It was midsummer, in the year of '69, and Corporal Nick Einselhoff could not believe his ears. He'd been brought back out of Castille to the harbor of Buché, with the rest of his company of the army of Montaigne, and told in inimitable army fashion, to wait.
The war with Castille seemed to have paused. The word on the docks was the body of l' Empereur, Léon Alexandre IV, had been found hanging in a pirate's cage on the northern coast. Charousse was aflame with riots, and something calling itself the Committee for Public Security was issuing orders, through half-dressed peasants wearing the red and blue cockade with a white pair of scales over the crest. A career in the employ of the crown had definitely taken a turn for the worse, and it was clearly a bad time to have a "de" in one's name.
With no duties to speak of, and time on his hands, Nick spent the afternoons enjoying the company of his lover, Marlena Lucani, and complaining over drinks about the lack of prospects now that the war seemed to be over. So many officers had made their fortunes, taken lands, and come home rich. He had to consider himself lucky that his mistress hadn't left, and knew he'd better turn up income quickly while she was still around.
Marlena watched her man with some concern, and began eyeing the threads that tied the two of them together. The thread of passion still ran strong-- that had remained steady since the day they'd met-- but the lines of authority that ran from him out to officers and underlings were fraying and fizzing like the fuses of holiday fireworks. The thin thread of coins had caught fire as well, unwinding faster and faster as she watched. Nodding to herself, she drew the envelope out of her fan and slid it across the table to him.
"This came for you, Nick. It's from that fellow you've talked about before-- the Chevalier."
His eyebrows rose, and something like hope began to return to his face. Opening the letter, he read quickly. Chevalier Jean-Paul de Soleil requested the pleasure of his company to discuss a venture of mutual profit et cetera, et cetera. It was the knight's way, formal and dignified, and still there was that note of friendly camaraderie somewhere underneath. In short, M. de Soleil wanted Nick to join him at his estate outside of L' Aure Vallée for a job. And jobs meant money. If his sergeant would dismiss him from duty, he could be there in a week, maybe two.
*****
Tempeste du Paix walked the docks impatiently. Another four weeks, maybe five, until the ship was ready to be christened and sail on its maiden voyage. Meanwhile, the situation in Northern Montaigne was rapidly sliding into the Abyss. Would she be able to load a cargo by the time the ship was ready? Would the Committee still be issuing passports? For that matter, would she be able to levy a crew from what was left among the populace? Following her steps, Jean-Pierre Paix du Paix was pondering the same questions. He also wondered if they'd ever drop the pretense and let each other in on what names each was hiding under their noms du guerre. At least he had a bit of good news to offer, though.
As Tempeste turned on her heel at the end of the dock, for the sixth time that afternoon, Jean-Pierre produced the notice he'd grabbed from the harbormaster's office, offering it to his captain-- well, his soon-to-be captain.
"Perhaps you would be interested in this request for vessels? The harbormaster was not sure it was safe to post, and it might offer us a bit of income over the next few weeks... "
"I'm a captain, not an errand-girl, Jean-Pierre."
"I suppose you're right-- it's not as if we'll need any extra for stores, and we're already taking in so much as it is... " He began to stow the notice in his jacket.
With an exasperated sigh, she snatched it from his hand, and scanned the notice. "Vessels loyal to Montaigne... Captains of good station... Reply in person to the Chevalier Jean-Paul de Soleil... " The phrasing was decidedly not that of the Committee, which explained the harbormaster's hesitation. It was a request to charter vessels to ferry passengers and goods out of the country, with time being of the essence, and pay to be arranged. It wasn't a gold mine, but it would do-- and the arrangements could be hammered out while the ship was being finished.
The few days travel to L' Aure Vallée was easy enough, though signs of the spreading Terror were hard to miss. Cockaded thugs sat at most gates, and gibbets could be seen in most towns. The Chevalier's own town was prosperous-- it boasted its own engine of annihilation, dubbed in Charousse "La Coiffure." The mariners avoided the device nervously as they continued to the great manor house outside of town, La Chateau des Loupes.
*****
"He calls it 'the house of the wolves'," Nick explained to his companion. "It's an old name, for the house butts up against the forests and mountains of the Weissbergen. The past few years, it's gotten worse, though. There are wolves from the Abyss in the country now, the Black Wolves. The Chevalier taught me to hunt those, and after several expeditions even sent me off to the Gelingen School in Pösen to learn to fight them better."
Marlena fought off the sensation of the ship's rocking, and focused on her lover's hands gripping the rails. She'd heard this story before, but that didn't matter. He was enthusiastic about something again, which was a great relief. The coast was slipping by-- no doubt if they'd looked, they might even have been able to wave to l' Empereur's corpse as they passed-- and they'd be at the Chateau in a few more days. It wasn't the safest time or place to be traveling, but she was safe enough. She also enjoyed the way Nick's muscles seemed to puff up a bit when strangers walked to close to her. A little jealousy was good for him.
If the ship had brought a slight nausea, the town was worse. In the center of the square sat the infernal machine, black with blood. As folk passed it, many still crossed themselves and averted their gaze. Many others laughed loudly, though, patting the stained wood with pride and muttering curses on les sales aristos. She kept an eye on the thread of authority that led out of town, presumably off to the Chateau, then saw the black fibers begin to twist together, beginning to link Nick to one of the men standing near La Coiffure. Taking his arm, she pushed on, leaving the square as quickly as he could follow. The thread kept twisting itself into shape. Death was coming.
Arrival at the Chateau was a relief. Nick noted with surprise that the great doors were closed, remarking on this as he raised the great iron ring to pound on the wood. The retainer who opened the doors wore a face of grief and worry, which broke into smiles as he recognized the guest. The two greeted each other warmly, Nick introducing his lady, and they were shown to rooms to refresh themselves before dinner.
*****
Tempeste and Jean-Pierre lounged in the great den, waiting for the Chevalier's proposal to be explained. Afternoon was dragging by, and the captain was fighting off more impatience. The trip had best be worth it. As the doors opened, she turned to greet the Chevalier, only to find another couple entering-- an Eisener by the look of him, with a lovely woman on his arm. The fellow had a corporal's uniform, and no doubt had even been taught to speak. As they stepped toward the fire to warm themselves, another man joined them.
Above middle age, but vigorous, he was dressed well, as a country landowner who rode his own fences. His steel-gray hair was pulled back in what was being dubbed 'le Montegue,' and his eyes were clear if a little sad.
"My friends, my guests, I welcome you to my house. I hope that you've been made comfortable, and that you have brought your appetites with you for dinner!"
As he turned, two women who appeared to be mother and daughter entered, and took his arms as all made their way in to the table. A smallish woman of Castillian dress, who kept her eye on the younger woman, joined them. Le Chevalier, excusing his "country manners," introduced the group to one another, including his wife Anne, his daughter Marie, and her tutor Profesora Juanita. Then, over the meal, he began to lay out his proposal.
Unpleasant as it was to mention over the meal, the activities of the Committee could no longer be ignored. Whole families were being erased by La Coiffure, and the frenzy of the mob was growing daily worse. If Tempeste was willing, he wished to charter her vessel for the foreseeable future, to ferry the families of the aristocrats out of Montaigne, to Siegsburg, where the government in exile waited. Those whose only crime was their accident of birth, he urged, should not find that accident a fatal one. Nick was asked to help arrange security for the trip, to handle weapons and a few choice troops, and to see that all arrived safely. Over their protests, the Chevalier insisted that Anne and Marie would travel in the first convoy, and the tutor with them. Jean-Paul himself would stay behind, protected by a safe-conduct granted him by the Committee for the time being.
Nick smiled to himself at the prospect of teaching a passel of noble brats to behave like peasant sailors press-ganged into service. He'd be able to give spitting lessons in the mornings, and have them swearing with enthusiasm by the end of the first day. General plans were laid out, and all retired for the evening. A little before midnight, Nick crept across the hall and gave their usual knock before letting himself in.
*****
There was a pounding din, and Nick awoke aurprised to find that he wasn't the cause of it. Marlena and Nick shot upright in bed, and then he slid out, padding toward the window. That he could see what was going on was the first cause for concern, for it was the dead of night. The ground before the Chateau was lit with torches, carried by a mob. Several men were hefting a log bound with ropes, swinging this makeshift ram again against the doors. With a curse, Nick reached down to where he'd piled their baggage and raised his musket. Marlena wasn't fond of his carrying a loaded gun. He considered the habit a sound one now. Easing the window open, he leaned out and began to squeeze the trigger as the log swung back again.
One of them dropped, then fire was returned from below. Nick ducked as glass sprayed into the room from the shattered windowpane. By the sound of it, the door had just given way as well. In answer to his raised hand, Marlena tossed Nick his breeches, and threw on her gown. He gave her a grim look.
"Get Anne and Marie out of here. I'll hold them at the stairs. I'll be fine."
As he pulled on his breeches, she narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the black threads that were clustering tightly around her man. She placed both hands on the scales of fate and pushed down, taking his hands in hers, and intoning his name three times, then kissing him firmly on the mouth. Then, she and the ill fortune she'd taken on made their way down the hall to the women's rooms.
The crash of the door had wakened the others. Juanita smoothly turned to her bedside table, drawing out a mahogany case containing two fine pistols. Tossing on a robe, she loaded the pistols carefully, while calling Marie to awaken and dress.
Marlena ran down the hall, finding the door of the tutor's chamber and knocking rapidly. Assuring Juanita that she was a friend, and not a member of the mob, she entered the room. Marie and Anne had joined them by now, dressing as best they could and asking what was happening below. Marlena filled the others in as best she could, reassuring them that Tempeste and Jean-Pierre had joined Nick downstairs to hold off the mob.
Nick reached the landing, slipping the clip bayonet in place and thanking Theus for the wonders of Montaigne's ingenuity. Men were pouring into the main hall, beginning to make their way up the stairs. As they came, Nick began striking them down with the butt of the musket, slashing with the bayonet, and felt himself joined by the sailors who'd been at dinner. Together they mowed their way through the men coming up the stairs, but there were hundreds more below them. With luck, they cold blockade the stairs and hold the mob at bay. With luck, they had not found the servants' stairs. With a sinking heart, the Heroes saw the Chevalier near the fireplace at the end of the main hall, next to a self-important little man, who was holding a drawn sword to his throat.
"By all means continue, if this man means nothing to you."
The little man's voice cut through the chaos. Nick paused in his swing, and the mob looked back to their leader for their next cue. He identified himself as Citizen Pierre Le Beau of the Committee for Public Security, and announced that the Chevalier and his family, together with all in his house, were under arrest for crimes against the people of Montaigne. Nick snorted.
"Ridiculous. If you were officers of the law, you'd have knocked on the door and presented your warrant. As it is, you're obviously nothing but common burglars breaking into the house of your betters."
"Burglars? Yes, given to violence, too."
Le Beau drew a pistol and fired. One of the mob looked with surprise at the bloody hole in his chest and crumpled to the floor.
"Arrest the Chevalier and his conspirators. You can add murder to the list of his counter-revolutionary activities."
Jean-Paul looked earnestly at Nick, who slowly lowered his musket, letting the butt of the gun thump on the stairs. Arms grabbed the combatants on the stairs, hustled them down to the hall.
*****
Above, Marlena turned to the other women brightly, as the shot echoed through the upper corridor.
"See? Everything's okay now. Nicki got 'em!"
Skeptical, Juanita listened to the sound of dozens of boots pounding their way up the stairs and began to push her wardrobe toward the chamber door. The Lady Soleil added her shoulder to the tutor's as Marlena looked on perplexed. With a sigh, she helped shove the heavy oaken piece into place, and the three set their weight against it. Marie dragged several bundles of clothes, and her mother's family rapier, into the room and set them in the windowseat.
The wardrobe bucked as soldiers threw their shoulders against the door. Heels scraped against the carpets, then the wardrobe jumped back nearly a foot as the women were flung back. Lady Soleil snatched up her blade. Juanita opened the window looking somewhat nervously at the distance to the ground. Snatching a sheet from her bed, she began to knot it around the window latch, seeing its end dangle farther than she liked from the ground below.
Men began to force their way into the room, as Juanita slid down the sheet dropping to the hard earth. Marie followed as Lady Soleil slashed at several of the intruders and ordered Marlena out the window. As they staggered backwards, more came to take their place. Anne Soleil smiled grimly as she thumbed a button on the hilt, sending flaming oil spraying from the tip of the blade. Men screamed, falling back and clutching at their faces, clothes, and hands.
Marlena slid down, thumping onto the ground and scrambling to her feet. Anne shifted her grip on her family rapier-- now that the oil reservoir was empty, the whole balance was different. As more stepped into the room, she stepped back, deciding she had bought her would-be protectors sufficient time.
From below, Juanita readied her pistols, ready to shoot the next person to come to the window. Counting those below, however, she remembered that they were still missing one-- perhaps she'd shoot the second to poke a head out the window.
Surrounded now, Anne made for the window. Leaping from the windowseat, she caught the sheet, now nearly ready to give way. She'd slid down to within a few yards of the ground by the time it did, falling heavily onto one ankle. With a hiss she stood, seeing that they'd all made it out.
A member of the mob poked his head out, then ducked back quickly as a shot struck the window casing beside him. He called for muskets as the women fled into the night. Once away from the Chateau, Anne led them slowly through the woods to a small cabin, where a single light still burned.
*****
As the prisoners left the Chateau, Nick eyed the mob that now ringed the great house. As mud and stones were flung, Nick pushed himself to his most military posture, walking erect, head held high, steps measured in time with his old regimental tune. He noted with surprise that he didn't recognize many of these people from his time hunting wolves with the Chevalier. They've brought them in from outside, he thought to himself.
The Chevalier was taken to a separate cell, the soldier and sailors sent to one across the hall. As Nick turned on his heel to regard the man closing his door, he could see the shame on the man's face. The man was a soldier himself, and knew the arrests were a sham. Still, he had chosen to save his own skin rather than fight. Then again, hadn't Nick done the same? No, he told himself. It was for the Chevalier. But if so, why wasn't the Chevalier free? In the end, he squatted with his back against the door, gave up rationalizing, and tried to sleep.
It was not yet dawn, and a noise was nagging at Nick's consciousness. The words were Eisensch, though. Opening his eyes, he saw that his companions Tempeste and Jean-Pierre were still asleep. The voice came again, from outside the cell. He called back in the same tongue to go on, that he was listening. The voice came again-- it was the Chevalier, warning that he should wait, that all was well in hand. Then came another sound, like the sound of a wounded animal shrieking in pain, which quickly fell away into silence. He called back assent, and waited for morning.
*****
At a lonely hunter's cabin, Robert Rois et Reines waited. Much was readied, and more would need to be done. The Committee would be moving against the Chevalier soon, and getting his family away would be a narrow thing. He looked up as hands knocked at his door. He opened it cautiously, his other hand on the hilts of two fine fighting knives behind him, then flung the door wide as Anne, Marie, Juanita, and Marlena came flooding in.
A brief time was spent reporting the evening's events. Robert began to lay out clothes for the women. He was a lean man in his late forties, whose ancestry was attested by the deep red stains running up his arms past the elbows. As the women dressed and caught their breaths, they began their planning for the morrow. It was clear now that the arrests had been moved up, that Citizen Le Beau was angling for promotion within the Committee, and that unless matters were handled quickly and well, all four prisoners would lose their heads in a matter of hours.
****
Morning came, and with it, breakfast. The prisoners found to their surprise that they were fed, and guards asked somewhat quietly if there was anything they required. Shirts and shoes were brought, and then they found themselves led to a horse-drawn cart. Loaded in, they began to ride through narrow streets toward the town square. The Chevalier had spent a rough night, by the look of him. Bruises were visible on his face, and the clothing was torn in places. As the cart rumbled on, garbage pattered against its occupants, flung from the sovereign people of the streets. At the scaffold in the square, La Coiffure had been covered, and a table set up over its bench. Seated, Citizen Le Beau waited with two other officials, to hold trial.
As the cart came to a halt beside the scaffold, the prisoners stepped out, to the jeers of the mob. The four stood erect, listening to the initial charges. As the Citizen demanded the Chevalier's response to the charge of being an enemy of the people, and an agent of l' Empereur, Jean-Paul stepped forward, and proffered the safe conduct, signed by the Committee for Public Security. Snatching it up, Citizen Le Beau glanced at it, his expression carefully non-chalant. As he stood, he blandly declared the document a forgery then wadded the fine vellum, with its official seal and the signature of Arnaud de Charousse, and threw it into a brazier burning at the corner of the scaffold.
Then, the charges began to rain down. Treason, sorcery, consorting with foreign powers, murder, willful starvation of the populace, and anything else that occurred to Citizen Le Beau were alleged, and met with silence from the prisoners. Repeatedly, he demanded answer to the charges, and was refused the satisfaction. Finally, his eyes narrowed to slits, he pronounced his verdict, with orders to remove the prisoners and have them back on the scaffold at midday, ready for execution.
In their cell, the Heroes were visited by a priest of the Vaticine church. Offered the chance to make a last confession, each declined the honor, but thanked the priest for his efforts. Taking each aside, he blessed them, and gave each a small parcel. To Jean-Pierre, he handed a small paper packet, with instructions to throw it into the brazier on the scaffold. To Tempeste, a small knife, and the order to cut the Chevalier's bonds when he was placed on the bench. To Nick, a golden ring, red with blood. This he was to wear to the execution, and not lose by any means.
After the priest's departure, the guards came all too quickly to drag them back to La Coiffure. Nick idly wondered whether this would be it, or would Le Beau try to continue tormenting them with the specter of death throughout the day? The cart rumbled toward the town square again, through an even greater mob. For a moment they knelt, as Tempeste cut the ropes binding their hands in front of them. Food had apparently been shipped in for the occasion, judging from the hail of cabbages and apples that pelted them.
*****
In the crowd, Marlena and Juanita waited. They had set out early, dressed drably enough, with heavy cloaks to cover pistols and swords. Anne had ridden in too, then left promising to rejoin them. The crowd was enormous, packing the square. Over half of them were new to town, judging from their accents. Voices began to jeer as the cart entered the square, and refuse began to rain on the prisoners.
The four could be seen standing tall as they neared the scaffolding, and stepping firmly onto the platform. Soldiers ringed the scaffolding, with muskets held tightly. From the balcony of what had been the Mayor's house, Citizen Le Beau watched with grim satisfaction. In mere minutes, another thorn in his side would be removed and tossed into the fires. Even now, Le Chevalier was being bound more tightly, and lifted by the guards for placement upon La Coiffure. As he watched, one of the Chevalier's partners in crime tossed something from his hands. Citizen Le Beau began to call down to the guards as smoke suddenly filled the center of the square.
As the smoke came billowing from the brazier, Tempeste moved to cut Jean-Paul's ropes, and Nick whirled to his left, decking a guard and taking his musket. Guards began running up the steps to gun down the prisoners when Nick's shot took the first one in the knee, sending the lot of them tumbling down in a mass. As others closed in, Jean-Pierre tossed the soldier a fresh musket from a guard he'd just downed, and helped the Chevalier to his feet. As he aimed, Nick felt a tearing sensation alongside him, and felt a wet hand on his trigger finger. A lean Montaigne, his steel gray hair tied back, was letting his hand go, drawing two fine fighting knives from his belt. He looked as though he'd been showered in blood, and in a manner of speaking, he had.
Juanita heard the scream from above her and to one side, looked up, and saw Citizen Le Beau pointing toward the scaffold, screaming for his guards to shoot. Guards hastily jogged through the crowd into a firing line and prepared to fire. The Castillian tutor drew her own pistols, sighted quickly, and fired. The Citizen grabbed at his shoulder, falling back from the balcony. To her disappointment, he stood again, returned to the rail. She drew two more pistols form beneath her cloak and began to aim at the little man as his gaze found hers and locked, engraving her face in his mind. Something passed between them that would not be resolved until one of the two had been destroyed. As suddenly as it came that moment was past, and before another shot could be fired, Citizen Le Beau had left the balcony for the Mayor's chambers.
As the prisoners fought their way across the platform, tossing spent muskets aside, the sorcerer turned to the stairs and began to whirl his knives in tight circles. The Chevalier was free of his bonds now; Nick barked at the others to get the muskets into the carriage. He looked out to see a firing line formed, and the order being given, as a wave of smoke erupted from the rooftops lining the square. Screams came from the line of gunmen, some falling, others running for cover. High atop the square, ranks of Musketeers stood, saluting the Chevalier, as Anne waved among them.
Juanita began to bustle through the crowd, putting her head down and bulling forward through the milling people, who were losing their fascination with an execution that looked now as though it was not going to take place after all. She began to climb into the wagon; seeing her, Nick leapt forward, pitching the driver from his seat and calling the others to join them. As the rest scrambled in, Nick caught sight of Marlena in the crowd, and touched the horses with the whip.
The anti-monarchical spirit had no doubt infected these animals as well, for they looked back over their shoulders idly. A second lash got them moving, however, and the reins steered them toward Marlena and a street beyond her leading out of the square. As the carriage came alongside her, Nick braced the reins under his boot, reaching down to swing her up onto the seat with him, then awakened new reserves of speed these horses hadn't used in their past ten years of civic service.
People scattered as they left the square, and Nick struggled to remember the streets of the town as the rest raced to reload the spent muskets they'd tossed in. With another shriek, Nick found the sorcerer once again sitting next to him holding his hand, or more accurately, the gold ring the priest had given him. He grinned, introduced himself as Robert Rois et Reines, and hopped into the back of the cart to aid in the reloading.
Horsemen were pelting after them by now, as people flung themselves aside to avoid being run down. As the street narrowed, Nick tried to remember which of the two roads ahead was a tight alley ending in a small gambling hall, and which was the main thoroughfare out of town. Mentally, he flipped a coin, and to his surprise, chose right. Several horsemen took the other, hoping to cut them off. Their curse could be faintly heard behind them as they raced on.
Ahead, a bar hung across the road, blocking the path out of the edge of town and into the country. Steadying herself, Juanita drew pistols, and carefully shot one, then the other rope, sending the bar tumbling into the road. Bellowing an order to hang on, Nick took the cart over the bar, feeling himself sent several inches into the air as each set of wheels struck the obstacle. A quick look, however, showed that all had made it. Scattering to either side, the horsemen jumped the low wall at the town's edge, rising just high enough to carry them over, and into the branches of several trees that normally provided shade to houses on the edge of L' Aure Vallée. As the men picked themselves up off the ground, cursing, the cart rolled away and into the country.
The horses were well lathered by now, and needed to rest. Nick brought them to a halt in a copse of trees, and began to unhitch the cart. As the Heroes began to congratulate each other on the narrow escape, a new group of horsemen rode straight for the trees. Grabbing a newly reloaded musket, Nick began to sight in, as did Juanita. Jean-Paul called them to hold fire, as the riders pulled up, dismounted, and made for the trees. Removing their hats and uniforms of the sans-culottes, they revealed themselves as none other than Anne de Soleil, and several Musketeers. Nick cradled Marlena close as the Chevalier and his wife rushed into each other's arms.
Robert led the way on foot to his cabin, as the musketeers took their leave. There, the Heroes took a few hours of rest, before making their way south. Jean-Paul assured them that he had men ready in the Weissberg Mountains, in the middle lands between Montaigne and Eisen. As the travelers gained altitude, they caught sight of troops in pursuit, far below and behind them. Days later, they worked their way up into a pass to find musketeers challenging, then welcoming them into a large camp. The flag of Montaigne flew here-- blue with the golden sunburst. In the distance, another flag, red and blue with white scales of retaliation, marched ever nearer.
Over dinner, the Chevalier laid out a proposal. Clearly, the initial plan would need revision. The smuggling of families would continue, but would have to be organized from the government in exile, in Siegsburg. For the time being, the camp needed defending, and the Heroes were welcome to stay and assist, to continue on to Siegsburg, or to leave if they chose. Matters had gone far beyond what everyone had bargained for, and there was no hard feeling if an association with the Chevalier should be declined.
The Heroes decided to stick it out. They would help defend the camp, and would join Jean-Paul in his cause, an organization named for the flower that gave the mountaineers hope in the desolate rocks: the Edelweiss. With renewed purpose, they refreshed themselves, rested, and made ready for the morrow.
The battle was brief, and a bit one-sided. Revolutionaries flung themselves up into the pass, to be gunned down quickly. Small volleys of Montaigne horse-cannon went each way, but in the end, the Chevalier's troops won the day. The Heroes met to show off the booty they'd won, trinkets, pistols, and the usual gear. Marlena had come across a rapier, giving it to Nick. It had the mark of one of the famed sword makers of Montaigne, its grip moving it almost with its wielder's will. A priceless heirloom to be sure. Jean-Pierre had been nearly as lucky-- killing his man, he'd found the fellow a mercenary of Eisen, wearing a curious breastplate. It was light, though hard as steel, and Nick's eyes glowed when he looked at it, for it was Dracheneisen, as surely as Theus had made women beautiful.
Later, he stepped aside with Jean-Pierre and suggested a swap. With a Montaigne Puzzle Rapier in his grip, Nick would hardly be safe from jealous rivals; wearing Dracheneisen, Jean-Pierre would be the target of every Eisen who saw him wearing it. Safer by far to put each national treasure into the hands of, well, a national. Jean-Pierre thought things over for a moment, smiled and agreed. As for the rest, the road to Siegsburg lay ahead. There were preparations to be made. But those would wait until the morrow.