Giogoula Giorgios

"Do what you must, I'm gonna search for him," Giogoula said to Aden and Le Marinier. Before the ramp closed, she went down the rope line and landed on the ground on her feet. She didn't really like sliding down the rope line but Carter is on the loose and she does not want to be far behind that man. Reaching the surface, she saw the mess likely made by Carter. She helped a soldier up who was rubbing his cheeks and was about to ask him if he had seen a bloodied man running but the mess and the sound of gunshots and screams sort of gave her a clue where Carter was.

While sprinting, she saw a couple of soldiers patrolling along the river embankment with their rifles unslung. They appear to be looking for something in the water.

"Excuse me, what is going on, did a bloodied man run through here?" She asked with some innocence in her voice. One of the soldiers turned to her.

"The bloodied man who jumped from the airship and caused a mess in this area? Sure, we think he fell into the river embankment though," he answered, pointing at the water. Giogoula stared at the river embankment and pinched her nose at the smell.

"The fool has either drowned or is getting all the stink mixed in with the blood," the soldier replied. "We'll find his body soon."

"Thank you sir," Giogoula replied and walked alongside the river, taking a glance at any sign of a body. Like the soldiers searching, she saw nothing but the currents. If Carter jumped into the river and hadn’t drowned yet or died from additional injuries, where would he be? He may try and lay low but he is in a foreign place. For a foreigner without a lot of resources, he may try to reach his country’s embassy. It would be a logical location based on her experience. Foreign nationals would seek assistance from their embassies many times. She also remembered when the city police were out tracking down a notorious counterfeiter from Kraine, caught him when he was trying to make a run for the Krainian embassy. If the soldiers at the river embankment already found Carter, that would be nice, but she will take her chances waiting at the embassy. The only time she might smell filth there would be an indicator of Carter’s arrival.

She would have to call someone, maybe Arkadios or Volodar to meet her at the location. She doesn't know where Arkadios is currently located but she remembered that Volodar is staying at a local hotel.

"Guess I'll call the Elgan," she thought to herself. A mass of troops were heading through the streets, to the direction of the airship port. Giogoula paused for a second at the sight of the soldiers before quickening her steps. There is no time to waste now, she should make the call as soon as she can.

The Inburian policewoman stopped at a nearby building with a receptionist inside with a telephone. After politely asking, the receptionist allowed her to make a call. Through the operator, she waited until someone from the hotel picked up.

"Hello, I would like to send a message to one of your guests, Volodar Naesandoral. Inform him to wait for Carter at the Commonwealth embassy," Giogoula said before hanging up the phone. Thanking the receptionist, she then asked for the location of the Ardellian embassy before heading out. She would have to wait for Volodar there and maybe intercept the Mainer before he arrives.

Aden never found whether Zoe had followed his earlier advice to stay in as his eye caught movement out a porthole. A column of uniforms making steady headed to the airship.

Normally, Aden would have attributed such a movement to the daily life of the aerodrome. But Carter’s stunt and the event surrounding it had made his blood pressure spike. Alarm bells rung at the back of his head as the private spun in a boot and hurried for the airship’s main passageway.

Stopping briefly on his route to slip his R-01M over his back; from where it had been resting neatly against his bunk. Then it was back to the frigid air of the gantry and the now familiar thunk of the catwalk as his machine gun post grew nearer.

Below the formation of soldiers was closer. The angle was awkward but the gun’s mount was very lenient. The private peering over the oversized sight as he settle in.

He had no intention of firing first. But he also had no intention of dying here. Shot up over a pile of gold that technically belonged to no one at the moment.

The fact that the post he currently manned was the one he had been shot at during the last firefight over the gold; was not lost on him.

Instead, he shoved the bundle of worry and laid a hand on a charging handle. Waiting.

The stone maintenance platform along the embankment was narrow, damp, and stained green in places from years of algae accumulation. Two older Mitteland fishermen stood near the railing with their lines cast out, buckets beside them, boots planted carefully on the slick surface. This had been their go to spot for years, ever since being kids, many things had changed since then but this platform remained virtually untouched. A small pillar to remind them of better times.

“You hear about the Calarians?” one of them asked, adjusting his cap, “Word is they pushed through another front...”

The other shrugged without looking up from his reel, “They’ve been ‘pushing through’ for weeks now. Doesn’t mean we’re marching tomorrow.”

“If Inbur folds entirely, we won’t have much choice.”

“We always have a choice. Whether anyone asks us is another matter.”

The first man snorted softly and spat into the river.

Their lines drifted in silence for a few seconds before something disrupted the current near the wall. At first it looked like debris, maybe a sack or broken crate. Then it moved wrong.

“Hold on,” the second fisherman muttered, leaning closer, “That’s a man.”

The figure moved closer and a hand slapped against the stone edge, followed by another. The soaked figure dragged himself up onto the platform, coughing hard and collapsing onto one knee.

The two fishermen moved without hesitation.

“Easy there boy,” one said, grabbing the man under the arm, “Don’t fall back in.”

They hauled him upright and eased him against the embankment wall. Up close, they could see blood mixing with the trail of water beneath him, it was also running off his clothes.

“By the Dawnbringer,” the first man muttered, “You’ve been shot.”

Carter didn’t answer immediately. He pulled off his wet jacket with a stiff groan, revealing the graze along his upper left arm still leaking red. It wasn’t deep, but it hadn’t stopped bleeding either.

The second fisherman closed in to examine it with a squint, "Few inches either way and you’d have had real trouble. You’re one lucky kerl.”

“Luck’s not the word I'd use,” Carter muttered, his Mainer accent stood out immediately.

The first man noticed the pistol still holstered at the man side but didn’t comment directly. Instead, he began tearing a strip from a clean rag in his satchel.

“You want to explain what kind of trouble drops a man into the river bleeding?” he asked while pressing the cloth gently against the wound.

Carter gave a dry breath that might have been a laugh, “The kind you don’t stick around for.”

The fishermen exchanged a look but didn’t press further. The rag was wrapped tight enough to help slow the bleeding.

“You need a doctor,” the second man said.

“I need directions,” Carter replied, “Ardellian embassy.”

That got a pause, but then the first fisherman nodded slowly. “Once you’re up top, head away straight up the street, then may a left at Saddenter park, the one with the big kiosk. The foreign quarter's up that road. Blue-and-gold flag on the building, hard to miss once you’re near it.”

Carter absorbed that, steadying himself against the wall as he stood up. His left leg wobbled before catching his weight.

“You should sit a few minutes,” the second man advised, “You’re still shaking.”

“I can’t,” Carter said simply.

The first fisherman dug into his bag again and pulled out a wrapped sandwich, “Take this then, it's pork. You look like you haven’t eaten.”

Carter hesitated only a second before accepting it, “Thank you.”

“Try not to bleed on the stone,” the second man said dryly as he prepared himself a smoke.

Carter gave them a brief nod of gratitude, adjusted the bandage once more, and started up the narrow stairway leading off the embankment and back toward the streets.

The fishermen watched him go.

“He won’t make it far if they’re looking,” one said quietly.

“Maybe,” the other replied. “But he’s still walking.”

And they returned to their lines.

Turn a corner, and there it was.

Kouyialis had seen a few airships in his time with the Army - Observation Corps had enjoyed them, used balloons here and there, though such had generally been unpowered, tethered, non-rigid designs meant to just be hauled up and down a ground station. They’d always been smaller, too, nothing quite like what he saw before him. No, this was a long type, zeppelin with two distinct gondolas. They’d docked the vessel with a mast in the field, a few tents dotting about its base for the storage of materials and the like. It’d been brought lower to the ground, too, with a number of mooring lines set taut against the ground to further-off stakes, while one of the gondolas had a cargo ramp open.

A few figures dotted here and there, some at the ramp, some at the tents. Further off, near the river Inn, he could see men moving along the bank, set as they were with the other buildings as the water. Those silhouettes, Kouyialis could see rifles and krätzchen caps, distinct enough to be mistaken for very little else; the rifles, though, weren’t shouldered. Something had happened, the Hadnagy could tell it, and another pass by the eyes told him something else. One of the tents had been caved-in, drooped as it was on one side, while he could pick-out a figure set in one of the gondolas with one of the machineguns. A figure seemed to stand watch at the cargo ramp. Something had happened.

“Company, halt!”

They came to a rolling stop. The other Lieutenants came up alongside him, jogging the way as the man’s eyes narrowed. Something had happened, and it seemed like the area was at some alert or another. They’d doubtless gotten no word on the order from the Vezérőrnagy, that would make things far too easy, and doubtless again if they had been capable of receiving that word they would have sent word about the problem, whatever it had been, that had forced a tent to be broken and soldiers to be set along the river bank.

“What is it, Kouyialis?” Giorgiou’s cigarette had already been smoked in half, and he took another long pull. His own eyes danced around the scene before them, and the man swallowed.

“Something has happened…and besides, if nothing has, then whoever mans the zeppelin needs to be told on the transfer. Come on. Szakaszvezető!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Grab one of those fucking soldiers. At the water’s edge, you see? Have him over here, I want to know what he’s doing.”

“Sir!”

As the four men started their walk up to the zeppelin, Mihail set off in a brisk run with rifle unslung, held down low to parallel with the ground. He started yelling for one of the men, whoever was in charge of that whole ordeal, maybe a few dozen steps into his run. Kouyialis could see heads turn quick, one of the men turning their head back and forth a few times before starting a lazy jog to the group of Hadnagy. Mihail turned quick enough to run for the group of men as well, and Kouyialis paused as the man from the river came huffing up.

“Sergeant…Sergeant Amadou, sir.” The man gave a salute as he shouldered his rifle, which was duly returned. He could see from the corner of his eye Mihail coming up soon after, his steps slowing as he came close.

“Sergeant. What has happened? Why are you at the river’s edge?”

“Sir, I obediently report a man attempted thievery at the airship, and jumped from it onto a tent before escaping to the river. He was shot. We’ve been combing it for him.”

A pause. Already, some fool had tried to steal from it? What in all the stars' names had there been on that thing which had prompted such a quick thievery? What foolishness had there been that…well. That was something else entirely. Kouyialis took a deep breath. “Have the police been notified?”

“Well, uh…no, sir.”

Another pause. He could hear one of the other men swallow as well. “What’s his description?”

“Moderate height, brown hair, beard. An Ardellian, sir. ‘James Carter’.”

A fucking new worlder. Of course. “Send a man to inform the police. Tell them to set outside the Ardellian embassy. Move your men down the current, Sergeant, the Inn isn’t so fucking lazy as to keep garbage where it’s thrown. And ask the fishermen while you’re at it. They pick up trash all the time. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Sir!” And with a salute, the Sergeant had turned about and already started running his way to the handfuls of men along the river. Kouyialis could see them staring for a brief period. Idiots, he swore, about idiots thinking that the river would keep still instead of moving as it does. Even he, a country boy, knew as much as the river current.

Another exhale. “Let’s go, then.”

They kept walking, walking up to the cargo ramp and the rest of it. Some men seemed to take notice, smoking as they were around a little tin, sitting on various boxes. Others, far less so. Everyone seemed far too relaxed for the idea that some absolute idiot had tried to steal from the airship soon enough that fool soldiers were combing the river's edge. Kouyialis exhaled his anger out at it. He’d need to talk to the man who had decided such was a good idea.

They stopped some ways off from the airship, the Mittelander looking up at the man in the gondola at the machinegun. He called out, giving volume to his voice.

“Who commands this airship? Send them out.”

Ambassador Crane was already moving by the time Itzi caught up to him in the corridor and shrugged into a dark overcoat as they walked, adjusting the cuffs with ease. A staff attendant stepped forward and without explanation, handed Itzi a plain white coat.

“For you,” Crane said over his shoulder, “Best not to stand out.”

She stared at it, “From what?”

“From yourself,” he replied mildly and continued on.

That did not answer the question. She thought in annoyance. Still, she slipped it on, the fabric felt smooth and clean, it felt strange over her oily damp clothes.

They descended a narrow stairwell at the rear of the embassy and emerged into a compact garage. Two automobiles waited there. They bored lacquered bodies with brass lamps and narrow wheels. One was adorned with small polished emblems near the grill and carried itself with obvious diplomatic pride. The other was darker and stripped entirely of embellishment, less noticeable.

Itzi stopped for half a second to admire the two vehicles. Crane noticed.

“Langford touring cars,” he said with fondness edging on pride, “Early models... I like 'em better. Acquiring them required a great deal of patience. Fortunately, the Evig Company appreciates discretion.”

“You have two,” she said.

“One for being seen,” he replied, nodding toward the polished one then gestured to the darker one, “And one for not.”

Before she could respond, the garage door creaked open behind them. The same corporal who had stood silent at the library stepped in, now without his blues but rather in a simple dark suit, sleeves rolled slightly.

He looked different out of uniform, but Itzi recognized him immediately.

“Alright,” she said, irritation surfacing again, “What is going on?”

“Diplomatic channels are slow,” Crane wasted no time, “And Mr. Carter’s situation is deteriorating by the minute. If he is injured and moving through the city alone, he is vulnerable. Our best chance is to locate him before local authorities do.”

“You’re going after him?” she puzzled.

“We are going to attempt to intercept him,” Crane corrected, “The corporal knows the city exceptionally well.”

The corporal gave a small nod but said nothing.

“Time is the deciding factor,” Crane continued. “If we move quickly, we may prevent this from becoming… complicated.”

Itzi did not argue. The corporal opened the rear door of the darker Langford and Crane gestured for her to enter first. She slid into the back seat, scanning the garage entrance as if Carter might stumble through it.

Crane followed as the corporal closed the door behind him and took the driver’s position, cranking the engine and the vehicle rattled to life.

Moments later the rear garage doors opened and the automobile rolled out into the narrow service alley behind the embassy, turning toward the broader streets.

Inside the car, Crane settled back against the leather seat.

“You are far from Hunya,” he observed.

She glanced at him but kept her attention on the passing streets.

“How did such a determined young woman end up here?” he asked.

Itzi hesitated, then answered plainly.

“I grew up on a farm outside the capital. Big family. Not much schooling. We worked from when we could walk.” She shrugged lightly, “It wasn’t bad... Just too small for me.”

"And I suppose you preferred to venture out into a larger world?" Crane inquired.

“My parents didn’t like it,” she said, “But they liked the idea of money coming back home.”

"I convinced an air captain to take me on despite not being able to read at the time. I kept sending wages home and returned when I could.

Crane listened without interruption.

“I was in Inbur when the Calarians shelled the port,” she finished. “Warehouse next to our ship went up. I wasn’t aboard...”

She kept an empty gaze for a second, Crane noticed.

“And the gold?” the ambassador prompted.

She exhaled lightly, “Wrong place, rght time, or the other way around maybe. We helped move it, we fought to protect it. Now everyone wants it nd Carter thinks promises won’t be kept.”

Her eyes shifted to the streets again.

“He’s not wrong to be angry, but he isn't the smartest...” she added quietly.

Crane studied her profile for a moment, then seemed to reconsider whatever remark he had been preparing.

He tapped lightly on the driver's seat, “Circle the quarter first,” he instructed the corporal, “Then widen out.”

The corporal acknowledged with a brief nod, adjusting the wheel as the Langford turned down another street.

Crane retrieved a slim cigarette case from his pocket, opened it, and lit one.

The smoke curled through the cabin as he spoke again, tone more resigned than before.

“We are now operating on minutes,” he said. “If Mr. Carter is thinking clearly, he will head toward us. If he is not…”

He let the thought hang.

Itzi leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed ahead as if she could will Carter into view.

“He’ll head here,” she said.

The car rolled steadily through the city streets, blending into the traffic.

Giogoula Giorgiou and Volodar Naesandoral
Cowritten @Bingelly

Giogoula finally made it to the Ardellian embassy after 30 minutes of walking and asking passerby’s for directions. She hopes that Volodar got her message and is either there or on his way. If he’s not there, then she would have to wait for him and Carter, whom she expects would smell like polluted water, if he’s not already dead.

She scanned around at the embassy exterior, eventually founding an elderly looking Elgavolk in a military jacket leaning against a pole while smoking a pipe. As she got closer, she noticed a scabbard barely visible underneath his coat.

“That’s him,” Giogoula said to herself, getting closer to Volodar while waving her left hand to get his attention. The elga nodded back, after a puff of his pipe and turned to approach Giogoula with an obvious scowl.

"Ms. Giorgiou," he answered once close enough. "So, I presume that the Ardellian's lack of good sense finally overruled any self-preservation left in the man, though he has not been here yet. "

He reached into his pocket and produced a pocket watch. He glanced at the dial before returning it to his vest. "It has been about a quarter of an hour since I arrived. I suspect he must have gotten waylaid. He would not have made it here that quickly without a horse or a car."

“Your presumption is correct, sir,” she answered and explained everything to the Elgavolk, including Carter being wounded by Malloy’s rifle, the failed apprehension by her, Private Robertson, and Le Marinier, and soldiers seeing a man matching his description jumping in the river.

“I figure that if he managed to survive getting shot and falling from an airship, evaded capture by the army, and doesn’t want to hide under bridges like a troll in a fairy tale for the rest of his life, he would probably held over to this embassy for assistance,” she said, looking around for any sign of the Mainer.

"What a damned fool," Volodar scoffed as he glanced down the other side of the street. He drew another puff from the pipe before continuing. "Would you would prefer we merely apprehend him? The embassy might have a complaint if we were to cut down one of their nationals mere yards from their sovereign soil."

“Likely apprehend him if we could handle the stench,” Giogoula agreed. “He attempted to steal from the Imperial treasury when the Empire needs them the most and I’m pretty certain he attacked a few Mittlelander soldiers along the way. He would have to face justice for this mess, even if the embassy complains.”

“That being said,” she added. “I have seen a column of Mittlelander soldiers on the direction to where the airship is docked while I was searcher for Carter. I don’t know what’s about to happen but I hope Arkadios or whoever is there can handle whatever is to come.”

"They shall handle it, I'm sure," Volodar replied. "And if the cur proves resistant, we can cripple the man then send for the shariq woman to keep him alive. Assuming, of course, that she hasn't spent her time working miracles at a hospital."

“We definitely need that Shariq girl if we want him alive since the Mainer is already wounded,” Giogoula said. She looked at the gate of the embassy. “I wonder if the gate is the only entrance to the embassy or if there are opportunities for the Mainer to sneak in.”

She turned to the elga. “There could be side or back gates to the embassy. Should I look around and check?”

"I'm sure there are other entrances, Ms. Giorgiou," he nodded. "But it would be wise to know where they are. I'll keep watch on the street."

“I’ll be right back,” she said and walked to the east of the building, soon away from Volodar’s view. If something happens, she would have to make a rush back to the front gate for help.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Telagrams and Talks.
.455 Hot

Airship.

...

Stabd off.

“Embassy” He confirmed as someone was patched over the airships comms, the wireless code he hoped to not have to use. “Lions rise, dragons fall. Le Mariner. 16356HM” He gave the code and his service number as he waited for the call to connect with someone able to help.

“Yes.. il hold.”, He waited a minute to relay the message as someone ran into the office. “Copy. This is the Embassy.” The clipped reply came with the sound of a scratching pencil. “report. One James Carter, commercial Captain Carter, Commonwealth of Ardell. Assaulted a soldier on guard, Favis army. Tried to take gold aboard airship, that airship. Treasury gold. Wounded, believed shot. Need provost to attempt to render aid, capture. Armed, pistol known. Maybe others after him. Be discreet.” He said, Carter had assaulted the Favis medic to try and steal the gold, so they could acquire him first and he really would like a word with the man about why he would do such a desperate act. “Local Forces may be headed your way. Be careful Captain." The man replied before he killed the line.

The man on other end could read between the lines he gave, they would render aid..but…they also had reason to capture him first, and being first gave them a advantage of initiative in thr fucked up situation. They would have the facts first and be positioned to act, and not react to the news.

…

“Hold here. Something is up. I'll check it out, lad, I need you on duty.” He said to the young medic and moved to find a view outside near the access ramp way. He was calm and maybe a little presumptuous but he treated him like he was responsible but also trying to lessen the severity of the request.

…

Marines donned muted suits and over coats, badges with a clear P and Favis coat of arms where available and sworn in. This would be done quietly unlike the reports from passers by that other diplomatic missions were busy and soldiers headed in force to the port. That was loud. They were quieter and would move to try and catch the man who was rapidly becoming a prime target for everyone.

…

“I just wanted a good meal on someone else's dime.” He said the Post Captain walked through the corridor to the main access way, altered by the fact that some one was demanding a comander… and far as he knew, most where out and by sheer bad luck he could be deemed responsible for this whole mess.

Peaking round, a man could not be too careful when rifles were loaded and armed men were jumpy. He saw a group and a figure who must be in charge of this little group. A Junior officer

“Keep your guns down, I'm coming out.” The Favis Post Captain said, straightening his uniform as he grabbed a decent jacket from the uniform he had acquired at the embassy to at least look presentable. “Post Captain, Hamelin Le Mariner approaching, Favis Diplomatic military attache to Inbur and attached to local consulate in regards to cities fall.”

He said and walked out into the ramp, it took all his nerve to walk out into the open, no cover to a bunch of armed men who he did not know the intent of but he did. He walked down and looked across as far as his one eye would allow to scan the flanks and those who might be lurking. “I am not the official captain, but I can talk with you.” He said and placed his hand on the rail of the access bridge with a good hand looking at the now realised older army officer than some.

“What brings you armed and escorted to our door?” He asked politely but firmly, keen to get to business and to avoid postering or misunderstanding. He kept with the ship's tradition of remaining “aboard” and blocked access as he assumed, he was expected to be responsible to the whole damn air ship by fate's default? Why him? But duty was duty. He did not falter even as his leg hurt, ears rang a little from shots and he felt his old wounds flare up slightly.



@Thayr

“Keep your guns down, I'm coming out.”

“Post Captain, Hamelin Le Mariner approaching, Favis Diplomatic military attache to Inbur and attached to local consulate in regards to cities fall.”

The men watched as another came to the cargo ramp. The man looked to be at least middle-aged, something of a leather quality all told, wearing a more-than-fanciful jacket. If Kouyialis were to guess, the item was for their dinner dress uniform, and he did have to dress because for all the issues and faults of the man, he had never quite studied the Favis uniforms to any grand degree. That the man had taken the time to grab such a jacket, or have such a jacket on-hand while the whole of the issue with Mr Carter had unfolded was curious, but not unexpected. Perhaps he simply felt a good need to put a good face out for the Mittelanders. Perhaps.

Of course, his comments elected a quiet, more than discrete chuckle from Nicou. ‘Keep your guns down’ indeed - they still had every rifle shouldered, and Kouyialis hadn’t entertained the idea of actually, immediately trying to take the airship by force. If he had, he certainly would have taken the time to muster a machinegun or three; the idea of artillery came briefly to mind, but then they were in the middle of the city and such actions would doubtless go poorly with both the civilian population and the chain of command. But he would have at least brought machineguns to do such a thing, and that thing hadn’t quite been implied as necessary by the Vezérőrnagy. Why was this Post Captain so concerned?

That the man was of Favis, and not say Inburian, was more than curious. The Hadnagy had been led to believe that the vessel was Inburian, and that therefore it would have something of an Inburian of rank whether that be military or one of that nation’s convoluted noble ranks. As a Mittelander who had never spent time there, Kouyialis wasn’t quite sure if Inbur was convoluted for its nobility, but he was more or less certain that the place could be no worse than Mitteland in that regard. Then again, it was entirely likely that the nation was as bad as Mitteland, but that also the great myriad of noble ranks actually could wield some power every now and again, which as an idea was far worse. Yet, in any case, Kouyialis watched well and kept his mouth shut. That the man was of Favis was curious, and gave him all the less leverage in any talks.

“I am not the official captain, but I can talk with you.”

“What brings you armed and escorted to our door?”

”Hadnagy Kouyialis, of the Royal Army of Mitteland, replied the man, giving as best a salute as possible. The man, Favis or no, was a Captain in any regard and so, a salute was more than expected under the circumstances. As soon as it was returned, though, the salute was dropped, Kouyialis taking a more or less at-attention pose as he continued.

The man swallowed, taking some little pause. ”Post Captain Le Mariner, I must inform you that by order of Vezérőrnagy Kyriacou, Commanding Officer of the Elvesland Military District, I am authorized command of this airship for the purposes of its security and for the security of Inbur. Your service to Favis, and to Inbur, are to be commended - but the latter is no longer necessary.” He considered that such finality was, perhaps, not to be desired under such circumstances. The man might for some reason or another feel some attachment to the vessel, or to Inbur itself, and feel that his honor would need satisfaction that the whole issue would come to a close with a reasonable degree of completion. There were some nations with men like that, men whose duty did not end at the letter of the law but rather the intent. Was Favis one of these? Perhaps. Kouyialis was unsure. It was best to be safe, all told. Clearing his throat, the Mittelander added, ”I am sure that, should Favis enter a more formal agreement with Inbur on the status of this airship, that your continued aid would be more than helpful. But the immediate emergency of the vessel and its escape is no longer upon you.”

He considered something or another. It might be good to bring up the other issues as well. ”I am told you have already had a breach of security. A Mr Carter. Is that correct, Post Captain?”

Post Captain Le Marinier

Telagrams and Talks.
.455 Hot

Airship.

...

Stabd off.

Returning the salute he had respected his rank regardless of different nationalities so it was right to do the same in response. Getting a better look at the man, his rank Lt..captain ish equivalent ... .that was about right he hoped anyway, he was not 100% on the ranks of the Royal Armies, Navies and such of Mitterland, they had their own structures and culture. It was below Post Captain, he saluted first, that was clear at least.

He dropped to less formal but more attentive posture and kept a hand resting on the rail, claiming the ship, at least until he handed it over. He was claiming to take command of the airship, from the authority of the country's military, that it was all well and food but they needed paper work. “May I confirm your orders, then I will let you take command. On certain conditions.”

He paused and took time to think. “Simple terms allow those aboard to take what is their own. Respect their property and the captain of this vessel. There is also an excellent Favis brandy and others aboard that I would like to repatriate. I would also ask you to take care of her, she is a good ship.” He said and finished with a very navy request, air ship or not he felt a certain thing about respecting the ship.

“I shall talk to my representatives here in the city, I'm sure issues can be worked out.” He said more calmly now glad to be getting rid of being responsible for tons of yellow metal that everyone wanted to die over.

Captain Carter…yes that was one hell of a problem, he had tried to steal from a nation state, for what reason? To buy a new air ship? Maybe to start a new life somewhere with a bunch of women and wine… he would not disagree with that goal in life admittedly… He could not help but sigh at the situation and the man he thought was a friend. “Yes. He escaped via the back ramp, since closed, wounded in the arm i think. He tried to take some of this damn gold, he is armed with a pistol and I will be honest, he is a former airship captain. He knows these ships so he might try again and find other ways. You would be wise to expect the unexpected. We confronted him and he made us run after trying to assault the private of Favis army on guard who acted to prevent his theft." He finished explaining the whole tale as best he knew and had seen of it. “Damn fool tried to take bars too, they are less easy to break down easily. It takes a lot to melt a whole gold bar.” When he finished, he would hand it over, send a telegram to the old elf and he would be in the clear, he handed it over to the legal state / military responsibility.

Easy right. It was never easy.

Carter kept his head slightly down, the streets felt longer than they should've been, his wet jacket slung over his good arm, he finished the last bite of the sandwich as he walked. Pork and mustard, he couldn’t complain, he’d been colder and hungrier before.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept moving.

The directions the fishermen gave him were simple enough. Straight up then park with the kiosk, Foreign Quarter to the left. He repeated it in his head while his boots slapped the stone streets.

It didn’t take long before he realized how badly he stood out. His clothes were damped, dried blood stained his arm despite the rag. The people here wore pressed coats and polished shoes, women carried parasols and men walked with canes they did not need. All the while he wore a blood stained white shirt while dragging a similarly stained blue jacket with him, not the best look.

A couple paused mid-conversation to stare at him, one woman drew her child slightly closer.

Carter didn’t break stride however, he reached the park a few minutes later.

It was clean, with timmed hedges and a fountain at the center, large kiosk adorned the edge surrounded by iron benches. There was a bandstand further in and families moved lazily through the pathways.

And there, exactly where the fishermen had said, a sign posted sidewats facing the road against the main park entrance, it read Foreign Quarter.

Before he pressed on he noticed two policemen standing directly across the street from the parks entrance, their caps low as the pair watched traffic without appearing to.

Near them, a candy vendor worked a bright spinning machine. Cotton strands building into pink clouds on paper cones. Several well-dressed children waited in a neat line, their parents hovering close.

Carter crept out of sight at that moment into a corner.

He began thinking things our. Cross there and he’d be seen, the cops were close enough to notice him. The kids would point, parents would shout and he'd be caught. The park was too open.

He turned away casually and slipped into a narrow alley less than a block away from the park.

Five boys stood there, older than the children by the candy stand. Their clothes were patched and their faces grimy. One of them shook dice in his palm over a crate.

They spotted Carter immediately, two of them stiffened like they might bolt.

“Hold it,” Carter said quickly, raising a hand.

They hesitated.

“I’m not here for you.”

One of them narrowed his eyes, noticing the man's holster and bandaged arm, “Then what are you here for mister?”

Carter jerked his head toward the corner, “See those two officers?”

The boys exchanged glances.

“I need them busy.”

Suspicion deepened.

“And why would we help you?”

Carter dug into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out a handful of coins.

“Ten coppers each,” he said, “You cause a distraction and get them running.”

The boy holding the dice tilted his head.

“Twenty.”

Carter stared at him as if baffled, he had very little choices left.

“Twenty..." the boy repeated, calm.

Carter exhaled through his nose.

“Fine.”

He counted out the coins carefully. His hands weren’t steady, but he made it work. The boys watched the money more than they watched him.

When he handed it over, their mood shifted instantly.

One grinned.

“Watch this.”

They ran past him.

The boys burst from the alley like a pack of feral dogs. Two ran directly past the officers, shouting nonsense. Three veered straight for the candy machine.

One shoved it hard.

The spinning bowl tipped and sugar exploded outward. The vendor shouted in outrage as pink strands collapsed to the pavement.

Two boys grabbed handfuls of cotton candy and ran.

The officers reacted immediately, one swearing loudly as they chased after the fleeing kids.

"Halt, halt at once!" One blurted while another sounded a whistle loudly.

Within seconds the corner was chaos.

Parents shouting in upload, the vendor yelling in frustration and children crying. The policemen sprinting after the boys down the street.

The crossing stood momentarily clear and Carter stepped out of the alley.

“Money well spent,” he muttered.

He crossed at a fast walk that turned into a jog once he reached the far curb. He didn’t look back, cutting left rapidly and following the road toward the diplomatic quarter. As he moved he noticed blood pouring through his bandage, a few drops of blood stained the ground beneath him.

The buildings grew taller ahead as he adjusted the rag on his arm and kept moving.

---

The Langford rolled slowly around the diplomatic quarter, engine humming low.

Itzi watched every passerby.

After a moment she glanced at Ambassador Crane.

“You said diplomatic channels are slow,” she said, “What does that actually mean?”

Crane did not answer immediately. He tapped ash from his cigarette out the window.

“It means,” he said evenly, “that Mitteland is presently preoccupied with the war brushing against its own borders. An airship incident involving foreign nationals is… inconvenient, but not urgent, unless the Inburians make it urgent.”

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“Speaking of Inbur,” he continued, “they're not especially inclined toward cooperation.”

“Because?” Itzi asked.

“Because we have not been especially accommodating to them of late,” Crane replied evenly, “The war has not been kind to Commonwealth investments. Evig had contracts in Inbur; shipping, rail extensions, warehouse financing. Some of that capital has… evaporated.”

The car turned another corner.

“When losses accumulate,” he continued, “creditors become attentive. There have been discussions about repayment schedules, deferred obligations. Inbur’s government does not particularly enjoy being reminded of such matters.”

Itzi frowned faintly, “So it’s money, you're demanding money while they're at war.”

Crane raised an eyebrow, "The Commonwealth’s firms operate abroad on the assumption that agreements survive political turbulence so when they do not, confidence erodes. And when confidence erodes, so does future investment.”

He gestured with his hands as of giving a lecture, he pretty much was.

“We trade with the Old Continent. Our firms insure shipments, finance ports, build engines but we are not obligated to underwrite every war that disrupts a balance sheet.”

“So you stand by and watch?” Itzi asked.

“We observe,” Crane said calmly, “And we safeguard our nationals and our interests where prudence calla for it.”

Crane glanced at her, “The Commonwealth’s first responsibility is to its own stability. Prosperity at home requires predictable routes, reliable partners, and markets that do not erupt into artillery fire.”

He continued.

“The Evig Trading Company,” he added, “employs tens of thousands of our citizens. Its ships, its rail contracts, its banking arms, they form the backbone of our export economy. When the Old Continent destabilizes, shipping rates spike, insurers panic, capital hesitates and that ripples back home faster than most voters realize.”

Itzi studied him, “So you’re protecting trade.”

“We are protecting continuity,” Crane said. “War between Inbur and Calaria disrupts more than borders. It interrupts contracts, it freezes port and makes every shipment a gamble, I'm sure the company you worked with likely had Evig capital sponsoring it, now lost to a pointless war.”

He paused, choosing his words, "When firms of that scale begin expressing concern, it informs policy discussions.”

The car slowed briefly at a crossing.

“The ideal outcome,” Crane continued, “is that this conflict burns itself out quickly. A contained war with limited escalation. Trade then resumes and there's no entanglements.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Itzi asked.

“Then we'll do what we must to secure our interests and pull them out, as I said, no entanglements.”

He leaned back.

“We have no desire to be drawn into another continent's war. Tensions with the Confederacy are tense as is..."

“And what if the Confederacy joins the war?” Itzi pressed.

Crane scoffed, “They know better than to try that, we nearly wiped them out in the last war."

“That's not what I heard...” Itzi said with a dismissive frown, the ambassador raised an eyebrow.

The Langford rolled forward again.

“Be that as it may,” he concluded calmly, “we're ready, and for now our priority is securing our citizens and their interests, that includes Mr. Carter.”

Itzi turned back to the window, scanning every face that passed as the car continued its circuit.

“May I confirm your orders, then I will let you take command. On certain conditions.”

“Simple terms allow those aboard to take what is their own. Respect their property and the captain of this vessel. There is also an excellent Favis brandy and others aboard that I would like to repatriate. I would also ask you to take care of her, she is a good ship.”

Kouyialis swallowed, his mouth just a little taut. Well, there was something to be said of the whole issue that such a man would be more worried about their brandy than the grand issues of a man running about, assaulting and thieving, not to mention the worse issue of a whole nation going to hell by a foreign army. That was after all how the whole problem had come to pass. Of course, the man also immediately dismissed the whole suggestion, ‘take care of her’ - of course one would add that, it was merely natural to transfer an item from one owner to another. But the gesture was nevertheless a gesture, and the Hadnagy nodded slightly. He let the man continue to talk as well, as such was merely natural.

Behind him, though, Nicou adjusted his feet and took a few steps to the side, almost getting closer to the airship but simply getting a better look to the side of her. His hands were planted at his hips, looking up and down the craft with his own mouth wry. The man was considering the condition of the airship, that was clear enough, considering it and what it had been through and what it might one day do. ‘Take care of her’.

“I shall talk to my representatives here in the city, I'm sure issues can be worked out.”

‘My representatives’, that could really only mean a few things that Kouyialis knew. He knew that the whole issue had likely been, or at the least would be, given up to the Favisian Embassy - Favisian? Favisi? Favisian sounded better in the man’s mind. Such a talk would need to be necessary for the Post Captain to remain on, though by his prior comments the Mittelander had some inkling that he did not actually desire that outcome. No, he wanted to leave with his ‘excellent Favis brandy’.

Some itch was that the Favian brandy wasn’t actually the man’s, that it had just been some other’s, yet Kouyialis banished the issue from his mind immediately. So long as it didn’t belong to the Inburian state or was a piece of the airship, it was beyond the purview of his orders. In any case, whoever actually owned the brandy would need to be alive to care about it at all, which was likely not the case. If it got the man off the airship faster, then it would help the Mittelander’s cause, simple as could be.

“Yes. He escaped via the back ramp, since closed, wounded in the arm i think. He tried to take some of this damn gold, he is armed with a pistol and I will be honest, he is a former airship captain. He knows these ships so he might try again and find other ways. You would be wise to expect the unexpected. We confronted him and he made us run after trying to assault the private of Favis army on guard who acted to prevent his theft."

“Damn fool tried to take bars too, they are less easy to break down easily. It takes a lot to melt a whole gold bar.”

An assault as well? That was by no means good. As Giorgiou produced a notebook, sketching out notes while puffing away on his cigarette like some imitation of a river scow, the other Mittelanders listened. Nicou turned away from his off-hand inspection of the outer hull and gondolas, eyebrow raised. A slight frown came against Kouyialis’s face, the man adjusting his footing just a tad before speaking. ”Well…as to the brandy, and other personal effects, I think there will not be such a great issue, Post Captain. So long as these things do not belong to the Inburian government, I see no issue. While it would be foolish for others to try to melt down that gold, I think you understand that every man who disembarks the airship will be searched - my own included. Mr Carter has proved it is a day for foolish actions, and I will not put it to assumptions.”

“As to the vessel, I'm sure she will be taken well care of. And thank you, Post Captain, for the information regarding Mr Carter.”

“Now, would you kindly have your persons aboard begin packing, for the transfer?”

---

While the man who ran to the nearest station was not very fast, the phone line to the proper station was.

The streets of Elvesland were never particularly full of automobiles. As forms of transport, they were expensive to maintain, required mechanics and often hand-fitted parts unless you purchased from one of the few manufacturers who did standardize, and even then those manufacturers were seldom local and one had given themselves up as a repeat customer to that manufacturer. They drank gasoline, of which the pumps for were uncommon and at times unscrupulous, selling diluted products which fouled engines. Their beds were never as large as that of a cart's, sometimes smaller.

All in all, in Elvesland the automobile shared the road with a great many other things. It shared with the bicycle, the horse, and the pedestrian. So when the Mittelander police came, they came on bicycles.

A dozen weaved in and out of sight, relatively bulky with their heavier coats and shakos; a few had carbines slung cavalry-style, most had their batons clamoring against the steel frames of the bikes. They moved up, as other, smaller groups took positions around the embassy to prevent some sort of sprint for it. Behind the embassy, just before that narrow alley leading to the Ardellians, a larger flat-bed truck’s engine suspiciously failed. Thick black smoke poured from the hood, the driver climbing out to puzzle over it with a great amount of drama. The man’s pockets were, after all, suspiciously heavy with recent cash.

As the men took up their positions about the embassy, the largest moving to search all cars bound for the embassy, something else was happening in the city. The Langford was far less discrete than any might hope, and behind that car drew another. The men inside were young, young and laughing and loud as a young rich man might be, though they didn’t seem to get any farther from the Langford that stalked about Elvesland’s streets.

It has been quite an eventful couple of days, Zano thought as he lay on his hotel bed. Getting the gold before those Communalists could get their hands on it. The party and now he is in the Kingdom of Mitteland. But things seems to have calmed down a bit since coming to the kingdom and with plenty of time to unwind. Zano has not seen much of the others since checking into the hotel, and it has given him time to think.

Zano is not quite sure of what to do with himself now. He is an inventor and now without a workshop to invent at or a place to live. Yes, he can hopefully get access to his funds at some point, but since the fall of the capital. Zano now had time to think about what his next move should be. Maybe settling in Mitteland, rebuild his workshop, and establish himself here. Or stay with the crew of the zeppelin and see where that takes him. Maybe a more eventful life but, is that a life he wishes to live? Zano cannot say for now, and the only thing he knows for sure is that he is not going back to Mina-Sakh and to his parents.

So, after thinking and thinking in his head. Zano figured he could use some fresh air, and after collecting his things. He departed his hotel room and started walking around. Truly seeing the sights of the city, and after a bit. Zano thought about stopping at where he expected to see some familiar faces from the zeppelin. Hopefully at least, and if not, then more to seeing Elvesland proper and more time to think about his next move. Whatever that will be.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Telagrams and Talks.
.455 Hot

Airship.

...

Stabd off.

Handing over the air ship was close but a lot could go wrong in a minute. It only took a few things to cause everything to derail. The Post Captain paused and hoped the man would have reasonable terms for the hand over. Also, if he was after a sword, they needed to pick one with them! He lost his in the escape from the city.

The air ship had seen some action on its way back, short as it was, patched bullet holes, damaged nose, and a few windows with sharp cracks through the glass. But it was flying, floating, engines intact. There was not a major issue to it, bar what could be easily resolved in a decently industrial city.

“Agreed, it's fair. We take what we have, what belongs to state is the states. Security, it is good you place no one above checks. This gold is far too tempting and far too dangerous, far too much ideas to take a bar and leave happily for years.

He paused and looked back to survey the vessel, the thing that they had placed salvation on. Yes, it was their air ship, even for a short time. “I will inform those aboard, and reach out to the others. Permission to come aboard. Granted to you and those under your command. If i find anything belonging to our, less honourable mainer, il pass that to his Embassy to deal with the mess.” He said formerly and offered the man his hand before he turned to announce to those aboard. The Lt, or closest to understanding of equal ranks he had could have one less headache.

Reaching one of the PA systems, he wired it into the all hands mode. “All Hands, Mitterland Army has come with legal orders to take over the air ship, I have handed it over on terms you can leave with all personal arms and effects belonging to you, the captain shall be respected and all will be searched upon leaving, however all shall be treated with respect due regarding to rank and rights. Please exit via the main ramp. We shall inform the others and they can arrange time to collect what belongs to them. Post Captain Le Mariner. Out. “ He said and breathed lighter. If this all went to hell, it was off his shoulders now.

He would check Carter's room too, he would leave that for the Embassy to sort out, they would handle their criminals' effects and what to do with them. No claims he did not give the man his fair chance, he held his fire at first and he would return what was his, basted or otherwise.

Carter kept moving.

The sandwich was gone, jacket slung over his shoulder, boots still damp from the river. The park had thinned behind him and the streets were beginning to shift in character, wider, cleaner, better dressed. That was when he noticed the bicycles.

At first it was just one pair of uniformed backs pedaling hard down a cross street. Then three more cut across an intersection ahead of him. They all seemed to be heading in the same direction he was.

Toward the embassy.

Carter slowed instinctively, stepping into the shadow of a narrow alley as a group of them passed. He watched the direction they were heading, he pursed his lips.

“Fuck…”

They weren’t sweeping randomly, they were converging.

He pushed off the wall and cut down the alley, emerging onto another side street, he looked both ways to make sure it was empty as he then sprinted across before anyone could look twice at him. He ducked into another narrow cut between buildings, heart hammering.

They were setting up around the embassy, he had become a rat surrounded by traps.

---

The Langford moved at an even pace as Kenz kept both his hands on the wheel and his eyes everywhere else.

The Ambassador was speaking again in the back seat, something about trade balances and cabinet considerations. The Hunya girl listened, though her attention had drifted towards the windows more often than not.

Kenz had long ago learned to filter Crane’s voice into background noise. He watched the intersections instead. More cyclist officers than before.

Two passing in the opposite direction at speed. Another pair cutting across a side street. None of them paying the Langford any direct attention but all heading the same way, toward the embassy.

His eyes narrowed in thought. If Carter had already been caught, the police would not still be converging. That meant the man was still loose.

Then there was the car behind them.

Young men inside. They seemed loud from the backmirror, too loud. Laughing, pointing, making no effort to hide the fact that they had remained roughly the same distance behind the Langford since leaving the diplomatic quarter.

“Damn it…”

Kenz muttered under his breath.

They should have taken a hired carriage or gone on foot. A Langford, even one with the diplomatic trim hidden, might as well have been a parade float in this city.

He kept driving.

As they reached the opposite corner of Saddenter Park, he turned casually, letting the car drift around the curve. The mirror confirmed it, the other vehicle was following, a half-second delayed but deliberate. They had a tail.

He circled the park and at the main entrance, Kenz noticed the disruption immediately. A cotton candy machine tipped on its side, spun sugar clinging to the pavement like pink cobweb. The vendor argued animatedly with two uniformed officers and children scattered in the aftermath.

Hooligans by all reasons but it was recent.

Kenz’s eyes narrowed once more.

Carter would have avoided uniformed police at a park entrance, especially given this section led directly towards the foreign quarter. If there had been a distraction here… he might have slipped through during it.

“It was him,” Itzi spoke from the back.

Kenz didn’t answer, but he agreed, he took the next street toward the diplomatic quarter. There was a small checkpoint ahead.

Two Mittelander police officers flagged them down.

“Papier.”

Kenz reached into the glove compartment without a word and handed over a blue canvas booklet embossed with the Commonwealth seal. The officer flipped it open and saw the diplomatic registry number attached to the Langford’s chassis.

He gave a curt nod to his partners and handed the booklet back.

“Proceed.”

The two other officers shifted the barrier aside. Kentz immediately drove on as the officers once more set the barrier, that would hopefully block the trailing car. It was unlikely these lowly officers would know about undercover officers Kentz thought, nevertheless he sprung into action, not wanting to give them the opportunity to reconverge.

As he drove on he took a sharp right turn followed by left, right again.

Then he slowed and reversed neatly into a narrow alley, he cut the engine and remained still for a moment.

Silence.

“What is this?” Crane asked nervously from the rear.

Unholstering his pistol pulled on the slide to check if it was loaded, it was.

“We’re being followed,” he said plainly, “and the police are tightening around the embassy.”

Crane stiffened, gulping hard as he realized things would not be as smooth as he’d hope.

“If Carter was caught, they wouldn’t still be moving though,” Kenz continued, concealing his pistol back into his shoulder, “He’s nearby. On foot is the only way I’ll find him without drawing attention. Wait here.”

As he opened the door, Itzi was out of the car before he could object.

“No,” Kenz started.

“He won’t trust you alone,” she cut in, “He’ll trust me.”

Kenz studied her for a second, she was right.

Crane cleared his throat behind them.

“I shall remain with the vehicle,” the Ambassador said, “Ensure it is… available.”

Kenz almost snorted at that.

“Alright, keep an eye out then,” he said shortly.

They stepped out of the alley and onto the street, keeping to the edges, careful not to double back toward the checkpoint. After a moment, Itzi exhaled sharply.

“I couldn’t stand another minute next to that man.”

Kenz glanced sideways, that drew the faintest smile from him.

“You think that’s bad,” he said dryly, “I report to him.”

Itzi chuckled as that pair moved forward.

---

A collaboration between @Thayr and @InfamousGuy101

Captain Anders stood near the edge of embassy’s rooftop, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight. One of the junior guards beside him lowered a field glass.

“Police presence increasing, sir,” the guard reported. “Cyclists at both ends of the street. Two more just took position by the gate.”

“And the rear?” Anders asked calmly.

“The truck is still there. No sign of a mechanic. Two uniformed officers nearby.”

Anders gave a small nod. A broken truck in the alley, bicycled police in pairs. It all seemed too planned to be coincidence.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

The ambassador had departed some time ago taking Corporal Kenz with him. He had informed him of the matter regarding a citizen in peril. If this was connected, it was moving faster than Anders preferred.

Still, this was Mitteland. Not some collapsing frontier state. They were a disciplined procedurally civilized people.

Which was precisely why this bothered him. He turned from the ledge and addressed his men as he walked off.

“No one chambers a round,” he ordered sternly, “Weapons remain holstered. Doors stay closed. No one engages unless engaged.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant confirmed.

Anders adjusted his gloves.

“I will inquire.”

He soon descended the front steps at an unhurried pace. A pair of Mitteland police officers stood near the edge of the pavement, bicycles propped beside them. One glanced up as Anders approached.

The captain stopped just short of the embassy gate, not crossing into the street without invitation.

“Captain Anders, commander of the Ardell Commonwealth Embassy guard.”

His tone was polite but firm.

"We've taken notice of the increased police activity in the vicinity of this building.”

His eyes kept locked at the two officers.

“If there is a matter of public safety, I would appreciate being informed. If not, I request to speak to who is presently in charge of operations here.”

The two men looked at one-another. Neither were particularly out of the ordinary as far as Mittelander police went, both in their light blue uniforms with shakos and gun-belts, batons hung loose to clatter against the leg. One man had a cigarette lit, held between two weathered fingers. The look they exchanged, though, was far less ordinary. The other man sucked in air through the corner of his mouth, eyebrows somewhat raised as his beetle-moustache bristled just a moment.

"Herr Anders, you should speak to the Sergeant on this."

He leaned a little forwards, looking down the road to the corner of the street, cocking one arm into an L and pointing. A small group, perhaps three or four men, seemed to be milling about the area, one standing with a notebook open. None of the men there looked particularly out of the ordinary for Mittelander police as well.

The man before Captain Anders, taller like a broken-up tree, took a long drag of his cigarette, nodding briefly. His eyes flickered about the street, quick and easy.

Anders did not outwardly react to the exchange, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed the irritation he kept at the apatethic demanor of these Old Continers. It was a cultural habit, he supposed. Still, it grated.

He tipped his head to the officers.

“Thank you.”

Without haste, he stepped through the gate and approached the indicated group. He stopped at a respectful distance from the man.

“Captain Anders,” he said again, “Commander of the Ardell Commonwealth Embassy guard.”

His gaze settled on the apparent sergeant.

“My men have observed an increased police presence around this building, including a disabled vehicle obstructing the rear access and officers positioned at multiple approaches.”

He paused just long enough to ensure the words landed properly.

“If there is an active security concern affecting this district, I would expect to be informed, as the safety of Commonwealth personnel falls under my responsibility.”

His expression remained neutral, but the firmness underneath was unmistakable.

The Sergeant looked up from his work, frowning briefly. "Sergeant Panayi," came the heavily-accented reply, the policeman surveying the Ardellian up and down through his beetle-like eyebrows. Yes, the man most certainly was an embassy guard. There was little to mistake it, all told. Scratching at his nose, which more resembled the ram-bow of a battleship than ought else, the man cleared his throat rather heavily before speaking.

"A violent criminal is known, Herr Anders. We have reason to suspect he is coming here. I would recommend your staff keep well inside during the issue."

A pause, the man smiling wryly. "As to the 'disabled vehicle' in question - we have already questioned that man. A vehicle in need of severe maintenance. The man was fined ten kroner, and as such I had to pay seven to the hotel lobby across the street, that he could call his company for a mechanic to come out with the parts. I'm sure his company will fine him as well for the trouble. A fucking headache, that."

Another pause. The man next to him puffed out a great cloud of smoke, as the one with the notebook looked up irritably before back down again. The Sergeant raised his own eyebrow, looked with some expectation at the Ardellian. "Was there anything else, Herr Anders?"

Anders listened without interruption, his expression composed as the Sergeant finished.

A violent criminal, coming here, of course.

He inclined his head slightly.

“Your forewarning is appreciated, Sergeant Panayi,” he said evenly. “We will ensure our personnel remain vigilant.”

His tone remained neutral.

“If there are developments that directly concern this building, I trust we will be informed.”

He let a faint pause.

“Good day.”

Without waiting for further exchange, Anders turned and made his way back toward the embassy gates. Once inside the building itself the the doors closed firmly behind him.

He moved to one of the front windows overlooking the street. A junior guard joined him once more.

“Sir?”

“Keep watch on all approaches,” Anders said quietly, “If anyone attempts to approach, you inform me first.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside, the cyclists remained in place. The truck still idled uselessly in the alley.

Too convenient.

Anders clasped his hands behind his back again.

“I will send a telegram to the Mainland,” he said after a moment.

The junior officer hesitated.

“And the Ambassador, sir?”

Anders’ gaze remained fixed on the street below.

“We wait,” he replied calmly, “Until he returns.”

He glanced at the officer a second, “I will make mention of his absence in the dispatch.”

As Anders walked off the embassy settled into a tense game of watching.

---

Carter cut across another narrow street, boots striking stone harder than he intended. He slowed once he reached the next corner, pressing his back to cool brick, listening. Everything felt heavier, as if the world was pressed around him, it pretty much was.

He exhaled slowly, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. This was his doing, he had overplayed it.

Whether it had been fear, panic, or something uglier, he could not quite say. He had told himself it was about making things right. For his dead crew, his colleague at the airship, for promises that might never be kept.

Or maybe it had been greed and self-importance. The old belief that he alone could fix things if he just took control of them or maybe it was just justifying himself for his own richness.

He had wanted a fresh start for years, a clean slate. Leave the mistakes behind and let them sink like ballast into deep water just as he should have after bombarding an Iktani city.

Instead, he had proven he could not leave that past alone.

The gold had been proof of that.

He shuffled out of his thoughts and stepped around the corner only to be stopped dead.

A single officer stood less than a few paces away. Pale, nervous, and young by the looks of him. The pistol came up quickly.

“Zurück!” the officer barked in Mitten, “Back!”

Carter raised his hands slightly.

For a moment, he felt strangely calm.

This was it, he had run out of road.

The officer’s other hand fumbled for his whistle, soon it would be all over.

Then the crack of metal split the moment. The policeman dropped to the ground without a sound.

Carter blinked, stunned.

A sharply dressed man stood behind the fallen officer, pistol still in hand. A Harlan, same model Carter carried, but that detail barely registered.

Before Carter could speak, someone grabbed his arm.

“Carter!”

It was Itzi. She shook him hard enough to pull him back into himself.

“We have to move.”

The other man covered the street, making sure no more officers showed up.

“Now,” he said.

Itzi shrugged off her coat and wrapped it around Carter’s shoulders, masking the bloodstain. She took him by his good arm and pulled. They moved quickly, cutting down an alley and around the bend toward the waiting Langford.

“How did you-” Carter began, his breath uneven, “How did you find me? And who the hell is this?”

“Corporal Kenz,” the man answered without looking at him, “Half the city is looking for you. Consider yourself fortunate.”

They reached the alley. The Ambassador stood beside the car, clearly agitated.

“You took the damn keys,” Crane snapped at Kenz.

“Yes,” Kenz replied flatly, he had expected Crane would try to run if his nerves got the best of him, he wouldn’t say that openly however, “I did…”

Crane was about to retort when he finally took in Carter’s condition. The coat, the blood beneath it, the exhaustion etched into the man’s face.

His expression shifted.

“Mr. Carter,” Crane said, smoothing his tone and settling his coat, “I must say, you have caused a remarkable disturbance.”

He stepped forward, taking the man’s limp hand for a handshake.

“A decorated veteran of the Commonwealth reduced to being hunted through the streets. Rest assured, we do not abandon our own.”

The words felt hollow but Carter didn’t have time to think of it as Kenz cut in before Crane could continue.

“Inside, now.”

They climbed into the car and Itzi took the front passenger seat. Carter slid into the back beside the Ambassador.

The Langford roared to life and pulled away, Carter leaned forward slightly.

“They’re sealing the embassy,” he said, “There’s police everywhere.”

“We’re not going there,” Kenz replied, eyes fixed on the road.

Crane stiffened, “Then where precisely are we-”

“Your residence,” Kenz said calmly.

Crane turned sharply, “Absolutely not.”

“You committed yourself to helping him,” Itzi shot back, voice hard, “Or was that just another speech?”

Crane bristled, but he did not answer immediately.

“Fine,” he muttered at last. “But this is highly irregular.”

The Langford turned down a quieter street lined with uniform townhouses. They soon pulled up to a narrow townhouse with a modest garage set into the ground level.

Kenz stopped the car and Itzi jumped out immediately, helping Kentz lift the garage door. The car was soon brought inside and as the door shut behind them, the street noise dulled.

Crane stepped out and adjusted his cuffs, irritation returning.

“You have made quite the spectacle, Mr. Carter,” he said dryly, “The city is in motion because of you.”

He paused, then added with faint condescension:

“Still, the Commonwealth stands behind its citizens. We do not allow our people to be trampled by Old World absurdities.”

It was not quite reassurance but for the first time in a while Carter let out a sigh of relief, he was safe, for now.

Giogoula Giorgios

The Inburian secret policewoman walked around the exteriors of the Commonwealth embassy building at the foreign quarter, taking note of any gates and doors that she passed by. Each of the possible entrances she passed by had guards on standby. She’s also pretty certain that the regular doors would be locked and may have marine guards behind or at close distance. If Carter tries to sneak into the embassy, he will have a difficult time.

When Giogoula reached the alleyway, the first thing she saw was the broken down truck with a driver speaking with a policeman.

“Poor guy,” she thought. The alley way being blocked does feel a bit convenient. However, it would be expected if local authorities are searching for Carter, she wouldn’t be the only one to expect the Ardellian embassy to be one of the places the greedy snake would try and head to, especially if Le Marinier explained what happened to the authorities. She thought of staying to see if the marine guards or maybe even the Ambassador would show up, but she should head back to Volodar.

Giogoula backed out of the alleyway out of sight of the people there and walked back to the front where Volodar should be. Already, she starts seeing local police arriving as soon as she got to where Volodar was standing.

“Guess the manhunt is on,” she said.

Aden stood his post at the machine gun. Watching the Favian Officer talk to the leader of the Mitteland contingent.

Apparently they reached some kind of consensus because the post captain came back aboard.

Reaching one of the PA systems, he wired it into the all hands mode. “All Hands, Mitterland Army has come with legal orders to take over the air ship, I have handed it over on terms you can leave with all personal arms and effects belonging to you, the captain shall be respected and all will be searched upon leaving, however all shall be treated with respect due regarding to rank and rights. Please exit via the main ramp. We shall inform the others and they can arrange time to collect what belongs to them. Post Captain Le Mariner. Out. “.

Aden was taken a back. Legal orders. From who? Foreign land or not the ship and its cargo were Inburian. Aden might not have been born of Inbur; he and the post captain were both of Favis. But the insignia of his uniform belonged to Inbur. The training that saved his life was provided by Inbur. The ship beneath his boots was Inburian.

He racked the machine gun to ensure a round was chambered. The already chambered round ejecting in a glittering arc of brass.

Then he reached for the PA. The line leading up to the gondola’s gun position.

“I don’t care who’s land we’re in. Get me someone from my army here for my ‘legal orders’. Unless it comes from them I shoot anyone who comes near this godforsaken ship.”

He let the mouthpiece clatter without fanfare. He owed his mates some kind of progress for their sacrifice. A net good for a cause they had died for. He would be damned if the ship was “transferred” and squandered under the banner of mutual enemies and vague assurances.

Who would think gold would cause such a divide? Aden didn’t much care for it but it was all he could grasp right now. The only tangible thing he had done in the last month.

It was all he had to show for the load he carried.

Thankfully perhaps for everyone involved, Arkadios, upon hearing the message that an attempt had been made on the gold reserve, decided to don his uniform and head straight back to the airship. As the senior Inburian officer it was his duty to secure the gold. Everything else could wait.

A few moments after his announcement, another call through the speakers, "Private Aden, this is Captain Arkadios. Thank you for your zeal in defense of the property of His Imperial Majesty. You may stand down. There is considerable confusion at the moment, but please rest assured that the Mittelanders are assisting in security at this stage."

"Now," he half turned around in his position next to Captain le Marinier to make sure everyone knew they were included, "Can someone please give me a clear and concise picture of what is going on?"

There was a brief pause, before one of the police officers spoke up, stepping forward to hand Arkadios a piece of paper, "Telegram for you, Captain."

He opened it up, reading through it, his lips pursing in concern. He ran a finger through his moustache, "This is from the Inburian Embassy, but it applies to everyone. Prince Maximilian is going to pay us a visit. I understand he is a Mittelandische Marshall? In any case, it would be good if someone could brief me on the situation before that happens."

double post

Post Captain Le Marinier

Telagrams and Talks.
.455 Hot

…

“Stand down. That is an order Private. They are here to help us. I am of the equivalent rank of Col…” He was beaten to the reprimand by the thankful and well timed arrival of his army captain, he would not have wanted to or had to split their little party again when he and others turned on the surviving soldier from Inbur. It prevented more extreme actions.

The man seemed to take charge of the soldier and hopefully prevent him firing on the Mitton soldiers, the last thing he wanted was to be in the middle of someone else's war..again. “my compliments, your arrival was timely.” He said not hiding his relief that the man had managed to defuse the situation and hopefully could prevent a fire fight from starting.

“I cannot talk for a beginning or middle captain, but I was called over here as Carter was in trouble, only it turned out to be a help against his trouble. He tried to steal gold. He attacked a guard, was shot and wounded, escaped, and I presume, local police are after him.

The Mitteraland Army arrived to hand over the ship with orders. I agreed in terms to respect the captain and ship, allow all to take personal effects and to allow us to contact those in the city to collect their effects.” He said keeping it short surprised a Prince would visit them so directly, Marshal of their military though unsure if that was a practical or ceremonial rank.

“Does anyone have any idea why he did something so desperate?” finished glancing out to see if a car, horses or some other sign of an arriving Marshal.

Reaching for his service revolver he made sure to put the weapon on safe and removed the spent casing smelling of cordite to replace with a fresh loose round, fat, copper jacketed rounds with heavy lead bullets. Squat things and meant to dump energy rather than pierce material. Returning it to his holster and buttoning it back up now the danger had passed.

“Marshal, as in Royal or Military…or both?” He had to honestly ask, he never really had done heavy research into Mittonland Military. They had different titles and used their own language. You had to deal with high rank officers and high ranking Royals a little bit differently.

…

The international park.

“Call it off…” The Sgt said quietly to the men as they gathered off the park, smoking pipes and holding newspapers. “Too much heat, Police armed, whatever that van stuff was with guards go grab a beer, take a walk, break up, see you in a few hours.” He said with a final word and headed to talk a loop of the park and walk round to the Embassy via a rather long route. The others nodded and began to break up, acting like they had a discussion and broke up making their own way and their own business.

“Mi lady, need a hand. This path is quite slippery today.” The Sgt said as he helped a woman up who had almost lost her balance. He looked like a gentleman, he would blend in as one. Especially when the money in his pocket was not his wages…

Unlike some of the others they moved away quietly, blended in and moved away one by one, no groups, no obvious nature. Just a few gentleman enjoying the airs.

"I believe, on top of being a Prince, he is a Field Marshall," Arkadios said, though without sounding completely certain about himself.

As it happened, Arkadios was right. When Mitteland was established as a Kingdom within the Empire, just over 200 years ago, it had no established aristocracy and the people who were entitled were, for the most part its military leaders. While this was initially a source of contempt for the Kingdom's established neighbours, over the following century, the Mittelandische Noble classes began to see this as a source of pride. They were not some decadent aristocracy, their class existed because of their martial brilliance. With the Haltians bordering them to the West, the Mittelanders began to see themselves as the guardians of humanity against another Elgafolk resurgence (sometimes referring to themselves as the 'Haltischewacht', a name which had persisted to this day though the animosity towards their Western neighbours had long since faded). The Mittelandische nobility (the men, at any rate), were often austere soldiers who studied the art of war as if it were a holy text. The Upper Echelons of the Mittelandische military were stacked with nobles and their sons. It was no meritocracy, but at least they took the job seriously. Prince Maximilian was a Field Marshall, one possibly promoted before his time, but that was what was expected of a Prince in this country.

The story about Carter drew a grunt from Arkadios, he folded his arms, "There was always something a bit off about that man. He was at the meeting with Colonel Swaigers," he paused, sighed, rubbed his temple, before continuing in his usual, quiet, collected tone, "I suppose he had been planning this for a while. You can't take the gold while we were airborne and he must have realised it was likely to get unloaded and moved to a more secure location over the next few days. This was his best opportunity to steal what part of the reserve he could carry. I suppose this is the problem of the group we arrived with; it is a collection of all manner of people who fled Inbur ahead of the Communalists. We do not know the reasons they all fled and we don't have long-established relationships to judge trustworthiness with."