When I woke up the next morning, I knew I was going to be in for it. Today was the day -- the dreaded Saturday. It was time to go shopping with my mother and sister. Clothes shopping in particular,

This was gonna be great! No, no it wasn’t. As much as I loved my family, having those two in a room while talking about fashion… was about as pleasant -- to me, at least -- as having a grenade go off next to my ear. Without taking my head off. Still, I did agree to accompany them as part of mother’s counteroffer; my honor demands that I uphold my end of the agreement.

Sighing, I dragged myself over to my closet and threw on a random matching suit-tie ensemble while examining myself in the mirror. Did it really matter what I wore? Well, if you asked Elise, yes -- ‘lame big brother’ and all that -- but I still looked professional, right? The reflection that greeted me was decent: handsome, if a bit haggard from overwork, professional looking, even if the suit’s style was apparently ‘dated’, and of decent height. No giant, but certainly no dwarf.

I brushed a few stray hairs out of the way with a fine toothed comb. My family members would give me no small amount of grief if even a hair was out of place.

Satisfied with my appearance, I strode over to the nightstand beside my bed and opened the first drawer. Inside was a pistol -- pristine and polished -- along with a couple of spare magazines. I looped its holster around my waist in lieu of a belt; it worked well enough, and its silver buckle meshed nicely with the white accents of my sleeves. The magazines went into a back pocket, and a few loose rounds into the same.

Once I ensured the holster was secure, the pistol was working (without firing a round, obviously), and with the extra ammunition in place, I opened the nightstand’s second drawer and withdrew a small, ornate dagger alongside its sheath. Its blade was tested experimentally against a finger -- it passed with flying colors. Nodding, I fastened it to my ankle via a leather strap.

Next, I took out a baton -- well, more a blunt short sword -- and placed it in a special hole in my holster-cum-belt. It went in smoothly and stayed put when I wiggled it around. Excellent.

Giving myself one last once-over in the mirror so graciously forced upon me, I admitted that I would be quite fetching if the bags under my eyes were removed. All in all, nothing was out of place, and my weapons were all properly -- and I mean properly -- hidden. You might argue that such precautions were unnecessary; I’d say that you could never be too careful.

After I strapped on my boots, and dusted off an old casing of silver needles, I grabbed a coat off the hanger and opened my bedroom door, ready to greet the rest of my family.

It’s going to be a long day.

--

“Fredrich.” My mother demanded, loudly tapping her foot on the floor in a decidedly un ladylike fashion. “How many weapons do you have on you?”

“Three. Why?”

She gently rubbed her temples and sighed loudly. “Why, God, could you not bless me with a normal child? Fredrich, we’re going shopping-” she gestured to the bags in her hands for emphasis “-so why are you equipped like we’re heading into a warzone?”

“Safety.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ordered a motorcade for us as well?” She muttered softly, but loud enough so that I could hear. “Maybe even some of those newfangled pocket pistols that are all the rage?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of ensuring that we will be very well protected for the duration of the trip. I cannot confirm or deny your accusations.” I coughed awkwardly, while turning my head to look out the front window. The motorcade hadn’t arrived yet -- damn, I thought they’d be faster. Now I was stuck in an uncomfortable conversation. “Changing the topic,” smooth one Fredrich, “where’s Elise?”

Mother pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything about my clumsy attempt at social misdirection. Any further protests she had against my paranoia died in her throat. Instead, she opted to take subtle jabs at me through comparisons with my sister.

Really?

“Upstairs, doing her makeup. Unlike a certain someone standing in front of me.”

“I look fine, mother.” I sighed wearily. “Do you have any idea how many times we’ve had this conversation? My appearance is passable in public.”

“You look like a depressed salaryman.” Much to my chagrin, she wasn’t wrong, per se. I wasn’t depressed, I don’t think. But stressed and a tad overworked? Definitely. “Seriously, have you looked in the mirror?”

“Every day before I go out.” I chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I just haven’t the time to fix myself up anymore than I already have.”

My mother’s gaze softened. “You really need to take a break, Fredrich. Working so much cannot be good for your health.”

“I don’t have a choice.” I replied while gently kneading the back of my neck. “I really do not. I wish I could, but I can’t. There is too much happening now.”

“Then take leave.” She replied quickly, with brows furrowed and voice tinged with concern. “Surely you are afforded vacation days? Have you ever used them?”

“Not in the six years I’ve been Minister, no.”

“You foolish boy. Maybe take some time off next week, then. Do your old woman a favor.”

“I really can't, mother. You wouldn’t understand. I apologize.”

“Too busy playing soldier boy for your cousin?” She quipped bitingly while rolling her eyes. “I know how much you value your work, but you take it a step too far. Mind your health, Fredrich, because you are not better off dead.”

“Again, I apologize, but you must understand that-”

“Good morning everyone!” Elise bounced down the staircase from her bedroom, at the most inopportune of times. So, essentially, as per usual. “Did I interrupt something?”

My mother craned her head so she could see the top of the staircase. “Yes!”

“No!” I denied hastily. “Not at all, Elise! Good to see you!”

She narrowed her eyes at me, clearly unconvinced, before shrugging and skipping over to me.

My mother and I gave each other a look. Hers promised to continue this conversation at another time. Mine feigned innocence. Needless to say, she was unamused, and shot me a scathing glare.

“Well, anyways-” Elise whistled as she took in my appearance, but not in a good way. It sounded like a deflating balloon, and her face scrunched up. “You look beat, brother. Are you sure you’re alright?”

I ignored the smug look my mother shot me, and concentrated on appeasing my little sister instead.

“I am fine, Elise. Do not worry about me.”

“But I am anyway! Don’t keel over mid-trip please! I heard it’s real messy when people die, and I’d rather you not ruin my clothes for the festival.” She turned to ask mother “It’s true, right?”

Mother nodded.

“See! So don’t die, or my clothes are going to pay for your mistake!”

“That’s your concern?”

“Well, yes? And you as well, of course.” I pouted in faux offense.

“I am secondary to your clothing? You wound me, sister. How could you?”

“Maybe a few more marks will make me consider caring more?” She smiled slyly. “It’s a cheap price to pay. Perhaps we can arrive at a satisfactory agreement?”

“No.”

“Aw. Worth a shot!”

And right then, the motorcade arrived. Five cars, seventeen guards, and one very well-timed interruption.

“Mother, sister.” I turned so both of them were in my field of vision. “Our transportation is here.”

“Let’s get going, then!”

I went on ahead, both to greet the men, and make sure everything was alright.

--

“Good morning, Minister.” One of the guards -- Rosenberg -- politely waved at me, and the rest followed suit. “Going into town today, sir?”

“Good morning, Sergeant.” I pointed to the cars lined up along the road leading to the manor. “And yes, I am. Wouldn’t have ordered so many cars if I wasn’t.”

“I take it that your family is going along as well? Normally you take less of an escort, sir.”

“Indeed they are.” I grimaced, then hastily reverted my expression to a slight smile. Rosenberg, of course, caught it and gave me a knowing look. “I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. Not the way you imagined spending your Saturday morning?”

Rosenberg shook his head and chuckled. “None of that, sir. It’s our duty. We’ll keep them safe. Besides, a shopping trip?” He turned his head to stare at the bags in my mother’s arms. “It’s much more pleasant than being shot at, if you know what I mean.”

I gave him a look. “That I can agree with. Getting shot at is never fun.”

“Aye sir.” He laughed, though it came out as more a series of strained wheezes. “It really isn't. You’ll be in the fourth car with your family, and I’ll be your driver. Are there any problems with this arrangement?”

“None at all. Thank you for your work.”

“You are too kind, sir. But where’s your family?” The sound of incoming footsteps drew both our attentions back to the walkway leading up to the manor. It looks like the other two were here. Good. “Well, there they are. Your grace! Over here!”

My mother nodded and made her way over, Elise in tow. I opened the car door for them when they arrived, and they slipped into the backseat. Once they were settled in, I motioned for Rosenberg to take his position behind the wheel and sat down on the passenger’s seat.

Before we went off, the onboard radio crackled to life.

“SC-one-four-one, come in. I repeat, SC-one-four-one, come in.”

Rosenberg picked up the receiver and spoke into it. “SC-one-four-four, reading you loud and clear.” He inclined his head towards me and glanced at the back of the car. Elise gave him a little wave, and he returned the gesture with a small smile. “All passengers accounted for.”

“Roger. Radio check complete. SC-one-four-one, the convoy will depart momentarily. ETA fifteen minutes.”

And like that, the lead car’s tires skidded softly against the asphalt, and we were off.

--

About halfway through the drive, the mother-sister pair exhausted their discussion about the latest Imperial fashion trends. Instead of staying silent, Elise began needling Rosenberg about his work. He didn’t seem to mind.

“So, Mr. Rosenberg?”

“Yes, little Duchess?”

“What’s the thing you have strapped to your hip?” She pointed to an irregularly shaped holster snuggled in between the seat and Rosenberg’s thigh.

“It’s a gun.”

“Really? It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen the soldiers and policemen carry. For one, it’s smaller. And for two, it’s much more… angular. Sharper. It looks more like two connected boxes.”

Rosenberg grinned. “Well, I assure you it’s a gun. I’ve shot a few buggers with it.” He winked conspiratorially at me, and I rolled my eyes. Elise gasped. “No, just kidding, little miss. But it’s a new model, issued exclusively to the Imperial Household Guard and the Interior Ministry’s personal protective details.”

“So you got it because you’re one of my brother’s men?”

He nodded sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, pretty much, little Duchess. Hit that one on the nose.”

Elise giggled. “Well, I think it’s better you than anyone else.” She pointed towards me, before whispering loud enough so that all of us could still hear. “You’d need it to protect that useless sack of meat next to you. He can’t even take care of himself! The Wilhelm family entrusts him to you! Good luck.”

“He’s more capable than he looks.” She scoffed. “No, seriously. I don’t think a single other Minister would bother learning how to defend themselves, little miss.”

“Then they are idiots,” I replied evenly. “Not to disparage your services, but you can’t be there all the time.”

“Oh no! I completely agree with that. I know we’re good at what we do because you’d can us if we weren’t.” He said, turning back to face me. “But even so, a VIP that isn’t helpless only makes our job easier. You wouldn’t hear me complaining, sir.”

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“I wouldn’t complain either if someone did half your job for you,” I replied jokingly. I knew full well just how much work he did to make sure I was safe, and greatly appreciated it. Though I may be capable of self-defense, there was no way I’d be able to match the efficacy of a dedicated protective detail.

Professionals and amateurs. The difference was night and day, though I’ve constantly been told that I undersell my own abilities. Better that than getting overconfident, I suppose.

“I’m still paid well enough to do the other half, Minister.” He chuckled lightly, briefly turning his attention back to the well-traveled road as the convoy took a sharp left turn. “So, little Duchess, why the question about the gun?”

“I was bored, and my brother lives under a rock.”

“Does he, now?” Rosenberg asked, amused. “I thought you two lived in the same house. Wouldn’t that mean you live under a rock too?”

She blew a stray hair out of the way before replying. “Uh-huh. He turns everything he lives under into a rock. But I still take the time to socialize with my peers, unlike him.”

“That’s no good.”

“Tell him that.”

“He’d fire me, little Duchess.”

“He hasn’t fired mother yet.”

“I don’t think he can do that.”

“Bah!” She threw up her hands in surrender. “I wish he was just a bit more sociable. Then he’d be cooler. He’s fine the way he is now, though.”

“I am right here, you know?”

“I do. Hey brother?” She asked slyly.

“Elise?” I replied.

“Can I play with your gun?”

“No. It’s dangerous.”

“Please!”

“No.” That came out more hesitant than I would have liked. My resolve was crumbling by the minute, which bodes ill for the odds of preventing a sister-induced homicide. With me as the victim.

“Puh-lease!” I gave my mother a resigned look, and she nodded. Guess Elise gets the green light to fiddle with a handgun.

I can’t see how this goes wrong at all, but I also couldn’t stop her.

“Fine.” I withdrew my pistol and emptied its magazine -- “why the hell are you pouting, Elise? I’m not giving you a gun filled with live ammunition; mother would kill me, or you’d accidentally shoot me.” She did not stop pouting. Anyways, as I was saying: emptied its magazine, and passed it to her.

The safety was still on, just in case. She took it with all the reverence of a peasant mob burning down a monastery.

“Ooh… this is pretty cool.” She waved it around, experimenting with its sights. “Did you ever use it?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“Can I shoot it one day?”

“Give it a few years.”

Elise, now pacified, stayed blissfully silent for the rest of the trip. God, she had too much energy sometimes. Especially in the morning.

--

Once the motorcade stopped, I took my pistol back from Elise’s grubby little fingers and wiped it down with my handkerchief. It felt smooth and clean to the touch. Excellent. Satisfied, I slotted a magazine back in and placed it back in my holster.

One by one, we disembarked. Four guardsmen -- Rosenberg among them -- gradually stepped into a protective detail around my family as the rest moved to either secure the cars or form a wider perimeter. As per usual, we drew a lot of attention from the passersby, who were gently reminded to continue moving: the world didn’t revolve around a paranoid young noble’s shopping trip.

Naturally, that didn’t deter people from staring, nor attempting to strike up a conversation. I ignored them -- the other members of my family waved back -- in favor of taking in my surroundings and trying to chart a course through the throng of people before me.

If we took a straight path through the crowd to the left, we would arrive at the heart of the commercial district -- that’d be where most of the larger clothing shops would be. The closer we moved to the district’s center, the more opulent said shops became; the tailors there had a habit of turning prospective nobles into overdressed peacocks.

Avoid at all costs. Objective one -- do not become a peacock.

Perhaps I was being unfair -- the Republicans loved their feathers, after all -- because maybe some people really liked being likened to avian animals. I was not one of them, nor have I stepped into a tailorship for a few months: I had no clue what the latest trends were nor what wares were on display. Well, beside the basics:

There were shirts, pants, uniform adjustments, tuxedos, and coats. I didn’t need anything else, pretty much ever.

To the right would be the casual eateries, the so-called ‘fast-food’ places imported straight from the Union. Grease bath is more like it, though the nourishing aroma of cooking oil wafted over from a number of stalls and restaurants. I was reminded then that I did not, in fact, eat breakfast.

Objective two, secure breakfast. Preferably not one dunked in grease and refrigerated, but I’d take what I could get at this point. The more opulent, but much healthier choices farther into the commercial district would be packed.

Then, objective three: don’t get assassinated. As enthralled as I was by the sheer liveliness of the place -- trust me, office buildings were never this loud -- I still kept an eye out for potential threats. Snipers, saboteurs, spies: I surveyed the crowd for irregular movements and flashes of steel. Finding none, I nodded to myself. We were reasonably safe.

For now.

I turned to ask my mother what she and Elise wanted to do, since I lacked experience with this kind of casual outing. She rolled her eyes and gestured to the food stalls on the right: “Well, we’re going to get breakfast first.”

“From there?”

“Mhm. Would you rather eat somewhere else?”

“Not particularly, no.” Actually yes, but attempting to dine at one of the fancier establishments would entail unacceptably long wait times. Guess my breakfast was going to smell like a motor garage. Still, objective two completed. One down, two to go.

Mother didn’t look quite convinced that I didn’t, in fact, want to subject my throat to a refrigerated grease bath, but ignored me in favor of wrangling my little sister.

“Right, let’s get on our way then. Elise!” My little sister sauntered over from a no doubt riveting conversation with Rosenberg -- well, for her, at least. Given the bashful smile on Rosenberg’s face, Elise no doubt managed to pry some embarrassing secret from him.

I could only hope it wasn’t particularly sensitive.

‘She would be terrifying as an interrogator.’ I thought with pride, even if I resolved to keep her far, far away from the grisly art of information extraction. In fairness, she already was, just for her own family and not the Empire’s enemies. Foreign agents, hear ye! You were saved by child labor laws and overprotective siblings!

Back to getting breakfast.

“Do you have any idea what you want?” I asked my sister. Mother was content to walk behind us and let us select our choices of food for the morning, so we were on our own here.

“What are those little potato strips from the Union called again?”

“Frieds?” I paused to think. “No, that’s not quite right. Fries. Yeah, fries. You want fries?”

“Mhm.” She nodded happily, evidently satisfied that she would get her selection of street food.

“We’ll find someplace that has that, then. I must admit that it’s quite an unexpected answer -- well, now that I think about it, pretty expected -- answer from you. Who told you about them? I know you aren’t a gourmet.”

“Well, you know Greta? The blonde?”

“Of course. Greta Machalan, age fourteen. Daughter of the Machalans, a merchant family with prominent foreign contacts, most notably several large Union food companies. Yes, how could I forget?”

“Why do I feel like you’re stalking her? Also, what’s with the clinical delivery? You aren’t a doctor.”

“I did my research. Aren’t you supposed to be happy that I know who your friends are?”

“If I had a normal brother, yeah. With you? I’m not sure whether I should be scared for myself or them.” She shivered exaggeratedly. “Do they even know you are watching them?”

“Do they have to? If they did not commit any crimes, they have nothing to fear from the Interior Ministry.”

“That’s precisely the point! You sound like you’re about to shoot them the moment they make a wrong move! Ugh!” She pouted, before recovering quickly. “Anyways, with all her contacts in the Union food industry, she got a taste of one of those, um, meat patty things, with the lettuce and tomatoes.”

“A burger.”

“Yeah! Wait, how do you even know this?”

“I did my research,” I replied evasively. “Who knows? I might just have a fascination for food.”

“You looked up who exactly they were doing business with, didn’t you.” Elise gave me a stare, and I looked away. Guilty as charged. She sighed audibly. “Why did I ever expect anything different? You’re an incorrigible, paranoid idiot.”

I mean, I just wanted to make sure my sister was associated with reputable individuals. What if Greta was the daughter of a spymaster or a smuggler? That’d be less than ideal. Was a desire for absolute safety really paranoia? Probably yes, but the good kind.

Not the ‘I shot you because you looked funny’ kind. Actually, the former kind of feeds into the latter, but we’ll ignore that.

“Yeah, so anyways, she ate one of those burgers. Then she wouldn’t shut up about how good it was, and how it was served with those fries. So now I want some.”

“Testing if the mythological burger measures up to its reputation?”

“Well, its reputation garnered from one teenage girl spouting off praise about it, but yeah, why not.”

“The only two things that measure up from the Union are their egos and the mafia.”

“Good that I’ve had to deal with neither, then. Anyways-” she ran over to a nearby stand. A guard peeled off to follow. Judging from her reaction, apparently this one served burgers and fries. I would not have been able to tell. “Here! We can get fries and burgers here!”

“I think they usually say that in reverse.”

“Semantics.”

“Knowing which order to put things in is a requirement in your language arts course.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to, potato, po-tah-toh. Just buy the burgers already, brother, or we’re all going to starve out here.” She grabbed her stomach and swooned exaggeratedly. “Please… the cold, it’s too much!”

I shrugged and turned to address Rosenberg, uncaring of the sister’s theatrics. He

“Have you lot already eaten?”

“Yes Minister.” He smiled. “Thank you for your consideration.”

“Nonsense. It’s the last I can do.” I passed him a twenty-mark bill. “Get three meal sets from that vendor my sister was so enamored with.” After giving him the money, I handed him a small box of silver pins. “Test the food for sulfate poisons.”

“As you wish.” He walked up to the stand’s counter and began listing out the necessary purchases. After a few minutes of waiting, he returned -- meals in tow, with an outstretched hand containing both change and an opened box of pins.

I accepted the change and pocketed the pins, taking extra care in ensuring the box was closed properly. Wouldn’t want pins being scattered about in a pocket. Rosenberg passed out the meals to my family and saved one for myself.

After taking a bite of the burger, I had to admit that it was better than I thought it would be, being completely honest. Elise loved hers. Especially the fries -- looks like she’ll be back here soon enough.

Mother… mother looked like she was about to throw up.

Poor mother. At least she found the fries edible.