"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.