Hunchmausen's Headquarters, Day One, 10.35am!

Ominous sounds of sporadic firing can be heard from the south and west. Reports indicate the safe extraction of Kinski’s squadron and the concentration of Hunchmausen's available forces in Schrote itself. A quick look from the perimeter of the baron's defences makes it clear that the enemy have arrived! A few vain pot-shots to and from the line of enemy outposts explains the firing.

Thanks to his observer in the cathedral spire, Hunchmausen has what appears to be quite reasonable intelligence on the enemy numbers. To the south, the force is that from Redderblau – perhaps one battalion of infantry and one of cavalry. To the east, at least two battalions of musketeers, and two regiments of cavalry, accompanied by wagons and guns.

There also seems to be a considerable force of horsemen approaching from the northeast on the road from Widenlau. They are perhaps five minutes distant, galloping like the very devil is after them!

In the mean time, Major Enzerdinsz, detached from the Frettchen Jager Regiment, arrives to report.

‘Sir!’ he snaps, in a manner surprisingly crisp and professional for a jager. The major has none of the feral slyness and louche demeanour so common amongst light infantry officers. ‘I come to report on my conversations with that Friar fellow, sir, and observations regarding the bishop’s activities!’

‘Excellent!’, replies Munchausen. ‘Has he confessed?’

‘Not exactly, sir. He is surprisingly resistant to my questions. All I can extract from him is that the emperor asked for a nightcap last night, perhaps around eight-ish, and then said that that he was going for a walk. His guards confirm that a drink was indeed delivered to his room, but that he never came out. In the morning, he was missing – vanished!’

Munchausen furrows his brow. ‘Vanished! It’s like that old oak …’

‘Or, sir’, interrupts Czernazmije, ‘perhaps there’s more to this cathedral than we guess’.

‘You’re right, Jernyburny!’ says the baron. ‘Although, I don’t know what you mean at all’.

‘The bishop, sir’, interrupts the major. ‘He’s done nothing, according to the servants that I questioned. ‘He’s just been at the vestry wine, his mood lifting when the enemy get closer, and falling again when they’re further away. You’d think he didn’t want us to keep the enemy away from his church’.

“This is a puzzle and no mistake” muses Hünchmausen aloud, “The Emperor put on his nightcap then decided to go for a walk? Extraordinary! But then Emperor’s are different to the rest of us aren’t they? I’m sure he knew what he was doing…”

“I strongly suspect, sir,” interrupts Czernazmije “that the nightcap in question was more of an alcoholic nip than night attire, I’d also suspect it contained some sedative or other intoxicant, sir”

“Drugged by God!” exclaimed Hünchmausen.

“No, sir, by the Bishop”.

“Oh come now, Zernazizzle, surely not, after all he’s a man of the cloth!”

“Cloth? I assume you mean he’s a toerag, sir? His reputation for arrant depravity and debauchery would make a Borgia blush!"

'Why would soup blush?' asks the baron, mystified.

'That's borscht, sir' says Czernazmije. 'The Borgias were ...' The Vulgarian stops, recognising that he only has one life. 'Actually, sir, yes: self-evidently borscht is unlikely to have a strong opinion on any of the bishop's activities. We should see what the enemy are about, sir'.

'Quite, quite - let us inspect their positions again'.