The King's Isle and Elsewhere
Late-May SY153
The dossier Gray had sent me on Monday morning made grim reading.
It was May 21st, just under three weeks after the Working with Rupert and Andrew to exclude Andreas Delatz and the Machine from Magica Superior and the twenty Shadow veils around it (with reduced influence in the next five). A couple of days afterwards, the Imperial Council had met in emergency session, and had ruled that Andreas should be stripped of his ranks and titles within the Reich, as he had been found guilty of treason against the Fatherland.
Give him his due, Rupert had moved fast on that one.
Since that day, Gray's people had not found hide nor hair of the Master of the Machine, and it seemed as if he had gone to ground, most likely back at his power base. Noting this, Andrew had taken a leave of absence to return to the Technocracy and make sure that his counterpart wasn't making mischief down there. He didn't give any indication of when he would return, but at least he agreed to stay in contact, in case he was needed. However, given how long it had taken him to sort things out after the last time Andreas had got uppity, I fully supported his decision to return home.
Then, Monday morning, I walked into my office to find the dossier.
Its subject was Jürgen Kessler. Lebensborn. Career soldier. Black Knight. Andreas's predecessor as head of the SD. And most recently Rupert's Chief Enforcer. The man my brother sent in to clean up the mess after anyone upset him.
In earlier discussions with Gray, my intelligence chief had put him in on the same level as Andreas and Rupert himself as far as ruthlessness, total amorality and threat level towards Sable were concerned. He had even compared him to the original Butcher of Prague in terms of efficiency, competence and attitude.
The dossier described a long and bloody career, which had begun about twenty years after Sable came into existence, suggesting he'd been born relatively soon after Creation. Gray's assessment was that he had to be Family, although he was still trying to figure out whose. As I studied the 8"x10" photo, though, and remembered the man himself from Rupert's wedding, my best guess was that he was related to Conrad Berthelmes. Which could well make him Rikart Schultz's brother.
As for his most recent atrocity, in his capacity as Rupert's hit man, he was the prime suspect in the sinking of the HMS Endurance a few months before, causing many casualties, in retaliation for the actions of my grandson, Alexander Gibson, in assisting the defection of a well-known Reich figure, the journalist Heinrich Strasse.
And as of that morning, he was the new general commanding the Waffen-SS.
Matthias Kapler, Andreas's predecessor, had at least had a shred of humanity and mercy to him. He was married, had a family, and from the reports I was hearing, was actually enjoying being off the front lines in his new position as Reichsprotektor of Sanguine.
Andreas. Well, I probably don't need to go into a discussion of his humanity or lack thereof.
And now Kessler. If his dossier was anything to go by, he would likely bring his breed of 'justice' and efficiency to the Waffen-SS, which would make the military wing of Rupert's private army even more of a force to be reckoned with currently.
Even though I was confident of William's and Francis's abilities as leaders of Sable's forces, I had to admit to myself that it was a Hell of a time for Andrew to take a sabbatical. He may not be the best general in Sable's forces, but he is the best at using the Waffen-SS's own tactics against them, and that expertise was going to be missed. Still, we'd cope without him. We had before.
I closed the folder and put it aside, then poured myself a coffee and downed it in one. I was sure Gray would come by later to go through it in person, but I doubted anything he could say would make it any better. Heck, it would probably make it worse. And with that cheerful thought in mind, I bent my attention to considering the proposed arrangements for my upcoming State visit to Caulder and Cadel.
My reverie was interrupted a few minutes later by the phone ringing, and a call was put through to me from Simon Ellis: an old friend and Master of SMC.
"Morning, Robert."
We were well beyond the formality of 'Your Majesty', what with he and his wife having been Dominic's foster parents, and our work over the years on the Magical Oversight Committee. Still, if anything he sounded slightly worried.
"What can I do for you, Simon?"
"Is Alban alright?"
The question caught me slightly by surprise.
"I haven't heard that he isn't. But surely he's with you?"
My youngest son had gone up to SMC at the beginning of the calendar year – Claire and I having tutored him on what he would have missed in his first term - and had opted to live in, rather than commute every day from the Palace. He hadn't even accepted a guard detail, arguing that he would be fine surrounded by mages, and given that SMC had some of the best defences in Sable City, and moreover that he'd really stick out among his fellow students if he did take one.
We had thought long and hard about letting him live away from home, but in the end decided that if we denied him the experience of full student-hood, he'd probably hate us forever. And given we'd had our difficulties with him in the last few months...not least because he'd started making a point of stressing that Claire wasn't his mother, even though she had been the one to bring him up, so why should he do anything she asked...well, in the end we'd agreed to let him go in the hope that it would help him grow out of his teenage phase.
"That's just it," Simon answered, "he didn't show up for lectures this morning."
"He's a student. It happens," I answered, remembering my own occasional morning absences from college, especially if I'd been out drinking the night before, "we may not like it, but it's a fact of life."
"Normally, I'd agree. But I'm worried that this is different. Until about three weeks ago, he hadn't missed a single lecture, and was the model student. Then he started skipping the occasional one and his tutors commented that his attitude had got worse. More difficult. And this last couple of days he's missed more than he's got to...I've had the stewards check his rooms, but he isn't there."
"When was he last seen?" I asked, beginning to fear the worst, given the events which had brought him into my life.
"Yesterday evening. Apparently he was in the Old Mutt with another youngster, although the students who saw them didn't recognise his companion as being enrolled at the college. A couple of his tutorial group asked if he and his friend wanted to join them, but they declined, and left shortly afterwards."
"Have you told the police?"
"Not yet. I wanted to speak with you first – I know you have ways and means of finding people, which are probably more efficient, and certainly more likely to get a result quickly. And as you say, it may be nothing"
"Thanks for letting me know," I said, trying to sound more calm than I felt," and tell me if you hear anything?"
"I will. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."
"No matter, Simon. I'll talk to you later."
"Goodbye for now, Robert," came the answer and he hung up the phone.
I didn't like any of the options which came to mind as I pondered possibilities. And I was left wondering who his companion might have been the previous evening.
The first thing to try was his Trump. Sure, it might be nothing and he'd resent my interference, but I'd rather that, than not try and discover that he had been locked away and was unable to escape, and that my call might have freed him. Andrew's experiences were still way too fresh in my mind for that. So I brought his card to mind, and began to concentrate. To be met by a Trump block. I pushed a little harder, trying to figure out if it was one he was putting up, or if it was involuntarily, and came to the conclusion it was the former. Maybe that was a good thing, but I really wanted to know why.
I pushed a little harder – not wanting to hurt him, but trying to give him some indication of the urgency I felt, and after a few moments, the link formed.
"I'm busy!" he said, angrily.
"Doing what?"
"None of your damn business," he snapped.
"Of course it's my business, Alban," I replied, more sharply than I'd intended, "a) I'm your father, and b) you should be at college."
"Stop being a bloody fascist, and leave me alone," he answered, and putting all his mental strength into it, he broke the link. I was sufficiently surprised at his rebellion that he managed to close the connection, leaving me staring at a piece of pasteboard with his picture on.
I debated trying to re-establish the connection, but decided that doing so wouldn't make anything better, and might actually hurt him if he tried too hard to block, which seemed highly likely. What I actually needed to do was find out where he was, and then go and speak to him in person. Try to explain that I was worried about him. After all, he wasn't Shadow capable yet, so how far away could he be?
I brought a Pattern lens to mind and using his Trump as a focus, I started seeking out for him. I quickly ascertained that he wasn't in Sable City. And then I realised he wasn't in Sable at all. He wasn't even on Magica Superior. Beginning to get worried again, I concentrated harder, and soon my lens had reached out beyond the Commonwealth, until it finally homed in on him somewhere in the Fifth Veil, rather too close to one of the Aussenhandel blocs for my liking.
He was riding. Or probably more accurate, he was racing. He and a companion were galloping across an area of scrubland, apparently with no care for the risk that their horses might come to some accident. I recognised his mount as Eliane, a favourite grey mare of mine from the Royal stables. Neither the other rider nor his horse were familiar to me at the distance I was observing them. Running beside them, I saw a couple of German Shepherds which were obviously beginning to flag. His companion was about twenty yards ahead of him, and Alban was pushing his own mount hard, obviously determined not to let him get away.
Watching the inevitable was rather like watching a slow motion train crash. I saw Eliane trip as her foot went down a rabbit hole, and her leg snapped. Then my son flew over her head, crashed to the ground and lay still. I probably cried out as I saw it. I certainly felt myself panicking, and triggered a Pattern jump to get to him as quickly as I could. Moments later, I was kneeling beside him in the rough grass. Over to one side, the injured mare was struggling to get up, and ahead of us, his companion had finally realised something was wrong and pulled up his own animal.
Alban was breathing, thank God, albeit somewhat raggedly, and he looked like he'd cracked his head on one of the many rocks which strewed the area. For a moment I was taken back three hundred years to a late summer day when Andrew had nearly died under very similar circumstances. However, that was then, this was now, and I forced myself back to the present. Nearby, Eliane's whinnies of pain were pitiful to hear, and I threw a sleep spell in her direction, which caused her to crumple onto her side. I'd see if there was anything that could be done for her later.
First, though, I had to help my son. Yes, I was furious with him, but he still needed my assistance.
"Is he alright?" came a voice from behind me, and I realised that it was speaking German. Startled, I turned, and found myself looking into the exceedingly worried face of...Stefan Delatz. Brother Rupert's son and heir. The non sequitur stopped me dead for a few seconds.
"Uncle Robert, is my brother alright?" he repeated, quietly, in accented English this time, in case I hadn't understood his original question.
"I don't know yet, Stefan," I answered, "give me a chance to check." And I turned back to my son to see how bad the damage was.
There was a cut and bruising on the back of his head where he'd landed, his collar bone was cracked, and there was a good chance he had a concussion. However, his spine was okay, and there were no signs that he was bleeding internally, although I did check the area around the head wound very thoroughly to make sure he hadn't given himself a sub-dural haematoma. I brought up my magical senses, and settled down to deal with that wound. Soon, his breathing became easier, and after twenty minutes or so, I knew he'd be okay. He'd just have a headache for a couple of hours.
The collar bone, on the other hand could wait, I decided. Indeed, having to wait for it to heal – albeit his shapeshifting would deal with it quicker than a normal person of his age – might teach him a lesson. So for now, I just conjured up a sling for it, put it in place to immobilise the injury, and cast a spell on him to relieve his pain. I also acquired a blanket and laid it over him to keep him warm once the shock kicked in. When I was done, I got slowly to my feet, confident that he'd be fine, but still more than a little annoyed at both his recklessness and his lack of care for the animal under his charge.
"Keep an eye on him," I told Stefan, who had been waiting patiently as I'd worked, seated nearby, holding the reins of the other horse, which was grazing peacefully, "he should be fine now...I'll be just over there. And don't either of you dare go anywhere if he wakes up...we need to talk."
"Yes, Uncle Robert," he answered, his tone subdued, and I walked over to where Eliane was lying.
Her foreleg was broken, but it seemed like a clean break, and while I've never claimed to be an expert in veterinary medicine, I do at least know the theory. So I set about seeing what I could do for the poor creature, managed to get the bone set and started it healing. Then I left her lying, to give the healing time to work, and returned to where the boys were.
Alban's eyes were open, and he was sitting up, wrapped in the blanket, although he looked pale. But as he saw me, I heard a large gulp, and he looked decidedly sheepish.
"Hi Dad," he said, quietly, "how much trouble am I in?"
"That depends on whether you have a good excuse for this morning," I replied, walking over to join them and perching on a rock beside them. I could hear my own annoyance in my voice, and so could they, "I thought I'd taught you better than to be so careless when riding. Do you have the slightest idea how lucky you are?"
"I don't feel lucky."
"Oh trust me, it would have been a lot worse if I hadn't seen you fall," I answered.
"How did you...?"
"Chancellor Ellis called me to tell me you weren't in class. So I was worried, and decided to look for you," I replied, then added, more harshly, "oh, and by the way, don't you EVER call me a bloody fascist again."
"I'm sorry, Dad," he said, looking suitably chastened, "I was out of order."
"Yes you were, Alban," I replied, levelly.
He sighed, then looked across at the fallen mare, "Is Eliane okay?"
"I don't think she'll need to be put down, if that's what you mean," I replied, "but it's fifty-fifty whether she'll ever be strong enough again to be a riding horse, or whether I'm going to have to put her out to grass."
"I'm sorry, Dad," he repeated, as if he wasn't sure what else to say, although at least he looked like the apology was genuine, "I know she's one of your favourites."
"So why did you take her?" I replied, trying to calm down, rather than continue to show my anger, "you haven't grown out of Belle yet."
"Stefan asked me to go riding with him, and said I ought to bring a mount who was used to Shadow shifting, which Belle isn't. I didn't think you'd mind."
"You were wrong," I answered, and he looked chastened, "but that does bring me to my next questions...exactly what are you doing here, Stefan? And does your father have the slightest idea where you are?"
"No, he doesn't," Stefan answered, "I'm running away."
"And you think MY reaction to the pair of you playing truant was bad?"
This time they both looked sheepish, and I sighed.
"How did you meet up?"
"Stefan Trumped me," Alban answered, which surprised me.
"And exactly how did you get Alban's Trump, Stefan?"
"Mother gave it to me," he replied.
"And..."
"I think Berthold gave it to her."
"Berthold?"
"He can draw them," Stefan answered, which surprised me even more, "father taught him. People at least."
"What the Hell did Rupert think he was doing?" I said, thinking aloud, "seventeen is bloody young to be taught how to draw Trumps. They can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing with them."
"I don't know, sir," came the answer, "but then, I don't understand half of what father teaches and shows Berthold. He certainly doesn't do the same for me."
He didn't even seem petulant as he said it. He seemed to be telling the honest truth and it obviously upset him. He fell quiet for a few moments, then he looked up at me and shrugged. "I guess I haven't lived up to his expectations."
"I'm sure that isn't true, Stefan," I said, trying to be reassuring. Given the hoops I guessed Rupert had gone through for Stefan and Berthold to come into existence at all, I would have expected him to be proud of his children. Or at least supportive of them. Unless, of course, his apparent new ability to care about someone other than himself was still in the development phase: Stefan certainly didn't seem at all similar to his father in personality, and maybe that had meant that Rupert had lost interest in him.
"Yes it is," he replied, certainty in his voice, "Do you have the slightest idea how difficult it is to live up to the expectations of being the Reichsführer-SS's child?"
"I can make some guesses."
Alban was sitting quietly listening, and from his expression, I got the impression he could make more than guesses, but he said nothing. He just let Stefan continue, remaining silently supportive as the latter talked, despite the fact that he was almost certainly in still in pain, even with the analgesic spell. Breaks are like that. But how long had they known each other?
"And can you guess how it feels to know you're failing to do it?" he added, "Berthold's the one who's the super sportsman. He's a platoon leader in the Reichsjugend, as well as being the best at sports at school. And he's going to miss out going to college and go straight to Bad Toelz. Father is very proud of him. Thinks he's the perfect son."
The last was said with more venom than I would have thought possible for a youth talking about his brother, and it shocked me somewhat.
"And you?"
He shrugged. "I'm just the other one. Definitely second place in his affections."
"You're his heir, Stefan."
"Technically. But I'm sure he wishes we'd been born the other way around. He says I remind him too much of you."
I looked at him, not sure what to say. In fact, I wasn't sure there was anything I could say.
"I want to go to Mage School, Uncle Robert."
"I can't think of any reason why your father wouldn't let you do that. When he mentioned it to me before your parents' wedding, he seemed pleased enough."
"He would. From what I've worked out of your relationship, I don't think he'd want to let you, of all people, know that he and I have problems. But in truth, he'd rather I was a good little Citizen, learned my Party catechism by heart and did my State Service, then went into the forces and studied magic at the Schule Haus later, before dying heroically so he didn't have to worry about me any more and he could concentrate on giving Berthold everything. But I don't want to."
"He wants to come to SMC with me," Alban said, dropping a bombshell I really didn't see coming.
"Oh boy," I said, quietly.
They both looked at me expectantly, obviously waiting for me to say something, but once again, I wasn't sure what to say. Unless something was really wrong in their relationship, Rupert would never let his son and heir come to SMC in a million years. I decided I'd need to think about that one.
"Alban," I asked, moving my attention to him, "when did you meet Berthold so he could draw your Trump?"
"I went to stay with them at Panenske Whatchamathingy..."
"Brezany," Stefan supplied.
"...three weekends ago.".
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"You would have been pissed."
Of course, he was right, and I couldn't deny it.
"Mother said you would be. She said you'd threatened to make sure I never got to meet her. Never got to find out who she was."
And I knew he wasn't talking about Claire. He was talking about Annifrid.
"How did she get in contact with you?"
"She wrote to me at college. Enclosed her own Trump card and an invitation."
"Did she say why?"
"Why do you think?" he snapped, showing some of his teenaged cussedness again, "she wanted me to see her. To meet my brothers. Why didn't you tell me I had brothers?"
"You've got a lot of brothers."
"You know what I mean," he answered, sulkily, "apart from Thomas, it's not exactly as if they're my age, is it? Hell, Andrew is almost as ancient as you are."
"I'm not that ancient."
"You're older than the world I live in. That's pretty ancient..."
Thinking about it, that was actually probably a pretty good description of ancient, at least to a seventeen year old, so I almost couldn't argue with it.
"...And Thomas isn't really interested in me or what I do."
It's true. Thomas was a strange child in many ways. Very bright, but well aware of it, and always trying to push boundaries. But then, I never have felt that I know him as well as I should, which is quite a failing on my part as a father.
"So you went."
"And Berthold drew our Trumps so we could keep in contact," Stefan supplied.
"But he isn't here with you?"
"We didn't get on," Alban said, quietly, "he's much too interested in trophies and prizes and pleasing Uncle Rupert. And he called me a stinking Sable traitor to my face."
"And if he knew I was here, he'd probably rat me out to the Gestapo," Stefan added.
Frighteningly, from what he was saying about Berthold being the golden boy, he was probably right. He obviously seemed to believe it.
"Stefan. When we first met, you and your brother seemed to be getting on pretty well."
"That was nearly a year ago, Uncle Robert. He's changed since then. He's too busy kissing up to father."
"So the pair of you decided to do what? Get together on a weekday and play truant?"
"Technically, I'm not sure you can play truant from college," Alban commented, sarcastically, but he deflated somewhat when I fixed him with a hard stare.
"Why?" I said, finally.
"Because I wanted to get away," Stefan answered, "I can't face going back."
"So what...you were going to stay here forever?"
"I was going to head into Shadow and get lost," he replied, "that's what father wants me to do, after all. Get lost and never come back. And so I told Alban, and he said he'd ride with me for a bit. Make sure I got safely to where I was going. And then I'd hide there until I was old enough to come to SMC."
He looked so miserable that I wanted to comfort him. Show him that somebody cared. But somehow it didn't seem appropriate.
"Head into Shadow how?"
"The Pattern, of course," Alban snapped, "at least Uncle Rupert's let him walk it. You haven't let me."
"Alban, you're only seventeen. You're too young."
"I'm always too young, eh Dad?" he said, bitterly, "That's your answer to everything."
"Because it happens to be true," I answered, quietly, "I've never thought any of my family were old enough to walk the Pattern until they'd at least come of age."
"That's another four years. And obviously it isn't that difficult."
Stefan looked at him and shook his head.
"It was hard, Alban. Very hard. Although it's about the only thing I've managed to do better than Berthold. He nearly didn't make it."
"Neither did your niece Mer," I added, "it is dangerous enough to kill you if you misstep, Alban. And you must never forget that when it does come to your time to walk it. Stefan, when did he take you to it?"
"On my seventeenth birthday. Last September. A couple of months after we first met you."
What in Earth was Rupert thinking?
If I was feeling generous, I would have thought it was because he wanted the best for his children and he didn't know any better. However, if I was feeling more cynical, I'd put it down to the fact that by making them walk the Black Pattern, he had bound their souls to himself and his beliefs. After all, over the years, my studies had led me to the unavoidable conclusion that the Sable Pattern itself imbued its initiates with the views and beliefs of the world it had created, as long as it was the first version of the Pattern that they walked. Then, unless they walked one of the other Terra Magica-design Patterns within a year of their first initiation to the Black Pattern – rather less in many cases, depending on their inherent strength of will - that person would be forever part of the Reich and its system, and a wholly dedicated servant of Rupert's cause. That, ultimately, had been the reason why we'd had to help Strasse defect in rather a hurry, a few months before.
And I wasn't fool enough to think that my brother hadn't come to the same conclusion: the fact that several of Andrew's Lebensborn children now held high rank within Rupert's organisation, and were members of the Black Lodge, was proof enough of that. Still, at least Stefan wasn't too far gone as yet – although it sounded as if Berthold was. Although if I tried to stave off the obvious, then Rupert would know instantly, and there was a good chance he'd go ballistic.
Assuming, of course, he cared enough about Stefan to notice.
"Well, neither of you can stay here," I said, finally, "Alban. You are going head straight back to college and make your apologies to your tutors."
"What about Stefan?"
"I'll think of something," I replied, with a sigh, "I usually do."
"Yes Dad," he answered, then added, "um...how...?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Trump deck, sorting through it for Ellis's card, which I handed to him.
"You're sending me to the Principal's office?" he said, in disbelief, and I chuckled.
"I suppose I am," I answered, "although I expect he'll then send you straight to the college infirmary. Now go. I'll sort things out here."
We got to our feet, and then he gave his sibling a (one armed) brotherly hug. I noticed that Stefan returned it in kind, being careful not to hurt Alban in the process. How had they become so fond of each other on such short acquaintance? I suppose sometimes these things happen.
"He'll figure something out," Alban quietly to Stefan, which got a weak smile in return, "you'll see."
And without further argument, he concentrated on Ellis's Trump. He made contact, and with a final glance at his brother, he disappeared, leaving me with Stefan, the dogs and the horses. My nephew looked at me, nervously.
"What now, Uncle Robert?"
"What indeed," I answered, "well, first I need to get Eliane home. Then, we'll see."
I crossed to the mare, and gently woke her. Then, very carefully, I encouraged her to stand, and was gratified to see that she could at least put some weight on the wounded leg. I gestured for Stefan to join me, and he called over the dogs and put them on their leads. Then I opened a Trump gate to the Royal stables and we went through.
Stuart Briscoe came over immediately he saw me, and I handed Eliane into his care, explaining the situation. He solemnly took her and led her gently over to a stall, where he could get a proper vet to look at her. I also indicated for Stefan to temporarily surrender his mount to the care of my grooms, and then teleported him and the dogs to my favourite spot on the King's Isle, by the lake. I sat down under a tree and indicated for him to do the same, then conjured up a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses, poured and handed him one of them, taking the other myself.
"How serious were you when you said you didn't want to go back?" I asked.
"I really meant it, Uncle Robert," he replied, quietly, "and...and...dammit, it probably doesn't make sense."
"Try me."
"I woke up this morning with such a feeling...that if I didn't escape soon, I'd be trapped there forever."
"But why do you feel trapped? It's your home."
"I don't know," he answered, strongly, "I just do. It's like I don't belong there."
"But Rupert and Annifrid are your parents."
"I know...but it's all wrong, somehow. I feel I should be somewhere else. Even Sable seems more...right."
"How long have you felt like this?"
"Since I walked the Pattern. And it's been building over the last few months, getting worse." He paused, then shrugged, "maybe father's realised this and that's why he hates me. That and the fact that I haven't been well quite a bit, so I'm obviously weak. Not the proper Aryan specimen."
"I'm sure he doesn't hate you...trust me, teenagers throughout the centuries have felt that their parents hated them. But it's very rarely ever true. Give it time and you'll realise that."
But he shook his head.
"No. I know he does. And if you ask him, I think he'll tell you the same thing."
"Do you want me to talk to him?" I asked.
He shrugged again.
"I don't know, Uncle Robert. Maybe you can help me understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why it's become so much worse since I walked the Pattern. I can almost trace father's growing dislike of me, and Berthold's obsession for pleasing him, to that event. It's like he realised something that day, and it's been gnawing at him ever since, and that whatever it is about me, Berthold doesn't have it, so father loves him more."
"You said you hadn't been well. Is that new since you initiated as well?"
He nodded. "I seem to get a lot of fevers now and aches. I never did when I was a child. Might it be because I've discovered I can shape shift? Which of course doesn't help either."
"That ought to have the opposite effect," I answered, "It's very rare for a shifter to get sick, unless it's something like Chaos cancer, and I'm pretty sure you don't have that. Will you let me take a look at you with the Pattern? If the timing is that specific, I might be able to figure out what happened."
He looked at me, then nodded.
"If you think it'll help."
"It might give me some idea of where to start looking. Just relax. This won't hurt," I answered, and I brought the Pattern to mind, then gently took a look at him.
Sure enough, the Black Pattern was part of him, as is usually the case with initiation to a power. But as I studied it more closely, it was obvious that something about him was stopping it fully assimilating him. As if his very being was resisting it. Inimical to it. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd have said that his genetics weren't compatible with it...discounting the possibility only because it would have killed him if that were the case, not let him finish walking it. Rejection of the initiation would explain the fevers and aches, but I'd never heard of it happening before.
Beyond puzzled and definitely heading towards baffled, I tried to home in on what the problem was, bringing my skill in magic and genetics into the picture. And found the very last thing I was expecting.
Dark side markers.
That part of Rupert's genetics which made him different from me. Tied him to the dark side of my creation. Made it impossible for him to father children without test tubes, rituals and our father's help. And yet they were subtly different. As if Stefan was the counterpart of a different entity. I analysed the phenomenon further, and as I did, I became pretty convinced that if something didn't change, his Black Pattern imprint would ultimately destroy him, not assimilate him. His ill health was the first symptom of the rejection.
"Uncle Robert, are you okay? What's wrong?"
"This doesn't make any sense. I don't suppose you have anything of Berthold's with you...no, why would you have?"
"I could go and get something...Trump back home and borrow something. But why would it help?"
"I'd like to confirm something," I answered, "and some kind of physical connection to the subject of a spell, like hair or blood, always makes such things easier. But it's also fair to say that the connection can be a threat if the mage casting the spells doesn't have care for the SMOC code of conduct. So, it would be useful for me to have something of him, but you need to decide if you trust me enough to put that kind of weapon against your brother into my hands."
He considered for a few moments then nodded.
"I trust you, Uncle Robert. Nothing I have heard about you gives me any concern that you're anything but the most principled of mages."
"Thank you," I answered, more than a little surprised at his words given who had brought him up, "in that case, I'd suggest that you open a Trump link with me as soon as you get back to Panenske Brezany, and then I can keep it open so that if you meet anyone you don't want to, I can bring you back to me. It's either that or I need to talk to your father. Heck, I might end up having to do that anyway."
He looked at me for a moment then nodded again, and got a picture of Rupert's country house out of his pocket. I handed him my own card – I figured my brother wouldn't have given him one – which he took, and then he concentrated on the place Trump and disappeared. Moments later he called me back and opened the link.
"Give me a few minutes," he answered, and for the first time, he actually seemed to have some life in him. As if the thrill of sneaking around his own home had invigorated him somewhat.
"I'll be here."
He nodded, and then started making his way to his brother's rooms, trying to keep out of the way of any servants or guards who might see him, and about ten minutes later, he was standing by what was presumably his brother's door. He turned the handle and went in, obviously relieved that it wasn't locked.
"What should I get?" he asked.
"Does he have a brush or comb which might have some of his hair on it?"
He looked around and saw a comb over on the dresser.
"Okay, pass it through. I'll take what I need, and then give it back to you, so he doesn't notice that it's missing."
He nodded and did as he was bid, and I collected the samples (Berthold's hair was militarily short nowadays, I noticed) and placed them in a silk handkerchief. Then I handed him back the comb, which he replaced, and extended my hand to him. He took it, and rejoined me back on the King's Isle.
"So what now?"
"We go inside to my lab," I answered, and leaving the dogs behind us, off the lead but corralled within a defensive ward I put up for the purpose, I transported us both to the area where I generally work if I'm researching. "Be careful not to touch anything...except maybe the books. I might be a little while. The samples are only small, so it could take me some time to find what I'm looking for."
He looked a little worried...perhaps concerned that I was going to do something to his brother remotely after all. But he didn't argue. Instead he wandered over to the shelves where I keep the books I use in research, while I set to work.
It took a while. Quite a while. But as I studied Berthold's genetics, I realised just what was at the root of Stefan's troubles. His brother didn't have the dark side marker: the DNA was perfectly normal. It was also identical to Stefan's in every other way. In exactly the way mine is to Rupert's. The conclusion was staggering, but there wasn't another one I could come to. Stefan Delatz was Berthold's dark side.
And yet the personality was completely wrong. Stefan seemed so...normal. Rational. Decent, even. Until it occurred to me that from the way Stefan had been describing his brother, to Rupert, Berthold would be the bastion of Light. It would certainly explain why my counterpart felt that his son and heir was too much like me: because by his nature, that's exactly what he was. As Sable is to the Reich...
Moreover, if the matter of Stefan's Pattern imprint wasn't sorted out... Yes, I'd walked the Black Pattern, but only once and I'd walked the others since, and so it was in balance within me. But it wasn't in him. It was warring against his very nature, and I needed to get him to at least one of the others – probably the Primal on Terra Magica, as the strongest counter influence – or it would kill him.
I glanced over at him, to see that he was browsing through one of the books, his expression both horrified and fascinated. He looked up at me as he realised I was watching him, and closed the book, and I saw that it was one of the volumes of the Danzig notes: the research into power, pain and channelling that Rupert had undertaken with Joscelin Berthelmes.
"Does my father really do this kind of thing?" he asked, quietly.
"I'm afraid he does," I replied, and very carefully he placed the book back on the shelf.
"He's not a very nice person, is he?"
"He is what he is, Stefan," I answered, "and buried deep inside he does have the occasional redeeming feature. But nice...no, I doubt I'd ever describe him as that."
"Have you figured out what's wrong with me?"
"I have. But I am going to need to speak to your father, I'm afraid."
"Why? Because of what you've discovered?"
And I nodded. "Let me finish up here, Stefan, and then we can head upstairs again."
He seemed unsure, but he didn't gainsay me. So I slipped the notebook with my findings in it into my pocket, tidied the lab – including destroying all DNA traces he had collected from his brother – and then we returned to the lakeside. The dogs came over as soon as they saw him, and greeted him with a profusion of wet tongues and barking. Then he sat down on a rock, the dogs beside him, and settled down to wait in the warm May sun.
"I don't want to see him, Uncle Robert," he said as he stared out over the lake
"You may have to," I answered, "he's not going to accept what I tell him without wanting to confirm it for himself. So he will likely come back with me to do that."
He looked at me, sighed, and then nodded slightly.
"I understand."
"I'll try to make it as painless as possible for you," I replied, and I brought Rupert's Trump to mind.
"Robert," he said, with surprise. He was in his office in Hradcany Castle, sitting in his uniform shirt sleeves, jacket presumably on the coat rack behind the door, and there was a pile of paperwork in front of him.
"Can we talk?" I asked.
"I'm a little busy right now," he answered, "you know, death warrants to sign. People to arrest. Small nations to bring under the jack boot."
"Not funny," I retorted.
"It wasn't meant to be," he replied, meeting my eyes with a look of pure innocence, challenging me to argue. Then he gave a wry smile and put down the papers he was holding, "but you're obviously not going away, so what do you want?"
"I need to talk to you about Stefan."
"Wait," he said, holding up a hand, and I heard him call to whichever Honour Guard was standing outside his door. I knew he felt he needed to make a point, but this was getting tiring.
"Rupert, you might not want anyone else listening to this conversation. It's going to get personal."
"We shall see," he answered, extending his hand, "join me."
And I took it and without thinking through the consequences, stepped through to his office. As I looked around, I noted that today's lucky Honour Guard was a woman. One I hadn't seen before. The badge on her uniform said Torres.
"So, Mein Bruder. Talk."
"How much do you know about Stefan and Berthold?"
"That's a bloody stupid question," he replied, "they're my sons. Or are you about to claim them for your own, the way you did Alban."
His stance was suddenly tense, hostile, and rather belatedly I remembered just how much of a sore spot any threat to his children was. It didn't change what I had to say, though.
"You're not going to like this, Rupert, and I'm not sure of the best way to tell you, so I might as well just come out with it. Stefan needs to walk the Terra Magica Pattern, and he needs to do it soon."
"Over my dead body, Mein Bruder," he answered, icily, and his hand moved subconsciously towards the holster at his belt.
"It's not your dead body I'm worried about. It's his. The Black Pattern is killing him."
I wasn't even exaggerating.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in anger.
"Come on. You have to know..."
"Know what?" he replied, his voice cold and dead.
"About Stefan and Berthold."
"Brother, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. So talk, or so help me I'll have you shot where you stand..."
And he gestured for Torres to move around to where she had a better line of sight on me.
"I'm really not sure you want me to tell you this in company," I commented, "this is personal...private."
"Stop bullshitting and talk," he said, the tension rising. He was like a coiled spring.
"When the boys were conceived, either you or Delwin made a mistake. One or both of you forgot to account for something pretty important, and if it isn't fixed, Stefan is going to die," I repeated, "Rupert, would you please ask Hauptsturmführer Torres to put the gun down and leave, and let me explain."
"Explain standing right there, brother dear," he answered.
"Stefan's genetics aren't compatible with the Black Pattern."
"Impossible," he answered, "he's my son. It's my Pattern. He's walked it. How could they not be?"
"Because you missed something vital."
"I doubt that, Robert. We covered every base. This sounds desperate even for you."
"Every base except one. The very nature of your being, Rupert. The genetic difference between you and me."
"We overcame it. That was the whole point of the exercise."
"I'm not referring to the side effect. I'm referring to your basic nature. It's your dominant genetic trait. And you've passed it on."
His suspicion and anger were palpable, and off to the side I could see Torres ready, just waiting for an excuse. The Honour Guard had all seemed a little trigger happy since Andrew had attacked their principal.
"I still don't know what the fuck you're talking about. And if you don't explain in the next five seconds, Torres will shoot you. Five...four..."
"Stefan and Berthold are the same entity."
He stopped dead and looked at me incredulous.
"Meaning..."
"Meaning their genetic relationship to each other is the same as yours and mind. Part and counterpart. Dark and light."
"That's ridiculous."
"No, it isn't. Please, will you let me explain my theory before Torres here does something rather rash."
He looked at me for a moment, then gestured for the woman to leave us. However, before I could breathe that much of a sigh of relief, his own pistol was in his hand, and he was gesturing for me to sit down on one of the chairs by the fireplace.
"Rupert, can you stop being melodramatic for just a few minutes?" I asked, exasperated.
"I don't take threats to my family lightly, Robert. I thought I'd made that perfectly clear when I first introduced them to you."
"It isn't a threat. It's God's honest truth."
"Don't bring God into this, either," he retorted. He perched on the arm of the chair opposite me, pistol still drawn and pointed at me, and gestured for me to continue, "Talk, and talk fast."
"Okay. Some of this I know empirically, and some is conjecture from what I've guessed you and father had to do to give you the option of having children."
He looked at me stonily, but said nothing, so I continued.
"My working theory is that you and Delwin came up with a concoction involving your DNA and Annifrid's, which simulated a normal conception. But somewhere in there, I guess he had to use elements of my genetics as a catalyst to break the lock which prevents you from producing a viable embryo. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to have my genetics on file somewhere, although chances are it was from before I Created, rather than after, because I've been a bloody sight more careful since. If I'd done this, I expect I would have spliced the strands of my DNA which make me fertile, being probably 99.9% compatible with you, to replace the faulty ones of yours to overcome the problem."
"Currently you're being insulting, not explaining."
"I'm getting there. So he managed to counter your inherent inability to breed and a child was conceived. But what he didn't account for was that because both of our DNA was in the resulting embryo, and that mine was from when you and I were the same entity, he had introduced an unanticipated element into the process. My guess, is that you weren't trying for twins...?"
He shrugged, but didn't disagree.
"The process was experimental, so you wanted to see if the theory was sound. On the assumption that if it was, you could duplicate it. Therefore, I'm guessing whichever of you performed the treatment, only implanted a single embryo. So you were probably surprised when twins arrived? But I doubt that you were particularly upset, or even particularly worried. After all, twins are pretty common in our genetic line, and it was completely plausible that the initial embryo might have split at some point after it was placed in utero. And two children was better than one, because you wouldn't have to be subjected to such a difficult...and I would imagine humiliating in your mind...process again. "
"Perhaps," he said more calmly, and I knew I'd guessed right on the theory at least. He even seemed to relax slightly.
"The trouble is, while the single embryo did, indeed, split, it didn't do it the way one would normally expect."
"How so?"
"The dominant gene in your makeup is what you are. Not who you are, what you are. My counterpart. My...different side as you like to put it. And the potential for you to split out was contained within whatever part of me Delwin used to bring the child into existence. And so they divided, as we did, not into identical twins, but into part and counterpart. Berthold is the original. Stefan is the counterpart."
"Berthold is nothing like you."
"No, from what Stefan's told me, he's a chip off the old block. It's your elder son who doesn't fit in in your world. And he believes you hate him because of it. Because you think he's too like me."
Rupert listened in silence, lips pursed, although at least he finally put down the gun.
"But then, if you think about it, that's perfectly logical. Why would you consider someone who followed your beliefs to be anything but your light side? and Berthold seems to follow your beliefs. On the other hand, with Stefan having split out because of my genetics, then really, truly and at the most basic of levels, he is more like me than you."
"You've spoken to Stefan?"
"He's currently in Sable, waiting for me to talk to you."
"Assuming this interesting theory of yours is correct, what does it have to do with his life being in danger?"
"Because he's the counterpart. He's not part of the Black Pattern. It will have initially accepted him as he apparently has the right genetics. After all, much the same happened when Chesceni walked the Sable Pattern – it was fooled into accepting him by Trojan Horse genetics. But after he had walked it, he started to change, and reverted to his natural makeup. I think the same is happening to Stefan."
"Why? He had no problems during his initiation: Berthold had more trouble. Surely it would have been the other way around..."
"I don't know for sure. Maybe its related to strength of will, or maybe we'll end up we chalking up to experience," I answered, "but whatever the reason...I'm well aware that you built loyalty safeguards into the Black Pattern when you first walked it. I know that its initiates eventually lose the will to be anything but your creatures. The trouble is, it's trying to do that to a young man who by his inherent nature can never, ever be your creature. And it's going to kill him."
"Can you prove any of this?" he asked, quietly, and I reached into my pocket and handed him the notebook with the details of my experimentation and findings in it. He took it in silence and started to read.
About fifteen minutes later he looked up at me, and I could see he was convinced. He was also upset, and instead of his usual cocky self, he looked subdued, almost haunted.
"I don't hate him," he said, quietly, "but I knew that something was wrong. That something had broken. I put it down to his being a teenager...it hadn't even occurred to me that it was because of the Pattern. You've been thorough, Robert, although I'm sure you'll understand if I want to verify your findings myself."
"I would expect you to."
"But if you are right...then for the second time, you're going to take my child from me."
"Rupert, I..." I began, but he lifted his hand to cut me off.
"And this time it isn't even your fault. It's my own. What about Berthold?"
"From what I can tell, he's perfectly normal, and given time he will be able to have a family, and continue the Delatz line."
"So it wasn't all for nothing, then?"
"No. It wasn't."
"So be it," he answered, and lapsed into a pensive silence.
"Will you let me take him to the Millbank Pattern?" I asked, after a while.
"On one condition."
"Which is?"
"You allow me to be present."
"Do you really want that?"
"I have to know you haven't killed him, Robert," he replied, "and once he's safely in your care, he is going to have to die."
"Now wait a bloody moment..."
"In the eyes of the Reich, Robert. Not in body. He cannot remain my heir, and the only way succession passes here is by death."
"What about Annifrid?"
"I am going to need for you to give me assurances that you will let him visit his mother. I can't do that to her again."
I thought a moment, then nodded.
"Okay."
"And that you'll let Alban accompany him?"
"If necessary."
He looked at me, then nodded.
"Then I suppose we'd better go," he said, standing and reholstering his pistol.
"You're taking this better than I expected," I commented as I rose to my feet.
"I wish no harm to my son, Robert. And I would rather give him into your charge, than watch him die a long, lingering and painful death."
"What about your fearsome reputation for killing your own children?"
"Propaganda. Nothing more. People must have a degree of fear to have the proper respect."
"I'd dispute that, but..."
"But perhaps that's for discussion next time we take tea. Now though...if you would do the honours."
It did occur to me that his apparent capitulation could all be an act on his part, and that he was planning to grab Stefan and run as soon as they were in the same place, but I decided it was worth the risk. If he did care at all about the boy, he hopefully wouldn't want him dead. So I brought the Pattern to mind and took us both through to the cove where I had left my nephew.
He was still there, sitting quietly on one of the rocks gazing out at the lake, the dogs lying quietly beside him, although they leapt to their feet as soon as they saw Rupert and I, and rushed to greet my brother. He squatted down beside them briefly, petting them, before getting back to his feet, by which time Stefan had turned towards us.
"Uncle Robert..." he said, and then his smile disappeared as he saw Rupert.
"I said I might have to bring him back with me," I commented.
"Your Uncle has been explaining a few things to me," Rupert answered, his tone rather more civilised than I might have expected, "but I wished to see for myself. Will you stop me?""
He looked at his father and shook his head, and then I felt Rupert begin to bring up the Pattern and his magical senses, to look at his son. I sat down nearby and waited, and about fifteen minutes later, my brother dropped his arcane armoury and looked first at me and then at Stefan.
"Your Uncle brought me some information, and I needed to confirm it. And he's right. The gods help me I hate the fact, but I can't argue with the evidence of my own eyes and senses."
I watched my brother as he spoke, and it seemed as if he suddenly had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Are you going to make me come home...?" Stefan asked, nervously.
"No, you'll be staying here with Robert."
"But..."
"But nothing, Stefan. It's been decided," he answered, firmly, "and now, we need to take a trip. Your Uncle will guide us."
"To where?"
"The Terra Magica Pattern," I answered, "it'll be the best way of neutralising the effects of the Black Pattern, and should hopefully also help the fact that you haven't been well."
I concentrated for a few moments, then took us through to the Primal design at the heart of the Sable system.
"It's white," was Stefan's first comment, "and it's backwards."
"Technically, the Black Pattern is backwards," I replied, "this is the right way around."
"Do you remember the instructions I gave you, Stefan," Rupert said, crossing to his son and resting his hands on the boy's shoulders.
"I think so. Father, you're willing to let me do this?"
"While I don't agree with a lot of what your Uncle does and believes, I respect his abilities in matters such as this, and I can't dispute his findings in this case. It's for the best."
And he walked Stefan to the beginning of the Pattern.
Off in the shadows I heard a growl, as Anglia decided to make his presence felt, but I tried to reassure him that just for once, Rupert wasn't the enemy. Not that he seemed particularly convinced. Indeed, to show his displeasure, he padded over to where my brother was standing, and sat down beside him, staring at him in a highly disconcerting way.
"Just give the word and I'll rip his throat out, Robert," he rumbled, his voice as much growl as words.
"I don't think it'll be necessary," I replied, and looked at my brother. He turned his attention from the Avatar sitting beside him, said a few last words to Stefan, and then set him on his way. Then he crossed back to my side, Anglia trailing in his wake.
"Do we need the panther?"
"This is his home," I answered, "if he wishes to be here, it's his prerogative. Don't worry. He hasn't eaten anyone yet. He's just a big pussycat really."
And I scratched Anglia under the chin, which actually made him purr. Then I looked at the Pattern, to observe the progress of the slim figure traversing its length. Rupert fell silent beside me, watching his son and lost in thought.
It took Stefan quite a while to make the walk – longer than I would normally expect – and I was interested that by the end he was shapeshifting uncontrollably. But then he was finally finished and standing in the centre, albeit he looked almost dead on his feet with tiredness. Then he glanced over at us and then jumped to join us, perhaps rather wary of what would happen next.
"Has it worked?" Rupert asked me.
"I can check soon enough. Or you can."
"Then I shall. Stefan, may I? It'll be the same as before, down by the lake."
He nodded, and my brother brought up his arcane senses once more to take a look at him. After a short while he looked at me and indicated for me to do the same, so I complied. The new imprint was strong, and I could see that it would quickly overwrite the Black Pattern. Moreover, it already seemed to be blending to become part of Stefan, as if they were made for each other. And in a way they were.
"You'll be fine," he said to his son, once I had finished, "so I suppose I should be going. "
They looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments, and then Rupert embraced him.
"Goodbye, Stefan," he said, quietly as he broke the embrace a few seconds later, "I'm not sure if we'll meet again, but we'll see."
"What about mother?"
"You've got her card, I think. Use it occasionally."
"Yes father," he answered, solemnly.
"She won't be pleased, but I'll talk to her and explain why. And as long as she knows you and Alban will visit, I hope she'll understand."
The he turned to me.
"Robert. Auf Wiedersehen...and remember, if you break my trust in this I will hunt you down and kill you like a dog."
"I'll remember. Until the 1st?"
"Until the 1st. Oh, and I'll stop via the King's Isle on the way back, and pick up the dogs."
And with that, he brought the Pattern to mind and departed, leaving me alone with Stefan and Anglia.
"What just happened?" my nephew asked me, genuinely puzzled. I noticed that his hand was buried in the fur on the panther's neck...and that Anglia didn't seem to be protesting. I'm not sure he'd let anyone touch him before, other than me.
"You'll be staying in Sable from here on," I answered, "and at least it'll give you a chance to get to know Alban better."
"And mage college?"
"It's too late in the academic year now, but in September...we should head home. Get you some rooms."
"What about my things?"
"I'll make arrangements for them to be sent to you. Stefan, this is what you wanted...?"
"I think so, but..."
"But what?"
"But I was wrong. He doesn't hate me, does he?"
"No, he doesn't hate you," I answered, thinking of Rupert's reaction to the information I had given him, and knowing my words to be true, "If you want the honest truth, that was probably the single greatest act of selflessness that I've ever known him to perform. He loves you enough to hand you into my care, knowing that I will protect you, and that it's the best for you."
He nodded, and lifted his hand from Anglia's neck. As he looked at me, I had the distinct impression that there were unshed tears in his eyes, waiting for when he was alone.
"I'm ready now, Uncle Robert."
I smiled, and the after restoring the defences on the Primal Pattern room, I took us both back to Sable Palace.
* * * * *
The following morning, Gray knocked on my office door and came in. He was holding a newspaper, which he handed to me.
I opened it to discover it was Die Welt.
"Subscription's still running, I see," I commented.
"Front page, bottom right. Do you know anything about it?"
I looked at the headline.
"Tragic death rocks the Delatz family."
And I read as the article went on to tell how Stefan Delatz, Erbherzog von Bremen, had died instantly in a fall from his horse, which had broken his neck, while riding on the von Bremen country estates. And how the Imperial Council was expected to meet after the unfortunate young man's funeral, to confirm his brother Berthold as the new heir to the Herzog von Bremen.
"He didn't waste any time killing his son," I commented, and Gray turned pale.
"Rupert did this himself?"
"In a manner of speaking," I replied, "although the victim himself is currently upstairs in one of the guest rooms here in the Palace."
Gray began to say something, but I held up my hand to indicate that I hadn't finished.
"Perhaps I'd better explain...