by Andre Norton
“He'll never accept the throne.”
“But, my dear Count, he will not be here to refuse, and our cry of the Duke for king will confuse the issue until we're safely out of the whole muddle, I, for one, find Morvania too confining anyhow. And I believe you gentlemen will be ready to follow me over the border. We can fill our pockets at the Treasury before we go.”
“But what will happen in the end?” asked the General.
“What do we care? We've made our pile and will be safely out of it. Do you agree to the plan?”
“Of course, of course,” they hastened to assure the Major.
“Then it's time for you to be off, General. Remember, Kamp first and then the Pala Horn. I wish you a very good night, gentlemen.”
They moved away and Michael Karl could no longer hear their voices. So they were going to start a revolution and a counter-revolution and then leave Morvania to her fate were they? Well, Michael Karl had a word or two to say on that subject. No wonder the Werewolf was so dead against the rulers. Now if the Werewolf and a choice assortment of his pack could be turned loose on Kamp and the rest of his ilk with special attention to Major Laupt—Michael Karl drew in his breath sharply. The Werewolf against the Council, the Werewolf to win! That was an idea.
Johann must be warned of course. He and Lukrantz might do something to stem the tide. And Michael Karl must get word to both of them. He arose stiffly from his aching knees and almost ran down the passage and the steps. Dropping his torch on the ledge he jammed down the lever viciously. The panel swung outward and he almost fell into the room.
“John!”
Michael Karl, dazed by the light, stared straight into the face of the American.
“Yes,” Michael Karl leaned against the desk, breathing heavily from his run, “I know the secret. Tell me, how do I reach the house of Duke Johann?”
“And what do you want with Duke Johann, boy?” From behind Ericson arose the bored gentleman in the drab uniform whom Michael Karl had seen at the Council table a short hour before.
“I want to tell you not to believe Oberdamnn,” said Michael Karl. He was no longer to be surprised at anything. Somehow it seemed very natural that the Duke should have been there very much at home and smoking one of the American's long cigarettes.
“Perhaps,” suggested the Duke pushing forward a chair, “you had better sit down and tell us the whole story.”
He was in command now, and Ericson was back in the shadow where Michael Karl couldn't see his face.
So Michael Karl told the whole story, the discovery of the passage by chance, the loss of the letter (he produced and laid it on the desk before the American), his second trip, and what he had overheard in the council chamber. They were very quiet when he had finished. The Duke was leaning back in his chair, blowing one perfect smoke ring after another while Ericson had shaded his eyes with his hand.
“So Oberdamnn is the bait and Laupt the trap. Well, well,” remarked the Duke, “the passage has served us welt after all. And who may you be?” He turned to Michael Karl.
In answer Michael Karl pulled the diamond Cross from beneath his shirt. “I thought once that I had some small right to wear this.”
The Duke's eyebrows were raised very high. “So you are the pretender?”
Michael Karl nodded. “I never wanted to rule,” he said as if to himself.
“You won't have to,” the Duke assured him. “Laupt has a good story, and the queer thing about it is that it is true. Urlich Karl is still alive.”
Ericson made a swift movement with his hand, and the Duke stopped.
“I think,” said the American abruptly, “that enough has been said. Here,” he pulled a small black book from the drawer before him and pushed it across the desk towards Michael Karl, “is your passport. The sooner you leave Morvania the better for all concerned. There is money for your passage inside that.”
Michael Karl fingered the book. “Then,” he said very slowly, “you wish to get rid of me?”
“In your own words,” returned the American coldly, “you wish to be free of Morvania. It is better that you go now. You have done us a great service for which we thank you.”
Michael Karl picked up the passport and opened it. He returned to the desk top the thick wad of paper gruden which was inside. The American wanted him out of it. That hurt.
“Thank you for the passport,” he was looking down for he was afraid of what he might do if he saw the American's face. “I do not need the money. This also belongs to some one else.” He unhooked the Cross and laid it beside the money. “You will give all the thanks I want if you will return it to the owner. The curse is working, it seems.”
He stuffed the passport into his hip pocket and started for the door, only to turn again just before he went out. “The Werewolf might be of more help than you think,” he suggested.
So the American was through with him. Well, he couldn't expect much else after what had happened to the letter and the secret passage. There was really nothing he had to pack, but he had better get his tunic, it was cold walking. And since he had refused the American's money, he would have to leave Morvania on his own two feet. He mounted the stairs.
This then was where adventuring got you. You might save a kingdom, but you lost your best friend. He wondered what Urlich Karl was like and wished a bit wistfully that he might have seen his cousin. His tunic was on the chair.
Something in an inner pocket rustled when he picked the coat up. His investigating fingers found a scrap of paper. It was a sketch the American had once made of him in the armor of a knight. He had laughingly assured Michael Karl that he looked just like one of the crusading Karloffs and had proved his point by sketching the picture from memory with Michael Karl's face above the breast-plate. Michael Karl folded it carefully and tucked it away again.
“Michael Karl.”
Michael Karl started. By the door of his room the American stood very tall and straight.
“Where are you going?”
Michael Karl shrugged. “America, of course. I came from there.”
“Why won't you take that money?”
“Really, you know, I am not used to being paid to get out when I'm not wanted.”
“Do you believe that?”
Michael Karl didn't answer. He wished that the American would get away from the door so he could get out.
“You know you don't believe that.” This time it was a statement instead of a question.
Michael Karl refused to look at him. He turned and was staring out of the window at the domed roof of the Cathedral.
“You know that I want you, but not against your will. I guessed your name and rank from the first and, well, you see you wouldn't trust me, and I have a devil of a temper. I didn't mean what I said downstairs. We do need you badly.”
Michael Karl refused to believe. There was the matter of the secret passage.
As if reading his thoughts the American continued, “That was the best thing that ever happened to our cause, when you found the passage and stumbled on the meeting. Will you stay? We haven't much to offer,” the American laughed shortly, “and the whole wild thing may end with us blindfolded before a firing squad, but it will be fun while it lasts. I suppose that I shouldn't urge you into it”—
Michael Karl turned on him. “Of course I'm in it. I've been in from the first and loved every minute of it, although I didn't realize it until just now. And,” he added eagerly, “I really can obey orders.”
The American laughed. “I shall believe that miracle when I see it. Now come down and join us. The Duke is very much interested in you. And we have another gentleman coming to see us, a Herr Lukrantz.”
“He's the newspaper man,” nodded Michael Karl.
The American stared at him in surprise. “Is there anything you don't know?” he asked.
Michael Karl nodded. “Where is Urlich Karl?”
“That,” said Ericson as they went down the stairs, “is just what we would all like
to know.
“The Council's men did not get him. It appears they blame the whole business on the Werewolf. They don't stop to consider,” he spoke very slowly emphasizing every word, “that the Werewolf never appeared until a month after Urlich Karl vanished.”
“But the Werewolf himself told me”—protested Michael Karl.
“What? That Urlich Karl was murdered in a private quarrel, and he only hinted at that if I remember rightly what you told me. It looks very much as if the Werewolf wants Urlich Karl dead just as badly as we want him alive.”
“Quite right.” The Duke was standing before the fire waiting for them. “The Werewolf wants him dead. Does that suggest anything to Your Highness?”
Michael Karl's only idea seemed too wild to tell. “Perhaps”—he ventured—“perhaps there is some connection between the Werewolf and the Prince.”
Duke Johann smiled, and the American laughed. “You guessed what it took Johann months to discover. The Werewolf either is Urlich Karl or some one very near to him. He got into communication with our party for the first time a month ago.”
“Those were the mysterious green letters,” explained the American.
“You say that Kafner and Laupt want me out of Rein for the week?” asked the Duke.
Michael Karl nodded.
“Then I'll go, quite publicly, so that a great crowd can testify to my going. Can you spare me a bed and a place at your table for the rest of the week?” He turned to the American.
“Gladly,” Ericson answered. “You can use the secret passage too, no extra charge.”
The Duke arose lazily. “That last is too tempting. I accept. You may expect a mysterious visitor soon after nightfall to-morrow. And now I must take my leave. Tell Lukrantz, when he comes, that the papers he wants concerning Cobentz's latest activities are waiting for his messenger in the usual place. I am glad,” he smiled at Michael Karl, “that Your Highness had been persuaded to join us. And now, gentlemen, good-night. If you should happen to look about nine to-morrow you will see me departing for the mountains. I can assure you that my exit will be worth watching.”
“We'll be standing behind the curtains in the drawing room,” Ericson assured him.
The Duke laughed and left them.
“There,” said Ericson, “goes the brains of the Royalist Party in Rein. He has played the hardest sort of a double game for the last nine months. There hasn't been a minute of the day or night that he hasn't been ready to feel the prick of a dagger between his shoulders. And yet, to hear him talk, you would believe that all of this has been the most amusing sort of sport.”
“I like him,” said Michael Karl impulsively.
Ericson nodded. “The only people who don't are a few worthies whom you saw this evening. That Council, with the exception of Lukrantz and Johann, is a gathering of the biggest bunch of crooks in the country.
“Oberdamnn is just an inefficient bungler who uses his position for what he can get out of it and who is afraid of his own shadow. Kafner wants power. He would be perfectly happy as a prime minister under some figurehead king. Laupt is just plain wolf and the nastiest one of the crowd.
“The Archbishop is pretty old, and I don't think he knows what it's all about even yet. They promised him some lands which the Church and the State have been quarreling over for the past two centuries, so he's satisfied.
“Kamp wants revolution, the bloodier the better. In his dreams he sees himself a sort of Morvanian Lenin. Though the truth about Kamp is that he really believes the stuff he preaches and that makes him dangerous.
“Then we come to Cobentz. He is an example of everything a nobleman should not be. There are some very black stories about him, and we have proof that more than half of them are true. He made a fortune out of the Laubcrantz sulphur mines, but I should hate to have to tell how he mistreated his slavelike working people to do it. His own class will have nothing to do with him with the exception of one or two petty nobles of his own sort. The throne is his goal, of course. He has Karloff blood. And he's as dangerous as a cornered rat because he never fights in the open. His enemies are apt to be found in some dark street with a dagger between their shoulders or just disappear altogether.”
Michael Karl was remembering something, something which the Werewolf had flung at him as a taunt. “Did Cobentz ever have anything to do with a building called the ‘Lion Tower'?” he asked.
The American jumped to his feet, and strode down the room. When he returned to answer, his voice was curiously muffled.
“The Lion Tower is his military command, and as long as the Council is ruling he has full power there. What goes on behind its walls is one of the many things he will answer for some day. What do you know of the Lion Tower?”
“When the Werewolf was questioning me, he ac- cused me of being responsible for something which happened there,” explained Michael Karl.
“The taking of that tower is Johann's job. Whatever secrets it conceals will be known then. But I think that the Werewolf will enjoy meeting ‘ Cobentz if he gets the chance,” said the American softly. “And let us hope he gets it soon.”
There was a timid rap at the great doors, and at Ericson's loud “Come in,” Jan sidled around.
“Dominde, the Dominde Lukrantz is here.”
“Show him in,” the American commanded in a voice which sent the little man almost running from the room.
Lukrantz bustled in. His hair was just as ruffled and his eyes were blazing just as they had been in the Council Chamber. He carried a fat brief-case which he dropped on the nearest chair as he entered.
“Good evening,” he nodded towards them both.
“Sit down, Herr Lukrantz. We are both more than glad to see you. This is High Highness, Prince Michael Karl.”
Even Ericson had to laugh at the open-mouthed wonder of the man.
“Yes, it's perfectly true,” he said answering the bewildered look Lukrantz gave him. “His Highness is one of us. Now doesn't that sound just like a secret society of bomb throwers? We should all be wearing beards or black masks. Yes, His Highness is one of us and he brought us some very interesting news this evening. You may tell your story again, boy.”
Thus encouraged, Michael Karl told the story of the secret passage and what he had overheard there for the second time that evening.
“Watch out, Lukrantz, they're after your hide now,” said the American when he had finished. “Johann is going to fall in with their plans. He is leaving the city to-morrow.”
“But—” Lukrantz had begun to protest.
“He is coming back again,” Ericson interrupted to reassure him. “In fact I believe that if you visited us to-morrow evening you would find him sitting right here. It is you we will have to watch out for.”
Lukrantz smiled grimly. “I'm taking every precaution I can until after the sixteenth.” He turned to Ericson with pathetic eagerness, “You are sure Urlich Karl will strike then?”
“He has given his word. Unless something happens to hasten matters, you may print the proclamation I gave you on the morning of the sixteenth. And by nightfall Rein will be Urlich Karl's.”
Lukrantz sighed. “It is almost too much to hope for. And now to business. I have those plans you wanted of the mountain forts.”
He reached for his brief-case and ruffled through the many papers it contained until he found two flimsy slips covered with meaningless wiggly lines.
“Good!” applauded Ericson. “And with some information I got this morning”— He turned to Michael Karl. “Will you please get the horse trader's letter and that map of the northern pass which came in this morning. And with this information,” he continued, “our success in this part of the country is assured. I shall send it on to-night.”
Lukrantz eyed the steel files almost with awe. “There is more material in there about Morvania than was ever gathered together by any one man before. The thing's a treasure chest.”
“That is the advantage of being a prospective author. The cabin
et stays there day in and day out, dusted by a housemaid every morning, and no one would believe me if I told them that there is information in there which would wipe a kingdom off the map.
“And now,” he spread the papers Michael Karl had handed him out on his desk, “let's see what our allies over the mountains will need.”
Chapter IX
In Which Two Plot And One Acts
Michael Karl missed Duke Johann's grand exit the next morning for the simple reason that he overslept. So if Ericson watched from behind the drawing-room curtain he watched alone, but Michael Karl had cause to believe that the American was far from the drawing-room curtains at the moment when the Duke's car purred down the Pala Horn.
When he as last dashed guiltily down the stairs, Michael Karl found the dining room empty and the table cleared, but for a note addressed to him in the American's sprawling hand.
I am sorry I can't be there to see Johann make his exit [he read], but I have gone to beard a certain wolf in his den. Should you have cause to reach me suddenly, send a messenger to the flower market on the bridge. At the far end is a lame man selling shrubs. The messenger is to ask for yellow roses, and the man will reply that he has none. Then the messenger will say: “Yellow roses need the sun.” The answer will be: “The sun rises on the sixteenth.” Simple, isn't it, and quite melodramatic. But you see, Michael Karl, you quite stepped out of modern life when you chose to complicate matters by becoming a pretender to the throne in Morvania. And I think that the above ritual matches well with secret passages and werewolves. Don't you agree with me?
And now I really must be off. If you find time too heavy on your hands, you may amuse yourself copying the material in the second drawer of the library desk. Console Johann for my absence and leave everything to him. Shall I give your regards to the Werewolf?
Yours in haste,
F.E.
Michael Karl memorized the formula of the sun and the yellow roses while he finished his lonely breakfast. He rather wistfully wondered what Ericson was doing in the mountains as he went into the library to busy himself with the contents of the second drawer.
