Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

No, he worships only the gods of power and money. “I do not recall him following any particular religion, my lady. That is, he did not attend mass, and I do not believe I ever saw him leaving the Protestant services, or taking time for the Jewish observations.” István forced himself to be completely honest as the women made disapproving noises. “That was six years ago, my ladies, so he may have returned to the faith since then.”

  “I do not believe our brother will grant his permission,” Magdalina stated, her voice firm with conviction. “For all that Col. Tisza has funds and people to speak for him, there are rumors about his conduct that displease Aloyjz.”

  “Col. Tisza had a reputation in the army for not always keeping the army’s needs as far ahead of his own as was considered proper.”

  That seemed the best, most tactful, most loyal way to phrase his concerns. Weronica looked confused. Magdalina made a thoughtful noise, as if she understood what he was trying to say.

  Still, putting this together with what he’d overheard earlier, plus the deceased Tisza employee found on House land, set István wondering. He decided to ask Felix if he knew anything, since he’d been on active duty long after István’s injuries and House duties had pulled him out of the service.

  The next evening, Felix took a sip of American bourbon and pursed his lips. They sat in the smoking room of the Starhemberg apartments, out near Schönbrün.

  “You know, Stefan, I’m not certain what to make of the bastard. And I say that literally: it turns out he lied, his father never acknowledged him and Tisza is his mother’s grandfather’s name. Almost got him cashiered when Archduke Thomas found out, and if His Grace hadn’t died when he did?” Felix shook his head. His light blond hair and fair skin standing out against the dark leather of his chair.

  “I do not care for him, but I couldn’t explain why without getting locked up in an asylum. He uses his Gift to manipulate people. Tried it on me and hit my shields hard. He’s not with a House, just self taught and damn strong.”

  Felix said something in Croatian, then in Bohemian, then went on, “Damn. That explains his sudden rise to social prominence as well as wealth. He’s been snatching up everything he can grab, using money from places I’ve never heard of. And no one says ‘no’ or asks for more information. You’d think he was one of those legendary Jewish bankers, the ones who control every government and industry right down to the pig farms.”

  István snorted, but did not laugh. “I don’t like it but there’s not a damn thing I can do.”

  Felix drank a little more, then swirled the amber liquor in the heavy glass. “No, not unless you can catch him in the act of misusing his Gift, with witnesses, or have paper documents proving financial improprieties.” He closed his pale blue eyes and sighed. “Life was so much easier when my worst worry was being sober enough to survive the next morning’s drill without falling off my horse or sicking myself.”

  “We had no idea how good life was, did we?”

  “Youth is wasted on young people.”

  They both laughed a little. Then Felix lifted his glass.

  “To absent comrades.”

  “To absent comrades.” And our younger selves.

  Felix set the glass down after several silent minutes. “Will you be here, in Vienna, on Thursday?”

  István thought about his schedule. “I believe I will, why?”

  “Schwarzenberg will be down and I want you to talk with him. He’ll be staying here, with Hemma and I. You know about the palace?”

  “Yes, and for that alone I think that, if the devil smote France and knocked it into the sea, I would say a good word for him in parliament.”

  “Agreed.”

  A few nights later, István decided that Count Martin Pavel Schwarzenberg looked very much like his father, General Pavel Schwarzenberg. Martin in turn studied István.

  “Are you certain we’re not closer than fifth cousins?”

  “We probably are, but,” István shrugged. They could have been brothers, except Martin’s eyes were blue to István’s brown.

  “It’s the Rozemberks and Rosenbergs.” Martin nodded to himself. “They’ve crossed and married into so many families that I’m not certain even they can tell who is how close once it passes first cousins.”

  Felix glanced at his wife.

  Hemma smiled a little. “Remember, my lord husband, my lords, the Schwarzenbergs’ fortune really started with Lady Anna Neumann von Murau, my ancestors’ sister. Be kind to us lowly Styrians and Carinthians.” She fluttered her fan and smiled, laughter dancing in her soft blue eyes.

  “I defer to your expertise, Your Grace,” István said. He came from Magyars, Saxons, and True-dragons, as well as a few ancestors from whom the family averted their eyes.

  “Well, be glad you are not any closer, not if you have holdings in Czechoslovakia. Having a law named for the family is an honor I would happily have declined.” Martin growled in the back of his throat.

  A butler murmured something into Duchess Hemma’s ear.

  “Gentlemen, supper is served,” she announced.

  Only after supper finished and Her Grace excused herself did the men return to the topic of the night.

  “We may lose everything. And the problem of the True-dragons is getting worse.” Martin finished packing his pipe and lit it, nursed it for a moment or two, then continued, “How does one tell a Slav True-dragon from a German one? Or a Polish Slav True-dragon from a Moravian or Slovakian one?”

  “No idea,” Felix said. He pulled on his cigar until the tip glowed as red as the fireplace coals. “Are there any Polish or Russian True-dragons?”

  István stared into his brandy. “A few still in Poland, but very few and only in the west and Silesia.” Ah, Silesia, lost Silesia, the Empire’s industrial arm ripped off and given to the new Poland. “None in Russia, and to my knowledge there are no major Houses and only a vanishingly few small ones left in that poor, damned country. The Reds have been exterminating every HalfDragon and True-dragon they can find, or so my sources swear. There are rumors that a few survive in deep hiding in the forests in the far north, and around Novgorod, but it is not prudent to ask for more information.”

  “I take back my thoughts about the Prague socialists being the worst creatures on the planet. The Soviets now hold that title.” Martin stared at the carpet. “Eszterházy, you are close to His Majesty and House Habsburg. Is there anything you can say to him to, well, to pressure the Czechs to be more reasonable about the land redistribution?”

  István thought about it.

  “I do not know, because I do not know what he has done thus far. After the announcement of House Rozemberk’s new Guardian might be the best time to approach his Majesty. And before you ask, do not try to go through Archduke Rudolph. He’s going to be preoccupied until after the announcement.” Very preoccupied, I suspect, given what the Matra is badgering me about.

  Felix pointed with his cigar. “You are the only person who can stand being in a room with His Grace for more than a minute or two at most, you do realize?”

  “No, Your Grace, I had not. I do seem to have much stronger shields than normal souls.”

  Martin jumped back in. “Speaking of which, are ghosts ever allied with the Powers?”

  Both István and Felix stared at Martin.

  “Ah, um, I, that is,” Felix blinked, his eyes flashing open with surprise. “I have no idea. The Church would say no, but the Church does not approve of the belief in ghosts, either, so,” he shrugged and reached for his bourbon.

  “I have heard stories,” István ventured, speaking slowly and deliberately. “It is said that some of the Powers have manifested in ways that might be taken for what some people would call a ghost or lost spirit. And I could imagine that a House member unused to being pulled into the Guardian’s vision while the Guardian is working with the Power might think they had seen something supernatural, if other Powers communicate in the same way the Matra does. Or if they brush a strange Power. But tho
se are stories, nothing more.”

  Martin ducked and looked a little chagrined. “I see. I . . . this is going to sound foolish, but Elena said that her cousin and most of the other senior Rozemberks saw the White Lady just before Prince Wetzel passed.”

  “Hemma would be the one to ask,” Felix said.

  “It’s one thing to talk about that engineer and his carriage drawn by black cats that appears in storms near Trebon, or when the dams on the carp ponds are in danger, but a death spirit . . .” Martin stared into his glass, then at the fire dying in the fireplace beside him.

  “I know nothing about the Powers that are subordinate to Bohemia, other than that strange thing at Kutna Hora that everyone avoids.” István shrugged. “I have enough trouble with the Matra and the House and my children, thank you.”

  Felix gave him a sly grin.

  “That reminds me, Stefan, have you considered a match for Erzsébet yet?”

  “No, and you are not shipping your son to Budapest in order to see if they are compatible.” István wagged his finger at his old friend, adding, “Your Grace.”

  “Pity.”

  The conversation turned to lesser things, and broke up at midnight, leaving István with a good deal to think about. Exactly one week later, he no longer had time to think at all.

  The noise warned István, he realized several hours after they reached the Potoki Palace and safety. He’d heard that baying, hard wall of sound that a mob makes, looking for prey, barely audible but still deadly. He’d been out escorting Weronica and Magdalina as they made a donation to one of the convents south of the old city, near Swechat. The trio had returned to Vienna and were not far from the Prater and the Danube Canal when he heard the sound. Or felt it—he could never say later. He banged on the glass and the prince’s driver slid it open.

  “My lord?”

  “Is there a different route we can take? There’s trouble ahead.”

  “Not really, my lord, not until we get closer to the central district.” The man didn’t sound too concerned, as if he didn’t believe it.

  “Trouble?” Magdalina tipped her head to the side, as if she were listening to someone or something. Her green eyes unfocused a little. “Anger, anger at something, and greed. I don’t know why, but it is strongest there.”

  She pointed ahead and to the left, exactly where they needed to go.

  “My lady, you can read emotions?”

  She shook her head. “Only over-strong ones, my lord.”

  Weronica made an odd sound, then pointed. “Like that?”

  István twisted so he could see behind them. A group of men with red banners and what looked like weapons appeared behind them, on the edge of the street. Oh shit not again.

  Delivery wagons, carts, and a few delivery trucks filled the road around them. One or two of the teamsters urged their horses into side lanes and alleys, but the car could not slip through the quick-closing gaps. And anyone with an ounce of brain would know that someone rich, powerful, or both owned the vehicle and might be in it, exactly the kind of people the Communists hated.

  “Can you get out of traffic?” The driver shook his head.

  “No, my lord. Why?”

  Because we are about to be attacked you idiot. A cold calm enveloped István.

  “Ladies, do you know how to get home from here?”

  “You mean by the streets?” Magdalina asked.

  “Yes.”

  “No, I don’t.” She licked her lips, nervous. “I know the general way but not specifically.”

  Weronica spoke up for the first time. “I do. Not straight to the palace, but I can lead us there.”

  “We’re going. Now.” István did not wait for the driver, but threw the door open and lunged out, the women following close behind. Weronica grabbed her sister’s hand and led her ahead along the sidewalk as István followed, walking stick held like a sword at his side, looking this way and that for an attack. Weronica ducked down a side alley—a smelly, nasty place—leading them onto a run-down platz. Someone followed them, and István hissed.

  “Faster. Don’t run, but faster.”

  Weronica hiked her skirt a little and accelerated, guiding them around two more corners and through a covered passageway between houses before emerging into territory that was familiar to István. As the women started across the nearly empty square, he heard running boots behind him.

  “Get the parasites! Down with the aristos! Kill the Magyar!”

  István waited until the skin on his neck crawled and every instinct screamed to run. Then he spun, stick raised, and charged. Three young men, two with clubs and one with a knife, froze for a moment. That was enough.

  István slammed the heavy cane into the knife man’s head, and he dropped. István jumped around the falling body and ran a few more steps, then reversed course, his back and knee complaining mightily. One tough turned and came at him, and István blocked him with his cane, then punched the man in the stomach.

  “Oof!”

  The unwashed thug smelled of beer and rancid swill. István kicked him in the knee, then smashed the cane against the back of his head as the greasy man staggered.

  “No, get away! Get away from me, let go!” Weronica screamed. No, it was Magdalina, shrieking as the third man tried to batter her. István ran toward the women but couldn’t get there in time.

  Oh no, dear God no, please— what’s this?

  Weronica—shy little convent-trained Weronica—jumped on the much bigger man’s back, reaching for his neck and hanging on, trying to pull him off her sister! He threw her off, turned, and lost a little balance. As he straightened up, he hesitated, torn between two targets, and István managed to close the distance.

  “Stop!”

  His bellow further distracted the brute. The man lowered his club and István crashed into him, knocking him to the ground and away from the women. Before he could do more, Weronica started kicking their attacker.

  “Leave us alone, leave us alone,” she sobbed, her sharp boot toe connecting with the man’s gut and chest. He curled up, and István managed to get to his feet.

  “We have to keep going,” he gasped, pain running down his back and through his leg.

  Magdalina recovered enough to grab her younger sister and drag her off the thug. István gave the bastard a thump in the head for good measure, then limped after the women.

  By the time they reached safety, he could barely walk and ached all over, he wondered if he’d just committed murder, and he’d decided to ask Prince Potoki for Weronica’s hand in marriage. Any woman who fought first and had hysterics only after the emergency ended would be an asset to House Szárkány. That was, assuming the prince didn’t kill him for leaving his car and driver to be attacked, or scaring his sisters out of their wits.

  “Thank you Szombor. That will be fine.”

  István managed to move, but not well, and Szombor’s discreet hand under his elbow had prevented a fall as they boarded the train. István settled into the seat in the first-class train car and entertained uncharitable thoughts about Russian artillery and Communist street thugs. Or perhaps not even Communist—merely using the riot around the park and in the workers’ districts as an excuse to assault and rob. Other women had not been as fortunate as Ladies Weronica and Magdalina. István’s mouth tightened as he remembered the fire snapping in Prince Potoki’s dark purple eyes after Magdalina told their tale. What Prince Alojyz said to his driver, István never heard, but given that Alojyz’s car returned minus the windows and lights, István guessed that the driver had joined the ranks of the unemployed.

  “Pardon my boldness, my lord, but will a carriage be meeting us?”

  “Yes.”

  He’d swallowed his pride and sent a telegram to the office, and thence to Dobroslov, giving the time of his arrival and requesting a carriage meet him at the west station doors. He could walk that far, at least. He’d started doing the stretches and bends again, now that he could move without seeing stars of pain
.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  The satisfaction in his valet’s voice told István far more than he wanted to know. He allowed himself to lean back against the leather-and-velvet seat, eyes closed, and look forward to Christmas, before he had to return to Vienna for the start of the season. Then he would retrace his steps to Budapest once more for parliament and other matters.

  But after a few days in Budapest, he would take Erzsébet and flee to the mountains. He needed to be there, craved the quiet and the separation from the troubles of the plains. I understand why we always fled uphill, he mused as the train jerked into motion. The beggars and mischief-makers and other monsters can’t find you amid the rocks and trees. There he could imagine that the war had passed by, that the Socialists did not covet everything he labored to preserve, and that the nationalists didn’t want him dead and his House shattered.

  Once he had envied Emperor Franz Josef and the Imperial family, but no longer. He could not imagine the effort required to keep the three kingdoms, Slovi-Kroatia, and Galicia intact. Trying to lead House Szárkány caused him enough headaches, thank you. Which reminded him, he needed to speak with Mistress Nagy about Erzsébet’s being a Healer and Guardian. Could it be done? Yes, it has been, and I saw it. What Rudolph and Josef Karl did when Galicia and Ukrania died. They’d taken some of the corrupted energies, cleansed them, and used them not only to seal off the damage but also to restore a little life and health to Galicia. From what István had heard, Soviet Ukraine brought forth nothing but wheat and woe, at least for the people trying to live there, although the new government deserved at least partial credit for the troubles. The Ruthenes inside Galicia no longer talked about Pan-Slavism or reuniting with their cousins in the Soviet Union.

  But for ten days, none of that existed. István smiled as he imagined the children’s reactions to their gifts. Not just his own children, but those of the staff and senior House leaders as well. The Christmas markets had been overflowing with wooden toys and stuffed animals, candies and sweets, nuts that were hot and smoking from the roaster, and Christmas tree ornaments. He did not agree with the Christmas tree, but had purchased a new crèche for the Budapest house. Judit had claimed the old one for her and Margaret Barbara. Judit said she’d be joining him this year, and he hoped she would. She’d withdrawn from him over the past year, and he wondered why.