Borne in Blood by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

Russia might have been utterly complete rather than devastating; he might have fallen in the snow as so many of his men did. But it did not strike until Napoleon had done his worst. Who could have anticipated it? Yet now it is here, we must, perforce, accommodate it.”
    “I take your point, Comte,” said Gutesohnes.
    Ragoczy coughed discreetly. “All things being equal, I will not expect you to go any farther than Poland, or England, or Spain or Greece. If circumstances should arise that required your services beyond those places, a special price would be negotiated for such a journey, and paid in advance of your travel. If you require a bond to that end, I will establish one. Would that satisfy you?”
    “I suppose it must.” He buttered a wedge of bread, taking time to do it properly, all the while saying, “If you wish me to work for you, I cannot begin until I have completed the current deliveries I have to make. Once I return to Bern, I may end my employment, but not before then.”
    “What would be the earliest you could return here?” Ragoczy asked; he did not mention that this display of responsibility had inclined him to want to employ Gutesohnes.
    “Probably the end of June, weather permitting. I would need to purchase a horse or a mule for the return. Herr Waldenstadt will not give me one.” He thought a moment. “He might not even sell me one.”
    “I can arrange for you to purchase the mount of your choice, if you decide you want this position. You have only to choose what you want to ride, and from whom you would like to purchase it.” He got to his feet; Gutesohnes almost tipped over his tray in his haste to rise. “I will return in half an hour to answer any questions you may have, and to let you know my decision. If you would like something more—some cheese, some nuts—tell Dietbold and he will bring it to you.”
    “Half an hour.” He glanced down at his dispatch-case. “Do you want your parcel now, or would you prefer to wait?”
    “If you would give it to me?” Ragoczy said, holding out his hand to receive it.
    Gutesohnes opened the case and pulled out a chicken-sized package—a wax-sealed wooden box with the impression of a signet-ring showing three sheaves of wheat sunk in the heaviest pooling of wax. “There. I will report to Professor Weissbord that you have received the box.”
    “Thank you,” said Ragoczy, a bit startled. “Professor Weissbord, do you say?” He glanced at the signet-impression. “I see: Weissbord.”
    “Is something wrong, Comte?” Gutesohnes asked.
    “No; nothing,” said Ragoczy. “I had assumed the parcel was from someone else.”
    “Is this an inconvenience?”
    “No, of course not.” Ragoczy motioned to the tray. “Finish your meal and think over what I have offered.” He went to the door and lifted the latch.
    “Comte?” Gutesohnes had managed to gather the courage to speak.
    “Yes?” He waited politely for Gutesohnes to go on.
    “Is it that you wish to employ me, or would any messenger do? And are you offering me employment?”
    Ragoczy stood still while he considered his answer. “Yes, I need a messenger, but no, I would not engage just anyone to do the tasks I will require.” He held up the box in his hand. “In any event, thank you for bringing this to me.”
    “Oh.” He nodded twice. “Danke, Comte.”
    “Bitte,” said Ragoczy, and left the parlor. He found Rogier waiting ten steps away.
    “So: do you, too, see the resemblance to Hercule?” he asked as Ragoczy approached him.
    “I do,” said Ragoczy. “And I agree about his demeanor. This is a cleverer man—not that Hercule was not clever, but this man thinks about many more things than Hercule did, with a broader sense of the world than Hercule had.”
    “No doubt you are right,” said Rogier. “I believe he is someone who will perform to your expectations.”
    “Oh, yes. I have no doubt of that.” Ragoczy glanced over his shoulder. “Not for money alone, but