A travelling case lay open on the bed. A few clothes had been neatly packed, but a great many more lay strewn around the room in a state of disarray. Annette had started to prepare for their imminent departure from the Posenstadt, but it was no use. With Kitty missing and the hints of treachery among the Eisen troops, she couldn't concentrate on even this mundane task. To make matters worse, Sylvia had now been gone for a very long time. The brave female Musketeer had been hunting for signs of the enemy plan, but had so far failed to return.
Annette paced the room, wringing her hands in a delicate lace shawl intended for the case, "Where could she be, Stefan? Surely she must have discovered something by now. Do you think she is in trouble?"
Her Musketeer husband rose and took the shawl from his wife's troubled grasp, "Easy, my love. Come and sit with me. Sylvia can look after herself. Most likely she has discovered something of interest and is investigating further." He tried to sound confident and reassuring, but, in truth, he was almost as worried as Annette. There was every reason to suspect that Sylvia's prolonged absence was more sinister, but his duty in this matter, both as husband and Musketeer, was clear. Annette was a representative of the Montaigne court, her safety was more important than that of those who served her.
The courtier pushed aside some of her abandoned wardrobe and sat on the bed. Deprived of the shawl, her fingers now began to fret at the embroidery of her flowing skirts, "I'm frightened, Stefan. This business is too big to handle on our own. I think we have to warn the Eisenfurst."
Stefan considered this. They now had evidence that Captain Drozden was one of the main conspirators. There was little reason to suspect that the Eisenfurst would have need to act surreptitiously within her own domain. Fauner Posen had no love of intrigue or convoluted plots, but would she believe accusations from a foreigner previously punished for spying?
At length he gave a nod of agreement, "I think that you're right. If Fauner will listen to us then we must tell her what we know. Hopefully she ..."
A rumbling boom sounded from high overhead. A single cannon had been fired from the highest tower of the castle. It was the signal to attack. The attempt to seize the Posenstadt had begun.
Kitty finished cutting through the last rope which bound Emma von Witte to her chair. The Eisen woman rose with a grateful sigh and stretched limbs which had been held immobile for so long, rubbing the raw marks left by the ropes. She raised her hands to untie the scarf which had formed her gag from where it still hung around her neck. It was then that she noticed that Kitty still held the stiletto blade and had it pointed menacingly in her direction.
Emma raised an eyebrow, "I trust that you aren't going to do something foolish?"
"I want to know what is going on," demanded the maidservant. She had been through a lot in these last few days and wasn't prepared to put up with any more mistreatment, "What did that man mean about you and the Baron? Does all of this have something to do with your treachery against Annette?"
The fraulein shook her head, "No, I'm as much a victim in this latest turn of events as you. It would seem that a coup is brewing in the castle. From what I read in the Baron's notes, it would appear that he intends to launch an assault from within the keep. Our gloating captor must be providing the means to do so."
"But this is terrible! He said that they would kill Eisenfurst Posen. We must warn somebody."
"'We?' I think not. I intend to cut my losses and get as far away from this city as possible."
Emma moved across and cautiously edged open the door of their small room. She turned back to Kitty and held out her hand, "I think you should give me the knife." She sighed when the younger girl raised it to a more threatening position, "There is a guard downstairs. Unless you really mean to use that weapon, I would suggest that it is more useful in my hands."
After a moment's further hesitation, Kitty reluctantly surrendered the blade. Emma took it with a sweet smile and indicated for Kitty to remain where she stood. The Eisen woman pressed herself against the wall and slowly, stealthily padded down the stairs. Kitty heard nothing for a few long seconds and then a sudden gurgled cry followed by a heavy thud. When she dared to venture onto the stairs, she saw Emma standing over a prone male body, blood pooling near the man's throat. The fraulein finished calmly wiping her blade on the dead man's tunic and beckoned for Kitty to come down.
The two girls stepped out of the derelict house and into a busy street. Emma checked their surroundings and turned to her former hostage, "Well, I must bid you farewell. I trust that there are no hard feelings?"
Kitty stared in wonder, "You're really not going to help? Lives could be in danger."
"And I intend that mine should not be one of them. Do send my love to Stefan and Annette, won't you?" The Eisen gathered the remains of her skirt and ran into the street. She soon disappeared among the busy crowds. Good riddance, thought Kitty, she was probably better off on her own anyway.
The foreboding castle dominated the horizon, so it was an easy matter for the freed captive to find her way back across the city. She stopped and swallowed nervously when she came in view of the many guards lining its walls. The men who had abducted her last night had worn the same uniforms. She steeled herself and approached the massive portcullis. There was too much at risk to let fear overcome her now.
"Sir, you must let me in. The castle is going to be attacked. I must warn the Eisenfurst and my mistress."
The gate captain stepped up to the portcullis and viewed the somewhat hysterical young woman on the other side, "Who are you, miss? Nobody is going to attack this castle. Even if they did, I can assure you that these walls would keep us quite safe."
Kitty desperately shook her head, "You don't understand. I think the enemy is already inside."
The captain opened his mouth to end this nonsense. Before he could speak, there was a loud bang. He turned to find the gates to the inner keep had been slammed shut. The guards stationed on either side were staring in surprise, futilely trying to force the gates to open again.
A rumbling boom sounded from high overhead. A single cannon had been fired from the highest tower of the castle. It was the signal to attack. The attempt to seize the Posenstadt had begun.
A Musketeer was expected to be a skilled swordsman, to be able to ride across country, to dance at extravagant balls and to chase down foes with unfailing stamina. Such activities required a strong, athletic body possessing graceful flexibility as well as physical power. With such training, it was a simple task for Sylvia to tuck her legs to her chest and slip her chained hands from the back of her body to the front.
This new position offered a little more comfort and freedom of movement. She studied the locks of her manacles. They seemed well-crafted, a precisely cut keyhole where the circular bands met and snapped shut. Sylvia doubted that they could be picked even if she possessed a suitable tool. Examination of the chains provided no other reason for optimism. The links were thick and solid. None showed any sign of weakness. Pulling on the chain from her collar to the wall proved that brute strength alone was never going to lead to freedom.
Increased noise from beyond her cell caused Sylvia to raise her head. The armed soldiers seemed to be on the move. A commanding voice was deploying them into units of four or five men. There was a sudden louder sound, an unpleasant scraping of stone on stone. Leaning to her side, the Musketeer could just glimpse that part of one wall had rolled back - a passage leading from the dungeons to other areas of the castle. Men began pouring into the dark opening, all well armed and every fourth man carrying a hooded lantern.
When the last man had marched out, the stone rolled back to once more seal the wall. Sylvia strained to watch and listen. She could still hear somebody moving about. The horrible gaoler, probably, and alone by the sound of it. This may be her best opportunity to act. Still naked, she moved back to the furthest corner of the cell. She hated this plan, but with no other resources, there were few alternatives.
The young woman sat on the cold, hard floor with her legs extended before her. She held her thighs parted as far as the manacles on her ankles would allow. With a shudder of self-loathing she shook out her long, wavy hair and cupped her hands beneath well-rounded breasts. Swallowing back her disgust, Sylvia raised her voice and called towards the other chamber, “Sir, can you come down. I ... I have something to say.’
Footsteps echoed down the corridor towards her cell. The foul figure grumbled in irritation, “She summons me? What am I - her bloody butler?’ He stopped at the end of the passage, jaw hanging slack and gaping in astonishment at the sight of his prisoner, “What is this?’
“I ... I´ve been thinking about what you said. Please, I don´t want you to hurt me. If you let me, I ... can try to please you in other ways.’ Keeping her eyes meekly lowered, Sylvia raised her breasts in offering.
A broad grin spread across the gaoler´s face. He fumbled with his keys and unlocked the cell door, replacing them on his belt when he stepped in to approach the beautiful captive. He licked his lips in eager anticipation, “I´m sure we can come to some arrangement. Just how would you plan to treat me?’
The Musketeer waited for his footsteps to come a little nearer, “Like this, you filthy bastard.’
She brought her legs together and kicked upwards. Her feet made solid contact with the man´s most vulnerable area and she felt satisfaction in watching him double up in pain. Sylvia sprang to her feet. She moved behind the groaning brute and wrapped the length of chain between her wrists around his neck. She grunted and pulled the links into the podgy flesh of his throat, digging deep into the man´s windpipe.
Her opponent gasped and fought to get free. His fingers scrabbled at the strangling links of chain. He managed to stagger upright and lurched towards the cell´s exit, Sylvia grimly clinging to his back and straining to end his efforts. He was half-way to the iron-barred gate when the chain on the Musketeer´s collar was pulled taut. It was Sylvia´s turn to gasp as her own head and neck were pulled back.
The battle continued, the gaoler reaching towards the exit and fighting to breathe past the chain around his throat, Sylvia´s arms bulging as she pulled the links tighter and tried to ignore the collar cutting into her own neck. Her vision began to swim and she feared her cause might be lost, but relief was to come. With a choking gasp, the gaoler fell to his knees. Sylvia fell with him and felt some slack return to her collar chain. She sucked in air and heaved once more. One more choke passed the gaoler´s lips before he fell silent and slumped to the ground.
The victorious Musketeer rolled to the side, panting hard. Her throat felt raw, her arms ached and her fingers were cut and bleeding, so tightly had they gripped the chain. When her strength recovered, she pushed the unpleasant body onto its back and seized the large set of keys. It took a while to match them to the correct locks, but eventually her manacles and collar came off. She stood and, with a last disdainful look at her former captor, walked out of the cell.
Thankfully, the chamber ahead was indeed unoccupied. It contained two long tables with many low bedrolls spread out on the floor. Sylvia was greatly relieved to find her uniform piled on a shelf. Dressing hastily, she also noticed a weapon rack which still held a few sharp swords and axes. The Musketeer selected a narrow longsword. It was heavier than a rapier, but she was still trained in its use. Now she felt more prepared to face her enemies.
A rumbling boom sounded from high overhead. A single cannon had been fired from the highest tower of the castle. It was the signal to attack. The attempt to seize the Posenstadt had begun.
The corridors of the guest wing were packed with frightened diplomats and their servants. They had come scurrying from their rooms at the sound of the cannon. Stefan put a protective arm around Annette and pushed through the throng. So far no enemies had appeared, but they could hear the signs of fighting elsewhere in the castle and the echo of banging on the keep´s heavy doors.
A shaking hand grabbed Stefan´s shoulder and spun him round. Arnaud du Charouse stood before him, his normally controlled facade replaced with a frantic stare of terror and trembling voice, “Are we under attack? You must protect me. You are a Musketeer, sworn to protect the rulers of Montaigne.’
Stefan coolly removed the offending hand, “You, sir, are no ruler of Montaigne.’ He looked at the wretch quaking before him and rolled his eyes, “However, I am sworn to protect all innocents. I suppose that technically includes you. Come with me.’
The Musketeer turned to the crowd, “All of you, remain calm and follow me. The Dining Hall should be far from any conflict and should keep you safe.’
He shepherded the panicked nobles and ambassadors along the corridor and down a short flight of stairs. Arnaud was the first to shove his way into the hall, immediately bolting to cower behind the cover of a table. Annette stopped to steal a kiss and give her husband´s arm a brief squeeze. He smiled down, “You should barricade the doors when I have gone. Be safe, my love.’
Now that he knew his wife was relatively secure, Stefan could turn his attention to the battle inside. He ran back towards the Great Hall, passing bodies as he neared the areas of fighting. The Musketeer bent to snatch a sword from one of the keep´s fallen defenders. He could hear shouts of combat and confusion. There were only ever a few guards stationed inside the castle, most were outside at the gate and on the walls. With Drozden´s men disguised in the same uniforms, most of the defenders didn´t realise that they were facing an attack until it was too late.
Beyond the far end of the Great Hall, Stefan could see the main inner doors of the keep. A group of five soldiers were bracing the barred entrance, preventing reinforcements trying to come in from the courtyard. The Musketeer gripped his sword and prepared to enter the fray, but stopped short at a grinding noise from behind. He spun around and stared in astonishment as what had appeared to be solid wall, now swung smoothly to the side. A soldier stood in the shadowy portal, wielding a deadly axe.
The man stepped forward and Stefan raised his sword, but his enemy had taken no more than two steps before the axe dropped from lifeless fingers and he toppled face first to the floor. Sylvia walked out of the hidden passage and wiped her own bloodied weapon.
“Sylvia! We were worried about you.’ Stefan noted his comrade´s untidy state of dress and the bruising on her neck and head.
She smiled, “I have only my own carelessness to blame, but I am well now.’
Stefan nodded and pointed back to the main entrance, “We have to get the doors open. Most of the Posenstadt´s troops are trapped outside.’
“No,’ Sylvia shook her head, “Drozden and the Baron mean to ambush the Eisenfurst in her War Room. The guards can find other ways to get inside, but it will be for nothing if their ruler is already dead.’
“All right,’ agreed Stefan, “Let´s go.’
The two Musketeers touched the tips of their swords then bounded up the stairs towards Fauner Posen´s private chambers. The sound of metal ringing against metal soon guided them to the Eisenfurst. Four powerful fighters had Fauner cornered behind a table, several of her loyal captains already lying injured or dead. Stefan recognised the Baron and the traitor Captain Drozden. Blows from their broadswords, axes and steel gauntlets rained down on Posen. It was to the formidable lady´s credit that she was still holding her own, but, even with the benefit of her famed armour, she could not hold out forever against such odds.
With a loud battle cry, Sylvia charged to the ruler´s aid. Drozden saw her approach just in time and was able to turn and parry her vicious swing. Sylvia noted that his left leg was already injured and pressed forward her attacks on that side. The captain was forced away from the Eisenfurst as the Musketeer slashed and lunged. Sensing her advantage, Sylvia pushed on. Her blade caught Drozden in the left shoulder. He gave a cry of rage and swung his sword in a high arc. Sylvia ducked low and her return stroke sliced her opponent´s chest, ending both the fight and his life.
Stefan had been only a step behind, raising his sword and rushing to engage the Baron. The noble was heavily built and his larger weapon could deliver blows of tremendous force. Fortunately Stefan was quicker on his feet and capable of directing his sword with deadly precision. A well-timed thrust slid beneath the Eisen´s armour and stabbed deep into the warrior´s gut. The Baron fell back a step with a gasp of shock and pain. Colour drained behind his great moustache, but he retained strength enough to grasp Stefan´s blade in a metal-clad fist and flung the Musketeer´s weapon away before turning to flee with one hand clasped to his wound.
Stefan moved for his fallen sword, ready to give pursuit, but a commanding voice ordered him to a halt. Fauner Posen stood at his shoulder, her remaining opponents slumped against the wall, one covered in blood from a terrible skull injury.
“Let him go. My enemies have nowhere to hide when I know their faces.’
She slapped Stefan´s back and nodded in respect to Sylvia, “It seems that I may have misjudged you. Those that fight with such bravery to defend my life can be of no danger to my lands and should be honoured as true friends. Tell your wife that we should resume our discussions.’
Sounds from other clashes drifted through the castle and the Eisenfurst grinned, “But first I have some housekeeping to put in order. Will you join me?’
Sylvia and Stefan returned the grin and raised their swords. Treachery and deceit would never win the day when opposed by the honour and courage of Musketeers.
A few weeks later an elegant carriage rolled out of the Posenstadt as the Montaigne party began their long journey back to Wische. Annette and Stefan sat inside, while Kitty perched up front, chatting amiably to the driver. Sylvia rode ahead as proud honour guard.
The beautiful courtier smiled as she considered the many treaties safely stowed away in sealed leather cases. It had turned out to be a very successful journey after all. Fauner Posen had formally acknowledged Princess Anne as the rightful ruler of Montaigne. Arnaud du Charouse had been furious, but when Posen coolly asked where he had been while her throne was attacked, he could only splutter an incoherent excuse and leave.
Draft terms of mutual support had also been penned. Should further assassins or other attacks be made against the exiled Montaigne aristocracy by Arnaud´s revolutionary government, then the full might of Posen´s army would march across his borders. In return, Anne du Montaigne would speak to Eisenfurst von Wische and persuade him to support Fauner Posen if she ever staked her claim to unite Eisen under the title of Imperator. All in all, it had been a successful journey indeed.
Annette snuggled into her husband´s body and took his hand. Stefan placed a kiss on her head and returned his gaze to the carriage window, “Why am I travelling in here, instead of riding as escort with Sylvia?’
“For privacy, beloved.’ Annette stood and searched through the case on the rack above their heads. With lowered lashes and a coy smile, she handed Stefan a slim book and several folded scarves, “This was found in Arnaud´s room - don´t ask how I got it. I thought we could read it and see if it gave you any ideas. Your bravery was never properly rewarded, was it?’
Stefan looked at the book. Its cover showed the image of a tearfully, distressed young woman, her hands at her back and a gag tied across her face. He smiled back at Annette, “You had best draw those curtains too. I think we may need that privacy - it´s a very long way home.’
