Peter Dickinson - Shadow of a Hero

When the War of Independence was over and the Turks agreed to let Varina become semi-independent, provided Restaur Vax went into exile, Bishop Pango had become the first Prince-Bishop. The old Bishop’s Palace had been part of St Valia, which the Turks had destroyed, and there wasn’t enough money to build a new one, so he’d taken over five of the merchants’ houses opposite the cathedral and got an architect to design a grand façade, with a great porch and curling double stairways. The façade was symmetrical, but the houses behind weren’t, so some of the windows were blank, and several of them were half-blank, with bits of the old windows showing behind the new ones. Letta didn’t like anything to do with Bishop Pango, so she thought his palace was just right for the old fraud.

After the First World War, when Varina had been split in three, it had become the Governor’s Palace for the Romanian Province of Cerna-Potok, and when the Germans invaded they’d taken it over as their headquarters, and then the Communist Party had moved in, and now they’d gone and nobody knew what to do with it so some enterprising person had borrowed enough money to buy a job lot of beds and furniture and turned it into the Palace Hotel.

Mollie and Steff had one of the rooms in the University, partly because of Donna and partly so that Mollie could be at the centre of things.

‘Come and pick us up by half-past ten, latest,’ she’d told everyone last night. ‘Grandad’s due to arrive at eleven, and he’s making the opening speech at twelve.’

They set off in good time, with Steff carrying Donna in a backpack, but for once Mollie had got it wrong. Normally it was only ten minutes’ walk to the Square, but not when every single person in Varina seemed to be heading that way. It was difficult to get into the centre of Potok at all, and the nearer they struggled the tighter the crowds were jammed and the slower they all shuffled along.

‘This is no good,’ said Steff, and struck off down a side-alley which led to another street just as solid with people as the first, and so on, with increasing difficulty, until they were right round at the back of the hotel. The policemen who were posted to stop unauthorized people trying to sneak in that way were quite unimpressed by Steff’s pass and told him to go round and try at the front. But when Steff explained he was Restaur Vax’s grandson they became smiling and jolly and insisted on everybody shaking hands with everybody.

One of the policemen led them through the kitchens where a banquet was being prepared, and then through a warren of corridors formed by the five houses needing to be joined up. It didn’t feel much like a hotel, more like depressing old offices or a really dingy school. And then their guide opened a small door and stood aside, and they were in a grand entrance hall with red carpets and gilt mirrors and potted palms and a sweep of stairs with gleaming brass banisters. Fifty or sixty people in their best clothes were standing around. Letta spotted Mr Orestes talking to a large, blond, red-faced man in a bright blue suit. The main doors were open and the midmorning sunlight dazzled in. From where she stood Letta could see one of the domes of the cathedral, but not the Square itself. Despite that, she was at once aware of the immense crowd standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting there. They made a steady murmur, quiet but huge, so that the entrance hall was like the chamber of some giant sea-shell, filled with the shushing mutter of the ocean.

Steff led them to a side-alcove.

‘Hang on here a moment,’ he said. ‘I’ll check where we’re supposed to be.’

Nigel nudged Letta and gestured slightly with his head. She glanced round and saw that they weren’t alone in the alcove. Sitting in a corner on a stiff chair, half-hidden by one of the palms, was Minna Alaya, who had read ‘The Stream at Urya’ the night before. Letta hesitated and went over. Miss Alaya turned her head without moving her body and nodded, like royalty.

‘I just wanted to say how lovely that was last night,’ said Letta. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘Oh, I felt such a fool,’ said Miss Alaya. ‘Imagine! Crying like a baby in front of all those people!’

‘We were all crying too. It didn’t matter.’

‘For you it is permitted, but I am a professional. I cry only to order. You are one of our exiles?’

‘Yes. We live in England.’

‘And you, too, know “The Stream at Urya”? That is good.’

‘I don’t know it by heart. I read it with my grandfather. He’s teaching me Formal.’

‘Good, too. These things must not be lost. And why are you here in the Palace on this grand occasion? Do you perhaps, in England, know my friend Restaur Vax?’

‘Well, as a matter of fact – I mean, we’re trying not to make a fuss about it so we can just be ordinary visitors – but he’s my grandfather. He lives with us in our house.’

Miss Alaya smiled and nodded, royal as ever, but obviously pleased. She glanced towards Nigel, who was rather pointedly looking the other way. Perhaps his English half couldn’t cope with going straight up to famous strangers and starting to chat.

‘And that is another grandson?’ she said.

‘A great-grandson, actually. He’s older than me, but he’s my nephew.’

‘I would like to talk to him, please.’

‘You’ll have to speak slowly. He’s half-English, and his Field isn’t very good.’

Miss Alaya nodded her understanding. Letta turned to beckon to Nigel but he was watching something on the other side of the room, so she went over. He looked round as she came and pointed.

‘See that big guy over there?’ he said. ‘Talking to Hector Orestes? Any idea who he is?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Hector’s fawning like a puppy, far as I can see. Some of the others too. And the big guy’s lapping it up. He doesn’t even look Varinian.’

‘I don’t know. I see Lash the Golden a bit like that.’

‘Another blond thug.’

Nigel knew the Legends only from what Steff had told him. Being dark and slight and cautious, Steff had never had much time for Lash. Letta grinned, and gestured with her head.

‘Minna Alaya would like to say hello,’ she said.

His eyes widened, but he came obediently over and waited while Miss Alaya gravely inspected him.

‘Very like my friend Restaur at that age,’ she said. ‘A distinct family likeness, despite the English blood.’

Nigel hadn’t quite followed, so Letta translated.

‘Tell her she should see Uncle Van,’ he said. ‘He’s supposed to be the spit image.’

Letta did so, and Miss Alaya nodded, still amused.

‘Do you know who that is over on the far side?’ said Letta. ‘The big blond man in the blue suit? I think he looks a bit like Lash the Golden.’

Miss Alaya didn’t bother to turn her head. Her face became severe and her tone chilly.

‘So he would have us believe,’ she said. ‘His name is Otto Vasa. He has made a great deal of money since the war, in Austria, where he lives. It is he who is paying for this festival, out of his own pocket. Tell your grandfather when you see him that he is a dangerous man. He would like to be President when your grandfather is dead. He is not . . .’

She broke off because Steff had arrived to collect Letta and Nigel. Recognizing who they were talking to he gave a foreign-looking little bow and held out his hand, which she touched graciously with the tips of her fingers.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘We were much moved and honoured by your reading last night.’

‘It is nothing,’ she said. ‘Please convey my respects to your grandfather.’

‘I’m sure he will wish to see you,’ said Steff.

‘He says you’re the most beautiful woman he ever met,’ said Letta.