by Simon Hawke
After that, the approach to the cathedral, the greeting of the archbishop, the shocked and furious stare of Black Michael, and the ceremony itself were all anticlimactic. Finn went through it all like an automaton, kneeling before the altar and being anointed, accepting the crown, swearing the oath, receiving the Holy Sacrament, and being proclaimed Rudolf the Fifth of Ruritania, all the while seeing her standing there upon the balcony as if to mock him, remembering that moment when their eyes met. She knew that he knew her. There had been no effort at pretense, no surreptitiousness, no subtlety. She simply stood there in plain sight, gazing at him as if he were her next meal. In that one instant, Finn had understood the fatal attraction that she had for Mongoose. The woman projected an aura of carnal hunger, as though the blueprint for her design had been drawn by Grigori Rasputin and the Marquis de Sade. She had a savage beauty that somehow managed to both attract and repel at the same time. It was a presence that was instantly recognizable to anyone who had come across that particularly rare and deadly species before.
Few people had it and those who did always seemed to stare at you with little crosshairs in their eyes. Finn could not imagine her and Forrester together. For Mongoose, the pairing would have been completely natural, like the mating of two werewolves. Falcon had played the first move and she at once controlled the board. The woman had thoroughly unnerved him.
It was with an effort that he finally managed to wrench his concentration back to the matters at hand. With some dismay, he greeted his future queen, the Princess Flavia, for in their eagerness to prepare him for the ceremony and for every official he was bound to meet, Sapt and von Tarlenheim had neglected to tell him-or had forgotten-that he would be riding in a coach alone with her to the palace.
They greeted each other in a warm yet formal manner and Finn noticed right away that she was distant. Not quite aloof, but very cautious and reserved. They took their place together in the coach that was to take them to the banquet at the palace, and Finn caught von Tarlenheim’s look of total panic. Sapt was trying to give him little signals, a slow nodding of the head and languid palm down gestures as if to say, “You’re doing fine, keep playing it the same way. Formal. Polite. Regally detached.” However, his furrowed brow clearly spoke of his concern.
Finn felt a little ill at ease, not quite knowing what to say to her, so he occupied himself instead with looking out the window and waving to the crowd. He was aware of her gaze upon him and, after a little while, it began to feel uncomfortable. He turned to look at her and smiled, waiting for her to say something. What she said was not encouraging.
“Somehow, Rudolf, you look a little different today.”
“Oh?” said Finn, hoping she would respond with something that would give him a bit more to work with.
“You appear somehow more sober, more sedate,” she said. She smiled, disarmingly. “Almost as if you actually had serious matters on your mind.”
Tell me about it, Finn thought. “Is that so unlike me, then?” he said, still smiling.
“If it is not, it is a side of you I have not seen before,” she said. Then, changing tack abruptly, she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Did you see Michael’s face?”
“That must have been what sobered me,” said Finn.
“I think you take him far too lightly, Rudolf. Did you see how he looked at you?”
“He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself,” said Finn.
“You should be more careful of him,” Flavia said. “You don’t know- You don’t keep enough watch on him. You know how he feels.”
“I know he wants what I’ve got,” said Finn. “But then, can you really blame him?”
“If you cannot, I can,” she said. “You should see the way he watches me when you are not looking.”
Finn grinned. “No doubt, the way that any other man would-when I was not looking.”
She drew her lips together tightly and shook her head. “No, not that way at all,” she said. “It makes me think of a wicked little boy watching someone playing with a toy that he regards as being his.”
“Somehow I’ve never thought of you as being a toy,” said Finn. “Nor of Michael as being very playful.”
“Oh, you’re insufferable!” she said, looking away from him. “I thought perhaps the coronation would make you realize your responsibilities, but I see that nothing’s changed!”
And with any luck, thought Finn, things will remain that way. They finished out the remainder of the ride in silence, with frozen smiles on their faces as they waved to the crowd.
Finn was exhausted by the time he reached Rudolf’s rooms inside the palace. He took off his helmet and threw it on the bed, unbuckled his sword, and simply let it drop onto the floor, then collapsed into a chair. He unfastened the high collar of his uniform blouse and gave a great sigh of relief.
“What a day for you to remember!” said von Tarlenheim, ebullient now that it was over. “King for a day, what? Imagine what your friends in London would make of it, though of course, you must never tell them! Did you see Michael? He looked positively green! We’ve done it! We’ve actually done it! You were magnificent!”
“We haven’t done it yet,” said Sapt, puffing on his ever-present pipe. “Don’t get too comfortable, Cousin Rudolf.” He handed Finn a flask. “Here, have some brandy. Rest a moment, but rest briefly. We have a hard ride ahead of us.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold watch and consulted it. “It is now five o’clock. By twelve, if all goes well, you should be Rudolf Rassendyll once more and safely on your way to England. I’ve brought a change of clothing for you. The fit may not be exact, but it should do. I’ve stolen it from my orderly, who is about your size. The quicker you can change, the sooner we can be on our way and the more secure my old head will feel on these weary shoulders.”
Finn got up and started changing. Sapt turned to Fritz von Tarlenheim.
“Once more, Fritz,” he said, “the king is weary and has retired for the night. He has given you strict orders that no one is to disturb his rest till nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Michael may come and demand an audience. You are to refuse him. Say anything, tell him that only princes of the blood are entitled to it.”
“I say,” said von Tarlenheim, “that’s pushing it a bit, don’t you think? If I goad him in that manner, he’s liable to draw steel on me!”
“Even if he does, you are to remain unmoved,” said Sapt. “You are acting on orders of the king. That should be clear enough, even to Black Michael. If this door is opened while we are away, you’re not to be alive to tell us about it. You understand?”
“You can rely on me,” said Fritz.
Sapt then led Finn through a secret panel and into a passage that he said the old king had had cause to use upon occasion to slip in and out of the palace unobserved. It led to a quiet street behind the palace gardens, where Sapt had two horses waiting. He dismissed the man who held them, then beckoned Finn forward, and they mounted and rode through back streets at full gallop, scattering those whom they encountered. Finn was wrapped in a long riding cloak and he wore a hat pulled low over his eyes, so that no one could get a clear glimpse of his face. He crouched low like a jockey and kept his head down until they were well out of the city.
They had ridden hard for twenty-five miles when they stopped to rest their horses and wash some of the dust out of their throats with whiskey. Finn felt totally exposed. They rested by the side of the road for a few minutes, then were about to proceed when Sapt grabbed Finn’s arm and said, “Listen!”
Finn had already heard it. “Horses,” he said.
Sapt swung up into the saddle. “It could be a pursuit,” he said. “It sounds like they’re riding hard. Quickly, man, set spur!”
The growing dark and the curving road sheltered them from their pursuers as they worked their horses to a lather once again. After a half an hour’s ride, they came to a division in the road and Sapt reined in.
“Our way is to the right,” he said. �
�The left road leads to Zenda Castle. Get down and muzzle your horse. I want to see who rides behind us and which way they are headed.”
They took their horses into the trees at the side of the road and held them on short rein with their hands covering their muzzles. They had a clear view of the road. Before very long, two horsemen rode into view, one leading the other by about three lengths. The first rider reached the division of the road and reined in.
“Which way?” he said.
“Hentzau!” Sapt said softly.
“To the castle,” said the other loudly, having pulled even with Hentzau. “We’ll learn the truth of the matter there. I’ll know why Detchard sends word that all is well when they have bungled it! They’ll have much to answer for!”
As he watched them ride off at full gallop down the road to Zenda Castle, Sapt swore. “Hentzau and Black Michael! This bodes ill, indeed!”
“Who’s Hentzau?” Finn said. Though it was a name he knew from his mission programming, Rassendyll would not have heard it.
“Rupert Hentzau,” Sapt said. “A young gamecock soldier of fortune Michael found somewhere. Of the six throat-cutters he has retained of late, Hentzau is the worst. He’ll be at Michael’s own throat if Michael doesn’t watch him. I don’t like the looks of this at all. Come, full speed to the lodge!”
Sapt leaped into the saddle with a spryness that belied his years and took off down the road leading to the lodge. Finn had to ride hard to stay with the old man and both horses were about done in. When they reached the hunting lodge, there was no sign of life anywhere about. The horses were still out in the paddock when they should have long since been taken back into their stalls. Although it was dark and the night was chill, there were no lights burning in the lodge; there was no smoke curling from the chimney.
“Something’s gone wrong,” said Sapt, drawing his revolver. “Watch yourself, Rassendyll.”
Finn had a revolver of his own that Sapt had given him, a top-break British Webley, but he felt much more secure knowing that he had a small laser tucked into his boot.
The lodge was empty. Sapt made his way directly to the wine cellar, reaching it just ahead of Finn. Finn heard him cry out as he came through the door. There was no sign of the old woman whom Sapt had tied up. More importantly, there was no sign of the king. There was only old Josef, lying on the floor of the cellar with his throat cut.
Sapt was bent over the table, sitting on the edge of his chair, his hands clenched into fists and gouging at his temples. “I’ve got to think!” he kept saying in a low, savage voice, over and over again.
The shock of seeing Josef dead and the king gone had thrown the old soldier. He was trying to wrench himself out of it, not quite knowing how.
“The old woman must have gotten loose somehow,” said Finn, trying to prompt him, to get his motor started.
“No, no,” said Sapt, “I tied her up myself, I tell you. She could barely move!”
“Then it must have been Josef,” Finn said. “They would have been alone for some time before the guard came to escort the king, right?”
Sapt looked at him, puzzled, still not quite recovered.
“She’s lying there, a poor, harmless old woman, somebody’s grandmother, for Christ’s sake, bound hand and foot and gagged. Josef sits there watching her, waiting for the guard to come so that he can go upstairs and tell them that the king has departed early without waiting for them. She stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Perhaps she’s crying, maybe she is having trouble breathing. She moans pathetically. The ropes are cutting into her skin, stopping the circulation. Poor old Josef wrestles with his conscience, then gives in. He’ll loosen her bonds just a bit, perhaps adjust her gag, make it easier for the poor old girl to breathe. The guard of honor arrives and Josef goes upstairs to greet them.”
“And she gets loose somehow or cries out!” said Sapt, snapping out of it at last. “Yes, it must have been something like that. Damn it, I should have killed her to begin with!”
“Could you have?” said Finn, gently. “She was just an old woman after all, being loyal to her master.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” said Sapt. “Thank you, Rassendyll. I imagine that it must have happened almost exactly as you say. Detchard would have been with the guard, of course. Michael’s given the blackguard a commission. Possibly Bersonin, as well, maybe one or two of the others. The Six, that’s how they’re known. Black Michael’s private squad of bodyguards. A killer, each and every one of them. I see what must have happened now. The old woman somehow managed to alert them and Detchard and several of the others stayed behind while they sent the guard on ahead. They found the king, much as they expected to, killed poor Josef, and sent word on ahead to Michael that all was well. Only, having seen you, Michael knew that all was far from well. The moment he sees the real king, he’ll realize what we have done. And the old woman, of course, can tell him who you are. We are undone. We are completely undone. All is lost.”
“Where will they have taken the king?” said Finn.
“To Zenda Castle, undoubtedly,” said Sapt. “No hope of freeing him from there. The place is a fortress.”
“We must do something, Sapt,” Finn said. “We must get back and rouse every soldier in Strelsau.”
“And tell them what?” said Sapt. “That we had arranged for an imposter to be crowned while the real king lay drunk in Zenda? You forget, Rassendyll, that much of the army sides with Michael. How can we tell them what Michael has done without revealing our deception?”
“But the king may be murdered even as we sit here!” Finn said, trusting to the old soldier’s quick thinking to leap to the logical conclusion. Sapt did not disappoint him.
“No, by God!” he said, rising to his feet with a wild gleam in his eyes. “No, they can’t. They will not dare!”
Finn looked at him with feigned uncomprehension.
“We’ve shaken up Black Michael, by the Saints,” he said, “and we’ll shake him some more! Aye, we’ll go back to Strelsau, lad. The king shall be in his capitol again tomorrow!”
“The king?” said Finn, still playing dumb.
“The crowned king!” Sapt said.
“You’re mad!” said Finn. “We’d never get away with it.”
“If we go back now and tell them what we’ve done,” said Sapt, “what would you give for our lives?”
“Just what they’re worth,” said Finn.
“And for the king’s throne? Do you think for one moment that the nobles and the army and the people will sit still for being fooled the way we’ve fooled them? Will they love a king who was too drunk to be crowned and sent a servant to impersonate him?”
“He was drugged,” said Finn, “and I’m not his servant.”
“Mine will be Black Michael’s version,” Sapt said. “Can you disprove it?”
Finn chewed on his lower lip. “No,” he said. “You’re right, Sapt, that would be playing right into Michael’s hands.”
“So we do the one thing left for us to do! You must return with me and continue playing the king. Michael will know the truth, as will those who are in on his plot with him, but don’t you see, Rassendyll? They cannot speak! Just as we cannot speak for fear of revealing what we have done, so they are in the same predicament! Do they denounce you as a fraud, thereby revealing that they have kidnapped the king and killed his servant? No, they cannot. Michael has the king in his power now, true, and in that his plot has succeeded better than he had hoped. Your playing Rudolf enables him to keep the king a prisoner, but he cannot murder him, for that could make your impersonation a lifelong one. Nor can he produce the king to unmask you without unmasking himself, as well. It is a stalemate. A stalemate works in our favor. We need time to plan and you can buy us that time!”
“But suppose you’re wrong, Sapt,” Finn said. “Suppose they kill the king?”
“If you do not carry on with the charade, my friend, I can assure you that the king is as good as dead. We have
slipped away from the palace like thieves in the night, leaving poor Fritz to guard the royal bedchamber with orders to admit no one. Suppose Michael, having realized our plan, returns posthaste to Strelsau with Hentzau and some of the others in tow? Suppose he confronts Fritz and demands entrance to the royal bedchamber?”
“Von Tarlenheim will stand firm,” said Finn.
“Aye, that he will and against Michael alone he could hold the doors, but against Michael and Hentzau together? Hentzau by himself would not be deterred by Fritz. The man is the very devil of a swordsman and an expert marksman. So they kill Fritz, storm the royal bedchamber and the king is nowhere in evidence. The secret passageway will be discovered and it will be clear to all what has occurred. Having attended his coronation and quaffed wine at the banquet, the king slipped out the secret passage for some clandestine assignation. That is how Michael would construe it! And he would have the devil’s own confederates to back him up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have lived as long as I have because as a soldier, I always asked myself, what strategy would I employ if I were in my enemy’s position? With no king in the palace, a frenzied search is made for him and as the search progresses, Michael moves to assure himself the throne. He has the king. He murders him. And then the king is ‘found’ in the bedchamber of some woman, killed by a jealous lover who recognized the man that he had slain and fled. If I were Michael, I would no doubt enlist the aid of the Countess Sophia, that woman you were staring at so fixedly when we passed the Grand Hotel. She has scarcely been in Strelsau for a month and already her reputation as a libertine is notorious. In any case, with the king in his power, Michael can murder him at will and dispose of the body in some such fashion and who will be able to gainsay him?”