Free Muffled Drum by Erastes

enough to just kiss the man, or damned well drunk enough not to care one way or the other.
     
    Rudolph woke in an unfamiliar bed, the scents around him unknown. Not a tent, where the devil— He swung his legs over the side of the bed and in the dark they knocked against what must have been a side table. Something went clattering to the floor and, when he tried to stand, a lancing spear of pain shot through his foot. Glass. Oh, God.
    “Shit! Goertz!” he called. “Goertz! Where the fuck are you, man?”
    Where the fuck am I?
    He fell backward to where he was sure the bed was and nearly missed even that, banging his arse against the bed frame. “Shit! Goertz! ”
    The door opened, and the figure in the candlelight of the hall was outlined but not recognizable. “He’s not here, Rudolph. He’s taken the horses on to Berlin. You remember?”
    “No…yes…oh, damn it.” Rudolph closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing the panic of the unknown away. “Hofmann. Of course.”
    “Stay put, man, the floor’s covered in glass. And we’d decided on first names.” Mathias made his way into the room, picked up the candlestick and went back to light the candles from the lamps outside. When he returned, bringing blessed light with him, he kicked aside the larger pieces of glass with his boot. “Where are your slippers—ah…” He retrieved them from the other side of the bed and made his way back to Rudolph. Examining Rudolph’s bleeding foot, he swore softly, put the candle down on the side table. “Wait there.”
    The order made Rudolph smile. He examined the damage to his foot. It didn’t seem bad enough to need Goertz’s untender ministrations, thankfully. Where was the man? Horses. Berlin. Yes. He cursed himself for being a drunken fool. In a few minutes, he’d gathered his thoughts together, remembered the night before, remembered where he was and felt less rattled. No wonder von Tümpling thought I was a damned liability . Panicking like a frightened woman in the dark.
    He’d got himself back under control by the time Mathias reappeared but was almost entirely undone when he saw the man was wearing nothing but a nightgown—somehow his brain had not registered that fact the last time he’d entered the room. The fabric billowed and clung to his frame, giving tantalizing hints of the delights beneath the thin linen.
    Mathias sat on the bed and, without preamble, pulled Rudolph’s foot onto his lap. Rudolph had a brief and pleasant sensation of the heat of Mathias’s skin against his cold heel, then winced as Mathias poured some chilled liquid over the cut. “The last of our schnaps, ” he said, bandaging the heel. “We’ll need some more for the train.”
    He was silent as he completed the task, and Rudolph watched him, unobserved. The candlelight touched the edges of his golden hair, and the expression on his face was one of such concern that Rudolph wondered if his young comrade was struggling under the same attraction he himself was fighting. Was Mathias developing feelings for his erstwhile commander? Half of Rudolph hoped it might be the case, but he knew all too well the problems a dalliance would bring to them both.
    Rudolph’s reverie was interrupted only when Mathias carefully placed Rudolph’s foot onto the floor. “I’d advise you put the slippers on before standing up again,” he said.
    “I don’t think I’ll try standing just yet.”
    “Will you be all right? Perhaps I should stay for a while. No schnaps left, though.”
    “It was the drink that caused the problems,” Rudolph said. “You’d think I’d been drunk in enough strange places by now not to panic about waking in the dark.” He tried to make it sound light, happier to blame the drink than his confused mind, but he knew he’d failed when Mathias’s face darkened with worry and he sat on the bed.
    “That’s what happened? The doctor said there would likely be some disorientation.”
    “Bloody man was right for the