Stefansfest dawned bright and clear, and as he met Jan Lisku in the chapel for morning mass Serge did not need the guarded look on his valet’s face to tell him he had a difficult day ahead of him. After kissing his mother and grabbing a venison pasty in the parlour he headed to the library, which was fast becoming his refuge in the house. It had been unshuttered and cleaned since his arrival, and its stoves and hearth were now to be routinely lit.
He had persuaded his uncle that the books were an asset and risking damp would damage their value. He just hoped this argument would not encourage the count to put them up for sale. For a young scholar, as Serge was, the Tarlenheim collection was a rare opportunity, for it was very likely the largest library in private hands in the kingdom. He intended to make good use of it over the next seven weeks.
But in the meantime the great room was a perfect refuge and soon it would be all his own. Colonel Dudley and his friends were leaving tomorrow. Serge had agreed to Jan Lisku’s suggestion that he should accompany them on their road back to Strelsau. ‘Who knows what they’ll indiscreetly come out with on the way?’ Jan had pointed out. ‘I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and see if I can penetrate their game, whatever it is.’
What to do about his brother? Talking directly to his father about the abuse his younger son was suffering would likely be a waste of time. He had remarked upon the boy’s distraction and depression but Graf Ruprecht’s reaction to finding out the cause would be at best counter-productive, at worst disastrous. His father’s sole strategy would be to tell Boromeo to deal with it himself by whatever means, including weaponry and bloodshed. He despised weakness in other males. His mother might be sympathetic to Boromeo’s situation, but she had no influence with his father.
So what about his uncle? A more rational and calculating man than Serge’s father, he could be reached by a reasonable argument. As head of the household there was a range of arguments that might appeal to him, though the strongest would likely be financial.
Now there’s an idea, Serge thought. Count Sergius would be going for his daily constitutional in an hour or two. On such a fine December day, his customary ride around his demesne ought to put him in a good mood. Serge closed and abandoned his book. Time to get Erebus saddled. He went out of the library calling for his page.
***
‘Where are we going, my lord?’ Karl Wollherz enquired politely as he pulled himself easily up onto Brunhild. He leant forward and checked the fitting of the mare’s bridle. The boy was an exceptional rider for his age, confident and at ease in the saddle. He was that morning in his blue military coat and perky cocked hat, along with the new breeches and fine knee boots he had for Christmas. It occurred to Serge that the boy was becoming quite a handsome figure of a lad. He was certainly popular with his fellow servants for his hard work and cheerfulness, as Jan Lisku had observed.
‘Well, young Karl. It’s a good morning for a ride, and I’m sure Erebus and Brunhild would agree with me. Did you observe whether my uncle’s road horse was out of the stable?’
‘Yes indeed, sir. She’s a bay called Isabeau. She and Brunhild are good friends.’
Serge chuckled. ‘And how do you know that?’
‘I just do, sir. Herr Schwarz, who’s the stablemaster here, he says that you have to remember that in nature horses are herd beasts. The thing being that it’s the mares who run the herd, and one queen mare in particular. So you have to observe their interactions, and who they defer to. I’m glad to say, sir, that other mares tend to defer to our Brunhild. Even Erebus and Acheron are learning who’s the queen of our little Engelngasse herd.’
‘Really? Karl, you’re an education.’
The boy giggled. ‘Oh sir, it’s you that does the educating. You and Master Jan I mean. I’m to begin catechism when we get back home to Strelsau, he says. I need my confirmation certificate.’
‘Good. Now my uncle will probably have ridden in the direction of town, I’d guess. He was talking last night of checking the manuring of the common fields. Then I imagine he’ll circle back down the river and come up through the Great Park. So we will amble down to the meadows and walk our horses up and down the river path till we “accidentally” encounter the Graf Sergius on his way home.’
‘Yes sir, would this be about my lord Boromeo, sir?’
‘Indeed so. I have to thank you for what you told Jan, it answered a lot of questions I had. What I don’t understand is why my little brother was willing to tell you so much and at such a brief acquaintance.’
Serge’s sideways glance caught the boy’s uncontrollable blush. It seemed there was something he wasn’t being told.
‘Er ... well, sir ... he was all upset and sort of crying. Maybe he had to tell someone and there I was.’
‘Hmm, indeed,’ Serge responded. ‘How very fortunate he chose you. Well, we have to do something about it, of course. Most importantly we have to get him away from that school at Modenheim.’
‘Oh good, sir. It seems a lot worse than living on the streets of the Neustadt. The kids there had nothing, but they helped each other when they could. The kids at Modenheim are horrible bullies and cruel. And the priests don’t stop them. I’m glad I’m not in a school.’
‘My opinion’s not worth much on that, as I was never in one myself.’
‘Oh sir, but you’re so wise and clever!’
The artless admiration caused Serge to blush this time. ‘Well never mind that, Karl. The point is my grandfather and grandmother were my teachers, they and the tutors they employed to teach what they could not. So if you like, I was in a school of one pupil, a bit like you really.’
‘Good, sir. That’s the best school.’
They ambled their mounts along the river bank towards the town. Just as the tower of the collegiate church of SS Andrew and Fenice began to appear above the willows, two riders approached them: the count and his groom.
‘Hallo, Uncle!’
‘Serge, my boy! What brings you out?’
‘My horses dragged me, uncle. They’re very demanding.’
The count laughed, and they fell in step back to the house. ‘I was hoping to talk to you about Boromeo, sir,’ Serge continued. ‘You must have noticed that he’s been even quieter than usual this holiday.’
‘He’s never a bundle of laughs, that’s for sure. But what of it, Serge?’
‘Sir, it’s that school at Modenheim. I don’t know what you’re paying them, but the money’s being wasted. The boys there are out of control and the fathers do nothing. It’s a scandal. You really should pull him out, you can see it’s doing him no good. To have a Tarlenheim there is to give the Modenheim Jesuits support they do not deserve.’
His uncle looked surprised and they walked their horses along quietly for a while before he eventually responded. ‘That’s troubling what you say, my boy. Fortunately, I’d already decided he wasn’t going back there, though for different reasons.’
‘Oh! That’s good, uncle. May I ask what made up your mind?’
‘You may indeed. It was Colonel Dudley, as it happens. He made the same point as you, that the boy’s schooling was evidently doing nothing for him. In the circumstances he suggested we do what good families do with boys who are a little on the slow side. What’s more he offered an opening that would fit Boromeo nicely. Your father jumped at the opportunity naturally. So it’s the army for him.’
‘The army, sir?’
‘It’ll sort him out, and not only that but he’s to have an ensign’s commission in your very own regiment, the Prinzengarde, offered him as a favour by Dudley in the half-company of that good fellow Barkozy, his aide, who’s to have a captain’s commission in the new year. All done for the cost of a horse, a buff coat and a boy-sized breastplate. Couldn’t be better.’
‘But he’s only just fourteen, sir. Couldn’t it wait a year?’
‘Fourteen’s old enough. Ensigns can be found as young as twelve. And dammit, it’s a guard regiment. You don’t get this sort of chance every day. You’re not bothered that the boy’ll be hanging round you in the Hofburg?’
‘No, no, of course not. Though he’ll be welcome at Engelngasse. It’ll reassure our mother. But boys have to grow up quickly in the army. I just wonder if he’s the sort of boy who’ll meet that demand.’
‘The Church wouldn’t have him, so what’s the alternative? Can’t have him mooning around the place, and private tutors cost such a lot.’
‘I was going to suggest Olmusch, sir. I’m sure our grandfather would be happy to foster him for a year or two.’
The count sniffed. ‘Your honoured grandfather is a generous man, but one would say that in educating you he more than discharged his family obligation. Besides, you’re a canny and clever fellow Serge, and we’re proud of you. Olmusch was the best possible place for you, and in due course you’ll be the Baron yourself. You’ve been equipped to occupy the same sort of place in the Duchy as your grandfather does now. But it’s unlikely Boromeo will ever have to shoulder that burden. No, the army’s the place for him. You’ll take him back to Strelsau with you when you go and you can fit him out. Good. I’m glad we all think alike on this.’
***
That Stefansfest evening was clear and bright, though chilly. The stars burned cold in the frosty sky as the sun went down, and bonfires sprang up all over Tarlenheim. A huge blaze built by the servants and demesne workers lit up the paddocks of the great house. By the generosity of Count Sergius tables were heaped with roast meat and pies, and barrels of the local beer were broached.
Karl Wollherz wandered down into the park with a couple of his new friends amongst the stable lads. They were denied beer but found a way to monopolise an entire venison pie. Karl burped loudly as he lay back, quite full.
‘Karlo!’ called Lucacz Marcovic, a boy his own age whom he found funny and friendly, even though Lucacz knew no German and Karl no Rothenian. ‘Veznij klugij! Veznij klugij!’ The boy jabbed his finger at a distant procession of hundreds of people approaching from the direction of the town bearing torches, their cheers, laughter and singing growing ever louder and more raucous. At the head of the parade was a lady wearing a crown of candles. She was followed by three youths in white blouses, their faces painted, dragging a rather recalcitrant goat. Musicians with hurdy-gurdies and fiddles accompanied the party.
‘It’s the Sternjungen,’ his other friend Moricz said. ‘They’ve come to sing for their schnapps. Come on, let’s go listen. They sing really rude songs.’
So the three boys sidled into the big crowd and listened with delight to the off-colour ditties the three Starboys happily performed in German and Rothenian to the people of the hall. One or two were definitely aimed at the count and his brother, who scowled as the singers lampooned his readiness to use a stick on servants and peasants who annoyed him.
Karl reflected that the youths couldn’t be identified under their costumes and face paint, which was one reason they could be so bold and shameless, with no fear of retaliation. Count Sergius was rather more amused and sent over the butler with horn cups of spirits to refresh the Starboys once they had finished. They bowed low to him and with a whoop led off back to the town, the procession singing carols as they went.
The three boys enjoyed themselves repeating and sniggering over the rudest of the lyrics they could understand, Moricz interpreting German for Lucacz and Rothenian for Karl, until the bonfires began to die down and people started drifting back to the great house. As Lucacz and Moricz bade him goodnight and headed back to their quarters in the stable lofts where they shared a bed, Karl wandered out on to one of the lawns under the starlit sky, for there was no moon that night. He was feeling very happy with the world and himself.
His neck prickled, for a small dark figure was sitting alone up on a rail fence. He ran over. His evening was complete. ‘Jonas! Jonas!’
The elven boy hopped down. Without hesitation, Karl grabbed him in a tight hug and found that he was being hugged back.
‘Thank you for coming. Missed you,’ Karl said.
‘We need to talk,’ Jonas replied. And a very strange thing happened. The dark expanse of starlit grass vanished, and after a moment of absolute blackness Karl found himself face to face with Jonas sitting on his master’s bed in their warm room, a fire crackling in the hearth.
‘I thought it’d be nicer up here. I know you feel the cold.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Oh, it’s a quick way of getting round. If we’d walked up through the house, I’d have been noticed, even if I’d put on those clothes things.’
‘Let me take my muddy shoes off, they’ll mark the bed.’
‘See! Clothes are stupid.’
‘Not in the cold they aren’t.’
‘Can you swim?’ Jonas asked a little hesitantly.
‘What? No. Can you?’
‘Yes. I like water.’
‘So are you a water spirit?’
‘No, but I have a ... house under water, quite near where you live in Strelsau. We could play there.’ He looked hopefully at his friend.
‘But I’d drown,’ Karl smiled.
‘No. It’s not like that. Anyway, will you promise to play with me, one day?’
‘Love to. You’re my best friend.’
Jonas beamed. ‘Even including Brunhild?’
‘Well ... it’s not the same. Brunhild’s more like my family.’
‘Hmm. It’s about family I want to talk, Lord Serge’s I mean. His brother’s escaped one danger and is now in a worse one. The enemy was too quick for us. Boromeo’s fallen into his power.’
‘Oh, no!’
Jonas looked serious. ‘So now it’s over to you, Karl. You’re going to have to save him, with some help from me of course.’ He sat musing a while, and then looked directly at Karl. ‘It seems to me that the enemy knows I’m at work, and that’s a puzzle. Does he really know who he’s dealing with? That sort of confidence would mean he has power, or thinks he has. He must believe I’m not able to confront him directly. As I said, it’s a puzzle.’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying, Jonas. But does this mean we’re a gang, me and you?’
‘It certainly does.’
‘Well then. We have to pledge loyalty. Spit on you right hand, like this. Can you spit?’
‘Sort of.’ The elven boy obliged.
‘Then we clasp hands, tight. Ow! Not that tight. And I say: I swear to you my bestest friend, to keep our faith up to the end. All I have with you I’ll share, tho’ my tummy’s empty and my feet are bare! Now you.’
Grinning, Jonas complied. ‘That was good. I liked that.’
‘When I was on the streets in Strelsau, I swore it to the Conduit gang. I never broke my promise.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Jonas Niemand said quietly. ‘That’s one reason I’m here.’
***
In his last week at Tarlenheim, Serge decided to make a trip over to Medeln abbey and take leave of his aunt. Abbess Maria had made quite an impression on him. He found her decisiveness and deep intelligence quite a new thing amongst his relations on his father’s side. He sent over a note and received permission to stay over for two nights and use the abbey’s library.
As usual Karl trotted alongside him on Brunhild. The weather had warmed up a little as February arrived, though they now had to deal with gusting winds, showers and muddy roads. They were thoroughly soaked when they reached the abbey, despite their cloaks. Serge took care that Karl was properly warmed and changed into dry clothes before he went to his aunt, the boy had been pale and shivering when they dismounted.
‘My dear Sergius, what a pleasure,’ the lady said with a smile as he was admitted to her presence. ‘That good Father Heer whom you introduced to us was perfect company for a week. He’s to return and has offered to catalogue our manuscripts, something my predecessors never got round to. He had so much to tell us. I have a copy of his notes if you wish to use them to explore the books.’
‘Thank you, aunt. That was one of the things I had in mind. I also want to record the wall monuments I didn’t get round to last time. St Fenice rather monopolised me.’
‘That’s right and proper, Sergius. You know that one of my Tarlenheim predecessors as abbess – Cecilia it was, in the time of Duke Rudolf III – wanted to rededicate the abbey to SS Mary and Fenice. But the Chapter-General of our order put a stop to it, though there were precedents for joint dedications in our nunneries. But the Cistercians have always given their principal allegiance to the Mother of God. When Duke Rudolf got to hear about it he was not at all pleased, so it was dropped. I trust you’ll join me for dinner this evening, after compline.’
Serge bowed his complaisance, and knelt to kiss the lady abbess’s ring of office. As he got up from his knee he noticed a devotional item on her robe he had not seen before: an antique silver brooch in the form of a death’s head pinned above her right breast. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t remember exactly what.
***
Karl liked the abbey, though principally because the lay sisters were prone to spoil him. He was allowed to wander where he liked, though he spent most of the time in the stables, where the farrier was happy to talk to him about hoof maintenance and other fascinating questions concerning horse husbandry. Brunhild and Erebus, it transpired, could do with some work. One of Erebus’s shoes was missing nails, and he was scheduled to have it replaced before he left the abbey. Karl was very keen to help. Gottlieb wouldn’t let him near his tools back home at Engelngasse.
The morning after their arrival, he went out after breakfast in the guest house still chewing on gingerbread that a smiling sister had pushed into his hand. He wandered around the north side of the church and ended up staring at the three anchorites’ cells built up against the north choir aisle. Curious, he sidled up to the middle one of the three and cautiously stood up on a nearby gravestone to peer through the open window. Within was no bare cell, but a cosy little room with a hearth, furniture, a bookshelf and a frame set up for embroidery. The inhabitant was sitting peacefully by the hearth, a book in hand, but she was looking directly at Karl. He froze. He had been caught out.
‘Well young man,’ the lady called out. ‘You seem determined to explore this place. Do you have permission to be here?’
Karl decided not to bolt for it, but to take what punishment might come his way. ‘Er ... sorry my lady, I didn’t mean to be so nosy.’
The nun actually laughed. ‘Curiosity is natural enough in a boy your age.’
‘I didn’t know ladies who are hermits were allowed to talk to people.’
‘A common misconception. In fact it’s encouraged. Our separation from the world gives us a perspective that many prize, and so we not infrequently have visitors who wish to discuss their lives and struggles. But it’s easier if you come round the other side, where there’s a window for the purpose. So hop along, I think you and I have things to say to each other.’
‘Sorry, my lady, but do I know you?’
‘No child, but I think we may have a common acquaintance or two.’
‘My lady?’
‘Hurry it up.’
So Karl found his way to the north transept, where the door was open. Within, the intimidating space under the vaults was quiet and the air scented with incense. He hurried through the open screen into the north aisle and found three doors and three windows opening into it from his left, with seats built next to the windows. He squirmed into the middle one, and found he was positioned so he could see the nun seated on the other side. She seemed kindly and in her old age, though it was difficult to tell much about her since her face was framed by a coif and wimple.
‘What is your name, young man?’
‘I’m Karl, mistress. I’m page to my lord Sergius von Tarlenheim, who’s the nephew of your lady abbess.’
‘You’ve had much unhappiness in your young life, am I right? You’ve lost those closest to you.’
Karl’s voice caught as he mumbled his assent. Tears blinded his eyes.
‘You may well weep for those you’ve lost, child. Your tears honour them, but you know the separation is not for good. Your father, mother and sister, they know you miss them and they miss you. But one day ...’
Karl’s sharp young mind registered that the lady seemed to know rather more about him than she ought to have. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I said nothing about parents and sister.’
‘No. But then I did say we have common acquaintances. There is an occasional visitor in this place, which I’ll have you know is a very special one where the barriers between worlds are thin.’
‘Jonas Niemand, you know him!’
The lady chuckled. ‘Not as such, but I know more about him than most. He’s already having his effect on you I see. You’re developing the clear sight. I can tell you he loves the name you gave him, by the way.’
‘What does that mean, my lady? The clear sight?’
‘Jonas is no mere elf, as you think him to be, though I can understand the mistake. He does have elvish traits, to be sure. But he is the greatest spirit permitted to enter the world freely, a high prince among them. He has many names and many guises. But he likes best the shape that fits his mind, that state which the Great Council decreed he must ever occupy, for he is a boy eternally and that is a great sadness to him. For he can find friends like you and have great joy in it, but one day all too soon you’ll leave the boy behind and become a man and in that he can never follow you. His life is therefore a life tinged with sadness, but that is what makes him the greatest of his kind. For he approaches nearer the human than any other of his people, and though he does not know it one day that will be his crown and glory.
‘To associate with him is to breathe the air of another and greater world and it will have – it’s already having – an effect on you. You see me for instance, as others would not, and your mind touches mine.’
Karl digested this. He felt the same as he ever did, but then looking at the face of this strange lady hermit he realised that she was right, he knew her for something more than she appeared. ‘My lady, if I may ask,’ he said, ‘could you tell me about this struggle over the boy Boromeo which me and Jonas are fighting.’
‘A little. It all began in this place where, as I said, worlds come close together. A great treasure is concealed in this church, and it is a thing that if you know of it makes many things possible here which are possible nowhere else. Words have power in this place that they do not have otherwise, and if you were to find out what those words are and how they are to be spoken, well then, some great and terrifying things can be made to happen. And they have done, for four years ago a very clever, desperate and foolish man stood there at the end of the church and opened a door into another world and crossed into it. It was an act of intolerable presumption, and in calling on that elemental power the man himself came to be blasted into nothing, not just in this world but in the next. He has no place there and uniquely he must live forever between worlds, which will be very troublesome to his family for a long time to come.
‘You see, his family is part of the problem, for here its blood is not the same as the blood of others.’
‘So he was a Tarlenheim, lady, you’re talking of the wizard who was my lord Serge’s grandfather.’
The nun looked surprised. ‘My dear boy, you astonish me. Jonas’s magic is working on you far quicker than I would have thought. You see clearly indeed. Well, well. I grow more and more hopeful the longer I talk to you. Jonas has chosen wisely.’
‘So then, lady, is this why Boromeo is in danger? His blood?’
‘I’m again astounded at your quickness. Child, you’re perfectly correct. For if the circumstances are right young Boromeo could be made to open that door again, and this time there would be no closing it.’
‘So that’s what Jonas was on about. Now I understand.’
She smiled. ‘Good, but I’m afraid there’s more to it, Karl Wollherz. There is more than one source of danger and more than one eager and arrogant mind set on opening that door. Treason is in the air. But now enough. There are things you need to know and things you do not. It has been a great pleasure and relief to me in talking to you. And maybe we will talk again. Take good care of your lord Serge for, all-unknowing, danger closes about him too, him and his good friend the Black Bastard of Strelsau, and it is to that anguished boy that I want to address myself. Here is a sign for you. Take this ring. Splendid is it not? It is the key to open a prison. Put it in your pocket and keep it close. No one must see yet that you have it, though one day – you’ll know when – there will be a time you must produce it.’
Karl took the ring and stared at it. It was a woman’s ring of rich gold dusted with diamonds, the bezel a glowing ruby.
‘Now off you go, my little warrior and noble young knight,’ the nun said. ‘It’s nearly time for terce.’
‘Thank you, my lady. Can I come and talk to you again?’
‘You can come, my dear, and welcome. And I will be here. I’m never anywhere else.’
***
Abbess Maria came down to the outer court to say farewell to her nephew. Serge was properly complimented. Erebus and Brunhild were already saddled and waiting, Karl holding the reins.
‘It’s been a joy having you here, Sergius,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be able to come again when your duties permit. Do convey my best wishes to my brothers and sisters-in-law. I hope things work out for young Boromeo. I share your concerns. He was always a hesitant and withdrawn child. Maybe the military might be the making of him, and maybe not. Either way it places a burden on you.’
‘Thank you for your concern, aunt. Remember us in your prayers.’
The abbess nodded. Before she turned away, she smiled down on Karl Wollherz. ‘Well, young man, I hope the sisters have taken good care of you in your stay.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ the boy piped up. ‘They’re very kind. Especially the lady nun in the hermit cell. She was awfully nice, but she wasn’t there when I went to say goodbye to her. Even though she said that’s where she’d always be.’
The abbess looked puzzled. ‘Which of the two anchorites do you mean, little one?’
‘The one in the middle cell, my lady.’
‘But that’s been empty for a good three weeks, since Sister Agnes was taken to the infirmary. She died ten days ago.’
‘But ... but … there was a nun there. An old lady.’
The abbess shook her head. ‘You must be mistaken, young man. Neither of our anchorites are what you would call old, either.’
The pair mounted and after Serge bade his final farewell they turned their horses’ noses towards home. When Serge passed under the arch he looked back, to see the abbess still watching after them.
***
The parting at Tarlenheim was as much a matter of relief to Serge as regret. He was eager to return to the world of the court. He missed his friends and his old house on the Altstadt. He missed Willi in particular. Also he had a lot to talk about with Jan Lisku, who was still in Strelsau watching over their house and interests. But he hugged his mother and aunt, wrung his father and uncle’s hands and in general made a decent show of parting sorrow. Boromeo was clearly affected to be leaving home, but at least he wasn’t going back to Modenheim.
Karl had saddled and prepared Boromeo’s horse and Serge had been pleased to see his page working with his brother to get him used to the full-sized stallion that he had to ride, now he was going for a soldier. Boromeo was in his first adolescent growth and had gained some height. but was lanky rather than sturdy. The black horse was restless under him, and the three days on the road would be needed to get them used to each other.
With a final goodbye, Serge led his little party down through the park and out on to the road that took the Taveln valley. Karl was leading Acheron, who was weighed down with the baggage of both brothers. Serge had observed to Karl that Queen Brunhild would have her work cut out to organise three fractious stallions.
‘Not at all, sir,’ the boy had replied confidently, ‘she’s got them in hand. Acheron and Erebus do what they’re told. The new black will soon learn from them who’s boss.’
It was a quiet party that arrived at the Altstadt Gate on the afternoon of Septuagesima Sunday. Serge turned in his saddle. ‘So this is Strelsau, Boromeo. Excited?’
His brother shrugged, but his eyes were darting everywhere as they rode under the arch and on to the busy city streets. The bells of the cathedral of St Vitalis and the abbey of St Waclaw rang out over their heads as they crossed the Erzbischofsplatz and took the downward road along the Domstrasse.
‘Engelngasse, my lords!’ Karl sang out happily as they reached the familiar corner. ‘Brunhild says she’s happy to be home.’
They toiled under the arch and into the yard beyond. Karl slid off Brunhild and went shouting into the house. ‘Master Jan! Margrit! We’re back!’ Serge noticed wryly that Gottlieb got no share of his greetings. Boromeo stayed sitting on his horse, unsure what to do.
‘Get down, brother,’ Serge said. ‘We’ve got a chamber prepared for you. No need to report to your regiment till you’ve seen the city.’
Boromeo nodded. ‘Maybe Karl can take me round tomorrow?’ he suggested. Not for the first time, Serge observed that the younger boy had developed an odd sort of ascendancy over his brother. But at least the two boys had a relationship. Considering Boromeo’s habitual withdrawal, that was a distinct change for the better.