The tension in the Tyskian General Staff’s war room was palpable; you could scoop it with a spoon.
14 men sat around a large oak table, staring intently at the map laying atop it. I, of course, was among them -- the Interior Minister had to make an appearance -- though I was relegated to an advisory role. In fairness, it wasn’t as if I had anything to contribute aside from some minor assistance with logistics. The minds of Listeria best and brightest were beyond me; I prefer performing counterespionage and policing.
Still, my attention remained riveted on the map laid out before me. What was said here -- done here -- would not only affect the army, but the Empire at large. One wrong move, and we’d have a war on our hands.
The General Staff could not afford a mistake, and they knew it. Every man at the table had their brows furrowed in concentration and their hands clenched around either cigars or water glasses. Their eyes burned holes in the paper map, interrogating it for answers to their predicament.
When none were forthcoming, they let out a collective sigh and sunk back into their chairs, waiting for the next round of reports. They certainly did not have to wait long. A harried looking young colonel -- one of the newer aides to Army Intelligence, I think -- gingerly opened the door, shuffled in, and placed a few sheets of paper before his superiors.
He was pale as a sheet.
His superiors took a parting glance at the papers placed before them and paused. Their eyes went wide. After a moment, one of them recovered enough to dismiss the Colonel. The other glanced nervously around the room -- they were being stared sy-- before clearing his throat to speak.
“Gentlemen, I believe we have a problem.”
The man at the head of the table -- the Tyskian Emperor -- sighed and motioned for the speaker to continue.
“Out with it, Jeremius. We have no time for theatrics.”
“As you wish, your majesty. In short, the Federation Army has redeployed two infantry corps to the Strasbourg plains, near the border to the Ostland Military District. Supporting elements and the usual complement of auxiliaries-” he paused for a moment before shuffling his papers around, probably to cross reference certain articles of information “-necessary to carry out a prolonged offensive are present. They are poised to attack at any time.”
Everyone in the room sucked in a sharp breath. This was unexpected, and very, very dangerous. So far, the Federation forces at the Tyskian-Lothian border were combat ready, but not combat ready. They had their usual array of heavy weapons, sure -- so too did the Empire -- but lacked the layers of logistical support needed to commit to prolonged offensives.
That was to say that their usual border garrisons were a defanged tiger. Yes, they were scary, but no, they were not a threat. The shifting of these two corps changed that -- a forward thrust by their current forces would now carry weight. They could hold territory.
And the notion of Imperial territory being lost? That was disturbing. Never once since the ascension of the Weeping King did the Empire give ground. And that was a few hundred years ago.
The first to recover was a grim, balding man: Lieutenant General Kurt Von Haugen, the Director of Operations. He wore an eyepatch over his right eye -- a ‘memoir from his time in the Republic’, as he called it -- along with a severe frown that never seemed to fade. When he spoke, his voice was soft, measured, and calm -- it carried the weight of an artillery barrage, and the sharpness of a bayonet in moonlight.
“Have additional Federation support units been moved up to the line?”
Jeremius furrowed his brows in contemplation, before once again delving back into the report he was given. The man with the other copy did the same. After a while, they both shook their heads. Kurt chuckled slowly and breathed out a sigh of relief.
“They are trying to intimidate us.”
“Sir, they moved two fully equipped infantry corps to the border. How in the name of God is this an intimidation tactic? This is an act of war!”
The exclamation came from the Deputy Director of Logistics: Major General Astor Mayer Veers. He was the son of Duke Johann Mayor Veers of Elsland; his agitation made sense, if you considered the proximity of his family’s holdings to the front line. Still, the interruption was deeply unprofessional -- the room glared at him in silent reprimand, and he shrunk back under their collective gazes.
The Director of Operations sighed, then continued.
“Veers, you will wait your turn to speak. I understand the personal stake you have here-” he gave the young man a knowing nod, who returned the gesture with a strained smile “-but allow us to consider the situation rationally.”
Kurt began pointing to the map. The other 13 men, myself included, leaned forward to listen.
“The new Federation Forces were moved to the Strasbourg region, yes? That means their most expedient means of entry to the Empire would be the Saarland gap, held by elements of the 7th Corps, Third Imperial Army.”
“Does that mean they will attack through there? Even with those reinforcements, that’d be-”
“Tantamount to suicide, yes, Walter. They’d be advancing across tens of kilometers of open ground, up steep slopes, under constant artillery fire only to crash into a line of prepared defenses. Provided they break through, they’d have to deal with a second line composed of our reserves and the Third Army’s mobile elements. All while being bombed by the 7th Air Army. The same scene would play out if they tried it anywhere else -- with the exception of the slopes. They. Would. Not. Survive.”
He threw a pointed look at Veers.
“This is why I am saying that the Federation is trying to intimidate us. They lack both the logistical capacity to outfit an entire army -- at the moment -- and a sufficient degree of force to breach our defenses with impunity. Note that they sent up infantry, not cavalry or artillery. Regardless, the casualties they would sustain in a hypothetical offensive across Ostland would be horrendous; two Corps is significant, yes, but not enough. They would need two armies.”
Everyone at the table -- except for the members of Army Operations, who had already done so -- sunk back into their chairs and relaxed. The immediate crisis was over, or so it seemed.
“I apologize for my actions, Lieutenant General Haugen.” Veers replied bashfully. “Please pardon my interruptions.”
“Good. Know this: an ordinary civilian is allowed the leeway to panic. We are the shield of the Empire -- if we crack, then the Empire breaks. Anyways -- the question that remains is whether we should answer their provocations, and to what degree if we do. That, of course, requires the Foreign Ministry to weigh in. Now, your majesty?”
The Emperor cleared his throat and gestured theatrically to the door. Ironic, but considering that everything turned out alright? Acceptable, if hypocritical.
“This meeting is adjourned. We will return after lunch. Fredrich?”
“Yes, your Majesty?”
“No need for formalities, Fredrich. You’re my cousin, for God’s sake.” He pinched his nose and sighed tiredly. “Return to your regular duties. I’m afraid we’ve wasted enough of your time.”
“It was no trouble at all, your Majesty.”
“I- nevermind. Have a nice day.”
“You as well, your Majesty.”
--
I figured I would reward myself for a good morning’s work. Well, a good morning of sitting around doing nothing, but the point still stands. It was mentally draining. As such, I soon found myself sitting near the window of one of the finer establishments in Bremenstadt. The winter chill provided a pleasant contrast to the insufferable stuffiness of the war room.
A breath of fresh air was a welcome reprieve from tobacco smoke, I’ll tell you that much.
Anyways, the restaurant itself. It was comfortable, and its interior well arranged. The elegant, high-backed wooden chairs coupled with rustic decorations gave it a foreign, quasi-medieval feel. That feeling was accentuated by the simple yet elegant fare (if what was on the other customers’ plates was anything to go by), the uniforms of the serving staff, and the small hearth crackling invitingly in the corner.
It was pleasant. I gently grabbed the menu set on my table, flipped through it, and promptly realized that I didn’t recognize a single one of the items. A quick glance at my guards -- a quiet appeal for help -- revealed nothing. They kept staring into nothingness, eyes forward and chins up. I sighed and returned to trying to puzzle out my meal.
Damn their professionalism.
“Sir, your order?”
I looked up from said menu to meet the eyes of a young waitress. Probably aged twenty-two or twenty three. Definitely not Tyskian: her skin was two shades too light for that, and her speech carried a slight accent -- Muscovite, I think.
Excellent. She could help me with my order.
“Nothing yet, I’m afraid.” I chucked self-deprecatingly and pointed to the menu in my hands. “Any recommendations? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the dishes offered; I thought I’d experiment a bit today. Apologies for the inconvenience.”
“No problem at all, sir. I would recommend today's special, which comes with a drink and two sides of your choosing. It would be an excellent starting point from which to explore the other options on the menu.” she replied, without missing a beat. Very well rehearsed, and definitely a Muscovite. I’ve listened to enough interrogations to pick out that accent from anywhere.
So, she’s from the Federation, then. Wonderful. I threw her another look -- pretty little thing, if a bit fragile in appearance. Definitely a legal immigrant; I couldn’t imagine her trekking hundreds of miles through harsh tundra conditions. Probably not a threat, but you never knew.
I subtly motioned for my guards to ready their weapons. You could never be too careful. Once I confirmed they did so, I returned my attention to the woman in front of me.
“Very well.” I flashed her a genial smile. “I’ll have that then. You’ve convinced me.”
She withdrew a notebook and began scribbling down my order, before asking me for my choice of drink and sides.
“Do you have wine?”
The waitress gave a small nod.
“Excellent. A bottle please, with two glasses. As for the sides? Surprise me.”
“As you wish, sir. Please give me a moment, and I’ll be right back with your dishes.” She gave a small curtsy and began walking to the back to inform the kitchen staff of my order. I watched her closely, and was rewarded: she was far more than meets the eye.
Firstly, she carried herself with a grace and dignity foreign to the common civilian. Her back was just a little straighter, and her steps just a little surer: she had the discipline of a soldier or noblewoman, not a waitress. It makes you wonder what she was doing here, if she took such efforts to cultivate her poise.
It really makes you wonder.
Second, she didn’t panic upon seeing my uniform nor my guards. All the other patrons gave me a wide berth, while the restaurant staff threw me wary glances -- except her. I didn’t fault the rest for their behavior, of course. A high-ranking government functionary with a security detail would be intimidating at the best of times. It wasn’t a sight you wanted to see, especially at lunch, and doubly so if the functionary’s uniform had the markings of the Interior Ministry. Even so, her disposition marked her as the odd woman out; I did not expect her to stand before me with such… bravado.
Her control over her emotions was commendable, if nothing else.
Lastly, her voice held an unmistakable edge of distrust, though she attempted to hide it with her polite demeanor. It was as if she expected a curtain of pleasantries to veil her emotions; a juvenile tactic employed most commonly by members of the nobility, but ineffective against trained personnel.
I went over all these details in my head, and then it clicked. A noble. Yes, she must be a fallen noble, disgraced and exiled in the Revolution of Roses a few years back. It looks as though she made it out before the NLSD could hunt her down; they might still be on her tail, actually.
And her face -- I remembered it, though only vaguely. Who was she?
My lips settled into a predatory grin.
This just got very, very, interesting. I would have to come to this restaurant more often, if this was the sort of entertainment they could provide me. Nothing was more satisfying than unraveling a good mystery.
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-
“Would you care to join me for lunch?”
The waitress shot me a bewildered look, before quickly schooling her expression to a strained smile. “I cannot do that, I’m afraid, as I am still on my shift. Perhaps later, sir?” she prodded hesitantly, “Though I must ask, if it does not offend you: why have you taken an interest in me? Most people do not care for the serving staff, only the food.”
“Then-” I replied quickly “I am not ‘most people’. Noticing the help is important, if only to acknowledge their efforts.” Most assasination attempts were carried out by butlers and servants, and very rarely their masters themselves. After all, they were faceless and disposable -- so much as any assistant was, anyway. Naturally I had to notice these things, both for my safety and that of the Emperor’s when he attended events both public and private.
I was responsible for his physical well being, after all.
“As for why you personally… Miss-”
“Drughavazhili, sir.” She said without missing a beat. “You may call me Maria, if you so wish. My last name is not the easiest for Tyskians to pronounce.” Upon seeing my lack of reaction, she quickly clarified: “I mean no offense, sir. It’s just from my experiences here, so far.”
I was nonplussed. Cernian and Trysh were not the most compatible languages. Of course, I could speak both with perfect fluency -- and a few more -- though only Trysh without a noticeable accent.
Of course, I was from Tyskia. If I could not properly speak my own tongue, that would be problematic.
“Thank you. Call me Wilhelm. Fredrich Karolus Wilhelm. Anyways, you see, Miss Drughavazhili, I simply find you irresistible.” Yes. The mystery surrounding her person was infinitely alluring. She was of at least moderate import, if I could even barely recall her face. But really, who was this Drughavazili -- I doubt that’s her real name -- and why was she here? How did she get here?
I wanted those answers to sate my curiosity. It was an irresistible compulsion driven by years of nonstop investigations as the Interior Minister, constantly rooting out corruption wherever it came up.
I needed to know. Regardless of whether the answer was innocuous or infinitely damning, I wanted to know.
She flushed, a light blush dusting her pale cheeks. I raised an eyebrow and felt the temperature. It was warm, but not unbearably so. Weird. Did I say something to embarrass her, or did she have a fever?
“Do you have a fever? I could go fetch a physician for you if you require one.”
“I- No, Mr. Wilhelm. I am fine,” She took a deep breath to compose herself, “but I really must get going. I can feel my manager glaring at me; it is not a pleasant feeling.”
I narrowed my eyes in irritation and she shrunk a little -- a barely perceptible amount -- under my gaze. Again, commendable control over her emotions. “That problem can be easily resolved. Sergeant?”
“Sir! How may I be of service?”
“Inform the manager of this establishment that I will be borrowing Miss Drughavazhili for a little while. If they demand compensation, give it to them, but don’t cause a scene.”
“If they ask for identification, sir?”
I reached into my coat and pulled out my wallet, before opening it and withdrawing a card stamped with the Imperial seal. “Show this to them.” I offered it to the sergeant, who carefully accepted the proffered item. Once it was safely in his hands, he moved to the front desk and began striking up a conversation.
Good. Clean and efficient.
“Well, that’s taken care of.” I gave her my best attempt at a disarming smile. It appeared to have worked: she let out a small sigh and loosened a bit. “Really, I do insist you have a seat. I would not be much of a gentleman if I made you stand.”
She took the empty seat in front of me. “Thank you for your consideration then, Mr. Wilhelm.”
“Of course. Now-” I poured two glasses of one and placed one in front of her. “-order something for yourself. I just so happen to have plenty of time today -- more than enough for my new fascination -- so do try and enjoy yourself. My treat. Anything you’d like, my lady.”
“Truly? Then may I have the chicken cutlet with bearnaise sauce, paired with seasonal greens?” I looked down on the menu for a brief moment before finding the entree. The most expensive item, huh? Some sort of test, I assume, or a way to get back at me.
It was no issue for the Son of a Duke. Especially the Duke of Sudland, the wealthiest province of the Empire.
“Consider it done, my lady.”
She blinked in surprise, perhaps not expecting my ready acceptance. Without a word, she sat down to wait, quiet and contemplative. Perhaps she was not expecting such kindness? Or did she think such kindness had strings attached?
It was the latter, but she didn’t have to know. Well, based on her slightly furrowed brows and alert eyes scanning the room, I think she knew anyway.
I broke the awkward silence by asking a question.
“Do you wish to switch to Cernian, Ms. Drughavazhili? I believe it would give us refuge from prying ears. My Cernian does have a noticeable accent if you decide to switch -- forgive me, I am a bit out of practice.”
Maria visibly snapped to attention from her thoughts and fixed me with a steady stare. My remaining guard tensed and I waved him down. There was nothing threatening here, unless you counted the attention of the fairer sex as threatening.
I mean, it very well could be, depending on who you were talking about. But here? It was fine, if a bit disconcerting.
When she replied, it was in Cernian. I let out a small chuckle. Perhaps this will help make things go smoother, not that they weren’t smooth already.
“How did you know I would speak this language, Mr. Wilhelm?”
“I took a few educated guesses and had a good hunch. Why do you ask?”
She paused for a moment.
“Nevermind. But may I ask you something?”
“Of course. I may choose not to answer, however.” I replied coyly. “It depends on what you ask, so do choose carefully.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I will get straight to the point then. What do you really want with me? Such kindness isn’t free -- I know that much. So, what is it then? I am a poor serving girl. I have nothing to offer you.”
Her steely gaze bored into me as she asked the question, as if expecting me to crack under the pressure. If I were a lecherous, airheaded idiot of a noble scion, perhaps I would have. However, I was not: I was the Minister of the Interior. I scoffed at her attempt at intimidation.
“If I wanted to hurt you, or take something from you,” I gestured towards her body “, I would have done so without hesitation.” She covered herself self-consciously and I snorted in response. “Rest assured that I have no untoward designs for you. I merely wanted a conversation, that’s all.”
A waiter arrived then with her order and temporarily interrupted my speech. I clicked my tongue irritatedly, and the servingman dismissed himself with his tail between his legs. He fled towards the back in a hasty retreat: it would have been comical to watch if I didn’t have other matters to attend to.
Like Maria Drughavazhili. I let out a small sigh before continuing.
“I know you still don’t trust me, so I will be straight. Ask any number of questions you want: I’ll wait. My business can wait, since it is more of a whim as well.”
“Very well then. Did you plan this?”
“So forward! But no, I did not.” I shook my head slowly. “You did pique my curiosity, however, so I invited you to dine with me. And no, I can see you wanting to ask, but you did not have a choice. Nonetheless, I endeavor to make it pleasant for you.”
“Do you do this to everyone you find interesting?”
“No, of course not. Only a small minority, in fact. Most people would relish the opportunity to dine with the heir to a Duchy, and the Minister of the Interior at that. Are you one of them?”
I raised my wineglass and took a sip from it, before taking a small slice of potato on my fork and eating it. The food was delicious, and the wine rich and sweet with notes of bitterness. Not the best I had, but excellent regardless.
Maria paled in front of me, though she did maintain her composure.
“I cannot say I am, your grace. I hope you take no offense.”
“I, in fact, do not. Anyways, eat!” She obeyed, and gingerly picked up her utensils to delicately place morsels into her mouth. If her composed demeanor was not indicative of her nobility, then her table manners were.
Amateur.
We stewed in a moment of silence while we ate, simply enjoying the food on our plates. Well, myself, at least: she looked extremely tense, and her motions mechanical. Might as well break the silence, if it was making her so uncomfortable.
“So, do you know who I ask to dine with me, if I catch them out like this?”
Maria paused, before swallowing and taking a sip of wine to wash it down. I refilled her glass -- I still wanted to respect decorum.
“Spies. Spies or foreign nobility, Maria Drughavazili. I know you are not a spy -- you do not carry yourself like one, and are in far too inconsequential of a position to matter if you were. So I must ask, are you the latter?”
When I looked at her expression, it was one of muted fear. It looked as if she was punched in the stomach; her face was pale and her hands shook slightly. She had stopped eating -- so I was right, then.
“So, I am right, then.”
“What gave it away?” Her face tightened.
“You might want to watch the way you carry yourself, and your table manners as well. Maybe be a bit less eye-catching as well, though that is quite impossible to mask from a professional like me. But you never know.” I flashed her a knowing smirk. “Worry not. I will not interfere with your life.” Overtly. “But may I have your name? I need to identify every flower with its proper title.”
She went silent again. This conversation was riddled with awkward silences. huh?
“Klara. Klara, Mr. Wilhelm.” She whispered softly, then met my eyes with a determined stare. “I suppose I am at your mercy now, no?”
“Absolutely not! It was never my intention to scare you -- I was curious, that is all. As a gesture of goodwill, here-” I placed a few hundred marks on the table, and her eyes went wide. “I know it is not easy for displaced nobility, anywhere, any time. I hope this will help.”
“It most definitely will. Thank you, sir.”
“You are very welcome. Thank you for your time, and will you continue to work here?”
“Probably, yes. Why?”
“I may return for another meal, for better or worse. The special was excellent -- relay my compliments to the chef.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, no. Have a nice day.”
I didn’t look back as I walked out, escort in tow after paying the bill. I could feel her gaze boring into my back.
-
“Sergeant?”
“Minister?”
“I want you to dispatch men to tail that Klara. Make sure she stays safe -- I will have someone else look her up. I do not want her dead before that investigation is complete. Am I clear?”
“Crystal. It will be done.”
“Excellent.” I heaved a sigh. “Your service has been exemplary so far.”
“Thank you Minister. It is an honor to serve.”