The captive maidservant rolled over, trying, for about the hundredth time, to find a position which would allow her to lie in comfort. Yet again, she found that no such position existed. Kitty mewed a soft moan of self-pity through her gagged lips. She was so tired. She longed for sleep, but the constant combination of fear and nagging pain would permit no rest. Periodically, sheer exhaustion forced her body to doze, but each time the slumber was all too brief before a sharp tug from her bonds would rudely jerk the poor girl awake.
The paralysing poison used during her capture had worn off long ago, but Kitty was held just as immobile. She reflected on the various forms of bondage she had endured in the past eighteen hours, wondering if she would ever possess full freedom of movement again.
Her misadventure had started with the fewest restraints. Well, there had been little need. The poison from the treacherous Eisen woman´s pin-ring had left Kitty´s limbs all but useless. Her mind had seemed trapped within her body, her thoughts muddled by both the drug and the terror at what was happening. The long silk scarf which had bound her wrists behind her back had been an unnecessary part of her restraint. On the other hand, the folded cloth forced into her mouth and held in place with a further scarf, most certainly had been required. Kitty had frantically tried her best to scream for help. The drug may not have impaired her vocal chords, but the muffling scarves did their job all too well. The only people capable of hearing her pleas had been her captors, and, oddly enough, they really didn´t seem too interested in what the maidservant might have to say.
She had found herself dumped into a large hamper full of bed linen and taken on a heart-stopping journey. Although she could see nothing from within her wicker prison, it had been obvious that she was being carried out of Fauner Posen´s castle and into the surrounding city. It seemed to the captive that she was loaded onto a wagon of some sort. The sound of hooves and wheels on cobbled streets had given no clues to her eventual destination.
Kitty had other concerns on her mind at that stage. The bumping journey during which she was carried, set down, hoisted off the ground, swung around corners and hauled downstairs, had served to jostle the helpless girl deeper into her nest of linen. She had quickly found herself effectively cocooned, the bed sheets wrapping her in a tight, unyielding embrace. Kitty had feared she might suffocate before she reached her unknown destination. It took all the effort of her feeble movements to keep her head free of the sheets, the sodden cloth stuffing her mouth making breathing hard enough on its own.
When the basket finally came to rest, it was opened and tipped onto one side. Kitty had found herself unceremoniously rolled onto the floor of a grotty little bedroom. Emma von Witte´s two henchmen had spun her out of the swathes of bed sheets and applied more traditional restraints. Rope had been used to lash her ankles together. With her limbs still heavy and lifeless, Kitty had been unable to offer resistance when more ropes were added further along her legs. Tight passes were made over the maid´s dark skirts and starched apron, separate coils secured below her knees, just above the knees and again at the top of her thighs. The knots at her wrists were tested and evidently deemed satisfactory. A longer length of rope was wrapped around her upper body and arms, the rope finally threaded below her arm pits and used to cinch the bonds to prevent slipping.
Before leaving, one of her abductors had bent over the bound prisoner. He had smiled down at her, causing Kitty to shiver. It was not a particularly lustful or malevolent smile, just the pleased expression of someone who clearly enjoyed the sight laid before him. With the same content gaze, he had removed the white bonnet of her servant uniform and tousled her tight blonde curls. Kitty´s eyes had been wide with apprehension, small moans coming through her gag. “So pretty,’ he had seemed to murmur, her moans causing his smile to broaden. An impatient call from downstairs had broken the man´s musings. With a sad shake of his head, he had unknotted and retied the scarf of her gag, forcing the wading deeper into the girl´s mouth, before leaving with one last wistful glance over his shoulder.
The pretty young captive had no idea how long she had lain there. At some point the effects of the paralysing poison had stared to wear off. The horrid sensation of pins and needles started to plague her arms and legs. Bound as she was, Kitty could do nothing to relieve the irritation. She longed to stretch out and rub the tingles from her limbs. She had to satisfy herself by thrashing about the floor, kneading her roped arms and legs against the hard floorboards until she was left panting around her gag.
The long shadows of evening had disappeared into the dark gloom of dusk. With a despairing moan, Kitty had suddenly registered that she really was a prisoner. Somehow she had been expecting the Musketeers, Sylvia or Stefan, to burst through the door and save her. As the room grew colder and darker, she realised that no rescue was coming. She was going to spend the night tied up in this dirty little room. She recalled Fraulein von Witte´s mocking words and wondered what dangers were facing Annette and the Musketeers. Did they even know she had been captured? Tears had begun to roll down the helpless prisoner´s cheeks.
It had been a miserable night. By the time morning had come, Kitty´s whole body ached, she was filthy from dust, sweat and tears, and both emotionally and physically drained from long hours of useless struggles. At some point in the darkness before dawn, something had clicked in her mind. She had stopped fighting her ropes and gag and lay limply within the bonds. Fear for her plight and hopes of escape no longer mattered. She had resigned herself to her situation. She was a bound prisoner and would remain so until her captors decided otherwise. Acceptance of these facts somehow made her suffering easier to bear.
So dejected was the girl that she failed to notice the entrance of another person shortly after the first rays of the new day. The gradual removal of the ropes at her legs eventually made her glance round. It was one of the two men from her capture, the one with the curious smile. He had smoothed down her skirts while speaking quiet words, “There, there. Be brave, my little captive. No need to cry.’ The ropes around her body had been removed and the silk untied from her wrists. The thought of escape simply never occurred and she allowed herself to be picked up in strong arms and set upon a wooden chair beside a small table. Firm but gentle hands had pulled her own arms behind the chair and bound them with rope, loops tied at her wrists and then anchored to the back rung of her seat.
The man had left the room and returned with a steaming basin of water and a folded flannel cloth. He reached behind Kitty´s head and untied her scarf gag. The soaked strip of silk was set on the table before he reached forward again and carefully removed the sodden wad of cloth still held behind her teeth. Kitty groaned, but spoke no words. The soft flannel was dipped in the warm water and wiped across her face. It had felt wonderful. Great care was taken, her captor continuing his calming words as he brushed back her tangled curls and dabbed the cloth down the girl´s neck and across the pale skin showing above her frilled neckline.
A tray containing a plate of food and a glass of creamy milk was brought in next. The man had pulled up a second chair and held the glass to Kitty´s mouth, one hand cradling the back of her head. She nodded when she had taken enough, surprised at how dry her mouth had been. She had looked up at her captor with large, liquid eyes, “Will you let me go?’ He had given the gentle smile and placed a restraining finger on her lips, “Shh. Eat’ Small pieces of fruit, bread and cheese were lifted from the plate and fed to her. With her arms tied behind her back, Kitty had no choice but to eat from the man´s hand, her lips and tongue brushing his fingers. He had smiled throughout. When she was done eating, a second glass of milk was raised. The man had laughed when he set the glass down, “You have a moustache.’ A gentle wipe with the flannel removed the creamy residue.
He had stepped from the room again and Kitty heard his voice giving instructions. An older woman had entered. The captured maidservant had flushed in shame when she saw what the woman carried - a chamber pot. The crone unlinked the girl´s wrists from the chair, but they remained bound together as she was hauled to her feet. Her skirts were lifted and tucked about her waist. The pot was set on the floor and the woman stood with folded arms, waiting for the girl to complete her toilet. Kitty had felt intense embarrassment for the duration of the unseemly affair, but was grateful that only another woman had observed. She also had to admit that the arrangement was better than many of the alternatives of long term confinement.
The woman had then left and the male captor returned. Kitty had given no resistance when he led her across the room to a low mattress. Ropes were produced and her legs rebound - ankles, below the knees, above the knees and across her thighs. Again, rope circled her chest, pinning her arms to her side. This time two extra strands of rope were added. One was looped around her ankles and fixed near the foot of the bed, the second secured to the front of her chest ropes and tied at the head of the bed. The man had sat beside her and revealed three clean scarves. One was neatly folded into a compact square and pushed into her mouth. As before, a second was wound into a band and knotted deep between her lips. The third scarf was folded into a wide band and tied about Kitty´s eyes, a blindfold that plunged her into darkness. She had sensed movement and felt something brush tenderly against her forehead. Had this man kissed her? Footsteps had receded and she was left alone.
That had been several hours ago, as near as she could tell. Kitty shifted in her enforced darkness and, again, found no comfort in the ropes. She sighed into her gag and yearned once more for sleep. What devious plan was the vile fraulein up to, she wondered, while her poor hostage languished in bondage?
A woman´s work was never done. Emma von Witte reflected on the truth of this statement as she lounged in the large bed of Baron Zeigstumpf´s quarters, enjoying the final morsels of a decadently late breakfast.
The recent business for Arnaud du Charouse had gone remarkably well. It had been almost too easy to win the friendship of the royalist Montaigne courtier, Annette du Surlign, and her Musketeer husband. A bright smile and feigned naivety had gained their confidence, all the while passing their secrets and plans to the man who opposed their diplomatic mission. Once she was within their circle, it had been simplicity itself to kidnap their maidservant and make it seem that Stefan had been spying on their Eisen host. Fairly easy work for one with Emma´s undoubted skills. Easy work that had earned her a considerable payment.
Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. Now that her deception was revealed, she would be of no further use to Arnaud. Time to look for other work. She wondered if there was any money to be made from the Baron for services other than those of a carnal nature.
Emma rose from the bed and slipped a loose, lace gown about her body. She padded across to the large oak writing desk used by the Baron. The drawers were locked. Emma pouted - now that wasn´t very trusting, was it? She reached behind her head and withdrew a long pin from her golden hair. The pin was deftly inserted into the desk´s small brass lock. A prod here, a jiggle there, and soon a small click announced her success. Emma tucked the pin back into her hair and slid the drawer open.
She quickly found what she had been looking for, a leather bound book used by the Baron each evening. Emma knew that he was here with some complaint about his role running a military academy. Something about being put out to pasture while he still had skills to offer. In truth, Emma hadn´t really paid much attention to the old soldier, until now. Maybe the book would reveal more and provide her with an angle to exploit for her own gain.
The fraulein flicked through the pages and was disappointed. This wasn´t a diary, as she had hoped, more like a notebook of military tactics. She recognised several maps of Posenstadt castle, the walled city and its surrounding lands. Heavy handwriting and large crosses through proposed troop deployments seemed to indicate displeasure with whatever tactics were being considered. Apart from those on the last few pages. The maps here were more detailed, the handwriting more flowing, with positive assessments. Emma frowned as she tried to make sense of the diagrams. Surely these showed ...
“What do you think you are doing?’
Emma almost jumped from her chair as she slammed the book closed. The Baron stood behind her, his face distorted with rage. Emma silently cursed, how could such a large man move so quietly?
The Baron didn´t wait for an answer. One meaty hand grabbed the fraulein by the neck, pulled her to her feet and slammed her against the wall. The man´s great frame pushed into the girl, squashing her thin body between the hard wall and his podgy flesh. He leaned his face close, spit flecking his thick moustache as he bellowed his anger, “There is nothing in that drawer to concern you. Your business begins and ends on my bed. Understand?’
Emma struggled for breath. She looked across the room to where her boots lay. A thin stiletto blade was concealed in their leather leg sheath, but it was uselessly out of reach. She hadn´t yet replaced the poison in the secret compartment of her pin-ring, at the moment it could only deliver some nasty scratches. The girl clawed at the thick fingers gripping her throat, but the Baron´s strength was immense. She could do nothing to loosen his hold.
With a snarl the brute of a man threw her across the room. She landed on the bed and twisted, cat-like, onto all fours. She glared at the Baron, trying to recover her breath and ignoring the fact that the lace gown had fallen loose, revealing her naked flesh.
“The trouble with this land is that the women do not know their place.’ He picked up the notebook and replaced it in the drawer, “But soon they will do. Soon I will be given the respect that I deserve.’
Silence fell over the Great Hall of the Posenstadt as its ruler, Fauner Posen, entered. The Eisenfurst was dressed in her customary suit of plate armour, presenting an imposing figure as she took her place to dispense justice. The captains of her army, loyal men blood-sworn in allegiance to their ruler, flanked the throne. Lesser officers, visiting dignitaries and castle servants filled the hall, but the focus of attention was the lone Musketeer who stood before them, waiting with quiet dignity to receive the Eisenfurst´s judgement.
"Musketeer Stefan de Fer," declared Posen, "You are charged with trespassing in secure rooms of the Posenstadt fortress, breaking the terms by which you were admitted to the konigreich. Do you have any words that you wish me to hear?"
Stefan´s eyes searched the hall, looking for those who had conspired to place him in this position. Arnaud du Charouse stood close to Posen, watching with smug enjoyment while his political opponent was brought low. Fraulein von Witte was beside Arnaud. Oddly she did not seem to be revelling in her victory and cast frequent troubled glances across the hall to the Baron for whom she had pretended to work.
Keeping his gaze on these enemies, Stefan replied to the charges in a strong, clear voice, "I deny any implication of espionage, nor any intent to deceive the people of Posen by myself or those that I serve." He turned to face the Eisenfurst, "But I do concede guilt at breaching the privacy of your War Room." There was little else he could do. Arnaud and the fraulein had played their hand well. It would be impossible to prove the truth of the matter. It had been all he could do to dispose of the more incriminating documents before the guards had arrived to arrest him.
Ignoring the murmurs which arose at his confession of guilt, Stefan fell to one knee and continued to address Posen, "As a consequence of my actions, I humbly request to receive Fauner´s Kiss."
The murmurs turned to exclamations of surprise. The captains bore expressions of mixed suspicion and admiration. Even Fauner Posen seemed startled by the request. She sat forward and raised a hand for silence, "The Kiss is usually reserved for more serious offences. Are you certain that you wish to make this request?" When Stefan nodded his confirmation Fauner gestured to one of her captains, "Very well. Prepare the prisoner."
Guards seized Stefan´s arms, binding them behind his back and pulling him to his feet. The Musketeer ignored them and once again searched the hall. He found Annette and smiled in reassurance, drawing strength from her love. His comrade in arms, Sylvia Etalon du Toille, was positioned beside Annette. She placed her hand over her heart and gave Stefan a salute of respect. All for one ...
Posen came to stand before her prisoner. Although a little shorter than the Musketeer, in her suit of armour she looked by far the more powerful of the two. Now she also wore a massive steel panzerhand, the armoured gauntlet fused shut and weighted heavily around the knuckles. Lifting the heavy gauntlet as gracefully as other noblewomen would raise a lace covered hand, she held it before Stefan and repeated her question, "Are you certain that you wish to feel the panzerhand´s kiss?"
Stefan pressed his lips to the steel glove and nodded. He locked his eyes on his wife, shutting out everything else in the room. All that mattered was her love, his dedication to her cause and the honour of his uniform.
When the first blow came it snapped Stefan´s head fully back, almost shattering his jaw. Annette cried out, but he clamped his own mouth shut, tasting blood, uttering no complaint. The force of the strike caused him to stagger backwards, but even with his arms bound he remained standing, straightening his shoulders and drawing himself to attention. The second blow came from the opposite side. His mind reeled, focusing on one thing only - he must stay on his feet, he must withstand the punishment.
For a few moments black splotches flashed in his vision. When they cleared, Fauner Posen still stood before him, watching his reactions closely with new respect. The gauntlet she raised was smeared with his blood, "Do you swear to obey my laws, to respect my rule and to do no harm in my land?" Stefan again pressed his bruised and cut lips to the glove, ignoring the fresh pain, "I do so swear."
The Eisenfurst turned to the hall, "The Musketeer Stefan de Fer has received my Kiss. He has taken the punishment upon himself and borne it without protest. Let his crime be forgotten and his strength and honour remembered." She turned to Annette, “However, recent events have cast a shadow over our discussions. The negotiations are over. I give two days for your party to leave my lands.’
The captains fell in step behind Fauner as she marched from the hall. Those in attendance filed out, Arnaud du Charouse wearing the same smug expression. The Musketeer´s courage and dignity had undone some of the efforts of his scheming, politics in Eisen were not the same as politics in Montaigne, but his ultimate goal had been served. The exiled nobles would find no ally here.
Annette rushed to her husband, throwing her arms around his shoulders then tenderly examining the injury while Sylvia cut his bonds, “Oh, Stefan, are you all right? Can you speak?’
He nodded, spitting blood onto the floor. He tried to give one of his famous smiles, but couldn´t manage it through broken lips, “I may be dining on soup for a while, but I will live.’
“Well done, monsieur.’ Husband and wife´s reunion was interrupted by the approach of Emma von Witte. “The Eisenfurst´s justice is as swift as her temper. Not many have the courage to call for her Kiss. Fewer still have the strength to endure it. I assume you knew that to cry out or fall would have meant death?’
Annette ignored her words, “Where is Kitty? You will regret it if she has been harmed.’
Emma laughed, “Please, it´s a little late for threats. Your maidservant will be released, she has served her purpose. I suggest that the Musketeers meet me outside the ‘Dragon´s Head´ tavern one hour before this evening´s curfew. We wouldn‘t want too many people on the streets to witness the exchange.’
The room was dark again when Kitty´s blindfold was removed. A single candle on the table provided flickering illumination. The girl realised that she must now have spent over a day as a captive damsel. A man was kneeling at her feet, undoing the rope which tethered her to the bed. He turned and gave her a smile. Quelle surprise, it was the same man from before, one of the two who had participated in her kidnapping.
The morning routine was repeated. Kitty´s bonds were removed long enough for her to be picked up and tied to a chair. This evening´s menu consisted of smoked fish and potatoes. Her captor used a knife and fork to cut the meal into bite size pieces, but still used his hand to bring the food to his bound prisoner´s mouth. He took great delight in letting Kitty use her tongue to lick his fingers clean of the oily fish. Watered wine was provided to drink, the man using a cloth to gently dab any that spilled down her chin. The same old woman appeared and allowed Kitty to once more make use of the chamber pot.
Kitty had spent most of her life feeding and cleaning up after others. If the circumstances had been different she might have enjoyed being on the receiving end of so much attention. As it was, she was simply resigned to accept whatever treatment was forced upon her. Whether they showed kindness or cruelty was far beyond her influence.
The after dinner bondage was less stringent than the bonds she had worn during the day. Her wrists were still securely bound at her back, but only a single piece of rope was used to tie her legs together at the ankles. The familiar gag was replaced - a cloth packed in her mouth and tied in place with a scarf between the lips. Kitty took some relief from the fact that fresh scarves had been found to replace the saliva-soaked ones removed when she ate.
The maid had expected to be left alone again at this point. Instead, her smiling captor had lifted her in his arms and carried her to the mattress. He set her down and then settled himself beside her, leaning against the wall and arranging the girl on her back so that her head nestled in his lap. He rested one hand on her stomach and ran the fingers of the other through her short curls. “Such a lovely face,’ he murmured, “Pretty curls and deep blue eyes.’
Kitty stared up at the man with those deep blue eyes. She wasn´t frightened. From his tender treatment throughout her confinement, it had become obvious that he meant her no harm, that he even seemed to care for her. Of course, she didn´t welcome his attentions, but, tied in his arms, there would have been little point in resisting even if she had felt the need. She studied his face. He was actually quite handsome. His thick chestnut coloured hair was tied back in a short ponytail with a piece of black ribbon. The silk bow of his shirt collar was untied, revealing a glimpse of the broad-muscled chest beneath. Even the constant and unnerving smile had some merit, clean white teeth showing between sweetly curved lips.
The girl was also becoming increasingly conscious of the growing bulge in his britches, mere inches from where her face lay. He shifted his hold on her, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. His fingers now stroked her cheeks, tracing the line of the gag. He leaned in. His tongue ran across her lips above and below the band of silk, before moving to plant a soft kiss on her throat, “Oh, my little captive. I wish we had more time together, but I fear you will be leaving me soon.’
“Actually, she will be leaving you now.’
Kitty was abruptly dropped from her captor´s embrace. She twisted around to look past him. Emma stood in the entrance of the room. She was wearing a black velvet cloak with raised hood, standing with her arms folded and an amused grin, “You´re not falling in love, are you Hans? Surely you have been paid enough to find some whore willing to enact your bedroom games?’
The man stood with clenched fists. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, he stomped out of the room, glaring angrily at the fraulein.
Emma laughed as she stepped across to Kitty, “Poor Hans. Such a sentimental fool. He really has no future as a villain. Now, on your feet. It´s time for you to go home.’
Kitty´s ankle bonds were untied and she was pulled upright. After spending so much time with her legs tied, her muscles were weak and she swayed to retain her balance. Emma tutted and took hold of the prisoner´s arms, dragging her across the room and then down a set of stairs. Kitty was forced to stagger to keep up or risk a nasty injury from falling. Only the unexpected renewed hope of possible release kept her moving, making muffled yelps through her gag when she came close to toppling.
A dark alley lay beyond the door at the foot of the stairs. It was pouring with rain outside, the evening streets completely dark. Emma adjusted her hood and moved out. Kitty hesitated. She couldn´t be expected to go out of doors still bound and gagged! Emma turned and frowned, “Do you want to be set free or not? Your Musketeers are waiting, but I can always see where Hans has gone, if you prefer.’
Kitty gave an unhappy moan, but reluctantly stepped forward. She was drenched almost immediately. The heavy rain plastered her curls to her head. The thin cotton of her frilled blouse clung wetly to her skin, becoming translucent as water soaked the fabric. Emma gave an unkind sneer from below the shelter of her thick hood, “Poor child, you look like a drowned rat ... ummph!’
A cloth was suddenly clamped over the Eisen woman´s mouth. One strong hand held it in place, yanking her neck back, while another arm wrapped around her body and flailing arms. Kitty shrieked as another figure lunged from the darkness to grab her about the waist. Already gagged and with her hands still tied, Kitty was an easier victim to subdue. A pair of horses emerged from the night, pulling a black coach. The two women were dragged along the street and shoved through the coach´s open door. More men were waiting inside and seized the struggling females, pulling them fully into the coach as it sped off.
The abduction did not go unnoticed. Stefan and Sylvia stood across the street, where they had been waiting for the planned rendezvous and Kitty´s return. The Musketeers burst into action at the first sound of the maidservant's muffled scream, racing to confront the attackers before they could escape. Sylvia aimed for the rear of their vehicle and made a desperate leap, jumping onto the back of the coach and clinging on for dear life. Stefan moved to intercept the coach's path, waving his arms and calling for the horses to stop.
When the driver cracked his whip, it was clear that his only intention was to increase pace. With outrageous daring, Stefan held his ground until the last moment, then stepped to the side and grabbed the edge of the coachman's elevated seat. The Musketeer was swept off his feet. His arms strained to maintain their hold, his feet kicking desperately to find safe purchase while avoiding the dangerously spinning front wheel. One foot managed to brace on the curved rim above the wheel and Stefan was able to push himself to a more secure position, bringing himself level with the driver. He grinned and prepared to face his opponent.
Any sense of victory was short lived. Stefan's face fell when he found himself staring down the muzzle of a loaded pistol, the driver barely controlling the horses with reins wrapped around one hand. In the heavy rain there was no guarantee that the powder would even fire, but this was one risk that the Musketeer was not willing to take. He threw himself backwards, ducking his head as the pistol belched smoke. He landed with a splash in a deep puddle of dirty water and could only watch in frustration as the coach continued its journey.
In the meantime, Sylvia had clambered on top of the moving vehicle. She drew her dagger, regretting the confiscation of her favoured rapier, and advanced to meet the two armed men stationed on the roof. The coach swayed dangerously from side to side as it continued to hurtle along the rain-slick, cobbled streets. Sylvia crouched low to maintain her balance and inched towards her opponents. The first finished loading a crossbow and levelled it at the Musketeer. At such close quarters it was a simple matter to flick out her knife and deflect the weapon - the bolt went safely wide. For good measure Sylvia twisted her wrist and jabbed the blade into the archer´s shoulder. The man dropped the crossbow and collapsed into the luggage rack.
The second foe had a better sense of tactics. He had drawn a blade and swung it in low, dangerous arcs, trying to force the Musketeer off the edge of the roof. The cramped, unstable environment made it difficult for either swordsman to fight to their fullest. Sylvia parried and deflected her opponent´s sweeping attacks. She concentrated on the jolting movement of the coach, keeping her own footing and watching for any mistake from her attacker. When the opening came she seized it to the fullest, driving her dagger deep into the man´s gut. As the lifeless body fell backwards, a third bearded face appeared - another guard trying to climb up from within the coach. A well-placed Musketeer boot ended the attempt and sent the figure retreating back inside.
The driver yelled to his horses and tugged sharply on the reins. The coach swerved violently, tipping precariously onto two wheels as it rounded a tight corner. Sylvia spread her arms for balance, but, in an ill-timed step, her boot slipped in the mixture of rain and blood now streaming across the roof. As her legs flew into the air, the Musketeer stumbled backwards and found herself flipping off the coach. She reached out in desperation, releasing her dagger and just catching hold of the roof's edge. Her body slammed into the coach door as she now hung defenceless at its side, feet dangling in the air, fingers scrambling for a firmer grip.
The position left her head bobbing near the door's small window, giving a view of activity within the cabin. Fraulein von Witte was pinned, face down, across one of the leather-padded seats. A white cloth was stuffed in her mouth and a large man wrestled to restrain her limbs. One wrist was already trapped in a length of rope and, although the woman fought ferociously, her heavy cloak clearly impeded her struggles, making defeat inevitable. Kitty cowered on the floor, already bound and weeping through her gag.
A bruised face rose in Sylvia's vision, the bearded guard who had failed to reach the roof. He shoved his way across the crowded coach to the side carrying the persistent Musketeer. He grinned at her through the window and drew back a fist, "No passengers." The fist crashed into Sylvia's face, the impact breaking her fragile hold and sending her spinning to the ground in a clumsy heap.
Stefan appeared at her side and helped his comrade to her feet. The two Musketeers grimly watched the coach retreat into the night. They had no chance of following now.
Stefan turned to Sylvia, "Did you see what those men were wearing? Do you know what it means?"
She nodded, "The uniforms of Fauner Posen's soldiers. It means there is nobody in the castle that we can trust. Whoever is behind this attack clearly has some position within the Eisenfurst's army. Until we know more, making accusations would just invite further trouble." The female Musketeer paused and thought back to the previous day's hostile encounter with Captain Drozden, "It also means that I may know where we start an investigation of our own."
