by H J Peterson
“Maddox, if you’re about to tell some awful army story…” Katalin said, her voice low.
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but I never tell awful stories,” Maddox said, feigning indignance. “In fact, I like to think my stories are quite good.”
Katalin rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything else. Thus allowing Maddox to continue whatever gruesome tale he had to tell.
“As I was saying, I was the one and only Gelynian in that little group, so I got the brunt of the hazing,” Maddox said. “It wasn’t that bad, until they gave me the worst damned horse at the academy. The stupid thing decided to buck me of, right into a barbed wire fence. Cut me up real good: kind of looked like one of those pictures in the Holy Book they have of those saints they used to string up on thorny vines when the church was just starting out-“
Friedrich couldn’t take it, anymore: he grabbed the bucket he’d had the forethought to bring with him and vomited.
“Success!” Maddox sounded a little too happy for Friedrich’s tastes. “I have to admit: I didn’t think that would work.”
Katalin socked him in the forearm. “Why did you have to go and do that? How could you possibly think that that was a good idea?”
“Trust me, trust me,” Maddox said as Friedrich spat into the bucket, doing what he could to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. “How you feeling now, Friedrich? Better?”
“Actually… yes,” Friedrich groaned. “I-I’m feeling a little better now, thank you.”
“See?” Maddox turned to look at Katalin. “Keeping all that nervous energy bottled up is going to wreak havoc on that delicate system of his. I know that’s kind of a nasty way to get it out, but sometimes, it’s for the best.”
“I still don’t think you should’ve done that,” Katalin said. She began to look around the carriage. “Friedrich, doesn’t Viktoria keep a canteen in here with water? We need to get you some water.”
“If I may be so blunt, the only kind of water you’ll probably find in this carriage is the devil’s water,” Maddox said. He began to glance around the carriage, as well. “Lord Eltz always has two bottles of liquor in his carriages: one bottle of bourbon for when he’s with his wife or somebody he needs to impress, absinthe for when he’s by himself or when he’s with someone in his inner circle. We replaced them just this morning, in fact: there’s plenty if the two of you want a quick nip before the funeral.”
Katalin’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not getting drunk before a state funeral, Maddox.”
“Oh, not drunk: that’s a horrible idea,” Maddox said. “A little glass of bourbon, though? That’ll take the edge right off, no problem. You wouldn’t even remember you were nervous.”
“No alcohol,” Friedrich mumbled. “Dear heaven, please don’t try to give me any alcohol.”
“Will do, will do,” Maddox said, chuckling. He opened a small compartment in the carriage door, revealing the bottle of bourbon he’d been talking about. He opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. “I hope you don’t mind me helping myself, then.”
Katalin looked at Friedrich. “Honey, are you okay with this? What if he has to actually defend us from something? How is he supposed to do his job with liquor in his system?”
Friedrich looked over at Maddox. “The lady’s right: please limit yourself to half a glass of bourbon.”
Maddox nodded. “Of course, sir: wouldn’t dream of having any more than that.”
Katalin looked shocked at first, but then, she just looked plain angry. She glared at Friedrich, a look to kill in her eyes.
Friedrich couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of fear. Chayim used to tell a stupid joke about how the only two rules in the universe were to never piss off your wife and to keep yourself on a Shaper’s good side. That joke had always left him confused while others would let out a good chuckle. Now that he’d managed to do both at the same time, though, he suddenly saw the logic in it.
Thank heavens, though, he didn’t have to contemplate the possibility of his end coming soon: after that little deal was made with Maddox, they pulled into the grand square that marked the center of Königstadt: Foch Square, named after the ancient family that unified Vorbereich nearly a thousand years previously. Two of Königstadt’s most important buildings stood facing one another on opposite sides of that massive square: the White Palace, the grand palace made of white and pale green stone where the royal family lived, and the Church of Heinrich the Pennitant, the cathedral that served as the seat of the Gerechtist church in Vorbereich. Friedrich had visited both buildings: the royal family held a gala every year in the grand ballroom of the palace, and nearly all of Friedrich’s older cousins had been married in Heinrich the Pennitant. Of course, that didn’t stop him from staring at the buildings, marveling at the scale of it all.
In fact, he spent so much time staring that he hardly even noticed the swarm of soldiers and police officers that lined the square, watching for signs of trouble.
Maddox, however, saw the danger. He put a hand at his side, resting a hand on his pistol.
Friedrich could feel the blood drain from his face.
“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered, any hint of banter suddenly gone. “I’ve got a horrible feeling about this.”
LIX. HIRO
Enrico’s wake was tough for Hiro. So tough, in fact, Hiro almost left the second she got there. As per his mother’s request, it was a private affair, held in Fisker and Sons Pub: the seedy place where Königstadt’s cops came to celebrate the good times and to get through the bad. It held a lot of memories for her, not all of them good. Of course, though, all of her memories with Enrico in that place were good. The two of them would sit in that little corner table together while everyone else was celebrating, enjoying each other’s company while the rest of their class at the academy wished she would just leave. Her corner table was empty, with most everyone else was sitting at the bar, reminiscing, so that’s where she sat. She sat in that lonely corner of the room at her own friend’s wake and had a silent pint.
Finally, though, somebody did come to sit next to her. It was Brooks, holding a pint of beer. Judging by the way he seemed to be just on the verge of falling over, it wasn’t his first drink.
“Why so glum?” Brooks asked, plopping down in the other chair. “It’s just a wake: it ain’t that depressing, is it?”
“It is for me,” Hiro mumbled. “Enrico was… one of my only friends.”
“We all lose people to the job: that’s just the way it is,” Brooks said. “I lost my first partner on the job, actually: two months in, in fact.”
Hiro frowned. “You did?”
Brooks nodded. “We were working on taking down Two-Face Maloye. We got in a shooting match with some of his thugs, and, well, we lost. Townshend took a few to the chest, barely held on long enough to hit the ground. They got me in the leg and the stomach, but the Docs got to me in time.” He took another swig of beer. “Even after the doctors gave me the go-ahead to go back to work, I couldn’t quite manage it.”
Hiro paled. “I-I’m so sorry: I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright,” Brooks said. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m almost glad that he died when he did, now: I don’t know that I could mourn him and get through what I did to Zanetti at the same time.”
Hiro just about fell out of her chair.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Hiro promised. “You weren’t the one that shot him. The bastard that did that is at fault, not you.”
“But Zanetti wouldn’t have gotten shot it I hadn’t fired that first shot.” The look on Brook’s face made her heart hurt: she could suddenly see just how much it was eating him up inside. “If I’d just kept my damned wits about me and my damned finger off of the trigger, Zanetti would still be alive.”
Hiro didn’t know what to say. She had a feeling that there was very little she could really say that might make him feel any better about this, but… well, she had to at least try, right?
; “You don’t know that,” she finally said. “That man that shot him might have done it whether or not we lost control of the situation. Hell, as far as you know, he would’ve gotten hit by a car crossing the street in a week if he hadn’t been shot. Stop torturing yourself over it.”
Brooks looked up at her. “You really mean that load of horse shit, don’t you?”
“Brooks, when was the last time I said something I didn’t mean?”
“Never,” Brooks said. “Really: would it hurt you to learn to tell a little white lie every once and awhile?”
Hiro smirked.
“Thanks, kid.” Brooks took another gulp of beer, while Hiro took her first. “Really: thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She swigged down a few more gulps of beer. “That’s what partners are for, right?”
The two of them finished off their beers in relative silence, opting to not participate in the wake that was happening at the bar. The other men were off sharing their own stories of Enrico, many of which Hiro had never heard. She shared a few stories about him with Brooks, but he didn’t have much to say about him: the two of them didn’t really know one another. Even if they couldn’t really share in the good times, it was nice for her to talk about it, get some of it off of her chest. It made her feel… better. As much as she could, anyway.
Once Hiro finished off her beer, she stood up, grabbing her steam bike helmet from off the table. “I’m going to head over to the square.”
“You want me to come with you?” Brooks asked.
“Frankly, I don’t trust you to hold onto me,” Hiro said. “Besides: I think a little ride might do me some good.”
Brooks nodded. “Have fun, then.”
“Get yourself a cab when you leave, alright?”
With that, Hiro pulled her helmet over her head and walked out, hopping onto her steam bike and riding off towards Foch Square.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she rode through the streets. Her steam bike rides had always been a source of peace for her: it was one of the few times of her life where she wasn’t that “damned Hanjan”, or “that imprudent inspector girl”. She could just be Hiro. People didn’t have to know who she was or what she looked like, thanks to the fact that her helmet covered her whole head. People didn’t give her nasty looks, didn’t yell horrible things at her: she could just be like everyone else on the streets.
It was also one of the few times in her life where she could just sit and think. Sometimes, though, that wasn’t always for the best: she had a nasty habit of overthinking things.
Maybe it was because of that conversation she’d just had with Brooks over who was at fault in Enrico’s death, but that day, she just couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened during those riots. For some reason, she kept seeing the same image over and over in her mind’s eye: that moment when she looked up from that first civilian that had been shot and saw Brooks pointing that smoking pistol at that man. Specifically, she remembered the look on his face, how afraid he’d looked. He’d looked like a kid that couldn’t find his mother in a crowded place. His hands had been shaking, he looked like he was on the verge of vomiting; most of all, he looked hopeless. He looked like a man that had just watched the world he’d known catch fire before his eyes.
She supposed that that was an accurate description: Brooks was lucky that he still had his job after that whole incident.
Eventually, though, she thought back to that poor man she’d watched bleed out on that curb outside the church. His name, she’d learned after the fact, was Johannes Schneider, a black smith in the farming commune of Blenzin, nearly twenty miles south of Königstadt. He’d been visiting his sister, a factory worker, for the week. She’d told him that she was going to this protest, and he’d decided to go with her, knowing full well that it was going to be dangerous for her. His sister had been the one holding him when he died.
And then, there was the pièce de résistance, the fact that she couldn’t get out of her head no matter what she tried: two shots were fired.
Hiro remembered the sound of the shots cutting through the air quite clearly. She remembered the way they just about made her heart stop.
And it was at that moment that she realized just how odd it was.
During training as an inspector, you were taught to shoot in a very particular manner. Of course, the policy was always to avoid shooting a suspect, but when it couldn’t be avoided, they were always taught to take two shots, and to aim for their chest or their stomach: they were spots you were more likely to hit than the head, legs, or arms. Hertz had been hit just below the rib cage, twice, meaning that Brooks had fired twice rather than hearing something that he thought was a gunshot, panic, and fire his weapon.
So… what provoked him? Hertz hadn’t had a gun on him. Or any weapons, for that matter. Had he just put a hand in his pocket and made Brooks think that he was going for something? She wished she knew more details about that whole mess, because as of that moment, she was just horribly confused about the whole situation. Something just… didn’t add up.
She forced all of that out of her head as she sped up her motorcycle and turned onto King’s Street. She had to stop worrying about all that: that day was her day to say goodbye to her friend, not to overanalyze what killed him.
And so, she sped up. She sped up far beyond the point than she normally would’ve dared. The engine roared to life, and the wind roared past her and chilled her to the bone.
Damn, did it feel good. When was the last time she took the time to go to some empty street somewhere and push her bike as fast as she could take it?
By the time she got to Foch Square, she was feeling much, much better. She parked her bike in the small alleyway between the church and what appeared to be a tailor’s shop and made her way through the crowd and over to the small stage that the people participating in the proceedings were supposed to sit, her helmet under her arm and on her hip. She could do this: she just had to get through this, and then she was going to get out of town for the rest of the day and just ride-
Oh, hell!
Apparently, she’d be sitting next to Katalin von Thurzó. The new wife of her ex-boyfriend.
She took a deep breath as she got to the stage and climbed the stairs. Suddenly, the stage felt more like a scaffold.
Katalin seemed a little surprised when Hiro took her seat next to her: she almost seemed to jump when she sat next to her and shoved her helmet under her chair.
“Good afternoon, inspector,” Katalin said with a slight bow of her head. “I was not aware that you would be joining us up here: I thought you would be with the other officers.”
“The emperor asked me to be here,” Hiro said, adjusting her seat on the chair. “I hope my… presence near your husband doesn’t offend you, my lady.”
“Of course not,” Katalin said quickly. “That’s all in the past, and I’d much rather look towards the future.” She began to adjust her own position on the chair. “Actually, I… wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little better.”
Hiro glanced at her. She couldn’t decide whether or not she should be more confused or more mortified. “Pardon?”
“Well, I know that many would find it rather imprudent for a woman to befriend a woman whom her husband had once tried to court, but I… well, I rather believe that to be a silly thought,” Katalin said. She kept wringing her hands out: was she… nervous? “If I may be so forward, the nobility of Vorbereich can be so stuffy, sometimes, not to mention absolutely naïve about what’s happening around them: I’m sure it’s the very reason the common people are so insistent on rebelling, in fact. I wouldn’t mind having a real person to talk to every once and awhile, someone like you who isn’t so focused on propriety and will talk to me like a fellow human being rather than someone that might help them to raise their status.” She looked forward at the crowd, again. “Besides: as you know, my dear Friedrich can be rather… eccentric. I wouldn’t mind knowing someone who also knows
how eccentric he can be.”
Hiro suddenly got the image of herself and Katalin sitting on the porch of Eltz Manor, wearing fine sundresses, drinking fine tea served by Chayim, and gossiping like standard women of the court. She wasn’t sure which she wanted to do more: laugh or cry.
“As you would, my lady,” Hiro said, instead, forcing that horrible image out of her mind.
“Please don’t call me that,” Katalin said, glancing over at her. “I hate all the titles: just call me Katalin. I would very much like to call you Hiro, as well, if you’ll allow it.”
“Of course.” Hiro looked back at Katalin. “Might I speak freely?”
Katalin nodded. “Of course: what good is having friends that can’t speak freely around you?”
“How does it feel to be so formal all the time? Does it ever make you want to scream from the top of your lungs, maybe throw a chair?”
Katalin seemed surprised: her eyes got really wide, almost as if horrified. Instantly, Hiro began to worry that she’d made a terrible mistake. Stupid: when would she learn that “speaking freely” didn’t have the same meaning to the nobility as it did to everybody else in the world?
After the longest few seconds of Hiro’s life, though, Katalin cracked a smile. Thank heaven.
“Every single day,” she said.
With that, the trumpets began to sound, announcing the fact that Manfred II and Lady von Braun had arrived.
Everybody on the stage stood in respect, while the people in the crowds bowed as the emperor and the empress walked from the White Palace to the stage. The two of them were wearing all black, just like everyone else on the stage.
Lady von Braun sat down in her spot right behind the podium, Manfred II stepped up to the podium, and the proceedings began.
LX. ADELRIC
Adelric stood in the crowd, the piece of coal he twirled between his fingers feeling especially heavy. He’d been given a very specific job for that day: he was supposed to stand among the crowd, look for any signs that something bad was about to happen, and shout out a warning if he found something wrong. Thus far, everything seemed to be just fine: the emperor was making his speech to the people, and they seemed to be listening. It was going on just like every other public affair he’d ever witnessed.