Grasping for the Crowns (The Powers Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  “I’d be more concerned about the damn Communists,” General Egon Zemanek growled. “Pilsen, Vienna, Budapest, Prague in January, where else are those damn traitors going to show their heads? I don’t know what is worse, fighting the Russian hordes or street fighting reds from building to building.”

  István blinked. “Was it that bad, General? I saw part of the attempt in Budapest, outside parliament, and heard rumors about Vienna.”

  “I was in Vienna. Blood in the streets, red banners on buildings, snipers trying to pick off soldiers and policemen from the windows of apartment buildings, bombs thrown at the army from factory windows, barricades that could have come from Paris in 1871, according to what I’ve read. The Emperor ordered the gates to the inner city locked for the first time since 1848. We killed those we could, arrested the ones we couldn’t kill, broke up the riots, and tried to keep from burning down the city. Bastards.” The long-necked, square-faced man did not sound happy, and István could guess why. He’d never fought house-to-house, but the very idea made him shiver.

  “Did outsiders start it, General, or does anyone know yet?”

  “Some outsiders, mostly from Berlin and Poland by the sound of them. Some Austrians and Bohemians. The usual group of rabble and radicals.” General Zemanek adjusted his wire-rim glasses. “Damn fools.”

  Von Tischwitz snorted. “I trust they will all swing for their treason.”

  “Will they, Your Grace?” István raised a cautioning hand. “The true traitors, absolutely, but what about the deluded fools who did not realize what the leaders intended? I’ve read some of the Communist pamphlets and papers, Your Grace, General. How many groups are promising better pay and working conditions, shorter hours, and peace? The Social Democrats for one, and they’ve been calling for reform without revolution since what, the 1880s?”

  “You support them, Count Eszterházy?”

  István snorted in turn. “Not in the least. I think even the Social Democrats are at best well meaning and sorely mistaken in their understanding of how the world works. But if every worker who ever grumbled about going on strike for better pay swings, who will produce our shells and rail cars?”

  Zemanek shook his head. “You’ve grown soft, Colonel. But I suspect His Majesty will make an offer to keep the rabble from turning the idiots into martyrs of some kind. Life in prison at hard labor would do.”

  The train passed through a tunnel and István waited until the light returned to answer. “No doubt, General. No doubt.”

  Major Pavl von Kaltenborn made his way between the seats, holding on for balance as the train passed around a curve. “Your pardon Your Grace, my lord Colonel, General.”

  “Yes?” Duke von Tischwitz tipped his head up so he could look down his nose at the major.

  “A message for General Zemanek.”

  “If you will excuse me.” The general got to his feet and followed his aide to the front of the car. How does someone with such a long face and neck come by such a short body, István wondered. The general looked mismatched, as if the Lord had put pieces together in a moment of distraction.

  Once they reached the station, István took his time crossing the platform. It felt good to get off the train and walk, even for a few meters. The day had turned warm despite the cool east breeze. It was April, after all. In fact, as he looked around, he saw a few brave trees and bushes blooming. Horses waited alongside motorcars, and István smiled. He knew which he preferred to risk his neck on. He mounted with a little of his old grace, checked the gelding’s fidget, and followed their guide from the military train station, down a long kilometer of tree-lined road, to the outermost wall of the enormous star fortress. A few men walked along the top of the first set of bastions, and the guards on duty saluted as the army and civilian men rode through the first gate. The fortress commander, Marshal Julius Freiherr Langer von Langerode, met them inside the first massive portal. As he waited for those in the cars to catch up, István sniffed, but did not smell anything too foul—a good sign.

  More soldiers met them as they rode past the thick, low, stone-and-brick walls and into the main bulk of the camp. Marshal von Langerode pointed with his baton. “Hospital there, classrooms there for those who still have trouble with reading and writing more than their name. Her Majesty insisted,” he sighed. “Parade ground.” The church of St. Leopold sat not far from the officers’ barracks. “There’s space for the Protestants to worship near the enlisted canteen.” Inside the walls and out of the breeze, the sun felt even warmer, and the soldiers passing to and fro walked straighter. The wind couldn’t find the holes and worn places in their clothes inside the walls, István knew.

  General Zemanek appeared pleased with what he saw. István was not unhappy. He assumed that things had been tidied and painted to look good for the visitors, but some things, like bad sanitation and overcrowding, could not be hidden so easily, and those appeared well in hand. The soldiers in sight wore a mix of uniforms in grey, faded blue, and some in the new forest green, all of them shabby but clean, and as well dressed as possible given the shortages. No one lacked boots or shoes, much to the observers’ relief.

  Col. Richard Finkel, riding beside István, had a dark cloud over his head that grew darker the more they inspected the camp and fortress. The classrooms and indoor plumbing in the infirmary especially irritated him. “I need these men in the south,” he growled at last. “All of them, now. Pampering soldiers leads to nothing but weakness and poor discipline under fire. If the men are healthy, they should be on the Italian front, or in Serbia.”

  “Indeed, Colonel?” István dismounted, handing the skinny gelding’s reins to a waiting private.

  “Indeed.” Finkel slapped his riding whip against the top of his boot. “Those who are fit should be fighting, those who are not should go home and work. Anything else will rot the Army.”

  “Hmm.” Then why are you here, Colonel? You, too, should be at the front, by your own words.

  Duke Tischwitz had overheard Finkel’s acidic comment. “You favor taking men from the front lines and sending them home without rest, Colonel?”

  “That is what their homes are for, is it not? Your Grace.”

  István wanted to shake his head, and to shake a little sense into the other officer. Instead His Grace took up the task. “You are aware that the men eat better in the army than most civilians do, because of the rationing in place? And that they have better clothes and medical care?” Tischwitz’s voice, although quiet, cut through the comings and goings around them.

  “As they should. But it gives them more incentive to start work as soon as they are able, and to stay in the army, Your Grace.”

  “Their families might not agree with your idea, Colonel,” István said.

  Finkel raised his black eyebrows and looked indignant. “All the more reason to once again prevent married men from enlisting, Eszterházy. And to stop coddling them with classes about reading anything but German, and even then strictly what they need for the army. Too much education ruins soldiers and laborers alike. Makes them soft.”

  And you just explained why Her Majesty was so insistent that His Majesty order the army to have a school here. And why we’ve been learning how to fight all over again. Thank God we were not facing the French or British. Although the way their senior officers go through men, it probably balances out. Brave soldiers led by asses and idiots. Of which he had once been one, although never as bad as Finkel, István thought.

  “Soft like you, Eszterházy,” Finkel added, ignoring Duke Tischwitz’s furious look and István’s growing anger.

  “You overstep the bounds, Colonel,” General Zemanek said. Finkel spun around and saluted. “Colonel Count Eszterházy served during the initial Russian advances, survived the siege of Premysl despite severe injuries, and continues to serve the army and Crown despite his injuries. His Grace Archduke Thomas, God rest his soul, spoke highly of him.”

  “Ah. I see, sir. Thank you for the correction, sir.” But the lo
ok Finkel shot István contained pure poison, and István knew another enemy had added himself to the list.

  The rest of the visit passed quietly and well. Those men destined for the Italian Front did not exude joy at the prospect, but the ones the observers spoke with accepted the necessity of going south. All the men wanted to go home as soon as possible. General Zemanek and Duke Tischwitz read statements of thanks from His Majesty and reminded the men that they would be released based on time in service, a decision the army officers had grumbled about. They hated losing their most experienced men, and István suspected more than a few records had been altered in order to keep experienced NCOs on the line. He understood why it had been done, but did not entirely approve. However, the camp appeared in order and all seemed to be going as well as could be managed, given the situation.

  István studied his notes on the trip back to Budapest and sorted out what he’d pass along to Archduke Rudolph and the others. That the men wanted to go home immediately, of course, but also that most understood that a slight delay might be for the best, or at least seemed willing to tolerate it. He’d also mention that even those destined to go to the Italian Front appreciated the time to rest and recover from their collisions with the Russians and Romanians. What would the Americans’ declaration of war mean, some of the soldiers had asked. István did not know, other than nothing good. “This would be over, except for the Germans,” several had murmured, and István agreed, but privately.

  The committee had also looked at the POW camp for Russians not far from Teschen. The proximity to the rest camp served as a powerful inducement for the Russian soldiers to behave, and the camp commander, General Draguitn Csoban, said, “We use the camp for propaganda, sirs, my lords. The Russians know how well we treat our men, and we’ve let the men on the other side of the line know as well. They don’t like the contrast, and the Russian army is dissolving like sugar in coffee.” That the Austrians had fended off the German demands to strip Ukraine as well as Galicia of its grain helped too. Although, István thought, looking out at the green-fuzzed wheat fields and empty pastures, the Russians might soon be pleading to stay, if the stories about the fighting in the cities proved true. In which case the Austrians and the new Polish government would need to be ready to keep the civil war from spilling out across the rest of Eastern Europe.

  The Russian and Ruthene troops also muttered about the imperials “coddling the Jews” in Galicia and Ukraine, something that made István roll his eyes. Apparently not tolerating pogroms and looting equaled “special treatment” and “favors” for Jews. As little as he cared for the Jews as a group, István could not see any point in allowing them to be looted at whim. Besides, some of them proved to be very good doctors and had fought alongside the Christians like good imperial citizens. István sighed a little and finished his summary of his observations.

  He didn’t get to speak to Mátyás before returning to Kassa. He did, however, leave a note strongly hinting that perhaps the time had come for certain informal associations to be documented and made official, in case the turbulent conditions in the cities continued. István also found a letter from Archduke Rudolph with an interesting bit of news and a shaded warning. As the train rolled north from Budapest, István looked up at the mountains and wondered if he could become a bear, remaining in the highlands, content to look after the House while never sticking his nose into government again. Preserve the empire to preserve the Houses, he reminded himself. Or perhaps not.

  “I wish—God forgive me—I wish the German U-boats could sink the British Isles,” Barbara said. She sat in a chair on the verandah, fanning and watching Imre playing with carved wooden soldiers. Erzsebét fussed a little at the end of her leading strings, and Magda petted the little girl’s thick curls.

  István didn’t respond. The summer heat and her pregnancy made his wife snappish, and he did not want to make her any more irritated or upset. He had enough to deal with, trying to make sense of the latest news from the empire’s observers and agents in the Entente, and from the Entente’s own pronouncements. That fool Wilson really had no idea what a powder keg he seemed to be trying to ignite. Or perhaps he did. The Americans kept insisting that everyone on the planet should be “free” and “equal,” at least those people not within the borders of the United States and who did not have brown or yellow skin.

  “Do you have to go back to Budapest so soon?”

  That question he could answer. “Next week, my lady my love. His Majesty will be addressing the diet with plans for land reform, and I must be there.” He reached over and patted her hand. “Anything he proposes will affect us only a little, and I suspect most of his requests center on bringing the law codes into harmony, even within Hungary alone.”

  She fanned a little and gave him a faint smile. “That does make sense and sounds harmless enough. How many law codes are in Hungary?”

  “Three are official, and of course custom and tradition in some places. Things like gleaning rights and our ‘hook and crook’ firewood rules.”

  Barbara nodded. “We have fishing rights that go with some properties on my father’s lands, and of course mushrooms.”

  “Mushrooms indeed, my lady.” If someone tried to restrict the mushroom hunters, István suspected the entire eastern half of Europe would rise up in protest.

  Imre made a sound like a horse and galloped one of his toy soldiers across the wooden floor, and his father’s foot, then grinned up at István. “Horse. Loud horse.”

  “A very loud horse indeed.” Imre looked more like Janos every day. He also seemed determined to make up for having been a quiet baby. The nursery sounded like it held four small children instead of two. Apparently goat’s milk agreed with the boy, and after a serious talk with Mistress Nagy and a doctor in Kassa, Barbara and Magda had decided to keep the children on goat’s milk for as long as they would drink it, as well as introducing real food. István wanted his son to eat more meat, but they’d run out of game, and he didn’t trust the ration-point meat in the stores in Eger. Nor would he bend enough to participate in the black market, unlike his brother.

  A puff of breeze blew through the verandah. “Ah,” Barbara smiled, fanning a little more, eyes closed. She wore a light, gauzy dress that she, Jirina, and one of the other maids had created from an older garment. He hated watching the women of his household scraping and salvaging like poor beggars, but they had no choice. At least they had trunks of saved things to scavenge from, István sighed. The air smelled hot, full of pine-sap and tree sweat, as he thought of it. They needed a good rain to clear the air and cool everything, to wash the haze out of the sky. The plains had disappeared, fading into a pale blue that reached the peak of the sky. Even the other mountains looked faint and distant, like mountains in a fairy tale. August had crept in during early May, or so István fancied.

  «My lord?» István turned to see Agmánd standing behind him. Erzsébet smiled at the True-Dragon, revealing five teeth. «My lord, Master Gellért sent a messenger. Fire near one of the old mines. He has men watching.»

  “Good. He has my approval, and if he needs to call out the first crews, he may do so.” Not that the master forester needed István’s permission, but that way he knew that the Head and Guardian knew. Gellért preferred to call out the fire crews first and apologize later. István wanted to know what and where at the first sign of trouble. The men had reached a compromise.

  «Very good, my lord.» Agmánd reared up a little, probably checking the state of the pitcher of cool water and other refreshments, then departed.

  “Tharkány” a little voice said. The adults turned to Erzsébet, who frowned, toddling after Agmánd as far as her strings would allow and repeating in a more insistent voice, “Tharkány! Wa tharkány!”

  “Oh dear.” Magda scooped the girl up, trying to distract her.

  Barbara frowned and shook her head. István gave her a rueful grin. “Well, my love, I suppose her first word being ‘dragon’ is better than ‘no.’ ”

>   Barbara did not appear mollified, but she sat up and held her arms out to Magda, taking her daughter. Erzsébet lunged for her mother’s fan. Barbara fanned her a little, then tickled her little button nose with the tip of one feather. Erszébet giggled, smiled, and wiggled, then settled against her mother’s chest and yawned. István leaned down and kissed Barbara, then brushed the top of his daughter’s curls with his lips. She smelled warm and a little dusty.

  The day passed slowly. The prickly heat sent István out, up the trail to the shrine of St. Hubert, and then to a clearing where he could look south and west. The white veil hid the plains and even the foothills. The breeze died, and only a few birds ventured to chirp, as if the heat had sapped them the same way it drained Barbara. István peered up into the sky, but the haze concealed any storms that might be building. As he looked around, taking the measure of the day, he heard careful footsteps. Hans, the green-and-brown True-dragon, bowed and drew closer. He carried a pack on his back and looked tired. «My lord.»

  “Good afternoon, Huntmaster. Any clouds to the north?”

  «None that I can see, my lord. Nothing is moving today, my lord, not even the hawks.»

  István nodded. The two men stood side by side, looking toward the invisible plains to the south. “I can see Eger as easily as I can see the future,” he said.

  «Aye, my lord. The air feels the same.» His whiskers rose and fell. «Still and waiting, with something hiding just out of sight, like a wildcat waiting beside the trail.»

  “Very much like, Master Hans, very much like.”

  Thunder growled outside the Chamber of Magnates. Truly, the Lord has a sense of humor, István thought as he watched His Majesty Josef Karl Anton Wolfgang Leopold Marie von Habsburg-Lorraine-de Este, Emperor of the Austrian Empire, Head and Guardian of House Habsburg, stand in the speaker’s place at the head of the chamber. All the Catholic members of the diet had attended a Mass of thanksgiving and petition that morning, while the Protestants went to prayer meetings. Now they joined in the Chamber of Magnates while a storm bore down on Budapest, swallowing the sun and shaking the sky. Inside the chamber, the gaslights cast a steady glow. Apparently no one trusted the electricity in a storm.