“One,” replied Baron Iglacias Rostov. His hostess, Sara Bulsoni, put a single lump of sugar in his teacup.
“Lemon or milk?”
“No, thank you.”
Miss Bulsoni elegantly poured the tea and handed the cup to him even more elegantly. They sat at a quiet table just off the most elegant ballroom in the Kalzov Valley. The festivities celebrating the groundbreaking for the Illyrian Railway spur were winding down.
“But to what do I owe the honor of this hospitality, Miss Bulsoni?”
“You owe it to me,” said a quiet voice with an archaic accent.
Count Vladimir Kalnichov came out of the shadows and sat down beside Miss Bulsoni. Gaspar Stokavski followed and stood behind them. Rostov was neither surprised nor worried to see Vladimir this far from home. This was a public place, and Grigor had sighted the two earlier in the evening.
“Thank you, Lord Kalnichov. Lord Stokavski, it is good to see you again, for the first time,” said the Baron. “You promised me better hospitality if I visited Wolf’s Lair. But I did not expect the head of your family to bring it to me.”
Gaspar nodded politely but did not return the pleasantries. Smiling fondly, Vladimir remarked, “Since she arrived from Bologna, Miss Bulsoni has been of great use to me. But my dear, I am afraid you must leave us now; Baron Rostov will speak more freely in your absence.” The young woman rose and left them, as quietly and elegantly as she had poured the Baron’s tea.
When she was gone, Vladimir continued, sounding like a judge giving sentence, “You were caught on Kalnichov lands.”
The wizard supposed that the Count’s long reign as head of his large family had made him judgmental, and resolved not to let the tone bother him. “Cleaning up your dirty laundry, sir,” he replied, unruffled. “How did you let Mr. Porter get so far out of hand?”
Vladimir looked almost uncomfortable. “The Kalnichovs are not of one mind on … John Porter’s project. Some younger men seek easy answers.” Reflectively, he went on, “Perhaps some of the blame is ours of the older generations, reminiscing about the glories of that which is gone but saying little of our dread.
“In any case, Baron, be sure that no successor to Mr. Porter will appear!”
“That will be good.” The Baron sipped his tea in silence before changing the subject. “My brief excursion north showed me much damage to your lands.”
“We will be healing. Mr. Porter was a symptom of a deeper problem. We have recognized that now, and are taking steps.”
“How may I help?” offered Rostov.
“Support extending this railway contraption north into our part of the valley.”
“Really? The railway may bring more dangerous ideas than gold to the Kalnichovs.”
Vladimir looked at him slyly. “You don’t think we can control the cargo of these trains?”
“I’m not sure any of us can, Lord Kalnichov. This railway business is full of risk. But … I’ve seen the enormous material well-being it has brought to the people around it in other parts of the world. I want that for me and my people, as well.”
“Do not hide your greed, Baron!” Vladimir’s eyes brightened, as if he had uncovered something Rostov didn’t want him to know.
The Baron smiled back easily, and said, “Yes, Count, I will help you with your railway.”
Vladimir saw Rostov fatally distracting himself in a chase after riches; Rostov saw another nail closing the Kalnichov coffin. Only time would tell if either was right.
-- The End --