Mad Mikolaj and the austrian infiltration III

 

III

 

“Dornquast? Didn’t you have a little trouble with your wife’s cousin?” said the Graf Von Eschenhalz. “You’re a Pole, I believe?” He was a neat, dark, dapper fellow.

“Why, yes, the clothing gives it away a little bit,” said Mikołaj. “Yes, Franz never was his uncle’s heir but he wanted to contest the estate going to the former graf’s only child. He offered to duel. Well, I couldn’t duel a boy whose moustache looked as if it apologised for existing, so I let him duel my wife.  Gosia beat him, of course. Took his ear. And that should have been an end to the matter, because the stated reason for the duel was that he would renounce all claim if she won. But he sent his half-brother to blow up the coach with my mother, wife, and our firstborn in it. Fortunately he was inept; and Gosia captured him, Mama being wounded. And then Franz led an army against us. And the king loaned me some troops to finish that nonsense, and as far as I’m aware, hanged him. I lost interest in the irritating little fellow as soon as I’d handed him over for justice.  As anyone might.”

“Er, quite,” said Von Eschenhalz. “And your wife was willing to duel?”

“Oh, hell, yes, eager, willing, and ready,” said Mikołaj. “Martial sort of lady, my wife; I wouldn’t dare gainsay her.”

He noticed the moment the lip twitched into a curl, and the thought ‘fop’ ran across Von Eschenhalz’s face.

“I have no doubt you were happy for her to win a Prussian title for you,” he said.

“Oh, Frydek said he would settle that on me if I did a bit of mapping for him. I’m a very competent map-maker,” said Mikołaj. “I’d just finished that when the ladies joined us and the brouhaha began.”

“And the king’s men captured her cousin.”

“Well, they provided back-up, anyway,” said Mikołaj. “Not knowing how to mount a decent lance charge. Four of us were enough for him and his half dozen friends; he was one down. Gosia had shot him.”

“What Mikołaj does not tell you, is what a consummate warrior he is,” said Friedrich, coming softly up behind him. “Was that the tale of Franz’s ear I heard?”

“Yes, and you know how unfair it would have been if I’d duelled him,” said Mikołaj.

“It would have been murder. In a way, a shame it was not,” said Friedrich.

“He had to have his chance to find his honour. I could not have refused him that chance on my conscience,” said Mikołaj.

“No, you never could,” said Friedrich, “My dear Eduard, how is your charming mother?”

“Charming, as always,” said Von Eschenhalz. “I must write to her of the beauties of Sans Souci as women are forbidden here.”

“And that’s why Sans Souci is beautiful,” said Friedrich. “There might be those selected women I might permit, but if I permit some and exclude others, I have to commit the solecisms of telling those who are excluded why I don’t want them. And then they would screech over being told they were loud, vacuous, smelled of a million offensive scents from their makeup, hair pomatum and whatever scents they drown their handkerchiefs and bodies in. Which would make it even less restful.”

“Your majesty dislikes women,” said Von Eschenhalz.

“Oh, I’m more complex than that; you might just as well say that I dislike Poles,” said Friedrich. “I dislike most women and most Poles. If all women were like Mikołaj’s relatives and all Poles were like Mikołaj, the world would be very different. But then, that’s why I only have to talk to that little Saxon shit through Mikołaj.”

“Slug, majesty, not shit,” said Mikołaj. “Turds have the advantage of not being self-motile nor likely to bring disaster to the crops if you leave them be.”

“I stand corrected,” said Friedrich. “I talk to the Saxon slug through Mikołaj.”

“Yes, but Von Eschenhalz can have no interest in the Russians,” said Mikołaj, looking shifty. “Just because I’m a go-between because of my holdings in Russia....”

“Yes, indeed, no interest at all,” said Friedrich, heartily. “Now, Mikołaj, I’ve found a French horn for you, and over here is Wilhelm, Graf Von Blommenlage who can explain the valves to you.”

“He’ll need the embouchure first, sire,” said Von Blommenlage.

“I fancy he already knows what to do with his lips,” said Friedrich.

“Please! There are people present,” said Mikołaj.

Von Blommenlage gave him a look of distaste. He was a florid man of around forty, a few inches shorter than Mikołaj.

“I found you this horn,” said Friedrich.

Mikołaj took it, and played the charge on it.

“You big Polish oaf,” said Friedrich. “Don’t you know how to do anything but advance lance and charge?”

“It seems to work. You enjoyed my last lance charge.”

“Hush, now, and learn.”

“At your command, sire,” said Mikołaj, bowing.

He did it western fashion for a change. Friedrich laughed, and left them to it.

“I would prefer that you use only the horn his majesty has found for you, and do not ever use the one I use,” said Von Blommenlage.

“You need not worry; I have no time whatsoever for your little horn,” said Mikołaj. If the fellow was going to be offended, one might as well be offensive. “I doubt I could make it wail a paean of joy as I might with some horns I’ve played.”

“You’re disgusting,” said Von Blommenlage. “But the king wishes you taught to use the valves.”

Mikołaj was a fast learner, and was soon producing music recognisable as having been composed by Telemann. Gosia added a harpsichord accompaniment. Friedrich applauded, coming over.

“I knew you would soon pick it up,” he said. “Telemann this evening then.”

“It’s a simple enough process,” said Mikołaj. “Much like the valves for the air and water redistribution on your majesty’s submarine...oh! I am sorry. But nobody’s listening,” he added as Friedrich put a finger to his mouth. Von Blommenlage was in hearing range.

“No harm done,” said Friedrich. Out of sight of Von Blommenlage, he gave Mikołaj a delighted wink.

Both main suspects now had a story to tell; one about a suggested treaty between Prussia, Russia, and Poland; and the other that Prussia had a submarine.

And Wurfel had a story of intended kidnap of Maria Teresa.

Mikołaj smiled a beatific smile, and reflected how amusing it would be if all were spies and sent back details of three disparate plots.

 

oOoOo

 

Gosia retired discreetly to use one of the closed stools in privy closets set up for her by the king, and set out to return to play more. She was not expecting trouble dressed as a boy, and gave a little cry, more of outrage than of fear, when Wurfel pounced on her from behind.

“You little shit! You have your protector in that big Polish oaf, I can’t stop him making eyes at the king, but you, you’re just a hireling, and I won’t have you flirting with him! Another few months and I’ll be set up for life if I’m careful!  I’m going to break every one of those golden fingers of yours!”

“You’d take away my livelihood as a keyboard player because it pleases the king to flirt on one weekend while I am here?” Gosia was truly frightened, but busy continuing to act as a musician for hire.

“Oh, I know what you’re after, you want to supplant me. And you shan’t! I have a hammer waiting through that door. Move!” 

Wurfel had both Gosia’s arms twisted up behind her back, bending her forwards.

It would hurt, but not as much as having her hands hammered. Gosia threw herself forwards, ducking her head right in to land and roll on her shoulders. All the Hopak she had learned would help her here, and she just threw herself into it, kicking back with her feet towards Wurfel to help her rotate.

At some point, he let go of her, as he was pulled off balance, and the force of her move twisted against his thumbs. Her kick caught him on the thighs, and completed his loss of balance. He fell, heavily, as Gosia was rolling back to regain her feet. In a flash, she had drawn her sabre.

“Tell me, precious, why I shouldn’t just gut you?” said Gosia. “You wouldn’t get away with it; I might be playing as a hireling but I’m still of the szlachta, and nobody would turn a hair at me cutting you in half.”

“The king would care! I am his lover!” cried Wurfel.

“He’d soon find consolation,” said Gosia. “Get up; we’re going back outside to see my pet, Frydek. And see what he thinks of you destroying the hands of a musician. Oh, Schneider, wasn’t it?” she added as a footman came to see what was happening. “This little Wurst wanted to hurt me; will you like to help me see him taken to the king?”

“Of course, my lord.” The footman already knew the Poles as generous tippers.  He did not like Wurfel.

Wurfel was marched at sabre point into the garden.

“What’s this?” demanded Friedrich, a couple of his guards moving down towards the scene.

“Precious here wanted to break all my finger bones with a hammer,” said Gosia, a tear running out of one eye now it was over. “Schneider helped me.”

“Precious will regret that,” growled Mikołaj. “My thanks, Schneider.”

“Mine too,” said Friedrich.

“I did very little,” said Schneider.

“Nevertheless, it will be remembered,” said Friedrich. “Well, Wurfel?”

“I love you, your majesty! I do not want this boy trying to supplant me!” howled Wurfel.

“He loves more the thought that what you give him is almost enough to set him up for life,” said Gosia, furiously.

“I see,” said Friedrich. “Lock Herr Wurfel up. See that he is not uncomfortable. I will consider this. It is a betrayal to attack those I trust. And a crime to attack any musician’s fingers. Your hands, my treasure?”

“Unharmed,” said Gosia. “I know too many Cossack fighting tricks to let him take me far.”

“Good,” said Friedrich. “No, Mikołaj, I am not going to cede him to you. But why don’t you take our favourite Jewel back inside for comforting?”

“Thank you, sire,” said Mikołaj.