§ § § -- September 19, 2004

In the car on the way to Dalslund, Carl Johan regarded his brother and sister-in-law. "I understand you had something of a clash," he said.

"Does it show that much, or are the servants just far more gossipy than even I suspected?" Christian asked with a raised eyebrow, and Carl Johan grinned. "We did, I'm sorry to say, but I think we've settled it, tentatively at least. The center of the fuss is Leslie's fear of those characters who tried to disrupt the ceremony yesterday. She tells me that feeling of foreboding hasn't eased at all, and she doesn't even know if going home will help. She does trust the security at the castle, but beyond that, well…"

"I see," said Carl Johan thoughtfully.

"I had a thought," Christian went on. "Gerhard's friend's security men did say they found it necessary to kill two of them. That would put the bodies in the police morgue, wouldn't it? In view of that, perhaps we could get photos of their faces, and that might give Leslie some clue as to who these people might be."

Carl Johan thought about it for a moment. "Perhaps we can speak with Gerhard's friend," he said. "He knows enough people throughout the police department that he might be able to arrange something. When we return from the museum, Leslie, I'll have Gerhard get in touch with his friend and we'll see what can be done."

"I'd appreciate that, Carl Johan," Leslie said with a slightly wavery smile.

"Think nothing of it," Carl Johan said and smiled back. "Now, why don't we put it from our minds for now and think of the tour. I really believe you'll enjoy it, Leslie; there are many dioramas of jordisk history, and as many of them involve our ancestors as other aspects of the development of the country. A sculptor who once worked for Madame Tussaud's in London created quite the parade of wax figures for us. Wait till you see them."

The staff at the museum's front desk welcomed them and arranged for them to have a private tour, separate from other patrons; and the three spent the next two hours making a slow circuit of the entire building, from the room containing the crown Christian had had such a hand in retrieving to the Viking-era artifacts that had been found around present-day Ormslandning on an archaeological expedition in the late 1940s. In between there were copies of the original national constitution drawn up by Magnus Ormssvärd and his band of men, translated into modern jordiska and also into English; paintings and photographs of the progressive development of the cities of Sundborg, Dalslund and Birka (which in the latter case depicted how the town had grown up around the Viking settlement that was now showcased in Birka's Viking Block tourist attraction); the local rise and development of assorted industries, such as fishing, agriculture including several jordiska specialties, and some mechanical occupations, primarily boat-building and clothmaking; and the dioramas Carl Johan had mentioned, showing all kinds of historical scenes. Many involved members of the royal family down through the centuries, but Leslie's favorite by far was the depiction of King Arnulf I's coronation in 1962. They lingered there for quite a little while, with Leslie gazing at the scene that had been recreated from the original film taken of the event. Christian stood by and watched with an ironic smile on his face; he had seen this before, the day the museum had opened and he'd cut the ribbon. Carl Johan laughed at the representation of his twelve-year-old self. "Did I really look that self-important?" he asked rhetorically. "I was rather proud of myself that day, that I was part of something so pivotal to national history, but I didn't know it showed that much."

"I wouldn't know, äldrebror," Christian teased him. "I can't remember what you were doing. For that matter, I can barely remember what I was doing!"

"You would have rather been anywhere but there," Carl Johan teased back. "The expression they put on Anna-Laura's face here is absolutely fitting. She was quite upset with you…although later she admitted to me that she was also upset with Mother and Father for putting her in sole charge of you for the duration. I suppose I wouldn't have minded sharing the duty with her, but Arnulf would have thought it beneath him."

"I don't doubt it," Christian agreed dryly. "Leslie, my Rose, what do you find so fascinating about this particular display?"

"Other than you, you mean?" Leslie said with a grin. "Really, this looks so lifelike. Did they come around and get the actual clothes you all wore that day?"

Christian laughed. "Come to think of it, I believe they did," he remarked. "Anna-Laura mentioned it at some point when she first received word that they were putting this scene together. Everything we were wearing during Father's coronation had evidently been stored somewhere in the south wing, and she had a few servants unearth all those clothes and turn them over to the museum." His gaze strayed to the wax figure of Queen Susanna. "Mother still looks as though she should come alive any moment. Of course, she had gone gray by the time I was a teenager, but otherwise, this is as near as you'll ever come to seeing her in person. The sculptor was extremely talented and did his research very thoroughly."

He watched while Leslie gazed at the late queen's face, as if committing it to memory. After a moment or two she remarked softly, "She was very pretty. I can see which parent you got your looks from, Christian."

Carl Johan cleared his throat and suggested, "Tell me what you think of our father, Leslie. What sort of grandfather do you suppose he might have been to the triplets?"

She peered into Arnulf I's face, squinting slightly. Christian's smile widened a bit with amusement. "Well," she finally said with an embarrassed grin, "it's hard to say, because of the way I understand he used to treat Christian. But Anna-Kristina and Gerhard have said they remember him as a fairly indulgent grandfather. Maybe he'd have given the triplets a break, even if they were Christian's kids."

Christian and Carl Johan both laughed. "That's about what I've always thought," said Christian, and his brother nodded. "But I think he would have liked you, Leslie. After all, he was constantly insisting I get out and meet women, undoubtedly in the hope I'd find one to marry. Mother would have been very happy with you, I think." He looked at his watch and then apologetically at the patient tour guide. "I think we've wasted enough of this poor girl's time…we need to get back to the castle and begin packing everything for the trip home."

The tour guide smiled. "It was my pleasure to escort you. Oh…the museum director has asked to see you, I hear. He says it won't take very long."

"If it has to do with a wax-figure diorama of my re-crowning, I'm not certain I want to hear about it," Christian kidded. "But let's go and find out what he'd like to speak to me about, anyway." He slipped an arm around Leslie's waist, and they followed the tour guide out to the front desk, where the director waited for them.

When Christian repeated his little joke, the director laughed. "Someone actually suggested that, Your Highness, but we are well aware that you prefer to play down your status and your fame, and I felt it better that we simply request of you that you and Princess Leslie sign something for us, so that the signatures can be transferred to a plaque that will be mounted on the pedestal of the display box containing the original crown. Would that be satisfactory to you?"

Christian nodded, smiling. "That's far preferable, to me. Since Leslie and I are leaving for home tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to get the signatures now."

"If you'd kindly wait one moment, Your Highnesses," the director said, "I'll get the materials you will need to sign on so that the signatures can be transferred to the plaque." He hurried away, and Carl Johan, Christian and Leslie spent the intervening time greeting visitors and occasionally answering questions.

Ten minutes later Christian and Leslie had signed, and they were on the way back to the castle. "I expect it will be time for the triplets to eat again," Christian mused. "We've been gone long enough now that they're likely to be getting quite hungry."

"Have they missed any doctor's visits?" Carl Johan asked.

"No, but they are scheduled for a regular checkup on the 29th," Christian said, "and they're supposed to get the next round of immunizations then. And Leslie wants to get back to her job, lest Mr. Roarke give it to someone else." They chuckled, and he added, "Along with that, I have a good bit of work to do regarding my own business. Errico is still trying to get me to agree to a branch in Santi Arcuros, and he made an outrageous proposal in the attempt to persuade me. Wait till you hear this." With that he explained to his amazed brother what Errico had offered to do to facilitate a branch in his capital city.

When he finished, Carl Johan shook his head. "Forgive me, Christian, and I know it seems to you like charity—but I think it's a splendid idea myself. With Errico handling all the startup costs, all you need do is hire the staff and arrange for that five percent of profits to go to one of his or Queen Michiko's charities. You can hardly lose with such an arrangement, and it would bring you further income, which can't hurt now that you're supporting three children."

"That would mean I'd have to go to Santi Arcuros for at least a month," Christian said through a heavy sigh. "Right now I merely want to go home and recover from all this craziness, and try to get used to being a prince once more. Perhaps early next year I'll have the energy and willingness to consider it, but this just isn't the time."

"But you haven't ruled it out entirely, have you?" Carl Johan asked.

"Just the fact that you're talking about putting it off means you're at least giving it some thought, my love," Leslie agreed, patting Christian's shoulder.

"Ach," groaned Christian, and Leslie and Carl Johan laughed quietly. "All right, I'll admit, Errico's idea was rather appealing on the whole. But I need a break before I throw myself into a project like that. And don't forget, my Rose, it means time away from you and the triplets." She made a face and he grinned. "Aha, it seems you forgot about that. Well, no matter. We'll discuss it at some other time."

It was mid-afternoon by now, and since it was a Sunday the entire royal family was in residence, taking it easy. Carl Johan went to find Gerhard, and Christian and Leslie went directly to their suite to feed the triplets. Since being around the family, and finding that European attitudes toward breast-feeding were far less prudish than those of Americans, Leslie had relaxed enough that she had little worry about having another family member walk in while she and Christian were in the middle of giving a feeding. She didn't even look up when Christian responded to a knock on the door with, "Just come in, we're only feeding our little piglets."

The door opened on three laughing figures—Carl Johan, Gerhard and Liselotta. "Oh, they're piglets now!" Gerhard said, glancing at a giggling Liselotta. Christian and Leslie both grinned; she had Tobias and Susanna and he was feeding Karina.

"That especially applies to Tobias," Leslie said. "I hate to think what he's going to be like when he's a teenager. There'll never be any food in the house."

Their visitors laughed again and moved some chairs around the comfortably padded sofa where Christian and Leslie sat. "So," said Gerhard, "Father tells me you two would like me to contact my friend Lars with the security company and ask him a favor."

Christian nodded and explained his idea in regard to getting clues to the identity of their would-be attackers. "Do you think he can do that?"

"You're fortunate that he met his wife at her job—in the city forensics lab," Gerhard said with a grin. "They hit it off so well because they were more or less in the same profession, and occasionally they can help each other a bit in their respective jobs. I know you two are leaving for Fantasy Island tomorrow, so I'll see if he can perhaps rush this for you."

Gerhard managed to arrange for photos to be taken, and in about two hours his friend Lars arrived at the castle with a large envelope. He bowed to the royal family, shook hands with Christian and Carl Johan, and accompanied all of them into the sitting room. When the rest of the family had joined them, Lars looked around at the group and smiled a little ruefully. "Before I give these to Princess Leslie," he said, "I might warn you that you may not get any answers from these pictures."

"I understand," Leslie said, "because I won't necessarily recognize them…"

"There's more than that, Your Highness," Lars explained. "You might have recognized them in life, but not in death. You see, my wife is a Marilyn Monroe fan; and she owns a biography that contains a photograph of Ms. Monroe after her death. If you saw that picture without knowing who its subject was, you would never guess that it's Marilyn Monroe. Admittedly, it had to do with procedures her funeral home took to help preserve the body and prepare it for burial; but the difference is still shocking. That may be true of these people as well, so don't be disappointed if you can't identify them."

"I see," Leslie mumbled, biting her lip. A memory flashed across her mind and she wondered briefly if that was the reason for Tattoo's closed casket at his funeral. She leaned into Christian when he put an arm around her, then slowly lifted the flap of the envelope and extracted two 8x10 black-and-white photographs. She laid the envelope on her lap and placed the pictures atop it, side by side, so that Christian could see them as well.

"They look related," Christian noted after a few seconds.

"Yeah," Leslie mumbled, frowning. Both subjects had light hair that, in the photos, hung lank and damp, or perhaps oily. They both had wide mouths and faint clefts in their chins, and their faces seemed too lean, as though they either had high metabolisms or simply hadn't been getting enough to eat. The skin was peculiarly dark in color. "What's wrong with their skin?" she asked, looking up at Lars.

"It happened after death, Your Highness," he said. "They're Caucasian."

She nodded and returned her attention to the photos. She had the sense that she should know who they were; the cleft chins reinforced this sensation for some reason, but in the end she couldn't place them. Leslie sighed and handed the pictures back to Lars. "I wish I could figure it out," she said slowly. "Something about them makes me think I should know them, but it doesn't stand out strongly enough for me to make a connection."

Lars nodded. "That was to be expected," he said. "If you do happen to think of anyone you know with features like that, please contact Prince Gerhard, and he will notify me. All the reports have stated that at least one figure was seen fleeing the grounds, and there are many reports also of someone wearing white who left the great entry immediately after the plot was foiled…if it was a plot at all."

"It had to be," Gabriella said. "I'm told the reports also state these people were armed. What else would they be doing except carrying out a plot?"

"Perhaps so, Your Majesty," Lars replied respectfully. "In any case, it's the job of the police now to make that designation." He arose. "I apologize that we couldn't be of further help, but perhaps it will give you a bit of a clue, Your Highness."

Leslie smiled, still uncomfortable with the honorific. "I'll tell Gerhard if I do get a connection," she promised. Lars nodded, bowed once more and then left.

For a moment the family was silent; then Christian cleared his throat. "I'm afraid Leslie and I had better finish our packing," he said. "We have to leave early tomorrow."

§ § § -- September 21, 2004

Christian and Leslie were weary and the babies were all asleep, but they had stopped at the main house to update Roarke on what was happening. Roarke took it in for a few minutes when they'd finished speaking, and when he didn't respond right away Leslie said nervously, "Do you think there's any reason to believe the threat's over?"

Roarke focused on her. "Why do you ask?"

"Because…" She hesitated, cast Christian a skittish glance, then confessed, "Because I still have the feeling something isn't right. I wish I could ask you to have people on the lookout for someone suspicious, but I don't really know who to look for."

"And," Roarke said, "given enough resources, it's still possible for an individual to buy a 'last-minute' pass aboard the charter." He went back to considering what they had told him, and Christian and Leslie looked at each other.

Then Christian said, "On Sunday my nephew's friend, the owner of the security service that we employed, brought post-mortem photographs of the two who were killed—just the faces. They weren't identifiable from those, but Leslie did notice something she thought should have given her a clue."

"They had cleft chins," Leslie put in when Roarke looked curiously at her. "Not deep clefts, just faint ones, but I could still see them. That, and very lean faces. It was hard to tell anything else because the skin was so discolored and it distorted my perception of them. But for some reason I have the feeling I should know who those characters were."

Roarke took that in as well; then he shook his head. "I am afraid, Leslie, that the best advice I can give you and Christian is to take whatever precautions you can. Keep your doors and windows locked, especially at night and when you're not at home. If you do feel that you should be able to identify the perpetrators from the photographs, as you say, you may wish to consider anyone you know who has the features you noticed."

"That," Christian put in, "would be valid only if everyone in the group were related to each other. We have no way of knowing that."

"Do you know whether the two who were killed were men or women?" Roarke asked.

"We were told that they were both female," Christian said. "They looked enough alike to be sisters, but not twins."

"I see," Roarke murmured. He looked up after a second or two. "For now, why don't you two go home and get whatever rest you can. If in fact the remaining members of this group are targeting either or both of you, and if they are determined to get onto the island, they will. Without knowing who they are, even I cannot put preventive measures into place. As I mentioned, the best I can offer you at the moment is to make sure your doors and windows are locked. And Leslie, when you come here for work—and wait until Thursday to do so—bring the triplets with you. Mariki and the staff will watch them for you, and between duties you'll be able to feed them."

"We can do that," said Christian. "As my niece quite bluntly put it, we can't live our entire lives running scared from these people."

"Indeed," Roarke concurred. "Very well, be careful on your way home."

§ § § -- September 23, 2004

It was late morning and the triplets were sleeping in their bassinets in Leslie's old room, while Mariki did the usual housecleaning and Leslie and Roarke were working in the study. It had been a quiet morning, and by now Leslie had relaxed to some extent; she felt even more at ease here in the main house with Roarke. It might be folly, but there was no other place on the island she felt safer—even her own home.

The phone rang a little before eleven-thirty and Roarke answered it. When he said in disbelief, "How did that happen?" Leslie looked up and stared at him. As she watched, Roarke listened, shook his head a couple of times, then frowned. "Very well, I'll call the station myself. Thank you."

The second he hung up, Leslie demanded, "How did what happen?"

"That was the hospital," Roarke said. "A nurse there discovered about half an hour ago that a number of items are missing from the medicinal stores in the basement. They've notified the police, and suggested I call the station myself for further information."

Leslie frowned and watched him call the police station, glancing nervously overhead at the ceiling. It would take her and Christian a little while to get used to the new routine now that they'd gone back to work, but she still had faith in her father and his abilities. She had witnessed more than one occasion on which he'd used his powers to save lives, and she knew full well that he would be especially protective of his grandchildren.

Roarke hung up. "There is very little the police can do," he said gravely. "They dusted the area very carefully but were unable to get any fingerprints. They did, however, obtain a shoe print in the dust on a little-trod section of the floor. They say it is a woman's shoe, size 7, approximately."

"A lot of women wear size-seven shoes," Leslie said uneasily.

"Indeed," Roarke said. "They have a photo of the print. Perhaps you'd prefer to go into town with Christian after lunch and have a look at it."

Leslie nodded without speaking. As alert as she was, she wanted to investigate every possible clue. Nothing had happened so far, but she had the feeling that whoever these people were, they were just patiently awaiting the ideal time to strike.

Around one-fifteen she and Christian were examining a photograph of a shoe print. Hopefully Leslie studied the print, trying to find some distinguishing mark; but the sole of the shoe was merely a long series of horizontal lines. "Sneakers," Christian said from beside her. "No other kind of shoe leaves a mark like that."

"Exactly," said the policeman on duty, a fellow named Jeff McKay. "Most name-brand sneakers have distinctive patterns on the soles, too. This is likely to be a no-name job or a generic store brand of some kind."

Leslie groaned. "That kind of shoe could belong to half the people on the island."

"Wait a moment, my Rose, before you grow too discouraged…look here." Christian laid a fingertip on the photo near the edge of the heel. "There's a spot here." Leslie leaned forward to squint more closely; now that he had pointed it out, she could see a rough-edged, nearly perfectly round break in the lines on the sole.

"Maybe it's a hole in the shoe," Leslie said. "Awfully small though." The spot covered only two of the lines.

"It's quite possible," Christian said, glancing at Officer McKay. "I expect that may have ruled out the nurses at the hospital as suspects."

"Not necessarily," McKay said. "The shoes nurses usually wear are sturdy with flat soles, but some brands do have patterns like that one. And any nurse could have left home as usual, then come back in street clothes, sneaked in and taken what he or she wanted. We can't rule out the hospital staff till everybody's shoes have been checked. And that hole could be the hinge on which this whole thing turns."