Icarus begged, and begged – but General Earthstar was not open to negotiation. And when Icarus returned to his house arrest, he sensed a doubling of the guards around him. He sensed that his father knew what his son was capable of – escaping, running wild, doing something very stupid with the Enemy – and he was doubly determined to stop him making a fool of him, and very likely a corpse of himself…
As Neufundland’s radio broadcasts count down the hours to Biff’s execution, Icarus tried to escape his gilded cage…
And failed.
Tried again…
And was caught again.
He imagined Biff having a cloth tied round his eyes. Being prodded towards the place of execution, up against a wall brown with old blood-stains. Having a square of white fabric pinned to his chest as a target. The Neufundland firing squad raising their rifles, awaiting the officer’s order to fire. Biff, blind, tensing himself for what was to come…
Icarus tried one last desperate time to get out of there…
And failed again. And gave up any last spore of hope…
15 – Descent
He lay awake, between sheets of sheerest moth silk, with a pillow of the softest bat down for his head, in a bedchamber of creamy marble kissed by cool night air, listening to the clock ticking Biff’s life away – when there was a tap at his window.
“Sgt Gus?”
Icarus looked out to find the villa’s guards slumped on the ground.
“Slumber-spores”, said Gus. “Hours from now they will wake up with nothing worse than an headache and itchy skin. Come on, Icarus – if you want to trade yourself for your friends – well, that’s your decision to made, not your father’s – right?”
They fled through the shadows, down through New London, passing from the well-appointed villas to the tenement slums, down, down of the familiar places of the Airborne Brigade and 2nd Platoon, the barrack houses, the infirmaries, the armouries, the firing ranges – down at last to the fungee platforms. Two drop engineers, who Icarus didn’t recognise, stood ready beside two fungee cords.
“Neufundland is ready to made the exchange”, said Sgt Gus. “It’s all arranged. I’ll drop with you to made sure it all goes smoothly. We’ve been assured that Biff and Arla, and the rest of the twenty-seven, are ready to return to New London. The engineers are standing ready to drop twenty-seven fungee cords down to pick them up, once we arrive safely below. Icarus, you’re doing the right thing. And I’ll be right behind you, okay?”
“Okay…”, said Icarus, as he harnessed up and prepared to drop….
But, just as he lifted his foot to step out into space, he drew it back.
“Hang on.
Hang on…
Gus. How do you know the Enemy are set up down below to make the exchange? How do you know this? Are you – in some kind of communication with them? You alone?”
He looked Sgt Gus squarely in the eye. Gus’s glassy smile cracked, and broke, and was replaced by something else. And for the second time, Sgt Gus pushed Icarus from the drop platform…
And Icarus fell – but his sensations of dropping, and the wind rushing past him, of the height and the fall and the eventual slowing as the fungee cord began to tense, were all dulled, as his brain whirled with the hot panicked thoughts of –
“What is going on?
What is Sgt Gus doing?
What have I walked into here?
Who is down below, waiting to meet me?”
And –
“Have I just done the stupidest thing anyone has ever, ever done?
Have I just robbed my homeland, my people, my father – my friends – of the best bargaining tool they had? Have I just handed the only hope Arla and Biff had – me – have I just handed that hope right into the open arms of the Enemy?”
Icarus landed lightly, rolled, found an anchor point and attached his fungee, and then he came up ready for anything, ready for anything the Neufundlanders could throw at him…
… except to find himself standing face to face with his reflection.
The reflection’s eyes were his own, blue as the glow of sapphire algae.
The reflection’s hair was his own, red-brown as a coppercap in sporing season, except that it had been cut, shaped and oiled by expert hands.
And the reflection’s mouth was his own – except that this mouth broke out into a warm smile.
Icarus instinctively reached out, expecting to feel the cool surface of a mirror.
But there was no mirror.
And Icarus’s reflection laughed.
And just as Sgt Gus came over to stand beside his reflection, and just as his reflection extended a friendly hand in greeting, the vertigo, the Drop, and now this was all too much for Icarus, and darkness overcame him.
16 - Victor
Icarus woke to a blur that became his reflection’s face leaning over him, a concerned frown breaking into a smile. Cool silk sheets and bat-down pillows surrounded him. And his reflection apologised –
“Sorry, Icarus, it must have been such a shock to discover your twin brother like this. But don’t worry. You are safe. And among friends.”
Icarus sat up, and found himself in a bedchamber whose marble elegance echoed his quarters of the previous night. There beside his bed sat his mirror image, and behind him sat Sgt Gus. Icarus desperately wanted to indulge the comforting thought that he was still dreaming – but he knew he was awake, and this was real.
“Is this a real dream, or a real nightmare?”
His twin continued –
“I know, Icarus, this is strange for me too. I’ve known about you for a long, long time, but it’s still such a dreamlike thing to meet you for real… Ach now, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself…”
He rose to his feet and swelled up to his full height, as if addressing a crowd.
“Icarus, I am
Victor Zwilling Königsland Hohenzollern V, Twin King of Above and Below in Exile,
Regal Protector of the State and Dominions of Neufundland,
Rightful King of the State and Dominions of New London,
General-Marshall of these Rocky Abodes,
Air-Marshall of the High Abysses,
Admiral-Marshall of the Acid Sea…”
Then he laughed.
“But you can call me Victor.”
Icarus struggled to get out of bed, but Victor and Gus pushed him gently back down.
“Easy, Gus”, smiled Victor, “That’s a royal shoulder you’re handling there. Now Icarus, I think it’s high time you learned your own real name…
My brother, you are Vespasian Zwilling Königsland Hohenzollern V.
You and I are the Twin Kings in Exile…
… and it is time for you and I to take our rightful places and bring peace to this world…
… don’t you think?”
Victor handed Icarus a glass of cool creamy bat’s milk.
“I hope you won’t be too angry with Gus”, he smiled. “I have never met you until now, and I needed – I needed to know that you were made of the right stuff. The right stuff, the kingly blood of a true Hohenzollern. So I asked Gus to test you – and my word above, test you he did! But Vespasian my brother, you passed with flying colours. You were extraordinary in body and heart, in fitness and endeavour, in fight and friendship. Isn’t that right, Gus?”
Gus nodded. “Indeed so, your Majesty. Icarus – I mean, Vespasian – truly, I was as mean to you as only a full-blooded Sergeant of the New London Army could be – and you were as strong and sure and resolute as only a full-blooded Hohenzollern could be. Forgive me, Ic - Vespasian, for everything I did to you. For I only acted with your best interests at heart.”
Gus knelt before Icarus.
“Your Majesty, my Twin King, I am yours to command.”
Then Victor and Gus swept Icarus out of bed, and dressed him in a fine moth-silk shirt and a fine bat-twill suit, with purple silk socks and a purple pocket handkerchief. They sat him at a dre
sser of silver and mother-of-pearl, and Gus slicked his hair down with brilliantine cream.
“Now you are beginning to look the part, my brother! Well, I have had a first look at you. Now it is time for you to view our Kingdom…”
They led him down to the garage, where a slate-grey landau awaited. With Gus at the wheel they emerged into a sweeping gravel drive, and drove through gates of pale stone and finely wrought iron, out into Neufundland Kapital…
Icarus tried his best to take it all in. His first impression was one of greyness and sternness, with serious-looking folk in pale grey dresses, mid-grey school uniforms or dark grey suits, hurrying along to their serious homes, serious schools, or serious offices.
And then there were the black uniforms of the military. Sentries flanking the entrances of every important-looking building. Army trucks brimming with soldiers, waxen faced and anonymous under their gleaming black helmets, patrolling the streets. Senior officers in outsized black caps and outsized black greatcoats, carrying their outsized black briefcases to their next outsized meeting...
And everywhere Icarus looked there were posters, busts, statues of their leader, the blessed Father-Brother, Hermann Pilz…
“A vulgar little man”, sneered Victor, “A chicken farmer who swindled and murdered his way to power. A pygmy standing in the shoes of giants. A ruler whose rule is justified neither by a popular vote, nor the bloodline of a King...”
Back home, Victor showed Icarus the papers of the Constitutions.
“These are the oldest sets of laws of both countries, Above and Below – and look here:
‘The rightful rulers of the Twin Kingdoms, Above and Below, have been, are, and shall always be in perpetuity, the Twin Kings of the Unbroken Twin-Line…’”
Then Victor spread their family tree out across the table.
“The Hohenzollerns have an unbroken bloodline of twin sons stretching back for generations – always a pair of twin sons, one to rule Above, and one to rule Below. In every generation, a pair of twins…”
Icarus tried his best to keep up, but the multiplying lines of the family tree, and all those names written in fine copperplate script, began to blur before his eyes, and his vision was once again crowded with those dancing, glassy squibs. He felt that he had left his stomach, and possibly his mind, back in New London when he dropped. His world was turned upside down… but in an effort to keep everything the right way up, he decided to concentrate on the topic before him.
“Come on, Icarus, think…”
Then it occurred to him –
“But Victor – twins are rare. How could the Hohenzollerns come up with a pair of twin boys in every single generation?”
Victor smiled.
“A good question”, he said. “And the answer is a harem - a harem of wives and concubines for both Kings. So the first wife or concubine of either King to bear twins – well, they became the Twin Heirs to the Thrones…”
Icarus thought for a moment.
“So… if we are the Twin Heirs, and we come from an unbroken Twin-Line… how come we’re not Kings? How come this Father-Brother Hermann Pilz rules down here, and an elected democracy rules up there?”
“People”, spat Victor. “The masses, the ignorant uneducated herds of humanity… They can’t be trusted. Look what a mess they’ve made both Below and Above: a chicken farmer tyrant down here, and a so-called democracy up there…
But what have this tyranny and this democracy achieved? There’s no peace, just a pointless, bloody, costly war. My brother, do you see? There is only one way to bring peace to our countries, Above and Below:
The Twin Thrones are crying out for Kings to sit upon them again…
The Hohenzollern bloodline must be restored…
And you and I together, Twin Kings Victor and Vespasian, will bring peace to our peoples!”
17 – Brigadier Augustus
Icarus’s head was still spinning. He half suspected that his newly-discovered twin might be mad.
“Victor and Gus might have invented these Constitutions, drawn up these family trees, made up this whole elaborate saga, just for my benefit… What am I supposed to believe? Who am I supposed to trust?”
But Icarus kept these thoughts to himself. Outwardly he tried to follow Victor’s line of reasoning:
“So Victor – if we are the rightful Twin Kings, how are we going to persuade the peoples Above and Below to welcome us back to their Thrones? Maybe the people of New London would consider a Royal Restoration, or maybe not. But somehow I doubt that your rulers, this glorious Father-Brother and his friends in Neufundland, would suddenly roll over and hand power to you?”
Victor smiled. “Not without some encouragement... To that end, may I introduce – Brigadier Augustus Toughshank? Ah, I see you’ve already met… Yes, my brother, Gus is a Sergeant no more. Rather, when he is not performing undercover missions up Above, he commands a sizeable portion of the Army down Below. And we have many more sympathisers throughout the Army, Icarus – good men who hold to the old true ways, who loathe this verminous little usurper with his chicken drumstick accent, and his grimy gang of thieves – and who yearn for the Twin Kings to return…”
Icarus realised he had been missing the most obvious question:
“How did I end up, up there, while you have been living down here?”
“Kidnap”, said Victor. “A Shroom Raid came swarming down upon Brandenburg district, raiding these mansions around us, and seized hostages, including an infant. One of twins. Did they know who they were snatching, these Shroom Raiders? Or was it chance? I still don’t know. And just look at who rolled up to adopt you – the glorious and be-medalled General Willard Dwight Earthstar!”
“Adopted?” thought Icarus. Could I – could it be…?
Ahhh! What am I thinking? This brother of mine is mad… Clinically insane. Maybe Gus is really his psychiatrist. Maybe Victor ate a Deathcap fungus, or was bitten by a rabid bat, and the poison is eating holes in his brain…”
And then, at long last, the other obvious question occurred to him.
“Where are my friends? Biff Woodwax and Arla Scarletina? The captured Raiders?”
“Ach, Icarus! Your little friends Biff and Arla are being held in a Raider Prisoner of War camp. But my brother, these are little people. They need not concern you now. You are of the bloodline of Kings, and yours is a higher destiny…”
Icarus saw himself driving his fist into his brother’s face, breaking his cheekbone and causing blood to foam out of his nose and mouth… But instead he clenched his fist, and fought to keep his voice steady.
“But my brother, these ‘little’ people, as you say, are my friends. If I know they are safe, I will be better able to concentrate on more pressing things...”
Victor raised a lofty hand.
“Very well. His Majesty has spoken, and His Majesty has heard. Gus will arrange this little matter…”
Victor spoke quietly with Gus, and in moments he was gone. As they awaited his return, Victor continued:
“My brother, our two peoples want the Twin Kings. But some of them don’t know that they want the Twin Kings, and persist with foolish ideas of democracy, or the Father-Brother… I have established networks of believers Above and Below, and for years they have been working towards our cause – distributing Royalist pamphlets, spreading the Royalist word, speaking with sharp tongues and listening with sharp ears, on the lookout for other believers. You have probably seen the Three vVv’s painted or scratched or etched all over the place – the Three vVv’s for Victor and Vespasian V – or if you prefer, the third V could stand for Victory!”
Three hours later, Gus was back. He was moving stiffly, and more than once he raised his hand to gingerly prod at his shoulder.
“Success”, he said. “Biff and Arla are now being kept in a safe house in another part of the city. It’s too risky to bring them to you, Icarus. It’s too risky to try and contact them for now. And I wasn’t able to rescue the other
Raiders.”
Icarus was quiet for a time. At last, he nodded.
“So that’s that!” said Victor brightly. “Now, my brother, I am going to take you on a tour that I guarantee will surprise you…
… a tour that includes not one secret weapon, but two…
Come. Our landau awaits…”
18 – Secret Weapons
Within the bowels of the vast stalagmite of Neufundland were halls and chambers, barracks and armouries, police stations and prisons, factories and refineries beyond counting or sometimes, Icarus felt, comprehending. Companies of black-uniformed stormtroopers marched. Grey-uniformed policemen stood and watched. The people scurried to and fro in neat, drab conformity. And everywhere, everywhere were the posters and statues of the Father-Brother, Hermann Pilz, saluting, hailing, exhorting, watching… But as the landau paused in traffic, Victor pointed to a small mark on the pavement.
“See, Icarus? vVv – the Three vVv’s for Victor, Vespasian and Victory! Mark my words”, smiled Victor, “We have friends everywhere. And many of them wear uniforms of black and grey…”
As they continued through the city, the car radio played. It was the Neufundland Home Service, broadcasting a blend of strident military marching music, sentimental folk songs and starchy polkas, interspersed with dry public service announcements –
< … a spokesman for the Ministry of Agriculture is pleased to announce an 11% increase in mossmeal yields for this calendar year …>
< … the Ministry of Munitions reminds us all to donate our used pots and pans to our nearest collection centre. Metal means munitions! ...>
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