§ § § - June 29, 2001

They detoured to Christian's old bedroom long enough for Leslie to find a pair of sneakers; then they went down to the first floor, collected flashlights from several different rooms, and filed out to the great entry and all the way to the dining room at the far end. In the corner of the room almost directly opposite from its entrance was a closed door, through which Carl Johan now led his sons and Leslie. This opened onto a flight of stairs that took them down to the kitchens. One or two of the servants working there looked up in amazement and stared as they passed by, until Rudolf made a cutting remark that instantly put them back to work. Leslie decided not to ask for a translation.

In what clearly was a main corridor for the work areas, the foursome hiked all the way to the end, where they met up with a blank stone wall. Carl Johan knocked an experimental fist on some of the rocks, but they sounded quite solid. "If there ever was a dungeon entrance back here," he remarked, "it's well and truly sealed off now."

Leslie eyed an open door at their left that showed only blackness beyond. "Is that the old larder?" she asked.

"Yes," said Gerhard. "It's called that because it was the original food-storage room down here. There's a far more modern one now, but non-perishables are still stored in this one. Come to think of it, I've never been in here. Should we look, far?"

"We have nothing to lose by trying," Carl Johan said. He reached around the doorjamb and patted the wall till he found a light-switch button, which he pressed, and then led his sons and Leslie into the room. It turned out to be a long rectangular room lined from floor to ceiling with shelves containing all manner of boxes, jars and cans. The room was some thirty feet or so in length, and the only light was at the end near the door; however, they had no trouble seeing that something was very much out of place at the far end.

"What's that?" Rudolf asked, switching on his flashlight and training it down there. Leslie turned hers on and slipped around him, half running in the direction of his beam and playing hers across what proved to be a large, heavy metal shelving unit, shifted out of its usual place against the wall, and quite a collection of food containers sitting in absurdly neat rows on the floor nearby. When she aimed her light at the wall, she gasped loudly.

Carl Johan called, "What's wrong, Leslie?"

"There's a door here!" she exclaimed. "Did you know about this?"

"No," Carl Johan said, astonished, and he and his sons joined her, all four of them shining flashlight beams on the clearly demarcated door in the wall. A thick, heavy wooden bar leaned against the next shelving unit, and a badly rusted lock had been snapped and now hung forlornly out of the door handle.

As they stood there staring, there was a sudden unmistakable laugh from somewhere below them. Gerhard and Rudolf looked at each other, both breathing the same curse at the same moment. Carl Johan leaned forward; Leslie's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my god, that sounds like Christian!" she cried.

"You're right, I'm afraid it does," Carl Johan agreed grimly. "I'm going ahead. Leslie, this time, stay where you are. I have no idea what lies beyond that door."

"I do," whispered Leslie. "Christian." She fought to retain emotional control.

Carl Johan paused long enough to give her an understanding look. "I think you're right, but we don't know what condition he's in now. Please, just wait here with Gerhard and Rudolf. When I have some idea of what's there, I'll let you know."

The younger three waited tensely while he pulled the door open and hesitated just inside, slowly exploring whatever lay beyond with his flashlight beam. "The rest of you, aim your lights here. It's blacker than tar in there."

"Steps," Gerhard said, pointing his beam down. "I think we've found Aunt Anna-Laura's dungeon."

And Christian's private hell, Leslie thought. She and the younger princes kept their lights shining down the stairway while Carl Johan gingerly descended, checking out every step with his light before putting his weight on it. It took him several minutes to reach the last tread, from where he played his flashlight in slow circles to see what lay ahead.

"Anything?" Rudolf called down.

Before Carl Johan could reply, they heard a small thud and a squeak, then a vicious, hissed exclamation in jordiska, at some distance but close enough to startle them all. "Det var det som du fortjennar! Hjusa! Dehär är mit helvete, inte dit!"

"Ödet bevara oss," they heard Carl Johan mutter uneasily.

"It's Christian," Leslie breathed, frightened. "What did he say?"

Gerhard said very softly, "He said, 'That was what you deserve…this is my hell, not yours'. And in between…well, it was a very, very bad swearword, probably the worst one we have. It's not derived from Swedish, just one of our own, but I shouldn't translate it." He gave her a wry smile. "He's extremely angry at something."

"Oh, you think so?" retorted Rudolf in a sarcastic mutter. "I think he killed something down there. I heard an odd noise before he spoke."

Leslie's gasp was half sob, and she took a step forward; Gerhard promptly restrained her. "Don't, Aunt Leslie. We have to be careful. Let far make it known to Uncle Christian that we're here, at least."

She gave him a frantic look but managed to gain control; Gerhard smiled briefly and then peered down the stairs. Carl Johan had been watching them; now he shook his head at them and said, "I'd better go and see where he is. He sounds…" Cutting himself off, he turned abruptly and stepped off the final tread, then let out a repulsed exclamation. "Don't let Leslie come down here, you two. I've never seen so many vermin."

"Fate take it," said Gerhard. "Rats and snakes and every sort of insect, hmm, Rudolf? I volunteer you as the next one to go down there." Rudolf shot him a sardonic look, and Leslie thought she must be nuts: she was on the edge of telling them not to argue!

"Christian, what are you doing down here?" Carl Johan called out, using English for Leslie's benefit. "Where are you?"

For some reason Leslie was deeply relieved when Christian answered in English, even though his voice was an enraged snarl. "What in hell are you doing here? Get out of here and let me be! I have my reasons!"

"Really, and just what would they be?" Carl Johan retorted.

"As if you didn't know," Christian jeered. "Don't tell me you can't remember what I said on the way to the hospital the other day. I…aaahh! Jag sade dehär är mit helvete!" There was a string of sharp, furious curses and another small thud that made Gerhard and Rudolf wince and prompted Leslie to close her eyes, cover her mouth and wrap one arm around her stomach. "Du får finna dit eget helvete ock lemna mej med mit!"

"Damn it, Christian, what are you doing?" yelled Carl Johan, frustrated.

"Oh, only doing my part to rid this place of some freeloaders," Christian replied mockingly, his voice echoing slightly. "It's surprisingly easy to kill a rat. It should be, since I've already killed my own brother."

Rudolf cursed, in tandem with his father. Leslie could endure no more. "Christian, please!" she screamed down the stairs.

"Get her out of here," Christian shouted, apparently at Carl Johan. "If you think you're going to use her to draw me out, you're insane. She shouldn't even be here."

"Neither should you," Leslie cried. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"That's the idea," Christian shot back.

Carl Johan turned and snapped, "Leslie, stop, you're only provoking him! Rudolf, get down here—I'm going to need your help. Gerhard, make certain Leslie stays there."

Rudolf immediately clattered down the steps, asking a question in jordiska on the way. Carl Johan replied, and Gerhard's and Leslie's flashlight beams revealed the two of them moving determinedly forward before disappearing from view. They waited for perhaps five minutes without hearing anything; then Leslie shook her head. "I'm going down."

"No!" Gerhard protested, grabbing her arm.

Frustrated, Leslie shook him off. "Don't try to stop me! I'm telling you now, Gerhard, if you do, I can't predict what I'll do. He's my husband, and I've got to try!" She took the steps as quickly as she dared, hesitating a bare second at the bottom before launching herself onto the filthy floor and marching determinedly in the direction of the wavering flashlight beams. She tried not to look at the floor, training her gaze grimly straight ahead; after a few minutes during which her shoes occasionally crunched on things she preferred not to think about, she reached a dismal little room where Carl Johan and Rudolf stood glaring down at Christian. He sat on the floor in the corner, barefoot and shirtless, his hair and skin covered with whatever filth he'd picked up down here; and his eyes glittered with an enraged light. The three men were carrying on in furious, machine-gun jordiska—until Christian happened by chance to glance past his brother and nephew and saw Leslie in the doorway.

"Christian, my love, please," she begged helplessly. "Please, come back with us. We need you. I need you even more."

Christian stared at her for a long interminable minute, and no one moved. Then, as if Carl Johan and Rudolf weren't there at all, Christian pushed himself to his feet and slowly approached her, the light in his eyes softening. He stopped just short of her and regarded her in silence, then smiled unexpectedly—a soft, loving, infinitely sad smile. "My beautiful Leslie Rose," he said, ever so gently. "This isn't the place for you, my darling. They never should have brought you here."

"I insisted on coming," Leslie said softly. "My love, please, for my sake…come back with us. I'm so afraid for you…I…I don't think I know you anymore."

Christian reached out, started to touch her, then drew back. "I shouldn't…I'll make you ill. My darling, you know I have to do this, and you know why."

"No, you don't," Leslie told him. "Tell me something. Do you truly think Arnulf would have wanted you to do this? Think about it, and tell me."

Christian's expression grew a bit perplexed, but he stood silently, seemed to be mulling over her words, though his gaze never left hers. The silence stretched; behind Christian, Carl Johan and Rudolf stood watching intently, though both Christian and Leslie seemed to have forgotten they were there.

Then Christian's features contorted, just for a moment. "I think he's laughing," he said softly, his gaze dropping. "Somewhere, Arnulf is laughing at me. He had the last word on me just by dying. He must have known that I had those miserable thoughts."

"How?" Leslie asked. "He couldn't read your mind, my love."

"Do you remember what he said the other day?" Christian asked, still in that soft, gentle voice. "He said that perhaps I hated him, and if so, he didn't blame me. He must have known, my Rose. When he was facing death and understood at last just what he had done all those years, he said aloud exactly what I felt."

Leslie chose her words deliberately. "Christian, my darling, did you hate him?"

He took a breath to answer, caught himself, fidgeted a moment, then met her gaze with a pleading look. "I did sometimes."

"But not all the time, right?" she prompted.

Again he started to answer and caught himself, going utterly still with some revelation. His eyes slowly widened and he looked at her with wonder. "No…not all the time," he said, as if astonished by this realization.

Leslie nodded, hope rising within her, but well aware she needed to take it slowly. "Right…not all the time. Did you hate him when he set you free from Marina?"

"No," Christian breathed, looking stunned. "Not then."

"And you didn't hate him when we were talking to him at the hospital, did you?" Leslie prodded further.

Christian shook his head a little. "No…I was angry and upset, and I think I was very confused. But he answered all my questions…the ones I asked and the ones I didn't." Again he looked directly at her. "I didn't hate him then either."

"You're grieving, aren't you?" Leslie asked then, matching his earlier gentle tone.

"I…of course," Christian said, bewildered. "That's why I'm here…punishment…"

"Not from Arnulf, my love," Leslie said quietly. "Only from yourself. Tell me again, why are you punishing yourself?"

"I didn't care if he lived or died," said Christian impatiently, his voice rising a bit. Though neither he nor Leslie noticed, concentrated on each other as they were, Carl Johan winced a little and seemed to brace himself; Rudolf tensed, ready to run to Leslie's aid if need be. "You know that, my Rose—I just didn't care."

She nodded a couple of times and replied soothingly, "Yes, my love, I know. But I think that was true only sometimes, too. Christian, think about this. If you truly didn't care whether he lived or died, you wouldn't be grieving now."

Once more Christian started to speak and caught himself before the first word got out. His face showed the thought process churning in his mind; Leslie, Rudolf and Carl Johan watched him, so intently they didn't notice the squeaking of rats in the hallway and the other cells. As they studied Christian, he twitched a little, shifted his weight, fidgeted again. Slowly, hope filtered into his expression, and at last he dared meet Leslie's gaze again. "Yes, you're right. I cried in your arms, didn't I? And I came here, and I…I…I've been grieving…yes, my darling, you're right."

She smiled at him. "Then there you are, my love."

He stood like a statue, still staring at her, for an endless ten seconds; then he blinked, looked around him and flinched. "I don't…what was I thinking, coming here? I can't even remember how I got here…" Wide-eyed with revulsion, he looked around him, turning in a slow circle and taking in his dismal surroundings. "I must have been crazy. This has to be those damned dungeons Anna-Laura told me about when I was seven and she was trying to make me behave…"

"You knew about this place?" Carl Johan blurted in disbelief.

Christian flapped a dismissive hand at him. "I've known about it for years, Carl Johan. You should get Anna-Laura to tell you the story. As for me…" He looked down at himself and made a supremely disgusted noise. "I need a shower in the worst possible way. What in hell have I been doing down here?"

"Killing rats, it seems," remarked Rudolf dryly, pointing at the far wall. Half a dozen small gray bodies lay along the perimeter. Carl Johan recoiled with a startled curse, and Leslie swallowed loudly and turned away. Christian cursed softly in awe at the sight; then he caught her movement, started to reach for her, and drew back again.

"My Rose," he said, "look at me, please?" She turned to him, and he said with a small, wry smile, "Please, my darling, don't misunderstand my actions. I so want to touch you, but if I dare, I think I'll contaminate you. I just wanted you to know."

She grinned. "I understand. Come on, let's get you out of here."

As soon as they came within Gerhard's sight, the prince burst out, "I told her not to go down there—I even tried to stop her—but she just wouldn't listen to me."

"It's all right, Gerhard," Carl Johan said, leading the way up the steps. "I think it was the best thing that could have happened. Somehow I think she brought Christian back to us." He indicated Christian and Leslie, walking side by side; though he took care not to touch her, they exchanged frequent glances and smiles.

Gerhard shook his head. "I expect this is one day that will go down in the family annals for far more than Uncle Arnulf's funeral. How much time do we have?"

"Half an hour, no more," Carl Johan said, checking his watch. "As desperately as you need to clean up, Christian, I hope you can be quick about it."

"I have help," Christian said wickedly, and Leslie burst out laughing. Gerhard and Rudolf smirked, and Carl Johan rolled his eyes.