Here we are at day 2! I want to thank all of you who read and left reviews. It really keeps me going! I also am so so so so so so so SO happy and proud to have received positive and excited feedback from the recipient of this gift fic, charmedwicca. Thank you once again for your kind feedback! :D Also great thanks to my buds once again, particularly Joey and Turmanarmo for their kind help with this chapter as well. :)
The caustic reprimand session ended inside the room, and Sonja zipped the compact shut again before sliding it back into her pocket. She watched the doorknob turn; Dänzer stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
"Thank you for waiting, Sister Sara." He said it with an incredible measure of gentility, as though he hadn't just been constricting his controlling grip around another young soul. Sonja very much doubted she could hate him any more, even as a small, timid smile fluttered to her face and she nodded him a greeting. "Please, follow me and we will discuss further over tea." His words left her surprised—infections were nothing to take lightly, yet he wanted to sit for tea before she attended to the corpse's infected wound? A sense of deep suspicion scraped against her mind as he turned and began walking back up the hallway; her mouth twitched into a frown the moment his back was to her.
"Dankeschön, Herr Dänzer." She said softly, following after him. She wasn't sure what she liked less: walking with his looming form at her heels like some monster... or following after him and feeling, momentarily, like a puppet herself.
A hand servant was standing at the foot of the stairs, her hands folded neatly over her apron and her head bowed.
"Herr Dänzer, your tea is ready. I have set a place for your guest as well, sir." He nodded and placed a hand onto the girl's shoulder as he reached the bottom step; the contact lingered in a way that left Sonja narrowing her eyes coldly.
"Please sit, Sister." He gestured toward a couch and then sat himself. Not one to mince words, he continued as soon as the two were seated. "Sister Sara, you will tend to the wound of Herr Nicolaus. You will also tutor him in proper etiquette and grammar." Sonja felt her muscles tense. "You may use my son Sven as a model. He will accompany you as often as time permits and provide any assistance you may require."
"Herr Dänzer, I..." Sonja said, ensuring that her voice was sufficiently meek. "I'm surprised. I did not realize you intended that I tutor your charge in addition to offering medical attention." His deeply embossed frown intensified ever so slightly.
"You are well disciplined in such matters, are you not? I am aware that the convent educates well. I expect this for Herr Nicolaus, nothing more." She swallowed.
"Very well, sir." She said softly, completely at odds with her swirling, rushing thoughts. This was Nicolaus Unsausen, son of the Milan Unsausen—and this military officer was employing a nun for grooming his manners? This didn't fit—a non sequitur. This didn't make any sense. Why? Her mind zipped through possibilities with incredible speed. Was it because his behavior was so poor he would not benefit from a professional team of groomers quite yet? Ridiculous. Was it due to a lack of funds—but that would require the government to care nothing about the heir of Milan Unsausen. Preposterous. Was it because the boy was expected to die and thus very little was being invested in this lost cause? But that didn't explain his lack of fever nor the absence of more qualified medical professionals. Ludicrous.
In fact... the whole situation was odd and unnerving, now that she considered it more deeply. It had been a pleasant surprise that Nicolaus Unsausen was brought to a more private location for the grooming process, but she and her organization had considered it an attempt to keep his existence unknown from the public until the best possible moment. What Sonja was now realizing—what she now saw—was that perhaps it was being hidden from more than just the public.
Where were the other officers? With a boy like Herr Unsausen's son, wouldn't Goebbels himself want to approve or even assign a tutor? A crushing, overwhelming, delightful revelation flooded over Sonja.
Nobody knew.
Dänzer had acquired the sole heir of one of the most lauded and loved politicians Germany had ever had, and he was hiding it from the Reich. In spite of her usually stringent self-control, an unconscious smile slid onto Sonja's lips.
She finished her tea and cruller in silence—after bowing her head in a feigned prayer of thanks, of course—and then rose with Dänzer for a tour of the facilities she would have access to and an explanation of the usual meal schedule of the manor. He reminded her that her medical bag had been brought up to the boy's room. He showed her where her room was—two down from Herr Nicolaus. Sonja followed with rapt attention and noted that his gait had slowed and a true limp was beginning to show. After guiding her back to her patient's room, he excused himself and hobbled down another hallway of the large manor. From the corner of her eye, Sonja watched him depart. He had a kind of drug dependency for pain regulation, she concluded easily.
She took another breath and then knocked before stepping back into the corpse's room. Nicolaus was still seated on the bed, but his arms were crossed and his head turned toward the window, brow furrowed. She thought he was still petulantly angry over his earlier disciplining, but then a small sound issued forth from behind the door. Tensing, she swung it back and found Dänzer's son seated in a chair against the wall. He appeared around her age as well, perhaps a tad younger. His slick, black hair was oiled back, giving a positively menacing air to his otherwise lanky and pale form. His eyes were an inky black that seemed to suck up light, reflecting nothing.
"Guten tag," she told him, bowing her head. He said nothing in return. Nico snorted.
"Don't bother. That creepy weirdo don't talk." He said, angling his head just a tad so he could regard her.
"Does not. Herr Sven does not speak." Sonja allowed herself a less gentle tone with him, but she still felt positively docile. When Nico blinked at her with confusion, she explained herself. "Herr Dänzer has asked me to tutor you in the art of speaking properly. I will be assisting you in that as well as tending to your wound." She said. The way his face slowly morphed into disgust was almost comical, but Sonja kept her expression carefully muted, even when his imminent explosion came.
"I'm sick of this junk! I don't wanna talk right, I don't wanna sit in bed, and I don't wanna be stuck in this weird stuffy place! Lady, you better just fix me up so I can get outta here." He clenched his fists and then pointed accusingly, his gestures wild and agitated. He was a child, Sonja realized. She had worked with many children, and she knew the best way to deal with the oversized ones like him. However—and she didn't have to glance back at the oil-haired rat behind her to know he was watching her with his beady black eyes—she would take no chances yet.
"Please understand, young sir. You must—"
"It's Nico." He said it with a different tone, with a different air about him altogether. His eyes pierced into hers with intensity and fervor. "Why can't you just call me Nico? You people put me in a house, look me in the eye, wanna actually help me," here he gestured to his leg for emphasis before slamming a fist onto the sheets next to him. "But nobody ever listens." There was a pregnant pause after he finished, and then his eyes flicked uncertainly to Sven, up to Sonja, then to the opposite wall, as though he suddenly realized he'd said too much.
"Very well, Nico." Sonja felt that her jaw had tightened and forced herself to relax it. He was certainly a unique corpse. "Please allow me to tend to your wound now." She stated. Her natural inclination was to request that the rat leave the room, but she suspected he would neither leave nor forget to report such an action to his father. The corpse seemed to think the same because he glanced untrustingly at the rat and then, with an unsatisfied look, pushed his blanket down to his ankles.
He wore simple white nightclothes, a long shirt and baggy shorts that reached his knees, although the right pant leg had been rolled up to expose a bandaged thigh.
"Roll the other one up too," she instructed without preamble. "If you would," she added with a meek dip of her head.
"Why?" The corpse asked. Sonja had already turned and was retrieving her medical bag. Annoyed, she didn't respond until she reached his bedside. She swallowed her anger down again with another smile. Now she could see Sven again, positioned opposite the corpse from him. An eerie smile had slid onto his face. Otherwise, he had remained almost inhumanly still. Sonja tore her eyes away from him to regard her corpse once again.
"I would like to see how much swelling your wound has caused. We shall compare." Nico frowned but reached forward and rolled his other pant leg haphazardly. The difference was shocking; his right thigh nearly twice the size of his left. With a hissed breath through clenched teeth, he raised his right knee until he could pass a hand below and tug at the bandage. Sonja immediately reached out to stop his hand. "Allow me to cut it for you." She stated.
The wound was a small ragged hole in his flesh with puffy, zigzagged edges. It wept with fluid and pus, and the skin in a wide girth around it was a sickly yellow in the wake of the bandage's pressure—slowly, reddish tones returned as the blood flowed more freely again. Either the bandage had been tied too tightly or the swelling had increased significantly since it was tied.
Uncovering the wound was similar to unwrapping a gift. Sonja no longer had to work to imagine a pale, swollen corpse. He was dead. Unless Dänzer got smart and demanded the leg amputated, there was no hope for this boy to live. The wound's infection would poison his blood and kill him with fever in weeks if not days.
Her job was now a waiting game. In lieu of something changing, the boy would die. If something did change—if Dänzer demanded an amputation or decided the boy's life was worth handing him over to the Reich—then she would be forced to take action after all. The very nature of taking such action was exposing herself to the risk of being caught, so Sonja felt a deep sense of appreciation that indeed, it was now just a waiting game.
—
"What is the prognosis, Sister?" Dänzer's voice might never fail to elicit unease from Sister Sara, whose shoulders shrunk at his tone, but it would never intimidate Sonja. She had quickly accustomed herself to the voice and now wondered whether she could convince her organization that he should also be a corpse.
"Herr Dänzer, sir, I believe there is a possibility of recovery, but the wound is deeply infected." She said, gazing at the floor before his mahogany desk, quelling a quiet desire to read the titles of each and every book lining the walls of this luxurious study. Books had become a dangerous and rare commodity in this country, and Sonja couldn't help but wonder whether he had some so-called "un-German" books in his collection. A pile of warm embers glowed in the fireplace, casting an odd orange throughout the room.
"You cleaned the wound?" He asked. She nodded.
"Yes sir."
"And you used clean bandages?"
"Of course sir." Sonja's response lacked all of the vehemence searing through her veins.
"Did the boy give you trouble?" Here, one corner of his mouth curved into what could have been a smirk, but she strongly wondered whether this man knew how to smile at all anymore.
"Oh no sir. Herr Nicolaus was kind and maintained composure even when I applied antiseptic." She smiled encouragingly.
"And with tutoring?" With this question, he leveled her with a piercing stare. She let her smile sink but not quite disappear.
"He was reluctant, but I am confident that he will come to understand the advantage of proper verbiage." Dänzer seemed satisfied by her answer, giving a single nod. There was a long pause, interrupted only by the occasional snap of wood embers still alight. Then he finally spoke.
"You are quite polished in your words, yourself, Sister. There is no need to coat the truth with what you think I want to hear. You know he will die." When they locked eyes, she feared for one frigid, paralyzing second that he saw through it all. "But he will not—if you do as I say." He stood then, reached into his pocket, and held out a small glass jar for her. She stepped forward and accepted it into her cupped hands. Sonja's heart sped up. Pills? For an infection? "Ensure that he takes these daily without a meal. This medicine is named Prontosil. You can thank Farben for this, heil Deutschland." IG Farben, the chemical company?
"Heil Deutschland," she repeated in an absent murmur, staring at the drug. If this could work... She felt her other heart beating to life, imagining the faces of so many innocents dying needlessly of infection at her helpless fingertips. If this worked, so many people could be saved. She swallowed and looked back up to find Dänzer's hard, one-eyed gaze on her.
"He refuses to take them from me. I am certain that you will convince him otherwise, Sister. Am I correct in thinking so?" Sonja had been wrong. He did know how to smile. The way his lips curved up at the edges could have frightened Boris Karloff away.
"I will do my best, Herr Dänzer." She nodded a quick bow.
"Good. The boy must be a fine speaker. He is important, you see. I entrust to you someone who shall lead, my dear. Perhaps we are in the presence of the future Führer." His wicked smirk widened fractionally. Sonja blinked with surprise, forcing herself not to clench her fists.
"I... I am honored, sir," she said, bowing her head again. Dänzer offered no response except to gesture that she leave, and Sonja stepped out of the room.
—
This changed everything. Sonja had to get in contact with her people as soon as possible. She was now completely certain of two things: She'd been right in thinking that Dänzer was keeping this boy a secret from the world. And she was marked as a corpse herself.
Dänzer had made it inescapably clear, although she was fairly certain that even he had not realized his own clarity, at least when speaking to a simple nun. By revealing to her that the boy would lead, could be the leader, he had shown his lack of concern about what she knew. People who knew things were made to disappear. Whether or not she were caught snuffing out his precious investment, Dänzer planned to kill her.
This changed everything.
"Use your judgment," Frau Tatiana had said. A smile slid onto Sonja's face. Yes, she would contact the organization, but her judgment certainly subsumed any self-defense that may be needed. She stepped lightly back to her patient's room, clutching the glass jar in her hand reverently.
Getting the corpse to take his medicine was a journey through frustration and bitten-down, swallowed anger, but it allotted her time that evening to write a lengthy letter back to her supposed convent. It would be intercepted before it ever reached the nuns—and prior to that it would be read by Dänzer, of course—so she ensured that her flowing text included as many ornate metaphors and allusions to God the Almighty One and requests for prayer as possible. Dänzer wouldn't understand the imagery of a cherry tree hesitating to bloom despite March's approaching end. He could never comprehend the relationship between pink blossoms on a tree and a pink-veiled assassin's hesitation—nor the relationship between a shepherdless lost lamb and a blonde commoner with yet no clear allegiance. He wouldn't grasp that the blindness of the Three Magi to all but the Christchild—and O, such beautiful faith!—was the blindspot of the Third Reich. She smiled with satisfaction and blew her latest line of fine script dry.
"Whatcha writing?" Nico asked. He'd paused from poking gingerly at his bandaged wound again and must have seen her smile.
"A letter." She quipped. It had become painfully obvious that he was willing to put aside his frustration and dislike if it meant receiving attention. He'd even tried striking up conversation with the rat several times in the last hour. She wasn't sure if Dänzer's son had left due to that prodding attention or if he had his own engagement to deal with, but he still had not returned.
"Are you gonna read it to me?" He inquired it so innocently that Sonja had to pause and blink up at him in pure curiosity before she could feel annoyed.
"No." She pronounced it slowly, patronizingly, as though he were some strange creature from another planet—unaware of his own social flaws. "If it is not addressed to you, then you should not read it. That is very basic etiquette."
"Yeah, that's why I said you should read it." He quipped back quickly. Sonja felt her mouth twitch at the corner. She was glad that the rat had skittered out of the room some time ago. His creepy little smirk would have made her even more annoyed. She did not respond to Nico this time, instead writing. He flicked the pill she'd handed him earlier into the air, then caught it. Against her better judgment, Sonja watched it sail up and down until she unwittingly found her eyes locked with his. She had foolishly granted her other heart a peek into this world, and now it would not stop nagging her with its odd feelings, like curiosity.
"Why? It's just a letter to my convent." He shrugged in response.
"I just like letters." His response was so matter-of-fact and yet so ridiculous that Sonja felt her annoyance spike.
"It's boring." She argued back without thinking. As soon as the protest came out of her mouth, she knew she was taking this too far. This was frighteningly reminiscent of a real conversation—she'd even neglected some of her perfect grammar—and conversing with corpses was never a good idea. Ever. She'd made that mistake once. She'd forgotten how to imagine the pale, swollen skin of a corpse and instead saw a living person. Until she received a response from her organization—and she wondered still whether they would agree with her appeal at all—she had to see him as a corpse and nothing more.
"I bet it's not," he argued back. She fixed a wan smile back into place.
"Thank you for your interest. Let us come to an agreement, Nico. I will read it to you when I am finished, but only if you will take that medicine." She gestured toward the pill he was rolling between his fingers, her voice more tame again. The corpse looked at her suspiciously, but she could already see in his eyes that she had won. After a long, drawn out hmmmm, he nodded, though it was a hesitant thing.
"Fine, but just this once." He stated with a finality.
Another hour passed before Sonja finished writing her letter—an hour filled with the impatient comments and questions of a corpse with far too much energy. True to his word, however, he swallowed the pill with a glass of water just as she began her letter.
"The twenty-seventh of March, nineteen hundred and thirty-four," she began, holding the letter up delicately. It was interesting, to say the least, to see the rapt attention he offered her the entire time. When she finished reading the letter, he remained awestruck for several seconds following.
"Wow," he finally said. "You write really good. Gramps liked to write too, and he read me all kinds of stuff." He nodded here, quite satisfied.
"Opalein? Who is that?" She asked, picking up on his affectionate term for a grandfather figure. She'd thought about correcting his grammar, but since the rat still wasn't in the room, she refused to waste the chance to pick through the corpse's past for reconnaissance.
"Gramps took care of me when I was little." He said it with a pleasant smile, but sadness crept into his features quite rapidly. "Then he died."
"And what of your parents?" Sonja asked, pressing for any info she could get.
"Ehm... They died. Gramps said he'd tell me about 'em when I got older, but... he never made it there." He rubbed the back of his head, then glanced back up at her. Sonja was nearly paralyzed with shock, but she swallowed and managed to smile sympathetically.
"I am so very sorry to hear that, Nico. Did you come to know their names, at least?" Keeping her sympathetic smile in place while he shook his head was a near insurmountable task. He didn't know.
He didn't know.
Sonja bid him good night at that point, then collected her things and returned to her room. She brushed her hair, dressed for bed, and washed herself in preparation for morning.
And then she rewrote her entire letter from scratch.
I want to take a short moment to explain why an infected wound was considered so deadly at this point in time, in case any of you are interested in medical history at all. The reason is quite simple, they were incredibly deadly. Depending on where the wound was, the danger of dying would rise considerably—and the placement of Nico's wound probably puts him somewhere close to 80% chance of mortality. Less than a decade before this point, Alexander Fleming isolated penicillin, but it wouldn't be until around 1940 that it would start getting produced in a helpful way. Even then, its use was almost completely isolated to military (World War II certainly explains why that is). The demand for it was so great that at points doctors were known for extracting it from the urine of patients after administering it to them—just so they could conserve and re-administer it. What Dänzer handed to Sonja is NOT penicillin but something called a sulfa drug, which were created, as stated in the story, by Bayer (which was part of the IG Farben conglomerate at that point) in Germany somewhere around 1932. Documentation for it was not published until 1935, but it existed and could have been acquired by someone with connections (such as Dänzer) in 1934. I'm fairly certain that Sonja's organization would be well aware of it as well if they had the right people in the right places, but a simple grunt like her would not be privvy to it. Even Tatiana—our Tsunade equivalent—is not at the same level of influence or authorization as, say, the Daimyo's parallel figure who would give her orders in this organization. I'm sure she'd be right pissed to find out that such a "miracle" drug was withheld for so long, however.
Unfortunately, even with the use of sulfa drugs, many deaths still occurred from infections. I would like you all to know, JUST FOR THE RECORD, that I decidedly chose to avoid treating Nico with what would be the most effective life-saving treatment at this point in history: maggot therapy. It's so effective, in fact, that it still works better than modern antibiotics in many cases even today. The wound is filled with maggots which then eat only the dead, infected tissue as they grow, leaving the healthy tissue intact. Maggots are known for their ravenous appetites and, incredibly, can eat faster than even many bacteria can spread. Amazing, no? But yes, I decided for the sanity and comfort of my wonderful readers to not give poor Naruto Nico a leg full of wriggling, flesh-eating maggots.
You're welcome, my friends. :)
Glossary of some of the German terms/names (Part 2)
Once again, note that the dialect/accent of German I am mildly familiar with is reflected in the pronunciations below.
Danke/Dankeschön (DON-kuh/DON-kuh-shern): Thank you or Thank you kindly. The -schön on the end of things is considered an addition of kindness or respect
Guten Tag (GOOT'n tog): Good day
Heil Deutschland (hyle DOYCH-lant in which the lant rhymes with "font"): "Hail Germany," sort of like saying "Praise Germany!"
IG Farben (Unsure of how this was spoken aloud and too lazy to look up/search through documentaries—if anyone knows, PM me please!): A conglomeration of chemical companies that invented Prontosil, a "sulfa" drug which helps to fight certain types of bacteria in the body. See note above for more info on this.
Opalein (OH-puh-line): Opa alone means grandfather, but with -lein added it becomes more familiar and affectionate. I translate it as Gramps for Nico.