We travelled in silence for some time, but as His Highness grew more comfortable with the journey, and, I assumed, more bored, he began to display to display an insatiable curiosity. The first instance was shortly after I’d encouraged him to ride for a bit:

“Gefreiter?” He’d asked.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“I seem to recall last night one of the other dragoons mentioning a pair of dragonets. We-- we aren’t, by any chance, travelling with actual dragons, are we?” He asked, the consternation in his voice palpable.

It took all I had not to pack up laughing, perhaps due to my tiredness, but even so I chuckled.

“No, your Highness, thankfully not, and I should dearly like to keep it like that. No, he meant these.” I reached up and withdrew the dragonet suspended behind the saddle on my side of the horse.

For all it was considered a light firearm, it was still clear the length of my forearm and heavy with it -- aiming it with any kind of reliability was an optimistic proposition. In fact it occurred to me, looking at it, that if a dragoon lost his scimitar he could profitably take a dragonet by the muzzle and lay about himself with it like a cudgel.

This was the dragonet that was still charged and so I checked it was certainly still at half-cock and hadn’t by some misfortune been jostled to the ready before I passed it up to the prince.

“A full arquebus is unwieldy to fire from horseback, sir, and downright impossible to reload, so we use these cut-down firearms. Their trouble is the shortness of the barrel, you see, sir. An arquebus is accurate enough to hit a man to fifty metres, give or take, and Schmid used to be able to take a bird on the wing at that range -- we could never get it out of him how, though, sir -- but these are about as dangerous as harsh language past about fifteen. They’ll fire close on anything you can fit down the muzzle, though, sir, makes them a real terror at short range if you load with shrapnel.”

His Highness nodded along as I explained, turning the piece about in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. “I see. Would you show me how it is shot?”

I blinked and adjusted my hat, taken aback. “Of course, your Highness, sir. But, sir, if you’ll forgive my temerity in asking this, sir, haven’t you been taught how, sir?”

The prince shook his head. “No, gefreiter. “ He didn’t elaborate further, and though I was now terribly curious I didn’t dare press him. He passed the dragonet back to me and I returned it to its harness, although I caught his disappointed look.

“Sorry, your Highness, but it’s better not to fire it here if we don’t have to,” I explained. “The sound will carry for kilometres, sir, and I don’t know who or what it might draw to us. These woods and this road are usually safe, sir, or as safe as anything out here in the wilderness can be, sir, but it’s better not to chance drawing anything. We should reach a logging hamlet before dark, though, sir, and if it’s safe I’ll teach you a little there, sir.”

His Highness considered this for a moment and then nodded, agreeing. “Very good, gefreiter. Thank you.”

But the dam of the questions had been breached, and he immediately followed up with another:

“How come it’s called a dragonet, then, gefreiter?”

I grinned. “That one’s easy, your Highness. It’s called that because it roars and breathes fire, sir, a full blast of it. Usually the powder doesn’t all burn up in the breech and what’s left flies out with the shot.”

The day passed surprisingly comfortably like that, the prince’s questions taking my mind off the constant rain dripping off my hat and running down my sleeve every time I adjusted my grip on Munter’s lead rope, and keeping my mind occupied enough to stop me falling asleep on my feet.

I tried to answer as many as I could, but for all His Highness had the maturity and presence of a much older youth, he still had the infinite imagination of a boy and some of his questions had me truly stumped. Questions about the area we were travelling were mostly answered easily enough, and a few more he had about soldiering, but questions like “What would you do if we did encounter a dragon?” and “Why doesn’t the army use more magic?” were rather beyond my ambit.

I found the journey surprisingly pleasant, and though by the time we reached our destination of the day I was bone-tired I still felt mentally quite chipper. The hamlet was marked on traveller’s maps due to its convenience as a resting point, being around two days’ easy journey from Nachberg, but not even named. It had been long enough since I passed this way that I didn’t remember its name either, except that I thought it was something remarkably uninspired, perhaps Zimmerdorf?

A broad clearing surrounded the village, which was itself more closely girdled by a flimsy palisade. Its only real purpose was to divert wandering animals around rather than through, and perhaps to keep local livestock in -- it offered little to nothing in the way of deterrence to anyone that actually wanted to get in.

About a hundred metres out from the village, I slowed to a halt, passing the lead rope to His Highness.

“I still doubt we’re pursued, your Highness, but a military man without a company is conspicuous,” I said.

With a regretful look, I unpinned the silver cockade -- a leaping horse over a mountain peak, with a scimitar and arquebus crossed beneath -- from my hat and stowing it in my cartridge pouch, which I also unbuckled, along with my sword belt and broad waist belt. All were much broader than the usual fashion, leaving aside the fact that they were dyed an ashy charcoal grey. I also had to unsling my arquebus, pulling a long canvas stocking over it and hanging it from Munter’s saddle. All the discarded militaria went into the saddlebags where I could fit it, just the scimitar in its scabbard staying out, and I hung that from an ordinary leather belt.

Finally, wincing at the humiliation of it all, I scooped some clay from the road’s edge and used it to dull the shine on my double row of buttons. As long as I kept the cuffs and collar of my coat unturned, and my hat disreputably unfolded, I could pass for an ordinary soldier of questionable purposes. I certainly wouldn’t be taken for a fanatically loyal member of the Queen’s finest company.

I hung my head as I returned to His Highness and Munter, the former giving my a bemused look.

“It doesn’t feel right, your Highness,” I explained. “I fought too long and too hard for this to want to hide it, but here we are and it’s what needs doing.” The last comment reminded me of something I’d overlooked: The precise scar on my cheek. Sighing, I dragged a muddy finger down the side of my face, hiding it beneath a patchy layer of clay.

“And that’s downright embarrassing, sir,” I added.

The prince’s bemusement had turned to open amusement at my despondency.

“As you say, gefreiter. Shall we make our grand debut?” He giggled childishly. I shook my head, breaking out in a smile despite myself.

“Very good, sir. I for one look forward to a good night’s rest more than the grand occasion, but I am sure we shall manage.” I reclaimed the lead rope and we started forwards again.

---

Though I doubted the hamlet numbered over twenty households, its roadside position meant that the local public house kept some rooms upstairs for rent to travellers. The stable housed two might draft horses, looking like they could each move an entire tree if they were harnessed to it, but had a pair of empty stalls as well. It had been my first stop: I wanted to have Munter settled before we went into the inn, not leave him loose outside. The risk of horse thievery out here was utterly negligible, but the consequences if we did lose him somehow were harsh. I preferred not to take the risk.

With no locals in sight, I led Munter into one of the empty stalls myself and set to unsaddling him straight away, while the prince waited. Once again, it was certainly unusual for him to join me in the stable, but once again I felt the risk was too great if he wandered off and got lost, or some opportunistic child tried to lift his purse. A prince probably did not need much in the way of street smarts, I reasoned.

Finally all of Munter’s tack was hanging from what hooks I could find and I ran my hand over his head, promising him a proper grooming later. With a weary sigh, I hefted the saddlebags over one arm and turned to head through the courtyard to the public house. I paused just before I left, turning to the prince.

“Your Highness, I think it would be for the best if you called me Schreiner while we are here, not gefreiter, sir. As I said, a soldier sticks out more than a hired sword, sir, and they wouldn’t be called by rank, not normally. I fear I’ll have to just call you ‘sir’ as well, sir, for similar reasons,” I said, touching my hat apologetically.

“I understand, ge-- Schreiner,” His Highness replied. I nodded, and we ducked out into the perpetual drizzle.

The public house itself was a welcoming structure, built almost entirely from timber as was the norm in a logging village, but with a hefty stone chimney. The roof was high-peaked, two dormer windows peering out towards the sun as it made its way down the last quarter of the sky, and a sign proudly declared the establishment the Logger’s Rest. Of course, it was also emblazoned with a frothing stein in pokerwork -- it was not a given that everyone who passed by would be literate. Many were, in increasing number as well, but still far from all, and the cost of getting someone who was a dab hand with a hot poker to do a drawing would be covered the first time a traveller stopped who otherwise would not have.

Eager to get out of the rain, I stepped up and knocked sharply at the door. When no response was forthcoming, I frowned and thumped more vigorously with the side of my fist.

“I do hope nothing is amiss, sir,” I commented to the prince. “I was counting on tonight being a safe rest.”

My concerns were allayed a moment later, with a clicking and a creak the door swung open to reveal a balding fellow with an immense nose and a stained apron. He looked us over and flinched when he saw the scimitar at my side, although he recovered quickly.

“Good a’ternoon, gentlemen,” He said. “You’ll be here out Nachberg, then? Please, come in come-in.” He spoke with an odd cadence, slow and then rushing.

I gratefully stepped inside, removing my hat and shaking it towards the door to dislodge the worst of the water, Prince Franz following in my tracks and doing the same with his own -- significantly nicer -- hat.

“Thank you, good man, and so we are,” I replied to his greeting. “How did you know?”

He gestured to the prince. “Like’est place for a finely dressed gentleman like y’lordship, here, b’sides nigh on e’rybody as been through for the last fortnight has been.”

I pushed some damp strands of hair back behind my ear. Of course, it was obvious in hindsight that there’d be many people leaving the capital. Tenacity and resolve might be the national character of Immerlanders -- or foolish stubbornness, less charitably -- but plenty without attachment to home, business, or land would have left as soon as the Torreans invaded. In fact, put like that it was a wonder there was anyone left.

“True enough, I don’t doubt it,” I sighed. “Do you have room and board for the night, good man? My charge and I have had a torrid time of it.” I hoped His Highness didn’t mind my taking over, though it seemed unlikely he would. It was the prerogative of the Royal Family that matters were arranged in their favour, and he seemed happy enough to be out of the rain, looking around the common room.

“Lucky y’are, sir, lucky-you-are, last group left las’night,” The publican said. “And it’ll be a sad day when a pub-house can’t offer victuals, even a’ter winter, sir!” He had a way of bowing or nodding slightly to accentuate his words which combined with his rolling dialect to make me feel vaguely that the man must be set on a spring. “I see you have saddlebags there, sir, has your horse been looked a’ter?”

“I took the liberty of stabling him outside,” I answered. “I hope you don’t mind overmuch. The poor beast roughed it with us last night, I felt I owed it to him to get him a roof for today.” I couldn’t imagine why else there would be free stalls here, but no need to bring it up.

“Oh, very good very-good thank you, sir.” He bobbed. “Glad to hear it, that’s all quite right and proper, save that I should’a done it for you. But come now come-now I am holding you up and you must be eager to shed your coats.”

The publican bustled off up the stairs, calling for us to follow, and we did so. I glanced about curiously as we went. The room had a number of tables and chairs set out, far more than the size of the village would suggest were necessary, so it seemed a fair number of travellers stopped by here. Otherwise the room was sparsely decorated. A fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, giving the air a slightly smokey odour but also a desperately needed warmth, and a countertop ran along one side in front of what was presumably a kitchen door, but little more. I imagined it was livelier in the winter or on feast days.

The room the publican showed us to was modest, certainly the second worst lodging His Highness had ever had after the roots of the rowan tree, but clean and tidy. The shutters on the dormer window sealed well so there was hardly a draft, and though four beds with only straw pallets were crammed in, stacked in the military barracks style, there was still room to move. I was grateful it seemed we would not have to share, at least not yet.

With a grateful sigh, I hooked the saddlebags over the corner of one of the bedframes, rolling my shoulder. My perpetually damp coat was the next off, the prince copying me, and we hung them up on the hooks for the purpose. After a moment’s thought, I left my scimitar hanging up. If anything happened that I needed arms to handle, it would probably be too much to handle in any case.

“Thank you kindly, good man,” I said to the publican. “Could we trouble you for something hot to drink? It has been hard going out there, and you know how it is trying to get a fire going in this season.” I gestured vaguely at the window.

“Of course, o’course,” He said, “Come-come, let us get you settled.”

“Of course, we must handle payment as well,” I added. “But once we are downstairs.”

The keeper vigorously agreed, and we headed downstairs. He vanished into the kitchen for a minute and re-emerged a moment later. “Kettle is heating, y’lordships, though I’m afraid the tea is just an herbal brew my wife makes-up, nothing special nothing special. But to the matter of money, ten kreuzer will cover all you need, all-you-need-indeed.”

I nodded. The price was reasonable, if a little high, but I was too tired to try to haggle and the publican was acting so agreeable it was hard to disagree with him. Even if he was making me feel a little seasick. “Very fair, good man, very fair.” I extracted the requisite kreuzer from my pouch, glad I had had the foresight to pack a separate pouch with only the smaller values. One of the items I had been presented with to pack had been a bag containing an eye-popping quantity of golden reichsducats, a sum of money to move even honest men to murder. I suspected that part of the reason Her Majesty had had me swear a binding oath was not out of fear that I might abandon His Highness out of laziness or fear, but out of sheer avarice for the sum available.

On the other hand, it meant that money should not be a problem for this trip.

With the practical matters resolved, the publican disappeared back into the kitchen to reappear shortly with two earthenware mugs filled with a steaming liquid. The smell was sharp but not disagreeable, and both the prince and I enthusiastically wrapped our hands around their warmth.

His Highness took a sip of his and pulled a face, and I fought down the urge to laugh. Of course, this was real peasant fare, such as he would never have tried.

“Just take small sips, sir, and focus on the warmth,” I advised him. “It’ll heat you up from the stomach, very important in this weather, sir.” I sipped at my own mug, feeling the warmth from the drink and the fire seep into my bones, driving out some of the perennial chill. In fact, I was perilously close to falling asleep.

I called out to the publican just before he disappeared back to wherever he had been -- quite likely an office of some kind; in these places, the publican usually worked as a tax official, judge, and administrator as well as a tavern keeper. “Good man, do you have a tarock deck? I had intended to show my charge a little of the village, but I fear the charms of your hearth are too powerful for me to overcome.”

The publican chuckled at that. “Of course of-course sir, what kind of public house would be missing a deck?”

He produced one from under the counter somewhere and bustled back over to the table, to set it down. I was quite impressed with how he always moved as though there was another table or customer desperately in need of him, though it was just us. It seemed like quite a skill.

I thanked him and checked through the deck while I waited for him to disappear properly this time. The warmth and the tea had thoroughly relaxed me, and I smiled at the prince.

“Well, sir, I offered to show you how to shoot, but I fear this place is much to quiet to look kindly on that. So would you like to learn some soldier’s games here in the warmth instead? Although perhaps sir’s tutors should not hear of them…”

The prince laughed, and I started to deal cards, explaining the first game I had in mind.