Swords Made of Letters

[Alwyn]

I look forward to seeing how this fits into the subsequent chapters.

[Basileos Leandros I]

Chapter IV - Letters from Across



---
7:05 PM
9th of December 1938
Colmar, Alsace
France


"Look what I found."

Reythier rose his eyes from the ground, his glances lost somewhere as he smoked a cigar just outside the interrogation building. Outside Colmar the light slowly began to fade, leaving way for the illuminated lampposts of the town. For more than twenty minutes he stood outside, glancing aimlessly at the ground. His only discernible memory were his black boots which made a distinctive chromatic difference in contrast with the whiteness of the snow flurries. Reythier exhaled his puff of cigar smoke and glanced towards Klaus who offered him two envelopes.

"What are they?" asked Reythier.

"Letters. I found them on the two men."

Reythier took them and glanced at the envelopes. One thing stood out right from the beginning.

"Sealed with wax?"

Klaus nodded. "Quite odd."

"That's something a Prussian Junker would do a hundred years ago, not those two right now. Why are they sealed with wax?"

"I have no clue."

Reythier held up the envelopes. "I'm opening them as part of the investigation. When the constable of Colmar comes, make sure you note that down and you explain it to him."

Reythier slid his thumb finger underneath the lid of the envelope, running his index finger over the smooth texture of the red wax. The envelopes were yellowy, identical in shape and size, with no discernible heraldic symbol stamped on it, which made it even odder. Wax seals held heraldic symbols as a matter of identification and guarantee; these ones were almost blank. There was no writing on the envelopes but the red wax seemed of very fine quality. Reythier gently applied pressure with his fingers on the wax seal until it broke diagonally, revealing a battered, even yellower piece of paper inscribed with blue ink. He gave Klaus a curious glance and unfolded the first letter in the light of a lamppost.


Dear cousin,

Such good news from you makes my heart jump. I'm still back at home, waiting for my turn. I miss the times when we used to play together without a care in the world, like that school camp we went together to. You managed to get out and live your life, I still have to complete the last part in order for me to finally do the same. My parents are eagerly awaiting for me and hopefully we will get to meet each other again very soon so we can talk now like men.

Speaking of that, I heard you obtained your qualifications! I am very very glad for you - make sure you put them to good use so when you come back home we celebrate together in the tavern, drinking a good beer. I heard Helga is still waiting for you, so do not disappoint her. And keep your eyes open, we don't want anyone else to steal you from her!

When you have some time, please call me, I am more than eager to hear what you have been doing lately.

Yours,
Alex


Reythier did not make much of it, so he opened the second envelope in the light of the lamppost, drawing even closer as by now night was in full swing. To his dismay, the second envelope was almost identical to the first but with some notable changes. There was no cousin; it was nephew. Helga was replaced by Hilda and Alex now became Helmuth. Reythier slid the letters back in the envelopes and gave them to Klaus.

"They're coded."

Klaus frowned. "What?"

"Coded. Encrypted. They don't show the real meaning. And it has two meanings, one which you can understand and another one which you have to find out."

Klaus took the letters. "They're very similar, almost identical. I don't see how the have different meanings."

"Klaus, think of it from a different perspective. Who keeps letters from their cousin and their uncle in the hidden pocket of their pants?"

"They do."

"Yes, but it's not uncle or cousin. Usually you keep letters from your girlfriend, wife or mother. Not your cousin."

"I'm not following."

Reythier placed his finger on the envelope. "Uncle is the commanding officer, cousin is the platoon sergeant. The nephew is the leader of the group, the cousin is the follower. A private in name. And it's all part of a military group, and we have no idea which one it is, why are they doing this and how come it all ended up like this. We've got too many questions and not enough answers." Reythier glanced at his watch. "Where's that constable?"

"Five minutes."

"Good."

"I don't understand. How did you figure this out?" asked Klaus.

"Read it throughly. Matter of fact, read the second letter out loud."


Dear nephew,

I have no words, no words but joy at such news, my dear nephew. Such good news from you makes my heart jump. I'm still back at home, waiting to hear about everyone's good deeds. I miss the times when the whole family used to gather and eat together without a care in the world. You managed to get out and live your life, I still have to complete the last part in order for me to finally do the same. Everyone is eagerly awaiting for news and hopefully we will get to meet each other again very soon so we can talk now like men.

Speaking of that, I heard you obtained your qualifications! I am very very glad for you - make sure you put them to good use so when you come back home we celebrate together in the tavern, drinking a good beer. I heard Hilda is still waiting for you, so do not disappoint her. And keep your eyes open, we don't want anyone else to steal you from her!

When you have some time, please call me, I am more than eager to hear what you have been doing lately.

Yours,
Helmuth



Klaus held it up.

"So, explain to me."

"The nephew is one of the men. The joy is that he completed his training and the CO is waiting for the news about their mission. Remembering old times is about the training back at base camp, and as for keeping your eyes open, it's a gentle reminder to not get caught. As for the last bit, inform the base immediately after mission completion."

Klaus smirked. "You think this is it?"

"It has a second meaning too. But until we get to Paris, we have no idea what it is. And the problem is we might have a surprise on our hands before we get to Paris."

Reythier pointed to the building, ushering both Klaus and himself inside as the snow flurries intensified.


----

[Tigellinus]

Very interesting! Have just read the Prologue and I am intrigued! I will read the rest over the next few days! But keep up the good work!

I wonder what will happen to Helen?

Thanks,

Tigellinus

[Alwyn]

Good chapter, I wonder if Klaus and Reythier will be able to work out the hidden second meaning of the letters. I wonder if you would like to enter the MCWC.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

An intriguing development! I'm interested to discover what is in Paris that they need in order to decode the messages...

[Basileos Leandros I]

Thank you gentlemen.

Alwyn, yes, I would love to!

Keep in mind that the story still revolves around the initial shock and events, so remember the details.

[Basileos Leandros I]

Chapter V - Orders



----
9th of December 1938, 9:00 PM
Obergruppen Aachen HQ
Aachen
Germany

It reeked of tobacco smoke.

Tobacco smoke, cheap tobacco smoke, wafted around the whole office and no matter how much they dared to leave the windows open, the tobacco smoke was better than the bitter cold outside. Most of them smoked in the office, a rather large space that housed more than ten men who served primarily as the links and bureaucrats of the group. Neither of them was known to the public and it was best served that way. Not even the higher in command knew of these men, except for a select few, because these were the ones who were supposed to not have any single link to any government whatsoever. It would have been bad public relations if they were to be found. Not that it mattered by now. Neither of the men in the office were supposed to be known. They all had to follow orders. Be they his, or be they someone that trusted in him.

Richard Elbe was the heaviest smoker in the room. And the leader of them all.

Leaning against a black wooden desk, with two bare chairs beside them, Elbe scanned with his grey eyes the constant flurry of activity that went on around the office. The men under his command, none of them older than twenty four, were tasked to link with the field agents and provide information as quick as possible. Elbe's group was a paramilitary hidden group of young men who acted as the eyes of the government. Few knew about them and none of them even held local passports. Elbe was a registered Frenchman, hailing from Alsace, with Norman ancestry. At least that's what he trained himself to say whenever someone asked him where he was from. There were no brown shirts, white shirts or black shirts in the office which he held. In this industry, everyone was free to wear whatever they wished so long they did not omit a small round rune attached to the collars of their shirts. Elbe in contrast had three. He was the general and the chief of the unit and it had to be mentioned as such.

He stumped the cigarette in one of the small glass ashtrays. That was his sixteenth for the day, enough for him to get to his ratio of almost a pack a day. The cigarettes made him no calmer. The news of the capture of his two men made him agitated, so much so that the messenger on duty felt the need to apologise for giving such news. When the messenger came to his office, he expected smiles and thunderous applause. All he got instead was a meek apology and a rather fast exit from the messenger who had to report on the news that the two men had been captured by the French counterintelligence. And of all places, in Colmar, a small border town with only four policemen. Elbe walked away from the table and climbed a small flight of black stairs to a small heightened platform that was actually built as part of the attic. The platform was half open, allowing him to view the two long tables that made up the battlestations for his men as he called them.

Ten radios, endless sheets of paper and a constant flurry of activity and telephone calls. That was the Obergruppen HQ like. They had an important task to do and Elbe was there to supervise it.

He tapped his knuckles against the railing of the platform.

"Walther and Karl, in my office!"

Elbe's office was totally different from the spartan like interior of the hallway. It resembled a magical wooden attic fit for a children's fairy tale book. With a mahogany table in it's midst and two windows behind it, the attic was bathed in a warm glow from two small lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating dozens of bookcases on each side, children's toys strewn on the floor in the corner and small cushions piled up just beside the office table. Elbe found it like that when they bought it from a local owner. He kept it the way it was because it reminded him of his childhood in the Schwarzwald. Elbe sat down on his chair, folded his arms and waited. And waited. And waited so for ten minutes, idle and silent, until Walther and Karl came.

Two brothers, two identical brothers with matching white shirts, both of them fairly tall and well built, came inside the office. Both of them smiled, something which Elbe picked up but said nothing. They saluted in the typical fashion to Elbe.

"Those two are your men. What in the world happened?" asked Elbe, his voice as calm as the river running in the midst of Aachen.

Walther, to Karl's right, gave his brother a quick glance. "They got captured. We don't know how."

"Did you not do the proper training?" asked Elbe, in the same eerily calm voice.

"We did."

"Then?"

"They failed."

"So you want to ditch them, that's what you're saying?"

"We've already taken care of it," countered Karl.

"How?"

"We sent another one of our men to make sure they say nothing."

"So we are going to lose, or probably did already, two men. Because they were incompetent or you were incompetent?"

Both brothers shifted nervously, glancing at each other without saying a word.

"Well?"

"Herr Elbe, we trained them. We instructed them. We do not know why they acted like this," replied Walther.

Elbe rose from his chair, rather methodically, his leather boots emitting a familiar clacking sound against the wooden floor of the attic.

"I hope they will not say anything. Because the next time there will be a price to pay. And the next time you will dearly hope the French counterintelligence is going to catch you."

Both brothers bowed their heads.

"One last thing. I want every single detail of the capture investigated and known." Elbe turned around to face his office. "And the next field mission is on you. Both."

-------

[Alwyn]

Good chapter, I like the details of Elbe's office and the reason why has has not changed it - and this image of childhood and innocence contrasting with the secret and dangerous work with Elbe's team are doing.

You mentioned that you would love to enter the MCWC - to enter, you would simply need to post a submission on the MCWC XVI thread (the opening post explains what you need to include).

[Basileos Leandros I]

Thank you Alwyn.

Entered!

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

It's taken me a long time to comment on this latest chapter, for some reason. Sorry about that.

I enjoyed this one, as always. I think, for me, this one is one of those chapters that makes you want to see what happens afterwards - in this case, what happens to Karl and Walther...

[Basileos Leandros I]

Slowly, slowly, weaving the characters and chapters together...

Glad you liked it.

[Basileos Leandros I]

Chapter VI. (part 2 of the Night Train)


***
Colmar, Alsace
9th of December, 1938
9:15 PM

Klaus slowly lowered the receptor, visibly dismayed as he gave Reythier a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“I phoned to Paris, told them what happened. They couldn't give me much help but they told me to look out for anything suspicious.”

Reythier shrugged. He heard that before. Two hours before they were close to solving the problem of the Nazi spies, now they were both injured, almost murdered by a lone gunman and with no leads to follow. A whole team of local policemen and two experts joined in from Strasbourg to examine the crime scene but it would take a bit more time before they could tell them more information than they knew already. Worst of all, they were easily spotted.

Reythier stood on a chair in the room adjacent to the interrogation room they used before, standing at the desk of the local constable. Klaus stood by the edge of the whisky coloured table, phone receptor still in hand, looking at Reythier as if to ask what to do or where to phone next. Reythier motioned with his hand and Klaus dropped the receptor back in its place. He watched as Klaus took a beige wooden chair and drew up near him.

“So, what now, Alexandre?”

Reythier raised his eyebrows, twisting his hand to his colleague. “You tell me Klaus. You came here and brought me in this mess in a small town by the edge of a perilous border. Why did you come here in the first place? Just for the interrogation?”

Klaus shook his head. “No. And yes.”

“No and yes? That makes no sense.” Klaus hesitated. "Or maybe it does." Reythier straightened his posture, suddenly curious. “There's more to this. You were expecting something from those Nazi boys.”

Klaus nodded. “I did. Let me call the constable.”

Klaus stood up and returned a couple of minutes later with the local constable of Colmar, the chief of the police of this little snowy town, visibly shaken and greeting rather meekly Reythier whom he met a couple of hours earlier. Sporting a sleek moustache, the man's greying hairs were overtaking his little remaining hair, somehow accentuating the deep wrinkles on his forehead. Border constables are not exactly having an easy time, Reythier thought. The constable was dressed in the typical dark uniform but he kept his pistol unholstered this time, visible and always at hand in case any more gunmen would have a swift swipe at Reythier and Klaus. The police officer took a wooden chair from the corner of the room and placed himself on the other side of the table, facing Reythier directly.

“Bonsoir again, Monsieur Reythier. I believe you wanted to speak to me.”

Reythier switched his position and smiled to the constable. “Oui, c'est vrai, monsieur Pernod. I asked to speak to you and I will be short about it. Have you experienced this before?”

Constable Pernod shook his head. “No, clearly not like this. But I have heard many stories and read more than a dozen reports about random people asking about our troops, our defences, our police even. Someone even asked whether the mayor of Colmar has a gun in his house.”

Reythier gave Klaus a quick look, underneath his eyebrows. “When did this happen, Monsieur Pernod?”

Constable Pernod dabbed for a few moments. “First report arrived on my table about four months ago. Ever since they have been increasing weekly, but nothing serious has ever happened until this very incident.”

“Four months. Did you know about those two young men?”

Pernod nodded. “I did. Two months ago one of my policemen came to inform me about them two posing as tourists, asking around about the Maginot line and other military objectives. One of the local farmers became suspicious and related that to one of my men.”

“Who then reported to you.”

“Correct. We counter-spied them, watched their movements, but nothing ever happened.”

“Until they stabbed those two farmers.”

“We knew it was them immediately. It happened just outside a deserted guard post. So I gathered my men and we arrested them quite quickly.”

“And brought them to us,” added Klaus, to which Pernod nodded.

Reythier nodded, but nodded out of reflex more than anything. The constable knew nothing more, and that was evident. They were no closer than they were a couple of hours ago. Reythier looked at Pernod.

“Constable, have you had any trouble with your men lately?”

“Yes, I have, but minor incidents. Why would you ask, Monsieur Reythier?”

Reythier did not immediately answer. He glanced around the room, scanning every inch of the desks, until he noticed a sheaf of blank papers in the corner just beside him. Sliding a piece of paper to the constable, he took out a fountain pen and wrote in the very corner of the paper: Do you suspect any of your men?

Much to Reythier's dismay, Pernod nodded.

The constable coughed. He coughed again, and again, and then stopped, pointing with his fingers towards the sheaf of papers. Three times. Three men he suspected, three men of aiding these foreign spies who were liquidated by a member of their own and nearly killed Reythier and Klaus as well. Reyhier looked at his undercover companion who motioned quickly with his fingers, signaling that Pernod should leave. The constable understood the motion, bowed slightly and stood up.

“Monsieur Reythier, I will send you more information once I have it.”

“Merci, Monsieur. Let us know as quick as you can.”

The man nodded in agreement, shook their hands and left the room to return to his policemen, leaving Klaus and Reythier alone in the room with their thoughts, suspicions and an awkward silence. Reythier leaned back on his chair and tapped the edge of the desk, lost in thought, using the fountain pen in a rhythmic movement that somehow did not annoy neither of them. He switched his gaze from the white gold nib to Klaus, whose rugged features and a slight six o'clock shadow were amplified by the lost look he wore for the past hours. Out of them, it was Klaus who was the shocked one, but Reythier had his moments when he needed his friend to slap him back into the real world. The Frenchman rose from his chair.

“I'm lost. What now?” asked Reythier.

Klaus kept rubbing his forehead. “Pernod was fidgeting too much.”

“Excuse moi?”

Klaus looked up at Reythier and nodded. “Yes. He was fidgeting quite a lot, he seemed nervous, his right foot was always jumping up and down. You could not see it, it was hidden by the desk, but I kept my eyes on his movements. For a police constable he was far too nervous.”

“You think he is hiding something?”

“I think there's more to it than the three suspicious policemen under his watch. And three...” Klaus stood up and held up 3 fingers. “Three policemen is three too many for this little place. How many does he have in the first place? 3 policemen out of 12, that's a quarter of his force. If 3 policemen are aiding these guys, then we should be lucky we escaped alive.”

“Keep in mind two of them have been killed.”

Klaus shook his head. “Those were our men. Counter-intelligence. I told them to disguise as local Colmar policemen.”

Reythier pointed to the door. “Did Pernod know about it?”

Klaus shook his head. “No. I kept him in the dark. I only asked for the room and for his silence on the matter.”

Reythier said nothing more. A number of moments later, a young policeman, no more than twenty years of age, pale skinned and rather shy in approaching them, knocked on the opened door. He bowed curtly, removed his cap and handed Klaus a crumpled note.

“Monsieur Pernod sends his regards.”

“Our salute to him. Thank you!” replied Reythier.

The policeman bowed again and left, leaving the two men alone. Klaus looked at Reythier, then back at the crumpled note. Reythier watched as his companion opened the note, revealing a small scribble in black ink.

“Follow the Night Train. What night train, what's this all about?”

Reythier took the paper from Klaus's hand. “Train, train, are there any trains coming back to Colmar this evening?”

“I have no clue. Let me check on that.”

Klaus phoned the train station and waited for a couple of minutes until a groggy foreman answered him. He slammed the phone receptor thirty seconds later.

“There's two more trains coming to Colmar. The next one is in 15 minutes and it's a regional train, stopping in Metz. The second one is coming back from Lyon, the red striped train I came with.”

“When is it coming?”

“In 35 minutes.”

“Arm your pistol, get two more cartridges with you and let's go. We'll wait at the station.”

-----

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

It's good to see a new chapter.

As before, it's very intriguing watching things I've read before being incorporated into a larger story.

[Alwyn]

It looks like the keen observation of Klaus is a useful asset in these dangerous days. I look forward to seeing what Klaus and Reythier will discover at the station.

[Basileos Leandros I]

You will see slight modifications but important details along the way.

[Basileos Leandros I]

Chapter VII.

Elbe's character is slowly being shown, and he has some unexpected links too.


----
9th of December 1938, 10:00 PM
Obergruppen Aachen HQ
Aachen
Germany

Tap, tap, tap.

Tapped again, and again, and again. Synchronised, coordinated, honed at the military academy which he quite despised but was obliged to attend. Elbe's glazed leather jackboots tapped repetitively against the wooden planks of the child like office of his. The echo of the taps reverberated inside the headquarters, over the heads of the radiomen and link men hurriedly working to dispatch orders and coordinate the spying and sabotage groups. The flurry of activity rose a humdrum of noises, creaks and occasional shouts up towards his office but it made no difference to him. Just as the taps of his jackboots barely made an impact on the men below. Elbe was lost in his labyrinthine mind and the headquarters was bustling with the coming and going of men. In both cases, they were working for the same goal.

The Motherland.

Elbe had mixed feelings about his duty, however. Born in a Prussian junker family but with a French mother, this whole duty to the motherland seemed both honourable and quite off putting at the same time. He avoided combat, gradually rising through the ranks of the paramilitaries due to this father's connections and an exceptional organising skill. The military superiors who knew about the Obergruppen knew this; so did Elbe, who took advantage of every inch, connection and link afforded to him. Four months ago he met one of the leading figures of the brown shirts working for the party and for the country. That meeting left him with a sour taste but he laboured onwards with his task. His only hope was for this war to be quick.

Oh yes, war.

Elbe smiled to himself. This incoming war, because a war it will be, has already made it difficult. Spying on your country, your family, your adoptive country, in his case being France, your friends and even your mistresses. Elbe suddenly reminded of Mathilda, his brother's wife. She was in love with him, and then with his brother, and now she was working to extract secrets from a British MP. Elbe smirked, only to himself, alone in the office. He had plenty of these movements as he waited for information, orders and... letters.

Lost in his myriad of thoughts, Elbe did not hear the knocks on the door.

"Herr Elbe?"

Elbe shook his head and turned around. Karl, dressed in a customary Heer uniform but with notable missing pieces due to their unofficial status, brought him a white envelope. Elbe however noticed the rank patch on the side, which Karl never wore. He took took the envelope and held it up.

"What's this?"

Karl raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips twisting sideways. He tilted his head slightly leftwards, as if avoiding Elbe's gaze.

"Well?" said Elbe.

"Orders, Herr Elbe."

"Orders?"

"From the headquarters."

"We are our own headquarters."

"Headquarters, Sir."

"Obergruppen is an HQ, Karl."

Karl shifted awkwardly. "From Munich, Herr Elbe."

Elbe lowered his gaze to the envelope. "Take care of the duty in Colmar, Karl."

Karl nodded in acceptance and left Elbe's office.

A white envelope. Elbe tapped it against his left palm, looking at the symbol on the top right corner and the symbol that held the two lips of the envelope together. He turned on his heels and sat down at his desk, bringing the yellow lamp closer to the envelope that now turned brown in the light. With calm movements, he slid his index finger underneath the seal and opened the envelope. A cursive, black ink writing flowed neatly on the white paper.

Herr Elbe,

You are kindly expected in Munich. With the exception of your closest of men, do not inform anyone of this.

We expect your presence upon the fourth day after the deliverance of this letter.

Our warmest wishes,
Oberkommandant

They never signed these letters of envelopes. Nobody had any names on them. For the best part, it could have simply been a forgery to deceive him but the symbol on the right hand corner indicated the special unit from which this envelope was sent from. Elbe rose from the desk and headed to the fireplace where the logs crackled playfully in the hearth. With one swift movement, he threw the envelope in the fire.

And just as the fire engulfed the envelope, he noticed another note which somehow he missed. Elbe quickly plucked the envelope from the fire, scattered the ashes on the sides and unfurled the fire-crumpled note that was somehow hidden in a flap inside the envelope. A simple word stood written in big letters, stamped underneath it.

SABOTAGE

Elbe nodded. "That's it, I guess."

Turning again on his heels, he threw the envelope again in the fire, took his cap and left the office.

[Alwyn]

I'm intrigued by the hints about Elbe's character, such as the fact that he 'despised' the military academy and the 'sour taste' which he felt after meeting a senior member of the brown shirts. I'm interested, too, in the significance of the letter which Elbe received and the mysterious note.

[Basileos Leandros I]

SMoL won the MCWC XVI!

http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showt...rs!&p=15388009

Thank you very much to everyone who voted, my respect and humble thank yous!

[Basileos Leandros I]

Chapter VIII.

Horace's story arc slowly blends in. It's part 2 of Clouds of Smoke.

----
9th of December, 1938
8:45 PM
Court Road, London
United Kingdom

For more than twenty minutes, Horace Benningham kept his eyes fixed on the entrance of that red-bricked block of flats, a typical English working class building down by the infamous Court Road. In it's heyday, Court Road was the average working class neighbourhood. But as the country grew, so did the neighbourhood. It was no longer the quiet neighbourhood it once was, particularly in the restive Friday and Saturday nights. Now that the threat of war was looming, spies from all places gathered around in quiet London neighbourhoods to do their work. From the intersection with the Circus, which was behind Horace, the whole street was lined with small houses or small blocks of flats, no more than three stories high, with exterior railings that dubbed as stairways for whenever it was needed. It took him no more than a fifteen minute drive from the White Club, a casual stroll in his nimble Citroen Traction Avant he got as a gift from Lord Beckett. He was after all looking for Mathilda
now.

Horace narrowed his eyes and scanned the cars down the street. By chance, one of Ryan's men gave him a vital piece of info, simple happenstance as the man walked by just as Horace was about to leave. Mathilda was no longer alone in the apartment she owned on the second floor. Horace smirked. He made a mental note of that detail and holstered the Colt pistol underneath his suit jacket. He got out of the black Traction Avant and gently closed the door, careful to make as little sound
as possible, just as a gust of wind slapped his face. Taking one last glance around the empty street, Horace casually strolled down to the block. The four storied building had a simple wooden door entrance with horrid cast iron railings by the stairs, about as ungainly as an abandoned house. Horace slid inside, his polished patent leather shoes touching the red carpeting that blanketed the stairs.

"Good, no noise," he whispered to himself.

He gently went up the stairs and slid to the edge of the dark brown door where he knew Beckett's mistress lived. He was about to knock on the door when he heard the shouts booming from inside.

"I knew it! You're seeing someone else, aren't you? I knew it! How much did it take for that to happen, how much time? 6 months? How long have we been married? Not a lot it seems, and it looks like you've been marrying me just so you can have someone to impress!"

Horace narrowed his eyes. He had no idea who the man was, but he was sure this was Mathilda's apartment so the idea of her being married added to the difficulty of the whole Mathilda affair. He didn't have much time to think it over when he heard the woman scream in terror as she struck some sort of object, causing a chorus of other sounds of breaking objects to follow suit. The man screamed at her again, echoing throughout the stairwell of the block.

Horace breathed. He had to act before someone noticed him.

Using a small silver clip attached to his jacket pocket, he slid it inside the golden lock of the apartment door and fumbled his way until the lock clicked with an audible sound. Horace gently opened the door, sliding sideways inside the apartment, closing the door behind him just as stealthily as he opened it. The apartment in itself was not large by any means. A small hallway from the door, if it even was a hallway, led directly into a large room that dubbed as a bedroom on the left side and a living room on the right side, with a small bathroom just beside by the door. The room was split into two sides by a sliding door.

And at the bottom of that sliding door, with her back against the wall, stood Mathilda, gazing in horror at the man that towered above her with his arms pointed at her.

"Six months we've been married, six months, and all you did was use me!" yelled the man, clenching his fists as close to her face as possible. Horace couldn't see anything but his back and the uniform the man wore.

Beckett's man would have wanted the man to stay attentive to Mathilda, yelling at her as hard as he could, but it was Beckett's mistress who gave him away as she noticed his presence. The husband turned, almost by instinct when he noticed Mathilda's expression change, glimpsing Horace's silhouette as the Englishman approached him. For a couple of brief moments, they analysed each other, weighing their options as they faced a stand off in Mathilda's living room. Horace faced a rather tall, handsome husband, dressed in a black military unifom with golden tresses on the right shoulder and a small airplane insignia on the left hand side of his chest. But what drew his attention was the symbol on his left arm, the symbol embroidered on the uniform. The man was a foreign spy. And Mathilda most probably fed him the secrets Lord Beckett gave to her while drunk.

Before Horace had a chance to react, the man leaped at him and smashed him against the living room wall with such force that the Englishman thought his bones had broken into fine pieces. The man did not stop, smashing a fist into his ribcage and a subsequent jawbone punch that nearly knocked Horace out. Horace crashed sideways onto a small padded chair, struggling to regain his composure. Before he managed to do the man took him by the suit and threw him accross the living room, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Horace's crash destroyed the table into the pieces, collapsing him on the ground right at Mathilda's feet.

But the angered husband was not done.

The man leapt at Horace and lunged for his neck, an ill timed move which Horace easily deflected with a parry and a strike to his opponents' jawbone. Before the man could parry back, Horace reached for his pistol and slid it out of the leather holster, drawing it enough for it to threaten his opponent. Angered, the man leapt once more at Horace, ignoring the obvious threat of the Colt pistol directed at him. He lunged straight for Horace's arms, trying to block the pistol, only to make matters worse as the men struggled on the floor.

Two shots rang out from the Colt M1911.

----

Feedback welcome!

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I, too, am intrigued by the note mysteriously hidden within Elbe's orders, and by his apparent distaste for the work he's doing. And, of course, it's always interesting to see a familiar chapter being woven in to the larger story.