A dismal looking pub, in Freiburg. Evening.

It is past the hour when this place was packed with young men, drinking,
singing and in general making such a raucous noise you would think they had all
been promoted to generals. It is not yet the hour when the barkeep will toss
the last drunk or two out onto the alleyway to find their own ways home or into
a gutter, nevermind which. Now, although the candles grow low and almost seem
dimmer for it, there are several tables around which groups of men sit with
their beer steins, telling stories and enjoying each others' company. By one
wall, under a mounted candleholder whose candle has gone out, a thin man sits
alone at a small table, waiting.

A frightened man with thick black hair and a thick black beard comes in the
door, looks around apprehensively, and makes his way silently to the same
table. But before he can sit down, the smaller man leaps to his feet and gives
him a hearty smile and a pat on the back, exclaiming, "Ah, Franz! So good to
see you again! Have a seat and drink with me, won't you?" He then calls to the
barkeep for two pints.

Franz sits down, but hisses at his friend, "Herr Eigenspiel, what are you
doing, trying to call attention to us?"

Settling back onto his own chair, Eigenspiel replies calmly, "Please, call me
Maxwell. But you were the one gathering attention, skulking around so
nervously. As a couple of friends, we blend in perfectly."

"Hmph." The other Eisen is not incredibly reassured, but he does manage to put
on a fake smile as the beers arrive.

When the barkeep has gone back to the counter, Maxwell continues, "You should
try to relax. You've made it all the way here to Freiburg, and soon you'll be
able to live fairly happily as Johann Schumacher. 'No Questions.'

"But of course, I do have a question or two for you before you finally end your 
life as Lieutenant Schönberg."

A round of hearty laughter comes from one of the other tables, apparently from
some joke about Montaigne women.

Schönberg asks, "But what if I don't feel like answering your questions now?
You've been surprisingly trusting of me."

Maxwell wears an expression of mock hurt. "Isn't it enough that I arranged for
you to come here to freedom? That I saved your life by removing you before your 
court-martial for treason against Eisenfürst Bismarck?"

"Hmph. I live by two rules. The first is to always watch out for myself."

Maxwell interrupts, "But there's also the matter of settling in here. It takes
money to rent board and room, and until you can find a new profession, this may 
help."

Maxwell places a small heavy felt bag onto the table between them. Schönberg
reaches in and smiles at the 20 Guilder coin he pulls out, but Maxwell says,
"I'd advise you to take that out of sight, unless you want someone to notice
we're making a deal." Schönberg immediately follows the advice, pocketing the
coin and bag together.

"... And the second is, never to trust anyone else. I see you follow the
second, at least.

"Now then," Schönberg begins, "you saw the troops mobilizing for battle, so
it's obvious what your questions are. We were to attack Pösen within the week,
hoping to catch them unprepared and gain back some of the territory they took
in their last campaign."

Lies, Maxwell thinks. But why? What's going on here that I've missed?

Maxwell moves to a chair nearer Schönberg, and leans in. "Oh? Where was the
attack to be?"

"The plans were to head first for Potsbrück, then --"

Suddenly Maxwell has a knife at Schönberg's throat. With anger in his voice but 
still quietly, he says, "I tolerated your extortion, but I won't stand for
lies. Your former army is moving to take control of the major trade route to
Thüringen. You are going to tell me when and where. Now."

There is another round of laughter from a different table; in the low light no
one else has seen the knife.

This time as Schönberg speaks, the intense fear in his eyes tells Maxwell the
words must be true. "In two days. Divisions at Festburg, Goldbach, and
Fernstein. By the Prophets, that's all I --." At the sight of something behind
Maxwell, Schönberg's terror doubles and he stops short.

Maxwell's wits and reflexes are just quick enough to dodge the knife that comes 
crashing down on his chair. He spins to see a black-haired woman, with a face
all too familiar.

"Why, Katrina. I must admit this is a surprise. You're not still upset about
our last meeting, are you?" Maxwell grips his knife harder, in a tense stance
that does not match his pleasant words.

"Not at all, Maxwell. It takes more than wet clothes to upset me. I would thank
you for taking care of this traitor, but you've done a disappointingly sloppy
job." As Maxwell was spinning to his feet, his knife cut a slit on the
lieutenant's neck. Schönberg is coughing and having trouble breathing--but not
for long. Katrina plunges her knife into Schönberg's gut and leaves it there,
and he falls forward onto the table, dead.

By this time the place is silent. Every eye is now on the two facing each other 
at one end of the room, in near darkness.

Maxwell frowns, but begins to say, "Don't mention it. I only hope next time I
can--" Katrina cuts him short by screaming at the top of her lungs.

At this, Maxwell drops his bloody knife and moves for the exit, but the crowd
won't let him escape. Several stand to block him, and despite attempts to
maneuver Maxwell cannot get anywhere, there are just too many. A pair of burly
men grab Maxwell and hold him, roughly. Katrina, meanwhile, has begun to sob
quite convincingly into her handkerchief. The men holding Maxwell pause, unsure
what to do next, and the barkeep comes out silently as if to handle the
situation.

But he doesn't need to, because a tall city Guard promptly comes in. "What's
going on here? I heard screaming." He sees the body slumped over a table, and
moves over to check it for a pulse. Finding none, he looks around and picks up
Maxwell's discarded knife from the floor. The Guard then turns to the barkeep,
"Would you explain what you saw happen here?"

"I didn't see th' whole thing myself, but..."

A small man with small dark eyes pipes up. "I saw it all, I did." Motioning to
Schönberg's body, "That man there came in an' sat at the table, with the one
they got held here. They was talking for a while, but the lady came in and
tried ta hit this one. So the rogue up an' quick slit t'other guy's throat,
see. The lady screamed, so he dropped the knife and bolted. Didn't make it
'cause these guys stopped 'im, o' course."

The Guard listens to the volunteered testimony, but continues questioning the
barkeep. "Does that agree with what you saw?"

The barkeep nods slowly. "That's about what happened."

Maxwell's mind is racing. Several people must have seen Katrina killing
Schönberg, but they were holding their tongues for confusion. He could force
the point out, but that would only mean Katrina would join him on the trip to
jail. And what he needs now is distance, to get well out of her control.

The Guard now turns to Katrina and gently asks, "Ma'am, would you, ah, mind
answering a few questions?"

Katrina almost seems not to have heard, and sobs, "Oh, Georg, what have
I--". But then, between deep sobs, "My husband Georg--owed the bookee--couldn't
pay--I was so afraid." She then goes back into uncontrollable weeping.

Maxwell notices another hole; "Georg" has more than enough money in his pocket
to pay off any commoner's gambling debts. But this one is no more useful than
the last, and he lets it pass.

The Guard says, "I've heard enough." To the men holding Maxwell, "Thank you,
I'll take care of him now."

Maxwell hardly thinks about it as he tenses his arms to make the cufflinks fit
slightly looser. Instead he is finishing up a plan. It would take far too long
to be cleared by official channels, but escaping tonight shouldn't be a major
obstacle. A message sent back to Löwenherz would arrive too late to do any
good, so it would have to be an appeal to Trägue, here in Freiburg. Trägue
would not want to allow Bismarck to start seizing trade routes, even if it
would mean immediate benefit to Freiburg's economy. So the only catch is the
timing; Maxwell must act urgently.

Before being pushed out the door, Maxwell takes a look back to Katrina. She has
taken a seat and the barkeep is trying to be pleasant to her, while others look
on at more distance. No doubt she'll need to step outside in a minute or two,
and vanish in the next moment. She played her plan today extremely well,
Maxwell has to admit that. But not quite well enough, and now it is his move
again. Yes, he thinks, her plan was just beautiful. So, for that matter, is
she.