Harry Turtledove - After the downfall

"I haven't fallen in love at all, so I can't really answer that," Drepteaza answered. "But you, Hasso Pemsel — it seems to me that you look for the worst places to fall in love, and then go and do that."

If she'd mocked him, he would have gone up like jellied gasoline. But she didn't. She simply sounded as if she was telling him how things looked to her. And maybe she wasn't so far wrong. He doubted he would have had a happy ending with Velona even if the Bucovinans didn't capture him. Something else would have gone wrong, or she would have found somebody new. And then… No, that wouldn't have been pretty. It might have been lethal. Velona herself had warned him.

He didn't want to think about Velona. It still hurt. So did thinking about Drepteaza, but not the same way. Stubbornly, he said, "You are not a bad place to fall in love. You are the best place I know."

"Here," she said: one quiet word that hit him the way a Panzerfaust blew the turret off a Soviet T-34. His face must have shown as much, for she softened it a little: "Maybe I would not be such a bad place for you if I felt for you what you feel for me. But I don't. I almost wish I did. It would make things easier for Bucovin."

"This is not about Bucovin. I do plenty for Bucovin."

"I know you've done plenty for Bucovin — more than I could," Drepteaza said quickly. "But you're right. This has nothing to do with that. This is just about us.

"No us to be about," Hasso said, which held more truth than grammar.

Drepteaza understood it anyway, and nodded to show she did. "That is what this is about — why there is no us," she said.

"Us takes two," Hasso said. "Without two, forget it. If you don't like me — "

"It's not even that," she broke in. "By now, I know you as well as anyone in Falticeni is likely to." She was bound to be right, especially with the qualification. A couple of people back in Drammen, or wherever they were these days… But that was another story, and looked as if it always would be. The priestess went on, "You are brave. You are not stupid — anything but stupid. You are not a bad man. If only — "

"If only I don't look the way I do," he broke in.

She nodded. "Yes, that might do it," she said.

"Maybe I should wear a mask. Maybe I should walk on my knees." Hasso was joking, and yet he wasn't.

Drepteaza understood that, too. "You are trying to be as difficult as you can," she said, her voice full of mock severity — or maybe it wasn't mock at all.

Hasso bowed. "At your service," he said. "Or I would be, only.

"Yes. Only," Drepteaza said. "I am sorry. If I could do anything about it, I would, and that is the truth."

He thought about telling her he was such a wonderful lover he would make her forget all about the way he looked. If he were speaking German, he might have tried it. In Bucovinan, it was bound to come out wrong. He didn't even want to imagine it in Lenello. Lenello was what he was doing his best to stay away from.

Much better not to try a line like that than to botch it. So he said, "No mask and knees, eh? Maybe I make a magic to look like one of your folk instead." He remembered, too late, that Velona had done something like that. He waited for Drepteaza to throw it in his face.

She didn't — not directly, anyhow. She said, "A spell like that might not work in Falticeni. And even if you did use magic, that would remind me of what you… what you look like. I know it is not what you are. But what you look like matters, too. What a woman looks like matters to you, doesn't it?"

"Yes." He wished he could have said no, but he knew damn well he wasn't that good a liar. He could add, "A woman doesn't have to be big and blond to be pretty for me. This is the truth." He held up his right hand with first two fingers upraised, as if taking an oath back in Germany.

"I believe you," Drepteaza said; he couldn't tell if she understood the gesture. "But most men are less fussy than most women when it comes to such things. Often enough, even a Grenye will do."

"You talk about the Lenelli. I am no Lenello, no matter what I look like."

"You look like one, no matter what you are." The old impasse. You're ugly. Go away.

"I can't help what I am," he muttered.

"And I can't help what I feel," Drepteaza said. "I almost wish — "

"What?"

"Nothing. Let it go."

"When you start to say something like that, you should finish."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right. I almost wish I could help what I feel. It would keep you from mooning around the way you do. At least you don't paw me all the time, the way a real Lenello would. If you did, I would have to learn to throw you over my shoulder. And who could I learn that from but you? You see what a problem it would be."

He couldn't help smiling. She had a barbed wit when she felt like turning it loose. "If you want to learn to throw people, even people my size, I can teach you."

He thought she would say no, not wanting to give him any excuse to get his hands on her. But she nodded. "That might be useful. Lenelli aren't the only troublemakers around here. We have thieves and robbers of our own."

"Sometimes, if someone comes with a sword or knife, better to give what he wants," Hasso said. "Don't be stupid. You can get killed for no good reason if you are stupid."

"I understand," Drepteaza answered. "Is there ever a good reason to get killed?"

"You ask a soldier, remember. Sometimes it's worse for everyone else — and for you, too — if you run away instead." How many men, friends and enemies alike, had Hasso seen making that same unhappy choice? A lot of soldiers — most of them — died from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But some chose their time and place, and died trying to keep the bastards on the other side from doing something nasty. And sometimes it made a difference, and sometimes it didn't. You couldn't know ahead of time. You did what you did, that was all.

"Am I big enough to throw you around if I have to?" Drepteaza asked, derailing his train of thought.

"To throw someone my size, anyway. I throw Lenelli much bigger than me. Maybe throwing me is harder, because I know what you do before you do it," Hasso answered.

"I see." She nodded. "How does someone small throw someone larger, though?"

"Size is not the trick. The trick is knowing what to do." Hasso muttered to himself. He wanted to say leverage, but he had no idea how, either in Bucovinan or in Lenello.

"I hope you're right. Let me go change into breeches, so I can get thrown around without embarrassing myself."

Hasso laughed in surprise. "What about the baths?"

"The baths are the baths. This is different," Drepteaza said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it, but it is. Doesn't your country have customs that wouldn't make any sense to an outsider? The gods know the Lenelli do."

"Maybe we do. I'm sure we do." Hasso sketched a salute. "All right. Go change, then. I meet you in the fencing practice room."

"See you there." Drepteaza got up and left the table.

As Hasso walked down the corridor, he almost ran into Dumnez. His driver said, "Hello. I'm going to be one of the people getting dragon bones. We set out tomorrow."

"No!" The Wehrmacht officer clapped a hand to his forehead. "You can't! You mustn't! Somebody screws up to let you."

"Why shouldn't I? I want to give the Lenelli one in the teeth, same as everybody else does," Dumnez said. "This has to do that some kind of way. It's too important not to."

"But you know about gunpowder. You shouldn't go where they might catch you." Security! Hasso was sure Lord Zgomot would see it when it got pointed out to him. He'd worried about Scanno, who could tell the Lenelli just why Bucovin wanted their dragon bones. The people who were going didn't know that, which was all to the good. But Zgomot hadn't thought about other security worries.