September 1st, 1840
Kurzheim, the Southern Isles.
The small boat quietly approached the shore, its captain a little nervous. Despite the fact that he had made this trip dozens of times, the old sailor always was a little edgy right before pickup. The man was a smuggler, who transported all manner of illicit cargo across the Southern Isles. Today though, there was a special cargo he had in mind today. The small ship glided the last short distance, before the small craft beached itself on the soft sand slightly illuminated by the moon-lit sky. As the crew disembarked to secure the ship, the captain hopped over as well, approaching the contact he had been expecting.
She was a woman wearing a cloak, with the hood raised to ensure her face wasn't illuminated, even in the poor light offered by the waxing crescent moon. Not that the Smuggler cared. He had long ago figured that it was best to keep things anonymous and impersonal in this business. He only had one rule in that regard, which was that he always insisted on knowing what his cargo was. Not for any moral reasons, but to ensure that he knew what he was dealing with. Today that would not be necessary, for he already knew the cargo.
"How many do you have for me this time, miss?"
"Just two. Ones an old pensioner who went unclaimed. The other was… well, let's just say he won't be missed."
The Captain wasn't huge on taking a corpse that had likely been burked, so he had an established rule on these sort of things as well.
"You know the rules, miss. I only pay for Natural causes. I'll take those who had… accidents, but only for free."
If this reminder bothered the woman, The Captain did not know. The woman paused before answering.
"That's acceptable. How much for the pensioner?"
"I'll give you 25 Krone."
"Deal." She raised a lantern, shuttering it twice. Within a minute a cart pulled up carrying two foot lockers, with two men up front, obviously armed. Clearly the Body-Snatchers had no intention of becoming "merchandise" themselves. He made a point to check the corpses, before he loaded them on the ship.
The first corpse, the pensioner was in good condition as corpses went. He would have no problem offloading that one. The second, not so much. Someone had taken a knife to him, and it was pretty clear that this one had met an unnatural end. Still, he could still sell him. While most of the corpses were needed for public dissections for students, some were still needed for surgical practice and such.
As such he waved to his men to load the corpses on board. It was only a few hours of sailing to the Duchy Capital, where the medical schools would pay handsomely for the bodies. The waters were not routine patrolled, and even when they were, the smuggler knew ways to avoid getting caught. It was too easy.
…
September 3rd, 1840
Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.
"You see, there's been an incident outside of Kurzheim."
Princess Erika raised an eyebrow, curious on what could have happened in remote Kurzheim that gained the attention of King. "Please do go on."
"Early in the morning of the 1st, a Coast Guard cutter discovered the flaming wreckage of a small craft, likely a smuggling vessel. Only one survivor was found in the water, the rest having perished in the fire that claimed the ship. Not an unusual occurrence, except for one thing." He paused, partly to swallow and partly for dramatic emphasis. "The survivor claims that a dead man wrecked the ship."
"Well. I doubt we can trust the reliability of such a source."
"Well, I would hesitate too, except for two things. First, this man was hardly being under suspicion. No illicit goods were found in the wreckage, and yet after receiving a guarantee of immunity, confessed to get the story out. While I am one to honor said agreements, he took a risk to get us this information. There was no alcohol on his breath according to the sailors on the ship that picked him up."
"So he may not have been drunk or attempting to deceive us, that still doesn't change that possibility of hallucination or hysteria."
"Also true. Except for one issue. This is the third report of a dead man of similar description wreaking havoc in the last month. The third. My father once told me 'Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and three times is enemy action.' It may relate to spying, but I find it true when it comes to rumors."
Attempting to hold off on making a judgement until she had all the facts, Erika inquired. "What do you mean by similar description? Is it the same person?"
"No. Similar traits. The usual traits of a dead man, but all reported black blood. Whether in the eyes or visible veins, or the lips or fingernails it all black, including any wounds."
"Okay, assuming we believe this is true, how is this possible?"
The King looked honestly troubled. "I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. Didn't that Modern Prometheus book you read have a resurrected corpse in it?"
"You mean Mary Shelly's work? Complete rubbish, even if she did explain how Dr. Frankenstein created his monster. Gothic fiction will be of no help here." She hobbled over to a nearby chair, sitting down and starting to run scenarios through her head. Before long, she was thinking out loud. "Okay, thanks to our colorful family history, we know magic does exist. But that isn't the one all end all that people think it is."
"It isn't? My wife explained a little but I hardly know anything about the issue. Can't you just go poof and do about anything?"
"No. The issue with bringing the human body back to death lies entirely with the brain. The rest of the body can be preserved and theoretically be surgically replaced. Not so with the Brain. Once it stops getting oxygen, it dies. Period. Magic can't bring that back."
"So how is this possible?"
"Well, magic may not bring a dead person back to life, but it may make a living person come back to life."
Frederick looked at her completely puzzled. "Come again?"
"Think about it. What if someone created a serum that causes momentary death? It'd almost have to require magic to keep the brain alive of course. Or perhaps it is a feign that causes near death, slowing the heartbeat to an extremely slow pace. But why?"
"Well firstly, it'd be a good way to escape capture and torture. But it may not be the only thing said serum does. The reports all say the dead men had incredible strength. So perhaps it's meant to be a human weapon. Send a man in with the expectation of capture, have him inject himself, and when he comes back he can cause an incredible amount of damage."
Erika grew sickened at such a thought. "That's not medicine, that's turning people into weapons!"
"Whoever is behind it all is one cold son of a bitch. Even my boy would be impressed."
"Could it be Hans?" Erika asked, immediately regretting the comment. Despite everything he had done, Erika had loved all her nephews, including him. She had warned Frederick that Hans might have done something drastic months before Arendelle, but the old warhorse could not fathom that his own flesh and blood doing something so terrible. Neither could Erika for that matter.
Frederick thought deeply for a long quiet minute, before answering. "No, I don't think is Hans. I got one of my best agents on him, and he hasn't reported Hans developing a sudden interest in medicine or science. Besides, he isn't stupid. He wouldn't try something this soon, when he's still in the spotlight. Hans will lick his wounds for a while yet. This is somebody, or something, else."
…
September 5th, 1840
Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.
When the Queen Dowager left, the entire Manor Guard detail sighed a collective sigh of relief that she was gone. Not for any personal reason, but it did entail that a microscope was no longer peering down on them. There was still the young Lord, sure, but he was different. They barely saw him as the manor Guard detail meant surprisingly little time inside the manor. They were quartered in a quickly built shack outside the premises, and they mostly guarded the outside of the manor. Unlike previous Lords and Ladies, the young master didn't waste time playing drill Sergeant. As such they were left alone, and with the exception of their guard shifts were free to do as they pleased. There was no drinking for the week, and daily inspections of kit to ensure cleanliness was carried out, but it wasn't as bad as they all thought it was going to be. Other than the Queen Dowager being asked to leave, nothing of note really happened to the Guard.
As such it came time for the changing of the Guard, and Fritz couldn't be happier. Though like most of the other lads, he liked the new Lord, he was happy to be no longer under the microscope. He and his platoon stood in formation with their kit, waiting for the officers to do the ceremonial changing of the guard. Across from them another platoon stood, equally impatient to get settled in.
The officers did their bit, which included a formal report to the commander of the relief. As such the Officer of the Guard saluted his relief, before going on a minute-long spiel of what had transpired during the week in broad strokes. Naturally this hardly covered everything, which was included in the log. The army liked to be redundant like that.
As the changing of the guard finally concluded and the soldiers began to shuffle off to their camp, a lone rider rode through the decrepit gates, the two officers saluting before he gave an order to them. It took a moment, before Fritz recognized him as the young Lord. As such the young soldier was too awestruck to listen intently to Hans' orders, but this mattered little as Fritz's commanding officer echoed the news as he drew his saber.
"Men, a raiding party has been spotted off shore! Form up and prepare to move out, we will drive the invaders into the sea!
…
The other platoon had been left behind to guard the Manor as Fritz's platoon had made the run to the shore where the invaders had been spotted. Now while the rifle butts of the Sergeants would have proven effective enough to keep men from falling out one the mile and a half run, but every man was too inspired to fall out. For their Lord was with them.
They couldn't help but stare in amazement that a Lord had dismounted and conducted the forced run with the men, leading from the front. Not one of the soldiers had ever seen a senior officer or noble who had lowered themselves to the enlisted's level if they had a choice. Any other noble would have casually watched on horse as the men drilled endlessly. Not this lord.
Fritz was at the front of the group, close enough to get a close look. The young master was as tired as they were, he could tell by the Lord's breathing and sweating. But by god, he tried to hide it. Every time he turned about his expression was energetic and eager, a smile on his face.
So despite all of the kit that dragged his body down, the sight of a lord leading from the front, on foot seemed to lighten the rifle on his shoulder and the pack on his back as they closed the last few hundred yards to the cliff overlooking the landing site.
He felt a chill as he closed the last short distant, as it dawned upon him he was about to be engaged in deadly combat. He had endured a good amount of training, but he knew he was an amateur compared to an experienced raider or mercenary. Still it was his people, his island, and his country that he was defending. And after the young Lord had beaten them to the cliff and drew a revolver, they could hardly just abandon him, could they?
As such Fritz reached the cliff, letting his knees impact first, using the momentum to slam into the earth with his stomach, his feet pivoting up into the air, before letting them drop. While his rate of fire would have been slowed, he was a minimal target. He was ready to fight the invader.
There was one issue though.
There was no invader.
On the beach, Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf sat on a field chair, a timepiece in hand. Upon seeing the Garrison forces arrive, he stood up, taking another look at his pocket watch.
"Less than thirty minutes, My Lord. From Spotting to engagement, less than thirty minutes. I guess I was wrong!"
Hans smiled as he stood, holstering his revolver. "Well, it sure looks that way!" He turned to face the confused soldiers, before he gestured them over. "Gentlemen, as some of you are piecing together, we just have run the Garrison through a mobilization drill. Your Battalion commander was convinced that none of you could engage a threat within 30 minutes of spotting. So confident, that he ordered any unit that reacted within that time was to be treated with a week of leave!"
A hearty cheer was sounded by the platoon, as few things make a soldier happier than a brief stint of not having to soldier. The young Lord grinned at the enthusiasm, before gesturing them to quiet it down. "There is more, soldiers. I added my own bonus. The first unit to engage within 30 minutes will be treated to a dining in at the manor. That, gentlemen, is you! Get some rest men, you need it for tonight!"
As the platoon once again went wild at the concept of good food and beer with pretty maids to look at, Hans himself couldn't help but chuckle. Fritz like the others was swept up with enthusiasm, starting to pump his fist in the air, repeatedly shouting "Lord Hans!" in a chant. Before long, it had caught on across the platoon.
As the chant washed over Hans, a certain satisfaction was felt by the former prince. He had spent his entire life as a Prince, and yet it was only as a lowly Lord that he had seen such a display of loyalty towards him. But he was careful to not let his ego get the better of him.
I have earned their respect and loyalty. Now I must work harder to keep it.
His mind remembered an anecdote from a history book he read. That during the great roman parades after great victories, despite all the wondrous displays, a slave was always to remind the emperor one thing.
All Glory is fleeting.
Bit of Notes-
Fairly short chapter this time, as I was trying to get this out before too long. Work's been busy, so I haven't really been too motivated to write. For those of you looking forward to the next Aftermath, it's likely going to be a while, as I'm only halfway done with chapter 6. In other news I have started work on a new project, however I'm not going to post it until I am mostly or entirely finished.
Next arc is going to dive into the ceramic industry and the shady nature of early industry, so here's hoping chapter 11 gets here soon.
Deuces,
Dragunov