CHAPTER FIVE
Hostages

MARKSMITH, HOUSE OF - …Though perhaps the most ancient of the noble houses of Galvenia – at least two centuries older than the House of Tulor (q.v.) and the heirs of the Duchy of Delanos (q.v.), the House of Marksmith has also had the most chequered history. Out of favour during the reign of Richard Lionheart because of their Unionist tendencies, they fought nobly against the 'Disloyalists' during the reign of George I. Perhaps more controversially, they were accused of aiding Almonth Jakov's rebels during the Battle of Chespa Bay, but suffered few penalties…

…The long-lasting tradition that the Marksmiths and the Lionhearts share a common ancestor has been verified by blood typing (q.v.), but the Marksmiths never made a serious claim to the throne. The possible exception was during the Zion-Varald Conflict that began the Terran War….

- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24th Edition, C.Y. 347

A knock at the door early in the morning – usually carried out by villainous Varald agents – has been a staple of historical dramas for centuries, and is usually followed by a melodramatic arrest scene. It was perhaps for this reason that when Carmen Ortiz, the Regales' housekeeper, was awakened by a knock at the unseemly hour of 6 o'clock, she could not help smiling to herself despite feeling sleepy. For we all have our little diversions, and Carmen was very fond of the theatre.

"Probably an early telegram for Mr. Regale, which couldn't be delivered because of the holiday yesterday," she thought, as she looked through the peep-hole – and stepped back in horror, as she beheld three men in police uniforms, looking far from friendly.

"Is this Mr. Sigmund Regale's home?" a voice called out. "Open the door, please."

Carmen opened the door nervously. "Yes, it is," she replied. "What seems to be the matter?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to let us in, Miss," one of the men said, pushing it open further. "Now, don't look so scared. We want Mr. Regale, but the rest of you are quite all right."

"Wh – what do you mean?" Carmen stammered. The loudness of the men's voices had roused the entire household, and Emily found herself on the landing of the staircase, looking with horror at them.

"Carmen? Good heavens, what happened?" Emily said, running down in her cap and dressing-gown, wide-eyed with surprise. "Who are these gentlemen?"

"Mrs. Regale?" the first of the men said, drawing a piece of paper from his pocket.

"That would be me," Emily replied. "What do you want in our house at this hour, pray?"

"It's quite simple, ma'am. Yesterday, during a press conference, an explosive device of some sort went off, critically injuring Prime Minister Socius, and causing wounds to several others, including his wife and the War Minister. The Prime Minister's condition is grave, and he may not live out today."

"What sort of horror is this?" Emily exclaimed, appalled.

"Moreover, our agents suggest that this was the result of a carefully executed plot, and that one of the conspirators was your husband," the second officer said harshly. "Please ask him to come down at once, as we cannot wait too long."

"Do – do you mean Sigmund is under arrest?" Emily said indignantly. "Officer, there must be some mistake. I've known Sigmund for over twenty years, and though he has many faults, he has nothing to do with any sort of assassination!"

"I think we'll be the judges of that, Mrs. Regale," the third police officer said, in clipped tones. "Now, given Mr. Regale's eminence…"

"Mom?" Lavie hurried down the steps, her hair flying wildly about her. "What's happening, Mom?"

"Lavie, honey…" Emily began hesitantly. One of the officers, noticing her, shook his head. Before she could say anything further, Sigmund appeared at the head of the staircase, glaring at the intruders through his spectacles.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said firmly. "What are you doing in my home at this unearthly hour?"

"If you don't mind, sir," the first officer said, drawing his pistol, "it's us who are asking the questions."

Sigmund turned pale, and his hands began to shake. "What – is going on here, Emily?" he said, slurring the words.

"You're wanted for questioning in relation to the attempted assassination of Martell Socius, Mr. Regale," the second man said, drawing his own sword. "Anything you say or do can be used in court against you. I suggest you get dressed and come quietly, for the sake of your family."

"Daddy, what's going on?" Lavie pleaded. "Please – Daddy didn't do anything of that kind! He was at home with us the whole of yesterday, and…"

"Leave it to us, Miss," the third officer said, not unkindly. "Best not to say too much. We're just following orders."

Lavie and Emily stared at each other, stricken, as Sigmund disappeared meekly into his chamber.

xxx

While these events were taking place, the Premier of the Fulton Republic, Alexander Josen, was not having a particularly pleasant morning either.

"Who is this man, Tariq?" he said, with a dismissive gesture of annoyance, as he sat at his desk, sipping his cup of perfumed tea. "Jedda has already warned me of Jansen's importunities, but this really is the limit!"

Tariq Jaffer, Josen's private secretary, frowned. "His name is Andrei Gerhardt, and he is a military envoy from the Directorate of Varaldia," he replied. "He apologizes for the unscheduled visit, but claims that his task is vital not only for his nation, but for ours."

Josen shrugged his shoulders, and ran one hand over the large moustache that he, like most men of Fulton, proudly displayed from puberty onwards. "I fail to see how the squabbling of the Varald and the Zion affects our Republic, Tariq," he retorted. "However, as much as I dislike the Varald, they have not declared open hostilities on us yet. Send him in, Tariq."

Tariq made a sign to the Republican legionary guarding Josen's door, and Gerhard entered. He wore the uniform of a Varald major-general, and carried a pistol at his belt.

"Good morning, Premier," he said, in a pleasant, accented voice. "Would you prefer me to speak in your tongue?"

"Shukran," Josen replied, "but I am quite fluent in yours, as well as the common tongue of the Commonwealth. Take a seat, and let's talk business, as we say in Fulton. What is it that you seek, my man?"

"You are certainly aware," Gerhard replied, sitting down and leaning back comfortably in his sofa – "of our war with the Zion. Those Imperial fools have not only bitten off more than they can chew, they are indulging in a childish attempt to harm the Galvenians as well. You have heard, I am sure, of what has befallen Prime Minister Socius."

"Oh, was that the Zion's handiwork?" Josen grinned. "I have it on good authority from my own men that it was an internal matter, and that a Galvenian businessman – interestingly enough, one of our best investors – is being interrogated by their police. But continue. You interest me."

"I am glad, Premier," Gerhardt replied. "The fact of the matter is that the Zion want a stronger presence in Galvenia because she is rich in resources – minerals, coal, and other things essential for their war effort. The disposal of Socius – who is the de facto ruler of that country, given Arlbert's moral and political incompetence – is a means to that end. I would not be surprised if Zion troops were in Alton or Lorean in a few more months."

"You're an astute man, Major-General, but surely you haven't come to meet me just to gloat over your discoveries," Josen said drily. "As I was just telling Tariq here, we're far away from any war. Get to the point."

"As you are aware, Premier," Gerhardt replied, unperturbed by the other's implicit rebuke, "though the Varald are dominant now, we are not invincible. This war is likely to continue for at least two years, especially if the Galvenians are pulled further into it. Given this, we turn to you – as trading partners – and ask for permission to use some of your resources. It is a polite request, nothing more."

"Hmm, it's a tempting proposition, Major-General," Josen said teasingly. "I have little love for the Zion, who seem to think that they can shut down the economy of Terra to salve their wounded vanity. And, sub rosa – you see, I speak a little Itarian too – Koketsu would have been an economic disaster. What is it you want? Mercenaries? Our land is full of them, but I leave their recruitment to you. I will merely turn the proverbial blind eye while you do so." He laughed.

"No, Premier, we have more than enough men," Gerhardt said proudly. "What we need are minerals."

"Minerals? Our country is poor in minerals, Gerhardt – especially those that would forge the gears of your war. We are technologically advanced, but we lack materials such as the Zangrest which plates your mighty ships. You are welcome to the little we have, provided it is a fair exchange."

"As a matter of fact, Premier," Gerhardt replied with a smile, "you do have other mineral resources, ones that we need to defend against the Zion. Search your memory, and you will understand what I speak of."

Josen frowned. "Are you referring to – No, out of the question, my good Gerhardt. We tried that stunt once, and all it got us was Commonwealth punishments and unfavourable trade agreements. Those Zion devils were clever. We Republicans are never averse to profit, but we are no fools."

"Leave it to us, Premier," Gerhardt said calmly. "We only ask that you – as you poetically put it – turn a blind eye, and do not take the part of the Commonwealth. The actual - ahem – logistics can be left to us."

"No, Gerhardt," Josen said firmly, bringing his hand down on his desk. "To fight with the Commonwealth would be ruinous for both our nations. Take a friend's advice, and do not go poking around the Duchy of Indernes."

"What if we take care of the Commonwealth?" Gerhard said slyly. "After all, it would be a trifle for President Hipper to move some troops around."

Josen's lips curved into a smile that even his moustache could not hide. "If you can assure that, Gerhardt," he replied, holding out his hand, "then the Republic of Fulton is ready to help you. Our country has suffered enough from those Zion bogeys, and if you have an idea to dispose of them, I will help you."

"Excellent, Premier," said Gerhardt as they shook hands – Josen had a disconcertingly firm grip, he noted. "Director Kievan was right about you."

xxx

The horrors….

Sigmund Regale stared at the walls of his cell. It was pleasant and spacious, not to mention well-ventilated, and apart from the barred door, it lacked little in comfort. But it brought him little comfort. It was less than a day since he had been imprisoned, and he could only think of one thing – how to escape.

We're going to get you, Regale.

"Leave me alone," he muttered. "I didn't get to where I am by being afraid of shadows."

But it was a futile boast. What he feared the most had come true.

You thought you could escape us, could you?

We warned you. You'd be arrested, punished. You're a disgrace, Regale.

"Enough," Sigmund groaned. The light hurt his eyes, and he turned off the lamp, but even the darkness brought no change. "I'm innocent, I tell you, innocent."

Tell that to the Marines, Regale.

We told you the police was on your track, didn't we?

You can't hide forever.

It's a merciful release for your poor wife and daughter.

"You lie!" Sigmund screamed, alerting the guard outside his door. "I'm – that's not who I am! I had nothing to do with the Prime Minister's death!"

"Pipe down, moneybags," the guard shouted irritably. "Save that for the trial."

Money can't buy everything, can it, Sigmund dear?

You're going to hang.

"Never," Sigmund replied, staring in terror at the wall. The darkness was no cover. They were everywhere – now he could not only hear them, but see them. Harsh, cruel faces.

You're a disgrace. A disgrace. I warned my daughter about you, but she wouldn't listen. I was right. You're despicable, Sigmund Regale. You go against all that is good and noble in Galvenia.

You can't buy your way out of this.

You're a fool.

I'm sure Lavie will be very proud of her daddy right now.

"Please," Sigmund said, looking at his trembling hands with dismay. "Please, leave me…."

There was the sound of a thud, and the guard rushed to the door, ready to rebuke his prisoner again. He looked inside, then shuddered.

"Oh, Good Lord," he groaned, looking at the unconscious, convulsing form on the floor before him. "Call a doctor, quick!"

xxx

"…and that, my friends, is the story of Emperor Maximilian of Zion, and his quarrel with Pontiff Jerome X of Itaria," Professor Scott said, closing his book. "Of course, Maximilian's attempt to set up a parallel Pontiff, Oskar III, was purely political – but it divided the Church in Zion for over a century, until his great-grandson Johan rescued Itaria from the Varald Invasion, and deposed the bishops installed by Maximilian's Pontiff. Tomorrow, we'll be tackling the reign of Johan himself, and the First Zion-Varald War. Quite topical, indeed." He chuckled. "Any questions? Yes, Spenson."

"Sir," Henrik said, trying to conceal his excitement, "doesn't Maximilian's Church still have some followers?"

"Good question, Spenson. After the defeat and death of Johan in the War of Galvenian Independence, a sizeable number of nobles attributed this to his 'apostasy' from the Zionese church, and tried to blame Itaria. They tried to resurrect Maximilian's initiative, and even proceeded with the consecration of another parallel Pontiff, Constantius V. Unfortunately, they were cold-shouldered by Johan's son Linois, who wanted peace at all costs, both with Galvenia and Itaria. He signed a new Concordat with Itaria, declaring the entire line of Pontiffs from Oskar invalid, and reaffirming that the Itarian religion was the official faith of Zion. Though some of the nobles and clergy grumbled, they also dwindled, and today they exist only as a small sect."

"Thank you, Sir," Henrik said.

"Oh, don't mention it, Spenson," Professor Scott replied, smoothing down his blue King's College robes. "Class dismissed – and don't forget to read up on the Zion Emperors between Maximilian and Johan before our next lecture!"

As the students rose to leave, Henrik sought out Viola, who was picking up her own satchel and heading for the door.

"Viola," he whispered. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Viola smiled "Of course, Henrik! Come, let's head down to the cafeteria. Zion history is certainly interesting, isn't it?"

"More than interesting," Henrik said, speaking in a low tone. "I now know what Ivan was trying to tell me before he died."

"What?" Viola exclaimed.

"Shh, quiet," Henrik replied. "Come, let's have a cup of coffee, and I'll tell you what I found out."

"I also know a thing or two," Viola replied in a whisper. They soon reached the cafeteria, and sat down. Henrik ordered a cup of coffee for himself, hot chocolate for Viola, and then took out a notebook from his own bag.

"So who goes first?" he said, with a grin.

"You, Henrik," Viola replied. "Come on, spill the beans!"

"Remember what Ivan said before he died? We thought he was talking about his aunt, and then the Pontiff. We were wrong. It was probably sheer coincidence that Ivan was raised by his aunt."

"What else could he be saying?" Viola looked puzzled.

"Remember today's lecture, Viola," Henrik said, opening his notebook. "Maximilian fought with Pontiff Jerome over his efforts to legitimize his son, Heinrich, as the heir apparent. Jerome refused, because Maximilian had a legitimate son, Adelbert, by his now abandoned wife, Empress Ursula. Maximilian then invoked old Zion traditions, and said that he was the supreme head of the Church in Zion."

"Silly man," Viola said, with a frown. "I felt sorry for that poor Empress."

"Much like our King Arlbert, I guess," Henrik replied with a wink. "But here's the catch. Jerome condemned this statement, saying that only an ordained bishop could head a Church, and that this was a direct command from the Infinity Himself. Maximilian, not to be outdone, declared Jerome an invalid Pontiff for opposing him, and elevated Oskar, Archbishop of Caledonia, to the Pontificate."

"And you think Ivan was alluding to that old story?" Viola looked doubtful.

"Not really. During the ensuing polemic, as Professor Scott said, both sides accused the other Pontiff – Jerome or Oscar – of being an impostor or a fake. Jerome, in particular, called Oscar an 'anti-pontiff.' Does that ring a bell?"

"Auntie Pontiff – anti-pontiff, yes, I can see that, especially with poor Ivan's accent," Viola said, her eyes widening. "Do you mean Ivan was killed over a matter of Church politics? That there are elements in the Church who want to set up another Pontiff, and that he came to know about this?"

"I think it's a little more complicated than that," Henrik said, "but first, let's see what you've got."

"Only this," Viola said, drawing a hard, lumpy object from her satchel. Henrik looked at it for a moment, stunned.

"Where did you get that?" he exclaimed. "The last time I saw it, it was in a sewer under Lorean."

"A sewer? Ugh!" Viola wrinkled her nose and made a face. "You seem to have led quite an interesting life, Henrik."

"Blame Ryan and Armin for that, Viola," Henrik said apologetically. "But I'm quite certain that it's the same Memory Crystal that we found there. It's broken, though. All it gave us were a few words."

"I found it in Ivan's room," Viola explained. "After Inspector Bell had finished questioning us, I remembered that I had lent Ivan my copy of The Flower of Itaria..."

"A romance novel?" Henrik said teasingly.

"Well, sort of, though it's more of a historical epic," Viola admitted. "Anyway, I asked the Inspector if I could go get it, and he said it was no problem, since his men had finished searching the place. I went in to get the book, and I found it on his table. The strange thing is that when we were in his room earlier, none of us saw it! Do you remember?"

"Yes, that's right," Henrik replied. "I've been to Ivan's room many times, but I haven't seen it there."

"Anyway, I was curious," Viola replied. "Mummy knows a thing or two about Memory Crystals; she used to teach science in school before she married Daddy. So I remembered an old trick she taught me; when a Crystal is broken, it can still give up most of its information when placed near another one and then tapped."

"And you had one with you?"

Viola blushed. "Daddy gave me this for my twelfth birthday," she said, taking a smaller, smoother object out of her bag. "He had it made when his crew was down in the Republic; he said that even if he was far away, I'd have something to remember him by."

"He sounds like a very nice guy," Henrik said kindly. "So what did you find?"

"I gave it a shot, and took down what was said, though it still wasn't complete. The voice was very distorted, but it may have been a woman's." She took a notebook out of her satchel, and opened it. The following lines were written there in her neat, small hand:

I don't know why I keep this, but it reassures me. It reminds me that…

God Save The King, God Save The Emperor. We say these words mechanically. But what if a ruler is unrighteous? Do we not have the right to ask that God judge him, rather than save him?

But I must not have doubts. I am serving a noble cause. Those who would accuse me of serving my own interests, or those of my family, would be slandering me and my son. I do what I have done, and what I will do, for the good of Arlia. And no one, not even the Pontiff….

She is a fool. She does not realize what…..

"I think it all adds up, don't you?" Viola said, beaming at him.

"Sweet Infinity, Viola – this speaker must be the 'mother' that Ivan tried to tell me about!" Henrik whispered excitedly, as they leaned closer together. "Don't you see, it all adds up. Charlemagne is sick and dying. The Council of Viceroys has placed its men in Itaria, despite the Pontiff's protests. Someone – probably a possible heir of the Zion Emperor – wants to set up a Pontiff of their own, and the blockade of Itaria is part of this plan…"

"And Ivan, who is training for the priesthood, somehow came to learn about this – and probably wanted to tell his superiors in Itaria about it," Viola concluded. "Unfortunately, someone – silenced him before he could speak."

"Yes," Henrik agreed. "Only, that last deduction could just be a guess, since you weren't sure if it was a man or a woman speaking. But what does this have to do with the war?"

"Perhaps they provoked the war with the sole intention of placing troops in Itaria," a voice said clearly, breaking in on their thoughts. "You're clever, the two of you. God help the Auntie Pontiff if you get on his case." The speaker chuckled.

"Professor Scott!" Henrik looked up at the speaker with embarrassment. "We were just, ahem…."

"Oh, I know a thing or two about this, Spenson and Miss Benise," he replied genially. "Come down to my chambers. There are things you need to know. But be warned, it's not pleasant."

"Ivan was our friend," Viola said firmly. "If someone killed him for political reasons, we have to find out the truth, even if it's not pleasant."

"Right you are, Miss Benise – I see you have your father's fighting spirit, as harmless as you may look," Professor Scott replied with approval. "Come along."

xxx

"We must insist, President Hipper," Archbishop Mazarus said firmly, "on the immediate removal of the Zion troops from our country. The Pontiff has already appealed to the Emperor, and his request was refused. If there is truly a threat of invasion, let the Commonwealth Special Forces protect our coasts. But since we have received no threat of invasion from the Varald, and are being harmed by the blockade that the Zion impose…"

"You ingrate!" Kanoi thundered. "Do you not remember how your country was ravaged by the Varald during the last Zion-Varald War? Your alleged "blockade" is purely a protective measure, to prevent spies or war resources from being smuggled through Itaria!"

"If that were not all," Mazarus went on, with a venomous look at Kanoi, "the Zion agents are now indulging in unnecessary propaganda, defaming our Pontiff and our Church. Pray tell me, Kanoi, are you at war with us, that you should behave this?"

"The Emperor made a perfectly legitimate request of you, and your precious Pontiff refused it," Kanoi shot back. "In a time of war, ordinary rules do not apply. If Saint Geraud's blessing is needed for us to win this war…"

"Saint Geraud was an apostle of peace, not a petty warmonger like your Council of Viceroys!" Mazarus said, in fiery tones. "And let me tell you, Kanoi, that the Pontiff has been contemplating severe ecclesiastical penalties against the Council for their immoral actions! Prophecies are unveiled by the Church, not at the point of a sword or the barrel of a gun!"

"Oh, this is so amusing," Jedda said, clapping his hands. "You Zion and Itarians sound like an old married couple, as my wife would say."

"Shut up, Jedda," Kanoi grumbled. "And tell your Pontiff, Mazarus, that his ecclesiastical voodoo does not frighten us. When he is the one doing wrong, his sentences have no binding power."

"My brothers," Lord Lucan pleaded. "The matter is simple. Galvenia must side with the Zion in this matter. As long as the Zion troops are not invading Itaria, and are not harming her citizens, why do you protest, Mazarus?"

"If they were in Alton, spreading rumours about King Arlbert and his unfitness to reign, would you still be calm, Lucan?" Mazarus replied, glaring at him. "There are other kinds of harm besides physical injury and death, you know."

"The Varald, for perhaps the first time in our history, support Archbishop Mazarus," Jansen said, with a laugh. "This comedy has gone on long enough, Kanoi. It is clear that you intend to reduce Itaria to vassalage, and use it as a base to strike our northern coast."

"You see?" Kanoi growled. "You are selling your soul to the enemy, Mazarus!"

"Pray, do not worry about my soul, Kanoi," Mazarus said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Rather, weep for your own soul, and those of your Viceroys, who blaspheme the Infinity by slandering his appointed leader!"

"The vote, gentlemen, the vote!" Lucan said anxiously. "Here is the proposition. Whether the Commonwealth requests the Zion to withdraw their troops from Itaria, and second, whether they may be replaced by Commonwealth forces, given the ongoing war."

"I vote in favour of both," Mazarus said, folding his hands across his chest.

"The Zion object! We condemn both these propositions as foolish and offensive!" Kanoi shouted.

"The Republic abstains, Mazarus," Jedda said, with a regretful shake of his head. "Make things up with that wayward wife of yours, and leave the Commonwealth out of it."

"I vote in favour of the first, but not the second," Commissioner Jansen added. "Let the Zion leave, but there is no need to waste our resources."

"We oppose both propositions," Lord Lucan said. "Mr. President, the decision is yours. Your vote can break the tie."

Terrin Hipper smiled. He had been waiting for this moment a long time. Running one hand through his straggly beard, he furrowed his eyebrows and looked straight in Kanoi's eye.

"My dear gentlemen," he said, in his deep, pleasant baritone, "first of all, I think you ought to be more temperate in your language, Mazarus. But I can make allowances for the fact that you are upset. Second, Kanoi, regardless of my opinion of the Itarian religion, I represent the Commonwealth now. You have no business placing your troops there, and I view it as a hostile act." He raised his hand to silence Kanoi, who had opened his mouth to speak, and went on. "Therefore, I kindly request you to withdraw your troops from Itaria – they have no need of them. And if you do not honour this request, then I shall be forced to deploy the Commonwealth Peacekeeping Forces, in accordance with the powers vested in me as your President."

Kanoi turned pale, and began to perspire. "You – you would not dare…"

"My dear Kanoi, I'm afraid I would," Hipper replied affably. "Now be a good boy and get your men out of there. Surely they have more – ahem – important tasks to attend to."

Jansen laughed. "Well played, Mr. President!" he said.

"This is unacceptable…" Lucan stammered.

"So be it," Mazarus said calmly. "Mr. President, what time frame do you set for compliance with your directive?"

"Oh, I shall be generous, Mazarus," Hipper replied. "I give the Zion a month to withdraw from Itaria. If not, the Commonwealth Peacekeeping Forces shall leave Unity Isle. Is that clear?"

"You will pay for this, Hipper…" Kanoi began.

"Now, now, Kanoi," Jedda said, enjoying the discomfiture all around him. "Threats will serve no purpose. As the President says, be a good boy and take your medicine."

xxx

"I am glad to see you all, my young friends," Joseph, Duke of Marksmith observed. Henrik and Viola, still awed by their surroundings, merely replied with a bow and a curtsey respectively. "It is true that a month has passed since the tragic demise of Prime Minister Socius, and we are still in the dark, but hopefully, you can shed some light on this matter."

"I do hope so, Your Lordship," Professor Scott replied. "Come, sit down, both of you. The Duke wants to hear the story you have carefully pieced together."

"Er, sure thing, Professor," Henrik said. Swallowing nervously, he began with the events on the night of Ivan's death, and from time to time, Viola encouraged him with a word or a smile. When they had finished, the Duke nodded, and looked somber.

"It is as I suspected," he said gently, resting one arm on the ornate armchair in which he reclined. "Thank the Infinity that you found out what was happening. We will have to inform Lord Lucan at the Commonwealth quite soon."

"If you don't mind my asking, Your Lordship," Henrik replied, "what is, ahem, going on?"

"It's quite simple. As you have figured out, Charlemagne is ill, and with the death of Wilhelm, there is no Heir Presumptive – for, unlike Galvenia, the Zion Code of Inheritance does not allow his daughter, Hildegarde, to inherit the throne. Besides, she is too young. This means that several factions of relatives, with the backing of the military and the nobility, are jockeying for power."

He paused, cleared his throat, and went on. "One such faction belongs to the Countess Helene of Lesser Caledonia, who is a direct lineal descendant of the Hohenzollern Dynasty which preceded the Valtemonds. The Countess has a son, Siegbert, whom she wishes to place on the throne. Among her friends are Hunermann, the chairman of the Council of Viceroys, and Gruner, the Archbishop of Caledonia."

"I presume she wants to ensure her son's accession to the throne," Scott remarked.

"Quite right, Professor," the Duke of Marksmith went on. "Now, here's the tricky part. The Zion have somehow got hold of a prophecy – or a garbled version of one – made by Emperor Geraud, which was sealed in the Itarian Secret Archives. This prophecy speaks of a coming global war, and the rise of a strong ruler who will end the war and bring peace to Arlia. Pontiff Pious tried to silence this rumour, claiming that the prophecy merely referred to events such as Miller's presidency, Darington, and the Battle of Chespa Bay. Infuriated by this, the Council of Viceroys sent their men to try a little gunboat diplomacy – as it is vulgarly called – on the Itarians. Sooner or later, if Pious does not yield, the Council will declare that Gruner is the valid Pontiff, and the Zion troops on Itaria will open hostilities."

"But what about the Varald?" Viola remarked absently. "Surely even the Zion can't handle two wars at once!"

"Ah, I'll have to keep quiet about that for now, Miss Benise," the Duke replied, shaking his head slowly. "But trust me when I say that they know exactly what they are doing. I have only one request to make of you, and that is that you continue to keep your eyes and ears open, and discreetly continue to enquire into the death of Ivan Kasprowicz. If you stumble upon anything, please bring it to Scott at once."

"Of course we will, Your Lordship," Henrik replied.

"Very good, my friends. You may leave now, and remember that you are sworn to secrecy on this issue. I will not stop until I have uncovered the Zion plot, and put an end to Countess Helene's infamy."

As the three left the Duke's Lorean mansion, Viola turned to Professor Scott, a puzzled look on her face.

"Professor," she whispered, "why is the Duke taking this so personally? Shouldn't this be in the hands of the Government, or the King?"

Scott turned to her and whispered a few words in her ear, which caused her to flush and smile. "Oh, goodness," she said excitedly. "Is that true?"

"What is, Viola?" Henrik asked.

"Apparently, the Duke is going to marry Princess Carranya! Isn't that romantic! He seems like such a good man, and he doesn't look half bad, as Mummy would put it!"

"Well, lucky for her," Henrik observed wryly. "At least he won't be goofing off like King Arlbert."

xxx

"Carranya, be comforted," Lady Rochelle Anton said, as she helped the Princess into her Court dress. "Has that dreadful man, Thomssen, been too harsh with you?"

"Not more than I deserve, Rochelle," Carranya observed sadly, as two Royal maids fussed around her hair and her attire.

"Now, that's no way for a future Queen to speak," she said soothingly. "Poor child. A martinet of a Spiritual Advisor on the left, a profligate libertine of a father on the right. It's a wonder you've turned out the fine young woman that you are, Princess. Your mother and I are very proud of you."

"Thank you, Rochelle," Carranya replied with a forced smile. "Has my mother told you – the news?"

"I'm afraid so." Rochelle smiled. "Come now, Carranya, surely that isn't what has upset you? Marksmith is a fine young man, and though I've often upbraided him for his foppishness and his boring political discussions, you could do worse."

"I have," Carranya said simply.

"Oh, Carranya," Rochelle said gently, "why won't you let the past die? And why won't that Thomssen realize that girls will be girls, and boys will be boys? Let me tell you something, Princess, as someone who loves you and your mother very much. You've done nothing that you need to be ashamed of. If anyone needs to be ashamed, it's…."

"I'm not talking about that, Rochelle," Carranya replied. "I'm talking about – what's happening now…" She blushed, and hid her face with her hands, causing the maids to gasp.

"Carranya, I know," she replied. "And you know that I know, don't you?"

Carranya nodded mutely.

"Now, listen to me, and forget Thomssen. It's true that you're the Princess, and that you must obey your parents for reasons of State. But don't assume that it's the end of the world, just because that young man has slipped away from you. We never know what the future can hold, Carranya. Things will look brighter some day, when this war is over. Perhaps when you hold your first child in your arms." Her expression softened. "Now, are you ready to come down? Your father and mother will be waiting."

"Yes, Rochelle," Carranya replied, trying hard to believe in her friend's words. But it was to no avail. She felt, not like the Crown Princess of Galvenia, but like a prisoner – and in three months, the bars would come down.

xxx