Several days later, I found myself quite ready to throw myself into the Thames from a great height. I had done it before, and even if it had ended in a fistfight with an enraged vampire, it would have occasioned me far less trouble than what I was experiencing now.
“One more time.” Charlotte rapped her knuckles on the table in front of me, her crisp voice not allowing for any resistance.
I sighed and paused for as long as I could dare. Then I began again. “My name is Baron Echtor Krongesetz, from Monchroden. I have been a member of the court for the past twelve years, after the passing of my father from—”
“Again.” She cut me off with a chop of one hand. “You need to hold yourself with a different sort of stature, Kingsley. You will need to if you are hoping the French will accept you as a South German noble rather than a commoner from Yorkshire.”
It was nearly enough to wring a retort from me, but I restrained myself. After all, she was right; if we could not pass as the characters in our disguise, then the whole charade would be for nothing. Devonshire would not even have to kill us himself; that he could leave to the French aboard the embassy, or, if they were feeling diplomatic, the watchmen the embassy could turn us over to in London.
Fortunately, the German accent appeared to come somewhat naturally, a fact that had surprised even Charlotte. The behavior and poise were somewhat trickier; though I imagined I had always comported myself in a dignified manner, a true nobleman apparently took things a step beyond that. Charlotte seemed determined to etch every mannerism and habit into me before we boarded the airship, in some sort of attempt to engineer a flawless disguise.
Determined to not allow that fate to come to pass, I began again, this time inclining my chin in what I hoped was an appropriately haughty demeanor. “My name is Baron Echtor Krongesetz, from Monchroden. I have been a member of the court for the past twelve years, after the passing of my father from a sudden sickness. I enjoy hunting, but am cold and superior to those not of my station. I enjoy traveling alone, or with family, as needed.”
“Good. Good, you’re doing better.” The sparse praise was somewhat of a relief after the past two hours of failure. It had always been Benjamin who had the genius for acting; it was too bad that he was not capable of joining us.
“See Hector, even you can learn new tricks.” Patricia grinned at me from across the room. She was working on a children’s primer for German. For whatever reason, Charlotte had been content to allow her to struggle at that work without bothering her about accents or anything. It was starting to irk me.
“Thank you for your help, Patricia. I imagine you are next to enjoy Mrs. Pryor’s tutelage.” It was something I had been looking forward to for the past two days. A small bright spot, at the very least, amidst the sorrow.
“Not entirely, Mr. Kingsley, not entirely.” Charlotte absent-mindedly rapped the table with her knuckles again. “Also, you should continue speaking in the accent even when you are alone with us. People might hear you otherwise, and it remains good practice for you. You’ve a talent for impersonating foreigners, I suppose, but every moment of practice helps.”
I scowled and strove to get back into character. “So Ms. Anderson will not be joining us as some German diplomat on this adventure?”
Patricia burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Me, an ambassador.” She shook her head, still beaming. “No, I’m just going to be your American bodyguard. Best way to get them to let me onboard with my rifle.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ms. Anderson.” Both Patricia and I blinked at Charlotte’s tone, but Francis’ wife continued before either of us could respond. “There might be no way to conceal that dreadful American twang, but I would not send you aboard that embassy as a bodyguard. Not with that hair or that weapon; the watchmen will be on high alert.”
Confusion clouded Patricia’s expression. “You mean I can’t bring my gun?”
“No. No guns.” Charlotte scribbled a few notes on a piece of paper. “You’ll be going as the heiress to an American copper magnate. A small mine located in the west, sent to Europe as part of your debutante tour. That should excuse your mannerisms—some of them, at least. We can work on the rest later.”
As priceless as the look on Patricia’s face was to me—and it was indeed a treasure I intended to keep within my heart until the day I died—another question appeared in my troubled mind. “If I might ask, Mrs. Pryor, why would an American debutante attend a peace conference with a German baron? I would think they would find other ways to spend their youth.”
“Ah, but not if she has an attachment to said noble. An engagement perhaps?”
“A what?” Both Patricia and I were on our feet in a heartbeat. We stared at each other in mutual surprise and offense, and then we both turned on our supposed matchmaker.
“You can’t be serious about leaving—”
“I think it highly inappropriate that—”
“Sit down, both of you.” Charlotte’s stern voice cut through all of our objections, and despite our entirely justifiable outrage, we sat. She continued in a firm voice. “This is the best way to get her aboard the embassy, and to give her a certain independence of movement. No one would consider a young lady in her position to be anything like a threat, and they would accept her in your company, Kingsley, even when she would otherwise fall under suspicion.”
The woman had a point, however much it frustrated me. It did not satisfy all of my objections, however. “French or no, I would think the embassy would frown on having an unaccompanied young lady meeting with her paramour in the middle of their proceedings. Even they have some form of propriety, I would assume.”
“You have more faith in diplomats than I, Mr. Kingsley. Or should I say, Baron Krongesetz.” Charlotte offered me a thin smile. “In any case, her actions can easily be dismissed as an American lack of decorum—and if they aren’t, it would explain the presence of a maid to act as a chaperone of sorts.” She gestured to herself with a raised eyebrow.
“I still won’t be armed.” Patricia was still clearly fuming, her hands clenched firmly around her rifle. “We’re talking about a dragon here. You’re saying there’s any point in me going without a gun to fire?”
I reached out and laid a hand on hers. “You’ve always been more than just a hired gun, Patricia. I would never have been able to reach this stage in my investigations without you.” She nodded, though she did not look very well convinced. Partially satisfied, I turned back to Charlotte. “You’re saying you would be able to carry on your part as well, Mrs. Pryor? The nobility is not known to be familiar with their servants in Germany.”
“Of course, Baron Krongesetz.” For a moment, I wondered if Benjamin had somehow answered me, but it was Charlotte. Her words held a thicker, South German accent than she had instructed me to speak with, and she complimented them with a diffident curtsey. “I will be most happy to assist you in your work at the embassy.”
Patricia exchanged a look with me and laughed. “I guess we shouldn’t have questioned your skills, Charlotte. It might take a while longer to get me to act like some fancy socialite, though.” As casual as her words were, she still hadn’t quite let go of her rifle.
“You may leave that to me, Ms. Anderson. Or should I say, Ms. Amy Bingham?” Charlotte’s eyes glittered with amusement despite her subservient façade, and I shuddered slightly. Francis hadn’t warned me of what exactly we were getting into, and I was rapidly starting to resent the surprising tenacity of his wife.
Patricia grunted, and then turned back to her book, obviously trying to ignore how much the name irritated her. In spite of myself, I grinned, at least until Charlotte turned her attention back to me.
“And now, Baron Krongesetz, if you would please start again?”
Hours later, Patricia and I staggered out of our practice session with heads far more full of exhaustion and acting tips than common sense. Charlotte had been relentless, drumming the lessons into us with exacting precision. By the time we actually reached the airship, I wondered if we would believe ourselves to be a German noble and his betrothed.
“Ah, Kingsley. Good evening.” Benjamin was using Francis’ voice, but I knew that was only a temporary measure, at least until I shared my own voice with him.
Patricia, however, beat me to the punch. “Good evening, Kingsley. Good evening, Benjamin.”
Benjamin grinned. His voice shifted to hers next. “I was waiting for you to get here.”
I felt a sudden rush of energy. “Have you heard any more news? Are there more details about the mercenaries?”
His answer was in my own voice. “No more details about the mercenaries. No news.” He shook his head sadly. “I have heard nothing.”
It was unusual for Benjamin to spend so many words on repetition. Since he had helped me recover Francis from our disastrous attempt to stop Devonshire, the echo had grown more serious in his investigations. Apparently, many of his sources had been disappearing in the wake of the robbery at Barings—Aberforth was not the only one to find his fountains of information drying up. Benjamin had quickly taken it as a personal affront and had dedicated himself to expanding the network he relied on to bring him news. Unfortunately, that news had rarely brought anything particularly good to our ears.
My hope that his string of bad luck was dashed a moment later as he continued. “More about the barony, the conference. About someone looking for you.”
To my surprise, he ended the sentence by staring at Patricia, who looked startled for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I guess I am a popular woman lately.”
“Lately, I guess.” Benjamin didn’t seem all that convinced. He turned back to me. “Barony is legitimate. Unknown who holds the title now. Suspected to be…” My old friend struggled for a minute, and when his voice resurfaced, it had taken on the dry and dusty tones of a dedicated scholar. “Defunct.”
“Is that so?” I raised my eyebrows. There had been only a small chance that Aberforth was attempting to entrap us, but I had felt it wise to ask Benjamin to dig into the details of the title the watchman had so generously bestowed on me. If it had been recognizably false, I would have been leading both Patricia and myself into the arms of our enemies.
Apparently, though, not only was the barony a real one, but its owner was both unknown and unconnected. It would greatly lessen the likelihood that someone would recognize me as an intruder, but it also seemed to be a complication on its own. I could only go so far pretending to be a nobleman if no one could claim to have met me. It was hard not to frown over Aberforth’s oversight.
“So, if the title is real, does that mean Hector’s a baron now?”
Patricia’s question dragged me out of my thoughts. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ms. Anderson. It is only a cover. Mr. Aberforth doesn’t come close to having the influence to make me a member of the nobility, no matter his stature within the city watch.”
Benjamin coughed. “Mr. Aberforth doesn’t have the stature. The title is real, no matter his stature.”
She laughed. “Maybe we should pick out some flags for you, Hector. A shield and coat of arms or something.”
Despite my growing irritation with the false honors, I felt a sudden curiosity on the matter. The prospect appealed to me, though I couldn’t possibly say why. “I doubt that Mr. Aberforth would be highly amused by the impersonation—and the nobility of Germany would likely put an end to the matter shortly, anyway. After all, there should be some highborn gentry or another who would recognize our fraud.”
“Not right away, though. We might as well enjoy the show. Right, my dear fiancée?”
For an instant, I thought Patricia had somehow managed to cause Benjamin to suffer some permanent harm. He stared at her, goggle-eyed and unmoving, for at least a handful of heartbeats. Then he turned to look at me, a grin splitting his grey features. “Fiancée? Does that mean something right away?”
I held up a hand, partly to cut him off and partly to block out that over-excited smile. “She is only talking about our roles aboard the embassy, Benjamin. Nothing more.”
“Oh come on Kingsley, at least say it with a smile, huh?” Patricia looped her arm through mine in a shocking breach of decorum, and then leaned heavily against me. She fluttered her eyelashes and adopted the far more honeyed American drawl Charlotte had insisted on teaching her. “My dear Baron Krongesetz, how enthralling it is to be near you again!”
Benjamin was shaking now, his already grey features darkening with silent laughter. I desperately tried to free myself from her stubbornly attached grip. “Ms. Anderson—Patricia, I—”
“Why, who could this Patricia be? Is there someone here you have forgotten to introduce me to?” Patricia swatted me lightly on the upper arm before shading her eyes and peering around carefully. “Ya’ll should be more considerate of the fairer sex here. Where is she?”
She was, apparently, a natural actress. It was a fact that bore me little comfort as I failed to free myself and saw Francis approaching. He glanced at Benjamin—who by now had doubled over against the nearest wall in a futile attempt to restrain his mirth—and raised an eyebrow at me. “Has Charlotte already finished for the day? I would have thought you’d be in there a while yet.”
I spoke before Patricia could have the chance. “She has quite done with us for the moment. Though some of us are taking the opportunity to—ah—practice a while longer.”
Francis glanced at Patricia, and he smirked slightly. “Ah. So it is.” Then he shifted his attention back to me. “I’ve spoken with an acquaintance of mine, a tailor. You should have enough clothing appropriate for your newfound status soon.”
Surprise shot through me. I opened my mouth, but Francis waved and continued with a slight air of frustration. “He is quite familiar with the styles of the German nobility as well as the American elite, so you should both fit in quite handily. The man has a knack for creating entirely believable costumes; he was always the one I went to when Charlotte was arranging another production.”
I closed my mouth. It seemed he had already taken great pains for us—and, of course, for his wife. There would be no flaws, none that he could prevent. “Thank you, Francis. Your assistance—”
He cut me off again with another irritable gesture. “Please, don’t mention it, Kingsley.” Then he met my eyes with a steady look. “Just bring her back to me in one piece, and Devonshire in several. Then I will be more than satisfied. Are we agreed?”
“We are.” I shook his hand, noting the continued strain on his face. I could well imagine the cause, given what he was sending his wife to confront, but he remained well under control. Hardly any sparks leaped about him as he withdrew.
Patricia had remained hanging on my arm throughout the conversation, still refusing to budge from her position. Her attention, however, appeared to lapse slightly as Benjamin and Francis started their own conversation. “You think we’re really doing the right thing here, Kingsley?”
“You mean Baron Krongesetz, do you not?” My gallant attempt at maintaining my own disguise was repaid with a sharp elbow to the ribs. I grunted and continued in a more normal tone. “I do, Patricia. We will never be free so long as Devonshire knows we live—and he will only be sure of our deaths if he has lit our funeral pyres himself. If we are ever to have any peace, we will need to deal with him. Not just for us, but for everyone we hold dear.”
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She nodded, her fingers briefly tightening around my arm. For a long heartbeat, she simply rested her head against my shoulder. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.
Then she stepped away and released her hold on me at last. “Then we’d better get a move on. We go aboard in only a few hours after all.”
“I will see you there, Ms. Anderson.” I saw Patricia roll her eyes at my formal tones. She walked away with a determined gait, despite her current lack of armaments.
Charlotte stepped out of our instruction room, her posture suggesting she had already fallen into character. “Are you ready, Baron Krongesetz?”
“Yes, Ms. Schulz.” I put as much assurance as I could muster into the response. “I do believe that we are as ready as we ever will be.”
My confidence was not quite as ironclad the following morning.
Francis’ tailor friend had visited briefly, made some measurements, and promptly disappeared for several hours. I had spent some of them in a fitful, futile attempt at rest—something I lamely tried to assure myself would replicate the effect of traveling to London from the Continent—and had spent several more wondering if the entire plan would fall apart due solely to a lack of clothing.
My worries had been unfounded, apparently. Well before our appointed arrival time at the embassy, the tailor returned with several reams of noble attire. He then spent a few moments with me to demonstrate how I should attend to the overly-complicated manner of dressing myself before departing to speak with Charlotte and Patricia.
The first costume—I could not persuade myself to view it as anything else—was a masterpiece in and of itself. The majority of it was a forest green, created in a military style that aped the current noble trends in Germany. Ever since the unification of the country, just before the New War, the gentry there had a strong tendency to copy the martial overtones of the former Prussian state, something which had remained all the more constant since the devastating conflicts in the years since then.
As I examined myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but admire the clean lines of the tailoring, and the contrast between the golden braid and the deep green fabric. The comparatively dull sheath of Damocles, hung from the belt at my side, still somehow seemed to fit, as if the man had designed my wardrobe especially with the blade in mind.
It was a very bold choice, given the probable worries the embassy would have about a foreigner with a live blade walking their corridors, but I knew it would be better to attempt to pass off the weapon as a decorative embellishment than to try to sneak it aboard my luggage. I was still rather ambivalent about the sword myself; I couldn’t help feeling the urge to continue holding it. The blade was very obviously affected by the Distillation in some way that made it almost impossible to ignore, and it was a constant struggle to keep myself from drawing it.
Nevertheless, it appeared that I was ready. Both Benjamin and Francis would be accompanying us to the embassy with a suitably fine carriage that would pretend to have retrieved us from the harbor. It was all coming together, just in time for—
“Hector?”
I turned, glad that Patricia had interrupted my thoughts. Such worries were a considerable bother before an investigation, and I was more than happy to avoid muddling myself with them just before our departure.
I needn’t have concerned myself. The instant I saw Patricia, it was as if every preoccupation and apprehension vanished from the world altogether.
She was dressed in an American style, though there were some hints at German fashion as well. It showed in the plainness of the green cloth, unembroidered, yet of a hue that made both her hair and eyes seem to stand out from the world around them. The narrow, flowing skirts of her dress were not quite the style in vogue with the British court, but few would expect that from a naïve American heiress. They certainly weren’t what I might have dreamed of seeing her wear one day. Around her neck was the Sybil, where the simple green emerald seemed to tie in perfectly with the rest of the ensemble.
Patricia glanced away a little. “Does it really look that bad?”
I realized quite dumbly that I had been gawking at her. What was the matter with me? “I apologize, Patricia. I was merely surprised.”
The color on her cheeks deepened, and I realized with some shock that she was blushing. “I know. I told them it wouldn’t work. Maybe it’s not too late to put me in some servant’s uniform—”
“Absolutely not.” The firmness in my voice took even me aback, but the feeling was entirely genuine. “The dress is beautiful, Patricia, and you wear it very well.”
Her blush deepened, and I scrambled for better words, like a sprinter trying to turn a corner on a gravel road. “Had I not known you, I might have mistaken you for an heiress myself.” Was that a hint of a grimace? Things were not going well at all. “At the very least, you will look wonderful in comparison with me.”
I gestured to my own clothing, and Patricia laughed softly. “I think you look just fine, Baron Krongesetz.” She had slipped into that drawl far easier than I could have ever expected. “Do you think we’ll manage to get aboard?”
“Of course.” My own accent slipped into place so readily that it was almost natural. Clearly, Charlotte’s efforts had paid off in a significant fashion. “I feel confident that we should be able to reach the embassy without trouble.”
Patricia smiled, and for an instant, my heart skipped a beat. There was a long pause, seemingly the duration of eternity, and then her smile changed to a mischievous grin. “We should probably get going, Mr. Baron. Otherwise, we’ll miss the carriage.”
“Ah. Yes. You’re right.” She held out her hand, and I walked over to take it. We went out together to meet the others.
The carriage ride to the embassy was one of the longest and most excruciating experiences in my life. Francis and Benjamin had both insisted on seeing us off, and they had both been sniggering over something the moment I turned my back on them. Charlotte had not shared in their joke—she was already fully devoted to her role as a subservient German maid—but I could not miss a hint of amusement whenever she glanced at me.
Patricia, of course, had turned up her nose at the whole affair. While the others had loaded our luggage, she took her seat beside me in the carriage and opened a book in her lap. Her lips moved as she ran her eyes over the words; the cover revealed it to be a volume of common Germanic phrases and places. She still had not let go of my hand, either, which I was becoming concerned was getting rather sweaty.
My worries had only intensified by the time Charlotte had given her husband a fond embrace—breaking character for a short moment—and then took the seat across from us. I was thus left to my own thoughts as the well-compensated driver shifted the mechanisms of the carriage and set us on our way.
Unfortunately, my thoughts were not easy ones. The dangers of the coming adventure were becoming all too real to me, even as I raced toward them. One wrong move and I would sentence not only myself, but also all the people I held dear, to certain doom. My confidence in my acting skills was not nearly as sure as Charlotte’s or even Patricia’s, and on top of everything the cursed sword at my side continued to draw my attention, nudging at the edge of my thoughts like a dog begging for a treat. Distracted, under pressure, and uncertain were not words to describe a man plunging headlong towards success.
Neither Patricia nor Charlotte showed any nervousness, however. I sat there and silently envied them until the carriage turned one final corner, and the Embassy of France came fully into view.
The airship had once been one of France’s war vessels, used to devastating effect against the enemies of the Empire during the New War. It had been captured during a daring raid by a detachment of Royal Marines, but the war had ended before the ship had been repurposed to fight its former masters. Unwilling to fund the effort to rebuild and refurbish the aging design, the Crown had decided, in the generous consideration of the Queen, to use it in another way. Her Highness had sworn, during the depths of the New War and the Empire’s attack, that France would not own one inch of British soil during her lifetime; now, in a time of peace, the airship would allow her to extend welcome to the ambassadors of that power, while allowing her promise to remain unbroken.
It was an imposing sight, even moored at a low altitude over the waters of the Thames. The airship was a gigantic, bloated giant, with an underslung carriage that resembled half a dreadnaught. Openings that had once been gunports had been refashioned into stained glass windows, and fine golden scrollwork had been etched all along the sides to compliment a fresh coat of royal purple paint, but it remained a heavy, foreboding monument to the New War. Its heavy, reinforced envelope had been too large to disguise as anything but a warship; its grey and black colors reminded one of a thundercloud looming in the sky, even on clear, sunny days.
There was some comfort, however. Two smaller, more modern British airships were permanently stationed in the air above the embassy, their cannon fixed on the French vessel in case their old enemies unwisely attempted something against the nation’s capital. Of course, the fact the entire embassy could be unmade with a single volley was less reassuring when one was about to be aboard it, but for the moment the image of those two red-and-blue guardians was quite a welcome sight.
The Post, as the embassy’s mooring spot was called, was a pier that had been extensively repurposed by the French. An entire two-story building had been constructed out over the water and was connected to the airship by a pair of steel cables. Gondolas moved along the cables, bringing materials and personnel to the embassy quite some distance above them.
Our driver took us straight to the front of the Post and stopped. Two watchmen were stationed there, and one of them walked out to the carriage with a suspicious, almost hostile air. He asked some questions of our driver—likely about the nature of his passengers and their destination—and then proceeded to walk back to the door of the vehicle. He knocked, the touch of his knuckles on the door harsh and abrupt.
I let go of Patricia’s hand and leaned forward to open the door. The watchman peered in at us, and I met his eyes with a cold stare, much unlike the usual diffident look I would have used. “Yes, officer?”
My lack of concern appeared to surprise the man, and he had to take a moment to recover. “Baron Krongesetz?”
“Baron Echtor Krongesetz.” I motioned to Charlotte and Patricia. “And companions.”
The faint accent of Germany was a shaky thing in my own ears, but it appeared to convince the watchman well enough. His hostility and suspicion appeared to melt away immediately, replaced by an almost fawning attitude that immediately infuriated me. “Yes, of course, my lord. Welcome to the British Empire.” He glanced up and back, a look of revulsion darting across his narrow face before he continued. “I hope you have a pleasant visit.”
I inclined my head very slightly at his words, a habit that Charlotte had drilled into me for the past few days. The watchman stepped back and closed the door. Moments later, the carriage started forward again, rumbling out over the wooden boards of the pier.
The shadow of the Post fell across our windows, and then we were inside the exchange station.
It was a neat, orderly sort of place. Two other carriages were sitting inside, both apparently empty of passengers, though their drivers still sat in their seats. A set of stairs led up the western side of the building to the second floor, where I assumed the gondolas were loaded and unloaded. The pier actually continued out past the front of the Post, to a small dock where ships could arrive and discharge their passengers. There was a single large ship there at this very moment, creaking alongside the planks of the dock as the motion of the Thames disturbed it. Sailors moved about on deck, apparently busy with some seafaring work or another. I had never been overly familiar with the travails that accompanied life at sea.
The only occupants of the Post—aside from the carriage drivers and sailors, of course—were soldiers. They did not wear the comforting uniforms of the British military. No bright red coats or blue jackets were in evidence, and the style and cut of their clothing was entirely foreign. Each regular soldier was dressed quite simply, with dark grey pants and a black overcoat that had silver buttons down the front. A grey, conical hat, a sword belt with a small shortsword, and an air rifle completed their ensemble. Their officers were very similarly dressed, with some splashes of color on their shoulders being the only real difference I could see.
One of those officers quickly approached the carriage, accompanied by a pair of soldiers. He did not seem to fit my image of a French soldier; to the contrary, the man appeared rather portly, and his mustache was far more elaborate than I believed that a proper army would have allowed. He did not knock; instead, he stood politely and waited. A part of me wondered just how long the man would hesitate outside our door, but Patricia gave me a sharp nudge in the ribs. I sighed and opened the door to step out.
As I did so, the officer came to attention, bringing his fist across his chest in an unfamiliar sort of salute. The other two soldiers came to a similar stance, angling their guns across their chests in a precision that showed the work of harsh training. I blinked in temporary surprise, and the officer spoke in a lightly accented version of the Queen’s English. “Baron Krongesetz, you have been expected. If you would please come this way?”
I paused, wondering if he had chosen English because he did not know German, or if it was a hint that our identities had already been compromised. Either way, it greatly simplified our conversation, at the very least. “Thank you very much.”
Stepping down, I turned to extend my hand for Patricia. She took it and stepped lightly from the carriage, her face animated and excited. “Echtor, will we ride one of the gondolas? I haven’t had the chance to use one before!”
The officer paused, looking from her to me, and I inclined my head slightly. “Ms. Bingham, my fiancé.” It was a measure of pride that my voice did not falter at all. I waved vaguely at the carriage, where Charlotte was being helped down by one of the soldiers. “We also have with us Mrs. Rabenstrange, her attendant.” Then I turned back to the officer, taking care to emphasize the accent in my voice. “I was assured they would also be welcome.”
My response, at first, was a mere raised eyebrow. This man was no easily flustered watchman. He answered slowly, as if feeling out the correct words. “Yes. Of course they are welcome. No man would ever deny such creatures our hospitality.”
He bowed low, though not quickly enough that I could not see his grin. Then he straightened and gestured for the soldiers to follow. “Come, we will see to your baggage. I am to escort you to your quarters aboard the Accorde Fragile.”
I followed after him with Patricia at my side, while Charlotte traveled silently in our wake. The soldiers fell in on either side of us, and I tried not to notice exactly how much attention we were receiving from others around the Post. Most of the others appeared to be busy guarding the carriages or unloading bags, but some of them made it a point to stop and stare. The oldest of them appeared willing enough to glare at me, which was not entirely surprising. The newly united Germany had not, after all, been an insignificant obstacle for the Empire of France during the New War, and lingering grudges were normal after such a protracted conflict.
Of course, I would have preferred that they would have directed their attention elsewhere, but our escort appeared to keep anyone from doing anything rash. There were no incidents before we reached the gondola. One was already waiting for us when we reached the upper level. To my surprise, the vehicle was much larger than I’d anticipated. From a distance, they had seemed like slightly oversized carriages, but this one had to be nearly three times the size.
Our host apparently noticed my expression and smiled. “One of our Emperor’s innovations to our operations here. He is a great believer in accomplishing great things, and I believe it occasionally makes it hard for him to think small.” He waved us over to the nearest door. “He actually wanted to have an entire train of them hooked up to one another, but the weight was a bit too much for the cable to bear. At the very least, this will allow us to travel to the embassy in comfort, I’m sure you will agree.”
I merely nodded; a German baron would likely not indulge in such trivial talk, especially with a perceived enemy. Patricia, however, must have felt no such restrictions in her own role. She leaned across me to whisper to the man. “So, the Emperor visits this place? I thought he was busy over there in Paris.”
The Frenchman paused, and then he beamed at her. “Of course, our Emperor has not had the opportunity to travel to our small embassy, but he keeps a close eye on what we do here. He would not want unfortunate accidents to occur, you understand.” For a moment, his eyes rested on my sword, but he continued without a pause. “I was given to understand, Herr Baron, that you were here to observe the talks?”
“I am.”
“Good, good.” He glanced about and lowered his voice. “Then perhaps you have heard who else will be in attendance?”
I gave the man a long look. It would be unwise to reveal exactly what we already knew, but aristocrats tended to play a game of whispers and secrets. Even a severe, reclusive German baron be would likely take part in such political games. “I was told that there would be…several…important figures here. It is part of why I came.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The officer motioned for us to enter the gondola and arrange ourselves on the bench closest to the end of the car. His soldiers came to a halt at the door, standing briefly at attention before the doors closed, leaving us alone in the oversized gondola. Only then did the man speak again. “I must say that I have also heard those same rumors, Baron Krongesetz. In fact, I have been assured that some of those august personages will arrive today.”
Raising my eyebrows, I looked over at Patricia. Perhaps we had timed our arrival a bit too well, if the Emperor would arrive the same day. “That is…interesting.”
“Very.” He watched me with hooded eyes now, his more pleasant attitude fading slightly. “Of course, that would reemphasize how great a responsibility we hold to secure this embassy while our guests are present. For that reason, you may see quite a few more guards aboard the Accorde than we might otherwise employ.”
I nodded slowly. “A wise decision.”
“I am so glad you approve.” The man’s smile did not quite meet his eyes. “Unfortunately, I must ask you to act with caution while you are with us, Baron Krongesetz. Your weapon—” He motioned to Damocles, still in its sheath, “—must remain sheathed at all times. You are not to engage in dueling aboard our vessel, no matter the provocation. And finally, as a personal favor to me, I hope you will be discreet in any particular endeavors you might have aboard. These talks are too delicate to endanger by one man’s poor judgment or rash behavior. You understand?”
The message was clear. It was also becoming more and more apparent that this Frenchman was no ordinary infantry officer. I nodded, slowly. “Yes. I do.”
“Good.” He sat back, apparently satisfied with his warning, and the gondola began to move. Very shortly, we were out over the waters of the Thames, dangling from a steel cable while Distillation-powered gears ground away above our heads.
The lavish interior of the gondola sparkled in the afternoon sunlight, and Patricia leaned against me with a sigh. “Just as wonderful as I hoped for.”
Despite her nonchalance, her grip tightened on my arm, and I was suddenly worried. Had some remnant of her near-death facing the Dollmaker returned? I could not find any hint of anxiety in her expression, however, so I merely contented myself by laying my hand over hers. “It is a beautiful day, my dearest.”
I nearly stumbled on the affectionate pet name, but Charlotte had coached me quite well. Patricia smiled and laid her head on my shoulder, to my infinite embarrassment, but our French escort only smiled and shrugged at me. Clearly, even training could not hide my discomfort, but perhaps he only assumed it was a part of the German upbringing.
We reached the airship without further incident, pulling into a station much like the one we had just left. Our escort stood first, dusting off the uniform he wore with an enviable attention to detail. He gestured for us to depart. “I’m afraid the soldiers here will direct you to your quarters, honored guests. I must return to my post to await further visitors to our small embassy.”
As we walked past him, I turned and offered him my hand. It was an impulsive gesture, but surely even a formal German baron would not ignore the respectful nature of his introduction to the embassy. “Thank you, officer.” Then I paused. “I do not think I heard your name.”
The officer took my hand, his firm grip and friendly smile not flinching in the least. “My apologies, Baron Krongesetz.” He stepped back and bowed. “My name is Louis Napoleon.”
I froze, and he smiled easily. “I look forward to speaking more with you, Baron. Good day.”
With that, the cousin of the New Emperor, currently heir to the throne of Imperial France, stepped back into the gondola. The door closed as I was still staring at them, paralyzed by my sudden brush with danger. Patricia touched my shoulder, and I turned to follow the soldiers who were now leading us through the corridors of the embassy. It was obvious, now, that we were not the only ones fond of deception. What exactly had I gotten all of us into?