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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The fleet came over the hyper wall at eighteen thousand kilometers per second, making its alpha translation in a vivid, blue wash of transit energy like a wall of sheet lightning. Ahead, the G5v primary of the Tomlinson System was suddenly a particularly brilliant star, 18.3 light-minutes from SMS Friedrich der Grosse.

Gerechtigkeitsgeschwader, Emperor Andrew had christened the fleet. Justice Squadron. Seventeen ships in tight formation, with considerably more firepower than any naval force Travis had ever seen. He gazed at the displays as he let the translation sickness abate, hoping that all the death and destruction those seventeen ships represented wouldn’t be needed.

But he was fairly certain it would.

He looked across Friedrich der Grosse’s flag bridge. Lisa was easy to spot, her Manticoran vac suit standing out among all the Andermani vac suits. Travis appreciated the compliment the Emperor had paid him and Lisa by letting them travel into battle with Basaltberg’s force, and certainly welcomed the opportunity to profit from the Empire’s deep well of experience. But he still had lingering doubts about whether he and Lisa might inadvertently get in the way somewhere in the heat of battle.

Which brought up the larger concern digging at the back of his mind. Part of him was grateful to have Lisa beside him, but another part was only too well aware that not even battleships were immune to combat damage If anything happened to her…

For a moment he just gazed at her profile, noting the curve of her lips and the way she held herself as she floated at the side of the bridge. Her eyes were focused on the tactical display before them, bright and intent, and something about her reminded him of a falcon in the moment before it stooped.

Only once before had they been together on a command deck at battle stations, and that time had ended without combat. He could hope this one would, as well, but the odds on that weren’t good.

He inhaled deeply, driving the fears back. At least anything that happened to one of them would probably happen to the other as well. It was a strange thought in which to take comfort, but such were the paradoxes of the life he and Lisa had both chosen.

A trio of green icons blinked alight in the display, clustered around their translation spot, and a musical tone chimed.

“Transponder confirmation, Herr Graf,” a sensor tech announced. “Drachen, Schwert, and Kurzschwert.”

“Challenge from Drachen, mein Herr, Korvettenkapitän Westgate said in almost the same moment, looking over his shoulder at Basaltberg before the admiral could acknowledge the first report.

“It’s good to see that Korvettenkapitän Scherzer is as alert as ever,” Basaltberg commented. “Acknowledge his challenge.”

“Jawohl, mein Herr.”

“Tactical update, Herr Graf, Fregattenkapitän Schlamme, Basaltberg’s staff tactical officer said a moment later, and Travis watched as the main display it updated in response to Korvettenkapitän Gangyi Scherzer’s upload to the flagship. Scherzer’s Drachen was the senior of the five frigates which had been detailed to picket Tomlinson’s approaches while the rest of the fleet prepared, and it was apparent that Scherzer hadn’t wasted his time waiting for the fleet’s return.

“So there have been some reinforcements, mein Herr,” Basaltberg’s chief of staff, Kapitänin der Sterne Jijun Kranz, commented.

She was right, Travis saw with a sinking feeling as he studied the displays. According to Scherzer’s data, around twenty more warships had arrived to support Preussen and the battlecruiser which had ambushed Rotte. Unfortunately, none of the of the frigates Basaltberg had left to picket the system had been in close enough proximity to get detailed readings on the new arrivals. It was possible that even more reinforcements had crept in completely unobserved, although it was unlikely with that many pickets in place.

What had been spotted was impressive enough, however. Scherzer’s tactical officers had tentatively identified the newcomers as three battlecruisers, five light or heavy cruisers, and twelve destroyer-range hulls.

Travis stroked his lower lip as he considered the numbers. Added to what the enemy had already had in-system, the new arrivals gave the insurgents a fifty percent advantage in platforms. Even so, the firepower balance still favored Gerechtigkeitsgeschwader.

Probably favored the Andermani, Travis cautioned himself. Basaltberg’s four battlecruisers matched the enemy ship-for-ship, and his two battleships—Friedrich der Grosse and Vergeltung—outnumbered Preussen two-to-one. He had an edge in the cruiser components of the two forces, as well: three heavy cruisers and five of the big Drachen and Reiterei-class frigates against the enemy’s seven cruiser-range hulls.

On the other hand, the frigates were spread around the hyper-limit’s periphery. Only three of them were close enough to join Basaltberg’s formation if he continued straight into the attack. On top of that, the insurgents enjoyed a better than two-to-one advantage in destroyers. It was unlikely that would be enough to offset the second imperial battleship’s firepower, but it was far from impossible.

“Put me through to Korvettenkapitän Scherzer,” Basaltberg told Westgate.

“Jawohl, mein Herr.”

A few moments later, a small, dapper korvettenkapitän appeared on the main com display.

“Guten Morgen, Herr Graf,” he said, bending his head courteously to Basaltberg.

“Guten Morgen, Fregattenkapitän,” Basaltberg responded. “It would appear we have our work cut out for us.”

“It would, indeed, mein Herr,” Scherzer agreed.

“How likely is it, in your opinion, that these people know that you detected their reinforcements’ arrival?”

“Impossible to know for certain, mein Herr. They’ve known we’re here, and they probably know our numbers fairly accurately, given the sensor platforms they’ve undoubtedly deployed. On the other hand, we’ve maintained strict emissions control and kept our wedges to minimum power, so I doubt they know precisely where any of us were at the moment of their arrival. They were actually tracked inbound by Langschwert, the only ship in passive sensor range of their alpha translation. I would say they almost certainly assume we detected their arrival footprint, but Langschwert’s wedge was completely down at the time, so whether they know we were close enough to get a source count or identify ship types even tentatively is another question.”

Basaltberg nodded and raised an eyebrow at Schlamme. “Your assessment, Herr Fregattenkapitän?” he asked the staff tactical officer.

“From what Fregattenkapitän Scherzer’s just told us, I’d say the odds are they don’t know Langschwert was close enough, mein Herr,” Schlamme said. “With the hyper limit’s circumference well over a light-hour, we were unexpectedly fortunate to have any of our ships in position.”

“It has been said that good officers make their own luck,” Basaltberg said.

“Indeed, mein Herr,” Schlamme agreed. “I would anticipate that the insurgents don’t know Langschwert was able to identify any of their ship classes. At the same time, I would hesitate to adopt tactics based on that assumption.”

“And they definitely know that we have arrived,” Basaltberg pointed out. “Fregattenkapitän Scherzer is correct that they must have deployed sensor platforms sufficiently sensitive to detect our hyper footprint.”

He considered that for a moment, then looked at the navigation display and nodded.

“Very well. We will execute Plan Alpha. Fregattenkapitän Scherzer, I see Schwert, Drachen, and Kurzschwert are close enough to match velocities with us. We won’t delay long enough for Langschwert and Reiterei to join us.”

“Jawohl, mein Herr,” Scherzer said.

Basaltberg turned back to his chief of staff. “It would appear we have a great deal to do today, Kapitänin der Sterne. Best we begin.”

“At once, mein Herr.” Kranz turned to Westgate. “Korvettenkapitän Westgate, send the message.”

* * *

“…and so His Majesty has instructed me to give you this final opportunity to surrender your persons and your ships immediately,” the gray-haired, iron-faced man on Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen’s com display said grimly. “Those who have committed crimes will be held accountable for them. If you fail to comply, you will be attacked by the forces under my command, and many of the units—and people—you were given the trust and the honor to command will be destroyed. I await your response. Basaltberg, clear.”

For a moment Preussen’s bridge was silent. On the surface, Llyn noted, Hansen’s face was completely expressionless.

But Llyn could see more deeply than most. He could see behind the face to the quiet heartache that had begun with her first view of Basaltberg’s face and only grown deeper as he delivered his message.

Surreptitiously, Llyn checked his chrono. It had taken that message seventeen minutes to reach Preussen, arriving five minutes after the deployed recon platforms had reported his arrival in Tomlinson space. At the moment, he was headed in-system at a steady eighteen thousand KPS, putting him 1.3 light-minutes closer to Tomlinson than he’d been when he sent it. At that velocity, he would reach Tomlinson orbit in just under four and a half hours.

Of course, there was little point in simply blowing past the planet and its defenders at high speed. No, he’d be decelerating at some point.

The question was when.

“The hidden cost of defection,” Quint murmured at his side.

“What?” Llyn murmured back.

Quint nodded toward Hansen and the face frozen on the com display. “Turning your back on people you’ve spent your career with,” she said. “You never expect just how much of a gut-punch it is to see them look at you like that, or to issue that kind of ultimatum.”

Llyn nodded. In that respect, at least, far better to be a mercenary with few such ties.

Or a Black Ops agent for a transstellar corporation with no ties at all.

“What are you going to tell him, Captain?” Bajer asked quietly from beside her.

Hansen turned to him, her expression visibly wrenching itself out of memory and back to the present. “Excuse me?”

“I asked what you were going to tell him,” Bajer repeated.

Llyn looked at the man, wondering yet again what kind of relationship the two of them had. Bajer had been offered a ship of his own, Quint had told him, his choice of the dozen destroyers Bryce had talked PFT into supplying to the Tomlinson rebels. Instead, and to Quint’s surprise, he’d chosen to remain in his post-mutiny position as Preussen’s executive officer.

Of course, like the other Tomlinson-born members of the battleship’s crew, he now held his rank from the Provisional Free Government of Tomlinson and no longer used the hated German rank titles. Quint had told Llyn about that, too, voicing her concern that mixing ranks and titles could throw just that little extra bit of sand into what needed to be a smoothly running command structure.

“The dice have already been rolled, Commander,” Hansen said, turning her eyes from Bajer to Quint and Llyn. “The only thing now is to see how they fall.”

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply. “Oberleutnantin Braunstein, record for transmission,” she ordered Preussen’s com officer.

Braunstein tapped an icon at her console.

“Live mic, meine Kapitänin.”

* * *

“Incoming transmission, Herr Graf,Korvettenkapitän Westgate reported.

“Display it,” Basaltberg replied.

The face of a gray-eyed, brown-haired woman in the uniform of the Imperial Andermani Navy appeared on the main display.

“I decline to surrender the forces under my command or any of my allies, Graf von Basaltberg,” she said with measured deliberation. “I do not recognize your authority, or that of Andrew Anderman. Neither I nor the Andermani personnel under my command owe him our allegiance—” she paused “—because I have genetic proof that I am Gustav Anderman’s daughter.”

Travis felt his eyes widen. Gustav’s daughter? He flashed a look at Lisa, saw her eyes had gone as wide as his own.

“I am, in fact, his eldest child, and as such, the throne Andrew Anderman currently occupies is rightfully mine,” Hansen continued in the same tone of harsh, unyielding determination. “I realize Andrew Anderman was recognized by the Landtag as my father’s heir. But they had not seen the evidence which I now possess.”

Someone across the bridge muttered a word that had never shown up in any of Travis’s language lessons. Basaltberg didn’t seem to notice.

“I would also submit that my younger brother is just that: young. Too young, and completely unproven. I, in contrast, have amply demonstrated my capabilities as a ship commander and senior naval officer. I am not only the rightful inheritor of the crown, but far better suited by experience and training to wear it.

“Accordingly, Herr Graf, under my rightful authority as your legitimate Kaiserin, I call upon you and your personnel to surrender yourselves to me.”

She looked into the pickup a moment longer, then gave a brisk nod. “Hansen-Anderman, clear.”

And as if a spell had been broken, every eye on Friedrich der Grosse’s flag bridge turned to Admiral Basaltberg.

For a long moment Basaltberg just sat there, his expression somewhere between stunned and disbelieving.

But only for a moment. His face went hard and cold, and he snapped his fingers and pointed to Westgate’s console.

The communications officer shook himself, punched a button, and nodded.

“Live mic, Herr Graf,” he said.

Basaltberg squared his shoulders, and spoke very, very clearly into the pickup.

“Obviously, I did not expect that response from you, Kapitänin Hansen,” he said. “However, even if this evidence you claim truly exists and does, indeed, prove your heritage, it cannot excuse your current actions or the ones which preceded them.

“Even assuming that you are in fact Kaiser Gustav’s daughter, it changes nothing. The Articles of Succession clearly state that the Crown passes to the eldest male heir. That is the fundamental law of the Empire, based upon the königliches Erbrecht of the original Kingdom of Prussia on Old Earth and adopted by the Landtag at His Majesty’s urging. You cannot change it simply because you have learned that you are his child.

“Laying that aside, however, even if you had a legal claim to the Crown, the proper course of action would have been to present it before the Landtag. It was not to violate your oath as an officer of the Imperial Andermani Navy, and it was not to ally yourself with terrorist rebels against the Crown’s authority. It was absolutely and a thousand times not to participate in and lead a mutiny which killed scores of men and women. Men and women who, unlike you, died loyal to the oaths they had sworn.

“For all those reasons, I reject your claim to authority over me or any other officer or spacer of this fleet, and I once again call upon you to surrender yourself and your ships.

“I can and will make no promises about your own fate, should you do so. The power to pardon or commute rests with the Crown, and while I cannot speak for His Majesty’s ultimate decision, I know him well. Because I do, I know he will at least listen to whatever you may wish to tell him in justification of your actions.

“But I would also suggest that whatever he does finally decide will be greatly influenced by how many more lives his navy must spend against you. By surrendering now, you can preserve the lives of those under your orders… and, perhaps, some fragment of your honor as an imperial officer.

“I urge you to consider this very, very carefully, Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen. If you persist in this course, if still more Andermani lives are squandered as a result of your actions, you will leave His Majesty no honorable choice but to keep faith with his dead and see justice done in their behalf. The window in which he can extend clemency, if he so chooses, is closing quickly.”

He looked levelly into the pickup.

“Basaltberg, clear.”

* * *

“Basaltberg, clear.”

The cold, uncompromising words dropped into the stillness of Preussen’s command deck fifteen minutes after they had been transmitted.

Llyn hadn’t expected Hansen’s expression to change, and it didn’t. She certainly must have anticipated that response from the moment she discovered Basaltberg was in command of Andrew’s fleet. The question now was what she was going to say in response.

Had she perhaps expected to be facing someone else? From what Jachmann had told Amos about one of Gensonne’s fellow conspirators still lurking in the shadows, it was possible the traitor was high enough in the Navy that Hansen had expected him to be in command instead of Basaltberg.

Alternatively, if the traitor himself wasn’t in a position to help her, maybe she thought there were Andermani admirals who, while still a hundred percent loyal to the Crown, might nevertheless be willing to hold off on their attack until they’d investigated her claim. Certainly there must be senior officers on Potsdam who were concerned about Andrew’s ability to handle the job he’d been thrust into.

But whichever way Hansen had been aiming her dice, she’d come up short. Basaltberg was here, Basaltberg was in command, and Hansen’s only hopes now were either to stop him cold or to inflict so much damage to his forces that he had no choice but to retreat.

Both were still possible, Llyn knew, but both were risky. And neither would be pleasant.

At least the light-speed communications delay, a stray part of his mind noted, meant that she’d had plenty of time to sculpt her answer.

She straightened her spine and looked at Braunstein with a raised eyebrow.

“Live mic, meine Kapitänin,” the com officer replied to the unspoken question, and Hansen faced the pickup.

“You know I can’t do that, Graf von Basaltberg,” she said levelly. “I’ve given my word to stand beside my allies, come what may. Whatever you may think of my actions or my claim upon the throne, I will betray neither my own nor my father’s honor by violating that promise. If you are equally determined to obey your orders, then hold your course and engage us. My allies and I will face victory or defeat together.

“And whatever the outcome, know well that any victory against me will be dearly bought.

“Hansen-Anderman, clear.”

A tense silence fell across the bridge. No one had had any doubts as to what Hansen was going to do, Llyn knew. But knowing something and hearing it spoken aloud could be profoundly different experiences.

Beside him, Quint stirred. “I think,” she said quietly, “that it’s time we returned to Retribution. With your permission, Captain Hansen?”

Hansen seemed to come back from a distant place. “Permission granted, Commodore,” she said. “Make sure your forces are ready.”

“We will be,” Quint promised.

“And be of good cheer,” Hansen added. “The numbers may look discouraging, but such math can be deceptive.”

She smiled. “Especially when not all of the numbers are visible.”

* * *

The message on the intricately embossed paper inside the equally detailed envelope was waiting beside Winterfall’s place at the conference table when he arrived for the morning session. He read it, tucked it away in his tunic, then went back to his new pre-meeting routine of dividing his attention between his notes and the greyhound Sunna, who’d taken to lying on the floor beside his chair during the daily sessions and bounding along eagerly with him whenever he went anywhere else.

Ten minutes and a great deal of scritching later, Außenminister Shān and the rest of the Andermani arrived, and the day’s business began.

At one o’clock, Shān adjourned for lunch with the announcement that, since the winds and clouds of the previous week had finally cleared away, the midday meal would be served out in the courtyard where the delegates could enjoy the sunshine and spend some time touring the Emperor’s gardens.

Winterfall had finished his lunch and was watching the greyhound attendants throwing balls and an enthusiastic cluster of dogs chasing madly after them when Strossmeyer joined him. “Herr Foreign Minister,” the major greeted him. “You seemed pleased with this morning’s results.”

“Indeed I did, danke,” Winterfall said. “We’re nearly finished setting up a baseline for future trade structures.”

“Excellent,” Strossmeyer said. “I was wondering if you’d spoken to your colleagues about my possible emigration to Manticore.”

“I have,” Winterfall said. “We can’t make any formal commitments, of course, but there are ways to expedite entry to the Star Kingdom for specially qualified applicants, and we feel you would definitely be among that number.”

“Excellent,” Strossmeyer said. “And did you—?”

He broke off as Sunna loped up, clearly looking for some attention. Winterfall crouched down and gave her a pet, a moment that was interrupted when the rest of the pack charged past a dozen meters away and Sunna charged off to join them in their running game.

“Sunna seems to have taken a liking to you,” Strossmeyer commented. “What’s your secret?”

“No secret, and I’m just as surprised as you are,” Winterfall said. “I’d have thought they would be wary of strangers. Still, my mother breeds dogs back on Manticore—maybe Sunna senses the dog lover in me.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Strossmeyer said. “Was that a letter from the Emperor I saw you handling earlier?”

“It was, and on his own special note paper,” Winterfall said, touching the pocket where he’d put the note. Actual paper communications were rare these days, though given the late Emperor Gustav’s obsession with Old Earth Prussia a physical note shouldn’t have been a surprise. “I’ve been invited to spend a few minutes alone with him in his study between the afternoon session and dinner.”

“In his study?” Strossmeyer said, his eyes going momentarily wide. “That’s—do you have any idea what a rare honor that is?”

“I had an inkling, yes,” Winterfall said. “Even more so now.”

“It’s the room where Emperor Gustav spent his private time,” Strossmeyer said. “It’s where he met with close friends and worked on Sternenkrieg, his definitive work on military strategy and philosophy. It’s filled with mementos of his life and pictures of his associates. Aside from his private bedroom, it’s probably the most intimate place in the entire palace.”

“Sounds like you’re very familiar with it.”

“The Emperor’s Totenkopfs are familiar with everything having to do with the palace,” Strossmeyer said with quiet pride. “Yes, I’ve stood guard there on occasion. But never when the Emperor was present. That duty and privilege was for others. I envy you this honor.”

“Assuming he doesn’t simply want a more private setting in which to take me to task for something,” Winterfall said, scrunching up his face a little.

“I doubt that,” Strossmeyer said. “Regardless, I would be most interested in hearing about the meeting afterward.”

“If it’s something I can talk about, I’d be happy to do so,” Winterfall promised. “Speaking of meetings and talking, I’d best return to the Audience Room and look over my notes for the next session.”

“I believe you have one more task to perform before that.” Strossmeyer nodded over Winterfall’s shoulder. “Sunna is coming back for some more petting before her nap.”

* * *

The afternoon session was a bit rockier than the morning one had been. The Andermani finance minister’s representative had firm ideas on how balance of trade deals should be worked, while the delegate Winterfall had brought from the Exchequer had equally firm ideas, but in different directions.

But between Shān and Winterfall the two men were eventually able to draw back a little from their positions without any actual duel challenges being issued. The Empire and Star Kingdom were still a long way from agreement, but it was a start.

At five o’clock, Shān called the session to a close, and the delegates scattered to their various quarters or homes to rest and or prepare for the evening meal.

And it was time for Winterfall’s private meeting with Emperor Andrew.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” Strossmeyer said as he escorted Winterfall across the Audience Room to the Music Room and the study beyond it. “Just bow and smile and agree with him. That always worked with his father.”

“I’ll remember that,” Winterfall promised. “And if he asks something I don’t know the answer to, I’ll pretend Sunna wants attention.”

Strossmeyer looked down at the greyhound trotting placidly at Winterfall’s side. “I don’t think you’ll need to pretend very hard,” he said. “In my opinion, you’re spoiling that dog.”

“My mother always spoiled hers, too,” Winterfall said. “It runs in the family.”

“As do so many other things.” Strossmeyer stopped, gesturing to the door directly ahead and the two Totenkopfs standing stolid guard beside it. “This is where I leave you. Good luck, and Gott be with you.”

Danke,” Winterfall said. Taking a deep breath, he continued forward. As he did so, one of the Totenkopfs detached himself from the door, meeting Winterfall halfway for a quick but thorough check with a hand-held scanner. A subtle hand signal, and the other guard pulled the door open. Nodding his thanks, Winterfall stepped through, Sunna at his side.

Emperor Andrew was already there, seated behind an old-style desk. Behind him stood two extra-tall Totenkopfs; in a chair to the Emperor’s left was Baronesse Shenoa, her eyes steady on Winterfall’s face.

“Guten abend, Herr Winterfall,” the Emperor said, gesturing to a chair in front of him. “Please, be seated.”

“Danke, Majestät,” Winterfall said, wincing as he sat down. After all the preparation and all the planning, it looked like the whole thing was now going to end in failure and embarrassment.

And all of them knew it was Winterfall’s fault. It had been his vague suspicions that had started the whole thing going in the first place, after all. Not only was the Emperor probably disappointed, he was very likely annoyed at what his guest had put him through. “My deepest apologies, Majestät, for wasting your time this way.”

“Wasting my time?” Andrew echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Hardly, mein Herr.”

“But—” Winterfall’s eyes flicked to Marija, back to Andrew. “But he was supposed to—”

“Give you something?” Andrew smiled tightly. “Nein, mein Herr. You underestimate him.” He gave a short whistle and Sunna, who’d just settled down beside Winterfall, lurched back to her feet and trotted around the desk to look up in eager anticipation at the young man. Rubbing the greyhound’s head with one hand, Andrew reached beneath the dog’s collar with the other. For a moment the fingers seemed to be searching; and then they emerged, holding a flat lump of a clay-like substance.

A lump with a small electronic circuit embedded in it.

Winterfall stared at the clay, a fist seeming to close around his heart. Behind him, he heard the door open again—

“My only question,” Andrew said quietly, “is why you hate me so much.”

For a moment the room was silent. Winterfall stayed motionless as long as could bear. Then, knowing it would break the moment, he turned his head.

Strossmeyer stood behind him, the two Totenkopfs who’d been at the door standing at his sides and gripping his upper arms. One of the guards, Winterfall noted with the eerie feeling of a near-death experience, was holding what appeared to be a small transmitter.

“You misunderstood, Majestät,” Strossmeyer said, the tone of his voice wrapping the title in contempt. “I don’t hate you. Nor did I hate your father.”

“Then why did you try to depose him?” Andrew lifted the clay a couple of centimeters. “And why did you try to kill me?”

“For the same reason,” Strossmeyer said. “My love of the Empire and her people.”

“For love?” Marija said. There was a quiet, deadly anger in her voice that sent a shiver up Winterfall’s back.

Strossmeyer’s eyes flicked to Marija, then shifted again to Andrew. “Your father was senile,” he said. “You’re weak and untested. Only with strong, competent leaders can the Empire survive.”

“And you thought this—” Andrew waved the clay again “—would cause such leaders to arise?”

Strossmeyer favored him with a thin smile. “That leader has already arisen,” he said. “She will soon come into her own and claim the crown that is rightfully hers.”

“And should such hopes fail, you planned to run from your part of it?” Andrew demanded bluntly. “This Empire you claim to love—you would flee from it on the first available ship?”

Strossmeyer’s face had gone to carved stone. “I need not justify my actions to you, Majestät. I’ll merely repeat that another, more suitable leader will soon ascend to the throne. And if Gott grants me breath, I will be there to see it.”

Gott will grant you breath at His own pleasure,” Andrew said quietly. “But you will not see your hoped-for leader ascend to anything. Admiral Donnic, whom you believed you had persuaded to your ill-advised cause, has reconsidered his rash pledge.”

Strossmeyer’s expression cracked long enough for a flicker of surprise and disbelief to cross his face. “You lie,” he said.

“He also no longer commands Liegnitz,” Andrew continued as if Strossmeyer hadn’t spoken. “You may find it interesting that in his letter of resignation he stated that it was the Tomlinson insurrection, and my response to it, that persuaded him that I am indeed fit to be Emperor.”

Strossmeyer’s eyes flicked to Winterfall, back to Andrew. “He is entitled to his opinions and decisions,” he said stiffly.

“As are we all,” Andrew agreed. “And you will now have time to contemplate the consequences of yours.”

He made a small gesture. The two guards tightened their grip on Strossmeyer’s arms and turned him around, marching him back through the door. One of the Totenkopfs behind Andrew stepped forward, carefully took the clay from the Emperor’s hand, and hurried out behind them.

“And so it ends,” Andrew said. With the confrontation over, he seemed to shrink a little in his chair, his eyes unfocusing to something in the distance. Or, perhaps, to something in the past. “My father always suspected there was one last conspirator the investigation had failed to root out. Now, he can finally rest.” His eyes came back and focused on Winterfall. “We owe you a great debt of gratitude, Herr Winterfall, for your part in exposing this traitor. Thank you.”

“It was my honor and privilege, Majestät,” Winterfall managed. So there’d been another person besides him that Strossmeyer had been trying to manipulate? The possibility of a second traitor hadn’t even occurred to him. “Ah…that was a bomb, was it not?”

“Yes, indeed,” Andrew confirmed, looking at his fingers. “One sufficient to shatter this room and everyone in it. And you’re right, we assumed he would plant it on you before our meeting. I didn’t expect him to use one of my own greyhounds as his angel of death.” He reached down and gave Sunna’s head an extra rub. “May he be doubly damned for that.”

“Agreed,” Winterfall said, looking at the dog. To put an explosive on an innocent greyhound’s collar in order to kill her master… “Though angel is hardly the word I would use for him.”

“No, the honor of that designation belongs to you, Herr Baron,” Andrew said quietly. “To accept the role of bait in a situation in which neither you nor your government has any role or responsibility is friendship of a depth that should be honored and hailed from the highest tower.”

He paused, and a shadow seemed to cross his face. “I say should because the reality is that no one outside these rooms must ever know of your courage. The people must never know there was a deadly plot against their Emperor. Certainly not until they have learned to have confidence in me and my rule.”

“I understand, Majestät,” Winterfall said. “To be honest, I was wondering how I was going to put all this into my report anyway.”

“Yet another problem solved,” Andrew said with a slight smile. Slight, but with a warmth Winterfall hadn’t seen in him before.

“Yes,” Winterfall said. “One question, Majestät, if I may?”

“You want to know what will become of him?”

“I’m sure he’ll receive whatever justice is called for,” Winterfall said. “My question was how you knew. My vague feelings about him certainly weren’t enough. I couldn’t properly express them. I’m not sure I even believed them myself.”

Andrew gestured to Marija. “You were the one who caught it, Marija. Tell him.”

“It was when he said it wasn’t as if Emperor Andrew would give him a ship of his own and speed him on his way,” Marija said. “That’s exactly what Emperor Gustav did for the last of the conspirators in that failed coup. The officer in question had been only peripherally connected to the plot, and partially redeemed himself at the end, so instead of imprisoning him the Emperor gave him a captured enemy frigate and allowed him to go into exile.”

Winterfall swallowed. “That wasn’t general knowledge, I assume?”

“Not at all,” Andrew said. “But it was something the last of those conspirators would have been aware of. Something that had probably gnawed at his soul for the past fifteen years.”

Winterfall frowned. “That your father had shown mercy?”

“That my father had taken away Gensonne’s chance to die with dignity,” Andrew said.

“I see,” Winterfall murmured. “No, there was indeed no dignity to his death.”

“Nor was there any honor.” Andrew straightened up in his chair. “And now, Herr Foreign Minister,” he continued in a more formal tone, “the evening meal is near at hand. I release you to return to your quarters and preparations.”

“Thank you, Majestät,” Winterfall said, standing up and bowing.

“And once again, I thank you,” the Emperor added. “As I said, most will never know what happened here today.”

He looked again at Marija. “But those of us who do will never forget. On that, mein Freund, you have my promise.”


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Framed