by Andre Norton
His cousin smiled ruefully. “I did make it rather strong, didn't I? I had some hopes you would take the hint and go back to America. We were going to give you your choice the next day between imprisonment and a ticket back to America. And then you complicated things by escaping.
“The Pack were afraid that you'd get far enough down the valley to arouse the frontier posts. Those near shots weren't misses, my men can shoot better than that even at night, they were warnings. When you banged in on me I didn't know what to do, but you made it so plain that you were sick of Morvania that I decided to see you through the mess.”
“Why didn't you tell me who you were and let me out of the whole thing right then?”
“Well,” Urlich Karl hesitated and then smiled shyly, “I rather liked what I saw of you and I didn't want to lose you right away. Royal princes are very lonely people, Michael Karl. I never in my life had a friend near my own age. Even when I went to school I was not allowed to mix with the rest of the boys because they weren't my equals in rank. And then when you came—”
“You decided to put up with me,” finished Michael Karl triumphantly. “I should think you were sick of your bargain by now,” he added laughingly.
“I have never once regretted your coming,” answered the King slowly, and Michael Karl felt very happy all of a sudden.
“You know the rest of the story until we parted at the camp. I'll say Frankly that I never expected that you would have any trouble taking the Cathedral Square—”
“Or you would never have allowed me to do it,” said Michael Karl shrewdly.
“Right you are,” admitted Urlich Karl. “Do you think I want to lose you, of all people?”
“We had no trouble getting into the city. The people were with us, they had no taste for Cobentz. It wasn't until we took the Fortress that their forces concentrated upon holding the Cathedral Square. There was some little resis- tance at the head of the Pala Horn, but my wolves were old hands at the game, and we were through quickly.
“Jan was scared stiff when we came banging in upon him. He was with Breck and Kanda at the door, and they were prepared to sell their lives dearly. I shall never forget the dear man's face when I lifted my wolf mask.”
“So you used the secret passage?”
“Yes. It was beautifully simple. The hall, the throne room, and the gun room were ours before they noticed and some officers who were secretly loyal helped us corner the ammunition supply. We were holding the Fortress, precariously, but still holding it, within ten minutes. Cobentz was down in the city somewhere and my men couldn't find Laupt, Kafner or the General. I couldn't detach too many to search and there were lots of bolt-holes that we stopped too late.
“Grimvich got up to us, and then I breathed easier. It's no fun trying to hold a place of this size with a hundred men. He told me about the difficulties in the Square, and I was preparing to send you reinforcements when the news came that the Cathedral was taken.
“Thanks to you all I had to do was put Cobentz and the rest under lock and key. And then you ended the whole thing by passing out peacefully. You gave me a bad five minutes then, boy.”
“Then the fighting is over?” asked Michael Karl.
“If you could step out on your balcony this minute you would see flags and other signs of rejoicing all over the place. Yes, our war has been won. Feeling rather disappointed, aren't you? But you had your storming of the Cathedral, and you mustn't be greedy.”
“What of the Lion Tower?”
Urlich Karl's answer was grim. “We freed certain prisoners who will take pleasure in seeing the end of Cobentz. It seems that he did not have nerve enough to kill those he hated if they were highly placed, he just kept them in his dungeons. There is much of a medieval tyrant about Cobentz.”
The King leaned back against the bed post and traced a raised design on the velvet cover with his finger.
“Have you any idea what you are going to do now?” he asked without looking up.
Michael Karl shook his head. He had a queer disappointed feeling as if he had made some wonderful plans, but when he came to act upon them found that they weren't so wonderful after all. Drearily he supposed it was what was called “reaction.”
“You'll stay on until after the coronation won't you?” asked his cousin.
“Do you think,” replied Michael Karl, “that I would miss seeing you on the throne after I had worked as hard as I have to put you there?”
The King gave a little sigh, perhaps of relief, and when he looked up his eyes were full of the old time dancing lights.
“Then, that is off my mind,” he said a little hastily. “If we can locate Laupt—”
“Why, Your Majesty?”
Urlich Karl swung around and Michael Karl sat bolt upright. The guard in the wolf skin had lifted his head from his arm and was eyeing them coolly. Michael Karl had seen those black, deeply sunken eyes and thin cruel lips before.
“Laupt!” said the King very softly.
“Just so,” said the Major with a twisted smile. “I wouldn't look at that bell cord if I were you, Your Majesty. If you wish to reach for it. do, and I shall be forced to shoot. Not at you, of course, but at His Highness.”
The dull colored revolver in his hand swung up a trifle until it pointed straight at Michael Karl's bandaged head.
“I am a crack shot, Your Majesty.”
“What do you want?” There was ice below the smoothness of the King's voice.
“Just your signature on this, Your Majesty.” He held out a slip of paper and, as Urlich Karl hesitated, he added, “By all means read it, you will not find it unreasonable.”
Urlich Karl read it swiftly and passed it to his cousin. It was a pass for three beyond the lines and over the border.
“And if I refuse?”
Laupt smiled again, and Michael Karl leaned back on his pillows. Laupt's smile was anything but a pleasant sight.
“I don't think you will. Unless you sign that I haven't a chance, and I know it. My life is forfeit to the Crown. Under those conditions,” he spoke very slowly, straight at Urlich Karl, “under those conditions what is there to prevent my firing one shot? Just one shot, Your Majesty, and I promise that you will not be touched.”
“I agree,” answered Urlich Karl clearly.
“I thought you would,” purred Laupt.
“But what is there to prevent my countermanding this the moment you have left us?”
“Nothing, Your Majesty. But there is nothing either to prevent my leaving certain instructions. I still have followers in the Bargo for all your cleaning up. If you value your cousin's life, you will give me three hours’ start, Your Majesty.”
Urlich Karl went over to the table and opened the drawer. There was a quill pen and a bottle of half-dried ink.
Then Michael Karl found his voice. “Don't do it,” he commanded. “It's a bluff.”
“So.” Laupt pulled the trigger. There was a faint pop and something scorched Michael Karl's cheek and bored a round hole in the pillow.
“The next time,” said Laupt, “I shall fire a little to the right.”
Michael Karl touched his cheek. A few drops of blood sprinkled his pajama collar.
“You don't dare,” he said to Laupt.
The man paid no attention to him. “Sign,” he commanded roughly.
Urlich Karl dipped his pen in the ink. For a fraction of a second Laupt's eye wavered. Then Michael Karl saw. Behind Laupt the door was opening inch by inch. The King was taking a long time over his signature, and Michael Karl knew that he knew.
From the half-open door, hands shot out and caught Laupt by the throat. At Urlich Karl's warning cry Michael Karl flung himself forward face down while a bullet made a black hole in the hollow of the pillow where his head had rested. The shaggy fur pelt kept the attacker from getting a good hold on Laupt's throat and the man was attempting to fire again, this time at Urlich Karl. He was desperate. As he had told Urlich Karl, he knew that there was no mercy f
or him, and another death more or less meant nothing to him.
Urlich Karl dropped lightly to the floor and then made a sudden tackle. The heavy chair went over with a crash and Laupt's assailants went down with him. There was a confused jumble on the floor and then a shot. One of the struggling figures rolled back limply.
The King arose panting and after him one of the Foreign Legion stumbled to his feet. Laupt lay grinning up at them, a shred of gray cloth between his set teeth. He had fought like an animal. Urlich Karl picked up the gun and tossed it on the table. It fell with a faint clang.
“Is he—?” questioned Michael Karl.
His cousin nodded. “Yes, he's dead and it's better all around. Get him out of here, Langley.”
The soldier saluted and then dragged and pushed the body into the hall. An officer rapped at the half-open door, and at the King's command he entered.
“The airplane has disappeared, Your Majesty,” he reported. “We have found a boy who saw two men getting into it, and we have reason to believe that they were Count Kafner and General Oberdamnn.”
“Thank you,” the King answered curtly. “You will, of course, advise the frontier posts. But,” he added, more to himself than to the officer, “I don't think we'll hear of either of them again.”
When the officer had tramped out he turned to Michael Karl. “So they double-crossed him. He staked everything on his chance, and that pass was made out for the three of them. And while he was here they deserted them. Laupt had courage. Had he had as much loyalty to the throne as he had to his worthless friends, he would have supported me as staunchly as Johann.
“Kamp is dead, and so is Laupt. Oberdamnn and Kafner are beyond our justice, and I think that they will not be eager to return. The revolution is finished. The yellow roses will find the sun very nourishing.”
“It was fun,” said Michael Karl a bit wistfully, “while it lasted.”
The cut on his cheek throbbed. “I say, won't I look the proper ruffian at your coronation if both these things,” he motioned toward either cheek, “leave scars?”
“We'll have to see about that.” Urlich Karl stepped lightly over and pulled at the bell cord.
As in the old days Jan answered it, but a transformed Jan. A white wig framed his round smooth face and a maroon, gold-laced coat pinched in his plump shoulders. He beamed on them like an amiable frog.
“Ask Dr. Wooner to step here,” Urlich Karl ordered. With the familiar bob of his head Jan disappeared.
“It seems like home to see Jan,” said Michael Karl.
“Then the house on the Pala Horn was home to you?”
“Of course,” answered Michael Karl.
Urlich Karl hesitated, but before he could speak, Jan sidled in and announced:
“Dr. Wooner.”
The King stepped forward to meet the man in the gray uniform of the Foreign Legion.
“My cousin has had another accident,” he explained laughingly, “and he is worried for fear it will spoil his beauty. Reassure him, Doctor.”
Michael Karl promptly ran out his tongue as far as it would go at His Majesty, the King of Morvania.
Chapter XIV
The Last Of Cobentz And Co.
Michael Karl pulled back his shoulders so that the wrinkles across the breast of his black tunic smoothed out nicely, and reached out for the silk sash which took the place of a sword belt.
“Very nice, v-e-r-y nice,” he drawled. “Don't you think so, Urich?”
The tall youngster whose black tunic matched Michael Karl's own agreed vehemently.
“And now I'll trouble you for that Cross if you please. I can't seem to get rid of the thing.”
Urich handed him the Cross of Sebastian. Michael Karl glanced around the luxurious room and then at his own sable and gold magnificence.
“Not much like the last time I wore it,” he observed and leaned forward a little to look closely into the mirror. On one cheek was the faint pink mark which showed the path of Laupt's bullet and which Dr. Wooner had assured him would disappear altogether in a couple of weeks. But nothing would ever erase the white scar which the skirmish on the Avenue had given him.
The scar wasn't the only change on his face. It was a little thinner and a great deal older. He was becoming quite grown up.
“Admiring your beauty?” Urich jumped to attention as the King, with Johann lounging at his heel as sleepy as ever, entered.
Michael Karl colored. “You would say that,” he began.
“But you really do look charming, my boy.” The King raised an imaginary eyeglass and surveyed him through it. “That uniform is very becoming. You should always wear black.”
Michael Karl put his forefingers in the corners of his eyes and pulled them down at the same time making his tongue protrude, the whole making a perfectly disgusting face. The King eyed him a moment and then—
“I can do much better than that,” he said and proceeded to do it.
Duke Johann spoke languidly. “Of course, I have no intention of interrupting Your Majesty, but we have business at ten and”—he glanced at his watch, not the one he had lent to Michael Karl, for that had been hopelessly smashed during the fight on the steps, but another which that young gentleman had sent him—“it is almost the hour now.”
“I have heard my master’s voice,” laughed the King and running his arm through Michael Karl’s he led the way out of the room.
“What’s all the excitement about?” asked Michael Karl. His cousin grew serious.
“We are going to see the last of Cobentz and Co.”
They passed down wide halls and corridors adding to their train of brilliant attendants every minute. Sentries presented arms with a crash and jingle of metal which sounded and resounded through the halls. Powdered footmen bent almost double. It was all very exciting.
“Quite like a circus parade, isn’t it?” whispered the King. “All we need is an elephant or two. Thank goodness you’re here, I don’t know what I’d do without you for a safety valve. And here we are.”
They paused before a great door which two footmen jumped to open. An elderly gentleman in a black satin court suit with a gold rod of office in his hand stepped forward.
“His Majesty, Urlich Karl Franz Erich Roaul, by the Grace of God, King of Morvania, Overlord of the Seven Provinces, and Grand Duke of Rein!”
There was a distant murmur from the other side of the door where the gentleman in black was standing. Michael Karl could see his back and his arms move as he raised his staff of office the second time.
“His Highness, Michael Karl Johann Stefan Rene Erich Marie, Prince of Rein!”
The King stepped forward. His face had smoothed into a mask, and he had become another and rather terrifying person. The man in black satin moved aside and they were standing inside the door at the head of a flight of stairs, Michael Karl the regulation two paces behind the King.
They were in a great paneled hall overhung by two crowded galleries. Down either side, with a red carpeted aisle between, were arranged two lines of high-backed carven chairs and at the end of the hall was a dais upon which stood a solitary throne-like chair, A little to one side was a second chair a step lower and before the whole a long table with a bench at either end.
“The Judgment Hall of Rein,” Urich whispered.
The men who had occupied the side chairs were standing as were the throngs in the packed galleries. Sweeping down the steps the King walked down the center aisle and took his seat on the throne. Michael Karl, he motioned toward the chair a step lower.
On the table below the King’s dais lay a sheathed sword, a ponderous two-handed thing from the days of the Crusades. Beside it lay a simple peeled willow wand which Johann now reached for. The King nodded his head, and there was a rustle as all in the hall seated themselves.
Johann stepped out into the center aisle.
“Let the prisoner enter,” he called.
At a side door there was the clink of arms and two men, whose gree
n tunics were embroidered with black wolf heads, stepped in, Cobentz between them. Like a sleep-walker he stared straight before him, and one of the guards had to guide him into position before Johann.
The Duke began to speak.
“In the early days when the ruling Duke traveled through all Morvania, giving justice to all who asked it of him, the Courts of Rein were in the open fields and men brought peeled willow wands as a sign of pleading at those courts. Do you, Henri Charles, wish to plead before the Courts of Rein?”
Like one moving in a dream the Marquisa took the willow wand from Johann and turned to face the assembly.
“My lords and gentlemen,” he said in a high thin voice, “I, by my birthright as a Lord of the Court, demand to be tried by my fellow Lords before the High Court of Rein.”
Then he faced around once more and tossed the stick on the table so that it fell across the sword.
“The charge.” commanded the Duke.
A tall man in a white curled wig and a plain black gown arose from one of the table benches and produced a rolled parchment.
“It is stated,” he began to read aloud in a dry crackling voice, “that during the year of the regency of the High Council of Rein, Henri Charles, born Marquisa and Lord of Cobentz, did wrongly and wantonly conspire against the person of the Crown Prince and against the rule of the regents by inciting rebellion, and while under arms during such a rebellion, this same Henri Charles did wickedly and malicously put to death His Grace, the Archbishop of Rein.”
The thin man rolled up his parchment with a snap and retired to his seat.
“What does the prisoner plead?” asked the Duke.
Another bewigged and gowned figure arose from the opposite side of the table and replied in a hoarse voice: “He pleads not guilty, Your Grace.”
“Prisoner before the High Court of Rein, are you prepared to stand trial?”
Cobentz muttered inaudibly and took his seat in a chair at one side. The Duke turned to the throne.
“The prisoner is ready for trial, Your Majesty.”
“Then call the witnesses,” commanded Urlich Karl.
