Jacob's Ladder

April 486 I.C., Odin

Spring, Yang’s favorite season, had finally returned to the capital in full force. Winter had stretched its cold fingers as far into March as it could, but eventually the warm winds off the not-too-distant ocean beat it back into submission, and flowers worked their way out of their buds into riotous bloom. The only thing that could have made it better, Yang thought, was Reuenthal being in the capital, but he was stationed with his fleet in the Iserlohn corridor.

Mittermeyer was about to leave, too, heading off to take a short stint as the commander of the fleet forces stationed on a small frontier planet named Barbarasturm . Evangeline was, understandably, annoyed at Mittermeyer having the posting, but he had reassured her that it would be for less than a year. She could have come with him, and he had asked her to come, but this had led to, apparently, the first major fight of their marriage. Yang hadn’t been present for it, but he had heard all about it third-hand through Magdalena. Understandably, Evangeline had not wanted to leave her career on Odin. Magdalena had described Mittermeyer as intellectually understanding this, but having asked her anyway because he was worried about what people would think. This had been the wrong thing for Mittermeyer to be worried about, in Evangeline’s eyes. Yang was glad he had not been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

They had made up, presumably, because the two of them seemed happy with each other as they sat across from each other at a table on a veranda at Magdalena’s estate. Yang was seated next to Mittermeyer, and Magdalena was next to Evangeline, with her arm wrapped firmly around Evangeline’s waist. They had just eaten dinner, and the sun was casting their whole company in rosy pink shades. Their wine glasses were almost empty, and the remnants of the shortcake they had eaten for dessert were mostly smears on their plates.

“I’ll be sure to keep Eva excellent company while you’re away, Wolfgang,” Magdalena was saying. “She’ll hardly even know you’re gone.”

“I certainly hope that’s not true,” Mittermeyer said. “Since I’ll miss her.”

“Tch. Typical selfishness, wanting someone else to be just as miserable as you are. It’s not Eva’s fault that you picked the worst career.”

“At least it’s not engineering,” Mittermeyer said. “It could be worse.”

This got a laugh out of Evangeline and Magdalena. “I will miss you,” Evangeline said. “And I hope that it ends up being less than a year. I still can’t believe you’re being exiled to the frontier. I thought they only did that to people who were out of favor.”

Yang shook his head. “Not always,” Yang said. “I suspect there are a couple of reasons for why they’re sending Mittermeyer out there.”

“I was under the impression that the fleet assigned their commanders by throwing darts at a starchart,” Magdalena said. “Considering that you and Oskar have held more different positions between the two of you than I have fingers to count.”

“I sometimes think it would be more reasonable if it was random,” Mittermeyer said, “but then the poor fellows in the PI unit would be out of a job.”

Yang laughed a little. “Please, you don’t want to unleash them on the rest of the fleet. They’re all stuck in that basement for a reason. I would certainly know.”

“So, why do you think that Wolfgang is getting reassigned to the frontier of frontiers?” Magdalena asked. “I want to hear your theory.”

“Well, it’s twofold,” Yang said. “I hope you don’t mind that I did do a little bit of looking into it.”

“Not at all,” Mittermeyer said. “I was hoping you would, honestly.”

“Don’t mind me sticking my head back down into the PI unit basement and asking to see your file?” Yang asked with a smile.

“Look, I’m sure my file is a lot better looking than yours. I should be proud to have it displayed.”

Yang laughed. “Oh, that’s almost certainly true.”

“So, what did you discover?” Evangeline asked.

“First of all, both Barbarasturm and Mittermeyer have reputations.”

“Oh?” Magdalena asked. “What kind?”

“Mittermeyer is known for being competent and collected in difficult, unforgiving situations,” Yang said. “Mostly due to holding things down at Kapche-Lanka, not just during the siege, but during your whole tenure there.”

Mittermeyer nodded. “Not a bad reputation to have. But Barbarasturm I’ve heard is pretty pleasant, if a bit on the arid side. And with a thirty-hour day.”

“Didn’t Kapche-Lanka have a long day?” Evangeline asked.

“Yeah,” Mittermeyer said. “But it honestly didn’t make much of a difference, since the weather was so bad. On base we ran the schedule on a twenty-five-hour clock. Five shifts of five. It didn’t really matter that we were out of sync with the actual solar clock.”

“Thirty’s not unmanageably bad, I’ve heard,” Yang said. “Most people get used to it.”

“So, what’s actually wrong with the place?” Magdalena asked.

“I don’t actually know how true this is, but Bronner was mentioning something about the local baron being hard to get along with.”

“Oh, is that all?” Mittermeyer asked. “I knew about that. The man I’m taking over from, Rear Admiral Jurgenson, sent me a very polite but strongly worded letter about how to deal with him.”

“Barons,” Magdalena said with a sniff. “All the same.”

Evangeline laughed. “But not you?”

“Oh, darling, I’m a baroness; it’s much different. My father, on the other hand…” She shrugged and smiled. “You had better be careful,” she added. “That far from the capital, the local nobility tends to get ideas.”

“Really?” Evangeline asked. “Like what?”

“Oh, well, I’ve seen it happen often enough. Someone gets granted a piece of land to rule over, and they start thinking that they’re the god of their own little patch. Say what you will about the kaiser and Minister of State Lichtenlade— they at least understand the balance between the crown, the nobility, and the people. Move someone self-important out far enough away that the crown’s influence fades, and they’ll start thinking they can do whatever they like. It often isn’t pretty.”

Yang made a bit of a face. “Perhaps they shouldn’t have such unchecked power.”

“Well, of course,” Magdalena said. “That’s what people like Wolfgang are sent to be: the crown’s checking of their power.”

That hadn’t been what Yang meant, and Magdalena knew it, but Yang wasn’t going to dig his heels in about republicanism in front of Mittermeyer and Evangeline, neither of whom were particularly interested in politics.

“Who is the local baron?” Evangeline asked.

“Baron Claude von Maier,” Mittermeyer and Magdalena said at the same time, which made Evangeline laugh.

“Is he someone I should know?” she asked.

“Not unless you’re planning to move to the frontier,” Magdalena said. “His wife is actually the cousin of Duke Braunschweig, you know. And Baron Flegel, whom I’m sure you’ve seen lurking around the capital— he’s Duke Braunschweig’s nephew— is very close with them .”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Mittermeyer said. “But I did see a bunch of von Maiers in my list of officers that I’m going to be inheriting.”

Magdalena laughed at that. “Yes, I’d hazard they’re his sons or nephews or something like that. They all like to be close to the nest, because it gives them the same sense of power as the father. A name will go a lot further there than it would if they were in actual positions on the front.”

“Interesting that such strings could be pulled,” Evangeline said.

“Oh, darling, we can’t talk about pulling strings when our dear Hank has had more strings pulled for him than anyone else in this galaxy.”

“Different circumstances,” Yang protested.

“Hardly. A name has power in it. Knowing the right people, being on their good side, getting them to do you favors— well, it’s all part of how things work.”

Mittermeyer had a bit of a frown now, too. “Do you have any words of advice for dealing with these people? It’s not like I have much of a name.”

“Mmm,” Magdalena said. “Are you good at sucking up?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Mittermeyer said. “That’s the one thing that was good about engineering. I didn’t have to worry about any of these politics. People just wanted to get the job done.”

“I’d say just try to avoid stepping on any toes.”

“I thought you said that his job was going to be to step on toes,” Evangeline said.

“Oh, yes. That’s the tricky thing. You have to step on people’s toes gently. In a way that gives them what they want. You know what I mean, Hank.”

Yang flushed, thinking of the first night that he met Magdalena. She laughed at him.

“Didn’t you say that there was another reason that I was being put there?” Mittermeyer asked, rescuing Yang from having to explain his embarrassed reaction.

“Oh, yeah,” Yang said. “It’s a stupid reason, though.”

“What?”

He scratched the back of his head. “You’ve gotten promoted so fast that it’s gotten to the point where, well, you know, it would be embarrassing if you climbed any higher, at least for now. I mean, you don’t have a family name, and you’re well on your way to making full admiral before you’re even thirty. That’s pretty unusual.” He shrugged a little. “So they’re sticking you somewhere where you’re unlikely to do anything very impressive for a while. That’s all.”

“I should probably be unhappy about that.”

“Think of it as a nice little vacation,” Magdalena said. “After all, you’re unlikely to get shot at like you would if you were at the front.”

“Are you going to get to take the Westberlin with you?” Evangeline asked. “I know you love that ship.”

“Hah, yeah. While I’m there it’ll join the little stationed fleet. It’s not as though the planet is in danger of getting attacked, but I’ll have jurisdiction to deal with pirates and check to make sure no merchants are trafficking contraband onto or off of the planet. That sort of thing. I probably won’t leave the planet’s surface, but, you know.” He shrugged a little. “I should probably figure out the best way to deploy my ships, since I won’t be with them…” He trailed off, thinking about it. “Any thoughts, Leigh?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a fine time,” Magdalena said. She stood. “Eva, would you care to go for a turn about the garden with me? It helps with digestion, you know.”

“Oh, sure, of course.”

“We’ll let our boys have their stimulating discussion about how to move their toys around space. I’m sure we don’t need to be here to hear it, do we, darling?”

Evangeline smiled. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” Mittermeyer said.

Magdalena cheerfully wrapped her arm around Evangeline’s shoulder and led her through the house towards the garden, leaving Yang and Mittermeyer alone.

Mittermeyer sighed a little.

“Did you actually want advice on moving your ships?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I doubt I’ll have to.”

“Probably not. And it’s not like pirates typically have communications jamming capabilities. If there’s any trouble it’s not like you won’t be able to watch it closely from the planet.”

Mittermeyer nodded. He looked out into the garden towards the now-distant Magdalena and Evangeline. “Is there a reason why your girlfriend is acting like that with my wife?”

“I can tell her to lay off if you want. I think she’s just having fun,” Yang said, trying not to cringe with embarrassment. “But it’s not like I’ve ever been able to get Maggie to behave.”

Mittermeyer laughed a little. “I guess Eva likes the attention, so I won’t worry about it.”

“Maggie has just been lonely since she got banished from court.”

“Are they ever going to let her come back?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said. “Princess Amarie still likes her. That will probably be enough, but she has to have a reason, not just come creeping back with her tail between her legs. She’s not nearly apologetic enough, most of the time.”

“I can’t blame her.”

“Yeah.”

Mittermeyer sighed again. “Am I a terrible husband?”

“For going to the frontier?”

“Yeah. Well, that and everything else.”

“You can’t help where you’re assigned.”

“I could have tried harder to convince her to come with me.”

“She likes living on Odin. You’d probably make her more unhappy if you did guilt her into leaving,” Yang said. “I think she understood what she was getting into when she married you.”

“Did she?”

“Well…” Yang trailed off. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t tell if she’s happy with me or not.”

“You could ask.”

Mittermeyer frowned and glanced over at Yang. “And if she didn’t want to hurt my feelings right before I leave for a year, she’d lie.”

“She never really struck me as a liar.”

Mittermeyer leaned his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. “It’s what I would do.”

“I’m aware,” Yang said, voice dry. “You’re going to stress about this for a year while you’re gone, though, so if you want some closure, maybe you should ask her how she really feels about various things before you go.”

“It’s not exactly possible to get closure on things, you know.”

“Well, yeah. Not unless you’re willing to tell her a lot.”

“I keep thinking that I should, and then I change my mind.”

Yang was silent. They watched the distant figures of Magdalena and Evangeline stroll through the garden. Magdalena pulled a flower off a bush and tucked it in Evangeline’s hair.

“How does Westpfale feel about all of this, by the way? She knows, doesn’t she.”

“What do you mean?”

“About you and Reuenthal.”

“Oh. She knows. I don’t know why she would care, though.”

“Because— You are going to marry her, right?”

“Did she tell you that?”

“It seems like the obvious thing to do.”

Yang raised an eyebrow. “It would create so many more problems than it would solve. I can’t even begin to list how stupid it would be.”

Mittermeyer shook his head. “If you say so.”

“You expect me to change my mind. I don’t know. Unless something about the situation radically changes, I don’t see it happening.”

“What would have to change?”

“You think Reuenthal would be happy if I got married?”

Mittermeyer tensed up a little. “No.”

“Exactly. He’s learned to deal with Eva because your schedules line up so rarely he can pretend she’s not a factor. Even if Maggie didn’t care, he would.” Yang put his hand on Mittermeyer’s arm, briefly. “Don’t worry about me. Or Maggie, for that matter. She has her own problems, and you definitely don’t need to deal with them.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you nervous about going away?” Yang asked.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t say that. I think the posting will be fine. Like you said, it’s probably not that difficult. No real combat will be involved. Just acting like an overgrown police commissioner.”

Yang laughed a little. “Yeah. It will be fine.”

Mittermeyer sighed.

“What?” Yang asked.

“The last time I spent a year alone with my thoughts, nothing good came of it.”

Yang laughed. “Please, tell me what other decisions you could start making.”

“I don’t know. I just have the bad feeling that I’m going to find out.”

“I am sure that you’ll be fine. And I’m sure that on Reuenthal’s next leave he’ll find some excuse to come and see you.”

“He really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It looks bad. It’s not like the place is exactly a tourist town. It’s hardscrabble farmland, as far as I can tell.”

Yang shrugged. “He can pretend like he has a relative there or something, I don’t know. He’ll find some excuse.”

“If you say so.”

Yang smiled. “I’m not usually wrong about things like that.”

“Yeah.” Mittermeyer turned to Yang slightly. “What did Westpfale mean about stepping on toes?”

“Oh, jeeze,” Yang said. “She just was reminding me how she behaved very badly at a party, once. Don’t worry about it.”

May 486 I.C., Odin

Yang learned about the trouble on Barbarasturm long after it happened, through several different channels.

The first was a phone call in the middle of the night. Yang was asleep, though on his couch rather than his bed, having dozed off while reading a book which had long since slipped out of his hands and onto the floor, the pages gently fluttering in the breeze from the open window. When his phone rang, Yang was so startled and disoriented that he fell off the couch onto the floor, searching his pockets and surroundings for the source of the infernal noise and any sense of what time it was.

He didn’t recognize the number, but Yang had had enough trouble over the past few years that he was not going to ignore a middle of the night phone call. He answered it, blearily.

“Hello?”

“Hank!” He was startled to hear Evangeline’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Eva?”

“Yes— gods, sorry for calling you so late—“

“What time is it?”

“Three thirty.”

“What are you doing up?”

“I was supposed to talk to Wolf— we had a call planned—“

“Did something happen?”

“That’s why I’m calling you— I’m sorry, I know you have nothing to do with it, but I didn’t know who else—“

“Don’t apologize, Eva; it’s fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I called his residence, over the ansible line we’ve been using, and there wasn’t any answer. And then I tried his office, and his second in command answered.”

“And what did he say.”

“He said that Wolf wasn’t available.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t necessarily mean—“

“No, you don’t understand—“

“It’s okay, just tell me what’s going on.”

“He said he wouldn’t be available, and that he couldn’t take a message, or tell me when he was going to get back, or where he was, or what had happened—” She broke off, unable to compose herself. Yang gave her a second, but then realized that she wasn’t going to continue.

“But you haven’t received notice that he’s died. They’d alert you to that.”

“No.”

“So, he’s alive, somewhere. They’d also tell you if he was MIA, because that’s usually just marked down as a casualty,” Yang said. “So we know that his second in command, at least, has a general sense of where he is.”

“What does that mean?”

“Did he sound like he was in trouble?”

“His second? I don’t know. I wasn’t really able to pay attention to anything other than what he was saying.”

Yang nodded, then remembered that he was on the phone and that Evangeline couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll see if I can pull some strings to figure out what’s going on.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you call anybody else about this?”

“Who would I call?”

“Reuenthal.”

“What? No.”

“Magdalena?”

“No.”

“Fleet affairs?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, hold off on that.” Yang scratched his head. “When was the last time that you did speak to him?”

“I sent him a letter—“

“No, I mean the last time you called him, or the last time you got a letter from him.”

“We called each other two weeks ago, and I got a letter from him last week.”

“And last week’s letter seemed normal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like he wrote it, and he didn’t seem worried, that sort of thing.”

“He’s been stressed but—“

“But nothing out of the usual.”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay.” Yang had gotten up and was pacing around his living room. He eventually went to go lean on the open windowsill to think. “I’ll make some calls, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get in touch with anybody who’s anybody until the morning. Do you think the situation can hold until then?”

“I don’t know what could change.”

“Alright. I’ll send some letters now and make some calls in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Evangeline said, real relief in her voice.

“I can’t make any promises, but I will try to find out what’s going on.”

“I know. That’s all I can ask.”

“You can ask a lot,” Yang said. “But it’s what I’m able to do is another question. Realistically, I’m just a commander. Rear Admiral Reuenthal probably has a bit more sway.” Yang wasn’t sure he was being coherent.

“I don’t think he’d want to help me,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Yang said. “I’m sorry that you get that impression from him.”

“Hank— could we not talk about that now?”

“Oh, gods, yes, sorry. Okay. I’m gonna go. Is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I know it’s probably useless to say, but do try to get some sleep, okay?”

“I will.”

“Good. Goodnight, Eva.”

“Goodnight, Hank. And good luck.”

“Thank you.”

She hung up on him then, though he heard a catch in her breath as she put the phone down that Yang thought sounded like the beginning of tears.

He took a second to clear his thoughts and make a list of priorities. Number one: Reuenthal would murder him if he didn’t let him know something was up right away. Number two: of all the people in Yang’s sphere, Bronner was the one most likely to know anything. If he was able to learn something from Bronner, that would give him direction. Similarly, not hearing anything from Bronner would also give him an idea of where to go.

His first message to Reuenthal was short.

Reuenthal,

I had a call from Eva that Mittermeyer is in some sort of trouble and seems to be unreachable. That’s all I know at the moment. I’m working on finding things out here & will keep you updated. Don’t do anything stupid.

-Leigh

His message to Bronner, on the other hand, walked a bit more of a delicate line.

Commodore Bronner,

A friend of mine, whom I believe you met several years ago, Rear Admiral Wolfgang Mittermeyer, seems to have gotten himself into some sort of trouble during his assignment on Barbarasturm. His wife called me in a panic asking if I could find out what had happened to him, since she was unable to contact him, and she has had no official word that he has died or gone missing.

I know that you have no real interest in my personal life, and that of my friends, but I find that when I need to know something official, you are the person who knows how to find that information. I already am deeply in your debt, but I would be further still, and very grateful, if you could point me in the direction of anything that you have heard.

Very respectfully,

Commander Hank von Leigh

That was, unfortunately, all he could really do at the moment. He might have called up Magdalena, just to get her on the same page, but then decided against it. She almost certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything, so Yang let her sleep in peace, at least for now.

He felt suddenly wired and alert, and he thought that even if he tried to go to sleep, he would have a difficult time. He had class to teach in the morning, but that had slid so far down his list of priorities that it barely even registered.

Yang paced back and forth in his room, trying to step through all the possibilities of what could have happened to Mittermeyer to cause him to vanish. If it had been a military action, it would have been public information, or at least public enough that his wife would have been told that he had taken his flagship off planet… If he had met with some sort of accident, similarly, she would have been told.

Yang’s eyes, out of focus, fell on his thick copy of Peerage of the Galactic Empire , sitting on his bookshelf. He hadn’t touched it in a while, but its red cover jogged his memory. Perhaps Mittermeyer had stepped on the wrong toes.

Yang pulled the book down from his shelf, and, just in case, began taking notes on some of the intricacies of Duke Braunshweig’s family tree, and cross-referencing it with letters that Mittermeyer had sent him, where he had mentioned someone or other living on the planet.

Yang continued this exercise until he had run out of his own letters, sent a quick message to Eva asking to see her letters, and then passed out, completely exhausted.

Sleep did not keep him for long, though, because at about six in the morning, an hour before he had to get up for work, Yang’s phone rang again, this time with the particular, recognizable tone that told him he was getting an urgent video call.

He fumbled to answer it in the dim, pre-dawn light.

“Reuenthal—“ he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got my message?”

“Yes, I did,” Reuenthal replied. He was frowning at the screen. “Have you heard anything else?”

“No,” Yang said. “You?”

“I made some inquiries.”

“What kind?” Yang asked, leaning forward. “What time is it for you?” He never could remember what time Iserlohn fortress operated at, compared to the capital time on Odin. It didn’t really matter.

“Second watch just started,” Reuenthal said. “I tried to see if I could get in contact with him.”

“You weren’t able to, I assume.”

“No, of course not. But it gave me an excuse to ask around where he’s gone. I don’t think he’s on the planet anymore.”

Yang nodded. “Is he being sent back to Odin?”

“Maybe,” Reuenthal said. “He might be coming to Iserlohn.”

“What?”

“I asked in the navigation office, and was told that the Westberlin filed a flight plan to Iserlohn. It should be here in about a day.”

“Why would he be coming there?” Yang asked. It didn’t make much sense. He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s on the Westberlin,” he said. “Evangeline would have been told if he was.”

“Why would anyone tell her that?”

“Because it is standard practice, if someone is in trouble, to at least keep their next of kin informed of their whereabouts.” Yang was snippy, and he regretted his tone, but Reuenthal didn’t seem to notice or care. “If it’s official trouble, people get served a court martial and it’s all very public, or close to it. This isn’t that. He wouldn’t be on the Westberlin.”

“Then where is he?”

“Probably still on the planet.”

“Then why would the Westberlin be coming here?”

“Maybe he was able to get a message out?” Yang rubbed his temple. “I don’t know. We don’t have any information. Maybe he’s not even in trouble and we’re all overreacting.”

“I doubt it.”

“Yeah.” Yang was silent for a second. “Are you going to do anything?”

“I’ll wait for the Westberlin to arrive, at least. Hear what they have to say for themselves. If that’s nothing, then I’ll go to Barbarasturm myself.”

“You can’t just go AWOL. Especially not with your flagship.”

“I’ll find some way to justify it. Don’t worry about me. What are you going to do?”

“I’m asking around,” Yang said. “I have a lot of contacts. Hopefully I can find something.”

There was a muffled sound from the other end of the call, and Reuenthal looked up from his computer. “I have to go. Keep me updated.” Before Yang could even say goodbye, or good luck, Reuenthal ended the ansible call, leaving Yang alone in the hazy light of his room.

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to spend all day figuring things out, Yang still had to go and teach his class. He dragged himself to the IOA, arriving more out of sorts than he ever had before, which was saying quite a lot. (There had been several mornings where Reuenthal had delayed him, which always made him flustered.) This was, unfortunately, far less pleasant, and he delivered his lecture to his class without even listening to himself speak. He could have been lecturing about anything, and it might not have borne any resemblance to the scenario that he was going to have his students play.

At lunch, Kircheis came up to him. Yang was sitting at his desk, frowning, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

“Is everything alright, Commander?”

Yang was so startled that he jumped. “Kircheis— oh. Probably not, I’ll be honest with you.”

Kircheis had a weird expression on his face. “Oh, okay.”

“Is everything alright with you?”

“I’m not sure,” Kircheis said.

Yang narrowed his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I… got a message this morning that I’m not sure how to interpret.”

Yang sat up. “From?”

“It looks like it’s from someone in the colonial affairs office, but I don’t recognize the name.”

“Your old assistantship?”

“Yeah.”

“And what’s the message about?”

“It’s… I don’t think I was supposed to get this letter, sir,” Kircheis said.

Yang was exhausted. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Here are the possibilities: you are supposed to receive the message, and the person who sent it is trying to be helpful. You are supposed to receive the message, and the person who sent it is trying to trick you in some way. You weren’t supposed to receive it— and it’s either going to get you in trouble for having it or not. Pick, and either tell me or don’t tell me what it is.”

When Kircheis didn’t say anything, Yang opened his eyes and glanced at him. Kircheis seemed unhappy.

“I’m sorry,” Yang said with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right this second. Look, let me see this letter. I’ll give you my professional opinion on it, if you want.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kircheis said. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Yang, who squinted at the unfamiliar and too-dim display. The letter started off with a bang: it was addressed care of the Colonial Affairs Office to the Ministry of War, and the letter writer had gone out of their way to put a significant amount of the text in bold red letters. It gave Yang a headache to read it. But when he did finally get past the form of the text and into the meat of it, he had the dawning realization why Kircheis had been sent this letter.

The message was from Baron von Maier, and he was unhappy at fleet command for assigning someone (name wasn’t mentioned, but Yang could immediately deduce that it was Mittermeyer) to his planet, because Mittermeyer had apparently… Yang’s breath caught in his throat. Mittermeyer had killed one of the baron’s relatives. The circumstances under which he had done so were not explained. The letter ended with the baron saying that he had arrested the offender and was returning him to Odin to be “dealt with” by Baron Flegel.

Kircheis was studying Yang as he read the letter. “I think that you’ve been a bit of an unwitting messenger, Kircheis,” Yang said.

“Sir?”

“I’m certain it was Commodore Bronner who put this letter into your hands, fully intending it to arrive in mine.”

“Why would he do that, sir? He could have sent it to you.”

“Commodore Bronner understands the value of not stepping on toes,” Yang said. “Or, at least not until the right moment. It would not be reasonable for me to have access to this information, at least not officially. But if someone who used to work for the colonial affairs office was accidentally forwarded something unwittingly, well, that could perhaps be chalked up to an honest mistake.”

“And Commodore Bronner understands honest mistakes, now?”

“He’s always understood, when it has suited him.”

“Can I ask—“

“Rear Admiral Mittermeyer is the person discussed in this letter,” Yang said. “I suspect, though I do not know, that Bronner is helping me because the idea that Mittermeyer would murder someone is incongrous with his character, to say the least.”

“What are you going to do about it, sir?”

Yang sighed. “I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I think a lot of that depends on when Mittermeyer arrives back on Odin, and if he’s alive when he gets here. And what I’ve been able to find out in the meantime.”

“Can you investigate? Prove that he didn’t murder anyone?”

“Kircheis, this planet, Barbarasturm, is not close. I don’t have a ship of my own. I don’t have contacts on the planet, either.”

Kircheis hesitated. “Do you want help, sir?”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure what kind of help you could offer me.”

“I might…” He trailed off a little bit. “My friend Martin, really, might have contacts. I can ask him.”

Yang tilted his head. “And why would Martin know anyone on the frontier of frontiers?”

“Please don’t ask me that question,” Kircheis said. “Because I don’t want to know the answer. All I’m saying is that he might. I could ask him.”

“And these friends would be amenable to helping an imperial rear admiral who has been accused of murder?”

“I don’t know,” Kircheis said. “I don’t know if they exist. All I’m asking is if you want me to ask.”

“Don’t put yourself in danger,” Yang said finally. “Of course I deeply appreciate any help that you can give, but you are, first and foremost, my student, and not anything else.”

“Alright, sir.”

“I would like to meet your friend Martin someday,” Yang said. “Maybe when you graduate.”

“Maybe, sir,” Kircheis said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Yang handed Kircheis back his phone. “And thank you for this, already.”

Kircheis nodded, then turned to go.

The next morning, Yang woke to one piece of news from a very unexpected source.

Commander von Leigh,

I trust that you are already aware that your friend, Rear Admiral Mittermeyer, has come into some trouble. Early this morning, at 422 (IFT), Rear Admiral Mittermeyer’s flagship, the Westberlin, docked at Iserlohn fortress. Mittermeyer himself was not on board, however, the captain of the ship, Captain Osswick, demanded to speak to Rear Admiral Reuenthal.

After a brief conversation, Rear Admiral Reuenthal departed Iserlohn Fortress aboard the Ostberlin. (The Westberlin has temporarily joined the Iserlohn stationed fleet.) I do not know what his intended destination is.

I hope this information is of use to you.

Respectfully,

Captain Paul von Oberstein

Absolutely nothing in that message was encouraging. Apparently, Yang’s plea to Reuenthal to not go AWOL had gone unheeded. He hoped that Reuenthal had, in fact, found a way to justify his movements to his superiors, but Yang wasn’t holding out much hope of that. It was somewhat concerning that Reuenthal did not even send Yang a message saying where he was going.

Yang felt like he was floundering— this was nothing like historical research, even if there were surface similarities of trying to piece together the story. After all, Yang realized, he didn’t just have to put together a story; he had to then do something about it. And if he created the wrong image in his mind, as he suspected that Reuenthal might be doing, he could make a mistake that could cost Mittermeyer

Over the next few days, Yang spent as much time as he could trying to find news articles written on Barbarasturm, paying exorbitant fees to access their local news. There was, surprisingly, absolutely no mention of Mittermeyer whatsoever. Yang had a sneaking suspicion that the local news was under the thumb of the local lord. He did find an obituary, though, for the man who Yang suspected was the one that Mittermeyer had killed. He was a von Maier, young, in the fleet, and had died unexpectedly. There was no mention of what had killed him.

It would seem, to Yang, anyway, that if Mittermeyer had murdered a beloved local son, there would be far more outrage than there was this official kind of silence and semi-offical retribution. Although Yang had already suspected that Mittermeyer would not simply murder someone, this was making it clear that the local nobility had something to hide. They may have wanted Mittermeyer punished, but they didn’t want to make such a public fuss about it.

Kircheis showed up at Yang’s office hours one day. He had an envelope in his hand, and he passed it to Yang. “Don’t ask me where I got this, or if I can get more, because I can’t. I hope it helps.”

Curious, Yang opened it. Inside was a folded printout of a badly and hastily photocopied police report. Some of the pages appeared to be missing, and some parts of the document were heavily redacted, as though someone had gone over them with a black marker before copying them. But it painted a disturbing picture, nonetheless. The woman filing the report alleged that she had witnessed an imperial officer rob a woman at gunpoint in the alley outside her home. When the woman had struggled, she had ended up shot, which caused her to bleed to death before she could receive medical help. The name of the person accused of this crime was blacked out, and all descriptions of him were missing, but his rank was left in the report, possibly as an oversight. There were only so many captains on Barbarasturm, and Yang cross referenced that with the obituary to see that yes, the man who died had been a captain.

Yang thanked Kircheis for the information, and he just shook his head. It was helpful, though, Yang thought. Or, it would be, if he could figure out exactly what to do with it.

Mittermeyer had still not appeared on the planet, but, all of a sudden, Reuenthal did. The Ostberlin landed in the capital’s airfield with no fanfare, except for the fact that it was certainly not supposed to be there, and thus caused some trouble for the air traffic control, which Yang caught wind of, as he had been half tuning-in to the ATC radios all week, waiting for any sign of him.

When the sign did come, Yang dropped what he was doing (eating dinner alone in his apartment) and scrambled to go meet Reuenthal at the airfield. He called him while en route on the train.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Yang muttered under his breath, listening to the phone ring and ring in his ear.

Eventually, Reuenthal answered. “Leigh— where are you?"

“I’m on the train to come stop you from doing anything stupid,” Yang said. “Where are you?”

“Get off at whatever stop you take to go to the ministry of war,” Reuenthal said. “I will meet you there.”

Yang wanted to yell at Reuenthal not to go in without him, or to find out what exactly Reuenthal was trying to do, but he suspected that anything he said to that effect would fall on deaf ears. So instead, he just silently willed the train he was on to move as quickly as possible, and tumbled out onto the platform and ran towards the ministry of war as fast as he could. The twilight was already muted, but it grew dimmer by the second as fat clouds moved in to cover the sky, and then thick drops of warm rain began to fall, splashing onto the sidewalk and getting Yang thoroughly soaked by the time that he arrived.

Reuenthal was waiting for him in the lobby.

“Reuenthal!” Yang called to get his attention. Reuenthal turned. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in several days, from the gauntness of his expression, but in other respects he was as well put together as he always was. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to demand to see Fleet Admiral Muckenburger,” Reuenthal said, standing stiffly, with his arms behind his back.

“You can’t,” Yang protested.

“Why not?”

“You’ll throw your entire career away if you do! Gods, Reuenthal, you went AWOL. You can’t just do that. You especially can’t do that and then just march into Muckenburger’s office and make demands.” He still hadn’t managed to figure out if Reuenthal had managed to justify his disappearance or not, but he was sure that charging in to Muckenburger’s office wouldn’t help the situation at all.

“I can and I will.”

“Reuenthal— get ahold of yourself. He’s not even here right now.”

“How do you know?”

“He spends most of his time in Neue Sanssouci these days, I’ve heard,” Yang lied. He needed to get Reuenthal out of the building. “And I didn’t see his car when I walked in through the lot.”

“I need to speak with him.”

“Reuenthal!” Yang grabbed his arm. “I have things I need to discuss with you, and then we can make a plan. Do you understand?” His knuckles were white, gripping Reuenthal’s arm so hard that if not for his uniform sleeve, his nails might have broken skin. It seemed to jolt Reuenthal back to some semblance of his senses.

“Fine,” he said.

Yang let out a rush of breath, and they headed out of the ministry of war, at least this one crisis potentially averted.

“Where have you been?” Yang asked once they were a decent distance from the building. “I heard that you ran out of Iserlohn, but you took way longer to get here than I thought you would.”

“I was chasing down a ship,” Reuenthal said. “The one that Mittermeyer was on.”

“What?”

“He was taken from Barbarasturm,” Reuenthal said. “But not on a military transport.”

Yang’s eyes narrowed. “A merchant ship?”

“Might as well call them pirates if they’re kidnapping people. But yes, a merchant vessel.”

“And you were following it?”

“I was attempting to meet up with it on the nav route that it had filed. But I missed it. Either they were faster than I was, which I doubt, or they changed their course to avoid being followed.”

“Where did they go?”

“They’re supposed to be here,” Reuenthal said. “I don’t know if Mittermeyer made it here alive, but I suspect he did, and he’s being hidden somewhere. A prison, maybe. We can hope it’s a military prison. If it’s not—“ Reuenthal clenched his fist.

“Is that information all that the Westberlin’s crew brought you?”

“No, that wasn’t all they brought me.”

“What else do you have?”

“Mittermeyer’s personal files. What’s left of them, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone thought to make it look like Mittermeyer was executing his subordinates without reason,” Reuenthal said, then stopped, perhaps realizing that Yang might not know anything. “Do you know what he’s been accused of?”

“Murder,” Yang said. “But I know he didn’t.”

Reuenthal nodded. “They scrubbed his computers, wiped as much as they could of his paper trail. The crew of the Westberlin were able to rescue some of it, and they brought it to me.”

“Why you?”

“The crew of that ship have been with Mittermeyer for years. They’re well aware that we’re friends.”

Yang nodded. “I’ve found some things out, too.” He explained the letter that Bronner had sent to Kircheis, and then the police report that Kircheis had managed to find, though he didn’t mention its source except in the vaguest terms.

“So, we have more allies than we think.”

“I hope so,” Yang said. “Have you spoken to Evangeline?”

“No,” Reuenthal said.

“I can update her.”

“If you must.”

“She has a right to know.”

“What is your plan?” Reuenthal asked. “If I can’t speak directly to the fleet admiral.”

Yang shook his head. “This whole situation is a mess. It’s... the balancing act, like Magdelena was saying.”

“I don’t believe I recall anything about that.”

“Mittermeyer stepped on the wrong toes,” Yang said. “But the nobles are overstepping their bounds right now, by a lot. They’re destroying evidence, essentially kidnapping people, and they’re banking hard on the idea that no one cares about a commoner rear admiral, even a talented one, enough to cause a fuss. This might not even be about Mittermeyer. Not really. Maybe Baron Maier is trying to push back against having fleet oversight of his little planet at all. He’s put Muckenburger in a bad situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve put him in a position of… I suppose essentially dictating the crown’s policy towards colonies’ self government, at least a little. If Muckenburger takes Mittermeyer’s side, that will agitate a lot of people— not just Maier, I think. It would send the message that nobles don’t actually have as much jurisdiction over the planets they’re given to rule as they like to imagine that they are.”

“Good,” Reuenthal said.

“I— okay, well, nevermind.” Yang shook his head. He didn’t want to get into, with Reuenthal, right now, that the kaiser or minister of state having direct control over the colonies was not morally very much different than some lesser noble. “The problem is that Muckenburger probably shouldn’t have the authority to dictate things like that. He’d be stepping on Minister of State Lichtenlade’s toes.”

“And the alternative?”

“If he takes Maier’s side, he’s giving nobles on colony planets that much more of a foothold to order around the fleet outposts there as though they were in charge. It’s a step in a direction that Muckenburger doesn’t want.”

“If we give him what we have, he might be able to publically turn the whole thing around, make it a narrow case instead of a broad one. This is just about Mittermeyer, not about all of colonial policy.”

“It’s all connected,” Yang said. “Mittermeyer just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, being the wrong person, to get made an example of.”

“So, what do you think Muckenburger is going to do?”

“He’ll probably try to strike a balance. He’ll probably send an investigation team out there, try to figure out what really happened. Drag his feet enough that he can get Mittermeyer’s replacement set up on Barbarasturm, make it really clear that this guy is important and not to be trifled with, and then probably punish Mittermeyer.”

“Punish him how?”

“At best, he loses his position. At worst, he’s imprisoned. I don’t think Muckenburger would go so far as to have him executed— I’m sure that he can see that Mittermeyer is being set up.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Baron Maier and his family won’t, either,” Yang said. “I was told that Baron Flegel was going to ‘take care of’ Mittermeyer. I don’t think they’re intending to keep him alive. So whatever Muckenburger is planning, I don’t think that will be much of a concern.”

“You’re taking this all very lightly,” Reuenthal said.

Yang glanced at him.”In what way?”

“You’re delivering the news that someone might execute him with the same tone you’d deliver a SW lecture,” Reuenthal said. “You’ve been on Odin this whole time. You could have—“

“Do you expect me to charge into a military prison with just me and my sidearm? How well do you think that would go, Reuenthal? I just learned he’s already on the planet from you, and I don’t know where he’s being kept. I’m doing what I can.”

Reuenthal wasn’t going to apologize. “Then what is your plan? I assume you have one.”

“I’m glad you’re here, at least,” Yang said. This was intended as a concession to Reuenthal’s mood, but it was also the truth. He hesitated for a second. “I think what you should do is track down Flegel. See if you can find where Mittermeyer is being held. Go ahead and antagonize Flegel, if you need to delay him from taking action. Duel him or something. I don’t know.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m in less disgrace than you are, right this moment,” Yang said. “And I think I have a grasp on the politics of the situation.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Reuenthal said.

“I’m going to go beg,” Yang said, finally. “It’s all I can do.” Reuenthal frowned, but Yang stared off into the distance in front of them. “You need to find Mittermeyer, or Flegel, first, so that we have a bargaining chip.” Yang muttered. “Then I’ll have something I can work with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Make it seem like it’s mutually beneficial for someone to work with us, instead of it just being me falling on their mercy.”

“Who are you going to talk to?”

Yang shook his head.

“Tell me,” Reuenthal insisted. “The kaiser?”

“No,” Yang said. “That would turn this into a political disaster. If I can, I’m going to speak to Princess Amarie. But I don’t know if I can.”

Reuenthal nodded. “I’ll find out where he is.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Yang said. “Please.”

Princess Amarie and Duke Braunschweig lived on a vast and beautiful estate, but the heavy rain clouds that had been filling the sky since the night before made the scene gloomy in a way that seemed unpleasantly foreboding. Yang walked up the pebbled path to the front door, with Evangeline at his side. He had thought about bringing Magdalena, but the fact that Magdalena was still slightly in disgrace made that a fraught proposition, so it was just Yang and Evangeline, her wearing her nicest but most staid outfit, and Yang clutching in his hands a thick folder of all the evidence that he and Reuenthal had been able to gather.

One of the family servants let them into the house. Evangeline couldn’t help but be awed somewhat by the size and grandeur of it (it was an order of magnitude more ostentatious than Magdalena’s estate), but Yang had been in plenty of noble houses, and was far too distracted by the task at hand to appreciate the architecture and decor. He was so distracted, in fact, that Evangeline had to steer him out of the way of a side table, when they were let into some sort of sitting room.

Evangeline was holding Yang’s arm, but he gently pried it off of him. He didn’t want there to be any implication of impropriety, which was why Magdalena had not come. They were both sitting on a stiff, embroidered couch when Princess Amarie walked in. Yang hastily stood and bowed, and Evangeline curtsied.

“Commander von Leigh, I’m happy to see you again,” Amarie said. “Frau Westpfale told me that you wanted to speak to me.”

“Yes, Princess. Thank you very much for taking the time,” Yang said.

“And who is your accompaniment?”

“This is Evangeline Mittermeyer, the wife of Rear Admiral Mittermeyer.”

“The name is familiar,” Amarie said. “Have I met your husband?” Her tone was light, but Amarie was not a stupid woman, and was almost certainly abreast of the whole situation. Before Evangeline could answer, Amarie took a seat in her armchair, and waved at Yang and Evangeline to be seated also.

“No, I don’t believe so, Princess,” Evangeline said. “But he is the reason that we have come to see you today.”

“Is that so?” Amarie asked. “Is there some sort of trouble that you believe I can help you with? A social matter?”

“Unfortunately not a social matter, no,” Yang said. “It’s more of a family matter.”

Amarie studied Yang. “And whose family?”

“Yours, Princess,” Yang said.

“I see,” Amarie said. “I suppose there’s no point in pretending that I do not know why you are here. You must know what happened, of course?” She looked at Evangeline, whose face was tight, like she was on the edge of tears.

“I know my husband’s side of the story,” Evangeline said. “And I know that he has been imprisoned, secretly, and I know that I have not been allowed to speak with him or see him.”

“Frau Mittermeyer,” Amarie said, “I bear you no ill-will whatsoever, of course, but it is bold of you to come to my house, asking to see me, when it is my husband’s relation whom your husband killed. Captain William von Maier. Rear Admiral Mittermeyer shot him dead. I believe that is an indisputable fact.” Amarie’s voice was calm, and her hands were laid out on her lap without any movement whatsoever. She could have been a mannequin, except for her breathing and the motions of her mouth and eyes, studying Yang and Evangeline with a piercing gaze.

If Princess Amarie had been a boy, she would be kaiser already, Yang realized. If Ludwig had never been born, Amarie might have already been the first kaiserin of the dynasty.

Evangeline’s face crumpled a little.

“It is, Princess,” Yang agreed. “I will not argue with you about that fact.”

“Then I’m curious as to what you have come to argue about? And why you have come to me, instead of to my husband, who is a blood relation of the late Captain von Maier.”

“Because you have been very generous to me in the past,” Yang said. “More than I deserve, to be sure.”

“And you expect that generosity to continue? Especially when the bonds of affection between myself and Magdalena von Westpfale are stretched so very, very thin.”

“They are stretched, but they are not broken,” Yang said. “I would hope someday that you and the rest of court will have it in your hearts to forgive her, but that is neither here nor there.”

“Is it not relevant?” Amarie asked. “I’m sure I will regret the answer, but I hope you will be honest with me, Frau Mittermeyer, Commander von Leigh: what exactly is the relationship that you have with the Baroness Westpfale?” She looked intently at Evangeline who seemed confused by the question.

“The baroness has been very generous to me, and has shown me friendship that I never would have imagined having with someone in her station,” she replied.

Amarie touched her own lip with the tip of her finger. “What type of friendship? What type of generosity, I wonder?”

“Princess,” Yang said, “it’s not like that.”

“No?” Amarie asked. “There’s no reason why a woman might remain behind on Odin while her husband takes a post elsewhere? One where she would have been allowed, encouraged, even, to go with him?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat, and she began to cry. Yang frantically searched his pockets for a tissue (he had brought some for this eventuality) and handed it to her. Amarie watched, somewhat coldly.

“I should— I should have gone with him— none of this—“ Evangeline was hiccuping a little. “He asked me to go and I— I wanted— my career— and I thought— I was worried I was pregnant— and you can’t go on a ship if— and I would have gone with him if he had asked again— but then he— he said— he was worried about what people would think and— oh gods I shouldn’t have— I was so angry— but I should have gone—“ She broke off this somewhat incoherent string of thoughts, burying her face in her hands. Timidly, Yang rubbed her shoulder a little, which made her sobs worse.

“So, you love your husband,” Amarie said.

Evangeline couldn’t answer that question verbally, but she nodded.

“And you did not gleefully remain behind on Odin for the sake of Baroness Westpfale?”

“Why would I stay for her sake?” The confusion jolted Evangeline enough that she was able to speak again, at least.

Amarie raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not be so coy, Frau Mittermeyer. You don’t need to pretend to not know that—“

“She doesn’t know,” Yang cut in.

“What don’t I know?”

“Oh, how charming,” Amarie said. “You’re not aware that your close friend the Baroness Westpfale is a notorious homosexual?”

“I beg your pardon?” Evangeline asked, her face going white, then red. Her sudden anger stopped her tears in their tracks. “Princess, I may not have a title, or lands, or money, and I will have to ask your forgiveness for speaking out of turn, but I cannot allow my friend to be slandered—“

“Eva,” Yang said, sighing and closing his eyes. “It’s true.”

There was a moment of silence. Amarie steepled her fingers, half amused. Evangeline looked between her and Yang, mouth opening and closing silently for a second.

“Did you not know that was the reason she was banished from court?” Amarie asked.

“But— I thought you were going to get married…” Evangeline said.

“We might.” Yang shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not so complicated,” Amarie said. “And you should get married, since I went to such trouble to make that look acceptable in the first place. Frau Westpfale would certainly at least be grateful to have that veneer of acceptability.”

“Frau Westpfale has never liked me,” Yang said. “But, please, Princess— my love life, such as it is, is not exactly the business we’re here on.”

This got Amarie to chuckle, at least. “No, it’s not.” She leaned forward a little. “I’ll listen to you, at least. There’s no harm in that, though I’m not sure what you expect me to do for you. Present your case.”

So Yang began, slipping naturally into the mode of speaking that he always used as a lecturer, taking out the papers of evidence one at a time, laying them on the coffee table in front of them. He began before the beginning, talking about his suspicions for why Mittermeyer had been chosen to go to Barbarasturm— that he would be adept at dealing with tensions there because he had kept calm on Kapche-Lanka, how it would look bad if he was promoted any more for a few years, at least. Then he talked about the political situation on the planet, the local Baron von Maier ruling with a heavy hand: giving his family free rein to misbehave by throttling or bribing the local police and news, levying harsh fees on his tenants, and integrating his sons with the local fleet in order to bend the crown’s enforcement of laws to his will. As evidence, Yang produced the letter from the previous commander stationed on the planet that had been sent to Mittermeyer. Then he showed the blacked out police report, the few files that the crew of the Westberlin had been able to salvage, showing Mittermeyer using his official authority to lawfully execute von Maier. Then he let Evangeline describe how Mitttermeyer had vanished.

“So, you want me to find him for you?” Amarie asked. Her tone was neutral.

“No, Princess,” Yang said. “I know where he is.”

“Oh?”

“Your relative, Baron Flegel, was instructed to ‘take care of’ Rear Admiral Mittermeyer,” Yang said. He rubbed his head. “Rear Admiral von Reuenthal—“

“Count Marbach’s grandson?”

“Yes, Princess.”

Amarie nodded. “What is he doing?”

“He has found where Rear Admiral Mittermeyer is being held,” Yang said. How Reuenthal had actually managed to do this was not quite clear to Yang, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reuenthal had said that he had gotten this information without Baron Flegel’s knowledge, which might actually be a positive for them. Of course, he had also said that if Flegel took one step towards the prison where Mittermeyer was, Reuenthal would not hesitate to destroy him. Yang honestly couldn’t blame him.

“Oh?”Amarie asked.

Yang pulled another piece of paper out of his folder and slid it across the table to Amarie. It was a copy of the transfer order, signed by Baron von Maier, that gave Flegel control of Mittermeyer’s person, and authorized his stay inside a private prison on the outskirts of the city. Mittermeyer’s name was not on the document.

“And you know that this is Rear Admiral Mittermeyer how?”

Yang slid another piece of paper across the table. This was a transfer order of several guards from a military prison nearby to this private installation, and it was signed specifically by Fleet Admiral Muckenburger. It was an ordinary transfer, nothing that would have raised eyebrows, and thus it was accessible quasi-publically, within the Ministry of War, anyway.

“Muckenburger has some interest in keeping him alive, at least for now. That’s to prevent anything too terrible from happening.”

“Too terrible?”

“They would probably stop someone from killing him outright,” Yang said. “But they might allow torture. It depends on how much revenge Muckenburger thinks Flegel will allow.”

Evangeline took in a choked inhale of breath.

“So, you know where he is, and you know very well what the political situation is. What, exactly, do you think that you want me to do?”

“Princess, you are a relation to the von Maiers by marriage, and you are also the kaiser’s daughter. You have a unique position, and no small ability to resolve this situation without throwing the whole relationship between the crown, the fleet, and the colonies into chaos.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But you must remember that I am also a married woman, and I have duties not just to the crown, but to my husband. And my husband is affronted at this attack on his family.”

Evangeline spoke up. “Princess, that is why we have come to you. From one married woman to another: I have no choice but to beg you for my husband’s life.”

Amarie considered this for a second. “And if I refuse? You surely have some second plan.”

“I suspect that Rear Admiral von Reuenthal will challenge Baron Flegel to a duel,” Yang said. “And while that may not save Rear Admiral Mittermeyer’s life, it would certainly cost Baron Flegel’s.”

“Hmm,” Amarie said. “And why would Rear Admiral von Reuenthal do such a thing? He must be aware that it would cost him his career. The disgraced grandson of a count cannot simply kill a baron, even if he is doing it within the strictures of a duel.”

“The bond of friendship between them is stronger than any attachment that Rear Admiral Reuenthal has towards his own career,” Yang said. “Perhaps even stronger than his attachment to his own life. Years ago, Reuenthal risked his life to save Mittermeyer on Kapche-Lanka. He would do it again.”

“And you, Commander von Leigh? What price are you willing to pay for your friend?”

“My career is also worth far less to me than the life of my friend,” Yang said. “I would hope that this is clear.”

“And you, Frau Mittermeyer?”

“I would storm that prison myself, if it were within my power, Princess.”

Amarie laughed. “A spirited little group you have.” Evangeline’s lips tightened. Amarie raised her hand. “I will help you,” she said. “Not because it is politically expedient, and not because Frau Westpfale begged me to help you, and not because you are a married woman who is attempting to tug on my heartstrings, but because I do suspect that my husband would be far more upset should Rear Admiral Reuenthal murder his favorite nephew, rather than some distant relation he has never met.”

Evangeline choked out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Princess.”

Amarie’s voice was dry. “It will not be without consequence, I’m afraid. My husband will not be happy with me for acting without him.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Yang said.

“Is it?” Amarie asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, no matter. We shall see what those consequences are in time, I suppose.” She stood. “Come. We will go find your friend. I’m sure it won’t take very long.”

They didn’t make it to the prison.

Yang and Evangeline were in the back seat of a sporty car owned by Princess Amarie. The princess was sitting in the passenger seat as her driver took them out of the capital and toward the private prison. The storm clouds had broken open into a torrential rainstorm, and the long, single lane road surrounded by tall pine trees that led to the prison was flooded in places.

The road they were trying to turn on was the kind that was so skinny that only one car could fit on it at a time, and thus had a signal at each end, indicating when the road was clear. The signal was currently red, and so the princess’s car was stopped, idling second in a line of four vehicles, waiting for the light to change. The passengers of the car sat in a stiff silence, and time ticked by.

“How long does it take for a road to clear?” Amarie muttered under her breath. “I was really hoping not to spend all day on this.”

The red signal stubbornly refused to change.

“Maybe the light’s broken,” Evangeline suggested.

“They certainly seem to think that,” Yang said, pointing at the car in front of them, who had given up waiting, and was beginning to move down the path despite the fact that the light hadn’t changed.

Amarie sighed, watching the car in front of them disappear into the pines. Behind them, the two other cars started beeping.

“Do you think we should go?” Amarie asked the driver.

“If you like, m’lady,” the driver said. “I am certain that I will be able to back out, should we get stuck.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “Drive on, then.”

So they started moving again down the narrow path. The driver sensed Amarie’s impatience and sped up, until they were on the tail of the car in front of them, who then also sped up. It was a good thing that the forward car put some distance between them, because from what felt like out of nowhere, almost as though it had emerged from the pine trees at the head of the curve rather than from the road itself, came another car, moving too fast to stop, which careened into the front car with a sickening crunch, the crackling sound of grass and the screeching twist of metal loud over the sound of the rain.

Three things happened simultaneously after that: Evangeline screamed, loudly; Amarie’s car came to a hard stop, whipping Yang’s head forward into the seat in front of him; and the cars coming up the road behind them laid on their horns in anger at the sudden stop, apparently not able to see the wreckage. Amarie was pulling out her phone and dialing the emergency services, but it didn’t appear to be necessary, as the drivers and passengers of both cars were climbing out.

The drivers of both cars approached each other and started yelling. The tone of their words was audible, even if the words themselves were not. Both sides were aggrieved, and both sides were blocking the road.

Evangeline’s hands were gripping the shoulders of the seat in front of her with white knuckles. Yang put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “It looks like everything’s fine,” he said. “My father always said that the best kind of crash was one you can walk away from, and they all seem alright.”

Evangeline shook her head. “Just startled me, is all.”

“Mmm,” Amarie said. “But since they don’t seem intent on calling someone to move this, then I will. There’s no way we can go around, can we?”

“I don’t know, m’lady,” the driver said. “They’re standing in the road. I wouldn’t want to hit them.”

She laughed a little, holding her phone up to her ear. “It wouldn’t be something worse than what’s happened in their day already.” As Amarie got on the phone with the police to report the incident, she wiped off the front window to read the plates to them. When she did, Evangeline’s face grew pale. She waited until Amarie had hung up to speak.

“I think that’s my car.” Her voice was shaky.

“What?” Yang and Amarie said simultaneously.

“J843BU, you said. That’s my car. Well, it’s the one that Wolf drives, but it’s—“

Amarie craned her neck to look back at Yang. “Any explanations, Commander von Leigh?”

Yang scratched his head. “None that I really like,” he said.

They had been ignoring the commotion on the road while Amarie spoke to the police, but now Yang paid closer attention to it. The argument seemed to have taken a turn, and the two drivers were walking away from the wreck, down the road, and drawing their guns, holding them in their hands. At least, that was what it looked like they were doing; it was very hard to tell through the thick sheets of rain that were falling.

“Who is the driver of that car, then?” Amarie asked. “Because it looks like he’s about to fight a duel. An illegal one. It will be pretty amusing for the police to show up to stop that.”

“They won’t be able to show up,” Yang said, agitated. “Those people leaving behind us are blocking the road.”

Amarie laughed. “What a mess. You sound unhappy.”

“I think that’s Reuenthal,” Yang said. They watched as the two duelists lined up back to back, and one of the men by the side of the road started counting, loud enough for them to hear now.

“Eins!” The men took long strides away from each other.

Amarie took out her phone, opened the camera, and zoomed in on the face of the duelist facing their direction. Her brow furrowed.

“Zwei!”

The men took another step forward, and Amarie fumbled with her seatbelt, then the door of the car, getting immediately soaked in the torrential rain. Yang followed her out, and Evangeline followed him.

“Drei!”

“Thomas von Flegel, you come here right this instant!” Amarie’s face was incandescently wrathful, and her voice was powerful enough to pierce the air, interrupting the duel completely. The two men who were overseeing it yelled at Flegel and (it certainly was Reuenthal) Reuenthal to stop. Reuenthal halted in his tracks and turned around, watching the affair from afar.

Baron Flegel jogged through the rain towards the princess, then bowed. “Princess Amarie— I did not expect to see you here.”

“And what exactly are you doing here?” Her hands were on her hips. “Because it looks to me as though you were about to engage in an illegal duel.”

Yang glanced down at Flegel’s hand, which did have a gun in it. He hastily tucked it into the holster behind his back. “No, m’lady,” he said.

“Then please, my dear nephew, tell me what exactly you were doing here, in the rain.”

Flegel pointed behind him. “That man destroyed my car, and refused to give me satisfaction for it.”

“It’s a car,” Amarie said. “You can buy another. What would your poor mother say if you lost your life over something so stupid?”

“Princess, please don’t insinuate that—“

“You were about to duel with blasters,” she said, staring him down. “Do you think I don’t know what that ends up looking like? Your mother would kill you if he didn’t.”

“We weren’t dueling, Princess,” Flegel said.

Amarie leaned towards him. “You may not have been before, but you certainly aren’t now.”

“You can’t just—“

“If you want to duel him, offer a formal challenge and file it! My husband doesn’t need you getting associated with illegal duels. Gods, Thomas. Have you used your brain once in your life?”

He scowled at her, but she had far greater social capital than he did, and so he had no actual rebuke. He looked behind her at Yang and Evangeline.

“What are you doing here?” Flegel asked Amarie.

“I was paying a social visit,” Amarie said.

“To a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“On whose behalf?” Flegel’s eyes were narrowed. It was clear that he had no idea who Yang and Eva were, which made the situation somewhat easier.

“On my own. And I could ask the same thing of you.”

“A favor for someone,” Flegel said. “But I was unable to take care of it, since I ended up in an accident.”

“I see,” Amarie said. “And what kind of favor was it, that necessitated bringing blasters to a prison.”

“I am well within my rights to carry a weapon,” Flegel said, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you escorting? Commander something or other?”

“Commander von Leigh, and Evangeline von Kolsraush.” The lie fell off Amarie’s tongue without hesitation. To her credit, Evangeline didn’t blink. Yang kept his own surprise at the lie to himself. Amarie seemed to have decided that it was better to not invite any questions from Flegel about the Mittermeyer affair, so she had to come up with an alternate excuse. Even if Flegel didn’t believe it, he didn’t have the social standing to outright oppose his uncle’s wife and the kaiser’s daughter.

“And what business does a member of the Lichtenlade clan have in a place like this?”

Evangeline put a weak smile on her face. “A childhood friend of mine has run into some social difficulties,” she said. “Princess Amarie has been generous enough to offer her services as a mediator.”

Flegel seemed to be resisting the urge to snort. “And Commander so-and-so?”

“I’m borrowing him from the Baroness Westpfale,” Amarie said. “As security.”

“Security? He’s not even carrying a sidearm.”

“Not everyone feels the need to walk into a prison armed to the teeth, my dear,” Amarie said. “Besides, he’s a teacher, so he doesn’t carry a sidearm, but that means he has plenty of time to spare. My husband can’t loan me officers on a moment’s notice, you see.”

“I’m not sure I do, but perhaps I am simply blind, Princess.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Well, Thomas, it appears as though we are standing here in the rain, for no good reason. You and your friends should get in my car, and my driver will take you home.”

“Princess!” Flegel was annoyed.

“My husband would think it rude of me to abandon my nephew here in the rain. I have business here, and I can call another car when I’m done.”

“But you’ll surely catch cold, walking this way in the mud,” he said. “My uncle would be unhappy if I allowed that to happen.”

“Nonsense,” Amarie said. “He trusts me to make my own decisions about my health, and many other things, besides.” She smiled grimly at him. “Go home, Thomas. If you have business here, it can surely wait until tomorrow.”

“The same could be said for you,” Flegel said.

“I’m afraid Fraulein Kolsrausch’s issue is urgent,” Amarie said. “In fact, I really don’t have time to waste arguing with you. Go home, Thomas.”

“I hope that you are correct,” he said.

“About what?”

“How much my uncle trusts you.”

Amarie smiled grimly. “That’s certainly not a fair insinuation to make when I’m only trying to be generous to you.” She turned to her driver, still in the car with the door open. “Please take Baron Flegel and his friends home. I will arrange another ride for myself.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the driver said.

“Fraulein Kolsrausch, a pleasure to meet you,” Flegel said. He extended his hand, and Evangeline offered hers. He kissed it, a slimy expression on his face. “Please give the minister of state my greetings.”

“I will, thank you, Baron.”

Flegel gestured to his friends, and they all got into the car. Amarie watched with her hands on her hips as it drove away down the street. Yang could have collapsed in relief.

“Will the real Evangeline von Kolsraush be upset that I’ve stolen her identity?” Evangeline asked. Yang didn’t wait around to hear the answer; he jogged down the street to where Reuenthal was standing, looking vaguely annoyed. He had at least put his gun away.

“I was looking forward to killing that man,” Reuenthal said.

“Do not let Princess Amarie hear you say that,” Yang said. “He’s her nephew.”’

“It would have done her a favor, to prune her family tree. I didn’t need to be rescued.”

Yang shook his head and said, “You might not, but Mittermeyer does.” Amarie and Evangeline were coming over.

“Introduce me to the man who was about to kill my nephew,” Amarie demanded. Some of her well-controlled pleasantness that she had been using to deal with her nephew had worn off, and she seemed as annoyed as her rain-drenched image would imply.

“Princess Amarie, this is Rear Admiral Oskar von Reuenthal,” Yang said.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess,” Reuenthal said. Amarie offered him her hand, and he bowed and kissed it in his usual way.

“How much of a walk is it to the prison?” Amarie asked.

“About half a kilometer,” Reuenthal said.

“Hmph.” Amarie hiked her skirts up a little and began walking. “Let’s move. The prison might not be pleasant, but at least it won’t be so wet.”

The officials inside the prison were weirdly cagey when they saw who had shown up, and on account of what prisoner. Yang realized he had been right to try to get Amarie on his side, because she brought the full force of her personality and rank down on the prison administration. Yang had originally accompanied her into the rooms with the prison staff, but when Amarie saw the dirty looks that he was consistently getting, she had asked him to wait in the hallway with Reuenthal and Evangeline. Reuenthal was ignoring Evangeline, but Evangeline seemed to be reappraising him.

From the waiting room outside the prison warden’s office, they could hear Amarie’s shouting as clear as day.

“He is imprisoned here under the authority of Baron von Maier,” she said at one point. “Baron von Maier is part of my husband’s family, and I am speaking for both my husband and my father when I ask that you release this man.”

And later, “If you need me to call Fleet Admiral Muckenburger, I will. But I suggest you do not make me do that. If he were imprisoned under military authority, he would be in a military prison, awaiting court martial. Yes, I understand that he sent guards here. But I think it’s clear that they were to protect Rear Admiral Mittermeyer, rather than the other way around.”

“What do you mean, protect him from what?” Amarie asked. “Protect him from whatever you’re trying to stop me from seeing, Warden.”

“If you will not give me the time of day, I will walk through those doors and find him myself. And you can complain to my father about that!”

It was in a momentary lull in the shouting that Evangeline finally spoke. “How did you take Wolf’s car?”

Silently, Reuenthal reached into his pocket, pulled out his ring of keys, and twisted one off its jump ring. He tossed it to Evangeline, who caught it. “I’ll pay you for it,” Reuenthal said.

Evangeline was turning the key over in her hands, then took out her own purse to compare it to her keys. It lined up perfectly against her house key. “Should I ask you why you have a copy of my house key?”

“No,” Reuenthal said, voice completely dry and flat. Evangeline looked at Yang, who was fortunately rescued from having to say anything by Princess Amarie storming out of the office.

“The warden will not cooperate, but he will not stop us, either,” she said. “Come.”

Reuenthal frowed at being ordered around, but that didn’t stop him from falling into step behind Amarie. It didn’t take nearly as much convincing to get past the heavy doors and into the prison itself, and from there it was a matter of being escorted through the hallways until they arrived at Mittermeyer’s cell. Strangely, the fleet guards assigned by Muckenburger were nowhere to be seen, and there was some odd sound coming from inside the cell.

“Open this door,” Amarie demanded of their escort.

“I don’t think—“ the guard stammered.

Reuenthal got in his face. “Now,” he said. His hand crept to his gun. Yang wanted to stop him, but Evangeline was clinging to his arm. The guard ducked out of Reuenthal’s way and punched a series of buttons on the pad next to the door, then swiped his badge through it.

The door swung open.

The cell was dark, and there were two people in it. One of them was familiar, stocky and short Mittermeyer, the other towered over him by more than a foot, a giant. The giant was wielding a whip, and it was clear, in the dim light spilling in through the hallway, that Mittermeyer had been struck several times. His uniform was torn across the back in several places, and ugly, bloody wounds crossed his flesh. Still, he was on his feet, his hands cuffed behind him, and he dodged the next strike of the whip, neither he nor the giant noticing that the door had opened before the giant struck. Mittermeyer rolled to the floor and out of the way, hastily scrambling back to his feet. The giant lumbered forward.

“Wolf!” Eva cried out.

“Stop, right this instant,” Amarie said, voice shrill.

The giant ignored the commotion at the doorway, and Mittermeyer was suddenly distracted by the voice of his wife. He looked up, which was a mistake.

The giant swung the whip again, and it was Yang and Reuenthal who both acted, judging the situation and moving in tandem. Yang dashed forward and pushed Mittermeyer out of harm’s way, though in doing so, the whip ended up caught on his own leg, sending a searing, jolting pain throughout his whole body. Yang collapsed to the floor, boneless. He hardly even noticed Reuenthal shooting the giant’s hand, causing the large man to cry out in roar and turn on Reuenthal, clutching his wounded hand to his chest.

“Stop!” Amarie said again. “In the name of the kaiser, stop!”

This finally brought the giant up short, and he realized who he was in the presence of. “Princess!” He bowed deeply. “I was expecting the young master Flegel.”

“Baron Flegel won’t be making it, I’m afraid,” Amarie said. “You should go. I will take care of this matter from here.”

“Yes, Princess,” the giant said, bowing still. “I will wait outside. I can finish this for you once you are done.”

“No need. Your services have been more than enough.” The distaste in her voice was clear, but the giant didn’t seem to notice.

“I am glad that I could satisfy, Princess,” he said.

“Leave us,” Amarie repeated. “If you require additional payment for your medical treatment, send the invoice to me. I will settle what is fair.”

“Yes, Princess.” Finally, the giant left.

Someone was pulling at Yang’s leg, or it was twitching and jerking outside of his control, an odd sensation that almost overcame the pain of it. It was Evangeline, Yang discovered, who was helping him. Reuenthal had gone over to Mittermeyer, who was slumped against the wall.

“Are you alright, Hank?” Evangeline asked. She disentangled the whip from his leg.

“Fine,” Yang said. He gently poked at his leg, which had stopped twitching, at least. He hadn’t gotten hit directly, not enough to break skin, though he thought that the electrical burn line might blister a little bit. He shook his head. “I’ve had worse.” He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on Evangeline for a second. “Is Mittermeyer alright?”

“Herr Reuenthal is—“ Evangeline began, but Reuenthal stepped away from Mittermeyer at that moment.

“He needs medical attention,” he said.

“Is that something that needs my attention?” Amarie asked. “Or have I served my purpose here?”

“Thank you, Princess,” Mittermeyer said, voice somewhat rough.

“Hm, well, you should thank your friend. Later, though,” Amarie said. She pulled out her phone. “I’m going to call a doctor for you, and my husband has already called a car for myself. It’s waiting outside, if you don’t need anything else.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Yang said. “I’m very much in your debt.”

“This is true.” She tapped her lip, once, twice, then said, “Commander Leigh, you come with me. Now.”

Yang looked behind him, at Reuenthal and Mittermeyer and Evangeline, then shrugged and followed Amarie out, limping a little on his wounded leg. Amarie didn’t talk as they walked, passing obsequious guards until they came to the outside of the prison.

The car outside was not a servant’s car. It was, in fact, a fleet vehicle. Yang didn’t recognize the plate, but when the driver side door opened, Yang did recognize the man who stepped out.

“You!” Captain Ansbach hissed, seeing Yang approach.

“Captain, you can fight with Commander Leigh at some other point,” Amarie said, allowing Ansbach to open the door for her. “Leigh, get in the car.”

Yang obeyed, slipping into the backseat as Ansbach and Amarie took the front. As soon as everyone was settled, the car screeched off down the road, moving inappropriately fast for such a narrow lane, Yang thought. He studied Ansbach in the mirror as they drove. He looked pretty much the same as he had when they had graduated: the same short, dark hair, the same sallow face, the same narrowed eyes when he looked at Yang.

It was clear that Ansbach wanted to say many things to Yang, none of them pleasant, but once again, the princess’s presence was rescuing Yang, so he was able to spend the car ride in peace, of a sort. His leg hurt like hell. He almost wished that Ansbach was yelling at him, because at least that would take his mind off of it. He tried to wonder about how Mittermeyer and Reuenthal and Evangeline were getting on, back at the prison, but couldn’t really keep his thoughts focused, since he was sure that they were fine.

For the second time that day, though now in significantly worse condition, Yang arrived back at the Braunschweig estate.

Amarie immediately disappeared somewhere, leaving Yang and Ansbach alone in what seemed to be a room that was set up for Duke Braunschweig’s use— a drawing room of some kind. He suspected it belonged to the duke because the heavy furniture and dark walls did not seem to be to Amarie’s taste.

Ansbach glared at him for a while as Yang sat down on one of the sofas and ignored him.

“I can’t believe that you, of all people, have survived,” Ansbach finally said. “And that you and your friends are still causing trouble.”

“I’m not causing trouble,” Yang said mildly, his eyes closed and head tilted back. “And Mittermeyer did nothing wrong. Anyone who looks half closely can see that.”

Ansbach scowled. “You would think that people would be tired of dealing with you, by now.”

“Perhaps they are,” Yang said. “But I would have to hear that from them, rather than you, to know that it’s the case.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Fine, thanks for asking,” Yang said.

“It doesn’t look fine.”

“Oh, you’re actually concerned? I thought you were making a joke about the time you shot me.”

“It’s funny, I remembered you being rather more subtle when we went to school together.”

“I’m not sure what gave you that impression,” Yang said. “I’m too lazy for subtleties.”

“I never would have believed you if you said that years ago,” Ansbach said.

“Why not?”

“You claim to be lazy, but you sat at the top of the class for four straight years.”

Yang shrugged. “But you believe me now?”

“I’ve seen your career trajectory. There isn’t much left of it.”

“I hope you’ve enjoyed surpassing me,” Yang said.

Ansbach barked out a laugh. “I would, if it wasn’t so sad.”

“What’s sad about it? I enjoy teaching.”

“I at least thought you had potential, back then.”

“And that’s why you tried to kill me?”

“Watching you squander it— I’m not sure if I should be grateful that you didn’t die back then or not.”

Yang just shook his head. “I don’t care about my career.”

“Just like you didn’t care about rank.”

“Ansbach, if you had found a way to take the number two spot, you could have had it with my blessing.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted your blessing.”

Yang chuckled a little. Their conversation was cut short as the door to the room opened and Duke Braunschweig entered. Yang stood, and both he and Ansbach saluted.

“Thank you for taking care of my guest,” Braunschweig said to Ansbach. “You’re dismissed.” Ansbach nodded and silently left the room. Braunschweig sat, then gestured for Yang to do the same on the couch opposite him.

“My wife tells me that you convinced her to go behind my back because you had something valuable to offer me in trade for Rear Admiral Mittermeyer’s life.”

Yang hadn’t known that this was the way that Amarie was going to spin the situation to her husband— he had to wonder what that conversation had been like— and he had also half expected Braunschweig to spend at least thirty seconds on social pleasantries before jumping in to the meat of things. Maybe it was good that he didn’t, because Yang would have found it difficult to concentrate on pleasantries.

“I do,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if Braunschweig would accept it.

“Then tell me,” Braunschweig said. “Because what you say to me in the next thirty seconds will determine if you live to see the end of the year.”

Yang tilted his head. “Mittermeyer’s death was worth that much to you?”

“No,” Braunschweig said. “I don’t care about that. Rear Admiral Mittermeyer was a problem that my relatives gave to me, and although it would have been advantageous to have things go according to plan, I am capable of adapting to changed circumstances. What I do care about, however, is keeping my family in line.”

“Princess Amarie is her own woman.”

“It would be one thing,” Braunschweig said, “if this had been a matter concerning her side of the family. However, it concerned mine, and she overstepped her bounds in my name, on your behalf. I cannot have people believing that they can manipulate her, so either you give me something in fair trade, or you pay with your life. It’s simple enough to understand.”

“I see.” Yang looked over Braunschweig’s shoulder as he considered what he was about to say. “In some ways, I am prepared to offer you my life.”

“Some ways.”

“I’ll join your staff,” Yang said. “Ask for my transfer; I’ll step down from my position at the IOA at the end of the year.”

“Why would I want that? A commander for a rear admiral seems like a very bad trade.”

Yang tilted his head. “You should ask Ansbach if he thinks it’s a good trade or not. I believe he will agree with me, even if he wouldn’t want to admit it. And I get the sense that you trust him.”

“I do. But you haven’t explained why I would want you, in particular.”

“Kaiser Friedrich is not going to live much longer,” Yang said.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say.”

“Everyone can see that his health is declining. I give him maybe another seven years. Ten, at the outside.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘soon’.”

“He’s not going to name a successor.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I advised him not to,” Yang said. “Because he thought that it would prevent any more deaths in the family.” He looked steadily at Braunschweig.

“I did not kill Ludwig.”

“I know,” Yang said, then looked away. “But someone did. And if he named Elizabeth as heir, she might be next.”

“And what does any of this have to do with you?”

“Elizabeth has a strong claim to the throne,” Yang said. “But not an uncontestable one. There is going to be a power struggle, when the kaiser dies, and you’re going to want me on your side.”

“Why?”

“I would hope that it doesn’t come to this,” Yang said, “but in the event that it does, I know how to take down Iserlohn Fortress.” Yang was worried that he might have to justify that claim, but Braunschweig just nodded. “And whoever controls that fortress has their boot on the throat of the rest of the empire.”

“Why?”

“Under the best case scenario, it’s simply a useful thing to have. A token of where power lies.”

“That’s not a very convincing best case scenario.”

“Yes, the worst case scenario is rather moreso, I’m afraid.”

“Then tell me.”

“I don’t think that you, or Littenheim, or whoever is backing Erwin Josef’s claim to the throne— there’s certainly going to be someone— individually have enough power to take the throne, not without one of these groups bowing and joining up with another. The kaiser isn’t going to name an heir, so there’s no clear way the government and the lesser nobles will throw their support. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

“Yes, that’s well understood. What does Iserlohn have to do with it?”

“You don’t see?”

“Don’t patronize me. You’re begging for your life, if you’d forgotten that.”

Yang shrugged. “Whoever controls Iserlohn could sue for peace with the rebels,” he said. “Declare themselves the rightful ruler, beg for help from the rebels to end the civil war and restore the throne, form a coalition fleet, and take the capital by force, easily.”

“That would be—“

Yang waved his hand. “Dishonorable, a shell of a government, the last straw that breaks the back of the Goldenbaum dynasty, yes, I’m aware,” he said.

“Then why would I want you to enact this plan?”

“Because if you don’t, someone else will. If you want your daughter to be kaiserin, and not dead, you need to start thinking about this now.” Yang suspected that the Earth Church would not be above trying this plan. He wouldn’t even be surprised if they had a cell of agents inside of Iserlohn already, ready to take it if the time came.

“This sounds like a threat.”

“I’m in no position to be making threats, sir,” Yang said. “I’m making you an offer. It’s a generous one, all things considered. Myself, in exchange for your wife’s generosity. The future, in exchange for Rear Admiral Mittermeyer’s life.”

Braunschweig was silent for a second, considering. He shook his head, and Yang’s heart sank for a second. “It’s a public trade, I suppose,” Braunschweig said. “I somehow doubt you’ll be as useful as you claim you will be, though.”

“No one knows what the future holds,” Yang said.

The duke nodded. “Then fine. I’ll accept that trade. But Leigh,” he said, “if you ever go behind me like this again, I will kill you. Without hesitation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Branschweig waved his hand in dismissal, and Yang headed out, eventually to the outside of the Braunschweig estate.

The rain had cleared, and the night air was cool, with stars just peeking through the slowly loosening cloud cover. Yang stared up at the stars, feeling very much like each point of light was the bright head of an arrow, coming towards him, very far away, but coming close, faster and faster.

He had cast his lot in with Duke Braunschweig. He had chosen a side in the inevitable, messy struggle. He hated them all, but he had picked one because of his own personal benefit. The thought turned his stomach, and he was half tempted to change his mind, to go back in and just tell Braunschweig to kill him.

He had been able to ignore who he was working for while he was at the IOA, and he had been able to justify his previous involvement in Iserlohn by saying that he was saving lives. This, or what was coming, was a step beyond that. It was more than just a change in career, he thought. He was going to have to admit to who he was really serving— himself, to stay alive; his friends, to keep them safe; Duke Braunschweig, in exchange; and, at the top of it all, the Goldenbaum dynasty, that tower of bones. He had just agreed to add to the pile.

He could lie to himself and pretend that this was his opportunity to make the Goldenbaum dynasty better, a chance to put someone on the throne who could be a good ruler— and maybe Elizabeth would be a good kaiserin, he didn’t know— but no matter how much he repeated that to himself, it didn’t change the fact that no matter how just and good the hands that held the power were, it was wrong for that power to be in one person’s hands, regardless.

And yet he was here, offering to aid in the continuation of that power, the passing of it from one hand to another, because— what was the alternative? He understood now, better than he had before, the sense that the Goldenbaum dynasty was something that would continue. It might have felt to him once that it was moving along only under its own momentum, and that someday it would be crushed by its own weight, but Yang could see now how everyone was participating in keeping it going. The delicate balance between the crown, the fleet, the nobles, the people— everyone who had power was clinging to it, or trying to get more, and the easiest way to do that was within this system. Refusing to perpetuate it would mean more than anyone was willing to admit.

As he trudged down the path, away from the house, towards the street, Yang couldn’t stop turning all of it over in his head. Every step he took felt like another rung on the ladder of bones.