The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“It just might work,” said Fritz, “though the plan is insanity itself. You would be taking a tremendous risk. The odds are almost certain that you would be killed.”

“The odds are certain that I will be killed if we do not make the attempt,” said Finn. “In fact, if we do not, we are all dead men. You cannot watch over me indefinitely. If a man is a target for assassins, then he will surely die eventually. Sooner or later, Michael’s mercenaries will have me and once I am out of the way, Michael can contrive to stage Rudolf’s death in some manner that would not implicate him and that would serve him at the same time, just as you told me earlier, Sapt. With Michael in power, you can be sure that your lives would not mean a thing. In the event that I should disappear before the king is freed, my friends, I can only urge you to do likewise. Michael would waste no time in having you two murdered once I was disposed of.”

“In the event that Michael has you killed,” Sapt said grimly, “then he signs his own death warrant, come what may. Rest assured that you shall be avenged. On that, you have my word of honor and I care not what the cost.”

Finn felt a strange tightness in his chest. He and Sapt had known each other for scarcely three days, yet he knew-as did Sapt-that there had formed a strong bond between them. Physically, Sapt was older by a good many years, having never had the benefit of antiaging drugs that could extend his lifespan. Biologically, Finn had lived longer than Sapt had. The worlds that each existed in were separated by over seven hundred years. Yet, they were the same. Both cut from the same cloth. Both subscribers to a code of ethics that neither of them could have stated, yet each understood on some subliminal level that came not from the intellect, but from somewhere in the gut. Buddhists believed that that was the center of one’s being and perhaps, Finn thought, they knew something that no else did. Or, that all men knew, but few remembered.

“There is one thing more,” said Fritz, oblivious of the electric interplay that had just taken place in some fraction of a second between the two other men, a spark that had made them lock gazes quickly and then, just as quickly, look away, like guilty lovers. “The marriage between the king and Princess Flavia was to have taken place after the coronation. Each day it is postponed brings more disfavor on the king. It will be interpreted as an insult to the princess that the king would make her wait upon his bidding until such time as he is pleased to wed her. There, Michael has us. That we have dared allow an imposter to be crowned is bad enough. For that, Lord help us, our souls will have to answer on the Day of Judgement. But to allow the princess to enter into holy wedlock with that same imposter would be unthinkable. Whatever it is we are to do, we must do it soon, else all is lost.”

“All the more reason for me to court ‘my’ future wife,” said Finn. “It will buy us time. I would imagine that the court at Strelsau is not all that much different from the English court in one respect at least. Both surely have their gossip-mongers. With a word in the right ear or two, it can quickly go about that the king, having experienced some profound awakening-perhaps in the midst of all the holy solemnity of the coronation ceremony-has also realized or, let’s say, has had forcibly driven home to him the sudden knowledge that he is about to wed a woman whom he has never taken the trouble to know. At least, on the level of a husband-to-be. If he postpones the marriage in order that he might romance the princess, court her favor rather than simply take her as his due, wouldn’t that be regarded as romantic gallantry or some such thing? Would

it not make Rudolf seem-well-somehow more human?”

Sapt smiled and shook his head. “You English!” he said. “You and your romantic poets and drawingroom novelists! Flavia has known Rudolf all her life and he has never regarded her as anything more than part of the palace furniture. Why should she believe in such a sudden change in him?”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Why? Well, perhaps she won’t. But I’ll tell you a secret about women, Sapt. It has to do with what women know about men, but what men themselves do not know about each other. Women know that men are creatures of emotion. Whereas we ascribe that attribute to them, the fact is that a woman understands her emotions far better than a man does. We men are the ones who are entirely creatures of the heart. We accuse women of it like guilty little boys pointing fingers at their playmates in order to spare themselves responsibility. The truth is that women understand us better than we understand ourselves. If we are foolish or inconsistent, they are not surprised. They expect it of us.”

Sapt made an incredulous face. “I never heard such addle-brained nonsense in my life!”

“Then you, Sapt, will never understand a woman.”

“I think it’s worth a try,” said Fritz. “What have we got to lose?”

Sapt looked at him with astonishment. “You think it’s worth a try? A moment ago, you were outraged at the very idea!”

Finn chuckled. “You see?” he said.

Von Tarlenheim flushed deeply and began to stammer a reply when there came a knock at the doors and the chancellor entered with a letter for the king. Finn thanked him and dismissed him, then opened the letter.

“What is it?” Sapt said.

Finn read aloud:

“If the king desires to know what it deeply concerns the king to know, let him do as this letter bids him. At the end of the New Avenue there stands a house in large grounds. The house has a portico with a statue of a nymph in it. A wall encloses the garden; there is a gate in the wall at the back. At twelve o’clock tonight, if the king enters alone by that gate, turns to the right and walks twenty yards, he will find a summerhouse, approached by a flight of six steps. If he mounts and enters, he will find someone who will tell him what touches most dearly his life and his throne.”

Finn tossed the letter down onto the table, so that Sapt could take it. “Somehow, I didn’t think it would be signed. Do you recognize the hand, Sapt?”

The old soldier frowned, gazing at the letter. “Not I.”

“Would you know Black Michael’s?”

“It is not his. Yet, that means nothing. He could have dictated it. It’s a trap, for certain.”

“Well, we shall have to see, won’t we?” Finn said.

“Surely, you’re not thinking of going?” said von Tarlenheim.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Don’t be a fool, man, you’ll be killed!”

Sapt rose. “I shall go and find out who delivered that letter to the chancellor.”

“Don’t bother,” Finn said. “Our letter-writer prefers to remain anonymous. I doubt he would have delivered this in person. Besides, I don’t think this is a trap. Would Michael be so obvious?”

“No, but he might be so devious,” said Sapt. “He might think that we would not credit him with being so obvious and so fall into the trap.”

“There is that,” said Finn. “Nevertheless, there’s only one way we will know for sure.”