The Henchmen of Zenda

by KJ Charles

  “What if Rassendyll doesn’t attack?”

  “Michael nurses the king tenderly back to health and produces him as a living j’accuse against Sapt, Rassendyll, and Flavia,” Hentzau said. “He could present the entire thing as their coup. Who would believe, after all, that this doppelgänger just happened to be wandering through a forest at the right time? In Rudolf’s current state, with Bersonin’s little powders and evidence of a plot to replace him, I am informed it would be possible to confuse the benighted fool into believing that he was held in Sapt’s dungeon and rescued by his brother.”

  I whistled. “It all sounds good, and God knows it’s ambitious, but is it plausible?”

  “I don’t know. But the longer Rassendyll sits on the throne knowing the true king is dying by inches in Zenda, the greater his crime. I think the odds are he will attack here with the aim of eliminating the king and Michael together.”

  “You don’t believe he will free the king and return him to his rightful place, then disappear into noble obscurity?” I suggested.

  “Not for a second, no.”

  “Nor I. Well, we had best get ready to work.”

  “There will be plenty of that when the false king gets here, which cannot be long,” Hentzau said. “I’d prefer to play.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t want Jack to be a dull boy,” I agreed. “My room, this night?”

  “If we can work our way past Michael’s moral guardians. I must say, it is pleasant to have you back here. I missed our conversations as well as our diversions.”

  I gave him a look. He laughed aloud. “Good God, you are suspicious. That was a compliment.”

  “I’m sure it was. I don’t like compliments.”

  “Really? I love them.”

  “I should never have guessed, you wretched preening peacock. Do you want me to rhapsodise on your beauty?”

  “I shouldn’t mind,” he said, with a sultry pout that was, irritatingly, effective even while it mocked. “Or you could just tell me how much you want my prick.”

  “Or I could speculate that you want mine,” I said. “Does the thought of a sin as yet uncommitted send you into a frenzy of anticipation?”

  “Is fucking a sin?” he tossed back. “I like to think it’s a blessing.”

  “Don’t ask me. I’ve cut too many throats to worry about sins.”

  “Well, let’s say I want to eat every apple on the Tree of Knowledge. I should hate to die knowing there was an experience I missed.”

  “You may be in the wrong line of work, then, since I’ll be impressed if we live to Christmas, as things stand.”

  “All the more reason to get on with it, then.” He winked at me. “À ce soir, mon cher Jasper. Unless you want to tell me what’s worrying you?”

  “Our probable imminent demise? The king in his dungeon?”

  He scoffed. “You don’t care for that. Quite seriously, my friend, what is it? You have looked preoccupied since you got here.”

  “Shot. I look like I was shot.”

  “Oh, as if you care for that. I’ve seen your scars,” he reminded me. “Well, don’t tell me if you don’t like. But you will speak if I can serve you?”

  He sounded, for once, quite sincere. I nodded and left him sprawled there under the tree.

  I have never been one for love as other people describe it, with grand passions and madness. I don’t aspire to hold any man’s heart or to be the first or only in his affections; I have never felt devotion, or the jealousy that so frequently accompanies it. The entire business sounds like an enormous waste of time, and though I had cared greatly for Henri, I had undeniably felt a certain relief once we had ended things. I simply do not care to possess or be possessed, and I do not apologise for this. The poets tell us that a great parade of passionate emotion is the sign of a higher and nobler constitution; I call it making a fuss.

  But when I care for anyone, friend or lover—and that is not often—I care deeply. True companionship is a rare prize in a life like mine, where most people are, of necessity, disposable. That was why I was here for Toni, my friend, with her filthy grin and her unshiftable determination. Rupert of Hentzau was a beauty, a devil, a glorious fuck, a sharp wit, and all that was enjoyable, but I had not quite realised before this moment that I had come to regard him too as a companion.

  And yet I had, it seemed, and I wasn’t certain I should. I could not be positive he was trustworthy, or that he trusted me; I was entirely sure he was playing some game, but what and with whom remained a mystery. And since I was playing my own game, he was equally ill advised to extend his hand to me.

  Neither of us ought to place faith in the other, in fact, and yet I could not help feeling we were both coming to do exactly that.

  I decided not to think about it, just as I had been trying to avoid thinking about Antoinette, even if my features had evidently betrayed my worry. I now gave up that effort and returned to the chateau to find her. Since Michael was about some business, I suggested to her that we should take a walk.

  “No, thank you.”

  “It will help my recovery.”

  She looked up with quick concern. “How is your shoulder? Jasper, I am so sorry.”

  “If only Rassendyll had accepted the offer,” I said. “He wouldn’t have shot me then. And do you know, I was quite sure he was going to.”

  Her eyes went wide. I held her gaze for a moment and then said, “Come for a walk.”

  We went out to the grounds, passing Hentzau, who gave Antoinette his usual burlesque bow. I took us a good distance away, yet remaining in full view of the chateau, and said, “Would you care to explain why you did that? Purely to queer Michael’s pitch? If that tattletale Bersonin had heard, your life would not be worth a minute’s purchase.”

  “Did he hear?”

  “No, nor de Gautet. I’d have killed them both if they had. For God’s sake, woman! I hope you know Rassendyll would have taken the offer if you had not interrupted.”

  “Yes, that’s why I interrupted. I didn’t want him to take it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want Michael to be king. Rassendyll stands in his way.”

  “I would like to point out that I was shot as a direct result of your sudden desire to play kingmaker,” I said.

  “Sorry.”

  “De rien. Do you think your chances of finding Lisl are better if Rassendyll wins this game of crowns?”

  She didn’t reply for a moment, and then she said, “Tell me something. Who do you think should rule Ruritania?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “In the abstract, as a matter of judgement of the candidates. Who would be best for the people?”

  “I still don’t care. None of them. Red Rudolf is best locked away; Michael is a cur; Rassendyll is all piss and wind; Anders the republican is a dictator in waiting. None of them wants to rule for the sake of ‘the people.’ There is no best; there never is.”

  She took a few paces. Then she said, voice low, “I disagree. I think there is a better course for Ruritania.”

  “Once again, my dear, I truly do not care. I am not here for Ruritania and nor are you.”

  “No, I’m not. But . . . Do you know where I went last night, before the summerhouse?”

  “A soirée, you said.”

  “That was the pretext. I went to speak to Princess Flavia.”

  “You what?”

  “She asked me to serve her, to be her spy in Michael’s camp. And I agreed.”

  “A spy for Flavia,” I repeated somewhat hollowly. “Wait a moment. Does she know about Rassendyll?”

  “For God’s sake, Jasper,” Antoinette said scathingly. “He’s a different man, do you think she’s an idiot? He hasn’t admitted it to her, needless to say—he is all noble pledges of love and devotion, while he makes love to her under false pretences. And she in turn guards her ignorance very closely. Nobody must know that she knows.”

  “Why not?”

  “So that she can �
�discover’ the truth when it suits her, and have Sapt and Rassendyll executed for treason.”

  “Ah. I see. Does she plan to?”

  “Only if need be. She doesn’t want Rassendyll dead if it can be avoided. Not yet, at least.”

  “Lucky for him. What does she want?” I asked.

  “The throne, of course. For herself.”

  I was briefly silenced. Antoinette went on. “She does not want to be married to either of her cousins; she wants both Michael and Rudolf gone. Then she will marry Rassendyll in his pose as Rudolf V and have him appoint her queen in her own right, of equal status to the king in law, and she will rule with him as her puppet.”

  “And husband,” I pointed out. “Might he not rule her?”

  “I’d like to see him try,” Antoinette said. “She will always hold the trump card over him. And once Michael is dead and the marriage made, well, Rassendyll can have an accident, and she can reign alone.”

  I considered that prospect—the smug Englishman reduced to a powerful woman’s figurehead and bed-warmer—and found it pleasing. “I like her daring. In fact, I wish her all success. Does she need Rassendyll? If Michael and Rudolf were eliminated, would she not be the next heir?”

  “No queen has ever ruled in her own right in Ruritania. The republican faction would call it an end to the monarchy if the male heirs died—or the Senate might summon some cousin, I suppose, and make her marry him. Whereas, if she were married to Rudolf—Rassendyll, that is—and declared queen, her power would be unassailable in private and public.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  “It’s like chess,” Antoinette added. “The queen can only win by removing the rival king and protecting her own.”

  “Rassendyll isn’t actually her king, if we are to be technical.”

  “Red Rudolf tried to rape one of her ladies-in-waiting. She wants him dead.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “And you simply went to her and had this conversation at a soirée, over the tea table?”

  “Hardly. She made a point of making my acquaintance when I first came to Strelsau as Michael’s mistress, you know. She was kind, and told me to come to her if I needed help. I thought then that she was jealous.”

  “It sounds like she plays the long game.”

  Antoinette laughed. “Do you think I don’t realise that? She has wanted me as a pawn all along. And I will be—while it achieves what I want. She has promised to help me find Lisl. She can arrange to have me watched and send a force of men when I next go to see her. She has so much more power than we do. And once I have my daughter, I will make Michael pay, and pay, and pay.”

  “They do say that, before you go on a mission of revenge, you should dig two graves,” I observed.

  “We’ll need a lot more than two. Will you help me, Jasper? I have to fight for Flavia—it’s my best chance—but I’d feel a lot happier with you on my side. I won’t blame you if you leave; this is more than I can reasonably ask of a friend—but I am asking.”

  Flavia would doubtless be just as ruthless as any of the other candidates in cutting away loose ends should she win—perhaps more so. She could not be seen to act in the business; she would not have the power to protect her pawns openly for some time to come. To fight for her would mean staying to the bitter end, with no guarantees. I would have to be ready to flee with nothing but the clothes I stood up in, and hope they weren’t too bloodstained.

  On the other hand, Toni needed me, and it would be interesting.

  “A proviso,” I said. “Hentzau.”

  “Oh, you can’t tell him,” she said swiftly.

  “I think he’ll notice,” I said. “He’s the only man I’d fear of them all. And I don’t think he loves Michael any more than I do. He’s in it for the game, and this is a game few have played. To overthrow Rudolf for Michael, then Michael for Rassendyll, then Rassendyll for Flavia . . .”

  “You’re smiling,” she said, in a decidedly smug tone.

  “It’s a hell of a thing,” I said. “A damn fool way to go on. Oh, what the devil. Why not?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It is quite a confusing business to be a turncoat twice over, especially in the middle of such plots as were afoot at Zenda. If my honoured reader should ever consider playing the triple agent, I would recommend a notebook to keep track.

  Almost as soon as I had returned to the Tower, Michael called us together to inform us all of the details of his scheme. Johann, his gamekeeper, was being fed the story about the plan to kill Rudolf. He would be used to pass that false information to the player-king’s faction and, with luck, Rassendyll would mount an attack.

  “Suppose we wrong him?” Hentzau suggested. He was peeling an orange as he spoke, its fresh, bright perfume an odd contrast to the heavy stone walls and general atmosphere of plotting. “Suppose Rassendyll truly wants to rescue the king?”

  Michael scoffed. De Gautet said, drily, “The British sense of honour and fair play? Detchard, you are the expert on that.”

  There was a general murmur of mockery, to which I could scarcely object. I said, “I suspect all will depend on whether he is observed. I’m sure he has told Sapt and indeed himself that he intends to return the crown to its rightful owner. If he mounts a daring rescue attempt that causes us to cut the king’s throat—well, he will say to himself, at least he tried.”

  “It’s a good point, though,” Michael said. “We shall let him know Rudolf’s health is deteriorating, that he is like to die in captivity if his faction doesn’t act.”

  “And we must install a pulley to lift the body to the pipe,” Hentzau added. “Detchard has informed me of the difficulties of lifting a corpse.”

  “Quite right,” de Gautet agreed.

  “But we aren’t going to have to lift it,” whined Bersonin. “If Rassendyll comes in so far, we shall kill him.”

  “Nevertheless, verisimilitude is crucial,” Hentzau said with solemnity. “That is the kind of detail that will give Johann’s story credibility.”

  They went on discussing the matter; I sat back, considering what I might do. If I were a fanatic ready to give my life for Flavia, I would simply cut Rudolf’s throat and then Michael’s to leave the princess’s way clear. But it would mean my death, since Michael was surrounded with armed loyalists, and I had no interest in dying for Ruritania, Flavia, or anyone. I thought, on the whole, that it might be best to let Michael’s plan play out as it might. If Rassendyll attacked the castle, he would have to kill Michael, lest his imposture should be exposed. It would be easy enough then to get rid of the true king and leave Rassendyll triumphant and convinced of his own victory. It wouldn’t do to have him realise that the business had been arranged by Flavia.

  It would be more difficult if Rassendyll was truly bound on rescuing the king, and a thorough-going nuisance if the shiftless sod failed to take the bait at all, but we would just have to wait and see.

  Michael rapped the table for my attention and moved on to his next piece of news. He had invited the Princess Flavia to pay a visit to Zenda, and at the same time caused Antoinette to write her a letter, of which he read us the text.

  I have no cause to love you, but God forbid that you should fall into the power of the duke. Accept no invitations of his. Go nowhere without a large guard—a regiment is not too much to make you safe. Show this, if you can, to him who reigns in Strelsau.

  “Rassendyll believes that Antoinette is his ally,” Michael said complacently. “If he fears I will snatch the princess, he will be primed to fight even before Johann betrays our supposed plans to him.”

  “And if the princess is fearful, she will doubtless encourage him to do so,” I added. “Perhaps Antoinette might write to her again if that is needed to prick Rassendyll into action.”

  “Yes, of course,” Michael said impatiently, and there, I hoped, was an excuse if Antoinette should be found sending messages to Flavia.

  When the meeting concluded, Michael held up a hand as we rose. “It is cruci
al that Johann believes the false story. He is told that three of you remain in the outer chamber guarding the king at all times. I will have him go down over the next day or so and see that with his own eyes. Therefore—”

  “Are you suggesting we confine ourselves to that noisome dungeon for twelve hours a day?” Hentzau said, with some incredulity.

  “Detchard, de Gautet, and Bersonin will go down now. Hentzau, Krafstein, and Lauengram will relieve them at seven o’clock tomorrow. Josef will bring you your meals. You will not leave your posts without my permission.”

  Hentzau gave a very audible sigh. Krafstein smirked at me. I resigned myself to an uncomfortable night in uncongenial company, and went to get a pack of cards.

  TWO DAYS LATER, WE had word that the king’s party was coming to Zenda. By this point I had thoroughly cleaned out the pockets of both my forced companions, and we were all of us fuming from stale air, inactivity, and unwanted closeness. De Gautet’s endless waxing of his moustachios, and Bersonin’s unpleasant habit of viewing the king in chains and making taunting remarks, were as tiresome to me as being rooked at cards was to them, and I suspect much longer in that dungeon would have led one of us to do murder. But, as Michael informed me when I stood on the drawbridge to take a breath of clean air, the stage was at last set and the final act of the play was to begin.

  The player-king’s destination was the Chateau Tarlenheim, which was on the opposite side of Zenda town to the castle, about five miles further out. It is situated on rising ground above a large tract of wood; supposedly the king and his party were there for the boar-hunting. He was coming with Colonel Sapt and Fritz von Tarlenheim, to whose cousin the house belonged; in addition there were ten young gentlemen devotedly attached to the king. Allow me to quote Rassendyll’s memoir on this:

  They were informed that a friend of the king’s was suspected to be forcibly confined within the Castle of Zenda. His rescue was one of the objects of the expedition; but, it was added, the king’s main desire was to carry into effect certain steps against his treacherous brother, as to the precise nature of which they could not at present be further enlightened. Young, well-bred, brave, and loyal, they asked no more.