The Regent

by Marcus Richardson

  13 held up a slim, porcelain hand. “How did you bring that on the plane? That must be an 8” blade,” she asked, her voice no different from someone inquiring about the weather.

  “Ceramic,” he replied. “It’s not the strongest in the world and I can’t jimmy doors open or anything, but it won’t set off a metal detector, either and will still cut someone.” He pulled his shirt back into place. “I read the briefing on the flight—well, I skimmed it. Mostly I slept. But what I remember was that the good senator is part of a group of congressmen and women who are trying to get a declaration of war to the president’s desk. This,” he said, gesturing at the hotel room with a pair of rolled-up boxers, “is an attempt by the U.N. to try to calm shit down before the big vote in the General Assembly.”

  13 leaned against the wall again, watching him with those half-closed, icy eyes of hers. “There are several member nations in the Assembly that want to see the United States fall. With the recent…instability…”

  Cooper snorted. “That’s putting it nicely.”

  “…they’ve managed to gather a voting bloc solid enough to pass a binding resolution. They want the current truce extended until they can sort things out.”

  Cooper shook his head. “I heard about that bullshit. They do realize we’d veto the hell out of that as soon as they voted, right?”

  “But if China and Russia join the vote, your veto can be overridden.”

  Cooper stared at her. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t give two fucks about politics, but even I’m savvy enough to know if they override Harris on this, it’ll guarantee World War III.” He tossed the boxers in an open dresser drawer and turned back to his open duffel bag. “You know he won’t pay any attention to U.N. resolutions—neither will Congress. They’ll launch our missiles and North Korea will cease to exist.” He paused. “Why the hell would the Council want to stop that—the U.N. would have a mandate to take direct military action against the United States…and North Korea is going to get waxed no matter what happens.”

  “But if the U.N. can enforce a truce, there will be time to investigate what happened. And when it becomes clear that the North Koreans were acting on behalf of the Council—”

  “That shouldn’t matter—we know the Council is evil, we know they’re the ones that tried for a regime change in England. We’ve almost kicked their asses—”

  “If their involvement in North Korea comes to light,” she said, cutting him off again, “it will unravel a lot more than just the Council. Think of the ramifications of finding out they manipulated the Koreans, the Americans, the British, the Germans—even the Chinese. That kind of information could bring down whole governments. With everything so fluid, assets that are hidden in supposedly safe zones could very easily be brought into the light and exterminated…on both sides. Remember, plenty of governments around the world were in bed with either the Council or their individual members, willingly or not.”

  “But why would the U.N. want that?” asked Cooper. “If we all fall apart, they do too…”

  “Not all the member nations are as closely tied to western civilization as you might think,” she replied. “The Islamic State is on the verge of creating the Caliphate they’ve dreamed about for years. The world is pretty distracted with the North Koreans and the Council at the moment.”

  “Those assholes again,” he said, then sighed. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  13 crossed her arms. “Make no mistake, we’ve dealt the Council a serious blow, but these people have their claws in everything. It will take a long-term, concerted, international effort to root them out and destroy them. We’ve only just begun the process.”

  Cooper sat on the bed. “How did they get away with it for so long?” He shook his head. “I mean, you’re talking…if the people of the world rise up to overthrow their Council-corrupted governments, it’ll be like the sudden end of western civilization.”

  13 nodded. “A new Dark Age. Which is why we’ve got to make sure that vote happens.”

  “But that will start World War III, too,” Cooper said. Jesus, this makes my head hurt.

  “Wars take time—there will at least be a chance of cooler heads prevailing if the vote works as it should. Revolutions can happen overnight, a coup can take place in an hour. But for the major powers of the world to gear up for a long, sustained, global military conflict, it’ll take weeks and months—that gives the peacemakers time.”

  “You’ve got to understand that my country is bleeding,” Cooper said, squeezing the shirt in his hand like it was the neck of a North Korean. “Tens of millions of Americans are still sick, I don’t know how many millions died from the NKor flu, not to mention the Occupation. The survivors are fighting mad and we want blood.”

  “So does Senator Tecumseh.”

  Cooper forced himself to relax his death grip on the shirt. He smoothed out the wrinkles and hung it up in the small closet. “I read what he did during the Russian occupation of Idaho. That was some serious shit—he’s got the street cred, but he’s a rookie politician. How’s he going to handle all this?” Cooper asked, gesturing at the room again. “This is the big league, you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter how he handles it, only that he gets the chance to try.” 13 sighed. “If the remnants of the Council can disrupt the summit or God forbid, assassinate some of the attendees, then all bets are off. When I caught that piece of shit yesterday, he told me the surviving Council are fighting each other to see who’s going to take over when the new heir is found.”

  “So what about this new heir…there had to be someone behind this king of theirs, right? Aren’t the Brits going after them?”

  13 smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “The British are beyond livid. They’re going to hunt down anyone directly involved. I’ve heard MI-6 was given carte blanche, no restraints. It’s going to be bloody—like Israel-hunting-Nazis bloody. But it’ll take more than MI-6 to bring them all down.” She grew quiet for a moment and stared at him. “And Jayne is still out there.”

  Cooper stood. “Harris wants her head on a plate. CIA’s turning the world upside down to find her—she’s the new Bin Laden.” He looked down at the remains of his duffel. “It’s only a matter of time before we catch her.”

  “It took your government—with all its power and money—over a decade to find one man…and that was before the chaos of the Korean Flu. How long do you think it’ll take now? Most of Europe and Asia is still digging out of the flu…you Americans developed the treatment from Chad’s blood, but it’s going to take time for the rest of the world to catch up—even if you do give it away.” She shook her head, the red locks swishing against her shoulders. “The Heir will be hard to find, and Jayne harder still. She is a hundred times more formidable than that goat herder who caused your country so much trouble.”

  Cooper frowned. “So what are we doing here? Why aren’t we looking for the Heir?”

  13 pursed her lips. “Because Jayne knows everything I just told you. She’s going to position herself to take over, I can feel it. Remember, she’s got all of Reginald’s files and his money—she took everything when she fled Dunkeith Castle.”

  “So we’re going to protect this summit, to let the vote happen—whatever the outcome—and hopefully draw Jayne out of hiding in the aftermath? Why is she so damn important?”

  “Because,” 13 said patiently, “she was the one who orchestrated the North Korean invasion—well, Reginald was, but she has his files, she has everything. If we can get our hands on that, we can not only stop a world war, we can bring down the Council at the same time. Permanently.”

  “All we have to do is keep Senator Tecumseh alive long enough to vote?” asked Cooper. “The same senator that pushed up the timeframe for his arrival?”

  13 snorted. “The same senator that’s going to be in Jayne’s crosshairs for an extra two days, yes.”

  Cooper frowned. “This job just keeps getting better all the time.”

&n
bsp; 5

  The Regent

  Jayne watched the boy-king start his first conference call. She stood behind him, just out of the range of the cameras. She wanted to make a dramatic entrance, and she couldn’t very well do that if the first thing the remnants of the Council saw was her standing over his shoulder.

  He wasn’t that bad looking, in an ugly duckling sort of way, she supposed. She crossed her arms and inclined her head, her eyes roving over the young man’s form as he tried to look imposing in front of the camera. Good genes, if the paintings that plastered the walls in the Château were any indication of what his family looked like…

  You’re not much to look at now, that’s for sure. A few unsightly pimples blemished his forehead, and his hair was slightly limp and greasy, but he had nice broad shoulders, narrow hips, and good posture. In time, Jayne could see him growing into quite a handsome man.

  For the time being though, he was her ugly duckling.

  Without showing expression on her face, she ground her teeth in frustration. It’d been three days, and she knew within the first hour of laying eyes on him that she’d have him wrapped around her finger with hardly any effort. Unzip a blouse here, wiggle her hips there, lower her voice to a husky murmur, and he was eating out of her hand.

  Unfortunately, his hands liked to roam. Quickly. In three days, the boy-king had found a way to unwittingly make Jayne’s skin crawl. His awkward self-conscious groping and half-attempted advances drove her crazy. This would be the hardest assignment she’d ever taken.

  But the rewards will make everything worth it…

  The conference room set up was almost exactly the same as Reginald’s. A curved, half-moon wooden desk sat before the king. He had a large, simple chair to be used as his throne—she promised him they’d get something better as soon as they found a more permanent location for him. Too many people knew about the Château, especially the Americans and their damned assassination squads.

  She ignored his opening statement as he addressed the sick and weak-looking remnants of the Council.

  It’ll be a challenge, but I can work with what’s left.

  Jayne smoothed the front of her tight-fitting dress and clasped her hands behind her back, waiting for her moment. The curved bank of monitors before the king displayed the faces of replacements—the JV squad for the Council that she had known. Gone were the likes of Alfred, Lord Stirling, and Jean-Claude Legrand. Even Dame Howard’s perpetual scowl would have been a welcome sight, but the old bag had succumbed to the Korean Flu like the rest. In their place, she saw strangers. Several men with nervous expressions, eyes constantly darting over screens of their own, likely looking at news feeds and security cameras.

  Despite the fact that there was not a single woman on the new Council, Jayne felt her spirits lift more than anything by the glaring absence of Lord Murata. The pompous old fart must have succumbed to the flu that was now in the last stages of ravishing the empire of the rising Sun.

  Murata was a double-edged sword. As the longest-serving member of the old king’s Council, he could’ve provided invaluable experience and advice to the boy-king. However, he would’ve also proved a stalwart objector to everything Jayne wanted to accomplish—and would likely have had the votes to be the regent himself, through sheer gravitas.

  His experience and knowledge was definitely a blow to the new king’s cause, but more importantly, his absence cleared the path for Jayne’s rise to power.

  “…understand why you haven’t bothered to seek our counsel on this matter before now,” a man who looked like death warmed over was saying.

  “Your Majesty,” another man, younger and bright-eyed, prompted.

  “Yes?” the boy-king muttered.

  “No, sire, I was reminding our colleague to address you in the proper manner. When one speaks to a king, it is customary to address said king as Your Majesty.”

  The rebuked man’s face darkened, but he held his tongue.

  The boy-king shifted nervous gaze to the newcomer. “I thank you for that, Sir Edward.”

  You’re going to bear watching, aren’t you? I can see that look in your eye. You have the same hunger I do. God, you must look like I did ten years ago.

  Jayne narrowed her eyes at the possible competitor. You’re either a bootlicker looking to gain favor with the new king right away, or you’re ambitious—or both.

  The corner of Jayne’s mouth curled as she let her mind wander while her eyes took in the square jaw and chiseled features of the replacement counsel member from Austria. Easy on the eyes, too.

  “As I was saying, due to the unfortunate passing of my father and the king, I find myself at a loss as to what to do next. I am not old enough to yet be wise in the ways of this new world we find ourselves in…”

  Bless your heart, you’re trying so hard…

  “To that end—” the king continued, before his voice cracked like a dinner plate. He froze, color creeping up the back of his neck over his freshly pressed suit collar.

  “It’s okay, sire, keep going,” Jayne whispered from the shadows.

  The young king squared his shoulders again and tugged down the front of his coat. That habit would have to go, he looked too much like a nervous schoolmaster. Jayne sighed. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

  “…my intention to name a regent, someone to guide me through the turbulent waters we face.”

  “A regent?” a balding, sour-faced man muttered. The name on the screen under his scowling visage read, Lord Myles Crakehall, Baron Dousman.

  Jayne expected a flurry of questions and demands and recriminations. Instead, her ears met a wall of silence. Most of the surviving Council leadership blinked in surprise or shifted their eyes, trying to take measure of their fellows.

  “There hasn’t been a regent in…” said Sir Edward, who had come to the king’s defense earlier, “close to 260 years…if my maths can be trusted.”

  “262, to be precise,” added Baron Dousman.

  “This is…not easy for me,” said the boy-king. “I must rely on—”

  “Majesty,” interrupted Baron Dousman, “I fail to understand why you did not immediately come to us. We must have time to consider the options and appoint the regent for you. As it is,” he spread his hands a look of hopelessness on his face, “I have American special forces hunting for me right now—on my own lands, if you can believe it. Now is not the time for me to be locked up in a conclave to discuss who’s going to be the new regent. Belgium is falling apart and if I time it right, I can achieve—”

  “Well, on that front I do have some good news then!” said the King with a smile. “I’ve appointed my own regent, as was the ancient custom of my family going back to the early days of the Duke of Monmouth’s rebellion.”

  “Appoint your own…he can’t be serious,” muttered one of the Council members.

  “This is highly irregular.”

  “Preposterous! You’re but a boy, sire, how would you know who is qualified to be your own regent? It simply isn’t done,” announced the stuck-up man who insulted the king earlier.

  Jayne watched color creep up the boy-king’s neck once more. Only this time, it wasn’t to do with any embarrassment. You wear your emotions on your sleeve…that’s going to prove dangerous for you.

  “Go ahead, now you can introduce me,” she purred from the shadows.

  “I am sixteen,” the king announced with as much dignity in his voice as possible. “I…recognize that I have not yet earned the right to rule. I know I need to learn, and to that end, I know I need to have a good teacher.”

  “Well, bravo for that,” said the Englishman in a sarcastic tone. He clapped several times. “Pray tell us, Majesty,” he said sarcasm dripping from his tongue, “who you picked? Since you have usurped our rightful power—indeed, if we are not here to give you counsel—what is the point of having us?”

  Jayne smirked. What is the point indeed…?

  The king wrung his hands. “I…well, I’ve thought
about this…”

  “Oh, just have out with it already,” the man retorted. “I don’t have time to dither around all day! My people are dying!”

  Enough is enough.

  Jayne stepped out of the shadow and emerged behind the king, placing her hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen in surprise at her familiar touch and saw the look of utter relief on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at her.

  Jayne’s smile widened at the sudden intake of breath from several of the Council members.

  “May I present you my regent, Miss Jayne Renolds.”

  “Hello boys…” Jayne purred. “I’m back!”

  “You…” Baron Dousman sputtered. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

  That’s interesting…and how would you know that? Jayne’s smile faded. “Many people have thought that about me in the past. They were wrong before, and they’re wrong now.” She shifted her smile to the other Council members. “It is with great pride that I humbly accept this great burden the king has placed before me. I promise to rule in the king’s name with a just, fair, and firm hand. I trust I can rely on your unmitigated support?”

  Baron Dousman swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Are you quite all right, Councilor?” Jayne asked, arching one sculpted eyebrow.

  A sheen of sweat broke out of the man’s forehead.

  “What’s the matter? Not so easy to intimidate me, is it?” She squeezed the king’s shoulder. “One of the many things that I intend to teach our monarch in the time I have with him is how to stand up to people like yourself.”

  “This…this is not…we cannot allow this,” one of the others said, stumbling over his words.

  Jayne calmly shifted her gaze to the screen that showed the man’s trembling face. “And why is that? Is it because I’m a woman? I notice a decided lack of women on the Council in this iteration.”

  The man waved away her remarks as if shooing away a fly. “This isn’t the 1600s—what color or gender you are doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that…that…”