Ring of Fire II

by Eric Flint

  "He's really going to make you do it, then," he said, "marry that old goat?"

  "Dinesen is quite . . . zealous on the subject of our union." A tear trailed down her wan cheek. "He asked Papà to move up the wedding date, so I am afraid I have no more time for American lessons."

  "You can't marry him!" Eddie said in English. "It just isn't right!"

  "But you are to be married too," the girl said and brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "To this Marilyn Monroe."

  "Oh, that." Eddie glanced around, but they were alone in the shadowy hallway. He could hear the wind howling outside. "Prime Minister Stearns doesn't know it yet, but Marilyn and I are calling that off."

  Her blue eyes widened. "You are breaking your betrothal?"

  "She's, um, in love with someone else," Eddie said, "this guy named John Kennedy. I'm not going to stand in their way. We just haven't announced it yet. In Grantville, we consider it immoral to marry someone you don't love."

  "But," she said softly, "what about duty?"

  "The pursuit of happiness is a duty," he said. "Marriages made without love and respect don't last. Just look at your mother and father."

  "But Papà did love her," Anne Cathrine said. "He was so unhappy when she turned away from him."

  Eddie remembered his own mother, who had stayed with an alcoholic husband when good sense would have dictated otherwise. "I will never marry anyone I don't love, and who doesn't love me back," he said. "And neither should you."

  "But I have to do as I am bid."

  "Not if you lived in Grantville," he said. He thought of Sharon Nichols, Julie Mackay, and Melissa Mailey. They could all explain this so much better than he ever could. "I wish I could take you there."

  "As do I." Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Eddie thought for a moment. "Isn't there anything about this Dinesen that would make your father change his mind, some secret, perhaps?"

  "He and Papà have been drinking companions for a long time," Anne Cathrine said. "His wife died in childbirth two years ago, and, when we are in the same room, he looks at me as though he could consume me like a hot apple pastry." She shuddered. "I barely know the man, and never wanted to."

  "Then we'll have to make something up," Eddie said. "Leave it to me. I've always been good at whoppers. I had to be, growing up in my family."

  " 'Whoppers?' " Her eyebrows rose in question.

  "Lies," he said in German. He heard footsteps at the other end of the hall. "I'm going to rearrange the truth a little."

  She patted at her skirts, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles with trembling hands. "Do you think it will make a difference?"

  "I don't know," he said, "but we can at least give it our best shot."

  Eddie lay in bed that night and cudgeled his brain for ideas. What would make the king dislike Dinesen so much that he would boot the wretch out of court, much less out of Anne Cathrine's life? He thought back through all the rumors about royal goings-on that he'd heard since being delivered here one-legged and half-dead in October. Anne Cathrine's mother had evidently carried on in a quite scandalous fashion with a German cavalry officer until, three years ago, Christian had banished her from Copenhagen. What if—?

  He turned over and huddled beneath the warm quilts, a tiny germ of a plan forming in his mind. Maybe, for once, his dreams would be good.

  "Okay," he told Anne Cathrine in the library the next day, "all you have to do is play along."

  "But it is not true," Anne Cathrine said. She had dressed in wine-colored silk and it flattered her naturally fair complexion.

  "Heck, three quarters of the things I hear every day here aren't true," Eddie said. He breathed in the scent of fine leather and old paper from the surrounding shelves and shelves of books. "That doesn't keep anyone from saying them."

  She bit her lip and nodded. Her red-gold hair was coiled low on her neck today and pinned with a silver ornament. She looked so enticing, he found it hard to concentrate.

  "Look, this may not work," he said. "I can't promise anything, but it's worth a try."

  The flames crackled pleasantly in the fireplace, and they passed the time then conversing in English until a young apple-cheeked maid came in to remove the ashes. Eddie nodded at Anne Cathrine. "You saw Herr Dinesen go off into the stable with Vibeke Kruse?" he said in Danish, very softly, as though he didn't mean to be overheard.

  "He had his arm around her waist!" Anne Cathrine glanced over her shoulder, then leaned closer. "He is my intended, so I am sure there was nothing improper going on, but it looked so—so—"

  "Shocking?" he supplied.

  "Dinesen would never dishonor my father," she said. "It just would not happen."

  "Of course not," Eddie said. "He is the king. Everyone respects that."

  Startled, the freckled maid dropped the brush with a clatter, then picked it back up and finished her task. Eddie winked at Anne Cathrine.

  They abandoned the library and made their way down to the vast castle kitchens to snag some freshly baked cinnamon cakes. Several cooks were working on the king's midday meal, putting crusts on lamb pies. Anne Cathrine broke off a piece of hot cake and handed it to Eddie, who was balancing on his crutch.

  "You must be wrong," he said. "Vibeke Kruse would not allow anyone to—"

  Anne Cathrine edged closer. "His hand was, well, let us just say where a gentleman's hand would never be!"

  Eddie took a bite of the delicious cake. The cinnamon melted in his mouth. "Did she slap him?"

  "No," Anne Cathrine said softly. "She laughed!"

  "This is a very bold man you are marrying," Eddie said, struggling with his newly acquired Danish. "He should give you interesting children."

  "What kind of children do you think Vibeke Kruse will be having?" Anne Cathrine giggled. Obviously, Eddie thought, despite her initial misgivings, she'd warmed to this business like a trooper.

  They left the kitchens under the staring eyes of the two cooks, who gave each other a meaningful glance over the young people's heads.

  Anne Cathrine and Eddie made a circuit of the entire castle, gossiping in front of servants at every opportunity. The princess gave an Oscar-worthy performance each time, lamenting the lack of respect for her royal father and the unworthiness of her future bridegroom. When they had exhausted all inside possibilities for an audience, they put on warm cloaks and went out through the snow to the royal stable to chat in the hearing of grooms and stable boys.

  The air was crisp and clean, filled with the salt tang of the nearby sea. Snow sifted down from a pewter sky, light and feathery. Eddie hadn't been outside much since his arrival, and it was pleasant to leave the castle, even on one leg. His stamina was improving, and even though he had to rest on a bale of hay after they reached the stable, he felt more like his old self than he had since the attack run in Wismar Bay.

  Anne Cathrine stopped in front of a stall and stroked a sleek black mare's nose. "This is my horse," she said. "Her name is Laila." She turned and looked at Eddie with those marvelous light-blue eyes. "When the weather is better, we could go riding. Then it would not matter about—" She colored, then pointedly turned her gaze away from Eddie's stump.

  Eddie had never been much for horses, but he saw her point. On horseback, he wouldn't be lame like he was now. He could move about freely again. "I would like that," he said.

  * * *

  They carried on with their plan for several days before they saw any results. Servant girls began to give Dinesen strange looks when he visited the castle, ducking their heads and making sure to remain out of reach. Vibeke Kruse's mood, always mercurial, darkened, and more than one of her maids was seen fleeing her chambers, weeping.

  Eddie eavesdropped, whenever he had the opportunity. Most servants did not realize he'd learned much Danish, so they were much freer with their comments than they might otherwise have been.

  "I heard he went right into her rooms late at night!" a footman said in passing to a middle-aged seamstress
on her way to a fitting. "And he did not leave until the next morning!"

  Eddie, hobbling past the pair in the hallway on his crutch, pretended not to understand.

  "They say a child will be born in the summer," the seamstress said, clutching her bag of pins, thread, and needles. "And it will not resemble the king!"

  "Last time, he sent the unfaithful wretch away," the footman said. "And he is not even married to this one."

  "It is a bad business." The seamstress's long face creased. "When the king is angry, everyone suffers. We shall all have to keep out of the way."

  Eddie rounded the corner before he could hear more, but smiled to himself. It was working.

  King Christian sent for Eddie two days later. A male servant delivered the message, then escorted him from his little tower chamber down to the ornate Winter Room, as though he couldn't be trusted to show up. The servant, an older man named Jens, set a brisk pace and wouldn't look at Eddie.

  When Eddie entered the richly appointed room, morning sun was streaming through the windows. Anne Cathrine was already there, standing beside the king's massive chair, along with Prince Christian, Dinesen, Vibeke Kruse and a whole raft of people Eddie didn't recognize. The room smelled strongly of spilled wine as though the king had already tied one on. Cold sweat prickled down Eddie's back. This had all the hallmarks of a set-up.

  King Christian drank deeply from a golden goblet, then clanged it down on a side table. "My court has been rife with rumors for the last few days," he said in German. "Wicked rumors."

  Eddie did his best to stand up straight, even on one foot, and meet Christian's ice-cold gaze.

  "Fortunately, none of them could be substantiated," Christian said. "Yet, still it is troubling."

  Busted. All the starch left Eddie's spine. He wanted to sink down on a stool and hold his head in his hands. Not only had he gotten himself in deep, but he'd dragged Anne Cathrine in with him. Why hadn't he just kept his big mouth shut? He struggled to hold his head high.

  "So I interview and ask questions," King Christian said. He glanced over at Vibeke Kruse who smiled back uncertainly. She was wearing a pale-gray dress cut scandalously low in the bodice. "The rumors say Dinesen has been indiscreet with my beloved Vibeke." He picked up the goblet again and pounded it in time with his words. "But this is not true!" Wine splattered the arm of his chair and floor. Servants hastened to wipe it up.

  "Of course it is not, Your Majesty!" Dinesen started forward.

  Christian held up a hand, his homely face creased in concentration. "But upon inquiry there were other things to be learned."

  Dinesen paled. "Whatever you have heard, Majesty, rest assured I have not gone near—"

  "There is the disturbing matter of the commissioning of four galleons by Gustavus Adolphus to replace his magnificent Vasa, which quite fortuitously sank in his own harbor a few years ago, praise be to God." King Christian took another long draft from his goblet, then held it out to be refilled. "Are We to suppose you have not 'gone near' that either?"

  "But that—that—that—I—" Dinesen's mouth hung open.

  "Was only business?" The king lurched to his feet. "You put money before loyalty to your monarch, and yet you expect the hand of my precious daughter in marriage?" His volume increased with each word until he was roaring. He dashed the remaining contents of the cup in Dinesen's face and red wine soaked into the linen of the shipbuilder's shirt. "From this moment on, Denmark will sell no ships to our sworn enemy, Sweden!" He turned to several uniformed guards waiting in the corner. "Take him away until I can investigate this further!"

  They darted forward and seized Dinesen who was too horrified even to struggle. His face was as white as watered milk. "Your Majesty, please!"

  King Christian turned to Anne Cathrine. "I had not thought to find you so like your mother, child," he murmured and touched her face with the tips of his fingers. "It seems you have something of her spirit after all."

  "I am sorry, Papà," the girl said, catching his hand and pressing her cheek to it.

  He glanced at the rest of the spectators and scowled. "Get out!"

  Heart thumping, Eddie turned to go, too, but the king shook his head. "No, young scamp. You also will stay."

  The room cleared, with Vibeke leaving last of all and giving both young people a venomous glare. The royal mistress's skirts swished through the door, then it closed behind her. Christian sighed. "Your mother was not all bad, you know, especially at the start." He upended his empty goblet, then gazed at it dolefully.

  "She loved you then, Papà. I know she did." Anne Cathrine's voice was strained. She took the goblet and filled it again with dark-red wine from the bottle on the sideboard.

  "Once," the king said. "But now is another day." He turned to Eddie. "My daughter tells me that you are not betrothed after all."

  "No, sir," Eddie said. "Before I left Magdeburg, Marilyn Monroe's affections had settled upon another, and I released her from her promise. Prime Minister Stearns just is not aware of it yet."

  "Very wise," the king said. "Once a woman's affections have altered, not all the tides in the world can turn them back." He picked at a ruby embedded on the arm of his lushly ornamented chair. "We received a new letter from Grantville. Perhaps you would care to read it?" He gestured at an envelope on the sideboard.

  Anne Cathrine handed it to Eddie. He pulled the letter out, then read:

  "Most gracious King Christian IV,

  "We send you greetings. The gunsmith you requested, Herr Elvis Presley, is still missing and feared dead, though occasionally we do hear he has been sighted, so all may not be lost. In the meantime, perhaps we might make some other suitable arrangement to have Lieutenant Cantrell returned to us."

  "Respectfully,

  "Michael Stearns, Prime Minister, United States of Europe"

  "I am not so foolish that I cannot recognize—what is that American expression my son Ulrik explained to me? Yes, 'stalling tactics.' " Christian said. "So it seems you will be with us for some time yet. That being so, I suggest you consider your behavior more carefully in the future."

  The king shook his head. "Vibeke now quite detests you, and with good reason. You behaved badly and will have to watch out for her. I must warn you that she is well skilled in repaying a wrong. On the other side—" He chuckled. "It does no harm for her to be aware how easily she could lose her position here at court, if she ever did choose to . . ." His fingers drummed on the arm of his throne. His pale eyes became icy. "Misbehave."

  Eddie swayed, and the king waved a careless hand at him. "Sit! Sit, before you fall down and I have to call the royal surgeon to put you back together again. It was hard enough the first time."

  Thankful, Eddie limped over to a straight-backed chair by the wall and sank onto it.

  "Dinesen is a fool. I knew about the ships for a long time, of course. Business is business. A man must take profit where he can, but I discovered he has been bragging, telling everyone how splendid those other ships will be, better even than the ones he has built for Us, while taking his advancement through marriage to my daughter for granted. He has even been pestering me, seeking favors for his family. I have already grown quite weary of him, and the wedding has yet to take place!

  "As for you, daughter." The king turned to Anne Cathrine. "Your willfulness has done you out of a bridegroom, and I have my doubts whether anyone else at court will be willing to take you on after this debacle. Do not think that everyone is as gullible as kitchen helpers and chambermaids."

  Flushed, Anne Cathrine stared down and traced the red and gold patterns in the Turkish carpet with the toe of her slipper.

  "Still, you are coming of an age when you will have to marry someone. I will need to give thought to the matter again."

  The king took a long drink of wine, then wiped the residue out of his beard with the back of one hand. "Now, on the chance that Prime Minister Stearns is telling the truth, we shall send soldiers after this Presley and Our missing long-range rifle.
" He turned to Eddie. "You will give the captain of my guard a complete description of the rascal's appearance. Especially useful will be anything distinctive about the man."

  "Well," Eddie said, seeing a chance not to lie, exactly. "He's very fond of blue suede shoes."

  Second Thoughts

  Virginia DeMarce

  Grantville

  October 1634

  Noelle Murphy rode into Grantville just before noon. It was well after dusk when she finished the in-box that had been waiting for her. People had started dropping things into it a month earlier, as soon as they found out she was coming back from Franconia. She looked at the note from her mother again. It wasn't very long and was dated right after Judge Tito had decided that Pat Fitzgerald had been married to Dennis Stull all along. Common-law, but married. It was certainly . . . different . . . to find out that her parents were married to each other.