Viennese Waltz: The General
The days following Franz Joseph's magnificent funeral had passed in a blur for Rose, who kept feeling as if she should be doing something, but hadn't a clue in the world what. The time jumper weighed so heavily on her wrist that she could have sworn she was dragging her arm down the street behind her, but she couldn't seem to sit still for more than a few minutes at a stretch. Eternally restless, she took to taking long walks around Vienna by herself while Alex took his paper and pen with him to the cafes every day, by turns soaking up the news and attitudes of these historic, chaotic times, and distilling them onto paper.
More often than not, Rose found her feet had taken her near the vast, sprawling, magnificent Hofburg Palace, the official residence of the Emperor, the headquarters of various parts of his government, and – currently – the temporary lodgings of the royal visitors who had come for the funeral. Each day saw more of them depart in state and style after meetings and conferences, both private and public, with each other and the new Emperor. Franz Ferdinand himself was often spotted in courtyards or through windows, walking with the German Kaiser or the British King or another head of state, speaking earnestly, listening intently, his new status as one of the highest rank in the world seeming to cloak him visibly with an unfamiliar assurance and dignity. His subjects hadn't been very fond of him up to this point: the strange, moody, difficult man with his lower-status wife, but they were coming to accept him now, watching as he quietly, unassumingly took the stage and somehow made it his own.
Finally, a long week later, all the guests had finally departed, and life in Vienna was poised to return to normal – except for the question hanging shroudlike over the once-vibrant city, of who had been ultimately responsible for the late Emperor's murder. All signs pointed to Serbian involvement, and the world waited and watched to see what the Austrians were going to do about it.
The next day, Rose simply could not sit still. As if needles were being jabbed into all parts of some voodoo doll of herself simultaneously, she jerked and twitched repeatedly as she tried to sit beside Alex at their favorite cafe for their usual breakfast. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she told him finally. "I just have to be moving. I'm sorry. I'm going to go for a walk and try to calm down. Will you be here?" Alex agreed that he would likely stay put, or go back to the garret later, and she tossed him a kiss, then slipped out into the street on feet that were tingling as if their circulation had just been restored.
Drawn unerringly to the Hofburg once more, she found herself in front of the Amalienburg wing, transformed in the last decade into the offices of the Austrian military headquarters, including its greatly influential Chief of Staff. General Franz Conrad von Hotzendorf had performed the same duties for the late Emperor for many years, and although the word on the street said his days were likely numbered, the new Emperor hadn't gotten around to replacing him quite yet. The man himself, known now to Rose from his pictures in the recent newspapers, appeared at a large second-story window as she watched, gazing down with a blank, courtier's expression on the small, subdued crowd pausing beyond the gates – then he suddenly swiveled around and bowed stiffly, as his new monarch appeared beside him in the window. A few words were exchanged, then the General bowed again and departed on some mission. Franz Ferdinand glanced out the window for a long moment – Rose could almost have sworn he looked straight at her, but she was likely too far away and lost in the crowd for recognition – then turned and walked away from the window and out of sight.
Driven suddenly by an overwhelming impulse, Rose turned too and walked across the street to a covered walkway, tucking herself behind a pillar. She didn't know why, but she knew she had to get into that building. Peeking out, she used every bit of concentration to try to estimate the distance between her spot and the window, nervously added a dozen more feet, and punched coordinates into the time jumper, leaving the time alone. Closing her eyes, she held her breath, and punched Activate before she could change her mind.
The odd, stretching-squeezing sensation that always accompanied the transport gave way to an equally smothering, closed-in feeling at the other end. Opening her eyes, she panicked for a moment at the utter blackness of whatever space she'd jumped into, bumping her head on an unseen object and feeling heavy cloth brushing her shoulders on either side. A hand darting out before her met solid wood, then, turning her head swiftly, she caught a hint of light near her feet out of the corner of her eye. Turning fully to look, she discovered a horizontal bar of light a few inches behind her, and suddenly things fell into place. She'd jumped into a coat closet.
Furious, exasperated and relieved all at once, she leaned against the back wall and made herself take several deep breaths, trying to slow her panicked heartbeat. Then, getting control, she leaned forward, felt for the knob, and slowly, quietly eased the door open a crack.
She'd actually done it perfectly: a few feet to her right Franz Ferdinand sat behind an enormous desk, silently perusing some documents before him. Her closet was on the opposite side of the room from the window she had seen him through moments before. A winter's fire was crackling softly with appropriate decorum in a huge, ornate fireplace behind him on that end of the room. Easing the door open an inch further, she saw two heavy, brocaded armchairs sitting canted on the wide Persian carpet before the desk for visitors, then an empty space yawned between their backs and the door to the office on her left.
Should she step out and speak? Surely there was some reason she'd been drawn to this spot, this time. There had to be something here she had to do.
While she debated with herself, the door to the office opened, readmitting General Conrad; a tall, impressive man who oozed military precision, the haughty, imperious expression in his eyes the perfect counterpart to his white walrus mustache. Rose caught a glimpse of a uniformed, armed man on guard at the portal, as well as a small number of civilians busy at their desks in the outer office, as the General smartly clicked the door shut, then marched across the room, his face carefully blank, and stood stiffly at attention between the two chairs, waiting for his superior's acknowledgment. (Rose only then noticed the name plate on the desk: "General Conrad". She bit back a grin at the carefully contrived, subtle show of power by the Emperor: the casual commandeering of the Chief of Staff's private office.) When the Emperor at last looked up, Conrad gave him a snappy salute with one hand and held out the papers he was holding in the other. "The proposed demands to the Serbian government, Your Majesty," he announced formally.
Still expressionless, Franz Ferdinand nodded release of the salute, then mutely took the papers and began to read them, leaving the General standing at attention like a private. Rose watched as a red tinge crept up the General's neck, but he remained stock still, staring over the Emperor's head at the mantel, waiting; the very image of formal military courtesy.
About halfway down the first page, Franz Ferdinand took up the pen on the desk and scratched out several lines, writing other words in between them. Conrad's eyes slid down to the page to watch, and his back stiffened even further. The process was repeated several more times on the three pages, then finally the Emperor gathered them up again and held them out.
"You will make these changes, General."
Rose thought Conrad's eyes were about to bug out of his head. He didn't immediately move to take the papers, but instead took a sharp breath and began, obviously choosing his words of protest with delicacy, "Your Majesty, the demands were most carefully crafted – "
"I'm aware that you wrote them, Conrad. And I'm aware of your motivations. I am countermanding them. The demands were too harsh, and unmeetable by the Serbians. They were a thinly-disguised prelude to war – war which I will not rush into." Although his voice was calm and level, Rose could hear the steel behind the words, and knew that Conrad did, as well.
The red had made it onto the General's face. "Your Majesty," he choked out between clenched teeth. "The swine murdered your uncle."
Franz Ferdinand slowly lowered the papers, which Conrad still had not reached to take, back to the desk, and rose majestically to his feet, never breaking eye contact with the other man. His voice dropped several degrees in temperature. "I am aware of that. And they will be punished – severely. But I will not rush headlong into military action, for which we are unprepared, and which will inevitably drag every country on this continent into war through their interlocking treaties." Rose gave a tiny knowing smile at this – her royal pupil had learned the lessons of the book she'd given him very well indeed.
The proud, patriotic General could not believe what he was hearing. He struggled silently for a moment, then rasped out, teeth still clenched, "Since Your Majesty has so little confidence in my counsel, and my military leadership, then I will tender my resignation immediately."
"No, you will not," countered the Emperor flatly. "It will not be accepted." He paused a moment, then relaxed his voice the slightest bit, inviting reconciliation. "I do not completely trust you, Conrad; we both know that is true. But you are a valuable servant to the crown, whom I would be a fool to release over a minor disagreement such as this."
Conrad was in no mood to take the olive branch. "Yet you ignore my counsel, my experience. This is hardly a minor matter, Your Majesty. What we do now will reflect upon us all. If we do not act swiftly and harshly, and squash the Serbian insect, then everything your uncle worked for – everything all of the Habsburgs worked for since the establishment of the Empire – will all be lost, along with every wisp of our national and personal honor. I will not stand silently by while you throw all of that away."
Franz Ferdinand's eyes narrowed. "I will be the guardian of my honor, General, and the honor of my Empire. And I say again, I will not rush into a dangerous, debilitating war, not when the entire continent is teetering on the edge."
"Then let me resign," Conrad said flatly, "since you do not trust me."
"No. You will not resign. What you will do, General, is follow your orders, until this crisis has passed. After that, then you may resign. But not now. For now, I want you where I can see you." He paused a moment, tilting his head back imperiously and considering the slowly-purpling face of the man before him. "In fact, I will have your oath of loyalty, today. I will hear you swear that you will follow orders faithfully until I relieve you of duty."
Conrad was speechless. "You... my oath?" he spluttered.
"Before witnesses." Franz Ferdinand countered calmly. Raising his voice a notch, he called out a name – presumably one of the men in the outer office.
Conrad didn't seem to hear. Fury contorted his handsome features as his head began shaking No, this ultimate insult to his honor – as he saw it – ringing in his ears. "No, I will not..." Even as the door began to swing open behind him, he suddenly opened his coat, and reached for a pistol holstered at his hip.
The instant she saw the gun, before she could consciously choose to react, Rose was in motion. Flinging the door wide, she launched herself out of the closet with a foot on the wall behind her, and lunged for the General, grabbing his arm with both hands. Dimly aware of the deja vu from Sarajevo, she pushed desperately, forcing the pistol out of line with the Emperor. Conrad gaped at this woman who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere for a long, frozen moment, then instantly pushed back with that arm, tearing her pitifully weak grasp off his arm and shoving her violently across the intervening chair, where she tumbled to the floor beside the desk. Rolling swiftly back over, Rose froze for a moment, gasping in horror as he re-aimed the gun, holding it out at arm's length towards the Emperor, who, incredibly, hadn't moved an inch, staring wide-eyed at the man he wisely hadn't trusted.
The General's finger tightened on the trigger, and the pistol's roar filled the office.
But the Emperor didn't fall.
Instead, it was Conrad who jerked, whose face transformed, whose mouth slipped open, dribbling blood, whose arm wavered and fell, whose eyes turned glassy then rolled up into his skull, before he toppled bonelessly to the floor...
...revealing the guard behind him, his own eyes wide and unbelieving at what he'd just done, peering past his own pistol at his superior on the floor. He'd reacted instantly to the scene, without thinking, drawing and firing his sidearm in a flash to save his Emperor.
Silence reigned in the little office as the echoes slowly died, everyone staring in utter shock, from the Emperor behind the desk to Rose on the floor, to the guard at the door, to the men crowding behind him, peering into the room with jaws agape at the former Chief of Staff and almost assassin, lying dead with his unfired pistol in his hand.
Finally, Franz Ferdinand got a hold of himself, taking a deep breath and thanking the guard simply, who merely nodded stiffly, swallowing hard and shakily reholstering his pistol. The Emperor pointed to the men clustered at the door, telling them to take the body away, then he immediately stopped them again. "Gentlemen, the General has had a sudden, fatal stroke. You understand? There is no reason to besmirch his good name, his lifelong loyal service to the Empire, with taint of treason after his death."
The men looked at him, and nodded, agreeing to the implicit conspiracy of silence, before picking up the body and carrying it out the door.
"And the woman, Your Majesty?" the guard spoke up after they had gone.
"What woman?" the Emperor returned flatly, staring hard at the guard, not glancing at Rose. "There is no woman."
The man's eyes slid quickly to her once more before he jerked them back and nodded, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself once more. Rose realized only then that the other men hadn't even noticed her there on the floor.
Franz Ferdinand let his breath out in a long, silent sigh of relief, wilting down onto his chair at last. Only then did he turn to Rose. "Mein Gott in Himmel," he breathed. "Are you now my guardian angel? Do you intend to jump between me and every bullet?"
"Don't count on it," she said, before breaking into a helpless, hysterical giggle.
He joined her a beat later, his face cracking into the first smile she'd ever seen on it, before he quickly got control of himself again. She began to push herself up off the floor, and he jumped back to his feet to offer her his hand and help her up. Then he stood there, holding her hand, gazing into her eyes.
"Thank you again, Fraulein," he said simply. "I don't even want to know how and why you are here."
"You're welcome, Your Majesty," she replied with her supernova smile. As there was nothing more to be said, she shook his hand, then lightly released it, stepped back, raised her arm with the time jumper, and punched herself back out to the street.