by Simon Hawke
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Helen, her face very red at being the focus of all the attention. Von Tarlenheim suppressed a smile as he sat down next to her. Several of the diners looked outraged, but none dared speak.
“Well, then, that’s all settled,” Finn said.
Platoons of servants began to bring out silver serving trays with platters of food upon them. Finn was naturally served first. He waited until literally everyone else at the table had their food before him. Everyone was watching him expectantly. Finn glanced at Flavia.
“What are they all staring at?” he said, in a low voice.
“I believe that they are all waiting for you, Sire,” she said. “Oh.” He glanced up and down the table. “We seem to be bereft of churchmen this evening.”
The diners exchanged puzzled glances.
“Well, in that case, Marshal Strakencz, perhaps you would be so kind as to say grace?” said Finn.
Eyebrows were raised up and down the table.
“Beg pardon, Sire?” Strakencz said, leaning forward towards him.
“Grace, Strakencz.”
“Race? What race?”
“Grace.”
“Eh?”
“GRACE! GRACE! Oh, the hell with it. Bow your heads, everyone.”
Hesitantly, as if a little shell-shocked, they all bowed their heads, staring up at him out of the corners of their eyes.
“For what we are about to receive, may the good Lord make us all truly thankful,” Finn said. He crossed himself and, after a brief hesitation, they all did likewise. Von Tarlenheim was biting his lower lip and attempting to keep his shoulders from shaking.
“Well?” said Finn. “What the devil are you all waiting for? Eat!”
There was a muted noise of plates and silverware.
“Talk!” said Finn.
A strangled sound escaped von Tarlenheim’s throat. They began to converse among themselves, stealing furtive glances at Finn to see if he approved. At that moment, Michael arrived with Falcon on his arm. All conversation instantly ceased. Flavia looked up at “Countess Sophia” and pressed her lips together tightly.
“Your Majesty,” said Michael, with exaggerated formality, giving Finn a piercing look. “Please accept my apologies for having been detained. It was inexcusable. Allow me to present the Countess Sophia, who is visiting with us from Florence.” Finn stood up. There followed a hasty scraping of chairs as everyone else stood, also. Their eyes met.
“Your Majesty,” said Falcon, with just the barest trace of irony in her voice. She curtsied deeply, inclining her head, but staring up at him as she did so, her gaze boring into him. She had electrified the room merely by her presence, and from the expressions on Flavia and Helen’s faces, it was clear that what Sapt had said about her notoriety was not an understatement. Flavia looked uncomfortable, but Helen looked scandalized. It was with an effort that Finn kept himself under control. Not this time, he thought. You won’t get to me this time. I can play this game as well as you, bitch.
“Countess,” Finn said, making a very small bow. “I’m very pleased to see you face to face at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”
The silence in the room was thick. Michael noticed that his place at the king’s right was occupied. He stood behind von Tarlenheim’s chair stiffly and cleared his throat.
“Sit, everyone, sit,” said Finn. “Oh, Michael, I’ve made some small alterations in the seating arrangements, since I did not know if you would be coming. There’s bound to be a place for you down there, somewhere.” He indicated the far end of the table with an airy wave. Michael stared at him, astonished. “Come, Michael,” Falcon said, taking him by the arm. Michael did not move. He stood there, glaring at Finn, slowly turning a deep crimson while Finn ignored him totally, concentrating on his food. Finally, he allowed himself to be led to the far end of the table.
“That was unwise, Rudolf,” Flavia said softly. “You have humiliated him in front of everyone. He’ll never forgive the insult.”
“It serves him right, for bringing her here,” Helen whispered fiercely.
“Your Majesty,” Falcon said loudly, overriding all the other conversations, “Michael tells me that there is to be a royal wedding soon.”
Instant silence.
“Indeed?” said Finn, meeting her gaze steadily and refusing to be intimidated. “I was under the impression that it was general knowledge. I’m surprised you hadn’t known, Countess. It was my understanding that in the short time you’ve been with us, you’ve become fairly intimately involved in Ruritanian affairs.”
Several people gasped. Michael stiffened, the color draining from his face.
“I was wondering if the date for the royal wedding has been set yet,” Falcon said, giving him a faint smile. “My visit here will end before too long and I would be loathe to miss it.”
“What, leaving us so soon?” said Finn. “What a pity. The young men of Strelsau will be crushed.”
Michael slammed his knife down onto the table.
“No more so than I would be if I were to miss your wedding, Sire,” she said. “Will it be soon?”
“I hope so,” Finn said, “but it appears to me that it would be a bit presumptuous of me to set the date when Flavia and I have had so little time to spend together of late. Affairs of state are pressing, but affairs of the heart are no less important, don’t you think? I am determined to set aside some time for us to be together. I haven’t had much time to be a proper suitor. Time is so precious, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed, Sire. Why waste it?”
Heads turned like those of spectators following a tennis match.
“I have a very high regard for time,” Finn said. “I intend to make wise use of it. A man and a woman, even a king and queen, need time to spend together. Time for romance. What is marriage without courtship, after all?”
“What is courtship without marriage?” she countered. Flavia’s hands were white-knuckled on the table at the veiled implication.
“Courtship without marriage?” Finn said. “An affair, I should think. Isn’t that right, Countess? Is that what you call it, an affair?”
“Eh?” said Marshal Strakencz, a bit more loudly than he had realized. He was having trouble following the conversation and he had been leaning close to the Minister of the Treasury, who had been keeping him abreast of it by speaking directly into his ear.”Affairs, Strakencz,” Finn said.
“Your pardon, Sire?”
“COUNTESS SOPHIA AND I ARE DISCUSSING AFFAIRS!”
“What about her affairs?” said Strakencz.
Michael shoved his chair back so hard it fell. He was on his feet, his face white, his lips quivering with rage.
“Are you all right, Michael?” Finn said, solicitously. “You look pale. Are you ill?”
In a choking voice, Michael said, “If Your Majesty would please excuse me, I find that I suddenly feel unwell.”
“Of course we’ll excuse you, Brother,” Finn said, rising to his feet. Everyone else followed suit. “I will send the royal physician to attend you.”
“That will not be necessary, Sire,” Michael said, spitting out the words. “I am quite certain that I will be feeling a great deal better before too long.”
“I do hope so,” Finn said. “Countess, you will watch over him, won’t you? My brother has always had the most delicate of dispositions. The least little thing upsets him.”
“Come, Sophia,” Michael said. She stared at him furiously, but there was nothing she could do. As Michael stalked out with her, she glanced at Finn and gave him an almost imperceptible little nod. Once they were outside, she turned on Michael angrily.
“You fool,” she said. “You acted like a child in there! That was the most pathetic display of-”
Michael struck her hard across the face.
“I had turned a deaf ear to the gossip,” he said, “and it has brought me humiliation! I’ve been made a fool of by that bastard in front of the entire court! He w
ill pay dearly for that. But as for you, you trollop, I have reached the limits of my tolerance. I do not know what sort of morals they have where you came from, but from now on, you will act as befits a proper lady. You will speak only when spoken to, you will dress more demurely, you will take care of your manners, and you will go nowhere without a proper chaperone. And if I ever catch you alone with any other man, I will have you whipped like a common slut!”
He turned and got into the coach. She climbed in after him, assisted by a liveried footman who had witnessed it all. She waited until the coach got rolling.
The servant who opened the door of the coach when they arrived at home staggered back with a cry at the sight of her blood-spattered gown. He ran when she told him to get Hentzau. Rupert came quickly. His eyes grew wide when he saw her.
“Sophia! Sophia, what-”
“Shut up and help me with him,” she said.
Hentzau looked into the coach. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Good God!” he said.
Michael was sprawled senseless on the seat with a handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. His face was covered with blood. One eye was swollen shut. His lip was badly cut, his nose was broken, and several teeth were missing. Hentzau turned to her.
“What happened? Are you all right? How did-” he had taken both her hands in his and now he stared down at her cut knuckles. He looked up at her with an expression of disbelief.
She jerked her hands away. “Bring him inside,” she said, then turned and went into the house.
Forrester handed the night scope to Lucas and pointed. “The keep,” he said. “Use maximum magnification. Zero in on that small turret sticking out from the tower at about eleven o’clock.”
Lucas held the scope to his eyes. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “What am I looking for?”
“The embrasures,” Forrester said.
“I still don’t see… wait.”
“What is it?” Andre said.
Lucas handed her the scope. “It’s hard to spot. You can barely make it out. They’ve got a laser tracking system set up in that turret. It sweeps across the entire compound.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Keep watching. Look for a slight hint of movement.” “Got it.” She grunted. “Looks like floater-paks are out, then.” She put down the scope. “What’s next?”
“An evening swim,” said Forrester.
“Shit,” said Lucas.
“Come on, it’s not that cold,” said Andre, turning the scope toward the moat.
“That isn’t what bothers me,” Lucas said. “I must have been hanging around Finn too long. I think his paranoia is starting to rub off.”
“What do you mean?” said Forrester.
“If they were careful enough to guard against a floater-pak assault, they might have taken precautions about the moat, as well. How do we know they haven’t doped it with nasty little microorganisms?”
Andre shivered. “God. What makes you think of these things?”
“Your standard, basic-issue cowardice,” said Lucas. “Okay, so we don’t swim the moat,” said Forrester. “We bridge it.”
“Nysteel line?” said Andre. Forrester nodded.
“Moon’s full,” Lucas pointed out. “Nice night for silhouettes.”
Forrester glanced at him irately. “Did you just come along for moral support, or what?”
“I’m just doing my job, Colonel. You want to give the orders, go ahead.”
“Not me, son. I’m not going to pass up a chance to see my executive officer perform his duties in the field. This is your command. You make the decision. Hand-over-hand and get shot, or the Australian crawl and have your balls fall off or something.”
“Some choice.”
“Come up with another alternative.”
“I’m working on it.”
“What time is it?” said Andre.
Forrester glanced at his watch. “2130 hours,” he said. “I feel nervous about Finn,” she said.
“He can take care of himself,” said Lucas.
“He doesn’t even know the colonel’s joined us,” Andre said. “He’s not going to like not being informed.”
“If there was a chance to tell him, I would have,” Lucas said. “But Finn’s right. Our best chance is to leave him to play it out while we concentrate on the Timekeepers. He’ll have enough trouble with Black Michael and his mercenaries without having to worry about Falcon.”
“We’re wasting time,” said Forrester. “Priest, have you come up with a workable approach yet or are you worrying about microbes being released into the air now?”
“The hell with it,” said Lucas. “I’ll swim the moat and take my chances.”
“Suit yourself,” said Andre. “If it was up to me, I’d use the boat.”
“What boat?” both men said, simultaneously.
“The little one pulled up by the bank there and tied to the shore,” said Andre.
“Give me that,” said Lucas, taking the scope and training it on the spot she indicated. “A boat,” he said, grimacing. “Who the hell goes rowing in a moat?”
“Children?” she said. “Rat catchers? Microorganism fishermen?”
“All right, all right,” said Lucas, irately. He glanced at Forrester. “Did you see that boat?”
Forrester shrugged.
“You didn’t see it, either, did you?” Lucas said.
“Cheer up, Priest,” said Forrester. “Maybe it’ll sink half way across.”
They picked up their packs and made their way down to the bank of the moat on the west side of the chateau. The boat Andre had spotted was tied up to a small bush and two oars were stowed beneath the seats. It was an old wooden double-ender, far too small for more than one adult. The size of the oars also confirmed Andre’s guess that it was intended for use by children, probably those of the chateau’s serving staff. There was a tiny fishing net in it, along with some line wound around a stick, a rusty old hook embedded in the wound-up line.
“A toy,” said Lucas, miserably. There was some water pooled in the bottom of the boat. “It’s only big enough for one of us, if it doesn’t sink.”
“I’ll go,” said Andre. “I’m the lightest. Give me the remote.”
Forrester handed it to her. “We’ll cover you from the bank,” he said. “Don’t take any chances. We can’t afford to lose the remote unit.”
She grinned. “Thanks for your concern, sir.”
Forrester glanced up at the sky. A large bank of clouds scudded across the moon. “Now,” he said. “Move it.” She climbed down into the boat, unshipped the oars, and pushed off. Taking care not to make any splashing sounds, she rowed carefully and slowly, putting her back into it in an effort to get as much momentum as possible from the short oars. She kept rowing in a straight line across the moat, making the most of the cloud cover. It didn’t take long before the prow of the small boat touched softly against the moss-covered stone of the castle.
She stowed one of the oars inside the boat, using the other one to slowly propel herself alongside the castle wall, taking care to keep the boat from making too much noise as it scraped softly against the lichen-covered stone. Little by little, she circled round toward the front of the castle. She rounded a corner and the back of the chateau became visible, its whiteness looking ghostly in the moonlight. The drawbridge was raised. Between her and the drawbridge, jutting out over the moat, was the most recent addition to the castle, the only part of it that appeared to be inhabited. She could see lights burning in several of the windows above her. She touched her larynx, activating the throat mike, then thought better of it and turned it off again. No point in alerting them if they were scanning for communications. They probably weren’t, but this was no time for taking chances.
As she propelled herself forward in the boat, she kept a close watch on the lighted windows above her and almost missed seeing the dark shape in the water that suddenly loomed before her.
She nearly hit it. At first,
she could not tell what it was, but then she saw that it was a large length of pipe, about four feet in diameter. Moving with extreme caution, she brought the boat up alongside it.
There was some rust upon the pipe, but it could not have been in place for very long. One end of it went into the water and, feeling with her oar, she could tell that it ended perhaps two or three feet below the surface of the moat. The other end of it was butted up against a small window in the wall just above her, level with the top of her head. It covered the window entirely, but it was not quite flush and as she examined it, a faint line of light appeared around it.
She drew back, instinctively, then balancing carefully, she stood up in the boat, steadying herself with one hand on the iron pipe. She heard voices, but she could not make out what was being said. Shielding her laser with her body, she carefully burned a small hole into the iron pipe, dipped her hand into the water, sprinkled it, then put her ear up against it.
“-should eat more, Sire. You haven’t touched your food.”
“I am not hungry, Detchard. Tell my brother to have done with it and kill me. I am dying by inches here.”
“The duke does not desire your death, Your Majesty,” Detchard said. “At least, not yet. When he does, behold your path to heaven.”
A moment later, Andre heard the scraping sound of metal hinges, quite close by, followed by two taps upon the inside of the pipe. The sounds rang in her ear and she pulled her head away, briefly. When she put her ear back up against the pipe, she heard part of what Detchard was saying.
“ — restful at the bottom of the moat, Your Majesty. Your grave and our escape route, should they be so foolhardy as to attempt a rescue. However, rest assured. We shall not leave you to drown. Drowning is an unpleasant death, I’m told. We shall be sure to kill you first before we place your weighted body in the pipe. We would not wish for you to suffer greatly.”
