The Master of the House Does Not Know the Hour When the Thief Is Coming

October 488 I.C., Odin

If one looked at the capital from above, it wasn’t immediately obvious that anything had changed over the few weeks since the Kaiser died. There had been no fighting in the street, no bombs dropped on the city, no tanks trundling down the roads to enforce a brutal new regime. Even coming closer, down at the level of the buildings, one might have been forgiven for thinking that there was nothing amiss. There had been no cancellation of the normal workings of society. People still went to school and to their jobs. The temple bells still tolled out every hour.

Everyday life went on. Almost.

The capital was emptier than normal. When Kircheis walked past the formerly lively downtown district, especially the upscale areas where people with ‘vons’ in their names attended private clubs, he found the streets nearly deserted, and the music that had once drifted out in faint strains at night was silenced. Luxury goods stores were closed, and their windows were blocked up with plywood covered in cheerful looking posters, proclaiming that there was construction ongoing inside and that they would reopen soon. This was a lie.

The further one walked from the richer areas of the city, the livelier it became, because the average middle class citizen of the capital had no ability to pack up their entire life and head for either the countryside or another planet entirely. They were forced to remain, no matter what was coming.

Store shelves were sparser than usual, though it was hard to tell if this was panic buying on the part of those who remained in the city, or the first ripples of the supply chain being shaken by civil war. Kircheis wasn’t worried about food right now, but he was on an errand from Hilde, clutching a prescription in his hand, and searching four different pharmacies for anyone who could fill it. He was dressed inconspicuously in civilian clothes, and if anyone wondered why a man his age was not in the fleet, the question would have been answered well enough by the prescription for seizure medication he brought up to the pharmacy counters.

This last pharmacy he visited did seem to have the medicine in stock, and he waited by the counter, listening to the store music and counting the other customers who came in.

The pharmacist handed him the bottle of pills, and Kircheis asked, “Do you know if you’re going to have more of these, when I need to pick them up again next month?”

The pharmacist gave him a pitying expression. “No, I do not.”

Kircheis looked at the bottle. “These aren’t from Phezzan, are they?”

“If we can get the Phezzani version of them, we might have more later. These are local.”

“Then what’s the issue with supply?”

“I don’t know,” the pharmacist said. “Call when you run out. I’ll tell you if we’ve been able to switch suppliers.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kircheis said.

Outside, he examined the pills further, and looked up the manufacturer. O-Line Pharmaceuticals was the name, but the subtitle only became obvious when he visited the website: a Vering Industries subsidiary, with its manufacturing center right on Odin. That explained it.

The businesses which Count Vering hadn’t been able to relocate off Odin before the Kaiser died had all been shut down— some of the Vering family scion’s own volition, the rest shuttered by… someone. It wasn’t entirely clear to Kircheis who was giving the orders.

It seemed a little unlikely that Lichtenlade, who had pronounced the young Erwin Josef to be Kaiser and was ruling as his regent, would have any interest in closing down pharmaceutical plants, since that would only lead to more instability in the capital, which Lichtenlade was desperately trying to avoid. But the force had come from somewhere, and the only other explanation was the part of the military on Odin that was operating as a shadow force for the Littenheim clan— the MPs, and their secretive, uncontrolled hierarchy.

It would be simple enough to drag away all the owners and management of a factory, keep them in hidden jails or kill them outright, and lock the factory doors. The military police had plenty of experience doing so even during times when they were directly working for the Imperial government. They wouldn’t need to go as far as bombing the factories— this was just about sending a message and consolidating power.

Kircheis slipped the bottle of pills into his messenger bag, and then took the subway to the outskirts of the city, a long train ride. He watched the other passengers get on and off, and mentally compared the number to how many there used to be.

At the last stop on the line, Kircheis got off and found the car in the parking lot that had been left for his use. It belonged to the Mariendorf family, but it was a beat up old pickup truck that was used for hauling landscaping equipment, so it was quite unremarkable, and Kircheis didn’t expect any trouble while driving it.

He would have been making the three hour drive south into the countryside to see Hilde anyway, but it was convenient that he could do her a favor by searching the city pharmacies.

The medicine wasn’t for Hilde, but for her cousin, Baron Kummel, with whom she was staying, along with the Baroness of Westpfale. (Magdalena had changed her name after getting married, but it was still easier in Kircheis’s mind to think of her as the baroness, rather than Countess von Leigh.) Since Baron Kummel had a second estate far out in the countryside, he had offered to let them both stay there and away from trouble. The trouble must have included Magdalena’s mother, since she had left her own country estate to join the baron, though he probably just enjoyed the company.

As Kircheis drove, the city gave way to suburbs, then forest, then interspersed farmland. It was a bright day out. The leaves on the trees were past their peak of color, and were shaking loose to expose bare branches, coating the ground with brown mats of leaf litter. He didn’t mind the long drive. Out in the country, he could almost forget how strange and tense the city felt, and he was looking forward to seeing Hilde again. He had come up to visit before, but things had been so chaotic for the remains of Braunschweig’s staff on the planet in the days right after the Kaiser died that Kircheis hadn’t stayed long. He hoped to get a chance to speak with Hilde seriously— now that the first blows of the war had been exchanged.

Baron Kummel’s country estate was nearer to one of the forested areas than the farmed ones, and Kircheis had to drive up a long, ill-maintained path to get to it, the pickup truck bumping along over the ruts in the road. The building itself was beautiful, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in many years prior to the civil war. So, while the house wasn’t in ill-repair exactly, the landscaping had gone half-wild, and the roof could use new tiles. It just wasn’t at the level of polish that Kircheis had come to expect from noble houses. Still, it was pretty, nestled in among the autumn leaves, and Kircheis was grateful to the baron for allowing Hilde and Magdalena to stay there.

He parked the pickup in the wide circular turn-around in front of the house, and didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, just walked inside. There were a few servants who would have answered the door, but Kircheis always felt odd about them, and he knew the door was likely unlocked.

Inside, the house was quiet. The lights weren’t on, so all the light in the massive foyer was coming in through the tall windows, filtered a warm red and yellow by the leaves outside. Kircheis headed for the library, where he knew Hilde often spent her days, but she wasn’t there. He happened to glance out the library window, though, and saw her outside, sitting on a lawn chair in the paved courtyard, next to the baron in his electric wheelchair.

He made his way outside, and Hilde looked over when she heard the creaking of the door opening, and her face broke into a magnificent smile when she saw Kircheis. “Sieg,” she said. “Welcome back!”

The baron rolled his head to look at him, too. “Hello, Herr Kircheis.”

Kircheis inclined his head in greeting. “Baron, Fraulein.”

“Please, take a seat,” the baron said. He lifted his arm to gesture at one of the other lawn chairs, but this revealed how frail and weak he was. Although he was not more than a few years older than Hilde, his hair was pure white, and his skin was so paper-thin that the blue of veins was visible even up into his face.

Kircheis sat, and Hilde handed him one of the blankets that she was wrapped in, since it was chilly out. Kircheis put his bag on the floor and accepted it gratefully, pulling the quilt around his shoulders. It was a nice day, but cold enough that he was surprised that someone in as ill health as the baron would want to be out in it.

“How was the ride up?” Hilde asked.

“It was fine,” Kircheis said. “Long, but there wasn’t any trouble on the road.”

“You’re staying the night, right?”

“If you’ll have me.” The answer was, of course, yes, so he smiled as he said it. “I was able to find your medicine, by the way, Baron.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” he said. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult.”

“No trouble at all.” He pulled the bottle of pills from his messenger bag and set them on the patio table. “Though I think that’s the last of it, unless there are Phezzani imports on the way.”

Hilde looked at the bottle forlornly. “Will you be alright if you run out, Heinrich?”

He didn’t answer the question, and just lay back on his chair to look up at the blue sky peeking through the leaves of the trees above. “If it is willed that I have more, then I will have more,” he said. “It isn’t important either way.”

Kircheis glanced at Hilde with some concern, and she gave a sad little smile back.

“Well, if there is anything else I can get for you in the capital, Baron, please do let me know.”

“Thank you, Herr Kircheis.” There was a moment of silence. “How has the city been?”

“Not too bad,” Kircheis said. “It feels like everyone is just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Have they evacuated the National Galleries yet?”

“They’re still open. I haven’t gone in to look at what’s on display.”

“I hope they put everything in vaults,” Kummel said. “I would like—” Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a coughing fit that wracked his whole body. Hilde leaned towards him, but there was no comfort or help she could provide, so they all simply waited until it was over, and Kummel lay back, wheezing and catching his shallow breath. He didn’t seem like he wanted to continue his previous thought.

“Have you heard any news?” Hilde asked, when there seemed to be no more immediate danger from the baron.

“Geiersburg fortress was captured,” Kircheis said. “That was where Commodore Leigh said he’d go first, so that’s good.”

“Do you know any of the details?” she asked. She kept her voice steady, though Kircheis knew she was worried.

“No, other than that the Imperial forces lost it, and very few of the Imperial ships there were able to escape. If anything bad had happened to Braunschweig’s ship, I would have heard. So I’m sure the Braunschweig family is alright— and Commodore Leigh and your father.”

“Good,” Hilde said.

“I expect that Kaiserin Elizabeth is going to stay in the fortress, since it’s the most easily defensible place, but Braunschweig and his fleet will head back to Odin as soon as they’re settled and have supply lines in place. I don’t know how long that’s going to take, but the faster the better.”

“Is my father still going to coordinate getting supplies?”

Count Mariendorf was supposed to interface with minor nobility, and convince them to sell supplies from their home planets’ farms and factories directly to Braunschweig, to keep him supplied. Convincing people to do this would be a difficult task, as would logistically ensuring the supplies that were available actually made it to Braunschweig’s forces. Braunschweig had enough supplies to last him a few months, but he couldn’t count on his home territories to arm and feed his entire army in perpetuity, especially not if those lands came under attack, or if he had the routes between his homelands and his fleet blockaded.

“He is, unless plans have changed,” Kircheis said.

She nodded. “Have you heard anything about Littenheim?”

“No, not yet. It’s going to take a while for him to gather his troops, and when he does, he’ll come to Odin. He probably won’t have to engage with the Imperial fleet before then, and news about the Imperial fleet is all I’m able to get right now,” Kircheis said. Littenheim had moved all of his troops to his home territories long before all of this, but his lands were much more spread out and far from the capitol than Braunschweig’s.

“Will Braunschweig try to stop him before he gets here?”

“That would be ideal, but there’s no way of knowing what route he’s going to take to get to the capital, so we can’t pick a battlefield to ambush him at.”

“Right. I didn’t know if there would be any way to lure him out.”

“Probably not,” Kircheis said. “Maybe by attacking his homelands, or the lands of his allies, but Commodore Leigh would never suggest that, and it would take away from getting to Odin.”

She nodded.

“Where is Countess von Leigh?” Kircheis asked.

“Oh, please don’t call her that,” Hilde said with a laugh. “ Maggie is out paying social visits. She should be back for dinner.”

“Her mother?”

“No,” the baron said. “Count Landsberg said he would come for dinner if she brought him.”

Well, that meant that there would be no serious conversation over dinner. Hilde, understanding this, gave him a smile. They would have to find some other time to discuss anything of importance.

“It seems like the whole nobility has made their way out to this part of the countryside,” Kircheis said.

“Not the whole of it,” the baron said. “But the reason my country house is here is that this has always been the best region for hunting and fishing and the like. My father used to love it.”

“You’re related to the Mariendorfs how, again?” Kircheis asked.

“My father was Hilde’s maternal uncle.”

Kircheis wanted to ask a somewhat indiscreet question, but he couched it as a statement to avoid feeling like an ass. “It seems like you became the baron very young. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about my father?” he asked. “It was a long time ago, and I never really knew him. The Kummels have always been an unfortunate line. I hope the third cousin who is set to inherit from me is luckier than the past few generations have been.”

“He won’t inherit for fifty years,” Hilde said confidently. “He’ll have proved his luck by then.”

“I should be offended that you only think I’ll live to seventy-six,” Kummel said, but it was accompanied by a sad smile.

“At least fifty years,” Hilde corrected.

The baron spoke again after a moment of silence. “I’ve always been very grateful to Count Mariendorf. He made sure that I was taken care of when my father died, so it’s a pleasure for me to be able to return a small portion of the favor these days. No one felt the need to court the alliance of a very sick man, so we won’t be bothered in this part of the woods, no matter what happens.”

“How did Count Mariendorf take care of you, if I might ask?”

“He petitioned the Kaiser to ensure that the barony would pass to me, for one thing. I am a genetically deficient man— I wouldn’t have been able to inherit without his intervention on my behalf.” The baron closed his eyes. “My father, when he was alive, sent me to a school for ill children. I stayed there even after he died, until I reached majority, but Count Mariendorf and Hilde often visited, which was more than most of the other children had. And I always had a place to go, for holidays.”

His voice grew much quieter. “There were a few times when I grew so sick that the staff of the school were sure that I was going to die. In some ways— those were the happiest times of my life, because Count Mariendorf brought me to his home to be cared for. It was probably the medical attention I received there that saved me, but there is a part of me which attributes it to something else.”

Kircheis wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so he was silent.

The baron opened his eyes. “Shall we go inside?” he asked. “It’s cold.”

Magdalena did indeed haul Count Landsberg to the baron’s residence for dinner. The count was a man who gave Kircheis an unpleasant sensation of looking at a warped version of Martin. They were similar in almost every way— skinny frame, hairstyle, mannerisms, penchant for voicing quotations. Only, Count Landsberg was like if Martin had been born a rich man without troubles, and had never had a chance to develop any beliefs whatsoever. Baron Kummel and Magdalena seemed to like him, though, as he was a poet and author.

They sat down to dinner at the long dining table. The baron took the head seat, but he looked so small in his wheelchair that it was almost comical. The fact that the table was almost empty— having only the baron, Count Landsberg, Magdalena, Hilde, and Kircheis at it when it would easily seat fifteen— made the dwarfed sensation stronger. It could have lent a dire feeling to the dinner, but the conversation was cheerful, thanks mostly to Magdalena and the count.

“I’m telling you, Heinrich,” the count said, “it’s not really the National Galleries that I’m worried about. Those, at least everyone can agree, don’t have any strategic value. And everyone who wants to inherit the throne also wants to inherit those. I’m of the opinion that they’ll come out just fine.”

“I don’t know how you can say that,” Magdalena said. “I don’t think you know what’s going to happen as soon as soldiers arrive on the streets.”

“Oh, well, I do,” the count said. “They’ll go for the mansions, and the palace. Honestly, that’s where the trouble is going to be. Just think about all the treasures that every noble family has been hoarding— that’s what’s in danger.”

“You’re making quite the argument for nationalizing art,” Magdalena said. “My husband would agree with you if he was here, and we couldn’t have that.” She turned to Kummel. “Have you met Hank?”

“Once,” Kummel said. “He and I happened to be visiting Count Mariendorf on the same day, and we had lunch together. This was years ago, though. Do you remember that, Hilde?”

“Yes— I had forgotten that you met him.” She smiled. “He talked about his father’s interest in art history, didn’t he?”

“I think so, yes. Something about Ming Dynasty vases, if I recall. I liked him. He seemed like a nice man, though I’m surprised you married him.”

“Well,” Magdalena said with a sly smile, “who else would I marry, except the most surprising choice?”

Count Landsberg laughed.

“But that all reminds me,” Magdalena said. “I sent a letter to a friend of mine in the fleet on Odin—”

“Maggie!” Hilde said, annoyed.

“I mailed it with my mother’s return address, if you must know,” Magdalena said. “But I don’t think we need to be that paranoid.”

“Who’s your friend?” Kircheis asked.

“Captain Mecklinger,” Magdalena said. “He works as a staff officer in the Ministry of War.” She waved her hand. “I don’t know what he does, exactly. Nothing of real consequence. We used to run in the same circles.”

“I’ve met him,” Landsberg said. “He had a painting exhibit in— oh, whose gallery was it?” He snapped his fingers, then gave up trying to remember. “Tolerable landscape painter, but I didn’t think he was doing anything particularly unique.”

“If I recall, Alfred, that same criticism has been levied at you?” Magdalena asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

The count sniffed. “I’m not a painter.”

“I quite liked his show,” Kummel said.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had gone to it,” Magdalena said.

“No, I didn’t get out of the house to see it, unfortunately. But I subscribe to all the gallery mailers, and I like to see all the catalogs.”

“And you liked it?” the count asked.

“I did,” Kummel said. “I’m not sure that lack of uniqueness is something he can be criticized for.”

“No?” Landsberg asked. “On what merits should we be judging art, then, if not what it says?”

“Technical work has merit on its own,” Kummel said.

Landsberg let out a huff of breath. “In the history of humanity there have been millions— hundreds of millions— who can paint just as well as Herr Mecklinger. Why should he have my attention?”

“Are you one of them?” Kummel asked. And then his voice took a turn for the melancholy. “I’m certainly not, no matter how much I may wish I was.”

“And you, Maggie, what’s your opinion?”

“You want me to critique the man I’ve said is my friend? I’m hardly unbiased.” But she cocked her head anyway. “Perhaps after all of this is over, he’ll have the chance to make more exciting art.”

“Oh?” Landsberg said. “You think he’s going to be inspired by scenes of great devastation? By the destruction of the art of the past, when people set fire to the great houses?”

It was Magdalena’s turn to laugh. “I’d say that’s more likely to happen to you, Alfred, since you have more connection to those great houses than he does. He grew up lower class, you know. But such a thing might be moving for you to see.”

“You’re right,” Kummel said. His eyes took on a glazed look. “I never really thought I would witness something like all of this. I wish I could see it—”

“Heinrich,” Hilde said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t?” he asked. “Well, maybe I don’t. Is it silly to want to be part of history?”

“Most people would prefer to live peaceful lives,” Kirchies said. “I know that I would, if we lived in a kinder world.”

“In a kinder world!” Kummel said. “In a kinder world, we would all have the choice to participate, not have it taken from us.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, through which ran Kummel’s shallow breath. He grimaced and looked down at his plate, ashamed of his outburst.

“What makes you say that Captain Mecklinger might be able to make more exciting art in the future, Maggie?” Hilde asked, trying to rescue the conversation.

Magdalena tossed her head. “Oh, I just meant that maybe under Elizabeth, artists won’t have to worry about being persecuted for ‘interesting’ ideas.”

“You think so?” Landsberg asked. “Really?”

“Well, my husband has Duke Braunschweig’s ear,” she said. “And he values such things, I think.”

Count Landsberg took a sip of his wine. “Won’t it make art altogether less interesting, if everyone can just say anything with no consequence? If there’s no rule to challenge, then it’s all…weightless. Art on Phezzan is dreadfully dull for that reason.”

“Now you’re just being a contrarian,” Magdalena said. “You wouldn’t like challenging art even if you saw it.”

Landsberg laughed. “Maybe so. But I’ve yet to see it.”

“What was it you wrote to Captain Mecklinger about?” Hilde asked.

“Oh,” Maggie said. “I just meant to reassure you, Heinrich, that the captain is interested in protecting the National Galleries, and the galleries in the palace. He’s asked Littenheim to set aside troops for it, should it be necessary.”

“And has Littenheim agreed?” Heinrich asked.

“I don’t know,” Magdalena said. “We’ll have to see, I suppose.”

The conversation turned to other topics, such as Count Landsberg’s latest short story. He pulled out his phone and read a selection from it, which Kircheis didn’t find particularly thrilling, but Kummel seemed to like it. He listened with rapt attention, and when he smiled, his face shone with the force of it. That made inviting Landsberg worth the trouble, Kircheis thought. The baron deserved the pleasure of company.

Kircheis stayed mostly silent for the rest of dinner, and Hilde chimed in only when encouraged by Magdalena. This made it easy enough for the two of them to slip away after dinner and go out for a walk. There was a small lake on the baron’s property, and that was where they went, with their breath rising in clouds through the air. Wrapped in jackets, they were warm enough despite the plummeting nighttime temperatures. They brought flashlights, and the beams bounced across the tree roots and glittering water as they walked.

“Have you been alright here?” Kircheis asked.

“I’m fine,” Hilde said, her voice curt. Kircheis knew she didn’t really mean the harsh tone in her voice, and she realized this herself and sighed. “Really.”

“If you really wanted, you could come back to the capital.”

“And stay in your apartment?” She chuckled a little. “No, it’s fine, Sieg, really. I don’t think being in the city would make it much different. I’d still rather be in space.”

“So would I.”

“Are you mad at Commodore Leigh for making you stay here?”

“He didn’t make me,” Kircheis said. “And no, I’m not. I can be useful here, and so can you, I’m sure.”

“Useful,” she repeated. “I hope.” She was silent for a moment. “Have you spoken to Rear Admiral Reuenthal?”

“Yes,” Kircheis said. “And Captain Oberstein. I keep in touch with both of them.”

“I’ve never spoken to Captain Oberstein,” Hilde said. “I only saw him at Hank’s wedding.”

“He and the commodore are good friends,” Kircheis said. “He’s trustworthy.”

Hilde nodded. “And what do they have you doing?”

This made Kircheis hesitate momentarily. “Leigh didn’t tell me to follow their orders. It’s not really like that.” Indeed, it was one of the strangest arrangements that Kircheis had ever been in. He found himself coordinating between them, and if Reuenthal didn’t respect him as an equal, at the very least he wasn’t giving Kircheis orders. It was a little uncomfortable for both of them, Kircheis suspected. If Leigh were around, it would be different.

“Oh,” Hilde said.

“Besides, there’s not much I can do. We don’t have resources on the planet. The captain and rear admiral give me what information they can, and we see if there’s anything we need to do about it, based on the contingencies that Leigh wrote up. We don’t want to do anything that Leigh isn’t expecting, because we can’t coordinate with him.” He paused and scuffed some of the leaves on the ground. Hilde was waiting for him to continue, so he did.

“Rear Admiral Reuenthal says he could send Commodore Leigh some surprise reinforcements, if we got word that he needed them, but there hasn’t been anything like that so far. It’s just watching and waiting.” The words spilled out of him. Describing it to Hilde made the frustration seem more real, or she was too easy of a place for him to let out the stress that underpinned every moment in the capital.

He continued. “A lot of Leigh’s plans on the planet presume that there’s going to be ground fighting, or trouble of some sort.” Kircheis shrugged. “But it’s been quiet, except for the MPs going after Braunschweig’s allies. It’s definitely for the best that Countess Leigh is out here— I think she’d be a target if she stayed in the city.”

“Yeah.” Hilde understood his anxiety. They trudged along, kicking up leaf litter as they went. “Have you heard anything from Martin recently?” she asked.

“No,” Kircheis said. “Not since the Kaiser died.”

“Do you know what he’s doing?”

“No. I haven’t heard anything, so I have to assume he’s still doing fine. Maybe he’ll want to see me again, but I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see him again?”

“Yes,” Kircheis said. He wanted a lot more than that, but Hilde understood.

“Well, I hope—”

“Yeah.” They walked in silence for a little while.

“When do you think everyone’s going to get back to Odin?”

“A few weeks,” Kircheis said. “Don’t ask me what’s going to happen then. I don’t know.”

“Hank must have said something to you?”

“He said a lot of things. And he says one thing and prepares for the other. He can say that he thinks he will defeat Littenheim one-on-one outside Odin, and that the Imperial government will fold to Braunschweig after that. But if he really believed that it would be that simple, he wouldn’t be having your father organize finding supplies when Braunschweig’s stockpiles run out. That will take six months to even start to pay off.”

“Well, that’s Hank.”

“Yeah.” It was Kircheis’s turn to look off into the distance. “I’m glad that he’s thinking ahead, but it makes it all feel that much more uncertain.”

“It is uncertain.”

Kircheis changed the topic. “How do you feel about all of Countess Leigh’s guests?”

He could just feel Hilde rolling her eyes, but it felt too rude to refer to Magdalena as anything else.

“They’re harmless,” Hilde said. “That’s the entire reason they’re all out in the countryside with us. And it makes Heinrich so happy to have guests, and I don’t mind the company either.”

“Alright,” Kircheis said.

“You don’t like them?”

“I just feel like making it known that the countess is hosting her salons might be dangerous, if word makes it back to the city.”

“I don’t think Maggie is that big of a target. But I’ll make sure to mention to Count Landsberg that he should be discreet.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you really that worried?”

“Commodore Leigh would want me to be worried.” He smiled down at her. “I have a responsibility to you all.”

She frowned, visible even in the dark. “I don’t like it when you think of me as helpless, you know.”

“I don’t think of you as helpless. But if someone came after the countess, Baron Kummel would be an obstacle for them to step through. And I like your cousin— I wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me.”

They were silent for a minute. “If things do get serious, I would want you with me,” he said. “If that means bringing Rear Admiral Reuenthal and Captain Oberstein here to talk, or you coming back to the city— I want you there.”

Hilde leaned against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.

“Have you heard anything about Rear Admiral Mittermeyer’s wife?” Hilde asked. “Maggie keeps asking if she’s going to come up here.”

“I went to see her the other day, since Commodore Leigh had left instructions for me to check in on her. She says that as long as her job is still open, she can’t pick her life up and leave to go on a vacation in the country, as much as she appreciates the offer.”

Hilde laughed. “I’ll let Maggie know the disappointing news.”

“Even if she did want to leave the city, she might prefer to go be with her family. They live a few districts away.”

“I won’t tell that to Maggie. It would disappoint her too much.”

Kircheis laughed. “Alright. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

Kircheis didn’t return to the city until the afternoon of the next day, and when he got back to his apartment, he had the sense that something was off before he even opened the door. He didn’t know what gave him that impression— perhaps it was just the fact that he had been on high alert ever since he had entered the city limits and dropped off his borrowed car in its designated space. After spending so much companionable time out in the countryside, and the silent and lonely drive back, the glances of the other passengers on the subway seemed suspicious and hostile, and none of Kircheis’s small polite smiles assuaged the feeling. Even the people who lived in the apartments next door, whom he had walked past hundreds of times, seemed to shuffle out of his way and skirt their gazes around him when he came up the street.

The ominous feeling mounted until Kircheis went to open his door and found it already unlocked, swinging open beneath his hand.

He wished, for the first time in his life, that he was carrying the sidearm that Commodore Leigh had given to him, but that was locked away in his safe inside the apartment.

If there was an intruder still inside, they most certainly had heard the clicking of the handle as Kircheis fumbled with his keys and tried the door, so he couldn’t very well try an alternate method of entry— going around to the side of the building and climbing up the fire escape. So, he went in.

There, sitting at his kitchen table, was Rear Admiral Bronner. His hands were folded on a binder in front of him, and on the center of the table was the spare key to Kircheis’s apartment, the one that he kept taped inside his mailbox.

“Lieutenant,” Bronner said, smiling at him with his sickly smile, “it’s such a pleasure to see you again.”

This probably wasn’t immediately dangerous, though it certainly was dangerous in a more abstract way. Without making any expression, Kirchies silently closed the door behind himself. “What are you doing in my house, Rear Admiral?”

“You should be more careful about where you leave your spare key,” Bronner said. “It’s not very secure to put it in a place associated with yourself. Hardly any better than putting it under the doormat, or above the lintel.”

“Did you check there, first?”

“Of course.” Bronner kept smiling. “Please, take a seat. I have something I need to speak with you about.”

“How long have you been waiting here?”

“Not long,” Bronner said.

“And how did you know I’d be getting back?”

Bronner’s smile was tight. “Do you really think I’d tell you? Sit.”

Kircheis sat. “I assume it wasn’t Commodore Leigh who sent you here.”

Bronner laughed. “Of course not. Leigh wouldn’t trust me to do anything for him.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Just because Leigh doesn’t trust me doesn’t mean that I’m not still interested in him, and you by extension.” He slid the binder across the scratched kitchen table to Kircheis, who did not open it until Bronner pointedly stared at it. The binder wasn’t plain. The front clear cover had a folded poster tucked inside of it advertising a play— Frühlings Erwachen.

With some trepidation, Kircheis flipped open the cover. The first few pages of the binder were taken up by the text of the play shown on the cover, like Bronner was pretending to be a director, but as Kircheis flipped through, he found, to his horror— though not surprise— page after page of information about Martin nestled in among the innocent pages of the play There were marked locations on a map of the nearby areas, and photographs of Martin taken with a zoom lens, and bank records, and logs of people coming and going, and lists of names that Kircheis didn’t recognize.

“Your friend Martin is extremely lucky that most people who would ordinarily care to stop little would-be revolutionaries are all occupied with factional problems,” Bronner said as Kircheis leafed through the binder. As Kircheis stopped on one page, the one with the map, Bronner pulled the binder back away from him and snapped it shut.

“I don’t know what you want from me, if you already have all of this information,” Kircheis said. “It seems like if you want to arrest Martin, you could just do it.”

“What makes you think I bear your friend any ill-will whatsoever?”

“If you were a republican, Commodore Leigh probably would have told me.”

Bronner laughed— a thin, unpleasant, nasally sound. “Of course I’m not a republican.”

“What do you want?” Kircheis asked.

“I want this country to continue to exist,” Bronner said. “I don’t particularly care how that gets accomplished, but I have no desire to see Neue Sanssouci bombed by little homegrown terrorists when no one’s paying attention to them.”

“The country is not Neue Sanssouci,” Kircheis said.

“Nor is the country the Kaiser,” Bronner said with a thin smile. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The symbols are important, and if everyone starts to realize that the people in charge are just people playing the roles given to them on the stages set up for them, we’ll have more problems on our hands than two noble families at each others’ throats, especially if people happen to realize that right now.”

Kircheis was silent.

“What, am I giving Herr Bufholtz and his ilk more credit than you would even give them? That’s what they intend to do, isn’t it? Make it clear that all of the people, all across the land, don’t have to bow to some child whose father claims the throne is theirs?”

“Do you think they’ll succeed?” Kircheis asked.

“It’s a good story,” Bronner said. “It would make an excellent scene in a play, if the director was doing a good job. It might stir the audience.” He cocked his head. “Sometimes, a story is what you need.”

“Stop telling me riddles,” Kircheis said.

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you saying? Are you going to arrest Martin or not?”

“That’s not really in my wheelhouse,” Bronner said with a smile. “I work in the basement of the Ministry of War. Your friend isn’t even remotely on my department’s radar. I only care about members of the fleet.”

Kircheis stared at him.

Bronner continued to smile. “But my department does care about the Military Police, in that they are part of the fleet, and they have some interest in keeping tabs on terrorists— or they did, before they decided to pivot to persecuting their own petty enemies.”

“What do you want?” Kircheis asked again.

“If the MPs aren’t going to do their jobs properly, that leaves it up to someone else. I have no real desire to see your friend be killed before he’s even done anything—”

“Then leave him alone.”

“—but I also have no desire to allow him to turn the capitol into a pillar of flame.” He steepled his hands over the binder. “This all can be taken care of in a way that would satisfy Commodore Leigh.”

“I doubt it.”

“I didn’t say it would satisfy you .”

“What do you think Commodore Leigh wants?”

“As little loss of life as possible,” Bronner said, and this time, his tone was severe, and he had lost his thin smile. “That is all he has ever cared about. Beyond republics, beyond kings, beyond games and rules, beyond himself and his friends— that is what Leigh wants, and he will do anything to achieve it. He would sacrifice his own life, and he would sacrifice your life, or my life, or Herr Bufholtz’s, if that was what it took to stop a real massacre, which is what your friend wants to provoke. Do you understand that, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Kircheis said.

“I do not always agree with the commodore, but I have always understood him very well.”

“I don’t think he’d want you to interfere.”

“I’m not going to interfere,” Bronner said, and his voice was back to its usual slimy cadence. “But you are.”

Kircheis could hear his own heartbeat. “What are you saying?”

“You, lieutenant, are going to use all of your skills, which I know you possess, and you are going to act. You are going to play the role of Herr Bufholtz’s friend. You are going to find out the day and the hour that he plans to make his move. And then you will tell me.”

“No,” Kircheis said.

“No?” Bronner asked. “I don’t think you have a choice, lieutenant.”

“I’m not going to betray him. I don’t know what kind of man you think I am, but I’m not that one.”

Bronner leaned back in his seat. “I’m not asking you to betray him. I’m asking you to help him. I can make it so that when the day comes, he can be spared.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Perhaps Bronner really was as good of an actor as he claimed to be. There was something in his voice, serious and calm, having lost his usual brittle smile, that made Kircheis almost believe him.

But it didn’t matter if Kircheis believed him or not. Even if Martin were somehow capable of being saved, that would be the last thing that Martin would want. Though that didn’t stop Kircheis from wanting it.

“No,” Kircheis said again. He wondered if there was a little less conviction in his voice this time.

They stared at each other silently across the table for a moment.

“Very well,” Bronner finally said. He picked up his binder and stood. “I’m sure you will go warn your friend that he’s under watch: fine. It won’t make any difference. You’ll come home, and until this is all over, you’ll spend every waking moment thinking if this is the day that someone with the authority has been convinced to waste their time, and go raid the headquarters of a student group. It will be a waste of their time— and to save it, they’ll just shoot everyone there. You probably won’t even hear about it until you go back there, and you don’t find the bodies, but you find the bloodstains. And you’ll wonder if Herr Bufholtz survived, and you’ll look for him, but in your heart, you’ll know he didn’t. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if you could have done anything to stop it. I’m telling you now: you could. But you won’t, because you’re not that kind of man.”

“How long did you practice that speech, sir?” Kircheis asked.

Bronner snorted like a bull. “Ten minutes, in the bathroom mirror. Pity it didn’t change your mind.”

Bronner flipped open the binder and neatly extracted one page, the one with the maps. The binder’s rings clacked open and shut. He held the sheet out to Kircheis, who didn’t take it. He wiggled the paper at him.

“I’m assuming you don’t already know where your friend is hiding, since I haven’t seen you go there. Here. Take it. Meeting him there will prove that your warning about him being watched is sincere.”

Kircheis took the map.

“And if you change your mind, you know how to contact me,” Bronner said. “I sincerely hope you do.”

Bronner started to go for the door.

“Rear Admiral—” Kircheis said.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to make this offer to anyone else?”

“To little Lady Mariendorf, you mean?” Bronner asked. “Why, is she more likely to agree with me?” He smirked, and then was gone out the door. Belatedly, Kircheis realized that he had stolen his spare key.

The day that Kircheis went to visit Martin was cold and bright. The trees had lost all of their leaves, and the branches stood out in thin, whip-like lines across the cloudless blue sky. Martin’s hiding place was way off in the suburbs, in a town that was eerily like the one he and Kircheis had grown up in. The house was normal, too— a two story building with sage green siding, near the far end of a dead-end road, sitting on a well kept lawn. Kircheis wondered whose family member had died and left it vacant, since it didn’t seem like the kind of place that a rebel group would choose as a base. The house’s property was woody in the back, and it edged up against a forest that belonged to the town, one with a plethora of walking trails. In the aerial view that Bronner had provided, Kircheis could see one of these slim paths branching off from the main trail and heading towards the back of the house. He suspected that many of the members of the group were instructed to approach from that direction if they were coming, since the neighbors would likely find it odd to have a rotating cast of young people coming and going at odd hours of the day.

Kircheis, however, approached on the main road. He had borrowed the Mariendorf family’s pickup again, but he left it some half a mile away and walked the rest of the way on foot. He didn’t want to scare Martin by leaving an unfamiliar vehicle parked on the street outside the house, though his presence would probably do enough harm on that front.

He let his hands dangle loosely at his sides as he strode up to the front door. He wanted to jam them into his coat pockets, since it was quite cold out, but he resisted the temptation. Kircheis wasn’t carrying a gun, and he didn’t want Martin to think that he might be.

It was the apprehension of the unknown that made his heart pound strangely as he hopped lightly up the few front steps and rang the doorbell. He craned his neck to look at the sky as he waited, and waited.

He was sure that someone was home. He was sure he was being ignored. He rang the doorbell again and got no response. Thinking of Bronner, Kircheis was tempted to kick back the mat on the step and look to see if there was a spare key, but instead he just sighed and sat down. The cold stone of the stairs leeched the heat from his body, and he shivered despite his warm jacket.

It was over half an hour before anything happened. Kircheis wasn’t sure how long he would have waited, but eventually a car pulled up into the driveway, one with two people sitting inside it. Martin was driving, and he got out, leaving the second person to sit as a vague shadow behind the tinted window. Kircheis didn’t stand up— he thought that would appear too threatening— and he put his hands on either side of his knees, gripping the cold stone of the stairs, in view so that they could see he wasn’t holding a gun.

“What are you doing here?” Martin asked. His tone was hostile and his whole body was tense. He squinted at Kircheis, though Martin’s back was to the white ball of the sun on its way down the sky.

“I needed to see you,” Kircheis said.

“I told you not to look for me. How did you find me?” Kircheis wondered how much of Martin’s harshness was because he suddenly had to put on a show for the person in the car behind him, to prove his own loyalty— that he hadn’t given Kircheis his location.

“Can we talk about this inside?” Kircheis asked.

“No,” Martin said. “You need to leave, right now.”

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Bronner is the one who told me where you were. There’s going to be a raid on this place someday. I don’t know when, but it’s going to happen. You need to—” Kircheis’s voice froze in his throat.

Martin just looked at him with a cold stare.

“Martin, please,” Kircheis said.

“What do you want?” Martin asked.

“I want to help you.” And the words cloyed in his mouth, not quite true as they were.

But this alone was what could soften Martin’s expression, if only for a second, his eyes finding Kircheis’s and holding there for just a moment too long. But then his expression hardened again. “Why did Bronner send you here?”

“I don’t know,” Kircheis admitted. “I’m probably playing into some trap of his, but I had to warn you.”

Martin glanced behind himself at the figure in the car, who made no movements.

“You need to leave,” Martin said again. “Now.”

Kircheis didn’t know what he had expected to get out of this conversation. Perhaps if Martin had been alone, they could have spoken more candidly. But he had set out to warn Martin, and he had. So that would have to be enough, at least for now. Kircheis nodded and stood. “Martin—”

“What?”

“Please let me help you.”

Their eyes met again, and Martin opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. “Don’t try to find me,” he said. “If I need you—”

“You know where I am,” Kircheis said. He began to walk down the driveway. He resisted the temptation to look into the tinted windows of the car, and just stared straight ahead. He could feel eyes on him. When he reached the bottom of the driveway, he turned his head and saw Martin looking at him. He stopped walking, and they looked at each other steadily. Kircheis raised his hand in a still and solemn wave.

“Stay safe!” he called.

Martin nodded, and Kircheis dropped his hand and walked away.

Three days later, in his mailbox, he found an unmarked letter, one that was heavier than usual. He pulled it out with some trepidation, and discovered that it was just a single address. His heart would have soared to think that the letter had been sent by Martin, but to the back of it, he found taped the spare key to his house.