Snippets and a bit of Raven who roared

 well, what I've been working on is a story which suggested itself to me in the light of Mira and Bazyli's intent to train young people in practical skills. So there will be Mira and Bazyli in it after a few chapters but I want to get a bit further ahead of myself before I start posting. 

In the meantime I have odd snippets and chapters, and if you are amenable, I'll post them. I've even got 5 chapters of the next Bess, and 11 of the early de Curtney story which needs a wrap. My editor wants another story about the fledglings, and Lew roared his way into telling me how he met Janina and in light of my recent YouTube viewing I am going to name the members of his lance Janek, Guslik and Grzesz. Janek will have a dog. I love to tribute. 

I have bits of Wojciech goes a Venturing. I had to write one to introduce the blond snot into the wip. Meantime, here's the first chapter of Lew's story. 

Chapter 1

 

Lew Krasiński strode through the streets of Warszawa, drawing gazes from all he passed. He was an impressive figure, being well over six feet tall, and well built.  His bulk and height were emphasised by his uniform, shining armour and the well-feathered ‘wings’ of the winged hussars. Captain Krasiński was twenty years old, devastatingly handsome, and many Saxon and Polish maidens dreamed of him as their own image of, for the Saxon girls, the young Siegfried; and the Polish maidens, a bohatyr of bohatyri.

He and his father could both wrestle with the king, August the Strong, without being in danger. They eschewed their monarch’s choices of displays of strength, having no interest in blood sports like fox tossing, and failing to see a point in breaking perfectly good horseshoes with the bare hands.

Lew had spent some of his youth in Saxony, when his father had accompanied the king into exile, following the imposition of Stanisław Leszczyński on the throne by Karol of Sweden. Krasińscy always supported their lawful king, whatever they thought of his hobbies. Lew’s own hobbies included rocketry, which was an obsession for most Krasińscy.

He stopped to admire the fireworks being set off above the river, taking a professional interest in their effects. He was not so enthralled that he failed to feel a little hand feeling at the pouch he wore at his belt.

Steel fingers seized the small hand’s wrist, and Lew turned to see what he had caught.

The child was small, pale, with dark, messy-hair, and had the tracks of tears on its none-too-clean face. Lew regarded the face and its delicate features which were drowned by the enormous grey eyes.

“You’re not a very good pickpocket,” said Lew.

“Oh, it isn’t anything like as easy as it looks, I ... I am sorry, but I am so hungry,” said the child.

The voice was cultured. It also replied to him in the Latin he had unconsciously used.

“Queen of Poland! What’s a little szlachcic doing, acting the pickpocket?” demanded Lew. The child quailed. He had absently used his parade-ground voice, and his voice was loud to start off with. The king teased him with being the little lion with wings, a play on his name, Lew, or the Raven who roared, a joke on his familial heraldry, that of the Biały-Kruk, or White Raven.

“P...please, I have not stolen anything from you, so you could let me go,” said his captive, tentatively.

“Little one, if you are hungry, you would do much better to let your captor feed you, and you can pay me with your story. I’m newly back in Warszawa, and catching up with the local gossip.”

“Oh! Where have you been? I thought the war was over?”

“Well, I’ve fought the Swedes as a technical mercenary,” said Lew. “Before you, you see the occasional Englishman, Leon Raven, which was about the best my English compatriots could manage of Lew Krasiński, herbu Biały-Kruk. I’ve been escorting one Stanisław Poniatowski home from Sweden, where he was ambassador, and I still haven’t made up my mind if he’s a traitor or well-meaning. The king is inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. See? It wasn’t really that interesting.”

“Was that all you were doing?”

“Oho, you think I had another reason?” laughed Lew. “Well, you can continue wondering; there’s a stall down by the river which sells good barszcz in half-loaves, and gives you the scooped out filling too. Come along, little minnow, and I will feed you; and if your story is of sufficient interest to me, I will find you a position in my poczet as a pacholik. How old are you?”

“Fourteen, my lord,” said the subdued captive.

“You look nearer ten,” said Lew. “Still, whatever, I will find you a place and we can decide later whether you want to ride as a martial pocztowy, or if you will improve your education and be a clerk, with or without further larcenous skills in stealing from ulans and the infantry.”

“But why do you steal from other units? Aren’t you all a part of the Rzeczpospolita? Or do you consider them treasonous? Did they support the usurper?”

“Oh! No, nothing like that. Most of it’s for sport; and the rest is because military administration is for shit. Order three hundred snaffles and like as not they’ll send you five hundred boots. So one, ah, scrounges. It’s an art,” said Lew.

“Oh, it sounds fun, if one isn’t dependent on it for food,” said his captive.

“Oh, hell, yes,” said Lew. “So, what shall I call you?”

A quick look was shot his way.

“Did you deliberately not ask my name?”

“Oh, well done, little one.”

“You can call me ... Jan.  Jan Kowalski.”

“We had a lot of John Smiths in the English army too, which means the same,” said Lew, who was quite proud of being able to manage the awkward combination –th. He had practised not to say the English name ‘Rzon Smyś’.

“It’s a good name,” said Jan, defensively.

“Never said it wasn’t,” agreed Lew. “Here.” They had reached the stall he had spoken of. He handed over money to the vendor  for a generous portion of barszcz in bread, paying for a wooden spoon as well, and watched his small captive eat it with a daintiness which was sufficiently trained in to overcome any desire to gobble.

“Now, little one,” said Lew, “Since small boys are never dainty about food, even if born princes, so you can tell me the true story without having to lie about being a girl. And I’d believe a girl of fourteen for that matter. I’m not asking for your name, and I won’t ask more than you feel able to tell me, but I want to know the bones of the matter about why a little szlachcianka is running about Warszawa on her own, associating with dangerous and notorious people like winged hussars.”

“I ...I ran away from my uncle,” said ‘Jan’. “My name’s Janina, so Jan is close enough. I was orphaned a year or so ago, and went to live with my Uncle Tobiasz. And I thought at first he was very nice, and kind, and if I felt a little too old for cuddles and bedtime stories, well, he has no children, and I figured that he was doing his best. Only he started getting into bed with me to tell stories and insisting that I cuddle up to him, and it made me uncomfortable. And a few times there was a damp place in my bed where he had been, and at first I thought that because he’s really old, at least forty, that he had bladder problems. And then my maid asked if he was a good lay, and said she didn’t think that a young girl would fancy him. And she explained ... explained what the wet places were. And he had just started caressing me as he told me stories, and the stories were getting ... well, I didn’t like them. So as my maid was supportive, I sent her to buy me boys’ clothes, and ... and when I was out riding with Uncle Tobiasz, I had the boy’s clothes underneath, and ... and I jumped the mare over a tall hedge, a real rasper, and slipped out of the saddle as she was coming down, and hit the ground rolling. I left my hat there and pulled off the jacket and skirt, and bundled them up and ran along the hedge until I found a hole through it.  I found a boy scaring birds, and said I’d help him, and I hid my clothes under some earth, and ran about throwing stones.”

“What about your hair?” asked Lew.

“Oh, I’d already cut that and pinned the braid in my hat,” said Janina. “I took the braid with my clothes so he did not guess what I had done, and  I bribed the boy more than my uncle would have given him to tell. He never even asked either of us whether we had seen a girl. And it was awfully difficult not to shy a stone at him.”

“Hell, yes, I wager,” said Lew. “What a thoroughgoing bastard! Why didn’t you lay a deposition against him?”

Janina gave a cynical laugh.

“My family name is Dąbski,” she said. “My uncle is a nephew of the late kingmaker Archbishop, Stanisław Dąbski. The king has no idea what vile relatives his late supporter has, and would never believe it. So I’m on the run from someone who can bring powerful forces to bear. Do you still want to hide me?”

“Oh, yes,” said Lew. “People like that offend me.  And if the king knew, he would not condone it.  I might just see if I can get more evidence against him, and build enough of a case to at least challenge him to a duel, and seek forgiveness after killing him, which is easier to do than getting permission to kill him, and moreover, it’s a little hard to unkill someone.  You are resourceful! What did you do with the clothes and hair?”

“I sold them,” said Janina. “I had limited money, but I took the clothes to a secondhand dealer and said my mistress had taken a toss and could not be bothered to clean and mend the habit; and the hair I sold as belonging to a supposed sister.”

“Well, you are a resourceful child,” said Lew.

“I’ve been living on the streets about eight months now, but my money ran out, and there are only so many errands I can do,” confessed Janina. “But much as I’d like to have somewhere for the winter, and steady food, how can I be your pacholik?”

“Well, little girl, I wasn’t planning on introducing you as anyone but Jan Kowalski. But if you want to tell the world you are Janina Dąbska, it seems a bit daft to me.”

“Oh! You ... you think I can do it?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Lew. “I’ll cut your hair a bit better, and put you in livery. It’ll never be questioned, especially as you are educated and know Latin. Nobody would expect a szlachcianka to be a pacholik. Though having said that, my grandsire met his second wife outside Vienna dressed as a janissary.”

“Oh, my!” said Janina.

“Yes, very bold,” said Lew.  “Well, if you think you’re up to being my pacholik, I won’t expect you to help me dress or bath, which I might have done if I hadn’t been able to see further through a brick wall than most people. I don’t have a valet at the moment, he was poached from me by some redboots with a more glamorous lifestyle.”

“What do you then call the colour of your boots, my lord?” asked Janina, cheekily.

“Why, red; but I’m a man who wears red boots because they are pretty not because I’m a magnate who needs them to validate my existence. I am equally beautiful, capable and awesome whatever colour boots I am wearing or even if not wearing boots at all.”

“I see,” said Janina, gravely. “Or even wearing red-heeled, ruby red brocade slippers for dancing at court?”

“Whelp,” said Lew. “I never wear girls’ clothes at court, only good Sarmatian garb.  I dance in my hussar boots, and I wager I’m lighter on my feet than bewigged, powdered mountebanks in their silk stockings and fancy embroidered Ludwik Quartorze shoes, and my heels are almost as high, but you don’t see me mincing about like I have tacks through my toes and a stick up my arse.”

“Now tell me, my lord, what you really think of western fashion,” said Janina.

He laughed.

“Well, I should apologise for my language, but if I stop swearing, people will think I’m ill and they’ll wonder why my page is tender. So you’ll have to learn to live with it.”

“I am sure I can manage, my lord. And as my tender years are very tender, if you say something I don’t understand, I will ask you in a clear and carrying treble what it means, because small children have no tact,” said Janina.

“Oh, I do like you,” said Lew, warmly. “And because small children are overlooked, if you’re up for it, I’ll be using you as a pair of ears,” he added.

“So you were spying in Sweden.”

“Direct, aren’t you?” said Lew. “The king prefers, ‘seeking intelligence by non-direct methods’, but I say it’s spying, and you agree. Yes, I was checking that Karol Waza was really most sincerely dead, and not likely to surface somewhere. It’s a mystery, though, even in two years since he died, whether he was killed by his own, or by his foes, no-one knows.”

“He must have been hated if it’s to be considered.”

“He broke Sweden by being too greedy,” said Lew. “And he got a lot of Swedes killed by not knowing when to give up.”

“Do you do a lot of spying?” asked Janina.

“Off and on,” shrugged Lew.  “It’s been a little busy over the last few years, but it’s settling down. I’m so big that people discount me and assume I’m stupid.”

“They haven’t looked at the way your eyes laugh all the time and what a rogue you look,” said Janina, admiring the tall, golden figure of her new lord, who wore his hair long and flowing in a silver-gilt mane to match his name, and whose moustache was full and long, but beautifully groomed so it did not impede or hide a pair of humorous lips as it flowed into his short, well-tamed beard.

Part of her which was growing up found his lips most intriguing.

Most of her was glad that he was big and intimidating and yet somehow ... safe.

 and yes, I am going to skip a few years before he notices her in any way romantically.