Adele glanced at Greyfriar, who nodded knowingly. She wrote a reply and handed it to the telegrapher. “Lieutenant, tell Ituri, with respect, that I shall not come aboard. We are pleased to follow them to port, where they may contact their government.”
Tapping followed. And another long silence.
Adele waited patiently. Anhalt watched her step to Greyfriar's side, and the two chatted as tendrils of cloud slipped past them along the deck. They were quite natural together, with a complete ease and rapport born of many adventures. Adele had taken firm control of this expedition with natural authority. Despite the Greyfriar's reputation as a man of action, he had ceded command to her with unconcern. There was no traditional masculine jealousy or resistance to a woman giving orders—such as in Senator Clark. Anhalt was impressed by the man's respect and trust in the princess.
Finally the Katangan response came in a short series of ticks. Adele came forward and studied the telegrapher's notations.
“Captain Hariri, please make ready to follow Ituri. We are bound for Bunia and an audience with King Msiri.”
IT HAD BEEN nearly twenty minutes without screams in the halls of the Commons, so Lord Kelvin removed the brace from the door and peered out of the cloak room. The tiled corridor was littered with dead and wounded. He recognized several members. Rahim Sonheim, member for Aqaba; Sir Induri Randoor, member for Delhi; and Chief Yenzi Kyerere, member for Tabora. All former colleagues, but now just figures in a vast, tragic tableau.
Lord Kelvin retreated to his nearby office and locked the door so his very important business wouldn't be disturbed. He noted with anger the broken windows and wrecked files. Within minutes, he sent several messages to the palace via the pneumatic tubes and then did his best to organize his world. The clock ticked loudly as he waited for the sound of pneumo tubes dropping into his inbox, but there were no responses. Instead, Kelvin heard noise from the halls as recovery began and the wounded were tended. There were several knocks at his door and his name was called. He didn't answer; he was too busy. His only concern was the situation at the palace.
It had been regrettable but necessary to use Flay and her creatures. They were useful weapons, powerful and sure. Best of all, ultimately they would retreat from Alexandria due to the summer heat. There was no fear of their constant interference. Kelvin could use and dispose of them. Perfect allies.
It rankled the prime minister that the vampire warrior had upbraided him for carelessness, as if he had failed in something. It was Kelvin who had arranged for Princess Adele to make her ill-fated tour of the frontier in the early spring. And it was Kelvin who had alerted Prince Cesare to the fact, so that Adele could be seized and disappear forever in vampire territory, writing finis to the Equatorian-American alliance and, hopefully, the entire War of Reconquest in the north. And it was Cesare who failed; it was the vampire prince who had allowed Adele to survive and then to escape. It was Cesare whose fumblings had brought about the necessity for these desperate measures by Kelvin. The nerve of that creature Flay to imply that Kelvin was less than completely in control of the situation.
Finally, Lord Kelvin unlocked the door, summoned several armed guards, and started for the palace. The city was in unbelievable chaos. Police whistles sounded from nearly every corner. People had begun to emerge from hiding. Many raced for home to check on family. Most knelt beside the injured trying to help, or beside the dead trying to identify loved ones. A few airships rose in the night sky as the Imperial Navy hastily launched patrols. The sight of the military gave some comfort to the distraught people.
The prime minister bemoaned the lack of available carriages as he and his bodyguards made their way north on foot. After a harrowing half hour, they reached the main gate of Victoria Palace to find it open and a group of Home Guard gathered out front. They saluted.
“Who's in command at the palace?” Kelvin asked.
One of the guardsmen shook his head, his eyes wide with shock. “Senator Clark, I think. Isn't he?”
“No,” Kelvin retorted crisply. “Who is the ranking Equatorian officer on the grounds?”
“No idea who's still alive, sir. I saw Captain Eskandari and his marines.”
“Good. I want you to find the captain and send him to the Privy Council chamber. Do you understand? You, personally. Find him.”
“Yes sir. Is the emperor alive, sir?”
“I'm sure he is. Go about your duty.” As the soldier padded off, the prime minister turned to another soldier. “Find Lord Aden, if you please.” He wrote an address on a slip of paper. “Tell him that Lord Kelvin requests his presence at the palace with all due haste.”
Kelvin then proceeded into the royal residence and nearly winced at the sight of blood shining wet on the mosaic floor. Still, he maintained his professional demeanor. A soldier loped down the main staircase, dragging his rifle, his tunic unbuttoned and his undershirt stained red. Kelvin noticed the man's appearance with instant alarm and raised a disapproving eyebrow.
“Prime Minister!” the soldier shouted at his better like a common street vendor. “Everybody is looking for you. Emperor Constantine's been murdered and the General Staff is dead. They're laying up there like slaughtered beef.” The soldier appeared overcome by emotion. His mouth clamped shut, and his throat clenched trying to subdue sobs. He lowered his head. “We're lost.”
“Do lower your voice. Difficulty is no excuse for vulgar behavior. And button your shirt. You are on duty.”
The soldier began to tidy his uniform. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I can assure you that we are not lost.” Kelvin held up his hand when the soldier started to argue. “We aren't some nomadic tribe. We are a modern state with laws and proprieties.” He paused to gather himself from what he felt had been a tirade, even though he had not raised his voice. “What of Prince Simon?”
The soldier nodded with excitement. “He's well, sir. Alive and well, thank God.”
“Mind yourself, Private. You would do well to recall where you are and do not spread rumors to anyone that the emperor is dead.” Kelvin mounted the main stairs and made for the east wing, where the emperor's business was conducted.
The Privy Council chamber was wrecked, but empty. Kelvin placed his bodyguards in the hall while he picked up overturned chairs and returned them to their proper places around the large center table. He gathered papers from the agenda he had prepared earlier for the emperor's meeting with the General Staff. Absently, Kelvin began to put pages in order, even though sheets were spattered with blood.
Something caught Kelvin's eye. Against the far wall there was a long table typically used by clerks to sort materials for council meetings. But now there was an Equatorian flag draped over the table. Under the flag was a bulky object, and the flag was stained with blood.
The prime minister stepped to the table and lifted the corner of the heavy flag to uncover the face of Constantine II. Lord Kelvin felt his pulse jump as he stared at his sovereign's waxy skin, sunken cheeks, and lifeless mouth. The emperor had been a good man, and it was unfortunate events had to develop as they did. Kelvin was comforted by the thought that it was likely proper for the emperor to be lying near where he died because the appropriate authorities were not available to declare him officially dead. Only then could he be moved. Once the emperor was made officially dead, events would have to move quickly to preserve the state. Kelvin wasn't ready to begin that process yet. Not all the pieces were in place.
Political and military personalities whom Kelvin did not trust had to be located should action become necessary. Some would be deprived of their posts for the good of the Empire, and other quarrelsome politicians and soldiers needed to be carefully monitored. This included Colonel Anhalt, the commander of Princess Adele's White Guard, a man whose loyalty was to the princess, not to Equatoria. However, the man had left Alexandria a few days before to pursue one of the many Adele sightings. It was believed he had gone to Damascus, but that could not be confirmed. Kelvin would have to
make sure to intercept Anhalt upon his return, with or without the princess in tow.
The shuffle of boots alerted the prime minister to the arrival of Captain Eskandari. The Persian officer swept his cap from his head and locked his eyes on the cadaver. Kelvin hastily lowered the flag over Constantine's face because it was improper for a low-ranking officer to view the body of the sovereign before it was lying in state.
“Ah, Captain, thank you for coming.”
“Yes, Your Lordship. I have dire reports from around the city.”
“In due time, Captain. For now, I have two tasks of great importance and delicacy for you.”
Eskandari scowled, but remained still. “Yes, Your Lordship.”
“I want you to find Her Highness's former tutor, Mamoru, and place him under arrest.”
“On what charge, my lord?”
Kelvin took a sheet of paper and scribbled briefly before handing it to the captain. “This should do for now. He is a dangerous fanatic. Do not allow him to escape.”
“Yes, sir. And the other task?”
“Where are Senator Clark and his Rangers?”
“I'm not sure of the senator's exact location. I believe he's in the palace somewhere. His men are in the city assisting with the recovery.”
“I need you to round up the Americans and confine them to barracks. Nothing overly dramatic, you see. Just keep them sequestered.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but we could use every man available to—”
“And locate the senator and bring him here.”
“I'm confused, sir. Are you authorizing me to arrest the Americans too?”
“No, no. Not at all. They are guests and we are concerned for their welfare. It would hardly do for them to be injured while in our care.”
“And if they refuse?”
“Well, then I am authorizing you to arrest them.” Kelvin reached out and touched a corner of the shroud flag. “This is an important time in our nation's history. The homeland must be protected from foreign threats. We need our sons to stand up and defend us. And also, you are not to say anything that would imply wrongly that the emperor is dead. Equatoria expects that you will do your duty, Captain.”
The Persian marine hesitated briefly, then saluted and withdrew.
It took several hours for Lord Kelvin to get a basic government up and running. He collected clerks and began to dictate dispatches and promulgations. The city's pneumatic system slowly but incompletely came back to life. The telegraph lines had been destroyed by the vampires, cutting off Alexandria from the rest of the Empire. Communication would be restored at some point, and Kelvin could then begin putting affairs in order on a wide scale.
“Dammit, Prime Minister!” came a thundering shout from the door. “Why are you just sitting here?”
Lord Kelvin glanced up from where he was making notations in the margin of a dispatch as Senator Clark burst into the Privy Council chamber with a squad of Persian marines following at a respectful distance. The American leaned heavily on the table and sent the carefully piled paperwork airborne. Kelvin risked a reproachful glance, then began to gather up the government's business again.
“We need to talk,” Clark announced loudly. “This place is tearing apart at the seams. It's time for action. We need to get the government back on its feet.”
“Precisely what I am doing, Senator. Just not with as much flair and weaponry as some.” Kelvin tapped a sheaf of papers into place. He indicated yellow sheets tacked to a wall, where an army of clerks swarmed like bees around a blossoming fruit tree. The emotionless young men pulled notes, cleared their actions, and returned to pull others as quickly as possible. “The government is functioning—slowly, I grant you—but functioning nonetheless.”
“There's no time for slow. I've been out on the streets. Your people are shell-shocked. They're afraid of more attacks. They thought they were safe and now they're not. This is a harbinger of a larger offensive! This is war!” Clark grabbed one of the yellow dispatch sheets and crumpled it. “You can't save your nation with memoranda.”
“To the contrary.” Kelvin plucked the sheet back and smoothed it out. “The Empire is not under general assault. This was not an offensive. It was an attempted assassination.”
“Attempted? I'd say it worked! Lucky they didn't get me too.”
“Yes,” Kelvin countered dryly. “Lucky.”
“We have to do something right now. Half the people out there are in tears and the other half are furious. They could storm the palace because you didn't protect them. Vampires came right out of the damned ground! We need to make sure they're all rooted out!”
“I have already addressed that point. The catacombs beneath the city are being searched and sealed. That should leave us well protected.” Kelvin exhaled slowly. “Some emotional distress is to be expected, but it is rather irresponsible to predict violent insurrection. And as to your traveling the streets, I would prefer you stop that. I would hate for you to be injured. It would put us in a difficult position with your president and your senate. You are not an Equatorian official.”
“What do you mean I'm not an Equatorian official? I'm the next emperor.” The American pursed his lips behind his black beard and gave Lord Kelvin a suspicious squint. Then he jerked his chin at the body of Constantine across the room. “Maybe you've had a bit of a shock yourself. He's not sleeping; he's dead.”
The prime minister remained stoic and refused to acknowledge Clark's disrespectful comments about the emperor. “At best, you were in line to be prince regent. That aside, the emperor has a unique legal status that transcends the mortal man who holds that position. That status cannot be diminished until certain procedures have been undertaken. In short, despite what may lie under that flag, Emperor Constantine the Second is indeed still alive.”
“Are you insane? Look, you've got a city about to explode and you're sitting here scribbling. You need a man who can hold this town together. You need me! Now, when do we stage my coronation?”
“There will be a coronation.” Kelvin paused to inspect a memo thrust in front of his face by a clerk blandly unaware of the crackling situation over the table. He made a few notes in silence and handed the paper back. “Where was I? Oh yes, there will be a coronation at some point in the future, although it may take a while because some of the imperial regalia appear to be missing. Perhaps the vampires took it. Such scavengers. Most inconvenient. But the object of that coronation will be His Imperial Highness, Prince Simon. He will be named Emperor Presumptive.”
“Simon?” Clark was red-faced and aghast. “That boy!”
“He is young, I grant you. However, I will be named regent. And I believe we can convince Lord Aden to assume the role of prime minister. That will invest Prince Simon's government with a comforting continuity and solidity.”
“Simon is second in line! I'm married to the heir!”
“Yes? Perhaps you've noticed the heir isn't about. She has fled the Empire, and even as we speak, Commons is in the process of officially removing her from succession.” Kelvin took a moment to consult his pocket watch. “It took some effort to gather a quorum, a breathing quorum anyway. The vote may well have taken place, but communications being what they are, it's difficult to know. But I assure you, the outcome is not in doubt.”
“No, sir. I won't have it, you insane bastard.” Clark drew closer and the Persian marines inched forward. “Constantine is dead and gone. Princess Adele is the heir to the throne. And I am her husband. Perhaps you recall? You were at the ceremony. You pronounced us man and wife.”
“I did indeed. But even my pronouncement isn't sufficient. You see, for a marriage to be legal, the banns must be signed and notarized by the proper authorities. Since the princess, let us say, departed the altar prior to signing the paperwork, your union never occurred. In the eyes of the law, you are not the husband of Princess Adele.”
“You miserable mule!” Clark slammed his fist on the table. “Do you think I'm going to s
tand here and let you pull my throne out from under me? Do you imagine in your wildest dream I'll let some glorified librarian stand in my way?”
“My dear Senator Clark, you have nowhere to stand. You have no voice in our government.”
“We're at war and only one thing counts in war! Let's see if your papers can stop a bullet.” Clark's hand flashed to the flap of his holster.
Captain Eskandari lunged for him, and his firm hand gripped Clark's wrist as the pistol cleared. The Persian commander's service revolver pressed into the senator's midsection.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw the marines with their rifle muzzles less than a foot away from him. The American's brow knit in confusion. “What in the hell are you doing, Captain?”
Eskandari said, “Your weapon, if you please, sir.”
“I don't believe I heard right.”
“Surrender your weapon, Senator. Now.”
“You cannot possibly be supporting this pathetic worm. You're a soldier.” Then Clark locked eyes with the Persian and read the man's earnest gaze. He let the pistol drop noisily to the table.
Eskandari gave a polite nod, released his grip on the senator, and picked up the gun as he stepped back. “Thank you, sir.”
Clark smoothed his tunic and tugged his sleeves. He regarded the Persian with his best man-to-man stare. His voice was slow, measured, and reasonable. “Captain, there are times in history when mighty forces turn on the actions of a single man. Today, my friend, you are that man. The future of your empire is being decided here in this room, now in this moment. Look at us, Captain. Who do you trust to guide the future of your nation, to lead your armies into war, and to ensure the safety of your children? Me? Or that man sitting there?”
Lord Kelvin didn't allow for any dramatic, thoughtful pauses. “Captain Eskandari, please escort the senator to his quarters.”
The marine immediately extended his hand toward the door, inviting Clark to go ahead of him.
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