After two days of surveillance, and two nights of clandestine reconnaissance by the Vespid Knight Botan and a particularly stealthy Tabitha. The detachment of musketeers hidden in the forests outside the home of Terrance de'Martou were left with an unpalatable truth.
    From this distance, the manor proved stubbornly resistant to any attempts to delve its secrets. Every night, lights were seen in the house, but during the day, it remained rare to see anyone save at a distance. Certainly no one coming and going.
    And though Botan was able to infiltrate parts of the building and confirm that it was indeed inhabited, the Vespid Knight had been barred from others. Size granted the Pixie access to a number of places, but it also kept others off limits. Places such as the parlor where much of the conversations had been taking place, and the cellars where it was expected they were storing some sort of special package.
    There had been plenty of rooms that Botan had not yet been able to search despite her best efforts. Their simply wasn't a path that would allow her to move about un-spotted.
    They had exhausted the last of their covert options. Now it was Kirche's turn.
    Where covert methods failed, sometimes the overt was necessary. That was good, Kirche was nothing if not overt. Which was why she wasn't even trying to be subtle as she strolled up the dirt road that serviced the small manor house, traveling bag tossed over one shoulder. She looked quite the catch, or so she thought.
    Kirche surveyed the small estate with a critical eye, and found it badly wanting.
    Up close, the de'Martou manor looked even more miserable than it had at a distance. Rotting window frames, ill maintained pavings overgrown with weeds, birds nesting in the thatch roof. She would have guessed it abandoned if not for the lights they had seen for the past two nights and Botan's reports of hearing and smelling people moving about inside when she had crept in through the roof to conduct her initial exploration.
    A shame really, a little… well, a  lot  of work and it would have been a handsome building, as it once no doubt had been. In all likeliness it had all come apart like this under the neglect of its current master.
    The lack of care did not speak highly of Terrance de'Martou, nor did she expect it to. But then, that seemed to be the trend of the weak willed Nobility of Tristain. Marriage to Germania might have even done them some good. Not that it seemed at all likely now. She thought back to the rumors that had been circulating around the Royal Palace, carried by word of mouth among the maid servants.
    Of course, said rumors had been quickly and ruthlessly squelched. But that only threw kindling on the fire and seemed to confirm what everyone already suspected. Kirche quirked her lips ever so slightly. That the line of succession of Albion might soon be secure for another generation, Tristain too.
    Ah, but that was beside the point! She'd finally made it to the front porch, stepping up into the shade offered by the entry. The front door was no better than the rest of the manor, varnish long since faded and only now remaining thanks to the stubborn durability of its hardwood oak construction.
    A badly tarnished brass knocker sat at the center of the door, shaped into the visage of a roaring lion. Somehow, Kirche suspected that de'Martou didn't really live up to the prestige of the symbol that graced his door.
    She took the knocker, lifting it, and then stopped, tilting her head. Why was she doing this again?
    Well, she had grown rather fond of Botan and her sisters since meeting them. It didn't hurt that the Vespid Knight had been the one to save her, the Count of Tarbes, and the children from the deranged Knight Sayuri. It was hard not to be charmed by the child-like creatures, the Little Sisters especially when they were together, and the thought of any harm coming to them was enough to motivate her to action.
    And then, there was also the way that his would help Louise. Not that she would have done this  just for Louise. But the Valliere already had a hard enough time of things, she didn't really need a Zerbst flaunting her obvious superiority at a time like this.
    The brass knocker struck the door three times, three heavy, deep, -knocks-. Kirche stood back as if expecting the door to burst open at any moment. She didn't really know what to expect. The help probably. Whoever was being payed to, badly, maintain the manor and its environs.
    What she didn't expect was to be left waiting so long.
    First, Kirche stood patiently, then she tapped her foot. Finally, she began to pace back and forth. She knocked again, and again she was left to wait, an almost insufferable insult in her personal opinion. Kirche was used to a lot of things, but being ignored was not one of them.
    'They'd probably come faster if they knew what was waiting.' She thought irritably and not without a hint of pride. A few strategic buttons left  un buttoned and even traveling clothes could draw the eye of every man within thirty mails.
    She was just about to strike the knocker again when she finally heard the footsteps on the other side of the door and gave a small, indignant snort. Well it was about time!
    The steps stopped on the far side of the door to be replaced by a distant muttering. It was only then that Kirche noted a small, glass covered peephole set into one of the Lion's eyes. She had to admit, as far as the de'Martou family had fallen, the past generations had certainly had good taste, and good sense.
    A clicking issued from the door, like the turning of locks. Lots of locks. At first Kirche was curious, then she grew worried as the sound went on for entirely too long, occasionally accompanied by the jangling of chains or -clacking- of a metal slider.
    The sound of metal striking metal stopped and was replaced by the sound of it creaking, the door opening on ill oiled hinges with all the grace and charm of a crypt.
    Without opening so much as a hand span, the door stopped. A pair of dark brown eyes looked out. Kirche looked back.
    "Oh. Ekscuse me?" Kirche began. "I appear to vee…"
    "Wha'd ya want?!" The voice growled suspiciously.

Fair enough, Kirche thought. She was trying to lie her way into the house in order to look for evidence, evidence that would of course be incriminating to this man and his colleagues.
    "Good day kind Zir." The Germanian let her accent carry far more heavily then normal. She bobbed forward at the waist, not quite a bow, but enough to flash a hint of cleavage.
    The results were as expected. The man blinked rapidly before shaking his head. "Come again, Girl?"
    "Vhy, I zaid good day. Or vould a how do you do be more in order? I muzt zay all of zese Tristanian customs are most confuzing!" Time to lay it on nice and thick. Grabbing her arms, Kirche wagged from side to side. "Oh, von't you pleaze help? I've been on the road for dayz now with -ardly a vriendly vace!" As acts went, it was ditzy, disgracefully composed, and paper thin. And the man was eating it all up like a babe at his mother's breast.
    Deciding that she almost certainly wasn't any sort of threat, the door opened a little wider, allowing her to see the man clearly for the first time.
    He was altogether average, indistinct in a way that was almost itself exceptional. Average height, but with broad shoulders, the right choice of clothes would certainly have given the impression he was taller or shorter than he in fact was. Brown hair that in the right light or with a little grease could be turned black or with the application of the proper powders could be mistaken for a dirty blonde. Brown eyes, or were they black?
    Handsome, Kirche supposed, or he would have been if not for the way he looked on like a lost pup.
    'It figures.' She thought. Men could be weak willed, but this sort of weakness was pathetically common among the Tristanian breed in particular. Kirche could only ascribe it to too much soft living and too many prudish women raising their sons and daughters to live like monks and nuns. Of course all that pent up desire was going to find a way out, and not by the most pleasant avenues.
    "Come again, Miss?" The man asked.
    "Ah, how rude of me! To not even introduce mein zelf!" Stepping back, she curtsied her skirt delicately. "I am Kirche August Fredericka von Anhalt-Zerbst and I -ave been attending at great honor at the Tristain Academy of Majiks." Proud expression turned to distress as she pouted. "Vut, vith ze Faeries now inahbitting ze countryside, mein family was most inziztant zat I make a hasty return, vut -" She covered her face with with her forearm, an action that, incidentally, did wonders for her bosom. "I vear I have become lozt in zee countryside!"
    "Lozt?" The man asked and then shook his head.
    "Yez,  Lozt ." She said with a hint of very real irritation. Wasn't this how everyone thought Germanian's spoke? What good was a stereotype if the one person she ever bothered to use it on had never heard of it?!
    "You mean lost!" The man realized, standing a little straight.
    "Yez!" Kirche had to actively fight the urge to role her eyes. How stupid could this man be?
    The man looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting from side to side as the gears in his head worked to find a solution. He cringed as another voice called from deeper inside the house.
    "Chadrick, who's there?"
    "Ai, it's just some Noble Girl who's gotten herself lost. I'll have her on her way in just a minute."
    Not good, Kirche thought quickly, she needed to get  in  to the house if she was going to look around. Fortunately, they'd planned for this too. "Ach, Nein! Certainly not zis late in ze day?!" She pointed out at the sky where the sun was beginning the long decent towards the horizon.
    "Shorely you'd not make a young voman brave ze elements with all of ze vicious Faerie creatures!"
    The man's mouth opened and then fell further open as she clasped her hands together and leaned just a bit further forward. She could almost see the scales working behind his eyes, weighing the nuisance she would be to house for the night versus the pleasure of her company.
    Of course, Kirche hardly planned to allow things to go that far and she had more than enough experience with men that wouldn't take no for an answer to have prepared a few tricks for tonight as well, just in case. And, in case that didn't work, well, Tabitha was quite the escape artist and would be keeping watch once night fell.
    "Y-yes. I suppose, I suppose that wouldn't be very proper of me, would it." The man whose name was Chadrick said quickly as he licked his lips.
    "Oy, Chadrick, how much longer will you be at that blasted door?! We need you in here." Another voice, higher pitched, asked impatiently.
    "Just a moment longer!"
    "Not a moment longer! You're the only one who knows how to work the blasted…" The first voice trailed off as a second man, shorter than the one named Chadrick came into view.
    Shorter, and older, with the sort of small, powerful build that must have left him fighting a constant battle with pudginess. The fact that he didn't look fat at all practically screamed to Kirche that he was some sort of soldier or bodyguard, the fact that he was so well conditioned and also a Mage, judging by the wand hanging from his belt even more so.
    The man blinked owlishly and then shook his head, trembling with anger. "What the blazes is this!" He barked. "I thought you said you were getting rid of her!"
    "Enough, Digby!" The younger man snapped back with sudden certainty and an admirable amount of bite. Well then, not quite as pathetic as he looked. "The young Miss has simply been on the road most of the day and lost her bearings."
    "And the young Miss's predicament is hardly our business." The man named Digby countered before turning to appraise Kirche. "I'd say she can take care of herself, let her go on down the road and take refuge with some of the local peasants. Not like we're living in luxury here."
    "Oh, pleaze kind Zir!" Kirche repeated, careful not to make an overt advance and alienate her new thrall. "I promiz I'll ve no trouble. Only vor ze one night and I shall go tomorrow."
    Chadrick's lips thinned as he nodded severely. He gestured to Kirche. "As she's said, she'll keep out of the way. And de'Martou left us well stocked, we're hardly lacking for food and drink. Where would our propriety be if we turned her away?"
    Though Kirche might have been mistaken, she almost thought that she'd caught Digby's reply. "A good few leagues higher than this place." She thought he said before he added. "And besides Chadrick  my boy, do you forget that we are guests in your friends house. It is not our propriety to show."
    Chadrick's only reply was to wave a dismissive hand. "Bah! Hardly at all. I'd say it would reflect ill on de'Martou if his  friend's fail to show their hospitality in his stead. And besides, it's only for the one night. The company will do us good I think."
    At that point Kirche clenched a fist beneath the cover of her cloak. Even spending so much time with Louise, she still had it. She allowed Chadrick to take her small travel bag, nodding her head politely as he apologized for the poor condition of the manner.
    "We're doing this as a mutual favor your see." The man explained. "Terrance's job with the Royal Tax Office keeps him far from home and we lot have fallen on hard times. The Old Boy's never been much of a fighter besides, so we get a roof over our heads for guarding this place until the Faeries can get their blasted creatures under control."
    Several more faces poked out into the hall, a man and one petite looking woman who would have been pretty if her face hadn't been pinched into a frown. That just about matched with Botan's estimates made the night before. There would probably be one or two others, but no more than that. None of them seemed at all pleased to see Kirche, but the young man at her side was by all appearances oblivious to the resentment being projected at her. Either that, or he was very good at ignoring it.
    Kirche allowed herself to look about as she was led towards the stairs with promises of a cot and a dry room for the night. The inside of the manner was, if anything, worse than the outside, everything covered in a fine layer of dust, water damaged walls covered in marks and ruined paint, ancient Spackle flaking from the ceiling. She'd thought the Count of Tarbes had kept a poor household, but he'd had the decency to at least maintain his largely dormant home, this was simple decay, the product of decades of neglect.
    But that didn't matter now. It wasn't the first time she'd spent the night in such poor surroundings and for much more petty reasons besides. What mattered was that she was in. And that tonight, she looked up at a particularly large hole in the ceiling where she thought she had briefly glimpsed movement, she and Botan would have the run of this place.