by Eric Flint
"You're too young to be such a cynic, ma'am."
"Like you guys say, having being there myself, 'I got the t-shirt,' so I know what I'm talking about-although Rainaldi explained to me that her situation was markedly different. I went into the convent with the idea that I had a real calling, but when my parents needed someone to take my late sister's place in the contracted betrothal, I was pulled out so fast that my head spun. On the other hand, when parents-well, fathers-in that part of the world sent their spare daughters away to a convent, it's a rather permanent solution and a way to avoid paying dowries. You've probably heard about Galileo's daughters? Both are cloistered nuns. And it explains why the poor girl almost fainted on me the first time she heard our house nickname."
Hudson looked down at her with a raised eyebrow and the obvious question in his eyes.
"Long story, Duke, but suffice it to say it makes me happy that I was born in Lorraine. However, Noah was right; she is good-very good-and, gosh, can she run! She led the office PT formation yesterday and had to slow down to let us catch up. I'll hate to lose her. She's exactly what we need in our officer candidates."
He snorted. "Yes, she kind of reminded me of a certain candidate that tended to forget her English and German when flustered and could only babble in French. Of course, the problem was that she seemed flustered all the time."
De Ventron felt her cheeks warm at the memories of her officer candidate days and tried to keep sipping her coffee nonchalantly, until she could no longer contain herself and blurted. " Mon Dieu, I hope I wasn't that bad, Sergeant Major."
"Nope; you actually were pretty good, especially after you learned to keep that temper of yours in check. But I think that Mantoue over there has you beat in that department," he told her, grinning.
"Granted, she remained as cool as a cucumber despite my best efforts to ruffle her feathers for information-but don't knock my temper. At times, it was the only thing that kept me sane after I lost everything I held dear. Heck, it even got me here to Magdeburg and the Corps," she replied, somewhat defensively.
"I thought that was your sister-in-law's doing?" he replied.
"Well, the witch certainly did encourage me. But I always thought that the real reason my brother-in-law asked me to come here as his emissary to seek the emperor's help was a way to get me out of Brussels. He was probably afraid that I might end up murdering the little bitch if she reminded me one more time of my dowager status in that whiny voice of hers. Umm… perhaps I ought to send them a thank-you note one of these days."
Hudson laughed. "I think hell will freeze over before I see that happen."
"Back to the business at hand, I think that if Mantoue doesn't make up her mind, come clean and tell us what made her flee to the USE, the admiral may end up making the decision for her, and I doubt that is going to go in her favor. You've probably heard about Anne Jefferson's 'special' student in Amsterdam. I doubt he'd like to have a similar headache here-not with everything else going on right now."
"Who could fail to hear about it, ma'am? It was all over the papers. But I agree with you, that particular brand of headache is one that nobody needs at this moment, especially when we are trying to steer clear of the whole political mess. But I also heard a different side of the coin from a letter that Lulu's friend, Beulah MacDonald, sent her. Do you know that since Anne's anatomy class, the applications from women to the medical school have skyrocketed? Some have even started to talk seriously about the possibility of building a medical school just for women. So having Mantoue joining us is not necessarily a bad thing."
"I'm surprised that you have such progressive ideas about us nobles, mon ami. I presume that this means that you have finally forgiven Rainaldi, Oui?"
"Of course. My main issue with her was that she didn't trust us enough to give us a heads-up about her situation, and we lost one of ours because of that. Of course, given her history with her uncle and the way that she joined us, I can understand her lack-of-trust issues. Since then, however, she's worked hard to become a true asset to the service; and I'm looking forward to the time when she will become our first JAG officer." Hudson stopped, seemingly to collect his thoughts
"I've been blessed with four daughters, one natural and three adopted. All are very smart with even the littlest ones having the potential of becoming remarkable individuals. I want Kathee, Minna and Heidi to have as many opportunities to develop their god-given talents as my oldest daughter Katherine, who was left behind, or my sons, regardless of their perspective of being the wrong sex in the wrong century. If Rainaldi, Mantoue and even that crazy princess in Amsterdam manages to succeed, they will pave the way for others to follow-the same way that you, Strausswirt, and even that nut Braun have done here for the women in the naval services."
De Ventron nodded in agreement and, for a moment, wondered what her daughter's fate would have been like if she had lived. So many possibilities… But one thing was sure, she would have made damn sure that Jeanne was free to follow her heart's desire, regardless of the obstacles. As usual, thoughts of what could have been darkened her spirit until his next words caught her attention.
"One more thing, ma'am-and don't let this go to your head. But Kathee told me last week that when she grows up, she wants to be like you. So you must be doing something right. Keep it up."
Despite herself, de Ventron grinned, her mood instantly lightened. She allowed herself to consider that perhaps there were other little girls- and not so little ones, she thought, catching Mantoue's furtive looks in her direction with something akin to awe before diving back into her typing lesson-who needed someone like her to blow their way open and deal with obstacles, just like Marines are supposed to do. Something to give more serious thought, de Ventron decided as she continued to slowly sip her coffee.
En route to the Nunnery
City of Magdeburg, USE
1830 hours local
Ignoring the potholes, de Ventron and her companions picked their way carefully through the obstacles in the road, thankful for their utility trousers and boots. Even with all the time since the burning and sacking of '31, the roads around the yard remained very much a work in progress. She hoped that the city management would extend the current paving campaign to them soon, but, unless the navy decided to foot the bill, was not planning to hold her breath. However, it did make her remember fondly her visits to Grantville.
She and Chaffin had closed the shop at 1730 hours and given the heads up to the incoming staff duty officer when they signed out. By coincidence this was Colfax, who cut a striking figure in her full dress blues and duty officer sash, complete with Mameluke sword. The young up-timer woman promised her in earnest-and with a straight face-that she would hold the fort-or at least the office coffee pot-safe until relieved in the morning with the last drop of her and the Staff Duty NCO's blood. A notion shared neither by the NCO in question, Staff Sergeant Haas, nor his runner, Private Schlitz, as shown by the severe glance he gave Colfax's back. So when de Ventron finally took her leave, Mantoue and Chaffin in tow, she did so thinking that American humor, like coffee, was an acquired taste.
Hudson had been walking home with them for the last few days to unobtrusively augment their escort. The house that he shared with Claire, an executive assistant to outgoing Prime Minister Michael Stearns, and their four children was close enough to the Nunnery for his actions not to attract undue attention. However, today his two oldest children were present: fifteen-year-old son Stoffel and thirteen-year-old Kathee. Both were trained musicians and junior members of the Marine Band, and were scheduled to play at evening colors, forcing him to stay behind to walk them home. She bid goodbye to the Hudson's and to Chaffin, who also stayed behind to go see her husband, Noah Wilson. Wilson was off that night. The young couple wanted to start a family but his busy schedule forced them to make use of any available opportunity for quality alone time. Instead, de Ventron picked up her NCIS provided escort, Special Agent Annelise Schuhmacher and, with Mantoue, started hom
e.
De Ventron had also received a cryptic message from Schlosser via Schuhmacher, advising her to take her time on the walk on the way to the nunnery, no further explanation added. De Ventron was very familiar with his penchant for cloak-and-dagger operations, having been an unwilling participant in more than one, and was not exactly reassured. With Schlosser playing his cards so close to his chest, de Ventron felt as if she were carrying a target pinned to the middle of her back. But there was only so much she could do to slow their travel without being too conspicuous and, as they got closer to the Nunnery, her anxiety levels started to increase,
When the expected threat finally materialized in the form of eight large men barring their way, she was almost faint with relief. As instructed and drilled, Mantoue mirrored Schuhmacher's actions by taking a sidestep away from de Ventron to clear her line of fire and snapped open the flap of her holstered fake sidearm as she remained in her pretend guard role. Of course, she was also supposed to run away if the balloon truly did go up, with the two other women covering her escape.
As she snapped open her own holster after letting the satchel drop to the ground, de Ventron analyzed the situation. Their opponents' lack of modern firearms was compensated by their larger numbers, flintlock pistols and their long blades, which still rested in their scabbards, or so it seemed. They had also chosen their ground well, and their timing. The street was relatively quiet at this hour with most residents inside; military personnel and even the city guard were nowhere in sight, and most of the few street people around wisely melted away from the confrontation. It seemed that all the advantage was theirs.
Like most men of the times, when first confronted by armed women with unknown weaponry, they had hesitated, creating an impasse with neither group apparently having the upper hand. De Ventron noticed that their travel-worn clothing was of superior quality and Italian style, and the manner they had blocked her way, together with their discipline, indicated soldiers-probably mercenaries rather than brigands. This was good, as it decreased the chances of hostilities starting by mistake. Their leader, a distinguished older gentleman who simply yelled "professional fighter" stepped forward and with a courtly bow addressed her in serviceable but accented German.
"Good day, Signora, I am Capitano Giuseppe Falaguerra and I have the privilege of being in the employ of His Grace, Charles, Duke di Mantova. " Despite his apparent courtesy, de Ventron felt that Falaguerra did not think too much about her, her escorts and probably women in the USE in general. Offense being the best defense, she decided to turn his prejudice against him and take the initiative away by playing to his misconceptions. He expects an airhead, let's give him one, she thought before starting a rapid delivery.
" Monsieur Falaguerra, you seem like a new arrival to our fair city, and I suppose you are lost and looking for directions. Don't worry, tourists ask me for those all the time-it's the uniform you know. Well, I recommend that you visit downtown and watch the change of the guard at the imperial palace. I've been told that is quite impressive. You must also find the time to visit our new opera house. I think that they have a Brillo revival showing that's appropriate for children of all ages. If you are looking for a bite to eat instead, I suggest the Eagle, Globe and Anchor kneipe. Their mutton stew is to die for. The proprietors are the parents of a good friend of mine and if you give them my name, they will set you up with a good table-"
The startled Italian couldn't take it anymore and roared. " Basta, Signora. Stop this babbling at once. Don't waste my time or tax my patience. I have from good sources that you know the whereabouts of Her Grace, Donna Anne di Gonzague di Mantova, our ruler's daughter. I demand that you provide that information at once, so she can be released from her captivity. Do so now and you may be spared, unnatural woman."
De Ventron was momentarily relieved that the man has failed to recognize Mantoue, despite being mere steps away. Of course, with the stern expression in her face, military haircut, utilities and a cover placed low over her eyes, she doubted that even the girl's own mother would recognize her. She couldn't fail to notice and appreciate that Mantoue was keeping her mouth shut and sticking to the plan of not attracting undue interest. Still, de Ventron's first priority remained to keep their attention away from Mantoue.
She stood as tall as she could and looked at Falaguerra, straight into his cold eyes. "It's captain to you! Captaine Anne-Charlotte-Marguerite de Ventron de Faucogney, vicomtesse-douariere de Cornimont and an officer in the armed forces of the United States of Europe by the Grace of God and the Constitution. I serve his Imperial Majesty, Gustavus Adolphus and.. . I. Don't. Talk. To. Dogs." She growled in a mixture of her most aristocratic manner, best court French and parade ground voice. As she'd intended, the Italian mercenary and his men bristled at the deliberate slur, but their attention was now completely on her. She could also see some uneasiness on their part. She might not be a duchess like Mantoue, but neither was she a CoC commoner like they had first assumed. She hoped that the knowledge would create some hesitancy and buy her time.
But where is the goddam cavalry, she wondered, worried, but did not allow those concerns to be reflected on her face.
Falaguerra was the first one to react, moving forward with a scowl as he pulled his sword partly out of the scabbard in an aggressive gesture. De Ventron had her service side arm out in a two-handed grip and aimed at his forehead before she could even think about it. Schuhmacher, and to her immense distress, Mantoue instantly followed her cue with weapons drawn and aimed-a real one in Schuhmacher's case.
She wished that she had the time to order Mantoue to run, but one glance at her determined face and she recognized a kindred spirit. De Ventron knew that the girl-like any good Marine-would never abandon comrades in jeopardy. Besides, such an order would bring attention to the young woman, so she kept quiet.
Putting her fears for the younger woman aside, de Ventron concentrated. Considered a crack shot, she knew that as far as anyone was concerned, the mercenary officer and his henchmen were already dead. She calmly assigned the order in which she would dispatch her human targets, confident that Schuhmacher, who was as good with pistol as she was, had already made the same calculation. Her finger slowly started to tighten on the trigger as she waited for his sword to clear his scabbard before opening fire.
Suddenly, a small rotund man forced his way from behind the men, shouting in a mixture of Italian and French before interposing himself between de Ventron and Falaguerra. Astonished, she could only gape at him.
" Basta! Stop this, for the love of God. There is no need to shed any blood. Giuseppe, stop this nonsense at once. His Grace would not like this. Forgive our manners, Signora… scusi, Capitano."
Reluctantly, Falaguerra slid his sword back into its scabbard and took a step back. In response, de Ventron and Schuhmacher lowered their weapons, but continued to maintain extended grips while aiming at the ground. Seconds later, Mantoue holstered her weapon, and, without any warning whatsoever, stepped forward to embrace the short man. "Padre Benito, it's me, Anne."
A huge grin split his face. "My child, I'm so glad to finally found you. We thought that you were held captive against your will-or worse." He was almost at the point of tears, and moved his cloak aside to reveal the garments of a Capuchin priest.
De Ventron's mouth dropped open at this and she exchanged a worried glance with Schuhmacher. Oh, merde, now what. She asked, "Private Mantoue, would you care to explain what's going on, please?"
"Ma'am, this is my confessor, Father Benito Alberti. I've known him since I was a child."
De Ventron could only nod, but took perverse pleasure in seeing the same expression on Falaguerra's face.
"My child, you look, er, well," Alberti said diplomatically as he took a good look at his former charge for the first time, holding her at arms' length. De Ventron struggled to keep a straight face as the poor priest gaped at the slim, sun-tanned, and well-toned woman in strange clothing.
"Thank you, Father. Do you remem
ber what I told you? I finally found my place and I'm at peace," Mantoue told him with a satisfied smile.
"This is good, child, but it's so far from home. His Grace misses you so terribly."
"My lady, I have orders from his Grace to escort you back to Italy as soon as possible," Falaguerra interrupted.
Mantoue looked at him with a jaundiced eye. "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, Captain, but as you can see by my uniform, I have a prior commitment."
"Your Grace, I must insist," Falaguerra said, starting to advance toward her.
De Ventron stepped in front of him. "Private Mantoue has stated that she doesn't want to go with you, Monsieur. I suggest that you back up. It is time for our superiors to deal with this situation.".
"Madame, I can't see how you can stop me," he said, cavalierly discounting her threat and ignoring one of the "street people" who suddenly jumped to his feet.
At least until he spoke.
" Herr Falaguerra, I suggest that you do what she says. You really don't want her mad at you," Schlosser said loudly, letting his disguise fall away. The gold badge pinned to his lapel shined like a star, and he held a double-barreled shotgun.
Falaguerra swore.
"I'm Imperial Special Agent Schlosser, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I urge you to follow the advice of the good captain. There are villages that stand empty on account of her wrath."
De Ventron tried not to wince or roll her eyes at his boast. It had only happened once, in a small hamlet full of ignorant fools that thought that she could curse them due to her family relation to the Maid of Orleans on her mother's side. Their real danger had been how close she came to putting all of them to the sword-she hated witch burners. Her so-called friends seemed to enjoy embellishing the tale with every retelling.
