She was beginning to think so. Perhaps Reinard was right, and she just wasn't cut out for hardcore journalism.

No one would talk to her. The locals had no time for her, bordering on outright rudeness. Her frustration with their street signs—all signs, in fact—seemed to be all the tip off they needed that she was ausländisch, foreign. After half an hour trying to find a book shop, to purchase what else but a Latin to Germanian dictionary, she finally asked someone for help. They pointed the way, and walked away muttering something that sounded like a slurred "outlandish." The next time she heard it, she scoured the pages of her new guide and found the term. The term hurt, for no explicable reason. Rationally, she knew that she considered the Germanians practically another species, but to have them call her such a thing? She was Roman, she was welcome anywhere in the Empire! They were the provincial minority.

She made a few more attempts to get soldiers to speak to her. They were more than happy to help her find her way, or translate common phrases one needed to use in any city. But they were not willing to answer her questions about politics or the army. A few referred her to the army's public relations office, and one even told her to read the RAP Daily! In desperation, she bought a copy, only to find that most of the articles were at least a day out of date.

Her next step was to try the Army's local headquarters. The cohort was stationed in a warehouse that been empty for several years before they purchased it. That alone was unusual. Zelda's notebook had several underlines and question marks next to that note. Why purchase property in an obscure town when you were only meant to be a small peacekeeping force, there temporarily? When she arrived, she had to tilt her head back to see the entire building. It was huge, abandoned no doubt because there simply wasn't that much need for properties that size in Mattium. Surprisingly, there were several very large trucks parked along the building's length, with men unloading crates.

She took the official road this time, and showed the man manning the desk her press badge. "Zelda Minelli, I'm here for the RAP. I'd like to speak to the Lieutenant of your cohort."

The look she got was inscrutable, save one clear message: he did not like that she had showed up. "I'll get the Centurion." He disappeared into the warehouse proper.

Zelda blinked at the door. Centurion? When had a centurion arrived? Mattium had only one cohort, didn't it? Perhaps the regional Centurion was visiting?

She was called into an office in disarray, boxes of files standing on the floor, as though someone had not yet had time to get to them. The Centurion stood behind the desk, looking stormy.

"Ms. Minelli? I'm Centurion Papas. How can I help you?"

If he thought he could frighten her off with his strict military demeanor, he was going to be disappointed. She had faced down thugs disguised as bodyguards and braved the Imperial Public Relations Director more times than she could count. Zelda offered him her badge, keeping her expression serene and professional. "I'm here for the RAP. I was wondering if I could secure an interview with this cohort's leader. What a wonderful surprise to find you here as well."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Papas said, running his eye over her badge for the briefest moment before handing it back. "You do not have the correct clearance for such an interview."

Zelda refused to take the card. "You'll see there that I'm cleared to work on matters concerning the royal family. Surely that's sufficient."

"No, I'm afraid it's not." He turned the card to show her the blank space where another mark could—should—have gone. "We only speak with reporters bearing the army's seal, and then only those marked as level three or above may speak with a Centurion of His Imminence's military."

Initial bluff failed. "I was sent here as the correspondent nearest to the… incident. My clearance is being forwarded from the head office."

"Then you may come back when it has arrived." Cent. Papas offered her the badge again. This time she took it.

There was one more card she could play. Zelda began to put the badge back into her wallet, taking her time. "That is a shame. You see, I have to wire my editor this evening with whatever I have. Without this interview, I'll just have to go ahead without it. I don't have much beyond hearsay at the moment. But rumors can be very powerful…"

The Centurion was glowering at her now. He leaned across the desk, eyes boring into her. "Ms. Minelli, the Army has very strict rules governing the dissemination of information. We do this for the protection of the Empire. If you do or say anything that endangers the safety of this empire, or this unit, make no mistake. We have the authority to do whatever we feel is necessary to remove that threat."

Zelda stared back at him for several long moments. At last she put her wallet back in her handbag. "I understand. Have a good afternoon, Centurion."

She couldn’t leave the office quickly enough.

#

It was a very depressing walk from the warehouse-cum-base to the post office. She had made no progress on her independent goals. More damnably, she had yet to find out where Zoë was. As the clerk retrieved her telegrams, she braced herself for what she knew was coming.

9:45 am, December 21
From: Elton Reinard, Roma, Italia
Recipient: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Message:
ARRIVAL MSG RCV'D. EXPECT FIRST STATUS REPORT POST STAT.
E.R.

3:16 pm, December 22
From: Elton Reinard, Roma, Italia
Recipient: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Message:
NO MSGS RCV'D. AWAITING REPORT.
E.R.

9:45 am, December 23
From: Elton Reinard, Roma, Italia
Recipient: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Message:
HAVE LEARNED MORE FROM RADIO ABOUT PZ'S WHERABOUTS THIS MONTH THAN FROM ACE BEAT REPORTER. REPORT ASAP.
E.R.

Zelda winced at this collection. Reinard was clearly unhappy with her.

12:28 pm, December 21
From: Henri Matin, Roma, Italia
Recipient: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Message:
REALIZE DID NOT FORWARD ADDRESS. WORK INBOX ALWAYS FULL OF GARBAGE. PLZ USE HOME. TAKE CARE.
H.M.
47 VIA BRENNERO 3E

He might as well have slapped a big "YOU PROMISED" onto the end. Zelda folded that up for later—she would send Henri a postcard, or something else equally innocuous. As for Reinard…

5:05 pm, December 25
From: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Recipient: Elton Reinard, Roma, Italia, RAP HQ
Message:
RADIO UNRELIABLE.
Z.M.

She paused. She really didn't have any news to pass on. And she would be sunk if she didn't get some soon. The clerk was casting her irritable looks. It's not an epic tome, domina. Finally, she added,

5:05 pm, September 25
From: Zelda Minelli, Mattium, Lower Germania
Recipient: Elton Reinard, Roma, Italia, RAP HQ
Message:
RADIO UNRELIABLE. TRUST ACE REPORTER TO COME THROUGH. PZ WELL HIDDEN, NEW MOVEMENTS TO INVESTIGATE.
Z.M.

It would probably anger him, but it was all she could think of. Her polite smile for the clerk felt like a thin veil over her incompetence, and she beat a hasty retreat.

Chased out of two places in one afternoon. How was that for a poor showing? Then again, she had been kicked out of high class social events before for 'intruding on the privacy of our guests.'

As she walked back to the hotel, arms wrapped tightly around herself, with hat and scarf forming a tight barrier against the cold that had only gotten worse, she tried once again to organize herself. It was clear that the survival of her job was dependent now on… doing her job. She needed to find out what Zoë was up to, and she needed to do it quickly, preferable within the next twenty-four hours. It was clear that no one wanted to talk to her directly, but perhaps they would say things if they didn't think she was listening. Vigor returned with the strength of a new plan, she prepared for an evening out.