by Eric Flint
“He says that his mother already died, and his sister, and one of his children. He will not watch any more of his people die.”
Eva nodded. “No reason he should. But tell him we need to send someone to find the captain—no, don’t use that word, it’ll scare—”
“What captain?” the man demanded, his hands tightening on the gun. “No soldiers!”
When he chose, it seemed the big man could speak fairly passable French, not just his local dialect. That confirmed for Eva that he’d had military experience at some point in his life. That was the usual reason that a man left his village for a time and ventured into the great world beyond.
Seeing no reason to continue with the pretense that the villager couldn’t understand her without an interpreter, Eva now spoke to him directly. “The captain I am talking about is my personal guard, that’s all. He will have no soldiers with him.”
Of course, Harry could bring plenty of soldiers if he chose. But Eva thought doing so would be a mistake—and she could only hope that Harry would understand that.
The man looked hesitant.
Eva leaned forward and spoke to him softly. “What is your name?”
“Jules Chaboux.”
“Jules, you have no choice. We need to do this quickly, for both our sakes.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“You don’t. But what else are you going to do?” She turned and nodded toward Missy, who was half-hidden in the doorway—but whose shotgun was quite visible. “That is not the only weapon we have. If you charge us, several of you will die.”
“We can starve you out. Or just burn down the hut.”
“Yes, you can—in which case, you will get very little money. And when my captain arrives, he will take a terrible vengeance on you.”
Now Jules looked very suspicious. “Alone? How? You said he had no soldiers.”
“He doesn’t. But he can certainly hire them.”
The villager looked away for a moment. “Who will you send to find him?”
Again, Eva nodded at Missy. “Her. But she will need someone from your village to guide her. Someone who knows the way to Nancy. And it should be a woman.”
Jules shook his head. “No. Two women, alone…too dangerous.”
Eva chuckled, doing her best to make the sound seem very confident, very relaxed. “Not if one of them is my friend Missy. Not with that gun in her hands.”
Jules peered at the shotgun. “It is…peculiar-looking.”
Eva was tempted to say it was of up-time origin and that Missy herself was an up-timer. But it was quite possible that villagers as poor and isolated as these had never heard of the Ring of Fire, or had gotten a very garbled account if they had. The last thing she wanted was to have fears of witchcraft added to the mix.
“She’s from Suhl. They have the world’s best gun-makers there.”
He’d probably never heard of Suhl, but it was the best she could manage.
“Decide, Jules. Now.”
There must have been something of the bite of a princess in that last command. The big man started slightly, and then lowered his gun and gestured to the woman.
“I agree we will send for the captain, and exchange you for a ransom. But I’m not letting any of you leave until we get the ransom.” He nodded toward the woman, who was now standing next to him. “This is my wife Estiennette. She can find the way to Nancy. I’ll send two of the men with her.”
Estiennette herself didn’t seem entirely confident she could do so. But Eva wasn’t worried about that. Between Litsa and the village woman riding about trying to find Harry Lefferts, she didn’t think there was much doubt they’d succeed. Or rather, that they’d make enough commotion that Harry would find them.
* * *
By noon, Jules’ wife and her two companions were on their way. One of them was the boy with the crossbow, looking quite fierce. The other was a much older man; not the one with the other gun that Eva had seen, but someone whom she hadn’t seen before. He was probably somewhere in his late forties or early fifties, although he looked positively ancient. The life of poor country folk was a hard one, and they aged quickly.
“And now we wait,” she said. “How is Matija?”
From the gloom in the back of the hut, Matija himself provided the answer. “Feeling better. But this is a crazy plan. You should have just left me and made a run for it.”
Eva smiled. “Is that what Captain Lefferts would have done?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well, then.”
Chapter 15
Harry came into the hamlet two days later. He rode up in the middle of the afternoon, following the teenager with the crossbow. Behind him came Litsa, with Estiennette and the old man trailing at the end.
Harry dismounted in the middle of the little cluster of huts. He had a rifle in a saddle holster which Eva recognized. It was the lever-action type of up-time weapon which Harry called his “trusty Savage Model 99.” Apparently it had been made for almost a century before the Ring of Fire, although his own was not that old.
She was relieved to see that Harry left the rifle in its holster. He alit on the ground carrying nothing but his pistol and Bowie knife—which still made him look quite threatening, especially the knife. People not familiar with up-time handguns were often dismissive of them, since they were considerably smaller than seventeenth-century wheel-lock pistols. Sometimes they didn’t even recognize them as weapons at all, but thought they were some sort of odd-looking hammer.
She came out of the door entirely, so he could see her—and see that she was unhurt. For good measure, she waved her hand as cheerily as she could manage.
He gave her his familiar grin. Then, transferred the grin to Jules Chaboux, who’d also come out of his hut. Chaboux was carrying his matchlock, with the fuse lit.
The moment Harry’s grin fell on Chaboux, the man froze in place. And then, for all his size, took a step back as if he’d been struck.
And so, at last, Eva Katherine von Anhalt-Dessau finally met Captain Lefferts. Not the legend, not the witty charmer, not the passionate lover, but the captain. The ruthless killer who’d humbled two of Europe’s kings and terrorized dozens of their agents. That was the same cold grin that would have been the last thing seen by Agnelli and the comte de Champcourt. It had no more humor in it than an open crevasse in a glacier.
She felt a spike of fear. She didn’t want—
“Harry! Don’t—”
He held out his hand to silence her. To Chaboux, he said: “What lies did my lady tell you? That I was her bodyguard? That her father is the richest prince in Germany?”
Harry’s French had already acquired some of the cadence of the dialects of Lorraine, and even more of the idiom. There was no doubt that Jules understood him, without needing any translation. Mutely, the villager nodded.
Harry laughed. Like the grin, the sound had no humor in it at all. “Well, here’s the truth. Her father died almost twenty years ago. Her brother is indeed a prince but they grow princes in Germany like weeds. He can afford to hunt and that’s about it. And did she mention that she’s the youngest of more than a dozen siblings? But that’s not the worst of her lies. Here’s the very worst one of them all.”
He paused, for a moment. Not for a second had that killer’s grin faded. “The worst lie is that I’m her bodyguard. The fact is, I’m her betrothed—and you are this close”—he held up his left hand with the tip of the thumb and forefinger less than an eighth of an inch apart—“to having really infuriated me.”
He glanced at the matchlock in Jules’ hands. “That’s useless. So is the matchlock that he’s got”—he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the man crouched against a wall of one of the huts—“and I’m not even going to bother talking about that kid with the silly crossbow. If there’s any trouble, all three of you are dead within that many seconds.”
He didn’t even say that as if it were a threat. Just the
same way he might have said that dark, looming clouds suggested rain was on the way.
Eva held her breath. If this exploded—
She was so tense Harry’s next words startled her. “Did any of them hurt you, Eva?”
“No. No!”
“Did they hurt any of you?”
“No. Actually, they helped us… Harry—”
“Relax. As long as nobody’s hurt, we’re still in talking territory. Where’s Missy?”
The American now emerged from the hut. Harry nodded toward her. “And that’s the third lie my sweetheart told you. I swear, that woman should be ashamed of herself. She was protecting her friend by not telling you that she’s the one who’s really rich around here. Her husband owns about a third of Thuringia. Well, he would, if he bothered with land-grabbing.”
Chaboux finally took his eyes off Harry and looked at Missy.
“So,” Harry continued. “Here’s how it’s going to be.” He seemed to settle back on his heels a little. That didn’t bring much relaxation to the scene, though. Tigers settle back, too, just before springing.
“One of two things is going to happen,” he said. “These are the only practical ways to handle the situation. The first—what’s your name, big guy?”
Jules jerked his gaze back to Harry. “Jules. Jules Chaboux.”
“Pleased to meet you. The first way it gets handled is that I kill you and your buddy and the kid with the crossbow. That’s probably all it’ll take to send the rest running off into the woods. Of course, they won’t survive long, but that’s their problem.”
“Harry, you’re an asshole!” said Missy angrily.
“I can be, no doubt about it.” He shifted the grin to her, and it did not grow appreciably warmer. “Or we can handle it the second way, which you should have thought of right off the bat, Missy. And would have, if you could get yourself out of that idiot ‘I’m-just-a-librarian’ mindset.”
“And what’s that?”
“Hire ’em, for Chrissake. The whole lot, from Jules on down. I heard a baby cry on the way in so you might have to ease up on that one, even if they don’t have any child labor laws in the here and now. But you can put the rest of them on your payroll.”
From the blank expression on her face, it was obvious that Missy was still scrambling to catch up. “Hire them? To do what?”
“Whatever. That’s your job, lady. You figure it out.”
“But…” She looked at Jules, then at the others who were peering out from the various huts. “What do they know how to do?”
Harry’s grin was gone, now. His expression was bleak. “Rich kids, I swear. They know how to work, Missy. What else do you need?”
Missy’s mouth had been half-open. Now, it snapped shut.
“Okay,” she said, glaring at Harry. “I’ll hire them. Or tell Ron to do it. You’re still an asshole.”
He laughed, again—and now there was actual humor in his voice. He stepped forward a pace, moving a little slowly so as not to alarm the villager, and gave Jules a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Congratulations on your new job. If she doesn’t pay you well enough, just let me know. I’m a union man, we’ll straighten it out.”
“Fuck you, Harry!” said Missy.
* * *
They waited until the next morning before setting out. Given the crowded conditions in the hut, Eva and Harry didn’t do anything beyond cuddle. But it was still the best night she’d had in weeks.
“That was a clever ploy,” she whispered. Her head was nestled on Harry’s shoulder, very close to his ear. “Telling them we were betrothed.”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t a ploy. I was planning to ask you, I just wound up doing it sort of indirectly.”
She thought about it, for a while.
Not very long, though. Less than half an hour. What made the decision so easy was that Harry didn’t press her for an answer. Eva knew he would not have pressed her if she’d taken days—weeks, even months—instead of minutes. The man was able to see past the quiet, not just the scars.
“Yes,” she said. “I have to caution you, however. My brother may be angry, when he hears about it, and deny me any dowry.”
Harry shook his head again, more vigorously. “I don’t give a fuck about the dowry.”
She slapped his chest. “Silly! I know that. But I do. Not enough that I won’t risk losing it, but I’d much rather not. How do you up-timers survive, you’re so impractical?”
* * *
When she told Litsa, about an hour after they all set off for Nancy, her friend was ecstatic. She was practically bouncing up and down in the saddle.
“Oh! The scandal! But you have to let me write the story before anyone else! That’s what they call ‘getting the shovel.’ I think.”
Eva laughed. “Who’s going to publish a story like that?”
“My new magazine. It’ll be what they call a scandal sheet.”
“You can’t afford to publish a magazine.”
“Missy will invest in it, once I tell her what the lead story will be. She is still furious with the captain.”
Eva frowned. That didn’t sound like Missy. “She’s angry that Harry made her hire the villagers?”
“No, she’s fine with that. It’s that he made her feel stupid. Missy really hates feeling stupid.”
Eva understood that feeling perfectly. She rarely felt stupid, which just made her detest the sensation all the more on the rare occasions when it happened.
“She’s right,” she said, nodding. “She should seek vengeance. At all costs—well, at least the cost of financing a new magazine. What about Simplicissimus, though?”
Litsa waved her hand airily. “Oh, I’ll still write for them. I’ll have to, in order to maintain my cover.”
“Your…what?”
“Cover. It’s an up-time expression. It means my disguise, basically.”
“What disguise?”
Litsa looked at her as if she really were stupid. “My cover as a respectable journalist. Eva, you can’t write for a scandal sheet under your own name! I’d be ruined.”
Eva tried to follow the logic and…managed. Barely.
“What pseudonym should I use? ‘The Tattletale,’ perhaps?”
“Or the ‘Blow Fly.’ Since you’ll be everywhere there’s something rotten.”
“Don’t be spiteful just because you’re the subject of a scandal.”
* * *
Once they reached Nancy, they went directly to the Ducal Palace. The palace had been built by René II, Duke of Lorraine, a century and a half earlier. As often happened with such palaces, it was expanded in the years that followed in a rather haphazard manner. One wing had eventually become vacant and Lefferts and his Spanish partner had gotten Duchess Nicole’s permission to turn it into the domicile—officially, “the barracks”—of their newly formed militarized police force.
The company they were forming, even when it was fully fleshed out, would have room to spare in “the barracks.” Harry figured that there would be plenty of room there for the villagers; and, at least for the time being, they could be set to work tending to the needs of the soldiers.
Temporarily, at least. The soldiers would already be gathering their own camp followers, who would eventually take over that work. But by then, the new enterprises being launched by Ron and Missy Stone should have plenty of employment opportunities even for semi-literate country folk.
Such was Harry’s theory, at any rate. Missy had her doubts—but of one thing she was dead certain.
“Damned if I’m going to pay for your troops’ cooks and laundresses, Harry. That’s on your dime.”
Harry looked mournful and began singing. “Hard-headed woman, soft-hearted man, been the cause of trouble ever since the world began.”
“Fuck you, Harry. And the pelvis you rode in on.”
* * *
The timing was wrong, but Eva wasn’t about to get stubborn on the subject. She was far too passionate herself, leaving as
ide whatever Harry might have wanted. The up-time term was “horny,” which she thought was a bit grotesque.
To his credit, Harry had done his best to find a local variety of what he persisted in calling “rubbers” even if no one except up-timers and a few down-timers knew what rubber was. But, as he’d predicted, the devices were not especially reliable. One of them broke quite spectacularly in mid-use.
Besides, she disliked the things almost as much as he did. “Never mind,” she finally said. “I’ll take my chances for now. Next month we can do the right thing.”
It sounded good, anyway.
Vincente Jose-Maria de Castro y Papas returned to the barracks a week later, from a tour he’d done with twenty of his cavalrymen up the Meurthe River as far as the Vosges Mountains.
“No trouble worth talking about,” he reported. “One small bandit gang was rumored to be in the area, but if they exist at all they’re keeping very quiet. But what’s this I hear that we’re now a charitable organization? When did you become soft-hearted?”
Harry began crooning again. “Hard-headed woman, soft-hearted man, been the cause of trouble ever since the world began.”
He shook his head. “What can I say? My betrothed insisted.”
“My congratulations. To you. Where is Eva, by the way? I need to offer her my condolences.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. She and the Stone woman are having an audience with the duchess.”
“About what?”
“You’re asking me? Three women, together. It’s bound to cause trouble. Hard-headed woman, soft-hearted man, been the cause of trouble—”
PART IV
Nancy, capital of the Duchy of Lorraine
Chapter 16
May 11, 1636
Ron Stone arrived in Nancy toward the middle of May. He would have rushed down immediately upon getting the news, but Missy made it clear in her letter than she was fine, the crisis was over, there wasn’t anything for him to do, and he might as well finish up his business in Kassel first. Eva had already observed that while American marital and sexual relations were inclined toward overwrought mysticism, Missy and Ron were almost as practical in that respect as level-headed down-timers.