Duel Identity Page 3

  Megan glanced over the hood of the car-and blinked. Leif had changed. He looked several years older and sported a blazing red, close-cropped beard. He also wore a sturdy cap made of something like canvas, and a matching coat-a motoring coat. The name seemed to pop into her mind. A pair of leather and glass goggles was pushed up on his forehead.

  Leif scowled down at something below the car’s radiator as he wiped sweat off his face. “That backfire threw the starter handle back against my cranking.” He rubbed his arm, giving her a dubious look. “I could have broken something. You do know how to drive one of these things?”

  “Of course,” Megan snapped, looking over the dials and contraptions around the driver’s seat. That’s the starter, a little voice seemed to whisper in her ear as her eyes landed on a fluted brass button down on the floor.

  Her hands moved as if they had a mind of their own to a metal gizmo in the center of the mahogany steering wheel. They made a minute adjustment on a metal lever. Meanwhile, Leif put his back into turning the crank- again, and yet again. A low rumble sounded from deep in the car, followed by a sputter from the engine as Megan hit the ignition. She worked the throttle, giving the engine some gas. The whole car shook as the engine roared. Another quick adjustment, and the noise changed to a mechanical purr.

  “Good.” Leif disengaged the crank and climbed up into the car.

  A little belatedly Megan realized that she was sitting in what she would consider the passenger seat of a modern car-but the wheel was on her side.

  “I still think we should have taken horses,” P. J. Far- ris’s voice came from the backseat.

  Megan looked back as she shifted to the passenger’s seat, and Leif got behind the wheel. P. J. also looked older and deeply tanned. He wore a motoring coat and a wide-brimmed Stetson sombrero. Beside him, sitting bolt upright with his arms folded, was David. He wore a similar coat-and a turban. A close-trimmed goatee framed his lips.

  Even as she looked at them, a surge of information seemed to flood Megan’s brain. It was almost like double vision, seeing her friends grown and strange- with different names and histories. P. J., for instance, was Bronco Jack Farris, of the Bear Creek Farrises, a rich ranching family. His parents had sent him on a tour of Europe to pick up a little old-world polish.

  David was Menelik of Gondar, a prince of Abyssinia. Megan knew that was the old-time name for Ethiopia. In 1880 Abyssinia had successfully repelled an invasion aimed at turning the country into an Italian colony. Menelik was traveling to discover the benefits of European technology-and to assess the dangers of imperialist hostility.

  Megan glanced over at Leif-but now he was also Albrecht von Hengist, a Scandinavian noblemen. A down-on-his-luck nobleman, Megan suspected, if he had to make a living escorting such an odd gathering of tourists.

  And she herself was Marguerite O’Malley, of the New York O’Malleys. Her father had been a Union general in the Civil War, and her family had prospered in the postwar boom times. She was the second generation of the family to enjoy wealth and power, even if the big Society families didn’t accept them. After four years in a girl’s college, she’d gotten the chance to travel… a chance for adventure.

  Oh, she knew she was really Megan O’Malley, whose parents were freelance writers, and that her real home was back in Washington, D. C., in 2025. But she also “knew” that here it was the spring of 1903, and that she and her fellow travelers were at the border of the small kingdom of Latvinia.

  Alan certainly managed to pump a lot of information into his simulation-and into the role-players’ heads. She glanced over at Leif/Albrecht, who continued to scowl as he steered the touring car.

  “Cantankerous hunk of junk,” he muttered. “Does a sim have to be this historical?”

  David, on the other hand, patted the varnished coach- work fondly. “This, my friend, is a 1901 Mercedes Simplex-named after Mercedes, the daughter of Emil Jellinek, the man who pushed through the design of the car.

  “A historical junk-pile,” Leif grumbled.

  “Get a horse!” P. J. cried.

  “You’d need forty of them to match the output of this engine,” David continued to defend their vehicle. “Given the era, this is something of a speed machine.”

  “Not on these roads,” Leif said as they bounced over ruts in the hard dirt.

  “Oh, look!” Megan pointed to a peak overlooking the road. Three horsemen seemed almost to be posing against the afternoon sky. They were dressed in brightly colored woolen jackets-and each had a long-barreled rifle strapped across his shoulder.

  “The first Graustark novel had a couple of guys like that,” David said. “A bit of local color. Although they looked like bandits, they were actually border guards.”

  The Mercedes chugged upward around the side of the mountain, then swung downward into a dip in the road- and a welcome patch of shade cast by tall bushes.

  But the road ahead was now blocked by the three picturesque “border guards,” who were unlimbering their rifles, while more characters in colorful local dress came out of the bushes, waving clubs.

  “Looks like this sim is different from the old books,” Megan said. ‘They really are bandits!”

  “Out of the car!” Leif ordered as he pulled the car over. “Otherwise, we’ll be sitting ducks. Er-Jack-” He stumbled over P. J.‘s player name. “Deal with those fellows on horseback blocking our way. David, er, Mene- lik, you cover him. I’ll protect Miss O’Malley.”

  Two guys with clubs were charging up as he leaped from behind the wheel, his hand dropping to the hilt of his saber.

  Lucky I stowed it right by the seat, he thought, pulling the blade free. “Meg … Miss Marguerite … stay back!”

  He went into the en garde position, a little hampered by his heavy coat. This wasn’t exactly like a fencing competition. The saber he held was a real weapon, somewhat heavier than he was used to. And, of course, it wasn’t blunted or button-tipped. It would cut any of the club-toting bandits who came too close.

  Then a cannon seemed to go off by his left ear. Leif half-turned to see Megan daintily aiming a small gold and ivory revolver.

  “What are you do-” Leif began.

  That was when the robber’s club came down on his shoulder. It wasn’t a huge stick-somewhere between a cane and a baseball bat in size, not that Leif was in any shape to worry about it. But it was enough to take Leif out of the fight. His vision dissolved in a bright-red nova of pain as he sank to one knee, struggling to hold onto his sword and his consciousness.

  Megan aimed carefully, pulled the trigger, and drilled the club-wielder in the shoulder. He staggered back, joining his friend that she’d shot in the thigh on the ground. While covering them, Megan glanced around to see how the fight was going.

  “YEEEEE-HAA AA!” P. J. stood on the backseat of the Mercedes, leveling a pair of Army Colt pistols. The six-shooters roared, taking out two of the mounted bandits before they’d even aimed their rifles. The third mounted bandit abruptly crouched low in the saddle, urging his horse into a retreat.

  But even as P. J. fired, one of the brigands was rushing at him from the side, waving a club that looked like a young tree trunk. David stepped into his way, uncertainly hefting a curved scimitar.

  I hope he knows how to use it, Megan thought. Just as I suddenly knew how to use this particular model of gun.

  The bandit swung, and David backpedaled, bumping into the side of the Mercedes. Megan tried to aim, but couldn’t get a clear shot. Desperately David took a two- handed grip on his sword as the brigand raised his club again. David whipped the scimitar around was if it were a baseball bat… and got more results than he’d ever anticipated.

  The steel blade swept right through the robber’s forearm, slicing across muscle and bone to complete a very rough amputation. With a high-pitched scream, the bandit staggered back, clutching at the wound.

  The rest of the robbers also pulled back momentarily. Leif and his friends had taken out more than half of the robber
band. The others were clearly wavering between running away and staging another attack. Megan decided not to fool around with them. “P. J.! Cover our rear!”

  As P. J. turned to stand on the seat facing the remaining bandits, Megan bundled the still-dazed Leif into the back beside him. Then she jumped behind the wheel, thankful that the engine was still idling. David jumped into the passenger seat, and Megan tromped on the gas pedal. The Mercedes lurched forward, nearly toppling P. J. from his perch. Even so, a couple of wild shots from his big Army Colts discouraged the bandits from following.

  Safely away, Megan glanced at David sitting beside her. His dark face seemed tinged with gray as he obsessively wiped the blade of his scimitar.

  “That was just too real. It cut right through-” he began. Then he gulped and shook his head as if to clear the memory away.

  Megan thought she understood. Lots of the games and sims she’d played involved zapping or shooting enemies. But commercial sims didn’t feature the kind of combat David had gone through. A sword usually chunked into an opponent’s shield or clanged off armor, or protective scales on some sort of mythological monster. Even in virtual reality, people didn’t generally experience anything quite like what they’d just witnessed.

  “How’s Leif-er, the baron-doing?” she asked rather belatedly.

  “Could have been worse,” P. J. reported while Leif gave a low grunt of pain. “These coats we’re wearing are thick, and his shoulder padding managed to break a lot of the impact.”

  “Break-that’s a word I really don’t want to hear right now,” Leif muttered, giving another yelp as P. J. probed where he’d been hit.

  “You wouldn’t be able to squirm around with that arm if your collarbone were really broken,” P. J. announced in his best country-doctor fashion. “At worst, you’ll have a beautiful bruise to show for it.”

  “One thing’s sure,” Megan said. “I’ll do the driving until you’ve had a chance to get your wind back. What was our destination supposed to be, anyway?”

  “We’re heading for Herzen, the capital of Latvinia,” Leif said, his voice tight with pain. “It’s the one big city there, located in the middle of the kingdom.” His breath hissed between his teeth as the car jolted over a pothole. “Which is also where the few decent roads are to be found.”

  “And how do we get there?” David asked, opening a leather map case.

  “This road will take us alongside, then down into the Dubok Valley,” Leif replied. ‘That’s where the rail line from Vienna runs into the country. Once we get down into the valley, things should be a little less wild. We should reach the outskirts of Herzen by nightfall.”

  “Which means we should be moving now, while we have sunlight,” Megan said. They jounced along the mountain track until they finally reached a ridgeline that overlooked a valley below. Megan spotted the glint of sunlight off steel rails.

  “So, this is the Dubok Valley?”

  Leif leaned carefully forward, still favoring his hurt shoulder. “Yes. There should be a fork in the road ahead. Take the path leading downward-and be prepared for a rather steep grade. These roads see more mules and goats than motorcars.”

  Leif’s shifted to a more turn-of-the-century style of talking, Megan thought. Maybe he’s feeling a bit better.

  They continued along the rim of the valley, which was still pretty narrow and rugged. In the distance, however, the lowlands began to spread out. Megan could even make out what seemed to be plowed fields.

  Then she saw the train stopped on the tracks far below, and heard the pop of gunfire. About twenty black- clad riders on equally black horses swarmed around a gilded passenger car at the rear of the train. A handful of guards in crimson uniforms and shining brass helmets struggled against the horsemen. Even as Megan watched, the last defender went down.

  Several of the black riders swung onto the observation deck at the rear of the coach and went inside it. Seconds later they emerged with a struggling female figure wrapped in a black cloak.

  “It seems as though Latvinia has a serious crime problem/’ Megan commented. “First we encounter a robbery, and now an abduction.”

  The kidnappers unceremoniously bundled their prisoner onto a horse and began galloping off up the far wall of the valley, where another road twisted out of sight among the trees.

  “What’s their hurry?” P. J. wondered. “We sure aren’t in any position to stop them.”

  His answer came moments later, when what looked like an army on horseback came pounding along the valley floor.

  “They must have come from Herzen,” Megan said, gazing down on the charging squadrons. Some of the cavalrymen wore dark green and gray uniforms that matched the rocks and brush of the countryside. Others were obviously ceremonial troops in crimson and gold uniforms. Some even wore gleaming steel breastplates on their chests. All had swords or pistols out as they reached the locomotive, which had crashed into a chopped-down tree.

  The soldiers surrounded the stranded train, some dismounting to assist the downed guards. A group of splendidly uniformed officers gathered in a knot by the raided passenger coach. They waved their arms in obvious agitation.

  Then one of them must have noticed the Mercedes moving along the road above. Binoculars were trained on the car, and aides began riding to the assembled soldiers. Soon a large detachment of cavalry went veering off to start climbing the valley wall.

  “Perhaps we might pull over,” Leif suggested. “I’d hate to have this coachwork ruined by a volley of warning shots.”

  Megan brought the Mercedes to the side of the road as a patrol of light cavalry came pounding up behind them. Each rider was armed with a wicked-looking lance that was taller than she was.

  “Ah-good day?” Megan tried in both French and German.

  The soldiers surrounded the car, but they simply sat on their horses staring at her.

  What was the matter with them? Megan wondered. Hadn’t they ever seen a girl before? She checked that her hat was still held in place by her scarf. Was there something wrong with her coat? Had one of those bozos who’d attacked them gotten blood all over it?

  Before she could ask what the problem was, the main body of horsemen arrived. Some looked as if they’d just come from a costume shop, in fancy uniforms with an embroidered jacket worn like a cape. The others were heavy cuirassiers, the guys in steel breastplates. Megan saw a familiar face among the caped riders. Sergei Cher- nevsky grinned and flipped her a salute from the visor of his uniform cap.

  Sergei hastily lowered his hand and sat very straight on his saddle as a very dignified-looking old geezer creakily got down off his horse. The large white side- whiskers flanking the older man’s face seemed to tremble as he hurried toward the car.

  He seized Megan’s hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to it. Then he looked up, exclaiming in a shaky voice, ‘Thank heavens you escaped, Your Majesty!”

  Chapter 4

  Megan glanced around at her friends, who all were suffering from a bad case of dropped-jaw syndrome. As was the old geezer, when she looked back at him.

  Okay, she thought. It makes a sort of sense. The sim is based on The Prisoner of Zenda, where a guy winds up impersonating royalty. I didn’t expect Alan would take it so literally….

  She grinned. Or that he fd give me such a plum role.

  “On second glance, forgive me, my dear young lady,” the old geezer murmured quietly over her hand. “Now that I’ve seen your attire and your companions, I realize you can’t really be Princess Gwenda. But your resemblance is both astonishing and fortuitous. Please, follow my lead. You can help save my country … if you wish.”

  His eyes were pleading as he looked up.

  “Who are you?” Megan asked.

  “I’m the Graf von Esbach,” the older man replied. “Prime minister of Latvinia.”

  Megan gave him a solemn nod. “I thank you for your concern, Graf von Esbach,” she said in a loud voice. “If these gentlemen hadn’t come along at the right mo
ment, those brigands would most surely have abducted me.”

  Von Esbach looked up with hope in his eyes. “Colonel Vojak, dispatch a troop in pursuit of those would- be kidnappers! I myself will accompany the princess to Herzen with a detachment of Hussars!”

  P. J. vaulted from the backseat. “Tell you what, Mr. Graf. Suppose I ride your horse while you ride this here vee-hick-ull?”

  Von Esbach bowed. “An excellent idea, Herr-”

  “I’m a him,” P. J. replied with a grin. “Bronco Jack Farris-of the Bear Creek Farrises.” He stepped over to the cavalryman holding von Esbach’s mount, took the reins, and swung into the saddle. The horse immediately reared, trying to throw him, but P. J. clung to the saddle as if he were part of the animal. “Mighty spirited piece of horseflesh for an older feller.”

  “The Graf rode that horse leading the charge that broke the Ostwalder battleline during the last war,” the trooper told him.

  “You could have told me that before I hopped on,” P. J. growled.

  The cavalryman gave him a smile. “And miss the Wild West show?”

  Leif resumed the driving duties while Von Esbach rode in the back with Megan. Colonel Vojak rode alongside at a little distance. The Graf filled the colonel in on what had really just happened.

  “Can you explain this amazing resemblance?”

  Megan shrugged as newly implanted memories rose up. “I have an ancestor who was one of the Wild Geese-soldiers who fled conquered Ireland and fought for other lands. He came home with a bride from these parts that he swore was a lost princess. We all thought it was just a wild story he made up to impress his drinking buddies.”

  “Whatever the history, we must count ourselves lucky that you appeared when you did,” von Esbach replied. “Without Princess Gwenda, Latvinia faces a dire crisis. The king, your father-” He broke off. “The princess’s father . .. was a great man and a good king. But now he is on his deathbed, and traitors plan to steal the throne.”

  “The princess has a cousin, Gray Piotr, Master of Grauheim,” Colonel Vojak said. “He wishes to become master of all Latvinia.”