Flight or Fight, Chapter 19

Dafi separated out the notes referring to the Third Son’s origins from her research on the treaty and the possible allies brought to bear. She had found the documentation she had sought on the treaty, but what to do about it now? Consultation with Hasdeu would have to wait, until he returned.

As it turned out, it would have to wait longer than that. He was severely delayed in returning to the library. Dafi considered returning to the hospital wing on her own, but with the arrival of several airships with multiple groups of passengers, he had asked her to wait until she had back-up to go anywhere on the ship. When he did finally return, he hustled her out with the barest of greetings to Herr Ples.

In hushed tones, he briefed her in the maintenance corridor. “We finally have confirmation that the Duke and his friends have agreed to have the signing aboard the Castle. Your ‘frail mental state’ helped push that, but for now, we need to keep you in the hospital room. The bulk of the Duke’s official retinue will be here tomorrow, but we’re getting too many solicitous inquiries about you for my boss to feel comfortable about you going walkabout.” He motioned for quiet when they got to the hospital area.

Sneaking into her hospital room was complicated by Dr Shriram bustling down the hall, and shoving Dafi into a broom closet. Her terse explanation of, “Unknown faces showed up for work, sit tight” was all Dafi got before a loud disturbance in another section pulled the doctor and the quester away.

Dafi was glad that the military regulations for stowing cleaning implements required that they also be clean when stored were observed in the hospital. The faint odors of vinegar and balsam were soothing, while she waited, and thought. She would need to consult with a legal expert for the next bit. If Hasdeu was not versed in the specialty, perhaps there could be someone else involved. She was still puzzling over it when the door opened.

“You!” Hasdeu growled, then as he leaned in and smudged her face quickly, he muttered, “Apprentice hiding, right?” He hauled her out by her collar, further obscuring her face from the witnesses down the hall.

Dafi squealed, pitching her voice at what she hoped was a piping tenor, “Oi! Oi! Zorry mazt’r! I’z nut hidin’ frum hyu!”

“Na, lazy hup! Jus’ hidin’ frum work!” He hauled her along roughly, but he could see a twinkle in his eye as they headed out.

Dafi made further protestations as she had remembered the complaints from the scullery girls at the school. “I’za gut vorker! I’z hid from Ygan, he in me bunk!”

As he pushed her out of the hospital section into an empty hall, he dove for a maintenance hatch and they both disappeared though it. Then he giggled quietly, “Thank the lightning you understood, Dama.” He nodded down the corridor, away from the hatch, Keeping his voice low, he asked, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She chuckled, “Tch, take more than that to hurt me, Quester.” Dafi also kept her voice low, knowing that voices carried in caverns, and this was naught but a huge man-made cave. “What happened?”

“Someone stole an orderly uniform, and was searching for your room. He had just found your uniform when they found him, so we’re going to have to manufacture a reason for you to have gone missing.”

Dafi subconsciously fiddled in her pocket, reassuring herself that the stray button was still there. “Find me a place to wash up and an invalid’s gown, and I can say I was hiding from the one I was not properly introduced to?”

“That might work. Trouble is, where would have you gone if you were a frightened noble lady?”

“Home. But what I would call home, especially here, isn’t what the fragile flower would run to,” Dafi grunted in an unladylike fashion. “Ergh, this much duplicity makes my head hurt. She would probably seek out protectors amongst ‘her own kind’.”

“And without an introduction, that usually means at least gentry. Even the fragile flower might head for officer country, which means it’s time for you to meet my boss.” Hasdeu swung around a ladder and began to climb up.

~=*=~

Dalibor was in the midst of trying to wear himself out enough to sleep when the tone of alarmed voices reached his ears. Before he could disengage from the wrestling match, his captain tapped out his opponent and leapt for a grapple. Once pinned, Fejes muttered in his ear, “Sche’s safe.”

A quick flip out of the hold, and turning the tables on his superior by shifting from Greek to Mongol style, Dal hissed in Fejes’s ear, “Vot heppen?”

“Caught oot ov bet.” The change in style only gained Dalibor a momentary advantage, as Fejes slammed Dal with an uchimata. “Der schrawny keed say sche’s hokay.”

Dal relaxed, and grinned, then flipped again for a piledriver. “Hokay. Ve nut on call?”

“Na,” and the captain pulled the klimakismou as the final move, “Hyu schleep nao?”

Dal twisted, unable to break the anchein his captain held on him, and acquiesced, “Ja, schure. Hy schleep,” Tucking under and rolling, he pinned the captain’s shoulders to the mat, though it did not break the choke hold Fejes had on him. “Chust nut here.”

Fejes gave Dal a good-natured swat across the back of his head as they rolled to opposite sides of the ring. “Time ta go ta bed, hyu!”

“Ja, ja, mamă - Hy go nao.” Dalibor chuckled and headed for his bunk.

~=*=~

Officer country at Adreev was high up enough to see most of the mountain pass, the walls of the fortress, or most of the above ground public areas, depending on which windows you had. Here, it was apparently the center of the ship, from what Dafi could suss out from the maintenance corridor diagrams they passed.

When they got to a certain level, Hasdeu handed Dafi a clipboard and tapped a set of dials. “Wait here, look busy, gotta check for a clear path,” and he ducked out of the hatch, whistling.

She kept her nose pointed at the dials, listening for footsteps, cutting her eyes down the corridors, and briefly wondered what the instruments before her were actually measuring.

Moments later, the quester returned, just sticking his head in the hatch. “Good timing, he’s had his tea already.” Hasdeu motioned for her to stow the clipboard and follow. This hallway was much smaller than the grand promenades, but no less elegant. “Just in case, unless he says different, you two have not met this morning.” Escorting her through the empty outer office, he tapped lightly on the door before opening it. “Sir? Here she is.”

Behind the desk, sat a middling-tall man, whose build was average among the non-military types... save for the extra pair of arms. Dafi snapped to attention when faced with the Executive Secretary and second-in-command to Baron Wulfenbach, Boris Vasily Konstantin Andrei Myshkin Dolokhov. The man was rumored to remember everything.

“Ah, Dama Hynter.” He stood, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “My apologies for not meeting with you sooner. You still have a way of generating reports wherever you go.”

Dafi swore to herself internally, realizing that if he did remember everything, at least she was in the clear, as the the attack on the fortress, like the incident when she was going home from the academy, was not her making. “Sometimes it is difficult to leave proper documentation with the correct authorities.”

“In this case, you have managed to kick over a beehive, and lead the swarm astray. It has taken some careful maneuvering, but we have managed to collect the honey without many stings.” He steepled his fingers, peering over his glasses. “You have been busy in the library. Would you care to share your findings at this time?”

Dafi mentally settled herself before withdrawing her notes on the treaties, and handing them over. “I could argue that a single boilerplate treaty, offered over two centuries ago, without any continuing contact would not have the force of some of our more current negotiations. However, that is tugging on the laws until a loophole appears. Their offer of ‘aid’ is... not quite what I would consider helpful.” She paused, and quietly added, “If it is helpful to the Baron’s plans, however, I can follow through.” She did not hide the fact that the idea did not make her happy, though.

Herr Dolokhov nodded, reading through her notes. “Yes, I see the loopholes to which you are referring. It would take less tugging and just a hint of a suggestion, depending on your interpretation.” While one set of hands sorted the notes, his other hands were making up a cup of tea (white, no sugar, just as she took it during the officer’s tea six years ago) and handed it to her. “However, we do need some more time to insert some key personnel. If you are open to further negotiations, I will let the Baron know. However, at this time, we specifically need you to be,” he looked over his glasses at her again, “a wounded bird.”

“I can draw their attention away from my nest, sir.” Dafi nodded. He may not hold a title, but he was the one who had the Baron’s ear, and that was deserving of respect.

Hasdeu coughed lightly, “We may need to lead them part of the way this morning, sir.”

“Yes, the false orderly. The closest place for her to hide would have been the Jägerbarracks, but that is not the direction we wish them to go.” Herr Dolokhov considered the schematic of the hospital section of the ship before pointing to a section not far from the doctors’ offices, but in the opposite direction from the Jägermonster’s digs. “There. Take her to Doamnă Coșlar-Aed. She will be able to help with the feint.” Then speaking to Dafi, “Tell her as little as you can about the past month, but you do have similar backgrounds. I will arrange for you to be ‘found’ in an hour or so.”

~=*=~

In spite of Herr Dolokhov’s reassurances, Dafi found herself dreading meeting this doamnă. There were few of that social strata that were the sort to approve of “girl generals”, in spite of the tradition of the elite troops such as the Devil Dolls, the Šárka Mead Maidens or the Lipizzaner Cancan Corps. She was tentatively relieved when the first person they met at the doamnă’s quarters was a straight-spined elderly woman, dressed plainly, but better than the average maid. The woman had a firm handshake.

“Aye, I be Doamnă Coșlar-Aed when the mood takes me. Call me Amelia, and if we’re quick, we can get you settled before too many of the staff are awake.” She turned to the young woman just entering the sitting room, “Liesel, this young lady needs to be artfully disheveled, but not wild,” handing over the invalid’s gown to Dafi, “Then we’ll need to pretend to be ladies.”

“Yes, Bunică! This way, please Dama?” The woman showed Dafi to the en suite. Liesel certainly was a younger version of the Doamnă, with the same high cheekbones and a fencer’s posture. “I will leave you to change, and then we’ll do something about your hair.” Liesel winked and grinned, as her hair was covered by a kerchief similar to Dafi’s.

Quickly changing into her gown and washing her face and hands, Dafi was at a loss for how to hide her notes on the legendary hero. She settled for folding them into the boiler suit, and was digging out the spare button just as Liesel knocked on the door. “Ready?”

Dafi opened the door for her, “As much as I can be. I am not sure what to do with my hair...” Her voice stalled out as she saw the young woman again, dressed in an elegant morning receiving gown such as they advertised in the newspapers. Liesel’s hair was no longer in the sensible braid down her back, but piled up in a complicated set of ringlets.

Dafi’s stony expression must have conveyed some of her distress, as Liesel began to giggle. “Na, it’s a wig, I’m not that fast. Let’s take your hair down quick, and see if I can make you look distressed, but still ladylike.”

Five minutes later, Dafi’s crown braid was down, brushed out, and loosely plaited in a French style that was wildly impractical - which was the whole point. During the hairdressing, Dafi tucked the button into her sleeve. Presented to the Doamnă, the older woman nodded, “Yes, that will work well. Please, come sit.”

Hasdeu had stood when the younger ladies entered the sitting room, and smiled at the change in Dafi. “I think this will be a good time for you to make your semi-public appearance.” He took the bundle from Dafi, and chuckled. “I’ll make sure they bring robes and a chair for you, and I shall see you once I get properly cleaned up.” He bowed in respect to all three ladies before leaving.

Doamnă Amelia was similarly transformed, though her hairstyle was not greatly changed. A tea service had been added to the table, with a selection of dainty breakfast pastries. “Come, sit. I doubt you’ve had much to eat, and we will need to take care of that before you are... rescued.” Amelia’s chuckle after her dramatic intonation showed her humor.

“I am sorry to impose on you like this...” Dafi allowed Liesel to steer her to the divan, and the young woman tucked a quilted coverlet around her legs.

“Psh, psh - I’m glad for it. Not likely we would have met until much later, and I do enjoy meeting other alumni.” Amelia made sure Dafi had a good grip on the cup and saucer before releasing it. “Though when my family sent me to Mustafa-Svilin, I was supposed to keep my brother out of trouble and get myself a husband, in that order. They didn’t figure on me paying attention to the lectures.”

Dafi chuckled, and turned to Liesel, “Did you attend as well? I would have thought we were in the same classes if you did.”

Liesel shook her head, “I ended up going to Université Diderot. After generations of... fighters, it figures someone had to be a medic.” She grinned, and Dafi did not comment on the small hesitation.

“So!” Amelia passed the plate of poale’n brâu, “Are they still teaching Roman historical tactics exclusively from Trajan's letters?”

In the hour that followed, the three discussed the different lectures each had attended, with the topics changing to those of fashion, art and music when the doamnă’s airship-assigned staff arrived to find a timid visitor in house. Much fluttering fuss was made to send someone to the hospital section, when one of the hospital staff arrived to inquire if they had seen a misplaced patient.

Dafi was not all that sure of her acting ability, so she did not attempt the twittery tones that Amelia and Liesel seemed to pull off without a blush. She instead opted for slightly confused and shy as her major outward displays.

A very precisely pressed and polished gentleman arrived with the hospital staff, making Dafi wary of the group. However, when he got close enough to greet her properly with a short bow, she realized this was Hasdeu in his “regional representative” role. It shocked her that he could change his look so completely without resorting to an elaborate disguise. Gone was the rumpled and slouching mechanic’s mate, replaced with another sort that faded into the background - a mid-level bureaucrat. She hoped her shock might be interpreted as another bit of “frail mental state” evidence, as they wheeled her back to the hospital section.

The grand procession of hospital staff deposited her in her new accommodation, closer to the nurse’s station. The new room was much larger, including a dressing room in the ensuite, and a sitting area near the windows. Dr Shriram carefully introduced the day staff to Dafi, including the two burly porter-attendants that were in obvious guard positions at her door when they arrived.

Once the parade of staff finished, Dr Shriram and Hasdeu were left alone with her. The doctor looked a trifle frayed around the edges, but seemed mostly just tired. “From now on, all staff changes are to be cleared with the director of the sick bay, and you get to meet them before they go on duty. That being said, there’s not going to be any staffing changes if I have anything to say about it.”

“Unfortunately, this change of room to protect you will also mean no further field trips until you are cleared for discharge.” Hasdeu nodded. “I think I might be able to get books to you if you need further research, but for now, it may be best if you stay put until after we sort out who is where on the Castle.”

Dafi looked at them doubtfully. “I hope all of this is worth it. Right now, I am too tired to be sneaky any longer.” She paused, then asked Hasdeu, “Would it be possible for you to bring the notes I had made last night the next time you visit?”

“It will not take even that long.” Hasdeu smiled, and put a heavy cardstock folio in her hands. “Just so you know, researching folk tales is a very ladylike past-time.”

“I shall try to keep up the illusions,” Dafi quietly chuckled, then yawned suddenly. “Oh! I do beg your pardon....”

“Time for you to rest, Dama.” Dr Shriram guided Hasdeu to the door. “I gave orders for your meals to be tea, water, toast and broth for today, but you need sleep more.”

Dafi nodded sadly. “Much as I do not care for the dreams, I do need the rest.”

Hasdeu paused at the door, when the doctor asked, “Would you like something to help you sleep without dreams?”

She thought about it a moment before slowly shaking her head. “No... other than the fact I am wary of being incapacitated with the events progressing this quickly,” Dafi sighed, “even if I dislike the dreams, I need to process them.”

Hasdeu slipped out, and Dafi could hear him murmuring to the orderlies. Dr Shriram nodded. “I will let you sleep, and perhaps we should talk about these dreams you have had, when I return this evening.”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 18

Dalibor got word that his squad would not be on guard duty that evening just before Nistor sent him the note that he would be needed to watch over Dafi in the library. After reading it, he did the sensible thing and ate the note before anyone commented on it. Getting away from the others was not a problem, but how to make sure there was not a Jägermonster where one should not be?

Long before he had been transformed, Dalibor had found that most people see what they believe, rather than believing what they were actually seeing. It had served him well as a young soldier. By being able to slip in with the clerks or servants in his father’s court, he had been able to find out all manner of intrigues, and warn his brothers of problems they could handle when the issues were small and manageable, before they got to be tangles that would distract their father from the management and protection of their lands.

One of the benefits of the Jägerbrau was that it did not create a consistent look to his brothers-in-arms. Dalibor had found that if he did not act like a Jägermonster, he could be mistaken for any number of constructs. His platoon either did not know or did not care what he did when they were not on duty. Everyone had their hobbies, but not all of them were not fit for polite conversation, even among the Jägerkin.

Since his hobby occasionally involved bathing with soap, the few Jägerkin who knew of it generally considered Dalibor’s avocation to be a subject best left alone. It is likely that some few others knew of the out-of-order washroom on deck six that never seemed to be on any maintenance crew’s work orders. The door was always locked, so it was unlikely anyone knew it was stocked with several different uniforms and one working shower.

The library presented a special problem, in that Herr Ples was not one of the Baron’s tame addle-pated researchers. He had been a minion, and one that had been sharp enough to survive. Octavian Ples had been the one to surrender his master’s lab to the Baron, nearly intact, while the Spark in charge had been twitching and frothing in his courtyard after his latest rampage. So sharp a man required a bit more misdirection.

Thus it came to pass that someone in a bright fuchsia footman’s uniform, complete with a matching bow holding back his carefully-pomaded tawny hair in a queue and an intricately-tied cravat at his throat minced past the mechanic’s apprentice slouching along the grand hall that midnight.

~=*=~

Dafi had to concentrate to keep from straightening up when she heard the hurried footsteps behind her in the grand hall. The footfalls seemed familiar, but she realized it was wishful thinking when she saw the uniform, and then the scent of the perfume hit her. With his eyes hidden by corrective goggles, it was obvious why the footman was holding the clipboard so close to his face as he walked.

Her slouch became more dejected as she realized just how much she missed the company of the sergeant, if she was comparing the footman to Dalibor. The build was right, but the carriage and gait was wrong, and that perfume was far too flowery to be something a Jäger would tolerate. For one thing, it would make them scent-blind.

Resolutely turning her mind away from the distraction that Dalibor presented, she thought over the findings she and Herr Ples had turned up the night before, tracking down the wording of the original treaty. She had known it was old, simply because it was not something her father had noted in the current alliances when they had gone over her studies of battle tactics, applying them to the fortress. She was actually reading back through the genealogy of the house of Movila, this time with an eye to political arrangements rather than literary roots.

When she got to the library entrance, she detected a trace of the footman’s perfume at the entrance, but could not track it inside the library. Perhaps it had made her scent-blind as well. Herr Ples had new information for her when she got to the desk. “Normally, I would steer clear of legends and folktales when conducting political research, but I happened to remember one scholar had gotten his teeth into the history of this noble house at one point before he disappeared."

Dafi had a thrill of recognition as Herr Ples pulled out a copy of Eliezer Bârsănescu’s textbook. “I have read that one, but not any of his other works. Are there any of his other papers here?"

The librarian chuckled, “If it is not here, there are only two reasons; the manuscript was destroyed before we heard about it,” then Herr Ples lowered his voice, tapping the side of his nose, “or it contains information too dangerous to be outside the Baron’s personal library.” But then his voice matched his merry smile as he checked the catalogue, “Let us see if any of his thesis planning works are here!”

~=*=~

Sitting in the shadows would have been too obvious a mistake. But Dalibor’s goggles were on temples with large loops at the tips rather than a strap. This allowed him to put the book in the light, and the goggles at an angle aimed at the book, leaving a gap at his face over which he could observe the room. He further obscured his face with a large, very lacy, handkerchief, trying to keep the perfumed pomander that was hanging from his belt from asphyxiating him. Even if having the damned thing meant others would steer clear of him, he would need at least an hour’s workout of sweat to clear the scent of it from his nose.

The night librarian was sharp, but polite enough that when Dalibor had silently taken himself to the section on art and lithographic prints, Herr Ples had left him alone. The thinly-veiled interest in art books was a common ruse when someone was too shy to request access to the restricted area. Most of the librarians respected the restraint, and made no mention of it. By turning the pages at lengthy intervals, most patrons, especially at this time of night, would leave him alone

Besides, the living warrior woman at the center of the genealogy section held his interest far more than the odalisques of the Enlightenment. Her disguise was thinner than his, but then, she was dodging those who avoided libraries in general. Highborns of this generation sent others to find things out for them, or retrieve reading material. Anything else smacked of actual labor.

He noted the direction of their conversation, liberally punctuated with the words “treaty” and “aid”. Most of it involved tracing back through the Movila line, finding the alliances and when they were made, when they were formalized, and if they were dissolved. Dafi and Herr Ples seemed to be drawing out a tree of all the trading partners of the house, which in turn were also military allies. They were doing well on their own, so he merely watched and listened.

There was a soft chime an hour before the actual shift change, a warning to those that needed to be at their duty stations. Dafi began wrapping up her research, tucking it into her coverall as Herr Ples pretended to check his watch against the clock on the wall. Everyone knew his watch was more accurate than anything but the Castle’s central timekeeper

Dal quietly reshelved his book, and tucking the pomander into a glassine envelope sealed with beeswax, slipped out to the upper concourse as Dafi exited. It would not do to have her get repeated views of him, especially in the improved light - the sun was just rising, with dawn-light spilling into the grand hall. When she reached the hospital section, Dalibor dashed off to his closet, to rid himself of the candy-colored uniform, and lose himself in mindless exertion in the Jägers’ gymnasium for an hour or two.

~=*=~

Dafi was able to slip into her invalid’s gown and hide her notes and boilersuit before the day shift arrived. These doctors and nurses seemed less engaging to her, perhaps because they seemed so relentlessly cheerful. They did not seem quite real to Dafi, more like actors in a troupe specializing in inane chatter. She tried to be asleep before the nurse who sang to himself as he made his rounds was on her hallway. It was not because he was a bad singer, or out of tune, but it was because he sang the hiking and wandering songs

Her sleep was interrupted by the usual meals, which she ignored as before, except for the tea and water. The night shift arrived with more than the usual chatter. In fact, it seemed as if there was quite a row going on at the nursing station. Dafi slipped out of bed, not bothering with changing out of her gown, standing with her back against the wall on the hinge side of the door, taking a firm grip on the chair for visitors. Eventually, the noise died down, but she did not leave her position. A knock at the door, followed by Dr Shriram’s careful greeting of “Dama?”, still did not signal Dafi to stand down

She waited for Dr Shriram to close the door after her to ask, “What happened?” Dafi kept her hand on the back of the chair.

The question seemed to let the other woman relax, and still wind her up. “Here you are, good. We have a situation. The first of the Movila delegation arrived this afternoon. Just as I got here, two of them were trying to get access to your medical records.”

Dafi was aghast, “Whatever for?”, then angry, “What right did they think they have?”

Dr Shriram reflected her anger, “They claimed to be representatives of the matchmaker, and they had the right to review your ‘health’ for the betrothal.” Her eyes snapped with her fury. “Here,” she handed Dafi a slim file, “these are all the records for you here. We are getting you out of here as soon as I can find the quester.”

“That would be a bad idea.” Quester Hasdeu’s voice came from the other side of the door. “May I come in?”

Dafi let him in, asking “Why is it bad for me to be out of the hospital?”

“Because here, we can restrict their access to you.” Hasdeu bowed to her, “and that will mean their focus is tied up in trying to get to you and your information.”

The doctor was not mollified. “I will NOT have those toffee-nosed gits hanging around here! We are not here to entertain them.”

“I am... not sure they will stop with just a warning.” Dafi frowned, her arms crossed over her file held to her chest, deep in thought. “I disappear, they have people all over trying to find me again. But if they find nothing of my records here, that could be just as bad.”

“You’re not far wrong. The laws governing the hospital state they have no right to your personal information without your permission, but they will argue that it is ‘traditional’ for the contract.” He shrugged, “The counter to that is you have not accepted the offer yet, and this is not acceptable courting behavior.”

“You’re damned right it is not acceptable,” Dr Shriram muttered. “I almost wish we had put her in disease quarantine. At least there, we wouldn’t have to worry about them upsetting the other patients that need quiet.”

“Can I be moved there, to save the nerves of the others?”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 17

The door that Dr Shriram had indicated led to a small private room with an en suite. It was smaller than her rooms at the fortress, but still well-appointed. From what Dafi understood, even on a flying city such as the Castle Wulfenbach, space was at a premium, and to have private facilities was the height of regard.

The doctor opened the wardrobe door, bringing out a voluminous invalid’s gown. “For the first few days, we should have you dress the part. However, if you would permit, it would be a good idea to have an examination. For one, the Baron would like to know your true condition. We also need to know where the past injuries are to build the fantasy injuries for the rumor mill.”

~=*=~

Nistor led Dalibor out of the medical section the same way they came in, through the maintenance corridors. Once the door was shut and sealed behind them, Nistor did a dangerous thing - he asked a personal question. “So, this knight... she just a job?”

Dalibor considered not answering, or dismissing her as unimportant, but with so many eyes on her, Dafi was going to need allies. He had known Nistor since the boy had signed on as a page with one of the noble students, and was one of the few people outside the Jägerkin he trusted. “Nah, she’s ha goot vun. Hy like her. Hy help.”

The young man seemed surprised by the admission, though that could be an act. After all, Dal taught the boy to play cards because Nistor was able to bluff at a young age. His words made the surprise seem genuine, though. “Think you can take a rotation on guarding her, when she’s out of the infirmary, without letting her know?”

“She hain’t schtupid, hyu know.”

Nistor raised an eyebrow at him, “I didn’t say she was. Just need to make sure she doesn’t have to deal with the wrong people harassing her.”

Dal considered a few moments, “Hy vould neet to be dishguizet.”

It took the quester a few moments to puzzle out the word, as it was one Jägers rarely used. “You’d be willing to do that?” The Jägermonsters were well-known for being proud of who and what they were, loudly, and with great fanfare. Being sneaky and pretending they were not the scariest monsters in the valley was unknown of them.

Yet there was no hesitation in Dalibor’s response, “Ja. Hy kin do dot.” He did not add “for her” as it was something the Baron did not need to know, and so Nistor did not get that information, either.

~=*=~

The examination completed, Dr Shriram gave her a few last minute instructions on the rules for water usage and emergency procedures, but also the special details of her stay in the hospital section. “Day shift should be coming on duty in an hour. I have not prescribed any medication for you, so if someone comes in to administer any, refuse them. Pitch a fit and fight them if anyone comes at you with a syringe. Your official diagnosis in the records on the floor is ‘exhaustion with grief reaction’, which allows you to sleep most of the day.”

“Is there any possibility that I can get books from the library?” Dafi knew she was going to need more information on the Movilas, even if asking for those books to be brought to her would be risky. Perhaps she could ask for a few of the Third Son groschenroman to make her tastes seem silly.

“Since I am your doctor on record, I will ‘release’ you for light exercise in a day or two. Today, I think you might need to sleep, if you can. It will help your cover story of exhaustion, and you really do need it. Eat lightly, if you do at all, but I will have a meal brought next time I am on shift,” she checked her pocket watch, “ten hours from now. By then your uniform will have been properly cleaned. Unfortunately, they will likely be searched by someone in the laundry as well, so if there’s anything in the pockets you want to keep to yourself, hide them before you sleep.” Dr. Shriram smiled, and bowed slightly as she left the room.

Dafi did not think she left anything incriminating in her pockets, but she went through them just the same. The note from the conductor with the archival report file numbers had gone with the letters to the quester, and she had no other items that could tip off the conspirators that she had done anything but come to the Baron for assistance in regaining the fortress.

However, as she searched her pockets, she found a spare button. It did not match her uniform. It did not match any uniform currently in use by any of the Baron’s forces, except one.

The Jägercorps had a uniform, of course, but most of them preferred to alter them to match their own personal tastes. The Baron had wisely made it a mark of seniority, for those who behaved long enough to be promoted. Some even liked the uniforms well enough as designed to keep them within regulation wear, but most would add touches that were noted in the logs as “trophy pieces”. The short jacket that Dalibor favored had once been an English naval engineer’s jacket, collected nearly a century ago. The button had come off at Bârsănescu’s shop. She had been meaning to sew it back on, or let him replace it himself. Without thinking about why she did so, Dafi tucked it under her pillow before sleeping.

Nervous as she was about airships, Dafi did manage to sleep nearly eight hours. She awoke briefly any time someone came to the door, but remained unresponsive as they left a tray for her, drifting off again as the door was shut. The warning that her uniform would be taken for cleaning meant she did not have to wake up enough to fight for it. This almost-ruse of exhaustion grated on her watchfulness to let people come into the room unchallenged, though. She looked forward to sleeping in a secure spot again, or even having someone she trusted stand watch for her.

At the fortress, one took their own uniforms to the laundry. Her father had been known to do so himself every week or so, as a good example to his officers. His batman would have to be quick to get to the chore before Papa did it, unless as Colonel he was busy with quarterly reports or other duties. When she had come back from the academy, it had been something she would do for him when both of them were busy. They were military, but there were things she and her father did for each other as family, whether it be picking up small chores for him when a patrol had taken longer than usual, or him checking with the local chemist to order liniment for her that smelled like rosemary instead of pine sap.

Now that she was here, and had delivered her charge, there was nothing to do but wait until she was released to restore her people to their right places. Nothing to do but sleep, and dream, and remember.

Her mother had come from a similar sort of county, though she was not trained to fight. She was trained in the management of a manor and farms, and though the tales told of her mother had been few, they were respectful, and spoke of her determination to make a proper contribution. She was a woman grown when she arrived at the fortress, and while she was a decent shot, hand-to-hand fighting was not something she picked up easily. Learning to care for the injured from the fortress medic was another matter. Her compassion for others made healing tasks natural for her, and extended to her other duties. When it came time for the chaplain assigned to the fortress to retire, he had no family to go to. She had arranged for him to stay, as an emeritus to assist the new chaplain. She had been the one to confer with the engineers to see which caves under the fortress were suitable for long term siege supply storage, freeing up space for officers to have their families with them. So many things that she had done quietly, without a fuss, that when she had died, those tasks had to be divided amongst many to share the load.

Dafi let the memories come back, of her mother’s voice as she sang, of the sound of both parents laughing together, of them reading to each other by the fire before bed, of the times when Mama scolded Papa for giving the baby sweets before dinner - the good and the bad. Then came the clearer memories, of just the two of them, after Papa had become Colonel outside the family suite - learning to manage the fortress, learning the tactics that required their presence in the pass, but also singing at the village bonfire festivals, or just talking with him. In this quiet space between actions, she finally allowed the loss to touch her, and let the tears fall.

Her pillow was soaked by the time Dr Shriram knocked on her door. One look at Dafi, and the doctor turned to the orderly that was pushing the meal cart, ordering him to bring more drinking water. She brought in the tray herself, before opening the drawer on the bedside table, and drawing out a handkerchief from the stack there. Handing it to Dafi, she apologized, “I should have reminded you these were here for you, Dama.” The handkerchief was soft cotton, lightly scented with mint and a touch of lavender, soothing to the senses.

Pouring a glass of water from the pitcher, the doctor made sure Dafi had a good grip on it before releasing. She waited quietly for Dafi to finish the glass, pulling up a chair beside the bed before asking, “Do you feel up to eating, yet?”

“Not really, though I know I should have something.” Dafi was worn down by her emotional expenditure, and was mildly surprised at the rasp in her voice. Her throat was raw, though she had not been screaming or shouting. She had actually been taking pains to not make a sound while crying. Something about the whole situation here made her feel as if she was still on a covert patrol. Quester Hasdeu’s attitude about the conspiracy may have had much to do with her subconscious desire to seek cover with good firing angles.

Dr Shriram nodded, “I brought soup and bread with a pot of tea. Tonight, we’ll be checking in on you from time to time, and we’ll see what the conditions are like tomorrow evening, to see if you can manage a trip to the library, with an escort. Officially, you’re off duty. That means when they bring your uniform back from the laundry, it stays in the closet until you are released.” She shrugged, and added, “We’ll figure out when that will be after the Baron has his say. What sort of civilian wear are you used to?”

The question caused Dafi to stop in the midst of another sip of water to consider. “Not much in the way of civvies, really. What is not a uniform or heavy work gear in my closet is festival rig-out.”

“Somehow, I thought that might be the case.” Dr Shriram smiled. “I can get a plain boilersuit for you to wear when out. That’s actually easier to manage than skirts, though we should have the seamstress in to get another uniform set for you.” She tilted her head, “The battle wear on your uniform would be appropriate for some gatherings, but unless you want to be surrounded by the gossips asking about it, not for general errands on board.”

Dafi closed her eyes, “The one thing I did not miss from the academy, was the court gossip. There are some that can gather intelligence from it, but I have little patience for it.”

Dr Shriram patted her hand sympathetically, “We’ll be hip deep in it soon, though three nights from now, most of them will be at the informal reception for the Movila delegation.” The doctor smiled, “The Baron does not organize these, because they cut into his lab time, so he will not be in attendance. Officially, you can be in treatment, and therefore excused from being seen there as well.”

“This is happening rather quickly,” Dafi said doubtfully. “Though, if most of the court butterflies are going to be occupied... how late is the library open to guests?”

“Technically, the main section is always open. Some of the reference stacks are monitored.  I’ll ask around to make sure the night librarian will be there. Every time I think he’s sure to miss an event, he’s there.” She shrugged with a smile. “Feel up to some supper?”

~=*=~

For Dalibor, getting back to his squad had not been a big production. All they had been concerned with is he missed a grand finale of a fantastic fight that had ended with two airships in flames, but nobody had lost their hat. After a welcome-back tussle that had the Jägers’ orderlies cowering for the next day, Dalibor was sitting with a tankard of ale in the ward-room. He was joined by his captain, who had a tankard and a pitcher. For the captain, this was the height of subtlety, though all of the platoon knew to steer clear of him when he brought a pitcher.

“Hyu vere dere for de fight, az far as hanybody else knows, ja?” The rumbling growl of the older Jäger did not carry beyond their table as they drank their beer. “De gorl vaz nut on de list ov official pezzengerz, ne? Hy saw hyu pull two py-ratz out ov de schip vit hyu before hyu drop dem und float on down.”

“Chure, hokay.” Dalibor shrugged, nonchalantly sipping his beer. “Sombuddy sniffin vere dey ought nut?”

Captain Fejes rolled his head from side to side, “Alluz zomt’ing op. Dot haf-hoctopusch guy zez ve hokay vit de Baron, bot de odderz,” he shook his head and took a long pull from his beer. “Hy dun like de questionz dey azkin, und dey schmell wrong.”

“Ho? Vat kindt ov wrong?”

“Money tryink ta be merc. Dey gotz de bloodt schmell, but nut de schweat, ne?”

Dal considered the description, and figured that was as good as he would get from the captain, who was trained in battlefields, but not in assassination tactics. “So, vere ve goin next?”

“Ve iz drinkin ontil de fleet getz to de next fight.” This was the standard response that meant they had no orders in hand. Captain Fejes cut his eyes over to Dalibor, “Hyu nut goin ta go zee dot gurl?”

Dalibor gave his best casual shrug, “She vill get by mitout me.”

His captain chuckled into his tankard, “Zo hyu goin ta be all mopey and schtuff. Hyu needt ta git hyu ha gorl vot kin haprechiate ha bookay ov headz or zomezink.”

“Or somet’ink,” Dalibor agreed, imagining the best aesthetic arrangement for the presentation of the conspirators’ heads to Dafi.

~=*=~

A little after midnight, Dr Shriram knocked on the door before entering. “Dama? Quester Hasdeu is here to see you. Are you feeling up to another interview?”

Dafi sat up in bed, nodding. “I need to get out of my head for a bit.” She made quick work of drying her face again. Quester Hasdeu took the chair beside the bed when Dafi waved him into it. “Is there news from Adreev?”

“No more than we knew before.” He was serious in his manner, but also pleasant. “I came by to check on you, and see if there was anything you needed?”

Her first thought was ‘my sergeant’, but he really was not hers, not by assignment, and he was likely relieved to be out of range of what may look to him like a schoolgirl with a pash. “I truly need information. I know I have been given everything I have been cleared to receive on the current events, but there is something about the treaty that I have a half-memory about. The problem is I do not know what is tickling my recollection.”

This made the quester raise his eyebrows in thought. “Late as it is, I don’t think we will have anyone in the library but Herr Ples. That makes it a good time to go for serious research, since he’s been trained with the Deep Thinker’s labs. He’s had lots of experience with random searches. Give me an hour or so to get some clothes for you, if Doctor Shriram thinks it’s okay.”

Within the hour, Dafi was in a shapeless coverall, with her hair covered by a kerchief, and instructed on how to slouch as the two of them headed for the main public library on the ship. This time, Dafi got to see the beauty of the public halls, or as much as she could see while staying in character as a mechanic’s apprentice. If it had been on the ground, it would have been a palace. The central passageway was spacious, and seemed even more so when they were the only people in the hall. They passed several public gathering areas with huge windows. Dafi tried to not be obvious as she looked away from them.

The library had less of an issue for her, as the windows were high above the shelves, where they would give indirect light during the day. At night, the task lighting over the tables was bright and steady, though some of the stacks were in shadow.

The pale, thin man in a sober suit behind the reference desk rose to meet them. Dafi noted his waistcoat and cravat were actually a cheerful blue, which made him seem less menacing. His quiet smile on introduction also helped.

“Dama, may I present Herr Octavian Ples? He is our night librarian, and the one the students come to when they are under a deadline. Herr Ples, this is Dama Hynter. She has clearance for anything up to level six.” Quester Hasdeu handed over a copy of the clearance, a twin to the card she carried in her pocket.

The librarian’s tone was soft, but also musical, “Ah, and to what do I owe the pleasure, Dama?”

“There is a treaty that is being used to ‘convince’ me to be betrothed without proper research, and there is something about it that teases my memory, but I cannot quite catch it.”

His eyes lit at the description of the problem, “A vexing state, not being able to remember where you read something, yes, I have dealt with such myself. If the rumors running through the grapevine are any guide, we should start in the mid-seventeenth century for the original.” Gathering a sheaf of foolscap and some pencils, he bowed to Dafi, “This way, if you would, Dama. We may not find the quarry immediately, but we should have a solid grounding, soon.”

Flight or Fight, Chapter 16

Dafi stilled in Dalibor’s arms at his apology. He was not afraid that she would go into loud hysterics and give away their position, but he did not wish her to turn cold to him. “I have had this parachute sixteen years. It took me time to find someone to teach me to jump.”

He gave her no pretense now, the speech patterns of his youth coming to the surface. “I was there as part of the escort for your family, but your father thought we might frighten you, so we were not introduced. When the pirates struck, I was sent to find you and your mother as your father fought alongside my blade-brothers.” His arms tightened around her fractionally. “You did not remember, and I... could no longer see the little girl who danced and laughed with abandon.”

~=*=~

She felt the tears start again, but the mourning was quieter. She remembered the week surrounding the death of her mother, but until now, had blocked the airship trip. She had hazy memories of the memorial service, and of the Jägers who had been there, quietly standing in the back of the chapel, with crepe-wrapped hats and mourning bands.

 She dimly remembered being at play as a child, but after her mother’s death, it was not as important to her. Her father’s wish that she follow him in holding the fortress was not all that shaped her into the soldier she was now. There had been the need to protect everyone from smelly men who threatened mothers and little children.

Her whispered response was, “She started training that year.” Then, though it was not nearly enough, she stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

 She felt his lips touch her temple, when there was a flurry of activity in the courier’s crew. Listening for a few moments, Dalibor moved his mouth to her ear to murmur, “We are coming into the main hangar of Castle Wulfenbach, by the sound of it. I... Hy schould get beck to bein’ a schtupid Jäger, ja?”

“My sergeant is not stupid.”

 His chuckle quieted as the courier’s engines cut out, but he nuzzled the top of her ear before carefully settling in for the landing.

From the noise, the hangar was not quite as busy as the flight-yard at the base had been. Dafi heard comments from the crew that they were lucky to get in before the mid-watch came on. There was a shudder and a metallic clack as the cradle latched on to the gondola, and the courier crew began offloading the mail bags from the bins on either side of them. There were a great number of orders shouted that did not make sense to her, but Dalibor seemed relaxed, so she supposed they were normal. She spent the time drying her face and generally pulling herself together for the forthcoming debriefing.

 A debriefing that did not seem to be in the immediate future as the crew of the courier was dismissed, but the captain remained, speaking at length with the maintenance officer, scheduling a number of minor repairs, including a “broken” remote release cable for the drop hatch on the center mail bin. As the two officers were standing right there pointing everything out, Dafi and Dal were not going to pull the release to leave in front of the maintenance officer.

Finally, the maintenance officer left with his list of Things To Do. Dal held her hand, giving the patrol signal for “wait”.

Finally, the captain murmured, “Sit tight, I’m letting you out topside.” A few moments later, the top of the bin was unlocked, and the airship captain chuckled, “Would be nice to put a couple of the rowdier special couriers in your seat for their runs. Your handler should arrive soon, since this deck is closed for the next shift.” The captain pulled his duffel out of the overhead, and gave a saluting wave, “Good hunting to you both,” and left.

~=*=~

 

Peering out of the airship from their place in the shadows, Dalibor noted the flight deck was darker than he remembered. Perhaps he was getting tired of shadows and would prefer a good fight without worrying. Maybe it was the problem of watching every shadow for knife glints had him on edge. Or it really was just that dark.

She murmured, “Minimum lights for off-duty?”

Dalibor nodded, and grunted softly when he spotted movement near the maintenance officer’s desk. Maneuvering Dafi so she could use him as a shield but could still see to shoot, he kept still, watching the man of average height and build in a grubby mechanic’s coverall walk down the flightline to the Meltem. Something about the man’s stride was familiar, but it took the flash of the screwdriver being twirled in his fingers like a baton to give him the last clue. Dalibor gave what was termed a “Jäger-friendly” chuckle when the man came to the door. “Figg’rd hyu for admin, Nistor.”

The newcomer chuckled, “Next step, old man. The hornet’s nest you stirred up by stealing the knight from the board means you get me instead of the three layers under me.” He bowed to Dafi. “Quester Hasdeu, Dama Hynter. We have much to discuss.” He then produced the identifying sigil from his pocket, the gold glinting in the limited light.

~=*=~

 Dafi took the proffered badge, the three sapphire crystals set in the rank band catching the light from the hangar. She turned it over to note the number etched on the reverse before handing it back. Raising her eyebrow, she spoke in what she hoped was an even tone. “Discussion would be welcome, especially if it leads to action.”

“It may not seem to be immediate, but trust me, it will occur.” Quester Hasdeu scanned the flight line, while murmuring, “However, I’d like to take this to a more secure location. Preferably meeting the fewest people possible along the way.” He alighted from the courier, and led them to the airbag pumping station. The door next to the pressure gauge panel seemed to be slightly dusty and out of use, but swung out without a sound. Behind the door, the maintenance corridor from their position stretched as far as could be seen in the dim light.

Their hike through the Castle was both awe-inspiring and a trifle unnerving. Dafi was uncomfortably aware that though it was gigantic enough to be stable, this was still an airship, and required great engineering and massive maintenance efforts to stay aloft. These corridors were chilly, but not horribly so, much like the deep storage cellars at the fortress. Seeing the checklists that different hands had initialed along their route gave her some appreciation for the safety, but she was not entirely calm.

~=*=~

 Dalibor kept an eye on Dafi, irrationally proud of her ability to  keep her nervousness at being in the air under control. Still, the sooner he could get her back on the ground, and back in control of her fortress, the better for her state of mind. It remained to be seen if he would need to ask permission to assist in retaking the fortress, or forgiveness for doing it anyway.  

 

This would never be his home, but it was familiar ground for Dalibor. He knew these corridors as well as any of the other security forces on the ship, possibly better than three-quarters of the residents aboard. They headed from the lower aft airship docks to about midships, near the sick bay, but not quite to the Jägerbarracks. What surprised Dal was that Hasdeu led from the maintenance corridors to an office inside the hospital section. “Hrrr..."

 

Hasdeu’s voice was quiet in answer to the growl. “Not for you, old man. No worries. But we have a bit of a problem brewing around Dama Hynter.” He motioned for them to sit. “First, we do have reports that the fortress is occupied by inimical forces, but that the village is still autonomous, under the village aldermen’s control. It seems the occupiers are trying very hard to make it look as if everything is normal at Adreev. I am authorized to tell you there will be forces to assist you in retaking the fortress. Beyond that, there is not much more that I know, either in the forces assigned or the timeframe. In fact, you’ll likely be briefed by the Baron before I am told anything else.” He chuckled, then sobered with his next statement. “I should let you in on the news that you have become a person of interest to the court gossips. In fact there are some theories and queries floating about that are... curious. Dama, were there any formal contracts for your betrothal signed by you?”

Dafi shook her head, “Father had said there were initial inquiries from some of the neighboring duchies, but none had gotten to the point of a preliminary meeting.”

 “That makes things interesting, then. There have been several people who should not know about the attack on Adreev that are making what seem to be making ‘sympathetic overtures’, inquiring about your health, and so on.” Hasdeu took a list from his pocket, “Were any of the inquiries by the house of Movila?”

Dalibor managed to keep from growling, but Dafi openly scoffed. “Not before the attack, no - but apparently the attempted kidnapping in Tânărăjugul was an overture.”

 “That was not in the constabulary report, though we only had the helio short form.” The quester shook his head, “We should start from the beginning.”

As Dafi gave her report, beginning with the odd happenings along the trade circle road over the summer, Dal kept his counsel. Her report was succinct, and given with suppositions and theories clearly separated from documented occurrences. When she got to the attack, her voice thickened, but she kept up the report. He had not heard this part, as she had not discussed it on the trail. Finding out her seconds had practically thrown her onto her horse with the documents they had liberated from one of the attacking locotenents, Dal twitched. Her responses on the train when he had attempted to defy her orders made much more sense, now. She had already had her fill of subordinates putting themselves in danger for her.

When Dafi had finished her report, she started pulling out the documents from all the hiding spaces. Nistor was experienced enough to cover his surprise at the documents they were carrying, until the sheer number of documents overwhelmed even his mask of serene regard. “They were carrying all of this with them?”

“Ho. Nut all of dese come from Adreev.” Dal separated the piles for the different sources. “Hy got deese schoved at me, ven Hy wastoldt to get de Dama haway from de attack on da forst courier.” Even the two separate stacks were impressive in their numbers.

“And how did you get assigned to Dama Hynter’s bodyguard detail, old man?” Nistor raised his eyebrow at Dalibor, in the manner Dal had seen at many a card game.

Dal grinned and shrugged, “Chust lucky, Hy guess!”

~=*=~

She would have liked to know the answer to that as well, but Dafi was not going to berate him in front of someone who was obviously an old friend. Even with her nap on the courier, and the rest of the days previous at the base, she was getting to the end of her reserves. Making sure she did not break down in the middle of the debriefing had taken a lot out of her. Stifling a yawn, she listened attentively as Dalibor gave his version of events, from the time they met on the airship, to his conversation with the innkeeper and his observations concerning the attacks on the rail-monks and in the tavern.

Finally, the quester seemed to be satisfied with the first interview. “Things have gotten complicated. All summer there have been rumblings through the southern duchies, more than what the weather could account for.” He gestured to the papers they had brought in, “These tie quite a few incidents together, I think.” He regarded Dafi with piercing eyes, “However, you also figure into this puzzle, Dama. These three probably think they’ve covered the trail, but the papers you two were carrying are enough to send the cabal to Castle Heterodyne. I think this is part of the reason why you were hunted. The other part is a land-grab.”

“With me surviving the attack, that is a little less likely, I would think.” Dafi said, but she was not sure. There was another way, which the quester confirmed.

“It involves something that the cabal found in an old treaty that Moviloras will come to the aid of Adreev in time of need or some such... looks like they have a pack of lawyers to twist the conditions around to suit them. Apparently, their idea of aiding Adreev is to have the Dama married to their duke”

“Hy t’ink it vould be betta if dey hadn’ been de vuns to attack.”

“True, but they do not know we have proof of that.” Hasdeu patted the documentation. “There’s also the chance we can get them to come here, in a situation that would mean they are cut off from their forces, if the Dama will agree to a little intrigue.”

“I would like to hear the shape of the plan, before I jump in.” Dafi hoped the tremor she felt was not heard by the others in her voice.

“Once the heliograph reports reached here, the Baron had already gotten the paperwork drawn up to have you confirmed as commander of the fortress. Everything has been waiting for you to be found. We’re just lucky you finally reached the Castle Wulfenbach under your own power.” Hasdeu’s grin turned a bit sharp. “One oversight that’s going to trip those idiots is the fact that you actually have been trained to hold and manage the lands yourself. We think, based on the letters and other communications we have intercepted, that their plan is to have their player keep you pregnant and out of the way so they can maneuver the lands to a powerful enough foothold to challenge the Baron. The intel we have indicates they expect the Baron will give control of the fortress and lands over to whoever marries the Dama, because she was not one of the students on Castle Wulfenbach.”

“Tch, I wasn’t here because I was at the academy, and Father was a long-term supporter, dedicated to keeping the peace.”

The quester chuckled, “I don’t think they’ve paid attention to how many schools have Baron Wulfenbach on the board of trustees. He reads most of the reports from the schools, I know - it’s how I got into the track I’m in now.”

“Who ist dey player?”

“Their chosen puppet, Duke Gavril, is controlled by their holding of his gambling debt.”

“Over half of that they managed to create with a shark, according to one of the letters we brought.” Dafi felt the need to point this out, as there were people who believed in him.

“He’s also a confirmed city noble. Though he may have some good ideas for trade and export management, he’s been encouraged to be a wastrel and a dandy. Also rumored to have a gentleman lover, but it seems his handlers don’t care about what he wants, either.” Hasdeu regarded her seriously, “There are some indications they are planning to have you married and buried in a year, if he doesn’t manage to keep you busy with pregnancies. That would be a waste of resources, and you know how the Baron has saving ways.”

Dafi considered the possibility of refusing, as it could get her locked into wedding a man who would be useless in the fortress, and likely refusing to allow her to do her duty. But if they were able to get the organizers of this mess restrained by her being bait, so be it. “As long as I am not required to break my oaths, I think I can agree to bait the trap. I have no wish to be trapped as well, though.”

“Fair enough. We can get started now, before the next shift begins. Think you can manage pretending to be a delicate flower, unable to cope with exhaustion?”

~=*=~

 

Keeping quiet during Dafi’s last decision was difficult for Dal. On the one hand, they did need to get these vipers, but using her as bait still made him nervous.

The quester let them out of the office, to the hall with private patient rooms. Meeting a woman in a dark suit, Hasdeu murmured to her, “We need her under seclusion for nervous breakdown and exhaustion, no visitors unless cleared by me or my boss.”

“Good thing you aren’t using disease quarantine for hiding her, that was getting old.” The woman chuckled, and came to meet Dafi.

“Dama, may I present Dr. Ioana Shriram? Dr. Shriram will be taking care of you, and helping magnify your symptoms to the rumor mill.” He turned to the doctor, “Dama Hynter has nearly nothing with her, but there might be people who think she is carrying something or other.”

“Fair enough. If you will come this way, Dama?” The woman indicated the room nearest them.

As Dalibor made to follow, Nistor restrained him with a hand on his arm, “Sorry, old man. We need to have you fade into the background for now. If you aren’t shadowing her every move, there’s a better chance they won’t see you until it’s too late.” He led the Jäger back to the office.

Once the door was closed, and Dal was seated, Nistor said quietly “I didn’t tell her all the rumors flying about, but one involves her ‘pet monster’, heavy on the innuendo.” He held up his hand at the Dalibor rose out of his chair, “I don’t think anyone that will have contact with her would be crass enough to repeat it in front of her, and it’s popular only with the Normandie set. But the less you are seen with her, the less likely it will get any fuel.”

Dal knew, logically, that there was nothing he could do about the rumors with his fists. But it was very tempting. He took a few moments to calm himself before asking, “Zo. Vat do hyu t’ink hy should be doing?”



Flight or Fight, Chapter 15

Dalibor took the time while Dafi was at the library to read through the book the bookbinder had given her. He knew, within a few pages into the analysis of the first story, that the would-be professor had gotten off lightly with the warning. The story behind the story was only thinly veiled to those who knew the actual history... but then, there were few still around who knew what really happened. Even among the Jägerkin, less than a quarter of the Corps were both around at the time of the story, and bothered to follow politics.

These were the tales that the grannies still told in the mountains, as Bârsănescu had said, and the scholar had managed to get the least embroidered versions of these old tales. In a way, it was good for Dafi to have read the early ones, because it was closer to the true politics of the time.

But it was also dangerous. The tales had started in Movila. Delving into the ancient history of the duchy had never been a healthy pastime, as Bârsănescu had found out. Now, with outsiders possibly manipulating the Grand Duke, it was unlikely anyone in that set would look at someone snooping about with a kindly eye. He would have to warn her when she came back to the Comandor’s suite.

~=*=~

Dafi had not made use of the note-taking materials, hoping that her manner was that of someone bored and looking for anything to read, rather than a serious researcher. It was possibly a good thing she had chosen this as her cover, as it allowed her to look up from time to time, stretching and occasionally yawning.

Still, she had found some likely candidates to follow up in the right time-frame. There were several noble houses in the area, as the duchy was not yet firmly formed from the counties in the area. Some of these had the requisite number of sons gone to war at different battles, but she had not tracked down which family had one out of nine return. It was the time before the Fifty had settled into their current orbits, establishing themselves as the major powers. There were fewer candidates for the creator of the sort of construct that fit the old descriptions of the Third Son. The Heterodyne of the time was at the top of that short list.

She had been unable to concentrate on the history books as much as she would have liked. For one thing, though the library itself was quiet, it was on an outside wall, and the wind was still howling outside. This made listening for others in the library difficult. She settled for seating herself at one of the smaller tables, with a view to all approaches, so she was able to catch the approach of the captain from several shelves away.

Looking up from the book on fifteenth-century diarists, she smiled at the captain, barely catching the hand-signal the helio crews used to call for “quiet in the tower”. The older woman’s demeanor was relaxed, and otherwise open, waiting until she got to the table before asking quietly, “Will you be staying through the luncheon hour?” At the same time, she laid her hand on the table with her palm cupped, allowing a scrap of paper to fall to the table surface. Visible only from Dafi’s position, it held only one word - “watched”.

Dafi shook her head, chuckling. “I am not so involved as all that,” she closed the book she was reading, leaving it near the librarian’s hand. “Do you lock up during lunch?”

The book was picked up with the scrap of paper palmed again. “Normally, no - but my locotenant is down with a chest cold, and her second was caught in town by the storm.”

“Then I should clear out so you can go to luncheon.” Dafi managed to even giggle. “Thank you for not locking me in!” She saluted, and it was returned, before she gathered the clipboard and left the library.

Walking briskly, she managed to swing by the base Comandor’s office just as he was leaving for the noon meal. He caught sight of her, and from the way his eyes flickered back behind her, she thought she was right to detour into a well-traveled area. “So, how did your trip to the library go?” he asked as he fell into step alongside her.

“Eh, it was one way to wait for the weather to blow out.” She gave a diffident shrug. “Captain had said something about wanting to lock up for the luncheon break, so I thought it was time to move on.”

“One thing’s for sure, don’t keep a Heliolux from their tea.” Lungu chuckled as they got to the door of his suite. Once inside, he bolted the door, and motioned for her to move to the fireplace.

Dal was there immediately, positioning himself between the door and Dafi. She was within reach of the fireplace tools, but both waited for Lungu to either explain or act.

When he did, it was well away from the door, and he actually pulled them away from the fireplace as well. “Captain Dytel never closes the library, even if we have no staff. The restricted area gets locked up, but not the main library. What happened?”

“She came to my table, with a note that said ‘watched’, as she told me her locotenent was ill and the second was in town.” Dafi said.

“Did she say what the locotenent had?”

“Chest cold.”

“Damn. Let me think...” Lungu looked considerably worried. “We are going to have to hide you completely, now. There’s new players on the board.”

“Vich airchip ist de vun ve vill be takink to de Castle?” Dalibor asked. “Are de crew stayink aboard or no?”

Lungu nodded slowly, “That’s going to be uncomfortable, but the best way to hide you, I think.” He shrugged, “Won’t be as warm, but it also means they won’t have to wait for you to board when the weather breaks. Pare your gear down to the essentials, and I’ll talk to the airship captain.” Heading for the door, he said, “Bolt the door behind me, and you’ll know it’s me when I return by the knock.”

Dafi shook her head, after following the Comandor’s orders, murmuring “Other than leaving my spare uniform, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with paring down any further.”

“Ve chould be at der Castle by de end of de trip, und ken reshupply, ja?” Dal led the way to the guest room, and began pulling together a smaller pack for himself.

“That’s what I thought the last time I boarded an airship.” Dafi was pulling out everything but the basic survival gear and the documents from her pack.

“Ho. Ja. Hm.” Dal looked their packs over. “Hy vill tek de para-choot. Ve pack vun set of gear in hyur pack.” Taking out the extra clothes, he helped her load the med-kit, one cook-set and the remaining rations in her pack, which was the smaller of the two. When they were done, it was still only half full. Hiding the documents was more difficult in this pack, but he tucked some lighter items such as socks and Dafi’s hygiene case into the corners with the documents.

They nearly missed the knocking of the Comandor, as it was not on the front door, but the quiet tapping in code came from the floor under their feet, muffled by the rug. Flipping back the rug, they found a trap door, latched on their side. Dal motioned for Dafi to open the door as he covered the opening with his sidearm.

Comandor Lungu was alone, but had a lantern with him. “Good job. Let’s go, there’s a possible break coming at sunset, I want you  in place long before then.”

Dafi shouldered her pack and donned her riding helmet before descending, and Dalibor arranged the rug to fall approximately into place as he closed the door behind them. Lungu slid the latch home before leading them down the tunnel. It was not large, for even Dafi had to walk while stooped over.

“This is another leftover from a few decades back. Most of the base doesn’t know this is still here. The old tunnel system has been bricked up for years, after the Long War finally seemed to be over.” They came to a stone wall. Lungu turned to grin at them and murmured quietly, “Funny thing about brick walls, got to be careful how they’re built.” Then he motioned for silence as he pushed an iron reinforcement aside and the wall pivoted. He led them through, then reset the wall. They were in another stone room, but one in which all three could stand up straight. This looked to be a mechanic’s parts storage, from the crates that were stacked against the walls.

Lungu led them to the stairs, then blew out the lantern once they were safely on them. The weak light from under the door proved to be the light from the hangar above them, in off-duty status. He motioned for them to wait, as he made a lazy circuit of the hangar. He walked openly, poking about, as any inspecting officer would do.

Once he had returned to the cellar door, he nodded, “We’re clear. The Meltem is not going to be the first ship to leave, but it will be the ship going directly to the Castle. It usually does not take passengers,” Lungu shrugged, “except special couriers. Even so, the captain is aware of the need for stealth. You’ll need to stay quiet, because the rest of the crew is not supposed to know about you until after you’re on the Castle. Captain will let you know when it’s clear to exit.”

“Vill ve be able to get out if de ship ist boarded?”

“Should be, but she’s one of the fastest craft we see here. If this courier gets boarded, there’s a new engine-builder out there.” Lungu rolled one of the inspection ladders over to the gondola. “Be better if we can get you both in the middle mail bin. The two outer ones are already full, ready to go.”

“Goot, dat’s de vun mit de drop hetch.” Dal said.

“Drop hatch... urgh.” Dafi shut her eyes a moment as she fought her revulsion for flight, unprotected heights and anything else that required nothing but sky under her feet.

“We’ll disconnect the line for the remote release, making it manual from the inside.” Lungu’s blithe explanation did little to reassure Dafi.

~=*=~

Dalibor showed Dafi the security of the bin by jumping up and down on the secured hatch after they disconnected the remote cable. He was not sure if it actually made her feel better about the trip, considering he had shaken the ship a bit with his jumping. But now they were in place, waiting for the storm to lift.

“Hyu chould sleep, Dafi. Hy kip watch” Even though they had not heard anyone around, he kept his voice low enough that it would barely reach her, crammed together side-by-side as they were. The drop bin was intended to carry four mail sacks and their parachutes. It was a little larger than their accommodations on the train, but they were sharing the space with their packs this time.

She breathed, her voice a tight thread, “Too nervous, still.” In the darkness, the only cues he had to her emotional status were her scent and her voice. Both told him she was keyed up, but under control. “You sleep if you can.”

He grunted, and patted her knee in response. She lightly put her hand on his, the tremor barely detectable.

~=*=~

Dafi listened. There were unfamiliar sounds, such as the small creaks and groans in the airship as it accommodated the lowering temperature. The whistling of the wind around the building was that of an autumn storm blowing itself out, something she had heard for years, but it had a different tenor when the roof was curved metal instead of steeply-pitched slate.

But there was a sound that was becoming familiar and comforting to her: the even, quiet breathing of Dalibor asleep. Just a week ago, she did not know him. Now, she trusted him, as a fellow soldier, as a friend. Yes, she had to admit to herself she found him attractive, but it was a dangerous sort of beauty. One could admire a wolf in the wild... from a distance. But you should not mistake it for the loyal guard dog.

Besides, it was a fantasy to think they would be able to do more than correspond when this mission was over. They both had their duties to uphold. She turned her mind from that well-worn track to new ground.

Having the Third Son as a conversational point had kept people from asking about their reasons for travelling together, and had helped their cover that they were between duty stations, rotating back to the Castle Wulfenbach for their new assignments. Yet this deflection required her full concentration, which allowed her some respite from the constant worrying, whether about the condition of her people and the fortress at Adreev, or if the Baron would allow her to return to hold the fortress as her father had, or even if she would need to liberate the fortress on her own.

Mulling over her new distraction, the research she had been able to pull from admittedly random books in the library, she turned again to the mystery surrounding Third Son. She had eleven of what she considered nearly primary sources. The ten tales collected by Scholar Bârsănescu had the same tone and attitude towards the hero that the people of Lacul Rateu gave their tale. Yes, they respected him, but they did not worship him. He was deadly, and more willing to move on rather than take his ease and receive accolades.

There were pieces that Bârsănescu had not linked together in his analysis, perhaps because of the warning he had received. But then, his book was not searching for the man, but tracing the literary trope to its local origins.

As with the tales the babas of her region told by firelight in the long winters, these eleven tales had a rhythm and cadence that tied them to their regional storytelling style. Something the newer tales had dropped, as it was not currently in fashion. Some phrases, such as “he was changed beyond the ken of his kin” had stayed with them, but others, such as the part that preceded that phrase in the older tales, “he walked a lone path, the one of nine who returned, yet spurned by his house” were poetic, but not particularly joyful or gruesome as the groschenroman publishers seemed to favor.

That phrase was what had led her to the genealogies and published diaries in the library. The houses that had the right number of sons in the time-frame Bârsănescu estimated for the origin of Third Son were not particularly of interest to the historians who had documented the local family trees. Very little beyond birth and death dates were noted, when they were actually known. The exception being the ones who had gained the leadership of their houses. First sons were always documented, the spares were usually only written about when they were called to step into the space left by a leader who died without issue. That was as far as she got before she had to seek cover.

The inn village has a clearer tale than any of the others. Yet even their tale did not give Third Son a name. It was quite possible that he had not given it, but why would they know he was a third son... unless they did know, and had kept his name a secret? Or perhaps even the tale spinners were following an edict that his name was not to be spoken? That was common enough when a dishonored son was thrown out, and there seemed to be one in every every house lineage that was stricken from the records in those days. Though the tales did note he was one who acted with honor, the tales were told from the perspective of the peasants, the downtrodden and the powerless.

The mayor's family at the inn could know his name, but it also could have been lost in the years since his assistance. After all, they had not mentioned he had returned, only that they assisted the lone soldiers in his memory. True enough, he likely was no longer around, but it would be nice to know. Dafi had no real reason to ask, other than curiosity. Perhaps she had a wish to honor someone who acted to help instead of shaking their head because the ruling class did not want to be bothered. She could not go back and ask them about it, not until the fortress was secure, and it could be years before she was able to travel at leisure.

The wind had been dying down as she theorized, and Dalibor dozed. He stirred quietly when the doors opened and the crews swarmed the craft. The tone of the voices did not indicate an emergency. The mechanics’ voices were firm and conveyed a desire to get the courier on her way in good form, and the airmen’s voices were sharper, almost like the calls of hunting hawks eager to be loosed on the sky.

~=*=~

Dalibor woke from his sleep, sharply but without outward sign, when the clear weather bell rang in the distance, likely near the barracks. Aware of his surroundings, he also felt Dafi’s hand still on his. The tremor was gone, and he enjoyed the sensation of a woman holding his hand voluntarily. She withdrew into herself when the doors of the hangar opened for the crew, and he put his arm around her, the only comfort he could offer until they were sure they were on their way.

Listening to the voices around them, Dal identified the captain by the responses to orders, and the crew chief for the base. The others moved in and out of range until there was an extended clanging that was the opening of the hangar doors, and the short scrape of the gondola lifting in the cradle as the lifting chambers were brought up to pressure. The chant of the ground crew accompanied the slight sensation of movement as they hauled the Meltem out to the lift-yard. Then the crew chief advised the captain of clearance, and the captain signaled his readiness for flight. The sharp double-clang of the clamps releasing and the cradle landing on its iron wheels followed by the stomach-sinking sensation of rapid ascent was the last he heard from the yard.

When the engines fired, roaring to life, he murmured in Dafi’s ear, “Dat vas a good, clean lift. Hyu hokay?” He felt the movement of her head nodding in the affirmative, but she did not say anything. Dal guessed she might still be fighting her fears or her stomach. He was glad he had remembered to exchange the strong sausages and cheese for the oat-based ration bars when they repacked. He would miss the delicacies, but it would make the trip more comfortable for her.

“Dey vill belike keep you awake for hours for debrief ven ve get dhere. T’ink hyu can schleep?” After a few moments, came a slow nod, and he settled her on his shoulder.

He leaned his head back against the back of the bin, listening to the crew. The navigator was having to re-chart their course enroute, because instead of a rendezvous at Sibiu, the Castle’s heading from Budapest was more southerly than expected. Frowning in concentration, the coordinates filtered through his memory. The new intersect course would take them to the northeastern corner of the Movila territory, and within a few day’s cruise for the Castle Wulfenbach of the capital city of Moviloraş. Dal resisted the urge to pound his head on the side of the bin. He could not stay out of the duchy, it seemed.

~=*=~

Dafi had not intended to sleep, but the instincts from when she had to switch duty schedules kicked in, with the illusion of safety that Dal provided.

The dream began with the excitement of a new day. Her family was going on a trip! Papa and Mama were invited to visit Papa’s soo-peer-ear officer and they got to go in an airship! They had a room tinier than her bunk-room to share for the trip, but Captain, the officer in charge of the ship only wanted them there to sleep. There were many others on the ship with them, all sorts of soldiers and civvies, all going to the Bear’s birthday party! Once her tummy settled, Trandafira was allowed to play in a little space of the lounge where she whirled and twirled like the Mevlev soldiers, balancing her doll on her head like their swords.

She stumbled when the ship shook all over. Mama grabbed her hand, and started running for their little cubby, but the smelly man was in the way. Mama hid Trandafira’s face in her shoulder, and kept running. There were lots of people screaming and shouting. the ship lurched again and Mama fell! They were sliding, and falling and suddenly, Trandafira looked down at her feet dangling over the clouds. Mama screamed at someone, “Take care of her!” but Mama’s voice was fading quickly. The strong grip on her wrist became a hug, “Hy got hyu, is hokay. Shh...” She couldn’t see anything of the fighting she could hear behind her, only the endless field of fluffy white clouds...

Dafi woke, her face wet again with tears. Dalibor was murmuring in her ear, “Hy got hyu, iatagandraga. Ve is hokay. Shh....”

The similarity shocked her, startling her into whispered speech. “It was when Mama died, when the pirates raided the airship.” She reached up to rub at her eyes and found Dal holding a handkerchief there for her. “I had forgotten, buried it.” Speaking the words did not stop the tears, but at least she understood them now. “They did not take the ship, just my mother...” Dafi buried her head in his shoulder, as best she could at the angle they were sitting, and stifled her sniffles with the handkerchief.

It just kept pouring out, with the realization that with Father gone, she was alone. There was nothing left between her and the world, with only the training her father and commanding officer gave her to guide her, and her position to isolate her further. Her ruthless suppression of her grief was only partly because of the mission. She had no idea how to grieve, because she only remembered numbness in the year after her mother fell from the airship to her death. The only token Father had kept was her ring - it had been flattened slightly, but it had helped identify her, along with her boots and jacket.

She took what comfort she could now, because when the ship landed, there was a good chance she would lose Dal as well. When the greater part of her emotional storm had passed, she attempted to breathe normally, but did not withdraw from him. “There was a Jäger there, he caught me as we fell out of the hole in the hull.”

“Hy know... Hy... I remember.” Dalibor’s voice was quiet, the Mechanicsburg accent dropping away, replaced by cultured cadences. “I am sorry I could not catch you both.”