My regular duties were a chore.
Don’t get me wrong, they were definitely important. Who else would set domestic security policy and keep the radicals, undesirables, and foreign agents in check? No one, of course, and his Majesty couldn’t be bothered with such mundane tasks.
That didn’t make it any less boring.
“Minister, may I come in?” A trio of soft knocks echoed through my otherwise silent office. Probably one of the aides delivered more paperwork for me to complete. Joy of joys. The reward for good work was more work. Goddamnit, replace me with a machine already!
Well, the machines currently were not capable of reading reports or responding to complicated stimuli. They could print them en masse though -- the curse of technology.
“Enter.” I dusted off my uniform, not that it was anything but immaculate. My maids at home took care of that, scrubbing it until their hands bled -- figuratively, not literally. In spite of my insistence that a few small blemishes wouldn’t kill anyone, by the way; they just didn’t listen. Kept saying about how I had to look my best or something. Ah well, nothing for it. I turned to face the door just as it opened.
“Have you brought the bane of my existence before me?” The aide looked befuddled, freezing mid-step. I struggled to keep my face neutral as he struggled to come up with a response.
“Paperwork. Have you brought more paperwork for me to slog through?” We both let out small chuckles. Office workers eventually developed a sense of camaraderie, not unlike soldiers at the front. Instead of shot and shell, our battles were fought with pen and paper.
It wasn’t quite the same, but it was the principle of the matter.
“I’m afraid I do, sir. Here are the finalised deployments of the Fourth Imperial Interior Security Division to the Ostland Military District.” He waved the stack of paper in his hands. “Unless you want them delivered later? I could always have someone take care of them for you if you so desire. The minutiae of these things is better left to your subordinates, sir.”
“No, no. It’s fine, Wolfgang-” I looked at him questioningly, and he nodded. Good. It wasn’t easy to remember the name of all 546 employees situated at the Interior Ministry’s Berkenstadt headquarters. Thank god I didn’t get his wrong. “Just leave it on the table. Is there anything else?”
“Unless you want the rail timetables for the division's reshuffling of personnel, then no, sir.”
“Right. You’re dismissed then.” Wolfgang clicked his heels and saw himself out the door. One of the guards posted outside closed in gently, leaving me alone with my thoughts -- and my papers.
‘Let’s see what this is about, then.’
I began leafing through the stack of the deployment papers given to me. The first brigade would be headquartered in Ostmark. Made sense -- it was a Duchy’s capital, after all, and provided a nice staging ground for operations given its central location. The second brigade would be stationed in… Neu-Sulzfeld? Saarland? The upper reaches had nothing there sans trenches and bunkers; I would have thought divisional command would put them in a more populated area. Perhaps they were there to secure the 7th Division’s supply lines? Ah, that must be it.
And the third brigade was to be deployed to Elsland. Their choice of headquarters… Salzau? I suppose that was a more central location than Hendorf, but I would have liked to stick closer to a major transportation hub. No matter. People think differently; Salzau would still be an excellent location to set up camp.
Based on the current disposition of the 4th IIS Division’s forces, I am guessing they have assigned each of their infantry brigades a duchy as their theatre of operations. I’m guessing that brigade command could distribute their forces as they pleased -- yep, the next few pages detailed brigade, then regimental deployment patterns. Commendable attention to detail.
But where was the fourth brigade? Each IIS division was given a light armour complement and a heavy assault company for redundancy’s sake.
Flipping to the next page gave me the answer. Divisional command broke up their mobile troops to form battalion sized rapid reaction forces attached to the first three infantry brigades. The heavy assault company remained attached to Divisional HQ in Nailhaus, Elsland. Excellent. All in all, a logical deployment of their forces if they weren’t expecting reinforcements.
They would probably get some, but it might be a while yet. I summoned an aide in and had him deliver the deployment papers for processing. It had my stamp of approval -- now only to record it.
I leaned back into my chair and relaxed, for all of five minutes, before my door was pushed open again. My face took on an annoyed frown; I sighed softly in irritation. The aide that walked in -- Max, I think -- took my displeasure in stride. Without missing a beat, he cleared his throat to speak.
I motioned for him to continue.
“Sir, reports from Norden Command have come in.”
“Is it urgent?” I replied quickly, and resisted the urge to facepalm. Norden command didn’t write reports -- they wrote academic papers about the most insignificant of things. I didn’t need another fifteen pages on a minor after-action report, just a reference to the incident number and where I could find it in the Interior Ministry Database. There was attention to detail, and then there was unneeded busywork.
They couldn’t be faulted for doing their jobs, but it made reading through whatever they sent to me none the more pleasant.
“Negative.” I swear to god he was smirking at my misfortune. His face scrunched in amusement. “But it’s quite long, sir. Would you like help with it?”
He knew I wouldn’t subject my subordinates to unnecessary suffering. I was tempted to, but refrained from doing it. Leading by example was important: a good work ethic and diligence wins you respect. Sacrifice wins you admiration.
I sighed and gestured for him to leave the room. “Leave it at the desk. I’ll go through them in a minute”
“As you wish, sir.”
Well, this was shaping up to be a fun afternoon. Oh, for fucks sake, nothing major even happened. How the hell was this thing forty pages? I haven't even reviewed the files for the Gendarmerie yet!
-
When the clock struck six, freeing me of my infernal prison, I nearly yelled in joy. Slogging through forty pages of unadulterated mutinae was draining -- skip to the major points, please. I’d look up the details if I needed clarification. Christ, it was traumatising.
Of course, I didn’t -- I resigned myself to a quiet sight and quick stretch. It wouldn’t do to shy away from my normally tacticturn personality, especially not over something so trivial as being free from this damnable paperwork.
But wasn’t this newfound freedom such a relief.
As I exited the office, I stopped to make small talk with everyone I passed, from my direct subordinates to the lowliest guard.
“How is your family doing? Oh? Good.”
“I hope your job is not too tough on you? You can always request leave.”
“Excellent work, Gunther. Keep it up.”
Their services were deeply appreciated: the Interior Ministry would not exist without their dedication. A king -- myself, in this building -- can lead, but only if he has subordinates willing to follow. I am blessed with a cadre of competent professionals willing to follow me to the depths of hell if I so ordered; they were my pride, my joy. I would not squander their lives wastefully. It wasn’t just the thought of losing carefully cultivated human capital. They were people.
They were people. They may have been reduced to numbers on a spreadsheet in the ceaseless march of progress, but they were still people. They had lives, families, hopes and dreams: I could not demand them to sacrifice if I did not as well.
It would be a hideous hypocrisy if I did.
If it came down to it, my men and I would lay down our lives for each other. Comrades-in-arms, so we were. Nothing tasted sweeter than victory; nothing felt more comforting than their loyalty.
As I stepped into the car that would take me home, I took a good gander at the night sky. The stars tinkled with mischievous laughter and the moon shone brightly in the crisp midnight air. A small breeze fluttered by, but I did not mind the cold.
I did not mind the cold at all.
--
“Welcome back, young master. Dinner is just being served -- may I take your coat?”
“Thank you, Sebastian. You did not have to personally greet me, you know?” I handed my coat to him as I spoke. “You are a busy man. I apologise for the inconvenience.” Seriously, he helped manage the household, keep the estate grounds, tutored my sister when needed, and performed a number of ancillary tasks I couldn’t name: how did he do it?
“Normally it is the servant who says that, not the master.” He remarked cheekily. “You are making me blush, young master.” I rolled my eyes. Melodramatic, but reserved and competent where needed. A truly fine servant.
The finest, you could say. Still, the formality irked me -- being addressed by title after a day in the office wears a bit on your soul. Especially since he’s served my father -- he’s fine, by the way, just back in Studland -- and now myself. I think he did it just to irritate me: I couldn’t fault him.
“Just Fredrich is fine, head butler.”
“As you wish, young master.”
We both let out small chuckles. This kind of wordplay was fun, relaxing even. A comfortable silence fell between us as we made it to the front steps of the house.
“I merely thought an expression of gratitude was in order.” I pulled off my gloves and stowed them in a pocket, before rubbing my hands together to keep warm. “You’ve always served House Wilhelm well. Really, thank you.”
“Nonsense. It is my duty. Now, follow me inside -- it is quite brisk out here. I do not imagine you want to catch a cold?”
“That would not be ideal, no.”
“As I thought. Your mother and sister await you inside.”
“I’d imagine so. What’s for dinner?”
“That’ll remain a surprise.” He winked at me. “No amount of needling will make me tell you, Mr. Wilhelm. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, however.”
“I imagine I will.” Our conversation was interrupted right as we rounded the corner into the dining hall, when I was tackled by an overly-affectionate ball of energy. “Elise! It is good to see you.” I wheezed out, slightly winded due to her slamming into my diaphragm. “I trust that school is alright?”
“It is more than that! It is excellent!” She broke off her hug to give me a once-over. “You look weary. Are you alright, brother?” Her face morphed into an expression of concern, It tugged at my heartstrings.
“I am fine. Just a tad tired from work, that is all. But back to you. Tell me about your day, little spitfire.”
“Well, it started off like normal. I went to my first period, did my language studies, then second, and so forth. Physical education was exhausting. Do they want to turn us all into soldiers or something?” Technically, yes. The Interior Ministry controls the education system. Physical fitness standards are adjusted so that all Imperial Citizens would be fit enough to serve in the military if they so chose. “And, oh-” she ran back to the dinner table and picked up a few sheets of paper. “I aced my maths exam!”
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“Congratulations! I am very proud of you.” My face couldn’t help but break into a smile. She wasn’t great at mathematics -- few children are -- and she must have put in a lot of work to get such a high score.
“I know right!” Shameless self-promotion. “I studied really hard this time around. Maybe I’ll do it again if my friends don’t pull me to go shopping again. Or… if you give me a larger allowance?” She said pleadingly, pulling out her best puppy-face in an attempt to sway me.
It almost worked. Key word: almost.
I clenched my jaw, and hardened my heart. Seriously, it was really hard to say no. “You know very well that Father manages the family’s finances with Sebastian’s assistance. I have no authority to grant you anything.”
“But you could help me! Imagine! If we unite, we could rule the household as brother and sister!” She stood on a chair -- where did she even get one? Oh, right, we’re in the dining hall. Wait, sh- I mean damn, those chairs were expensive!
“Get down from there! You’ll break the chair! They aren’t meant to be stood on! Also, stop spouting treason! Do you want to get the lot of us executed?”
“Never! Join me! Our parents will never be able to withstand our combined power!” She extended a hand to me with all the majesty of a diminutive thirteen year old queen. I chuckled at her theatrics, until I realised she was still standing on a fragile, expensive chair. My laughter instantly ceased and I threw her a glare. She stared back. Neither of us moved a muscle.
We were at an impasse. What would give first? My spirit, or her greed? The chair, or the god- yeah, no. I caved pretty much immediately after the exchange began. Goddamnit. I couldn’t win, not against her nor the rest of my family. I doted on them too much to say no.
“Fine, fine! You can have some of my money! Just get down from there! Seriously -- if you break the chair, it is coming out of your allowance, not my income.”
“Yes! Victory!” She leapt -- with catlike elegance -- down from her chair into my arms, nearly bowling me over. As I recovered, she fixed me with her sharpest glare. It wasn’t very good, mind you: she was thirteen, and I was twenty-five. If anything, it was more endearing than intimidating. Still, I gasped in faux fear and raised my hands in surrender.
“You win! Here.” I withdrew my wallet from my back pocket and pulled out a twenty mark bill to give to her. “The spoils of war. Try not to spend it all in one place”.
Elise pounced on the bill in my outstretched hand, snatched it, then stalked her way back to her side of the table, all the while eyeing me warily. She was really just like a cat -- extortionist tendencies and all!
I took a brief glance around the room, now that everything had settled down, only to see everyone -- mother, Sebastian, and every other servant in the immediate vicinity -- struggling to rein in their laughter. It was a change of pace to see the normally taciturn me so expressive, I suppose.
--
Dinner was lively. Well, less lively than a full-on chair hostage situation, but lively nonetheless. The three of us settled into a pattern of pleasant conversation as the servants arrived to clear our current courses and place new ones for us to enjoy.
As we went through topic after topic, the conversation inevitably drifted towards the last big court event of the year: the Winter Solstice festival. I shivered in dread -- there was no doubt that several uncomfortable questions would be directed towards me.
“So, son, the you-know-what is coming up.” My mother shot me a meaningful look. “Any plans?”
“Does not attending count as one?”
“I- Fredrich-” She sighed, took a sip of wine, and made a face. Why? I sipped my own glass experimentally. It tasted fine, excellent, even. My sister stared despondently at her glass of juice.
Give it five years, Elise. Give it five years.
“Fredrich, my boy, you will attend, or I will drag you out of your office and make you attend. Am I clear?” She threatened softly. “And you will bring an escort -- I do not care who, what, when, or where.”
I scoffed but was internally sweating bullets. “You would not get past my escort. They are trained professionals of the highest quality.” Still, I knew that I could not stop her if she really tried to wrangle me into attendance.
There was really no reason for me to attend; I wouldn’t find the experience enjoyable. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was any good at socialising. My time was better spent at work, no matter how much I valued the company of my family -- even their presence couldn’t save what would ostensibly become a night of thinly veiled insults and showmanship.
Not directly against myself or my family, of course. Angering the Minister of the Interior and the de-facto second richest man in the Empire was not a good idea. No. More likely, I would be plied with requests for courtship dates and other such trivialities.
I didn’t have the time nor patience to listen to some porcelain doll of a woman titter on about fashion, gossip, or any other worthless topic. Whatever useless idiots the other nobles flung my way wouldn’t last three minutes in a debate about statecraft, nor three seconds under fire.
Deadweight.
“No, no I wouldn't, Fredrich.” Shit. If she gave up threatening me, then she is genuinely desperate. But please. You are twenty-five. You must get married soon. It is only proper.” My mother pleaded. “Give this festival a chance. Perhaps you’ll meet someone there.”
“I don’t think I will, but do you really want me to go?”
She nodded slowly.
“Fine. I will go on one condition.” I sighed loudly, and took another sip of wine to calm my frayed nerves, trying to ignore my mother’s beaming smile. “One condition.”
“Really?” Her eyes downright sparkled. Of course! Did you think I could say no? If you really pressed me I would have agreed to everything, albeit begrudgingly. Thank god she was willing to negotiate. “You will really go?”
“Yes, but with one condition!”
“Anything!” She sounded so happy. Was I really that much of a workaholic? I’m so sorry, mother. I am so sorry for worrying you.
“You allow me to go with my choice of escort if I desire to bring one. You are not sticking me in the company of another sniveling sycophant.”
She sighed theatrically, knowing that would likely be my demand anyway. Mothers were mothers: they knew their children best. “I suppose. But in return, you must go shopping for clothing with Elise and I. Then you have a deal. Oh, and the escort must be appropriate. You are not hiring a whore just to spite me.”
I laughed good-naturedly, and she cracked a tired smile; we both knew I would never do that. Still, it was a funny thought -- walking into an event hosted by the Imperial family with a prostitute on my arm.
“I accept your terms.” I offered my mother my hand, and she shook it. “It’s settled then.”
“So it is.”
An awkward silence descended. Elise broke it by asking about when we would all go shopping. I informed them that Sunday was off-limits -- I had an inspection to attend with a newly minted security unit. Saturday would be fine, however.
Mother jumped on the opportunity.
I shot Elise a meaningful look, and she shied away. Goddamnit -- now I was roped into a day of running around, praying to God there isn’t a sniper in one of the buildings. It looks like my agents will have a busy day ahead of them.
So would I. So would I.
--
After I finished dinner, I retired to my study to read. Not some novel, mind you -- that wouldn’t be productive -- but a scientific piece. One on psychology, in fact; it was a major part of my line of work. What could I say? Duty calls.
Halfway through the third chapter, the telephone I kept on my desk rang. Strange. My subordinates almost never called me at such an hour. It was eight-thirty, and most of the important things were taken care of already. The night shift usually handled the rest. So what was it?
I picked up the receiver and greeted the person on the other end.
“This is Sergeant Rosenberg. Minister, are you on the other end?”
Ah. The sergeant from the restaurant. So the investigation was going well, then. He must have called to update me on its status.
“Yes, of course. Is this call about the investigation into Miss Drughavazili? You’ve interrupted me while I was engrossed in a most fascinating book on psychology” I glanced at the book on my desk. “Muller’s Mind. You should read it sometime, Sergeant.”
“Thank you for the recommendation. But yes, Minister. I am afraid I must bear bad news -- namely that we hit a dead end. A preliminary search through our archives of the old Muscovite nobility turned up no matches.” I did a double-take. A dead-end? That’s impossible -- I knew that Klara from somewhere. I remembered her face. Rosenberg misconstrued my silence for anger -- he began apologising for the Ministry’s failures.
I dismissed his concerns. I was confused, not enraged. It would be counterproductive, nevermind downright petulant to demand further results when they already did their best, especially with regards to something so utterly insignificant.
“Do not apologise. Are the archives complete?”
“Yes. I believe so.” I could hear the shuffling of papers in the background. “As accurate as can be, before they sealed off the country some years ago, Minister.”
“Then she must have given us another fake name. Do you remember what she looked like?”
“I’m afraid not. Or, I do, but not clearly.”
“Nothing to it then. Contact the teams I assigned for her protection, and get one of them to take a picture of her -- subtly. Run the search again after that.”
“As you wish, Minister. Disconnecting now.”
“Good night, Sergeant. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Minister. Good night as well.”
The line cut, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Why did you need to hide yourself, Klara?
I thought I knew who you were, but it appears I do not. This just got a whole lot more interesting. It's like chasing a ghost, if ghosts were capable of eluding paperwork.
That would be one scary ghost indeed.