The Lie of the Land

The was a guard upon the door, but like all the guards who protected Her Majesty, it was a man whom Amelie knew well enough: a tall Bavarian grenadier by the name of Rudolph; the black crest of his polished brass helmet nearly touched the ceiling as he stood before the door into Her Majesty's guest room.

Amelie knew him, and he knew Amelie besides. They all knew Amelie, who she was, and some of them had an idea of what she was as well.

Some of them had an idea that it wasn't just stags and wolves and bears that she brought down.

So when Amelie came down the corridor, her boots thumping a little upon the stone, her homespun brown cloak fluttering somewhat after her, the freshly-dressed wolf pelt resting upon her shoulder, and said, "Her Majesty is expecting me," he did not question it. Rather, he nodded to her, and got out of the way, exposing the wooden door behind which Her Majesty waited.

Amelie did not go in, She waited for a moment, glancing up at big Rudolph. "How is she?"

"Quiet," Rudolph said softly. "I've scarce heard a peep out of her."

"Have their graces been in to see her?" asked Amelie.

"Not tonight," said Rudolph. "She hasn't sent for them."

Amelie nodded. That, in the opinion that she would never voice aloud, was a good thing. Their graces the Archduchesses Maria Carolina and Maria Sophia were… there was no way of saying this that would not sound impertinent, impudent, and probably worse, which was why Amelie kept these thoughts to herself, but they were not cut from the same cloth as their elder sister. They were, not to put too fine a point on it, a pair of nasty bits of work if you asked Amelie. And no, it wasn't because of the way that they looked at Amelie like she was dirt on their slippers; she could put up with that, it was one of the things that you expected from the daughters of so many Caesars – and the fact that Her Majesty didn't, that she let Amelie read in her library and so come across phrases like 'the daughters of so many Caesars – and if you were a common-born girl like her and got the hump over people acting like it then you were either very naïve or looking for something get upset about, in Amelie's opinion. No, what bothered her was the way that they looked at little King Max. Their own nephew, but… something about the way they looked at him, the way they glanced at him when their older sister wasn't looking, the malice in their eyes.

Perhaps Amelie was imagining it. She hoped she was imagining it. But Her Majesty didn't seem to much enjoy her sister's company either, it seemed to tire her out dealing with them.

If she hadn't had to deal with them tonight then so much to the good.

Perhaps Her Majesty would get some sleep, if she didn't stay up all night working.

Amelie gripped the cold iron handle of the door and twisted it, pushing it open and stepping inside.

Her Majesty was sitting at a writing desk, her back to the door, the room lit up with candles burning – upon the desk, upon the scones on the walls, beside the bed – so many candles banishing the darkness.

She had not changed for bed, or for anything else for that matter; she was wearing her fancy gown which Amelie guessed that she had worn to dinner, the skirt spilling off the chair to spread out all around her, covering the floor like some sort of puddle.

"Amelie," Her Majesty spoke softly, quietly and gently, "is that you?"

"It is, Majesty," Amelie said, descending to one knee.

She heard the scrape of the chair even though she could not see it move, her head bowed as it was.

"Rise, my good huntress, up, up," Her Majesty commanded.

Amelie first looked up, seeing that Her Majesty had risen from her seat and was now stood, her back to the writing desk, looking down upon Amelie with her golden-brown eyes. She really hadn't changed since dinner, Amelie could see; her silver white hair was still arranged in curls that fell down off her shoulders, she still had her large emerald earrings in her hair – they had been a gift from His Majesty, one of the last gifts the late King had given her – the pearls upon her white-gloved wrists.

"Majesty, you should not get up for me," Amelie said, even as she rose to her feet.

Her Majesty's eyebrows rose. "No? Should I sit with my back to you, unable to see your face as you are unable to see mine?" Her plump red lips – lips as red as the rose, as had been said of her famous ancestor – curled upwards in a smile. "I see you have brought me a wolf."

"I have, Your Majesty," Amelie said, laying the wolf pelt down upon the cold stone floor of the chamber. "I had meant to bring a stag, as I know there are stags hereabouts, but these woods are infested with wolves and they found me before I could find a stag."

"You weren't hurt, I trust?"

"Thank you for your concern, Majesty, but I can handle a few wolves," Amelie said. "I am sorry that I couldn't bring a stag, though. Some more antlers would have suited His Majesty's room nicely."

"I think it may be possible to have too many antlers in decorating," Her Majesty remarked.

"You had best not say so in this country, Majesty, antlers are used in all the best decorating in these parts," Amelie replied.

Her Majesty snorted. "A wolf pelt will serve well enough. A wolf from the Franche-Comte; this list shortens by one."

Now it was Amelie's turn to smile. It was her ambition to provide young King Max with at least one trophy from all the realms of the Empire that he would inherit one day. As Her Majesty had pointed out, this was a realm off the list. "As you say, Majesty." She paused. "I hope that I was not disturbing you."

"No," Her Majesty said. "Well… I was just writing to my son."

Amelie glanced at the writing desk; she could see the miniatures of the late King and the young King sitting there, the small portraits looking outwards. "I apologise, Majesty, it was not-"

"There is nothing to apologise for, I wish to speak with you," Her Majesty declared. "If I did not wish to be disturbed at all I would have had Rudolph bar all visitors." She closed her eyes a moment. "Writing to Max… for all it brings me some relief from care it is of less import to me than ensuring his safety, and the stability of his throne." A sigh escaped from her lips. "Do you have any sisters, Amelie?"

"No, Majesty," Amelie replied. "I was my father's only child."

"You are fortunate then," Her Majesty declared. "My sisters are… if they were useful to me I would bear the embarrassment, if they were useless I would at least have them be dignified, but as it is they are both useless and embarrassing. If you had seen them at dinner tonight… but you were fortunate that you did not."

Amelie said nothing. She had rarely heard Her Majesty speak so against her own sisters, but she knew that it was not her place to comment, certainly not to agree. If Her Majesty wished to speak thus then that was her right, but it was not for her, a commoner, a mere servant to the crown, to presume to offer comment upon the behaviour of the archduchesses.

"I would marry them off if I could find suitors for them," Her Majesty went on. "Sadly, it seems that all the princes in the world today prefer peasant girls or magical creatures. But enough of that, it is no matter with which you can assist me."

"Yet I will serve you any way I can, Majesty," Amelie said softly. "In case you needed reminding of it."

Her Majesty smiled. "Do you know where the office of the huntsman comes from?"

"As you have told me, Majesty, from the days of Snow White herself."

Her Majesty nodded. "Queen Grimhilde ordered her huntsman to kill the princess, but instead he spared her life, warning her of the plot against her and sending her into exile in the forest, while temporarily deceiving Grimhilde with the heart of a pig. Without him, without his loyal service, the line of Wenceslas would have ended, and Austria and Bohemia would never have been united. He saved her life by sending her into the forest, and so, when you saved my son by bringing him out of the forest… it was as though I could see destiny at work. And see how my faith has been rewarded in the days that followed. And now I must ask you to serve me, and my son, again in Armorique."

"I am at your service, Majesty, and at His Majesty's service too," Amelie declared. "Whatever need you have of me I will fulfil, you have my word before Almighty God himself."

"I know," Her Majesty said softly. "In all of this… Prince Adam is the face of my mission to Armorique, his birth compels it should be so, but you are the one I trust."

Amelie frowned slightly, "Avenant-"

"I trust him to assist you, to guard your back, to be your ally should you need one," Her Majesty replied. "But you are the one I trust to be my eyes, my ears, my hand if need be. You are the one I trust to know my mind, to use your best judgement as to what I would wish and to what serves me and Maximillian best."

"I am honoured, Majesty," Amelie murmured. "But… whatever counsel you have in this I would welcome it."

"Of course," Her Majesty murmured. Now she turned away, walking to the window that looked out over the dark, wolf-infest forests that surrounded this castle. "I…" she let out a ragged breath, so deep it made the nearest candles flicker. "I am afraid, Amelie."

"You hide it well, Majesty, from the public."

Her Majesty chuckled. "Thank you," she said. "You are a good girl. A good… a good friend. There are times I would that-"

"Majesty," Amelie said. "This is the bitter watch of night speaking, and weariness besides, when did you last sleep?"

"What time have I to sleep, Amelie, with kingdoms to rule and a war to win?"

"How will you win the war or rule the realms with all your wits addled, Majesty?" asked Amelie. "Let me put you to bed, and keep watch over you until morning time, when you will regret these foolish fond words that so puff up my pride."

Again, Her Majesty chuckled. "Not yet," she said. "Not yet. We must discuss Armorique a little first. I… I am not opposed to a negotiated peace provided that it gives us all for which we went to war: Mary as Queen of Burgundy and Maximillian's betrothed. I do not require land from Aquitaine, though I would not refuse it if it were offered. Indemnities, guarantees… I am not averse to a victory won by diplomacy, but I will not yield Burgundy or its throne to Eleanor of Aquitaine, she would make too good use of it and threaten us, and should we ever got to war again the fortifications of Burgundy would prove a formidable obstacle. No, I will not have it. I am confident that in a congress I could win what I desired, but…"

Amelie waited for her to finish. "But, Majesty?"

"The world is changing," Her Majesty said. "There are those in the world who cut out the heart of the Empire, who would tear down God and Mother Church and put an encyclopedia in its place. Who would… we must stand firm against that change, we must defend our thrones, our traditions, our way of life from the assaults upon it that beat on from the west. They say that the monarchy of Armorique has become notably more liberal of late, whatever their desire for peace I cannot think that a liberal monarchy will look kindly upon us and our claims. If… this congress should be but the preparation for assembling a coalition to oppose us, then… that is my true fear.

"Be on guard against Prince Adam and his wife, I fear the lady of this castle is precisely the sort of woman who might be attracted by such liberal nonsense as consumes the Gauls. If they have turned on me-"

"They will scarcely live to regret it," Amelie growled.

She could not see Her Majesty's face, but it seemed to Amelie that Her Majesty raised her head, drawing in a deep breath; her shoulders seemed to move that way. "Does it trouble you, the things I ask of you?"

"I…" Amelie hesitated.

"You may speak freely," Her Majesty said.

"I… Majesty, there are times I would rather not have the blood on my hands," Amelie confessed. "But, if it is for the good of our sweet king, if it protects and serves him, and serves you who have shown me so much kindness… I will give myself to the Devil if that is required."

Her Majesty turned to face Amelie again. Her expression was grave, solemn; a little sad perhaps, but only a little.

"It gladdens me to hear it," she said. "If you enjoyed this too much… I am glad that you do not." She breathed in and out. "If King Louis of Armorique should die then his only son Eugene will be King, but Prince Eugene's heir is an infant girl in cradle, which means that there will be a regency, probably under Princess Cinderella, who has already been regent once. I… I doubt that Armorique will wish to go to war under such circumstances, regencies tend towards inaction, and the princess is reported to be a gentle soul, focused upon improving the condition of the people. That condition will hardly be improved by a war upon their borders."

Amelie blinked. "Majesty, are you-"

"Not necessarily," Her Majesty said quickly. "But it may come to that."

"I see," Amelie murmured. "If that is so… Majesty, then I will do it, for your safety, for His Majesty the King, and for the glory of the Reich."

"For the safety of the Reich," Her Majesty corrected her. "But I do not know for certain whether it will become necessary. You must watch, and listen, and judge for yourself the mood in Armorique, the mood amongst the court and the royal family, how they are disposed to us. Use Prince Adam, I do not trust him as I do you but he will be able to enter chambers that you cannot. In addition, once you arrive in Brest you should speak to a man named Klaus Schroder."

"A spy?"

"A money lender, a Frisian," Her Majesty said, "but he keep his ears open and he sends me messages concerning what he hears. There are many men such across Europe who do me such service. He will give you the lie of the land, and whatever financial assistance you may require, as well as endeavouring to assist you with everything else. I will give you a letter of introduction which you may give to him and to him alone. To gain admittance, tell him that you have come from Munich about the Viennese Widow's account."

If Armorique was future, Amelie thought as she rode into Brest, then it could keep it to itself.

They had arrived in Armorique's capital at last, having managed to get the rest of the way without managing to run into any more battles, even though they had had to travel through central Aquitaine to get here. But, if the Aquitainians were making a counterattack, then it hadn't reached where they were going.

Or perhaps, and this was just as likely if not more in Amelie's opinion, the Aquitainian's so-called counterattack had failed already, fizzling out in the face of the strength that the Empire could bring to bear. Those Aquitainian devils might have beaten Baden men when they took them by surprise but the boot would be on the other foot if they ran into Austrian or Bohemian troops, still more the Queen's Bavarians.

Yes, they'd learn the art of fighting from the Bavarian Army – and then die.

Such hopeful thoughts were to be preferred to the news of the war that they had obtained as they travelled through central Aquitaine and into Armorique, which news was so full of confusion as to be almost useless. There had been a time when you could get accurate news of the war from the papers, when battles won or lost were faithfully set down; Her Majesty was not the greatest enthusiast for a so-called free press – which was why the press in Bavaria and all the lands directly under Habsburg rule was censored so as to prevent the spread of unwholesome ideas – but she had allowed the accurate reporting of the course of the war, even if that included reporting on the times the Common Army had failed to get across the Loire in the teeth of Aquitainian opposition.

Well… river crossings were hard, everybody knew that.

But now, it seemed that the current state of the war had become so confusion that nobody knew anything for certain. General Marsan was advancing into Burgundy, Marsan was retreating fast towards Toulouse, Marsan was dead, the Aquitainians had been brought to battle and defeated. Bourdeaux was in sight, Bourdeaux was under siege, Bourdeaux had been evacuated, the Imperial forces had retreated from Bourdeaux. Flanders had dropped out of the war, Flanders had launched a counterattack. Everything was reported in the Armorican papers, everything was whispered in the camps of the Imperial regiments and brigades that hosted them at times upon the road; everything was reported even – or especially – when it was contradictory. It was impossible to tell who to believe.

No doubt the picture would become clear in time, clear enough for the soldiers of the Reich to know what was going on, clear enough for the press in Armorique to report the truth, clear enough for Amelie. But for now she was left to wonder, and to hope, and to pray for the success of the Imperial forces.

They had crossed the Armorican border in the region of Nantes, a flat, green, open country, where Armorican troops had been working to dig earthworks along the border, raising ramparts and mounting guns upon them.

"Why would they want to do all this?" Amelie wondered aloud. "I thought they wanted to bring peace?"

"Perhaps they're afraid of being attacked?" Belle had suggested from inside her coach, resting one hand upon the window as she looked out of it to where Amelie rode beside them.

"Afraid?" Amelie repeated. "What do they have to be afraid of? We have no quarrel with Armorique?"

"What quarrel did you have with Aquitaine?" asked Belle archly.

Amelie's lips twisted into a scowl. "That is… rank treason!" she snapped. "They're trying to steal Princess Mary's birthright, the throne of her…" she couldn't bring herself to say the throne of her father, given that she was the one who had killed Princess Mary's father. "The throne is hers, by all right, by precedent and by law." She was quite pleased she'd remembered that from Her Majesty's declaration of war.

"Yes, I too read the declaration of war issued by Queen Maria Theresa," Belle said dryly. "But it wouldn't surprise me if all they see here is an attack on one of their neighbours, and a war coming closer to their borders."

That was… not the worst point, but nevertheless Amelie could see why Her Majesty had wanted someone to keep an eye on Belle and her husband.

Their party was escorted through Armorique by a troop of the local cavalry, a wise precaution but one which didn't stop Amelie from getting a look at the land through which they travelled. Armorique was larger than Amelie had expected it to be, but also denser; it was not so large as Bavaria, and certainly not so large as Austria, but at the same time it was, yes, denser; the towns were larger, there woods were smaller, there seemed to be less open countryside than you would find out east. Which was not to say that there were no great cities in the Empire; Vienna was the heart of the world, Prague was imbued with ancient grandeur, Munich had much to offer, but in those lands there was also a great deal of open space, not only farmland but also wild and tangled woods were hogs and wolves and bears would lurk; untamed wilderness were man and nature lived side by side in uneasy truce, open plains of grassland, Hungarian steppe that seemed to stretch on and on forever, long stretches of road where you could walk or ride and find nothing, nowhere to rest, nowhere to lay your head, no company, no villages to chance upon, not even an isolate castle filled with dark secrets just… roads stretching on and on.

That was not for everyone, of course, and there were problems with robbers and the like upon those wild stretches of road, but at the same time… well, they might not be for everyone but they certainly suited Amelie. She knew how to survive in such places and as such she was at home in them.

Armorique had no such places, it was too dense. They had not built over absolutely everything, but it seemed difficult to go too far from a city or a town. Having crossed the border by Nantes they passed from there to Vannes, to Poher, and thence onward finally to Brest, the capital of Armorique, and besides those cities they had never seemed to be too far from a prosperous town, either.

It was very dense, and all sense of wildness had been driven from the land.

And Brest was the worst of all; the city was filled with factories, their rattle and their clamour filled the air, their smoke belched out of the enormous chimneys into the skies, and even in those parts of the city that seemed to be free of them – the parts that looked as if they might have been quite nice – you could not escape the sound, or the smell. There wasn't room to graze a cow! Amelie couldn't see how anyone could bear to live in a place like this – unless, possibly, you lived in that great palace at one end of the city.

Or unless you had nowhere else to go, like all the Aquitainian refugees camped out at the edge of the city boundaries. Amelie was not without sympathy for them, but she felt no guilt. It was not Her Majesty who had chosen to start this war, nor had Amelie's own murder of the King and Queen of Burgundy started the conflict. It was Aquitaine, and Queen Eleanor, who had chosen to go to war in order to take Burgundy for themselves and deny Queen Mary her rightful throne.

They had gone to war, and now they were paying the price of their rashness.

Prince Adam's man Lumiere had ridden on ahead to secure a place for the prince and Belle to stay while they were in Brest, for however long it took, and so their carriage bore them to a decent sized townhouse, the sort of place – as Amelie could judge, not that she was the best judge of such things – that a well-off noble family might have in Vienna or Prague, not a palatial residence, but somewhere with a good number of storeys, three in this case, and probably a modest ballroom, not that she'd checked inside. It looked like a decent enough part of town as well, if anywhere in this city could be called decent. It had a stables too, and so as Belle and Adam got out from their coach and entered into the red-brick townhouse, Amelie leapt from the saddle of her roan mare and turned to Avenant.

"Can you take care of the horses for me? I have somewhere I need to go?"

"Where?" Avenant asked. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"No, I'll be fine," Amelie assured him. "Take care of the horses, don't scare the prince's wife any more than you already have, and I'll be back soon."

And so, with those instructions given, Amelie set off into Brest. She had been given the address of Herr Schroder, her contact, and she had a map of the city that she had also been furbished with before she set off on this mission, and armed with that she attempted to navigate her way through the bustling city.

People watched her. Not just, she thought, because she was constantly looking at a map, or at street names, but also because of the way that she was dressed. Amelie was not armed, she had left all her guns and knives for Avenant to unpack with her luggage, but she was dressed a little strangely for this place, in her dark green riding dress with a skirt that she had torn up from the hem to her thighs so that she could move around in it more easily, in her knee-high boots and her riding britches, with her traveller's cloak upon her shoulders, yes, she supposed she did look a little bit of a sight. Certainly, as she watched those who were watching her, she could see the difference in how they were dressed; there were some who were better dressed than her, some who were worse, but nobody was quite dressed like her.

She looked different.

She would sound different too, if she opened her mouth, no doubt; a childhood in the Franche-Comte and an adulthood in Bavaria meant that whether she was speaking in French or German – and she could speak both, as well as having a smattering of Czech and Slovak acquired in Bohemia – she spoke with a mixture of French and German in her accent. Her Majesty was too kind to ever bring it up, but their graces the Archduchesses had remarked that she sounded like a whining dog that had just been kicked. God only knew what these folk from Armorique would think of her voice.

Thankfully she didn't need to ask for directions, but was able to make her way to the establishment of Herr Schroder, which had his name in black letters painted above the door. It did not look like any grand place, in fact it was a little narrow in frontage, with only a single – albeit large – window through which Amelie could see a half-dozen clerks in dark suits beavering away at desks, while a fire burned low in the grate.

The door to the right of the window was painted dark green. It opened to Amelie's touch as she mounted the two stone steps up from the street and went inside. A bell rang above the door.

There was no hallway, Amelie stepped through the door into an open space with dark wooden floorboards and wood panelling upon the walls, partly obscured by bookshelves filled with ledgers and accounts. A couple of model ships were the only decorate element that Amelie could see. There was a hatstand by the door, but it seemed to have been taken up completely by broadway style hats which Amelie guessed belong to the clerks.

Speaking of the clerks, as the bell rang above the door one of them put down his pen and got up from his desk to approach. He was a young man with dark curly hair, wearing a dark suit with a black kerchief tied around his collar. He clasped his hands together as he said, "Can I help you, mademoiselle?"

Amelie took off her riding gloves. "I should like to speak with Herr Schroder, will you tell him that I have come from Munich about the Viennese Widow's account?"

The young man frowned, and his brown eyes swept up and down Amelie, taking in her unusual dress. Nevertheless he murmured, "Yes, I'll tell him." He was still frowning, but he went away and bustled into the back, disappearing out of sight behind a door.

Someone sniggered.

Amelie ignored them, clasping her hands behind her back and standing very still.

A few seconds passed before the young clerk returned, moving with haste towards her. "Monsieur Schroder will see you at once," he said. "If you'll follow me?"

Amelie did follow, her boots half thumping, half squeaking upon the polished wooden floorboards, as she followed the clerk into an office in the back. This office, out of sight of customers coming in through the front door, had walls of white – what Amelie could see of them that was not obscured by enormous bookshelves – and a large, airy window that was presently shuttered up, leaving the room to be illuminated by the light from lamps.

The bookshelves held mostly books, as one might expect, but also white busts, like the old Greek and Roman busts that Her Majesty had bought and put on display in the Neuschwanstein: Augustus, who had created an empire; Trajan, who had been a great conqueror and raised the empire to the height of its power; Hadrian, who had consolidated and restored the work of his predecessors; and Marcus Aurelius, a great philosopher and thinker as well as a soldier who had defended the empire's borders against threats from all corners. Amelie hoped she'd remembered those names correctly.

She had had the temerity, when Her Majesty had shown her the busts, to ask Her Majesty which one she thought she was.

Her Majesty laughed. "That, my dear Amelie, is the question that everyone is thinking but no one has had the nerve to ask – until now."

Amelie bowed her head. "Majesty, I meant no-"

"Don't apologise, you should think well of yourself for your courage," Her Majesty said. "Let's see: I cannot be the creator, obviously, but am I Trajan, Hadrian or Marcus Aurelius? Am I the conqueror, the consolidator, or the defender?" She paused for a moment. "Time will tell, Amelie, time will tell. For my part… I would be satisfied to be judged as either of the three, provided I am not judged a failure."

These busts in Herr Schroder's office were not Roman or Greek, at least Amelie didn't think they were. One of them was of the Emperor, Her Majesty's father, so although she didn't recognise the others Amelie felt confident in saying they were in that style rather that being originals.

Herr Schroder himself sat behind a large desk. He was a somewhat portly man, with reddish hair that was thinning on top, but still allowed him a very large handlebar moustache that was almost extending out past the sides of his face. The gold chain of a watch stretched across his black waistcoat, while a pair of small spectacles sat perched upon his nose.

"As you requested, Monsieur," the clerk said, before retreating and shutting the officer door behind him.

Herr Schroder rested his hands upon the desk. "I am Klaus Schroder," he said, "and you are?"

"Amelie Saint-Clair," Amelie said, walking forwards. She reached into her tunic and produced the letter of introduction that Her Majesty had given to her. "For you, from-"

"From the Viennese Widow?" Herr Schroder asked.

"As you will, sir," Amelie murmured handing him the letter.

Herr Schroder took it in a meaty hand, breaking the seal and looking at the contents, his eyes passing swiftly over the letter. "I… am to give you all assistance which you may require," he murmured. "Although what assistance I can render you I don't know, I'm not a spy, I'm simply a man who hears things, and has contacts amongst the merchant ships passing through the harbour."

"I'm sure you'll be able to serve the Empire in some way," Amelie replied. "Apart from anything else… I might need money."

Herr Schroder held out his hands on either side of him. "My coffers are not unlimited, but what I have is at the disposal of the Reich."

Amelie nodded. "Thank you, sir. May I sit?"

"Of course."

Amelie grabbed the nearby chair, a rather plump chair with leather covering, and sat down upon it. She sank down a little more than she would have liked, but it was no uncomfortable place to rest, to be sure.

She clasped her hands together, resting her elbows upon the arms of the chair. "If I may, sir, what leads a Frisian-"

"I am a West Frisian," Herr Schroder corrected her.

"Forgive me," Amelie said. "Still, what brought you to the service of Her Majesty?"

"I am not only a West Frisian," Her Schroder informed her, "but also an Imperial patriot. I believe in the Empire as a bulwark of our peace and security. Saxony, Bavaria could survive in the absence of a Reich, perhaps, but Frisia, West Frisia, the Franche Comte? We would be devoured. There must be a lion to keep the cats in line so that we field mice can live in peace, no?"

"Indeed, sir," Amelie said.

"And besides, I am a godly man," he added. "And God has chosen the Habsburgs to rule over all Germans. Who am I to question the almighty?"

"I see why you have Her Majesty's trust," Amelie said. "Are they Godly folk here in Armorique? Quite frankly, sir, you can help me best at the moment with information. I want to understand how things sit here."

"Of course, of course," said Herr Schroder. "Are they godly? Some are, some are not, it is much as it is everywhere in the world save that the ungodly here are allowed to be open about it. There is a sentiment amongst the liberals that is hostile to the church."

"A sentiment? A dominant sentiment?" asked Amelie.

"I think not," Herr Schroder replied. "But too great to be ignored."

"And the liberals in general," Amelie went on, "are they dominant?"

Herr Schroder nodded. "At present, yes. They have formed the government since last year, the conservatives were thrown into disarray by free trade and the ending of the grain tariffs. Now they are better organized, but weakened. Their leader, whom they rejected, and his supporters have formed a new party, small but consisting of all men of talent and ability in the conservative faction – although as I understand they were always less conservative than those they led. Those that remain are, for the most part, dullards, country squires with no thoughts in their heads that were not put there by someone else."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Amelie replied. "I think Her Majesty would rather have a country gentleman who knows his land and his folk and loves what he knows over many a liberal fellow with a head full of ideas and notions and no roots, no home, nothing dearer to him those same ideas."

"This country would disagree, or at least its voters would," Herr Schroder said bluntly.

"Mmm," Amelie murmured. "Tell me about the royal family? Where do they stand?"

"Politically? With Sieur Robert Danjou and his band of exiles," Herr Schroder said. "He enjoyed the King's favour, and the princess was said to be fond of him also. However, the new Premier, Lord Roux, has placed his niece as a lady in waiting with the princess, and I hear nothing that speaks of any great displeasure that the king has with his ministers."

"What about the way the people feel about the monarchy?" asked Amelie. "Any revolutionaries, secret societies, that sort of thing?"

"Not that I am aware of, the monarchy is incredibly popular at present," Herr Schroder explained. "Prince Eugene is a war hero, his victories in the colonies were widely acclaimed, and Princess Cinderella… Princess Cinderella is both beloved and not."

Amelie's eyebrows rose. "I think you'd explain that a bit more."

Herr Schroder shrugged. "It seems that she does not naturally belong with either party, ideologically speaking, not even with Sieur Robert's new party. She supported Free Trade, but she is not a laissez faire capitalist, and many of those who supported her over free trade were appalled at her enthusiasm for factory reform. She has a mother's care for the people over whom the royal family rules, one might call her a paternalist, and yet she upset conservatives by the manner in which she expressed that paternalism."

"Is she a Catholic?"

"She attends Mass on Sunday, but I don't think she boasts of her religion."

Amelie thought about what she'd heard for a moment. "So what you're saying is that she has plenty of enemies and no allies?"

"On the contrary, she is very popular with the common people, who like her do not possess an ideology but know what is in their interests and what is not," Herr Schroder replied. "That popularity has weakened somewhat with the princess' support for the refugees from Aquitaine, who are not popular here in Armorique, they are distrusted and seen as freeloaders, but nevertheless she remains I would say the most popular figure in public life."

"With the common people," Amelie said. "Not with the court?"

"Even there…" Herr Schroder hesitated for a moment. "People may disagree with her upon this or that, but those who once sneered at her for her low station have come to respect her convictions, her passion. Or they have died, or else lost everything. Everyone who has stood against the princess has paid dearly for it. There is a lesson there."

"For who?"

"For you, perhaps, Mademoiselle Saint-Claire," Herr Schroder suggested. "Perhaps even for Her Majesty."

"Her Majesty's position is perfectly secure," Amelie said, "And cannot be threatened by any Gallic princess."

"And you, Mademoiselle?" asked Herr Schroder. "Is your position perfectly secure?"

"I am an instrument of Her Majesty's will," Amelie declared. "Life, death or station are of no consequence to me so long as I do good service." She paused. "So what you're saying is that those who do not love the princess at least respect her, and even if they don't respect her they're too scared to do anything about it."

"That is the long and short of it, yes."

"You didn't mention the king himself in all of this. The prince is a hero, the princess is beloved, what of the king himself?"

"An old man," said Herr Schroder. "He was ill recently, about a year ago."

"Ill?"

"I cannot say more, the palace kept it very hushed up, nothing but rumours," said Herr Schroder. "He took a mistress, he was going to marry her, he moved her into the palace and then… she disappeared."

"Dead?"

"Who can say?" asked Herr Schroder. "Nobody cared much to find out."

"Why not?"

"Because amongst the rumours it was suggested that the princess did not care for her, and the princess, as we have established, is beloved," Herr Schroder said. "But the King was ill for a little while after, and now… King Louis was never the most popular monarch, his people tolerated him rather than adored him. His Queen was better loved, but she has been dead these many years past. This congress is an attempt to secure a legacy for himself, I think. One last attempt to write his name in the history books."

"Then you think that they are genuine in their desire for peace."

"I do not think they want war," Herr Schroder replied. "Nobody argues for it, nobody clamours for it, not amongst the people, in the papers… when the war first broke out, when it seemed that Aquitaine might win the war-"

"Aquitaine was never going to win the war," Amelie said.

"There were a few who thought that Armorique should join with Aquitaine for a share of the spoils," Herr Schroder went on, "but now that Aquitaine seems certain to lose the war people's main fear is that the Empire will turn its attention on Armorique next. King Louis has won belated plaudits for a strategy of neutrality that now looks prescient, and if this congress delivers peace in Europe then he will be revered as a great statesman, perhaps the greatest. Armorique is earnest in its desire to bring the war to an end, I think."

But on what terms? Amelie thought. "I see," she said, getting to her feet. "Thank you, sir. I will almost certainly call on you again, but for now, good day."

"Good day, Mademoiselle Saint-Clair, and good luck to you," Herr Schroder. "May God protect Her Majesty."

"He has up until now, sir," Amelie replied. "And if he doesn't, then I'll do it myself."

She left the room, closing the door behind her, and walked out through the main office, ignoring the clerks scribbling away at their desks.

She left the moneylenders, to see that while she had been inside a carriage had pulled up outside: a dark carriage, with the curtains drawn and no markings to show who the coach belonged to.

A large, muscular man lounged on the railings at the side of the road to her left. He straightened up as Amelie stepped down onto the street.

I wish I hadn't left all of my knives behind, Amelie thought, as she turned away.

Another man barred her way, stepping deliberately in front of her.

"Our mistress would like a word with you," he said, gesturing with his head at the carriage parked on the side of the road.

A word? Is that all? Amelie had doubts about that, once she was in the coach than anything could be done to her, but at the same time, unarmed as she was, she didn't have much to lose by doing as they asked.

More worrying to her was how this mistress, whoever she was, knew who she was to want to speak to her.

There was only one way to find out.

Silently, Amelie opened the carriage door and climbed inside. One of the two men from on the street got in after her, there were already another two in there, one on each side of the two rows of seating the lined the front and back of the coach.

Seated in the centre of one of the two rows, looking at Amelie, was a woman a little younger than Her Majesty, perhaps the age of one of the two Archduchesses, perhaps a bit older, with black hair falling in ringlets to frame her face. Her features were mild, with a button nose and soft cheekbones, but her eyes… her eyes were a vivid green, like the scales of a snake.

She wore a dark blue dress with a high collar and long sleeves, and little white gloves on her hands. Upon her lap sat a pistol.

She gestured at the seat opposite her. "Sit down, please."

Amelie did as she was bidden, sitting down opposite this lady, whoever she was, sandwiched between her flunkies. They also had pistols trained on her.

"Do you know who I am?" the lady asked.

"No, my lady," Amelie said.

"I am Princess Frederica Eugene de la Fontaine of Normandie," Princess Frederica said. "And while you may not know who I am I know exactly who you are, Amelie Saint-Claire, Royal Huntress of Bavaria, Queen Maria Theresa's loyal hunting dog." She smiled. "But in Armorique the dog holds the leash, it seems."

Amelie bowed her head. "Your Highness, you have me mistaken, I am but a humble-"

"Humble, perhaps," Frederica said. "But do not try to persuade me that I am mistaken. I know who you are. I know that Monsieur Schroder in there passes messages to the Imperial court. And I know that it was you who killed King Charles of Burgundy and his wife." She cocked the pistol in her lap.

"Your highness will wear out the spring doing that," Amelie pointed out.

Princess Frederica pointed the pistol at Amelie. "Then perhaps I should get some use from it by blowing your brains out here and now."

"I think if your highness meant to kill me then you would have done it already," Amelie said. "Instead you wanted to talk."

"I wanted to warn you," Princess Frederica said. "Burgundy is not my concern. I had no love for Charles, he was no kin of mine, I do not care what your mistress does with Princess Mary. But Armorique is my concern, I have love for… for the royal family here. And your presence… nothing that passes in this city is unknown to me. I knew when you were coming, I knew when you arrived, I knew who you would meet with and if any harm comes to the king, the prince, or god help you the princess, then not only will I see you skinned alive, but my vengeance will reach all the way into the Neuschwanstein, never think that it cannot."

"You wouldn't dare," Amelie snapped.

"I would dare more than you dream," Princess Frederica said. She lowered her pistol. "But I would rather that such unpleasantness did not become necessary. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to hurt your king. Do you want to hurt my friends?"

"No," Amelie said. "I only wish to serve Her Majesty."

"Then sit on your hands and let a congress gather to bring peace," Princess Frederica instructed her. "Their desire for peace is earnest here, and it will not disadvantage Maria Theresa, I guarantee it. Armorique can be trusted to deal fairly. So allow them to deal fairly. I do not want a quarrel with your mistress, I do not want blood on my hands, but no harm will come to His Majesty or to Their Highnesses, your hunting days are over. Do I make myself clear?"