Simon Hawke - The Zenda Vendetta

“There’s a chance,” said Fritz, nodding. “Yes, it could work!”

Sapt went to the door and called for Josef, who paled when he saw the king lying on the floor. As quickly as he could, Sapt filled the old man in and sent him for a razor. Josef moved quickly and returned in moments with hot water, soap, and several razors. Finn was not encouraged when he saw how badly the old man’s hand was shaking, but he sat down in a chair and submitted to the barbering.

“Christ!” von Tarlenheim said, jumping to his feet. “We forgot about the guard!”

“We won’t wait for the guard,” said Sapt. “We shall take the train from Hofban. We’ll be long gone by the time they come.”

“But what of the king?” said Fritz.

“I’ll carry him down to the wine cellar. Josef will stay with him.”

“But suppose they find him?”

Simon Hawke

The Zenda Vendetta

“They won’t. Why should they bother looking? They don’t know about Cousin Rudolf, here. I’ll take His Drunken Majesty down there right now.”

Sapt bent down and picked the king up easily, throwing his body over his shoulders as if it were a sack of flour. He moved quickly to the door and opened it, revealing the old woman who had served them the previous night standing in the doorway. She immediately spun around and went off without a word.

“You think she heard?” said Fritz. “Heaven help us if she did; she’s Michael’s servant.”

“Leave her to me,” said Sapt. He went out with the king, shutting the door behind him. Fritz von Tarlenheim watched as Delaney’s beard was shaved. When Josef was done, having managed to avoid shedding any of Finn’s blood, Fritz stood back and examined the results.

“I really do believe we’ll pull it off!” he said. “I don’t think I’d know you from the king myself!”

Sapt returned in a short while, having taken the king down to the cellar. He told them that he had taken the old woman there as well and left her bound and gagged beside the king, where Josef could watch them both.

“By the time she tells anything she heard to Michael,” Sapt said, “the coronation will be over, the king will be in the palace, and Cousin Rudolf will be on his way to London. Let Black Michael try to prove that anything untoward happened. He will have been beaten. When the old woman tells him about Cousin Rudolf here, he’ll know just how we did it. He can stew till hell freezes over and be powerless to change a thing!”

They brought the king’s uniform and helped Finn put it on; then they dressed in their own. Finn was given the king’s helmet and sword and with two hours to spare before the guard was due, they mounted up and rode at a breakneck pace to the village of Hofban, where they took the first train to Strelsau. On the way, both Sapt and von Tarlenheim briefed Finn as to what he could expect, what to look out for, whom to know and how, and what the proper etiquette was for all that he could be expected to go through.

From the time that they had left the lodge to the time they boarded the train, Finn had seen no sign of Andre, Derringer, or Lucas. He hoped that they were keeping on top of things. Sapt and von Tarlenheim both drilled him ceaselessly, making him mimic the king’s voice until he had the pitch and intonation down. Both men seemed as delighted with his performance as two schoolboys in the midst of planning a great prank. However, as the train drew closer to Strelsau, they both began to show their nervousness. Finn was nervous, too, but not so much because of his impersonation as because he did not know where the others were and he had no idea what he could expect from Falcon. Soon, the towers of the palace were visible from the windows of the train and then the city of Strelsau came into view.

“Your capital, my liege,” said Sapt. He looked at Finn intently. “How do you feel?”

“Positively regal,” Finn said.

Sapt chuckled. “You’ll do. Fritz, you look white as a sheet. Drain your flask, for God’s sake, and put some color in your cheeks.”

As the train pulled up to the platform, Sapt glanced outside and nodded to himself. “Things look well,” he said. “We are early and no one expects us on this train. No one’s here to meet us yet. We’ll send word of Your Majesty’s arrival, meanwhile-”

“Meanwhile, His Majesty is starving,” Finn said, “and he’ll be hanged if he doesn’t have some breakfast.”

Von Tarlenheim hiccoughed and Sapt grinned. “You’re an Elphberg, all right,” he said. “Every inch of you. Well, with God’s help, we’ll all still be alive when this is over.”

“Amen,” said Fritz.

You can say that again, thought Finn.

The train came to a stop and Sapt and von Tarlenheim went out first. Finn put on his helmet and stepped out onto the platform, trying to walk with the same sauntering strut as Rudolf. He was recognized in no time at all and the entire area around the train station became a flurry of activity, a helter-skelter in which he was the center of attention. Sapt and von Tarlenheim stayed close by him every second, running interference for him as they took him through the quickly gathering crowd to breakfast. Finn ate with a hearty appetite, Sapt ate sparingly and drank lots of coffee, while Fritz von Tarlenheim merely sat there looking ill and chewing on his fingernails. As Finn finished his breakfast of shirred eggs and sausage with biscuits and gravy, the bells of the city began to ring in a cacophony of clanging and people in the street outside were shouting, “God save the king!”

Sapt smiled. “God save ‘em both,” he said. “Courage, lad.”

“Lad,” thought Finn, I’m old enough to be your father. Here’s hoping I live to be a little older. He raised his coffee cup to Sapt in a silent toast and drained it. If you think this is bad, he wanted to tell him, wait’ll you see what’s coming next.

Von Tarlenheim and Sapt never left Finn’s side as the dignitaries arrived and paid their respects prior to forming the procession. Whispered promptings from Sapt identified to Finn people who had already been described to him during the train ride or, in the event of an omission in the hurried briefing, the old man would give quick thumbnail sketches, such as, “Marshal Strakencz, Ruritania’s most famous veteran, a trusted ally, but not an intimate friend.” Then, a quick bit of stage direction to guide Finn’s manner. “Warmly, but speak loudly. Strakencz is hard of hearing.”

Things flowed smoothly and the procession formed, with Finn, Sapt, and von Tarlenheim taking up position in the center of the parade that wound through the streets of Strelsau’s New Town and into the old quarter, where the avenues narrowed and the three- and four-story houses showed signs of age. Many of these houses also showed signs of Ruritania’s political polarity, differing from those around them in the conspicuous lack of red flags or red bunting being displayed. Some of them were not decorated at all, while others showed a touch of black. Others still, more boldly, displayed Black Michael’s portrait in their windows. Invariably, the people who stood upon the balconies of these houses did not wave or cheer, but stared sullenly and silently at Finn as he rode by on his horse with Sapt and von Tarlenheim flanking him on theirs.

Sapt kept his eyes on Finn, like a coach critically watching the performance of a favored athlete, while von Tarlenheim all but shook with nervousness, sweating rivers in his white regimental uniform and darting glances all around as if expecting at any moment someone to call out, like the young boy who cried that the emperor wore no clothes, “That’s not the king!” But no such cry came and Finn played his part by waving to the crowd and removing his helmet to display “the Elphberg red” whenever they passed a group of houses adorned with Michael’s raven-headed likeness. Finn found himself rather enjoying the whole thing, catching bouquets of red roses and then tossing them back into the crowd, smiling at the flirtatious glances of young women who leaned down from their balconies to watch him pass, and returning the salutes of old men who stiffened to arthritic attention as he rode by. Then, when the procession approached the palatial Grand Hotel on the Grand Boulevard of Strelsau, the grim reality of his situation was driven home to him. As they rode up to the balcony of the Grand Hotel, Finn spotted one woman who neither waved nor cheered, standing out from those who surrounded her by virtue of the daring dress she wore, scandalous by the standards of the time, jet black and form-fitting with a deeply plunging neckline. Long and lovely ash-blond hair framed her striking face. His stomach muscles tensed as their eyes met and she gave him a small half-smile.