***
Two weeks later, Menders sat at his desk, penning a letter to a woman who had once been his lover and was now his friend.
The Madame Holz incident had made one thing clear – not only was Menders isolated here at The Shadows, he was also blind and deaf to events at Court. It was time to begin cultivating contacts in Erdahn. He needed a network of eyes and ears.
Cahrin Velten and Menders had been very close in their late teens and he had hoped for marriage as time went on. Cahrin had the special temperament needed to be an assassin’s wife, having been an assassin’s daughter. She was well acquainted with the tensions and stresses that were part of life for those assassins held dear. Menders’ two year assignment in Surelia had put more than physical distance between them. Now, despite some regret, Menders felt it was for the best that they had parted, as he had been sent to The Shadows within two days of his return from Surelia.
Cahrin’s husband, Olner, had survived his time on overseas missions and was now involved in surveillance and intelligence work in Erdahn, working with Thoren Bartan, the Court Assassin. He was a perfect candidate for Menders’ network of contacts.
Menders’ letter told of his orders and predicament in masked terms that would be easily decipherable to a fellow assassin. He made clear his desire for news – all kinds of news – from Erdahn. He knew Olner would understand what he meant. That done, he sealed the letter, added it to a pile of similar missives and sat back.
This was only the beginning of his plan to extend an intelligence network beyond The Shadows while increasing the security within the estate. Menders knew that no plan was infallible, that by the very nature of her lineage Katrin would always be at risk. He had to minimize that risk in any way he could.
He had begun to tutor the men of the estate in advanced and improvised fighting styles. This was well received and taken on as a sort of sport, even by Doctor Franz, who took a fancy to knife fighting mostly because he thought it made him look dashing. It didn’t but Menders hadn’t the heart to tell him so.
It didn’t end there. The women needed to be able to defend themselves and the Princess.
“Imagine that somehow, someone has gotten past all the men and other people on the estate. Suddenly, he’s in here, with you and the Princess,” Menders said to Cook. As if on cue, Katrin gooed from her high chair. “What would you do?”
Without hesitation, Cook looked around and picked up a long bladed carving knife from the massive cutting block that sat in the middle of the kitchen.
“I’ve got this knife,” Cook said. She waved it menacingly.
“No!” Menders reprimanded her. “Don’t show it to me. Never show an enemy your potential. By the time you do that, he’s already figured out three different ways to disarm you. No assassin is going to be scared off by a knife. Drop the knife down by your side, beside and slightly behind your leg. Good. You can bring that knife up fast and surprise your adversary.”
Cook did. The knife was a flashing arc of silver.
“Good! Keep it closer in to your body. Never get a weapon too far out, it can be taken away from you. With it close in you can lunge and drive with your whole weight. Aim for under the ribs, the gut, try to bring the blade up with a thrusting motion.” He stepped back and took an aggressive posture.
“Now… I’m an assassin and I’ve come for the Princess. I’m not afraid of you. Without a weapon visible, I don’t even see you as a threat. What are you going to do?”
Cook dropped her arm and hid the knife out of sight behind the folds of her skirt. As Menders stepped forward, Cook flashed the knife up, lunging at him.
He caught her wrist as the point of the blade stopped perilously close to his midriff. For a pudgy, docile looking woman, Cook could react with startling speed.
“Yes… very good.”
Just then, Doctor Franz wandered into the kitchen. He looked at Menders and Cook in their combative embrace and paled.
“Oh dear. Not arguing over dinner are we? I can come back later.”
“No argument, Doctor,” Menders replied, placing the long bladed knife carefully on the cutting bench. “Just showing Cook how to carve fillet of man.”
Katrin’s nurserymaids received special training as well. Menders opted to start the young girls with something they might have at hand in the nursery – fire pokers.
Of the two, red-headed Eiren had the most potential, being bright, very much a chip off her father. Kata tended to look forlorn, keeping her eyes on the floor and holding the poker as if it was a live snake, but Eiren was all business, intent with purpose. Though always polite, she was never subservient in her attitude when addressing him. She always looked him in the eye.
“Now, every measure is taken to ensure your safety here at the Shadows, as well as the safety of the Princess. But suppose someone got in and was coming at you? What would you do?” Menders waited as they looked uncomfortable.
“I… I could hit them… with this poker?” Kata ventured.
“Yes, you could try. Eiren, what about you?”
“It would depend,” Eiren said.
“How so?”
“On how afraid of you I was.”
Good answer, Menders thought. “All right, suppose you are afraid but you still have to do something. I’m coming to hurt you, perhaps kill you. What then?”
“But… I’m not afraid of you, Mister Menders,” Eiren replied.
“All right then,” Menders said. “If it’s not me you’re frightened of, then imagine I have come for the Princess. I’m going to kill her, not you, and there’s just you and me and that poker.”
Eiren straightened, resolution in her eyes. Gods help the man who tries to lay hands on this one, Menders thought. Eiren gripped the poker like a short thrusting spear and held it at waist level, while Kata looked on wide eyed.
“That’s good. Now, come at me… come on Redhead, do your worst!”
Reacting to his use of a nickname she hated, Eiren took a quick step forward and thrust at him. He deflected the poker with the palm of his hand.
“Good! Put more weight behind it. And that was an obvious move, you need to strike unexpectedly, not signal your mo – gods!”
Eiren had brought the poker up fast as he was talking, He just managed to step aside enough to avoid being emasculated. The poker struck him a stinging blow on the inner thigh. Eiren gasped and dropped it with a clatter.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she blurted. “Did I hurt you?”
“It’s all right,” Menders gasped, trying to keep his voice from coming out thin and strained, like that of a constipated flea. He cleared his throat. “Very good. Clever move.”
Eiren stood there, her hands open before her, unsure of what she should do. Menders leaned against the changing table and rubbed his thigh. Of all the scrapes he’d been in over the years, to have a mere girl damn near break his leg with a poker!
“I think, you’re getting the idea,” he finally managed. “Let’s continue tomorrow, shall we?”
Once outside the nursery, Menders allowed himself the luxury of a muffled curse. Behind him, he heard Kata’s shocked voice:
“Eiren! You nearly knocked his nuts off and then he’d be no use to any woman!”
Laughing under his breath, Menders made his painful way to Doctor Franz’s office.
***
Menders knocked the knife from Ermina Trottenheim’s hand. It skittered across the floor, coming to rest against the far wall of the Great Hall.
“Well done,” he said quietly.
“I said I knew how to defend myself with a knife,” she replied petulantly.
“You do indeed.” Menders went to the knife and picked it up. “But would you defend the Princess, if need be?”
“Whatever else you might think, I am not a monster,” she snapped. “Of course I would. I didn’t want to be a milch cow for the child, but I certainly would defend her if necessary.”
“Very well.” Menders sheathed the knife. �
��I would like to know where you acquired your expertise.”
“My husband taught me, if that’s any of your business,” she responded.
“Oh, but it is my business,” Menders replied softly. “You just used a technique familiar to assassins. You told me your husband was a soldier and I am not aware of a Trottenheim being a member of Special Services. So I would like to know who taught you that trick with the knife.”
Mistress Trottenheim glared at him. “I’ve told you – my husband. I don’t know where he learned it. I imagine it’s possible an assassin showed it to him!”
“Unlikely.” Menders simply watched her. She remained indignant long enough to let him know she was telling the truth.
“All right then,” he capitulated. “Let’s just hope your loyalty never has to be tested. I’ll be watching.”
He left her sizzling with fury, went to his office and began a series of letters enquiring into the identity of Ermina Trottenheim and her husband.
(9)
Winter
Menders always felt the moment when seasons changed. Autumn would flirt with the end of summer for weeks, chilly nights making a few leaves brighten. Then a crisp day coupled with a cold wind and the tang of smoke from a wood fire would announce that autumn was here, all flaming colors and achingly blue skies.
For weeks, random snowflakes would drift down on grey autumn days and frost rime would harden on the ground – but it was the smell of snow on the air and a leaden sky showing a sudden molten streak of sunset as the wind rolled over from autumnal crispness to the bite of true winter cold that let him know winter had arrived.
He was in the woodlot one late autumn afternoon with Lucen when their second winter at The Shadows arrived. They had paused in their work to drink from a jug of scalding coffee. A sudden gust of wind carried the smell of fresh ice and snow before it, and a scatter of snowflakes pattered against the trunks of the trees.
“Here he is,” Lucen said in his deep voice. He bowed formally. “Welcome, Winter. An old friend, with a new white coat.”
Menders leaned on his axe handle, amused by Lucen’s lyrical performance. The Shadows was prepared for the season and he was looking forward to the challenge of their first full winter in the far north.
“Did you know the Thrun call winter The White Beast?” he asked.
“Appropriate.”
“At least we’re ready for it,” Menders answered. “Not like last year where we ended up here like fish out of water.”
“You managed all right. Got us through it,” Lucen grunted, preparing to swing his axe again.
“I like to think it was a co-operative effort,” Menders said.
Co-operative efforts were typical of the denizens of The Shadows. When they learned of Menders’ letter writing campaign to his associates, they began writing to friends and relatives in Erdahn or other cities to get news, information and a notion of the mood of people across the country.
Mordania’s current war with Artreya over disputed colonial territories was not progressing well. Of immediate concern to Menders was the danger of Mordanian army deserters, who were fleeing their units to avoid deployment abroad. Disgruntled, desperate for food, desirous of drink, it was common for them to raid homes, particularly large ones. Menders and Lucen were painfully aware of the amorality of disaffected military men. They ordered a large supply of ammunition and procured several new guns. Menders had his assassin’s weapons, but Franz and Lucen had arrived at The Shadows unarmed. Menders insisted on procuring lightweight weapons and drilling the women in their use. Ermina Trottenheim and Eiren proved to be the best shots, though he wouldn’t like Cook having a go at him either.
Another danger to be considered was wolves. The Northern or Old Mordanian wolf was nothing like the common lowland wolf, which was a variety of big shaggy dog. The Northern wolf was best described as a short-tailed, long-legged Surytamian crocodile with ears and a brain. Fierce and wickedly intelligent, they hunted in packs, with coordinated movements. They stood chest high to a tall man.
During warm weather when game was plentiful, Old Mordanian wolves shunned humans, but as winter drew on and the animals struggled to find food, they gravitated toward settlements, preying on livestock. They had been known to kill people who were alone, particularly after dark. Legends about packs chasing sledges and breaking into snowbound railway carriages abounded. In some particularly hard winters it was said that they had broken into buildings to attack people. More reason to have ammunition and firearms at hand.
When the first heavy snowstorm came, Menders launched The Shadows on its winter season. Winter madness was not unheard of in this part of Old Mordania, particularly when people were thrown together for long periods of time due to snowbound conditions. Menders had made exhaustive lists in his notebooks, planning many activities that would keep the denizens of the estate happy and healthy through the cold months.
The estate farm families were enthusiastic over his suggestion of regular dances. Traditionally they held such events themselves, usually in an empty hay barn which was cold and inhospitable. They were delighted with the size and comfort of the Great Hall and Menders was thrilled that they could provide a rough but enthusiastic band. Menders had thought he might have to use The Shadows’ ancient spinet to provide music for dancing. He played very well, but his idea of a good time was not thumping away at a jingly and fragile spinet while other people danced.
The farmers looked on dancing as an enjoyable wintertime activity, good for keeping the blood moving. The wilder the music, the better they liked it. Occasionally the ragtag band would attempt a javot or valtz with varying results, usually humorous, but the farmers really felt their mettle when they roared into the holta. This was an Old Mordanian country dance requiring great energy and a prodigious memory, as the figures were complex and varied. The physical effort expended during the holta was staggering.
The first time Menders got pulled into the holta, he was nearly knocked off his feet as Marjana Spaltz grabbed his hands for the first turn and swung him around like a sack of grain. He saw quickly that this was nothing like the tame ballroom holtas he’d experienced when in military school, and laughed aloud as he leaned back against the swing of the next turn. He was then passed along to the next woman in line, who happened to be Ermina Trottenheim.
Having been at Court, she was a skilled dancer. She could make any man look to his steps, though she was so small that she was often swung off her feet during the holta by some of the more hardy country boys, and was tossed into the air by the same during the lift. Now she latched onto Menders’ hands and leaned back as he swung them around in the full circle required by the turn and launched into the tricky sidesteps that moved the entire line of dancers around in the complex curving undulations of the dance.
“Why sir, I had no idea assassins could dance,” she laughed breathlessly.
“We dance very well, we’re required to learn,” he answered her.
“Why is that?”
“Assassins are tutored in dance to blend in at various occasions, to say nothing of cultivating balance. Espionage isn’t entirely creeping around in the dark wearing black, Mistress Trottenheim. Get ready for the lift.” He grasped her waist and lifted her clear of the ground as he handed her to the next man in line.
His next partner was little Eiren. Menders intended to temper his style to her size and tender years until she, having been born to this country dance, nearly yanked his arms out of their sockets. She shrieked with delight when he tossed her high into the air on the lift. She left him laughing.
The eccentric band attempted a valtz next and Menders found Mistress Trottenheim before him, curtsying. He bowed politely and took her onto the floor.
He realized they were making a sensation, because they were the only couple who knew how to reverse step. When valtzing, the farmers and their wives circled relentlessly in one direction until watching them made people dizzy. Menders’ and Mistress Trottenheim’s graceful s
witches of direction were drawing more than a few eyes. Unfortunately, some of the dancing couples decided to try it without knowing exactly how and there were immediate collisions and upsets. The valtz disintegrated as the musicians began to guffaw and eventually the only way to restore order was for Menders and his partner to give an impromptu reversing lesson.
As real cold set in, Menders cleared the soft snow from part of the frozen lake, and during the sunniest hours of the short days, skaters appeared on the ice. Lucen would hold Hemmett in his arms and skate along while the little boy hooted and howled, delighted by the echo of his voice in the winter stillness. Children from the tenant farms skated on carved wooden blades. Franz constructed a tiny box sled for Katrin and took her, bundled up until she looked like a little bear cub, down to the lake for outings, pulling her behind him. Cook was fond of taking a turn on the ice and loved to grab Menders’ hands if he happened to be there, turning them in dizzy circles until they both sat down with their heads spinning.
Near sunset on his twenty-first birthday, the shortest day of the year, Menders was shoveling more snow off the ice, enlarging the skating area so that the children could race.
Feet crunched on snow behind him and he looked around to see Ermina Trottenheim in grey furs, just sitting down to put on her skates.
“It’s getting cold,” he remarked, standing upright and leaning on his shovel.
“I like this time of day. I like the cold green color in the sky after the sun sets,” she said, rising and skating away from him. He watched as she turned gracefully and skimmed over the ice, her skates leaving thin white lines behind her.
No-one he’d ever known had mentioned that green tint in the winter sunset sky. It was rare, something he watched for. It was icy and clear and it touched his heart in a way he couldn’t explain.
Mistress Trottenheim skated back to him.
“Are you just going to hold up that shovel all day, or are you going to be a gentleman and skate with me?” she asked, smiling up at him. He looked at her dubiously – she had never really smiled at him in the time he had known her. It changed the aspect of her features from shrewish to bewitching. He didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude toward him, though she had been friendlier since the first dance of the season a few weeks ago.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 9