Coimbra

Erast reached Coimbra in the late in the late afternoon, the town coloured golden and rose in its valley. He rode through the narrow, winding streets, that were already abuzz with the news of Wellesley's approach, to the university part of the town, where he has rented a house. The house belonged to Felix Avelar Brotero, professor of botany in the university and was situated by the Botanical Gardens which afforded, not only a pleasant view but also a sense of space that was lacking elsewhere in the city. Entrusting the local servant with his horse, Fandorin entered the house, and looked himself over in the hall mirror, staring distastefully at the dust and small creases of his elegant clothing. The trip had practically no usefullness; he had hoped to get rid of the diamonds, but now it seemed he would have another day to wait.

Like a shadow Erast's clerk appeared, as if his eyes have been anywhere and everywhere, to know the exact time of his master's return. He greeted him curtly, his voice soft, yet even. Though he spoke as little, his eyes remained inquiring.

He had been observing the street through one of the tall windows of mr. Brotero's abode, and had sighted the disgrunted man riding, a good while before he came to slip from the saddle of his horse.

A cool glance to the door followed, and he stepped smoothly around Fandorin, closing it with a light, soft click. It had been a while since the two began their journey, though it was the time in Coimbra that was least entertaining, least pleasant.

Fandorin watched Widmayer's movements in the mirror, his mouth curling up just a fraction when the young man moved to shut the door. He started unbuttoning his jacket, not wanting to drag the road dust further into the house.
'It was a fool's errand as you said. Wellesley did not deign to speak with me, but at least I met Hunter. He will come sometime tomorrow, probably at dawn', he spoke in German, but when he espied a splash of mud on the side of his breeches he swore abruptly in quiet Russian.

Every inch the servant he was to be, Josef turned and took from Fandorin, his dust stained coat, taking in mind that it would need a fair trashing before it could be taken for wear again.

He nodded in faint recognition of Erast's complaint, and folded the fabric carefully over his arm, taking good care not to transport dust to his own clothes also.

He motioned for Fandorin to walk further into the next room, from where they remained furthest from the door, and the chairs were placed with care around a nicely carved wooden desk, with flakes of gold at its edges.

Again a click of doors, that were closed echoed through the well adorned room and the servant turned slowly around. He walked himself across the room and briefly disappeared through another set of doors, returning with a clean pair of breeches in hand.

"Perhaps another day." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes:" Should drinks be arranged for his arrival?" He replied in German, leaving some accent in his speech.

Fandorin submitted to Widmayer's ministrations, but waved the clean breeches away. 'I shall wash first'. He settled himself at the desk. stretching out his legs languidly.
'Another day?', nothing on his face betrayed any irritation except a brief flash in the dark eyes. 'Yes, another day. Drinks? No, better a breakfast, coffee and all. We'll take a stroll in the gardens afterwards before the students descend'. He looked Widmayer straight in the eyes: 'Perhaps, I should entrust the delivery to Hunter? After all, Wellesley will have to speak to him sometime'.

"Entrust it to that 'boy'?.. It is a fortune that you speak of." His gaze did not shy away from the man, but keep a firm stance, with his eyes stubbornly meeting the man's. "He might become tempted." A light shrug was given as the man turned about smoothly and sat, the coat he had earlier no longer in sight, perhaps laid in the room from whence breeches were brought.

Fandorin gave a brief smile. 'It is fortunate that you are not English, or you would cry out demanding trust towards a baronet and a future Count, instead of doubting him'. Lacing his fingers together, Fandorin looked continued to look at Widmayer unblinkingly. 'You forget, we have a hold over him, that's one. I also thought of demanding a receipt in Wellesley's hand with a seal, that's two. And somehow, I doubt, a boy who was content to ride with cossacks and live in what to most British aristocracy would be deemed abject poverty, would be interested in diamonds, that's three'. Fandorin leaned back in his chair, his laced fingers wrapping around his knee, inviting Widmayer to state his opinion.

"Certainly.. " At first it seemed that the discussion was over. The servant kept his face in check so expertly that it neither betrayed his feelings nor played a part in announcing what more he was to speak, or when. He brought his left hand to his chin, and laid his forefinger beneath his lower lip and his thumb right at the softness under his chin.

A light few taps later he spoke: "Were he to debate fleeing with the obtained fortune, it would be a fool's thought to return to us. Even if he were to forge a paper to convince us of his clean intentions. Which, the preparation of papers, I may add.. might not be as hard a task concerning his present possition." He stretched a limb forward and allowed himself greater comfort when seated, a hand that was not at his chin, resting at the back of his chair.

"His blood sir.. has a history much less honourable as you deem him to be, to be thus worthy of trust." His shoulders raised up in a light shrug, the man's gaze not wavering for a moment.

Fandorin remained perfectly still, the only movement that of his lips. 'Ah, the drunkard adulterous father. And yet the baronetcy is much older than that and came into disrepute only with the late Sir Edward. His maternal grandfather is by all accounts an honourable man, a count and a loyal servant of the Russian Empire. Surely such credentials will pass even your scrutiny?', Fandorin lifted an ironic eyebrow.

"Half a bad seed then, is he." Again the servant shrugged, his occupied hand dropping to lay at his thigh and there tug a wrinkle out of his vest. light reflected of each of his buttons, clean as if new, unlike those of Fandorin, that had been covered in dust earlier.

"I do not fool myself to believe that I should change your mind, sir....yet I urge you to consider and allow space for doubt of his person. For he indeed acts.. quite unlike what befits a gentleman, as you have yourself mentioned. Ought we then trust that to be a truer and more trustworthy of a nature... as suspiciously as it resembles in ways, his father?"

Fandorin glanced down and then back at Widmayer. 'So if he does not act like a gentleman, he is not worty of trust? And yet he is 'half a bad seed; as you put it, surely, his behaviour is quite honest then?'. Suddenly Fandorin got up and paced a little around the room. 'No matter, whatever I think of him, we must indeed take precautions. I belive I will write a letter to Wellesley, he shall deliver it. Only as a last resort will the stones go through Hunter'. He stopped at the window his attention caught by something, then spoke slowly. 'Now, have you found out where all the known French agents reside?'

"..Yes sir. Almost all , two I shall know by the end of today."

He followed Fandorin's gaze to the window. It was closed, though the freshness of air in the room clearly pointed to having had it open earlier. A thin eyebrow quirked upwards in question of what if anything, Fandorin saw.

(OOC - and now good night!)

Fandorin acknowleged the information with a small nod.
'The students seem to be caught up in excitement. One would think that a rational place like a university would instil them with an understanding that there are better things to do than throw flowers at victorious Generals'. He turned away from the window and started to pace slowly, his fingers interlaced behind his back. He walked softly, almost noiselessly, his movements precise, yet flowing and almost graceful.

Manuel entered the kitchen through the small garden at the back of the house. 'The horse looks tired and dusty. No doubt, the German will require a bath', he spoke to Catarina and Sonia, respectively the maid and the cook, of the house, who were bustling around the warm room.
Catarina, a young woman, exclaimed in annoyance. 'It's all very well, but I hoped I could go and see the English General! Ines and Rosa are going, why should I stay behind?!'.

Manuel grunted and set about getting his tea not wishing to involve himself in these affairs. Sonia, an older and wiser woman, patted Catarina reassuringly, before returning to her cooking. 'Dear, I am sure if you finish your tasks quickly you'll be allowed to go', she spoke calmly, not really paying attention to the girl: she was a good worker, but annoyingly excitable.

Catarina subsided and her working side took over as she snatched Manuel's plate away and holding it hostage, bade him to fetch water for the bath.

"Perhaps their educators are as eager to shower the victorious Generals with flowers as they, and those willing for better have little that they are left with." He did not care of the reason nor the happenings that ushered students to abandon their studies even for minutes or hours for as long as they did not come and disturb the guests present. He did observe them from the window, the little ants walking back and forth, in groups or single, in pairs or alone. He had remembered few of the faces, for there were a great number of students coming and leaving every day, those teaching were by far an easier task to recognize.

"Shall you take part in the celebrations, which are bound to be most festive at this day?" He placed a letter before the man:" I've nearly forgotten.. I have gotten this for you, also." He spoke nonchalantly. But as he heard voices outside he turned silent, his eyes downcast.

Fandorin moved to the desk and stopped, the tips of his fingers resting on the letter. For a split second he hesitated, acknowledging Widmayer's words on educators, but not willing to continue that conversation, then he spoke: 'No, I shall not take part. Botero has of course invited me: he is going along with the Dean to greet the General', Erast produced a crumpled note from a pocket and dropped it on the desk. His gaze locked onto the letter, the fingertips pressing just a litle stronger against the paper. 'What is this?' he asked.

"I would not know sir..I cannot read after all." They both knew what he was able of course. His eyes looked as knowing of the letter's contents though as if they had just read it out loud. He smiled bemused and bowed his head curtly his attention shifting to the crumpled note. "I would hope that this isn't the invitation you hold there?" He motioned to the note and shook his head. If it were atleast he could have given it a gentler hand and a pint more care not to let it look as though it just came from a horse's ... mouth.

His voice dropped a notch and he added :"..We are about to receive your host's servant company.." He waved to the door. Perhaps he picked a sound from the stairs or he only expected them to come and have a bath ready for Erast, and his thoughts thus were right. "I suggest, that .." He nodded to the letter. " waits till you are no longer caked in dust."

Fandorin 's fingers let go of the letter: if it was urgent, Widmayer would have told him. As it is he did indeed prefer to deal with common affairs when he was clean. There was a knock on the door and the young maid came to announce that the bath was ready for him, if senhor wished it. Senhor did. He followed the maid to the bathroom, where the steam filled the air and shrugging out of his clothes submerged into hot water. In a moment of rare openness, he grumbled.
'I am getting too old for all this'.

Josef remained in the other room seated beside the table and absentmindedly drumming the tips of his fingers against the smooth surface. He was reconsidering his plans for the evening, perhaps suggesting that he is to be sent into town or whether he would rather remain and through the window observe what he could of the celebrations below. He stood, reached for the letter and slipped it back into the inside pocket of his west, smoothing out any wrinkles that such an action caused and then he walked to the window, gazing outside.

He had a half ear attentive to his master's summons, yet his purpose was more to remain at guard for the other.

Erast allowed himself a short repose in the hot water, then washed himself vigorously and stepping into the adjoining bedroom dressed himself. Satisfied with his reflection, he rung the bell for the maid. When Catarina appeared, he asked her to bring up some coffee into the study and find out when the dinner will be ready.

Going back into the study, he eyed Widmayer for a moment, then settled at the desk. 'Now, the letter'.

He walked gracefully around Fandorin and placed an ear against the door. He opened it briefly and gazed nonchalantly across the room, left and right before slipping his head back out and closing the door firmly.

Again he passed the other man and placed his hand over a delicately carved letter opener, which had a finely made handle, with an eye for detail of whomever had made it. He flipped it around so that its 'blade' was held between his thumb and forefinger and the handle faced Fandorin.

Once the other man would have taken it, he supplied him with the letter again, not a word spoken inbetween.

Erast took the letter and the letter opener and looking over the unopened paper carefully, cut it open. Before he could read it, there was a gentle kncok on the door and Catarina entered with the tray bearing coffee. Erast gave a brief look to Widmayer, a flash of amusement in his eyes as he remembered the man's precautionary measures.

Catarina set the tray on the table and informing them that the dinner will be ready in half an hour, left, flashing a brief smile at Widmayer. Erast motioned Widmayer to help himself to the hot drink and sipping the black liquid with obvious relish, unfolded the letter. 'Ah, Alfonso Pessoa, an anfrancesado. Resides on the south bank, down the road from Santa Clara-a-Nova monastery. Good', the last word was directed at Widmayer. He put the missive back on the table. 'Have you any unfinished business for today?'

He graced Catarina with a pleasant smile in turn to her own, and observed her before and after, as she made her way across to the table upon which she lay her tray. And even as she departed his eyes remained at the door, and his ears were attentive for sounds beyond the wooden partition. It was once the sound of her footsteps died and even then a few minutes later before he turned to face Fandorin.

He caught word and gist of what he had said and shook his head simply. "Not any, that I could not come to postpone." He answered simply, an eyebrow quirking upwards in inquiry, wondering what would the other man wanted of him.

'No, I meant quite the opposite: if you have something to attend to, please be so good as to finish it after we've had our dinner. Tomorrow, I shall need you to do something that will occupy you for the whole day'. Fandorin leaned back in his chair and taking a sip from the coffee cup, looked Widmayer in the eyes: 'Do you think you can stay unnoticed by someone for a whole day?'

"Very well, sir." He served himself some of the offered coffee, and took a small sip of it, as if tasting it for poison, where there would be none.

"I am certain that I would be able, sir. But what is the occasion, if I may already inquire?" He asked curiously.