A\N: I now have a snippets thread! Check out my first original short story if you're interested.
Chapter 21
January 7, 1929, somewhere in Imperial Congo
I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow and tug at my shirt, pulling it away from my sticky skin. Working out in the tropical heat was a different kind of challenge, and the only saving grace was that we were in the local dry season. That meant it rained only some of the time instead of all the time. In spite of the awful heat, it had been a good workout session. While I couldn't practice my flying skills openly without risking detection by the occasional mage patrol, I could still push myself and my former subordinates to hone our decoys, enhancements, sharpshooting, and close combat skills.
Visha came to stand next to me, puffing heavily and soaked in sweat. "Are we - huff - done yet, ma'am?"
I refrained from giving her the evil eye. In spite of her exhaustion, I could hear the faint amusement in her voice. She knew this sudden spate of training was my reaction to her little prank last month. The best solution I could come up with to keep her out of more mischief was to keep her busy with work and training. Of course, to keep the others from being curious, I had to include them in the training as well. And, being a good boss, I couldn't avoid participating myself. She was obviously finding it hilarious that I was running myself ragged just to keep her out of trouble. There are times I really miss not having artillery. Still, I shouldn't be upset. Today was an important day after all. And this little training session with Visha should have given the others enough time to get things set up.
The sun was just starting to sink when the two of us made it back to the outpost, which had in the past months expanded into an almost semi-permanent camp filled with almost a hundred people. Several of them greeted us in their peculiarly accented French-Germanian patois as we went past. Credit where it was due, Visha had done a sterling job rebuilding her rapport with the locals. The formerly modest outpost had become the nerve center of trade for the area. People weren't just coming to trade with the outpost, but also each other. There were members of at least three different tribes present, all of whom were peacefully participating in the various trade deals. Occasionally one of my people had to step in and settle a dispute, but the whole affair was largely self-regulated. Truly, there are few greater unifying forces than the profit motive.
When Visha and I entered the building proper, a very nostalgic and delicious smell was filling the air. Visha perked up immediately. "Something smells really good!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Ma'am, is that...?"
"Potato pancakes, bratwurst, and apple strudel? I certainly hope so. Walther?"
At my raised voice, Walther came out of the kitchen area, wearing a stained apron. During our long wilderness trek, we'd discovered Walther was the best cook among us after Visha herself. This was not saying much, but he was good enough to follow a recipe given prepared ingredients. The pleasant-faced dark-haired man now gave a broad grin, "It's not exactly what they serve in Hotel Adlon Berun, but I think it's turned out quite well. Happy birthday, Visha!"
"Birthday? You mean... for me?" stuttered Visha, wide-eyed.
I was pleased to see her so happy. Given all we'd been through together, it was honestly ridiculous it took me this long to arrange this most basic of felicitations. "Of course, Visha. It's not every day someone leaves their teenage years behind. Happy twentieth, and welcome to the world of
responsible adults."
Judging by the sheepish smile I got in response, she'd gotten the hint. Then suddenly her brow clouded. "Ma'am, I just realized... I completely forgot your birthday last year!"
I huffed a laugh. "Considering I was running all over messing with your business at the time, you are forgiven. Besides, the present you got me the year before more than made up for it." On seeing her puzzled look, I elaborated, "Don't you remember? You showed up in my New York office two days after I turned fourteen." Really, considering she brought me a warning that let me get out of the Unified States ahead of Interpol, that was worth any number of birthday presents. Ignoring her customary I-have-been-complimented blush I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her forward, "Now come on, before the food gets cold! All the others are waiting."
It was, all in all, an excellent dinner. Even the bratwurst was tolerable. I sampled enough of it to be polite, before joining Visha in stuffing myself on pancakes and pie. There were even a few bottles of a decent
Riesling wine. My small body might force me to limit myself to only one glass, but I still savored every drop.
Being X must have looked down from his lofty throne and seen me having a good time, because we were just getting around to the coffee (that Visha, bless her, insisted on making) when we detected the unmistakable magic signature of mages in flight, and approaching fast.
With only our human senses to aid us, by the time we sensed them the mages were just outside extreme artillery range. I had no idea if this was an attack or just a regular patrol that had chosen to overfly our location, but I was taking no chances. "Everyone, stealth! Visha, with me!"
During our stay, I had learned that all of Central Africa played host to four companies of Imperial mages, two each in East Africa and the Congo. There were probably a few mages in Morocco, but I didn't know the numbers there. Now that they were coming closer, I could tell there were four of them - a platoon - and they were definitely headed for the outpost. Any hopes that this was just a random flyover ended when I felt them slowing down and descending.
What possible reason could a platoon of mages have for dropping by a trading post after dark? While a supply run or even a courtesy call were possibilities, I wasn't feeling optimistic. The only bright spot was they probably didn't know who we were, or they'd have brought more than a single platoon. Avoiding the risk of a communication spell, I called out loud, "The rest of you stay quiet and get into ambush position. Visha and I will see what they want."
I felt all four of them land nearby. Two of them approached our door while two hung back. How careless. A flight mage's greatest asset is mobility. Overwatch positions should always be in midair, barring very unusual circumstances.
As a firm knock rang out on the door, I tossed a Thompson to Visha and signaled her to hang back while I approached the entrance, coffee cup in hand. As I went, I dialed down my disguise spell to the absolute bare minimum of a few lines on the face changing its shape and making it older. Thankfully I'd kept up the habit of dyeing all my hair under the illusion in case I ever needed to drop it.
Fortifying myself with a sip, I opened the door. On the other side were two mages. Imperial tags ranked them as a First Lieutenant and a Corporal. The other two were outside the light shining from the outpost. The two in front of me looked at first glance as decent specimens of Imperial soldiery. The officer had the classic blond hair and blue eyes with an athletic build and a firm jaw. His Corporal was both older and smaller, but carried an air of experience. Their equipment was common Imperial issue - Mondragon rifles and Standard Type jewels. The officer carried a pistol in a shoulder holster, and both had bayonets in hip sheaths.
Even as I sized them up, I also noticed the two mages' widening eyes when I opened the door. Did they see through my disguise? No, there was no alarm, just surprise. I realized their shock was because I was a pretty woman when the officer surreptitiously straightened his hair and gave me a broad smile. "Pardon me, my lady, but if I had known there was such a treasure hidden here I would have dropped by a lot sooner. I am First Lieutenant Bergmann, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Flirting with civilians while on duty? Clearly discipline was slipping so far from Berun. I raised an unimpressed eyebrow as I took a sip of coffee, then replied in my blandest voice, "Elsa Eckhardt. What brings a mage officer out to this little corner of the jungle?"
"Business, I'm afraid. Is the owner of the outpost available?"
"No. But I speak for her. What is it?"
"Her?" Apparently, this was a surprise too. Did these jokers do no information gathering before coming?
"Anna. My older sister. She's out. Can I take a message?"
"I'm afraid it's rather important. May we wait for her?"
"Sure."
I led them to the office where I perched on the desk. The officer took a seat at my offering, but the Corporal took a position by the door. No hands on weapons, but I did feel the prickle of a communication spell from the Corporal. Most likely letting the two outside know what was happening.
The officer was still smiling at me. I suppose with his looks he was used to charming most women he came across. "Your sister is the owner, you say? Is she as beautiful as you?"
By this point I was good and done with being hit on. I gave him a cool look as I deliberately took the time to savor my coffee. Just as the silence was growing awkward, I replied, "Taller. Better ass. Better tits. That all you wanted to know?"
My sudden crudity threw him for a moment, then he recovered and gave a polite laugh. "How bold! But then I suppose it does take uncommon courage for two women to make a business out here in the middle of this savage wilderness."
I studied his face for a moment, then I too gave a sweet smile. I smiled because I'd finally figured out why Bergmann struck me as familiar. He was like me. He could smile and lie and kill in the same breath without a shred of hesitation, as long as it got him what he wanted. Of course, I tried to temper my own nature by doing my best to follow the rules of society and act like a reasonable person. The question remained if he shared my philosophy.
"I thank you for the compliment. Honestly, it was just something that ended up happening. But I think we've done rather well, all told. Now, what was it you are here about?"
He made an expression of sorrow that I might have found believable if I hadn't managed to divine his true nature. "I'm afraid it really is a serious matter. You see, it seems your sister has decided, for reasons unknown, to completely ignore certain obligations." He made a show of looking around. "A set-up like this requires a significant amount of supplies and materiel to operate. And providing such things so far from civilization is a pretty difficult proposition. In exchange for such excellent service, it is only natural that the service provider, the Imperial African Trading Company, be provided first pick of the bounty of the African jungle. Yet, your sister refuses to even consider their offer, instead selling out to some upstart. I ask you, is this just?"
I drained my coffee cup before placing it carefully on table. "Strange. I didn't know the Empire's Army was also the Company's rent collector."
Bergmann's smile was a trifle colder now. "The Company is an intrinsic part of the Empire. It has support at the highest levels. Out here, the Company is the Empire."
"How interesting. But if the Company does represent the Empire, does that mean the Governor supports your presence here?"
"Do you think I would be here if he didn't?"
I almost laughed at that. I was a past master at exploiting logical fallacies, and here he was trying one on me! Instead, I said, "In that case, you will have no trouble coming back with an order signed by the Governor."
We stood gauging each other, then he sighed. "Fraulein, please do not be stubborn about this. It is just a contract, yes? One trading company or another, what difference does it make?"
"If you saw the prices? A lot. Tell you what though. Why don't you fly back to the Imperial Company, and tell them to start matching the prices set by Cold Steel. Then we can talk."
His smile was still charming. "Ah, it does not work like that. You do business with the Imperial African, or you do not do business at all. Tell me, have you ever seen what a magical artillery spell looks like when it hits a wood building?"
My sigh had genuine sorrow in it. "So this is what it has come to. The proud mages of the Imperial army, now nothing but hired thugs running a protection racket."
I could tell that last dig got to him, because in a lightning flash of movement, he was suddenly looming over me. If I hadn't been a mage myself, that would have caught me entirely by surprise. As it is, I took a step back and almost triggered a mage blade before realizing he wasn't attacking yet. He seemed to put my reaction down to fear, because his smile grew predatory. "We may be for hire, but I assure you, we are not cheap. And there are perks to the job," he whispered menacingly, one hand whipping out to grasp my chin.
I immediately tugged out of his grip before he felt the illusion I was maintaining on my face. His blood was up though, as he continued to invade my personal space. "What was it you said, better ass, better tits? I think we will wait for your sister after all. But you can entertain us in the meantime."
A look into his eyes told me he wasn't bluffing. Well, at least that simplified matters enormously. Even as my tactical mind went into overdrive, my hand unconsciously grasped the first thing it came across. Bergmann looked down and snorted. "What are you going to do, throw your little tea cup at me?"
"Coffee, actually," I replied. "And I'm going to kill you. With my coffee cup." His response to this would remain a mystery, for I then sent out a short burst of tongue-clicks over a communication spell.
Whether he detected the spell or not, Bergmann definitely detected the long burst of automatic fire, as Visha sent half a clip of enhanced-penetration 45-caliber rounds through the thin dining room wall and into the forever unnamed Corporal. The Corporal's reflexive barrier stopped perhaps three shots, and his torso stopped the rest.
Bergmann had jerked his head around towards the shots. Half a second too late, he remembered the mage standing next to him. I was too close for the standard mage shell to matter. He tried to leap back to pull his pistol, but I brought up a hook-shaped mage blade spell to tear his computation orb out from under his jacket. His momentum let him open up space, but he left his jewel dangling in my hand.
Now it was my turn to move at mage speeds while a mundane tried to keep up. His pistol was already aimed at me, but by the time he pulled the trigger, my free hand was smothering the barrel. Unlike Bergmann, modifying a mage shell on the fly was well within my expertise. The skin-tight version might not be as strong as the normal spell, but it was more than adequate to stop a pistol bullet cold. The resulting backfire tore open his hand. Bergmann's scream of pain was choked off when I punched him in the nose.
Knocked off his feet, to his credit he was still fighting, scrambling for his bayonet. His struggle only ended when he felt a Thompson barrel pressing into his skull.
Even as all this was happening inside the outpost, my senses had detected the flaring magic from the two Imperial mages as they prepared for battle - and then that magic was snuffed out under close proximity and audible gunfire from five other mage signatures. I breathed a sigh of relief. The one great worry I had about this encounter was that lingering loyalty to the Empire would prevent my company from taking action. It seemed I was worried for nothing. I couldn't help the smirk stretching my face, as a cold, calculating part of my mind told me I
owned them now, heart and mind and soul. By slaying their fellow Imperials, they had made their allegiance clear, once and for all.
My elation was cut short as my ears picked up the panicked shouts of confusion from the nearby settlement. Breathing out an annoyed breath, I told Visha, "When Koenig comes in, send him back out to calm the locals. I'm going to get more coffee."
I had almost emptied my second cup by the time everyone except Koenig was gathered around the prisoner. Bergmann seemed to have figured some things out, if the growing terror on his face was any indication. "The 203rd. You are the missing 203rd. That makes you..." As he turned towards me, I dropped the last bits of illusion and channeled magic to my eyes, turning them the bright silvery blue that had marked me out even before the Type 95 had entered my life. "Argent Silver..."
How strange. Usually when someone spoke that name to me, it was with a tone of awe and reverence. This was the first time I'd heard it spoken in that particular tone of horrified disbelief. I wondered if this was how the Francois had spoken that name, before they came up with their own nickname for me. One more question on the long list of curiosities I would satisfy if I ever had the time.
Now that I had Bergmann's attention, I decided it was time to address the really important things. "All right, Bergmann. There's a few things I need to know, and I hope you will be honest. First, I already know the Governor didn't send you because I know Cold Steel paid good money to make sure he stays neutral in this little trade war. So, the question is, how many mages does Imperial African have in their pocket? How much of the regular army? And how many people know you came out here to shake us down?"
He talked without hesitation. "The Company has maybe half the mages in Africa bought and paid for. Maybe a third of the regular forces. And I told two of my fellow platoon leaders and my contact with the Company where I was headed."
I studied him for a long moment, then I gave a groan of frustration. "Congratulations Bergmann, in spite of everything you're a good enough liar that I can't tell if you're lying or not. And none of us have the expertise to break you properly to get at the truth."
Bergmann tried to lodge some kind of protest, but I overrode him. "At least now I can keep my promise." So saying, I held up my now empty coffee cup and squeezed. The cup shattered, the pieces falling away leaving a sharp sliver held in my fingers.
Without an orb of his own, Bergmann had no chance of dodging as I rammed the sliver into his left eye. The piece was far too small and brittle to kill a man, but the tiny explosive enchantment I'd laid on it did the trick.
Wiping the steaming gore off my hand, I remarked, "Well, this is a complete shitshow. So much for keeping a low profile. Teyanen, you and Ernst are on corpse detail. Find some wild animals to feed them to, distribute their weapons and clothes to the natives, keep whatever is left of their orbs for us. Make sure to destroy any ID. Vogel, Walther, get this place cleaned and repaired, I want it as if nothing ever happened. Visha, with me."
The two of us adjourned to the dining room, where the remains of our feast still stood. I picked up and handed Visha an envelope that was sitting on a side-table. "This was supposed to be another little birthday present, but now I don't know if it's worth anything."
"What is this?"
"A sales agreement. I had Cold Steel's accountants figure out exactly how much this outpost was now worth and offer you a fair price. In there is an offer for 50,000 marks and 8.2% of Cold Steel's stock."
"That... sounds generous?"
"At Cold Steel's current nominal share price, the total works out to around 330,000 marks. Congratulations, Visha, you've more than trebled the value of your holdings. The trouble is, depending on how much Bergmann said is true, Cold Steel is about to come under serious pressure. A year from now, that stock might be worth nothing. That's why I'm willing to sell you an option."
"An option?"
"Yes. At any time, you can sell me that stock, at the current price of the shares. That way, if the stock does devalue, I'll cover your loss..."
"No."
"Visha?"
"No. You said you set up Cold Steel, didn't you?"
"I did."
"So if Cold Steel goes under, you're out a lot of money anyway. I refuse to take advantage on top of that."
"Visha..."
"No. I'll take the contract as is. I have faith in you. You set up Cold Steel, that means it will work out in the end."
I let out a deep breath. "As you wish." The truth was, I was a bit relieved. Setting up Cold Steel had taken a lot of money. My liquid reserves were almost gone, and the company itself was highly leveraged. My sense of responsibility meant I had to make the offer, but I was secretly glad Visha had decided to be stubborn.
That little bit of business taken care of, I had to start planning our next move. While the Imperial African Trading Company's focus seemed to be on Cold Steel, the disappearance of an entire platoon of mages was bound to be noticed in short order. If no one else, at least the person who had given Bergmann his marching orders would know where he had been headed. By the time an investigation was launched, we needed to get gone.
After consulting with the rest of my company and the locals, I made the decision to change our course of travel. Prior to this, the plan had been to follow the main Congo river until it got to the rail and road networks that would lead us either to Imperial East Africa or Albish Rhodesia, whichever looked better. Now, we switched our upstream journey to one of the Congo's tributaries, the Lomami. Unlike the Congo, the Lomami was undeveloped for large parts of its length until it reached its headwaters in the Katanga plateau.
Not only would it keep us deep in the jungles and far away from investigators, but less development meant more opportunities I could inform the management of Cold Steel about (anonymously, of course). Honestly, I was more worried about illness than pursuers. Which is why I took the trouble of stocking up on as much medication and water purifiers as I could before we set out.
The plan was kept vague since so little was known about the situation on the ground, but I ultimately expected to spend around three months travelling before we eventually reached the Katanga plateau. I'd heard rumors the Empire was focusing development on that area in order to exploit its well-known mineral wealth. While a good chunk of Africa's Imperial forces would be scattered in the area, it would also be a good place to decide my next move after the heat had died down.
Now that I had a plan, however barebones, we moved fast. Within 48 hours, the outpost had been signed over to Cold Steel, and a temporary manager placed in charge. Every scrap of useful supplies we could gather on short notice had been packed and loaded on a boat. Our most reliable guides had been offered munificent sums to undertake this lengthy journey. And my final instructions were sent to Cold Steel's management, telling them to watch out for Imperial African's bully-boys and start shopping around for mage support of their own.
And then we were off. Hopefully, for a long and boring journey where the heat and mosquitoes would be the worst we would have to deal with. At least one bit of profit came out of this mess - I had a perfectly functional Imperial Standard Type 24 to play with, courtesy the late Bergmann. Not the most advanced piece of mage hardware, but at least trying to decipher the differences between it, the Hughes M27 and the Modelo 1928 would give me something to occupy my time with.
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February 10, 1929, Imperial Congo
Even as Tanya and her crew were doing their best to get lost in the Congolese jungle, the trade through Cold Steel continued to flow. Bergmann's disappearance sent local Imperial forces into a tizzy, and greatly unnerved his masters in Imperial African. Thanks to this atmosphere of caution and paranoia, Cold Steel was able to quietly continue its business. In particular, Colombian military surplus weapons continue to flow into the Congo in an unending tide.
Slowly, inevitably, this influx of hardware started to infiltrate those portions of the Congo River basin that was famous, or perhaps infamous, for its rubber plantations.
During the Francois era, the French had used a combination of bribed local warlords and military might to maintain a population of workers on the plantations in near-slavery conditions. Many of these workers disappeared into the populace when the French were forced out. The Empire, and the Kaiser in particular, had absolutely no interest in giving up the rubber production, not only for its monetary value but also for its military importance. The resulting forced conscription into the plantations was significantly more brutal than anything that had happened in the past century.
As such, it should come as no surprise that one fine day in February of 1929, a shot fired from 300 meters would kill a particularly hated overseer. This was just the first in a series of violent incidents that would continue to wrack the rubber plantations near the Congo River for years.
It was too disorganized to be called a revolution, or even an armed protest. It was simply the violent lashing out of a people that had been mistreated for a long time, and had finally been given tools with which to express their displeasure.
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February 18, 1929, New York, Unified States
It was an empty warehouse in the riverside docks of Harlem. About twenty boys and girls were present. The oldest wasn't yet out of his teens, but all the attention was on a slim red-haired freckled girl who couldn't have been a day older sixteen. Normally the girl was known for her good cheer and jovial disposition. Both were currently conspicuous in their absence.
The youngsters present didn't have the experience to verbalize the reason behind their trepidation, beyond the fact that their nominal leader was angry. A battlefield veteran would have pinpointed the aura around the redhead as that of a person who had taken a life before - and will not hesitate to do so again. Only one other of the youths present could claim that dubious distinction, and that particularly large specimen of African descent was currently covering the door.
After the silence had long since reached the level of discomfort, the girl spoke. "The reason I called you all here is because something kinda interesting happened last week. Undercover cops started nosing around old Dr. Brinkmeyer. I think they were lookin' to see if he was part o' that terrible racket o' fake prescriptions for weed that we all been hearing about."
There were some nervous chuckles at this, especially since a good chunk of those present would be carrying exactly such prescriptions. Not for their own use, but for sale to others. One girl spoke up, "But Brinkmeyer's not the one handing them out is he Jenny? You told me - " The girl choked off at the furious glare the redhead named Jenny was giving her.
"Yes," came the hiss like an enraged snake. "I told you different. And I told you to keep quiet about it. In fact, I told exactly
one of you the name Brinkmeyer, and that person was supposed to keep mum about it too. Ain't that right, Stevie?"
The named boy instantly broke into a mad dash for the door, only to run into an iron hard fist courtesy the door guard.
"Well. I suppose that answers the question o' if you were the one to dime us out to the cops. Hope whatever they gave you was worth it Stevie."
Three hours later, Jenny was walking through the door of one of the better apartments in New York.
"Jenny! Finally home?" came the voice of a stocky swarthy young woman in her twenties.
The teenager rolled her eyes. "It ain't that late, Lydia." Over the last year, Jenny had gotten into the habit of calling her guardian by her assumed name. Lena had insisted it was a good habit to get into since the two were often out together in public.
"Late enough. I...." Lena broke off as she came close to the girl. "Jenny Brown, what in the blue blazes have you been up to now?"
"I... don't know what you mean?"
Lena grabbed the girl's hands. "Blood on your knuckles and it's not your own. And," a deep sniff, "Is that weed? You been smoking and fighting?"
"Naw, just been around folks who were."
"Don't give me that. You promised you were gonna get out of the business, Jenny!"
"No, I promised to be more careful."
"Jenny, why do you have to do this? Money? You need money you come to me!"
"Shit, you think I'm doin' this for cash? I'm doin' this for Tanya!"
"I keep telling you, Tanya's not involved in that!"
"Bullshit! I know you told me she made Sunrise. That's who we get all our weed from!"
"
We only deal in stuff that's for sale through
legal channels! Not whatever racket you've got going! Jenny, if the cops catch you they ain't gonna care you're only fifteen! Deep as I think you are, it'll be ten years, minimum!"
"Legal's not enough anymore! You told me the state's been doing its best to tighten on the stuff! With everyone losin' jobs left and right, the business need all the help it can get! Besides, I figured you'd care more about damn flying assassins being sent after Tanya! You know she gonna need cash on the run! I'm just doin' my part for her! You'd help if you actually cared!"
"Do not give me that bullshit! You know Tanya wouldn't have wanted this! She didn't get you into one of the best schools in the city just to see you become some two-bit dealer!"
"Well I don't know what she wants now, do I! 'COS SHE LEFT US!!"
Lena took a deep breath, then went to sit down on a nearby couch. After some effort, she'd managed to coax Jenny into joining her. "Jenny, darling, I know you worry about her. I do too. But you know she left because she wanted to protect us. You really think risking your neck doing whatever it is you're doing is going to make her happy?"
"I just..." the girl sniffled, "I just wanna help...and you won't tell me a thing! All you say is she's fine! I had to read the damn papers to hear the damn Imps been sending mages after her!"
Lena drew the girl into a gentle hug before she got worked up any more. "I know, I know, she means a lot to you. But you mean a lot to me, you know? And you mean a lot to her, too. Or why else would she set up a college fund for you? You know she wants for you to have all the things she never did growing up. She doesn't want you to do the kinds of things she's had to do to survive."
"I know... but I don't care! We're sisters! We swore to have each other's backs, always! How can I do that sitting over here?!"
Lena sighed. "All right, all right. How about I make you a deal?" Seeing Jenny's teary but puzzled expression, Lena continued, "If you absolutely promise to get out of the business, and keep your nose clean until summer vacation starts... then I'll give you a summer job. With Velvet Iron."
Jenny was definitely curious now. "A summer job? Doing what?"
"Oh, it might involve a bit of travelling to exotic locations."
"Exotic... you mean like where Tanya is?"
"I can't promise that Jenny. Even I don't know exactly where she is. But I can send you to places where Velvet Iron has business, and maybe you'll get lucky. Deal?"
The excited hug Jenny wrapped Lena in was answer enough.
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March 20, 1929, on a ship in the South Atlantic, en route to Point Noir, Imperial Congo
The two former Imperial mages looked out over the clear blue waters. Royce broke the silence. "We sure about this?" he asked in Germanian.
Klaus von Becker shrugged fatalistically. "What's there to be sure about?" he replied. "Neither of us heard of this Cold Steel before. Not a single whisper about the Major. But they are hiring mages, and the offer came recommended by Velvet Iron. It is the only clue we have."
Royce rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant Klaus. Are we sure we should have let little Madelaine come along with us?"
Both men glanced at the cabin in which their travelling companion was currently recovering from a bout of seasickness.
"What could we do?" shrugged Klaus. "When she found out about Cold Steel she absolutely insisted on joining us. Even if we didn't bring her along, she could just go do it on her own. This way we can at least watch over her."
"Yes, but is it not strange a good American girl would be so eager to run all the way to Africa?"
"Norris was certainly willing. He even arranged transfer of that American mage named Barrow so he has someone to replace her with."
"Norris is worried for both her and his job," Royce remarked. "He thinks it is better she leave under our protection than she stay and draw the wrong kinds of attention. He does not seem to believe the Colombians when they tell us the Empire no longer seems to think Madelaine is the Major."
"Maybe the Emperor finally grew a brain. But in his or Maddy's shoes I would be skeptical as well. Perhaps that is why she wants to come with us?"
"That makes no sense. Congo is Imperial territory. Norris might not care, but if she was worried about the Empire, that is the last place she should be going."
Klaus rubbed his face in worry. "I know, my friend. She says she wants to meet face to face the woman who almost got her killed. And she certainly seems to be honest about that. But even I cannot help but wonder. Still, if there is something more to it, then it is for the best she is somewhere that we can keep an eye on her."
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March 27, 1929, Washington D.C.
When Lieutenant Elya Roth had first joined Imperial Intelligence she'd had all sorts of silly dreams about visiting exotic places and sneaking into fortresses to spy on the enemies of the Fatherland. After joining she'd learned espionage work mostly consisted of enormous amounts of mind-numbing paperwork. While she still enjoyed the puzzle-solving aspects of it, she'd long since accepted her younger self's beliefs as childish foolishness.
And yet, here she was in the capital of a foreign country about to break into a secure location to acquire valuable intelligence.
All right, so Captain Strong's office was hardly Fort Knox, and entering the building had been as simple as showing her own Interpol badge. That still didn't stop the rush of adrenaline flowing through her brains.
Ordinarily, Elya was far too professional to indulge in such reckless behavior, particularly without orders from above. But for the last several months she'd been bouncing between Berun and Washington as a glorified messenger, and it had been both boring and unpleasant. In Berun she would get chewed out for the lack of progress in locating Degurechaff, and more recently for the Colombian debacle. In Washington her position as an Imperial officer might as well be a case of leprosy for the way officialdom treated her. And the newly formed Interpol HQ was also asking her hard questions about their little team's current efforts - questions Captain Strong refused to answer in full and instead left Elya to deal with as best she could. About the only useful thing she'd achieved was persuading the Imperial government that Madelaine Smith was NOT Tanya von Degurechaff, superficial similarities notwithstanding. And even then she didn't know how well her information had been accepted.
All in all, Elya was sick and tired of being everyone's designated whipping girl. It was high time she got some satisfaction of her own. Strong had admitted Sioux was in Colombia trying to track down Degurechaff, but quoted need to know as his reason for refusing to provide further details. In recent days though, Elya had noticed the Captain was a lot more worried than usual.
Now, this might be because of something else entirely. God knows there was enough going wrong with the world, and with Interpol slowly starting to take responsibility for a number of other international criminal cases both she and Strong had other problems on their plates. But Elya's instincts told her that whatever had unsettled the Captain had something to do with Sioux.
Breaking into the Captain's office without being spotted or setting off his security was quite the challenge. Elya thought it ironic that it was her friend Visha's tutelage in stealthy magecraft using civilian orbs that allowed her to pull off this infiltration so smoothly. Once in the office, it was a simple matter to get into the Captain's office safe - the Captain had a bad habit of leaving the safe open while working in his office, and it was a model where even a brief fiddling would give you the combination as long as it was already open. Elya had done it out of simple curiosity months ago during one of her visits to the office. Since the Captain also neglected to regularly change his combination, it only took moments for Elya to open it up and start rifling through his sensitive correspondence.
Most of it were things she already knew, although there were a few interesting-looking notes from US Naval Intelligence. Ignoring them for now, she finally found what she was looking for. It only took her a minute to find the latest message from Sioux.
The Congo. Elya could hardly believe it. The thought that the Argent would hide out in the personal fiefdom of the very ruler who wanted her dead was bold beyond belief. But then if Degurechaff lacked nerve she would hardly have achieved everything she had. That damn movie of hers was still playing in some theaters. There was a possibility Sioux was chasing down a red herring, but at least it gave Elya something to go on.
Besides, hadn't she heard rumors of some military mages going missing down there? If they had stumbled across Degurechaff and Visha and the others, that might explain the mystery. Quickly removing the traces of her presence, Elya carefully made her way out. She now had a lead on Degurechaff, slim as it was. The only question now, what exactly did she do with it?
