Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  István fumbled in his pocket for his memory book and pencil. He wrote a note, ripped out the page, and grabbed a passing footman.

  “Give this to His Grace the Archduke, now.”

  The man vanished, and as he did, István walked around the corner to stand beside Prince Potoki. He imposed a weak shield on Alojyz, blocking Tisza.

  “Your pardon, Your Highness, Colonel. Where is the billiard room again? It has been many years since I was last a guest of the Frankopans, and I fear I have gotten turned around.”

  “This way. You should get out more, Eszterházy,” Aloyjz chuckled, leading the other two into a remarkably light and well-lit billiard and card room. They were the first to arrive, and István felt Tisza renewing his attack. István responded by pouring more strength into the shield. Better idea—I can’t hold two, not here and now. He redirected the shield, imposing it on Tisza while dropping his own. Tisza must have sensed it, because he turned his full attention to István. Anger burned in the blue and green eyes.

  “I understand congratulations are in order, Colonel Eszterházy, for stealing a lovely young woman away from her suitors.”

  “If you mean my bride, Princess Weronica, she is indeed lovely, I quite agree.”

  Tisza snarled and pushed harder. What does he intend to do? I don’t think I want to know, but I can guess. István saw motion as Rudolph appeared in the doorway, Salman Löw close behind him. «Help me!» István couldn’t hold much longer, and if Tisza punched through . . .

  He felt a surge of power doubling his own, locking the wall around Tisza’s mind and allowing István to rebuild a weak mental defense. Tisza clearly felt the difference as well, because he fought back, dropping all pretense of subtlety as he shifted focus, trying to ram his will through the shield to force Prince Potoki to obey and do something against István. István sensed Rudolph making a decision, and something else stirring as well.

  «Hold and be ready to shift your shield to Potoki. Can you?»

  «Don’t know. Will try.»

  István strained, trying to reach the edges of Potoki’s gift again. It hurt, hurt badly, but he touched them, catching their flavor and pattern. Dimly, in the back of his mind he heard Rudolph’s strange triple mind voice saying, «On my mark . . . Mark!»

  István shifted, dropping the shields on Tisza and slamming them up around Potoki’s mind, making his energy part of Potoki’s own defenses. He felt Tisza’s attention move, hammering against the shield now on Potoki, breaking through it nearly as fast as István built it up.

  Damn, I can’t hold it much longer or I’ll burn out as well! István felt the old, terrible pain starting to burn, the same pain as when he’d been injured by the Russian shell. He shunted his fear aside, gritted his teeth, and poured everything he could into protecting his brother-in-law.

  Then it stopped and he almost fell over. All pressure ceased. István dropped the remote shield, rebuilt his own, and just breathed.

  “Col. Tisza? Sir?”

  István looked up from studying the carpet to see two servants pushing Tisza back into a chair, loosening his tie and fanning him. He looked grey, though not dead, and his chest heaved as if he’d run an endurance race. Another man in evening attire stood beside him, taking his pulse.

  “He needs air,” Salman Löw announced. He looked straight at István as he did, and nodded. Had he been the third presence István felt?

  “Take him to the terrace,” Rudolph ordered. “The cool breeze should help.”

  The servants did as commanded, Löw and Rudolph following. István waited a few minutes before excusing himself to the other guests now in the billiard room.

  “Too much wine,” he said. “Your pardon.”

  He stopped by the WC again, then slipped out to the terrace.

  “Good. You are our third witness,” Rudolph announced.

  “Yes. I dislike blocking Gifts without a judicial hearing, but enough is enough.” István blinked as Löw continued. “I’d heard rumors about Tisza, but this is far worse than I’d been led to believe might be the case.”

  Anger and a touch of disgust colored the banker-physician’s tight voice. Rudolph nodded, looking down at the man propped up on the bench between them.

  “We underestimated him despite being warned. He endangered a Guardian, as well as House ties, and that cannot be permitted, not now.” Rudolph’s voice still carried the triple-echo and eyes the color of dried-blood met István’s gaze.

  If the Powers stepped in, I think I should be concerned. Very concerned, and wary. I do not think Tisza will be happy to discover that he can no longer shove ideas into other peoples’ minds.

  “Is Col. Tisza recovering, or should a specialist be called?”

  Löw answered. “He will survive and is already coming back to consciousness. However, I fear the combination of the celebratory dinner and plum brandy is a bit much for a gentleman of his age and stature. Your Grace, it might be wise to summon his car.”

  Tisza groaned. “My, my head.” he sat up, leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. “What— What did Eszterházy do to me? Oh, my head.”

  Rudolph and Löw made identical shooing motions. István bowed and returned to the smoking room.

  “Col. Tisza seems to be feeling unwell,” he reported. “Perhaps a touch of sun this afternoon, combined with the evening’s bounty . . .”

  He left it at that. I’m almost as drained, and I shouldn’t have hurt that much just imposing a shield. I did it on the children without trouble.

  “Certainly possible,” Count Trautenfels rumbled from the depths of his chair. “All that excess weight can’t help.”

  Mr. Schmidt cleared his throat, apparently unhappy about the observation. “I suspect it was losing ten thousand shillings to Prince Potoki’s oldest nephew on the final race.”

  “Indeed?”

  Even Prince Potoki seemed surprised and the banker nodded, smug. “Yes, my lord. The good Colonel should pay more attention to colors, it seems, because he backed the wrong horse. Literally. I heard him complaining to the race stewards, who threatened to ban him from the track for the rest of the season. He wagered ten thousand on Ali Marza, thinking he’d put his money on Royal Fleet. Couldn’t tell blue silks from green, it seems. And then had the nerve to suggest that the stewards change the results or ask Lord Karol to give him his money back.”

  “It likely will not sweeten his temper to learn that his jockey, the English one, has been banned from the track for trying to throw a race.” Count Teleki frowned, reminding István of an angry bear. “They think he’s doping as well, since he could not explain why he checked the gelding so badly, or who had ordered him to. I suspect neither Col. Tisza nor his horses will return to a Hungarian track in the near future.”

  The other men made very disapproving noises. One thing had not changed in the Kingdoms despite the war and all that followed, István knew: gentlemen paid their debts at the tables and the track without comment or question. Tisza had lost a good deal of social ground without realizing it.

  István felt himself starting to gloat and stopped the feeling just in time. If he’d thought Tisza was dangerous before, the man would be trebly furious now that he had to do honest work and persuasion instead of manipulating others into doing his will. Well, the bastard was no match for the House and Powers combined, and forewarned was forearmed. István accepted a cognac and cigar and relaxed taut nerves for the first time that evening. Even the return of Archduke Rudolph and Salman Löw couldn’t ruin his mellow, quiet pleasure.

  What? It can’t be . . . Damn it, what’s he want?

  István composed his expression into mild confusion as Georg Tisza bore down on him just outside the gates of the Royal Palace in Budapest. Tisza’s bland face bore an expression of unalloyed rage, and István slid his hand down the head of his cane, ready to shift grip. He slid one foot back and rocked a little, putting his weight on his left leg in case he needed to duck or dodge.

  “Ah, Colonel Es
zterházy.” Tisza puffed a little, as if out of breath. He’d regained his composure enough that he sounded sociable rather than furious.

  “Col. Tisza.”

  There’s no point in my acting like a swine, even if he is one.

  “I understand that you are responsible for my . . . touch of difficulty at the Frankopans’ dinner.”

  “I fail to understand, I fear.”

  Tisza’s eyes narrowed and he leaned on his own walking stick.

  “I will be blunt, Eszterházy, since you are unable to take a subtle suggestion. Your enmity toward me in the regiment was unbecoming. That you continue in your dislike to the point of turning Prince Potoki and others against me is unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman. Desist, immediately, or I will be forced to take steps.”

  István blinked and hesitated, torn on how to respond. Playing dumb is the safest, because I do not care to air dirty laundry in the guards’ hearing.

  “I fear you overestimate me, Col. Tisza. The only influence I have with His Highness is the same as any of his other second-tier relations. If he and the other nobles prefer not to do business with you, that is their decision, and not one that I had any effect upon.” He glanced up at the clock tower. “If you will excuse me.”

  The odd-colored eyes narrowed, and Tisza’s face flushed, then paled. He dropped his voice to a hiss. “No, I will not. I warned you Eszterházy, so hear me out. I don’t know what you did to me, or how you did it, but you ruined me and you will pay, so help me God. I will destroy you and your family unless you reverse course and use your influence to return my rightful funds and abilities to me.”

  “I have heard you out. Good day, Colonel.”

  István turned and walked toward the gate, his back crawling as he waited for Tisza to attack him, but he reached the palace’s outer grounds unmolested. When he met with Archduke Rudolph, he hesitated before resolving to speak of the matter.

  “Your Grace, Col. Tisza accosted me as I entered the palace precinct.”

  “Oh really.” Rudolph’s eyes narrowed. “I assume he was not inquiring after your health and congratulating you on your son’s excellent school performance, or the price of timber.” «Show me.»

  István dropped his shields and replayed the memory.

  “Interesting. I am curious how he knew when and where you would be arriving.” A predatory anger flashed in the lazy tan eyes and Rudolph picked up a letter opener, playing with the steel and enamel blade. “Will you be reporting the threats?”

  “I, I do not believe so, Your Grace. Explaining the cause of his unhappiness . . .” István shrugged.

  “Point.” Rudolph tapped the tip of the letter opener on the stack of papers in front of him. “And he broke no laws, has broken no laws that I know of, and your ‘difference of opinion’ concerning the fair Weronica is well known in certain circles.” Rudolph shook his head. “Damn having to obey the laws. Things were so much easier when we could have commoners horsewhipped without resorting to a judge and jury.”

  Is he joking? Not entirely, I think.

  “You have an excellent point, your Grace.”

  “Thank you. You may go, Col. Count Eszterházy.” «Be watchful.»

  “Thank you, your Grace.” «I will.»

  As he rode down Buda Hill, István debated whether or not to say anything to Weronica and decided against it. She did not need anything else to worry herself over. He would tell Dobroslov, and the House seniors, so they would be aware of the threat. As he passed the familiar shops and town palaces, he wondered what Tisza meant by claiming István had ruined him. The man didn’t need his Gift to do business, did he? He certainly hadn’t in the Army, and probably would have done just as well skimming off contracts and manipulating his fellow officers without it. The Gift was a tool, not a crutch, after all. He doesn’t like having to work at things—I suspect that’s it. He can’t force people anymore, so he has to persuade them and show proof of his business prowess. All I ruined was his pride, and even then Rudolph and Salman Löw did the actual work. By the time he reached his own gates, István had put the matter out of his mind. He’d be watchful but no more or less than usual, aside from advising the House of the threat.

  Where has summer gone?

  The motorcar grumbled as it rolled through the wrought iron gates of Lancut Castle. Despite the beautiful plantings and lush gardens, hints of the Galician castle’s past remained at the edges of the palatial complex: the roads outlining the old star-bastions, the heavy tower behind the main buildings, and the clear lines of fire and the glacis and moat around the palace proper. Beside István, Weronica gave a little sigh, smiling and leaning back against the leather of the seat.

  “Home.”

  István kept his peace. She’d been having trouble sleeping, complaining about the child moving too much and not letting her rest. Their son, as István had started thinking of the child, apparently intended to emerge fit and busy. I shouldn’t have given Felix that grief about his boy if this young one turns out half as active as he seems to be now. István suspected that Weronica had picked up on some of his concerns about Tisza as well, even though he’d said nothing to her directly. Her links to the House gave her hints, as well as letting her know what she needed in order to manage House Szárkány.

  “It is a lovely residence,” he said aloud. I’m glad the Russians missed it.

  Ten years had undone much of the Russian’s damage, at least in this part of Galicia. The farms looked healthy, the wheat harvest had been good, there were fat cattle and horses in the fields, and the town of Rzeszow, where they’d gotten off the train, showed no signs of damage. Well, the Potokis had put considerable effort into rebuilding, as had the crown, with impressive results. Among other things, it helped to wean the Poles and Ruthenes off the blandishments of the Soviets and nationalists. The car stopped at the end of the former moat, and the driver hurried around to open the door for Weronica, then for István. He’d drive around to the back of the servants’ wing and unload their luggage there, but Weronica had asked to walk the rest of the way. István saw no reason to argue.

  The bright blue late-October sky brought out the colors of the palace’s front façade, the bright yellow-orange seeming to glow, while creamy stone trim framed the three rows of windows and the ornate doorways. Two short towers, each with a clock and topped by an weathered-copper onion dome, framed the main face of the palace. István could make out hints of the castle’s age, especially at the base of the left-hand tower, where heavy stone and masonry collided with the paler rectangles of dressed stone around it. Orange tile roofs capped the building. Well, they looked better than slate, and Weronica had mentioned clay mines on the other side of the town, so using them probably also kept the locals employed, especially after a storm. The building seemed to balance somewhere between Renaissance and neoclassical, and István approved.

  As they walked closer, Weronica smiled again and leaned a little against his side. He took more of her weight, as much as he could.

  “So, my lady, which window did your brother climb out of to get into mischief?”

  “None. Aloyjz never got into mischief.”

  István looked down at her. “Really?”

  She smiled a little, then looked forward again, watching her footing on the pale gravel as they crossed the stone bridge over the dry moat.

  “My nurse and tutors said he was a very good young man and never broke the rules or caused our parents any grief.”

  “And you believed them?”

  She looked up at him, brown eyes wide, indignant. “Of course.”

  I shall have to put locks on the nursery door once our son can walk.

  They passed under the doorway, through another open gate, and into the inner courtyard. A neatly dressed man with dark brown hair, a round face, and dark eyes—who could only be Wladislav Karol Potoki, Weronica’s nephew—walked up, smiling broadly.

  “Welcome to Lancut, Count István, Countess Weronica.” He kissed Weronica’s h
and, then brushed cheeks with her in the Slavic manner, before shaking hands with István. “His Highness sends his greetings and apologizes for not meeting you in person. Prince Radzwill arrived a few minutes ago, and I fear his journey left him out of sorts.”

  “Oh dear,” Weronica sighed. Wladizlav gave István a quick look, and István nodded. He’d heard stories about Radzwill’s temper and lack of patience with his inferiors.

  “Please tell His Highness that we quite understand. Travel can be fatiguing.”

  Wladislav’s shoulders relaxed under his dark blue coat. “Indeed. If you would follow me, please? Vladimir will show you to your rooms.”

  István forced himself to acknowledge the stab of jealousy he felt as he looked at their suite. Each room had a bathroom with hot and cold running water and a flush toilet, as well as gas and electric light. His father had gotten running water to Nagymatra just before the war, and even then it could be precarious in winter. Parquet-and-tile floors, tasteful brown-and-gold wallpaper, and antique chairs by the Polish corner stove, made the suite warm and comfortable. Weronica found a separate dressing chamber for her use and settled in quite happily. Lancut made both Nagymatra and the Budapest town palace look shabby.

  As Weronica freshened up, István lowered his shields a little and reached out to feel the area around them. He sensed several minds, all shielded, along with more unshielded individuals going about their business. He also felt an emptiness to the east, a hollow, dull sensation of ashes and dead stone. Galicia. Moravia must have extended a little into this area, or perhaps that Power to the north, but Galicia and Ukrainia remain dead. Pannonia had warned that neither land would recover until more energy—blood energy—had flowed into them. Perhaps that explained why István felt uncomfortable—that and realizing just how much of a poor relation he was to the Potokis. The Eszterházys might be older, but the Potokis had far more resources in land and money.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” Weronica asked from behind him.

  He turned away from the window.