"Annette, darling, come over here! You simply must hear Henri's story about that vile little man who claims to lead those dreadful peasants in Charouse."
Annette du Surlign winced slightly at the Comtesse du Bascone's shrill voice. She glanced up at her husband and rolled her eyes, "Be patient, my love. The ball can't last much past midnight - only a few more hours for you to fake amusement at these anecdotes."
Stefan smiled at his wife and placed her hand on his arm, "What a terrible thing to say! As a dutiful and honourable Musketeer, it is a delight for me to spend time listening to the informed opinions of our noble families."
"Liar," accused Annette fondly. She composed her face into a mask of polite interest as Stefan guided her to the Comtesse and her short, balding husband. In truth it was Annette who had less patience for the petty gossip-mongering of these social occasions. Her joy was in the more important aspects of court politics - reviewing matters of state, negotiating treaties or establishing new agreements.
Still it was a privilege to attend balls such as this. Annette loved dressing up in long, flowing gowns and she always felt immense pride when she stood beside Stefan in his full formal Musketeer uniform. This was the first official affair to be held by the exiled Montaigne nobility since their arrival in Wische. Perhaps less extravagant than prior affairs in l'Empereur's court, but it was certainly much more lavish than anything their Eisen hosts had seen in recent years.
The young courtier and her Musketeer husband endured three of the Comte du Bascone's increasingly lewd tales before a polite cough came to their rescue. A chamberlain dressed in a starched black tunic gave a short bow, "My apologies for the interruption, but I must convey a message to Madame de Fer. My lady, you and your husband are requested to await the pleasure of her royal highness in the summer room."
Annette nodded her relieved acknowledgement. She and Stefan bowed their excuses to the Comte and Comtesse and made their way to the small ante-chamber outside the ballroom. They passed several of Stefan's fellow Musketeers who were standing as ceremonial guards in the long corridor of polished wooden panels. The summer room was a small chamber with a few simple chairs and a beautifully carved reading table. Rich velvet curtains were drawn across the tall windows which allowed light to stream in during the day. The room was empty, but a small oil lamp was already burning when Stefan and Annette entered.
Stefan paced nervously, "A private meeting with her highness. Do you know what this is about?"
Annette shook her head, but remained composed, "Stop that - you'll wear out the carpets."
Both stopped and looked up as a concealed door was pushed open at the back of the room. A servant emerged carrying a candle. He was quickly followed by the current regents of the exiled Montaigne nobles - l'Empereur's daughter, Anne du Montaigne, and her husband, Jean-Marie Rois et Reines, former captain of the Musketeers.
Annette gave a deep curtsy and Stefan fell respectfully to one knee, "Your highness."
Anne smiled and gave an elegant gesture with her hand, "Please, rise. Annette, sit with me. There is a matter we must discuss."
The two ladies arranged their volumous skirts and gracefully balanced on the small chairs positioned across the table. The husbands took places standing slightly behind their wives' shoulders.
"I have always believed," began Anne, "That a government is judged by two aspects - rulership of its own lands and relationships with other courts. The current troubles at home prevent me from ruling our people, but I can continue to work with our partners abroad.
"Eisenfurst von Wische has been most gracious in accommodating us in his lands. However Eisen is a divided land. It would be short-sighted to rely on a single ally in such circumstances. Annette, I require you to establish relationships among the other Iron Princes."
L'Empereur's daughter turned to her husband who stepped forward to continue the briefing, "Eisenfurst Fauner Posen is a most formidable woman. She commands the largest army of any nation. I fear that we will need such strength to have any hope of restoring the crown." He paused, "Our enemies are also seeking allies to confirm their rule. It is vital that they do not sway Posen before us."
Annette had listened intently and now nodded, "I understand the situation, your highness. I consider it the greatest honour to be permitted to speak on your behalf. I promise not to disappoint."
Rois et Reines fixed his gaze on Stefan, "You will lead Musketeers assigned to protect our diplomats. There are many forces who will oppose your mission. Do not be surprised if your sword is required before this matter is done."
An elegant blue carriage passed through the cramped narrow streets at the edge of Freiburg. Polished golden buckles shone in the harnesses of the two well-groomed horses who pulled the carriage. A second pair of horses rode along side, bearing riders dressed in the tabards and feathered hats of Musketeers. In the carriage, a gentle female hand could be glimpsed drawing aside a small lace curtain above the painted sun emblem of the Montaigne court.
The carriage´s occupant peered out of her small window and marvelled at the multitude of people and buildings they drove by. Busy merchants, begging street urchins, gossiping nobles and barking dogs all occupied the same streets. Annette slid closer to the carriage door and called out to Stefan as he rode near, "Have you ever seen such activity? This city must truly be the largest in the world."
The young Musketeer nodded in agreement and wrinkled his nose, "It certainly smells like it could be." He smiled at his wife´s laughter. Charouse would be the only Montaigne city that was at all comparable in size, but Freiburg´s architects saw no need to waste valuable real estate on sprawling palaces, wide avenues or spacious parks. The sheer chaotic bustle of the city could be overwhelming to first time visitors. The diplomats should not be staying long. This would be their last stop before entering the boundaries of Fauner Posen's land.
The carriage lurched to an unexpected halt as its driver pulled back on the reins and called to his horses. Stefan looked up when his fellow Musketeer, Sylvia Etalon du Toille, rode back with news. A dark mane of hair tumbled from below Sylvia´s plumed-hat. Leather riding boots and a wide, leather sword belt emphasised her attractive curves. There were some who considered the life of a Musketeer as unsuitable for a woman. Stefan had no such qualms. There weren´t many who could best Sylvia in a duel. Anything she might lack in size or strength was made up for in abundance by her speed and grace with a blade. None could doubt her courage in the face of danger or the zeal with which she pursued her duties.
"A group of the city´s Iron Guards have stopped us,’ she announced, “They ask to know our names and purpose."
Annette gave a nod of consent to the female guard, "Send them down, Sylvia. I´ll talk to them."
Four men marched past the two mounted riders and stopped beside the carriage door. Their black uniforms were nowhere near as immaculately maintained as those of the Musketeers and the men themselves had the bearing of little more than an armed rabble. Their leader peered into the carriage and shouted out in coarse Eisen, "Who are you and what are you doing in Freiburg?"
Annette raised a delicate eyebrow at the brusque questions, but smiled politely as she answered, "My name is Annette du Surlign. I am here as a representative of her royal highness Anne du Montaigne, heir to the late Empereur Leon XIV. At her highness´ request I am travelling to open diplomatic relations with Eisenfurst Fauner Posen of the konigreich of Posen."
The man gave an unimpressed sniff and glanced furtively at the Musketeers before looking back at Annette, "Do you have papers confirming these credentials?"
Annette gestured to her maidservant, Kitty, who sat opposite her. She rummaged through a leather satchel and produced a thick wallet bearing the royal seal. Annette took the documents and passed them to the guard. The man licked his lips as he examined the wallet and its impressive seal. He eyed his companions and gave a slight sign.
"Thank-you," he grinned, "These are just what we wanted." The guards abruptly turned and charged back down the street - taking the diplomatic papers with them.
"What was ... ?" the bewildered Montaigne party stared in astonishment before Sylvia came to her senses and shouted to Stefan, "Get after them! We need those documents."
With a swift kick of their heels the Musketeers took off in pursuit. The four false guards had a head start and were trying to use the busy street to mask their escape - dodging between the crowds and twisting through narrow gaps. The Musketeers urged their horses forward and surged after their prey with a yell. One look at the magnificent mounts and determined riders was enough to make most people scramble aside. The crowds parted, leaving a clear path for Stefan and Sylvia.
Realising the danger, the thieves split up - two ducking down a tight side street and two running towards an even busier thoroughfare. It was unclear which carried the precious diplomatic pouch. Stefan pointed for Sylvia to follow the pair straight ahead then tugged sharply on his reins. His horse snorted in anger, but turned with a clatter of sparking hooves and followed down the side street.
Wind whipped Stefan´s cloak as he charged onwards, kicking up a cloud of dust. He was gaining ground all the time, but it looked like the chase might still end in disaster. A merchant´s cart was blocking the end of the street. His quarry easily ducked underneath and turned with laughing sneers, thinking they had reached freedom. Stefan kicked again and put his trust in his mount. The horse thundered towards the cart then, with perfect timing, tensed the great muscles of its flanks and leapt through the air. A few pieces of fruit were scattered, but horse and rider safely cleared the obstacle.
The two thieves panicked and fled in opposite directions. Picking one at random, Stefan rode after him. The Musketeer leaned across his saddle, gripping tightly to the horse´s neck. When the distance was close enough he jumped, catching his foe around the shoulders and sending them both rolling in the muddy street.
The exhilarating chase had sent adrenalin pumping through Stefan´s veins. He was quickly on his feet, stopping to retrieve his hat before striding across to the fallen thief with a triumphant smile. The Eisen crook scrambled to his own feet somewhat unsteadily. He drew a knife and clumsily slashed at Stefan.
"Oh, please," lamented the swordsman, "At least have the sense to know when you are beaten." He drew his rapier and gracefully circled his off-balance opponent.
The thief gave another lunge, grunting in pain when the young Musketeer easily stepped to the side and stabbed the point of his sword into his attacker´s shoulder. Stefan slid the edge of his blade down the knife and gave a sharp twist, pulling the weapon free and sending it flying into the gutter.
Raising the tip of his rapier to the bleeding man´s throat, Stefan gave another bright smile, "Now, perhaps we can have a civilised discussion about the return of our property?"
The defeated man held his empty arms wide and grinned defiantly, "Sorry, can't help you. You've caught the wrong man."
Stefan cursed. Hopefully Sylvia would have better luck with her targets.
Sylvia was feeling quiet pleased with herself. The female Musketeer stood confidently before the two thieves, brandishing her ornately-hilted rapier in one hand and a shorter-bladed main gauche in the other. Her opponents were trapped with their backs to a wall and both were panting heavily.
It had been quite a chase. Her horse had easily eliminated their head start, before the villains darted into a tavern, forcing Sylvia to dismount. Drinks had been spilled and tables overthrown as pursued and pursuer barged through the dimly-lit drinking establishment. The crooks had burst through a door in the backroom and emerged in a less busy residential street. Sylvia remained close behind. They had covered several more blocks, turning left and right into increasingly run down districts, until finally coming to a halt at this dead end.
Sylvia took a pace forward. The stolen wallet, with its distinctive seal, was tucked in the left-most man's belt. She gestured with her sword, "Give up, mes amis. Hand over those documents."
The brute placed a hand on the wallet and shook his head, "Never. You forget that we have you outnumbered."
The Musketeer gave a merry laugh, "The two of you against one of me? I think the advantage is mine."
"Guess again."
Before she could react to the deep voice at her shoulder, a thick blanket was thrown over Sylvia's head. The heavy material fell around her body, tangling with her blades.
"Get those weapons."
Strong hands gripped her wrists and grappled for the deadly steel. The main gauche was quickly taken, but Sylvia tightened her hold on the rapier. She kicked wildly at her opponents, but the blanket left her blind and hampered her movements. A booted foot swept one leg from beneath her. She fell heavily onto her knee as her sword arm was hoisted higher. Rough hands, at last, prised her fingers from the hilt, forcing a cry from her throat and the sword from her grasp.
"The rope."
From the number of hands which had wrestled with her, Sylvia guessed that she was now faced with four enemies. The short commands were barked from the deep-voiced stranger who had attacked from behind.
A rope was thrown around the blanket, pinning the girl's arms to her body. She was forced fully onto her knees and the rope wrapped in increasingly tight coils. Several passes were made at the stomach before moving up her body, bindings applied both below and above her breasts. Her fists clenched and flexed against the bonds, but she couldn't bring her hands above their position by her waist.
"Unhand me, you pigs. You will regret this, I ... ughh."
Sylvia's angry cries were cut short when more rope was drawn around her neck and pulled dangerously tight. The coils pressed into her throat and turned the blanket into a suffocatingly-tight hood. Thoughts of calling for help vanished as she discovered that simply breathing needed her full attention.
Muffled voices came through the thick material and the sound of her own blood pumping loudly in her ears, "Did you get the papers?"
"Yeah. What do we do with her?"
"Take her with us." A hard knee smashed into the bound prisoner's head. She slumped forward, hearing ominous final words before consciousness fled, "If Dertziger doesn't want her, I'm sure I can find an interested buyer on the docks."
Annette fumed, trying to control her mounting anger. “What do you mean you are unable to help?’ she demanded. “Surely something can be done to recover our documents?’
She stood at a wooden counter in the City Hall. An arrogant young clerk sat behind a metal grill, ignoring the courtier´s obvious displeasure. They had been forced to wait for two hours to get this far, and still seemed to be going nowhere.
“I´m sorry,’ the clerk said through an insincere smile, “But a great many crimes are reported each day. We can not drop everything to deal with your loss.’
“But this is a matter of international politics. We are representing Princess Anne du Montaigne.’
“So you say, but do you have papers to prove this claim?’
This was becoming insane. Annette was about to make a scathing retort when Stefan placed a restraining hand on her shoulder and stepped to the grill, “A Musketeer is missing. This is not merely a theft. A woman´s life could be in danger.’
The clerk scratched the side of his nose. He gazed into the distance as if contemplating a difficult decision, “Perhaps you could find some way to convince me to increase the priority of this case ...’ He left the thought hanging.
Annette frowned in suspicion, “What do you mean?’
“He means offer him a bribe.’ The stern answer came from a broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark uniform. “Don´t you, Herr Becker?’
“Merely a token fee to cover administration costs, Corporal Wilhelm.’
Stefan turned to the man in uniform, “Corporal? Are you in the City Guard?’
The man nodded, “I am. Tell me of your problem.’ When Annette had finished explaining about the theft of their diplomatic papers and Sylvia´s disappearance, he pursed his lips, “You say only papers were taken - no attempt was made to demand money or jewels? In that case, I may know where to begin an investigation.’
The smothering blanket had been removed by the time Sylvia came to her senses. This one small mercy was vastly outweighed by a world of new torments. She found herself lying on her side on a hard floor and very securely bound. Her head throbbed horribly from the vicious blow she had received and a feeling of nausea had settled in her stomach. For several minutes she simply lay still and waited for her wits to clear, wondering how long she had been held.
The blanket had been removed, but her new bondage was much more intense. She shuffled slightly, flexing her limbs to test the extent of her bonds. Where to start? Her wrists had been bound behind her back. It felt like some half dozen turns of rope had been used to secure her hands palm to palm. From the tightness of the ropes and her limited ability to twist her wrists, she guessed that the ropes had been cinched between her hands. Further rope seemed to have been threaded around and through her wrist bonds and then tied in a tight loop which bit into her stomach. Her wrists were effectively locked in the small of her back.
Her arms had been further restrained. Several turns of rope had been wrapped above her elbows. Long hours of fencing practise had left the Musketeer with supple limbs. Her captors had taken advantage of this to draw her elbows together until they almost touched. An elaborate harness of rope had been wound around her shoulders, across her chest and along the back of her neck. The whole arrangement was attached to the elbow ties, ensuring that none of the ropes could slip loose. Sylvia couldn't help noticing how the position accented her shapely figure, as well as preventing her movement.
Bands of rope had been tied tightly around her legs at ankles, knees and thighs. How much rope did these men have, she wondered. Enough to ensure that each of these ties was securely cinched, at least. A last piece of rope, a very short piece apparently, was tied from the loops at her ankles to the loops at her wrists. This final tie was so strict that Sylvia's fingers brushed against the soles of her feet, her arched back thrusting her chest even further forward.
A gag completed the ensemble. What felt like a thin band of cotton fabric was pulled deep between her lips and was tied very securely. The cloth cut into her cheeks, painfully distorting the girl's mouth into a thin grimace. Coherent speech would not be an option.
Satisfied that escape was not a short-term prospect, Sylvia turned her attention to her surroundings. She had been laid on her side in one corner of the room. The floor beneath her was bare wooden boards and covered in dust. The parts of the wall she could see were devoid of decoration with pieces of plaster crumbled away. Not many clues to her location so far.
She twisted her head around and discovered that the tight harness across her neck and shoulders made even this simple task a chore. Grunting with effort, she rolled herself onto her bound arms and then onto her other side, now facing into the room. The brief moment when her weight pushed down on her bound arms was excruciating. The movement caused every one of her ropes to constrict and a wave of fresh nausea set her head spinning. She lay still again, gasping past the tight gag while she waited for the sickening sensation to pass.
Wooden boxes were piled in the opposite corner. They were closed and unmarked. The door to the room was on the left wall. It was lying slightly open. With their captive so helplessly tied, there was little need for added security. A single window was set in the right wall. It's grubby panes admitted only the faintest of light and, from her current position, gave Sylvia no view of what lay outside.
The most interesting item was the heavy oak table across the room. By stretching her neck, the Musketeer could see objects set neatly on its surface. There were stacks of paper in a variety of sizes and textures. Small stubs of wax lay beside them, in colours ranging from reds to yellows to blues. Feather quills sat on top of the paper, cut to different lengths and degrees of sharpness. Sylvia considered the items. This may make sense of the robbery. If these, as she suspected, were the tools of a forger, then genuine documents would be of great value as a reference for his illegal craft.
The sound of a door opening and several voices drifted up from somewhere below. A cellar? No, more likely Sylvia was being held in an upstairs room. A female voice was speaking. The words and accent were Eisen, the tone light and carefree. Sylvia strained to listen.
"If you are satisfied with the documents, then payment is complete. You must congratulate your colleagues for me. I am grateful for their service."
"I still don't see what you have gained from this." This voice was male. "You tell us about the carriage, pay us to steal the papers and then let us keep them?"
"My reward is knowing that their owners have been delayed. You need not concern yourself with the details."
"What about the girl?" Sylvia recognised the deep voice from her attack.
There was a pause before the woman answered, "Keep her or dispose of her as you deem best. Her life means nothing to me."
Another door opened onto the street outside and faint female footsteps faded. The door was shut and heavy bolts fastened. Booted feet echoed as the two men returned to whatever room they occupied. Keep her or dispose of her. Sylvia shuddered and tugged at her bonds. She did not like the sound of either fate.
Two men crouched in shadows at the end of a particularly disreputable street in the slums of Freiburg. Wilhelm gestured to a house built beside a dark alley and spoke to Stefan, "That should be the place. Hans Dertziger's storehouse, workshop and hideout. If our information is reliable."
The City Guard and Musketeer had spent the best part of the day chasing down leads. Wilhelm had been quick to suspect the involvement of a forgery ring - he had been aware of a market in forged identities for some time. Discovering who was behind the gang and locating his hideout had been the tricky part.
Stefan had been impressed with the Corporal's thorough knowledge of the underbelly of his city. Discrete questions in smoky rooms, a little intimidation in back alleys and one memorable bar fight had led them here.
"What are we waiting for" he asked, "Let's get in there."
"Wait." Wilhelm pulled Stefan back with a frown, "It's not that simple. We have no proof that Dertziger has done wrong. He is a free man and that is private property. I can't just demand entrance and expect him to co-operate."
"Can't you get some sort of warrant?"
The Guard gave a doleful look, "You saw how the City Hall works. Unfortunately not all our officials share my respect for the law."
Stefan stared across the street in frustration then turned thoughtfully to his companion, "If the door was opened voluntarily from inside, then you could enter?" Wilhelm nodded. "And it wouldn't matter who opened it?" This time Wilhelm nodded more slowly. Stefan gave one of his bright smiles, "Then wait here and give me five minutes."
Sylvia lay in an exhausted heap. Sweat covered her face and she was coated in a grimy layer of dust from the floor. Her dark hair was plastered to one cheek, strands falling into her parted lips past the cloth gag. Her clothes were creased untidily, but the distressed captive was still bound just as thoroughly as she had been a few hours ago.
She breathed heavily around her gag, utterly dejected. Her whole body ached. The pull on her shoulders from her bound elbows was a constant burn, highlighted by a sharper pain where the rope harness cut into her flesh. Her legs had cramped after being bent in their unnatural position for so long, the muscles in her thighs spasmed now and then, but relief was impossible. The tension in her arched back was becoming unbearable and her unfortunate breasts had been squashed many times as she thrashed around the room. She still wore her high knee boots and leather gauntlets. They had offered some protection from the ropes at first, but her struggles had caused the bonds to tighten to such an extent that her hands and feet were now quite numb and cold.
The poor girl groaned. She had tried everything she could to escape, with a complete lack of success. She had begun patiently, exploring the ropes with her fingers, searching for knots or loose ends. That had been a waste of time. Her fingers lacked the required sensitivity through the leather gloves and she suspected that any important knots had been placed safely out of reach anyway.
Next she had tried squirming within the ropes. Maybe she could slip a hand out or push the ropes to a less tight position. Another waste of time, and a painful one at that. Whichever way she moved just caused one rope or another to pull tight. Twisting her wrists pulled the stomach rope deeper. Tugging with her feet caused the short connecting rope to haul on her wrists. Wriggling against the harness just seemed to tighten everything.
In the end she had desperately thrown herself against the ropes, somehow hoping she could burst their many coils. She had heaved and kicked with all her might. Panic rose when it became obvious that she was helpless. That panic had spurred the captive damsel to even greater exertions, which in turn exaggerated her fear, an ever increasing circle of mental torture. Her struggles had become so strenuous that twice she had almost fainted, forced to lie still until her breathing regulated, her heartbeat steadied and the dizzying nausea faded.
There had been no sign of the men holding her prisoner. She had frozen at every noise from downstairs. Once she had even heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, but nobody had appeared in the room where she lay. The girl wasn't sure if she should be relieved to avoid their attentions, or worried at their lack of concern for her condition. She realised that the longer time went on, the closer she got to whatever fate lay in store. Keep her or dispose of her. She shivered again at that callous dismissal of her future.
A faint scratching sounded at the window. The bound girl wormed her way round to look for its source. She could see a dim silhouette through the dirty glass, the outline of head and shoulders - and of a plumed hat. A face was pressed to the window, peering intently within.
"Effn? Effn, elg! Ein in eer!" Sylvia called frantically to her fellow Musketeer, knowing her gagged words were nonsense and unsure he could even hear her.
A thin blade was wedged below the window frame. There was no lock, but the window probably hadn't been opened in years. The blade was levered up and down and finally, with a loud crack, prised the frame open a few inches.
"Urry!" she urged. She could hear movement on the stairs.
Stefan forced the window wider and climbed into the room, eyes widening when he saw Sylvia's bound body. He moved to free her, but she shook her head and nodded urgently towards the door.
A man stepped into the doorway. A scarred ruffian with muscles bulging beneath a leather work shirt. Stefan drew his rapier and crossed the room in a flash. The hilt of his sword was slammed into his opponent's face. The brute crumpled.
More sounds were coming from below. Loud banging could be heard at the front door, "This is Corporal Vasya Wilhelm of the City Guard. Open by the Laws of Freiburg."
Stefan knelt by Sylvia. He pulled the gag from her mouth, leaving it to hang at her throat, and sliced through the rope tied from wrists to ankles, "Are you all right?" She nodded, gasping in relief at the ability to stretch her legs. Stefan gave a quick scan of her condition, satisfying himself that she was in no immediate harm. "I'll be back in a minute," he promised, "Hang on a bit longer, mon amie."
Sylvia lay back and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. Downstairs steel clashed on steel and Eisen voices cried out, first in anger and then in pain. She knew her comrade-in-arms would easily deal with the thugs below, but she wished he would hurry up about it. The sooner they recovered Annette's papers and got out of this city, the better as far as she was concerned. Freiburg would not be top of the list of places that Sylvia planned to visit again.
Emma von Witte absent-mindedly tapped the edge of her elegant fan against her chest and waited quietly. She idlely glanced through the letters scattered on the desk before her and was mildly disappointed to find only mundane correspondence. Of course she wouldn´t really expect a man such as her current employer to leave important documents unattended.
Footsteps alerted her to the return of said employer. Arnaud du Charouse was not overly tall, not remarkably handsome and not the most fashionably dressed man. In fact, by simple appearances, there was little to distinguish the soft spoken lawyer. Nonetheless, he was currently the most powerful man in Montaigne. His words had sparked a bloody revolution against the debauched nobility of that land and in the chaos that followed he had insinuated himself into the very highest levels of government. Emma smiled at remembrance of the considerable sums of money this powerful man was paying her from that government´s coffers.
Arnaud took a seat behind his desk. His gaze took in the beautiful fraulein and the many papers spread between them. Discretely he began to tidy the letters and place them out of sight. “I trust that you haven´t been kept waiting long?’ he remarked.
“Not quite long enough, monsieur,’ replied Emma, passing across one of the letters with a mischievous smile. He would not have hired her in the first place if she was the sort of person who respected the privacy of others´ affairs.
Ignoring the playful comment, Arnaud immediately turned his attention to business, “So what do you make of our opponents? They coped well enough with your opening gambit.’
Emma gave a dismissive shrug, “The girl seems young and inexperienced. I thought that she would burst into tears at the City Hall. Are you certain that she shares your goals with Fauner Posen?’
“That is the sort of information that I am paying you to discover. How goes your work?’
“Quite well. I have gained the trust of a Baron travelling to Posen on his own business. There should be no need for anyone to see you and I together. By the way, you never mentioned that the courtier and Musketeer were married.’
Arnaud looked up sharply, “Does that pose a problem?’
“Oh, no,’ Emma laughed, “It just makes the game much more fun.’
