'Ware the Dark-Haired Man

by Robert Reginald

  “Well, they say that she’s the offspring of a morga­natic marriage,” he noted.

  “Bullcocky!” the princess spat. “Hogwash and hokum. She’s got no royal blood in her on her mother’s side, to be sure, not that any of that ever seemed to matter much to our family if their hips were wide enough, but Lady Pulkhériya af Jutta comes from a noble family with a pedigree as long as your leg. It may be a foreign title, but it’s as ancient and honorable as anything we have here. So, where is Princess Salentína?”

  “They say she was captured with Junior,” Athana­sios stated.

  “Well, no wonder, then,” she snorted. “If they haven’t got one, they’ll substitute another. Sorry. I have better things to do with my life, little priest. Go away and leave me with some of that proverbial peace of yours.

  “Would you like some sun tea?” she added, sud­denly changing her mood. “You look a little green around the gills.”

  “Please, highness,” he said. He was still trying to get the taste of whatever it was out of his mouth.

  “Just a moment,” she replied. Humming a ditty un­der her breath, she went into the kitchen, and began fum­bling around amongst the jumble of things out there, with a clang and a bang and a rattle of pots and pans.

  His eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light, and wandered around the room while he was waiting for her. He noticed many sculptures and busts and paintings at­tached to the shelves and walls of her cottage, and took the opportunity to examine them more closely. He assumed that she had fashioned most of them, and although he was no connoisseur, some of them seemed to him quite evoca­tive.

  “Like my stuff?”

  He jumped from the sound of her voice, seemingly right behind him, and twirled around, but no one was there.

  Again he heard her laughing, like a tinkling of silver bells. She was certainly unlike anyone else in her family. Arizélla came out of the kitchen, holding a container of warm herb tea.

  “Neat trick, huh?” she quipped. “My father taught it to me when I was a little girl. Don’t have a chance to use it much anymore. Here’s your tea,” she added, pouring him a cup. “I think you’ll find it a wee smoother going down than the old rotgut. I also brought you some fresh cakes and honey. I keep the hives right across the road.”

  “Hmmm,” he murmured, “now that’s good.”

  “’Course it is,” she agreed, her eyes twinkling. “It’s all natural, see, fresh from the sun and the rain. That’s all I’ve got around here. Don’t eat any meat.”

  She went to light another, much larger lamp.

  “Sorry about the smell,” she added. “All we have is fish oil, lots and lots of fish oil. You could take a bath in the stuff, if you wanted to, not that anyone ever would.”

  Then she showed him all of her things, clearly de­lighted that someone, anyone was interested in her cre­ations.

  “Well, there’s not a lot to do around here,” she continued, “other than contemplate your navel, and you can only do that for so long before you get an ouroboros from it. Still, I like the peacefulness of the place. Nobody tells you what to do.

  “See, priest, if I go back, then everybody’s going to want something out of me all of the time, just nit nit nit, if you know what I mean. I really got tired of the ‘life,’ as we royals call it, after my pretty girl Tamára died. And when my hubby passed on too, well, I got me this place, and gradually started spending more time here than any­where else. I really like it. Now you’re going to try to ruin me, aren’t you?”

  Athanasios didn’t answer her directly, but instead pointed to a small ring of bronze attached to one wall.

  “Did you make that?” he inquired.

  “Nah,” she scoffed. “Give me more credit than that, little man! I only kept it because of Papá.”

  “How do you mean?” the archpriest asked.

  “That old nag Zubayda had a thing about memorial rings,” Arizélla responded. “I guess they’re common back in Tôrtous, where she came from. Anyway, when Papá and King Makáry and his two sons were killed at Dürkheim, she immediately had a set made for the royals, and everybody in the family got one. The inscription’s supposedly written in one of the ancient languages of the east, although I’ve never met anyone who could read it. Each of the rings was personalized. I was told that mine said, ‘Arizélla, daughter of Kazimir.’ Here, take a closer look.”

  She pulled it off the peg on which it was hung, and handed it to him. He examined it carefully, memorizing the inscription. Except for the lettering, it was absolutely identical to the torc he still kept in his trunk as a remem­brance from his earliest days.

  “In fact, you can have the piece if you really want it,” she added, stirred by his interest. “Zölla’s got one of her own hidden away somewhere, and no one else in my family would be the least bit interested. That’s true of all this junk.”

  She waved her hand around in a wide semicircle.

  “You see, everyone was rather embarrassed by them. They reminded people of a very bad time, and as soon as Zubayda was dead, away they all went into storage closets and such. I only kept mine out because I have so little left of Papá to remember him by, and he was such a good father to us three. I cried and cried when he died.”

  She abruptly sat down, suddenly downcast.

  “So tell me, priest, how bad was it this time? Tell me of the awful things my family has done to the good people of Pommerelia so we can make life perfect for them again.”

  He sat down heavily in the hand-stuffed chair, the only one in the dacha, and sipped the sun tea this lovely lady had prepared for him, and ate her bread and honey. He suddenly felt very sad, as if all the cares of the world were piling up on him. Then he began talking to her, un­raveling his soul, and he continued until the whole story was told, what he knew of it, which was not everything; and for no reason that he could ever identify, he started to cry, very silently, for all the dead soldiers and all the dead civilians he had met on his journeys this past year, and all the dead souls he would visit in the future.

  Will it never end? he thought to himself. Will it never pass?

  He felt the slight whisper of a handkerchief brushing away his tears, and the press of her soft lips on his brow.

  “I do not think so, father,” she replied from the safety of her stool.

  She sighed very heavily, and looked poignantly and lingeringly around her cottage.

  “I will return with you to Paltyrrha,” the Princess Arizélla spake. “There are things to be done and words to be said, and they do matter, little priest. They do. You’ll understand that someday, when you begin making choices that affect people’s lives. But I will miss my pretty dacha, that I will.”

  Then she became la belle dame sans merci again, her eyes flashing, her mouth laughing.

  Had I met this woman when she was young, Athana­sios thought, I would never have become a priest.

  “Time for bed, Father ‘A,’” she merrily chirped. “We retire early out in the sticks.”

  “I, uh, I’ll use the s-stables,” the priest stammered out.

  “You’ll do no such thing!” she snorted. “We don’t even have a stable, but I do have a spare cot in my cot, or were you thinking I meant something else, eh?”

  The princess giggled.

  Athanasios blushed beet red.

  She grabbed his hand, and pulled him up.

  “Come along now, I’ll show you where everything is,” Arizélla chuckled, leading the way.

  My God, he thought to himself, if she kisses me now, I’ll gladly spend the next twenty years here.

  But of course she didn’t, much to his silent regret, because although she liked him, she didn’t play those kinds of games with people.

  Although he didn’t expect to, he slept quite soundly, being awakened in the morning by the sound of mocking­birds singing and the smell of eggs cooking.

  It was the Feast of Saint Zôïlos, and he said his prayers with joy in his heart for the first time in
a month.

  “Sleep well, did you? The country’ll do that for you,” Arizélla observed. “Come now, I’ve got some good eats to put some pounds on those skinny limbs of yours.”

  She put down on the table a huge platter of fresh food—eggs, bread, cheese, and milk—the likes of which he had not seen in a very long time.

  “This is...ambrosia,” he managed to choke out be­tween bites.

  “Why, thank you, dear priest,” she returned, smil­ing. “Tell me, what do your friends call you?”

  “My original name is Afanásy, but I also go by Athy.”

  “Athy, eh?” She turned it over on her tongue like a bit of dough. “Pithy enough, even for a priest. Some folks ’round these parts call me Élla. You may do so also, as long as we’re by ourselves.”

  “Princess, uh, Élla, I only have one donkey, which of course you’re welcome to use,” he fumbled, “but how do you propose that we get back to town quickly.”

  “Well, if it’s Dnepróvgorod you’re heading for, there’s no quick way about it, Athy,” Arizélla noted. “We’re about a dozen miles away, and I don’t have any­thing here but a couple of milkers. When I really need something, I just use the transit mirror.”

  “The mirror?”

  He felt like a schoolboy again. It had never oc­curred to him that she might have a private viridaurum in her dacha, but of course, she had to have one.

  “Yes!” she emphasized. “We can go anytime you want, after I’ve cleaned up a bit and let the neighbors know I’m going to be gone for a while.”

  A coal black cat came wandering through the open back door.

  “Sybélla,” she murmured, “there you are, my pretty kitty!”

  She picked up the feline, and began stroking her. Athanasios could hear the purr clear across the room.

  “She always shows up when she wants something,” Arizélla said.

  She put some milk into a small tray, and set it out. The cat immediately started slurping.

  “You see what I mean? We’re not so different,” the princess noted. “Very well, priest, I can see you’re impa­tient to go, now that one of your hungers has been satisfied. Pah, men are all alike. Sit down over there”—she imperi­ously pointed to the one good chair—“out of the way, please, while I do what must be done.”

  For the first time in his life, Father Athanasios un­derstood, in a small way, what he had missed and what he could have had, if his choices had been different.

  But then, he thought, he wouldn’t have been the same person. No regrets, he added, none.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “YOU’D BETTER OBEY ME”

  Back in Paltyrrha, the Princess Royal, Her Serene Highness the Lady Grigorÿna Arkádiyevna von Tighrisha, was entertaining the Doll Family to luncheon. She had man­aged to find twenty-two of them stashed in different places around the palace, and had set them all before a long, low table which she thought perfectly appropriate for the high lords and ladies at court.

  Of course, her own family had the primacy of honor at the head of the table: herself, Lady Louisa, Lady Sylyána, Lord Bánya, and Lord Philogón. These she had dressed out in all their best finery. For herself, she had put on her prettiest court dress. On one dainty white arm she wore a gold band with a snake design engraved ’round it, a bracelet that she had found in a distant, unused room of the palace; and on the other a small bronze ring etched with funny characters on the inside. This one had come from the dregs of an old trunk. Hung about her neck was a chain of white metal, from which dangled the silver bell of calling.

  “I say, Lord Phil,” Bánya intoned, “would you be so good as to pass the borscht and the shchi?”

  “Quite pleased, old chap,” Philogón replied. “What news of the war?”

  “It’s going well, I hear,” Lord Silyán noted. “We smash the bloody fiends wherever we can find them, which is often. Hear, hear! Waiter, more kvass!”

  Lady Ouisa was already bored with all the men talk.

  “Sylyána,” she interjected, “I hear Lady Aventína has been seen with Prince Parsival.”

  “No!” Sylyána replied. “And I thought he was seeing Lady Denÿsya! The wicked wretch!”

  “Would you like more wine, Lady Ouisa?” Princess Grigorÿna inquired, ever most politely, as befitted her ex­alted status as the sponsor of this party.

  “Why, thank you, no,” Louisa said. “But I was wondering how you and that curious Doctor Melanthrix are getting along.”

  “Well,” the princess replied, “he’s not back from the war yet. I do expect him quite soon!”

  “It wasn’t very nice of him to go away when your brother was ill,” Ouisa noted.

  “He had to!” Grigorÿna exclaimed. “Grandpapá needed him.”

  “A likely story!” Lord Bánya stated. “Why, he’s not even a military man. No credentials, what?”

  “Too true, old thing,” Philogón agreed. “He would only have been in the way. He would have served the glo­rious cause much better by tending the Hereditary-Prince-To-Be.”

  “But Ari’s all right now,” the princess emphasized.

  “No thanks to Melanthrix,” Lady Konstántsiya chirped.

  “No thanks to Melanthrix!” they all agreed.

  Princess Grigorÿna looked around the table in con­sternation.

  “This is no fun,” she said. “We’re supposed to be having a party.”

  “How can we have a party when Melanthrix is ab­sent?” Ouisa inquired. “Why don’t you call him?”

  “Mamá says I’m not supposed to use the bell ’cept in ’mergencies,” Grigorÿna noted.

  “Well, this looks like an emergency to me!” Lord Rádost stated.

  “This looks like an emergency to me!” they all chimed in.

  “Stop it!” Rÿna ordered. “Just stop it! This is my party, and I can invite whomever I please. And you’d bet­ter obey me, too, or I’ll send all of you home. All of you!” she shouted.

  After that they were all as silent as death.

  The Princess Royal, Her Serene Highness the Lady Grigorÿna Arkádiyevna von Tighrisha, smiled. Sometimes you just had to show them who was in charge.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “TOO DAMNED QUIET”

  At mid-morning on the following day, the Feast of Saint Eirénaios, the retreating Kórynthi army finally reached Karkára. They had actually been in contact with Prince Kiríll’s patrols and supply wagons for several days now, and the prince himself was waiting for them at Lüstern Field.

  Several hundred men had perished from their in­juries during the five-day trek, but another thirty or so missing soldiers had drifted into camp along the way back, happily telling their stories of escape and adventure around the evening campfires.

  “Hail, King Kipriyán!” saluted Kiríll, as the lead el­ements of the army finally came to a halt.

  But the king just stared dully off into space, making no response.

  Prince Arkády reached over and grabbed his younger brother’s elbow in the ancient manner of two war­riors greeting each other.

  They talked privately for a moment.

  “Any change?” quietly asked Kiríll, nodding at the king.

  “None,” Arkády whispered. “He’s been like that, off and on, since Killingford. It’s when he starts shouting orders for us to charge the enemy that I have to have Melanthrix sedate him again. It makes the men nervous. What news here?”

  “Quiet. Too damned quiet, to my way of thinking.” Kiríll shook his head. “We’ve got the supply spigot shut off up north, and managed to save most of the wagons that were on their way down to Saint Paulinos’s. I’ve ordered General Khydión to withdraw his forces back to Lockenlöd Castle and environs. He really doesn’t have enough sol­diers to do anything else.

  “Down here,” he continued, “we’ve set up a series of temporary forts along the Spargö, which have virtually stopped the attacks by the irregulars. Zack and I have also established a series of patrols between Karkára and Borg
ösha.”

  “Well done, brother,” Arkády noted. “We need to get the king back to Paltyrrha as quickly as possible. News about the battle will start circulating soon in Kórynthia, and the royals have to be seen again by the hoi polloi there be­fore that happens. The king and I will stay overnight in Karkára. Tomorrow you’ll join us in riding down to Podébrad. We can use one of the mirrors there to transit to Paltyrrha. I’ll leave General Rónai in charge here; he’s now recovered well enough to resume command. We’ll send the remnants of the army south to Borgösha; the Skopélosz Pass is much easier on the vehicles, and many of our wounded are still wagon-bound. Those who haven’t perished yet will probably survive.”

  He turned in his saddle.

  “Lord Rónai!” the prince shouted.

  When that officer had reported, Arkády said: “Have the men camp here overnight. Tomorrow, we’ll march them south to Borgösha under the command of Gen­eral Zinón Karélovich. The King, Doctor Melanthrix, Lord Gorázd, the servant Siméon, and I will return to Pal­tyrrha via Podébrad, together with Prince Kiríll. You will take command of our forces around Karkára. My orders are to continue our patrols for a week, and then withdraw to Lüstern, establishing a perimeter here at the base of the canyon.

  “By the way,” he added, “how’s your leg?”

  “Much better, highness,” the officer responded, “and thank you for inquiring. Now I’d best get to my men. May I be excused?”

  Arkády waved his hand, then turned back to Kiríll.

  “Let’s ride out,” he said. “Rónai’s quite capable, and doesn’t need my supervision. I’m very concerned about father, Kir. He needs all the rest he can get.”

  Then they headed up the pass with the king and Melanthrix and several aides in tow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I TOLD OUISA”

  In Paltyrrha, meanwhile, Princess-Regent Arrhiána and Dowager Queen Brisquayne were privately and care­fully questioning Princess Grigorÿna.

  “Do you remember, Rÿna,” Arrhiána was asking, “when we visited Granny’s house in Kórynthály, and we were talking about Great-Aunt Mösza?”