The Lost Scribe of Justitia

The Grand Showing: Fitz

(Fitz scouting the grounds before the Grand Procession)

"And did you enjoy your tour through my estate gardens, Mr. Fitzhugh?" Duchess Amelia asked Fitz upon her return to the veranda.
"Yes, very much, Your Grace. Thank you for the opportunity."
"I'm sure as mountainous as Astrea, gardens such as this are next to impossible to come by."
"The very reason why I take full advantage while visiting estates such as yours, Your Grace."
"You would have had more time to enjoy them if only Petrich had not been so sluggish on taking an assistant. You must be the wonders of wonders to have been selected by the likes of him!"
"I am only of temporary assistance, Your Grace. I have experience in the domestic arts. Master Hollenburg was in need of a manservant more than anything. I was only too happy to oblige."
"Hmmm," said the Duchess, "I see. What truly surprises me is how the high Master Scribe of Justitia would allow anyone to be taken from the observatory to assist Master Hollenburg now that he has been dismissed."
Fitz looked out across the garden and thought she saw a shadow of something or someone near the garçonniere. But it was very far away.
She then looked at the Duchess and shook her head. "My absence is of no consequence to the Justitia observatory, Your Grace. When I heard of Master Hollenburg's dismissal, I dismissed myself. High Master Morriss did himself and his observatory a great disservice, turning out Master Hollenburg. I am sure you agree."
The Duchess smiled. "Well, who wouldn't run away with Petrich Hollenburg if one were asked?"
"No one, Your Grace. Myself least of all."
The Duchess looked at her sympathetically, and sighed dreamily. "Oh, you mystics, what a romantic lot you are. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Frizhugh."
"Of course, Your Grace." said Fitz with a bow.
* * *
"She didn't get too chatty, did she?" Petrich asked, tying his necktie and smoothing his hair in an antique mirror.
"She knows of your dismissal from Justitia."
Petrich froze and looked at her with concern. "Oh?. . . Well, I shouldn't be surprised, actually. Word of such things travels faster than telegrams somehow. What did she say?"
Fitz repeated the conversation, and Petrich grinned. "Good job. She may have been trying to trip you up, but you turned her to thinking romance. Brilliant. She's a push over for romantic drama."
"Yes, I could imagine. I've surveyed every exit on the west and south sides of the manor. No one is manning them at all, even the entrance just below the nursery window."
"Did you see Bridget? Did she signal?"
"Yes, she did. Everything seems to be on track, except. . ."
"Except what?" Petrich asked, a bit anxiously.
"I thought I saw a glimpse of something or someone out in the garden. . . Around the garçonniere. It was too far away to be sure."
               Petrich considered the fading light through the window. "A gardener perhaps?"
              "At this hour? I wouldn't think so."
              "You know, it was the only piece of information Bridget could not confirm. Whether or not the Earl would attend, or even be invited."
             "But who is to say that he may show up anyway, and possibly not as a guest?" Fitz offered.
            They were interrupted by the entrance of a rotund middle-aged man by the name of Helmut Schnider, the region's Grand Marshal.
          He enthusiastically welcomed both Petrich and Fitz, but then studied his introduction from a notecard in one hand as he drank wine from the other. The two footmen to carry the veiled document joined them, eyeing Mr. Schnider's wine consumption with great concern but said nothing.
            There was another blast from the trumpets in the orchestra and the great oak double doors opened.
             Petrich reached out and gave Fitz's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
             "Ready to play the assistant for real, now?"
             Her grey blue eyes met his and she gave him a confident nod. "Of course, Master Hollenburg. It's a matter of possible life and death."
             The great crowd was divided to either side of the ballroom and the procession began.  Somber music played softly as they walked, not too fast, not too slow. The music helped Fitz keep her steps in time. She focused her eyes on nothing other than the back of Petrich's left shoulder just ahead of her.
Once they reached the raised platform, the footmen placed the veiled document on the stand and stepped down. Fitz stepped in front of Petrich then turned, being to the back of him again. The ballroom was vast and the guests filled it from wall to wall. Their faces all staring up at them, watching and waiting.
Fitz stood as rigid as a statue, staring back at them, showing no emotion whatsoever. Her eyes moved very little but just enough to find the Lady Lydia at the front, standing beside her lord husband. She was thin and pale, of course. Her expression as emotionless as Fitz's own, taught from birth that young women of the aristocracy had no cause to be neither too sad, nor too happy. Only that they carry an heir to term. If they died in the process, they could easily be replaced. Something of which they are constantly reminded.
Captain Baugainvillea had made preparations for the Lady Lydia to steal away as soon as the presentation of the document was complete. A train to Leiden awaited her at exactly 10:20 pm. Once there, she and her infant was to meet a certain gentleman solicitor who was to prepare the needed documents to present her case in a court of law. It was an unprecedented plan with hopefully the desired result of ultimately eradicating the practice of L'enfant Oublies under any and all circumstances.
Fitz searched for the Captain and by miracle found him, but then again, he was tall and the only male she had ever seen wear his hair in a long plaited braid that lazily snaked over his shoulder and tied at the end with a royal blue ribbon.  One would be hard pressed to miss him in any crowd. 
             On his left arm was a young woman who seemed to be really chatting it up. Dietfried had his head tilted to her and nodded ever so often and sometimes flashed a charming grin. Fitz felt frustration. Dietfried really needed to pay his attentions to his task, not trying to persuade some young tart to steal away into some dark corner.
             She vaguely listened to the Grand Marshal just nearly blunder his presentation, but to be fair, mostly no one noticed.  All eyes focused on Petrich Hollenburg and the long awaited document beneath the veil.
             Fitz heard an audible gasp as Petrich's hand raised, and pulled a gold colored cord causing the veil to smoothly fall away. Only then did it occur to Fitz that she had not actually ever seen Petrich's work, but judging by the reaction of the guests, the revealed piece was nothing less than truly extraordinary.  There was absolute silence and then a great swell of  applause.
             Fitz watched the Duchess standing next to her husband, the Duke, now confined to a wheeled chair.  The Duchess's painted red mouth was stretched into a gorgeous smile revealing the most perfect of teeth Fitz had ever seen.
           She clapped delicately and turned her head to the cheering crowd, appreciating the praise of her new Hollenburg acquisition, and, therefore, praise of her. For such people, there was no need for any sort of life after their death, Fitz reasoned, for their only paradise could only be found in the glory of power and possession in this life alone.
            After quite some time the guests queued up to have a chance to view the work up close. Fitz saw that Dietfried Baugainvillea strategically queued himself just behind a group of four young men all dressed in the robes of the Woxlichen observatory.  His position in line apparently went unnoticed by the oblivious young woman on his arm. Of course, thought Fitz, as she actively let her eyes wonder the crowd in and out of queue. 
            Then she saw him. . .not in queue and not as a guest.  The Earl of Lutzinheim was in deguise as an unassuming waiter.  He wore trimmed facial hair and had his hair clipped short and was a darker hue.  In such a crowd, Fitz was not at all surprised of his ability to move about undetected.
            Fitz did not let him out of her sight as he served drinks, to guests who had already viewed the document and were ready to drink and dance again.
Dietfried, having followed the scowling yet relatively peaceful Woxlichen scribes to view the document, did not even cast a glance at Fitz, until he accepted a drink from the disguised Earl. As he lifted his glass to his lips, he stared intently at the Earl waiter, who had moved on to other guests. Fitz and Dietfried looked at each other, a questioning expression from Dietfried, a slight affirming nod from Fritz.
For a long moment Fitz lost sight of the Earl but just as the viewing was ending and the orchestra struck up a waltz, Fitz spied him again. He no longer held a tray of drinks. Fitz watched as he was inching closer to the grand staircase which led to the upper rooms, including the nursery.
Dietfried's attention was no longer on the Earl nor Fitz, but back to the Woxlichen scribes, who were becoming emboldened with drink and apparent bruised egos, especially that of the Duke's grand nephew.
Fitz had to make a decision, and quick, for the disguised Earl had slowly taken to the staircase. Fitz clenched her jaw and left Petrich's side at a determined pace through the oblivious crowd.