Thanks, as so often, go to California Gal for her sharp-eyed beta-reading.

A vocabulary of the invented Pterovnian language appears on my profile page.

Teaser

Artie pulled the well-thumbed engraved invitation from its envelope once more and looked it over.

His Royal Majesty
Stepanko Milushko Simvjelko Zerildetko
by the Grace of God King of Pterovnia
Defender of the Faith
etc, etc
requests the Presence of
James T West
and
Artemus Gordon
Honorary Knights of the Realm
to Witness the Marriage of His Majesty and
the Baroness Mireje Ilianje Gorashche
in the Capitol City of Ljuko
August the Fourteenth
the Year of Our Lord
Eighteen Hundred Seventy…

He sighed and broke off reading there. "Ah, James my boy, if only there were a loophole, some compelling reason that would let us off the hook from having to be there in person!" He glanced at his partner hopefully.

Jim West only shook his head. "No loopholes, Artie," he said. "No wiggle room. Not even a begging off on the grounds that Americans, much less Secret Service agents, cannot accept foreign titles, since these knighthoods are merely honorary."

"I know."

"And besides, you saw for yourself how hard Col Richmond campaigned for us to stay home and do our jobs. But once the president weighed in…"

"I know," Artie repeated and dropped his voice into a growl, imitating the old general. "This is a golden opportunity, gentlemen, for the pair of you to go and represent these United States officially at the wedding of that moon-struck young idiot…"

Jim grinned. "You realize it's probably not a good idea to repeat the entire quote in our present circumstances."

Artie took a swift look around the passenger car of this Pterovnian train, but saw no one paying a bit of attention to the two Americans. "At any rate," Artie continued, "once the president decided we were going to the wedding, our fates were sealed." He glanced at the invitation again, then slipped it back into its envelope and put it away. "Or my fate, that is. Surely His Majesty won't hold anything against you. You're not the one who…"

"Artie, it was three years ago. And when you arranged for him to be kissed, slapped, and thrown into that underground pool, it wasn't because you wanted to. You were doing what was necessary to release him from that ridiculous love philter! In other words, you were…"

"…doing my job, I know." He stared out the windows for a bit, watching the forests slip past as hints of craggy mountains rose up beyond the trees. "Very scenic, isn't it?" he said. "I wonder will there be any windows in my dungeon cell for me to enjoy the view?"

Jim sighed. "We're here for the wedding. You don't really think King Stepanko would have gone to all this trouble just to lure you onto Pterovnian soil to throw you into prison, do you?"

"I don't know, Jim. That's the problem. I know a flurry of telegrams went zipping between San Francisco and the embassy in Washington over this business after the young king returned to his hotel. And I know the Pterovnian ambassador, who previously had been quite friendly towards us, became positively frosty for, well, months! Even…" Artie sighed heavily. "…even Anushche stopped writing us for a time, and you know that before that, every time we got into Washington, there would be four or five letters from her waiting for us."

"Letters that would be delivered by diplomatic pouch to the embassy itself, then forwarded to the Treasury Department. It's entirely possible that she was writing us, but her letters were being intercepted by her father's secretary or even by the ambassador himself and not sent on to us."

Artie nodded. "Well, that's true. Maybe the ambassador didn't explain to his daughter how we — or at least I — had become persona non grata."

"Stop worrying," said Jim. "We'll know for sure shortly. Besides, if the king were really out to get you, would he have bestowed these honorary knighthoods on us?"

"Well, stranger things have happened," said Artie, looking out the window again. A thought hit him, and he swiveled to look Jim in the face. "What if he insists on carrying out the knighting ceremony? That involves the king holding a sword and tapping the knight on the shoulders. It wouldn't take much for him to…" and he drew his thumb across his throat.

"Artie…"

"Well? Am I wrong?"

The rhythm of the train changed, slowing. The conductor came down the aisle, calling out to the passengers in Pterovnian before pausing by the Americans to inform them in heavily accented English that they were now pulling into Ljuko.

"Kedurshte djo," said Artie, thanking the man politely. Soon they saw the streets of an Old World city coming into view, and soon after that the train pulled into an elegant, sparklingly new station house and came to a halt with a massive rush of steam.

"Here we are," said Jim, rising to his feet.

Artie was slower to stand up and lagged behind the rest of the passengers. As he glanced out the windows while awaiting their turn to disembark, he suddenly clutched at his partner's arm. "Jim!" he hissed.

Outside the train, in perfect formation, was a score of brightly uniformed cavalry officers, resplendent with banners.

"They're here for me!" Artie insisted.

Even Jim was a bit taken aback by the sight. But then he leaned over to a window for a closer look and pointed. "Look at the young fellow leading them. He's familiar."

Artie took a look as well and gaped. "What? But he's only a kid!"

"He was a kid three years ago. Now he's, what, sixteen? And soon to be the brother-in-law to the king." Jim smiled and gave Artie a light punch on the shoulder. "Andreshko Gorashko always liked us. C'mon."

"Always liked you, you mean," Artie grumbled, but followed Jim's lead.

As the two men stepped off the train, the young officer beamed at them and said, "Mr West! Mr Gordon! On behalf of His Majesty King Stepanko, welcome to Pterovnia!" He called out a command, and his men instantly dipped the banners in salute to the Americans. "We shall be your escort to the palace," the boyish officer added. He gave a second command and two of his men rode forward leading saddled horses.

"What about our, ah, luggage?" asked Artie.

"It is being taken care of." The officer waved toward a wagon standing by the train's baggage car.

"Ah. Well then, what about…?"

Jim leaned close and whispered, "Quit stalling, Artie," then mounted up on the prancing black stallion with which he'd been provided. Glumly Artie climbed into the saddle of the chestnut gelding.

"It's good to see you again, let's see, Captain Gorashko, isn't it?" said Jim.

The young man grinned and tried for a moment, though unsuccessfully, to catch a glimpse of the insignia on his own shoulder. "Dasda — yes! His Majesty conferred that rank upon me very recently." With a glance at his troop of cavalrymen, he added softly, "To tell you the truth, I still feel more like a boy playing at soldiers than I do a real officer and leader of men. And so far, of course, my sole duty has been to lead the honor guards escorting wedding guests up from the train to the palace." He turned now and called out an order, and his men divided into two groups, half of them riding slightly ahead of the captain and the Americans, the rest slightly behind. Up the street of the old city the group rode, the brave banners fluttering in the breeze.

Normally it would be Artie making small talk on the ride, but as his continued worries had quelled his tongue, Jim set out to take up the slack. "You look a good bit older than the last time we met, Captain," he offered.

"And much more masculine too, no doubt," said the young fellow with a certain amount of chagrin. "Do you know, one of the first things I did as soon as I was out from under Mushche's — Mother's, I mean — thumb was to cut off all those long ringlets. She was…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"Well, you look fine. Fine," said Artie cordially, making an effort to shake off his gloom. "And how is your sister, the blushing bride?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Nervous," the bride's brother said at last. "Very nervous." Abruptly he pointed at a massive stone structure and called out, "Oh, but see there! That is the Old Palace, which now houses the National Museum. Impressive, is it not?"

"Very," Artie agreed.

"Houses more than that, I believe," Jim added.

Andreshko blinked. "Ah… excuse me?"

"The dungeons below the museum are still in use, aren't they? And I understand that one of the prisoners held there is your mother's old ally Captain Koloshko."

The young officer winced. "Dasda, that is true. But please, may we not speak of that? Mushche used and betrayed the captain, who then turned on her and helped the king instead."

"And for that assistance against her, Koloshko's death sentence for treason against King Stepanko — they could never prove he was in on the plot to assassinate the king's father — was commuted to life in prison. That's right, isn't it?" said Artie.

"Yes, yes, but I beg you, let us not speak of it! It is a painful past, particularly to me, considering that my own mother…" His voice trailed away and for a long moment he only stared off into the distance.

The agents exchanged a glance. It was indeed a painful past for that young man, for the bomb by which his mother had assassinated King Stepanko's father had been unwittingly delivered before the old king by Andreshko's father. And he too had died in the blast.

"Well," said the young captain at last. "It is in fact all in the past. The mercy with which His Majesty regarded Capt Koloshko was not extended towards Mushche as well. All that she got, she richly deserved. But this is not a day for melancholy reflections. This is a day for joy! Tomorrow is His Majesty's wedding day, the reason for your visit here to Pterovnia." He turned a bright, if less than convincing, smile towards the king's guests, then pointed. "Ah, but look! There to our left, that is the Arch of Triumph erected by King Zimenko to celebrate his victory over Napoleon."

Again the agents exchanged glances. "Pterovnia defeated Napoleon?" asked Jim. And Artie added, "I don't recall that Napoleon ever came within a hundred miles of Pterovnia."

The captain grinned. "Very true, Mr Gordon, very true. Our king had bested the conqueror of Europe in a game of chess. By mail. Oh, and look there!" He prattled on, naming landmark after landmark on the long and twisting route. "Ah," he said at last, "but this is only the Old Town. I must take you out to see the new buildings on the edge of Ljuko before you leave for home. You must see our modern hospital and the University that are being built!"

Perking up at the young fellow's phrase "before you leave for home," Artie smiled and commented, "Sounds like His Majesty is quite the progressive monarch."

Now the captain laughed outright. "Dasda — as long as he does everything our cousin Anje tells him to do. It is she who insists on higher education and modern medicine. She would, I think, make quite a queen, that Anje!"

A moment later he realized what he had just said and blanched. Glancing around at the honor guard, he said, "Please, do not tell the king of my words. He is a good ruler. It is just that Anje has such excellent ideas and…"

Jim smiled reassuringly. "We won't say a thing."

"I don't even remember what we were talking about," Artie added.

"Kedurshte djozí," the young officer thanked them and fell silent for the rest of their ride.

"Here we are," he said at last as they turned a corner to see the high, crenelated towers of the castle.

If the Old Palace in the heart of the city had been massive and solid, this new one was instead a soaring fairy-tale building, all airy spires and fanciful adornments. Bright gilding bedecked a multitude of statuary at every level; flags flew, windows shimmered. Leaning toward Jim, Artie murmured, "I wouldn't be surprised to see Cinderella come tripping down the stairs to climb into a pumpkin-carriage, leaving her glass slipper behind!"

On they rode toward the cloud-capped towers of the gorgeous palace. Shortly they passed over an obligatory moat by means of a stone bridge, then in through the gate of the obligatory thick stone wall. No sooner were they all inside the courtyard than the obligatory portcullis rang down behind them, closing off the gate. And at that sound Artie whirled about and stared at the heavy iron grating cutting them off from the outside world as instantly every worried thought he'd had ever since he and Jim had received the wedding invitation came screaming back to him once more.

At the same moment outside the gate, a boy took off running.

Captain Andreshko called out an order and the honor guard came to a halt. The young officer dismounted and the guests followed suit, albeit in Artie's case at least, very reluctantly. Andreshko drew off his shako and led the way up the wide marble stairs.

Opulence met their eyes as they entered. Brilliant chandeliers and tall stained glass windows illumined the interior. The young captain strode ahead of them, leading them past exquisite paintings and elegant statues, urns and tapestries, coats of arms and suits of armor. "Your suite is this way," he informed them, leading them up a grand curving staircase. "Your luggage should be along soon if it has not arrived already. I'm sure you will want freshen up from your journey, and in half an hour, a new escort will come to accompany you to the throne room for your audience with the king. Here we are."

Andreshko produced a key and opened a set of tall doors for them, then handed the key over to Mr West. "Atuchejnte djozí for now, my friends. I will see you again shortly."

"Atuchejnte djo," Artie responded, adding the English version, "Farewell," as the captain nodded and strode off.

They looked around the room — more opulence — and saw that indeed, their luggage had preceded them. Jim threw open his trunk and began to unpack.

"Our audience with the king," Artie murmured as he too opened his baggage. "Who says we want an audience with the king?"

"The king does, of course. And what the king wants…"

"…the king gets, yeah." Artie set about filling some of the bureau drawers with his clothes.

Jim took up an armload of clothing and began opening doors, searching for a closet. "Well, here's the bathroom," he said. "Two tubs, no waiting."

"Tub! Oh, I'm all for that!" exclaimed Artie. "If only we could just sit and soak for a couple of hours."

Jim grinned. "I hear you. But we only have half an hour till our new escort shows up, so we'd better hurry."

Deep in the heart of the city, a breathless boy knocked on a door, then hissed out to the man who answered it, "The Americans are here and within the New Palace. Tell the Boss."

One half hour later on the dot, a knock came at the door. Artie, freshly bathed and now attired in his best black suit with the cream-colored silk vest and tie, opened the door.

A small dapper figure beamed up at him. "Ah, bonjour, mes amis!" cried the man. "Bienvenue — welcome!" He bestowed a hospitable kiss on each cheek of Artemus Gordon, then did the same for James West. "I have been sent," he said, "to escort you gentlemen to see His Majesty." He drew off his pince-nez glasses and polished them quickly, then settled them back on his nose and with a sweep of his arm, set off through the corridors leading the way back down to the main floor. "Your voyage was a good one, I trust, mes amis?" he asked.

"Yes, it was," Jim answered. "It's good to see you again, Dr Rodin."

"You're looking, ah, well," Artie added, trying to get his mind off what might be coming by engaging in a bit of chitchat.

"Ah, oui, very spry for a man who once was dead, n'est-ce pas?" said Dr Rodin.

"Well, I wasn't going to bring that up," Artie muttered to Jim.

Their footsteps echoed in the grand hallway as Dr Rodin pattered along ahead of them. The sunlight spilled in through the stained-glass windows, casting a multitude of colors throughout the corridor.

"Here we are," said Dr Rodin. He stepped up to an ornately carved door and spoke briefly to the two guards flanking the doorway. One of the guards rapped softly on a small portal in the door, then whispered to the guard from the other side who had answered the knock.

The great door was pulled open then and the two guards from outside fell in behind Dr Rodin and the Americans as they entered the throne room beyond.

There was no doubt about it: those who had built and decorated this palace had plainly intended every aspect of the building to take away the breath of all who entered, and in that they had eminently succeeded. There was so much to look at — more statuary, more urns, more paintings, more tapestries, more artworks on plinths and more on the walls, more shimmering gilding, more gorgeous windows, more, more, more — that it was hard to stop the eyes from sliding away from the one person in the room to whom all attention ought to be paid: the king himself.

An array of curtains in deep crimson formed a backdrop to the dais where in regal splendor upon a richly decorated throne of red gold sat His Royal Majesty Stepanko Milushko Simvjelko Zerildetko, by the Grace of God King of Pterovnia, Defender of the Faith, etc, etc.

"He's smiling," Artie whispered to Jim. "That's a good sign, isn't it?"

The king was smiling, it was true. The two Americans with their escort drew closer to the throne, passing by a double dozen guards along the way. The guards were clad in brightly colored medieval garb, each man standing at rigid attention with a tall lance in his hand.

The king's smile grew brighter and brighter.

At length Dr Rodin led his charges to the foot of the dais upon which stood the throne. Rodin polished his glasses once again, then swept into a low bow before the monarch and in excellent Pterovnian announced the king's guests. He then stepped back and quietly exited the throne room by a side door.

Jim shot Artie a glance as they both bowed cordially to the king. Catching his partner's meaning, Artie intoned, "Zartechko dujo," and Jim repeated the Pterovnia phrase for "Your Majesty" only half a second after him.

King Stepanko, resplendent in his royal robes, crown upon his head, scepter and orb in his hands, arose from his throne and smiled down brightly at his guests. "Ah, Mr West and Mr Gordon! How I have looked forward to our meeting again — yes, even longed for this day!" His smile broadened into a grin. "I wonder if you can imagine why." The smile vanished in an instant as he called out an order to his guards, then, lest the import of his words be lost on his guests, he repeated the order in English:

"Guards, seize these men! To the dungeons with them!"

And the guards aimed their lances at the king's guests, moving forward to encircle them.