Sable Palace/Hradcany Castle
Epiphany, SY152
The next few days passed remarkably smoothly, given the adventures of Christmas Night. However, part of me knew that it was only a matter of time until I heard from my counterpart, and I have to admit I awaited the inevitable reckoning with some trepidation. I did not regret what I had done in any way, both for Alban's sake, and because both Claire and I had fallen heavily for the child, who was a perfect angel, despite his origins, but I knew that there was going to be some kind of payback.
Over drinks on New Year's evening I did tackle Gray about the dagger he had used in Berlin, though, and was very surprised at what he admitted to me. Some of it, I suppose I had suspected, even known but ignored. Some of it, however, was both new and disturbing.
Rupert Delatz maintains a Thule Society Lodge in Berlin. This was something I had always assumed, given his adherence to our father's beliefs, although it had never been stated in so many words. The occult in general, and ritual magic in particular, were studied and openly practised in the Reich, but very rarely to the black extremes to which Thule and its adherents would stoop. However, logically, if anyone in Berlin was going to be running a black lodge, it was going to be the Reichsführer- SS. The Kaiser, while a Ritualist, is not quite of that dark a hue. Therefore, Gray's confirmation of Rupert's activities was less of a surprise than it should have been, as was his belief that it was based either at Hradcany Castle or, rather more likely given the model it was based on, the Wewelsburg in Rupert's lands in Bremen.
In response, Gray had established his own group of mages and adepts - informally called the White Lodge - operating independently of the official Magical Oversight Council, under a far older esoteric tradition. As a member of the MOC, this gave me slight cause for concern, given that the Council's purview is to police arcane activity, including black adepts, and make sure summary justice is not served. On the other hand, Gray is and always has been far more steeped in the older esoteric traditions than myself - I am definitely sorcerer first and occultist second - and I had never known him serve anything but the Light.
So while as Councillor there was potential for concern, as his King and friend, it made sense to me that a black lodge specifically reporting to Rupert Delatz would need a specialist group to counter it, and that their activities should not be widely known. So a Hunting Party come white lodge under Gray's control seemed perfectly logical. And counter it they apparently did. Any members of the black lodge they caught were quickly dispatched with neither trial nor ceremony, and their bodies beheaded and burned: summary justice which, while technically illegal, especially under the auspices of the Council, was almost certainly justified. Possibly because of its dubious legal position, he seemed reticent to tell me its make-up, but did finally admit that Andrew was a member, which wasn't particularly comforting.
When I asked Gray about the dagger, after the explanation of his non-authorised arcane activities, he replied that his belief was that it had been given to its former owner when he had first entered full initiation into the Reichsführer-SS's group. Within Thule, such initiation is achieved by the taking of a 'suitable' human life in a ritual setting. In the case of the SS Black Lodge, appropriate candidates included traitors to the Reich, Sable agents, and even people who had fallen out of favour with the Reich's rulers - most specifically, with my counterpart himself. And apparently one of his candidate profiles was known agents of Lord Graham of Oakwood, especially those with magical or occult training.
With some reticence, Gray admitted that more than once he had lost agents that way, on which he justified his actions. I wondered how my friend could be so certain that this was their fate, and was surprised to find out the truth: that the Reichsführer-SS invariably sent a trophy back to Gray to inform him of their demise - usually their finger, often still with mage signet or equivalent attached.
I had always known that Gray - like Andrew - hated my counterpart with a passion, and thoroughly disliked the fact that I tried to maintain civility with him, but until that conversation, I hadn't truly understood why. His revelations made me wonder, as I had increasingly over the previous few months, if my course of action was the right one. Was I appeasing Rupert and condoning his actions by even having contact with him? And yet the alternative, of active hostility between us, was no more comforting, especially in the light of the potential repercussions of the attack I had made against him on Christmas Night.
The dagger in question had belonged to the most recent of the black adepts who had fallen into his hands, an SS officer named Hans Berthold, who had been captured after a campaign of sabotage in the Commonwealth about six months before. Despite his candour in other areas during that conversation, Gray wouldn't go into details about what he had done to Berthold, or had needed to do or sacrifice to be able to use such a weapon, but as he told me the basics of the tit-for-tat battle between his special agents and Rupert's, I could see traces of old pain in his eyes as he remember those who had been lost.
As to why he had used it, he claimed that his intention had been to muddy the waters of any investigation, given that the daggers in question were rare, and to occupy my counterpart in working out which of his own people might have betrayed him. As he spoke, however, I felt uncomfortable because I detected an unusually vindictive streak in the fact that he was willing to potentially damn Annifrid's soul by killing her with that weapon - he could not deny it had been a killing blow, whether or not it had been a successful. His reason, he claimed, was related to the fact that such was the fate of his people who died for the greater glory of Thule, and that he wanted to hurt his enemy. However, when I asked him if he had evidence to believe that Annifrid had been active in the Thule group, and therefore deserved their fate, he chose not to answer.
All in all, it was a very unsettling conversation, and I was still pondering its implications on Epiphany morning. As I had nothing official to do, I dressed relatively informally - in polo shirt and slacks - and attended the morning service Father Howard held in the chapel at 8am, before going to breakfast. After I had eaten, I picked up a pot of coffee and adjourned to my study to catch up on some paperwork. I had just poured a second cup and was waiting for it to cool, when I when I felt the stirring of a Trump call. I began to scan for the identity of the caller, but did not finish as it became quickly apparent who it was.
"Your Majesty," said Rupert, as the link opened, his tone unusually icy and formal even for him.
"Herr Reichsführer," I replied, equally coolly, although I could feel my heartbeat rising as I spoke.
"We should speak. Join me."
It wasn't a request.
"I'll call you back in five minutes," I answered, having no intention of going through the link to him in the mood I suspected he was in, without letting someone in Sable know where I was going.
"See that you do...," he answered, as if he had expected a delay - as presumably he would also have asked for one if I had called him so peremptorily - and broke the link.
Andrew, I realised, would be the worst person to tell. But who would be better? Telling Gray raised its own problems, in light of our conversation, but on the other hand, if someone was going to have to stage a rescue to bring me home, which I considered a distinct possibility, he would be the best one to kick it off. In fact, given that Rupert and I visited each other on alternate months to maintain our hitherto relatively cordial relations, I suspected that the General already had an extraction plan in his filing cabinet for getting me out of Reich hands, being such a deeply trusting soul as far as the Reichsführer-SS was concerned.
I brought a Pattern lens to mind, and then reached out for my counterpart, to get some idea of my destination. A couple of minutes later, as far as I could tell without breaking wards, which I had no intention of doing, I had located him. Hradcany Castle. My day was just getting better and better.
"Robert, what's wrong?" Claire asked, coming into the study, and I realised she must have caught at least some of my emotions from the subconscious link we shared - which thinking about it was probably also how she had realised I was in the nursery on Christmas morning.
"Rupert wants a word," I answered, trying to make light of it.
"He's coming here?" she replied, looking concerned.
"He wants me to go there."
"Don't," she said, firmly, "you don't know what he'll do to you."
"He isn't going to take no for an answer," I replied.
"Make him."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Dammit, Robert," she said, her tone unusually heated, "this isn't a game. He's a wicked, evil man who kills people for personal power. Not some kind of noble savage."
"I know exactly what he is," I snapped, "and I probably know better than you think what drives him, given how easily I could have been him if my father hadn't left me to my own devices. That was the price I had to pay for staying sane...for Sable being constant rather than ripped apart like Amber."
"Then don't go."
"I don't have a choice, Claire. I made my bed when I took Alban...I'm stuck with lying in it. Would you have preferred me to leave the boy in Berlin?"
"We've had that conversation, and you know my answer," she replied, "but as I said then, Delatz is going to want blood. And if he wants you to go to him, it's probably yours he's after. Which actually puts you back to square one, because he'll just make another Alban with it."
I shrugged. "Perhaps it won't come to that. I have to go, Claire, and I have to go now. Please, call Gray and tell him I will be at Hradcany Castle."
I noticed her blanch as I told her my destination. The RSHA headquarters has a reputation as friendly as the Reichsführer's own. However, all she said was: "And Andrew?"
"You know how bad an idea that would be. He'd come screaming into the Reich all guns blazing."
"And you don't think he will if you don't tell him, and he finds out of his own accord? He and Gray do occasionally share information, especially on matters close to both their hearts."
"Then I have to hope that I'm back before he does," I answered.
"Robert..."
"There's nothing else to say," I answered. I took her in my arms and kissed her long and hard, before letting go and stepping back, "I'll be back later, I promise. I love you."
"I love you too," she answered, her voice catching slightly in her throat, "just make sure it isn't in a year. The summer was bad enough."
Wishing there was another way, but knowing there wasn't, I kissed her on the forehead, and then brought Rupert's image to mind.
"Four minutes, forty-seven seconds," he answered, "acceptable."
He extended his hand to me, and I took it and went through the link.
"Claire seems uncomfortable," he said, as I arrived, and I guessed he'd caught sight of her through the link as I came through.
"Do you blame her?" I answered, to which he merely shrugged, before I looked around at my surroundings.
To my surprise, we were in a combat training room: a combined salle/dojo. There were mats on the floor, and groups of hard looking men and women practising unarmed combat, the insignia of the SS on their shirts. Off to one side, I could see a number of lanes marked out for fencing, with other trainees crossing swords. Rupert, too, was wearing a fencing jacket, although his trousers and shoes were dark, as normal. Close by were two men in full uniform - his SS protection detail, rather than trainees - with the insignia of Hauptsturmführeren. The name tags on their uniforms read Stuckart and Radulf, and to my surprise I recognised them as the same men who had been with him in the Lebensborn Centre. Still alive, despite having seen Rupert bested.
My counterpart snapped his fingers, and an older man - the archetypal grizzled old sergeant - came over from where he had been arranging weapons and other equipment.
"Get His Majesty a jacket that fits," he ordered, "something left-handed in my size should be perfect."
"And a mask, Herr Reichsführer?"
"That won't be necessary," he answered, "although we will need the blades in the case I brought down yesterday.
The armourer snapped off a straight-armed salute - at both of us - and hurried to comply with his master's wishes. Rupert gestured to his guards and they stepped back slightly, so they wouldn't immediately hear what we had to say in the noise of the training room.
"I feel that a face-to-face duel with matched weapons is so much more honourable than holding a knife to an unarmed man's throat," he commented, his tone deceptively mild, "wouldn't you agree, Mein Bruder?"
"It's come to that, eh?" I asked, wondering about the nerve of the man to quote honour at me, "assuming, of course, either of us ever counts as truly unarmed."
"Only to first blood," he answered, "no...perhaps better to first significant injury, so the loser remembers how painful it is to be beaten...oh, and no shields, otherwise we'll just be trading blows pointlessly for hours, which while entertaining, really doesn't serve the purpose."
Everything in his tone gave me the impression that he wasn't expecting to lose, a feeling that was reinforced by the 'no shields' clause, and it was obvious that his 'purpose' was to teach me a lesson.
"Why don't you just say what you want to say and have done with it?" I asked.
"Because that really wouldn't match the severity of the original offence," he replied, his tone strangely intense.
The armourer returned carrying an antique wooden case which looked vaguely familiar, although I couldn't remember where I had seen it before; and a fencing jacket, inevitably with an SS crest on the shoulder. He laid the case on the ground, then handed me the jacket, and seeing no alternative, I put it on over my polo shirt. As I did so, the armourer knelt beside the box and snapped the catches open. Inside was a pair of beautiful, matched duelling blades.
"Choose your weapon, Robert," Rupert offered, indicating for the armour to step back and let me look. I couldn't feel any malign feeling coming from the blades, so I lifted one out to take a look. As I held it in my hand, getting the feel for it, I realised where I had seen them before: King's College Cambridge, in July 1720.
"Stewart's blades?" I asked, thinking back to the day I had fought Alexander Vallencourt for Elizabeth's hand, and the fencing master who had acted as armourer on that occasion, "where did you find them?"
"Anything can be found in Shadow if you look for it," he answered, "you know that as well as I."
"I'm surprised they still exist."
"They were in the hands of a private collector who appreciated their aesthetic beauty, rather than their functionality, and therefore kept them in good condition. I gave him a good price for them."
His life? I turned the blade in my hand, noting that the point had been recently sharpened, but could feel nothing untoward about it. Our respective jackets would be next to useless, though, as the blades would cut right through them. To be sure there was no trap, I removed the second blade to check that also, and felt vague impressions of burning pain. Mine. As if some of the psychic residue of my close shave that day and Vallencourt's death still lingered within the weapon. However, the longer I held it, the less I thought it would distract me, and I didn't feel particularly keen on the idea of letting my counterpart use a blade with any kind of psychic link to me. I brought to mind a spell which would confirm that there was nothing else about the blade I should worry about, and after a minute or so - during which he waited patiently, as if none of my actions were unexpected - I was satisfied that it didn't have any further surprises for me.
"This one," I said, stepping back.
"As you wish," he replied, and he took the second blade then gestured towards one of the pistes, where a pair of SS trainees were just saluting at the end of a bout, "shall we?"
I shrugged and fell into step beside him, his bodyguards flanking the pair of us, alert to any trouble I might be thinking of causing. However, being surrounded by SS personnel on their own territory, holding a variety of weapons, went a long way to dissuading me from doing anything stupid. It was a very efficient way of making sure that I couldn't forget just how much of a disadvantage I was at.
As we took our positions, the room went very quiet, and I could see a ring of people assembling around us. Stuckart and Radulf looked ill at ease, ready to move in and take me out if I did anything too permanent to their principal. Then Rupert and I looked at each other and simultaneously brought down our shields - much to the consternation of his guards - and before both coming on guard.
We spent the first few minutes testing each other's defences. Somehow, I had forgotten that he was left handed, as well as I: I'd almost thought that would be mirrored too. What was very apparent to me, though, was that while I was out of practice, Rupert was not. Theoretically our skill at arms is similar, however, he was moving noticeably faster than me on this occasion. I should have realised that he would have left nothing to chance to obtain the effect I suspected he was looking for, and mentally made a note that if I made it out Hradcany alive, I would make sure I spent some time every day with my Master at Arms.
We stepped back a moment, before reengaging with renewed vigour. Rupert made a quick cut towards my left shoulder which I managed to parry and attempted to riposte, but with no success. His blade flicked under mine and he reprised, catching my cheek.
"First blood," I said, as we disengaged, making a conscious effort to alter the welling blood so that it would be of no use to him if he decided to collect it later, as well as healing the wound quickly to limit the loss.
"Yes, but not serious...you know as well as I that it will be healed almost immediately," he replied, "in fact, already is, by the look of it. En garde, Robert."
We came back into position, and I made a quick attack, aiming for his leading thigh. My blade caught the fabric of his uniform trousers, but didn't break skin. In response he tried a cut towards the upper arm of my sword hand while I was off-balance, but I managed to get back into position fast enough to parry his counter-attack.
"Better," he commented, "I was worried that this was going to be too easy."
"I wouldn't want to disappoint you?" I answered, with more bravado than I felt. By now, silence had fallen around the room, and everyone had stopped even pretending not to be watching the fight.
We circled again for a couple of minutes, once more trying each other's defences and looking for a weakness. Then I noticed that he seemed to be dropping his sword arm slightly, and tried to take advantage of the opening. However, as I've said, he was in practice and I was not. I mercifully realised before I was fully committed that he was luring me into a trap, and changed my move such that I ended up passing him on the right, twisting my blade into place to block his and spoil the surprise.
"Nearly...nearly," he admitted, with a chuckle.
I turned back to face him, and came back on guard, knowing that if I was to have any chance, I needed to finish things soon. Bizarrely, I remembered thinking the same thing against Vallencourt centuries before. I advanced quickly, this time aiming for a more straightforward attack towards his right shoulder. As I had expected, he parried easily, but I was expecting his riposte and moved to press home my attack, sidestepping slightly. I mistimed the move, however, and felt the point of his blade rip through jacket and shirt, leaving a glancing graze against the middle of my rib cage on my left side. It bled a little, mainly being soaked up by the jacket, and again was not a serious wound. Again we disengaged, pausing for breath for a moment or two, and once more, I healed the damage.
As we renewed the encounter, I beat him to the first move with a flèche attack at his sword arm, and was finally rewarded with success as I connected with his upper arm. He pulled his own attack, which would probably have connected with my face again, and I could tell that I had finally hurt him. And of course, unlike myself, who does not need to worry about being seen to be tainted, he couldn't reveal himself to be a shapeshifter by healing the injury.
"That was a mistake," he said, coldly, his voice finally losing its earlier sangfroid, and his eyes cold. I took some hope from this, that perhaps anger would cause him to make a slip, but alas, my hopes were in vain. Yes, it began to drive him, but it was icy and calculating, rather than the hot-bloodied fury which can cause you to lose control - my more common reaction to a similar situation.
He launched into a series of strong, rapid attacks which forced me backwards, the crowd of watchers parting as I was driven towards the edge of the salle. I parried desperately, knowing that if I did not I would be finished. But he could see where we were going, while I could not risk taking my eyes from him, and was being unsuccessful at moving round to my advantage. I tried to take another step, but my foot came up against the wall. I attempted to push forward once more, and even managed to press him back a couple of steps, but then he took his opportunity.
I felt his blade bite deeply into my left side, exactly where Vallencourt had injured me on his last suicidal revenge attack after I had won that long-ago duel, to be followed moments later by a fierce pain that took my breath away. I realised that my counterpart had added some kind of arcane element to his attack for this final move - something caustic, which cut into my flesh almost more than the blade and nearly caused me to lose my footing with the pain. My blade fell from my hands, and as he withdrew his he snapped the point up to my neck.
"Do you yield, Robert of Sable?" he asked, looking me in the eyes as I met his gaze. I considered whether I could teleport away from him before he cut my throat with a flick of his wrist, but realised that I couldn't rely on my magic in the enemy's camp, especially given that I had pulled the same trick to avoid my head being blown off on Christmas Night, and therefore it was logical to assume he might be expecting it.
"Do you yield?" he repeated, pressing the blade further until it broke skin - an eerie echo of what I had done to him in the Lebensborn Centre. I reached out my senses to feel how serious the injury in my side was, and realised that whatever he had added to that final stroke - which had to be magical - was interfering with my shapeshift. I wished I was surprised, but I could appreciate the perfect logic of a man who had outlawed shifting having access to the methods to disadvantage its practitioners.
"I yield," I said, finally, trying to keep my voice steady.
He stepped back, saluted, and then called for the armourer to come over. He handed him his blade, and gestured for him to pick mine up from the floor.
"Take them, clean them, put them away, then bring the case to me in my office. Oh, and send up a physician...my guest will be requiring his services."
"Yes, Herr Reichsführer," he answered, saluting again, and then moved quickly away to attend to his master's wishes. By then, the first flush of agony had worn off, and I could stand straight, rather than being bent in pain, noting that my shirt and jacket were stemming the worst of the blood flow. Rupert crossed to me and offered his hand, in a strange parody of the end of a fencing bout. Seeing little option, I took it, to a resounding ground of applause from our watchers - although I guessed mainly for Rupert, rather than me - and our audience began to disperse back to what they had been doing before.
"Stuckart, Radulf. When you're done here, I'll be upstairs. Don't feel you need to disturb me when you arrive, however. Wait out in Marja's office."
"If that is your wish, Herr Reichsführer," Radulf answered, obviously nervous at the idea of his principal being alone in a room with me just then, although our normal once a month meetings were usually unguarded.
"It is. You need not be concerned that I will come to harm in the company of my brother," came my counterpart's answer, to which both bodyguards saluted. Then Rupert turned back to me, his tone almost light, now his victory was complete, "Now, Robert, we talk business."
He rested his hand on my shoulder and teleported us out of the gym to stone-walled corridor. We arrived outside a door, his name and rank picked out in silver gothic letters on the black nameplate beside it, and we stepped into what was obviously his PA's office. Thankfully, she wasn't there. We crossed the room to a second door, which he unlocked and opened, before standing back to let me in first.
I had never entered the lion's den before - our meetings on his territory were normally at Panenske Brezany, his official residence - and was surprised that it was somewhat disorganised. I had expected German precision and tidiness, but instead his office looked well used, eerily like my own back in Sable, and was surprisingly warm. The room itself was quite large - probably 30ft square and 20ft high, with two large gothic windows, through which I could see the centre of Berlin laid out below us: the Imperial Palace, the Great Hall of the Fatherland, and the Reichstag obvious against their surrounding parkland, which was still covered in snow. Hradcany itself is built on a volcanic plug, not unlike Edinburgh Castle on Terra Magica, and I guessed that we were probably on the second floor.
On the right wall of the office a fire was burning in a large fireplace, with two leather armchairs in front of it - again, disturbingly like the arrangement in my own library. The left-hand wall was lined with bookshelves, in front of which, in the middle of the wall, were an antique wooden chair with armrests and a large mahogany desk with a green leather top. In front of the desk were two, rather less imposing chairs. Under the windows were a matched pair of long, dark wooden tables, covered in papers, and there was a drinks cabinet near the fireplace. His uniform jacket hung on a coat rack behind the door.
He removed his fencing jacket, taking a moment to magically repair it and remove the blood stains, and then hung it beside the other. I did likewise, slightly surprised that I could, although perhaps he was being magnanimous in victory, and making sure that no trace of my own blood remained on the one he had lent me. I briefly debated whether to take advantage of his generosity in allowing me to use my magic in an attack against him, but quickly decided that that would be foolish.
Then we turned to face each other: the two most powerful beings in the Sable universe standing in our bloody shirtsleeves, like naughty schoolboys. It was almost funny, and I could see amusement back in his eyes, and a half smile on his lips. Then there was a knock on the door, and the moment was broken.
"Enter," he called, and a man wearing a white doctor's coat came in.
"See to my guest first," he ordered, then turned to me, "I wouldn't want you bleeding on the furniture."
"You're too kind," I answered, thrilled at the idea of receiving medical attention from an SS doctor, but knowing that until I could heal it myself, the injury would need assistance as I could still feel it bleeding, and glad that I had affected things such that they couldn't get useable DNA from the blood.
"If you would remove your shirt, Your Majesty..." he asked with perfect politeness. I did so, noting as I did that the garment was unsalvageable. He began working on the wound, quickly and efficiently, cleaning and binding it within a few minutes. He also cleaned the dried blood from the initial cut to my cheek.
"Feel free to conjure something up," Rupert said, indicating the ruined shirt, as he, in turn rolled up his sleeve to receive the doctor's tender ministrations. I crossed to the fireplace, rendered the original garment into dust which I threw onto the fire, and then acquired myself a replacement, which I put on gratefully. By the time I was done, Rupert was rolling down a now-pristine sleeve, and the doctor was saluting us both and departing. I guessed that under the bandages, my counterpart's injury was already healing.
"And so, to business," he said. He indicated for me to sit in one of the chairs, which I did thankfully, feeling the pain from my side, despite the doctor's attention, then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured us both a glass of The MacAllan, before joining me.
"Wasn't the little charade downstairs business?" I asked, as I accepted the drink.
"No, that was most definitely pleasure," he replied, smiling, then became more serious, "This is business. You kidnapped my son, Robert, and I either want him returned, or I want recompense."
"No, I kidnapped my son," I answered.
"Your genetics and mine are, to all intents and purposes the same, Mein Bruder. Your child is my child. And his mother is one close to my heart."
"Our genetics are different in one significant detail," I answered, "as well you know. Which is why you needed to steal mine to make Alban. He is not of your blood."
I saw him bristle, as he always does at what he considered to be the injustice of his inability to father a child of his own by natural means. I think that single thing is why he is capable of hating me so much when he chooses to, which is thankfully rare.
"There is someone I would have you meet," was all he said in response, however. He got to his feet concentrated for a moment, then extended his hand and a Trump rainbow appeared beside him. I recognised her instantly as the woman I had last seen bleeding on the floor of Alban's hospital room. However, while still beautiful, she looked tired and weak, her face pale.
"Robert, this is Annifrid Ragnarsian," he said, "I don't believe you were formally introduced before your companion stabbed her in the back with every intention of killing her."
She looked down at me coldly, standing stock still.
"Frida, my dear. This is my brother Robert, who stole your child from you."
The hatred I was feeling from her became almost palpable.
"Bastard," she said, finally, and I could hear pain and anger, "I had heard you were called Robert the Good. What is 'good' about stealing a child?"
"Rescuing, not stealing," I replied.
"How can taking something that has never been yours be a rescue?" she asked, "rescue implies you had claim to him. You did not."
"He is my son, too," I answered.
"No, he is Rupert's," she replied.
"No, he is not," I said, firmly, "but surely you know that?"
"I know that my lover asked me to be his mother, and gave him to me," she replied, confirming my guess that she was a willing accomplice, "That makes him ours, not yours."
"I'm afraid I don't work that way," I replied, "I would not leave a child of mine willingly within the Reich."
"You leave Wilhelm," Rupert said, mildly, "and the lovely Wilhelmina. And I believe that our esteemed Party Chairman, Conrad Berthelmes, is yours as well."
"That is different?" I answered, caught out by the argument.
"Why so?"
"They were the projects my father and Osric were working on in the inter-war years on Terra Magica and Earth Prime," I answered, "I did not know of them while they were children, and by the time I learned of them, they were too far gone to save."
"I thought you killed children who were too far gone to save," he answered, his tone almost taunting, "in fact, I distinctly remember you doing so on at least one occasion. Frederich Augustus von Kampe was his name, as I recall."
I felt myself flinch as he spoke, remembering Fritz von Kampe all too well as his life bled away in Nuevo Sangre, and I gave him his final release. All I had been able to do was reincarnate him afterwards, to give his soul another chance. Not one of my prouder moments, and one that had caused me significant anguish.
"Yes, you kill them...," Rupert continued, as if he hadn't seen my reaction, "...or make them Kaiser."
"You understand the logic of that appointment as well as I do," I answered, recovering my composure.
"Of course...one of your blood should rule the reflection of your creation. Of course, I am of your blood as well. More so than a reformed vampire with a human mother."
"And there was I thinking that you enjoyed playing Heinrich Himmler, considering the vigour with which you bury yourself in the part," I answered, but for the first time I felt a nagging doubt about whether he had truly wanted to rule openly, rather than from behind the throne. That, too, he was denied.
"One makes do," he said, with a half-hearted shrug, "and the benefits package is quite excellent, what with the imposing gothic castle, the attraction of power to certain kinds of women, and the unswerving loyalty of a deadly private army. However, returning to the fact that you undeniably do have children here in Berlin, why is poor Alban so different, that you would take him from his mother so he never has the opportunity of a happy family upbringing?"
"A happy family upbringing?" I asked, incredulous.
"Of course. One mother, one father, both devoted to him," came the prompt reply, "like a normal child. Is that so hard for you to understand? Hmm, no...actually, it probably is given that our own childhood could not have been more different to that."
I looked at him, trying not to let my surprise show on my face. Genuine paternal instincts? He really must be serious about Annifrid if he was willing to weaken himself in that way. In the past he had preferred to let it be known that even his own 'children' weren't safe for him, to further his reputation as a man to be feared. Bizarrely, he reminded me of a schoolboy in the grip of his first serious crush.
"Why is taking him and having him brought up by nurses, with the occasional parental visit if you deign to make one, better than that?"
"That's unfair, Rupert, and you know it," I protested.
"Really...?" he asked, his tone reflecting the fact that he believed me not at all, "Robert, taking him was a base act, and you know it. I'm just surprised that you can live with your holier than thou self over it. Or perhaps you don't, and you spend your evenings begging forgiveness from the Powers that Be to expiate you of your sin. What's funny about it, is that is exactly how father treated Jasra: blood does breed true, and you are Delwin's son as much as hers, however distasteful you find that."
"I don't find it distasteful. He and I merely disagree on issues of belief and policy, "I answered, "and it is beside the point. Alban is my son, and he will be brought up as such. I refuse to leave him here."
"How dare you!" Annifrid suddenly shouted, moving towards me with surprising rapidity, and I felt a ringing blow on my cheek as she slapped me. The injury to my side slowed me as I got to my feet. "You are a kidnapper and a coward."
"And you are overwrought," I answered, catching her wrist and meeting her gaze, refusing to feel sympathy for her. She stared at me for a couple of seconds, and then cast her eyes aside. I released her hand, and as I did I could see tears welling.
"Rupert told me that you had stolen a child from its mother before, and I could not believe it. But now I realise it was true," she said, sobbing, although whether with anger or sadness it wasn't clear.
"You've been with my brother how long, Ms Ragnarsian? Five years? Six? Have you not realised yet that not everything he says is true?"
"Ah, you're calling me a liar because I told her about William and Annabel?" Rupert interjected, his tone one of amused calm, "I'll be interested to see how you can describe that little episode in other terms."
"I didn't steal William. That was all done legally, through the courts."
"Who would not have denied you. And yet you still made sure that Terra Magica was running so fast, that even if Annabel had returned, her son would be a grown man by the time she saw him again."
"Dammit, it wasn't William I was protecting by doing that, it was Michael, as well you know. And anyway, that's not the issue here."
"But whether intended or not, it was the effect," he answered, shaking his head slightly, "Robert, Robert everyone thinks you're so perfect. If only they knew the truth..."
"I've never claimed to be perfect."
"No. No you have not," he conceded, "and you proved it again on Christmas Night."
He crossed to Annifrid and gently draped his arms over her shoulders, kissing her on the temple.
"You had probably better get some rest, my dear. You look tired."
"Get my son back for me, Rupert," she said, quietly and urgently, "or make this bastard pay." Then she kissed him in return, and made her way to the door, and once more I appreciated that this was a side of Rupert I had previously only glanced in the Lebensborn Centre: genuine concern for his lover. He watched her go, and after she had left, he sat once more, indicating for me to do the same. He picked up his glass and swirling the spirit inside it.
"So what to do," he said, still staring at the glass.
"You know I won't give him back."
"I do."
"And you know that if you try to take him, I will oppose you personally."
"Indeed. Which in itself might be entertaining, although I suspect you're currently smarting as much from your defeat downstairs as I was a few days ago."
"Come to Sable in anger, and you know I'll have no qualms about sending you away to regenerate."
"That, Mein Bruder, is the reason why I will not do it. Not for every tear and smile that Annifrid will use to try to persuade me," he answered, looking at me, his moment of weakness overcome, "I have no intention of leaving you to your own devices for a year. My only regret is that your recent convalescence was so short."
"I aim to please as far as you're concerned, Rupert," I answered, wryly, however, his rejoinder was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Enter," he commanded, and Radulf opened the door to let the armourer I had seen earlier enter, once more carrying the weapons case containing the duelling blades. He looked at us and saluted, although I noted that Radulf kept the door open, and remained in a position where he could keep track of the new arrival.
"Herr Reichsführer, you asked me to return the weapons to you once they were clean."
"Yes, thank you Oberscharführer Keitel. Put them on one of the tables under the window, then take the jackets from behind the door for cleaning, and that will be all for today."
"Of course, Herr Reichsführer," he answered, moving to comply and aware that his master was observing him. Less than a minute later he left, Radulf closed the door and Rupert returned his attention to me.
"Forgive that brief intrusion," he said, taking a drink from his glass, "So, what will you offer me in compensation for your transgression, Robert?"
"I do not owe you compensation."
"Oh, but you do. You see, you crossed a line on Christmas Night. Neither you nor I have ever acted against the other's family in the other's back yard before."
"Incorrect. It is not so very long ago that Andreas attempted to kidnap Cerian from Sable City."
"There are two factors which should be noted in that instance. One, he did that without my authorisation. If he had told me what he was planning to do, I would have dissuaded him."
"You're telling me you couldn't control your protégé?"
"Can you truly control Andrew anymore? He is as much of a butcher as I am when it comes to his treatment of prisoners of war - SS prisoners, anyway." A pause, then he added "But I see that worries you, as well."
Which, of course, it did, not least because Andrew continued to refuse to discuss what had brought about the change in him. He had never been a butcher before his first wife died, but his hatred of everything Reich now bordered on the fanatical, and I was well aware of the lengths he had occasionally gone to since his return from obscurity.
"Returning to the argument, One, Andreas was working without authorisation. And Two, he did not physically step into your territory. Not once. And yet you not only acted against my family, you did it personally and directly."
"Who else could have got to Alban but me?"
"Who else indeed," he answered, "I am still puzzling the identities of your companions, by the way. I presume one of them was a traitor in my camp. The other...perhaps I should ask you to tell me, as part of the compensation package."
"I will not betray my people."
"We shall see. Robert, there are reasons why neither of us get directly involved - you've given me that lecture in the past.. Between us we could destroy untold people and materiel: I destroy a city, you eradicate a command post. Tit for tat, and where do we stop? I believe the Earth Prime term was Mutually Assured Destruction. Our exchange of energy weapons a few years back reinforced that. Or alternatively, we could wage a continual war to seize each other's kin, and soon none of us would be left save you and me, and Andrew and Andreas. What a cheerful bridge four that would make."
"Were it not for the Death Curses."
"Were it not, indeed, for the Curses. You are the one who has always tried to keep this relationship civilised, and I play along, for the reasons mentioned above: I may have different views to you, but I am not mad and see the logic of it. I also appreciate that there are times when it is in our interests to work together as individuals...or perhaps, more accurately, two sides of the same individual. But, you crossed the line."
"I would argue that if a line was crossed, it was when you created Alban," I countered.
"That was taking advantage of a situation which was presented to me...something you have done yourself on occasion. You will never truly understand how difficult it is for me to watch you and your happy family, knowing that I have no easy recourse to building my own."
"That is nothing I could have changed," I answered, noting that he was actually upset, although he was hiding it.
"No. But do not blame me when I try to affect the odds," he answered, clamping down on his emotions to become businesslike once more. "Compensation. Agree compensation, and I will stop this here."
"Won't Annifrid be disappointed that you aren't insisting on Alban's return?"
"She'll be devastated," he answered, his tone reflecting the sympathy he felt for her - or trying to make me feel guilty, which was equally possible, "and I doubt she will ever forgive you for what you have done. However, perhaps in time we will be able to create another child, and that may ease her hurt."
"What do you suggest?"
"Information, or territory here and/or on Earth Prime would be acceptable."
"Earth Prime?"
"Yes, you care little for holding land on place, while I am actively interested in becoming involved there. I would also like the identity of one of your companions from Christmas Night."
"One of?"
"Yes...my guess is that one was an ally, maybe even a friend, and one was an agent. You choose which one to identify to me."
"No."
"Rivers of blood, Robert. Would that be preferable?"
"Let's discuss territory first, and it may not come to that. I thought you had title to New Zealand."
"Perhaps in the distant past. However, the various openings and closings you have performed on Sable mean that I have lost touch with that place, and it is other hands now. Hence a desire for an alternative."
"I presume you have a specific place in mind," I answered, "and from the news reports around the time I was injured, I am guessing Byzantium, rather than any of the other de Lacy lands."
"Germany and England would always be my preferences. However, I don't choose to supplant brother Karl, and I know that you would fight my laying claim to your daughter's land. Why did you never rule there?"
"My fealty was to the Windsors. And Andrew and William both felt the same in their time."
"But then you did not acknowledge your greater right to rule, despite the fact that it would have been more appropriate to your Cornelian blood. I imagine Basile surprised you when he broke from the tradition."
I shrugged. "I chose my path, and he chose his."
"And you never choose your children's paths," he answered, with a trace of sarcasm as he reminded me of what had happened with Uriel, "however, let's not start another fight today."
"No. Let's not. I'm still hurting from the last one," I answered, the pain duller now, but still there, "You want Byzantium. I can agree to that. What else?"
"How many Shadows are there in the Commonwealth?" he asked, in reply.
"A little over thirty," guessing in advance what was coming next. The Reich's equivalent - Der Aussenhandel der Reichsverband - had been limited since the creation of Sable, given the difficulties linking back into Magica Superior from three veils out. As such, a Jewel was needed to extend it, and he did not have one. I took a drink from my glass and watched him, waiting for him to continue.
"While there are a mere twenty attached to the lands where I have influence," he answers, "I should like that extended."
"By how many worlds?"
"I was thinking three. A modest number, you will admit."
I pondered for a moment, weighing up the pros of us not going to war with each other, against the cons of increasing the resources available to the Reich. Even if I agreed, Sable owned considerably more of Shadow than her enemies, and would continue to do so, and the Commonwealth also had options to grow. It was worth the risk.
"Acceptable," I answered, finally.
"Which merely leaves the information I requested."
"As I have said, I will not give you that. On the basis of your guess, why would I betray either an ally or an agent? After all, neither of us believes that you will just take the information and file it away. You will take your revenge on that person, in lieu of me, and I will not let you do that."
"Rivers of blood..."
"Five Shadows, rather than three," I answered, "no information."
He was silent, sipping from his glass - much as I had moments earlier - while he considered the proposal.
"Alright," he replied, finally, "five Shadows and I will waive the information."
"And you will not come after Alban."
"And I will not come after Alban," he repeated, although I could see that it was hard for him to do so, "on the condition that you will guarantee to treat the boy properly, rather than leave him in the care of nurses."
As I had every intention of looking after Alban anyway, I nodded. Then I downed my drink and pushed myself to my feet.
"Is there anything else?"
"No, I think that is it for now," he answered, also finishing his whisky and rising. Then he offered his hand. "Byzantium, five Shadows and I will leave Alban with you with the condition stated."
I took his hand and shook it.
"Agreed."
"And you will be in touch within the month to organise the expansion of the Aussenhandel Zone."
"I will. Otherwise I'm sure you'll find a way to make life difficult for me."
Rupert chuckled. "We know each other well, Mein Bruder.
"Perhaps too well," I answered, "am I free to go now?"
"Of course. I have said what I wished to say, and I think we have found an amicable solution."
My hand went involuntarily to my side, and looked at him. "I would dispute amicable, but we have a solution."
"I believe it will be my turn to visit you in Sable next time we take tea," he answered, with a smile, "I shall look forward to it."
"I will be in touch. May I Trump from here?"
"I will allow that. However, before you go, I have something for you."
He crossed to the table and lifted the weapons case, then brought it back and passed it to me, handle first.
"Why...?"
"Why not? They will remind you of the business we have transacted today."
"How very kind of you," I answered, although I could hear the sarcasm in my tone, and I'm sure he could.
"I aim to please, as far as you're concerned, Robert," he answered, with a click of his heels and a bob of his head, "until we meet again, Mein Bruder."
I brought Claire's image to mind, and after a few moments she replied. As she recognised me, I saw relief on her features.
"Are you done?" she asked.
"Bring me through," I answered, and with a final nod to Rupert I joined my wife. She was in music room, having just risen from the piano stool, where I imagine she'd been playing grand piano which dominated the room. As I arrived, she kissed me and then looked curiously at the case as I rested laid it on the stool.
"Let me check this over before we go much further - to make sure he hasn't left me a surprise," I said, and began to concentrate. However, while I was able to give Rupert's present a clean bill of health by all the measures I could check, I realised as I concluded my examination that I was dog tired and in pain.
"Are you alright?" Claire asked, concern on her face, and then she must have caught my thoughts, "...no, you're hurt. What did that swine do to you? And why are your shields down?"
"I believe he thought he was teaching me a lesson," I answered, "a rather painful one."
"You. Infirmary. Now."
"Claire..."
"Now, Robert," she ordered, and she took me by the shoulder and used the Logrus to transfer us upstairs instantly. Malcolm Carlisle looked up in surprise as we arrived in front of his desk.
"Your Majesties."
"Malcolm, I'd like you to take a look at my idiot husband."
"Ah..." he said, and I could almost see his heart sink, "my favourite patient. What seems to be the trouble, Robert."
"I was stabbed," I answered, "duelling rapier."
"That isn't normally a problem for you...sprays of machine gun bullets aside," Malcolm replied.
"There's something in the wound stopping me shifting," I replied, and I saw Claire's eyes narrow in annoyance, "yes, again...it's becoming a habit."
"You failed to mention that," she said, her tone frosty.
"You didn't give me time," I retorted, "okay, Malcolm. I promise I'll be good. I'd rather know what it is than make trouble."
"Glad to hear it," he answered, and indicated for me to take off my shirt and then sit down. Then he set to work undoing the dressings the SS doctor had applied.
"Nothing untoward about those, I trust," I commented, indicating the pile of discarded bandages.
"Not that I can tell - it's been well treated, actually."
"Reich efficiency. What can I say?"
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised, but didn't ask the obvious question. Instead he took a number of blood and tissue samples from around the wound, before looking at Claire.
"Can you shift this?" he asked, and I felt her cool hands over the wound. She concentrated for several minutes, but I could tell she was having no effect, and finally she shook her head.
"No. Whatever was on the blade - I assume it was on the blade Robert..."
"I think it was a spell," I answered.
"A null field, then?"
"I didn't have the opportunity to check that before." I shrugged and gave it a try, then waited as she tried once more to heal it. This time she had a little more effect, although the process was still being inhibited.
"Whatever it was, it's temporarily affected off your ability to shift in the area of the wound," she diagnosed.
"What about the rest of me."
"Try."
I concentrated on my right hand, first opening, then closing a small cut, and it seemed to behave fine.
"Localised, I'd say," Malcolm answered, "I'll re-dress the wound, and then get those samples analysed to see if we can't nullify the problem. However, I'm going to insist you stay in here overnight for observation."
"Makes sense," I conceded, and leaned back to let them work. Between them they took but a few minutes, before helping me into one of the infirmary beds. Once they were done, Claire seemed somewhat relieved.
"You realise that Gray's going to have your guts for garters when he hears about this," she commented, although her tone was lighter than it had been, "was it worth it?"
I paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I think it was. As long we both keep our sides of the bargain, then the matter is closed and Alban will be staying here with us."
"I hope you didn't give away the family silver for the sake of that child," she answered, but her expression had softened.
"I don't believe so," I replied, "but I suppose time alone will tell."
"Will he keep his side of the bargain?"
"He knows what will happen if he does not," I answered, "and the one thing we did agree on, was that for the sake of both Sable and the Reich, we could not let that happen."
She looked at me, then nodded, before turning back to Malcolm.
"Look after him. I'll be back later."
"Always, Claire," he answered.
Then she bent to kiss me, before flashing a dazzling smile at the doctor, and departing, leaving me to doze and let myself recover.