Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “Karol Tadeus, enough!” Weronica’s voice trembled. “Stop this, stop right now. You have no right to insult my husband.”

  “And you had no call to go marrying a damn Magyar interloper when there are Polish men waiting. He’s not even fit to clean the boots of—”

  “Enough! I’ve heard enough.” István rushed to Weronica’s side as she struggled to her feet, tears pouring down her face. One hand rested on her belly and she’d gone white, even her lips. He held her, taking her weight as she staggered. “Call,” she gasped a little. “Call a maid. I’m leaving. I will not stay under the roof with him.”

  “My lady,” István began.

  “No. I—Am—Leaving.” The furious determination in her dark eyes warned him not to argue.

  “Very good, my lady.” He helped her walk up to their quarters and rang for a maid. “Please start packing,” he informed the girl. Then he left the room, going to inform Princess Potoki of his wife’s decision.

  He returned in time to meet Alojyz coming out of their suite. He looked like thunder, and István stepped backward, giving him room.

  “No, István, it is not you I will have thrown into the moat headfirst.” Aloyjz shook his head, glowering down the hallway. “Weronica won’t hear reason. Take care of her.”

  “I will do my best, Your Highness.” István bowed as Aloyjz stormed off, scattering staff and guests alike. He slapped his riding whip against the top of his boot as he walked, and István wondered if K.T. was about to discover what the knout felt like.

  Weronica was withdrawn for the duration of the journey back to Nagymatra, and István sent a telegraph from Eger, asking for Mistress Nagy to come at her earliest convenience. She arrived two days after they did and closeted herself with Weronica, Aunt Claudia, and Magda. Not long after, Mistress Nagy emerged and began giving orders.

  “Your lady is to remain in bed until she delivers. Overstress is causing problems.”

  István wanted to kill Karol Tadeus. Instead he did as Mistress Nagy ordered and took steps to ensure that nothing upset Weronica further. But even so, he woke the morning of November fourth to the sound of his wife groaning.

  “Ow, that hurts, oh.”

  No, not again, please Holy Lord no, please I beg of you. It is too early. Weronica’s stomach rippled, much as Barbara’s had when she lost their child just before her own death.

  “Do not push, my lady, just stay calm,” he told her, doing his best to sooth her. “It’s just a cramp. It will pass.”

  Mistress Nagy returned a few hours later and chased him out.

  “My lord, I have a suspicion about the child,” she warned him. “We may have to be very delicate with the delivery, even more so than for an early birth.”

  István paced the verandah, prayed, and paced some more. He could not work. Instead he stared out at the winter-brown trees and prayed for his wife, for their child, for his other children, and for the strength not to ride back to Poland, track down K.T., and rip him limb from limb. At noon, Jirina found him on the verandah.

  “My lord?” She pulled her shawl closer.

  “Yes?”

  The young woman licked her lips.

  “My lord, Mistress Nagy says—says that—that as soon as the child is born, you need to be ready to take it away.”

  Oh dear God. What’s wrong with him? Is he malformed? István’s heart raced

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “The child is a True-dragon, and Lady Weronica is too distraught already to be able to care for it. Mistress Nagy is afraid Lady Weronica might lash out and hurt herself—and the child. No one told her about HalfDragons and what children we can have, my lord.”

  Oh dear God.

  “I’ll make arrangements. Thank you.”

  «Agmánd» he called mind-to-mind.

  The butler appeared as if by magic.

  «My Lord?»

  «Is there a family nearby that can take an infant? A True-dragon infant?»

  Agmánd froze, whiskers stiff. He licked the tip of his muzzle.

  «Yes, my lord, there is. My brother’s daughter lives in Jolsva. They lost a child and she hungers for a baby.»

  «As soon as Mistress Nagy says so, take my child and go. The child is mine and I will support him, but Lady Weronica must not know.»

  Deep pity filled Agmánd’s yellow eyes.

  «I swear, it shall be done, my lord.»

  At two, Jirina brought István into the bedroom. Weronica appeared to be asleep.

  «I sedated her, my lord. I am sorry, my lord. I thought she knew, that someone had told her. But they did not, and now is not the time.» Mistress Nagy sounded exhausted and looked drained, Aunt Claudia as well. Claudia gestured for István to come and look in a padded basket. Nagy lifted the blanket and he saw a beautiful little True-dragon with pale red-and-brown skin. «Her baby skin. Her scales will be a fraction darker once her whiskers and talons grow in. She’s healthy and full term.»

  He stroked the soft back with one finger, his eyes filling with tears as the little one rustled, moving her forelegs.

  “Marie Anna is her name.”

  Nagy tucked the blanket back into place and handed the basket to Jirina.

  “Agmánd knows,” István whispered, choking. “He’ll take her.”

  Jirina bowed and rushed off on silent feet.

  “Take Weronica’s hand,” Nagy ordered. “I’m lifting the compulsion.”

  István settled on the side of the bed and took her hand. Nagy whispered a word, and after a moment Weronica stirred, blinking.

  “My lord?”

  “I’m here.” He held her hand between his.

  “The child?”

  “He was stillborn, my lady. It’s not your fault.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she tried to speak, but only sobs came out. He worked his arm around her and half-lifted her, then held her as she wept.

  “I love you, Weronica. I love you. It is not your fault. You did everything right, my lady, it’s not your fault.”

  She cried herself to sleep, still in his arms. István mourned as well, for the beautiful daughter Weronica would never know, and for the pain his lie would cause. And for his poor, sweet, young wife, who should have been warned but wasn’t.

  Petr and Irenka Sophia, almost nine years old and lively, bounced down the steps at Nagymatra, their older brother and sister not far behind, their parents following at a more decorous pace. Ivan Denisevich, now the family chauffeur, held the door of the large touring car open as the children piled in. The dark brown automobile boasted a stronger chassis and undercarriage than most, allowing it to resist some of the rocks between Eger and Nagymatra. Even so, István had broken down and paid to have a proper road built almost to the doors of the lodge.

  “Dreaming of your missing horses?” Weronica teased, as he handed her into the car.

  “Yes. And quiet.”

  “We’re quiet, Pater,” Petr protested.

  His twin sister nodded solemnly. Imre rolled his eyes, and Erzsébet smiled. If he had not been present for the twins’ conception and arrival, István would have sworn they’d been found under a cabbage leaf, or that perhaps a stork had left them at the wrong house. Weronica swore they looked like her father, fair-haired and pink-cheeked, with square faces and sturdy bodies. Sophia had green eyes, while Petr’s dark blue eyes had given István chills the first time his newborn son had looked at him. István could have sworn that he saw Janos looking back at him.

  Well, his father would probably not have minded the comparison. Janos would likely have been pleased by his descendants, although he might have given István a touch of grief about having only four children. The twins’ arrival and first years had drained so much of Weronica’s strength that István had made good on his silent promise to do what he could to keep her from overbearing. She had not complained, at least not yet. Instead, she’d thrown her energy into raising all four children and keeping the House as well. She was a far better lady than he
was Head, István suspected. Not that any of the staff or any House member would say so to him, or even imply it, but he knew.

  Some House members still resented what he’d done with Marie Anna. She was a lovely, lively ten-year-old, exactly where she should be in her school work, and doted on by her adoptive family and the rest of the House. Weronica had seen her at gatherings, but took her for Agmánd’s niece. István suspected that Weronica still mourned the loss of her son, or the son she believed she had delivered, but he did not ask. There were enough worries and clouds swirling around the House to keep him from searching out any more sorrow and woe.

  “Andre is determined to go to the University of Vienna,” Imre said. He set his jaw and gave his father a stubborn look.

  “And what did his father say?”

  Imre took a deep breath. “That Andre is a fool, and it is too dangerous, and that Vienna has gone mad and the faculty of the University can go to—” The young man caught himself as István’s eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose in warning. “That he has no use for them, Pater.”

  That does indeed sound like Zoltan Szecheney, István had to agree.

  “I am inclined to disagree with Count Szecheney on the topic of the redemption of University faculty in general,” István allowed. “But I fear his understanding of the situation in Vienna is correct, at least at this moment, according to what last I read.” He tapped on Imre’s shields. «Not here and now, I don’t want your mother worrying about Petr and Sophia while we are in Budapest.»

  Imre nodded his understanding. “Andre is worried that he won’t be able to finish his course of study if he does not return.”

  Weronica frowned under her trim, bell-shaped hat. “That sounds understandable. Are the classes not offered in Budapest?”

  “They are, Mater, but he would have to take examinations to confirm that he has learned enough to continue at the same place, and in Hungarian and Latin rather than German.”

  Erzsébet rolled her eyes at her brother, but held her peace when István gave her the same look he’d given Imre. She’d taken to botany like her aunt, and breathed and ate Latin.

  “That makes his concern a little more understandable,” Weronica said, turning to István. “Is there trouble in Vienna?”

  Damn it.

  “A little, my lady. Some of the Communists are unhappy about the city’s new government and are protesting, trying to stop the trams and busses and making a little mischief.”

  «A little mischief, Pater?» Imre sent the image from the newspaper of a man with a rifle shooting out of an apartment window in Karl Marx Hof.

  «Compared to Barcelona and St. Petersburg, it is a little. Enough, please.»

  Erzsébet cleared her throat.

  “Pater, Aunt Judit asked if I could help her with Dr. Professor Sisa’s next book project.”

  Weronica frowned, while the twins looked bored. “More research?”

  “Not exactly, Mater. Aunt Judit would like me to draw the illustrations, all plants of the Matra and Carpathian Mountains.”

  Weronica made an unhappy sound, then clutched the seat with one hand and Sophia with the other as the car lurched through an especially bad hole in the road. István bit back a curse as he steadied himself. They slowed and stopped, and Ivan got out to inspect the car, Imre not far behind. Erzsébet shook her head a little and shared a smile with her father. Petr tried to turn around and started climbing over his father to look.

  “No, you stay in your place young man.”

  Petr drooped. He and Archduke Rudolph—and Imre for that matter—shared a mania for automobiles that left István shaking his head. He preferred horses and always would.

  Imre returned.

  “No damage, Pater, Mater.”

  Ivan started the vehicle again and the rest of the trip to Eger passed uneventfully. As much as Imre and Petr begged their father to bring the car to Budapest, István refused, insisting on using the trains. They had a second car in the city, and the road between, well, his back could not tolerate it. And they could not afford the fuel and oil and parts, although István never mentioned that.

  By the time they reached Budapest, István’s body had begun reminding him that even if he’d been human, he would have been in difficulty. No HalfDragon should hurt as much as he did, not with only forty years. He let Imre, Szombor, and the railroad staff take care of the luggage, and marveled at how Weronica and Erzsébet managed with so few trunks and cases. His mother and grandmother had never traveled with fewer than four large trunks, plus their hat cases and other valises. His grandmother would also have fainted, or at least had an attack of the vapors, at the sight of most of the women in the first class rail car. At least dress had returned to sensibility after the immodesty of the 1920s. He had no objection to seeing well-turned ankles, but bare knees and transparent chemises in public? No wonder the Germans had gone insane.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He nodded to Josef, their driver, as he got into the Budapest car. Ivan would arrive later, after preparing the country car for storage. István preferred to have Ivan with him, but no one could be in two places at once.

  “Pater, have you spoken with Cousin Imre recently?” Erzsébet inquired. She nodded to a man in a black suit standing at the corner of the market square, hat in one hand, haranguing a group of working-class men and women.

  “Not since he invited us to the May Day parade.”

  István had declined. If I want a lecture I will go to the University or ask Fr. Francis his opinion on modern morals.

  Imre shook his head. “Andre says that he heard from Tibor that Cousin Imre has joined the Red wing of the Socialists, at least for now.”

  “I would not be surprised,” István said, and left it there. Weronica disliked politics, and had been a little too pleased when István had lost his seat in the House of Notables after his Crown and Land party had been defeated in the spring elections. “Has Tibor decided on the University or the Army?”

  “Army, I believe, sir. I’ll have to ask.”

  “The river seems low,” Weronica observed. Petr tried once more to clamber over his father so he could see out the window, and once more István pushed him back into the seat. “Petr, stop that. You will have more than enough time to look at the river later.” Weronica frowned. Sophia fluffed her hair and sat perfectly still, imitating her mother. István could see the older children struggling not to laugh at the show.

  After the staff had taken all the luggage into the town palace and Dobroslav and Ferenk had given István all the news of the House and residence, he retreated to his office and glanced through the personal mail waiting for him. Someone had already set aside the invitations and social cards for Weronica, leaving a few letters from old acquaintances, two death letters, and some military papers.

  Nothing from Archduke Rudolph, that’s unusual. Very unusual, now that I think of it. He’s been quiet since when? Easter? Yes, almost five months without a letter of summons. Maybe he’s made good on that threat to resign his rank, move to Tunis, and scandalize the family. Or perhaps he’d changed his mind and had opted to move to Britain to take up motorcycle racing. Except Logres would kill him. Ah well, life is complicated enough without him, thank you. István decided to allow himself a day of rest and catching up on news and events before going to the House’s business office. Now that they had the telephone, Gereb Jenö could phone him if an emergency arose.

  Budapest traffic remained light on the Buda side as Ivan drove Lord Stipan—as he called István—to the business office two mornings later. The front of his building remained in shadow, the sun still hiding behind its bulk, and the absence of direct light hid the fading gilt, the weathered paint, and the other small signs of the past years’ troubles. The green-painted wooden door opened and István walked in.

  “Good morning, my lord,” a young woman said. He blinked and turned, surprised. She curtsied, looking down at the floor. “Mister Gereb will be here in a few minutes, my lord. He was delay
ed.”

  Really? How would you know? Or are you being polite by stating the obvious?

  “I see. And you are?”

  She straightened from the curtsey, eyes still downcast. “Marie Kiss, my lord. Mr. Farkas hired me to work in the office of the lumber lot.”

  As she said it, István vaguely recalled hearing something about the assistant manager looking for a secretary.

  “Ah, very good. You may return to your work.”

  She curtsied again, took his hat and coat, and disappeared down the hallway. She reminded István of someone, and he considered her as he went into his office. Someone very familiar but that he’d not seen for a while. Well, that could easily be more than half his circle of acquaintances—former employees, military associates, and only the good Lord knew. He reached for the light switch and stopped. No sense in spending money on light he didn’t need. He could see red and black easily enough.

  Far too much red spilled down the columns of the House business ledgers. They managed to remain out of bankruptcy, and had not taken on too much debt, yet. The only saving grace, in István’s mind, was that all of Europe suffered as well, even Britain and France. He half-closed his eyes and imagined the French government on the auction block, sold for pennies and forced to give back all the paintings and other things that Napoleon had stolen and never returned. Well, the Americans might just buy them first, although he’d read stories that starving mobs roamed New York and other cities.

  That would be some justice, not that I wish harm on anyone—or almost anyone.

  If a land-distribution committee member stepped in front of his car, István would not fire Ivan or Josef for running him over by accident—a committee member, or a member of the Communists, although the Black Arrows seemed to have driven the latter out of Budapest, at least for the moment.

  Half the red ink in the ledger came from paying lawyers in two countries. The House had spent the past ten years fighting off claims to the House lands, or filing papers to prove that individuals owned the forest tracts already, so the Czech government had no cause to confiscate and redistribute them. István ran one finger down the page, pleased to see that nothing had changed since May. The economic woes sweeping the Continent seemed to have convinced at least a few people not to bother with farmland and forests. The price of timber could not go much lower, István thought, looking at the market page lying beside the ledger and shaking his head.