A Cat at Bay Read online

  Joschka steepled his fingers and pretended to gloat. “Alas, you see through my clever plan. Truth be told, I’d just as soon stay out of Adele’s way tomorrow. She can get rather—enthusiastic, at times.”

  He stood up and she backed a pace to give him room, saying, “I’m glad Evelyn Jones is a bit more relaxed than the Gräfin. I’d never get a moment free if Adele was my commanding officer.”

  “Now you know how I feel.” Joschka winked, “But I wouldn’t trade it for this planet or any other you cared to offer me, and don’t tell her that I said that.”

  “Dare I ask what time tomorrow morning?”

  “I don’t have to be in at all tomorrow, so 0800. Andreas will have the car waiting.”

  “Might I add that I’m also very glad that you are not my commanding officer?”

  “Be careful, Commander,” he cautioned. “I outrank Jones and can ask Vienna for personnel reassignments. And they owe me a number of favors.” She gulped and fled.

  Rachel was up before dawn, stretching and warming stiff muscles. From one of her suitcases she pulled a long case that had barely fit into the larger bag. She knelt on the floor beside the case and removed her sword belt and side-sword. The weapon, over a meter long from tip to pommel, had a diamond-shaped cutting and thrusting blade much like those from fifteenth century Italy, and a modified basket hilt. She examined the blade for chips and rust, found nothing, and slid it back into the scabbard with a hiss.

  Rachel repacked the case and went down to breakfast. She had finished a light repast and was nursing a third cup of tea when Joschka joined her at the table. He ate quickly and neatly, and neither felt the need for conversation until after finishing. “Out of curiosity, my lord, do any of your men still train in traditional bladework?”

  He finished his coffee. “Yes. Many of the officers and some of the enlisted do. It’s partly tradition and partly because they’ve seen how useful it can be. I also encourage it as a way to settle ‘philosophical differences’ without involving visits from the Judicial Office.”

  “Hmmm. I may pass that idea on, if you don’t mind.”

  Joschka’s driver had the car waiting for them and in less than an hour they walked into the Austrian Branch’s Alpine section. Joschka waved to a captain, then pointed to his guest. “Schneider, please show Commander Na Gael to the armory and salle. Commander, Captain Schneider is in charge of day-to-day operations in the armory and will get you anything you need to warm up. I’ll be along as soon as I finish with the morning reports.”

  Rachel followed the captain deeper into the complex. After declining assistance for the moment, she hung her jacket on one of the wall hooks and strapped on a modified fencing jacket with additional hardened leather chest and back plates that made it almost armor. Next she shocked the men surreptitiously watching her by casually removing her skirt to reveal grey breeches tucked into her black knee boots. She snapped black leather wrist guards over her shirt cuffs, then opened her sword case and slung the sword belt around her waist, fastening it snugly so that it wouldn’t shift during the bout. Satisfied, she slid the matching knife into the top of a boot and selected a fencing mask from three that had been left on the bench.

  By the time she finished her preparations, word had begun spreading that something interesting might be going on in the salle. The Graf had also finished his preparations, and Rachel was amused to see a not-too-small audience of interested officers and men lining the walls of the training room. She was less amused to see Joschka wearing both belt and baldric supporting a broadsword. He already exceeded her in reach and weight, and the two-handed blade would be harder to “pull” if the need arose. Captain Schneider handed her a fencing mask and she fastened it firmly. It looked silly but she could not risk losing her other eye.

  “Ready, Commander?”

  She breathed deeply and stepped forward, “Yes, my lord General. What are the conditions?”

  He looked around the room, raising his voice to make sure everyone could hear. “Bout ends at first blood or broken blade. No secondary blades. Emergency halt is ‘Savoy.’ Agreed?”

  She nodded “Agreed, my lord. May the best fighter win.” They walked to the starting positions marked on the standard fencing mat in the center of the room, but both knew that the fight wouldn’t stay there. The Commander and Graf-General drew their blades and saluted, then took the guard positions for their respective fighting styles. Captain Schneider raised his hand, then dropped it “Greif an!”

  The two circled and Rachel took the initiative, darting in with a slash towards Joschka’s arm. He blocked her easily and, after a few more testing moves, the fight began in earnest. This was not the measured thrust and parry of a normal fencing bout, but rather the hack and slash of blade combat, with very little apparent order to it. Sparks flew and steel rang as their blades collided. Joschka used a brutally effective two-handed technique that made the best use of his size and blade reach, while she favored a closer-in, more precise cut and thrust. Either style was deadly, as the fascinated audience quickly realized.

  The combatants moved off the mat and around the floor, circling, attacking, and disengaging. At one point, Rachel fell for a feint that almost cost her the match and did cost her her balance as she overreached. Twisting to take the fall on her shoulder and hip, she rolled and leapt back to her feet as Joschka’s blade sliced down where she had landed. Their breath came fast and harsh, and she noted that his eyes had begun glowing faintly red. She bared her own fangs and charged for his side, switching sword hands in the process. Joschka blocked her charge but momentum carried her past him, spinning as she went and changing hands again. All at once she saw a window and pushed in, swinging for his side then reversing her hand and continuing the motion down to slice at his hip. As her shoulder screamed from the unnatural motion, she felt his blade slam into her bad leg, knocking her to the floor.

  “Halt!” The pair froze, she on the floor starting to roll and him mid-recovery. Pain in her leg told her that Joschka’s blow had counted and she didn’t bother trying to get up, instead spending her energy gasping for breath. “I call a draw! General, Commander, bout over.” Captain Schneider announced, as applause and yells filled the large room.

  Still on her back, Rachel removed her mask before accepting the captain’s hand to get to her feet. A thin line of blood marked her right leg just above the knee, confirming Joschka’s score. But he sported a shallow cut at the point of his hip just below the hem of his fencing jacket. The warriors drew to attention, saluted each other, and sheathed their weapons.

  Joschka accepted a bottle of water, as did his opponent, and he took a large swallow before looking around the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen, you have just seen Commander Na Gael and I fight real blade combat with killing weapons. Any questions?” Both fencers looked around the room, and he pointed to a Slavic man who raised his hand. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “My Lord General, why didn’t you use a straight attack of three to overpower Commander Na Gael?”

  Joschka looked at Rachel, “Would you like to show him?”

  “Certainly, my lord, but only if we switch to practice blades,” she replied, drawing her mask back on.

  After showing a few more maneuvers and defenses, in slow motion, he asked, “Are there any further questions?”

  An African woman raised her hand and inquired, “Ma’am, why did you let the Graf-General get in so close on your right side before you countered?”

  Rachel shrugged, “Because I can’t see it, Sergeant. My right eye is blind and I’ve trained to make up for the loss, but it’s still one of my weak points, as the Graf-General well knows, just as I’m aware of the slightly limited motion range in his right shoulder. There’s nothing unfair or wrong about using your opponent’s weaknesses, but beware of feints and be aware that they have probably developed ways to compensate.”

  “Any further questions? No? Dismissed,” the general called.

  It was a good thing Rachel had broug
ht a clean blouse et cetera with her, because she had sweated completely through her morning’s shirt. A few cool down stretches also warned that she was going to have spectacular bruises in places, not to mention the cut on her leg and the slice to her breeches that she’d need to mend. As she cleaned up, Rachel reflected. It’s a good thing Joschka’s so skilled. I don’t think anyone else could have pulled that last blow, and with his mass it would have taken my leg off.

  Col. Eszterházy was waiting for her when she emerged from the locker room. “Yes Colonel?”

  He smiled and offered his hand. “Congratulations Commander! I’ve never seen anyone fight the Graf-General with live steel and very few who managed a draw.”

  She shook his hand and chuckled, “Thank you. At one time, I could beat him! But he’s gotten much better and I’ve slowed down over the years.”

  The object of her observation sauntered over, eyes now back to their usual blue, and shook his head. “Actually Colonel, if Commander Na Gael hadn’t lost that eye she could probably have beaten me again. How long have you trained in order to compensate?”

  She tried to remember. Blah, I can’t convert the years. Give them a round figure. “A hundred years or so, my lord General. Already being left-handed helped.”

  They ate the noon meal at the base. The dining hall staff had heard about the morning’s entertainment and they served both Joschka and Rachel double portions. She also requested a large glass of milk, in order to get even more protein. They dissected the match as a number of officers discreetly—or not so discreetly—listened in, probably making mental notes.

  After a lull in the conversation, the medical officer inquired half-jokingly, “My lord General, granted that fencing is an excellent form of martial arts, but surely no one in the past hundred years has killed an opponent with a sword?”

  Joschka stopped the discussion cold with his matter-of-fact reply. “Actually, Dr. Cohen, I have. As has Commander Na Gael.” There didn’t seem to be a good reply to that statement, and the topic of conversation shifted quickly.

  I wonder what they’d think if they knew that Joschka and I have ripped people’s throats out with teeth and claws? Probably stunned disbelief followed by denial and clutching of prayer beads, Rachel chuckled.

  Messages from Adele awaited the truant pair when they returned to Schloss Hohen-Drachenburg. Rachel was to relax and stay out of the way, orders that suited her quite well. Whatever Joschka needed to do would be far more elaborate and time-consuming, and while he read his list she took the opportunity to slip off to her room. A long soak in very hot water eased some of her new aches, and she even managed a nap while her waist-length hair dried.

  Then she got dressed. She’d borrowed one of the dresses that Himself insisted on providing for her. Why does every non-human male I work with try to buy me clothes? Oh well. The pale blue blouse had openwork lace panels set into the long sleeves, which gathered into tight cuffs at the wrists. Over this came a bodice and skirt in a muted shade of her Azdhag house colors, trimmed with silver and lapis-blue embroidery around the hem of the skirt and down the front and shoulders of the bodice.

  She’d put on her makeup and one contact lens. Her bad eye felt as if another bone sliver was starting to work its way out, and instead of the second contact she opted for an eye patch that matched her outfit. Why not, she thought, considering some of the other strange things that had become fashion accessories over the millennia, even among humans alone: designer eye patches couldn’t be stranger than purse dogs.

  Rachel emerged from her room and found Helmut Eszterházy waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking incredibly handsome in his Austrian Army dress uniform. He offered her his arm and the couple went to join the other guests for the reception and dinner. She felt his discreet “knock” and lowered her shields a bit.

  «Would you like to know our story for the evening?» He inquired, mind to mind.

  «Ready to copy.»

  «You are a friend of the Graf’s family, visiting from England. Because my fiancée is unable to attend tonight’s gathering, the Graf assigned me as your escort.» The tale had enough truth to pass muster, Rachel agreed.

  It was, she decided later that evening, a rather relaxed atmosphere compared to the protocols and precedence struggles at the Azdhagi court. She and Helmut had been announced, made their entry, and joined the reception line. The other guests ranged from European nobility to corporate millionaires, with a scattering of artists, diplomats, and military personnel. It did not take long for her to sort out who had come in order to pay off earlier social debts, those who really enjoyed these sorts of gatherings, and those of both sexes who preferred to observe, judge, and comment.

  The Dowager Lady Sophia Eszterházy was definitely one of the latter, and she presided over a corner full of like-minded old women and a few younger men. Helmut decided to get the introduction over with quickly, so as soon as he and Rachel had made a circuit of the great central room he steered Rachel toward the Dowagers’ corner. “My Lady Aunt! It is good to see you here this evening.” He bowed and kissed the presented hand as Lady Sophia inspected him.

  “Ah, Helmut, my nephew. As charming as ever. But where is Ingrid? I’d have thought that she would not have missed an opportunity to be in society,” the silk-and-violets lady inquired.

  Col. Eszterházy shook his head. “Ingrid is in Prague at a private diplomatic reception this evening, Aunt Sophia. When the Graf-General received her regrets, he suggested that I escort Lady Na Gael.”

  He waved Rachel forward and she obeyed, making a medium-deep curtsy appropriate to the Dowager’s age and station. “Commander Na Gael, my Aunt the Dowager Lady Sophia Eszterházy. Aunt Sophia, Commander the Lady Rachel Na Gael. Lady Na Gael is a friend of the Hohen-Drachenburg family and is visiting from England.”

  Rachel did not need to be an empath to discern the old lady’s feelings about her nephew’s escort for the evening; the glare over the gold-rimmed glasses was more than enough, especially when combined with the sniff that followed the introduction. Do I play nicely, or cut her dead? Best be polite, so Helmut doesn’t suffer for the next century or so, Rachel decided.

  Lady Sophia granted, “Miss Na Gael, I’m glad to see a young woman who dresses modestly. I’ve always said that good manners and modesty help balance a lack of physical beauty.”

  Rachel ignored the insult and replied in a soft voice, “Thank you, my lady.” Aunt Sophia looked slightly mollified and apparently decided that whatever her nephew had been encumbered with that evening, at least the girl knew her place.

  Fortunately for both Rachel’s and Helmut’s self control, an old friend of Lady Sophia’s approached, allowing the pair to slip away without seeming rude. «Commander, I apologize for my Aunt’s behavior,» Helmut began.

  «Apology accepted but not necessary, Colonel. I’ve heard much worse.» They accepted drinks from one of the servants circulating among the guests and made their way across to a group of younger guests. At least she didn’t call me a fur-bearer. Challenging her honor might be awkward.

  “Hallo, Cousin Helmut! Who’s your little friend?” With a click of disapproval, the officer introduced his companion to a cluster of cousins and Adele’s two sons-in-law. After a few minutes of family news, Helmut and Rachel drifted off to mingle and play diplomat.

  Dinner found them seated “above the salt” near the Graf’s immediate family, across from a retired Luftwaffe general and his wife. The meal was long and excellent, with multiple courses and apparently remarkable wines. And, unlike the one or two Hapsburg court suppers she’d “had the privilege” of attending, the dishes were not removed when Joschka finished his portion, so everyone actually got to eat. The conversation was not bad, either, and Rachel learned a great deal about the German Air Force, among other topics. It will be so good in a few more centuries when the humans stop killing each other over religion, Rachel mused. Yes, instead they’ll be back to killing for territory and resources, the pragmatic side of her b
rain reminded her.

  Dancing followed the meal. Despite her bad leg, Rachel managed very well in waltzes and other older dances, and enjoyed the rare chance to act fluffy and feminine. That said, she graciously yielded Helmut’s attentions to other ladies, and didn’t press him when he said that he’d like to sit out the next few tunes. Apparently Adele had decided to do the same thing, or had been claimed by another gentleman, because Joschka approached Rachel’s seat and inquired, “May I have this dance?”

  “Certainly, my lord.” He led her back onto the floor. The slow introductory measures of the waltz from Strauss’s “G’schischte aus dem Wiener Wald” set Joschka and Rachel into swirling motion.

  «I don’t miss Karl Lüger, the coal fires, or down-the-hall plumbing, but the music I do miss,» Rachel sent to her host.

  «Hmmm, yes, there was something to be said for sunny afternoons in the Prater park with the lovely young ladies.»

  «Hmpf! I was thinking of moonlit nights and dashing young hussars myself.» They both chuckled.

  The Gräfin reclaimed her husband for the “Tritsch-Tratsch Polka” as Helmut partnered a diplomat’s wife. Rachel drifted out the open doors and onto the flagstone patio after selecting a glass of fruit juice. The scent of flowers and herbs blowing up from the valley below the Drachenburg filled the late spring night, and Rachel slid into the shadows, living in the warm, life-scented moment.

  Helmut joined her after another song, apparently tired of being the target of half the women in the room. “You shouldn’t have been born both handsome and graceful, Colonel. The good manners do not help things, either,” Rachel teased.

  He mock-glowered down at her, “If it was swing-dancing, Cdr. Na Gael, you would be the one in demand—athletic and light!”

  She laughed.

  After a long moment he inquired silently, «Commander, how long have you known the Graf-General?»

  She shrugged and sipped her juice. «Two hundred of your years or so.»