Vanilla #7 - Holiday
Author: Wang Xi-feng
Story: Stand and Deliver!
Flavor: Vanilla
Rating: PG (language, non-graphic mention of dead bodies)
Word Count: 1,236
Summary: It's a miserable rainy Semak Sunday, and Stojna is about to head north.
Notes: Semak is the religious holiday that Westerners call Whitsunday. Traditionally, in real-world Slavic countries, those who had not received a proper burial were given a funeral service on that day.
Vanko Maric and Ana Maric are trade names used by hajduki, much like The Dread Pirate Roberts - hence Lukánsky's comment about "whatever his actual name may have been".
It was the wettest Semak on record; the rain started its inevitable descent before midnight, and by noon, there was a half-inch of water in the streets of Karlsberg. The wagons and carriages kicked up sprays of water onto the curb, and everyone who had business out of doors found excuses to delay it. Privately, Mitganger thanked his lucky stars that he'd insisted on the children's things being loaded up last night, though the Princess Palatine kept finding excuses to add more things to the wagon, despite being told repeatedly that they wouldn't need all that.
"I put a hamper in the wagon," she said, poking her head into his study. "I imagine everyone will get hungry."
"We may have eaten dinner by the time Lukánsky and his man get here." Mitganger put his head in his hands. "How long does it take to cut a couple of worthless criminals off the damn gallows and stick them in the ground?"
The rain meant it took longer than expected; the boards of the gallows were slippery, and thanks to the wet weather, the corpses had gone past ripe and stank to high heaven. One of the youngest members of the detachment was from the North and flatly refused to go near the dead hajduki, even when it meant that he was packed back to the Ministry of Justice in disgrace. Prefect Lukánsky showed his face around the middle of the afternoon; he had been in a bad temper all week, and the apparent inability of an entire brigade of police to cut through wet, half-rotten ropes roused his ire. "For God's sake!" He thundered up the steps to the gallows like an avenging angel. "This should have been over with hours ago. Give me that."
"Sir, we--" one of the subordinate officers, a youngish captain, began. From the looks of him, he was from close to the Toltsch border.
"Don't sir me. I cannot believe the shiftlessness that continues to pass for police work in this city." Lukánsky, knife in hand, sawed swiftly through the soaked rope that still held what had been Vanko Maric in place. "In case anyone is unaware, Grigor Herkulic is not still the Prefect of Police. I am, and I will not have any more of this crap." The hajduk's corpse dropped to the platform with a thud. "Pick Vanko Maric there up, whatever his actual name may have been, and get him in the coffin."
"Prefect Lukánsky," the young captain said, trying not to stammer, "we realize this should have taken less time. I had to pack someone back to the office--"
"I know. I saw him. We'll be tightening the requirements to join the force in the very near future, Captain." Ana Maric's body fell onto the platform. "Now. See to it that you are quick about interring this rabble. If I don't see the lot of you back at the Ministry of Justice building by the time the hour is rung, heads will roll."
It was almost dark out by the time the bell rang, and Stojna, bored, had dropped from the couch to the carpet to trace her fingers around the designs there. She could hear Bárto and her brother talking to each other in excited, low tones; they clammed up when the footman announced the visitor, one Ibrahim Racumovic. Stojna lifted her head briefly, just in time to clap eyes on him and decide that he might be interesting. Mitganger, coming out to greet him, seemed taken aback.
Racumovic was tall and rangy, unfashionably long-haired, with a narrow smile that revealed snaggled canines and reminded her of a wolf. There was a brand on his right forearm; Stojna could just see the scars when he moved and his sleeve rode up. When Mitganger asked where Lukánsky was, Racumovic shrugged and said, "Performin' a corporal work of mercy, I think," which made Mitganger pause and size him up, as if he'd missed something. "It's Semak, ain't it? Them Maric kids gotta be buried."
"I can't believe it's taken him this long," Mitganger said. "It's going to be dark in a few minutes. Stojna, get up off the floor, please." Stojna complied, albeit slowly and sulkily. "This is Lieutenant Racumovic. He's going to be driving you and the boys home, as soon as Prefect Lukánsky gets here."
"Good day," Stojna said. "It's nice to meet you." She thought she might mean it, too. "I'm Stojna Markojvic."
Racumovic sized her up. "Yer daddy from Starovek, by chance? Torik Markojvic?"
Stojna nodded. "He used to work at Dom Savica, sometimes. Did you know him?"
She never found out the answer, because that was when Lukánsky stormed in like a wind from the north. "Ibro. Glad to see you here already. I hope the three of you are ready to go. We don't have time to waste." He stomped at the doormat, wiping his boots, which were covered in mud.
"You comin' with?" Racumovic said.
Lukánsky shook his head No. "I've business to attend to here. You'll need at least half a week to make sure everyone is settling in. -- Miss Markojvic, go put your coat on." Stojna did not move, and barely managed to repress a smile; the thought of listening in to their conversation pleased her. "This entire system needs to be stripped down and rebuilt."
"Cain't fire err'body," Racumovic said, leaning against one of the pillars in the hallway and shrugging.
"Try me," Lukánsky said, shooting him a black look. "Miss Markojvic. Go put your coat on. I will not tell you again." Stojna took a few steps towards the staircase, but made no move to go. "You may try to link up with our usual source while you're there." Racumovic nodded. "Miss Markojvic, immediately. I'm not in the mood for this crap today."
"Stojna, do it, whatever it is," Mitganger's voice said loudly from his study.
Stojna looked at Lukánsky, decided that she didn't want to risk it, ran halfway up the stairs, turned around to stick her tongue out at him, and then ran the rest of the way. She could hear Racumovic chuckling behind her as she headed for the room where she'd been staying.
Lukánsky's words followed them as they dressed and packed and made last sweeps and said their good-byes. "Spend the night with your mothers and reassure them you're safe, but don't say anything about this. Let them think you're just following the hajduki. Choose any camp you like but not Veliko Renko's. I've already got someone watching him. My man will make contact but it won't be someone you expect. He'll tell you where you can leave messages if you can write." Stojna thought his voice would ring in her head for the rest of her life. They'd already been over this several times, and she could almost repeat it off by heart. "Anything that might be of interest, I want to hear about. Leadership changes, changes of plans, plans in the first place, where they're hiding their weapons, where they're hiding their money."
"I hear you every night in my dreams," Stojna said as she passed him. The rain was still coming down, and they had a long way to go.
"Good. Then you won't forget." Lukánsky gripped her by the shoulder. "One more thing, Miss Markojvic."
"I'm listening." Nastrántsy asshole.
"Don't let any of those men touch you."
Story: Stand and Deliver!
Flavor: Vanilla
Rating: PG (language, non-graphic mention of dead bodies)
Word Count: 1,236
Summary: It's a miserable rainy Semak Sunday, and Stojna is about to head north.
Notes: Semak is the religious holiday that Westerners call Whitsunday. Traditionally, in real-world Slavic countries, those who had not received a proper burial were given a funeral service on that day.
Vanko Maric and Ana Maric are trade names used by hajduki, much like The Dread Pirate Roberts - hence Lukánsky's comment about "whatever his actual name may have been".
It was the wettest Semak on record; the rain started its inevitable descent before midnight, and by noon, there was a half-inch of water in the streets of Karlsberg. The wagons and carriages kicked up sprays of water onto the curb, and everyone who had business out of doors found excuses to delay it. Privately, Mitganger thanked his lucky stars that he'd insisted on the children's things being loaded up last night, though the Princess Palatine kept finding excuses to add more things to the wagon, despite being told repeatedly that they wouldn't need all that.
"I put a hamper in the wagon," she said, poking her head into his study. "I imagine everyone will get hungry."
"We may have eaten dinner by the time Lukánsky and his man get here." Mitganger put his head in his hands. "How long does it take to cut a couple of worthless criminals off the damn gallows and stick them in the ground?"
The rain meant it took longer than expected; the boards of the gallows were slippery, and thanks to the wet weather, the corpses had gone past ripe and stank to high heaven. One of the youngest members of the detachment was from the North and flatly refused to go near the dead hajduki, even when it meant that he was packed back to the Ministry of Justice in disgrace. Prefect Lukánsky showed his face around the middle of the afternoon; he had been in a bad temper all week, and the apparent inability of an entire brigade of police to cut through wet, half-rotten ropes roused his ire. "For God's sake!" He thundered up the steps to the gallows like an avenging angel. "This should have been over with hours ago. Give me that."
"Sir, we--" one of the subordinate officers, a youngish captain, began. From the looks of him, he was from close to the Toltsch border.
"Don't sir me. I cannot believe the shiftlessness that continues to pass for police work in this city." Lukánsky, knife in hand, sawed swiftly through the soaked rope that still held what had been Vanko Maric in place. "In case anyone is unaware, Grigor Herkulic is not still the Prefect of Police. I am, and I will not have any more of this crap." The hajduk's corpse dropped to the platform with a thud. "Pick Vanko Maric there up, whatever his actual name may have been, and get him in the coffin."
"Prefect Lukánsky," the young captain said, trying not to stammer, "we realize this should have taken less time. I had to pack someone back to the office--"
"I know. I saw him. We'll be tightening the requirements to join the force in the very near future, Captain." Ana Maric's body fell onto the platform. "Now. See to it that you are quick about interring this rabble. If I don't see the lot of you back at the Ministry of Justice building by the time the hour is rung, heads will roll."
It was almost dark out by the time the bell rang, and Stojna, bored, had dropped from the couch to the carpet to trace her fingers around the designs there. She could hear Bárto and her brother talking to each other in excited, low tones; they clammed up when the footman announced the visitor, one Ibrahim Racumovic. Stojna lifted her head briefly, just in time to clap eyes on him and decide that he might be interesting. Mitganger, coming out to greet him, seemed taken aback.
Racumovic was tall and rangy, unfashionably long-haired, with a narrow smile that revealed snaggled canines and reminded her of a wolf. There was a brand on his right forearm; Stojna could just see the scars when he moved and his sleeve rode up. When Mitganger asked where Lukánsky was, Racumovic shrugged and said, "Performin' a corporal work of mercy, I think," which made Mitganger pause and size him up, as if he'd missed something. "It's Semak, ain't it? Them Maric kids gotta be buried."
"I can't believe it's taken him this long," Mitganger said. "It's going to be dark in a few minutes. Stojna, get up off the floor, please." Stojna complied, albeit slowly and sulkily. "This is Lieutenant Racumovic. He's going to be driving you and the boys home, as soon as Prefect Lukánsky gets here."
"Good day," Stojna said. "It's nice to meet you." She thought she might mean it, too. "I'm Stojna Markojvic."
Racumovic sized her up. "Yer daddy from Starovek, by chance? Torik Markojvic?"
Stojna nodded. "He used to work at Dom Savica, sometimes. Did you know him?"
She never found out the answer, because that was when Lukánsky stormed in like a wind from the north. "Ibro. Glad to see you here already. I hope the three of you are ready to go. We don't have time to waste." He stomped at the doormat, wiping his boots, which were covered in mud.
"You comin' with?" Racumovic said.
Lukánsky shook his head No. "I've business to attend to here. You'll need at least half a week to make sure everyone is settling in. -- Miss Markojvic, go put your coat on." Stojna did not move, and barely managed to repress a smile; the thought of listening in to their conversation pleased her. "This entire system needs to be stripped down and rebuilt."
"Cain't fire err'body," Racumovic said, leaning against one of the pillars in the hallway and shrugging.
"Try me," Lukánsky said, shooting him a black look. "Miss Markojvic. Go put your coat on. I will not tell you again." Stojna took a few steps towards the staircase, but made no move to go. "You may try to link up with our usual source while you're there." Racumovic nodded. "Miss Markojvic, immediately. I'm not in the mood for this crap today."
"Stojna, do it, whatever it is," Mitganger's voice said loudly from his study.
Stojna looked at Lukánsky, decided that she didn't want to risk it, ran halfway up the stairs, turned around to stick her tongue out at him, and then ran the rest of the way. She could hear Racumovic chuckling behind her as she headed for the room where she'd been staying.
Lukánsky's words followed them as they dressed and packed and made last sweeps and said their good-byes. "Spend the night with your mothers and reassure them you're safe, but don't say anything about this. Let them think you're just following the hajduki. Choose any camp you like but not Veliko Renko's. I've already got someone watching him. My man will make contact but it won't be someone you expect. He'll tell you where you can leave messages if you can write." Stojna thought his voice would ring in her head for the rest of her life. They'd already been over this several times, and she could almost repeat it off by heart. "Anything that might be of interest, I want to hear about. Leadership changes, changes of plans, plans in the first place, where they're hiding their weapons, where they're hiding their money."
"I hear you every night in my dreams," Stojna said as she passed him. The rain was still coming down, and they had a long way to go.
"Good. Then you won't forget." Lukánsky gripped her by the shoulder. "One more thing, Miss Markojvic."
"I'm listening." Nastrántsy asshole.
"Don't let any of those men touch you."