“Enter.” The response was almost immediate, which I decided to take as a good sign. I let myself in and stood to attention, saluting.

“Gefreiter Schreiner, 1st Regiment 2nd Company.”

“At ease, gefreiter. What brings a Guardsman here?”

“Crown business, sir,” I said, pushing the letter across his desk. “I believe I will need to borrow one of your jägers, sir, although the letter should explain everything, sir.”

The oberst made a grunt of acknowledgment, appraising the seal before opening the envelope to read the contents.

He was a large man, I noted while he read, and only half of that muscle. His jacket strained a little at the frogging to restrain his bulk, but his moustache was free of such constraints and blossomed out in a wide, grey-speckled, brush. It amplified the occasional twitches of his lips as he read. His face was very expressive, between that moustache and his heavy brows.

He set down the letter on the desk and leaned back in his chair. My eyes momentarily flickered down to the tight button at his collarbone before jumping back to his face. I had to remind myself that from everything I’d heard and seen so far, the oberst was more than competent in the field.

“Hum. Most unusual, to have a gefreiter alone responsible for this,” He said.

I shrugged. “I agree, sir, but it’s not my place to question, sir.” If he was fishing for details or an explanation, I didn’t even have any to give him, much as I myself would love to.

“Yes, quite so, quite so.” The oberst pulled at his moustache, apparently deep in thought. I waited patiently while he thought, glancing about the office. There wasn’t a lot to see, apart from stacks of papers on the desk and a side table. A couple of wooden chairs sat on my side of the oberst’s desk, but it would be a severe breach of etiquette for me to sit, so I stood behind them, hands clasped behind my back.

At length, the officer pulled a clean sheet of paper from a stack on his left and penned a short missive, signing it with a florid motion at the end. He quickly blotted the ink and shook it before sliding it across the desk to me.

“This is a note of authority for this and only this,” He explained in a stern tone. “Speak to Leutnant von Kolzig. He’ll arrange for the transfer of Jäger Kaczmarek. I seem to recall the jäger being quite the sharpshooter, so I trust the need is actually dire. We can use all the guns we have on the walls.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I said, saluting. “Sorry to have troubled you, sir,” I added.

The oberst waved dismissively. “I don’t like to blame the messenger, gefreiter. It’s bad for morale, and I find messengers seem to grow in shorter supply whenever I do it.” He winked, pulling at his moustache again. “Dismissed, gefreiter. Heavenspeed out there, son.”

“Thank you, sir.” I saluted again and took my leave.

To my great relief, Leutnant von Kolzig was working in another office in this same building, surrounded by drifts of paperwork, and was not in a meeting either, meaning I could interrupt him. He was rather a narrow looking fellow, with a sharp nose and chin awkwardly accenting his thin figure. He took the note from the oberst without comment, scanning it quickly before tossing it aside and cross-referencing a ledger with several pages of notes and rosters. He finally scribbled something on a piece of paper and looked up.

“Jäger Kaczmarek is with a squad on watch duty at the third north-east tower, fourth level. I don’t suppose you know how to get there without getting lost or underfoot?”

I hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out what answer he actually wanted from me. Apparently he already knew, because he took the hesitation as an answer.

“I suppose not. I’ll have Kaczmarek relieved, then, and ordered to report here as soon as possible. You can wait in the quad. Just look for the tan jacket, we don’t have a lot of jäger.” With that, he turned his attention back to the paper he had been filling out before I interrupted him.

I waited for a few seconds, but no further comment was forthcoming. “Am I dismissed, sir?” I ventured.

His head snapped back up, clearly surprised. “What? Oh, yes, dismissed, gefreiter.” He blinked and looked down at the desk again. I saluted on principle -- I was almost certain he wasn’t paying attention, and completely certain he didn’t care one way or the other anyway -- and let myself out.

The quad was the large cobbled square embraced on three sides by the wings of the guardhouse, by turns mostly empty and teeming with soldiers. Nearly everyone with duties involving the wall or the watch -- and under siege, that really meant nearly everyone in the army -- had to pass by at some point. Much of the time, nothing was changing. Other times, many things changed at once and the square descended into madness.

Squads moved through on the double under the watchful eyes of their sergeants, ferrying materiel from place to place or completing chores. Whole platoons wheeled and marched in order, heedless of the chaos as unattached squadrons scrambled to get out of their way, drummers beating out an uncaring cadence. Officers on horseback threw the platoons out of formation by simply ignoring them in turn. A constant hubbub of shouting, drumming, and hobnails on cobbles boiled up out of the whole mass in a dull roar.

In the midst of this, I was supposed to spot a single jäger. It seemed a bit of a bold endeavour, but I found a spot against the wall at the end of one of the wings where I could see most of the goings-on most of the time and wasn’t at risk of being bowled over, and settled in to wait. At least the leutnant was right about one thing: sky blue coats with tails sweeping back to a triangular point were universal among the infantry. A tan jacket would certainly stand out.

I had been waiting long enough to see a surge start and end, a long period of quiet pass, and a new surge start before I spotted my mark arriving shortly after a platoon from the wall: tan jacket, small cap, long arquebus -- hallmarks of a jäger. Not necessarily the tan, but the jacket at least.

I straightened up from the wall, raised a hand, and called out over the noise as best I could. “Jäger Kaczmarek! Hoy, Kaczmarek!”

The jäger stopped, head turning this way and that before he caught sight of me and started to move my way. Just then, a platoon marched by and I lost sight of him until he emerged just a few metres away, and I frowned a little as I sized him up.

Kaczmarek was remarkably short, standing maybe a hundred sixty centimetres, with a slight, boyish build to match. The long gun on his shoulder was almost as tall as he was. He had surprisingly small features as well, which prompted me to spot something else a little worrying: though the blacking in his plaited blonde hair was wearing down, suggesting he hadn’t taken care of his appearance in a few days, he showed no sign of stubble.

Is command trying to set me up with a classroom of children? I mentally lamented.

Then the jäger returned my appraising stare with a hostile glare. “Never seen a woman before, gefreiter?” She snapped.

I re-evaluated my observations. They certainly made a lot more sense with this new piece of context. It wasn’t unheard of for women to serve in the Imperial Army, either, just distinctly uncommon and proportionately rare for them to rise to any kind of special distinction. I was still concerned about her size, but the oberst had made a passing comment about sharpshooting and certainly as long as she could hold the gun I didn’t see that it would be an issue.

“I am a little surprised,” I answered honestly. I opted to try to gloss over it with an introduction. “I’m Friedrich Schreiner, Queen’s Guard, 2nd Company. A pleasure to meet you.” I extended my hand.

Kaczmarek eyed it dubiously for a moment before shaking it. “Sasha Kaczmarek, Kurnich Jäger. Though I guess you already know that.”

“Only barely. Do you need anything from here?” I asked. “Else I’ll explain while we walk. I can hardly hear myself think.”

“Nope.” She shook her head, and I headed off down the street, inkling my head for her to come with. Once the cacophony had faded to a bearable level, I opted to go straight for the short explanation and see what happened.

“You’ve been selected by High Command to join His Highness Prince Franz as a guide through the Ostwald on a diplomatic trip to Szekerya.” I said, as flatly as I could.

She stopped and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I could go tell Leutnant von Kolzig you’re full of it.”

I sighed. “I’ve been getting that a lot recently. I’m afraid it’s the Heavens’ own truth.” I gestured to the scar on my face. “I’m sworn to defend His Highness with my life, although I’m currently trusting the good Count’s staff to manage the immediate part while I arrange for better defences in the Ostwald.”

“Fantastic,” She said, not sounding at all sincere. “So I have to take a man without a coat and a kid for a walk along a road for a hundred kilometres.”

“Oi!” I scolded, glaring at here. “Show the proper respect to His Highness.” But then I sighed again, which was getting to be a habit. “Everything has been a right mess so far, jäger. I doubt it’ll be that simple. On the way here we were attacked by a wyvern, of all things.”

She stared at me, sceptical look giving way to outright irritation. “I’m supposed to believe that? No-one’s sighted a wyvern this side of the Freibergen in a hundred years.”

I pulled off my hat and ran a hand over my hair in frustration. “Himmel und Berg, jäger, an army of ten thousand Torreans marched out of a hole in the world here two weeks ago. They did the same thing in the middle of Nachberg. Probably all over Immerland. Why is it so hard to believe the wildlife is acting strange? That Her Majesty wants His Highness out of the kingdom, and quickly and quietly? Immer, but people around here are suspicious.”

I jammed my hat back on my head, seething. My voice had risen while I spoke, but I’d managed to wrench it back down again before attracting any attention.

“Alright, fine, I get it,” Kaczmarek said. “Where are we going, by the way?”

I paused. I’d been heading back around the perimeter street, planning to head into the city at the next good road and then up to the estate, but it occurred to me that the jäger might need things from the barracks.

“Count von Hairball’s estate, unless you need to stop by--” I was cut off by the woman choking back a laugh.

“Von Hairball?”

My shoulders slumped. “It was very late, we’d just run the Torrean blockade, and I’m no politician,” I tried to excuse myself. “What’s his actual name? And please don’t tell anyone. Least of all him,” I pleaded.

She snorted. “It’s hilarious. There’s no way I’m not telling anyone. It’s ‘von Erewald’, though. Maybe don’t call him ‘von Hairball’ to his face.”

I rubbed my brow. “I didn’t plan to. Anyway! do you need to collect anything from the barracks?” I tried to drag the conversation back onto the path.

She shook her head. “All I got is with me, or regulation and not mine.”

I glanced at her kit again. When I’d sized her up at the meeting I’d been more concerned with, well, her size (or lack thereof) and hadn’t given much thought to her equipment. It seemed mostly standard, apart from the arquebus. That was, aside from its length, etched with swirling patterns down the whole length of the barrel, rising seamlessly into a brass ring at the muzzle. A small horn protruded up above the barrel from it. I couldn’t see the lock from this side, but the stock was also inlaid with similar -- although less intricate -- curls, in brass.

“And now you’re already staring at my butt,” Kaczmarek accused me. I flushed.

“Well, yes. But the one on your gun. It’s fine work -- I assume that’s the non-regulation thing you don’t need to pick up.” I gestured vaguely over her shoulder to it.

It was incredibly rare for an enlisted soldier to have their own firearm that met standards, but there was no rule against it. They were just costly and not particularly useful outside of the army, so it didn’t happen. Most hunters still preferred a bow or crossbow, the greater consistency much more useful in hunting than the ability of an arquebus to punch through steel like it wasn’t there.

She gripped the strap protectively. “Obviously. It was a gift from my uncle. You might have heard of him -- Johannes Schumacher.”

I blinked. That certainly put a lot of things in perspective, again. Schumacher was considered one of the finest gunsmiths in the world, producing weapons that fired with near miraculous precision. It had been an old joke in my squad in the Mourners that if someone gave Schmid a Schumacher gun he could probably shoot down the sun with it.

“Huh,” I said eloquently, not quite sure how else to respond to that. “It certainly looks the part,” I added, a little lamely.

“Mmhm. About the job, though. Am I supposed to swear an oath as well?” She asked, a hint of trepidation showing through the bluster. I shook my head.

“No. Apart from the fact that I have no Holy Stone, Her Majesty and the General apparently didn’t think it necessary. I’m afraid I suspect they think if you try anything, I’ll be able to stop you.” I shrugged, not wanting to belittle the jäger but also acutely aware of the fact that I’d back myself against the vast majority of dedicated swordsmen, let alone marksmen.

She smiled wryly. “Yeah, I guess I can’t deny that. Do I get anything out of this?”

“Apart from fulfilling your duty to your sovereign and country?” I asked, mostly joking. “You seem to have come around to this quite quickly.”

“Yeah, apart from that. And, eh.” She shrugged. “We’re going to von Hairball’s estate. I’ll know for sure whether you’re full of it or not soon enough. If you are, I go back and tell the leutnant, I’ve heard some funny stories, and you get strung up. If you aren’t, then at least I know a bit. So?”

I winced at the casual mention of hanging, but kept on going. “There is a good payment, yes. Enough to get drunk on for a few years, I should think, or whatever your pastime of choice is.”

Kaczmarek nodded. “Well, if I had a choice I’d say I’m in. But I’m in anyway, so…” She spread her hands. “Tell me about the plan.”