Saturday, August 03, 2002

 
Morning in Vienna

It was a cold day in Vienna. In the vast forest city, the boughs of trees arched through the autumn air, kissed with the light cover of frost from the receding night. The long, crisscrossing avenues of branches were empty – Vienna was still asleep. But braving the morning chill as he did every dawn, was “Twenty Knives” Johnson, an obscure gentlesquirrel of the Old School who always spoke in the light accent of the West whenever he could find a listener to mourn what he considered to be the loss of the olden ways.

“Twenty Knives” had been a regular inhabitant of the Viennese Forest for most of his life – yet hardly any living rodent had ever heard of him. He was, certainly, one of the last remnants of the Old School, that is, the Old School of Assassins, an order that once preceded the moral depravity of contemporaries like Quackers & Co. His manner betrayed what used to be a youthful bravura, now finely aged into a shining example of propriety. He might have been a criminal, but he was one who strolled with a straight back, pointed tail, and shrewd eyes.

However, Johnson was quite well known to those of the underground, where he was a notorious “distributor” – one who gave out jobs as he received them to lesser crews. Considered a cleanup man of the highest caliber, many royals received him privately in their chambers while calmly discussing assassinations and evidence plantings over glasses of chardonnay. He would then contact the proper associates, and the job would be finished in a timely manner. However, he did have one vice – unlike the willy-nilly, where’s-my-money insouciance of most assassins, he was one to play favorites.

Like many, he had a great admiration for the late Great Earl, Maximillius von Nuts, whom he felt was the patriarch of the last truly noble house in all of Austria-Hungary. Whereas in every other creeping corner of society, he saw decadence, decay, and the flaunting of the old forms, with the Earl, there was decadence (but with real taste), ruthlessness, and a strict moral code above it all that guided every decision he made for the Empire.

Johnson had told no one, but in the twilight days of Maximillius’ reign, the assassin offered to do several jobs pro bono, free of charge. Yet, the Earl would have none of it, barking with his old, raspy voice, “that any proper gentlesquirrel must make a proper living.” And the orders kept coming in until the very last day of the Earl’s life, when he asked the assassin to “remove” a certain Guinea du Loc informant who crept about the King’s Imperial court. Johnson called up a crew, went through with his task, and discovered to his profound shock that the Earl had not arisen for breakfast that morning. He was quite certain, you see, that it spelled the end of the Empire as it was.

Even still, Mr. Greytail, the Earl’s manservant, was there to receive “Twenty Knives” Johnson at the door with his last cheque, made out in full for the job. In the month that passed since then, no more notes were passed to him during his dinners by the waiter. Even the recent ascension of the Earl’s nephew, Wolfgang, hadn’t marked any change. The House of von Nuts had become conspicuously quiet.

But last night, as he was settling down at his favorite table with a warm slice of acorn pie, the waiter slipped a note under his napkin. Johnson thought he saw the young boy wink before disappearing back into the kitchen. Trying not to smile too openly, the old gentlesquirrel finished his food before calmly lifting the napkin to dab his grey lips. The note simply read: “In Vienna. Must meet. K.”

That would be Kurio, Greytail’s man. Johnson suppressed the urge to hit the table with a satisfied slap. They’re back. The von Nuts are back.

And so, old “Twenty Knives” was not startled when he felt someone sneak up alongside him. He merely said without turning, “Walk with me.”

Kurio gripped the cloak tighter about his shivering frame, unused as he was to the colder, northern climates. The journey to Vienna had taken him three days, in the course of which he was nearly captured twice, once having to spend nearly all of his pocket change in a bribe to keep his location secret from the Baron Guinea du Loc. But he was here, in the great Viennese Forest for his first time, hardly daring to take in the vistas from the famously blackened oaks. The capital was only one stop on what would be a “very, very, very long business trip” as he wrote his parents back in Italy, where they still retained their tree in the Roman groves.

“You are cold, boy.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine, sir, thanks.”

“Try tucking your tail inside your cloak. I find that it helps.”

Kurio did as he was told, and sure enough, the shivering stopped under the warm, downy cover of his bushy fur.

“So, to what honor do I receive this visit from the Earl’s representative?”

What a strange, well-mannered squirrel, Kurio wondered. “Have you heard of the incident at his Lordship’s reception?”

Johnson looked at Kurio for the first time, nodding once. “Yes. Wine, was it?”

“Yes. Mr. Greytail thinks it’s a diversion for a larger plot.”

“And indeed it is, dear boy. Indeed, it is.”

Kurio paused uncomfortably before continuing. “I’m to infiltrate the burrows of the pigs, to stay and await further orders in case things … well, you know. Get out of paw.”

The elderly criminal raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” The direct assassination of such a high noble had been unheard of for centuries. “Does Greytail think that it’s going to get that bad?”

A grave nod.

“The manservant continues to serve his master well. My contacts have informed me that the Baron is making preparations. Preparations to declare open vendetta.” His yellowing eyes glared hard at Kurio. “Do you understand what I mean, boy?”

Kurio hugged his tail closer to his body while shaking his head.

“You must never forget that the family you serve is at war. Yes, that’s right, war. Ever since the fall of Salomun so many centuries ago, and the transfer of the Earlship to the House von Nuts, every succeeding Earl has struggled to keep his hold on Shrewberry Lane against an ever-growing horde of enemies. You think this was a recent development, do you?”

The red-haired squirrel blinked.

“No. ‘twasn’t. The Earlship is the Empire, and every pig since Salomun has been forever plotting to get it back. And sometimes, dear boy, they come close. You see, it is a sad irony that before they were reduced to a Barony, the Guinea du Locs were among the most noble of families in our great Empire. The bitterness of loss, of feeling that they were wronged, has made them into mortal enemies of your family.”

Kurio blinked once more.

“Boy! They have become evil!” Johnson frothed slightly. “All they know is hate, boy, and they will not stop until your Earl is dead, and your House destroyed. Your Greytail hasn’t told you the half of it. Did you know that every day, lives are traded in this perpetual tirade of push-and-pull? It’s been the way for ages – many powers wresting for this Earlship.” The old squirrel leaned in to whisper, “They even say that His Majesty’s ministers frown at the popularity of your House, and that they conspire in its downfall.”

They continued walking at a brisker pace. “Vendetta, Kurio. The Baron has planted an unspecified number of agents in Shrewberry Lane. When all the pieces are in place, he will follow the old forms and file an official notice of vendetta on your House. At that very same moment, the order will come for those murderers to strike. Your Earl will be dead, your House fallen, and then where will you be, boy? Hunted. A fugitive soldier of a vanquished family.”

Kurio closed his gaping mouth. “B-But, sir! How has this most treacherous fate been avoided in the past? Who are the agents?”

The old squirrel heaved a sigh. “It hasn’t. Because it’s never been allowed to get to this point before. You see, the Baron Giuseppe has been plotting his revenge not long since he emerged from that sow. While the Great Earl still lived, he dared not strike. Maximillius was … a rare breed. A noble like him comes once every generation at best. For as many plots as the pigs could conjure up, the Earl was always there with effortless counterplots. No, Giuseppe has waited. Because, and I say this with all the mortal humility I can muster, but any successor would appear timid and weak in the wake of Maximillius’ reign.”

“’The wise robber waits until the parcel is changing paws,’” Kurio quoted.

“And that banquet would’ve been the perfect cover to smuggle in those who intend ill deeds towards the Earl.”

For the first time since the poisoning incident, Kurio thought he could see a larger pattern emerging, and for a single instant, he saw the entire network of traitors laid out before him. But the foresight lost its continuity due to the sheer immensity of the plot, and Kurio was left trembling with the emotional detritus.

For “Twenty Knives” Johnson, Assassin of the Old School, practitioner and expert on the ancient forms, speaking his observations aloud carried with it the small seed of resolve. When he was done, he was entirely convinced: “The Baron must not succeed.” He stopped walking and looked down at the glistening bark beneath them. “Besides, I’d owe it to the old Earl.”

When Kurio did not speak, he continued, “I was once a conscript in the Imperial Legion back in the last Prussian invasion. Having lost my taste for bloodshed, I deserted my troop, and was later arrested and marked for death. The Earl, who just happened to be visiting my camp that day, inquired about my chained state, and then simply asked that I’d be released. No explanation.”

This was a thing that the young red-haired soldier understood. While the old, strange one was rescued from death, Kurio felt that he had been rescued from poverty, which for him meant a prolonged death. Many found themselves bound to the von Nuts through the debt of such random, kind acts.

“Boy. Go to the lair of the pigs. Give me three days. In three days I will have assembled a crew. Good rodents, all. Even a pig who hates the Guineas.” He unfolded a worn map from his pocket. “This tree, here. I will meet you right here in this clearing, at dawn, three days hence.”

“I will be there.”

“Away with you then, good soldier. Here’s the address of a safehouse where you can stay in the city … try not to be seen going in, all right?”

And then they parted ways at a fork in the road, and Kurio was left alone in the mid-morning chill. Tucking himself more snugly in his cloak, the squirrel made off to rendezvous with the next associate, when the sound of an approaching convoy gave him pause. Camouflaging himself against the bark, he watched the driver of the rickshaw slow to a trot before removing the vehicle from his overworked shoulders. Boldly emblazoned on the door of the cart was none other than the acorn-laden seal of the House of von Nuts. The driver went alongside and lowered the steps for the occupant.

The Count! In Vienna?

posted by Nicholas C. 11:51 AM

Thursday, July 11, 2002

 
The Noble and the Mercenary

The Count Johann Ludwig von Nuts was clearly displeased with his present company, if not downright disgusted. Inspired by his brother's near poisoning, Johann called his entourage at the crack of dawn, and by midday, he was many miles eastward, closing in on the towering pines that made up the vast fortress complex known simply as Ostmark. His uncle, the great Maximillius IV, had the pleasure of being both the Earl of Shrewberry Lane, as well as the Count of Ostmark – a true testament to the glory of the von Nuts name.

However, as he remembered with a mild twitching of the left eye, Johann always felt the keen dissatisfaction of being the "second-born" of his litter – a quite ridiculous definition by his own standards, considering that Wolfgang was born just seconds earlier by the same mother. Coupled with his life-long conviction that "old and favored Wolfie" was always too soft for noble rule, lacking the necessary vindictiveness to ensure the respect of the von Nuts name (especially in the face of underestimated enemies, such as the Guinea du Locs), Johann spent his days with a perpetual smirk of injurious self-righteousness and indignation plastered about his grey, furry face. It made for, in the words of one of his business associates, "a rather pissy and bitter royal, surely the mark of a second child."

But that would end soon, he convinced himself, as he sat across from the hireling in his waiting room. The sole audience of his embittered explanation of "wrongful inheritance" was a rather pungently odored duck by the name of Quackers.

The mournfully told tale was finally coming to a close: "... and so, History has seemed to ordain that Wolfie," he spat angrily, "would become the Earl of Shrewberry Lane, only the most important rodent in the Empire, whereas I, a thoroughly gifted and born leader in my own right, would receive Ostmark, which everybody knows is just an obsolete military holding! Oh, Fates, why do you look so unsmilingly upon me?" the Count whimpered.

Meanwhile, Quackers hungrily nosed his bill about the food basket presented before him (a well-known precondition for merely meeting the unlikely mercenary), producing all sorts of horrid slurping noises. When the indifferent duck finally spoke, it was to the concerned conclusion that his sweetmeats had been exhausted: "Ehhh ... there's no more schweet-meats in here."

"I see. So ... want to hear my plan?"

A quack of contempt. "Ossssstmark! Schweet-meats, schweet-meats! Try to pay a little attention, would you?"

After musing for a few angry moments at how much he truly loathed this hired help, Johann called for a servant. "Sirrah, our esteemed guest would like some more treats." And after a bit of consideration, he gave the code word for untainted (that is, unpoisoned) food: "Good treats."

The servingman silently departed into a previously unseen passage. After Quackers saw the greyish tail disappear behind the curtain, he began, "Sooo ... let me get this straight. You, ehhh, want to off your brother, right?" He positively chirped the last word.

"Well, the plan is a bit more delicate than that, but in a manner of spea-"

There was an impatient fluffing of feathers. "So when do you want this done? I'm getting hungry again."

"On the morrow, I will leave for Vienna to see the King."

Quack. "Ehhh ... schorry Count – I am unfamiliar with the whole furry noble setup – but isn't that Shrewberry's job?"

"Per tradition, yes. It is customary for the Earl of Shrewberry Lane to advise the Nüsseburg King on matters of state, but alas, I will not be going in your usual advisory capacity." The Count paused to smile in anticipation of his own genius.

Monday, July 08, 2002

 
Enter Kurio

Without another word, the Earl von Nuts disappeared down the passage, leaving Kurio "Chip" de Redshanks in wonderment. The small red soldier imagined that his Lord would spend the night fretting over his household's security, and at that thought, the squirrel checked his equipment, securing his bodkin tightly in its sheath (not that true soldiers would ever require it – like any good rodent, Kurio's preferred weapons of choice were his claws first, his teeth second) before wrapping himself snugly in a warm, brown cloak.

As far as young Redshanks was concerned, he owed his present state of relative luxury to the Earl. The sole survivor of a sickly litter borne by English peasants, his parents were stowaways on a large galleon that was piloted by that increasingly ubiquitous species of simian that was ridiculously free of mammalian hairs. Once there, they stayed below deck, subsisting on a diet of dried peanuts (liberated from carefully packed aluminum tins) for many months until the ship dropped anchor on the coast of Italy.

After securing a somewhat diseased olive tree on the "bad side" of an animal-infested grove, his parents immediately enrolled Kurio in the local school, a public institution run by the Mayor of Rome, a somewhat portly squirrel who was known for his suspected corruption and shady practices in the administration of the Roman olives. Whilst he was able to gather a general education for himself, the poor student was notoriously bullied by his much larger, and beefier Italian counterparts – for squirrels on the peninsula were known for their exquisite cuisine, and were quite well fed. Even a year later, Kurio couldn't recollect his schooling without angry chitters and mutterings of those "damned Romans."

Pausing in his remembrances as he entered the great hall of the tree residence, Kurio gave a quick nod to the captain of the guard who had his men pull open the double wooden doors that served as a barrier against the cold night. While stringing his collar together, the soldier ducked out, emerging on the lithe tree limb that was the main watchout post of Shrewberry Lane. Making a deep guttural chirp, he signaled to the lookout squirrel who promptly relaxed his guard.

"How goes it, Amon?"

"Well, well, Kurio. It's been a busy night."

"Yes. Yes, it has." Kurio looked about himself, making a futile attempt to pierce the thick of night. Rodents, having notoriously horrible eyes, were usually forced by necessity to travel by day, but the secretive nature of his mission required him to leave under the insufficient light of the Moon, all at once making his task more difficult, but also more concealed against potential spies who undoubtedly prowled the outskirts of Shrewberry Lane.

"Mr. Greytail recommended that you take the route by air, seeing as how a fog has settled close to the forest ground."

"Wouldn't the cover be better then?"

"Predators, Kurio, predators."

"Right. Well, I guess I should be off, Amon. Long live the King."

"And his loyal servant, the Earl. Farewell, Kurio. Be safe."

With that remark in mind, Kurio tensed his legs, releasing into an acrobatic leap that took him through the canopy of leaves and into the biting chill of autumn air. Flinging himself nimbly from tree to tree, the young Redshanks made fast progress, quickly sensing his exit from the perimeter that marked the borders of Shrewberry Lane. From here, he would make his way northward towards Vienna, where he would call in a few favors before continuing his journey into the vast burrows of the Guinea du Locs.

As he leapt, he settled gradually into a meditative zen of mindless action. Like any squirrel, he could trust on his instincts to carry him safely north. And so, as he moved, he thought. He remembered with fondness the first time he was introduced to the world of the Family von Nuts. He had just graduated from school, and had taken up an apprenticeship with a local nest contractor, a certain Mario d'Publius, who was said to be a distant relative of the powerful and psychotically violent mafia family, the Dadis. Not long after he started his employment, a particular "client" of great repute paid his master a visit. His name was Mr. Greytail, and he had come as a representative for the Austrian von Nuts to secure a deal that was made with their cousins, whom happened to be the aforementioned psychotically violent Dadis. When it came time for Mr. Greytail to leave, he had a case of rare macadamian nuts, and Kurio, in tow.

Panting heavily against the strain of midnight air, Kurio came to a short rest, his paws digging deeply into the branch beneath him. Yes, his life was different now, thanks to the indirect support of the Earl. And now, as he had done so many times before, he would return the favor of service to his beloved Family.

posted by Nicholas C. 7:37 PM

Sunday, July 07, 2002

 
Cousins

Mademoiselle Priscilla Denuve L'Ecrous of Burgundy laid prettily in a nest of silken pillows while her ladysquirrels-in-waiting busied themselves with her laundry and potpourris. As she delicately chewed freshly picked grapes, her favorite servinglady, Missy, managed the Mademoiselle's luscious furs with a perfumed comb.

"Tell me, Missy. Did the Earl seem a bit too preoccupied tonight? I almost feel as if he hardly saw me."

A small giggle escaped the mousy girl. "Oh, not at all, your Ladyship. I'm sure it was just the special circumstances of the night." Missy frowned slightly as she undid a tangle in the otherwise consistently perfect fur.

"Tu!" Priscilla pretend-spat. "I am a special circumstance."

"Yes, of course, your Ladyship."

After twiddling a bit with a dried twig of grape vine, the L'Ecrous melted sensuously into the bed of pillows, making the task of combing ever more difficult for Missy who nonetheless obliged her duty. "Do you think he'll come tonight?"

And just then, a slight rapping of the door sounded. There was a frantic scurrying of servingladies as they slipped into alcoves and stairwells, leaving Missy alone with her Lady, who was just then resting her chin in her hand – the classic savoir-faire posture of comfortable indifference.

Priscilla exhaled, "Enter."

The door opened, rewarding the royal chipmunk's entreating eyes with a glimpse of the regal Earl, dressed in grand billows of blue robes, loosing hugging his tight frame. Priscilla let out an involuntary gasp.

Wolfgang sauntered over to the nest in grand strides, affording ample view of his powerful hind limbs. Once there, he bowed his furry head deeply, before kneeling beside her. Missy offered a pillow, which he wordlessly accepted, tucking it beneath him. "Priscilla. I must apologize."

Priscilla finally let go of a long-held breath. The florid syllables issued slightly from her prim lips: "But whatever for my dear Wolfgang?"

Missy's lips parted in an unnoticed smile, as she noted that her Ladyship's speech always became markedly more "French" in the Earl's presence.

Wolfgang shook his head. "This whole sad business with the Baron. The poison. The party." He sighed. "It just wasn't supposed to have happened this way." His eyes narrowed longingly at his cousin as he noticed her tail, tantalizingly wrapped about her body.

"Oh, Wolfgang." She carressed the Earl's scruffy face with her paw (something she had been waiting to do since her arrival). "That couldn't be helped. But ... what will you do now?"

When he didn't answer, Priscilla ached in sympathy for her cousin. She too was quite familiar with the weight of nobility. Although the L'Ecrous have been long detached from the Austrian von Nuts line, the Guinea du Locs seemed to have a grudge with the clan as a whole – and theirs was a powerful House. The von Nuts and their diverging bloodlines had many who would happily cheer the downfall of the Family, contrary to peasant perception, for they were the sole inheritors of a much treasured position in the Empire – the King's ear. As tradition would have it, the Earl of Shrewberry Lane was the second-most powerful rodent in the land, his royal wisdom a carefully honed trait.

The Earl had begun to seethe again, his eyes bulging unpleasantly in anger. His inheritance was off to a shoddy start. "I don't know what's up with this pig. And you can't just go willy-nilly, sending agents after him. He'd see it coming. He's too damned crafty."

"And you can't seek an audience with the King?"

Wolfgang's eyes bulged more than Priscilla thought was possible. "What? Oh never. Our autonomy from the King – the very fact that we've never had to ask for his help despite our many favors of service to Him – that's the only leverage we have. Oh sure, that damned Chinchilla" (Missy squeaked at this blatant attack against His Majesty) "would help, but you can say goodbye to Shrewberry Lane." The Earl shivered slightly. He sensed an invisible noose closing about his squirrelly neck, and he wondered who would be tying it. Was this the life that his uncle lived?

A short knock interrupted his thoughts, as Kurio "Chip" de Redshanks cautiously stepped into the chambers. Answering the Earl and the Lady's glares, Kurio bowed his reddish head. "A most humble apology my Earl and Lady. Mr. Greytail sent me to you for your blessing before my mission."

Wolfgang rose, brushing off his cape. "And you have it, boy. Do well."

Kurio nodded in genuine awe, "Yes, my liege." He stepped aside as the Earl preceded him out the room.

"Good night, Priscilla." The door shut.

Slowly, the servingladies reemerged, lighting the wicks of scented candles. As the fragance of lavender wafted across the nest, Priscilla laid back, meditating on the events that had just transpired.

Missy approached her Ladyship with practiced delicacy. "What now, my Lady?"

But L'Ecrous was silent in thought. Finally: "Summon my courier."

posted by Nicholas C. 2:22 PM

Saturday, July 06, 2002

 
Banquet, Part Two

Wolfgang seethed. They killed Sammy. Not that he really cared for peasants. But Sammy was his peasant. They killed his peasant!

The captain of the guard, noticing a quick flicker of paw movements from Mr. Hansel Und Klein Schmitten Greytail, the Earl's right-hand squirrel, said quite loudly in his impressively pitched voice, "Ladies and gentlemen. I am afraid that this party will have to come to a premature end. Please allow the servers to show you to your quarters."

As the noblesquirrels and merchants filed out of the main hall, Priscilla took one worried glance at Wolfgang, but when he didn't return it, she quickly went along her way.

When the room was cleared of all except the two von Nuts brothers, Mr. Greytail, Plady McBill, and a handful of guards, Wolfgang exploded into a violent rant. "Those dratted pigs! They've ruined my party! You'd think that that fat, furry pig would at least have the decency to not crash my dinner, considering that I did give him an invite! That pig! That dratted, damn-"

Greytail cleared his throat lightly. His shrewd eyes centered directly on Wolfgang's. "Milord, if I may say, I believe we have more serious matters to consider. They did try to poison you."

Silence permeated between the tight huddle of animals.

Greytail continued, "Of course, my squirrels are now scouting out the surrounding areas of Shrewberry Lane. The messenger will be apprehended. He will not get far."

A slow grin spread across Count Johann Ludwig von Nuts' grey face. He always did it in such an odd way that unsettled Wolfgang deeply.

"Yes, Johann?"

The Count's whiskers twitched ever so slightly. "Ludwig, please."

"Ha! Fancy. I expected more than second-child attention-hungry cliches from you, Johann."

The Count ignored this: "Do you really think that getting this messenger will do you any good? I am quite sure that knowing Giuseppe and his ilk, the poor sap was completely oblivious as to the contents of his package. No, if anything, you have to strike the source."

At this, Plady nodded gravely. "Yes, Wolfgang, unfortunately you must. It would not do well for the Family von Nuts to show a sign of weakness" – tapping his bill twice against the floor (a strange "tic" that Wolfgang never quite figured out) – "and not retaliating could be construed as weakness in the King's eyes. Harming the messenger will do nothing."

Johann Ludwig added unnecessarily, "Precisely. You wouldn't make us look weak now, would you, Wolfgang?"

The Earl's brow furrowed. "Greytail."

The squirrel snapped to attention, "Yes, Milord."

"I want you to send Kurio, first thing in the morning. The Redshanks boy. Get him as close to the Guinea du Loc court as possible. Find out what the Baron knows. Something is afoot, I can smell it."

Plady raised his snout and sniffed the air for emphasis.

The Earl continued: "And contact 'Twenty Knives' Johnson. If the Baron wants to play dirty ..."

Greytail smirked. "It will be as you say, Milord."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I wish to retire for the night."

After bowing deeply to each one in turn, Wolfgang left their company. Johann Ludwig barely stifled his chuckle. "Right. 'Retire.' Is that what they call it now?"

But Greytail was flushing red underneath his fur, thinking of his Lord with that French chipmunk. "Secubi," he muttered, before pivoting on his foot and going off to find Kurio.

posted by Nicholas C. 2:54 PM

Wednesday, July 03, 2002

 
Banquet

The Earl Maximillius von Nuts IV is dead. Leaving behind no children, his nephew, Wolfgang von Nuts has just claimed the Earlship. All the nobles and merchants of the land were invited to a midnight banquet on Shrewberry Lane, the ancestral home of the von Nuts.

Tuesday, July 02, 2002

 
Coming soon.



The Family von Nuts is an SQPF / Territories production.

posted by Nicholas C. 8:23 PM