Penny

Ill Met in Ostland

The horses plunged down into the stream as the melee evolved, hooves kicking up sprays of cool mountain water. Natasha thrust her spear into a boar headed monstosity with four sets of disturbingly human arms. The spear buried in the things chest too deeply to recover and Natasha let it go. She pulled the carbine from her saddle, and fired it point blank into a human headed beastman with enormous porupine like quills instead of hair. It rocked back, skull split and quills blazing from the muzzle flash, filling the air with the stink of burning keratin. Screaming a kislivite battlecry she reversed the weapon in her hand and stove in the skull of a beastman with the butt before thrusting it back into its saddle tie.

"Up! up!" she yelled to Marius, the whirl of combat had slowed them and a stag headed beast, braying like an angry bellows, tried to grab Konya's bridle. The warhorse bit down on its hand with bone grunching force, the stag realing back and screaming in paine. Whether Marius understood her or Dagbhert was experienced enough a warhorse to do it for him, they both splashed through the river and up the other side of the bank. The second wave of beastman was almost upon them, rushing down to finish what the shattered first wave had begun. Konya didn't need to be encouraged with anything so crude as spurs. She bounded up the bank and into the second wave as Natasha unshipped her buckler and saber. She flicked aside a rusty pitchfork and crashed into the second line, cutting down another beastman as she passed through. An arrow flicked past from somewhere out of her sight but there was no time to worry about that.

"Go, go, go!" she shouted as Marius crashed through the beastmen in her wake. The horses thundered up the rise and away from the braying beastment. She turned and scanned for the archer but it was lost in the mass of beastmen surging up behind them. There was no time to worry if Marius could keep his seat on the rough road. They charged down the road at full speed, headless of the risk. They rushed down the wood flanked trail, opening the distance between their pursuers.

"Whoah, whoah," called after ten minutes at a flat gallop. Marius almost barrled past her but she reached out and grabbed his bridle, helping to slow him down. The horses slowed, breathing hard and shivering with ammoniac sweat. They weren't spent but they had to preserve them against the need for later action.

"Is dengerus road da?" Natasha observed, wiping the blood off her saber and resheathing it. She pulled the carbine from her her saddle and methodically began to reload it.

"First baytel da? You ok?" she asked Marius.

Ill Met in Ostland

Most gunpowder in the Empire was manufactured in the vast workings around the great city of Nuln but the works at Nuln were under an Imperial charter. The Charter meant that, in effect, the Emperor and his armies had first contract on all powder, after Karl Franz took what he needed, the various electors and merchants who gained Imperial sanction took their fill, finally nobles and towns who themselves held Imperial patents were able to place their own requests. The reality was that even an operation on the scale of the Imperial Arms Works usually ran dry somewhere between the Elector's and the towns. That meant that regional mills were able to make money supplying the lack and exporting to foreign buyers like Kislev.

The powder mills of Grunwald and Sons were located to the north west of the city, well into the foothills of the Middle Mountains. On the forested fringe of the mountains there was plenty of timber for charcoal, as well as caves filled with guano for the provision of saltpeter. Most fortuitously there were several good sources of sulfur. Unfortunately for Natasha and Marius, the River Eishalt also provided ready transport, but owing to the presence of several waterfalls, only down river. They road along the rutted cart track into the tag end of a rainy afternoon. Natasha pushed them harder than she might have under normal circumstances, taking the opportunity to put Marius and his new steed to the test. She had to admit he wasn't a total failure in the saddle, although if he kept gripping with his knees like that his saddle would have pounded his ass raw by the time they reached the mills.

Civilization fell away quickly, even on the road. As night approached they reached one of the small cataracts. A small walled compound had been constructed around the falls. A network of cranes protruded from inside like trees stripped of bark. Here barges coming down river were unloaded, their cargo portaged across the falls and onto new barges for the final stage to Wolfenburg. It was an impressive undertaking, serving the powder miles, the mines and some lumber interests. The lumber wasn't barged. Instead it was floated down river with marks carved into it to show who had cut it. When they reached the portage they were directed onto a channeled section of the falls where they crashed to the river below. Occasionally a trunk would stick and a crane would remove it, the workmen adding an extra mark for the additional payment of a poorly stripped tree.

The spent a warm night in the corner of the alehouse that served the workmen, though the fish stew being served was so unappealing that both Marius and Natasha preferred their own trail rations. They rose early the next day and rode on, moving into increasingly wild land as the hills began. The passed a group of cursing waggoneers who were hauling some kind of equipment to heavy to be portaged on an eight ox team. The teamsters sweating and cursing up a storm as they tried to get their wheel free of a mud hole. They stayed the night in a fortified inn, where the emaciated old innkeeper told them they would reach Gunstat, as the locals called the small hamlet around the mills, late the following day.

The weather had finally turned fair as they moved along the road. True to Natasha's prediction Marius looked to be in some discomfort. It wasn't that he was a bad rider exactly, in fact he was moderately skilled, but it was clear he hadn't ridden warhorses in the past and the violent movement of their hyper developed muscles was something he would have to get used to. Konya bristled with pleasure in the cooler air as they climbed over a low ridge to find a stream running in the shallow valley on the other side. It had no bridge but looked easily fordable, the roadway dipping to the water and reemerging on the other side.

"Saumthings not right," Natasha said as they descended the trail towards the water. She resisted the urge to reach for her sword as she tried to figure out what had disturbed her.

"There aren't any birds," Marius said and he was right. The low burbling of birdsong was gone, replaced only by quiet and the rustling of leaves in the gentle mountain wind.

Ill Met in Ostland

"Not zat vun," Natasha said shaking her head. The horse dealer all but audibly ground his teeth. This was the fourth horse she had rejected since they came to the horse trader to find Marius an appropriate mount. The trader, Gert by name, spat into the churned up practice yard he had been leading the nag around.

"And what the bloody hell is wrong with this one?" he demanded belligerently.

"Do you rally vant me to tell you?" she asked in a serious tone. Gert checked a little but didn't reply.

"Because, iyif I did have to tell you zat is puupils are dilated from chewing Shylia's bloom, I'd hav to no you vere trying to chiat me," Natasha explained. She pulled a small knife from her belt and began to clean her fingernails. Gert began to sweat at the mention (or meiention) of Shyalla's bloom, a common herb used to deaden pain in animals. Judging by the slight hesitation the one time Gert had turned the animial to the right, he it was going lame in its right forehoof, a pain the stallion remembered even if he couldn't currently feel it. Without treatment the horse would be down within a week, crippled beyond repair.

"Ah, in that case I suppose, I don't want to tell you that?" Gert replied looking nervous.

"A vise choice," Natasha assured him. She crossed to the horse and leaned up against it, bending down to lift its right hoof. The horse neighed restively but Natasha leaned her weight against his flank. The horse side stepped and then calmed. Carefully she inserted the point of the knife into the hoof. There was a gentle pop as the shoe came away and then the horse whinnied in distress as Natasha dug the point into its hoof. There was a sudden spurt of blood and pus as she lanced the abcess. With no particular concern for the mess she pulled something from the wound and held it up.

"Stone betveen shoe and hoof, two more deyz and vil be ciptic," she pronounced, letting the hoof down to the ground. The stallion made huffing sound that might have been relief.

"Bathe in salt vater and ...how you say... veenigar, in bucket so covers da?" she explained, wiping the blood and pus onto the flank of the horse and returning her knife to her belt.

"Pack vound vith honyeah and gurlick, no exercise for two days, then seal vound vith vax and valk only few minutes. More each dey after zat da. Vash vith veenigar every dey," she instructed.

"Inside of month, be good day, no more marcy veed, bad for da blood," Natasha continued to the amazed horse seller. He glanced from the woman to the stallion in amazement.

"He will really get better? I thought..." he trailed of clearly unwilling to admit that he thought the horse was doomed and hoped to fob him of on a couple of rubes.

"Veery lickly da, if infeection not in blood, if blood infeected no gut," she expounded. Gert nodded eagerly.

"It shall be as you say," Gert bowed thankfully, "I don't suppose you are looking for work are you?" Natasha shook her head.

"Have job. Need horse for boy to ride da," Natasha explained. Marius, who had been watching proceedings with as much amazement as she had back at the factor's office started.

"Hey!" he objected, clearly not wanting to be referred to as a boy.

"Feen, need horse for beg barley man to ride," she corrected. Gert covered a snicker with his hand and then glanced around as though looking for an observer.

"I think I may have something in your price range, for someone how knows horseflesh," he told her. It took him a minute to return the now slightly limping stallion to his stall and to relay Natasha's instructions to one of the stable hands. He then went to a disused part of the stable and returned with a roan stallion with a glossy black mane. Natasha and Gert shared a look that was impenetrable to Marius, and then the horse master lead the stallion on a circuit of the yard. Natasha nodded in evident approval as he returned to where they stood. She inspected the horses teeth and then circled around behind it, stopping to examine a darker spot on its flank before returning.

"Ve take, feefty gelt," she said. They haggled for a few minutes and settled on sixty including a saddle and tackle.

"Vat do you theenk," Natasha said to Marius, brushing the stallions mane.

"This horse is cheaper than the nag he tried to sell you the first time," Marius said with a skeptical look on his face.

"Da," Natasha agreed as she began to saddle the stallion with practiced ease.

"But he is clearly a better horse, I'm no expert but easily the best of what we saw," he continued. Natasha settled the bit between the horse's teeth, stroking its muzzle comfortingly as it began to prance slightly.

"Da, is mooch beitter," she agreed.

"Then why is it so cheap?" he demanded. Natasha looked at him as though he were blind then beckoned him over. When he joined her she pointed to the dark spot on its flank. Marius gave her a look of blank incomprehension. She sighed and took his hand, placing it palm down on the horse and running it over the spot.

"It's rough..." he observed, "why is that important?"

"Is Imperial brand," Natasha explained as though telling a child that the sky is blue. Marius yanked his hand away.

"You mean it's stolen?" he demanded in a shocked whisper. Natasha nodded her head. In Kislev horse thief was an ancient and honorable profession.

"Stolen da. Ze brand is raabed vith send end leethar. Zen carvered with a di," she explained. The explanation was delivered in such a thick accent as to be nearly incomprehensible. She sucked her thumb for a moment and rubbed it against the edge of the spot. It came away slightly brown with dye.

"I cant ride a stolen horse, what if I'm caught?" Marius demanded.

"Dent git caught, or get commission in Reeksguard and then ride any horse you pleese," she suggested, then shrugged.

"When ve have teem, I make up new brand. By coincideence marny Kislev brands look alot like Imperial brand," she told him, grinning broadly to make it clear that it was by no 'coincideence' at all.

"Horse good, not as good as Konya of course but good," she beamed.

At The Edge of The World

I blew out my breath in irritation at being interrupted. This place was a dive plain and simple but it was busy by virtue of being the only game in town. There were already hungry people waiting to be served and I realized they probably didn't want to lose coin because we were sitting here flirting. I considered ordering something small just to be facetious but I had other things on my mind besides petty vengeance.

"Fine, we will take a single bedroom," I said, standing up and heading for the rear where the rooms were.

"You don't know which one..." the waitress called after men.

"Not to worry, Ill pick," I called back.

A few moments later we were in a surprisingly large room on the upper floor. A window of decent glass opened up to give us a view of the lush forest and the low hills that climbed beyond them. Dusk was already falling with tropic rapidity, painting the sky a dazing array of colors in the few minutes it too to sink behind the horizon. Beren picked up one of the brass lamps and opened it, sniffing at the oil inside.

"Citronella," he approved before kindling the fire within.

Ill Met in Ostland

Marius' raised eyebrow brought Natasha back from the daze where lay people go when points of high theology are being discussed in her presence. Had she been alone she would simply have signed the bill of sale and been on her way. Perhaps Marius had gone a way to repaying her for sparing him the embarrassment of having his throat cut on the road to nowhere. Her mind replayed the last few seconds of the conversation and her attention sharpened noticeably.

"If he has not piwdir, he has not piwdir, perhaps ze Tzarina's coin vould be velcome vith ze Golden Pot," she suggested. Both Marius and Frederich winced, though in Marius' case it was with sympathy. Both men knew that losing Kislivite business would be a severe and perhaps fatal blow. The Andropolovskya were an important clan, if distant but the effect of gossip and tale spreading would be telling, particularly as other merchants smelled blood and tried to pry away more and more bussiness.

"No! no...Frauline that wont be necessary," he added hastily.

"If you were able to investigate our silo, we would be able to offer you the powder at..." he glanced at Marius and gave a defeated shrug.

"Cost." The word was bitten out as though it were the sourest lemon in existence. Selling something at cost meant all the wastage and transport were eaten up. Marius scoffed openly.

"You couldn't afford that, Sigmar's Hammer, half the merchant houses in the Empire would grow lean selling that much powder at cost. Grow lean if they didn't go bust," he sneered. Frederich was sweating now. He reached into his coat and made a credible effort of swabbing his fatty face.

"Insurance sir, if the powder in question was destroyed by bandits or greenskins, the treasury will make us whole, or at least advance us loans to cover the loss. We can use that money to fulfill our other obligations by buying from other merchants, perhaps even the Gold and Kettle Company?" He asked with a sly wink.

"Insurance sir

At The Edge of The World

I nearly snorted the sour wine out of my nose. One of the problems with spending your life coming up with clever scams is you are sometimes taken aback when people are straightforward. I really should have known better than to expect any kind of guile from Beren at this point, but old habits die hard. I managed to coral most of the wine into the right tube while considering a response. In the end I decided, like an idiot, to repay truth with truth.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I admitted, feeling a little uncomfortable to tell the bald faced truth. Fortunately I recovered some of my normal aplomb almost immediately. I am, afterall, a professional.

"I wouldn't have agreed to that discussion if I did," I assured him. The bald faced lie washed the unpleasantly sacrin taste of truth from my mouth. I gave him a wicked smile.

"Why, do you have someone you want to fix me up with?" I asked, batting my eyelashes outrageously to make it clear I was teasing.

At The Edge of The World

"I ... I suppose so," I agreed. It had been my plan to leave the Southlands now that I had got shot of my would be treasure hunting partners but there wasn't a lot to recommend the long sea voyage. The coin I had swindled from Gauln was not inconsiderable, but given there were a number of people back in Andred who were looking for me for various grievances, I wasn't in a rush to spend another few months queasy. Besides the monsoon would be here in a few weeks, a month at the outset, and it wasn't likely I would find a captain willing to sail in hurricane weather. I was certain that I had resources enough to set myself up in the Enclave however. Doubtless there were aristocrats there who had nice things and too much money, which were among my favorite things.

"I honestly hadn't much in mind beyond getting clear of Thornton with my skin intact," I admitted truthfully. The man lobster gave a final dying wail as the bear thing managed to rip aside a plate on its neck and bite deep into its flesh, shaking viciously enough that ichor pattered of the roof beams. The winners cheered and the losers booed as money began to change hands.

"What about you? There is nothing for you here now your raft is destroyed. I bet with a bit of luck and fast talking we can get you a new skiff in Darkwater. You should come with me," I blurted. It wasn't the smart move. I really should have been trying to distance myself from Beren and any possible links back to Thornton, but I had enjoyed his company and a week long hike to Darkwater Crossing wasn't going to be without its risks. Plus have you seen his abs?

Ill Met in Ostland

"Vel, iyif you vish," Natasha said, feeling the warm burn of the vodka in her belly. It was pour stuff compared to what her fathers kossards brewed in their battered copper stills, but it was warming. Overall it had been a very good day. Tomorrow she would complete her task, and if Marius wished to come and translate into the excrable Riekspiel they spoke here, so much the better. And if he thought the Grunwald's could be cut throat. A dark grin spread across her face. Her people had a rather more elemental view of the term.

"You have train with sword," Natasha said approvingly, "dis good."

"Not so close to trul kantry but not so far da?" she laughed. It could not be more than a generation since raiders had swept through these lands, but no one knew better than a Kislivite that the minions of the ruinous powers could spring from anywhere. Rumor had it that the Empire was riddled with cults that worshiped the dark ones also. Such things were not unknown in Kislev of course, but the filth found it harder to hide in family and clan groupings that brought people into constant contact to survive.

"You vil have to show me how you vight. I'af never been in a dyel befare," she admitted. She had heard of the practice, occasionally to kossads would settle a discussion with knives, or by riding horses around a paddock and firing arrows at each other from the saddle, but such things lacked the formality these southerners seemed to adore.

Marius was looking at her as though he was trying to puzzle out what she was saying. She frowned and topped up both their mugs with the fiery spirit.

"But not tonight da," she ammened, noticing that Marius was a bit under the weather and she had an appropriately rosy feeling in her cheeks herself.

______

They woke in the morning somewhat bleary eyed. They had slept in the tap room rather than paying for the rooms which were small cramped, and only marginally more comfortable than sleeping on a bench under a cloak. The stable hand was in a foul mood, Konya having bitten him when he tried to inspect her teeth. The fine steed was worth more than everything else Natasha owned and the boy might have been tempted to try to sell her and flee with the coin. Konya evidently felt such notions were worth dissuading.

"Khoroshaya loshad," Natasha said to the horse as she shooed the irate groom away. She produced an apple she had taken from the kitchen and held it out. Konya snorted in approval and took the fruit from Natasha's hand crunching on it greedily and whickering with obvious enjoyment. She lifted an equine eyebrow at Marius and gave Natasha a disapproving snort.

"Ve valk, not far da," she told the horse and took her by the reigns leading her out onto the road. By now the gates were open and the road was busy. Wagons laden with timber or with ore from the mines rumbled across its rutted surface. Farmers pulled rickshaws laden with potatoes, sheaves of wheat and barely, and baskets full of the first crop of apples. All were headed through the stone gate where men in tabards so stained the colors were lost leaned on rusty pikes, sipping at wine skins and smoking pipes. Like most pedestrians they were able to skirt the carts moving quickly up through the gates. The guards gave Natasha a glance, but Kislivites were not uncommon here and whatever she was she was no kossard bandit.

The offices of Grunwald and Sons was a sturdy building a street back from the market place. Its first floor was stone with half timbered construction providing two additional floors. While it might have once been fine, it showed signs of wear and tear, cracks in the plaster and patches of thatch which had blown away in recent winds. The interior had the same air about it. A timber desk seperated the public area which had several worn looking chairs, from the rear, where ink spotted clerks were busily copying and blotting. Natasha walked to the desk where a clerk with a lazy eye stood watching her. Reaching into her gamberson she produced the letter and slapped it down on the table.

"I am Natasha Adropolovskya," she declared, "I have come on byisnish of my father Boyar Androv Andropolovskya." If he was impressed he clerk didn't show it. He produced a battered set of spectacles from his ink blotched coat and set them on his nose. He read the letter once, and seemed to start, then he read it again.

"Is dere problem?" Natasha asked.

"I will... fetch master Grunwald for you ma'dam," he said and scurried back to a set of stairs at the rear of the clerk area and scrambled up them with a look of pinched concern on his face. Natasha beamed.

"Zis vil be asay," she told Marius confidently.

At The Edge of The World

Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was charge into a melee between some psychotic Dre Costan’s and a bunch of pissed off pythons with delusions of grandeur. Unfortunately, it was a fact that without Beren I had no chance of getting out of the city, much less of making it back to civilization with my all important hide intact. Hoping for the best, I rushed down the slope in Beren’s wake brandishing my sword, praying silently to the God of Thieves and Liars that I wouldn’t fall and that the lizards didn’t have any missile weapons. Predictably my patron obliged. Equally predictably the response was perverse. Although the lizards seemed content with spears, one of the Dre Costan’s spun and aimed his arquebus at us, its barrel a yawning black hole that looked like it was pointed directly at my head. Already committed to a headlong rush, I whipped up my sword, the only item I had to hide behind. There was a wang of metal on metal and the sword blade bucked in my hands, striking me in the face with the flat as something hot whipped past my right side. The disorienting blow stole my rhythm and suddenly I was half tumbling forward, like a child who runs down a hill only to realize they are moving faster than they can control. I flew past Beren, the furious windmilling of my feet all that was keeping me from a headlong tumble. The Dre Costan’s eyes widened and he dropped his arquebus, a mistake as he could have easily stove my skull in with it, and grabbed for his sword. Yelling a vicious oath I tucked my head down and lead with my shoulder. There was a crash as I impacted him, transferring my out of control momentum to him with an agonizing blow to my shoulder. The mercenary flew off his feet, screaming as he hit the stone floor and skidded towards the hole. He made a desperate grab for the lip and then vanished into the pit, his scream attenuated over impossibly long seconds before being lost in the clangor of battle.



“Run!” I yelled at the milling travelers, making a general gesture back the way I had come with the sword that, amazingly, was still in my hand.



“Shizen!” I exclaimed, dodging back out of the arc of an ornate halberd that would have taken my head off if I’d delayed another moment. I struck out with my sword, but the serpent man deflected the clumsy thrust with the wooden haft of his weapon. It drew back to finish me off but before it could scythe me down Beren’s axe came down in an overhead chop that took its arm off at the shoulder in a spray of dark brackish blood. All was chaos. Men screamed, lizards hissed and weapons flashed. The whole place had an awful smell that combined blood, mould and something dry and spicy that might have been from the lizards or might have emanate from the pit. Herringbone had a curved lizard sword and was all but swatting the other travelers up towards the portal by which we had entered. The Dre Costan with the symbol was waving it like a flaming brand. The serpent men recoiled from it each time before rallying and trying to press close.



“Beren get the symbol!” I shouted and then screamed as a serpent man shoved me aside with a scaly hand. I stumbled down towards the pit. In a moment of sickening clarity, I realized I was going to fall in. Unable to arrest my descent I took a great stride, planted my foot on the edge and leaped. I flew out over the stygian darkness, momentarily light headed from the spicy cinnamon like scent and then hit the other side. I nearly made it, the instep of my foot catching the far side with my body still at an angle. I began to tumble backwards to my doom when a serpent man spear point appeared in what would have been a perfect strike had I made the jump but was now six inches short of the mark. I grabbed it behind the point with the desperation of a cornered animal, thrust my ass out, flexed my knees and yanked for my very soul. The serpent man made a surprised hiss as he was yanked into the pit, the momentum enough to send me staggering up onto the otherside. Incredibly I still had my sword in my hand, although if Beren didn’t get the symbol in the next few seconds that wasn’t going to matter.

Ill Met in Ostland

“I have job to do,” Natasha said expansively as she tossed off the mug of vodka. She made a face but forebore to comment on the quality as she splashed some more of the fiery liquor into her cup. Natasha was familiar with the machinations of merchants, albeit on a much smaller scale than in the Empire. She had sat in her fathers hall while he haggled with the caravan masters who traded steel and cloth for horses and yak hides often enough to dislike the breed. Kislivite’s prided themselves on being hard bargainers, it was something of a sport, but haggling over a few pelts either side of what everyone knew was going to be the price did not interest Natasha.



“My father is also..how ye sai..arshaul… but not so much,” she admitted. Marius had clearly grown up in the business world his family operated in. Just as clearly he wanted to strike out on his own, the calluses on his palms suggested that he had trained with the fancy sword that he carried. It was an endearing trait, and she supposed she couldn’t fault him for being caught when he was outnumbered six to one.



“He seyends me to Vulfenbarg, to reqwest gahnpiwder,” she explained.



“Gahnpiw… gunpowder?” Marius translated. Pausing as a blonde serving maid set a bowl of stew before each of them along with a crust of bread. Marius seemed to stiffen as she approached and then relaxed.



“You no lyk garl?” Natasha asked, gesturing at the departing maid with her crust of bread. She dipped it into her stew and took a bite. It was salty and a little on the oily side but the onion gravy was thick and piquent.



“Wha…” Marius began, “ah yes, I mean, no, I mean…”



“I do nat knaw vat you mean,” Natasha admitted around a mouthful of bread. She swallowed and took a smaller pull of vodka.



“I like girls, just she reminds me of someone in Altdorf is all. You were talking about gun powder?” he said, redirecting the conversations.



“Dah, gahnpiwder. My father, he send me to aysk for more piwider for za forts. Ve fit them out vith Imperial caynon, from Nuln. But many raiders this sayson, need more piwder to keep them in action,” she explained. Traditionally Kislivites had fought as horse archers, indeed some still refused to adopt the newer Imperial technologies, but the steppe was not a place where you could afford to be impractical. Natasha like many others had learned to fire a handgun from the saddle as well as use a bow. A bestigor could still charge with a half dozen arrows through it, but a single heavy caliber musket ball would shatter bone and organs both. The advantage was doubled in the fortified holds of the north, where grapeshot could sweep the walls clear better than thirty trained archers could.



“Ve have, what you say, fyktor in the ceety, he make arrangements for uas,” she explained.

“Fictor?” Marius asked, then he brightened as he realised what she was saying.



“Factor, you have a factor in the city who will arrange for shipments of gunpowder,” he summarized.



“Da, vat I say,” Natasha confirmed. She reached into her gamberson and withdrew a piece of folded parchment and showed it to Marius.



Grunwald and Sons

Outfitters

Ulricstrasse - Wolfenburg



“Grunwald and Sons?” Marius asked, his expression troubled. Natasha was mildly surprised he could read, though she shouldn’t have been given he was form a merchant family and anyway many in the Empire could read.



“Da, vat I say,” she repeated, “is problem?”