TW04 The Zenda Vendetta NEW (19 page)

“I told you not to come here!” Sapt frowned. It was Sophia’s voice, kept low, scarcely above a whisper.

“I am growing tired of taking orders from you,” another voice said. It was a man’s voice, resonant and very deep. “I am growing tired of waiting.”

“You’re a fool!” she said. “You want to ruin everything?”

“You know what I want. I want it over and done with. I want him dead. As for the rest of your intrigues, I could not care less. It no longer matters.”

Sapt did not recognize the voice. Moving slowly, he began to edge around the urn so that he might see who it was.

“I thought you said that I could count on you,” she said. “Is that how much your word means?” The man snorted derisively. “
My
word? What about yours?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sapt had edged around enough so that he could see Countess Sophia from the waist up, the rest of her blocked from his view by the stone steps. He could not see the man to whom she was speaking.

Slowly, he began to crawl up the steps.

“What have you done with the other plate?”

Sapt frowned.
Plate?
Why would they be discussing plates while they spoke of murder?

“I’ve moved it.”

“Where?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because—”

“Sophia? Sophia!”

“Michael!” she said. “Go. Quickly. I’ll explain later.”

“You will explain now.”

“Sophia, we’ll be late!” Michael called.

“Go, I said!”

Sapt crawled up two more steps. The French doors opened and Michael came out on the patio. This should prove interesting, thought Sapt.

“Sophia! What the devil are you doing out here?”

“I thought I’d come out for a breath of air while I waited for you, Michael. Are you ready to leave now?”

“I have been ready for the past hour! I was waiting for you!” Is Michael blind? Sapt risked crawling up one more step, staying low, now only yards away from them. He could see the patio clearly. He could see both Michael and Sophia. But no one else.

“Well, let us go, then,” said Sophia. “We can arrive fashionably late.”

“Why cannot women ever be on time?” said Michael. “Come, the coach is waiting.” They went back into the house. Sapt had his pistol out as he crawled up the few remaining steps. He was alone upon the patio. How could that be? There were only two ways for the man she was speaking with to go. One would have taken him into the house through the French doors, where Michael was. The other would have taken him down the steps into the garden, directly at him. He had not gone past Michael and it was impossible for him to have gone down the steps without stepping on me, thought Sapt. Unless he vaulted the patio wall. . . .

He could only have vaulted on one side, the side closest to where he had been standing. Going the other way would have brought him across Michael’s field of vision and his own. Sapt went over to the wall upon that side. He looked down over it into a fish pond with water lillies floating in it. It was wide enough that a man could not possibly have leaped over the wall and cleared it. There would have been a splash. Only there had been no splash. And there was no place on the patio itself where the man could have hidden.

“What the
devil?”
Sapt whispered aloud. “How could the man simply disappear?”

They entered the main dining room of the palace after the chamberlain had announced them to see everyone standing at his place. It made Finn think of a scene out of an historical romance, all those medals and epaulets and sashes, moustaches and muttonchops and beards, bodices and ribbons and chokers and cameos, necklaces and rings and bracelets, pomp and circumstance and splendor. He wondered what would happen if he ordered a hamburger. And a beer. Some french fries on the side, with steak sauce. Being a king, he decided, was very overrated. The job had certain perks, but it had to be tiresome to constantly be the focus of so much formality and pointless ceremony. The occasion, Sapt had explained to him, was a “state dinner” and its purpose seemed to be nothing other than to give the lords and ladies of Ruritania, the ministers and high-ranking officers, the ambassadors and their factotums, assorted minor functionaries and hangers-on a feeling of importance at being privileged to share a table with His Majesty. It made Finn think of the 20th-century British monarchy. A showpiece royal family. They didn’t actually
do
anything except be a royal family. A nominal royalty, they lived a life that could be described as a photo opportunity in exchange for drawing exorbitant salaries just so their

“subjects” could bask in the trivial and pointless glamor of their existence. While the economy of the nation that had once been a major world power continued in a constant downward spiral, they lived in palatial residences (plural, of course, we must have summerhomes and country estates and stables and riding to hounds), spent enough on clothing to feed an average middle-class family for several years, had their little romances extensively documented and their family squabbles agonized over in the press, all the while being treasured like prize canaries in a cage by people dazzled by and starved for their celebrity.

Meanwhile, the matters of government were left to politicians, far less glamorous and cultured but much more workmanlike. It would have been the same, undoubtedly, with Rudolf. He would have enjoyed all this, thought Finn. What was it about people, he wondered, that even in so-called egalitarian societies, they seemed to eschew the very concept of class, all the while creating it on all levels of their culture?

As they moved up to the table to take their places, Fritz and Helga began to walk toward the far end, but Finn caught Helga by the sleeve and indicated the place next to his, where there were two empty seats on his right.

“Oh, no, Sire,” Helga said, blushing. “Surely, it must have slipped your mind, but that is the Duke of Strelsau’s place.”

“Well?” said Finn. “Where is he?”

Fritz cleared his throat. “It seems that he has not arrived, yet, Sire. Doubtless, he has been unavoidably detained.”

“Well, then, he shall unavoidably sit elsewhere,” Finn said, to the shocked stares of the assemblage.

“I have no desire to separate the princess from her close friend and companion. Suppose I should run out of conversation halfway through the meal? Everyone knows what a boring fellow I can be. Flavia would have no one to talk to. Strakencz there, Lord love him, is half deaf and she would have to shout into his ear. Most discommodious for both of them. No, it would never do. Sit down here and you, Fritz, take the place next to hers. I insist.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Helen, her face very red at being the focus of all the attention.

Von Tarlenheim suppressed a smile as he sat down next to her. Several of the diners looked outraged, but none dared speak.

“Well, then, that’s all settled,” Finn said.

Platoons of servants began to bring out silver serving trays with platters of food upon them. Finn was naturally served first. He waited until literally everyone else at the table had their food before him.

Everyone was watching him expectantly. Finn glanced at Flavia.

“What are they all staring at?” he said, in a low voice.

“I believe that they are all waiting for you, Sire,” she said. “Oh.” He glanced up and down the table.

“We seem to be bereft of churchmen this evening.”

The diners exchanged puzzled glances.

“Well, in that case, Marshal Strakencz, perhaps you would be so kind as to say grace?” said Finn.

Eyebrows were raised up and down the table.

“Beg pardon, Sire?” Strakencz said, leaning forward towards him.

“Grace, Strakencz.”

“Race? What race?”

“
Grace.”

“
Eh?”

“GRACE! GRACE! Oh, the hell with it. Bow your heads, everyone.” Hesitantly, as if a little shell-shocked, they all bowed their heads, staring up at him out of the corners of their eyes.

“For what we are about to receive, may the good Lord make us all truly thankful,” Finn said. He crossed himself and, after a brief hesitation, they all did likewise. Von Tarlenheim was biting his lower lip and attempting to keep his shoulders from shaking.

“Well?” said Finn. “What the devil are you all waiting for? Eat!” There was a muted noise of plates and silverware.

“Talk!” said Finn.

A strangled sound escaped von Tarlenheim’s throat. They began to converse among themselves, stealing furtive glances at Finn to see if he approved. At that moment, Michael arrived with Falcon on his arm. All conversation instantly ceased. Flavia looked up at “Countess Sophia” and pressed her lips together tightly.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, with exaggerated formality, giving Finn a piercing look. “Please accept my apologies for having been detained. It was inexcusable. Allow me to present the Countess Sophia, who is visiting with us from Florence.” Finn stood up. There followed a hasty scraping of chairs as everyone else stood, also. Their eyes met.

“Your Majesty,” said Falcon, with just the barest trace of irony in her voice. She curtsied deeply, inclining her head, but staring up at him as she did so, her gaze boring into him. She had electrified the room merely by her presence, and from the expressions on Flavia and Helen’s faces, it was clear that what Sapt had said about her notoriety was not an understatement. Flavia looked uncomfortable, but Helen looked scandalized. It was with an effort that Finn kept himself under control. Not this time, he thought. You won’t get to me this time. I can play this game as well as you, bitch.

“Countess,” Finn said, making a very small bow. “I’m very pleased to see you face to face at last.

I’ve heard so much about you.”

The silence in the room was thick. Michael noticed that his place at the king’s right was occupied. He stood behind von Tarlenheim’s chair stiffly and cleared his throat.

“Sit, everyone, sit,” said Finn. “Oh, Michael, I’ve made some small alterations in the seating arrangements, since I did not know if you would be coming. There’s bound to be a place for you down there, somewhere.” He indicated the far end of the table with an airy wave. Michael stared at him, astonished. “Come, Michael,” Falcon said, taking him by the arm. Michael did not move. He stood there, glaring at Finn, slowly turning a deep crimson while Finn ignored him totally, concentrating on his food.

Finally, he allowed himself to be led to the far end of the table.

“That was unwise, Rudolf,” Flavia said softly. “You have humiliated him in front of everyone. He’ll never forgive the insult.”

“It serves him right, for bringing
her
here,” Helen whispered fiercely.

“Your Majesty,” Falcon said loudly, overriding all the other conversations, “Michael tells me that there is to be a royal wedding soon.”

Instant silence.

“Indeed?” said Finn, meeting her gaze steadily and refusing to be intimidated. “I was under the impression that it was general knowledge. I’m surprised you hadn’t known, Countess. It was my understanding that in the short time you’ve been with us, you’ve become fairly intimately involved in Ruritanian affairs.”

Several people gasped. Michael stiffened, the color draining from his face.

“I was wondering if the date for the royal wedding has been set yet,” Falcon said, giving him a faint smile. “My visit here will end before too long and I would be loathe to miss it.”

“What, leaving us so soon?” said Finn. “What a pity. The young men of Strelsau will be crushed.” Michael slammed his knife down onto the table.

“No more so than I would be if I were to miss your wedding, Sire,” she said. “Will it be soon?”

“I hope so,” Finn said, “but it appears to me that it would be a bit presumptuous of me to set the date when Flavia and I have had so little time to spend together of late. Affairs of state are pressing, but affairs of the heart are no less important, don’t you think? I am determined to set aside some time for us to be together. I haven’t had much time to be a proper suitor. Time is so precious, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, Sire. Why waste it?”

Heads turned like those of spectators following a tennis match.

“I have a very high regard for time,” Finn said. “I intend to make wise use of it. A man and a woman, even a king and queen, need time to spend together. Time for romance. What is marriage without courtship, after all?”

“What is courtship without marriage?” she countered. Flavia’s hands were white-knuckled on the table at the veiled implication.

“Courtship without marriage?” Finn said. “An affair, I should think. Isn’t that right, Countess? Is that what you call it, an affair?”

“Eh?” said Marshal Strakencz, a bit more loudly than he had realized. He was having trouble following the conversation and he had been leaning close to the Minister of the Treasury, who had been keeping him abreast of it by speaking directly into his ear.”Affairs, Strakencz,” Finn said.

“Your pardon, Sire?”

“COUNTESS SOPHIA AND I ARE DISCUSSING AFFAIRS!”

“What about her affairs?” said Strakencz.

Michael shoved his chair back so hard it fell. He was on his feet, his face white, his lips quivering with rage.

“Are you all right, Michael?” Finn said, solicitously. “You look pale. Are you ill?” In a choking voice, Michael said, “If Your Majesty would please excuse me, I find that I suddenly feel unwell.”

“Of course we’ll excuse you, Brother,” Finn said, rising to his feet. Everyone else followed suit. “I will send the royal physician to attend you.”

“That will not be necessary,
Sire,”
Michael said, spitting out the words. “I am quite certain that I will be feeling a great deal better before too long.”

“I
do
hope so,” Finn said. “Countess, you will watch over him, won’t you? My brother has always had the most delicate of dispositions. The least little thing upsets him.”

“Come, Sophia,” Michael said. She stared at him furiously, but there was nothing she could do. As Michael stalked out with her, she glanced at Finn and gave him an almost imperceptible little nod. Once they were outside, she turned on Michael angrily.