Grasping for the Crowns (The Powers Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  “Because of the desperate need for divine guidance, I have asked the clergy to call for a day of prayer and celebration. Prayer for wisdom and strength for the time to come, and solemn celebration in anticipation of the return of peace.” Josef Karl’s slight lift of one eyebrow suggested that he understood just how premature that declaration of hope might prove to be. His voice shifted, and István felt Josef Karl pushing with his mind, trying to impress the seriousness of the situation upon any doubters and invoking his status as chosen Head of all the Houses. “I strongly urge you, House leaders and Guardians, to encourage but not force your Houses to participate. I also insist that you take steps, if you have not already done so, to provide for the welfare of your Houses should the Entente decide to impose borders and governments upon us. Some of you have already begun, thanks be to God, and others face threats that must be dealt with first, if at all possible.” He met every person’s eyes in turn. “Do not tarry, for the fields are white with harvest, although it may be a harvest of woe rather than of converts.” A few people rustled at the Emperor’s use of scripture, while a few others nodded agreement.

  “Two weeks from tomorrow will be the day of prayer and celebration. It is my intent to attend Mass at Stephensdom, and to offer my intentions and petitions, along with those of my family and House.”

  István lost the rest of Josef Karl’s words, his attention seized by the flash of shock and worry on Archduke Rudolph’s otherwise blank face. What’s wrong? What does he know? Something with the Powers, something going on? Whatever it had been, it passed so quickly that István almost thought he’d imagined the moment.

  After Josef Karl’s departure, Archduke Rudolph excused himself as well. That raised István’s suspicions even higher, and he began mentally making plans to return to Nagymatra as soon as possible, and to stay there, winter’s lingering grip be damned. The group broke into pairs and trios as the Heads and guardians discussed plans, scenarios, and what-ifs, and compared what they had done or were considering doing. Attila Gabor vanished as well, to no one’s surprise. István found himself talking with the new Head of Windischgrätz and Kristofer Aleman-Dietrichstein of House Dietrichstein-Ost.

  “I suppose I should be grateful that all of our holdings are in Bohemia,” Heiko Furst von Windischgrätz said. “But the Social Democrats and Communists are talking about nationalizing property and putting limits on the size of landholdings, and the Czech Nationalists demand proof of everyone’s degree of Slav-ness before they will agree to permit families to hold land. Some in Prague are already saying that we should lose our lands and businesses because of what happened in Prague in 1848.” He sounded mildly offended at the notion.

  Count Kristofer Aleman-Dietrichstein squinted through his glasses at the prince. “Prague in 1848? Does Your Highness mean General Count Windischgrätz’s commanding the troops that put down the rebellion?”

  Heiko waved his hand a little. “Yes, yes, exactly. One is tempted to remind them that the rebels in Vienna, Budapest, Paris, and Berlin received considerably less mercy than did the Bohemians, but the fools choose to remember only what happened to them.”

  István nodded. “Your Highness, I have always been told that your ancestor’s mercy might have been a little less generous had his lady wife suffered more than a scare during the initial uprising.”

  “Deaths in the family do tend to strain the bounds of mercy,” Kristofer said, his voice and expression cold. István wondered what had happened, then remembered. Kristofer’s cousin had been killed by the Communists in Vienna.

  Before István could speak or Heiko replied, a footman appeared at István’s elbow. The three men turned. “Yes?” Heiko asked.

  “Your pardon Your Highness, my lords. Colonel Count Eszterházy, His Grace Archduke Rudolph wishes a word. At your convenience.”

  All three understood the request. “If Your Highness, my lord, will excuse me?” István said.

  “Of course,” Heiko replied as Kristofer nodded his assent.

  István bowed to them, then followed the footman out of the room, down several hallways, and into an area that István recognized as housing the private offices of some of the numerous Habsburg cousins. The footman stopped at a door flanked by two more servants, one of whom knocked twice, opened the door, and called, “Your Grace, Colonel Count Eszterházy.”

  “Send him in.”

  István walked two paces in and bowed. “Oh, rise and come in,” came the order. Rudolph sounded annoyed.

  István straightened up, got a meter closer, and gasped. “You look terrible,” he blurted. “Your Grace.”

  “And it is a pleasure to see you as well, Count Eszterházy.”

  István cursed himself and bowed again. “I beg Your Grace’s pardon for my thoughtless words.” But Rudolph up close did bear a striking resemblance to the depictions of one of the Horsemen in the Book of Revelation. The weight he’d gained had vanished again, and his skin had a faintly grey-green hue that István did not associate with healthy people.

  “And pardon is granted. Sit.” Rudolph did not look much better up close. “The Powers.”

  “Galicia, Your Grace?”

  “Among others, yes.” Rudolph picked up a letter opener and began tapping the blunted point against the top of the tooled red leather desk blotter. The deep red complimented the mahogany and ebony top of the desk. “As you noticed some time ago, Brandenburg is acting oddly, although not as withdrawn as Galicia. The departure of the Guardian likely has something to do with it, and the severing of ties with House Hohenzollern. Baiuwara, too, feels uneasy, which is disturbing Austria and the Drachenburg.”

  István tried to recall who served as Guardian in Bavaria. “Ah, Your Grace, pardon my forgetfulness, but who took the Guardianship after Ludwig II, God rest his soul?”

  Both men crossed themselves. “Graf Colonel Martin von und zu Guttenberg. Who is dying without an heir. Neither of his daughters have the mind to serve as Guardian, although his second son might be suitable. Herzog Maximilian Ludwig von Wittelsbach will step in if called, I suspect.” Rudolph stopped tapping. “They need more fresh blood, they really do.”

  István stopped his retort before it got past being a mere thought. Of any family in Europe, the Habsburgs would know about the need to bring in new people every few generations, if not more frequently. The last of the Spanish Habsburgs demonstrated that beyond any lingering shadow of uncertainty. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

  “However, the chaos unfolding in the north is not why I requested your presence, Little Stephen.” The archduke’s tone and posture shifted, and his color improved from “three weeks dead” to “recently deceased” as the Power released him. “It is the potential chaos here.” He pointed down with the hand not holding the ornate letter opener. “My cousin is devout, diligent, admirable in many ways, and utterly ignorant of the perfidy of mankind to an extent that makes the Abbess of the Poor Claires in Vyshgrad look cunning and canny.”

  István winced. “Ow, Your Grace. But I—I fear I can see that.”

  “And we’re about to see more of that, I think, because His Majesty absolutely refuses to abandon the thought of going from St. Stephens to the Schottenkirche and then to Our Lady of Refuge. Thanks be at least that Her Majesty has convinced him not to make a foot pilgrimage.”

  István tried to recall the route. St. Michael’s church stood not far from the—two courtyards away, in fact—facing the start of one of the market streets that led to the old moat, the Graben, while the Schottenkirche, the old church of the Irish missionaries, sat on the Freyung Plaza within the wall. Those would be safe, or at least would be easy for the police and army to control and keep people away from. But where was our Lady of Refuge? “Your Grace, I follow as far as the Schottenkirche. But where is the third church?”

  Rudolph raised one brown eyebrow and tilted his head a few centimeters to the side. “It faces Eszterházypark, south of Mariahilferstrasse, on the way to Schönbrunn.”

  “Your pardon
once more, Your Grace. I am not familiar with all of my cousins’ donations and works, or with every place of worship within the larger Vienna.” István allowed a little heat into his voice.

  “Point taken.” Rudolph set the golden letter opener down and rubbed his hands, as if chilly. “But you see why some are concerned for my cousin’s safety. And sanity.”

  István thought aloud. “His car must pass through the wall, perhaps behind or between—no, behind—the museums near the stables and barracks. But then Mariahilferstrasse, wide, hard to control access to, and easy for someone else in a car to get to and away from quickly. And then into a confined residential area at the edge of the area where all those unhappy Hofrats have homes.” István could imagine all too well what might come to pass. It would be Sarajevo all over again, but worse. “Your Grace, His Majesty indeed puts a little too much trust in the Lord.”

  “Not too much in the Lord, but too little in the deviousness of his fellow men. Especially with the Entente observers here, since they have already said that any use of the military within Vienna’s inner districts without ‘due cause,’ as the French colonel put it, will lead to ‘actions’ being taken.”

  For someone who had never been in the military, Rudolph certainly grasped the problem quite well. “What do you want me to do, Your Grace?” Because there had to be something Rudolph planned that he would be telling István all this.

  “Talk sense into my cousin. But even Her Majesty has found it easier to persuade the statue of Maria Teresa between the museums to dance by the moonlight than to convince His Majesty to change his plans or his route.” Rudolph drooped a little. “I wish I knew, I truly do, István. But I’m just the buffer, the man who stands between the Guardian and Head and insanity, the House’s sacrifice.”

  The bitterness in Rudolph’s voice shocked István like little else had, and he caught himself staring, slack-jawed, then made himself close his mouth. He heard footsteps in the corridor behind him, and his own breathing, and perhaps, very faintly, the sound of feet and hoofs in the courtyard behind Rudolph. No other sound intruded into the office.

  At last, after an eternity of jumbled thoughts and emotions, Rudolph said, “But I have no right to burden you with my own yoke, Count Colonel Eszterházy. And I have not properly offered my condolences on your loss.”

  The kind words brought buried pain back to the surface. “Losses, Your Grace,” István corrected. “Barbara, may God have mercy on her soul, was six months along. And my brother died not long after, in Budapest.”

  Rudolph’s tan eyes shimmered, and István realized that he saw tears. “Dear holy Lord, István, I didn’t know. Please forgive me. I am very, terribly sorry.”

  István swallowed his own unshed tears, looking down at the floor as he tried to regain his composure. “Thank you, Your Grace, and I accept your apology. No one outside the immediate family knew, and I saw no need to mention it. She,” he heard steps as Rudolph walked around the desk to rest a hand on his shoulder. “She started losing the child a few hours before she died.” The hand tightened its grip in wordless sympathy. István let the tears flow, allowing himself to mourn before returning to the day’s duties. Rudolph offered him a handkerchief, which István accepted.

  “Go home, Count Eszterházy,” Rudolph said after István finished wiping his eyes and nose. “Go to your mountains, to your children.” He stepped back to give István room to stand. “And go armed.” The strange timber returned to Rudolph’s voice. “Powers stir. Go armed and wary, Little Stephen.”

  István bowed and departed. Mariazell would wait.

  István put Ferenk and Magda in charge of sorting the townhouse in Kassa. “Magda, you know what the children need,” he told the nursemaid. “What of my lady’s things should be kept for Erzsébet and what can go to charity or to her family. You and Jirina both. Ferenk, go through everything else. The books go to Budapest and Nagymatra, my office goes to Nagymatra, and inventory from there. Those kitchen things that Luka can use should go south as well.” He’d decided to give the other staff the contents of their quarters, and had already sent Jenö’s relatives his portion.

  “My lord, with all due respect, and I am honored by your trust, but you should be overseeing this,” Ferenk protested.

  István nodded as he sorted the papers in his office. “Yes, Ferenk, I should. But I have to go back to Vienna and I do not believe, given recent events, that I have time to waste. We need to have the townhouse ready to sell as soon as possible, and I want the children away from—” he caught himself before he could say ‘border.’ “Away from the city with summer coming.” Granted, it would be a few months until summer, but it would come. “And if everything is ready in Budapest, Judit will find it easier, should she decide to visit.” He hoped she would.

  Ferenk looked a little less unhappy, as did Jirina. “That clarifies matters, my lord. We will do as you say.”

  “Thank you, Ferenk.” István let his gratitude show. And if they thought that he wanted to escape memories, well, that was also true. He’d only lived here with Barbara, never alone, or with his parents and siblings. He needed to make a break with that part of the past for the sake of the children. And the mountains would be safer for everyone, given the chaos unfolding around the edges of what had once been the empire.

  A few days later, István and Szombor boarded a train for Vienna once more. He should stay at home, his conscience prodded. Rudolph had told him to stay home, to stay with the children. But something inside István drove him westwards. He suspected it was the Power. He hoped that suspicion was not correct, because if the Matra wanted him to go to Vienna, it suggested that a greater Power was poking the Matra, and István did not care for where that supposition led his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he could do in Vienna, besides join His Majesty’s prayers, but he went anyway.

  Strange, so strange, István mused, looking out the window at the lush fields and pastures. The land is recovering just as the people are going insane. What is wrong with the children of Adam, Lord, that we do this? Judit had sent a telegram asking if she could come down to Budapest. Her husband, Walter Freiherr von Eschingen, thought she’d be safer in Budapest than Munich, especially since she was very close to delivering. Judit disagreed, but had sent the telegram anyway. István had told her to come and that her husband was welcome as well. He and Walter got along tolerably, despite his brother-in-law’s eccentricities. Walter did not like the rumbles and rumors of trouble building around Munich, not after the fighting that had begun to envelope Berlin. The Communists fought the army and police in the capitol’s streets, and God be with anyone caught in the middle.

  The Entente’s demand that Germany and the empire accept “full responsibility” for starting the war had triggered the explosion. Thinking about it made István’s vision start fading red, and he calmed himself with effort, watching the glossy sheen of the Danube as it flowed beside the tracks. The river had been here before the Houses, and it would outlast all of them, save for God Himself, István suspected. How could the British forget that they had agreed that Austria had every right—nay, had a duty—to seek justice after Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s death? Very easily, it appeared. If anyone held fault for starting the war, it probably lay with the British, the Russians, or King Wilhelm of Brandenburg. He’d had four years to think about matters, and István knew that Franz Josef had been more than reasonable with the Serbs. He had also striven to keep from involving outsiders, but Wilhelm’s impetuosity about defeating Russia by attacking France had caused the very thing Wilhelm had feared. And without the Russians’ goading and support, the Serbs would never, ever have dared assassinate the Crown Prince.

  Well, at heart the fault lay with Father Adam and Mother Eve, who had disobeyed the Lord’s command and had doomed their children to imperfection. István pulled his mind back to more useful matters, such as trying to decide if he needed to attempt to budget for another goat so the children could have more milk. And trying to decide what to do if
, God forbid, he could not sell the Kassa house, but lost it to one faction or another.

  He and Szombor reached Vienna just before seven in the evening. István opted to stay at a small hotel outside the wall, or what remained of it. The French have an absolute terror of walls. Cardinal what’s his name, Richelieu? No, that’s not right. Maybe it is, the one that harried the Protestants and everyone else he didn’t like. He ordered all the castles inside France flattened, and then Louis the Turk Lover did the same to the Rhineland. And the mob flattened part of Paris and Emperor Louis Napoleon finished the job. István shook his head, wondering what it was that made the French so crazy. There must be something in the waters of the Atlantic, he thought, watching some Entente soldiers as they, in turn, watched the people doing last-minute shopping. The soldiers appeared to be part of the group assigned to one of the embassies, and István wondered if they were looking for one of the bordellos that used to be in that district. He shrugged to himself. France, Britain, and the United States all shared similar bouts of insanity. It must be the Atlantic.

  Once inside his small but clean room, Szombor unpacked his master’s clothes. István unpacked as well, but left his hunting knife in the bottom of his satchel for the moment, under his papers and a book of Hungarian legal cases. Go armed, Rudolph had said, but obviously had no idea what that involved these days. István’s service revolver required ammunition, something still very hard for a civilian to find. Especially now that the Entente seemed determined to punish anyone who had served in the army or navy. With enemy soldiers on the streets, well, István didn’t trust the bastards not to be stupid.