He left the car to a quiet teenage boy (who turned out to be his grandson), and took me inside himself. Ysvorod House was Georgian in design, not as large as Mecklundburg House, separated from the homes on either side by hedge-lined gardens. As I entered the old-fashioned hallway I felt as if I was trespassing into Alec’s personal space. I’d looked forward to seeing him again, now that the misunderstandings were cleared up, but as I looked around the eighteenth-century entry hall, my heartbeat accelerated. At least there wasn’t an intimidating Jeeves lying in wait.
Emilio took me upstairs to a library. It turned out that Emilio and his son-in-law traded off being Jeeves, spelled by his brother-in-law when Alec sent Emilio out of the country.
Alec got up from behind the walnut desk on the other side of the room, hanging up a thirties-style telephone receiver as he did so. I took in the three walls of books and handsome cabinetry set on either side of tall leaded-glass windows with cut crystal prisms set into them in geometric rose patterns. Opposite the door was a fireplace with exquisite ancient Chinese palm-pattern rugs hanging on either side.
He came forward to greet me. “Sit down. Relax. Something to drink?” he said, indicating the wing chairs set before the fireplace.
I discovered my hands laced together tightly. As I sat down Alec moved to a sideboard below one of the rugs and poured the same sort of liquor Mina had served me. Bringing these crystal glasses over, he smiled. “Kilber’s potions are safely locked up in his flat, and you can choose your glass.” He held them both out. “To set your mind at ease.”
“Ha ha.” I grabbed one and took a slug of the contents. My eyes burned and then teared as the stuff hit my insides like an incendiary bomb. “Aunt Sisi served this, but it was diluted with soda water and white wine. What is it?” I gasped.
“I should have warned you. It’s local, a mountain product. Called zhoumnyar. The recipe varies from valley to valley, but raisins, pears, and certain herbs are constant ingredients. Take it easy; a pint of the well-aged, triple-distilled stuff would probably fuel a six-hour jet flight. Indispensable in winter.”
“I like it! After the first gouge.”
“Curiously,” he said as he sat in the wing chair opposite mine and inspected the brightly leaping fire on the grate, “one of the best varieties is produced in a Cistercian monastery, high on Mt. Corbesc. Folklore attributes all manner of healthful properties to it. They sell it to the rest of us.”
“Cistercian?” My heartbeat thumped as I said casually, “Are there many Cistercian monasteries around?”
“Not in Dobrenica.”
“This one is high on . . . what was it, Mt. Corbesc?”
“Would you like to go there?”
I hesitated. The urge to tell him about Father Teodras was almost overwhelming, and it would be awesome to zoom up there in one of his fancy cars. But on the other hand, the urge to be alone whenever I found out the truth was even stronger.
It wasn’t any lingering resentment from various misunderstandings. He’d explained, I’d explained, we were okay with each other. My problem was the opposite. Salfmatta Mina had never told anyone but her long-dead husband about the secret marriage, so now I had the inside scoop. I wanted to get the last bit of evidence in hand, and then deal with my reaction alone, because I didn’t want to seem like I was gloating. Though I needed to find the truth, I was beginning to see what an extreme hassle it was going to cause.
I gazed at the fire as if it was about to talk to me. “There are lots of things I’d like to see. Before I do,” now I could face him, “I have a question.”
“Fire away.”
“If you suspected Tony had nabbed his sister, why didn’t you search his place? Especially since you’ve got—you are—the long arm of the law.”
Alec smiled. “If you’d seen the Eyrie, you wouldn’t need to ask.”
“What is it, a giant pile?”
“That doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s got so many secret passages that, even when the Russians held the castle, there was enough traffic moving through the place to make it sound like Friday market in Riev. Not to mention its reputation for being haunted.”
“Whoa. I’m surprised they didn’t blow it up.”
“It made a great barracks.” Alec leaned back and saluted me with his crystal glass, which glittered with shards of reflected firelight. “Also, I hear the last captain in charge up there rather liked Tony. In the way of enemies you love to hate. After all, the war of attrition was constant and successful but there was little actual bloodshed, and even a certain amount of humor in some of the actions they pulled off. At any rate I do know that the captain joined one of Tony’s hunting parties over a winter—”
“What?”
“You can’t imagine Tony making that gesture?” Alec flashed his quick grin. “Still, I suspect it was more in the nature of psychological warfare than friendliness. You’ve got to be half-mad to ride in those hills. The Devil’s Mountain people are all half-mad, and Tony’s the wildest of them all. The captain was, gossip reported gleefully all over the valley, much shaken; apparently his KGB training didn’t include old-style Cossack field experience.”
I gave a hoot of laughter.
“But back to Ruli. To search, I’d have to take half an army up there to hold the castle, because his people are loyal to Tony. Didn’t want to unless forced to it. I did hear a rumor that a female was being entertained up in the castle’s private quarters, called the sky suite, but she could have been a friend of Tony’s. The most recent clue, gained the day you vanished, was that the volume of washing had increased enormously, which annoyed the servants.”
“Washing—oh, you mean laundry. Ruli’s infamous mega-wardrobe.”
“She also likes bed linen and towels to be changed every day, and everything has to match. So your news didn’t surprise me.”
“Sounds like a bit of a princess, eh?”
He made a quick gesture. “She’s fastidious. Always has been. Her father’s the same way, I’m told; if a visitor hasn’t sufficiently wiped his feet, he’ll mop his own marble floor if the servants aren’t fast enough.”
“So how can I help? Or can I?”
“There’s an obvious course—” He got up to poke at the fire with the tongs and stood back to watch a log fall with a shower of brilliant sparks. “But first we would need Aunt Sisi’s cooperation. And the rest of the von Mecklundburgs as well.” His smile was brief and humorless.
“Obvious—oh! A repeat of the Split plan? I pretend to be Ruli. To whom?”
“In the eyes of the people, you are Ruli. If we were to entertain Tony’s family as the engaged couple, it would be an effective counter to Tony’s hold on us. He can’t call you a fake without the word getting out that his real sister is his prisoner. A delicate balance. Better than waiting for his next move.”
He’d already finished his drink, and got up to pour out more. “Aunt Sisi will be arriving any time. If you have other questions, let’s talk fast.”
I could sense it; he was enjoying the conversation as much as I was. “Okay. First. Why all these moves and countermoves? What’s Tony waiting for? He is planning to come in and take over, right? Well, why don’t you take your Vigilzhi and go solve things once and for all?”
“Tony knows that I’ll try to avoid civil war. I’m counting on the fact that he doesn’t want the streets of Riev to run with blood any more than I do. To pull off a painless coup means he has to get popular support after his mountain hotshots secure the centers of power. If they bungle and we slip away, the country will be divided into two warring camps, with my partisans hiding in the western hills, his in the east, and the valley a potential battleground. Everyone here knows their history, and every time that’s happened, it hasn’t ended well.”
“I get it. And while you’re busy hunting one another, the Russians step in to keep the peace.”
He smiled, and finished off his drink. “You saw that, did you? Something to bear in mind when you consi
der Reithermann’s background.”
“Him again. Who is this guy? His name’s German.”
“German born, but by the time he left the country when he was around twenty there were warrants all over Germany waiting for him if he ever goes back. You name any illegal and violent splinter group over the past twenty-five years, and he’s been connected in some way, especially in the States. He was living there in some remote locale for the last couple of decades, playing around with your American brand of gun-toting nutters. Until your Homeland Security flushed him out, and he ended up here, offering his services to Tony.”
“Why’d Tony take him on?”
“Tony’s idea seems to have been to weld the hill gangs into a modern and cohesive force, and Reithermann seems to have convinced Tony he could do that. Tony is astute enough to know that taking potshots at Soviet patrols and dismantling their outposts is simpler than taking control of a country. He apparently is not astute enough to know how to pick allies.”
“So he’s got organizational problems.”
“That, and a desperate need for money.” Alec got up and moved to the window. He glanced out without moving the curtains, then strolled back to his chair as I exclaimed, “The Dsaret treasure again!”
“More than that. If he could get his hands on it, he’d use it to fund his coup, which would make him more willing to gamble on future support here. Tony knows why my father and the old king hid the treasure years ago. They wanted to leave as little as possible for the conquerors, and if the time came when the conquerors pulled out, they knew stability would be established faster if we had the power of the purse.”
“So the treasure isn’t in a deep vault somewhere?”
“The bank on Sobieski Square is the only one with deep vaults. And it’s used by maybe forty percent of the population.”
“So where do people keep their money? In Germany or Switzerland?”
“No, right here. In trunks under their beds, or in wall hiding places, buried in fields, or stashed in old mines and caves.”
So it would be there if the Blessing closed them off from the rest of the known world . . . I shook away the thought. “Who controls the treasure?”
“I do. With my father’s advice and agreement.”
“I can see how that’s the best way to control power. But what’s to stop someone like Tony from arranging an accident for you on some lonely byway? Your house of cards would collapse pretty fast.”
“No, it wouldn’t. I channel most of the budget through the Church—”
“What?”
“—so if I do meet my accident on the lonely byway they know my wishes, and my father’s, and have the authority to act as they think best. I don’t think Tony’d rank high in their plans. Nothing could prevent him from stepping forward to claim the crown, but if he tried to wrest the money from the Church he would shortly become only slightly more popular than the Soviets had been.”
“But the Church?”
His brows went up. “What are you imagining, a sinkhole presided over by modern Borgias? If so, forget it. If there were any such left in the local diocese in the last sixty years, the enthusiastic persecution by the Soviets weeded them out.” His tone was decidedly ironic, but not nasty. “In any case, Baron Ridotski watches over them—our own version of checks and balances. He was selected by the Jewish community, as they also have a vote in governing decisions. In addition there is a Russian Orthodox member on council. The rest of the council is secular, representing various interests.”
“So that brings me to Ruli. And to me. By holding her, Tony is postponing the hatchet burying, which increases local pressure on you. I see that much. But why an interest in me when he knows who I am? I don’t believe he’s enough of an ass to think that by kidnapping me he will get closer to the Dsaret treasure.”
“The symbolism works both ways, Kim. Supposing—” The door opened, and Emilio peeked in.
The tension was back. I could see it in Alec’s forehead, and in the set of his shoulders as he walked to the door. They conferred quietly, then he returned. “Supposing someone should show up claiming to be a descendent of the long-lost crown princess,” he said. “Someone who has the crown princess’ face. And supposing this someone decides that the life of a princess might be nice. And so she agrees to marry the son descended from the other Dsaret princess.”
I got a vivid image of Tony driving far too fast on the mountain road. “Aren’t Tony and I cousins in some way?”
“Quarter cousins. Not only legal, but common enough in families concerned with protecting names and fortunes. I’d say this couple would present a picture of royal appeal, wouldn’t you? Perhaps not in the eyes of his relations, but that doesn’t matter since he already has their support. In the eyes of the people, yes.”
And supposing the descendent with the crown princess’ face claims legitimate birth for her mother—thus removing any claim her newfound family might have both to legitimacy and to inheritance. And supposing said descendent shoots off her big mouth to said quarter cousin?
The heat of embarrassment prickled all over me. “How stupid I was not to see it. But even if I were crazy enough to marry Tony on the second of September, your magic thing wouldn’t work for us, would it? Supposing it works at all.”
“I don’t know,” Alec said, and moved to the sideboard. “What I do know is that a wedding that day, according to the old tradition, would look damn good to a lot of people, especially to those on Devil’s Mountain. Want another shot?”
“No. I’ve got a buzz on from this much, and I have to remember my formal manners, as I don’t think Aunt Sisi is the TV tray and feet on the coffee table type.”
He gestured to the door. “It turns out she’s detained. Sends her regrets, and will join us for dessert. Shall we sit in the dining room or would you like to eat right here?”
“Anything’s okay. Do you think Tony showed up and is harassing her?”
“I think he showed up, yes. Could be they both have a great deal to say to the other.” He flashed a wry smile. “We’ll eat here. The chairs are more comfortable, and it’s warmer. When the duchess comes, we’ll have to shift to the dining room for the dessert I ordered from her own cook.” He got up, went to the door, and opened it. “Emilio? Why don’t you bring the trays in.”
“The famed Pedro provided the meal?” I asked.
“You’ve heard of him? She never travels without him and won’t eat anything but Cordon Bleu-quality French food. Luckily her Pedro is not averse to earning extra money on the side by preparing dishes for others who might find themselves entertaining Aunt Sisi.”
Emilio came in then and set up trays for us, then served Marbré de poulet fermier au foie gras, followed by Longe de veau de Corrèze rôtie, légumes printaniers au jus. I refused any wine; Aunt Sisi was due soon, and I wanted a clear head.
We chatted about food, as I inhaled that exquisite dinner. I found out that the porridge I’d eaten at Mina’s was probably the local version of mamaliga, which was a corn-based staple popular in that corner of the world. I discovered that he had never eaten Mexican food, and I tried to convince him how much he was missing.
During this chat I was trying to rethink my position. I’d regarded myself as distanced from Dobrenica’s problems, which I had no stake in. I was here on a private quest. But some of these people seemed to expect me to take on the identity my grandmother had abandoned. And that means—
I shivered.
“Are you cold? Would you like a wrap? Or something more to drink?” Alec asked.
“I’m fine.”
When Emilio came in to remove the trays I rubbed my hands slowly, trying to press warmth into them. So if I do find out that Gran’s marriage was the legitimate one, what does that do to Ruli’s status—and her marriage to Alec?
I’d promised myself not to think about that until I had my evidence. But the longer I spent in Alec’s company, the more I . . . tried not to think about Ruli and that marriage.
I said to the fire, “You told me the city’s safe. Did you know someone’s been watching the Waleskas’ inn?”
Alec was over at the sideboard again. “I know.” I heard his smile. “No problem.”
“So . . .” I said slowly. “People turned to your father for guidance out of the misery, right? Because he inherited a crown?”
“Partly. My father’s reputation was formidable. He was tireless in slipping in and out of the country, often one or two hours ahead of the Gestapo, and later the Russians. The Soviets were pretty heavy-handed in those early days, and though he was young he had a price on his head. Which only served to foster his hero-image.”
“They would have done better to welcome him with open arms and mire him in petty bureaucracy.” When Alec smiled, I went on. “So you grew up hearing about your father’s exploits?”
“I read about them in his journal.”
“His journal?”
“He kept one for many years, the idea being to pass it on to his successor to show what he had done and why. Some of it is damned harrowing. And some is—how did my father put it, about the writings of the classics—‘a paean to the best of the human spirit persevering despite the worst of circumstances.’”
“I’d love to see it,” I exclaimed impulsively, then began a hasty and embarrassed backtrack to cover for flagrant nosiness. “Not that it’s any of my business, but my interest in history—”
“You can, if you like.” He looked down at the drink he’d just poured, not quite frowning, more like he was thinking.
I said, “Not if it’s in any way inappropriate.”
That broke the spell. “No, not at all! If you’re expecting the confessions of Henry the VIII it would be a vast disappointment.” His expression was serious, but I knew he was joking as he deliberately set the drink down, and then returned to his chair. “My austere father has led the most blameless of existences. All things considered, it’s probably a miracle I was born. You won’t find any mention of mysterious powers, magic, spirits, or otherwise in the journal, either. He rarely discussed those things. If he did, he used the conditional. But as I told you, he did marry my mother on the right day, in the right place. And nothing happened. The Soviets were still there when they came out of the church.”
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