"You look like shit," Sieglinde said with as much interest as someone habitually commenting on the weather. Kurt ignored her.
"I couldn't help but notice how many of your men were out of the city. Thank you."
"Well, someone sent a tip off that there were bandits planning something along one of the main trade routes. We couldn't have that, could we?"
"Bandits?"
She shrugged, "You didn't exactly give me much time to prepare. It was the best I could think of which such short notice. My men didn't find any bandits, funnily enough."
He pulled her into an enormous bear hug and as she withdrew, she punched the top of his arm.
"In all seriousness, Captain, what the hell are you doing here? You honestly look like a walking corpse."
Again, he ignored her, "The prince has asked my opinion as to who he should put forward as a replacement for Torsten. So… I'm going to recommend you as commander. I just wanted to tell you in advance."
"I don't want to be commander, Kurt… I might have to actually do some real work," had it been anyone else, he might have believed them. But Sieglinde was a great one for platitudes because 'they're what people want to hear – best to get them over with and you can get on with doing what you want.
"Sieg…" his tone was quietly warning and she stopped shuffling her papers, rolling her eyes at his persistence.
"Fine. I would bloody love to be the commander," He grinned and slapped her back, "Now will you go and get some sleep?"
"What about you?" He asked.
"I need to organise what we're doing with the bodies, and whose kin we need to notify. When my second gets back from the 'bandits' I'll put him on the job and take a break," she sniffed and studied him, carefully, "You need to get back to your favourite duckling, my friend."
Kurt felt his face colour and Sieglinde shook her head, "I bloody well hope she's not this bashful or neither of you will ever get anywhere."
"She's resting," Kurt said, carefully, "She took a sword to the shoulder."
"Will it heal?"
"Should do."
There was a paper in Sieglinde's hand. She'd moved it from one side of the desk to the other and back again, and now she clutched it, as though assessing what she should do. When she noticed him looking at it, she sighed, "Nothing gets past you, does it? Fine. I was going to give you the night, but…"
She pushed the paper at him, chewing at her lip whilst he read it.
His stomach went ice cold and he looked up at her, "That bastard is still out there?"
"I know. I couldn't believe it either, but I found those orders in amongst Torsten's things. Clear is fucking crystal."
Hermann.
"Does… have you…" Kurt's mind was working through scenarios for revenge, faster than his mouth was capable of moving.
"I haven't told anyone but you that I've found that. And as far as I'm concerned, no one else needs to know."
Kurt considered this for a moment, "If I go and kill him, will it compromise you in some way?"
She groaned, "You've got a really bad habit of making me get blunt when I don't want to be, you know that, Kurt. I was going to wait, but… you know that when the reports of what happened here finally get back to the Continent, you're not going to come out of all this too well? You did the right thing, so it's doubtful they'd dismiss you. But you also disobeyed direct orders, so you just know they're going to find a way of…. Making you quit?"
He hadn't thought of that. He'd been so tied up in making sure that De Sardet didn't walk back into the city, straight into a trap, that he'd totally neglected any duty he had to the guard…
… which was sort of Sieglinde's point.
He sighed.
"I know," she said, in response to his guttural complaint, "But even if I am the commander, I won't be able to fix it for you. So. How about you find another form of employment? And what if, during the course of that other employment, you were to run into your old… colleague?"
Kurt nodded, "Do I have until the order comes back from the continent, or do you want me out of the books before then?"
"How about I write you out now, but we don't make anything official until I get some post?"
He nodded again, "Gives me time to get you appointed as Commander, too, I suppose…"
She laughed, dry and humourless, "I suppose it does. Now piss off. You've given me enough of a headache for one evening. Back to your royal ducklings."
Kurt made his way from Sieglinde's office and towards his bunk. His mind was reeling, but he knew he should try to sleep while he could. He checked his pockets – there was still a small phial which had contained a sleeping draught, and there were still a few tiny droplets circling the bottom. When he made it to his bed, he rinsed the bottle with water and downed the diluted solution. It wouldn't knock him out, but hopefully it would do something – even if it was a placebo.
His dreams were muddied, haunted things. For the most part, he was a child again, but occasionally, he played the role of Hermann, whilst his younger self wore De Sardet's face.
There was so much to talk to the legate about the following day, but only one thing would crystallise in his mind – revenge.
As he approached the little house, tucked as it was in the shadow of the palace, Kurt noticed that the housekeeper stood beside the front door, smoking a pipe.
"You're not that big a one for propriety then," he said, as he approached, "I thought servants were meant to smoke around back?"
She eyed him up and down, then broke into an unexpected grin, "I don't give a rats arse about propriety. I know my lady don't like the smell of smoke, so I'm not doing it outside her window at the back, or over her supper."
"She still in then?"
The housekeeper looked at him as though he was mad, "You think I'd let her go anywhere with a cut like that? That thing opens again and the fever might kill her."
"You know a lot about wounds for a housekeeper," Kurt sniffed. She offered him her pipe in an uncharacteristic moment of camaraderie and he took it, taking a long draw before handing it back, blowing smoke rings across the street.
"I used to be a midwife, 'afore the princess 'ppointed me here."
"What did you say your name was?" Kurt asked.
"Martha," she replied.
Kurt held out his hand. She eyed it suspiciously before taking it, shaking it strongly and nodding at him.
"Thank you for your help last night," he said, "Especially the beeswax. I wouldn't have thought to ask but I always miss it."
"Your stitches were neat," Martha said with a begrudging smile, then she took a final, long draw on her pipe and retreated back around the building to the small kitchen garden they kept.
Kurt watched her go, slightly dumbfounded by the whole exchange. Did this mean he was… accepted?
He pushed the thought from his mind and entered the little house, removing his cloak and boots and climbing the stairs. At De Sardet's door he paused, drew a deep breath, then knocked.
It was Siora who opened the door to him, though it took him a moment to recognise her. She was dressed in one of De Sardet's gowns, with various jewelled combs in her short hair.
"What's going on?" Kurt asked. From across the room he heard a grunt, then out of the corner of his eye, he caught the shape of the legate, trying as best she could to fasten her own stays with just one hand.
"Constantin's called for a ball to celebrate," she huffed, chasing the cord with the tenacity of a dog after its own tail, "Well… Morange called it, because it's the proper thing. But she did it in Constantin's name, so naturally I'll have to be there to deflect attention when he has to leave early."
"You reckon you'll get past me? Past Martha? You're not going anywhere – a gash like that," he said it before thinking of how it sounded – very much the controlling old Master.
"Nevermind my wound," she muttered darkly, "I can't even dress myself. All my clothes are too small across the shoulders. I can't move in them."
"I can't move in them anyway!" Siora complained, "Why would anyone wear this of their own choosing?"
"Because look in the mirror, and tell me you're not the prettiest thing you ever saw," De Sardet smiled, indulgently, and Siora preened a little.
Kurt rolled his eyes and felt his temper begin to spike. He'd come here because Hermann needed to die. He'd come here, because he needed De Sardet to help him – he needed her integrity, her courage. He worried he would falter. He wanted nothing more than to cut the old man's heart out and stand on it, but a sherd of him was still the scared little boy he had been, and he didn't know which he hated more – that part of himself, or Hermann.
"You're being ridiculous," Kurt snapped, "You're injured. You've not rested since we set off from the continent, and these silly, pretty frocks aren't going to help anything."
Siora cocked an eyebrow at him and he did his best to ignore her silent, wise stare.
De Sardet looked momentarily wounded. She was quiet for a long moment before she sighed and nodded.
"You're right. The dresses are… habitual, but we don't need to do that here," she brightened, "It's a bit of a relief, actually. I never liked wearing them, just the effect they have on certain people."
She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling, but he wasn't in the mood for this. His face clearly gave him away because she flinched.
"So I can put my own clothes back on?" Siora asked, her voice hopeful.
"If you'd rather. Thank you for humouring me, though," the legate smiled at her and then turned to Kurt. Her features were unreadable, "Come. We'll leave Siora to change."
They left the bed chamber for the room downstairs. As she passed the bed, De Sardet grabbed the blanket, then proceeded to cocoon herself in it on her chair by the fire, still in her shift as she was.
"What's the matter?" She asked Kurt when they were alone, "You're more than usually… gruff."
He suspected that 'gruff' was the polite term for what she was thinking.
He wanted to tell her, to explain to her the significance of what Sieglinde had told him, but he found he couldn't.
"You're being a fool," he snapped, "I spent last night sewing you up and you're going to spend this evening dancing like a bloody harlot and open it all up again."
She narrowed her eyes at him then said patiently, "I'm going to do my duty as Congregation legate, and act as the diplomatic arm of the governor. It's my job."
"And like I said before, it's my job to protect you."
"This isn't about me, Kurt," the way she said it was dismissive – tired, and bored by the rhetoric.
"And what makes you say that?" he sneered.
"Because if it was about me, you'd be gentle about it. Something happened when you went back to the barracks last night. What?"
He sighed, trying to pare down what he told her to the very bare minimum, "I need to go to San Matteus and kill someone. As soon as possible."
"I'm listening…"
"He was responsible for the camp."
"And you want to go and… dispose of him yourself? Doesn't that put you in an awkward position with the guard?"
"I need to look for a new line of work anyway…" he mumbled. She eyed him through a heavy frown for longer than was comfortable.
"I'll help you," she said at length, "Of course I'll help you. But I need to be there for Constantin first."
He nodded, feeling suddenly relieved.
"Which means…" she said, slowly, her mischievous grin returning, "That we'd all better put our best formal armour on…"
