Sable Palace
1st May SY154
It was Rupert's turn to come to me on May 1st. However, Gray had warned me that reports he had coming out of Berlin regarding my brother's demeanour indicted that since the events on Cavazza he'd been decidedly...well, "cranky" was the polite way to put it, and even Roland had commented that when he'd met with Rupert shortly after the events on Cavazza he'd seemed in a dangerous mood, which boded ill for someone. So on this occasion, I decided we should meet in the summer house to the west of the King's Isle, beyond the orchards, rather than in the palace itself, to avoid any possible misunderstandings if he bumped into any of the rest of the family.
The servants complied, and had everything ready by 3.50pm, including a large Samovar of hot water (kept warm by a tiny boilermaker spell built into the base), and a variety of sandwiches and cakes. They then made themselves scarce, leaving myself and Chevalier Armand, one of my own Knights, as the only occupants of the building.
Bang on the dot of 4pm I felt his call, and opened up the link, but even through the contact I could tell that he wasn't in the sunniest of moods. He looked tired and annoyed, and I suspected his bad temper wasn't hiding particularly far under the surface.
"Afternoon," I said, brightly.
"Yes, it's definitely afternoon," he replied, levelly, and offered his hand.
I brought him through, accompanied as always to these meetings by Standartenführer Schultz. Schultz nodded pleasantly enough, and then took up a position nearby, with Armand beside him.
"Got out of the wrong side of bed this morning?" I asked, as I poured tea and gestured for him to sit.
"That would involve my having got to bed last night," he snapped, and I could tell it was going to be a long afternoon.
We sat in silence for a while, sipping tea and eating – although I noticed that he was partaking much more frugally than usual - until he finally seemed to relax somewhat.
"Sorry, Robert," he said, quietly, "I apologise for being less than civil, but it's been a Hell of a month."
"So I understand," I replied.
I'd seen the pictures of what was left of the Il Rotonda site, after the energy strike which had foreshortened the alternative treaty signing meeting which Wilhelm, Sirius and I had arranged. The place had been reduced to melted glass, and our agents who had observed from distance had reported what to all intents and purposes sounded like a mushroom cloud over the site, although, of course, any explosion of sufficient size would generate that effect. The main thing, though, was that everyone had got out alive, and James Blake had quickly recovered from what turned out to be a dose of merasha, which had put him out for the count before the attack on the site. As far as my grandson Jorge was concerned, apparently he had taken more serious injury, but Elanor had reported that he was now well on the way to recovery.
From what Gray had said subsequently, I also knew that since then, Rupert's intelligence and police machinery had been working overtime to confirm who had been foolish enough to try to kill him - the initial reports from the original scene had identified a candidate, but given the ability of the Machine to duplicate pretty much anybody, a certain amount of verification was needed – and to begin a general housecleaning. A housecleaning which had included what had looked from the outside like a significant purge, timed to coincide with Hitler's birthday, of all days. Maybe my brother does have sense of humour somewhere. As far as the ritual on Cavazza was concerned, Gray's opinion was that such an attack probably couldn't have been mounted by a single individual, however well versed in ritual magic they may have been, without some fairly hefty support, and there was also still the issue of the Machine. However, I was very glad I hadn't been anywhere near Berlin since the Treaty had been signed.
"How go your investigations?" I asked, curious.
"They have reached their conclusion," he replied, and for a second there was a coldness in his eyes which indicated that someone was going to die.
"Do you wish to elaborate?"
"The candidate identified by the group who performed the initial forensics check has been confirmed as being responsible for the attack."
"Rutger Sigiswald?" I asked, remembering the reports from Saint-Germain, who had investigated the site on Sable's behalf, in conjunction with a pair of Reich mages. Sigiswald was one of Andrew's offspring from his time as Rupert's guest, and had gone on to become Head of the Totenkopfverbande.
"Indeed."
"Not a Machine duplicate then?"
"Sadly not."
"Why?"
"He decided that the Kaiser and I were traitors to the Reich for signing the treaty. So he took the training he had learned from me and turned it against us both, not realising that Wilhelm was elsewhere. I don't take that kind of betrayal lightly."
And of course, being the the General commanding the Totenkopfverbande, he would have been able to arrange the support he needed to mount the ritual: a countless supply of people deemed less than human by the Reich, whose use in any kind of ritual was enshrined in Reich law, and a loyal force of men with that view ingrained in their psyches.
"Have you decided what you're going to do next?" I said, almost hoping he wouldn't answer.
"I have, but I rather doubt you want to hear it," he replied, levelly, and from his tone I had a sneaking suspicion that he was right.
He fell silent again for a couple of minutes, sipping tea and looking out at the beach below us.
"You definitely gave yourself the prettier geography," he commented, finally.
"Creator's privilege," I replied, "although I thought you'd said you enjoyed snow. Mountains you have in abundance."
"As do you. However, sandy beaches we suffer from a distinct lack of," he replied, adding in a tone which I wasn't entirely sure was joking, "perhaps I should conquer somewhere appropriate."
"What about Maui?" I asked, referring to a private bolt hole of his which I'd had cause to visit on occasion, rather than suggesting he actually launched an attack in the Pacific on some unlucky Shadow.
"It has its plus points, but it's a long way from the heart of things. Whereas you can sit in your seat of power and enjoy the view."
"It's not exactly tropical here."
"True...true. But the summers are warm enough."
I looked at him and chuckled.
"You must be really short of sleep if all you want to discuss is the weather."
"Actually, I wanted to discuss the Treaty."
"Okay," I answered, not entirely surprised, "go on."
"I want to know how you pulled it off."
"Pulled what off?"
"The discussions we had on Cavazza. The majority of the suggestions we made were incorporated into the Treaty, even though you were at a completely different location, and there was no sign of disagreement between any of our points and anything you came up with in person with Wilhelm. Neat trick, and extremely improbable to say the least. Moreover, I notice that both my signature and your Lord Protector's were firmly affixed on the final document, even though I know I didn't sign the original."
I looked at him and smiled.
"I asked Will to tell you to treat the meeting like the real thing. Didn't he pass the message on?"
"He said something to the effect, but I'll admit that I was sceptical and didn't really take him seriously."
"Perhaps you need more faith," I answered, with a chuckle.
He didn't look impressed.
"Right now, I feel like I've been the butt of an enormous joke. Which coupled with the whole, sorry attempted murder incident means that I'm lacking in patience just at the moment."
I glanced at him, and could see the tension was back in his body. Cranky obviously wasn't very far beneath the surface, however much he seemed to be trying to hide it.
"Sorry, Rupert," I answered, suitably chastened, "that wasn't the intention."
"Then how did you do it?"
"The two groups were in constant communication," I replied.
"How?"
"A Trump link."
"There was no way Trump could get in or out of the Il Rotonda wards, except by someone using a token which let them do so. And if it had been, I would have spotted it. Moreover, Wilhelm isn't a Trump artist. He couldn't have pulled this off without my knowing."
"Both the alternate Kaiser and my own double were effectively given tokens," I replied, phrasing my answer carefully.
"Effectively given..." he repeated, curiosity on his face.
"You and I are both damned good Trump artists, but we don't know everything about the subject."
"Implying that there's someone out there who does."
"Indeed," I replied, although I had absolutely no intention of sharing the artist's identity with my brother. I'd promised Michael that I'd keep his name out of it if this conversation ever took place. He had far too many good reasons to stay off Rupert's radar.
"So how was it done?" my brother asked, his tea cooling forgotten beside him.
"This particular individual was asked to assist and was willing to do so. Trump links were established beyond the usual frequencies - don't ask me how, it's all way beyond me - between myself and my double, Wilhelm and his, and Sirius and his. All with agreement, I hasten to add. And thereafter, anything that was said by one was processed and incorporated into the thinking of the other. Hence the apparent long-distance agreement. I'll admit it wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling, but desperate means were needed, and thankfully it wasn't a permanent effect.
"And yet, I was left out of this happy little mind meld...as I'm guessing was William...so how did our signatures end up on the final treaty?"
"Secondary to the links between us, a resonance was also set up between the two sets of treaty paperwork, such that once they were in the same place, they melded, for want of a better word. You got as far as signing your version before you had to evacuate..."
"Yes, but I thought the Il Rotonda copies were destroyed in the fireball."
"Will had the presence of mind to grab them both as he was leaving, as he knew how important they were. Once he returned home our copy was put together, and the Reich's copy was forwarded by diplomatic courier and became active a few hours later, when Wilhelm and Emmerich performed the same procedure in Berlin."
He leaned back in his chair and looked impressed, if not entirely happy.
"Nicely played," he said, finally, then looked directly at me, "who's the artist?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that," I replied, "I gave the individual in question my word."
I could see that he was contemplating arguing the point, but in the end, he shrugged.
"Don't think that I won't be trying to discover his or her identity."
"I'd be surprised if you didn't," I answered, then decided that it was time for a change of subject.
"You haven't eaten much this afternoon," I commented, "are you okay?"
My how a simple question can open a can of worms.
"As if you actually cared," he snapped, obviously still unhappy at us having run and end around him with the Treaty plans, and considering whether he could get away with changing the subject back.
"Actually, you might be surprised," I replied.
He looked at me, then shrugged again.
"Perhaps... But as it happens, I have plans for this evening."
"Dinner with the lovely Annifrid?" I asked, semi jokingly, but stopped dead when I saw the coldness I'd seen earlier return to his eyes.
"No, Robert," he answered, his tone like ice, "it's Beltane."
I remembered my training well enough. It's always wiser to eat lightly when planning a major ritual working. However, one in three of our meetings occur on Quarter Days, and I'd never particularly noticed a change in his appetite on those occasions in the past. This time though...
His whole demeanour had changed in that instant. I met his gaze cautiously, and staring back at me I could see the cold, dead eyes of the High Priest of the Black Lodge. I hadn't seen that look since the ritual he'd worked on Manira, with the Machine clone body of one of his subordinates, and before that, I'd only ever seen it in Andrew's memory. It was in stark contrast to the man who had rescued his friend from a firestorm, at considerable risk to himself, and then let a declared enemy of his country go free for what we could only figure out must have been a sense of honour, when she helped him survive that same firestorm. And as I saw it, and noted the contradiction, I felt my own appetite departing, and the food I'd eaten earlier suddenly sat like lead in my stomach.
"Forgive me, Mein Bruder," he said, quietly, breaking off from the staring match, "I can see I've disturbed you. That wasn't my intention, but you did ask the question. What has to be done has to be done, but it is a matter internal to the SS. You need have no concern that Sable will be affected by anything that happens. It will be our mutual enemies who feel the wrath of this night, not you and yours."
"You're planning another Black Friday."
"Technically, it's a Thursday," he answered, but he didn't deny what I'd said.
"This is your way of punishing Sigiswald?" I stated, rather than asked.
He looked at me and shrugged.
"And in doing so, he gets to repay his betrayal of the Reich and help the greater good," he replied, "but as I said, Mein Bruder, you really don't want to hear the details."
"What about his Death Curse?" I protested, "presumably he's a Black Pattern initiate?"
"He won't be by the end of the evening," came the reply: quick, cold and utterly emotionless, "and after that... ultimately, the Good Friday initiative was unsuccessful in the long term. But never let it be said that I don't learn from my mistakes. Various areas of research I've been undertaking over the last thirty years have taught me that under the right circumstances, Death Curses can theoretically be aimed in directions far more useful to the cause than petty revenge against those taking one's life."
"How..."
"You keep your secrets, Robert, and I'll keep mine. On which note, perhaps I'd better leave you. You seem thoroughly uncomfortable, I could do with a couple of hours of sleep, and I have the distinct impression that this afternoon's tea party is at an end."
"Do you blame me?" I answered, but in reply he just shook his head and tutted.
"One day, Mein Bruder, you'll understand."
"No, Rupert. I'll never understand."
"As you wish," he answered, with a shrug.
With that he got to his feet and called to Schultz, and as he did I could feel him bringing up a mental Trump. The Wewelsburg no doubt.
"Until next month, Robert," he said.
His companion joined him within moments, and then, with a slight nod from Rupert, they both disappeared into a Trump rainbow. I stood fixed to the floor for a few minutes, staring at the point from which he'd disappeared, and trying to control the urge to be thoroughly sick.
"Sire?" asked Armand, his voice full of concern.
"I feel a sudden urge to visit the chapel," I said to him, quietly, and without further comment I left the summer house and headed in that direction.