《A Gilded Cage》 Introduction and a bit of worldbuilding TYSKIAN EMPIRE: Organisation: Preface: Military: Preface ¡°Many states have an Army, but the Prussian Army has a state.¡± - I am sorry for random history quote Tyskia has some of the finest military academies and by far the most brilliant General¡¯s Staff of the Listerian continent. However, despite their technological advancements and superior training, the Tyskian army is often unable to operate at full potential: their capabilities (in any given theatre) are limited by the Foreign Ministry¡¯s fear of escalation. They have a rocky relationship with the Exchequer (and by extension, the Chancellery; the Minister of Finance is backed by the Chancellor) due to budget disagreements. Both sides are willing to let the funding debate die in times of war -- survival precedes pride. During war, the Tyskian army is as fearsome as they come. Equipped with the finest heavy armour, the most accurate rifles (that¡¯s an exaggeration), and led by the best officers, they have no equal in a conventional, logical war -- and therein lies the issue. The Tyskian General Staff operates under the assumption that their opponents are logical beings confined by the chains of reason. They do not understand the nuances of peacekeeping or integration: they place no value on infrastructure that does not supply their war effort. As such, they remain blind the atrocities they commit; the General Staff understands only the total annihilation of the enemy, and not what comes after. Military: Headquarters The Imperial General Staff is headquartered in Bremenstadt, the Tyskian Capital. They are in possession of both an office building, and, just in case of direct attack, an underground bunker complex. Imperial General Staff: Operations Lieutenant General Kurt Von Haugen (Department of Operations; chair) Major General Walter Eindsdat (Department of Operations; member) Brigadier General Erich De Ingrasan (Department of Operations; member) Brigadier General Leer Lietz (Department of Operations; member) Colonel Hildenbert Ebner (Department of Operations; aide) The operations department is responsible for military planning before, during, and after a war. It is responsible for the overall deployment of troops and their utilisation in direct combat. As such, it is also the department with the most direct contact with the Empire¡¯s civilian ministries: they must ensure that the army¡¯s objectives align with that of their civilian counterparts. All members of the department have attended the Army War College in Bremenstadt. Imperial General Staff: Logistics Lieutenant General Alrich Ebenstadt Klien (Department of Logistics; member) Lieutenant General Astor Mayer Veers (Department of Logistics; member) Major General Rudolf Heimlich Ziegler (Department of Personnel; chair) Major General Ambose Von Holland (Department of Logistics; chair) Brigadier General Odo Pabst (Department of Personnel; member) Brigadier General Rudiger Spitz (Department of Personnel; member) Colonel Otto Hardwin (Department of Logistics; aide) Colonel Niklaus Brauer (Department of Logistics; aide) Colonel Heine Zimmerman (Department of Logistics; aide) Colonel Ugar Hartmann (Department of Logistics; aides) The logistics department is responsible for pay and general upkeep of the army. It manages recruitment efforts, personnel reassignments (between units), and complaints from both civilian and military sources. It is also the largest department: the Imperial army correctly realises that troops, no matter how well trained nor how well motivated, cannot fight without supplies. The logistics department also handles the military¡¯s budget. Research and Development, as well as well Imperial General Staff: Intelligence Major General Jeremius Kuhn (Department of Intelligence; chair) Lieutenant General Anton Vienhein Schmidtt (Department of Intelligence; member) Colonel Hans Von Lorenz(Department of Intelligence; aide) Colonel Matthias Schulze (Department of Intelligence; aide) [REDACTED] Military: Ostland MilitaryTheatre The Ostland Military Theatre is the one that is expected to bear the brunt of any foreign aggression against the Empire. As such, it is also the district that receives the most funding and priority assignment for reserve troops; they are expected, with these resources, to defeat or delay the enemy such that the central armies based around the Capital can mobilise and come to their aid (as needed). The disposition of their troops is as follows: (only gonna do one army, rest of them are similarly organised) The theatre itself comprises its namesake province, the Duchy of Ostland, the Duchy of Elsland, the Duchy of Saarsland, and their subordinate cities, counties, and baronies. The military theatre also covers the vast majority of arable land in the Empire -- at least the land that hasn¡¯t been built over by the sprawling spires of industrialization. Imperial Third Army (Headquartered in Ostmark) Imperial Fourth Army Army (Headquartered in Folare, Elsland) Imperial Eighth Army (Headquartered in Feldhofen, Saarland) 7th Air Army (Headquartered in Hendorf, Elsland) III Reserve Army (Headquartered in Morthal, Ostmark) IV Reserve Army (Headquartered in Morthal, Saarland) All divisions assigned to the Ostland Military District carry an extra battalion in their attached artillery and cavalry brigades. Each army is also given a numbered Heavy Assault Brigade for usage in breakthrough actions and counter offensives. The Divisions assigned to the Ostland Military Theatre have been stripped of their light infantry complement; the General Staff has deemed, as the Theatre itself is so well mapped, that forward screening actions are unnecessary and reconnaissance can be carried out by elements of already present infantry regiments or the 7th Air Army. Military: Nordland Military Theatre: The Nordland Military District consists of its namesake province, the Duchy of Nordland, the Duchy of Grunau, and the County of Dulau (and of course, all subordinate cities, baronies, and other units of land distribution). While not as large, nor expected to face the kinds of threats unique to the Ostland Military Theatre, Nordland is just as well guarded: it is home to the Imperial High Seas Fleet and most of Tyskia''s natural resource production. As such, they are given the following: Imperial Fifth Army (Headquartered in Grobst-Nordenberg, Nordland) Imperial Seventh Army (Headquartered in Grobst-Elsenberg, Grunau) Imperial High Seas Fleet (Based in Port Falkbern, Braunland Harbor, and Port Wittwiz: Dulau) Imperial Maritime Security Fleet A (Based in Neu-Rosenshafen, Nordland) 2nd Air Army (Headquartered in Postau, Nordland)| V Reserve Army (Headquartered in Postau, Grunau) Units assigned to the Nordland Military Theatre are assigned cold weather gear and instructed on how to perform combat operations in extreme, sub-zero environments. Furthermore, because flexibility is far more important than direct firepower -- snow tends to bog down tanks and other heavy weapons -- Imperial Divisions assigned to the aforementioned theatre are given double the light infantry complement (two brigades) but half the heavy armour (only 1 regiment of tanks). Additionally, instead of a heavy assault brigade, armies are given extra regiments of signal, supply, and logistical personnel to compensate for harsh operating conditions. Military: Westenland/Sudland Military Theatre: The Sudland Military Theatre covers the Duchy of Sudland, and the counties of Alsmark and Arnmark. This theatre is considered relatively unimportant by the General Staff, despite containing most of the Empire¡¯s infrastructure. This is because of its unique geography: its Southern border is an impassable mountain range (with some heavily defended exceptions), and its Eastern flank is covered by the Ostland Military Theatre. Defending one defends the other, or so the line of thinking goes. The West is¡­ more interesting, but due to its comparatively close proximity to the Capital and the Central Tyskian Armies, reinforcements are always available. It comprises of the Duchy of Westenland, Wolfchen, and the county Weinenwald. The forces available to Wetstland Sudland are: Imperial Third Army (Headquartered in Dinkau, Sudland) Imperial Sixth Army (Headquartered in Dinkau, Sudland) Imperial Ninth Army (Headquartered in Dinkau, Sudland) 3rd Air army (Headquartered in Kirchden, Westenland) 6th Air army (Headquartered in Kirchden, Westenland) II Reserve Army (Headquartered in Wolfchen, Wolfchen) IX Reserve Army (Headquartered in the Ostbach, WienenWald) 01 - Over a meal 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. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. - ¡°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.¡± 02 - Upon a Star 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!¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°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. 03 - Shopping, part 1 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.¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°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. 04 - Shopping, Part two ¡°And now, tah-dah! The tailor! Madam Bernedeaux¡¯s! My favorite place in all of Bremenstadt-¡± ¡°So the burger stand just magically disappeared.¡± ¡°Yes! But anyways, it¡¯s time to get you-¡± Elise pointed at me and did a little pirouette. I was unamused, and the slight frown already present on my face deepened. ¡°-dressed for the occasion!¡± ¡°I fail to see how you can muster this much enthusiasm with shopping for clothes.¡± I replied nonchalantly. ¡°We are quite literally shopping for aesthetically pleasing pieces of fabric. What is so exciting about this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a normal person thing. You wouldn¡¯t get it.¡± She deadpanned. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t get it even if we stuck it in front of you and waved it around on a stick. But enough of that. Say it with me, Fredrich! Today, you will finally stop looking like a depressed idiot!¡± That declaration turned heads. Every other person on the street was probably wondering who fed the little gremlin too much sugar before taking her outside. Jokes on you, Elise does not need performance-enhancing drugs to take a wrecking ball to your train of thought. She does not need anything to become both infinitely adorable and endlessly vexing at the same time. It was both endearing and irritating. My feelings oscillated between the two, before deciding that a morning of suit-fitting beat out my peppy sister -- so, irritation it was. I sighed. ¡°Today, I will go into this ¡®Madame Bernedeaux¡¯s¡¯ and get fitted for a suit, which I will only wear once for the rest of my life.¡± ¡°Say it again, with feeling!¡± ¡°Today, I will be wasting an excessive sum of money on something that has no practical utility in order to please my family. Satisfied?¡± ¡°That¡¯s as good as we¡¯re going to get out of you. Goddamnit brother.¡± She shook her head disappointedly. ¡°Well, nothing for it. Come on then!¡± Elise magically attached herself to my arm and began dragging me handily inside. Of course, she couldn¡¯t actually do that -- I gave her a bit of help so that she wouldn¡¯t trip. Meaning I walked inside under the gazes of a hundred bemused spectators, a disappointed mother, and a group of guards that were trying -- and failing -- to suppress their laughter. Rosenberg even had the gall to snicker behind me! I¡¯ll be docking their pay later. No, I really wouldn¡¯t, but thinking it made me feel better. As we made it in, I was stunned by the sheer amount of pieces on display. Dresses of silk, suits lined with velvet, coats of furs shipped from God knows where. Clothing in all shapes and styles, from the formal tuxedos of Tyskia to the flowing gowns of the far East. This place had everything: I swear I saw something of the Instafanian style in one of the corners. How the hell did they even get that past the Sultanate¡¯s borders? I guess the scene before me really made an impact, because it took my sister¡¯s teasing voice to snap me out of my reverie. ¡°Awestruck? Speechless?¡± Behold, the wonders of fashion!¡± Elise struck a little pose after that. ¡°I know, I know. A country bumpkin like yourself will need a short adjustment period. Don¡¯t worry-¡± she pulled out her best doctor voice, which came out all nasally and¡­ just wrong. ¡°-I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll get over your shock and welcome the gentle embrace of civilization.¡± I cleared my throat before responding. ¡°It really is quite something.¡± My response was intentionally muted so that my sister wouldn¡¯t get the satisfaction of knowing she was right. She gave me a self-satisfied smirk -- stop gloating already. I apologize for not being used to the sort of decadence on display here. ¡°It¡¯s more than just ¡®quite something¡¯. I can tell that you¡¯re very impressed, just from that sparkle in your eye when we first went in. Heck, even I¡¯m kind of starstruck every time I walk in here, and I¡¯m a regular!¡± ¡°My eyes don''t sparkle. That would be very disturbing.¡± ¡°Yes they do.¡± ¡°No, they don''t. They were simply filled with tears at the sheer decadence of the displays on this establishment. They were mourning for the animals that had to die in order for this clothing to be made. That gleam you saw was a trick of the light; you are hallucinating, sister.¡± ¡°Yes they do, and that¡¯s final.¡± Elise looked around for a shop assistant for¡­ something. I honestly didn¡¯t think she¡¯d need one, with how often she supposedly came here. ¡°Hey! ma¡¯am?¡± She tried waving her arms at a nearby assistant to get her attention, but couldn¡¯t quite reach over the tall rack of coats before her. Eventually, the young lady came over, perhaps picking out my sister¡¯s voice from the general din of the store. She stopped for a moment when she saw our escort, before subtly shaking herself and greeting Elise. ¡°Hi! My name¡¯s Hilda! How may I help you today?¡± ¡°Show my brother to the changing rooms, please.¡± Ah, so the help was for me. Way to make me feel young again, and not in a good way. ¡°What about you, little miss?¡± ¡°Oh, me?¡± She glanced at mother, who was undoubtedly needling one of my guards for my work schedule. Thank god none of the guards sans Rosenberg knew, as he was one of my many assistants. ¡°Hey Mom?¡± ¡°Yes, my dear?¡± She turned away from her conversation and gave my sister a radiant smile. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°Want to go pick out suits for my brother with me? We¡¯re going to be here all morning, and he can be our private dress-up doll.¡± ¡°Now listen here, I never agreed to this!¡± My protests were summarily ignored. Woe be me. ¡°That sounds fun.¡± Mother gave me a predatory smile. ¡°That sounds very fun.¡± Am I the only one getting a bad feeling about this? I felt a bit queasy -- where¡¯s the nearest restroom? ¡°Count me in. What do we look at first?¡± ¡°Well, the last time I went exploring, I found this really neat section of Tyskian suits from some newer designer. I guess we could start there? He¡¯s boring, so he¡¯d want one of those anyway.¡± ¡°That sounds like an excellent plan, dear. Miss Hilda?¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Take my son to the changing rooms. He can wait for us there, while we educated folk have an academic discussion.¡± ¡°This is a kidnapping.¡± ¡°Deal with it. You agreed to this.¡± -- After depositing us at the changing rooms, Hilda departed and left me and Rosenberg to entertain ourselves. With nothing else to do, we took a seat at one of the nearby benches and struck up a conversation. Or rather, he initiated it, and I sat there sulking. ¡°Enjoying yourself, sir?¡± ¡°Does it look like I am?¡± ¡°No, not particularly.¡± ¡°Well, there¡¯s your answer.¡± Rosenberg chuckled. ¡°There are certainly worse ways to spend a day. Like you said, we could be getting shot at. I think clothes shopping beats ducking under rifle fire, yes?¡± ¡°Fair enough, but there are certainly better ways as well.¡± I sighed, and began gently rubbing my eyes. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you believe how tense things are with the Federation? It¡¯s all I can do to keep Ostland free of spies.¡± ¡°Well, sir, if it makes you feel better.¡± he adjusted himself so that he could sit more comfortably. ¡°We¡¯re all here for you, sir. Trust us to do our jobs, just like how we trust you to do yours.¡± ¡°Even so, I cannot help but worry. It feels surreal that we¡¯d be on the brink of war because the Lothians refuse to surrender the sovereignty of half a county.¡± I sighed again. ¡°It¡¯s quite the situation.¡± ¡°No kidding sir, but still, my point stands. Take some time off.¡± He gestured to the room around us. ¡°See the Empire that you¡¯ve helped build. An architect cannot design a house without seeing the final product.¡± ¡°Is that general advice, or something personal?¡± I questioned. ¡°Either way, thank you, Sergeant Rosenberg.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no trouble at all, sir.¡± He withdrew a flask from his back pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a small sip. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged me off -- it was water, not alcohol. Thank god I wasn¡¯t being protected by a drunkard -- well, if I was, then that raised the question of how effective the sergeant would be if sober. He¡¯d be terrifying. I shuddered at the thought. ¡°Well anyways, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d rather not listen to an old man prattle on about his life story. But yeah, that advice was a tad personal, sir.¡± Rosenberg chuckled ruefully. ¡°Most advice from us geezers tends to be.¡± ¡°Nonsense. If you want to tell me, do so.¡± I would never give up an opportunity to learn something, unless it was something useless like fashion. Plus, he was one of my closest confidants, outside of my family and Sebastian. ¡°It¡¯s not like we have anything better to do.¡± ¡°Ha! I¡¯ll drink that.¡± He looked around, and saw no one who could be listening in. Satisfied with our privacy, he leaned in and brought his voice to a whisper. ¡°So anyways, have I told you about that time in Boulliers, when I fought in the Republic to the South?¡± ¡°Briefly.¡± His expression turned grim before he continued to speak. Where there was previously a cheerful smile, now there was only a melancholic frown on an otherwise inexpressive face. ¡°Well, I was a hotheaded private back then. Thought I could charge machine-gun nests by my lonesome, and did a coupla¡¯ times, actually.¡± He took another swig from his flask. ¡°I thought war was some glorious little game. Guess I never saw the dead up close -- the costs of war.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a long time now. But the gist of it-¡± Rosenberg began making a series of motions with his fingers while pointing at the floor. ¡°Our platoon was assigned to take this house, and was told that there were civilians in the area. Now I was told I could sit out of the whole operation, since I had a few weeks of leave saved up and a dying mother behind the front line.¡± I stayed silent, motioning for him to continue. ¡°I didn¡¯t go back. I stayed, with that ill-tempered fire of youth in my belly, resolved to do my duty no matter what. And when the orders came in-¡± He took another swig out of the flask, eyes closed, lost in reminiscence ¡°- I did. I was the first one into the city¡¯s perimeter, and the last one out when the order to retreat was given.¡± ¡°But we won in the end, no?¡± He scoffed and opened his eyes. ¡°Boulliers was no victory. It was a massacre.¡± ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°The citizens -- they were fanatics, backed by the Republic¡¯s then weakening army. As we advanced through the streets, they kept shooting at us -- lotta good men died that way.¡± He mimed the motion of shouldering a rifle. ¡°A few of my friends too. Anyways, the first time we went in, we tried to be gentle. Separate the combatants and the noncombatants, you know? The usual. It didn¡¯t fucking work. Every hand held a rifle and every bag carried a grenade. We were forced out with heavy casualties.¡± That was drastically different from the after-action report I had read. ¡°The second time, the brass ordered us to eliminate all opposition. At first I didn¡¯t know what they meant -- weren¡¯t we already doing that? Then they brought in the assault engineer battalions, the flamethrowers, and the satchel bombs. They leveled every building in the city except for the rail station.¡± Yep, this was very different. ¡°Of course, we still tried to get the civilians out under a white flag. Halfway through, however, whoever was in command just gave up after seeing the losses the engineer battalions were taking while waiting for the infantry to sweep the city. I wasn¡¯t there when they torched the place to the ground -- I was in a rear camp, watching the exhausted engineers stagger back all haggard and pale-like.¡± He sniffed delicately, no doubt trying to wash the odor of fire away with fresh air. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there, but I could still smell the burning of human flesh from where I was. And you know what was the worst part?¡± He chuckled self-deprecatingly and kicked the air in front of him. I paused for a moment. ¡°What was it?¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t the dead women and children. No, the people of Boulliers should have surrendered, and perhaps we should have been more gentle. But we was soldiers, sir -- we just wanted to protect our own and wrap the war up as quickly and neatly as possible. Can¡¯t fault command for that, no matter how brutal they were. They just wanted to see us sons-of-bitches home, I think. No, the worst part was that my mother died while I was at the front.¡± He took a deep breath and paused to compose himself. ¡°She died without her son by her side in her final moments, because her bastard was too busy doing his job and chasing glory. The worst part is, Boulliers didn¡¯t matter too much anyway. The Republic''s already a lost cause at that point. But I, uh. forgot about the folks back home. Forgot about the love my old woman showed me when I was a wee lad.¡± He teared up, before sniffling and wiping at his eyes with a sleeve. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever live that down -- so don¡¯t make my mistake, sir.¡± An awkward silence descended before I broke it. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Thank you, Rosenberg. I don¡¯t think it was easy for you to tell, was it?¡± ¡°No sir, but time has dulled the pain. The reason I toldja was because I see a bit of myself in you. Enjoy these moments while you can, sir. You won¡¯t get them back.¡± He let out a pained sigh that carried all the exhaustion of a lifetime. ¡°I never have. How I wish I did.¡± -- It did take a while -- longer than I expected -- for Elise and Mother to come back with the clothes they wanted me to try on. I could only pray that they didn¡¯t bring a veritable armory of apparel with them -- it would be both a pain to carry and a pain to wear. I wonder if the guards knew that they would be used for free transport services. Probably not how they imagined their day to go, I will not lie. Still, I tried to smile when I heard them turn the corner. It wasn¡¯t easy -- it would take a long time to undo the years of conditioning I forced upon myself. That said, Rosenberg¡¯s advice was sound: if I wanted to re-introduce leisure to my life, why not start now? It was certainly better than ruminating on the myriad of small issues facing the Interior Ministry -- you¡¯d need a psychiatrist or a therapist on staff for that. Those thoughts did not assuage the sense of dread in my stomach, however; the daunting tasks of wrestling fur coats and strangling suit collars still awaited me. When my sister saw my smile -- strained as it was -- she paused mid step and gave me a questioning look, as if doubting what she was seeing. Was it really so surprising? I mean yes, it would be, but that hurt a little. I would have liked to think I was not so opposed to fun. Fun, in the normal sense. ¡°Why are you smiling?¡± I rolled my eyes. ¡°Because I want to. I was just thinking about how relaxing this kind of outing was. A far cry from a quiet read, but not altogether unenjoyable.¡± I gave a subtle nod to Rosenberg, who nodded in response, satisfied. Elise pinched herself, then shook her head before pinching herself again. ¡°I must be dreaming. Mother, am I dreaming?¡± Seriously? Yes, this was a novel reaction from myself, but couldn¡¯t we just ignore it and get on with the fittings? ¡°No, my dear, I don¡¯t think you are. Still, this is quite revolutionary.¡± Elise chuckled. ¡°I know right! Fredrich, my hermit of a brother, interested in something outside of orders, paperwork, and weapons?¡± She gasped exaggeratedly while gently setting down her bags on the floor. ¡°Who are you, and what did you do with my brother?¡± ¡°Please, just get on with it. There is no reason to continue poking fun at me.¡± ¡°Aaaaand now he¡¯s back. There we go Great.¡± Her reply carried an undertone of mirthful sarcasm. ¡°It¡¯s good to see that you¡¯ve mustered up some enthusiasm for the subject -- if only because we have quite a lot to go through. Samuel! Chop chop!¡± ¡°Right away, little Duchess.¡± One of the guards deposited a bag of clothing before her. Why was it not surprising she already had people wrapped around her finger? ¡°So in here-¡± Elise pointed to the bag by her feet. ¡°Is one of the new Tyskian suits, done in light blue Rayon. I¡¯d figured we¡¯d start with this since you¡¯re such a stickler for formality. What do you say?¡± ¡°Thank you?¡± I hedged hesitantly. ¡°Oh my god.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Not what I meant, but you''re welcome. Here-¡± She handed me the bag. ¡°Try it on. I think it will fit quite well.¡± I accepted the proffered bag and withdrew its contents. It was a suit not unlike what I was wearing right now, though with extra decorative ruffles along the collar and cuffs. The fabric felt smooth to the touch -- silklike, even -- and was tinted a light blue. Was this to match my eyes? I removed my tuxedo and passed it to Rosenberg, who graciously stood to hold it for me while I put the new suit on. It was a bit small -- as to be expected of a display piece -- but still fit quite well. More importantly, judging from Elise¡¯s quiet claps and Mother¡¯s appreciative smile, I looked quite good in it. ¡°I think that¡¯s a keeper. Mom?¡± ¡°Yes, it really does make him look very handsome, if only he didn¡¯t have those bags under his eyes. Fredrich, do you want this?¡± ¡°How much does it cost? And what is this Rayon?¡± Elise looked up towards the ceiling, lost in thought. ¡°Well, Rayon is a substitute for silk invented by some Doctor Christopher or something. It¡¯s supposed to be cheaper, though probably by all that much -- the only reason we¡¯re having this suit done with substitutes is because the real thing would take too long to import.¡± She gave me a scathing glare, which I promptly ignored. ¡°Because someone categorically refused to go shopping for clothes before now. I think the price tag was somewhere around the ballpark of two-hundred marks. Yeah, that sounds about right.¡± ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll take it then.¡± I did some mental math -- that was a dozen good meals for myself. ¡°And the next up?¡± ¡°Excellent! I¡¯ll get you the whole outfit -- it¡¯d look wonderful on you. Oh, the next up? So excited already?¡± She passed me one of the bags she set down earlier. ¡°Damn, someone kidnapped Fredrich. He¡¯d never show so much enthusiasm for something like this.¡± ¡°What if he changed?¡± ¡°People don¡¯t change overnight, much less in the hour it took for us to find you clothes. Still, thanks for the effort, I guess. Makes you feel a whole lot more normal.¡± ¡°What compliments. I might blush.¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t. Anyways-¡± She pulled out a very large fur coat from the bag. ¡°This is in the Lothian style, so a-lot of furs. I¡¯m not sure how it¡¯d actually look on you, since you wear nothing but tuxedos, but here goes.¡± I put it on, and the first thing that stood out was that I was very warm. The second thing was that, upon consultation with a nearby mirror, I looked like a barbarian war chief. From the silent movies, of course, not real life. In reality, they¡¯d have steel breastplates and greaves. I had neither. ¡°I look like a savage.¡± I deadpanned. ¡°This is not conducive to whatever public relations campaign you are trying to run with myself as the figurehead.¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s precisely the point of the coat. Oh well, doesn¡¯t fit you -- you¡¯re too quiet. Rejected! Mom, any objections?¡± ¡°None at all.¡± ¡°Right! Then, something exotic!¡± Elise cackled, and I mean outright cackled. ¡°This is Instafanian. It even comes with a little hat.¡± She held up a set of flowing robes for me to see. ¡°Not actually too sure what it¡¯s made out of, but I did pick red to contrast with your eyes. Imagine that! A gaze of ice wreathed in fire! Wonderful dichotomy.¡± ¡°Excuse me? When¡¯d you start spouting poetics?¡± ¡°You¡¯re excused. Anyways, back to this thing. It¡¯s in the style of what their royals used to wear. I think you¡¯ll look nice.¡± ¡°Used to?¡± ¡°Uh-huh. Would you like something more modern? I have a few more outfits you could try behind me.¡± ¡°Just give me it.¡± To my surprise, I slipped rather easily into the robe. Looking back, it was a robe -- not too sure what I was expecting there. ¡°This is pretty comfortable.¡± Figured. ¡°It looks pretty alright as well. You¡¯d look like a prince, but princes are usually sociable creatures who don¡¯t hide under their desks. Mom, second opinion?¡± ¡°I prefer the suit -- it fits him better.¡± ¡°Mmmm. My thoughts as well. He could wear this at home though! Like, as casual wear. What do you think, Fredrich?¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll stick with my suits.¡± ¡°Bor-ing! Whatever.¡± She unceremoniously stuffed the robe back into its bag. ¡°Ooooo, you¡¯ll like this one.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°So remember the blue suit you were partial to? I know you liked it because you agreed to buy it.¡± ¡°Affirmative.¡± ¡°Well this is the more rustic version of that. It¡¯s done in the old Aesterian-Lyonstic fashion but with a few modern twists. Want to try it?¡± I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡± The bag containing the suit was thrust immediately into my hands, and everyone gave me expectant looks -- Rosenberg included. I rolled my eyes and went with it -- the outfit was surprisingly hard to put on. The small tailcoat kept getting caught on my baton, and the vest was a size too small. After finishing donning the damn thing, I looked around¡­ only to see that Elise was¡­ somehow starstruck? ¡°You look so good! You don¡¯t get an opinion on this -- it¡¯s a keeper.¡± I turned my head to face mother, since Elise was currently gushing over my appearance -- therefore, completely indisposed. ¡°Mother? Is something wrong with Elise?¡± ¡°Perhaps a bit overexcited-¡± She took a glance at her daughter, who stood stock-still mumbling incoherently. ¡°Very much overexcited, but she¡¯s not wrong. You look like one of those mercenaries in the stories. The severe expression you always have on your face helps that impression. Very dashing.¡± ¡°Do I get a rapier?¡± ¡°Do you want a rapier?¡± I looked down at my arms, experimentally waving the ruffles around. ¡°Yes, but not one with a sheath to match the color of this outfit. I¡¯d need a new one.¡± ¡°Of course you would.¡± She sighed. ¡°Well, better than nothing. Get one, I guess.¡± Then Elise released herself from her trance and made me try on at least a half dozen more articles of clothing. There went my morning -- though I couldn¡¯t say I didn¡¯t enjoy it. Thank you, Rosenberg. -- ¡°So where are we going for lunch?¡± Elise asked. ¡°I¡¯m famished.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Technically¡­ we could go for lunch at the restaurant Klara worked at yesterday. I don¡¯t think she¡¯d be too happy to see me, however; the semi-interrogation must have been quite traumatic. ¡°Mother?¡± Plus, I wouldn¡¯t have the time to follow up with more questions with my family present, so the entire point of going back there was moot. Thus, I deferred to my mother, who I swear kept track of every decent restaurant in the city. She probably had a list somewhere. Meticulousness, in some form or another -- paperwork, clothing, or simple organization -- ran in the family. ¡°I suppose we could go to Pearl Gardens if we want something more Oriental. Unless you want to try Republican? We could go for Le Majestique, then.¡± ¡°No, the first option sounds great. Not in the mood for boiled snails/ Any objections?¡± All the guards shook their heads -- they knew I was going to try and seat them if at all possible. ¡°Excellent.¡± We walked in companionable silence towards our destination: the restaurant we were going to was quite a ways into the commercial district, which alone spoke to its quality. When we arrived, Elise gave me a quick hug in appreciation of my cooperation that morning. ¡°Thanks for going along with my antics, brother. I had fun -- can we do it again sometime?.¡± ¡°Of course. Whenever I have time and you want.¡± She nodded her thanks then skipped back to being beside Mother, who was frozen and watching something. The guards next to her were tense -- their hands were on their guns. The hell was going on? I moved closer to see. Some young man was accosting a middle-aged waitress outside a restaurant -- and it wasn¡¯t going to be pretty. A crowd had gathered to watch, but no one did a thing -- apparently, the lad was Count Wagner¡¯s boy. I guess everyone was hesitant to report the scion of a mid-ranking noble to the Gendarmerie. ¡°I can¡¯t eat this, you stupid Lothian bitch! Who the hell let you into this country?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but we can¡¯t get you a refund if you¡¯ve already eaten half the plate.¡± ¡°Do you know who I am? Insolent cur-¡± He smashed the plate he was holding into the sidewalk. ¡°How dare you speak to your betters that way?¡± Ah, another entitled noble brat using heightened diplomatic tensions to target minorities. How droll, and what a way to ruin an otherwise pleasant day. My eye twitched, and I motioned for Rosenberg to follow me. He nodded, then dragged another guard along. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you have to watch this, Mother.¡± I nodded my head towards her. ¡°Sister. Allow me to deal with this idiot. Please turn away.¡± Right after I said that the man slapped the woman, causing her to crumple to the floor. I drew my baton and made my way over. 05 - A Confrontation My voice sounded out just before Count Wagner''s son could kick the woman in the stomach. That wouldn''t have been pleasant to watch. "You! Hold it right there." The boy wheeled around, raring for a fight, before spotting the baton in my hand and flinching. Instead of provoking the armed man -- good move -- he began slowly backing away with his hands in the air under the steady gazes of my guards. I''m actually not too sure how he''d have responded if they weren''t there; for now, all I could do was be grateful that they were. Of course, if the worst came to pass, I still had a pistol and a knife as an insurance policy. Not sure how shooting a Count''s son -- no matter how well-deserved -- would go down, however. I motioned Rosenberg and his partner over after making sure that the boy would neither run nor try something stupid. It wasn''t like the former would have helped him; I could authorize his arrest at his family''s estate(s), or have the guards forming my perimeter stop him. Still, it''d make my job easier if I could deal with him right after ensuring the woman''s safety: my agents would have to do ''less legwork'', as Elise would say. Both figuratively and literally. "Sergeant, check the waitress for injuries," I said to Rosenberg. "In case of any severe ones, get her to the hospital. Don''t worry about me." "Aye, sir." He gave me a quick salute, before turning to his partner "You, greenhorn! Stick with the primary, am I clear?" "Yes, Sergeant!" The apparent ''greenhorn'' gave a curt nod, his eyes never leaving the Count''s son and his gaggle of cronies. Commendable professionalism. These men were highly trained; I would be lying if I said my chest didn''t puff out a little bit with pride. Satisfied, Rosenberg gave me a nod and kneeled to pick the woman up in a bridal carry. He gingerly opened the door to the restaurant before setting her down on a vacant chair. I couldn''t see what he did after that -- likely went to get ice and basic medical supplies to perform first aid. Good, that was the first problem taken care of. Now to deal with the second. I exhaled slowly, before adjusting myself so I stood face to face with the Wagner boy. My next words came out slowly, and by the reactions of the crowd around us, very, very menacingly. "Now what the hell do you think you''re doing." He scoffed, though it was all bravado. The poor boy was trying to look brave and failing miserably -- you could tell he was nervous by his slightly pale complexion. His obvious lack of confidence didn''t seem to deter him from attempting to deliver biting one-liners, however; if anything, he amped his sorry attempts to compensate for a lack of spine. How utterly pathetic. "The same could be asked of yourself. So?" "My job," I replied tersely. "I am doing my job when I should have a day off. And as for yourself?" The look on his pretty little face was priceless. I would be hard-pressed to suppress my laughter if the situation weren''t any less appropriate. As it stood, I smothered my amusement, drew myself taller, and gave him a scathing glare. He couldn''t meet it and flinched away. Coward. Still, I will applaud him for the remarkably short time he took to formulate a response. At least whatever sorry excuse of etiquette lessons he received taught him to maintain composure under pressure. That, or he was still high on his earlier wave of braggadocio -- with his behavior in mind, the latter seemed far more likely. "Teaching a damn peasant a lesson. And who the hell are you to interfere with the business of a Count''s son?" The Wagner boy screamed, though it came out more like a series of piteous shrieks. "I suggest you back off now, officer -- lest my father takes your head!" Was he serious? He couldn''t be. There was no way he got through day-to-day life by pulling rank. Surely, the legends regarding such idiots were the product of myths and superstition. A walking, talking human being could never be so stupid? Right? I gave him a stare and he responded with a defiant puff of his chest. I suppose I was wrong. There was a specimen of such lacking intelligence standing right before me: quick, someone put him in the zoo! My eyes wandered to his group of friends standing to the side. Their reactions were a mix of horrified, bemused, and irritated -- the horrified ones likely recognized the uniforms my guards wore. Good. I could count on them not to interfere with what came next. At a snap of my fingers, the guard beside me withdrew a pair of handcuffs and a gag and began advancing towards the loudmouthed lout opposite of me. Members of the crowd noticeably shuffled to my left -- it appears some of the guards forming a perimeter moved closer to cover me. Excellent initiative. The Wagner boy looked at the guard move towards him, eyes full of fear and desperation. "W-what are you doing?" He stammered out. "Don''t touch me, you filthy commoner!" I shook my head and began walking back toward my family. Lunch had been put off for too long. Elise must have been starving. The guard I sent forward ignored his provocations and attempted to restrain him. When I glanced back, he was having some difficulty doing that: the Wagner boy was putting up a formidable resistance by wildly thrashing around. At that point, I would have just used my baton to beat him into submission, but the guard was obviously careful not to overly injure the boy. Courteous, but a mistake. Suddenly, Wagner''s son broke free by staggering him with a well-aimed kick to the knee. Instead of running in the opposite direction, through the crowd -- which would have bought him a few minutes at best -- he made a mad dash towards me, fist cocked back, ready to strike. To his credit, his footsteps were muffled by the white noise of commercial activity, and he retained the element of surprise by making an otherwise silent approach. The cries of alarm from assorted spectators would have been far too late to act on. I would have suffered a minor concussion if his strike connected. If I were alone, then he might have won the fight -- I wouldn''t fancy my chances fighting my way out of an ambush. Unfortunately for him, I was not alone. The guards who moved to cover me sprang into action. Quick as lightning, one of them drew their baton and interceded on my behalf before I could even turn around. By the time I managed to face the apparent threat, all I could see was the Wagner boy staggering back while clutching a bloody, ruined nose, tears streaming down his face, cursing ineffectually all the while. The crowd hushed, stunned by the apparent brutality of the attack. The guard was unfazed -- he merely flicked errant droplets of blood off his weapon before continuing to advance on the retreating boy. "My father will have you hanged! You i-imbecile! How dare you strike me!" His pained protests were ignored, the apparent hypocrisy of his statement glossed over. The guard who deflected his initial strike wordlessly raised his baton and loosed a vicious swing towards the boy''s jaw. It connected with a sickening crack. "Mmm-auuuuuugh!" Wagner''s son reeled back, continuing to scream incoherently through a broken jaw. His assailant snorted contemptuously before moving to help his comrade to his feet. Together, they managed to subdue the boy after a fashion -- and a small pool of blood on the sidewalk -- before wheeling around to salute me. "Sir, the threat has been neutralized." They stood the now handcuffed and unconscious boy up and unceremoniously marched him to my position. "What would you have us do with him?" One of them reached around to pull his head up for emphasis. The only thing that did was bare his ruined face for the world to see. "Well, for one-" I replied tiredly, over the gasps of the crowd. "Take him to the hospital. You did a number on him." I pointed to the boy''s jaw and bloodstained clothes. "After that, one of you notify the Gendarmerie and have his warrant drawn up for assault of a private citizen and unlawful property damage." "Not for assaulting the Minister of the Interior, sir?" The guards asked in unison, before giving each other a stare. Eventually, one of them cleared his throat before speaking again. "I apologize, sir, but such an action carries the death sentence. Are you certain you want to let him go?" I sighed irritatedly. "I came here to get lunch, not see to an execution." The crowd around me let out a sigh of relief, and my guards saluted and went off to carry out their orders. No one stood in my way as I marched to the Pearl Gardens, family in tow. No one said a word. -- "Rosenberg, these dumplings are delicious." When we arrived at the restaurant, I offered to pay for the entire entourage -- the guards laughed, knowing that the cost of their meals will be billed to the Interior Ministry headquarters. So did I, of course: I was the one who instituted the policy. All active-duty guardsmen involved with the personal security of a VIP had their meals paid for, within reason. You couldn''t expect a sergeant in the army to make enough to cover back-to-back luxury meals, after all. I mean, you could, if you also expected him to live with the bare minimum otherwise. Obviously, I didn''t: employee satisfaction was an important metric. Might as well give them the best you could; doubly so if said employees were involved in the personal safety of the Empire''s most important government officials. The worst kind of guard was not an incompetent one -- no, that''d be a close second -- but a vengeful one. So, anyway, we were seated in groups of twos, threes, and fours. I dragged Rosenberg along to sit with my family; call me paranoid, but my nerves were still a tad frayed from the earlier altercation. While I betrayed no hints of alarm on the surface, I was still tense: my eyes scanned the room constantly, even as I tried to make small talk. Despite the relatively secure environment, the extra security would not be amiss. "Aye, sir. Makes me wonder why we didn''t establish trade earlier. These are well worth their weight in gold," He speared another one with his fork, and admired its oily surface appreciatively. "I mean sir, let''s be real. What would you rather have? Two pounds of this or two pounds of gold? I''d take the former any day. Can''t bite bullion -- trust me, I''ve tried it. Lost a tooth and my pay that way." I chuckled. "True enough, and spoken like a soldier. Food and drink, the two gods of your life, huh?" Rosenberg nodded, before taking a sip of his beer and flashing me a toothy smile. Sure enough, one of them was missing. I doubt it was because he bit gold, though -- likely bit a toothache instead, "You make me sound like a barbarous pagan!" He took a big bite of the dumpling he had captured, chewed, then polished the rest off before swallowing. "Which I am. These would turn any God-fearing man into the filthiest infidel, I''m telling you!" If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "I''m not disagreeing, Sergeant." I paused to take a bite of my own dumpling, before washing the taste of fried dough away with a splash of wine. "My reactions are just a bit more subdued than yours. I have an image to maintain, you old front hog." He shrugged off my playful needling. "Of course, sir. Tenda'' become one when you spend damn near a quarter of your life fightin'' one battle after another. Small wonder I''m not dead actually." He sipped his beer contemplatively. "Ah well, at least I have some good stories to tell and a few scars to show off. Can''t say for same for you pretentious noble brats." "I will ignore the deliberate insult to my honor." I sniffed delicately while he tried miserably to suppress a smile. "But I''ve been dying to ask: do the plots of your stories revolve around you getting shot at? Perhaps your friends getting shot at?" "Of course. All the best ones go something like that." He shrugged. "Gotta have some action. Ain''t no fun listening to a buncha idiots sitting round'' a fire roastin'' horse flesh." "You''ll have to forgive me for not wanting in, then. Sounds like a fun experience all around, though. What a shame." I replied sarcastically while sipping my glass of wine. "Terrible shame." Rosenberg chuckled heartily. "Aw, don''t be sad, sir! I''ve been told you almost got hit in the back of the head today!" He punctuated his point by miming a fist colliding with the side of his face. "Not quite like that, but I''m sure being the Minister of the Interior has its own share of excitement." "It sure does, Sergeant." We fell into a companionable silence, and I took a moment to survey the room. All the other guards were engrossed in their own conversations, though at least one per person per table kept track of the nearest entrance. Elise was quietly sitting and nibbling on her food -- very despondently, might I add -- while Mother slowly stroked her hair. That was unusual: she''s typically more cheerful and energetic. Was she under the weather? Or was it something else? Repeated glances at her sullen expression revealed nothing, except for the fact that she was sulking. My thoughts were interrupted by the waiter setting down our entrees. Lunch was delicious, though I couldn''t help but worry that something was wrong. Sensing the change in my mood, Rosenberg stayed silent for the rest of the meal. We all did. The only thing you could hear was the clinking of utensils and coins. -- We -- meaning Mother and Elise -- decided to forgo whatever activities previously planned for the afternoon and instead head home. Considering everything that happened? A sensible decision. The idiocy of one particularly idiotic noble scion has turned what would have been a pleasant day off into a melancholic mess. What a bother. As we headed to the motorcade parked a few streets away, Elise practically attached herself to my arm, but not in a playful fashion like in the morning. No, she seemed anxious and scared, though I don''t know what from. Well, I had a few ideas -- mostly involving one of my guards caving in the Wagner boy''s jaw -- but didn''t broach them with my sister in the middle of the street. Such topics were far better discussed in the secure confines of an armored staff car, away from prying eyes and listening ears. I gently prodded her forward, and she reluctantly obeyed while still clinging to my arm, which had the unintentional consequence of making me stumble. She gasped in surprise, expecting a rebuke that would never be forthcoming. I couldn''t bring myself to criticize her in the best of times, and most certainly not now when she was so somber. Instead, I swung her legs up and picked her up in a bridal carry -- sitting her on my shoulders would make her susceptible to sniper fire. That would have been an unacceptable result. She snuggled up against my chest. It was endearing, in the most painful possible. When we got to our car, I gently let her down so she could get in before me. A wordless exchange with my mother -- a conversation using our eyebrows instead of our mouths -- had her taking the passenger seat normally occupied by me. I went into the back with Elise -- she clearly wanted to be close to me for something. It was almost definitely related to her depressive state. The moment I shut the door behind me, Elise enveloped me in a tight hug, which I awkwardly returned. I stroked her hair as she drew herself closer -- did today''s events shake her that badly? That question was answered when she nuzzled her way to my chest and buried herself there, never loosening her grip on my arm. It was quite painful, but I didn''t complain -- if it made her feel better, it made her feel better. Still, might as well ask the question now, and break the awkward silence. "Sister, are you alright?" "No." was the succinct reply. She snuggled her way closer, so her next words came out muffled. "Not at all. Do I look alright?" I sighed. "You don''t. But what''s wrong, little spitfire? You aren''t often like this." I paused for a moment to collect myself. "Please tell me, Elise -- I''ve been worried since before lunch." That wasn''t a lie either. Ever since I saw her slip into the state she was in now, her situation was always at the back -- or the front, as it is now -- of my mind. "Don''t worry about me." She snorted and shook her head. It tickled my bosom. "The problem is you." "Me?" "Yes, you." She raised a hand and poked my nose, before putting it back down and hugging me even tighter. I didn''t think that was possible and let out a short cough, which only caused her to tighten her grip again. Naturally, due to the rather constrictive nature of her embrace, I was a bit short on oxygen as I choked out my response. "Well, what did I do?" I ruffled her hair while chuckling -- more like wheezing, but semantics. "I''ll try on a few more outfits for you if you''d like. How about that, hm?" "Bribery will get you nowhere." She replied evenly. "But seriously, you need to stop throwing yourself into trouble." "Pardon?" That was unexpected. "I fail to see what you mean by that." "Really? Am I going to have to spell it out for you?" Elise scoffed. "You aren''t very intelligent for someone who does so much." "Really, Elise. Please." "Well, fine. That incident with Count Wagner''s son." "I wasn''t in major risk at any point during that encounter, though?" I raised my eyebrow. That was what she was concerned over? There was at least one guard covering me at any point in time. Any overt aggression against my person would have been responded to with small-arms fire or a well-timed baton to the face. "You don''t have to worry about me, Elise. I take many precautions to ensure that I am perfectly safe." "He almost punched you!" She nearly screamed though it was still muffled since she glued herself to me. Then, she added in a quieter voice. "What if you got hurt?" "I wouldn''t have. Rosenberg and his men were there -- he''s still here now, see?" "And if they weren''t?" I let out an exhausted sigh. "Then I would have gotten hurt. It wouldn''t have been life-threatening and would be considered an altogether acceptable injury. The Wagner boy would then have to contend with the death penalty for striking a high Imperial official." I replied with just a slight tremor in my voice, hoping my words were reassuring, even if the tone I delivered them in wasn''t. Elise looked up, her previously downcast face contorted in rage. "Acceptable? That''s all you have to say?" I swallowed nervously, but managed to stammer out half a response- "I fail to see the prob-" Before I was angrily interrupted. "Then you''re blind, you idiot! So getting punched in the face is ''acceptable'' today, huh? What''s going to be acceptable tomorrow? Losing a limb? The day after -- your life?" My sister stared at me expectantly for an answer. I couldn''t offer one, so she continued on. By this point, she was half sobbing into my shirt, and the only thing I could do was rock her gently as I held her. Her next words came out in a barely audible whisper. "I don''t want to lose you." "And I don''t want to die either," I answered solemnly. "At least until you get married, Elise -- then I can die in peace." She laughed: a bitter, grating sound. "Don''t -- promise me you won''t." She tilted her head slightly, so she could give me a good view of her tear-filled eyes. "Please." I looked away, my own eyes beginning to water. This was completely unfair; I had no good answer to give. "I cannot, sister. I am sorry." "Why?" She croaked in disbelief. "Why not, Fredrich?" Her head rose to rest on my shoulder. There was a pause as we both tried to compose ourselves. Before she could say something else, I proceeded with my response. "Because tomorrow, it might be just as you say -- that my life is appropriate collateral for achieving an objective. Because tomorrow, I may be asked to walk out and die -- that is my duty as a servant of the Empire. I am sorry, Elise -- I truly am -- but I cannot promise you what I cannot freely give. And that is my own life." Elise sobbed harder into my chest and squeezed me yet again. I let out a pained cough and tried to blink my tears away. I did not succeed. "Then promise me you will not run recklessly into danger like you did today." "I will try not to." "No, you won''t." She sighed and wiped her nose on my inner shirt. "You''re lying. But please, don''t just think about the Empire or others -- think about yourself and your family. Where would we be if we lost you, Fredrich? We love you, Fredrich, so please -- please, just, just -- don''t die." That was the second time today I''ve been told that. The second time. I couldn''t even muster a response at that point -- I simply continued to hold Elise and quietly let my tears fall. They joined together with my sister''s -- a little lake of our sorrow spilled out onto the hard leather seats. The water of the lake was made bitter by the knowledge that I could promise her nothing but only try everything. I will do all I can today to keep tragedy at bay; tomorrow, I will pray that I have done enough. One day, Elise, you will not need to cry for me. One day, none of our lives will be on the line. One day, we can all sing, laugh, and be happy all the same. One day, the Federation will burn, just like the rest of the Empire''s enemies, and our troubles will be forgotten. One day, one day. Until that day comes. The car drove on, tires skidding softly along the worn asphalt road. No one said a word. 06 - At Bayonet Point After arriving at the Wilhelm Bremenstadt estate, I gingerly carried Elise to the room, removed her welcome garments, and tucked her in. After that, I had a pair of guards posted outside her room. You could never be too careful these days. They had strict instructions to let no one in -- unless given expressed permission by a member of the Wilhelm family. That should be enough, for now. Soon after, I made my way to the laundry and placed my soiled clothes into the basket. A maid nearby insisted that I let her do it for me -- I waved her off. I quickly ran up to my room and got another suit. A fresh one, a clean one, an excellent one. Pristine. Why was I repeating adjectives in my head? I wasn''t normally like this. Why was I suddenly so anxious? No, not now. No. I raced to my study and shut the door, before grabbing a book -- any book, I didn''t care -- off the shelf and begin to read. To focus me. To distract me. Anything. It worked. My anxiety subsided and I breathed a sigh of relief. I indulged myself with a random book for two hours. Two precious hours. A maid knocked at my door. "Enter." She did so. "Count Wagner is here to see you, Young Master." I frowned. Might as well set the stage. I played experimentally with a set of dials beneath my desk. The room turned hotter and colder at my will. Good, they still worked. "Clear out the extra chairs and send tea up. The entire set -- I wish to be left alone." "As you wish, young Master." -- A tubby man strode his way into my study, chin held high and chest puffed out. He wore fine clothes and an even finer monocle -- stereotypical much? Ah. That must be the Count. Aged forty-two, ruler of some tiny tract of land in the middle of nowhere, and father to an utter annoyance. "Good afternoon, Count Wagner." I tapped my desk lightly with my pen, before gently placing it back into its inkwell. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The Count did not immediately respond, instead opting to take my measure from across the room. He was evidently unimpressed if his disdainful sneer was any indication -- interesting, given our difference in social stature. Very interesting. My haggard appearance and tired eyes must have boosted his confidence exceptionally; I could think of no other reason for him to be so brash and arrogant. Regardless of his blatant show of disrespect -- he still hasn''t greeted me back -- I would act the part of a good host. Let House Wilhelm never be disparaged for its lack of hospitality. I slowly poured a cup of tea and politely offered it to him. Without missing a beat, he gingerly ripped it from my hands, intentionally spilling half the cup''s contents on my suit. All the while carefully ensuring he didn''t damage the porcelain; it seems he understood the value of authentic oriental china. The teacup''s saucer clattered uselessly on my desk, quaking in fear. I let out a small sigh and wordlessly attempted to clean up the mess with a handkerchief. It became quickly apparent the suit couldn''t be salvaged from its brief dunk in tea, so I removed it and hung it from the back of my chair. A brief glance back revealed him smirking victoriously -- it seems he thought the better out of our first little exchange. Correct, if you viewed it from the perspective of property damage. Incorrect, if you viewed it in terms of information. From his actions alone, this Count Wagner was very much like his son, though tempered with experience. He oversteps when he perceives his opponent, opposite -- whatever you call the person across from him -- as lesser, and will probably cower when the opposite is true. I doubt he has any qualms about spitting on a man today and offering him a hand tomorrow if it benefitted him. But enough rumination about what may or may not be about his private dealings. Back to the present: if I continue to act subservient while stoking his anger, his ego will no doubt swell. His anger will grow. When his ego swells and his anger reaches a boiling point? He''ll make bolder and bolder moves. When he makes bolder and bolder moves? The chances of him making a mistake will multiply, and I will make that bastard pay for ruining my family''s morning. Did that murderous gleam somehow find its way into my eye? Judging from his involuntary half-step back, yes. My face contorted into a small frown, though my mouth was still thankfully hidden by the teacup I was sipping from. That''s no good. Not good at all. Agh, I was always too sensitive with regards to matters involving the family. Always. Seeing that there was no further use in dallying, the Count finally offered a greeting. A very sarcastic one, laced with venom, but a greeting nonetheless. "Good afternoon, Lord Wilhelm." He dropped into a deep, mocking bow. Tradition dictates a curtsy or a small bob of the head -- a full bow was often viewed as too inconvenient. "I am here for my son." Very blunt. Again, interesting. You''d expect nobility to be more subtle and act with more guile. This was clearly not the case here. I took another sip of tea before answering. "What of your son, Count Wilhelm?" I asked evenly. "He is currently residing in one of the Empire''s finest medical facilities, the Reiskmarsch Hospital." Because my guards put him there. "Do you protest his treatment?" That last question was thrown in to taunt him. Check. "In a manner of speaking, my Lord." He chuckled mirthlessly, before leaning in for emphasis. "For I fail to see why a fifteen-year-old boy must be put in such an institution." The Count''s pudgy hands clenched into fists as if to accentuate his intimidation factor. Zero multiplied by point-five is still zero Slowly, I raised a hand and began emotionlessly listing out the Wagner boy''s injuries: "Fractured jaw, concussion, mild bruising, and a broken nose. Perhaps psychological trauma? I''m no doctor, so I couldn''t tell you. Apologies, Count Wagner." My statement got the expected rise out of him. I cackled -- internally, of course -- with glee. Step one is complete. Now for steps, two, three... Until he breaks. "You misunderstand me, my Lord." Ah, was he correcting my understanding of the situation? That''d be a major faux pas if we were in public. No matter how much the Empire prided itself on being a meritocracy, it still very much hierarchical. Still, this entire conversation could be construed as a series of faux passes. What''s another one added to the list? "I was merely wondering what exactly my son did to warrant such... excessive injuries." Insinuating that his son didn''t deserve what he had coming to him. Why did I expect anything else? "Assault of an innocent civilian, disturbing the public peace, and reckless destruction of private property. That''s what''s stated on his arrest warrant, Count Wagner." "Yes, but the health of a noble scion is in no way equal to that of a commoner." He gave a small smirk, though I detected a slight tensing of the shoulders and twitch of the eye as he did so. Anger was leaking through his comparatively amicable -- half-amicable -- facade. "Or did you forget, my Lord?" He didn''t have very much emotional control. "That is not what it states in the Imperial Constitution, as dictated by the thirteenth diet. Three hundred years ago." I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Or did you forget, my Count?" The Count took a deep breath, obviously incensed. I took another sip of tea to hide my smile. I think I could avail myself that much in this situation. "I did not, my Lord. I am merely stating the damage inflicted upon my family is disproportionate compared to what the commoner suffered, and the injuries my son suffered are very much... extrajudicial? That''s what the Interior Ministry calls it, no?" Very sly, Making me admit the fact would be quite damning. Refusing to answer the question would make me look like a hypocrite. This was extortion, but with honeyed words instead of bloodied knives. To a noble, they might as well have been the same thing. To me? Laughable. "My men were merely doing their duty, Count Wagner. I assure you it was well within the realm of law." I made a little hand gesture -- nothing flamboyant, but noticeable -- to emphasize my point. "You would not accuse the Interior Ministry of incompetency now, would you?" My voice was tinged with the slightest hint of menace. "Of course not, my Lord. It would not do to besmirch the honor of one of my betters." That last word was brewed in venom and steeped with sarcasm. I took it in stride, offering naught but a patient smile. Inwardly, I was seething: I swore that I would peel the skin off his satisfied face, one strip at a time. "But I was just curious, really. I don''t believe the Interior Ministry''s agents beat highborn teenage boys for recreation?" The Count threw a pointed glare at me. I responded with a raised eyebrow, suppressing the urge to sigh. His attempts at goading me were churlish, childish... primitive. Primitive. When you''ve dealt with Federation agents for the last six years, this kind of insubordination just bounces off your skin. Still, enough is enough. I think his ego has ballooned enough; enough that popping it will be satisfying. Certainly not enough for the trouble he''s caused my family. But it''s a start. A damn good start. I subtly adjusted one of the dials beneath my desk, and the temperature in my study began to steadily climb. Not very high, mind you. Just enough for him to begin to sweat. I would be fine, of course. Cool tea would help me through this unprecedented wave of heat. Unfortunately, he''s not getting any. How very unfortunate. The very last of the tea in the teakettle drained into my cup. "No, my Count. I assure you the Interior Ministry''s security forces are held to stringent standards." "Then would you please explain what happened to my son?" I sniffed delicately and took a sip of my tea before answering. He swallowed uncomfortably, his throat undoubtedly a bit parched from all this conversation. "Of course. Assault of an Imperial Official, whose guards staged a timely intervention. Your son''s face is the aftermath, I''m afraid. The official in question declined to press charges." "Impossible." He scoffed while dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. Good, he was sweating already. I wonder if he would dissolve into oil and water if we boiled him? "My son would never do such a thing." "But he did, Count Wagner." "You are lying, my Lord." He was breathing heavily now. Seriously? How humiliating. "The Wagners are alway- have always been a duly law-abiding, respectful group to those who reciprocate." Is this walking paperweight delusional? "Such as the Empire." His tongue subtly wetted his cracked lips. "May I ask for some refreshments?" Of course. The people of the North find sweating -- Saunas, yes! That great Norden tradition. They find it very refreshing. Out of respect for his wishes and a homage to that beautiful aspect of Northerner tradition: I turned up the heat dial, again. "Why?" I inquired softly. "Why have someone interrupt our conversation? I find it quite entertaining. But of course -- I''ll send for a maid." I did not. But he let out a grateful little sigh and looked for a seat -- the first time he''s done so this entire meeting, actually. He must have just realized that there wasn''t one in sight -- at least, an unoccupied one. Having the spare chairs cleared out was a smart move. His expression was priceless. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. This is like slowly roasting a pig in an oven, who suddenly realized he couldn''t escape. It felt great. "Are you looking for a chair, Count Wagner?" The answer was an obvious yes, but it felt nice to taunt him anyway. He slowly nodded, raising his head to meet my bemused stare. I gave him a mysterious smile and took another sip of my cool, wonderfully cool tea before continuing to speak. "I must apologize for the lack of a second chair, Count Wagner. It never occurred to me that some possessed of such a youthful disposition and endless vitality," subtle jabs at his immaturity and weight respectively, "would require spare seating. I thought you would much rather stand -- it gives you quite the commanding presence." "You dare mock me!" The Count''s reaction was to snap at me in anger, in a, dare I say predictable manner. "I may be your lesser, my Lord, but that does not mean to be careless in my presence. I demand compensation for the damages you''ve inflicted unto both my family at myself." I stayed silent, content to listen to his... half-baked monologue. "This exchange could have been diplomatic, you and I, but I am unwilling to play along with an arrogant little bastard of the Wilhelm family, sired from a whore and a pansy. No more of this pretense, I say!" Did he just... no. He did not. He did not. That rat bastard did not just- no. Keep it under control, Fredrich. Keep it under control. Unbidden, memories of my bloodied father -- missing an arm -- standing beside a fallen carriage, shielding me, flashed before my eyes. He''s still kind then. He''s still kind now. How? Why? What did I do to deserve such kindness? I was the one who knocked over the carriage, who almost got both you and your mother killed! He was still smiling, too -- a gentle smile, the ones reserved for sons who didn''t accidentally cripple their parents. I don''t deserve it -- I never have. I don''t. I don''t. I don''t. Stop smiling, please. Please. I- Keep it under control, Fredrich. "Would you please repeat that?" I asked softly, reflexively clutching at my head. "I don''t think I heard correctly." "I said your mother is a loose whore who should have never married your commoner idiot of a father! Sullying highborn circles with lowborn blood-" Mother. Mother, mother, mother. All I could see was her body lying motionless in the street as a pair of medics carried her off the road. The carriage was broken. A broken carriage, yes, and a dead horse. Why? It wasn''t supposed to be like this. It wasn''t supposed to -- it was a normal day out, yes. Why the fuck did I have to steer it to the left? Why? What was I feeling then? Pride? Anger? I- ''The arm. The stomach. It''s because of you that your father can no longer hold your mother as he used to, no matter how much he pretends or wants to do so.'' A voice in the back of my head whispers -- soothingly, mockingly. ''It''s because of you that mother can no longer eat half the foods she enjoys after getting her stomach shattered like that.'' Please. No more. The teacup in my hands shattered against the floor, its contents pooling into a pitiful puddle beneath my chair. Please -- I''m sorry. I''m sorry. I''m sorry. My parents have forgiven me, right? They still smile. They smile, they smile, they smile. ''They smile because they know you can never give back what you have taken away. Why do you think soldiers laugh about their dead comrades, hm?'' Please. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. "Get out! Your compensation is your son''s life, Count Wagner. Do not test me." I roared, shaking with barely controlled rage. "Get out. If you know what is good for you, you will leave this room, my good sir, and never return." "Preposterous! My son should have never been reduced to a sobbing mess! Compensate me meaningfully. An Imperial Official? Is this some sort of a sick joke? What the hell you are going to do anyway? You look like a pathetic, haggard little rat! No better than that slut you call a sister." He screamed, drunk on glee as he finally got a rise out of me. "Your Ministry is full of violent, poorly-restrained apes, and-" I pressed a second button beneath my desk and slowly rose from my seat, my hands instantly going to the holster at my waist. Before he could continue, I drew my pistol in one smooth motion, leveled it at the Count, and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the wall, slightly to the right of where his head was. His beady eyes widened at the smoke barrel, and the Count''s hands went to feel his face, disbelieving of what just happened. ''So much like you that one fateful day, hm.'' No. Not at all. It''s different. Shut up! Get out! That is an order! "But it''s not.'' Upon confirming that the shot didn''t find its mark -- or did, depending on how you looked at it, the Count paled and rushed to the door. He struggled with the doorknob, his hands shaking and knees quaking. Pathetic. I sauntered forward, a murderous gleam in my eye and a predatory grin on my face. He was prey, and he knew it. From his throat erupted a deep, bellow, bestial scream -- desperate, pleading, begging for mercy. He was frightened, no, terrified -- the realization of how horribly he miscalculated began to dawn on him. I savored his distress. It felt good. Excellent, even. Like a fine wine, but with far more depth. And I was a man who loved my wine. Anything to distract me from what I''ve done. Anything. Please, no more. "You would not dare!" He exclaimed, "Y-you monster! You would not dare!" ''Yes, Fredrich. What a monster. No wonder why your parents laugh and smile -- they don''t know what to do with you.'' Focus on reality. Focus. Keep it together, Fredrich -- see this through. The whispers go away if you focus on reality. That''s why you do work, Fredrich. Focus. The slightest tremor escaped into my voice -- the Count did not notice. "Now, Count Wagner, we were having so much fun together, wouldn''t you agree?" I chuckled mirthlessly, before firing a second shot that just barely grazed his leg. To his credit, he didn''t fall to the floor -- but he did hold on to the door handle for dear life, too scared to make another move. "I changed my mind about you leaving. How about you stay for a moment." I moved back to pull my chair closer. "As we have a little discussion about what happened with your son, and the value of respect, hm?" Right as I finished my sentence, the door slammed open, knocking the Count to the floor. He scrambled upright and looked up, only to see a bayonet pointed towards his forehead. The cavalry had arrived in the form of a pair of house Wilhelm armsmen. The one who wasn''t busy almost stabbing Wagner sprang swiftly to a salute. "Young Master, we moved as soon as we saw you had pressed the emergency response button. Then we heard two gunshots. Are you alright?" ''No.'' "Quite fine, but thank you for your concern, Erich. You did very well." The guard preened a little under the praise. "Do settle down. I was just doing some housekeeping." "There are maids for that, Young Master." "I do not believe maids would be able to carry this piece of trash," I threw the Count a meaningful glance. "Out the door. But I''m not quite done with him. If you gentleman would stay back for a moment." Both of the guards nodded in understanding, before each taking a step back, weapons at the ready. "Count Wagner, on your knees." "Y-you cannot compel me to-" The guards behind him slammed the butts of their rifles -- hard -- into his kidneys. He crumpled in a heap to the floor. "So, Count Wagner." I grabbed him by his hair and pulled his face up so he could look me in the eye. "Firstly, do you know which official your son attempted to assault?" He shook his head. "It was me. And I think you know what that means." He slowly nodded, his face ashen. The steel of my pistol''s barrel kissed his temple. "It means your son could have been executed. But I didn''t do that, because I imagined how my father would feel if I was to be shot. I withheld the hammer of judgment, so to speak, out of consideration. Of course, and I know you were going to say something -- something like this: ''but he couldn''t have known." I angled my wrist and fired my pistol into the floor right beside his ear. "Pathetic. Ignorance does not excuse such behavior, Count Wagner. I gave him mercy because I felt pity for you, my friend." I punctuated my point with another round into the floor. The guards cringed, and the Count began to struggle. A jab to his throat stifled his meager protests -- he coughed and his eyes began to water. Heedless of his discomfort, I continued on. "Now, that leads me on to my second point. Respect. Have you ever heard of this saying? It''s a wonderful one, and goes a little something like this: ''a man''s home is his castle.'' So imagine my displeasure when you barge into my castle and try and break down its keep. Just imagine it." He was beginning to sob now. Mucus stained his face -- it made him look better, all things considered. "Oh, no need for that, my Count. We are so friendly with each other, aren''t we? After all, I haven''t hurt you. Yet. Anyways, where were we? Right. The part where you broke into my castle. Then, instead of making amends, you proceed to spit on my hospitality because of that little thing we call pride, am I right?" The Count slowly nodded. "But that''s perfectly alright. I understand your agitation -- barely. I understand why you thought I was an easy target: a gaunt face and weary eyes were never the most charming features. But some understanding is better than no understanding, wouldn''t you say?" "Y-yes." he mumbled out. I nodded slowly. Good, he was getting it. "So would you understand my exasperation when you attempt to intimidate me after ruining one of my suits? And demand compensation, let''s not forget that. And insulting my person, albeit -- to your credit -- somewhat discreetly. But I can let that go, of course, because I am mature, unlike you, you failing facsimile of a human meatball." He hung his head. I clicked my tongue. "Then you insulted my family. Let me teach you a little lesson." I emptied the rest of my pistol''s magazine -- all five rounds -- into the floor next to his ear. A little dribble of blood flowed out from it. "In case you can''t hear, just understand this: the surest way to an early grave is to spite House Wilhelm -- specifically me. The Emperor will not save you. Nothing will. Consider this another act of mercy from me to you. Another favor, so to speak. Am I clear?" The Count nodded shakily. "Excellent. Guards! See this filth out of the estate. Make sure he never comes back -- shoot him if he tries." The door closed, and I stumbled back to my seat, exhausted. ''One day you will need to face me, Fredrich. But you are weak -- you always have been, you unfilial piece of shit. You can judge others, make merry from their misery, only to break down before you can face yourself. That''s why you are so invested in your work; you are not selfless. You are every bit as selfish as those you condemn.'' I cradled my head with my hands and cried softly. 07 - Under Duress Thank God I managed to compose myself before dinner. Elise gave me a startled look when she first saw me -- guess I looked even more depressed than usual, huh? I swear to god sobbing accentuated the bags under my eyes, not that it mattered. I will never be rid of them anyway. I will never be rid of many things, actually: my duties, my family, my gui- No. Don''t think like that. The voice that taunts me from the darkest recesses of my mind has remained blissfully silent sans the outburst when the Count began belittling my family. Let it stay that way, Fredrich. Breathe. Happy thoughts, of when you were prancing around the dandelion fields in Sudland way back when. Before... before everything. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax -- nothing is wrong with you. Nothing at all. Maintain that unreadable facade and don that leaden mask that you wear so well. Distance yourself from feeling. Divorce yourself from emotion. Get yourself through today, tomorrow, and the day after. And every day after that. Walk, Fredrich. Walk, and do not stumble. Walk. One foot in front of the other. Forget everything else -- you have your duties, Fredrich. You mustn''t falter. A reliable Minister to the Emperor, an indefatigable protector of the realm. A doting brother, a reliable son, a steady shoulder to lean on when times are tough for your family. You must complete your duties, Fredrich -- you haven''t earned the right to forget. Forget. Live. Forget. Do not feel. Do your duty. I closed my eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. "Are you alright, brother?" Elise squeaked. She sounded terrified. One of my hands involuntarily reached out to ruffle her hair. You did not have to worry for me, sister. Live your life. I''m not worth it. "Do you need rest?" I chuckled. Don''t I -- and yet I haven''t the time. "I am fine, little spitfire. You needn''t concern yourself with me. See?" I flashed her toothy grin -- she flinched back. That was supposed to be reassuring, not frightening -- I don''t even... whatever. Just roll with it. Elise opened her mouth to say something but was cut off: Sebastian strolled into the dining hall and announced that food was ready. Two maids rolled a small cart with our entrees into the room -- they were relaxed, carefree even. House Wilhelm has always treated its servants better than its peers. Why needlessly agitate the ones who prepare your food, draw your baths, and guard you while your sleep? That part never made sense to me. Power was not an excuse to make a person next to you miserable -- within reason. It was a means to an end. Hypocritical, huh? First that interrogation with Klara -- I rolled that name around my tongue -- not-Klara. Didn''t matter -- I''d find her eventually and solve that little puzzle. Then that incident with the Count, a far more egregious breach of my stance on power. Still, both instances warranted an exercise of it. The first was, though admittedly sparked by a personal whim, potentially of great value to the Empire. Imagine if we discovered a high noble lurking -- one more card against the Lothians, whose purge of the then-nobility was quite thorough. Goddamn NSLD bloodhounds. With the Count, it was to avenge an insult to my family. I will not stand for it. It was my duty to defend House Wilhelm''s honor. I had reasoning. Sound reasonings. Excuses. Alibis. Whatever you deem fit to call them -- but I had something. It was better than nothing. As the meal went on, I wondered how much of my self-justification was valid -- logical -- and how much of it was to hide my darker feelings on the subject. How much, how little? It didn''t matter. I haven''t dug any deeper beneath that surface. I fear what lies beneath my skin. At least if I do not dig, I will never know -- I can be convinced of my own righteousness. Until the day when whatever monstrosity underneath -- that deep, dark, malevolent voice -- claws its way out from within. Until that day comes, but it is far away. Or is it? -- Mother was giving me an unreadable stare. I ignored it, thinking it was nothing -- perhaps I shrunk a little. Her looks tend to do that to people. Make them feel smaller, that is. Insignificant is another way to put it. None of the menace in her stare found its way into Elise, however; she was almost always an energetic little bundle of sunshine. Thank God. I wasn''t sure I could face a carbon copy of my mother, even after seventeen years. I couldn''t even look her in the eye without flinching, let alone interact meaningfully with her. It was worse with Father -- despite his attempts to bridge the gap. Even now, they did not stop trying. I was grateful. Grateful for whatever scraps of affection they threw my way. After all- ''You deserve none of it, Fredrich. You know that, don''t you.'' Silence, shadow. Why must you return now? I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding silently against each other. Why can you not leave me alone? ''My, my, so assertive.'' the voice teased slowly, ''Making up for your pathetic display earlier this afternoon? Aw, how adorable.'' Allow me my gratitude, no matter how unworthy its expressions may be. Let me have this- The shadow laughed. Not gracefully, mind you -- it sounded of steel grinding against steel. A cacophony of bitter destruction. ''Does the little boy want to make up for the happiness he''s stolen away?'' it drawled as if it were speaking with an adolescent child. ''You can''t do it. At least, unless you find a way to reattach your father''s arm? Repair your mother''s stomach? Spare them from their fucking nightmares because their simpleton of a son couldn''t do jack shit right? Please.'' Even so, I can try. I must. An attempt must be made -- I must be the one to do it. I was the one who wronged them. I simply haven''t found the opportunity. ''Uh-huh. You do you; I''ll watch from back here.'' The voice faded; the shadow receded. Did that make me a vampire? I surveyed the table. Mother still gave me a stare. Elise was oblivious, as per usual, staring off into space while chewing happily on her stewed vegetables. Perhaps it did: I have so much to say, and will never say it. I wish to sing a beautiful song but am mute of my own volition. So much of myself will never see the light of the day. Those parts will grow pale in the shallow grave I dug for them, buried beneath a thin layer of dirt. Maybe one day I will unbury them if only to say sorry. That day is not today. -- After dinner concluded, Mother pulled me aside. "Son, are you alright?" "I am fine, mother. Do you require assistance with anything?" The reply was even, emotionless -- automatic. There was no reason for her to worry for me other than a leftover sense of obligation from my adolescent days. "I was thinking of showering and retiring early tonight." "Don''t bullshit me, Fredrich. Cut the crap." She retorted angrily. "I can see through you. I am your mother." "I apologize if my response was not to your satisfaction." "You are my son, Fredrich." My mother started softly, a gleam in her eye. "So why?" "Pardon?" I asked hesitantly. "I do not understand your question." "Why are you so cold towards Father and I?" That question struck me hard -- a gunshot wound to the abdomen. It derailed my train of thought. I- w- ''Why are you so cold, Fredrich? Have you ever thought about that? Oh, don''t pretend Fredrich. You hate it when others do that. You fucking bastard. Shut up! Silence! There is no pretense here. My God, what must I do for you to leave me? ''There is no pretense here. There is only weakness.'' "I-" I couldn''t offer a coherent reply, only awkward stammers. "Is it us? Did we do something wrong?" She added with tears in her eyes. "Please, Fredrich. Seventeen years. We''ve tried everything. Why? Where is that cheerful little boy who used to run in the dandelion fields of Sudland with me? Who loved to imitate his father?" ''Oh yes, what did you do with him? I wonder?'' My mouth was dry -- it felt like ash. I tasted bile gathering at the back of my throat. It was bitter. My heart thundered against my ribcage and shattered against the bone. My mind felt muddled, but I only knew one answer to her question. I could only give one answer. "He is dead, Mother." ''Because you killed him'' No. Not now. I- My thoughts were brought back to the present. "He is not! He can''t be!" She enveloped me in a tight hug, crying into my shoulder. I leaned forward to reciprocate her embrace. "I see him every time I look at you, my son. We''ll search for him together. Please, do not give up. Please. Father and I do not want to lose you. By the Gods, no. You are lying." "I-" "You are hurting, Fredrich. We can see that -- Sebastian, Elise, everyone who knows you. Talk with us. Please -- I''ll give anything." "You do not have to give anything to me, Mother. I am thankful for what I have." I sniffled, struggling to beat back my own deluge of tears. "Do not apologize. Please. You have nothing to apologize for. I-" The word''s ''I''m sorry'' died on my lips. I couldn''t bring myself to say it. Why? Why not now? I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled. Then the voice returned -- enraged. Violent. I couldn''t blame it. ''You pathetic whelp. Christ, your old woman is baring her heart for you to see. Give something back, you worthless imbecile!'' Enough! Enough! Leave me. Leave me! Not now. The voice complied -- I was able to focus on the matter at hand. "Thank you, Fredrich." "You have nothing to thank me for, Mother." "Thank you for holding me, then. I knew a little bit of that boy was still in you. I''ve seen it today." She offered me a stunning smile -- I didn''t match her look. "May I promise you something?" "Your wish is my command." "I am your mother, not the Emperor." She giggled softly. "Still, it does feel nice to be treated that way. Thank you again, my son." "It is my pleasure." "Anyways, here it is:" She took a deep breath. "Fredrich Karolus Wilhelm, heir apparent to the Duchy of Sudland and the Ducal House of Wilhelm, I promise to never abandon you, no matter what. I will never give up on you, no matter what. I will find that innocent little boy, that one who used to smile -- that you''ve shown me today. One day I will succeed, I know it. I promise this as your mother, but I need you to agree to one condition." That promise was more than I ever deserved, but I could not say that. Instead, I merely continued to hold my Mother as she ruffled my hair affectionately. "Anything you ask." I croaked, my throat dry. "Anything." "Promise me you will never give up as well. So we can do this together." I paused and took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Five simple words. I spoke. "That, I do solemnly swear." One day, one day. ''But will that time come soon enough?'' -- I sat on my bed with a bottle of alcohol in my hands. It was no fine wine, mind you, but a bitter brew. The kind you drink to forget, even if I am not afforded that right. A little indulgence against the weight of my duties. Every man has his vices. The moonlight reflected beautifully off the glass bottle. The light rays were soft, pale, welcoming -- a temptress leading guiding my hand to the bottle''s cork. I didn''t give in -- yet. ''Oh come on, the bottle''s half full. You have in the past, obviously.'' I have to attend an inspection tomorrow, shadow. The troops will not be happy if their commanding officer showed up drunk. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ''Really. You know they wouldn''t care. Just one sip -- the fire in the brew might just burn your sins away if you drank enough. It is bitter like yourself. Makes me wonder how you weren''t born into the same cradle, actually. Are you part spirit?'' Fine enough points. I will give this one to you, shadow. I raised the bottle and set out a glass. Just before I began to pour, I remembered the promise I made a scant few hours earlier. To never give up. I put the drink away. I would not give up. Not today, not ever. Begone, voice. You have no power here. ''Is that what you think?'' it whispered menacingly. ''Is that really what you think?'' It is what I believe. ''For now. For now. All in good time, Fredrich. All in good time.'' Try me. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I did not stir. -- The inspection was scheduled for early in the morning. A maid woke me before the crack of dawn -- I was ready before either of my family members so much as got out of bed. That was well -- I wasn''t sure how I''d face Mother after last night. At least, in a face-to-face conversation. Still, her promise helped. Her words helped. I held onto them, and the voices stopped. The shadows didn''t loom over me. I gripped them harder. It allowed me to focus on my duties. Focus, repress, but do not forget. Deal with it another time, just not now. Focus. Rosenberg arrived to pick me up in an unmarked car, with another two as an escort. It was six in the morning. He was early -- dependable, reliable. I stepped in and we drove. As was custom, he tried to make small-talk. I reciprocated to make the experience more comfortable for us both. "Why the hell is so cold?" "Because it is winter, Rosenberg." "Sir, that''s not the point," he chuckled, teeth chattering, "the point is we''re in a thrice-damned insulated, armored staff car, with the windows up. Not only that, but I have a greatcoat on, and I''m freezing. This is almost as bad as the one time I was sent to the Eastern Front for Lindenholme. Fucking Lindenholme! Why in the name of God would Brass send me to the front for a holiday!" I cracked a tired smile. "Well, think of it this way. You must have gotten some very explosive presents." "Touche, sir. 105mm shells really leave an impact." He nodded seriously. "Like a three-foot, six-foot-wide impact." Right as he said that, the car bounced once -- twice. Then it was smooth driving again. Ah, we must be getting closer, judging by the forest beside and the worn dirt road beneath us. Might ask the Chancellory to fix this thing, if they could figure out how to budget for the next fiscal year. That hasn''t happened yet. "Indeed. Speaking of, drive carefully. We''re nearing the inspection site." "You mean the training camp you stuck in the middle of nowhere?" He quipped lightly. "Sir." "It''s a matter of security." His response was sarcastic. "Yes, because anyone is going to run into a camp filled with a regiment of heavily armed trainees. And because anyone is going to get past the camp''s static garrison." A valid point. No normal person would try anything in such a place. Even trained saboteurs would have a hard time -- there was a half-battalion of troops, equipped with armor and heavy weapons stationed there as well. It''d be suicide. For most, anyway. "The entire point is to stop people from trying." "Uh-huh." He picked up the transmitter for the onboard radio and adjusted a few dials, before speaking into it. "This is Convoy 1411-A. Scheduled for Inspection attendance." There was a pause before the radio crackled to life. "Imperial Training Centre 034 here. Your ID matches up. Please wait -- we''ll be out momentarily for weapon checks. Stay in your cars." The voice beyond said tiredly. "Move, and we will open fire. You were warned." Rosenberg gave me a look, and I shrugged. It was good that these men did not cut corners, and were every bit as attentive as they normally were, even at such a horrid time. Even if I was the Minister, they should not let me through so easily -- what if I was an impostor? Right as I thought that, the welcome party came out. A platoon, from the looks of it -- armed to the teeth. Two machine guns were set up in heavy cover, providing overlapping fields of fire that enveloped our small convoy. The radioman ducked behind a tree with his escort, constantly transmitting information to base command. Their professionalism brought a smile to my face. Soon, a couple of riflemen carefully scanned each car, before nodding to each other and communicating with their support elements via a series of hand signals. Then, they motioned for us to leave our vehicles. We did so, except Rosenberg. He stayed to man the radio. They searched us one by one, confiscating our weapons as they came. When their gazes fell upon me, I could see a shadow of recognition flicker in their faces, but they proceeded anyway. Good. They were not intimidated and carried out their orders. After clearing us, they waved to the radioman, who informed base command as much. We were told to step back into our cars. One by one, my escort and I did so. The radio spoke again in its gravelly, grating little tune. "Welcome, Minister. We were not expecting you." Running joke between the garrison and my staff at this point. "Your weapons will be returned the moment everyone is back on base. Apologies for the inconvenience." Rosenberg handed me the transmitter, knowing I would like to respond. I flashed him a polite smile, and he responded with a series of unhappy grumbles. He clearly wasn''t a fan of such tight security; his displeasure was noted, and summarily ignored. "Nonsense, operator. It is good to see that the men are still sharp." I spoke calmly, though with a hint of amusement injected in. "It would be worrying if they caved at the first sign of authority." "It is an honor to serve." "So it is, operator." "Aye, sir. Hope you enjoy your stay." The gates opened, and we were on our way. -- The hallways of Training Centre 034 were clean, polished, and orderly. Not a tile was out of place -- as per usual. I''m sure the cleaning staff, the new recruits, or whichever poor bugger was assigned to scrub the floors would be flayed alive if there was. Good times. I still remembered when I had to go through all that, and suppressed a shudder. That was years ago. Fond memories. The base commander was there to greet me the moment I stepped into the main assembly area. He was stout, mustachioed, and well built, possessed of a cheery disposition and a... predisposition towards torture -- I mean, an unrivaled enthusiasm when it comes to the education of recruits. Gods, the name of Hermann Schmidt was a haunted one, spoken in hushed whispers to scare children at night. Or the trainees during the day. One and the same. I''m telling you. "Greetings and salutations, my good Minister!" He gave me a toothy smile, which I returned with a polite nod of my head. "I was not expecting you to come back -- few of my proteges ever do." Schmidt wiped a false tear from his eye. "The little birds fly from their nest never to return." "You know I make a point of attending every inspection, Commandant." "Ach! You make my old heart flutter. Anyways, I hope you find the food enjoyable and the men agreeable. It''s no luxury restaurant here, that''s for sure." At that, I had to chuckle. Military food, especially on base, wasn''t actually that bad -- if a bit bland. I could feel Rosenberg cringe behind me -- had a feeling he''d miss his dumplings already. Soldiers. One and the same, forever and always. Hermann motioned for me to follow him, which I did. We went on a long, winding tour through the facility. Not much had changed. The vehicle pool remained pristine, though tinged with the omnipresent smell of gasoline. The mess hall was silent -- the men were off getting ready, breakfast already past. Occasional patrols saluted when we passed them by, and we waved back. And the training fields -- the beaten wooden posts, muddy ground, faux houses, and a small patch of forest -- hadn''t changed at all. Seeing the faraway look of reminiscence in my eyes, the Commandant bellowed a hearty laugh. It was good to be back. Soon enough -- too soon, actually -- the intercom crackled to life. The inspection was starting. By the time we made it over to the main hall, the honor guard, in all its finery, stood stiffly at attention to greet us. I smiled in appreciation -- Hermann was a dedicated man. "For me, Commandant?" I asked playfully. "You shouldn''t have." "Anything for my prized pupil." -- Sixteen faceless men stood silently on a raised podium. Their peaked caps hid their eyes. Their neutral expressions hid their thoughts. Their black cloaks hid their bodies. In their midst was a man in a dark suit, right hand extended in salute. That man was me. "Regiment, at attention!" Herman''s voice echoed through the speakers in the hall. I suppressed a small wince -- those things were loud. Definitely enough to wake you in the morning. Perhaps it''s what they were for? These trainees did have to wake up at the crack of dawn -- I suppose extra help in staying awake wouldn''t be remiss. The unified clicks of a thousand bootheels echoed through the otherwise silent room. "Today, you and your officers have officially graduated from maggots! Congratulations! You are no longer to wallow in self-pity and refuse. Tomorrow, you will receive your first batch of marching orders, direct from the Interior Ministry Headquarters!" He paused for emphasis. "You won''t be getting a long speech, my little birds, but before you fly off, I recommend you heed the advice I am about to give." He cleared his throat, before beginning. "Some of you might think our duty -- that of the Interior Ministry -- to involve more paper-pushing than shooting. And you would be correct -- until you lie bleeding out in a back alleyway or riddled with bullet holes on the front steps of a house. We will not face blizzards, deserts, or heavy enemy artillery: that is the duty of the army, to face the enemy in front. We will never be given the glamor or glory our peers in their heavy tanks and high-flying planes will be afforded, but we accept that." He paused for emphasis. "Because we do not face the enemy at the front. We face the enemy within our own." Hermann pointed toward himself to highlight his point. "The spies, saboteurs, and every flavor of foreign agent on the enemy-of-the-month menu. These are the enemies you cannot see, cannot hear, and cannot smell -- and we are tasked with rooting them out. Our work will be grisly. It will be hard. It will be thankless, but we -- you -- must soldier on." Hermann took a deep breath, his chest heaving slightly, before loudly sighing. "There will come a time when you will be asked to look sedition or treason in its ugly face before summarily executing it. There will come a time, perhaps, when that face has attached itself to a close friend''s -- hell, even a family member''s -- body. And your hand cannot waver. You must see it through. Trust your comrades, the men next to you -- they are the only truth when we kick down a house of lies." He saluted sharply. "Good luck, men! It was an honor! To the Emperor, long may he reign!" A thousand voices echoed out, their right hands returning the gesture. "To the Emperor, long may he reign!" "Assemble by battalions on the training field! We have an exercise to complete!" Stepping away from the microphone, Hermann whispered to me. "Want to watch this, Minister?" "It would be my pleasure," I replied softly. "It would be my pleasure."