~Third Night~
Consequences
Balogh László was pissed off. Not about the task as such, although he had had better things to do than carrying his arse through half the city in the middle of an autumn night and running errands.
No, it had been the implication which had been wrapped into Albert's order.
"Balogh goes"
had meant
"You are responsible for her training. Whenever she screws up, it's to two-thirds your fault".
"Have you got it?"
László threw a laced-up bundle unto the marmoreal counter.
"Why the fuck would I else be back?"
The armourer grunted, but was already busy fiddling about with the straps. He would be finding the Heckler & Koch and full ammunition. There had been the anticipated denial and discussion at the train yard, as someone else had shown up than expected by the boy. Of course he had asked for the lady from the graveyard.
"She is indisposed," was all he had got as an answer.
Sibyl had conjured the older Nightbringer to not harm Andrus, and László's terse "Depends on him" had done little to comfort her.
Silly lass, as if he were capable of doing anything that would hurt her.
As the boy had finally handed the gun to László – intimidated, but not harmed –, Andrus had hold it almost like a relic, not afraid of it, but reverential. He had learnt quickly that keeping it was non-negotiable. However, he had resisted to hand over Sibyl's coat as well, intimidated or not.
"I give that only to her. Here. Next night."
László had scoffed. She would hardly be in the mood next night.
As he left, Sibyl's pistol wrapped up under his arm, his side arm at his flank, László's own mood still had been on an equally low level. There had been another meaning within Albert's words, one he had liked even less:
"Maybe we have overestimated her."
~
Why is she here? That's none of her business!
It had been bad enough for her with only László and the Doktor last night. Now Sibyl had to face a third inquisitor in the exquisitely clad form of Countess Sawatzki. The high priestess was sitting in the lounge suite, and Sibyl felt her eyes on her back – or maybe her sporty arse – as she was standing in front of Doktor Grau's desk like an unruly school girl once again. Sibyl sensed her ears to become hot, all due to the presence of that redhead. If she was to be court-martialled, then at least by her own people!
"And you ensured the young man's discretion regarding this incident?" Grau demanded.
"I have stressed in the strongest possible terms to not share any knowledge as to last night's events to anyone."
Just like before, László was standing to her left. And just like before, Sibyl had seen him in better moods. She startled as the Countess suddenly appeared next to her other side. Sawatzki gave her an ambiguous smile and strode towards the row of windows.
"There will be no problems as to Andrus' discretion," Sibyl hurried to add to László's statement. "He was only attempting to impress me, nothing more. He had no interests in the events themselves."
The Doktor only nodded.
"I came to a similar opinion whilst I spoke to him," the older Nightbringer confirmed vaguely. He considered it not wise to mention the coat.
"There will be no problem," repeated Sibyl meekly.
Sawatzki, leaning against the nearest sill, followed the discussion in silence. She turned to Sibyl every time the girl spoke, with no hostile expression whatsoever. And as she finally asked to be heard, Sibyl was surprised by her advocacy.
"I have no reason to cast doubt on preili Sibyl's intentions, and the value of the information she has delivered speaks for itself."
Maybe she was too drunk to remember what happened in front of her door the other night. Or she isn't such a bitch after all.
"However, the incalculable consequences of her actions have to be taken into account in determining the sentence."
There goes that theory...
László made a swift gesture.
"Consecutive punishment: immediate loss of privileges, further measures as seen fit after the High Houses have been dealt with."
"You want to send her to bed without supper?" Sawatzki snapped.
"It is crueller than you might think, Countess. You already had the opportunity to ascertain what an excellent supper our kitchen makes."
"Don't be coy with me."
She pushed herself away from the windowsill.
"You seem to stand under the impression that with the weapon returned and the juvenile silenced, preili Sibyl's penalisation is just a formality."
"I do incline to that view, yes."
Grau frowned at him, then turned to Sawatzki.
"May I ask for your opinion on the matter, Countess?"
Sibyl already saw where this was leading to: being catechised anew, this time by someone of whom she did not even know why her – Sawatzki's – opinion was of any interest to the Doktor.
"A supposed-to-be elite assassin who gives her weapon away to a strange and presumably inebriated teenager—"
"I did not give it away!"
"Oh, right: You abandoned it."
Why again do I have to answer to you, matchstick?
"Her behaviour in that case is indefensible, yet we cannot concern ourselves with it for too long, also in your own interest, preili Sibyl. A swift, clean cut is needed, so we can move on."
