The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North)

by Brendan DuBois

Uncle Charlie pursed his lips. “He’s not alone in his hatred for what we have done to our servant class over the years. But your young Armand will have a very full plate if he becomes Crown Prince. It may be a long time, if ever, if the throne becomes available to him. I don’t know if he will have the time and inclination to do anything about the servants.”

  Then he added, “I really must be going, child. What is the other thing?”

  Even though she had tears on her cheeks, Melinda found herself smiling. “I’m in love with him, uncle.”

  Her uncle smiled back at her. “Of course you are. Everyone in that room knows that. Now, niece, I must go back.”

  “But can we help him? What can we do?”

  With that, her uncle violently shook his head. “Very little, my niece. For what awaits for that boy in there is his destiny. He must be strong enough to grab it with both of us hands, and to see it through. By himself. It is a terrible and lonely place that he is going. All we can do is wish him well, for himself and our Empire.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlie Ten Horse came back a few minutes later, cleared his throat a couple of times and said, “Well.” He turned to LaMontagne, who was wiping at his eyes with a large lace handkerchief. “What say you, Jean? Eh? Imagine how many copies of your newsjournals you can sell with such a story.”

  Gagnon grumbled and said something, and Charlie turned quick to him. “Speak up, Paul. Do speak up. Share what you just said.”

  Gagnon growled. “A story. That’s a good word. A story.”

  The revolver in Armand’s pocket was back in his hand and even LaMontagne looked shocked at what Gagnon had said. But Charlie was still smiling. “Paul, my old friend, we have a tradition in my home tribe, where an accusation is made of a falsehood, for two men to settle accounts out on the ice, with blades. Would you care to join me? There’s no ice out there, but there are blades a-handy, I’m sure.”

  LaMontagne spoke up. “I find it hard to admit this, but this true account, of your niece. It could be used to great advantage. To tell the people of the Empire that despite his background, that this Armand is a man of honor, of trust, a warrior who will defend all that is true. It could work, I tell you. It could work.”

  Charlie nodded and laughed. “Hah! How true! Look at this way, Jean. We can say how the true and noble blood of the Emperor must flow through this boy’s veins, for when so many challenges came to him, he fought like a true Emperor in defense of all that’s dear.”

  Armand made to speak but Charlie glared at him and he kept his mouth shut. Finally Charlie wiped at his eyes and said, “Paul, you can see where this is going.”

  Gagnon pursed his lips again. “The boy has been convicted of treason.”

  Charlie said, “A spurious charge. In a manner of moments, we can pardon him.”

  Gagnon kept quiet. The fire in the fireplace crackled and an ember popped out onto the finely-woven rug. Even in the darkest times out on the oil sands and in the badlands and in the Ayan compound, Armand never dreamed that he would be in such a place, such a time. Charlie spoke up, his voice soothing. “It has to be this way. You know it, in your heart of hearts. The Empire needs a clear, convincing choice of a crown prince. The Empire doesn’t need --- and won’t stand --- for some unknown distant cousin who represents only those interests pushing him forward.”

  “Then some additional time, then, to look into ---” Gagnon began, and Charlie cut him off.

  “No. It takes place now,” and then Charlie’s smile disappeared and a hard tone came out in his voice. “It takes place now, it is unanimous, or I’m sure Jean and his newsjournals and wireless stations will broadcast the story of Armand and his feats, and will also accuse the nobility for looking after their own interests. The people of the Empire are nervous. We can reassure them here today, or you --- and you alone --- can spark them into violence.”

  If Gagnon could kill Charlie with his eyes or his thoughts, Armand was sure he would do it. But Charlie stared right back at Gagnon, and LaMontagne even looked impatient. With a strangled tone to his voice, Gagnon said, “All right. So it will be done. Against my better judgment, but we still need the blessing of the Cardinal and ---“

  Charlie stood up, put his fingers to his mouth again, and set off two whistles. The door opened up again, and a priest in black robes stepped forward, a gold cross hanging from around his neck. Charlie said, “How long before the Cardinal arrives?”

  “In about thirty minutes,” the priest said.

  Charlie’s grin was wide indeed.

  “So there you have it.”

  In the ensuing minutes, Armand found Templair and passed him a slip of paper. “I need to see this person. Now.”

  Templair glanced down at the name. “Seems it’ll be a hell of a bother. In thirty minutes, you’re going to be one very busy young man.”

  “But I know you’re talented,” Armand said firmly. “Make it happen.”

  About fifteen minutes later, a young man with hard-looking eyes opened the door, caught Templair’s attention and nodded. Templair said, “Sire de la Cloutier, if you’ll join me, there are some important papers for you to examine.”

  Armand turned to see if his departure was going to be noted, but Charlie Ten Horse, Gagnon and LaMontagne were in one corner of the room, whispering loudly, arms moving about. He followed Templair out of the meeting room and down one hallway, and then to the next, and he nodded and said, “Here you go, sire,” as he opened a plain wooden door.

  He walked in, saw it was an empty office, with bookcases, typewriter on a stand, and a large wooden desk. Standing before the desk, hands clasped before her, was Armand’s mother.

  Something very heavy and cold settled in his chest. His mother looked cross, standing there, arms folded, wearing a long dark blue skirt and short tan jacket. Her face seemed to have more make-up than usual, and her dark hair was colored.

  “Madam,” Armand said, speaking softly.

  “Son,” she said. “You look… well.”

  Armand stood there, staring at her, trying to recall the times his mother had shown him care, affection, a passing caress or kiss, and nothing came to him. There was just this older woman standing before him, eyes and face stern, and Armand waited to see who would speak first.

  Somewhere a clock chimed, and he knew it would have to be him. He could not afford to waste any time.

  “Madam,” he said. “So it’s true then. That you betrayed Roland de la Cloutier. That you cuckolded him.”

  “That,” she said bitterly, “is not a topic I shall discuss with you, young man.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Then let us discuss this. What did I ever do to deserve being betrayed by you?”

  He hoped that she would be shocked or stunned by the accusation, but her expression didn’t change one flicker. Armand said, “A friend of mine told me, just before I left for home, that the ones closest to you should be the ones you’re concerned about. And it came to me, madam. The day before I was arrested, I met with Windsor Senior. You were nearby, and it would have been quite easy for you to overhear what we were saying. My talk of the servant class while at Andre’s reception. You were there as well, easy enough to hear my words. And then father… my true father, no matter the bloodline. He told me how you were so suspicious of him on his travels. Suspicious enough, no doubt, to have his movements monitored. Or his conversations recorded. Such as the conversation we had on the airship on the way back from Potomick. Easy enough for a woman of your background to get her hands on the transcript of such a conversation.”

  Something about her eyes changed, and Armand knew he was almost there. He pressed on. “The day I was arrested. You told me that my appointment at the Fer de Lance fencing gymnasium had been changed. And that no coach was available for me, and so I had to walk. You set me up so my arrest would be so much easier for Imperial Security. So there you go, madam. My arrest, torture and exile for treason… all arranged by you. So why?”

  Tears star
ted to well up in her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “So try me, madam. Why? Because I was insolent? Because I was your bastard child? Because you thought my sisters were more worthy of your attention?”

  Despite the tears, she started smiling. “You young fool. I did that to protect you. To save your silly young life.”

  Armand always prided himself on being a good son, but at that very moment, he was tempted to strike this woman. “You’re right,” he said, struggling to keep his voice under control. “I don’t believe you. Having me arrested, tortured, and exiled… that was done to save my life? Do you know what life is like out in the oil sands?”

  “Based on Roland’s tales to me, I certainly do. But I know Toronto well, and the Imperial Court, and the intrigues and plotting. Armand, if it wasn’t for me, within a day or two, you would have been dead. So I did what I could. To send you far away from Toronto, to protect you for as long as I could. Hundreds of klicks away, nearly to the other side of the empire.”

  Armand’s voice was louder. “All those tortures, the exile… hell, killing Martel… that was done to save me?”

  “Yes, it was. As for Martel, I don’t feel sorry for putting the brute down. It had to be done. Sweet dumb son, killing your dog made it real to all those who were watching us, so they would see how horrified I was at your apparent treason and betrayal of your family. And they wouldn’t suspect I was trying to protect you.”

  “And what was going on, madam? What plots? What intrigue?”

  The tears had halted. “That I cannot say.”

  Armand said sharply, “I can ensure that you do say, madam.”

  Her smile was sharp and nasty. “Not so fast, my boy. You’re not crown prince. Yet.”

  He was going to say something else when Templair opened the door. “Young sire, I must insist. It’s time.”

  Armand turned away from the woman who claimed to be his mother, and followed Templair back to the meeting room.

  The strange truth of what has happening to Armand got even stranger, when he returned into the room to find the Cardinal of Toronto waiting for him, dressed in red robes and a skullcap, carrying a large leather bound book under his arm. He was the oldest man in the room and seemed a bit confused, but the Lord Chancellor got to work. Armand’s clothes were brusquely removed and were replaced by a simple black tunic and dark blue trousers --- both cut too full ---- and the revolver was discovered and Templair raised an eyebrow and said, “Thank you for holding that for me, sire,” and took it away.

  Armand had just one panicked moment, as the Lord Chancellor was taking out his old clothes, when he ran after him and retrieved his Father Abram coin, which he promptly slipped into his new and baggy trousers. There was some brief but animated conversation among the three council members, and then LaMontagne thrust a piece of parchment in his hands.

  “There, lad, there’s your pardon… and good wishes for you,” he said, and Armand almost believed him. Then the Cardinal opened up the book and started flipping through the pages with his wrinkled fingers, and Armand managed a moment alone with Charlie Ten Horse, in the corner of the room. He urgently whispered as a burst of panic suddenly came through him, “For God’s sake, grandfather, I don’t want this. I never wanted this, or even dreamed of it. I just wanted my name cleared and my father’s title. Those were my plans, my dreams. That’s it.”

  Charlie’s expression was grim once more. “Greater things are in motion, young man. Like it or not, you are a royal, and that royal bitch duty is calling you. Trust me, I don’t want this for you at all, either. When Melinda, through your skills and the grace of God, was returned to us, all I wanted was to bring you home and adopt you into our tribe, and hold parties and celebrations for a month. But duty has called me as well.”

  Armand looked to the closed door. “Melinda. I want to see her again. I need to talk to her.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I’m afraid not. She’s on her way home. She has some recovery ahead of her, and Armand…” he gently clasped his shoulder. “These are dangerous times, and I am so afraid for you, for your real troubles will begin, once you become crown prince.”

  “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  A sad shake of his head. “I can do just a little. For this is yours, and yours alone.”

  “But I never wanted it!”

  “Your father, Roland. Your true father, no matter whose blood is within you, what would he have you do?”

  The mention of his father’s name and how he lived his life made it cold and crystal clear, like the ice on Lake Ontario he would skate on. The panic and doubts were now gone. It was like the time he had stepped up at the barracks and had taken charge. Armand said to Charlie, “He would tell me to do what was right, what was necessary.”

  With a thin, high voice, the Cardinal was calling to him. Charlie slapped Armand on the back. “A wise man. Now, go, son, make us proud. Some day, a year or two later… hah-hah… when you have some free time, you will come to my home and the celebrations we have will be known for centuries to come.”

  Armand looked at the older men, all waiting, and it came to him that they all had their plans and desires for Armand as crown prince. With a strong sharpness in his mind, he knew he would ignore them all. No doubt these adults thought he would do their bidding because of his age and inexperience; if so, they were in for one big goddamn surprise. Armand had his own plans. To hell with them all. Then he almost burst out laughing, thinking of that hoodoo woman years ago, who had correctly predicted that all of this would occur.

  He walked back to the center of the room to the Cardinal, who placed a hand on his head and read from the book, using an archaic form of Franglish from the early days of the Empire that he could barely understand, and the Royal Chancellor came forward and placed a medaled ribbon about Armand’s neck. The ribbon was light purple and the medal was a silver fleur-de-lis, and when the clasp was fastened, his legs and arms felt like stone. Only the Emperor wore a gold fleur-de-lis with such an arrangement, and despite the continuing prayers from the Cardinal, it now hit him, almost as powerful as a punch from one of those dead Ayan tribesman, that he was no longer Armand de la Cloutier of Toronto, or Imperial Prisoner N19283, or the chief of Barracks 19 of the Imperial Oil Sands Authority.

  He was now Crown Prince Armand of the Empire of the Nunavut.

  Epilogue

  Randall de la Bourbon strode almost blindly down the stone corridor in the basement of his father’s ministry building, tears filling his eyes, fists clenched in anger, disappointment and betrayal, following Munro, wondering how in God’s name it had gone so wrong. He had eagerly counted down the official days of mourning --- like it was a week before Christmas --- and during that time, he was fitted out in the ceremonial black trousers and dark blue tunic. Even his family’s chaplain had secretly come by twice to the household, to have a practice ceremony with Randall, as his father silently watched. Then, today, the day of days, when his chest and head were buzzing with excitement and anticipation ---- knowing everything was coming true, from never having to return to Service Academy to soon having the power to punish everyone that had wronged him over the years --- it was all taken away!

  And by that damn arrogant Armand de la Cloutier! The lucky bastard --- and that was the key, being the illegitimate son of the emperor --- had popped up out of nowhere! Like an old nightmare, coming back to ruin everything! Armand had lived for months on the run, and instead of being executed or sent back to the oil sands, right at this moment, he was stealing what was rightfully his. The boy was becoming crown prince, instead of him.

  Oh, Randall felt like killing something….

  Munro opened a dark wooden door and Randall walked through and found his father, sitting calmly on a large couch, a snifter of brandy in his hand, his dispatch case on a table in front of him, next to a small wet bar. This was too much.

  “Father!” he called out, his voice choked. “How can you look so relaxed? So d
amn calm? Don’t you realize what’s happened?”

  His father swirled the amber brown liquid around in his snifter. “Why not be relaxed? Things will happen at their own pace, their own schedule. That’s the problem with you young folks. Always in a damn hurry.”

  “But it was stolen from me! By Armand and that damn native chief! Now he’s crown prince… and it should be me!”

  The brandy snifter came up, his father took a sip. “So it was stolen, and so he’ll be crown prince. But the question, dear thick son, is how long will he be crown prince? Hmm? Have you thought about that?

  Randall allowed a small flicker of hope to arise inside of him. “What are you saying, father? What’s going on?”

  “Humph,” his father said. “Never you mind. You see --- “

  Randall strode forward, standing right in front of the old man. “No! I demand to know what’s happening! Father, I know a lot, more than you think. I know you were in Quebec City, with the other two plotters. There’s been plans for over a year for me to become crown prince. You tell me what’s going on… now! I demand to know who the other two people were with you that day, and what’s really been going on.”

  His father surprised him, by faintly smiling. “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up. Nicely done, Randall.”

  A knock at the door. His father said, “Right on schedule, and to meet your demands.” He called out and the door opened and the Lord Chancellor came in. His father said, “Come on, George, take a load off. What a long damn day, eh? A drink?”

  The Lord Chancellor gingerly sat down on the couch, and gratefully took a snifter from Randall’s father. “Yes,” he said, in his tired old man’s voice, “a damn long day. But its ended well, that’s for damn sure.”

  “I understand you did quite the fine job, working on Armand’s behalf.”

  “Had to do what’s right,” the Lord Chancellor said.