“Of course not. I'm not insane.” Mamoru held up his hands, which were wrapped in thick oilcloth. “But I can learn as well as teach. Wish me luck.” He took hold of a thick cable and climbed over the rail. With one more furtive gaze at the street far below, he took a deep breath and started down.
Adele held up her hand to the quarterdeck. “Captain! I thank you and your crew. Once I'm away, make for the rendezvous point and await my orders.”
Hariri touched head, mouth, and heart, and many of the crew joined his salute with shouts of “Good luck!” or “Bon chance!” The grinning young telegrapher called out his well wishes in broken Swahili.
Adele dropped her cloak to reveal her new clothes designed for her return home. The best Katangan tailors had provided her with a long, heavy silk skirt of shimmering pearl, and a short jacket of light violet, all designed to draw the eye whether she was standing near the scarletcoated White Guard or the grey shades of Greyfriar. Simple and functional, but elegant—the image that Adele wanted to portray.
The princess looked over the side. Mamoru was nearly down, and several guardsmen held his line taut. The redcoats had formed a square on the street, and a crowd was gathering, watching the soldiers, pointing up at the ship. From her vantage point Adele could see lines of people meandering in their direction through the narrow streets.
Alexandria was a small town masquerading as a metropolis. Word still spread rapidly through the districts. Adele and Anhalt had used all their contacts to alert the city that the princess was returning. They had picked this very day, giving themselves time for delay on the route from Katanga. They'd actually made such good time they spent several days circling in the desert so they could meet their prophesied arrival, allowing the news to expand throughout the streets. Hopefully the city was primed for her appearance, and this strange airship disgorging imperial soldiers, which surely some recognized were dressed in the colors of Adele's household guard, would light a wildfire of rumor.
As she placed a foot on the rail, Greyfriar said, “Adele, please. If I may.” He took a line in one hand and reached out the other to her. “If you wish to make a real entrance.”
The princess eagerly looped her arms around his shoulders. He swung madly over the side into the open air, and she laughed. He lightened his frame so that he was virtually gliding down, one hand holding the cable and one arm tight around Adele's waist. His cloak cracked like a whip in the wind.
“Not too fast,” Adele shouted into his ear as she clutched her skirt with her free hand, wondering about the wisdom of a dress on an air drop. “Let them see us.”
Greyfriar tightened his grip on the line and slowed their descent. He spun slowly so that all gathered below could witness the glorious appearing. Even the White Guard stared while Anhalt and Mamoru seized her cable and held it firm. Thousands of faces peered up from the street. Hundreds more showed at every window and doorway. Even rooftops swelled with people.
Finally—after a long, wind-blasted, fifty-foot drop—Greyfriar's boots touched firm earth. Adele stepped to the cobblestones as cool and calm as if she were descending from a carriage of state. The crowd exploded in a frenzy of adoration, screaming her name.
Adele glided away from Greyfriar with a long, lingering touch and moved toward the crowd despite Colonel Anhalt's expression of dismay. The Gurkha followed several steps behind, signaling with his hands for the White Guard to stand ready. The princess paused just yards from the tide of exultant people. Resting her hand on the hilt of her dagger, she surveyed the crowd. Then her hand rose, and they began to quiet, even shushing others around them. The hush moved like a wave through the mob until finally the street was eerily silent.
Adele called out boldly, “Will you follow me?”
The crowd erupted again in a blast that shook the buildings. Adele threw up her arms, knowing there would be no silence again. “Then follow me!” she shouted as she started into the body of the mob, carried by her own power. Anhalt rushed his men up to surround her and protect her from rough, loving hands.
Greyfriar vaulted over locals and soldiers to reach her side, but he remained a few feet behind her; this was her moment. She was controlling this herd in a way he couldn't conceive. She exuded authority and power. He had sensed it in her long ago, but here it was played large.
The giant, living wave surged north through the city. Streams of people engorged the dark alleys and streets, and great torrents of them rolled up the tree-lined avenues, flowing around benches, fences, and lampposts. Trams stopped in their tracks along with wagons, cabs, and omnibuses frozen by the flow of humanity.
Adele felt her people around her in a way she never had. Men, women, and children. Brown, black, white. Arab. African. European. Asian. Rich, poor, working class. The Empire was afoot, chanting her name, growing in size and voice with each block. She sensed both their uncertainty and their desire. They so badly wanted to believe that the mere presence of the head of the Royal House would ensure the safety of the city from further vampire attacks. Adele was the force to make it happen. All their hopes and fears were poured into the young princess. Only she had the power to make it real. This was a day when life would change and all their woes would vanish. And they were playing their part, propelling the young princess to her place as their savior. The White Guard maintained a protective square, but the crowd closest to Adele had assumed the role of escorts too. They felt as if they were part of her entourage and worked jealously to keep the princess's path clear.
As the crowd passed the Soma, the crossroads of the city, every window was filled with people. Flags waved high overhead along with handkerchiefs or towels or sheets—anything people could use to express their joy and excitement.
The horde plunged north into the Turkish Quarter, where the wide avenues vanished into the alleys and warrens of Old Alexandria. Then the mob snaked out of the Turkish Quarter and streamed into the Imperial Quarter, where Victoria Palace waited. The crowd began to fill Victoria Square and pile up against the wall that protected the palace grounds.
Finally, Adele approached the palace for the first time since she had fled her home. Her father was no longer there and her brother was likely secluded in some windowless chamber surrounded by soldiers. Surly men patrolled the wall and crouched on the corner posts, where machine guns were now mounted. Warships overhead cast their dreadful shadows. Her beautiful home had become an armed camp.
Adele's guard muscled its way through the mob until the main gate of the palace walls towered above her. Inside that ornate iron barrier, which was closed and locked, waited a line of grim-faced Home Guard, their rifles clutched against their chests. Citizens swarmed to the outside of the gate, screaming at the soldiers to open it for the princess, all the while chanting, “Adele! Adele!”
A thin, lanky Home Guard officer peered out of the iron rails. He was a handsome young man with a stern face, olive skin, and Persian features. He seemed too young to be a general. He gave Adele a curt nod before turning his worried eyes to the earthquake of humanity around her.
“This mob,” he said in a low voice, “is a public menace. It must disperse.”
“Are you General Eskandari?”
“I am, Your Highne—ma'am.”
“May I enter my home?”
“The gates must stay locked.” Eskandari's gaze darted to Colonel Anhalt, and his eyes lit up with recognition before settling on the mysterious Greyfriar. “The city is in a state of emergency.”
Adele spied a motionless figure on a high palace balcony. Even at this distance, she could recognize the vulturous form. “I demand to speak with Kelvin Pasha.”
“That's quite impossible. Please, disband your followers immediately.”
“General, Lord Kelvin's government is illegal and I—”
“That's not my concern. Now, please, you must comply for public safety.” He had to shout over the rising din, “There is no other solution to this that doesn't end in bloodshed!”
Hearing Eskandari
threaten bloodshed, overly fervent screaming young men rushed the gates with their hands full of rocks and bottles. They pushed against the ornamental wrought iron, and some started to climb it. Stones and bottles flew at the Home Guard inside. Handguns appeared in the crowd. Rifles snapped up. From somewhere a loud crack broke the humid air and gunfire erupted.
“Get down, Highness!” Anhalt shouted as he shielded her from the palace wall.
Adele felt hands grab her and pull her away from the bodies and shouting, the smoke of guns and the dust of trampling feet. Her White Guard backed away from the gate with rifles flaming. From above came the merciless staccato popping of machine guns spraying bullets into the crowd, which desperately fought to escape into the alleys of Old Town, only to find them choked with surprised new arrivals unsure what the uproar was about. People fell with their faces masks of pain or surprise, bullets tearing through workman's twill, banker's wool, and lady's silk alike.
Greyfriar wrapped Adele in his arms and cloak as her small entourage battered their way back through the terrified madness. The dreadful snapping of gunfire outside her home horrified her. This was Alexandria. This didn't happen here. She was carried behind the substantial marble base of the equestrian statue of the first Equatorian emperor, Simon I, and pressed to the ground. It had been years since she had been small enough to see the mighty monument that dominated Victoria Square from this low angle. Greyfriar hovered over her back with Anhalt beside her, while Mamoru crouched behind. White Guardsmen went to one knee around her, firing back at the gate.
Mamoru shouted, “There is a secret entrance into the palace nearby.”
“No!” Adele snapped as bullets ticked off the statue, spraying marble fragments. “I won't sneak into my own home like a thief. My people are dying in the street before me!”
“You must see reason,” Mamoru retorted. “We cannot storm the gate with a handful of men under fire.”
In that instant she knew what she had to do. Her people were dying because of their faith in her. Her eyes locked with Greyfriar's, and despite the smoked glasses she saw that he knew what she was thinking. Perhaps her scent had changed from frightened to determined. He shook his head, but she was committed.
“I don't intend to storm it,” she stated.
Adele stood.
“My God! Get down!” Mamoru shouted as many hands reached up for her.
The princess roughly shrugged off her protectors and stepped into the open. Bullets ticked all around, but by the grace of God none struck her. Greyfriar rose to his feet with her, but Adele's stern glance stayed him. He nodded his unwilling compliance but remained with her in the open, refusing to slip back behind cover. Her raised hand signaled the rest of her entourage to stay where they were. Colonel Anhalt repeated a prayer he vaguely remembered from his childhood as he watched the small young woman traverse the killing field, which still hung with gunsmoke and was puddled with blood.
Adele walked through the hail of gunfire straight toward the nearest wounded, a young man. Dropping to her knees next to the man, who was bleeding profusely, she attempted to stanch the flow with a bandage torn from her dress. Only moments ago he had followed her wildly through the streets chanting her name. Now here he was, dead or dying, far from help.
General Eskandari's voice rang out from inside the grounds, “Cease fire! Cease fire, damn you!” The guns of the palace fell silent and the White Guard likewise halted, but kept rifles to their shoulders. The hot silence of the square was broken by the pitiful moaning of the wounded. At least twenty bodies sprawled on the paving stones.
“I warned you,” Eskandari cried with an anguished voice from behind the wrought-iron bars decorated with an intricately worked family crest. “I begged you.”
Adele looked straight at him. “General, I am Princess Adele, the heir to my father Emperor Constantine the Second. My father is dead. I am your sovereign. I command you and your men to lay down your arms and bring aid to my people.”
The Persian marine studied the firm expression of the woman. She was not playacting. Her aura of command was impressive; her bravery was unquestionable given that she now waited unarmed, far from her men, with nothing more than her character to protect her, kneeling in the blood of her subjects.
“Your Highness,” he said, “you are no longer the heir—”
“The decision of Commons is illegal. They have no authority over succession. Lord Kelvin's regency is illegal. You are serving an outlaw regime.”
“I don't know about such matters. I am only a soldier.”
“And I am your empress,” Adele said loudly. “I thank you for your service preventing Senator Clark from usurping power. Your actions were directed toward safeguarding Equatoria. You must now be consistent in that principle. There has been enough blood shed here. I give my word that no revenge will be taken on you or your men. You are bound to defend Equatoria; you have sworn an oath to that. Do so now.”
General Eskandari glanced back at the small figure on the balcony, so far from harm's way, before slowly turning to the young woman who faced his guns, and the wounded citizens around her. Unbuttoning his tunic, he reached in and, with a strong tug, produced a sturdy key on a thin chain. He inserted the key into the lock on the gate and turned it with several loud clacks, then swung one side of the iron gate inward.
The general stepped out and handed the key to Adele. “Your Highness, Victoria Palace is yours.” He then drew his sword, dropped to one knee, and held the hilt toward her. “I surrender myself into your mercy. All I have done was for Equatoria.”
Adele looked up at the balcony. Lord Kelvin was gone. She heard footsteps rushing up behind her, and then Greyfriar, Anhalt, Mamoru, and her men appeared at her side. Some of her White Guard darted to the aid of the wounded while the rest formed a half circle about her.
“General, rise and resume your duties. I want the wounded tended to immediately. Your men on the gate should be confined to barracks for their own protection. Colonel Anhalt, you are now commanding officer in Alexandria with the rank of brevet general. General Eskandari, you will inform imperial troops of this change in command.” She relinquished the bloody tourniquet to one of her soldiers. “I would like Lord Kelvin brought to me.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Adele saw the long-limbed bureaucrat approaching across the manicured palace courtyard. She almost laughed as he loped toward her in a manner that was both reticent and eager. He seemed remarkably calm and unflustered for a man whose government had just been toppled.
“Your Imperial Highness,” he intoned with a deep bow as he reached the gate. “Allow me to join in with a hearty welcome home.”
Adele rose. “Welcome home? That's an odd sentiment given the gates were locked against me.” She accepted a handkerchief from Anhalt and tried to wipe the blood from her hands.
“Against you?” Kelvin stared like a confused owl. “No, Your Imperial Highness. Not against you. We had word of an unruly mob rioting through Alexandria, and had no firm knowledge of its intent. So we took reasonable precautions. The gunfire was unfortunate, but after your rabble attacked the palace guard, there was little alternative. Naturally, tense young men defended themselves. Sad, but predictable.”
“Where is Simon?” Adele had no time to counter his ridiculous summary of events.
“In the palace. Quite safe and no doubt eager to see you. As we all are.”
“You didn't seem so eager judging from your cables to Bunia.”
Lord Kelvin raised his eyebrows innocently. “It's unseemly to bicker about policy in front of the casualties.”
Adele glared at the man angrily. “Indeed. Why aren't doctors out here? Get them now! Then we can go inside to plan my coronation.”
“Yes. Delightful. It may take some time to prepare. We can't use your original crown when you were to be wed to Senator Clark.”
“I will use my father's crown.”
“Oh? I doubt that will fit.”
“I think
you'll find it will.”
ADELE, GREYFRIAR, AND Simon passed among the marble sarcophagi as if they were walking between rows of wheat. Their footfalls echoed in the dim recesses of the crypt. It was cool and quiet, with calming white marble, red quartzite, and black basalt forming the vault. The monuments were lavishly decorated, boasting imposing sculptures of dead men. The crypt was similar to many of the tombs of the north where Gareth had sought rest before the Great Killing. It was pleasant when compared to the balmy air above; he could easily reside here while in Alexandria. But that would likely cause gossip around the court.
Greyfriar walked beside Adele, whose long, crimson cloak flowed behind her. Her stride was sure and steady now, even if her scent was altered by a tinge of fear. He touched her arm to reassure her, and she looked nervously at him. They stopped before a large sarcophagus of black basalt. Compared to many of the others, it was relatively plain, with straight edges and no frivolous accentuations. Great thick letters carved into the base proclaimed the name Constantine II.
Adele removed her glove before laying her hand on the hard surface of the tomb. Her head dropped, but no tears fell. Greyfriar waited to comfort her, but she simply stood over her father's resting place without overt reaction. Reaching out with her other hand, she drew her brother, Simon, closer. The lad was resplendent in a blue naval uniform complete with white gloves and dress blue cap. He seemed grim, but not distraught, as if he were playing the part of a mourner. Simon had already had time to come to terms with his father's death. The boy watched his sister with concern. He glanced at Greyfriar, who gave him a supportive nod, appreciating the boy's kindness toward Adele.
“I can't even cry,” Adele said.
“Why?” Greyfriar asked.
“I don't know. I thought it would destroy me to come here and see his grave for the first time. But I feel numb.”
“Can you tell me what he was like?”
There was a long silence. Adele stared at Greyfriar with a sad smile, unable to see his eyes through his smoked glasses. “I don't know. I never really knew him. I knew my mother much better, at least so I thought. I suppose I never knew either of them. Now they're both gone.”
The Rift Walker Page 38