Simon Hawke - The Zenda Vendetta

The sky was becoming gray as Lucas turned into the side street that led to the rooming house where Derringer had set up his base of operations. He had no idea what he would find there. He hoped he would find Andre. He felt reasonably sure he would. If they were very, very lucky, Derringer’s security system had protected the chronoplate and they might even have a prisoner from the opposing camp. However, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Luck always had a way of being absent when you needed it quite badly.

He wanted nothing in the world quite so much as a few hours’ sleep. Weary as he was, he was on his guard as he entered the rooming house and slowly climbed the stairs to the top floor. He tried to walk softly so as not to make any noise. He could afford to take no chances. The hall was empty. He moved cautiously. When he came to the door of Derringer’s room, he paused and pressed an ear against it. He could hear voices. Suddenly sleep was the last thing on his mind. He came into the room fast and low, his laser held ready before him. Chairs fell over as the occupants of the room dove in separate directions and someone yelled his name.

Forrester lowered his weapon. “Too slow,” he said.

“For once, I’m grateful,” Andre said, shakily. “I didn’t even realize that door wasn’t bolted.”

“You both need rest,” said Forrester. He sounded exhausted himself. “Come have a drink, Priest. There’s something I have to tell you.”

The morning came with Finn still feeling alert and tense. He had smoked half a box of cigarettes and his throat was more than a bit raw. Sapt and von Tarlenheim arrived to find him dressed, but incorrectly. He had put on his evening uniform instead of his morning uniform and a change was needed before he could begin the first of his monarchial duties, which entailed the greeting of the corps diplomatique. There were papers to be signed, which gave Finn’s co-conspirators a nasty turn for a moment until he claimed that he was unable to write comfortably due to having injured his hand while hunting in Zenda. He did so with such a flash of royal petulance that the chancellor hastened away with many apologies and bows to search his legal books for precedents. He returned with the suggestion that “His Majesty could make his mark” with his left hand. It would be a bit irregular, but it would all be legal provided that there were so and so many witnesses, all of whom would have to swear an oath to testify that the signature was genuine and sign themselves, as well. Sapt did so nonchalantly, but von Tarlenheim looked pained as he swore before “Almighty God and My Sovereign Liege” and half his ancestors, perjuring himself irredeemably both on the secular and spiritual levels. Finn went through it all with a vague air of boredom and impatience, grateful for the fact that he did not have to spend any length of time in conversation with anyone who knew the king well. Sapt had assumed the role of chief factotum easily and he ran interference for him admirably, his stiff military bearing and demeanor proving quite infectious and lending an atmosphere of formality and dispatch to the proceedings.

It was afternoon by the time that they were finished with the scheduled activities for the morning and took time for a meal, which Finn, as his first royal decree verbally issued, ordered served to them in his chambers. The chancellor, a whipcord thin, middle-aged man with sunken cheeks, immensely mournful eyes, and a habit of pressing his lips together every few seconds, hesitantly reminded His Majesty that there were still a number of people wishing to pay their respects, not the least of them being the Duke of Streisau, who had ridden in from Zenda and expressed his wish to dine with His Majesty. Finn waved him off without a word and the chancellor departed, clearly not looking forward to informing Michael of the snub.

Sapt chuckled when they were finally alone. “I must say, Your Majesty,” he said, giving a slight ironic stress to the title, “you appear to have quite a knack for this sort of thing. I did not sleep at all last night, worrying about today, but my worries have been somewhat alleviated. Still, I cannot help but wonder how long we can keep it up.”

“Certainly, we must do something and we must do it soon,” said Fritz, who also appeared not to have slept at all, though his nerves were far more on edge than Sapt’s. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“Better to sit here and do nothing than to do something stupid,” Sapt said. “Michael is no fool. It may have been unwise to snub him.”

“Why?” said Finn. “You think he might hold it against me?”

Von Tarlenheim giggled. Sapt shot him a venomous look and he instantly put on a sober face. “He may have come with terms,” said Sapt. “We should hear him out.”

“What kind of terms could he possibly offer?” Finn said. “He’s committed himself. There’s no way he can let the king go. Somehow, I doubt that under the circumstances, Rudolf would be very forgiving. No, he must kill the king. He has no choice. But fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whose point of view it is, he’d have to kill me first and he’d have to do it on the sly. It wouldn’t do for him to have the act witnessed or to have the ‘king’s’ body found before he could concoct some way to take advantage of it. He’ll simply have to play along in the charade until he can find an opportunity to make me disappear.”

“He’s right,” said Fritz. “We must make certain that he has no such opportunity. We must have you watched both day and night.”

“I would advise against that,” Finn said.

Sapt frowned. “Why?”

“The last thing you want to do is make Michael desperate and force his hand.”

Sapt nodded. “You’re right again. By God, Rassendyll, there’s more to you than meets the eye. You seem to be an old hand at intrigue.”

“Let’s simply say that I have an extremely strong instinct for self-preservation,” Finn said. “This is quite a deadly little game we’re playing and the stakes are considerably higher than they were when we began it. Moreover, the odds are hardly to my liking. There are at least seven of them and only the three of us.”

“And Michael enjoys the people’s favor,” added Fritz.

“Well, now maybe there’s something we can act upon,” said Finn. “If Michael enjoys the people’s favor, then Rudolf must be in some disfavor with the people. Why?”

“Why?” said Sapt. “You met him. You saw. He’s an irresponsible young fool who cares for little save his own pleasures. He cares nothing for the people or for the duties of the crown. Which is not to say that Michael loves the people any more. He simply knows the art of currying their favor, whereas Rudolf could not be bothered. Rudolf should sit upon the throne by right, there’s that, but at least he would leave affairs of state in hands far more capable than his. Michael would take direct control and I daresay that the nation would not prosper for it.” “Then there’s the matter of the princess,” said Fritz. “Yes, I was going to mention that,” said Finn. “Somehow, it seems the two of you neglected to inform me that I would be alone with her.”

“A grievous oversight,” said Sapt. “I don’t know what I was thinking of. Forgive me, Rudolf. You did not make her suspicious?”

“I don’t think so,” Finn said. “But I’m going to have to know how things stood between them. From our brief conversation, it was my impression that she is a trifle cool toward Rudolf.”

“Cool!” said Fritz. “I like that. Cold as ice, would be more like.”

Sapt grimaced wryly. “I never thought that I’d be at all concerned with our friend’s romantic dalliances,” he said, “but at the moment, I am profoundly grateful that young Fritz here has set his cap at Countess Helga.”