“I wish to God that I had been raised in a proper Prussian home,” exclaimed Wilhelm, “not in an English one. Pure profit—that’s what drives the vaunted English sense of fair play. You English only care about democracy until it infringes on profits. Yet you lecture me about my honest, straightforward, survival-of-the-fittest foreign policy!”
“And at home?” his mother insisted. “You dismember the Reichstag, reducing them to a meaningless debating society?”
“What do I care for the ‘intellectual elite’ of Germany? The bureaucrats and the merchants? Fah! The people love me! They know it is their Kaiser who will return Germany to its rightful place in the sun, not the politicians and the bureaucrats!”
“Germany cannot return to a place in the sun it never held to begin with. Before Wilhelm the First and von Bismarck, Germany didn’t even exist! Son, you are driving the French, the Russians, and the English into combinations against you. Unless you change course, you will bring about wars that will devastate the new century.”
“Even American public sentiment flows against you,” put in Jennie. “Their sympathies are with their English cousins. Your squabbles over England’s overseas colonies, particularly in Africa, have given the Americans cause to fear you. Would it not be better to foster their admiration and goodwill?”
“My grandmother’s government will rue the day they challenged me in southern Africa!” said Wilhelm, his face reddening. “The German-speaking citizens of the Transvaal will rise up and drive out the red-coated invaders, just as the Americans did!”
“The Americans are no longer upstart colonists,” Jennie said, attempting a winning smile. “They are—we are—an emerging world power in our own right. We are anti-monarchy, yes, but strongly in favor of the democracies in the constitutional monarchies.” The Kaiser glared at her wordlessly.
Jennie went on, undeterred. “Mark my words, Willie, the time will quickly come when America will be the arsenal of the free world, defending democracy around the globe. If there is war on the Continent, the Americans will dither, but not for long. They will join the British and French democracies against you. And they will prevail.”
Wilhelm sneered. “Barely thirty years ago, you Americans spilled each other’s blood battling North against South, brother against brother. You don’t know what you want.”
“Oh, but we do. We fought and died, and finally prevailed, to ensure freedom from tyranny, to abolish slavery and the principle of majority federal rule. Democracy is a principle dear to American—and English—hearts and minds. It will prevail. It is the tide of history.”
“Nonsense,” Wilhelm snorted. “The course of history is littered with failed experiments of the rule of the weak over the strong. Sooner or later, it always comes down to the survival of the fittest, the rule of the strongest. Not since the ancient Spartans has there been a warrior society to equal the Prussians. The new century will belong to us.”
“If you are so certain of the superiority of the Prussian mind, the invincibility of Prussian arms,” said Vicky, “why do you seek an army of mechanized English psychopaths? Why do you arm the very dregs of English society, make them capable of the worst sorts of mass murder, and turn them loose upon the world?”
Wilhelm rounded on her, his face a picture of astonishment.
“How could using such a tool be considered the act of a Prussian military genius?” his mother pressed. “You bring dishonor upon your father’s house.”
“Who told you about that?” screamed Wilhelm, jumping to his feet. “That blasted Malieux? I’ll tear his tongue out!”
Vicky let the ensuing silence stretch out. “Then it is true, in very fact,” she said quietly. “Until this moment, I hoped against all fears that the spies’ reports were false, that such an outrage could not possibly be true.”
“Mother, I warn you,” grated Wilhelm, “and through you I send word to all the royal families and governments of Europe, that to oppose me is madness. They will only bring death and destruction down upon their heads. Very shortly, I will have the strongest air fleet in the world; the battle dirigibles are even now being built in hangars on every continent.”
“You’re not alone in that, of course,” said Jennie. “Every government rushes to build bigger and more deadly.”
“The shipyards of the Reich labor around the clock to build the greatest fleet of battleships the world has ever seen, enough to wipe the vaunted English Navy from the seas. And very shortly, the New Army of the Reich will rise, an army the likes of which history has never known.”
Vicky’s voice took on a note of pleading. “Willie, I am your mother, and with the tender heart of a mother I appeal to you. Let the people of Germany raise up this generation in peace. Learn to coexist with your English and French and Belgian and Spanish and Russian cousins.” She smiled at Jennie. “Even the Americans are not so terrible–once you get past their atrocious manners.”
Jennie chuckled. “The Americans can be the best of friends to people around the world, when given the chance.” She sobered. “But just once threaten them or their friends, and you will awaken a sleeping tiger.”
Wilhelm slammed down his empty glass. His valet instantly replaced it with another. Grabbing at it and spilling half in the process, he stepped close to Jennie and glared down at her.
“You think to threaten me with a government you do not even represent?” He stumbled mid-gesture and dropped the rest of his drink.
“Why, Your Majesty, I do believe you are drunk,” observed Jennie.
“I may be drunk, but you are an obnoxious American,” he spat, “and in the morning, I shall be sober.”
“Wilhelm!” Vicky protested. He glared.
She sighed. “Well, since this discussion has degenerated to insults, I deem that nothing more of any use can be accomplished. Let me leave you, then, Willie, with what you will certainly consider a threat, but which is truly a gentle and loving warning. Continue the course you are on, continue to bully and threaten the other governments of Europe, and all thinking people of goodwill must certainly unite against you. Return to the ways of harmony and cooperation, and the future will be bright.
“Take Germany to war, and I tell you without any doubt in my heart that you will live to see our beloved Germany devastated by worldwide conflagration. Turn to democracy and cooperation, and you will see a continent united and prosperous.”
Wilhelm flopped into a chair and signaled for another drink. “I tire of these harpies’ harangue. Enforcer! I require your presence.”
The back door to the drawing room opened, and Malieux’s mech, thoroughly besotted with his new master the Kaiser, filled the doorway.
“Good night, Mother,” Wilhelm murmured into his drink. “I’m sure you can see yourself out before you have to be escorted.”
Vicky looked at the Enforcer and back to her son. “The die is cast.” She and Jennie stood, smoothed their clothing, and made their slow, dignified exit from the room.
“He can never say he was not warned,” sighed Jennie as they crossed the deck toward the gangway.
“He is a mercurial and moody boy who came to power far too young, before he was seasoned and ready,” his mother said, her face and voice grim. “Prussian custom and military conventions kept him apart from his father, whom he worshipped and longed for. Between that and his stunted arm, Wilhelm will spend the rest of his life trying to prove to himself that he is worthy of his heritage.”
“At least he has you to speak the truth to him,” said Jennie. “Hopefully that will count for something.”
“I try. But he is far too headstrong to listen. He’s no different from the rest of us, though: once in a while we stumble upon the truth, but most of us manage to pick ourselves up and hurry along as if nothing had happened.” She sighed. “Perhaps his grandmamma can talk some sense into him when he visits her later this evening.”
ToC
Scorn!—’twas the only word, in sooth;
There was no disg
uising that plain truth—
With a lifted brow and a flashing eye,
She fronted me in her purity.
—Knights of Grenada, by Thomas Westwood
Chapter Fifteen
Love’s Labor’s Ludicrous
“She has not moved since I neuralized her. Heartbeat and breathing, both very slow.” Shaka stood two paces behind Malieux in Lakshmi’s quarters aboard her otherwise abandoned dirigible. They had the fancifully named Ganesh, with its colorful elephant-headed god painted on the prow, entirely to themselves, no crew to interrupt them. Malieux peered into Lakshmi’s eyes and carefully listened to her heartbeat and lungs with a stethoscope. He shook his head.
“Exactly the same as the other experimental subjects, but she has been out far longer.” He consulted his pocket chronometer. “Nearly twenty minutes. You’re sure you gave her exactly the same exposure given the other subjects? And only once?”
“Yes, Doctor. I brought her directly aboard as soon as it was done.”
“And you’re absolutely certain there was no injury in the capture itself?”
“None. Maybe slight bruises on the neck, but nothing more. As you ordered, it was very quick—too quick for her to know what was happening. No struggle.”
Malieux paced the cabin pensively. “And yet absolutely no signs that she is coming around.”
“Surely you intend to be here when she wakes? I thought you would want her to fixate on you.”
“No, I need to be gone when she wakes. Her will is strong, very strong indeed, her intellect even stronger. She will know she has been neuralized. I fear that if I have her fixate on me, her mind will recognize what her heart is telling her is counterfeit, and her resolve will harden. I will get no information from her that way. And I can’t have her locked up for the same reason. We must leave her here in her quarters, but in such an addled state that she can do nothing further of consequence until I find the solution.”
He paced and sighed. “I’m afraid I will have to give her someone innocuous to fixate on while I continue to experiment with the automaton. At least for another day or two. That simpleminded ass from The Oil Can you captured—just the ticket. She will give her sentimental heart full rein to adore someone so far beneath her. She will dote on him like a pet.”
He took a hypodermic syringe from his bag. “This will ensure she stays asleep another hour or so, to make sure you’ve gotten the Oil Can mech in here, and for us both to be long gone. We have returned her to her warm little nest. Now, let’s give her an egg to sit on.”
Without further preamble, he sunk the needle in Lakshmi’s hip through her sari. “What report from the Enforcers following the Spiegel girl?”
“She escaped. Very resourceful. We lost one Enforcer, and had another badly damaged.”
“Lost? How does one lose a battle-equipped mech?”
“She managed somehow to knock him into the Thames with a barge crane, Doctor. Much too heavy to swim. Straight to the bottom.”
“And the other? Damaged?”
“Tore one of his arm-and-shoulder mechanisms completely away.”
“How in the world did she manage that?”
“Apparently with the same barge crane. Caught both Enforcers completely by surprise.”
“Will we have to scrap him completely?”
“No, Doctor. Not much good for fighting for a few days, until the arm can be replaced, but he continues the hunt for the girl. Even more motivated now.”
“He couldn’t have been much good to begin with, if he allowed himself to be bested by a mere slip of a girl.”
“Jack is the most vicious, ruthless Enforcer we have, but very hard to control—nearly impossible. The same one who snapped Spiegel’s neck earlier. Before he came to the asylum, everyone around him considered their lives at risk, particularly the women. He brags of truly heinous crimes. But you know what braggarts these criminally insane are.”
“He’ll be a good one on which to test out the controlling functions of the automaton, once we figure them out.”
“That he will, Doctor. If that one can be controlled, anyone can.”
Malieux wiped the blood from his hypodermic syringe with a scrap of cotton wool and tucked it away in his bag. “Right, then. Drag that Oil Can mech in here and let’s get to St. Thomas’s Hospital.”
~*~*~*~*~
“I am not accustomed to being made to wait,” explained Alexander to a nurse, who regarded him with a kind, if jaundiced, eye.
She patted his hand. “There, there, Your Majesty. We shan’t keep Your Nibs waiting any longer than we must. It being late at night, and a weekend, and a holiday, you’ll understand that there aren’t many doctors about. One will be in to see you as soon as may be.” She gave Clementine a conspiratorial wink and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a very emphatic click.
“Somehow, I don’t think that door opens from the inside,” Clemmie noted to Alex.
“Why ever not?” he asked, surprised.
“Because this is a mental ward, Alex. The first doctor looked at your head and couldn’t see any sort of damage from a blow. Yet you still won’t stop insisting that you’re royalty, when you and I both know you’re not.”
Alex chuckled. “But I am, my love, as shall be proven as soon as I can send a runner over to the palace.”
“So, now you remember you came from the palace?”
“Indeed! Where else would I come from? I’m staying there whilst I visit Grandmamma.”
“But you’re not. You’re a junior functionary. And you don’t remember how you got to Victoria Station? You don’t remember meeting me earlier today?”
He laughed. “Of course not! Meet you only today? How then could I be so totally in love with you?”
The lock turned and the nurse announced, “You’re a lucky ducky, Your Majesty! This kind doctor has come looking for you. This way, Doctor.”
A distinguished-looking man—carrying a doctor’s bag, but dressed as if he had just come in from the street—stepped into the room, looked them up and down, and turned back to the nurse. “I asked for the patient who had been brought here from Victoria Station.”
“But this is him, Doctor.”
He turned back to Alex. “Who are you? What is your name?”
“I am Prince Waldemar von Hohenzollern.”
“Right. You didn’t receive an injury in a fight at Victoria Station? You are not Lieutenant Winston Churchill?”
“I have not had the pleasure to meet a Lieutenant Churchill. I assure you that name is unfamiliar to me. This beautiful young lady insists that I am Alexander MacIntyre. It’s a merry game she plays.”
“And you, girl?”
“I am Miss Clementine Hozier. And you are . . .”
“Irritated. Do you know Lieutenant Churchill?”
Alarm bells went off in Clementine’s mind. “Doctor, if I might inquire—”
“Just answer the question.”
Clementine stood, her nostrils flaring. “I imagine I have the distinct displeasure of speaking with Dr. Oberon Malieux. I only learned of your existence today. But I have learned enough that neither I nor my companion will be speaking to you further.”
Malieux regarded her coldly. “And of course you have answered my question, stupid girl. You do know Winston Churchill, whom I was mistakenly informed had received an injury and been brought here. And you do know Miss Pauline Spiegel, with whom I am anxious to speak as well. Mind your tongue, you silly goose, before it lands you in even hotter water.”
“Now, see here!” Alex jumped to his feet. “You may not speak to my beloved in such a way, sir!”
Malieux frowned at him. “Your beloved? This girl gave your name as Alexander MacIntyre. Mr. MacIntyre is the swain of Miss Pauline Spiegel! Yet you insist you are in love with Miss Hozier? Which is it?”
Alex was momentarily flummoxed.
Clemmie laid her hand on his arm. “Alex . . . Waldemar . . . whatever you wish to call yo
urself this minute, don’t say another word to this man. He is our enemy. He is Pauline’s and Winston’s enemy. Say nothing more.”
Malieux shook his head. “Bollocks. What a shambles.” He turned on his heel and left the room, apparently dismissing them from his thoughts entirely. Clemmie got her foot in the door before it could close, grabbed Alex by the elbow, and pulled him out into the hall, turning the opposite direction Malieux had gone.
“Where are we going?” asked Alex.
“Anywhere but here.”
“Why?”
“We’re sitting ducks. We’re not going to stay pinned down here where Malieux can send his Enforcers after us again. I have had quite enough of them, thank you very much.”
Clemmie took several random turns to throw off pursuit. Within moments, she herself was lost in the myriad hallways of the huge hospital. “Ye gods!” she muttered. “No wonder doctors like to run rats through mazes—they run through mazes themselves all day.”
She found a door to a stairway and ducked inside, pulling Alex with her. “In all of the novels I read,” she said, “the pursuers always assume their quarry will go up the stairs when they’re being chased. Therefore, you and I will go down.”
She scampered down several flights of stairs, calculating that they were now below ground level. Soon no more stairs led downward, and they came out of the stairwell onto a dimly lit level that seemed to serve the hospital’s laundry and maintenance needs.
“Shouldn’t we head for an exit?” Alex asked.
“No. We have to find an unconventional way to leave the hospital. We have to assume that Malieux will have all the regular exits watched, by now.”
~*~*~*~*~
Which was exactly what Pauline had found to be true. Big Bert had lent her a battered overcoat and an old scarf to cover her hair, and she had fashioned a baby bundle from rags and a blanket. She had altered her posture and gait until, to any casual observer, she was merely another indigent mother seeking the hospital’s care for her infant.
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