The Henchmen of Zenda

by KJ Charles

“Very much so,” I said. “But Colonel Sapt had outmanoeuvred us; our choice was to fight or to surrender utterly and leave him and Red Rudolf the field. We chose to fight.”

  “And it is not open treason yet,” Hentzau said. “Nor can it be while Sapt presents the people with a false king. Was the ceremony completed?”

  “And all the festivities. The play-actor was anointed by the cardinal, made vows to his people in the Lord’s name, was cheered through the streets, and had his hand kissed by every dignitary in Strelsau.” Michael’s lips curved unpleasantly. “All of them grovelling to a fraud. When they learn what Sapt did—”

  “He can’t let them,” Hentzau said. “If Sapt’s man is revealed as a fraud, their lives won’t be worth a penny more than—well, than ours. Sapt can’t accuse you because he dare not say his man is not the king; you can’t accuse Sapt without saying how you know his man is not the king. It’s rather amusing, really.”

  “How good is the likeness?” I asked.

  “Uncanny,” Michael said, still glaring at Hentzau. “The man is like as two peas to Rudolf, if Rudolf were less dissipated. I think he must be Rudolf Rassendyll, brother to the English Lord Burlesdon. My great-grandfather or suchlike had an affair with the Countess of Burlesdon that ended in a duel, and left our mark on their family. I had heard one of their sprigs had Elphberg looks. But what devil of a coincidence brought him here?”

  “More importantly, what will Sapt do now?” Hentzau asked. “He will have come back to exchange his pawns and collect the true king as soon as possible—which is to say, as soon as the play-actor could retire from his duties. He will find, or has already found, the lodge empty—”

  “And if he gets there before Max does, he will see a murdered man on the floor,” I added. “Which will doubtless be suggestive. But in any case, the lodge is near Zenda; he must assume we have snatched the king from his grasp.”

  “If he gets rid of the play-actor, he will have to raise a hue and cry for a king gone missing the day after his coronation,” Michael said slowly. “The people will not be pleased. But will Sapt dare to keep an impostor on the throne?”

  “We’ll find out, I suppose,” Hentzau said. “Shall you return to Strelsau?”

  “With accompaniment,” I said. “We are at war now, Your Grace, even if it is not open war.”

  “Do you think I do not realise that? I shall have you, de Gautet, and Bersonin with me. Hentzau, Krafstein, Lauengram, you stay to guard my brother here.”

  Lauengram and Krafstein had been notably silent through this; they both bowed now without enthusiasm. Doubtless they had already realised that there was no going back from here, but Michael’s unsubtle means of thoroughly implicating his three Ruritanians in the treason did not escape them. Hentzau merely shrugged.

  We thrashed the business out a little longer, without getting anywhere, and then Michael demanded to see his brother. Hentzau and I took him to the room where Rudolf lay, still out, but now snoring. Michael stared down at his brother, his monarch. He came to stand directly over him, then without warning delivered a punch, straight down, right into the unconscious man’s belly.

  “Sot,” he said, and spat on his brother’s face.

  He turned and walked out. At the door he stopped. “This room is not secure. Put him in a cell and chain him. You and Krafstein will sleep in the Tower tonight, Hentzau. Be sure the drawbridge is raised.”

  He strode off down the corridor. We watched him go, then I turned to Hentzau with a raised brow. He shrugged. “Rudolf would do the same to him.”

  I didn’t envy Ruritania its choice of masters, but I did not say so. I doubted Hentzau would care in the slightest, but the halls and corners of the Tower seemed very dark tonight, and the shadows full of listeners.

  We moved the king down to one of the cells, chained him by one wrist, and locked the cell door. Hentzau stepped back with a sour look. “That’s done. You are for Strelsau tomorrow, while I nursemaid the drunkard here. Shall we make the most of tonight?”

  I nodded, and we headed up towards the habitable rooms together and stopped, because Krafstein was standing at the top of the stairs. I gave him a nod. He stepped directly in front of me. “Excuse me, Detchard. I am requested to remind you of the duke’s terms of your employment here.”

  “And now you have done so, yet you are still in my way.”

  His eyes flicked meaningfully to Hentzau. “And will remain so. Good night.”

  Hentzau leaned back, shoulders to the cold stone wall, with the appearance of a man settling down to watch the show. Krafstein did not shift. “The duke made certain stipulations as to your personal pleasures. You are expected to abide by those. He is informed that you have deliberately disobeyed his explicit order.”

  “Well, it would be awful to do that by accident,” Hentzau put in cheerfully.

  “Informed by whom?” I demanded. “As though I need ask. Bersonin, of course.”

  Krafstein shrugged. “He finds your ways distasteful.”

  “I should have more interest in his opinions if they were accompanied by competence. I would remind you, my friend, that I am not a debutante whose virtue has to be guarded.”

  “No. You are the duke’s man, and he has given his orders.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” Hentzau said. “Morality doesn’t suit you, Krafstein. Though it must be a nice change from finding schoolgirls for the so-particular Bersonin. I have not the strength for this absurdity; I’m going to bed. Bonsoir, mon cher Detchard. I trust you will find Strelsau amusing.”

  He strolled up towards Krafstein as he spoke. The pimp made way for him and gave me a smug smile. I contemplated wiping it off by means of kicking him down the flight of stone stairs, but made myself turn my back, and returned alone to the chateau, thoroughly irritated.

  Considering the situation, and our shared guilt, one might have expected Michael to ingratiate himself to his men as best he could, but that was not our duke’s way. He had insulted Bersonin and the proud de Gautet, made it clear to the three Ruritanians that they would be fully implicated in his treason, and chosen to dictate my pleasures. He was, in fact, telling us all that he held our lives in the palm of his hand, and we would be wise to bow our necks to the yoke.

  Needless to say, I or any of the Six could have ridden for Strelsau and bought our pardon with an accusation against the duke. I didn’t know if Michael wanted to assert his whip hand because he felt he had lost power to us, or to remind us that we were not made equal by our equal guilt, and in truth I didn’t care. Michael considered us his to order and to use as much as ever, and I suspected that when this was over, if he came out on top, he would feel free to discard us in a permanent sort of way.

  You may wonder why I stayed. Antoinette was my friend, and I owed her a debt, but she did not expect me to sacrifice my life for it. If I had been sensible, I dare say I should have fled, but I have never been one for wise decisions, and I was, in truth, intensely curious to see the game out. It is not every day one overthrows a monarch, after all.

  WE TRAVELLED BACK TO Strelsau the next day. Michael had left Antoinette in his house there, apparently feeling secure in his power over her. I imagine it was scant consolation to him, for the burial party sent to the lodge had met resistance. Men, undoubtedly of the king’s party, had been lying in ambush there when they arrived and had attacked, killing three of Michael’s men in a savage melee. Our side had inflicted nothing but a slight bullet wound upon one of the assailants as he rode away. It was a bad defeat, and showed us that we had opposition on our hands.

  Worse than that, Colonel Sapt had called Michael’s bluff. Since he could not return the real king to the throne, he had left the impostor there. It was an extraordinary bit of daring, but evidently the fellow Rassendyll was throwing himself into the part, and playing the king with such charm and goodwill that I couldn’t imagine why anyone actually believed him. Only the fact that he did not know the names of many important people made him seem like the real man. />
  It put Michael into a spitting rage. We all told him to stay calm—the deeper the imposture ran, the less possible it would be for Sapt to deny it if or when we revealed the sham. Michael did not agree.

  “He is not just filling the place; he is fighting for the king he impersonates,” he said bitterly. “Worse, he keeps up the pretence, as do I, so I must bow and scrape and kiss a charlatan’s hand.”

  He insisted that we must come to get the measure of the man, and that was how I found myself in an anteroom in the Royal Palace at Strelsau, waiting to meet a forgery of a king.

  It was absurd. We waited while the Duke of Strelsau paid homage to the King of Ruritania, and every man of us there knew the truth. I was grateful Hentzau was not present; I could all too easily imagine him saying something catastrophically accurate.

  Michael entered arm in arm with the player-king, for all the world like loving brothers. Michael’s expression was bland and smooth, but I could see the depth of rage in his eyes. He beckoned us forwards.

  “These gentlemen are the loyalest and most devoted of Your Majesty’s servants, and are my very faithful and attached friends,” Michael announced with stately courtesy.

  “On the last ground as much as the first, I am delighted to see them,” replied the fraud.

  We came one by one and kissed his hand—De Gautet, Bersonin, and then myself. The pale hand I took had one finger well bandaged up, and I wondered if the player-king had been one of those who ambushed and killed our men. I gave him an assessing look as I straightened from my bow. He returned it, I suspect because Englishmen warranted more of his time than foreigners, and said in English, but with a wildly overdone Ruritanian accent, “Ja, I am vell pleased to make your acvaintance.”

  What an outstanding prick, I thought, and had to bite my lip and bow again to hide my smile.

  Nevertheless, I could not help but be impressed. The man was walking a tightrope blindfolded and enjoying every second of it; so much was clear. I recognised the look in his eyes, not unlike Hentzau’s dancing demons. We could, I thought, expect fireworks.

  I managed to find Antoinette alone that evening. Michael was obliged to go to one of many balls, and had not elected to bring her. Perhaps he did not wish to flaunt her in front of Flavia (who was rumoured to smile with new fondness upon her cousin the king); also, the ladies’ fashion for bare arms did not sit well with bruises.

  She was sitting in the garden, enjoying the cool night air, except that she did not seem to be enjoying anything. I came and sat by her. She didn’t speak.

  “Is it time to leave?” I said at last. “At least, to ask him for permission to go or beg him to let you stay out of the firing line? I’ll stay and try to find Lisl. But I think you should go.”

  “Because his blows will only get harder and more frequent. Do you think I don’t know how this works?”

  “That, yes, but I meant you should go because if Michael loses this game, you will be damned by association. And if our heads are put on spikes together, nobody will look twice at mine.”

  She managed a smile at that. “Dear Jasper, your head will in any case be next to Rupert Hentzau’s, so you don’t stand a chance. Unless he betrays you all first to save himself, I suppose. Do you think Michael will lose?”

  “Damned if I know. It’s a stalemate for now.”

  “Michael says we can give the impostor a long rope to hang himself. That he will make a mistake and give himself away soon enough.”

  “Michael is wrong, to my mind,” I said. “The impostor is a clever man, and a daring one. And a great deal more like a king than that crawling Red Rudolf. People want to believe in him.”

  “Particularly the Princess Flavia,” Antoinette said. “They say she is growing fond of the king at last. This would be a cruel deception for her, if she comes to love the impostor.”

  “I’m starting to conclude that love is best avoided altogether,” I said. “It is rarely anything but a bloody nuisance.”

  “I can’t argue with that. You aren’t in love with Hentzau, are you?”

  “I?” I asked blankly. “Certainly not; I am not such a fool. That way madness lies, if ever I saw it.”

  “You’re right there. He is far too fond of being loved. Far too fond of himself, even.”

  “I don’t think that’s fair,” I said, with a perverse urge to defend him. “He’s an arrogant sprat, but he is very young still. And he is amusing, he has conversation; he is a living man in that tower of gargoyles. I like him a great deal.”

  “And he is Michael’s man. What if he stands in your way?”

  I found I disliked that idea. “I hope it won’t come to that. But none of it means I aspire to settling down in a cottage with roses around the door, with him or anyone.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Which reminds me. What happened to that fellow of yours, the serious one?”

  “Henri? We parted. He is studying to become a priest, I hear.”

  She cackled. “You don’t mean it. What a waste.”

  “I fear so. He said it was all or nothing, and since I couldn’t give him anything like all, we settled for nothing.”

  “I’m sorry for it.”

  Henri was a good soul with an unfortunate taste for bad men, and he deserved happiness, but people rarely get what they deserve. He had wanted far more than I had to give, and I could not resent him for leaving me. “There was no other way. Rootless adventurers bound for a bad end have no right to dally with serious men. It wasn’t fair of me.”

  “Love isn’t fair,” she said, with sudden harshness. “Love has brought me nothing but pain. I have loved twice, and both times it has bade fit to ruin my life. If I never love again, I shall be grateful.”

  “You deserve a man who adores you,” I told her. “Find one, and we’ll make sure he knows that if he lays a hand on you, I shall break his kneecaps with a hammer.”

  “Oh, Jasper, you are sweet. And I’ll take you up on that if ever I can. Escort me in. I must pack; our master intends us to return to Zenda tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Michael kept de Gautet, Bersonin, and me in Strelsau for the next few days. He was wise to do so. If I had been Colonel Sapt and had wanted the real king back, my first move would have been to kidnap Michael and extract the location from him. We kept by our master whenever he set foot in the streets, and became quite familiar with the faces of Sapt’s watchers.

  The other three of the Six remained in Zenda, guarding the prisoner. It was a marked change from how Michael had managed his men previously, and the player-king would have been a fool not to deduce that the king was there.

  He didn’t appear to care. Rassendyll was throwing himself into his pretence with glee, turning Red Rudolf’s many deficiencies to account, charming his people with his newfound sober habits and desire to work, and squiring Princess Flavia with a charm that brought a blush to her pale cheek and a flutter to many a sympathetic heart. He was making Rudolf V a king, and there was damn all Michael could do about it.

  “I want him gone,” he snapped. “With him gone, we can act.”

  That was easier said than done. If the king were mysteriously murdered, all Ruritania would blame his brother, and as Rudolf’s fitness for the throne grew, Michael’s support was ebbing. He’d missed his chance once again, and knew it.

  Not that I intended to point that out. “Have you orders for me, Your Grace?”

  “Read this.” Michael held out a letter. It was in a woman’s handwriting.

  If the King desires to know what it deeply concerns the King to know, let him do as this letter bids him. At the end of the New Avenue there stands a house in large grounds. The house has a portico, with a statue of a nymph on it. A wall encloses the garden; there is a gate in the wall at the back. At twelve o’clock tonight, if the King enters alone by that gate, turns to the right, and walks twenty yards, he will find a summer-house, approached by a flight of six steps. If he mounts and enters, he will find someone who will tell h
im what touches most dearly his life and his throne. This is written by a faithful friend. He must be alone. If he neglects the invitation his life will be in danger. Let him show this to no one, or he will ruin a woman who loves him: Michael does not pardon.

  “Is this meant to be from Flavia?” I asked, somewhat confused.

  “Antoinette. She has been playing the wronged woman long enough; she can put that sorrowful face to use for me now.”

  I considered several responses, but settled for, “You dictated this to her?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you think Rassendyll will believe it?”

  “Turn it over.”

  I did. The same hand had written:

  If you hesitate, consult Colonel Sapt. Ask him what woman would do most to prevent the duke from marrying his cousin, and therefore most to prevent him becoming king? And ask if her name begins with—A?

  “A pleasing touch, I think,” Michael said, with a smile of some self-congratulation.

  “It is more convincing with that addendum. He will surely doubt that a woman with any self-respect would write such a thing at her lover’s dictation.” I mentally added another mark to Michael’s tally. “Well, we shall see if it works.”

  “It will. He will come because a lady appeals—the man fancies himself a knight in a medieval land. He will doubtless expect attack and have men close by, of course.”

  “Indeed. Let us say he keeps his appointment: what would you have us do?”

  “Assess the situation,” Michael said. “Antoinette will paint a picture for him of the grave danger he is in, how he might be killed on the street at any moment. He is an earl’s brother, not an adventurer; he will not wish to face death.”

  “He dealt with the gravediggers summarily enough.”

  “Anyone can kill from behind,” said Michael, who ought to know. “If he understands that his life is forfeit, he may be inclined to fly. And if he is, let us grease his way. Offer him fifty thousand English pounds to leave. It is a better prize than a death in the shadows, or on the block if his impersonation is revealed.”