The two Montaigne Musketeers walked across the courtyard of the Posenstadt fortress, keeping their heads close together and speaking in lowered voices. The previous evening's abduction of Emma von Witte and Kitty had left them nervous and suspicious of enemies behind every corner. They had spent much of the night in council with Annette. It was clear that some faction among their Eisen hosts was plotting trouble and the Musketeers meant to find answers.
"This might not be such a good idea," Stefan was saying. "Being falsely accused of spying once was bad enough, we don't want to give reason for further allegations."
"If we're careful then things will be fine," reassured Sylvia. "Until we know the extent of this plot we have to act alone. Just keep the captain talking and I'll do the rest."
Stefan nodded, "Be quick about it. I'm not sure how long I can keep the man distracted."
The Musketeers parted. Sylvia moved to loiter near the castle wall while Stefan cheerfully strode towards the gate captain on duty at his podium behind the great portcullis. From her half-hidden location, Sylvia watched her colleague give his charming smile and engage the officer in conversation. She couldn't hear their words, but Stefan had obviously gained the man's full attention. When the Musketeer gestured to the cannons lining the walls and drifted towards them, the captain followed, leaving the podium unattended.
Sylvia was swift to react. She scampered up to the podium, being careful to keep to the captain's back, safely out of his line of sight. A massive logbook sat open on the stand, pages of precise handwriting noted every rotation of guards along the walls and details of every party entering or leaving when the portcullis was raised. Sylvia flicked back a few pages and scanned down the lines of text, looking for evidence to prove a suspicion. There, an entry near the bottom of one page, "Ninth hour, am; 1st Co, Cpt Drozden; 48 men returned from eastern swamps"; and another on the following page, "Noon; 1st Co, Cpt Drozden; 36 men bound for south-west farmland".
A quick glance confirmed that the gate captain and Stefan were still chatting near the cannon. Sylvia leafed through earlier log entries. The same pattern was found every few pages. For the past fortnight it looked as though more of Captain Drozden's men had entered the castle than were subsequently redeployed on patrols. By now he must have a force of about fifty men secreted somewhere in the castle.
The female Musketeer nodded across to Stefan, being sure to leave the log open at today's entries before she slipped away. Drozden had denied keeping men garrisoned in the castle. Where could he be keeping them without raising questions from the other captains? More importantly, what was he planning to do with this private army? Sylvia pursed her lips, it was time to keep a careful eye on the wily captain.
Across the city, Captain Drozden was entering a derelict house. The building was in a poor state of repair and had lain unoccupied for months. Today it had a few new occupants, an armed guard stationed inside the front door and two young women being held prisoner upstairs. Drozden strode past the guard, ignoring his salute, and bounded up the rickety staircase, his heavy broadsword clanking at his side. He turned left and stepped into a darkened room at the top of the stairs. He was immediately greeted by a stream of indistinct abuse.
“Mmmph! Mnn mm mmph!’
The muffled demands came from the woman seated in the high-backed chair to his left. ‘Seated in´ was perhaps the wrong phrase. ‘Securely bound to´ would be more accurate. Emma von Witte´s arms had been drawn behind the wooden back of the chair. They were tied together at the wrists and lashed to the chair´s back rung. Her ankles were similarly bound with rope over her high black boots and then tied to one of the front chair legs. Turns of rope above the knees further restrained the fraulein´s movements. A final two ties passed around her stomach, chest and the back of the chair, ensuring that the struggling female was going nowhere.
A wide band of cloth covered the girl´s lower face, completely obscuring her pale features from below the nose to the bottom of her chin. The cloth was tied tightly and it could be seen that her cheeks bulged from a handkerchief stuffed inside her mouth to complete the gag. Her heavy cloak had been removed and piled on the floor. The top of the simple dress she wore was creased by the tight ropes around her body and had slipped from one shoulder in her unsuccessful efforts to get free. Her elegant skirt had been slit and pulled to the side, leaving long legs bare to allow knees and ankles to be bound.
Emma glared at Drozden with deadly hatred. She was accustomed to being in control, being the one who had others at her mercy. She did not appreciate the reversal of roles which saw her as a bound and vulnerable captive.
The captain ignored both her cold scowl and gagged protests. He circled the room, marching across a worn piece of carpet to check the wooden slats nailed across the window and then kneeling to examine the knots which fixed the ropes around his prisoners. Persuaded that the security measures were adequate, he moved to stand in front of Emma and met her defiant gaze.
“There is no point in getting upset. You have only yourself to blame for your predicament. The Baron told me that he caught you snooping through his papers. He felt that you were no threat, but I have learned to be a much more cautious man.’
Awareness registered in Emma´s eyes - at least she now knew why she had been snatched from the street. Curse that fat Baron and curse her own inquisitiveness! With effort she swallowed her anger and listened to the captain´s words, hoping to learn more about his connection with the Baron and what they intended to do with her.
“I´m not sure how much you learned from the Baron,’ Drozden continued, “But I´m not prepared to risk anything interfering with our plans at this late stage. We have been preparing this attack for too long to have some nosey prostitute ruin things. By this time tomorrow, Fauner Posen will be dead and the Posenstadt will have a new ruler. We can decide your long term future then.’
He turned away from Emma to face the room´s other occupant, “I´m not sure who your little playmate is, but I´m afraid that she must join you in captivity until this matter is concluded.’
The ‘little playmate´ was Kitty, Annette´s maidservant and Emma´s former hostage. She was tied in a similar manner to the fraulein. Rope anchored her wrists to the back of her chair and her bound ankles to one of its legs. Again, she was held in place with tight bonds securing her torso to the chair and binding her legs at the thighs. She was also most efficiently gagged. The trailing ends of a scarf fell between her tangle of blonde curls. That scarf was tied deep between the young maid´s lips and held another folded cloth behind her teeth. Her most recent captors had added a touch of their own. A long bandage had been wound several times around her lower face, providing a further muffling layer on top of the scarves.
Their bonds may have been similar, but the attitudes of the two prisoners could not be more different. Emma remained wilfully obstinate, her posture implying a threat of danger despite being bound and gagged. Kitty´s head hung low and her face was stained by dried tears. While Emma had fought constantly with the men who bound her, Kitty had meekly offered no resistance. Kitty raised her head and stared at Drozden with eyes that begged for release, but which held no hope of that plea being granted.
The captain gave the two tied women a final appraising look before moving to the door, “I suggest that you both relax and make the most of your situation. Tomorrow it will all be over, one way or another.’
Emma watched him leave and snorted above her gag. She had no intention of relaxing, nor of waiting until tomorrow for her future to be decided. Her resourcefulness was one of her greatest strengths and she still had a few tricks at her disposal.
The corridors of the guest wing were largely deserted as Sylvia crept through the Posenstadt. She was on her own. With confirmation that an armed force was loose somewhere in the castle, in all likelihood the same men who had taken Emma and Kitty, the Musketeers had vowed that Annette must not be left alone. Stefan was guarding his wife while Sylvia tried to discover Drozden's intentions for his private army.
She hadn't been able to find the captain this morning, but refuting the presence of his troops had not been Drozden's only lie. Sylvia was sure that she had witnessed him leave Baron Zeigstumpf's suite. That he had also denied this surely indicated some dishonourable purpose. Investigating the Baron might lead to the truth of the matter.
With a quick glance to confirm that she was alone, Sylvia slid up to the closed door of the Baron's rooms. She knelt to examine the keyhole. It was locked and the key must still be inserted inside the door, she could see nothing of the chamber's contents. However the room was clearly occupied, the Musketeer could hear loud, raised voices from within. Sylvia cautiously pressed her ear to the door to listen in on the conversation.
"... stroke of genius. The decisive blows will be over before the fools outside even know that the battle has begun. The famed Posenstadt will be mine without a single shot being fired upon its walls. Let them doubt my worth after this!"
This ranting bellow came from the Baron himself. Another male voice spoke from further into the room. Sylvia strained to hear, but his words were distant and indistinct. The Baron's answer was clear enough though.
"Of course. This place is riddled with hidden passages. The maps show that we can assault the War Room directly. Fauner and her officers will be completely unprepared. With the insolent bitch dead, I will become the next Iron Prince. The first step on my path to becoming Imperator of the entire nation. None will be able to ..."
The Baron's final boasts were lost to Sylvia. A gloved hand had clamped around her mouth and a strong arm pinned her arms at her back. She was roughly hauled to her feet, pulled backwards against an armoured chest and spun off-balance, unable to find leverage to break free from the iron grasp. Sylvia cursed, why did she never watch her back?
A second armoured figure stood before her. Captain Drozden folded his arms and shook his head sadly, "Am I to spend my whole day dealing with women who can't mind their own business?"
Sylvia fought against the arms that grappled her, but to no avail. The hand at her mouth squeezed harder and forced her head and neck agonisingly back. The vice-like hold on her arms could not be broken and her frantically kicking feet were making no impression on the brute's shins. Drozden stepped closer and swung a solid fist into the helpless girl's gut. At his nod she was released to fall sprawling on the floor, winded and gasping for breath.
Drozden moved somewhere behind her, "It's too late to take you to our other prisoners. I'm afraid you must make do with less comfortable conditions here in the castle." Strong fingers grabbed a handful of Sylvia's silky hair and yanked her head up. Her cry of pain was cut short by the fist that slammed into her temple. The female Musketeer collapsed back to the floor. She had passed out before the final booted kick was viciously delivered to her side.
The two women were now alone in the dim room of their confinement. Kitty slumped in miserable dejection. A single tear trickled down one cheek and from time to time she mewed soft sounds of distress. Her ordeal felt hopeless. After enduring a long day as Emma von Witte´s hostage, she had been given a fleeting hope of release. That hope had vanished when both captive and captor had been abducted by a new set of villains. She sobbed again, helpless to do anything other than wait for her eventual fate. Whatever Annette and the Musketeers were doing now, Kitty was certain that they could have no clue as to her current plight.
Opposite the maidservant, Emma von Witte was far from resigned to her situation. For the past several minutes she had been systematically twisting and flexing her neck, stretching it back and forth and from side to side. The movements had caused the band of material wrapped around her face to catch upon itself. The gag had already slipped down by a small fraction of an inch, but still it served its basic function.
Emma grunted and flexed again. She tilted her head far to one side and shrugged within the ropes binding her to the chair. Although her agility was greatly reduced, she was able to bring her chin down and in contact with a shoulder. With renewed vigour, she began rubbing at the gag, tugging it lower by small degrees, until it finally fell below her chin to hang loosely around her slender neck. All that remained was to work her tongue until she could spit the sodden handkerchief from her mouth.
The fraulein rolled her neck and inhaled a deep lungful of air, “That feels so much better. I had no idea that wearing a gag could become so unpleasant. You really should have said something, my dear.’
Kitty glared across and chewed impotently on her own, much tighter, gag - the gag that had first been applied by Emma´s own henchman before being reinforced by Drozden´s men. She had long given up trying to expel the multiple scarves from her mouth and could now only mumble a muffled complaint towards the Eisen woman.
“Now,’ continued Emma, “I´m going to need your help with this next bit. See if you can move our chairs closer.’
She tensed the muscles of her arms and legs and then bucked against her ropes, wincing as the violent movement caused the binds to bite tighter. Ignoring the discomfort, she jerked energetically again. The result was barely noticeable, but her actions had caused the wooden seat to jolt forward from its original position. The fraulein paused to take a few panting breaths, her face was already flushed and starting to perspire. She was certainly glad that she had managed to work the mouth-filling gag loose first.
When she looked up she noted that Kitty was still sitting quietly, making no effort to move. “What´s the matter with you, you stupid little girl? We need to get free and to do so we´ll have to work together.’
The poor maidservant just shook her head. Weary eyes regarded Emma from above her gagged face. Kitty had abandoned any thoughts of escape. She was too tired, too depressed and too well tied. She gave a weak tug on her bound wrists as if to emphasise the point.
“Look,’ sighed an exasperated Emma, “I´m not asking you to get free from your ropes. Just see if you can get a little nearer. There is a knife in my left boot. If you can reach it then the ropes won´t be a problem.’
Kitty´s expression shifted from pitiful defeat to uncertain mistrust. Could the woman responsible for her captivity also provide the means to freedom?
“Come on,’ encouraged Emma, rocking in her chair again, “Just do what I´m doing and we´ll be out of here in a minute or so.’
It was to take much longer than that. The two prisoners strained and thrust against their bonds, their chairs gradually shuffling across the room with short, jerky movements. The air was soon filled with the sounds of the women´s strenuous grunts and groans. With her mouth so severely stuffed and swathed, Kitty could only breathe through her nose and had to stop for frequent rests. Her nostrils flared as they fought for air and sweat-drenched curls clung to her beetroot face. The room´s threadbare carpet turned out to be a blessing. It wasn´t thick enough to obstruct their movements, but did mute much of the noise as the chairs scraped and hopped across the floor - the guard left downstairs wasn´t alerted to the escape attempt in progress above his head.
It took nearly half an hour, but at last the two girls were sitting face to face, their bound legs only a foot apart. They both took a break from their exertions, allowing strength to return and trying to relax in the now extraordinarily tight grip of the thin ropes cutting into their wrists, around their legs and across their heaving chests.
At length, Emma shook a stray lock of hair from her face, “That´s good. Well done. Now, I need you to turn your chair around. We need to get your hands in range of my boot.’
Kitty gave a slow, exhausted nod of understanding. She braced herself and then flung her body sideways, planning to use the same technique that had brought her this far.
“No!’ shouted Emma. “Not like that. The back of the chair kept you in place, but there is no support in that direction. You´re likely to just overbalance and topple. You´ll need to find a way to tip forward and pivot on one of the chair legs - the right hand one should bring you closest.’
The maid nodded again. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath through her nose. Her ankles were tied together and bound to the chair leg, but her toes were still in contact with the floor. By leaning all of her weight forward and giving an extra hop, she was able to raise the back legs of the chair. Pushing with her toes and leaning to one side succeeded in rotating the chair a fraction before it crashed back onto all four legs. It certainly wasn´t an easy process, and not entirely safe, but it seemed to work.
“Good girl,’ coaxed Emma, “Keep going. Just small movements and you´ll get there.’
After another tiring half hour´s work, Kitty was eventually where she needed to be. Her back was now towards Emma and the chairs were so close that her fluttering fingers brushed against the other woman´s knees.
“Nearly there now. The knife is in my left boot. The sheath is tucked inside the boot´s inner layer, but you should be able to reach the tip of the handle.’
Emma raised her legs as far as the anchoring rope would allow. At the same time Kitty leaned back and stretched out with probing fingers. She could just reach the top of Emma´s boot where it stopped midway up her smooth calves. Kitty gave a little choke as she strained to stretch a further. She slipped two fingers inside the leather boot and ran them around its lip. At last, she had it. A fine handle of enamelled pearl was wedged between boot and well-toned leg. Kitty grasped as best she was able and painstakingly eased the knife from its hidden sleeve.
“Don´t you dare drop that,’ warned the fraulein, “If it falls to the floor, all this will have been for nothing.’
Kitty blinked sweat from her eyes and concentrated on her task. With the handle tenuously held between thumb and forefinger, she carefully brought it higher until it could be more securely taken and gripped in the palm of her hand.
“Excellent. Now bring your chair back until you can reach my wrists.’
This time Kitty shook her head at the instruction. Instead she reversed her grip on the handle and twisted her hands until the blade rested against the rope on her own wrists. It was a thin stiletto blade, designed for a point-first stabbing action rather than slashing or sawing, but the polished metal should have enough of an edge to cut through the rope.
“Yes, well,’ muttered Emma, “I suppose you could take the selfish option and free yourself first.’
Sylvia knew that she was in trouble from the moment she woke. Her head was throbbing and a dark bruise covered the left side of her ribs. All of her clothes had been removed, leaving her lying naked on a cold stone floor. She rolled over, the abrasive surface scratching at her skin. Her movements were accompanied by a metallic clinking sound. Heavy bands of iron had been fastened around the female Musketeer´s wrists and ankles. A steel chain of about eighteen inches connected the manacles that hobbled her feet. A similar chain, this one only some nine inches, linked her wrists and held them behind her back.
Another wide band of iron was collared snugly about Sylvia´s neck. It too was attached to a length of chain. These links were much heavier. Four feet of heavy steel hung from the front of the collar and passed under one bare breast before running across the stone floor where they were fixed to a thick ring set deep into the wall. The restraints were not particularly tight. Sylvia found that she could rotate her wrists within the manacles, although there was absolutely no danger of them slipping off. The chains connecting her limbs offered a reasonable, albeit limited, range of motion. She was able to push herself to a more upright, kneeling position.
It was the constant weight of the chains that caused the most bother. The metal bands and links tended to drag Sylvia down. Although physically fit, she was aware of the extra effort required for a simple act like raising her hands to push back her long black hair. The jingle of metal with each move was also an ever present reminder that she was far from free. The fact that her body had been left naked was leading the collared girl to become increasingly fearful. Without her clothes - or weapons - she felt very vulnerable.
The room she was in was obviously a cell of some kind. The cold stone blocks of the floor were matched by dark, windowless walls on three sides and by the low roof above. The fourth side of the cubicle consisted of evenly spaced iron bars and a narrow iron-barred gate. Presumably the gate was locked, but with the chain tethering her to the opposite wall, Sylvia couldn´t reach it to find out. The room was cold. The captured Musketeer´s flesh stood out in goosebumps, although her shivers owed as much to her nervous apprehension as to the temperature. The back wall was slightly damp and a tiny trickle of water fell from the ceiling to a small hollow in one corner of the floor. Sylvia guessed that she must be far underground.
A narrow stone corridor leading away from the cell seemed to open into a chamber. The angle of the passage prevented Sylvia from seeing into that larger room, but she could hear the deep, echoing sound of several male voices. The chamber was evidently well lit, unlike her cell, and the shadows dancing on the walls showed the outline of men donning weapons and armour. Drozden´s smuggled army, she supposed, hidden away in these cellars or dungeons beneath the Posenstadt.
The Musketeer had to admire the audacity of the plan. The defensive strength of the city´s walls was well known. Fauner Posen´s army was well drilled and most efficient at guarding against outside threats. Confidence in their dominance no doubt bred a certain level of complacency. The Eisenfurst and her captains probably never suspected that they could be betrayed by one of their own, attacked from within the heart of their fortress castle. The Baron´s military mind may have come up with the plan, but it must have taken considerable logistical skill for Captain Drozden to put all the pieces in place.
If only she had been more careful to avoid capture, lamented Sylvia, as she trembled in the darkness. Unless she could get free there would be no one to raise an alarm. Stefan and Annette would be at risk if fighting broke out inside the castle and poor Kitty must still be held prisoner somewhere. There were other threats too. From what she had overheard it seemed that the Baron had greater ambitions. Marching to claim the title of Imperator would force war with Eisen´s other Iron Princes and that would mean danger for Princess Anne and the Montaigne exiles in Wische. Something must be done.
“Ah, you´re awake. How do you like your accommodations?’
An unshaven, foul smelling man with rotten teeth asked the question. He was peering into the cell, his hands gripping the gate and a lecherous smile on the face pressed against the bars. A large set of keys dangled from the cord belting his stained trousers. He laughed when Sylvia scrambled into the shadowy corner of her prison, dragging the heavy collar chain with her.
“Ha! There´s no point in being shy, my pretty little slut. I´ve already had a good look at all you have to show.’ He jerked a thumb towards the room behind him, “The men are looking forward to trying you out after the battle. Some of them have been cooped-up here for weeks without the pleasures of female company. I doubt they will be in the mood to treat you gently. How many do you think you can service at once? Two? Three?’
Sylvia swallowed the fear rising in her throat. She was still a Musketeer and would show no such emotion to an enemy, “Drozden and the Baron will never succeed. Even with the advantage of their treachery, their numbers are too few. The Eisenfurst will easily quell the foolishness of their rebellion.’
“We shall see, we shall see. Either way, nobody knows that you are here and the good captain has promised that I may keep you to play with.’ The disgusting gaoler pressed his head closer to the bars and whispered as if sharing a confidence, “My dungeon holds more than chains, you know. Shall I stretch your beautiful body on the rack or mark you as my own with the whip? Maybe both, we´ll have plenty of time together. It´s been a while since I played with the thumbscrews and I´m sure I can find other clamps for your more sensitive areas. Ah, how I look forward to our games. How much pain will you endure before begging me to ravish you like the slut I know you to be? I can hardly wait to find out.’
The vile man gave a sadistic laugh as he turned and walked away. Sylvia closed her eyes and tried to fight back tears. She must not give in to terror. She must stay strong and brave. She had only herself to rely on now. Something must be done and she must do it quickly.
