Chapter 2

It took two more days for the family to arrive on Westerland. Ansbach didn’t think with envy about the group meeting the duke and princess at the spaceport. He tried not to think of anything at all as he marched the group up to the manor house. The hems of their pants were flecked with mud by time they arrived, and with that as an excuse, Ansbach walked into the servants quarters, down to the kitchen, and asked if anyone might spare a clothes brush for the men to pass around, to re-dignify themselves before the family arrived.

Lotti was elbow deep in a slaughtered turkey, pulling the intestines out. She dropped the inedible ones into a bowl for the dogs; the heart and liver were already out on a plate. She smiled at Ansbach as he asked the head footman for the favor, and then giggled when the footman ran off for it, leaving the two of them alone.

“Been a while,” Lotti said. “I thought you’d come to see me before now.”

“I thought the family was supposed to arrive yesterday.”

She giggled again. “Just because they’re late doesn’t mean that you can be.”

“I thought you said you were going to come see me.” He wasn’t accusing, and smiled at her. 

She didn’t take her hand out of the turkey, or her eyes off him. “I’ll figure something out. Will you be around?” The meaning of her question was clear: had he managed to get himself assigned to the house? He was surprised she asked, but he shouldn’t have been. A better man than he was would have been trying to get assigned to the house to see her. He hadn’t asked for her sake— it had been entirely for the sake of his career. It hardly mattered now, though.

Although he was annoyed at the only answer he had, he didn’t look away. “No, I’ve been told I’m needed down in town, rather than up here.”

“Needed? What could they possibly need you for? They don’t need you like I—” She stopped herself as the footman came back down, bearing the stiff-bristled brush.

“Isn’t it dangerous to flirt with soldiers?” the footman asked pointedly. “Don’t let Frau Alburg catch you at it. Or the cook.”

“He’s not a soldier, Josef— look at him,” Lotti said. “Don’t you remember Cartier?”

Josef blinked, and looked at Ansbach more closely as he handed the brush over. “Frau Ansbach’s son?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” And he took the brush, turning to go. He wished Lotti hadn’t brought it up.

“See,” Lotti said as Ansbach walked out the door. “He’s not dangerous.”

Ansbach stifled his scowl, turning it into a flat and neutral expression, robotic, as he tidied up his line of men and made sure they were presentable. The still-sneezing Marchand, he kept as far away from the others as possible, putting him on a horse at the back of the line.

They waited under the grey sky for a long time, an hour or more, not sure when they’d hear the thwup-thwup-thwup of the air car passing over the pitted surface of the road. When the noise finally came, the soldiers hastily dropped their cigarettes and ground them out in the mud. The lone footman, who had been stationed as a watch for the servants, quickly ran back in to summon the rest of the house staff, who came out and lined themselves up with the soldiers. Lotti, last up from the kitchen, and still wiping her hands on a towel that she carefully stuck down into her apron, snuck into the back of the procession just before the car arrived. She stood on her tiptoes to give Ansbach an appreciative look, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

The chunky military air car, hovering two feet or so off the ground, emerged from the forest and hissed to a stop before the house. The front door opened, releasing two soldiers, who leaped off it and ran around back to let down the short staircases and help the family out. The duke was young, in his forties, and dressed in— for him— casual country clothing. His wife, Princess Amarie, was wearing a spring dress, but had pulled a winter coat over top. Apparently, she had underdressed for the weather. Her daughter, Elizabeth, was eight (or so Ansbach guessed), and was poised like a lady to walk down the steps, as if she only deigned to hold her mother’s hand out of her own great magnanimity. The family was followed by a new dog, long legged and black, trotting at the girl’s heels and sniffing the unfamiliar wind. Its sharp nose pointed immediately off towards the kennels, but it followed in line without running off.

Ansbach, sparing a glance around at the servants and soldiers, who all oriented themselves towards the family like it had a magnetic draw, realized that with the girl growing older, this would likely be the last season that the family spent properly on Westerland for a while. Anyone who wished to change their place in life would be jostling to do it now, while the family was here. Once the child was in school, they would stay on Odin year round, and the duke would likely only return to the countryside for business. Some Braunschweig family cousin or nephew would be handed the daily reins, and the manor house would stand empty. The sense of desperation was not just in his own mind— everyone had it. He wondered if the family, followed out of the air car by the captain, noticed or cared.

Captain Moran called the soldiers to attention, and they all saluted as the Braunschweigs walked past. As they stepped by, it was Princess Amarie who scanned the faces of the servants and men, and she leaned over to whisper something to her husband.

“Thank you for this excellent greeting, Herr Ketter,” Braunschweig said to the butler. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And if I may say so, we have all been eager for your return, My Lord,” Herr Ketter said. “An empty house feels like it has no purpose.”

“Well said, well said.” Braunschweig glanced at Amarie, who pointed to Ansbach, who tried to ignore the gesture. Captain Moran didn’t ignore it, and stared first at the princess, and then at him. 

Braunschweig gestured Ansbach over. “Lieutenant—?”

“Lieutenant Ansbach, my lord,” he said with a salute.

“My former lady’s maid’s son,” Amarie said. “I was sorry to hear that I missed your mother’s funeral.”

“She knew you were thinking of her, Princess. And I was grateful to have the chance to return to see her, before she died.”

Amarie gave a polite nod in acknowledgement.

“You weren’t on the planet before?” Braunschweig asked. “Where were you stationed?” He looked again at Ansbach, the silver fabric of rank on his chest, as if he had never seen him before. It didn’t surprise him that the duke didn’t remember him, though they had spoken several times, and Ansbach had worked in the house alongside his mother for years. Maybe Lotti was correct, and he was unrecognizable.

“After my lord provided for my education—” Ansbach began, with a nod of acknowledgement to the duke, “You sent me to be placed among His Majesty’s troops, to gain experience before moving to your personal service. I was on Kapche-Lanka after graduating, at a ground station.”

“You saw combat there?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How did you like it?” Braunschweig seemed genuinely curious, inviting Ansbach to boast if he liked.

“I’m afraid on that planet, it’s hard to feel like or dislike, or anything other than cold, my lord,” Ansbach said. “I appreciated the opportunity to see combat. Many soldiers don’t get to, and don’t appreciate it when they do.”

“Certainly very few see ground combat— in His Majesty’s fleets, anyway. They only see the inside of ships.” Braunschweig said. He considered Ansbach before him. “But maybe it’s useful, in places like this…” He looked around, gaze encompassing all of Westerland.

Captain Moran, who had been listening to the conversation, laughed. “My lord, Westerland is the most peaceable planet in the Empire,” he said. “I doubt Cartier’s combat experience will do him much good. Even in Orrensburg, and especially not here.”

Braunschweig laughed. “Very true, Captain.” He was in a good mood, and he turned and went inside the house, his wife and daughter following without a second glance at Ansbach. 

He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything to Captain Moran. This would have been the opportunity to tell Braunschweig about his usefulness and his desire to not stay on Westerland, but Moran had seen the opportunity to cut him down, and taken it.

When the great doors of the house swung shut, and most of the servants hastened off to their duties, Moran turned to Ansbach. “See, no need to be up at the house,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” Ansbach said. He wasn’t stupid enough to say anything to the captain, but it burned him not to be. He turned away, and shouted to the soldiers to line up, save for the ones that Moran pulled out of line to staff the guard positions at the house.

Lotti leaned on the far western wall of the house, watching Ansbach from afar. When he ordered the group to move, she waved goodbye. Breaking his decorum, risking that someone else would notice, he nodded at her as they passed. She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

---

There was still plenty of work to do in order to settle the family in— all the servants that came with them between Odin and Westerland had to be brought back to the manor house in a truck, as did all of their belongings. Compared to the rather peaceful arrival of the air car, the trucks were loud and bumped across the roads with no grace whatsoever, passing through the town with honks at everyone to clear out of the way. Nevertheless, despite the chaos, once the work was done for the day, the mood in the barracks was brighter than Ansbach had ever seen it.

Captain Moran was off in the pub, as he usually was in the evenings, which left Ansbach with the handful of men who hadn’t gone to the pub and weren’t on duty. He sat on the armchair at the far side of the living quarters, a notebook on his lap. For lack of anything better to do, he was mentally going over some of his old wargames from school, trying to figure out different approaches he might have taken. This nostalgia bordered on pathetic— it was nostalgia, and he wasn’t learning anything new from the exercise. It simply served as an excuse to think of somewhere other than the run down barracks.

He was thinking about going for a walk, since being in the building was growing intolerable. It was too hot, and loud. The men were playing music on the ancient set of speakers, some data disk they had just traded one of the servants who came back from Odin for. It was melancholy, romantic music, and even though it was a rare novelty, the men playing it weren’t paying attention to it, and were yelling at each other over their card game. Their increasing agitation over the worn stack of colorful chips was discordant with the music.

“The widest sea, like her widened eyes, so far from me, so far she lies…”

“Can you fucking play the game without cheating?”

“I’m not cheating, look!”

“And there below, and there above, it starts to grow, my love, my love…”

“What is this shit?

“I swear I’m not!”

Ansbach tried to ignore it. The men were certainly ignoring him, off in the corner. He didn’t understand why they were getting so worked up— he had seen people play cards almost nightly since he’d arrived back on Westerland, and it had never devolved into a fight before. They didn’t usually even play for anything except chips, maybe tobacco, so there was nothing riding on the game worth getting angry about. There wasn’t any money on the table now, just the blue and red tokens in piles.

Idly, the analytical part of Ansbach’s brain, which he couldn’t turn off despite how much he wanted to ignore the card players, noted that all of them around the table had accompanied Captain Moran to the city, and then come back with the trucks of the family’s belongings. One of them was also the owner of the data disk with the weepy romantic music. The anger was unlike them, too. The pieces slotted together neatly to form a theory in his mind, though he had no proof.

On the far other side of the room, still sitting next to the stove and shivering, was Marchand, the flu-stricken. The youngest guy at the table, named Vogel, kept trying to invite Marchand to join the card game, but he kept shaking his head no. 

When the dealer was shouted down for some reason, and the stack of cards was passed to another man, Ansbach finally was fed up with the noise and stood up. He walked over to Marchand. “Feeling any better?”

Marchand looked at the card players, feeling guilty about speaking with Ansbach. “A little, sir.”

“You’re still shivering like you’re freezing to death.”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“Come with me for a minute.”

The card players were ignoring them. In fact, one had stood up and was threatening to leave the game. Ansbach wondered if it was about to turn into a brawl. But their distraction allowed Marchand to leave the room with him. Once again, he brought Marchand to his room and found him the bottle of fever reducers. He shook a few more out onto his hand and passed them over.

“If this doesn’t clear up in the next couple days, I am going to order you to see the doctor,” Ansbach said. 

“I’ll be fine, sir,” he said. Now that he was away from his fellows, he was grateful for the medicine, and smiled at Ansbach. “It’s just a cold, the captain says.”

“You should go to sleep. You’re not on duty, and you’re not playing cards. No reason not to.”

“I know, sir.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I—” He couldn’t think of a good answer. Ansbach tried not to narrow his eyes. “Guess I just like to see who’s winning, sir.”

“Why? It’s not like they’re betting on anything real, are they?”

Marchand wasn’t a stupid man, but the fever and tiredness had muddled his thoughts, and he was too slow to deny it. “The captain doesn’t mind, sir.”

Ansbach raised his eyebrows. “And what, exactly, are they betting on? Something that’s come back with the family from Odin?”

Marchand’s face flushed— this was some kind of dangerous territory that he had stumbled into, and he realized it, though it was too late for him to course correct. “I don’t know, sir. It’s got nothing to do with me. I’m not a gambler.”

This was true enough— he had never seen Marchand actually play cards, and the soldier who had been encouraging him to join the game had used a mocking tone. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to reassure the nervous Marchand. Ansbach just nodded. “Well, you should get some sleep.”

“Thank you, sir.” And he scurried off down the hallway towards the shared enlisted mens’ rooms, glancing behind him once to see if, for some reason, Ansbach was following.

 Before he locked his room back up, he got out his carton of Odin cigarettes, and then he went back out to the main room. One of the card players had stormed off, and the others were grumbling about it, counting the chips and writing down tallies on scraps of paper that they tucked into their pockets.

“Done playing?” Ansbach asked. He was thoroughly ignored, which was for the best. 

He headed outside, and leaned on his favorite spot on the eastern wall, rolling his cigarette around in his fingers for a moment before he lit it. It was cold outside, and dark. Westerland didn’t have a moon, so the only thing that lit the desolate little townscape were its own lights: flickering lamps seen through the windows, and electric light on a select few buildings. The milky way sprawled up above, a familiar sight. Ansbach shivered, then lit his cigarette.

Off in the very far distance, down near one of the fields, he spotted a light, flashing. Like a hand held in front of a candle, bright-dark-bright-dark. It was a signal, a clumsy one. He looked around himself and found the street was deserted. He was the only one that could possibly be a recipient of the message. Out of paranoia and habit more than anything else, he patted his holster and checked to make sure he had his sidearm. Even on Westerland, he was an officer, with the privileges that entailed.

Leisurely, he walked towards the flashing light. It was a quarter mile away, down near a copse of apple trees, all still bare this early in the season. The bearer of the flashing light, sitting at the base of one of the trees, became clear. Lotti stood up and waved at him. The sight of her was expected, but the relief that accompanied it was not. He smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” she said with a laugh. “You’re easy to see, you know. In the light.” She pointed at the silver of the uniform on his chest.

“How did you know I would be outside?”

“Oh, I know everything, everything. I knew you’d come.” She stepped forward, leaving her lantern on the ground, and draped her arms over his shoulders. “But I guess I was wrong about one thing— I thought for sure you’d ask the duke to let you guard the house.”

“I wanted to. But I would have been told no. He doesn’t need an officer for that,” Ansbach said. But her face was so close to his now that he could do nothing but kiss her, which made her laugh into his mouth. She traced her hands over his sides appreciatively, and he pulled her down so they could sit together on the blanket she laid out on the ground. It was cold, and the ground was soft with mud, but he hardly noticed, except when his cold hands snuck under the hem of her dress, and then past her stockings, touching the bare flesh of her thighs and making her yelp.

“You’re so cold,” she said. She laughed again, but swatted his hands away. He obeyed, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

“How did you even get away from the house?” he asked. “I thought that was impossible.”

“There were so many dishes after the welcome dinner that all needed to be washed,” she said. “The cook went to bed and it was just me. I have a little time before anyone notices I’m not doing dishes n’more.”

“Lucky me.”

“Not so lucky me,” she said with another laugh. “I still have all them pots to wash.”

“You probably shouldn’t have snuck out here, then.”

“I wanted to see you.”

He tipped his head and asked, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” she asked. She was accusatory. “You’d think I didn’t like you or something.”

The bark of the tree scratched the back of his head as he leaned against it and looked up at the sky. “No, you’re just the only person who’s wanted to talk to me at all.” And this was the first time they had been able to truly talk in private. The rareness of the occasion put him in a confessional mood. “I’ve been here for months and I think I’ve said less than a thousand words to anyone, and they’ve said as much to me.”

“If they’re all scareda you, that’s stupid,” she said. “You’re not any different from when you left.”

“I’m not?” It wasn’t fear, anyway, Ansbach thought. It was jealousy. Jealousy of something he didn’t even have.

“Taller,” she said. “That’s all.” She lay down so that her head was in his lap, then reached for his cold left hand and pressed it to her cheek. “And your hands are colder.”

“How would you know what my hands were like?” he asked. Teasing, he tugged on her hair. “You weren’t interested in me before.”

“I’m not thirteen anymore, either,” she said. “And I was interested— like you say. I just didn’t know it.”

He thought she was probably lying, but he let her have her lie. “Lotti—”

“And I had years of hearing Frau Ansbach talk all bout how her son’s doing so well, how smart you are, all that. I liked your mother, so I couldn’t help but be a little ‘deared.” She lost the ‘en’ on endeared. It was charming— she laughed at herself. “You were a nice thing to think about, I suppose. Could imagine you doing anything, off on some adventure. And then I imagined you coming back here, and so here you are.”

“Here I am.” He was silent for a little while. She let go of his hand, and he carded his fingers through her hair, making her sigh. It was easy to feel the animalistic want, the same as any two dogs lying together— she was so close, warm, pretty, and willing. If he tried again to touch her, this time she would let him. Her face was hot where his hand lay, and she was sweating as if she had a fever, breathing loudly. When he ran his fingers down her neck, he could feel her pulse, and she shivered and pressed herself against him.

He shouldn’t have let things go this far.

“I’m not planning to stay on Westerland,” he said. “When I get the chance, I’m going to ask the duke to assign me somewhere else.”

She didn’t sound convinced. “And how’re you going to do that?”

“I’ll figure something out. I did it once.”

“Your mother did it for you, once,” she pointed out.

“True.”

She pulled his hand back to her lips. “S’alright,” she said. “You’re planning to go out in the universe. I imagined you on too many adventures, knew too many things, you have to go make them come true now.”

“Sure. That’s it.” The childishness was grating. He pressed his head against the tree again.

Lotti’s voice was suddenly quite sober. “You do that,” she said. “But when you’re done, where are you planning to go, hm?”

“I wasn’t planning to be done.”

“Gonna die in space, then?”

“I hope not.”

“Then you’ll come back here eventually.”

Ansbach was silent.

“You do live here,” she pointed out. “Everywhere else, you’re just assigned .”

He nodded, and said nothing.

“It’s your home, you know.”

“I’m not going to marry you, Lotti,” he said.

“Did I ask?” she replied, trying to sound more affronted than disappointed.

She didn’t protest when he kept stroking her hair.

“I don’t think Odin could be that much better than here,” she said.

“It’s not,” he admitted. His eyes were closed and his voice was low. “It’s just bigger.”

Curious despite herself, she said, “With more women in it.”

“A few,” he admitted.

“Serious ones?”

“Nothing serious,” he said. He hoped she wouldn’t ask any further questions on the matter— the idea of describing his two school flirtations made him wince. Both had been bad ideas, though Lotti was a worse, and more dangerous one. She was the only one that had the possibility of going anywhere.

“Hm. Alright.” She sighed, then asked, “Why’d you come back here, anyway? If you just want to leave again?”

He closed his eyes. “Lots of reasons.”

“Not just your mother?”

“Mostly.” He could be honest with her, but he found it hard to find words for the feeling. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right. But what about?”

“That this is where I’m from. I didn’t ever tell anyone, when I was at school. I let them think I’d grown up on Odin somewhere.” The sentences came out halting, childlike and unpracticed— when was the last time he had spoken to anyone like this? Not his mother. Maybe Gautier, two years ago, when the two of them had been drunk at school. Nobody since then. And after they graduated, he fell out of touch with everyone.

“Why not?” She lifted her hand, brushed it across his face, then further back, to touch the rough bark of the apple tree. “This place can’t be worse than any other.”

He shook his head.

She let the conversation lapse, though it was certainly far from over. She would let him keep playing with her hair, would continue to follow him and give him a reason to stay on the planet. An officer’s salary was a stable thing for a wife to rely on, and a pension if he died. A married woman would be able to move out of the servants’ quarters, into a house of her own. There would be status around town, a way to move forward in life. Even if Ansbach found a way to live on Odin, if they were married, she would be able to come with him. It was a very simple calculus, and it even helped that they had known each other as children, that they liked each other now. She trusted him because she knew him.

It would be a pleasant life, even. Better than most people got.

He understood it perfectly well. In the same way that he pinned his sights on Duke Braunschweig, she pinned hers on him. She wanted to make herself necessary to him, and he had to find a way to make himself useful to the duke. This problem distracted him, and he turned it over in his mind for a while. 

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Not until you marry me,” she mumbled, then laughed. She had been on the verge of falling asleep, despite the chill of the night. “What is it?”

“Some of the men in the barracks were betting on something that came back with the family from Odin. Can you find out what it is? I think one of the staff must be selling it.”

“I’m not a spy, Cartier,” she said. “I’m busy enough working.”

“Fine.”

She sighed. “But I’ll keep my eyes out. I can’t make any promises, though.”

“Thank you.”

“It just means if I find something out, I’ll have an excuse to see you again.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, which made her giggle. She struggled to sit up straight, and stretched her stiff arms and back.

“I’ll find a way. There’s opportunities.” She yawned, then turned towards him. She pressed both her hands against his chest. She thought about saying something— he could see it in the way her mouth opened— but she decided against it, and she just leaned forward and kissed him again. “I’ll find a way.”

She was thinking, I’ll find a way to change your mind, too . But Ansbach tried not to think about that, and how close he was to letting her.