Coronets and Steel

  I wondered if this Nat was one of his sweeties—or did he only date those with coroneted pedigrees?

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Tired. And thirsty. I had to hide in a truck bed to come into town, and it started out at three AM.”

  He smiled. “I won’t ask, I know you won’t tell me. Want some tea?” He rummaged on a cluttered round end table beside the couch and came up with an enameled metal cup.

  “No. Thanks. Not right now.”

  He set the cup down and dropped into the chair. “The water tap’s in the surgery, and though it only runs cold she’s rigged a clever way of heating and sterilizing water quickly.”

  “So, your friend is an American?”

  “Born and trained there. She’s been here for nearly ten years, and I met her in London before that. She was beginning a practice in an abysmally poor borough. When I found out she was trained in obstetrics and looking for a challenge, I brought her here. She adapted to the peculiar situation almost immediately. She was my first success.”

  “Peculiar situation?”

  He smiled. “The sixteenth-century practices and beliefs, among other things. Older, even. I think you’ll like her. Dresses like the most pious matron, and her modern technique is cloaked in archaic language that has won over a remarkable number of old diehards.”

  Among other things. Like Vrajhus, maybe? At Mina’s, or talking to Theresa and her friends I could almost accept it, but here in this crowded apartment full of medical books and modern paraphernalia, in the light of day, I fell right back into the old rules. The comfortable rules. Don’t let your imagination get away with you, Aurelia Kim . . . People won’t believe you if pretend your little stories are true.

  He went on, “Nat loves Dobrenica. Says it’s the challenge she always dreamed of. Yet I think these trips to London to stockpile supplies are also trips to enjoy the benefits of modern civilization, while . . .” He lifted a shoulder.

  “While?”

  “While we resolve our difficulties. Anyway, when I spoke to her by phone yesterday, she offered her place for you, should you turn up again and need it. It’s free.”

  “Free.” I rubbed my gritty eyes and rolled my neck to ease tense muscles. “Crouching in an ancient truck does have its downside. Back to the Dsaret treasure. Why didn’t you mention it before?”

  “I didn’t think of it until that last day in Split, and I decided I should consult my father before telling you. That was right before you dusted your hands of us.”

  I grimaced at the amusement in his voice. “I suppose Gran was disinherited from her share?”

  “She wasn’t disinherited from anything. You don’t seem to understand yet that your grandmother was not cut off from us, it was she who cut Dobrenica out of her life.”

  He was right. But so was she. Feeling as if I was walking on a tight-rope stretched over a windy canyon, I rubbed my eyes again, and shook my head. Even though I’d slept plenty at Mina’s, exhaustion, or something, pressed on my brain like a stifling weight.

  Too much has happened too fast.

  “Shall I leave you to rest?”

  “No. Thanks. Let’s skip over my Gran for now. Tell me more about this treasure. So it does exist?”

  “It does.”

  “And no one knows where? Except you and your dad?”

  “That’s not completely true.”

  “Tony thinks his family was cheated. That is, he didn’t say it, but he sure implied it.”

  Alec said, “Tony’s family got their share, and they know it. The question concerns the remainder. Part of that hoard is the old treasury, and part was to be kept in case your grandmother resurfaced. How long to wait was agreed between the old king and my father, but my father left things as they are for his own reasons. “

  “Like?”

  “Like he does not want the money to go toward financing Tony’s private army.”

  “What? Private army?”

  He leaned back, smiling tiredly. “Surprised he has one, or that it costs a king’s ransom to equip one?”

  “I want to know why. That, and how’d he get the troops? Advertise in Soldier of Fortune? Even today armed and trained minions have to come from somewhere.”

  “No need. Most of ’em are willing volunteers from his hills. Men our age who fretted under the Soviets as they grew up. He’s also harvested a number of recruits from the valley. It’s been a theory of mine that our crime rate is so low because the troublemakers skipped to the hills to play guerrilla with the rest of Tony’s boys.”

  “That sounds like a solution.” I laughed. “Send your criminals up to drill and clean weapons and war-game.”

  “Except,” he said gently, “there’s this problem with standing armies. You have to do something with them, or they get restless.”

  “I see. He said something about getting rid of the Russians.”

  “The von Mecklundburgs sustained a doubly hard blow under the Soviets,” he said. “The ‘trade agreement’ the local authorities imposed on us as the grounds for their leaving is in reality little more than tribute. We send ore and silver, and we are supposed to get modern farm machinery in return. Equipment yet to materialize, except in token amounts—and it’s old stuff needing repair—yet it’s made fairly clear we must meet our quota. The von Mecklundburg mines provide most of it, and while I—that is, the rest of the country—subsidize the workers, you can see how it effectively makes us poorer. It’s harder on Tony’s family. The mines were their primary source of income.”

  I snorted. “So he gets a job.”

  “He’s trying for a job. Mine.” Alec glanced at his watch, then turned his attention back to me. “His other grievance also concerns land. That line of mountains is high, rough, and though the von Mecklundburg people despise the Russians they are the most Russian of all of us. Their dialect carries many Russian inflections. The higher villages keep traditional Russian mealtimes. Some of them use patronymic name forms, though that’s partly because their clan structure is so complicated. A lot of them are Orthodox instead of Catholic, as their ancestors have been for over a thousand years. They are rabidly independent people. A certain portion of von Mecklundburg land—a few hundred square kilometers of the fiercest terrain—was kept by the Russians, and they are desperate to get it back.”

  “Ore?”

  “Mainly.”

  “And Tony’s gang aims to get it back any way they can.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe if you were to let them try, it would keep the pressure off here.”

  “Do you think a war would keep the pressure off?”

  I shrugged. “No.”

  “You’ve got the idea. Right now this place is too much trouble for the returns the Russian consortiums get—a policy developed and fostered by my father.”

  “Which relates to the treasury being hidden?”

  “Which relates to the treasury being hidden.”

  “And—” I hesitated, absurdity making me want to laugh, but there was nothing funny in this conversation. “—the Blessing?”

  “So you found about that, did you?” His brows lifted.

  “Yes. I also know you don’t take it seriously. That’s what Tony told me up at Sedania. Isn’t that why he wants to fight, because guns and knives and the like are real? I mean, isn’t it ridiculous to even think that if everyone huddles in your valley and you and Ruli get married on a particular date—”

  “September second.”

  “—that the Russians, or whoever, won’t be able to come in and zap you whenever they feel like it?”

  Alec gave me a sardonic smile. “Ask Tony why he grabbed his sister,” he said. “And if we do set her free—and she agrees to the marriage—see if he isn’t right here on the second of September.”

  Agrees to the marriage. Here I was, enjoying the easy give and take, the way we seemed to be on the same wavelength. Then there’s the Ruli thing, right in my face again.

  There was also
the other big question. “So you do believe in magic?”

  “I will do whatever it takes to make peace. If the Blessing doesn’t work—and I don’t expect it to any more than it worked for your grandfather when he married Tony’s grandmother, or for my father when he risked his life accompanying my mother back here under the guns of the Soviets, for a secret wedding on the right date in the right place—at least the people will see that we made the effort.”

  “Huh. How could Tony think he could win a fight against the Russians, unless he has a secret doomsday weapon? And is willing to use it.”

  “Tony would. Can’t you picture that? Smiling, apologetic, he’d press the button and blow up their headquarters and then stroll out and watch a horse race.”

  I laughed. “I can totally see it. Not that he seems heartless. He was so nice to that poor old woman up at the villa. He was nice to me—even after he decided I was going to pay a visit to his castle, whether I wanted to or not. Though his laid-back attitude could be a front, and he’s as mean as a rattlesnake.”

  “Tony is always laid-back. Life’s too much of a game. But he does have a fairly individualized sense of ethics. How did you turn down his invitation, by the way?”

  “Oh, I jumped off a bridge into a river when some sheep marooned his car.”

  Alec grinned. “I’d like to have seen that.”

  Wasn’t that the same thing Tony had said, when I told him about the train? “At least he didn’t jump after me.”

  “Not Tony. Too much effort. He’d count on catching up with you later, and then he’d congratulate you on your impressive efforts.”

  “To remind me they were unavailing. I won’t go on any more tours with him. I wouldn’t even go across the street with him. Though it was fun. Until the end. I appreciate your not gloating, by the way.”

  “Why should I gloat? You could have easily become his partisan. Might have become, if he hadn’t been so premature with his efforts to get you up to the Eyrie.”

  I winced. “I guess I deserved that.”

  Alec’s gaze was surprised, and direct. “Didn’t intend any insult. Not all Tony’s followers are like Reithermann. And Tony is reputed to be persuasive with women as well as men.”

  “Euch.” I pulled off Miriam’s kerchief and rubbed my fingers over my aching scalp.

  Alec went on in the same reasonable tone, “Plus you’re a blood relation. A good many of those up on Devil’s Mountain feel that the duchess—and Tony—were cheated out of their birthright, and they support him without even knowing his politics.”

  “That’s where the practical advantage of the marriage comes in, I suppose.”

  “Whether or not Nasdrafus exists, the marriage, and the treaty that we worked out among the leading families, would resolve some of the trouble we’ve inherited from the bad years. Marriage isn’t always romantic, but it can be diplomatic.”

  “Certainly worked for the Hapsburgs,” I offered.

  He gave a quiet laugh. “And, as for your going off with Tony, I blame myself. If I hadn’t been so quick to warn you off him when we first met—”

  “I didn’t go driving with him to spite you!”

  “Did I misread you? I thought the face you showed me at Aunt Sisi’s party was that of someone throwing down a war-gauntlet.”

  “I thought you were mad at me.”

  “No. Mad at the situation, yes. It would be stupid to blame you for wanting to meet your relations. I also didn’t want to see you walk off with Tony into possible . . . trouble, but I knew an argument with you about that wouldn’t accomplish anything beyond entertainment for the avid von Mecklundburg clan.”

  “Yeah, you called that right.”

  “In any case my honorary aunt and prospective mother-in-law worked so hard at keeping me away from you that I felt my part as bride-groom was to cooperate. Oh, yes. Loved the codswallop you gave them, and didn’t deny any of it.” He stood up. “Shall I leave you to a well-earned rest? First, do you want to meet with Aunt Sisi tonight?”

  “I promised I’d cooperate.” The last of the tension had drained out of me, taking the last of my energy with it. “I know I’ve caused trouble for everyone. I want to make amends, if I can, before I leave.”

  The tension had drained out of him as well, I could see it in the smile reaching his eyes at last, the open gesture of his hands.

  . . . And now that we’d established détente, it was time for him to go. “Come to dinner. Nat’s hot plate is less than optimal. Perhaps we can present Aunt Sisi with a brilliant plan.”

  “Okay. Sure. Where do you live?”

  “I’ll send Kilber with the car, as I think rain is on the way. Seven?”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “Nat would want me to encourage you to help yourself to anything. Oh, if anyone comes, if you wouldn’t mind taking a message I know she would appreciate it.”

  “She’s a doctor and doesn’t have a phone?”

  “Phones are unreliable up here.” He gestured. “Cables sometimes work, sometimes don’t. Even when the Germans, or the Soviets, weren’t cutting them. Mobile phones never work, probably because of our distance from repeater stations.” “But there are satellites,” I said.

  He gestured toward the door, his ring glinting. “That is on the list of things to investigate, but investigation takes money, and so far, the governing council considers such things as mobiles frivolous. Most people don’t even have telephones. I’m late—you’ll be all right?”

  I could feel the real question, Will you stay here?

  “I’m okay. See ya later.”

  Again the smile, the real one. “Right.”

  The door shut behind him.

  I’d see him again, and this time I didn’t have to dread it. The thought made me feel better about everything than I had in days. What did it mean?

  No speculation, I decided as I wandered past the examination room to the bathroom. Time enough to figure things out after I got my evidence from Father Teodras.

  In the meantime, I’d look forward to dinner.

  The cold water felt good when I washed my hands and face, but when I saw my ratty braids and the horrible widow’s dress reflected in the round mirror nailed to the wall, I decided what I needed was a good, hot bath.

  Nat’s water-heating system was ingenious. I yanked on a cord that worked by pulley, connected to a pump in the basement. Gushes of water filled the cistern built over the tub.

  I used the waiting sparker to light the propane tank below the cistern. While it was busy heating the water (which had a temperature gauge soldered on) I discovered a kettle set up on an electrical system behind the water heater.

  She had rigged a converted kettle over the tub. You pulled the cord dangling from the cistern, and hot water poured into the punctured kettle, making a perfect shower.

  While the water heated I prowled around aimlessly, looking at Nat’s things. If people put things out, that’s their public face, and it’s okay to look. But I draw the line at opening drawers or cabinets.

  She had an old mid-60s hippie “Welcome to Middle-Earth” poster, scenic snapshots (like Stonehenge at dawn) pasted on a wall; some framed, faded instamatic snapshots of smiling people in seventies and eighties clothes were stacked on a table in a corner. An abacus, a cloisonné jar, two jade luck-fish sat on crammed bookshelves. Lots of pretty embroidered cloth from Eastern European countries covered boxes, or hung on bits of exposed wall. A CD player, with tight-packed shelves of CDs ranging from 60’s rock to old folksingers (mostly Dylan) to Alan Stivell and Dead Can Dance was plugged into an extension cord running to the back of the apartment.

  I wondered what kind of creative wiring the house had—the bathroom had obviously been a pantry long ago, as the examination room had once been a sizable kitchen.

  A battered pink toy box sat on the other side of the couch, serving double purpose as an end table. And in a corner, adjacent to an old metal bookcase packed with books, papers, and things stuffed untidily
on top of the books, was a computer table.

  Here I saw my first computer in this country—a sturdy, fairly new laptop, which I turned on. To my surprise it wasn’t password protected, but all I looked at was the row of little icons down at the lower right-hand corner. Sure enough, the icon for Internet had a red X through it. No cable, no wi-fi, no Net.

  The insistent wheee! of a whistle let me know the water was boiling. I shut down the computer and went to get rid of the last of Devil Mountain’s mud. The russet dress was wrinkled after its ride in the trunk and being crammed into the bag, so I shook it out hard as I could before I put it back on.

  Then I went back to the couch, sat down, crossed my arms, and said, “Ghosts? If you’re real, come on out.”

  Nothing.

  “Kommt sofort raus! Zeigt Euch!” I tried in German.

  Nothing.

  I tried French, Dobreni, and even a few words of Russian as I begged, pleaded, commanded, then finally accused. “Acting coy is not going to convince me you’re anything but figments of my imagination. C’mon, you don’t even have to do a full-on haunt. In fact, I’d rather not get all TMI with gore and skeletons rattling. Please flash a face. Or move a pencil. That’s all you have to do.”

  Nothing.

  “Okay, be like that.”

  Like Mina had said, it was easy to fall back on my old convictions. Were those convictions narrow-minded? If ghosts were real, I didn’t seem have the vocabulary for talking to them, much less about them.

  Was all that crystal ball and Ouija stuff the way to the ghost world? But if it worked, surely it would be a regular part of life, like bookstores selling Computer-Ghost Interface for Dummies, or a college class on the Etiquette of Post-Existence Family Relations 101. I didn’t want to be closed-minded, but I was still not convinced.

  I sank back on the couch, intending to rest my eyes for a minute, but I fell asleep. No dreams of doom or portent, no ghostly messages woke me; I slept until Emilio knocked to say he had the car waiting outside.

  TWENTY-SIX

  EMILIO WELCOMED ME as if our last parting had been on the best of terms. Well, it had—sort of. He’d dropped me at the cruise ship in good faith, sincerely wishing me a wonderful journey.