there, pockets of difficult-to-get-to or someone-else’s-problem areas could provide a modicum of privacy. She got up to dress without ringing for the maid, knowing the girl had likely gone to bed at least an hour after the “ladies” had retired.
Before retiring the evening before, Doamnă Amelia had suggested that the riding corset would be enough support under the fencing uniform, when at home, Dafi would have done without altogether. Then she recalled that Fraulein Inger had provided another “formal” corset, admitting that the extra boning had been added to protect against blades rather than to control her figure. The fact that the seamstress knew how to make ladies’ formal armor pieces told Dafi more than anything else about the social situation here. The Baron controlled the territory, but he could not completely control someone taking advantage of a situation. She was taught to minimize danger, and guard against attack, so the added armor of the corset was donned before the jacket of the fencing uniform.
There was a knock at the door just as Dafi finished lacing her boots. Taking her saber from its scabbard, she opened the door cautiously. Liesel was in the hallway, and nodded as if her caution was nothing to comment about. “I have tea ready, if you want a cup before we go.” Dafi nodded and sheathed the blade before entering the passageway.
In the sitting room, Doamnă Amelia greeted her with a quiet smile. “We have a few moments before we should go. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Dafi took the cup, and sat with her saber across her knees.
“Not sleeping well?” Amelia’s question was casual - worried, but not in a smothering way. It was asked much in the manner of conversations at the officer’s table at the fortress.
Dafi shook her head, and sipped her tea, “No, and not likely to get better until a long time after Adreev is secure again.”
The older woman nodded in understanding, “Probably a good idea to have a solid workout, and then see if you can rest after breakfast.”
As they finished their cups, Amelia’s maid arrived to clean up. “Weather report called for fine flying conditions this morning, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Flori. We should be back in two hours at the latest.” Taking up their gear bags, Amelia explained, “Fine weather means the arboretum and the cloud decks will be open, getting any other early-risers out of our way.”
“Not that many of the Movila delegation are likely to be out.” Liesel explained in the lift, “From what the downstairs grapevine says, early for them is noon.”
Dafi frowned slightly, “Doamnă has the nobility bringing her gossip at the tea and card tables, you have a link to the servants’ whispers, do either of you have the soldier’s scuttlebut?”
“That’s where we hope you come in, Commandor,” Amelia said with a smile. “Hasdeu, as you saw yesterday, is cautious around me these days. However, if he is on his toes, he might bring a link for us to the salle.” The lift locked into place at their floor,
“The captain he mentioned?” Dafi asked. “We shall see. Not everyone agrees with female officers.”
Their destination, midships just under the squeak deck, was where no-one who wanted to be seen practiced. The salle would be described as “adequate” in size and appointments by the average fencer. Sparsely utilitarian in design, Dafi noticed it was kept clean by somebody, yet it was very lightly worn, if at all. “Why is this not used?”
Liesel dropped her equipment bag on a bench, and retrieved her foil, “Mostly because it’s so out of the way. Additionally, there are also several other areas to practice, some limited to the soldiers, and one specifically for the students, but all the rest are open to visitors. Up here, we are very far from the grand promenades that run down the sides of the ship, so it’s not a place where one can casually show off their skills.” She shrugged. “I’ve heard this is sometimes used by tutors for the students that need help beyond what the fencing clanks can provide. Beyond that, I’m not sure who else uses it.”
“We are permitted to be here, though?” Dafi was worried not so much about getting caught where they should not be, but just being caught out in public.
“Yes, you are,” the answer came from the door. Hasdeu was followed by a Jäeger who carried captain’s rank tabs on his collar. “Doamnă Coșlar-Aed, Dama Coșlar-Aed, Dama Hynter, may I present Captain Fejes?”
Doamnă Coșlar-Aed stood at parade rest with her foil balanced before her. “You may. What news have you, Captain?”
The captain grinned, and moved as if to give them a court bow, but then straightened up to salute. “Ladiez.” Switching to a relaxed stance that could have been distantly related to parade rest, he chuckled, “Hy ken’t tell hyu alla de security meazurez in plaze, bot Hy kin tell hyu zum ov it. De room ve vill be usink vill nut be de cloud deck, as de Movilraz hed reqvested, but de interior conference hall. Dis means it vill be a less public area, vich iz vat you Representatiff reqvested.” The captain gave a short nod to Hasdeu. He then continued, in a gentler tone, “Dere are also no vindows in dat hall, as vun ov mein sergeanten soggezted. Vun less ting vor us to vatch.”
Dafi frowned slightly, ruthlessly stomping the thrill that she felt at the mention of a sergeant. Noting that Amelia and Liesel were armed with foils she asked, “Are there other arms available for practice?” She gestured with her saber, intended for cavalry use more than the piste, but it was still her preferred blade.
“Ho! Hyu are practicink?” This time the captain did execute a florid ballroom bow, and came up with a long dagger in his hand, “May Hy hef dis dance?”
Dafi noted that Hasdeu was relaxed, even settling in to watch the show, so she saluted the captain. “I would be delighted, sir.” She stepped into the ready stance the eastern schools used.
The captain laughed and leapt at her, but his arc was higher than a traditional lunge. Dafi dropped to the left, opposite of the captain’s weapon-hand, and blocked his attack. Her use of the leg-sweep was cheating by competition rules, but apparently not unexpected, as he jumped it nicely, twisting to grab her ankle. She used her other leg to pin his arm as she kicked out of the grip then pushed off his back to regain her feet. Fejes pursued her, but rather than be backed into the corner, she charged him, planting her shoulder in his solar plexus, and managing to keep out of the sweep of his blade by dropping and rolling again coming up in the guard stance she learned from the Torinesi swordmaster at the academy.
The odd sound of the captain giggling made Dafi pause to see if he was alright, and he called a halt, “No vonder vot leetle brains he got hef torned to porrich! Hyu izt a schneaky gorl, Hy like dot.” Fejes sheathed his blade, moving to one of the benches against the wall. “He did say hyu took out four guyz in da schtreet fight, Hy chouln’t be zurprized.”
Dafi whispered, “I needed help with the last one.” She kept her grip on her saber, but was shaky on her feet as she went to sit beside him. “Is... is he alright?”
“He’z nut sleepin’ propah, bot at least he ain’t tryink to drink de airchip fuel.” The Jäger shrugged with a small smile. “Hyu vorriet ‘bout him?”
“Yes, I am. He was my responsibility,” she stopped and shook her head, “but I worry too much, he is a strong warrior, he took care of himself for years before we met, he will be fine without...”
“He mizzez hyu.”
Dafi stilled, listening to the ring of the Coșlar-Aed foils as they practiced more conventionally on the piste. Hasdeu was across the salle from them, watching the ladies fence, but Dafi kept her voice low. “I miss him as well, but I cannot ask him to make himself a target.”
“Nah, Hy know. Bot, hyu know, vunce ve get dis Movila keed schtraightent oot,” the captain shrugged, expressively, “hyu could ask vor, say, a platoon ov guyz or zo, to help mit der clean-op und zome huntink, ja? Hyur poppa, he vas a goot guy, solid fighter, ve vant to help. Iz vy der rest ov us volunteeredt, ven Dal asked to be hyur guard et der meetink.”
“He volunteered...” Dafi frowned, sighing. “and I am not strong enough to say no.”
“Hy tink hyu ist nut eskink der right qvestion, ne?” Fejes chortled.
“If I were permitted to ask that question for myself, it would have been asked before we left Tânărăjugul.” Dafi rubbed her eyes. “I would very much like to have your platoon at the fortress, but that would be too tempting.”
“Ho, chust az vell,” the captain chuckled, “Hy gotz to schneak my schveetie haway from her mama to der chapel before ve go mit hyu. Bot hyu dun need to miss hyu opportunity vhen hyu getz to chooz, ja?”
“I will keep my eyes open,” Dafi stared off into nothingness, contemplating her future, “but I know what I will be required to do, eventually.” Her tone did not hide her sorrow.
“Pfft, hyu izt two ov a kindt. Op!” Fejes lunged from his seat and hauled her up with him, “Hyu mopink too moch, ve needt to get hyu a vorkout!” He then put Dafi through as thorough a sparring session as she had ever had, in school or in active duty.
He was right about one thing, it did clear her head of cobwebs, and made her tired enough to sleep dreamlessly when the ladies returned to their quarters.
~=*=~
Dalibor was worried enough to take himself off to the gymnasium before the nervous energy he was expressing was reflected in his squad. Yet another day without an assignment, and they were already keyed up. Tomorrow was to be the meeting, and most of the Jägers in his platoon were in the process of shining up whatever they considered their mess dress uniforms. Some had not wanted to bother, until the rumor about there being at least one warrior-woman there to impress.
He had not bothered to point out that to them that the most dangerous woman there would likely be the fiancée-elect, but it had also not let it stop him from making sure his formal uniform was in proper order last night, and that he still had mourning-bands for it.
Meeting Fejes coming into the barracks complex as he was leaving, he raised an eyebrow when the captain reversed course to accompany him. Dal was silent, striding along the corridor, thankful there was none of the usual banter. However, Fejes strolled along with him, grinning in the manner of the cat who caught the canary. A Jägermonster with a satisfied smirk was not the most frightening of expressions, but it was among the most disturbing. The effect was such that everyone gave them a wide berth as they headed for the gymnasium.
The smirk, combined with Dalibor’s thundercloud expression served to clear the smaller of the wrestling arenas of spectators. Generally speaking, when two Jägermonsters were at odds, getting out of the line of fire was the wisest course. He had no idea why the captain was so pleased with the world, but is definitely served to make Dal even more irritated. The first thing Fejes said in the ring made things worse.
“Hy talked to hyu gorlfrien dis morning. Sche izt vorse den hyu mit der moping aboot.”
Dalibor had enough, and launched himself at Fejes, growling. However, the captain was a better wrestler, and quickly had Dal pinned. “Hyu gonna behave or am Hy gonna have to mop de floor mit hyu?” After a few moments of silence, he continued, “She izt hokay, bot she dun like de idea ov marryink der Movilas keed. Hy t’ink she vants hyu.”
Dal kicked and rolled, “Hy know! Hy also know vy she ken’t say zo!” His anger flared again, and without being able to change the societal pressures in play, he vented his rage into the wrestling match. When it came to wrestling Fejes, the rage only added strength, not skill.
The captain pinned him again, “Ho, zo dot’s how de vind blows. Hyu tell her hyu vant her?”
“No! She feelz bad enough az it iz!” Dalibor struggled to free himself, but Fejes had a firm grip. “Hy dun need to mek it vorse!” Then the fight drained out of him. “Hy know vat izt holdink her beck, und onless ve kin change de vorld overnight, hit vill still be de same tomorrow.”
“Perhaps the world has been changing enough to give you a starting point.” Hasdeu said from the door as he closed it behind him. “She still is not required to sign by the Baron’s plans for the meeting. That was never part of the scenario.”
“If nut de Movilras keed, den somevun else, down de line.” Dalibor muttered into the mat. “Izt de vay of de feudal zyztem.”
“Tch, nut like de oldt dayz hannymore, hyu know?” Fejes let him up, and stepped out of the ring. “Hyu know dot de Baron dun kip de gorlz from de jobz dey kin do. Und he dun care vot de Fifty t’ink of vat he do.”
“Well, there is some consideration given to public opinion, but for the most part, that’s accurate.” Hasdeu sat on the edge of the ring.
“Ja... bot hyu schtay off dis scent!” Dal pointed at the captain. “Hyu go arount bein a village baba, hyu vatch out. Hy kin still talk to hyu gorl’z mama!”
“Oh, realllly?” Hasdeu chuckled. “I did not know you were courting in earnest, Captain. Should we start filing the paperwork?”
“Hyu schtay oot ov dis, keed. Hy gotz der goot plen. Hyu dun needtz to mess it op.” Fejes growled. Dalibor chuckled, then turned to Hasdeu. “Hyu come in goot time, Nistor. Ve gotz zum newz on de Moviloraş crew.” he nodded, dropping to sit beside him. “Hyu know dot der boy izt tryink to pay hiz porsonal debtz?”
“Heard something about that, and the rumor is he has fewer trunks than anyone in his retinue. The only clothes he has are traditional pieces owned by the house, not him.” Hasdeu sat thinking a few moments, “You have contact with someone in his group?”
“He gotz zum oldt freindz der crowz hain’t skeered off dot vant to get dey fishink buddy beck alive and in vun piece.” Dalibor mused. “Hy tink dey kin help mit der clean-up. Dese boyz iz villing to see vat izt goink on outside der valls.”
“You know, the new crop of nobles are from the first set of students that were here.” Hasdeu looked thoughtful. “Good to know the school provided some of them with new ideas.”
“New ideaz dot de Baron soggeztet, ja?” Fejes chuckled. “Like zeeink ‘dis ist der vay ve allus did it’ ain’t allus a goot reazon vor doink zomezink?”
“Maybe so, maybe no - but they are definitely thinking about consequences, and not just to themselves, anymore.” Hasdeu turned his gaze inward as he studied the problem. “I have reported to the higher-ups about Dama’s actions above and beyond the letter of the rule. They know she is willing to follow orders, but that there are some that will take a lot of reasoning for her to accept.”
Dal lay back on the wrestling mat, muttering, “Sche desorvez bettah.”
“Zo! Ve getz schtarted un de papervork to be azzined to Adreev now, or after ze veddink?” Fejes chuckled.
“Ho! Din’ know hyu had azked hyu gorl already, Keptin! Ven hyu gettink married?” Dal asked, then quickly rolling out of Fejes’s reach.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Flight or Fight, Chapter 22
Dafi began to wonder if the Fifty, and therefore the lesser nobility and gentry that aped their manners, did anything without a major production. Even with her current status as a recent alienist patient, still in the first stages of mourning, there were what seemed to Dafi to be an unseemly number of solicitous inquiries in the short trip from the hospital to her new bivouac... quarters, she reminded herself. The porters had taken her trunk ahead, and to preserve the illusion of nobility manners, Hasdeu carried the dispatch case with her research notes for her.
Were it not for the formidable shield that Doamnă Coșlar-Aed and her granddaughter provided, Dafi felt there would be more curiosity-seekers and gossip-mongers stalking close in the halls that day, seeking to make her acquaintance. The iron-rod spine posture of the doamnă broadcast that she would brook no foolishness, and no breach of propriety Dafi settled into her habitual annual inspection stroll, upright carriage and noticing everything without looking. Her bustle was in the way of her habitual posture of folding her hands at the small of her back, but she did have a reticule to occupy them without looking fidgety.
At one point, she thought she caught a glimpse of the top of Dal’s head, but when she looked again, she saw she had mistaken another Jägermonster’s beret for Sergeant Dalibor’s cap. What she did not mistake was the number of observers wearing the colors of Movila, some in uniform with others in fine dress accompanying them. She did not care for their open and frank assessment of her. It made her feel as if she were a mare being led to the auction house.
Once safely in the confines of the doamnă’s sitting room with tea, Liesel closed the door behind the retreating maid, and wound the parlor music box. Dafi was curious about the mechanism, but the quester seemed to be slightly annoyed at the action. Why he would be so, Dafi could not guess, until the mask of Doamnă was set aside, and Amelia leaned forward to him, her eyes piercing. “So, Nistor - how much of the attack on Adreev am I cleared to know?”
Hasdeu gave a sour look, and shook his head, “Oh, no - we are not playing that game again. You tell me what you know first.”
Amelia chuckled and leaned back. “That would have worked ten years ago.”
“You are still the scariest grand dame on this ship, but that’s not enough to get me on the bad side of my superiors.” Hasdeu carefully set aside his tea, untasted. “Now, I need to know what you know.”
The doamnă sobered. “Just about everyone who knew him knows we lost Artus, but I also know Adreev is held by unknown forces and because of that, that the south roads are suspect. There’s also a bad batch of communication errors coming out of the south, but nothing anyone can nail down as coded transmissions. Cormac’s family is gathering earlier than usual for harvest, and the houses of Constantia and Dobricht have left off their usual summer raids on each other’s lands.” Amelia’s voice turned gruff. “I also know there’s a pack of wolves trying to get permanent control of Adreev, and I sincerely hope you are not sacrificing the girl who was seventh in her class of one hundred and sixty four students to a dolt who doesn’t even have the brains to not fold the winning hand on the river, just to hold the peace.”
Dafi raised her eyebrows at the assessment. She had not known the doamnă knew her family that well, or that Amelia knew of the gambling problems in Movila. However, she held her peace as the answer the quester gave would be most instructive.
“You’re not cleared for quite that much, but so noted.” Hasdeu rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Dama Hynter has agreed to attend the meeting. Nothing else has been asked of her. That will be enough.”
Amelia chuckled again, “That takes care of her suitor and his lot. What about her beau?”
“My what?” Dafi was startled out of silence. She had no official suitors before the Movila offer, and before the attack there had been no one that could be called a sweetheart. Her personal passions were still private, she hoped, as there would be no good to come of weighing Dalibor down with more regard. He had not responded in kind to her confession, best to let it stay buried between them.
“Tch, we need to work on that reaction,” Amelia said. “The rumors of your travelling companion are spreading fairly slowly, but they are still there.” She reached out to lift Dafi’s chin, turning it to the light from the window. “If we can make that a blush of indignation, that would be better.”
Dafi sat straighter, pulling her head back and up, “Excuse me?” Her eyes flashed in anger.
“Much better. Remember to be angry or offended, not embarrassed.” Amelia sipped her tea. “Embarrassment would not speak well of him, but taking offense that the gossip would think so little of your sense of duty or restraint, that is the right direction to take them, I think.”
Hasdeu sighed, “I was hoping to avoid that faction altogether, but you are right, Doamnă. I apologize for keeping that bit of intelligence from you, Dama.” He nodded to the ladies in turn. “Yes, there are rumors, but I believe the fact the two of you have not been seen together since arriving has helped defuse most of them.”
Dafi sat, stone-faced during the exchange. Rumors could not be fought directly, and only by laughing them off, or ignoring them as baseless, could she defend herself. The other half of the equation was to present herself in society as one beyond reproach in the matter.
She frowned to herself, realizing that until this mess was over, even corresponding with Dal would not be prudent. Dafi fidgeted, her fingers plucking at the napkin in her lap as she considered the possible options. When she realized they were waiting for a response from her, she shook her head. “You told him of the rumors when we arrived, yes?” At Hasdeu’s nod, she continued, “Therefore the rumors preceded us. How long were the rumors on board, do you know?”
“Three to four days before their arrival, at the most.” Amelia looked to the quester, “I first overheard a version at the whist tables, almost a full day before the rumor that she was arriving circulated and two days before the official notice that she was in the hospital. The details I heard made me think it had been through a few tellings, since it relied so much on innuendo.”
“I have a similar timeline,” Liesel spoke up, “as the tea servers were buzzing about the lady knight traveling with her monster squire two days before the hospital confirmed her arrival to the visiting committee.” She smiled, “Though it should be noted that the working class rumors think it’s a good partnership, rather than a romance.”
Dafi looked to Hasdeu, who confirmed, “That means that it probably originated with the constable’s report from Tânărăjugul. The short form of the helio report did not give many details, but that you and the sergeant were traveling together was one of them.”
She nodded, “It sounds to be all be home-grown speculation out of boredom.” The grain of truth behind the rumor did not need to be confirmed, even here. Still, Dafi took a few moments to gather herself before speaking again. “When is the meeting?”
“We will have everyone in place the day after tomorrow.” Hasdeu frowned at her, worried. “You still have not accepted the terms, as it is only the initial review. While it has been traditional to sign the contract at that meeting, that is only if there have been prior negotiations. In this case it would not required, or even recommended.” He seemed to be reassuring Doamnă Amelia as much as Dafi on that point.
“Not by reasonable people, no.” Amelia grumbled. “I would not call that group reasonable when it comes to this. Who is in charge of security for the meeting?”
“Actually, we have had a volunteer.” Hasdeu loosened up enough to chuckle. “Captain Fejes will have as many of his platoon in the reception room as he can fit and the Baron will permit.”
Dafi firmly suppressed the thrill she felt at hearing there was a volunteer, but when she did not know the name, she frowned, “This captain, he is one you trust?”
The quester grinned, “As long as we aren’t at the card table, I trust him with my life. You have allies the others will not be able to find until it is too late.”
Amelia clucked her tongue at him. “We can’t meet him here, there would be too many people watching.” She sipped her tea, thinking. “Even if we are in seclusion for Trandifira’s first mourning, we could be intercepted when we take our morning exercise.” She raised her eyebrow at Dafi. “What say you, Dama? Think you can get up at an unseemly hour to avoid the riff-raff?”
“Depends on what you call an unseemly hour.” Dafi smiled. “I have been on a rotating schedule, shifting from day to night watch for the past week.”
“Society calls night shift ‘town hours’, but we are usually finished and out of the salle just before the morning shift change.” Liesel said. “Our maid that we brought from home knows, and helps run interference. The staff that come with the suite likely know we are out, but are smart enough to not let on that they know.” Liesel shrugged, “Whether or not they know which gymnasium we use? I would not hazard a probability.”
Dalibor was attempting to wear himself out in the gymnasium again. Alone this time, he had taken to practicing pelota shots, playing at top speed when a gaggle of nobles entered on the far side of the gallery. He heard them long before they entered his alley, of course. None of the other courts were in use, and they were making a huge fuss. “You’re sure he’s here? I’m tired of looking... oh, heyla! Herr Jäger? Have you seen another of us here in the past hour?”
Dal caught the ball, and looked the three of them over. “Nut in here today.” His first impression of their stances was that they were fencers, but the wear on their racquets would mark them as regular players. The one that had a uniform that matched his gear bag was definitely a serious player. “Hy been here sinze second bell.” He casually tossed the ball up in his hand, catching sight of a badge for the house of Movila on one of the bags. “Who hyu lookink vor?”
“Would you know Pfaltzboier Dolj on sight?” The court drawl seemed habitual rather than insulting, and the stance the young man took facing Dal was wary, but not fearful. The serious player had the right accent, though.
He shrugged, and turned to return to his game. The surprising bit was when they did not leave, but the lead speaker stepped up, donning a cap, “Rules say don’t lose your hat, right?” He had a heavier racquet than they used in the Castle leagues, so Dalibor chuckled and served.
If this was a friend of Nicul’s that was as close to a passphrase they were going to get. A series of volleys later, the ball went through they boy’s racquet, and angled towards the group of spectators at the end of the alley. They had been joined by Nicul, who sensibly caught the slowed ball with a gloved hand. When the player made an inarticulate sound of outrage upon seeing the damage to his racquet, Nicul shushed him. Holding up the half-kilo ball, he said, “You pick up a game with a Jäger, remember the size of the equipment.” Nicul tossed the ball to Dal.
It was larger than regulation size, but in Dalibor’s hand it had not been quite as noticeable. Perhaps that was why the kid thought it would behave the same way when he stepped up with his racquet. The youngster chuckled ruefully when he acknowledged his error, “Yes, it was probably time to restring, anyway. Good thing I didn’t hit the frame.” He tucked the racquet under his arm and held out his hand to Dalibor, “Good game, sir! I am Pfaltzboier Prahova, Michal.”
Dal took his hand, “Pfft, dun call me sir, Hy’m chust Dal.” He looked over at Nicul, “Dese friends uf yourn?”
“When it counts, aye.” Nicul’s serious attitude infected the rest of the nobles. “Most overlook us in court as the spares sent as trading agents for our families, but before the three crows came to roost, we were Gav’s fishing buddies. Michal you’ve met, Samhael is from Bihor, and Dhabidh,” Nicul paused significantly, “is our south.”
“Vlasca.” Dhabidh’s coloring was dark, similar to Dafi’s. Dal took the young man’s hand with a frown as he continued. “There has been a bit of news from the old neighborhood I do not care for, and a few things I have heard that make me think there is a solution closer to hand than the fortress.”
Dal looked to Nicul, who nodded. “Hy’m chust a soldier.” He shrugged, casually tossing the ball at the back of the alley and catching it. “Vat vould Hy know?” Playing the dumb soldier, speaking his mind, he wondered why they would come to him.
“You know the old ways. The time when the word of a good man could bring scrutiny to the problem.” Nicul tossed a regulation ball from hand to hand, careful in his posture, still. “I think there are many pieces to the puzzle here, and the Baron is trying to get all the pieces on one table. If we are to get Gav back in one living piece, we need to be able to help without too much attention being paid to us.”
“Hrm. Ve dun cauze too moch notice here. But Hy tink hyu know de duke, ne? Vat's up mit him und dis zirkus?”
Michal nodded, “There’s a lot that we supposedly don’t know of what is going on outside the city walls, but that’s only the ones who ignore their people. For me, it is difficult to ignore the problems, since I’ve heard the burghers howling at Father’s audiences every time I go home about the mercenaries that harass the border towns.” He frowned at his racquet, and sat to unstring it. “This is all recent happenings, though. If there’s a way to cage the carrion-wings, there’s a lot that can be done to help right the boat.”
“Red fire, Gav didn’t even gamble that much before they showed up. He knows he’s pants at cards.” Samhael muttered, looking as if he was checking the tension on his racquet. “He also knew the reputation his house had, and was trying to avoid spending more than his father had allowed him as heir.” He made a rude noise, “He’s still trying, though it’s starting to show that he is selling off his personal wardrobe. But that’s like trying to bail the Dyne with a teacup.”
Dalibor frowned in thought, still bouncing the ball off the alley back. “So, nu - vat hyu zee in der crows’ flock?”
“They do not pay their bills,” Dhabidh murmured. “At first, it was just during travel, and Gav tried to jolly them into paying. Then it was the merchants in town. The ones that got burned have been grumbling loud enough to be heard this summer. Now, I am not so sure of the source,” he slid his eyes up and down the gallery. “but there have been mentions downstairs that if you are not military, you are not getting paid as you were promised.”
“Considering the entourage they haul about, that is not a small amount they’re talking about, either.” Michal said. “Bodyguards everywhere, most of them jumped-up street-toughs, but when you need a brawler, you go there first.” Michal glanced at Nicul, “The bully-boys have been pushing the boundaries of who they can rough up.”
“Also insulating Gav from contact with not just us, but his proper and traditional court advisers.” Samhael finished his inspection of his racquet, and stood beside Nicul, taking the ball from him. “Won’t let any of us in to see him, except when there’s no way to have a private conversation, quiet-like.”
“You tried again?” Nicul asked. At Samhael’s nod, he took the ball back. “Told you to not try. Gav’s got enough worry on his plate.”
“He should know about you getting roughed up.” Michal said.
Dhabidh nodded, “Know why you have not tried, but he should know.” When Dalibor lightly bounced the ball to him, with a quirked eyebrow, the southerner replied, “It is an open secret, their relationship, but last time, Gav tried to send him home, out of harm’s way. My bet is on the toughs being told to set it up so he is not here for the meeting.”
The Jäger grunted, as the ball was returned to him. “Ja, zounds like. Hyu needz to be inna group ‘til der meetink, Nicul-lad. Vot else ve got?” He turned to the alley wall. “Ve got a bride dot dun know alla ziz, but chould know, I think.”
General murmurs of agreement around the group, but Michal spoke up. “I sent my card, but the dragon isn’t letting anyone in to see her. Quite right, of course, but I did want to check on her, after the city watch report went public.”
Dal grunted, and pitched the ball again. “Hy might know a guy, zee? Bot ve needs to kip it quviet, ne?”
“Anything I can do to get Gav out of this, I will do.” Nicul said.
The Jäger chuckled, “Careful mit dot sort uf talk, lad. Hyu might find hyuself mit zum epic tasks.”
Were it not for the formidable shield that Doamnă Coșlar-Aed and her granddaughter provided, Dafi felt there would be more curiosity-seekers and gossip-mongers stalking close in the halls that day, seeking to make her acquaintance. The iron-rod spine posture of the doamnă broadcast that she would brook no foolishness, and no breach of propriety Dafi settled into her habitual annual inspection stroll, upright carriage and noticing everything without looking. Her bustle was in the way of her habitual posture of folding her hands at the small of her back, but she did have a reticule to occupy them without looking fidgety.
At one point, she thought she caught a glimpse of the top of Dal’s head, but when she looked again, she saw she had mistaken another Jägermonster’s beret for Sergeant Dalibor’s cap. What she did not mistake was the number of observers wearing the colors of Movila, some in uniform with others in fine dress accompanying them. She did not care for their open and frank assessment of her. It made her feel as if she were a mare being led to the auction house.
Once safely in the confines of the doamnă’s sitting room with tea, Liesel closed the door behind the retreating maid, and wound the parlor music box. Dafi was curious about the mechanism, but the quester seemed to be slightly annoyed at the action. Why he would be so, Dafi could not guess, until the mask of Doamnă was set aside, and Amelia leaned forward to him, her eyes piercing. “So, Nistor - how much of the attack on Adreev am I cleared to know?”
Hasdeu gave a sour look, and shook his head, “Oh, no - we are not playing that game again. You tell me what you know first.”
Amelia chuckled and leaned back. “That would have worked ten years ago.”
“You are still the scariest grand dame on this ship, but that’s not enough to get me on the bad side of my superiors.” Hasdeu carefully set aside his tea, untasted. “Now, I need to know what you know.”
The doamnă sobered. “Just about everyone who knew him knows we lost Artus, but I also know Adreev is held by unknown forces and because of that, that the south roads are suspect. There’s also a bad batch of communication errors coming out of the south, but nothing anyone can nail down as coded transmissions. Cormac’s family is gathering earlier than usual for harvest, and the houses of Constantia and Dobricht have left off their usual summer raids on each other’s lands.” Amelia’s voice turned gruff. “I also know there’s a pack of wolves trying to get permanent control of Adreev, and I sincerely hope you are not sacrificing the girl who was seventh in her class of one hundred and sixty four students to a dolt who doesn’t even have the brains to not fold the winning hand on the river, just to hold the peace.”
Dafi raised her eyebrows at the assessment. She had not known the doamnă knew her family that well, or that Amelia knew of the gambling problems in Movila. However, she held her peace as the answer the quester gave would be most instructive.
“You’re not cleared for quite that much, but so noted.” Hasdeu rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Dama Hynter has agreed to attend the meeting. Nothing else has been asked of her. That will be enough.”
Amelia chuckled again, “That takes care of her suitor and his lot. What about her beau?”
“My what?” Dafi was startled out of silence. She had no official suitors before the Movila offer, and before the attack there had been no one that could be called a sweetheart. Her personal passions were still private, she hoped, as there would be no good to come of weighing Dalibor down with more regard. He had not responded in kind to her confession, best to let it stay buried between them.
“Tch, we need to work on that reaction,” Amelia said. “The rumors of your travelling companion are spreading fairly slowly, but they are still there.” She reached out to lift Dafi’s chin, turning it to the light from the window. “If we can make that a blush of indignation, that would be better.”
Dafi sat straighter, pulling her head back and up, “Excuse me?” Her eyes flashed in anger.
“Much better. Remember to be angry or offended, not embarrassed.” Amelia sipped her tea. “Embarrassment would not speak well of him, but taking offense that the gossip would think so little of your sense of duty or restraint, that is the right direction to take them, I think.”
Hasdeu sighed, “I was hoping to avoid that faction altogether, but you are right, Doamnă. I apologize for keeping that bit of intelligence from you, Dama.” He nodded to the ladies in turn. “Yes, there are rumors, but I believe the fact the two of you have not been seen together since arriving has helped defuse most of them.”
Dafi sat, stone-faced during the exchange. Rumors could not be fought directly, and only by laughing them off, or ignoring them as baseless, could she defend herself. The other half of the equation was to present herself in society as one beyond reproach in the matter.
She frowned to herself, realizing that until this mess was over, even corresponding with Dal would not be prudent. Dafi fidgeted, her fingers plucking at the napkin in her lap as she considered the possible options. When she realized they were waiting for a response from her, she shook her head. “You told him of the rumors when we arrived, yes?” At Hasdeu’s nod, she continued, “Therefore the rumors preceded us. How long were the rumors on board, do you know?”
“Three to four days before their arrival, at the most.” Amelia looked to the quester, “I first overheard a version at the whist tables, almost a full day before the rumor that she was arriving circulated and two days before the official notice that she was in the hospital. The details I heard made me think it had been through a few tellings, since it relied so much on innuendo.”
“I have a similar timeline,” Liesel spoke up, “as the tea servers were buzzing about the lady knight traveling with her monster squire two days before the hospital confirmed her arrival to the visiting committee.” She smiled, “Though it should be noted that the working class rumors think it’s a good partnership, rather than a romance.”
Dafi looked to Hasdeu, who confirmed, “That means that it probably originated with the constable’s report from Tânărăjugul. The short form of the helio report did not give many details, but that you and the sergeant were traveling together was one of them.”
She nodded, “It sounds to be all be home-grown speculation out of boredom.” The grain of truth behind the rumor did not need to be confirmed, even here. Still, Dafi took a few moments to gather herself before speaking again. “When is the meeting?”
“We will have everyone in place the day after tomorrow.” Hasdeu frowned at her, worried. “You still have not accepted the terms, as it is only the initial review. While it has been traditional to sign the contract at that meeting, that is only if there have been prior negotiations. In this case it would not required, or even recommended.” He seemed to be reassuring Doamnă Amelia as much as Dafi on that point.
“Not by reasonable people, no.” Amelia grumbled. “I would not call that group reasonable when it comes to this. Who is in charge of security for the meeting?”
“Actually, we have had a volunteer.” Hasdeu loosened up enough to chuckle. “Captain Fejes will have as many of his platoon in the reception room as he can fit and the Baron will permit.”
Dafi firmly suppressed the thrill she felt at hearing there was a volunteer, but when she did not know the name, she frowned, “This captain, he is one you trust?”
The quester grinned, “As long as we aren’t at the card table, I trust him with my life. You have allies the others will not be able to find until it is too late.”
Amelia clucked her tongue at him. “We can’t meet him here, there would be too many people watching.” She sipped her tea, thinking. “Even if we are in seclusion for Trandifira’s first mourning, we could be intercepted when we take our morning exercise.” She raised her eyebrow at Dafi. “What say you, Dama? Think you can get up at an unseemly hour to avoid the riff-raff?”
“Depends on what you call an unseemly hour.” Dafi smiled. “I have been on a rotating schedule, shifting from day to night watch for the past week.”
“Society calls night shift ‘town hours’, but we are usually finished and out of the salle just before the morning shift change.” Liesel said. “Our maid that we brought from home knows, and helps run interference. The staff that come with the suite likely know we are out, but are smart enough to not let on that they know.” Liesel shrugged, “Whether or not they know which gymnasium we use? I would not hazard a probability.”
~=*=~
Dalibor was attempting to wear himself out in the gymnasium again. Alone this time, he had taken to practicing pelota shots, playing at top speed when a gaggle of nobles entered on the far side of the gallery. He heard them long before they entered his alley, of course. None of the other courts were in use, and they were making a huge fuss. “You’re sure he’s here? I’m tired of looking... oh, heyla! Herr Jäger? Have you seen another of us here in the past hour?”
Dal caught the ball, and looked the three of them over. “Nut in here today.” His first impression of their stances was that they were fencers, but the wear on their racquets would mark them as regular players. The one that had a uniform that matched his gear bag was definitely a serious player. “Hy been here sinze second bell.” He casually tossed the ball up in his hand, catching sight of a badge for the house of Movila on one of the bags. “Who hyu lookink vor?”
“Would you know Pfaltzboier Dolj on sight?” The court drawl seemed habitual rather than insulting, and the stance the young man took facing Dal was wary, but not fearful. The serious player had the right accent, though.
He shrugged, and turned to return to his game. The surprising bit was when they did not leave, but the lead speaker stepped up, donning a cap, “Rules say don’t lose your hat, right?” He had a heavier racquet than they used in the Castle leagues, so Dalibor chuckled and served.
If this was a friend of Nicul’s that was as close to a passphrase they were going to get. A series of volleys later, the ball went through they boy’s racquet, and angled towards the group of spectators at the end of the alley. They had been joined by Nicul, who sensibly caught the slowed ball with a gloved hand. When the player made an inarticulate sound of outrage upon seeing the damage to his racquet, Nicul shushed him. Holding up the half-kilo ball, he said, “You pick up a game with a Jäger, remember the size of the equipment.” Nicul tossed the ball to Dal.
It was larger than regulation size, but in Dalibor’s hand it had not been quite as noticeable. Perhaps that was why the kid thought it would behave the same way when he stepped up with his racquet. The youngster chuckled ruefully when he acknowledged his error, “Yes, it was probably time to restring, anyway. Good thing I didn’t hit the frame.” He tucked the racquet under his arm and held out his hand to Dalibor, “Good game, sir! I am Pfaltzboier Prahova, Michal.”
Dal took his hand, “Pfft, dun call me sir, Hy’m chust Dal.” He looked over at Nicul, “Dese friends uf yourn?”
“When it counts, aye.” Nicul’s serious attitude infected the rest of the nobles. “Most overlook us in court as the spares sent as trading agents for our families, but before the three crows came to roost, we were Gav’s fishing buddies. Michal you’ve met, Samhael is from Bihor, and Dhabidh,” Nicul paused significantly, “is our south.”
“Vlasca.” Dhabidh’s coloring was dark, similar to Dafi’s. Dal took the young man’s hand with a frown as he continued. “There has been a bit of news from the old neighborhood I do not care for, and a few things I have heard that make me think there is a solution closer to hand than the fortress.”
Dal looked to Nicul, who nodded. “Hy’m chust a soldier.” He shrugged, casually tossing the ball at the back of the alley and catching it. “Vat vould Hy know?” Playing the dumb soldier, speaking his mind, he wondered why they would come to him.
“You know the old ways. The time when the word of a good man could bring scrutiny to the problem.” Nicul tossed a regulation ball from hand to hand, careful in his posture, still. “I think there are many pieces to the puzzle here, and the Baron is trying to get all the pieces on one table. If we are to get Gav back in one living piece, we need to be able to help without too much attention being paid to us.”
“Hrm. Ve dun cauze too moch notice here. But Hy tink hyu know de duke, ne? Vat's up mit him und dis zirkus?”
Michal nodded, “There’s a lot that we supposedly don’t know of what is going on outside the city walls, but that’s only the ones who ignore their people. For me, it is difficult to ignore the problems, since I’ve heard the burghers howling at Father’s audiences every time I go home about the mercenaries that harass the border towns.” He frowned at his racquet, and sat to unstring it. “This is all recent happenings, though. If there’s a way to cage the carrion-wings, there’s a lot that can be done to help right the boat.”
“Red fire, Gav didn’t even gamble that much before they showed up. He knows he’s pants at cards.” Samhael muttered, looking as if he was checking the tension on his racquet. “He also knew the reputation his house had, and was trying to avoid spending more than his father had allowed him as heir.” He made a rude noise, “He’s still trying, though it’s starting to show that he is selling off his personal wardrobe. But that’s like trying to bail the Dyne with a teacup.”
Dalibor frowned in thought, still bouncing the ball off the alley back. “So, nu - vat hyu zee in der crows’ flock?”
“They do not pay their bills,” Dhabidh murmured. “At first, it was just during travel, and Gav tried to jolly them into paying. Then it was the merchants in town. The ones that got burned have been grumbling loud enough to be heard this summer. Now, I am not so sure of the source,” he slid his eyes up and down the gallery. “but there have been mentions downstairs that if you are not military, you are not getting paid as you were promised.”
“Considering the entourage they haul about, that is not a small amount they’re talking about, either.” Michal said. “Bodyguards everywhere, most of them jumped-up street-toughs, but when you need a brawler, you go there first.” Michal glanced at Nicul, “The bully-boys have been pushing the boundaries of who they can rough up.”
“Also insulating Gav from contact with not just us, but his proper and traditional court advisers.” Samhael finished his inspection of his racquet, and stood beside Nicul, taking the ball from him. “Won’t let any of us in to see him, except when there’s no way to have a private conversation, quiet-like.”
“You tried again?” Nicul asked. At Samhael’s nod, he took the ball back. “Told you to not try. Gav’s got enough worry on his plate.”
“He should know about you getting roughed up.” Michal said.
Dhabidh nodded, “Know why you have not tried, but he should know.” When Dalibor lightly bounced the ball to him, with a quirked eyebrow, the southerner replied, “It is an open secret, their relationship, but last time, Gav tried to send him home, out of harm’s way. My bet is on the toughs being told to set it up so he is not here for the meeting.”
The Jäger grunted, as the ball was returned to him. “Ja, zounds like. Hyu needz to be inna group ‘til der meetink, Nicul-lad. Vot else ve got?” He turned to the alley wall. “Ve got a bride dot dun know alla ziz, but chould know, I think.”
General murmurs of agreement around the group, but Michal spoke up. “I sent my card, but the dragon isn’t letting anyone in to see her. Quite right, of course, but I did want to check on her, after the city watch report went public.”
Dal grunted, and pitched the ball again. “Hy might know a guy, zee? Bot ve needs to kip it quviet, ne?”
“Anything I can do to get Gav out of this, I will do.” Nicul said.
The Jäger chuckled, “Careful mit dot sort uf talk, lad. Hyu might find hyuself mit zum epic tasks.”
Monday, June 10, 2013
Flight or Fight, Chapter 21
Fejes and Dalibor were working out in their gymnasium, when Nicul edged into the area reserved for spectators. Dal stopped short of throwing the ball when he saw how the boy was holding himself rigid.
“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.”
“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.”
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Flight or Fight, Chapter 20
Dalibor spent the days after the intrusion in the arboretum conservatory, when he was not in barracks. As ordered, he was staying clear of the hospital section, but it was difficult. Dafi had not been out of the section, not even leaving her room since the search, by reports. Dal was getting quiet enough that his mood was noticed by everyone in his platoon, even the orderlies assigned to their barracks. That was when his captain took him to the salle again.
“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.
“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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