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CHAPTER NINETEEN

For the past five days Winterfall had felt like he was on a treadmill that was running about two kilometers per hour too fast.

But now that the preliminaries were over, Außenminister Shān assured him, the pace would pick up.

The worst part was the names. Like everything else Andermani, the names were a mix of Chinese and Old German, which not only made for mental confusion on his part but often made it impossible to predict which of the people on the attendance lists were male and which were female. That shouldn’t have been a problem, but Winterfall discovered to his private embarrassment that having a mental image of the wrong gender threw him off stride for the first few seconds of a given introduction. All the fumbling make him feel stupid and awkward, not to mention probably lowering his hosts’ opinion of Manticore in general.

The titles, at least, were pretty much all German. Still, the jaw-cracking compound words were still something of a challenge.

And of course, there was so much of everything and everyone. There was the Chancellor, or Kanzlerin, a formidable woman with the equally formidable name of Wilhelmine Heilbronn, Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel. There was the Minister of War, Kriegminister Aeric Zimmerman, plus a vizeadmiral and flotillenadmiral who served as his advisers. There were several other ministers from the Staatsministerium—Interior, Finance, Justice, Research, Industry, and Transport—all of whom made appearances at the grand banquet that Emperor Andrew arranged to formally greet the Manticoran guests, and none of whom was then ever seen again.

Most of the meetings were held in the palace, usually in the Marble Hall or Audience room. A few of the larger ones took place in government buildings elsewhere in Zizhulin. Those meetings gave Winterfall and his team a chance to see a bit more of the Empire’s people and architecture, at least in passing, as well as offering some welcome breathing space.

Naturally, the vehicles used to transport them across town were far better than anything Manticore had to offer.

Still, even just with Außenminister Shān, Kriegminister Aeric Zimmerman, plus their various aides and assistants, there were plenty of people involved to keep things lively. Especially since Winterfall had the sense that at least half of them thought the whole thing was a waste of time.

“It’s really not that, you know,” Major Strossmeyer assured him one evening as the Totenkopf was escorting the Manticorans back to their wing of the palace. “There are all the preparations going on for this palace wedding that’s taking up a lot of everyone’s attention. On top of that, Admiral Basaltberg and the fleet are just four days out from Tomlinson, and all of Potsdam’s thoughts and hopes are with them. You have to expect they’ll be a little distracted.”

“I understand,” Winterfall said, his stomach tightening around yet another magnificent dinner. Basaltberg’s fleet, and Winterfall’s brother and sister-in-law. In four or five days it would all be over, with probably a great many of those who left New Berlin never coming back.

And no one here would know anything about it for another two weeks.

“And of course, there’s also Emperor Andrew,” Strossmeyer said into Winterfall’s quiet fears.

“What do you mean?” Winterfall asked.

Strossmeyer waved a hand. “The usual. The questions and concerns about whether he’s truly ready to lead the Empire.”

“I thought everyone was going to sit back for a bit and give him a chance to prove himself.”

“Maybe,” Strossmeyer said. “But a lot of that may depend on what happens at Tomlinson over the next few days. And if some of the doubters decide to take matters beyond cautious watchfulness…”

Winterfall glanced around. No one else was in earshot. “Are you talking about a coup?” he asked softly.

“I hope to Gott not,” Strossmeyer said feelingly. “But it happened once, you know. Fifteen years ago. If it happened once, what’s to stop it from happening again?”

“You,” Winterfall said. “You and the other Totenkopfs.”

“Maybe,” Strossmeyer said. “But…” He shook his head. “It’s strange, Herr Foreign Minister. I would have died for Emperor Gustav. Instantly, without thought or question. But Emperor Andrew…I’m not sure I could. Not anymore.”

“That’s your job, Herr Major,” Winterfall said, letting his voice darken, a small voice in the back of his mind noting the irony of a foreigner as ill-equipped as he was to do his own job lecturing someone else on how to do his. “If you’re not ready to do it—”

“I should resign,” Strossmeyer said. “Of course. I know that. The deeper question is whether I should consider leaving the Empire entirely.”

Winterfall frowned. “It’s that bad?”

“No, no, it’s not bad,” Strossmeyer hastened to assure him. “It’s just different. Emperor Andrew may turn out to be a great and enlightened ruler. But he’s not Emperor Gustav. The feel of the Empire has changed.” He gave Winterfall a wan smile. “Or maybe I have. Gott help me.”

“There’s nothing wrong or shameful about a person growing in a different direction than he expected,” Winterfall said. “From what I’ve seen of you, I have no doubt you would continue to protect the new Emperor every bit as zealously as you did the old. But if you don’t feel right about it, then you should definitely consider a change.”

“I thank you for your advice and insights, Herr Foreign Minister,” Strossmeyer said as they reached Winterfall’s door. “Though there’s still be the question of where I could go.”

“Why not Haven?” Winterfall suggested. “The Empire already has good diplomatic and commercial relations with them.”

“Which may actually argue against it,” Strossmeyer said. “Goods and diplomats are not the only things that travel between our two nations. Information does, as well…and I will be a failed Totenkopf trying to make a new life.”

“I doubt the Havenites would care.”

“Some would,” Strossmeyer said. “And in their faces…” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “No. And there’s nothing in Silesia I would want. No, it’s the Solarian League, or nothing.”

“That’s an awfully long trip.”

“I know.” Strossmeyer twitched a smile. “Unless there might be a place for a professional bodyguard in your Star Kingdom of Manticore? If not for your queen, perhaps some high official would be interested in hiring a former Andermani Totenkopf to handle his security.”

“I’m sure someone would,” Winterfall said, frowning. “But to be honest, I think that after living in the Empire you’d find Manticore a little—shall we say rustic?”

“Rustic may be just what I need after the stress of protecting the Empire,” Strossmeyer said ruefully. “Tell me, how difficult would it be to obtain Manticoran citizenship?”

“I really don’t know,” Winterfall said. “We get our share of immigrants, so I know there’s a procedure in place. But that’s not my department, and I don’t know the details. Would you be wanting to come back with us aboard Diactoros, or wait for passage on a future ship?”

“I don’t see what purpose a delay would serve,” Strossmeyer said. “As you yourself pointed out, if I’m not wholly prepared to give my entire self to my job, it would be in everyone’s best interests if I left as soon as possible.”

“There’s that,” Winterfall conceded.

“And who knows when trade between Potsdam and Manticore will become a reality?” Strossmeyer added. “It’s not as if Majestät will simply give me a ship of my own and speed me on my way.”

“That would seem unlikely,” Winterfall agreed. “On Manticore you’re lucky if you just get a good reference from your employer. Let me look into it, check the relevant laws and statutes, and discuss it with my team. I should have an answer for you by the end of the week.”

“I appreciate that, Herr Foreign Minister,” Strossmeyer said. “Sleep well.”

* * *

For an hour after Winterfall turned off the light he lay awake, staring at the curtained window, noting the occasional shadows of night birds flick across the moonlight. Then, with a feeling of trepidation, he turned on the nightstand light and keyed the call button.

“Palace services,” a female voice came promptly. “How may I assist you, Baron Winterfall?”

“I’d like to leave a message for someone,” Winterfall said. “I don’t think she’s in the palace, and I don’t want to wake her up. I just want to leave a message for her to get in the morning. Can I do that?”

“Of course, Herr Baron. You may record whenever you’re ready.”

“All right.” Winterfall paused, choosing his words. “This is Foreign Minister Gavin Vellacott, Baron Winterfall. I would like to speak to you on a matter of—” did he dare say great importance? “—some importance at your earliest convenience. As this is a delicate matter, I would beg of you to keep it as confidential as possible. End message. Did you get that?”

“Ja, Herr Baron,” the woman assured him. “And the recipient?”

It was a long shot, Winterfall knew. It was also likely going way out of channels and way above his position, and given the Andermani rigidity in the matter of proper protocol it had the potential to sabotage his entire mission.

But deep within him he knew it had to be done. And this was the only way he could think to do it.

“One of Majestät Andrew’s advisers,” he said. “Baronesse Marija Shenoa.”

* * *

Winterfall wasn’t expecting to find an answer to his message waiting when he woke up the next morning. Nor did one come while he washed and dressed, nor had one been delivered by the time the group assembled for the morning discussions.

Which wasn’t surprising. An advisor to the Emperor would have a lot of duties, and answering a message from a visiting dignitary—or even reading it, for that matter—was probably low on the baronesse’s priority list. If he got an answer within the few days it would take to track down the immigration data for Strossmeyer, he would consider that a win.

That particular morning’s talks revolved around commerce issues, giving Winterfall a chance to sit back while the trade expert Baroness Crystal Pine had sent with the mission handled the Manticoran half of the conversation. Fortunately, she’d applied herself enthusiastically to her language studies on the voyage, and her German was excellent. Luncheon was served at the usual time, right on the stroke of one o’clock. Winterfall had finished his meal and was listening to the casual conversation at his end of the table when a young man he hadn’t seen before stepped up to him.

“Excuse me, Herr Foreign Minister,” the young man said. “My name is Josef Shu Tung, one of the caretakers of the Emperor’s greyhounds. Außenminister Shān told me that your family has an interest in dogs, and suggested you might wish to inspect the palace kennels.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Winterfall said. He’d noticed the greyhounds, of course. They were everywhere, apparently with complete run of the palace. Fortunately, they were also well-behaved, and aside from demanding a bit of attention from everyone they met they weren’t a problem.

How Shān had learned about his and Travis’s mother’s dog breeding business he didn’t know. But he was starting to get used to Andermani omniscience.

More to the point, he still had half an hour before the next session. “Would this be a good time?” he asked.

“It’s entirely at your convenience, Herr Foreign Minister.”

“Then let’s do it,” Winterfall said, easing his chair back and standing up.

“Excellent,” Shu Tung said, smiling. “If you’ll follow me, bitte?”

The young man led him past the Manticorans’ rooms, through a short double-ell turn and into the farther palace wing. Winterfall could hear and smell the dogs well before Shu Tung stopped by an open door and gestured him inside. “In here, Herr Foreign Minister. Enjoy.”

Danke,” Winterfall said, and stepped through the doorway.

And came to an abrupt stop. Seated on a woven-mesh chair just inside the door, a happy greyhound’s head cradled in her hands, was Baronesse Marija Shenoa. “Guten Tag, Herr Baron,” she greeted him, her voice solemn, her eyes steady on his face. “I understand you wish to speak with me.”

With an effort, Winterfall found his voice. “I do, Baronesse. Please forgive me if I overstepped my bounds or intruded on your privacy in any way.”

“One has to work much harder than that to offend me, Herr Baron,” she said with a hint of dry humor as she gestured to another chair across from her. “Please sit. And tell me of this matter of importance.”

Danke,” Winterfall said, lowering himself carefully onto the chair. The material looked fragile, but seemed to hold his weight without any problem. “The problem is that I don’t really know if the matter is important or not,” he continued as another greyhound trotted over and put its head in Winterfall’s lap. “I had a conversation with one of our Totenkopf guards last night, Major Strossmeyer. Parts of our talk just seemed…odd.”

“In what way?” Marija asked. If she thought he was wasting her time, Winterfall thought, she was hiding it well.

“He suggested while he was intensely loyal to the late Emperor Gustav, that he was uncomfortable guarding Emperor Andrew,” Winterfall said as he stroked the dog’s head. “He talked about resigning and leaving the Empire.”

“Hardly something to be concerned about,” Marija said. “The Totenkopf Hussars form strong attachments to their Emperor. So do the members of the palace staff and the various official ministers. A period of adjustment isn’t unreasonable.”

“He also talked about protecting the Empire,” Winterfall said. “Not the Emperor, but the Empire.”

“One and the same,” Marija said. “As I said, feelings run deep. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of our citizens, even highly placed ones, eventually decide to emigrate to Haven or the League.”

“I actually suggested Haven,” Winterfall said. “That was the other odd part. Instead, he pushed for me to invite him to emigrate to Manticore.”

Marija’s forehead furrowed slightly. “I hardly think a man of Major Strossmeyer’s tastes would be happy on Manticore. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Winterfall said. “I made that same point, in fact. But it wasn’t just the words. It was also his…well, it was everything. His tone, his expression, his body language. It felt like there was something going on under the surface that I was missing. He also spoke of preparations for this palace wedding. Not my Emperor’s wedding or something of that sort. The whole phraseology just felt cold and distant.”

“I’m afraid you may be suffering from culture shock, Herr Baron,” Marija said. “Andermani aren’t given to expressing warmth or any other emotions, particularly to strangers and outsiders. If Major Strossmeyer is unhappy here, I’m sure Emperor Andrew will offer him alternate service, or allow him to resign his commission and take up a new life elsewhere.” She smiled. “Even on Manticore, if he so chooses.”

“I understand, Baronesse,” Winterfall said, trying to conceal his frustration. There was still something wrong about all this—he could feel it. But it was equally clear that those feelings couldn’t be translated into words. “Thank you for your time.” He gave the greyhound a final pat on the head and stood up.

Or perhaps not quite final. The greyhound looked up at him with plaintive eyes, making little pleading sounds. “Oh, all right,” Winterfall said, feeling a little embarrassed as he leaned over and gave the greyhound a more vigorous rub around her head, ears, and muzzle, making sure to dig under her collar where other dogs he’d known tended to have itches. “Yes, you’re a good dog,” he said. “My apologies, Baronesse.”

“None needed, Herr Baron,” Marija assured him. Fortunately, she sounded more amused than annoyed. “You seem to have made a friend in Sunna.”

“She’s a beautiful animal,” Winterfall agreed. One final pat—really final this time—and he again straightened up. “Thank you again, Baronesse. And if Major Strossmeyer wants to come to Manticore, we’ll be happy to save Emperor Andrew the trouble of providing him a ship.” He bowed again and started to turn to the door.

“Stop” Marija said, her voice suddenly filled with broken ice.

Winterfall froze. What had he done? “Yes?” he asked carefully as he turned back.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. There was a new hardness to Marija’s face, a sudden simmering fire in her eyes, a visible clenching of her jaw. “Sit down,” she said, the broken ice still there. “What did you mean, happy to save the Emperor the trouble of providing a ship?”

“I apologize if I offended you,” Winterfall said between suddenly stiff lips. “It was just something Major Strossmeyer said.”

“His exact words, Herr Baron,” Marija ordered. “His exact words.”

Winterfall took a deep breath, thinking back. “We were talking about whether he could wait for some kind of commercial travel between our nations to emigrate,” he said slowly. “He then said, And who knows when trade between Potsdam and Manticore will become a reality? It’s not as if Majestät will simply give me a ship of my own and speed me on my way.”

For a moment Marija searched his face in silence. “I see,” she said at last. “A small joke on the major’s part, I suppose.”

“Did the words have any special significance?” Winterfall asked.

“As I said, simply a joke,” Marija said. “You may go, Herr Baron. It appears to be only a minor matter, but thank you for bringing it to the Emperor’s attention.”

“You’re welcome,” Winterfall said, completely lost now. “I’ll of course be available if you wish to speak further.”

“Should that become necessary, I will certainly inform you,” Marija said. “You will of course not mention any of this to anyone else. That includes your negotiating group as well as ours.”

“And Major Strossmeyer?”

Her eyes bored into his. “Especially not the major,” she said quietly. “Thank you again. I trust your next round of talks will be fruitful.”

“I’m sure they will,” Winterfall said. “Thank you again, Baronesse.”

And that was that, he told himself as the young greyhound caretaker led the way back down the hallway. If there’d been anything sinister or seditious in what Strossmeyer had said or done, Winterfall had alerted his hosts as a good guest should. It was their job now to evaluate and act.

And if there hadn’t been anything to it, and Winterfall had just made a fool of himself, he could only hope to God that word of it didn’t get back to Queen Elizabeth.


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