Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “Send him in.”

  That did not sound like Archduke Rudolph. István entered the green-and-brown office and bowed.

  “You may rise, Count Eszterházy. Come, be seated.”

  Rudolph seemed to have aged since the start of the year. Not physically, and he had not lost weight, but he carried a different kind of weight on his shoulders, as if the entire Commonwealth rested there. His tan eyes appeared quiet—too quiet, István realized as he sat. The fire he associated with the archduke had faded, leaving nothing behind, like a flame that consumed even its own ashes.

  “A black wave is rising.”

  It was not a warning, but a weary statement of fact. István considered the words and the image.

  “From the east, Your Grace?”

  “The east and northwest. What says the Matra?”

  “Very little, Your Grace, as I think about it. It is . . . distracted is not the proper word. Troubled, but the worrisome thing lies very deep, just below the senses. Like, ah, a storm in the distance, one that you feel through the ground but cannot see, and you do not know where it will strike, or if it will strike you at all.”

  Rudolph nodded. “Bavaria feels much the same, according to Count von und zu Guttenberg. The Wittelsbachs have begun shifting, moving as much of the House as they can away from Munich, Würzberg, and especially Nuremberg.” He stared over István’s head. “I’m told that Krakow has become unpredictable, now acting as if it is going to lash out, now withdrawing almost beyond the point of contact.”

  One thin brown eyebrow rose, and his eyes changed color. István crossed himself.

  “Dear God not again. Why, Your Grace? What is wrong with the Powers? I’ve found nothing in our House Chronicles, not even during the Mongol and Turkish atrocities, that resembles what the past twenty years have seen.”

  Rudolph opened his mouth, closed it, inhaled and exhaled, and only then spoke. “I can show you more easily than saying, Little Stephen, but it is not a cheerful sight.”

  I think I should flee to Australia. But I need to know this. István took a deep breath, centered himself, and lowered his shields.

  «Oh» No words could describe the terrible sense of what transpired to the east. «Dear God have mercy.»

  «Amen. Because we will all need it.»

  Galicia remained grey, like the pictures of the ruined lands in France and Belgium, dotted here and there with green-and-silver flecks, more to the north and around Lancut, where the Potokis and other families had attempted to rebuild and resettled the land. Farther east, what had been Ukrainia’s territory seemed to pulse the green-grey of bloated, decaying death. Black tendrils extended still farther to the east, disappearing into something from which István averted his awareness. No wonder Ukrainia had gone mad, if that had been building and attacking it.

  «Not attacking, no. Infecting, leaching, corrupting. Young, weak creatures with no defenses.» The triple voice that spoke through Rudolph warned István. The scene shifted north and west. Brandenburg appeared strange as well, lit with dark stars much as the House showed as silver to István’s eyes. «The Hohenzollern lords cannot hold it. The Wittelsbachs and Jagiellos dare not.»

  István heard his own voice speaking aloud.

  “The Powers live on energy. What if that energy becomes corrupted, twisted, like water fouled with disease or tainted food?”

  The reply knocked István back into himself, and he ventured to open his eyes.

  “Your Grace!”

  István and a footman pulled Rudolph upright from where he lay, half sprawled on the desk. István felt for a pulse as the servant undid his master’s collar and tie. The heartbeat raced too fast under István’s fingers. The archduke’s face had a bluish tinge to it even though he was breathing. It took two tries for István to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak clearly.

  “I believe his Grace will need coffee and a bit of refreshment when he returns.”

  If he returns. How can he live with this?

  The faintest of mind voices answered as Rudolph’s eyelids trembled and his pulse began to slow.

  «Because I must.» Then Rudolph spoke aloud. “Coffee would be excellent.”

  The servant bowed and disappeared. Rudolph straightened up, but kept a grip on the arms of his chair and left his eyes closed.

  “The Chronicles hold nothing because, as best anyone can determine, there has been nothing like the Soviets in our history, as far back as the Chronicles and memories go. The Mongols and Turks, for all their brutality, never sought to destroy souls. The same cannot be said for what swirls to the east and north.”

  The children! István had to take his wife and children and hide them, send them to safety—had to run. But the Head and Guardian of House Szárkány could do no such thing. He bowed his head. What have I done to live in such a terrible time? But had the Mongol years been any better? Or when the Turks lapped Eger and Esztergom and Vienna? Or other human plagues in the long dim years long faded from memory?

  “What can we do?”

  “Drink the coffee, and do not tell Her Majesty what I put in the cup besides cream. She is a blessing to the nations and a wonderful woman, and I respect and honor her greatly, but some days alcohol before noon is not inappropriate.”

  Rudolph finally opened his eyes. They remained dried-blood brown, but only the man looked out of them. István started to make a joke about it being afternoon in China, but stopped himself. It did not seem that funny anymore, not given what he’d just seen.

  “We do what we can for our people, Little Stephen, just as we always have. And we prepare to shelter as many True-dragons as we can, where we can.” One of the fine-boned hands clenched into a fist. “They are fleeing Germany, France, England—everywhere save the Celtic provinces, North America, and the old Amber Road lands. There are no more True-dragons in the Hohenzollerns, Welfs, or other north German Houses, and Wittelsbach can only help so many, Traungau the same. His Majesty cannot force the Houses within the Habsburg lands to accept more, although Drachenburg is, and Brixen and I are, tucking as many as will fit into the Tirol and Styrian Alps.”

  “Prince Taxis?”

  “Has his forefeet full with the new German government. There are rumors, which I fear are more, far more, than just rumors, that the National Socialists have ruled that only pure humans are fit to remain in society, to hold office, and to control estates and property.” Rudolph growled something, then stopped as the coffee, little sandwiches, and small sweets arrived. “Thank you.”

  He accepted the coffee, sipped it, set the fine white-and-crimson porcelain cup and saucer on the desk, and eased a drawer open. If István hadn’t been watching, he would never have caught a glimpse of the little bottle and the thin stream of something that Rudolph added to the cup.

  Does he have an ace and a king up his cuff?

  István ventured to inquire, «Your Grace, you do not, perchance, play cards?»

  Rudolph smiled and his eyebrows rose and fell. «In my misspent youth. Why?»

  István struggled to keep his mind-voice mild and uninterested.

  «Merest curiosity, your Grace.»

  Now he knew why His Grace had not been on the list of bankrupt nobles and younger sons. Rudolph lifted the cup.

  “What I find fascinating is Herr Hitler. According to my contacts among the German Houses, there is a strong suspicion that he is a HalfDragon. For a pure human, he has a remarkable ability to project charisma and influence, then turn it off. ‘Like throwing a light switch’ Lord Welf said. It made him very uncomfortable. Hitler also rambles on and on about the superiority of the Nordic races, which, given his appearance . . .”

  Rudolph gave István an amused look over the silver rim of the cup as he drank. Now István truly wanted to run, to flee down Buda Hill, grab his children and wife, and disappear from the world.

  There were rumors in the Chronicles about a Turkish voyvod in Transylvania who hunted down HalfDragons and True-dragons, because he was one himsel
f and declared it a curse. That’s terrifying if it is true.

  “But all this is still rumor, and even if he is, shall I say, a traitor to his race,” the sardonic smile and cold gaze chilled István’s coffee, or so it seemed. “There is nothing His Majesty can or will do so long as the madness is confined to Germany’s borders. And the nobles and magnates feel Hitler can be controlled and directed toward less, hmm, problematic pursuits.”

  István accepted a second cup of coffee.

  “It is to be hoped for, your Grace.” After Rudolph took a few nibbles, István sampled the little cake on his own plate. “I do not understand people, I fear, Your Grace. The Fascists in Italy, the Black Arrows and National Socialists and their cousins in Britain, they claim that ‘the People’ want strong leaders and national unity, but they refuse to work with those of us who are the natural leaders of our people.”

  “Because we are not pure. They are worse than the Spanish about purity of the blood. Which is amusing in a warped way, I agree.” Rudolph had more coffee, this time with nothing stronger than cream. “And we are not part of the glorious destiny of the General Will, or whatever the German word is for that idiot Rousseau’s idea. Apparently there is a great unity of mind among the ‘Volk’ that we old mongrel aristocrats cannot see.”

  “But Hindenburg and the others can keep Herr Hitler and his followers in hand. Or can they?” István had some suspicions, given what he recalled of Hindenburg’s plans and failures during the war.

  Rudolph’s free hand and shoulders moved in a combination shrug and gesture of denial. “His Majesty will not act, cannot act, until it moves into the Commonwealth.”

  István had a dozen questions and complaints, but he couldn’t voice them after that. Instead he savored the coffee, tried not to wrinkle his nose at the anise in the little sweet bite, and wondered what the meat in the sandwich was.

  “You have heard who the Magyar Nationalists are nominating for the next minister of forestry.”

  István set the cup down so he would not break it.

  “Yes. And if the rumors I have heard, and the reports I have read, are true, Mr. Tisza has a major problem, given his property holdings in Czechoslovakia. I would think the nationalists might have some difficulty explaining that to their followers.”

  Rudolph leaned forward. “Really?”

  “Yes. We, House Eszterházy have had to shift our milling away from the western end of the mountains, to Eperjes, Kassa, and Lubotin—or whatever they are called now. My memory is failing me this morning, Your Grace, I apologize. Georg Tisza’s businesses have taken over all but one of the sawmills in the western half of the mountains, those that do not belong to the House.” István took a deep breath to calm his temper. “He has also been trying to purchase our lands, or lease them, or have them confiscated by the Czechoslovak government, and has pressured the Hungarian minister of forestry to look into our ownership.”

  The archduke shifted in his seat, reminding István of the stories about tigers and leopards.

  “Should His Majesty know? House Eszterházy does come under House Habsburg’s aegis.”

  István had warred with himself over that very question, and had consulted the seniors and Master Gellért.

  “No, Your Grace. That is, given the ongoing situation in the Commonwealth, the House prefers to keep the matter out of official notice. Tisza has done nothing wrong or illegal yet that we can prove conclusively. And the attempts have decreased over the past year or so. I suspect his businesses are suffering as much as everyone’s are.”

  Rudolph made an unhappy noise but did not say anything more. After a little more talk, Rudolph stood. István rose as well.

  “Thank you for coming, Count Eszterházy. Your observations are much appreciated.” Rudolph hesitated, then shifted to a mind sending. «This fall, would it be amiss for me to visit Nagymatra?»

  «No, Your Grace, not at all.»

  «Ah, thank you. I may do so. Is Tadea still on your staff?»

  István choked back a dozen answers, finally settling on the simplest.

  «Yes, Your Grace.»

  «Ah.»

  As he walked down the hallway from the archduke’s office, István decided that he did not need to know. As long as Rudolph took no advantages and the staff did not object, he reminded himself. Although I have not heard of any HalfDragon who managed to survive assaulting a True-dragon, especially a True-dragon who knew that her lord would support her if it came to trial! Just imagining such a thing made István feel as if his manhood was trying to crawl away and hide.

  The Forestry Ministry inspectors reached the House office before the press men did, but only by a few seconds, or so it seemed to István. He had been eating breakfast and listening to Weronica describe her plans for the day with one ear, his mind drifting to the pending Royal Council meeting. Then he heard the telephone bell ring. Weronica stopped mid-sentence.

  “Who would be calling at this hour?”

  Whoever it was, it could not be good, that much István could guess. He waited, taking another bite of his eggs. Ferenk appeared.

  “My lord, Mr. Gereb for you. It is urgent.”

  “Thank you, Ferenk. If you will excuse me?” He waited for her nod before bolting to the phone in his office. “Yes?”

  “My lord, I apologize for disturbing you, but there are gentlemen here who are most insistent on speaking with you and reviewing the business records. They are from the Forestry Ministry’s permits department and Revenue Ministry.”

  “Thank you, Gereb. I will be there shortly. Tell the staff to allow the men to have access to any records they need, after you confirm their identities.”

  István could well imagine someone claiming to be a government official for their own purposes. After all, smugglers had done so during the war.

  “Very good, my lord, and I will do as you order.”

  After István hung up, he snarled, allowing himself to show his anger and disgust with the situation. After glaring at the wall and a map of the House lands, he composed himself so he would not scare the staff or Weronica and went upstairs. When he returned to the ground floor, Dobroslov and Ivan had the car ready. István got in.

  “My lord, there are reporters outside the gate,” Dobroslov warned. “We’ll clear your path, but be careful.”

  “Thank you, and I will.”

  István nodded to Fiodor, his driver for the day, and the car started rolling toward the heavy wooden gates. Two men pulled them open, and Dobroslov and Ivan rushed out, clearing a path through a cluster of people, all of whom seemed to be waving notepads or cameras. Fiodor got the car into the road, and Ivan jumped into the front seat beside the driver as Dobroslov and the others closed the gates. Weronica would not be going out, István suspected.

  “Stop here,” he ordered as they came around a corner onto the block with the House business office on it. He could see the muddle of people filling the sidewalk and growled to himself. Damn vultures, circling any hint of a rumor or story.

  “I’ll walk from here.”

  “My lord, don’t,” Ivan began.

  “No, and you stay here. That is an order, Ivan.”

  I cannot be seen with a Russian guard, and that is all they will see, not the man—they won’t attend to anything but the name and the accent. Even a decade and a bit after becoming Hungarian, Ivan sounded as Russian as Lenin had.

  “I’m not worried about my safety, not until after the newspapers come out tomorrow. I’ll call for you when I need you.”

  “My lord, I must—”

  “No.”

  István put his strength as House Head behind the command, and Ivan ducked. István got out of the car, shut the door, and walked toward the office, learning on his walking stick. He had brought his identification but no other papers. What remained in his office at the town palace needed to stay there, away from prying reporters and officials.

  “Count Eszterházy, is it true that—”

  “A few questions Colonel!
”

  “Do you still do business with the Communists?”

  “The minister of finance says that—”

  The dozen reporters sounded like a hundred as they shouted questions at him. István wanted to thrash several of them for their impudence, as he could have back before the war. Instead he remained silent, face composed and calm, as he limped through the throng. One of the secretaries opened the door for him, and he slipped through. The man locked the heavy panel behind István.

  “Your pardon, my lord, but the crowd . . .”

  István handed him his hat and coat.

  “I understand.”

  He walked into the main office and found Mr. Gereb all but wringing his hands at the chaos. Ledgers and maps lay scattered here and there as four men went through the heavy books. István suspected that more inspectors had taken over other rooms as well, looking at payroll records and the tax receipts.

  “I trust all is in order?”

  A small man with wire-rim glasses and too-bright dark eyes stood up from where he leaned over the master expense account ledger. István noted ink stains on the man’s fingers, and a heavy, gold-and-silver watch chain draped across his flat stomach.

  “Ah. Count Eszterházy. So good of you to come. I am Sandor Farago, Ministry of Finance. Information has been received that your firm been, shall I say, remiss in paying to the Crown those fees which are due His Majesty’s government?”

  Are you asking or saying? You sound as if you are asking. I do not care for this.

  “I see.”

  István waited for details. Gereb made an unhappy, squeak-like sound as one of the other men brought Farago a ledger.

  “Would you care to explain what this means?”

  “If you will set the records where I can see them, Mr. Farago, then I shall.”