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While waiting for the Count to see me, I learn two things from listening to people talk as they walk by. First, the Count’s been cut off for a few days but is about to make a push to rejoin the main Brotherhood forces. Second, the loudmouthed private who, incidentally, is also the one guarding me, really thinks he’s that funny. All attempts by his parents to smack it out of him via the back of his head have apparently failed.
I ignore him as much as possible. From the inside, the makeshift fort is even more constipated than it looks from the outside. The corridors, the rooms, even the lighting, everything is angular and cramped. The room they’re holding me in is devoid of anything but a makeshift bench welded to the far wall and a squiggly bulb dangling from the ceiling. The bench can’
