The Henchmen of Zenda

by KJ Charles

  “You are, rather. Still, at least you stabbed him.”

  “Yes, there’s that,” he agreed, cheering up. “Come, let’s ride. I dare say Michael would like to know how his message was received, and I want my lunch.”

  (I may note here that Rassendyll’s account of the same meeting casts himself in a significantly more heroic light, and has him winning the battle of words. One would expect nothing else.)

  MICHAEL WAS NOT BEST pleased about the results of Hentzau’s embassy and packed him off back down to the cellar, while he growled around the castle making himself unpleasant. He could not bear the waiting, and I began to wonder if he felt guilty too. He had given the orders for his brother to be confined without air or exercise, fed with the drink that rotted him from within. It was a miserable and unnecessary cruelty—a foolish one, too, for nobody would now believe the wretch in our cell to be the same man as the healthy, sun-kissed Rassendyll. Michael had placed his lifelong spite above his own interests and common sense, but although he hated Rudolf, the man was still his brother, and a king. Antoinette reported that the duke slept poorly, and woke with incoherent cries. Conscience doth make cowards of us all, or so they say; I’ve never troubled much with it myself.

  The watches were exchanged briskly that evening. I sat on a straw mattress playing solitaire since my companions did not care for cards any more, until a hasty pair of boots clattered down the stone steps. It was Krafstein.

  “Johann is headed in the direction of Tarlenheim. He goes to meet the false king!”

  “The filthy traitor,” de Gautet said, although this was exactly what we had intended Johann to do. “He deserves the severest punishment.”

  “You already killed his mother,” I pointed out. Possibly I had been spending too much time with Hentzau. De Gautet glowered at me, and I hauled myself up. “Well, if he is gone out then we need not continue this farce.”

  “The duke wants it maintained,” Krafstein said. “At least for tonight. We cannot have Johann learn by accident that this was for his benefit. After he returns, he is to be flogged on some excuse, to ensure his loyalties are thoroughly given to Rassendyll’s party, and then we shall await action.”

  “It can’t come soon enough,” I retorted, but I lay down on my straw mattress once more, planning the next move. I had to speak to Hentzau and let the cards fall as they might. If he was determined to fight for Michael, we might find ourselves battling in earnest; even if I managed to avoid that, he had irritated the player-king too much, and was without question guilty of the grossest treason. Let Rassendyll triumph, and Rupert Hentzau’s head would be the first to top a spike.

  I didn’t want to see that (although since my head would probably be up there as well, the issue would be unlikely to arise). He was a ridiculous, preening, vulnerable, arrogant young fool, and the world was a more entertaining place with him in it. I did not want to watch him march gaily to destruction. I would have to trust him with the truth, which meant my life and Antoinette’s, and pray that my absurd sense of companionship with him was not leading me astray.

  JOHANN RETURNED LATE that night. He was given a flogging for immorality in staying out so late courting, and to season his resentment was told that it was on Hentzau’s orders. Hentzau, who had almost every possible fault but was at least no hypocrite, was inclined to be indignant about this.

  Johann was sent down to his keeper’s hut the next morning to nurse his wounds in disgrace, which freed us from the tedium of constant mass watching of the outer room; shortly thereafter we were brought the news that the king had been seriously wounded with a spear while hunting boar. What an unutterably manly excuse. Michael returned the favour by letting it be known to Johann that he believed the wound to be serious, and so the smoke and mirrors went on.

  Meanwhile I resolved to speak to Hentzau.

  It was easier said than done. Michael, whose fears grew alongside his hopes and whose eyes were always distrustful now, had us all going over the Tower and its surrounds, ensuring we covered every inch of ground, considering possibilities for assaults. De Gautet and I had the most experience of warfare, and we were yoked together for much of the day while Hentzau had his own tasks. Around five that evening I finally tracked him down in the Tower, where he was checking Bersonin’s pulley, watched with a sort of dull blankness by the king.

  “A word with you, when you can,” I said.

  “Certainly. Now if you like?”

  “Upstairs.”

  He gave me a waggle of the eyebrow, gave the pulley rope a final tug, and said, “That’ll hold. All right, carry on.”

  “Do we need it to hold?” I asked, leading the way up. The Tower had many rooms and more passageways; it was a sneaking, creaking sort of place, and I looked around as we went to be sure we were unobserved. I should have preferred to go out in the open grounds where eavesdroppers could not lurk unseen, but to be inaudible would have made us all too visible, and I did not want to be too obviously seeking private conversation now. I had walked alone with Hentzau often enough, but treachery makes a man self-conscious.

  “We might want it yet,” Hentzau answered with a shrug. “I can imagine circumstances in which two dead King Rudolfs would be inconvenient. Or two live ones, come to that.”

  I drew him into a side room, one with a single entrance and that through a second chamber. It had no lock, but I preferred to have the warning of approach, and would not have cared to explain why two of the duke’s loyal men had locked themselves in for a private conversation. He gave me a puzzled look. “You seem somewhat serious for a dalliance.”

  “I am serious, and I’m not dallying. Hentzau, listen to me. We’ve spoken of this business a few times now. I think I’m right in saying you’re no great devotee of the duke, and we both know he has no guarantee of success. How would you feel about changing your allegiance?”

  His brows drew together. “Do you propose I switch sides in the hope of saving my skin? Because I doubt that Rassendyll would accept me on his side if I presented him with the crown on a silver salver. And if I were afraid, I shouldn’t have embarked on this game.”

  “On the contrary,” I said. “I thought you might like to make this twice as difficult and three times as dangerous.”

  He was a couple of inches shorter than me: not much, but noticeable this close. He looked up now from under those dark brows, with a smile that Satan himself might have worn before he started his rebellion. “You interest me strangely. Go on.”

  “I take Flavia’s side,” I said, barely above a breath.

  “Flavia,” he repeated.

  “Think of it. If she has Rudolf and Michael out of her way, and Rassendyll at her side but under her thumb—”

  “That, I grasp,” he said. “But how do you come to this position? I wasn’t aware you were devoted to Ruritania’s best interests.”

  “I don’t give a fuck for politics. I am here—I have always been here—to help my friend.”

  “Your— You don’t mean de Mauban?”

  “Herself. We are old acquaintances. She set up my employment here. Michael has taken her daughter and keeps the child hidden, using her to make Antoinette obedient. She is not yet two, his own child, and he threatens to send her to a brothel.”

  “What a prince he is.”

  “I came to see if I could help Antoinette. I have failed, but now Flavia has said she will find the child.”

  “She’s recruited de Mauban,” Hentzau said. “Well. Well.”

  “You understand, I hope, that if you fuck with Antoinette in any way, including betraying this confidence, I will gut you like an eel.”

  “I take it you’re closer than I knew.”

  “Not lovers, if you mean that, but she saved my neck from the guillotine once. She is dear to me, and she wants her child, and her money, and to see Michael dead. I have not been able to help her with the first, but Flavia will—in return for her allegiance. So . . .”

  “Very clever,” he said. “Oh, very. De
tchard—”

  “No, listen to me now,” I said. “There are three people I care to see come out of this business with a whole skin, and none of them is named Elphberg. If you and I work together, I think we can do this. And in truth I don’t want to fight you. I’d prefer to be on the same side. I think we could pull this off and come out of it alive, with Antoinette too. We’d have to run like hell afterwards, naturally, but you said you wanted adventure.”

  “I did, didn’t I. And what an adventure. To unseat a king, undermine Michael in his own stronghold, and put an impostor on the throne—”

  “It’s a game as large as I’ll ever play,” I said. “Are you with me?”

  “Betraying king and duke alike, with no reward but a cut throat if we are discovered?” Those dark eyes were fairly blazing now. “To the ends of the earth. But, Detchard, listen—”

  I held my hand up as he spoke, and we both heard the sound at once: a whisper of foot on stone. We had been speaking low enough that only voices, not words, would have been audible, but it was the two of us, huddled alone in secret conference in the Tower, where only Michael’s most loyal men set foot. I could think of only one reason other than treason why we should be so closeted, and Hentzau leapt to the same conclusion. He grabbed my face, I grabbed his arse, and we were very satisfactorily tangled together and humping shamelessly against one another by the time the stealthy watcher had crept to the door.

  And, so far as I could tell over Hentzau’s dramatically breathy moans, stayed there. The door’s planks were somewhat warped, with cracks between; someone evidently liked to watch. I put a mental wager on Bersonin.

  Hentzau was as aware as I we were being observed; his response was entirely predictable. He wrapped a thigh over mine with a provocative grind of his hips. “Jasper, oh Jasper,” he groaned. “I cannot resist you; I must submit. Fuck me, you beast of a man. Take me now.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, hit him, or do precisely as he had requested and see how he liked it. I did not have to decide, because the door opened sharply, and a voice said, “Well, then.”

  It was not Bersonin. It was Michael. Whoops.

  I believe the correct form for guilty lovers discovered is to spring apart. I can’t say we did. Hentzau sighed with dramatic exasperation and made no effort to disentangle himself. I gave his arse a firm squeeze before releasing it, and said, “Your Grace. How may I serve you?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Better than this, I hope.”

  “There’s really nothing else to do until the play-actor bestirs himself, my lord duke,” Hentzau pointed out, with a negligent yawn. “So we must find ways to occupy ourselves, just as Your Grace does with his own charming companion. Sadly, the rest of us have no ladies to whom we may turn, and unless Your Grace is generous enough to share—”

  “Is there something that requires my attention?” I put in, hoping to shut him up.

  Michael contemplated us for a moment, then gave a smile. “Well, I dare say you might as well amuse yourselves while you have the leisure. But not on duty, please. You will kindly accompany me now; I have business for you.”

  We followed him down the stairs. Behind his back, I gave Hentzau a questioning look. He shrugged. It seemed a peculiarly considerate and relaxed approach from Michael at a time when he was twitching with nerves, and I could not help but wonder if he had heard our words after all. I was soon to find out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was hard put to seem unconcerned for the rest of that day. I knew Michael was watching us, and at points in the afternoon he slipped away to speak privately with the others of the Six. Hentzau appeared entirely lighthearted, but he was good at that. I settled for grimly uncommunicative, a demeanour I could carry off well thanks to years of practice, and made sure I had my concealed knife ready to hand. If our plotting had been overheard, our lives would be forfeit. Well, that was always part of the game, but I intended to take Michael with me if I possibly could.

  We were, as I have said, all housed in the chateau, Hentzau on the first floor in one of the guest rooms, I on the second, in the much less elegant quarters usually reserved for serving-men. That evening the Six (with the exception of Lauengram, who alone guarded the king) dined within the chateau, Michael at our head. He poured wine with a lavish hand—you may believe I watched his hands and Bersonin’s, and did not drink until the others did—bidding us be good comrades, and inviting Hentzau, in particular, to grow offensive. “Come, tell us more about de Gautet’s moustaches!” he cried, and laughed, and refilled his glass again.

  I didn’t like it. I didn’t know what he wanted, but I didn’t like it, or this false carousing, still less the way Michael watched Hentzau with that little cold smile on his lips.

  Michael looked set to drink all night, and keep us with him, but as the clock struck ten he shook his head and stood. “Enough, gentlemen. We must all be sharp in the morning. To bed.”

  “A word, Detchard,” Krafstein requested as I made to leave. I stopped. He drew me to one side and smiled at me. “Merely an observation from the duke. As of tomorrow, we will all be standing watch on Rudolf once more, so you would be well advised to seize the day. Or rather, the night.”

  I turned on my heel without response, not entirely sure what to say. It seemed implausible that Michael was concerned with my desires at all, still less that he had chosen to bestow his blessing upon us. And he had made a point of getting Hentzau drunk.

  Hentzau had gone on ahead. I therefore went down a passage that led both to a jakes and to stairs up to my room, and as I walked down the corridor, a hand from a shadowed doorway gripped my arm. I seized it and was close to breaking the wrist before I realised my assailant was Antoinette.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry.”

  She glared at me. “Brute. Jasper, do you intend to go to Hentzau tonight?”

  “Why is everyone in this castle obsessed with my bedroom activities?” I demanded.

  She jerked me close so her words were barely audible. “Because there are spyholes in the walls of all the rooms on the first floor. And Michael uses them.”

  I will freely admit, that floored me. “The devil he does.”

  “He can see, and he can hear too,” she said, eyes meeting mine, and she did not need to spell out that warning. “And he likes to watch. He will be watching. So will I, I expect.”

  “Charming,” I said. “I shall disappoint him by going to bed. Hentzau’s drunk, and I’m not paid to perform for Michael Elphberg.”

  “Jasper, he doubts Hentzau,” Antoinette said softly. “And now he doubts you. Be careful.”

  We both looked around at the sound of footsteps. Antoinette moved back into the alcove of the door. I reached for my dagger, but relaxed when I saw Hentzau, looking damp. He had apparently tipped a jug of water over himself, because he seemed alert and his eyes were bright.

  “Jasper. I wondered where you had got to. And—” He gave Antoinette a magnificent bow. “Thank you for waylaying him, my dear. I have a use for our stern swordsman this night.”

  “Hentzau—”

  “Shh,” he said, putting a fond finger to my lips, and mouthed very clearly, Shut up. “Indulge me. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Milady, as an expert yourself, and since you constantly refuse to fuck me, will you not persuade this puritan Englishman to do so instead?”

  “I wish he would,” she said, voice clear and teasing—professional, in fact. They were watching one another like cats. “Jasper, take advantage when it’s offered. Even better, convert him to the joys of man-flesh for good and the ladies of Ruritania will have cause to bless your name. I am to bed—and not with you, Hentzau. I am meat for your master.”

  She walked off down the corridor, head high, and as she turned the corner I heard her say, “Oh, good evening, Herr Krafstein. I had not seen you there.”

  Hentzau rolled his eyes expressively and tugged at my arm. “Come on.”

  I went. He was evidently a great d
eal less drunk than I had thought, or than he had chosen to seem. We strolled through the corridors arm in arm—Krafstein had disappeared—with Hentzau chattering airily about nothing, and went up the stairs, making our leisurely way to his room.

  There was nobody about in that corridor. I seized him, pushing him against the wall, and kissed him forcibly. He responded with all the enthusiasm I would normally have hoped for, and a great deal more than I wanted at this moment, almost to the point of distraction, his lips hard and hot against mine, body unquestionably eager. I pulled my mouth away from his and bent my head to lick at his neck, then worked my way up to his ear, and murmured, “Spyholes in your walls.”

  “Yes, yes,” he panted.

  I grabbed both hands and pulled his arms over his head, pinning him against the panelling and leaning in. He was definitely enjoying this. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Mmm.” His gaze met mine for a flicker of a second, enough to convey that he had understood.

  I leaned in hard against him to murmur, “Just pass out drunk.”

  He twined a thigh through my legs, pressing forwards against me, nuzzling my cheek and neck, and said low, “Not a chance. Unless you’re shy?”

  He was making a thoroughly wanton display of himself, arched and panting, which I had no doubt was deliberate, but he was also very hard, and the sparkle in his eyes was not counterfeited. Now I thought of it, it came as no surprise whatsoever that the little peacock liked to be observed. God knew he was worth watching.

  I shoved him back against the wall and growled, audibly for our listeners’ benefit, “What do you want?”

  “You said you could make me beg for it. Well, make me.”

  Good God. “Under Michael’s eye?”

  “He’ll love it. It will prove I’ve nothing else on my mind. And I want it, Jasper.” He said that for my ear, not our listeners’. “I really . . . very much . . . do.”

  His foot was raking the back of my calf, the boot heel digging urgently in. I hauled him away from the wall and said, “Come on, then.”