The Choking Child
A sound that should never echo at a party pierced Ibel's ears.
Choke, gasp—
A raspy wheeze mingled with labored breaths. Whipping around, she saw a child's face flushed beet red—Hermine Rosenthal's eldest son.
"Johannes!!!"
Hermine came rushing over in a panic, her heavy body thudding as she pounded the boy's back. It was obvious candy and a child's throat had collided disastrously.
But that only seemed to drive the candy deeper. Even the coughing stopped.
His chubby cheeks drained to pallid white in moments, his breath cut short. He clawed at his throat in agony, on the verge of rolling his eyes back.
Ibel didn't think. She moved.
"Hup!"
Wrapping her arms around Johannes from behind, she pressed hard into his abdomen.
She didn't know the precise mechanism.
But experience had taught her what to do.
She'd saved soldiers this way on the battlefield after they'd choked down something foul.
Of course, back then she'd had a strong man for the job... like Victor.
Once more!
Veins bulged on her arms as she hugged him tight. With steady rhythm, she thrust upward into his belly—press, press.
Fist aligned midway between solar plexus and navel, shoving toward her own body, over and over.
Voices around her demanded she stop, asking what she thought she was doing. Ibel ignored them.
The candy had to come out.
"Stop it! You're hurting him!"
"Someone stop her!"
To nobles ignorant of medicine, it looked like she was punching the child. And truthfully, it must have appeared that way.
"Wahhhheeeek!"
But just before a few nobles could rush in and pry her off—
The offending candy finally shot from Johannes's throat.
"Guh, keh... mo... Mama... waaahhh!!!"
Bruises would form, no doubt.
Fortunately, no ribs seemed broken.
Ibel held the hyperventilating boy close and asked calmly,
"Are you okay? Does it feel like anything else is stuck in your throat?"
"N-no... ugh, waaah...!"
Conversation was impossible, naturally. But the key was that he could express himself.
Ibel laid the gulping child down and gently stroked his hair.
"It's okay. Now, try this with me. You need to breathe out. Hoo, hoo, whoooo. You can do it. Not in—out. You're brave, Johannes, so you'll do great."
For a boy this age, "brave" was magic.
Tears and snot streaming, he matched her rhythm, exhaling along.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the tremors eased.
"There, good job."
She petted him softly.
"Such a good, brave boy. You held on so well."
"Hoo, hoo, whooo...."
"Yes, just like that."
Once calm enough, he reached for his mother.
Hermine, still dazed from shock, wobbled unsteadily—until nearby gentlemen steadied her.
"He should lie down in bed. We'll provide a room; stay until he's settled, then go home?"
"Thank you... thank you."
"It's the least we can do."
Johannes had probably crammed the candy too fast.
They'd caught it in time. Otherwise... she didn't want to imagine.
"You two, carry the guest."
A stretcher would be ideal, but no wartime estate kept such things.
Sturdy servants hoisted Johannes piggyback, followed by Hermine Rosenthal, the elderly lady, and Konstantin Hardins.
As lady of the house, Ibel had to guide them.
"I trust you'll excuse our brief stay given the circumstances."
With that, she cast a final glance at Anselm, frozen in shock.
"Anselm, coming along?"
"......No. I'm fine."
"All right. Your great-aunt must be shaken; look after her well."
But Anselm's eyes stayed fixed—not on her face, but her hand.
Noticing, Ibel pretended ignorance and approached to lightly stroke his sleek black hair.
Anselm flinched and stepped back, dodging her touch.
"...Such things don't suit a Bayern."
"Of course. I was so startled my heart's still racing. Stroking like this usually calms me... Was I overstepping?"
Like a bristling cat.
She chuckled inwardly but kept a straight face. Anselm spat quickly, without meeting her eyes.
"......Today's crisis was unavoidable, but mind it next time."
"Will do. Thanks for letting me."
"Yes."
For someone so prickly, his lips twitched upward.
Kids hostile to adults? Usually the adult's fault.
How did she know?
Been there.
Anselm's walls didn't annoy her one bit.
Her own childhood had been worse, if anything.
A moment later, in the guest room.
"See! Mama said no candy! And you didn't listen!"
"Owies, it hurts, Mama!"
"Aish, the heir to Rosenthal, worrying me like this!"
The noblewoman, eyes red-rimmed, lightly smacked her son's back.
Revived by a warm cup of milk, Johannes was playing up his woes.
The instant Ibel saw it, she understood.
Anselm couldn't bear watching this. Misses his own mother. Envies the one here.
Her heart ached for him.
Then the elderly lady, face stiff from shock, bowed to Ibel.
Bending her rigid neck, even.
"We owe you a debt."
"Don't think of it that way. I'm a doctor trained in medicine; I just did what I could."
"No, a debt is a debt. House Hardins repays favors."
To deny further would wound pride, so Ibel nodded. The old woman peered into her eyes and spoke.
"On Hardins honor, whatever you ask, once—we'll aid you."
"I gratefully accept your vow."
"This old body's frail, but I've many allies. You'll need my name in the capital someday."
Eyes seasoned by trials.
Ibel couldn't guess her depths, but it was a boon all the same. She smiled.
"Me too! Rosenthal's no great house, but... in southern Richter, we have pull. I'll help."
"Thank you."
"Ibel—Ibel, may I call you? Call me Hermine too."
A bid for friendship.
With no roots here, Ibel welcomed it with a bright smile.
"Yes, Hermine. Johannes should be fine now. But his throat's scraped, so soft foods only for a bit—no irritants."
"Got it! Candy's banned forever. Who brings devilish stuff like that to tempt kids...!"
Regaining her fire, Hermine's eyes blazed.
Ibel handed her a note with care instructions, then noticed her own arm tingling.
Got a story for Victor tonight. Beg for beer, maybe.
Gazing out the window, the idle thought made her pause.
Victor's become so comfortable. To the point I miss him now.
At that moment, Victor stood outside the manor with his adjutant.
"Innkeeper says name's Leo. Been there a week. Claims sculptor; too ordinary to stick in memory."
"As expected."
"No restaurant meals—mostly street vendor sandwiches."
Question.
When you learn a foreign spy's infiltrated your domain, what's most efficient?