Sable Palace/Hradcany Castle
July SY152
The tradition of taking tea once a month with Rupert Delatz is probably the single thing I do on a regular basis which my family and Gray disapprove of most heartily. He comes to Sable on the first day of the even numbered months, and in return, I visit him at Panenske Brezany on the first day of the odd numbered months - normally excepting January, given that it is New Year's day, when we sometimes reschedule, but more often give each other a month off.
Admittedly, things between us had been more strained than usual between us since the events of Christmas and Epiphany, but we had maintained the tradition as the year had passed. More than anything else, though, I had been relieved that he hadn't decided to gate-crash Dominic's wedding on Midsummer's Day: and I hoped the same would be the case for the marriage of another granddaughter of mine, in mid-July. The likelihood of a visitation for the latter is not helped by the fact that by her own admission she feels sorry for him and wants to try to redeem him – and won't listen to why that will never happen.
On the morning of July 1st, however, I was sitting in my office when I heard a knock at the door.
"Yes?" I called, and the door opened to reveal Gray standing on the doorstep, with what looked like a newspaper in his hand.
"I assume you're off to see Bloody Rupert this afternoon," he said to me, as he came in.
"As always...you don't normally come to castigate me on the subject every first of the month, though."
"I'm not castigating you now," he answered, sitting down, "but before you go, there's something you should see." And he threw a newspaper onto the desk in front of me.
"You do so love giving me bad news," I commented, as I unfolded it, and was surprised to see which one it was.
"Die Welt?" I asked, scanning the front page (my German, like my French, being more than competent for obvious reasons), which bore a banner headline concerning Andrew's recent alleged perfidy on the world of Canchester, where he had been trying to put down an Einsatzgruppen incursion, "has Strasse written something he shouldn't have?"
Heinrich Strasse was one of the crosses we had to bear in Sable, being the former accredited journalist from the august Reich publication I was now perusing to the Kingdom of Sable. Actually, to be fair, he could have been a lot worse, because at least his reporting was usually accurate, if somewhat slanted, unlike that of Amadeus Heider, the rather less accurate representative of Das Tag, the other Fatherland national newspaper. We were yet to discover how Strasse's replacement, Erich Stuke, was going to handle reporting.
"Not Strasse this time," Gray answered, "I was particularly interested in Court and Social, on page 25."
"You're kidding?"
"I'm really not, Robert," he replied.
"You read the Reich Court and Social section?"
"As an intelligence officer, I never know where the next piece of interesting information is going to come from," he answered, and I could see a trace of a smile on his lips.
"Don't I employ analysts to do that for you?"
"And they read most of it, but I generally cast an eye over both Die Welt and Das Tag every morning."
I looked at him and chuckled.
"I bet their subscription department loves that one....General Lord Graham of Oakwood, Bridge House, Sable City."
"They're delivered to our Embassy in Berlin," he answered, lightly. "Captain Harkness then passes them through to me so I can read them over my morning coffee, as it were," he continued.
Harkness was a young man I'd only met in passing – a formal naval officer, now drafted into the Royal Guard - but I knew that he was one of Gray's agents within the Sable Embassy in Berlin, and was well regarded by his employer.
"Your morning coffee?"
"Metaphorically, at least. Robert, I'm serious. Read the damn paper."
I put up my hands in a gesture of surrender, and opened Die Welt at page 25. The top half of the page was taken up with public announcements regarding the wedding of Crown Prince Johan, which was to be held on September 21st. That was going to be an interesting family event I would have to attend, given that the groom was my grandson. I was still figuring out the security arrangements for it.
Below that on the left was an article regarding the Graf von Klieburg, a young Waffen-SS officer who was one of the youngest titleholders among the Reich's Higher Nobility, and had just been appointed ReichsMagus. The ReichsMagieren are the thirteen unfortunate individuals who supposedly served the same function within the Reich as the Sable Magical Oversight Committee...except for the small problem that the main people they need to enforce against are untouchable, notably Rupert and the Wewelsburg Black Lodge. The rest of the page was taken up by small snippets of information usually found in the Court and Social section of newspapers across the multiverse: births, marriages, deaths, etc.
I studied the picture which accompanied the article, and noted with interest that von Klieburg's features had a distinct family cast to them.
"Von Klieburg?"
"An interesting young man, by all accounts. Excellent mage. Waffen-SS rising star. Highly decorated. Probably related, but I haven't figured out how yet. But actually not what I wanted to bring your attention on this particular occasion," Gray answered, "are you being obtuse on purpose, or haven't you had your third coffee yet today? Bottom right hand side."
I looked at the empty coffee cup on my desk, and then looked back at the paper. And then I saw what he was referring to. It was maybe three column inches, in the section pertaining to titleholders within the nobility and their heirs and successors, and there was no accompanying picture. It concerned an Imperial Council confirmation of status.
The Imperial Council is Kaiser Wilhelm's council of most trusted advisors - and Rupert Delatz - who have the right to overturn any legislation which the Reichstag wishes to pass. However, it is also the body which confirms or otherwise changes of status among the Reich nobility: both the senior and junior classes thereof. If a child is born into a noble family, confirmation of their eligibility to be entered into the family succession is obtained from the Imperial Council. Most of the time it's merely a formality, although occasionally the judgement is less clear cut. The article Gray was pointing out to me was definitely of the latter kind.
"The Imperial Council has passed judgement on the status of Stefan and Berthold Delatz (fraternal twins), children of the Herzog von Bremen and Annifrid Ragnarsian, a woman decreed to be of royal blood in the land of her birth, and therefore a suitable mother for children of the Higher Nobility. It is understood that in a closed session of the Council, the Herzog von Bremen pleaded that these two young men be considered legitimate, citing precedent regarding children born within the Lebensborn Eingetragener Verein and other extenuating factors, despite the irregular nature of his relationship with the said Annifrid Ragnarsian.
He was asked to leave the chamber while the issue was deliberated, but after some discussion, the Imperial Council declared itself to have been convinced by the Herzog von Bremen's argument, albeit stating openly that they consider this to be a unique case, and that it will not be considered a precedent for the future. From this day forth, therefore, Stefan, son of Rupert, is acknowledged as Erbherzog von Bremen, legitimate son and heir of the Herzog von Bremen, and he and his brother are accorded all the rights and privileges due sons of the Uradel. This Judgement is made in the Imperial Council on 30th June, RY152."
I read the article twice and then looked up at Gray.
"What do you know about Stefan and Berthold Delatz?" I asked.
"Pretty much what's in the paper," he answered, "I haven't had word of them from any of my agents in Berlin. What little public information there is, is that the boys arrived on the scene within the last month, since when Delatz has been trying to get them confirmed by the Council. Harkness is trying to get pictures for me, although he has to be careful with how he operates. Activities incompatible with his position, and all that. However, he commented this morning that while he is drawing a complete blank on the photographs, Bloody Rupert is apparently a very happy man today."
"I bet he bloody is," I answered, rereading the article again.
"Your taking this better than I expected, Robert. You do understand what it means?"
"I'm really hoping that it means that they aren't his...I certainly didn't get the impression from him at Epiphany that he could make another Alban...although they probably are hers. Hence, I imagine, the irregularity of the relationship."
"Or it means he's found another way of achieving what he tried at Christmas," Gray replied, his expression serious.
"Believe me, I've been pretty damned careful not to bleed anywhere in his vicinity this year," I answered, half amused, half annoyed.
"You came back from Hradcany at Epiphany with a puncture wound."
"Yes, but I'd shifted the blood to be useless to him," I answered, "Gray, this is all speculation. But if there is any truth to it, I imagine he'll gloat about it this afternoon, and maybe he'll be unusually expansive about how he managed it."
"If you can believe a single word he says."
"Depends on the subject," I replied, "I've developed quite a decent Delatz bullshit filter over the years."
"I wish you'd bloody well use it then," he countered, but then shrugged, still, "I guess that's your business, not mine."
"I appreciate the information...at least now, if he doesn't bring the subject up, I know to raise it."
With that he nodded and got to his feet.
"Let me know what he says."
"Of course," I answered, "and who knows, if he's feeling generous, I might be able to get you those pictures of Stefan and Berthold."
"I'll talk to you later," he replied and headed out, leaving me the paper to consider.
* * * * * *
Four o'clock is the appointed time, and on the dot I brought my brother's Trump to mind. He answered almost instantly, and the moment the link opened, I could sense that he was feeling frighteningly contented.
"Guten Tag, Mein Bruder," he said, with a smile, and offered me his hand. I took it and stepped through the link, to arrive in the formal gardens of Panenske Brezany. The summer sun was bright overhead, and the scent from the flowers and the sound of bees humming assailed me as I went through.
"The weather was so pleasant today, I thought we could take tea outside for a change."
"You're in a good mood, Rupert," I commented. He looked fit and tanned, and seemed almost unnaturally relaxed - an impression added to by the fact that he was dressed in a short-sleeved linen shirt and dark cotton casual trousers, and looked about as off-duty as I had ever seen him. If I hadn't know better, I'd have said that he'd just come back from a long holiday.
"Today is a good day," he answered, and gestured towards a table on which champagne was cooling in a bucket. He snapped his fingers and a servant hurried over and poured two glasses, handing one to my brother and the other to me.
"So what's the occasion?"
"Honestly, Robert. Playing ignorant never did suit you," he answered, chinking his glass to mine. "Prost!"
Too surprised to do anything else, I matched the toast and then took a sip. It was even good champagne, and I savoured it a moment before swallowing.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he said, finally.
"Last time you said that you brought through Annifrid and that really didn't go too well," I commented.
"The young lady was overwrought at the time, with due reason," he answered, "although now she has regained her former bonhomie. After all, it has been some time since she saw you. Still, I wasn't planning on reintroducing you today."
"Then who?"
"My son and heir. Who else?" he replied.
"Given your physiology, a son and heir is the last thing I would have expected," I answered.
"All things can be worked around," came the answer, without even a trace of annoyance, which I would have expected to feel from him, "given time and knowledge. Even if it's just a once in a lifetime occasion."
"That can't be worked around," I argued, but he just shrugged and didn't reply. Instead, he downed the first glass of champagne and indicated for me to do the same.
"Let's take a walk."
I feel into step beside him as he led me through the formal gardens, all beautifully kept, the hedges and borders trimmed and straightened with Teutonic precision, and I found myself admiring the setting. Behind us, the lines of the stone-built house was softened by Virginia creeper and clematis, plus the remains of wisteria which had gone over for the year. It was an almost surreal experience, with nothing to indicate to me that I wasn't walking through the grounds of an English country house. I'd been in the grounds of Panenske Brezany before, but somehow today it felt different to usual. More a home than merely a place of residence, as it had always seemed before.
"This is different," I commented to Rupert.
"You would not believe," came his answer, and I saw that he was well satisfied with himself.
We turned the corner and headed towards what looked like a tennis court, and I could hear young male voices, obviously engaged in a spirited game. We walked up to the fence and watched for a few minutes, before heading for the gate onto the court. As we stepped onto the hard surface, a tennis ball bounced to a stop beside our feet. Rupert bent and picked it up, throwing it to the young man nearest to us in one fluid movement. As the latter caught it and noticed us, I saw a wary expression come over his features. The other player saw his reaction, and then turned towards us, and I found myself meeting a pair of green and undeniably de Lacy eyes, which held mine for a moment and then moved onto my companion.
"Father?" he asked, and began walking in our direction, curiosity on his handsome face.
He was in his late teens, and about my height, although he still had the slightly skinny build of a teenager. He wore his suitably Aryan blond hair cut longer on the top and short to the sides, and had soft features which reminded me of Annifrid's, from the one time I had really seen her. His brother had an inch or so less height and was more heavily built, with his hair cut short and spiky. His eyes were blue and his features were harsher, more like his father's - if Rupert really was his father.
"I'd like you both to meet someone," he said, and they looked at him with interest, "this is your uncle... Robert of Sable. Robert, allow me to introduce you to my elder son, Stefan..." he indicated the longer-haired one, "...and his younger brother Berthold."
First Stefan and then Berthold offered me their hands, which I duly shook. The afternoon wasn't getting any less surreal. I noted that Berthold's grip was slightly firmer than his elder brother's, and less welcoming, while behind Stefan's eyes I detected a keen intelligence which was less obvious in the younger twin, in whom I saw more what I would describe as cunning.
"Uncle Robert," Stefan said, after a moment, and gave a slight smile, "I'm pleased to meet you at last. Father has talked of you while we've been growing up."
"I suspect none of it was good," I answered.
"On the contrary," the boy replied, with a dutiful nod to Rupert, "he has always spoken of you with the greatest respect, and given myself and my brother to understand that you are a man to be reckoned with. A formidable opponent. Although it must be said that mother was less than complimentary about you."
I gave a weak smile, a little surprised at his words. If nothing else, Stefan Delatz had impeccable manners.
"Somehow, I wouldn't have expected her to be," I answered, "she and I did not get on, the one occasion that we met."
Then I glanced at Berthold. His body language seemed more hostile, and he didn't have the easy grace of his brother. He did manage to avoid looking actually sullen, but it was a close run thing.
"I'm delighted to meet you both," I said finally, and then glanced at Rupert, "perhaps we should leave them to continue their game in peace."
"Of course," he replied, then turned to the tennis players, "see you for dinner?"
"Yes, sir," they answered, almost together and not quite clicking their heels in salute.
"Until then," he answered, and the turned to me. "The champagne awaits."
We turned and headed back towards the table where I had first come through, and as we did, I could hear the game restarting behind us.
"I'm surprised you introduced them to me," I commented as we walked.
"Better this way than you try to effect your own introduction," he replied, "and now you can give a full report to General Graham, who I'm sure is dying of curiosity about today's news article."
"Touché," I replied, with a wry smile, "aren't you afraid I'm going to kidnap them out from under you? "
"I would hope that after your last effort, you'd be a bit more circumspect about a repeat performance," he answered, perhaps the slightest trace of hostility underlying his tone, although his body language hardly changed, and he quickly relaxed again, "however, you were persuaded to do it last time, when you believed you had the right. This way, I'm hoping you will not be persuaded to do it again, by convincing you that you do not have that right. Of course, I doubt I can stop you drawing Trumps of them, but that's the risk I take in being sociable. Perhaps, for once, I'm offering you a confidence. It's up to you if you abuse it."
"No pressure, then?" I said, my tone ironic.
"None at all," he replied, amicably, although there was a hardness in his eyes that left me in no doubt as to his displeasure should I break his trust.
We got back to the table and made ourselves comfortable. On it were set a plate of cakes and sandwiches, and two bowls of strawberries and cream.
"So what is different this time?" I asked, as he refilled the champagne glasses and indicated for me to take what I wished from the spread, "how did you manage this?"
He paused a moment, then smiled.
"Father has been spending time at the Wewelsburg."
That got my attention.
"Delwin's been in the Reich?" I asked, "and you didn't think to tell me...?"
"What would it have served?" he answered, "you and he have never got on all that well."
"I always thought we got on well enough, all things considered, as long we avoided the subject of politics," I answered, "the same is true of me and Sand."
"You remind him too much of Jasra, I think. Whereas as he and I have got to know each other, we've realised that we have a great deal in common," he answered, his tone slightly smug. Given their similarities in interests and arcane skills, I should have realised. Maybe the fact that I do still care for my father, albeit that he isn't the easiest man to like, even when he is sane, had blinded me to that. Rupert continued.
"My feeling is that he enjoys having a son who he can discuss politics with. Who he can discuss a mutual interest in ritual magic with. Who he can share books with. All those areas he knows it would upset you - or anger you - to speak with him about. He may be insane at times, but he's still Cornelian...still a politician. He knows when to speak and when to keep his peace ...and he knows a strong ally when he sees one. Thus the subject of my parental predicament came up in the conversation, and he agreed to see if there was anything he could do to assist."
"A futile task," I commented, "given that it is a fundamental part of the process of manifesting a dark side."
"Different side," he corrected, automatically, "for you and I...and believe me, I've tried...yes. But he has skills, abilities and knowledge that put both of us to shame. Especially in the areas of genetics, ritual and the combination thereof. I sometimes forget that, and I imagine you do as well. We're good at what we do, both of us. But he's been playing the game far, far longer than either of us, and we could both learn from him."
"Hence his and Osric's meddling in the affairs of various members of the family over the years."
"And the fact that you and brother Karl had more offspring when you were younger than either of you probably realised, and not always by purely natural means," he replied.
"That one's always been a sore subject. I've never appreciated being part of a breeding programme." I commented.
"And yet you don't deny what happened, especially during the 1920s."
"No, I don't deny it," I answered, "there's no way I can. I just don't have to like it."
He looked at me and nodded.
"Fair," he said after a moment.
"So..."
"So he got to thinking, and he came up with some unique and interesting ideas, in a way only he can, being half crazy most of the time, using a variety of arcane and mundane methods."
"And one of them bore fruit, it would seem."
"Indeed. He engineered a situation which would allow Frida and myself to achieve what we wanted... what you took from us when you removed Alban. Children of both of us."
"What a charming picture that conjures up," I commented, less than impressed at father's dedication, "so, is the Reich soon going to be overrun by little Delatzes? I assume you can duplicate the effect he achieved."
He paused a moment, and the self-satisfied expression left his features. Then he shook his head.
"To do so is beyond me," he answered, and I saw regret on his face. The admission startled me: it was the first time he had ever acknowledged that there was something of an arcane nature that he could not do.
"You weren't involved in devising his solution," I asked.
"To a point," came the reply, "but as I said, he has methods which are beyond what you and I can do. I understand there was also a unique combination of circumstances and portents involved when the necessary rituals and spells were undertaken...for example, the return of Harbinger at the Gate..."
I recognised the name Raibeart of Argent had given the comet which burned in Sable's skies in the earliest days of its existence
"...plus," he continued, "being the subject of it, along with Frida, rather than the director, I would not be able to recreate it as I couldn't exactly observe the process."
I looked at him, as he lapsed into silence, rolling his champagne glass between his hands. Necessary rituals? That he would voluntarily allow himself to be subject to anyone else's magic, especially one of dubious sanity and morals such as our father, brought home to me in a way I had never realised before that his desire for descendants had been a desperate obsession, rather than just a longstanding desire borne of a perceived sense of injustice at what I had done to create him. For probably the first time, I felt sympathy for him over his inability to achieve that which I took for granted, rather than being relieved that it was not possible.
Then he rallied. He took a drink from his glass and looked at me, and I saw him force a smile.
"So no, Mein Bruder. The Reich is not going to be overrun by little Delatzes. You need not fear on that count. Although hopefully, in time, there will at least be grandchildren."
"Why should I believe any of this?" I asked, finally.
"I wouldn't expect you to, especially from me, without careful consideration," he replied, "however, you can always ask father. I'm sure he'll even go into details, if you wish to hear them, although I rather fancy you would not approve. He always did enjoy boasting of his brilliance, and you never did appreciate what he could do."
That was God's honest truth, even if nothing else was. However, rather despite myself, I actually found myself believing my brother.
"The comet was only in the skies a few months ago. Stefan and Berthold are what...sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Fast time is a wonderful thing," he answered, "we have been staying at an estate I have in Shadow, which is very well suited for the purpose. You and Claire should do something similar with Alban, especially if you intend to honour your agreement to treat him properly."
There wasn't even a trace of irony in his tone as he said it. Perhaps the ghost of Christmas past had finally been laid to rest between us.
"I'll bear it in mind," I replied, and saw him nod.
"What I require from you is a guarantee. That you will treat my sons with the respect due to them as my children...your nephews. That neither you, nor Andrew, nor any others of your family will act directly against them or harm them except in the normal course of the war. That we can return to the previous status quo, where neither of us goes out of their way to damage each other's kin...in which for my part, as always, I include the Kaiser and his family, plus Conrad and his."
I looked at him and nodded.
"Agreed. I will launch no personal attacks against them, and will advise Andrew and the others accordingly."
"Then once again we have achieved civilised," he said, looking at me and returning my nod. Then he lifted his glass.
"A new understanding..." he offered, and I touched his glass with mine.
"Or a return to the old one," I answered, then added a comment I would never have expected to say to him, "it would seem congratulations are in order."
He looked at me and smiled.
"Danke, Mein Bruder," he replied, and shortly afterwards we had drained our glasses.