Duel Identity Page 4

  The prime minister nodded. “Throughout the king’s illness, Piotr has worked to install his creatures in places of power. Members of the government have resigned, or suffered … accidents.”

  “Accidents? Bah!” Vojak growled. “Several army commanders were apparently sharpening their swords, and then fell on them-backward. At least the King’s Guard stays true.”

  “The colonel’s command,” von Esbach explained. “For the most part, the army, the government, and indeed, the people of Latvinia are loyal. But if the king should die and his daughter not appear…”

  Megan nodded. “It would seem as though she weren’t loyal. But how could this Piotr fellow get the people behind him?”

  “I can only imagine-and fear,” the prime minister said. “If the princess failed to appear, and then turned up dead, with proof that the Ostwalders had attacked her-”

  “It would mean war, with every Latvinian marching for vengeance behind brave King Piotr.” Colonel Vojak looked as though he wanted to spit. “Not that von Esbach and I need to worry about that. No doubt we’d be already dead.”

  “But if I arrive in Herzen as the princess, the machinery of the plot grinds to a halt,” Megan said.

  “Piotr would have to eliminate you-either through assassination or by unmasking you.” Vojak stated the situation unflinchingly.

  “But we can hope and pray that the true Princess Gwenda would remain alive,” Graf von Esbach said.

  “Alive-but a prisoner,” Megan pointed out. “Where would this Gray Piotr be holding her?”

  “Anywhere in his domains,” Vojak replied. “Grau- heim is the tallest mountain in Latvinia, surrounded by some of our wildest countryside. There are more hunting lodges, old fortresses, and plain robbers’ dens than anyone could count.”

  “Starting now, they’ll have to be counted-and checked,” Leif spoke up from the front of the car. “Miss O’Malley’s appearance buys you some time. But neither the country nor the real princess is safe until she’s rescued.”

  “All too true,” Colonel Vojak growled.

  As they’d driven along, the valley had widened still farther, turning into rich farmland. Now a large town or small city appeared in the distance, quaint, old-fashioned buildings surrounding an even older medieval wall. Dominating everything for miles around was a castle or palace in the middle of the town. As Megan stared, a red rocket shot up from one of the towers. “We’ve been spotted.” Colonel Vojak turned to Megan with a formal bow. “Are you ready to greet your people, Princess?”

  Megan had to push back a sudden surge of stage fright. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered.

  Leif could barely keep his mind on his driving as he aimed the car down the grand boulevard of Herzen. He kept shooting suspicious glances at the cheering crowds all around them. The townsfolk were all waving green, red, and gold flags and shouting their heads off to welcome the “princess.”

  But Leif, recalling certain events prior to World War I, especially the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, couldn’t help but think how easy it would be for someone to burst from that crowd waving a revolver. If that were to happen, Leif was determined to make a good try at running any such assassin down before the fatal shot was fired.

  Beside him, David-or Menelik-glanced into the backseat and shook his head.

  “How’s she doing?” Leif asked in a whisper.

  “She’s eating it up,” his friend replied quietly. “What do you expect? Who wouldn’t like riding into town in the back of a fancy car and having everyone treat you as if you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread?”

  They continued along the wide street until they found themselves at the gates of the castle that dominated the town. Thick oak doors strapped with steel swung inward to admit them, revealing a courtyard with beautiful gardens.

  “What do we do now?” Leif heard Megan ask Graf von Esbach.

  “I think a visit to the king is on the order of business, first and foremost,” the prime minister replied. “And then, perhaps to the throne room. All the nobles of the land will have gathered to welcome their princess back.”

  Leif brought the Mercedes to a stop, and Megan got out, removing her rather dusty motoring coat. She’d already taken off her hat and scarf while waving to the Latvinian people on the boulevard. Servants came rushing to take care of any needs the “princess” might have. Von Esbach waved them off.

  “This way,” he said in a low voice, circling around the inner walls of the palace. They entered through a smaller, inconspicuous door. A pair of guards in crimson and gold stood at attention.

  Trailing along behind the prime minister and Megan, Leif, David, and P. J. marched through a maze of corridors. Leif wondered if the royal architect had been drinking when he designed the castle, or if the wandering halls were a security measure to confuse attackers. They certainly confused him. Here and there portraits and tapestries brought bits of color to ancient graystone walls.

  “I keep expecting to see Dracula’s brother-in-law come popping out of the shadows,” P. J. whispered.

  “Let’s concentrate on the real-life dangers,” Leif whispered back.

  “Odds are that the conspirators know that Megan has arrived by now,” David said, taking on the situation logically. “We’ll probably have a short breathing period while they decide what they’re going to do.”

  Provided nobody loses it and tries to take out this new Princess Gwenda before she’s really in play, a suspicious voice muttered in the back of Leif’s head.

  They seemed to zigzag back and forth for a bit, then climbed a circular staircase into one of the castle towers. This part of the castle had been modernized, and the hallways began to show a few creature comforts-thick carpets on the stone floors and even more tapestries.

  Looks like someone might actually live here, Leif thought. They arrived at a guarded door. Only Megan and von Esbach went through.

  The boys stood around for a bit.

  Some minutes later, the Graf and Megan returned. Leif noticed that Megan looked very serious. “The king doesn’t actually look like your father, does he?” he asked in a low voice as they proceeded down the corridor.

  “No.” Megan shook her head. “That would be way too weird. The king is in a coma, so the Graf used our visiting time to prepare me for the people I’ll meet in the throne room.”

  A different-and equally confusing-route brought them down to ground level. This was obviously the public part of the palace. Everything was done up in grand style, from the paintings on the wall to the furniture to the guards standing stiffly at attention.

  At last they reached a huge pair of double doors that not only had guards but a pair of uniformed flunkies in knee-breeches and powdered wigs. They’d have looked more at home as doormen for George Washington than for a twentieth-century kingdom. At the first sight of von Esbach and Megan, they leaped into action, opening the doors.

  Megan took a deep breath. “Wish me luck,” she whispered.

  Leif didn’t say anything-not out loud. But a voice in his head jeered, You’ll need it

  Megan swept through the door on the Graf von Esbach’s arm, doing her best not to gawk at Latvinia’s throne room. It wasn’t as large as the virtual space used to house Net Force Explorer meetings-not quite. But the crowd of waiting nobles made up in color what they lacked in numbers.

  / always thought the turn of the century was a pretty conservative time, Megan thought as she took in the assembled throng. Guess I was wrong.

  The wild fashions of the Fin de Siecle SIG should have warned her. Here, in veeyar, the costumes were even more extreme. Most of the males were in some sort of uniform, with an apparent contest going on to see who could wear the most gold braid. The glitter on the men was only outdone by the gleam of the women’s jewels and the clashing colors of their court gowns.

  Even without her motoring coat and scarf, Megan felt downright dowdy in her plum-colored velvet traveling suit
. But apparently it didn’t matter what a princess wore. The peacock-hued lords and ladies all bowed and curtsied as she made her way into the center of the room.

  Where was the infamous Gray Piotr?

  Over the bobbing heads Megan noticed an out-of- place group. It looked as if a shadow had been cast over part of the colorful mob. Instead of gorgeous uniforms, the men in the group wore darker colors. Their faces had a harder edge than those of the surrounding nobles-and the swords they wore didn’t look like decorations. They seemed to bow to her grudgingly, and one figure in their midst didn’t bow at all. He was in uniform, but his jacket and trousers were in shades of gray instead of the garish ensembles worn by most of the men. Light glinted off a monocle in his right eye as he gave her a long, thoughtful look. By now, Megan was close enough to recognize Alan Slaney. But like so many people in this room, he was transformed, and it wasn’t just the uniform. His brilliantined hair was parted in the middle, and besides the monocle, he boasted a magnificent handlebar mustache that even now he twirled between his thumb and forefinger.

  A villain’s mustache, Megan thought. Which was only appropriate, since Alan had cast himself as the villain of the piece-Gray Piotr!

  Alan moved from the spot where he’d been standing- right beside the throne, Megan suddenly realized. He advanced through the crowd until he’d almost reached Megan, then gave her a courtly bow.

  “Glad to see me home, cousin?” Megan asked coolly.

  Alan gave her another bow, clearly hiding a delighted grin. He placed a kiss about an inch above her extended hand. “Let us rather say that I’m relieved. Traveling in foreign lands is always an adventure-not to mention the risks of riding the royal railroad.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard my share of odd tales,” Meg replied.

  His eyes were ironic as his gaze met hers. “I only regret the reason that brings you back from your studies in Wurttemburg. Let us hope for a result that will spare you the rigors of rulership.”

  A low murmur broke from the onlookers at Gray Piotr’s words. Megan pitched her voice to carry over it as she replied. “I am not eager to seize up the crown- but if the time comes, I can only hope to fulfill my royal duties as well as Gregor the king!”

  Megan smiled at Alan as the nobles all around them broke into applause. His bow said that she’d won this round-but there was more fighting yet to come.

  Court etiquette demanded that she graciously nod and accept greetings from the local aristocrats, so she stood on the dais with the prime minister at one elbow and Gray Piotr at the other. Von Esbach cleverly arranged things so that the bigwigs were first introduced to Megan’s traveling companions. That way she had a chance to catch their names. Between those exchanges and the briefing she’d received, she got through the reception line without any obvious problems.

  “You must be fatigued after all this unfamiliar effort,” Alan Slaney purred as the last noble couple moved away. “Surely you would prefer to go to your own apartments and rest?”

  “Only after my friends have been seen to,” Megan said firmly. She wasn’t about to demonstrate that her unfamiliarity with her new role began with the floor plan of the palace. She turned to von Esbach. “I trust suitable arrangements have been made?”

  “I shall show you immediately, my princess,” the prime minister replied.

  “Then I’ll leave you to your… domestic affairs,” Gray Piotr said. One more bow, and he moved to join his hard-looking henchmen.

  “Off to plot more mischief, no doubt,” von Esbach muttered, watching them go.

  “We’ll be better able to counter it if we all get some rest,” Megan replied in a low voice. “Lead on.”

  The prime minister led Megan and her friends through yet another set of corridors. “I took the liberty of lodging these gentlemen in the Princess’s Tower,” von Esbach said. In a lower voice, he added, “Anyone attempting to reach the royal apartments will have to come through here.”

  Leif nodded. “So then they’ll have to get through us.”

  Open doors showed several pleasant-looking bedrooms. “I also took the liberty of having your luggage brought up,” von Esbach said.

  “And I’d say that arriving in our rooms makes a perfect place to break the action for this session,” Megan added in a softer voice. “We’ll meet in my virtual workspace for a quick postmortem. What do you say?”

  The boys nodded and headed for their rooms. Megan turned to the prime minister. “Perhaps you would accompany me to my own apartments?”

  As soon as Leif was through the door, he gave a silent command to cut out of the Latvinia sim. Rather than awakening in his computer-link couch, however, he blinked and found himself in the new address he’d given his computer-Megan O’Malley’s personal Net space.

  No accounting for taste, Leif thought as he looked around. Maybe it was a reaction to living in a crowded house with a good-sized family, but Megan’s workspace was huge-an amphitheater large enough to accommodate a football game and a good twenty thousand fans.

  The setup didn’t just give her space-it was out in space. Megan’s stone amphitheater was set on the surface of Rhea, one of Saturn’s numerous satellites. When Leif looked up, the ringed planet loomed overhead, like a grossly swollen, orange-striped moon.

  Leif turned his attention from the sky show as David synched in. The other boy simply shook his head. “Well, being a foreign prince certainly beats playing a train porter. But when I chopped that guy’s hand off-”

  “Real swords-and real consequences,” Leif said. “I sure hope that robber was a nonrole-playing character.”

  David turned appalled eyes towards him. “Don’t even start going there!” he begged. “I have to believe I was just slicing electrons.”

  “Hey, if you’re not sure of the safety interfaces …,” Leif teased.

  P. J. popped into existence beside him. “Boy, we sure dusted those bad guys!” He blew over the top of his outstretched index finger, as if he were cooling down the muzzle of a gun. “A real action-filled start, before things started getting boring with all the politics.”

  “Nice review, coming from a politician’s son.”

  P. J. gave Leif a haughty look. “My father is a senator, not a politician.”

  Leif rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

  Before he could say anything more, Megan appeared. She was positively fizzing with joy. “What a great sim!”

  “Of course, you’re not saying that because you got one of the starring roles,” Leif said.

  “Just because somebody whacked you before you could show off your prize toadsticker doesn’t mean you have to dump all over everybody else’s good time,” Megan replied tartly. “The question now is-when can we all go back in?”

  Everybody’s eyes got a slight faraway look as they checked with calendar programs back in their computers. “I’ve got a lunch tomorrow that will run pretty long,” Leif said. “It’s a family thing-friends of Dad’s from Europe. Maybe in the evening-”

  Megan shook her head. “Fencing class.”

  Leif’s lips quirked downward, although he managed to keep the scowl from his face. Megan had played heroes and villains with Alan Slaney in sim today, and she’d be working with him in a real-world class tomorrow. …

  I’d probably like the guy in other circumstances, Leif thought. He’s clever, creative, and has a sense of humor in creating sims.

  Too bad, then, that the existing circumstances involved Megan O’Malley.

  I’ve got no right to be jealous, Leif told himself.

  So why was the situation driving him crazy?

  Chapter 5

  Leif walked into his room and was just about ready to cut his link when he heard a familiar sound-the clash of steel. He ran to the open window, stopping only to grab his own sheathed sword. His room had a good vantage of the inner courtyard of the palace, much of which was cultivated as a garden.

  Two stories below, on a graveled path, two young officers were dueling-at least, they w
ere trying to. The pair looked like clowns, staggering around with no trace of footwork or any idea of the proper distance from which to launch an attack, swinging their heavy cavalry sabers as if they were trying to chop wood.

  Looking down, Leif didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified. Latvinia had only been open for bare hours, and these two idiots had to fool with swordplay in the worst way.

  And it was the worst way, Leif realized as he continued to watch. The two continued to hack and swat at each other with no rhyme or reason. Somewhere in the Latvinia program, there had to be some basic knowledge of swordsmanship stored for the role-players to tap into. But there was a big difference between knowledge whispered in the back of the brain and knowledge in the muscle and nerve tissue.

  These guys could barely handle the weight of the heavy military sabers. Their attempted slashes wobbled in midair. One guy was huffing and puffing, looking as if his arm was going to fall off. The amateur duelists would attack at the same time, their blades clanging together, then rebounding. Or they’d manage to miss, which really scared them as razor-sharp blades whipped far to close to various pieces of their anatomy. Then both of them would fall back, or clumsily lock their blades together, they way they’d seen it done in old flatfilms or historical holodramas.

  Leif turned away, unable to watch any more of this travesty.

  I hope those guys down there aren ft products of the fencing school Megan is attending, he thought. Otherwise, the place should be shut down for taking money under false pretenses.

  Shaking his head, he gave an unspoken command to his computer. An eye-blink later, he found himself back home on his computer-link couch. He swung around so his feet touched the floor, got up, and stretched. No matter how much the machinery in the couch tried to keep his muscles toned-and Leif’s couch was a pretty expensive one-it still felt better to move around after a long session in veeyar.

  A glance at his watch made Leif frown. He’d spent more time in Latvinia than he’d realized.