Act Three, Part Two

Well, this was just ducky. After heading out from the New Palace, Artie had hoped to hail a carriage, only to find that the area in front of the king's residence was thickly thronged with people, people, people. It was all but impossible to thread his way through them, not with all of them pressing forward towards the gates. The clamor was oppressive too, with voices raised all around him, crying out to know what was going on, or else bewailing the death of the baroness, or the king's broken foot, or the sudden illness that had befallen all the inhabitants of the palace, or the appearance of the ghost of the king's father or mother or grandfather or great-aunt or an ancestor from the dim and misty past, come to proclaim DOOOOOOM, DOOOOOOM upon this marriage, DOOOOOOM upon the city, upon the nation!

"Doom, doom, doom," muttered Artie. "All I want is a cab!"

Finally, much to his relief and a little to his surprise, Artemus broke through the mob and was able to hare off around a corner and at last find a carriage. "The Old Palace, please," he told the driver, then leaned back in his seat and glanced at his watch. Another half an hour gone by, wasted! Well, he should be able to catch up with Jim shortly so they could compare notes. He wondered what Jim had learned, and how everything would add up together in the end. And where and how Baroness Mireje was. That was the most important thing.

He was so wrapped up in his musings that he didn't notice the small ragged boy who hopped up onto the boot of the carriage to hitch a ride along with him. From his pocket the kid produced an apple and took a big bite.

…

Jim hadn't been surprised when his captors blindfolded him after stuffing him into a carriage. The ride had not been long, and he had quietly committed to memory the turnings they took along with a rough estimate of the distances between the turnings. Then the carriage stopped and they hauled him down a set of stairs and in through a door. Even within this building, whatever it was, the blindfold was kept in place, so Jim set about counting steps and memorizing turnings again. At length they entered another door, and at last the blindfold was torn from his head.

The room they were now in looked like the inside of a warehouse. Stacks of boxes obscured the view of the walls. The boxes bore labels, many of them, as far as Jim knew, in Pterovnian, but some few were in English, and of these, one caught Jim's attention right away: it was labeled "TNT."

Men were in the warehouse, moving things around, packing or unpacking things. One in particular looked up and saw the man in blue with his escorts. He wiped his hands off with a bright red bandanna, then shoved the cloth back into his pocket and walked towards the newcomers. As he drew closer, a smile lit his face. "Ah, good! Mr West, you have come!"

For his part, Jim also recognized the man who was approaching. "Niko. Niko the miner. I remember you from the bowels of the West Coast Consulate. How are your parents?"

Niko grasped Jim's hand in a firm grip. "Doing well. Vachko — you remember that means Father, do you not? — is to preach the wedding today. Or was to. I am glad to see you! We have much to discuss."

Jim cocked an eyebrow at him. "We do?"

Niko hesitated. "Well, yes, of course. That is why I sent… Ichko? You did not tell Mr West why he was invited here?" He looked beyond Jim to the Brit.

The man smiled. "It must have slipped my mind."

Niko held his gaze on the Brit for a moment longer, then pasted on a smile. "Never mind. It does not matter. What does matter is that you are here, Mr West. Come, sit." He waved towards a door, then led the way.

Within was an office, sparsely furnished. Niko took the chair behind the desk and nodded to the only other seat. "Please, sit," he said. "Ichko, we are not to be disturbed," he said to the Brit.

"Of course, Boss." The Brit spoke a few words to the pair of men who had aided him in retrieving Mr West, then shut the door and leaned against it, guarding it from within.

"I am afraid we have little in the way of amenities here," Niko apologized. "This is a working mine, not a diplomatic house of any stripe. And yet…"

That might explain the presence of TNT, Jim thought. "And yet?" he prompted.

"And yet it must serve as a… a consulate in a way. I apologize that Ichko said nothing to you of my reason for wishing to speak with you." Niko's eyes flicked to the man at the door.

"Perhaps you should know," said Jim evenly, "that he hauled me in here at gunpoint."

Niko opened his mouth and shot a glare at Ichko, who returned the stare unblinkingly. Then Niko sat back, shaking his head, withdrawing from the staring contest. "I should not be surprised. Ichko is very fond of the grand gestures. He is my right-hand man, but we do not always agree on methods. But you are not hurt, I trust, Mr West?"

It was as Ichko had said: the Boss did not want James West to be harmed. "Only a little bruising around the edges of my honor. Why did you want to speak to me?" As with Capt Koloshko, so with Niko: Jim had liked these men when he'd met them before; it would be a great disillusionment to find that either was behind this plot to kidnap Mireje!

"Mr West…" Niko began to speak, then closed his mouth again. Twice more he did the same, then came to his feet and began to pace, running his fingers through his hair. "It is funny, you see. I have rehearsed this speech to myself time and again, only now that I must deliver it, I am at a loss as to what to say!"

From the door Ichko spoke up. "Niko wants the help of the United States to overthrow the king of Pterovnia," he said curtly.

Jim whirled to look at him, then back at Niko. "You want what?"

Niko smiled painfully. "Another of Ichko's grand gestures, and a very blunt one at that. But, yes, that is the gist of it. We wish to throw off the shackles of a monarchy and become a democratic nation such as the United States. And we wish you to make our petition before your president."

Jim stared at him. "I was under the impression that Stepanko is a progressive king. He's brought the railroad into your nation, along with all these new building projects here in the capital. I believe I heard that Lyuko is now twice its previous size."

The young miner nodded, "Yes, yes, all this is true. Pterovnia is a wonderful country, do not get me wrong. We have much to be thankful for, and the recent changes have been mostly for the better. But there is so much more that could be done! If we were but a free people, no longer shackled to the old ways, no longer ruled by the hereditary nobility of the past, but able to choose our own leaders, to make our own ways. To be… ah, in short, to be what the United States has become, a nation of free men, each with the potential to become whatever he pleases! No more having to follow lockstep in the footprints of one's ancestors, toiling in the same work generation after generation! Able to choose what…!"

"Excuse me, Niko," Jim cut in, "but I might point out that you are a miner, yet your father is an Orthodox priest. You certainly didn't have to follow lockstep in his footprints."

Niko paused, then nodded. "Dasda, dasda, yes, that is true. But I am an exception to the general rule. For too many of our people, the son of a farmer has no choice but to be a farmer like all his fathers before him, and that often on a piece of land they have worked for generations, yet the land belongs to some nobleman who wouldn't know a, a…" He waved a hand in the air. "…a hoe from a turnip!"

Jim gave a sigh. "And you expect me to ask Pres Grant to help your little band of revolutionaries to kick Stepanko out on his royal keister, is that it?"

Niko broke out into an eager grin. "Yes! Yes, that is it precisely! After all, did not the United States break free from the chains of the king of England? Fervor for freedom and for an end to hereditary nobility has been fomenting here in Europe for two generations now! In another two generations — mark my words! — there will not be a crowned head left in all this Continent. All will be replaced by constitutional governments, by democracies!"

Niko was pacing again, his hands waving in the air. "And this, Mr West, will bring an end at last to war and to suffering, for democratically elected leaders will naturally do the will of their people! Let me put forth an example: the, ah… let me think… Ah! The Kaiser of Germany. He is an emperor and answerable to no one, is this not true? And he may well lead his people into war — yes, even war against all of Germany's neighbors round about her! But a democratically elected, er…" The young man snapped his fingers, thinking. "Oh, what is the German word for leader? I have forgotten… Ah, yes! I have it now: Fuhrer! A democratically elected Fuhrer of Germany would never dare to start a war with her neighbors, knowing that his people would rebel first, and rightly so. Do you see?"

Again Jim sighed. "Niko, do you really believe democratically elected leaders never start wars? Haven't you ever heard of President Polk, who provoked our neighbor Mexico into a war in 1846?"

Niko shook his head. "No, no, that was not Polk's doing. That resulted from the act of the general in Texas who led his men into the disputed territory." Again he snapped his fingers to help him remember. "A general named… Yes, Taylor! Zachary Taylor, who later became… Oh."

"Right," said Jim. "Who later became president himself. And there's another detail of history you seem to be ignoring: the French Revolution."

Niko said nothing, his face fallen.

"The United States, as you may recall," Jim went on, "did not help France with her bloody revolution in 1789, and it's highly unlikely that my government will reverse that policy now."

From the door Ichko put in quietly, "Your nation does not need to send us troops overtly. A few well-chosen men — one man alone, even, provided he is a man whom King Stepanko trusts — could easily slip into the New Palace, ask for a private audience with the king and then, ah…" The man smirked. "…remove the monarch very discreetly."

Niko turned a glare toward his right-hand man. "We have discussed this before, Ichko! I have no animosity toward King Stepanko personally. He is merely a product of the old, withering hierarchy, happily indulging in his building projects, blithely marrying the daughter of one of his worst enemies, commuting the death sentence for treason of another enemy. He has a certain amount of regard for the oppressed of his people, in that he paid the expenses of the enslaved miners who wished to return home from the United States. I was one of those miners, and for that reason — and how many times must I repeat it? — I will not have Stepanko killed!" Again he fixed Ichko with a glower, and again the man returned the gaze unblinkingly.

And again Niko broke off the staring contest first. "The king is not to be killed," he reiterated, then returned his attention to Mr West. "This is our request, my old friend. Will you do this for us? Will you speak to your president, a man whom you know well, and plead for us our case before him? We only desire what your own people already enjoy: a democratic nation."

Jim drew a long breath and stood to his feet. "I've already given you my answer, Niko. There's no point in even bringing the matter up to Pres Grant. I can tell you what his answer will be right now, and in fact I already have told you: the answer will be 'No.' "

Slowly Niko nodded, his disappointment showing plainly on his face. "I see," he said at last. "That being the case…" He turned to his aide. "Ichko, take Mr West away and lock him up in the cell we have prepared for him."

Jim shot Niko a look askance. "You've prepared a cell for me?"

Glumly Niko nodded. "Oh, yes. I feared you might need some persuading. Into that cell you shall go, and you will not be released from it until you have agreed to carry our petition before your president."

With a grin, the Brit opened the door and called for the two thugs who had helped to bring James West into this place from which he now might never depart.

…

At last! Artie bounded from the carriage and tossed the driver a coin along with a polite thank you of "Kedurshte djo." He then turned and headed for the main gate of the Old Palace.

And just before he reached it, the great gate suddenly swung shut, practically in his face. From within the gate he heard the ponderous sound of a great key being turned.

"Hey!" called Artie. "Hey, what are you doing? Let me in!" He hammered on the small wicket door within the huge gate.

A tiny peephole door within the wicket door opened and a man's face peered out at him. "We're closed."

"Closed! But… but my friend is in there. We were supposed to meet here."

The face shook back and forth. "No one is here anymore. The museum is closing early today. For the royal wedding, you see."

"But there's not going to be a royal wedding today!" Artie persisted.

Though he could only see a face, Artie could tell that the man shrugged. "That is none of my concern. I was told to send everyone home early and close at this time of day because of the king's wedding. Whether there is a wedding today or not, the museum is closed." With that the man slammed the peephole shut.

"But…!" Artie said again, only to hear the man inside the gate call out a firm farewell of, "Atuchejnte djo!"

A moment later the peephole cracked open again. "You want to step back," the man advised Artie. "I'm about to ring down the portcullis."

The port… Oh! Hastily Artie backpedaled from the gate, just in time as the heavy iron grating came hurtling down to seal off the Old Palace from all that was outside.

"What am I gonna do now?" Artie muttered. "I still haven't found Jim!"

From near his elbow he heard the crunch of someone biting into an apple, followed by a young voice piping up in Pterovnian with, "Well, there's always the sally port."