The Prince Commands: Being Sundry Adventures of Michael Karl, Sometime Crown Prince & Pretender to the Thrown of Morvania (11 page)

The Colonel nodded. “I fear, my friend, that there is a great deal you must explain.”

“But Ericson is here or wherever the Werewolf is. He left instructions that if anything important happened we were to reach him through the Yellow Roses.”

“And I repeat that there is no Ericson among us and there never has been.”

“Perhaps he calls himself something different, but he is here unless something happened to him since this morning.”

“Who are you?”

Before he thought Michael Karl answered truthfully, “Michael Karl.”

The Colonel sat down again. “That I know to be a lie.” He picked up his bread and bit off a piece.

“Really, you know,” Michael Karl answered with some dignity, “I am not used to being called a liar. And,” he tried to make himself as tall as possible, “I want to see the Werewolf. You might send for him.”

The Colonel looked shocked. “You will take this —this—”

“Young ruffian,” Michael Karl instantly supplied for him.

“Young ruffian,” obediently repeated the Colonel somewhat dazed, “and keep him under guard until His Majesty comes.”

Michael Karl bowed mockingly. “Thank you so much. I trust my cell is comfortable. It is just possible that I won't need a chair; indeed, I shall probably not need one for months and months after that ride, but I do think that I deserve supper. After all, I tried to save your kingdom for you. Inform His Majesty that I'll see him at once, but then I still think that you should produce the Werewolf.”

Leaving the Colonel apparently overcome by his nonsense, Michael Karl marched stiffly out to follow his soldier companion to another and much smaller hut. There was a box for a chair, another for a table and, what looked best of all, a canvas cot.

“I bag this,” Michael Karl sank down on the cot. “And look here, I'm not going to play Desperate Desmond, so you needn't hang around. Just call me when you bring supper in. And while I think about it, I don't like bread and water. You may tell the Colonel so.”

He buried his head in the pillow with a determined thump and closed his eyes for a moment. His jailer watched him in open-mouthed amazement and then sat down gingerly on the chair box.

Michael Karl shifted a little so he could see the top of the larger box which served as a table. There was something there which looked oddly familiar. He was right, it was the blue cover of the Kipling book, that treasure which the Werewolf had torn from him along with his cloak at their first and last interview. Then the Werewolf was here after all. What a mess if he were the King and Michael Karl's cousin.

Some one had been reading the Kipling book lately, a pinkish book mark dropped limply from between its pages. Interested and forgetting his guard, Michael Karl sat up in the cot to see the better. The book mark was a twisted silk cord with a small carved ivory ball at one end. Michael Karl whistled softly; he knew he had seen that ball before.

The American had shown it to him one day, telling him that it was a single bead and part of the cord of a Tibetan rosary. Ericson had declared that he never traveled without it, it being his lucky piece. Then this was Ericson's cabin, and the Colonel did know him.

Michael Karl lay back. He was safe, but the message he had come to deliver worried him. The guard was still sitting there on his uncomfortable box.

“I say,” Michael Karl addressed him, “when is the chap who owns this cabin coming back?”

The guard looked uncomfortable. “This is my cabin,” he answered shortly.

“Yes?” said Michael Karl unbelievingly. “Then what is that book doing there?” He pointed to the Kipling book.

“His Majesty,” answered the guard with stiff pride, “left that there this morning.”

“Well, well. That happens to belong to me.” Before the guard could prevent him, he got up and reached for it.

No, he hadn't been mistaken, it was his book, and it was Ericson's charm between the pages. He opened to the pages at the back where he had kept his informal diary. Some one had been reading it and enjoying it for here and there were comments in the neatest of print.

Opposite the description of the General's table manners, the unknown had printed: “Only too true; I had to sit opposite him at maneuvers one year.” Michael Karl got no farther when the book was snatched out of his hands and he looked up into the blazing eyes of the guard.

“How dare you?” demanded the young officer in a low voice.

“I'm sorry,” answered Michael Karl, “but after all it is my book.”

The guard made no answer, but returned to his box with the book held carefully in his hand.

Chapter XI

Michael Karl Meets His King For The First Time

“He is in here, Your Majesty,” Michael Karl heard the words, half dreaming. So the king was here at last, but really it was too much effort to open his eyes and see this cousin of his.

“Why, you lazy pup!” Some one shook Michael Karl, and he protestingly opened his eyes to see Ericson smiling down at him.

“So you're here at last,” said Michael Karl plaintively, “after leaving me to the mercy of these desperados. You might have been here to meet me anyhow.”

“Get up, boy, and try to show a little intelligence,” said the American. “Trust you,” he added feelingly as Michael Karl swung his booted feet to the floor and sat up, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, “to find the only comfortable cot in camp.”

The room was remarkably full of strangers though there were a few old friends like the Colonel. Michael Karl wondered sleepily where the king was.

“And now perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me why you thought it necessary to join us.”

“Kellermann has squealed,” Michael Karl answered simply. “And now will you take your funny face away and let me sleep, please?”

“Boy,” the Colonel's face was purple with wrath, “you are speaking to His Majesty!”

“Yes, you would think of court etiquette at a time like this,” said Ericson wearily and dropped down beside Michael Karl.

“So Kellermann, as you say so neatly, has squealed. Well, it was my fault for trusting a man with a chin like his. Johann knows this of course?”

Michael Karl nodded, a little dazed. The Colonel said that Ericson was the king, but of course that wasn't true because the king was the Werewolf. Or was it?

“Look here,” he said suddenly, “are you Urlich Karl?”

But of course he was. Beneath the light-hearted exterior of the American there had always been something which Michael Karl had felt rather than seen, a certain shy dignity and air of command. And now the American husk seemed to be crumbling away from this unknown cousin, revealing a new and rather respect-commanding person underneath.

The young man smiled in answer to Michael Karl's question. “Do you mean to say that you didn't guess it when I have given myself away so many times? Yes, I am the King, but then it doesn't look as if I am going to enjoy that title long if Laupt and his romantic friends have their way. Well, now that you are here, I suppose I shall have to put you to work. Oh, I forgot. Gentlemen, His Highness, Prince Michael Karl.”

The Colonel turned a beautiful mulberry shade, and his late guard looked as if he were trying to sink through the floor. With the regularity of clockwork the room bowed and clicked. Michael Karl used the “do and die” smile which he had used with some success at the embassy presentations in the past and which he had thought to keep on ice the rest of his life.

“So Kellermann squealed,” continued the King. “I like your choice of words, Michael Karl. A rat like Kellermann would squeal. Well, there's no rest for the weary it seems. Could you drag yourself over to headquarters, boy, and begin making yourself useful?”

Michael Karl got to his feet stiffly, several muscles protesting vigorously at the process. He made up his mind that he would demand the true story of the Werewolf on the first possible occasion.

“By the way did Johann send you?”

“Why, no,” answered Michael Karl truthfully.

Urlich Karl sighed. “I thought,” he said in a weary voice, “that you said you could obey orders.”

Michael grinned impishly. “I didn't say whose orders.”

His cousin stared at him. “I ought to court martial you for that you—you—”

“Young ruffian,” supplied Michael Karl for the second time that evening, with his eye on the Colonel.

Urlich Karl grew very stern. “Yes, I've heard how you deviled my officers. I don't know why you were added to the rest of my troubles. Between having you or a revolution on my hands I choose the revolution every time.”

“Oh, rot!” answered Michael Karl rudely, to the consternation of the officers, and trod upon his cousin's heels as they went out the door.

The camp was alive. The fires blazed no higher before the tents, nor did there seem to be more hurrying figures in view than there had been two hours before, and yet there was an undercurrent of hurry and bustle.

Sensing Michael Karl's question Urlich Karl spoke, “We move at midnight. Luckily I thought that something like this might happen and so decided to pull out of here at midnight anyway. Kellerman can't stop us now; we'll have to take our chances.”

Even as he spoke, a horse, whose sweat glistening sides were striped with foam, galloped into the square of beaten earth, and his rider, tottering with weariness, flung himself off to disappear into the large headquarters cabin.

“Something's up!” exclaimed Urlich Karl and hurried Michael Karl across.

The officers inside jumped to their feet as the royal party entered, but Urlich Karl waved them to their seats.

“Your news!” he demanded of the panting rider.

“Kafner has proclaimed Cobentz king. Innesberg has arisen. The Fortress of Rein is held by Cobentz, but the Duke holds the New Town and the Northern Pass. You must strike by midnight or he will have to fall back. All Cobentz's supplies are in the Fortress and the Reds of Innesberg are unprepared.”

“So. Well, gentlemen,” Urlich Karl's voice cracked like a whip, “we cross the Northern Pass within the hour. Haupthan, you will lead the advance force out of camp in exactly ten minutes. Make for the lower pass and consolidate with what forces the Duke has left there. Cobentz and the Reds will expect us to divide and strike at both Innesberg and Rein, but to-night Rein only is our object.

“Grimvich, take the Foreign Legion through the upper pass and find the Duke. Upon his approval, go down to the old bridge, and when you get the word, sweep the Bargo. The Reds will have entrenched themselves there and it will be dirty fighting.”

A tall officer with a scarred face nodded curtly. “We will get through,” he promised with sinister confidence.

“The Wolf Pack will follow me,” continued the King, “and we will strike directly for the Fortress through the secret passage of the Pala Horn according to the plan we discussed last night. That leaves the Black Coats.” He turned to look at Michael Karl and then he hunted among the papers on the table until he found what he wanted, the Cross of Saint Sebastian.

“Remember, gentlemen, Michael Karl is the heir to the throne. The Black Coats will follow him as is their right.” He slipped the silver chain over Michael Karl's head so that the Royal Cross lay upon the shabby chauffeur's tunic.

“And now to work, gentlemen.” And so dismiss- ing them he was left alone with Michael Karl.

With a ghost of a smile, he faced his young cousin. “You have been raised to command as have all the Karloffs, and I shall not hamper you with orders which you have no intention of obeying, but I am going to ask you to be reasonably careful. I had hoped that you would remain with Johann in Rein until this business was over, but I am not at all surprised at your turning up. You don't have to promise a thing but if anything happens—I know you hate the thought of ruling but—”

Michael Karl looked at his tall cousin-king soberly. “If anything happens, I promise that I will do my duty.”

“You will never regret that promise,” answered Urlich Karl slowly. “And now for general orders. Your men are recruited from your own regiment, the Prince's Own. They are mounted rifles, crack shots. Try to take the Cathedral Square and hold it open long enough for Grimvich to get reinforcements through to me at the Fortress. I am going to use the secret passage to take a picked body of men into the Palace and try to take the Fortress. Such a sudden blow at the very heart of their defense will demoralize Cobentz's party. I am hoping that he will have withdrawn most of his men to face Johann and Grimvich in the Lower Town. Luckily Kellermann knew nothing of the passage, and they are unwarned.

“Johann will give you more definite orders when you reach him. Follow Grimvich through the higher pass, not Haupthan through the lower. Good hunting and the best of luck until I join you in the Cathedral Square. Urich!” he called, and when the officer who had been Michael Karl's guard arrived he said, “This is your commanding officer, Urich, Good luck.”

Michael Karl saluted and went out. A Black Coat was holding the Lady and two other horses. Across the Lady's saddle hung a saber belt with an empty holster attached. He reached for it, buckled it on, and thrust the revolver he had brought with him into the holster.

They mounted and rode into the darkness. At the edge of the clearing was a group of mounted men whose rifles pointed skyward over their shoulders with a cocky air. Michael Karl thrilled silently. This was his first command. He had waited all his life, studied and worked all those years in America with the Colonel, for nothing else than this moment. Urich pressed a battered hunting horn into his hands.

“Our calls are sounded on this, Your Highness,” explained the aide-de-camp.

“Not tonight,” answered Michael Karl. “Pass the word along. We follow Colonel Grimvich.”

“He has already left, Your Highness,” answered a voice out of the darkness.

“Then, march!” Michael Karl gave his first command.

They swung down the military road at a slow trot. From the darkness ahead Michael Karl could hear the rattle of accouterments and a rumbling noise.

“That is the field artillery, Your Highness,” said Urich in answer to Michael Karl's question.

They clattered over a wooden bridge, which the engineers had been working on feverishly since daybreak the morning before, and in another half hour they were beginning the climb to the Pass. Above them on the mountain a fire burned ruddily as a guide.

Down the line galloped an aide.

“Colonel Haupthan's compliments, Your Highness, and do you wish to pass through his lines? The Foreign Legion is going now.”

“We follow the Legion,” answered Michael Karl.

Their trot lengthened into a lope, and as they passed up through the dark bulk of the artillery and the scattered clumps of infantry, the unseen men raised a faint cheer. Before them moved the Foreign Legion, their ten machine guns packed by sturdy mules used to the curving mountain paths.

At last the upward slope became so steep that they were forced to dismount and lead their horses.

“How will they get the guns up here?” demanded Michael Karl of Urich.

“The guns will take the lower pass; it is less steep but longer, Your Highness. We will be over before them.”

Again the aide came back, but this time he was walking and leading his horse.

“Colonel Grimvich's compliments. He is over among Duke Johann's pickets.”

“We'll join him in a minute,” Michael Karl panted and they did.

On a log by an open fire lounged the Duke, as lazy as ever, with Colonel Grimvich standing near. The Duke arose languidly as Michael Karl tramped up.

“Greetings, Your Highness. So in spite of us you're at the wars?”

Michael Karl laughed somewhat nervously. He had not lost all his fear of the Duke. That gentleman had earned a great deal of his respect.

“Rein looks very peaceful, doesn't she?” the Duke went on, pointing down into the farther valley where the lights of the city strung around and around the hill like fire-flies caught in a spider's web. “Yes, it looks very peaceful from here, but there is hell brewing there.

“You will take the Legion tor the bridge, Grimvich. My men held it an hour ago, but now—who knows? Anything can happen in house-to-house fighting. When you have consolidated your position, signal with the green rocket. At that His Majesty will move in through the Western Water Gate which Lukrantz and a handful of volunteers are holding open. Fifteen minutes after the flare,” he turned to Michael Karl, “Your Highness will ride straight for the Cathedral Square, and nothing must stop you. The success of His Majesty's plan, his very life, depends upon keeping that square clear so that the Foreign Legion can reach him at the Fortress. This time orders must be obeyed.”

He pulled back his cuff and studied the dial of his watch by the firelight.

“Quarter past three, Grimvich. Good luck.”

The impassive Colonel bowed stiffly and strode away into the dark. Then from the darkness came the crunching sound of marching men, the rattle of mule harness and the whispered sound of orders. Grimvich was moving down to the bridge. When the Foreign Legion was out of earshot, the Duke turned again to Michael Karl. “You had better move down to the outpost at the foot. Have you a watch?”

Michael Karl shook his head and the Duke unfastened the leather strap of his own. “Remember, fifteen minutes after the green rocket and don't let anything stop you.”

Saluting, Michael Karl turned away to mount and, with the Black Coats behind him, he picked his way cautiously down the forest path which was so narrow that they had to go single file. A challenge in the bush stopped him at last and he found, with a sigh of relief, that he had reached the outposts.

From distant Rein the wind now and then brought the faint sound of firing. Grimvich, evidently, wasn't finding things his own way at the bridge. Michael Karl leaned forward in the saddle, straining his eyes to see, until the horn dug sharply into his ribs. His mouth was dry as he licked the dust off his cracked lips while something icy crept up and down his spine. For something to do he discarded the leather coat, hanging it carefully on a bush. After all it might be a hindrance if they came to close fighting in the narrow streets.

Longing and yet dreading to see the green flash he waited while the impatient horses stamped now and then in the bushes behind him and the men whispered.

Suddenly Urich spoke, “The dawn!”

The sky was gray in the east, but in the last few seconds of darkness a green pencil of flame rose and fell. Grimvich was through and the bridge was safely theirs. Somewhere within the city Urlich Karl was risking his life to reach the Pala Horn.

Michael Karl kept his eyes glued to the dial of the Duke's watch. It was growing lighter every second and he could see it quite easily. The hand didn't seem to move at all. Behind him he could hear the click, click of the rifles being taken off their carrying straps and loaded for action. The mare threw up her head and breathed deeply, quivering a little between his knees.