Sable Palace
3rd January SY153
The celebrations to see in the New Year had been muted, given Will's bereavement, although at least he was back in the palace and able to help James decide the final arrangements for Sarah's funeral. Moreover, from my point of view, things weren't improved by the fact that brother Rupert decided to break our usual tradition of not meeting on New Year's Day, and gave me a call as he wanted someone to talk through some 'personal issues' with.
My heart sank. Somewhere along the way in the last few months, God knows how, he had moved from talking to me as a necessary evil for keeping the peace, to using me as a kind of father confessor. Presumably as given his position and some of the things he wanted to discuss, he didn't have anyone else to turn to. When he arrived he was in off-duty mode and looked slightly stressed and genuinely at a loss. After actually asking me to give Will his condolences on Sarah's death, he told me that wanted to discuss how to sort out a problem with two of the few people he considered friends, and launched off into the details.
He'd mentioned their disagreement before, and I knew the two individuals in question had resorted to violence in the past, a situation not helped by their respective ranks: the senior officer, who happened to be Dominik Gerlinde, my grandson and Head of the Forstapo, could always justify any actions he took as a superior punishing an inferior, while following orders should have meant that the latter, young Jorge, had no recourse to take revenge. However, apparently the worm had now turned, and his erstwhile victim had now shot his superior in the back. This left Rupert at a loss: he didn't have the slightest idea how to referee them any more, and he honestly seemed to want to avoid having to execute one of his friends for finally getting his own back on the other.
Of course, a difficult situation wasn't made any easier by the facts that a) I knew damned well that Rupert had authorised the shooting in the first place, as long as it was non-fatal, because he'd been trying to sort the mess out for months and thought this might finally end it; and b) I knew exactly where the blue crystal bullet which had done the damage had come from, as Gray had told me not to be so stupid when I'd initially refused to supply it. However, strangely, Gerlinde - whose membership of the Knights of the SS, aside his official rank, had influenced Gray's attitude towards the potential of taking him out of the picture once and for all - wasn't very pleased with his current situation. He was stuck in a wheelchair because he couldn't shape shift away the damage until every last splinter of crystal was out of his system, and it was putting up a fight, and he was seeking revenge. If ever he could prove whose finger had been on the trigger.
Boy has my brother got a lot to learn about friendship.
I did my best to stay patient with him. After all, even this rather broken version of friendship was progress of a sort from the Rupert who didn't give a shit about anyone but Rupert. However, there wasn't a lot I could really advise. It was pretty much an insoluble situation given his friends' respective ranks. About the only way around it was for Rupert to either promote Jorge or demote Gerlinde, so they looked each other in the eye from a rank perspective, or discharge one or other of them from the service so rank could no longer be an issue. But of course, neither making someone up to Oberstgruppenführer without the relevant seniority, nor demoting someone who within the morals and aims of their organisation was a good officer, was ever going to go down well with either side.
At least he seemed to listen, even if he wasn't very happy with what little advice I could give, and when he left he was still pondering possibilities of what to do next. I will admit, I breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone, and settled back down to the business of the day.
Will and James finally decided on the afternoon of January 3rd for Sarah's funeral, and opted for a relatively quiet private ceremony at St George's Chapel, on the King's Isle.
We had a light lunch around one, but it was a somewhat subdued affair, and then we began drifting down towards the chapel, where Sarah's coffin had been resting overnight. I was pleased that Alban had dragged himself away from his own interests to come to the service, although I noticed he was checking his watch a lot.
I was less impressed that his brother Stephen failed to show. Yes, the lad had been keeping himself out of the way over Christmas - which had showed rather more tact than his father, with his unexpected intrusion - remaining at SMC for the holidays except on Christmas Day itself. However, I'd noticed during the early months of his stay in the Palace, before he'd gone to up college, that Sarah had befriended him, and it seemed poor repayment to fail to attend her funeral.
I'd have to have a word with him later.
Scott Howard, the palace chaplain, did a good job of getting exactly the right balance for the service, and both Will and James seemed comforted afterwards. I was somewhat relieved. Funerals should always help bring a sense of closure, and allow the bereaved to start the process of healing, but Will had been so angry and bitter in the immediate aftermath of Sarah's death, that I wasn't sure if it would help him. Thankfully, however, my worse fears weren't realised. He was still planning to head off on his own for a while afterwards, though, probably to the Outside, and at the wake we made arrangements that he would contact either myself or James on a regular basis while he was away.
Gray had attended the ceremony as a family friend, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed him make his excuses and depart around five. I thought he looked a little worried, but he was gone before I could make sure everything was okay. And anyway, I was more concerned with Alban, who seemed decidedly grumpy. When I asked him what was wrong, he complained that he'd thought Stephen was coming, but obviously he'd changed his mind because of his "stupid girlfriend".
I hadn't even realised Stephen had a girlfriend. Obviously I needed to read my security briefings more carefully.
Assuming Gray had bothered to put that little titbit into them.
The wake broke up around seven, and then I saw Will and James off to Murray, from whence my son would make his way. Then, once they were gone, I settled down in the library with a whisky and a good book. I was feeling rather more relaxed by about 10ish, when a servant came in to find me.
"Your Majesty?"
"Yes...Sorrell?" I answered, taking a moment or two to remember his name.
"Prince Andrew requests your presence in the infirmary, Sire."
Andrew was in the infirmary? He hadn't left the wake much before I had. My mind raced through a number of possibilities, none of them good, so I quickly got to my feet and headed upstairs. Andrew met me by the doorway. He didn't look hurt, although I noticed that the Nexus blade was at his belt which was unusual: he didn't normally wear it around the palace.
"Before you go any further..." he said, resting a hand on my shoulder, "he's okay...rather shaken...but okay. However, I thought you'd better take a look at him to confirm it for yourself."
"Who?" I snapped, not having the slightest clue what he was going on about.
"Stephen..." he began, and I noticed surprise cross his features as he realised I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
"What's going on, Andrew?" I demanded.
"I'd assumed Gray..."
"Never assume Gray tells me anything," I snapped, "and moreover, if this is another bloody "plausible deniability" thing, I'm going to kick Gray's backside from Bridge House, to here and back again."
Then I stalked inside, silently fuming. I was getting very fed up of being kept in the dark "for my own good". Andrew fell in beside me, having the grace to look sheepish as he was as guilty of the mushroom treatment as my chief of intelligence was, and took me to the furthest bed from the door.
Stephen was lying there, looking pale and drawn, and seemed to be sleeping. I looked expectantly at Andrew, who paused a moment before speaking.
"I know you were furious with him for not showing up at the funeral..." he began, "and truth be told, I thought it was bloody bad form, too, given how kind Sarah was to him...but it turns out that his absence was far from voluntary. He didn't make it because he'd been kidnapped."
I cursed loudly, and was about to say more when he raised his hand in a gesture indicating for me to let him finish.
"The Valhalla wackos wanted to swap him for Siegfried Hagen. However, our people managed to prevent that happening and he was safely returned."
I glowered at him, and he shrugged.
"Not my doing this time, Robert. I'm guessing maybe Gray didn't want to disturb you at the funeral. Or plain didn't want to worry you."
"He disturbed you."
"Not until the endgame. I only joined them for the actual rescue attempt."
"Them?"
"Some of the usual suspects...Bond, Felix Ronson, Rebecca von Kleist, a MASH doctor named Tyson, a Sable Guard lieutenant called Wilson and Henry Bartholomew."
"Doesn't sound like Henry's usual source of amusement," I commented. Bartholomew was one of the other forensics and healing instructors at SMC, so we'd come across each other quite a bit over the years.
"I think he consulted for them initially and then got dragged along for the ride."
"And where did you come in?"
"They needed a ritual magician who could untangle wards built on Family blood. And as I'm about the only one on the official list..."
He'd gone through with one of his stated intentions from his confessional session about nine months before, and registered himself as a blood and ritual mage with the SMOC. I hadn't approved, given his motivations, but listening to him talk, and looking at my nephew, I finally found myself accepting the wisdom of his decision.
I looked at the lad lying quietly, regretting all the bad things I'd thought about him earlier in the day and mentally apologising to him. Then I brought my magical senses to mind and started giving him a thorough check over. He did, indeed, seem to be alright now, if weak. However, it was obvious that he'd suffered severe blood loss comparatively recently, and had probably only been saved by a timely transfusion. I also found traces that someone had shape shifted him both to perform the transfusion and also heal other injuries.
Both relieved and horrified, I turned back to Andrew.
"They used Stephen's blood to ward themselves?" I asked, quietly.
"And to hide the lad himself...twisted, but very smart in its own way. Blood wards wouldn't guarantee hiding a member of the Family. But using his own blood to build them..."
"I trust they were properly dealt with?" I said, and I could hear the chill in my voice.
"Most of them died at the scene. There was a Pilot working with them and she was captured, and one mage managed to get away. Set a nasty trap so that when they tried to follow him, they were nearly roasted alive."
"Do we have a name?"
"Andreas Pedersen, according to the one less than hostile witness who was found."
"Who was?"
"Rozenn Monk. Apparently she is...or was...Stephen's girlfriend. She claims she didn't know what they were going to do to him, and they do appear to have tried to dispose of her so it's possible she's telling the truth. But it's certainly not clear cut as there's some indication that she may have been involved with the Germnaneorden group who undertook the kidnapping. Gray's people will figure that one out in time."
"Who healed him up? It doesn't look like Henry's work"
"Captain Tyson. I believe he's one of Michael's students."
"He's learned well," I commented, "even if I'm not entirely sure why a field medic would have been involved in sorting something like this. Thank you, Andrew."
"For what?"
"Helping them..."
"Yeah, well, Bloody Rupert wouldn't have been all that pleased if his son had been permanently broken."
"Not that you usually care what Rupert thinks."
"I don't...but I actually rather like Stephen, even if he seems scared shitless of me."
He paused a moment, then gave a wicked smile.
"I'm sure Gray's in his office if you want to pay a call."
"Breaking ranks with your co-conspirator, Andrew?"
"More that this time, I don't agree with his course of action," came the answer, and he looked more serious, "he should have told you. It involved Family."
"Yes, he should," I replied, and looked back at my nephew.
Andrew quietly headed out, and I took a few minutes to confirm my diagnosis that Stephen would be fine once he'd had some rest. He'd need someone to talk to, too, but we could cross that bridge when we came to it. Then, once I was sure he was okay, I headed out of the infirmary, brought a Trump of the Maze courtyard to mind and transferred myself through.
Gray was waiting for me, but the wry smile he had on his lips faded as he saw my expression.
"Your office. Now," I snapped, and without arguing, he fell in beside me.
On the theory that it's bad for morale for any department to see its commanding officer bawled out by his superior, I waited until we reached his office and I'd put up anti-eavesdropping wards before I gave him a piece of my mind. I have to confess, that I let rip with all my frustrations at the whole "plausible deniability" policy, which had been getting more and more ridiculous over the last six months, and the fact that I was getting tired of being kept in the dark and fed bullshit, and I didn't hold my punches.
And to be fair, Gray stood there and took it without comment.
Then, when I had finally finished venting my spleen, his eyes met mine. He didn't look cowed, exactly, but he did at least have the grace to look apologetic.
"You're right, Robert," he said, quietly, which probably disarmed me more than anything else he could have said. I tried not to show it, instead waiting for him to continue, and when he did, he sounded tired.
"You're right. I shouldn't have kept you in the dark about Stephen," he said, sitting down behind his desk and indicating for me to take the other chair, "But you had the family to deal with, and Will to comfort, and I wanted to give my people as much time as I could to fix this before having to call you in to make the decision on the hostage exchange."
"And would you have called me in?"
"Does it matter?" he said with a sigh, "it wasn't necessary, and Stephen is safe."
"And does your earlier admission extend to everything else over the last six months, or just this?"
"Robert. You're my friend and I care about you. However, I also care about Sable, and it worries the Hell out of me that probably the biggest security risk we have is you."
"Because I regularly meet with Rupert?"
"Basically. It's my job to protect you, and sometimes you're so bull headed...Delatz's wedding last year being a case in point...that keeping you in the dark is the only way I know how"
"Give me credit for some intelligence," I snapped, "I wasn't born yesterday...I do know when to guard my tongue."
"Perhaps you do. But could you plain lie to his face if he asked you a straight question?"
"You might be surprised," I answered, quietly.
"I'm not so sure...you've lost your edge over the years. Become too sentimental...to honest."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"It is if it means you can't function as King...or more importantly, as a Cornelian."
"Gray, neither can I function as King with you censoring my information flow to the extent that I either look a fool, or I look as if I'm lying because I'm not aware of various pertinent details which I should be reasonably expected to know."
"So tell me, then? Would you have allowed the exchange? Would you have swapped Hagen for Stephen?"
"Sable doesn't negotiate with terrorists."
"I know the policy," he answered, "but quoting it at me doesn't answer the question. Would you have let your ward die to uphold that principle?"
"There are a couple of problems with the question," I answered, "one, do you know for sure they would have killed him? Rather than used him for whatever they wanted Hagen for. And two, I could have found him before that happened, if you'd bothered to bloody tell me he was missing."
He looked at me, then shrugged.
"Perhaps."
"No, definitely. Despite the fact that he was blood warded. I would have found him."
"Okay. A different scenario. What if instead of succeeding, our agents had been captured, and the Germnaneorden had demanded Hagen for their return?"
"That would rather depend on who they were. That particular group..."
"But no...you see, it shouldn't. Sable doesn't negotiate with terrorists, remember."
This time, it was harder for me to answer. I paused, and as I did, I saw him nod.
"Your kin wouldn't have even had to think about that one. Mortals for family."
"That doesn't make them right," I answered.
"No, it doesn't," he replied, quietly.
"Gray, you're forgetting one major factor."
"Which is?"
"What happens in Sable, stays in Sable...I have different responsibilities Inside than Outside, and I also have the luxury of being able to work without the rest of my kith and kin looking over my shoulder for signs of weakness."
He looked at me and shrugged.
"Perhaps," he repeated, but I could see he wasn't convinced. I sighed, and changed the subject.
"I hear they brought in a Pilot. Was it one of ours?"
"Thankfully not...a rogue Aurellian, as far as we can tell. Which reminds me..."
He reached into a desk drawer, pulled something out and chucked it across the desk to me. I caught it and looked at it. It was a caricature head, about the size of a large marble.
"Pilot marker?" I asked. All Pilots carry their own unique, individual markers, to allow them to travel to locations where they wouldn't otherwise be able to reach.
"Pilot marker...take a good look at it."
I did, and realised that who it was supposed to be a representation of. Me.
"She picked caricatured Aurellian gods. It's the main reason I think she's an Aurellian rogue."
"Charming. Any plans with what to do with her?"
"Not as yet."
"If she's Aurellian, we should probably give her back to Alastair. Let him deal with her."
"You realise he'll kill her?"
"She committed treason. She helped kidnap a member of the Sable Royal Family. It's not as if she has a particularly long life expectancy here if we keep her."
"Fair point."
"Do you want me to deal with the transfer?"
"Probably best," he answered, and for the first time since we'd reached his office, there was the trace of a smile on his lips, "you're the Aurellian god in this room, not me."
"For my sins. Are you planning on interrogating her?"
"My people are working on it currently."
"Tell me once they're done and I'll get in contact with him."
"Of course. Is there anything else?"
"I want a full report of this whole incident on my desk tomorrow lunchtime. Nothing left out."
"I'll see to it personally."
"I'd also like your word that you won't shut me out of this kind of thing any more."
He looked at me, and after a pause when I wasn't at all sure he wasn't going to refuse, he finally nodded.
"You have my word, Sire."
"Thank you, General Graham."
With that, I got to my feet, as did he, and I offered him my hand.
"I'm sure you think that sometimes I don't appreciate what you do, Gray. But believe me, that couldn't be further from the truth. I genuinely cannot think of anyone I would prefer to be watching Sable's collective back. But please, don't treat me like an idiot. Keep me in the loop."
"Yes, sir," he said formally, with a slight salute. I acknowledged it with a nod, before saying.
"Oh, and tell Andrew that applies to him as well."
"Understood. Of course, I can't speak for him..."
"I wouldn't expect you to. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"I'll bring you the full report personally."
"Thank you. Night, Gray."
"Good night, Robert," he said, still sounding tired but at least dropping the formality.
Slightly relieved, I nodded, and with that I turned and headed for the door and ultimately back to the courtyard and then the palace infirmary. I wanted to call in on Stephen one last time before turning in.