The Golden Portifor - 30. Chapter 30

The chamber door shut behind Willi as he left to meet the new day. Serge, roused by the sound, slumped back into the mattress as his mind recollected the previous day’s highs and lows, mostly the lows. He didn’t discount the possibility that Willi was up so early as a way of avoiding the consequences of yesterday’s wild moment. He sighed. Something would have to be said, much though Serge earnestly disliked confrontation with those he loved. He got up from the bed and found the water placed by young Jonas was already tepid. The page was remarkably good at entering a bedchamber with a heavy basin and depositing both it and the towels without disturbing its occupants. Karl invariably woke him when he did it.

Sighing again, Serge ran through the day’s engagements in his head. There was a meeting of the prince’s council after the morning mass and breakfast, and following that he had planned to devote the afternoon to work on plans for the new house in the Wenzlerwald. But he found that for once the prospect palled.

Willi was not at mass, so Serge concluded he was definitely hiding from him. As he was standing with the principal officers of the household behind the prince’s chair in the chapel he cast his glance to the left, and there amongst the other servants stood young Jonas. Again Serge was seized with a feeling of familiarity, and this morning for some reason it was very pressing on him. It was then he remembered where and when he had first seen Jonas.

It had been nearly two years ago, and that same boy’s face had grinned across at him at a mass, a mass of St Michael in the Hofkapelle of Strelsau. It was at the point when Willi had sniggered and added the name of Satan to the litany. And there Jonas stood then, and here he stood now in Mittenheim. It was nearly two years ago, but the child was quite unchanged from what he was then, and that surely could not be. And yet it was.

***

The stay in Mittenheim liberated Karl and Jonas from their routine household tasks, and so they had an unusual amount of daytime to themselves. They spent a lot of it with the horses, which Jonas enjoyed quite as much as Karl. Andreas, for his part, was fully engaged in his duties with his company of the Prinzengarde, and not to be distracted. His was the life company and, as the premier unit of the regiment, charged with the escort of the regimental ensign and the protection of the prince.

Jonas said he quite admired Karl’s farrier skills. ‘You humans can be quite clever. I suppose you have to be, to make up for the lack of magic.’ He rattled through Karl’s treasured tool box. ‘Look at these implements. So neatly fashioned. I remember when your people made do with sticks and sharp rocks. But even then your ancestors could make some clever things out of just sticks and stone without any help from us, and not all of them were for killing each other. It’s what I tell the Council. But they don’t see what your minds can create, only the wars and the bloodshed, and so they ignore you as just an inconvenient consequence of Creation. But there are so many of you who want to be better than you are. That’s why I help when I can. The ones beyond the Final Sea know this too, obviously. And now they’re up to something.’

‘So what can you do, Jonas?’

‘Ahah!’ The elf tapped his nose, yet another of the human gestures he was acquiring. ‘One idea I have is that you humans can be helped by infecting you with magic. The way you’ve grown is obviously not right, and in your own way you’re trying to do something about it. You really do want to be more than you are: just look at the Conduit kids and how they stand by each other! So I’m exploring how far you can be pushed in that direction.’

‘Wilchin,’ Karl said. ‘You deliberately made him a half-elf. It was the wings which were the thing, weren’t they.’

Jonas looked surprised. ‘I keep forgetting you have the clear sight. But you’re right. Wilchin’s proved that a few of you can be pushed out of your human condition into something else, under the right conditions and with the right help. The wings were indeed the thing, but we found he can’t sprout them in this world.’

‘So you tried, then?’

Jonas grunted. ‘He brought back many gifts from Fäerie, but transformation isn’t one of them.’

‘So he can trick people into seeing what he wants them to see, read their minds a bit, and speak all the languages under the sun. Not a bad haul for our Wilchin,’ Karl laughed.

Jonas laughed along with him. ‘I’m happy with that for now. I’ll just have to be patient until I can figure out the next stage.’

‘And how long will that take?’

‘Who knows? Well ... you might. What does your clear sight say?’

‘Er … what?’

‘You’re probably the equal of Lady Fenice in power, if not in experience. She was given glimpses through windows into what’s to come. Stands to reason you might be too.’

‘What do I do?’

‘Just take my hand. After that, I don’t know. It’s not a power I have.’

So Karl took the elf’s hand. He closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate but it was not until he had decided the effort was hopeless and he relaxed that images leaped unbidden into his mind. It was no more than a flicker of pictures: Jonas in his underwater lair, being hilarious with three strange boys; Jonas in Fäerie sitting on a rock chatting with an odd-looking man in very strange clothes, and with a shock a final vision of a titanic winged and horned being bestriding a mountain peak, spear in hand, lightning blazing across a dark sky behind him. The shock of the last glimpse made his eyes shoot open. He hastily let go of the elf’s hand.

‘So what did you see?’ Jonas eagerly demanded.

‘You’ll get to play with real boys again in the years to come, but as for the rest, I dunno.’ Karl did his best to describe the mental pictures. ‘That last one may be the end result of what you’re starting here, Jonas,’ he concluded. ‘And it was scary.’

The elf brooded silently on Karl’s news for quite some while.

***

‘Hah! There you are!’ Serge finally encountered Willi skulking on the terrace at the rear of the Residenz. Willi looked in two minds about running for it, and Serge definitely saw him mouth ‘Oh shit’ to himself.

Willi put his hands out in a gesture of apology. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me ... though maybe I deserve it.’

‘Never mind that.’

‘What, really?’

‘You’re not off the hook. But we’ll get back to it later. It’s the boy Jonas. We need to talk about him.’

‘Why? What’s he done?’

‘That’s worse than what you did? Nothing so ghastly. But he shouldn’t exist.’

Willi stared at him. ‘You what?’

Taking a deep breath, Serge explained. Willi looked blankly at him when he had finished. Finally he said ‘Have you got a temperature or something?’

‘There has to be a logical explanation,’ Serge growled.

Willi shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s a castrato. They grow up slower. So I’ve always understood.’

‘He doesn’t sound like a castrato.’

‘Easy enough to check,’ Willi giggled. ‘Jonas, drop your drawers, I want to see if you still have your balls.’

‘I wondered how long it would take before you began trivialising the whole thing.’

‘I’m not. Honestly. It’s just ... so unlike you. You realise you’re actually straying into the territory of the supernatural? You think Jonas isn’t a human boy, doesn’t age and isn’t bound by natural laws.’

‘Have you ever seen him eat or drink?

‘Er ... I never go into the dietary practices of the servant class. I just assume they’re brutish.’

‘Gaah! I need Jan Lisku.’

‘Surely you’d best talk to Karl Wollherz, Phoebus. He did after all suggest you employ Jonas and claimed your supernatural child used to hang out at the Conduit.’

Serge shook his head. ‘It’s precisely because of that I can’t ask Karl ... or Andreas. They’re both involved in this somehow.’

‘Now you’re worrying me.’

‘Why?’

‘All this. It’s so out of character. Whatever happened to the God of Reason you worship.’

Serge took off his hat and frowned skyward. ‘Damn it all to hell,’ he swore. ‘There may well be a reason for Jonas’s peculiarities. I just have to find it. Understand?’

‘Yes dear, of course I do.’

Serge took him by the elbow and steered him down off the terrace and into the formal gardens. ‘Now let’s have that talk about your aberration yesterday in front of Mehmed. Do y’know the story of Kasimir Liszinski? No? He was a Polish nobleman and scholar who ill-advisedly speculated in writing as to whether God did or did not exist. Three or so years ago, his enemies found out about it and he ended up convicted of blasphemy and atheism, the penalty for which was to have his tongue ripped out and his hands burned off in front of his eyes, after which he was decapitated and his remains burned to ash.’

Willi looked ill. ‘Sorry,’ he said in a small voice.

‘Even the pope was sickened. My grandfather published a tract about the case, which got some notice in the Empire. Such things could very well happen in Ruritania, Willi. Every courtier has enemies, the Church here has its zealots, and you seem to have forgotten what a narrow path we walk. Your faith in human nature is touching, but trusting dangerous people like Mehmed could get us both killed. What possessed you, darling?’

‘Oh ... y’know ... the madness of the moment. I just like being shocking, and Mehmed’s such a tempting target. Things have been going so well of late, maybe I’ve just got thinking that we’re untouchable: young, glamorous, talented, irresistible – that sort of thing.’

Serge laughed, and then, despite the risk of being observed, kissed the madman he had pledged his heart to. ‘I do love you darling. But we’re not untouchable.’

***

Prince Henry was determined to earn popularity in Mittenheim, not just for himself but for his dynasty. He was going about it with his usual thoroughness. The Dalmatian campaign had earned a good deal of glory for the Mittenheimer regiments he had raised, and of course the commissions available had offered new careers for young Mittenheimer aristocrats. As far as the people were concerned, the fortification of the city had improved local trade and offered employment, as had the continued presence of the prince in his ducal capital.

‘Being seen and being accessible’s the thing, Phoebus,’ he declared during Friday’s lever. ‘Is that right, my lord?’ He directed his query at Anton von Gerlitz, the Mittenheimer who was still occupying Serge’s old office of Second Groom of the Bedchamber.

‘Er ... yes, royal highness, it is ... er ... as you say,’ the man agreed with his usual hesitancy, but then his voice strengthened. ‘The people need to see their prince and, with all respect, your royal father was never seen here before he became king, or much after either.’

‘Exactly, my dear Anton. So I will make it a practice to receive petitioners publicly on Fridays, as today is. So after breakfast, the good people of my duchy, whatever condition they may be, have been informed that they can approach me on the terrace of the Residenz and present me with their pleas and what not. Or rather, hand them to my chancellor as I smile benignly upon them. I expect my household to be there in force, mind.’

Serge however had no intention of witnessing the prince’s condescension to his devoted people. Having bowed the prince into his breakfast, Serge collared a passing page and asked him to find Jonas and tell him he was required by his master. Then he went off into the garden to pace the ash paths and think deeply about what he could say to the strange boy, and worry about what Willi had implied about his own mental condition. He thought he could guess what his grandfather would say about his suspicions, but as he explained to himself, he was only following where reason dictated, and was looking for more evidence to inform his ideas. That was rational, surely.

‘My lord?’ Jonas came trotting towards him from the direction of the stables.

‘Ah, Jonas,’ Serge began, feeling a sense of trepidation for some reason. ‘Do y’know, Master Jonas, I don’t know your surname.’

‘Don’t have one, my lord. So the boys at the Conduit called me Jonas Niemand.’

‘I wondered about that. Do you know much about your background? Your parents, what happened to them?’

The boy became undeniably shifty. ‘Er ... barely remember them, sir. My father may still be alive, but I don’t recall any mother.’

‘So you grew up on the streets.’

‘Yes, sir. Like so many others.’

‘But you have had some education, I think.’

‘Sir?’

‘Your vocabulary and syntax are not those of other boys of your age and background.’

‘Really sir?’ The boy’s eyes suddenly narrowed and his look became sharp. ‘And what might “syntax” be, sir?’

‘You read, I notice, and you seem to have little difficulty in understanding French. When the Graf von Strelsau was somewhat in his cups on Wednesday evening, chattering away to the Graf von Speyer in that language, he called out loudly for plus de vin. I noticed you came to him at once with the flask and filled his glass.’

The boy looked momentarily disconcerted, but rallied. ‘He held up his glass, sir. I guessed what he meant.’

‘Now tell me, Jonas. Did you ever serve in the Hofburg of Strelsau?’

‘Your pardon, sir?’

‘I just ask because on the feast of St Michael at the Hofkapelle nearly two years ago, I saw you amongst the servant boys in palace livery.’

‘You must be mistaken, sir. It could not have been me. I was on the streets.’

‘Not only was it you, child. It was a you unchanged from what you are now. How do you account for that?’

Jonas’s mouth hung open. He was grappling for a reply that was reluctant to appear.

It was at this point that there came the sharp report of a pistol from the east terrace of the Residenz and an uproar of shouts broke out. Guardsmen ran past Serge through the garden towards the house. Serge hesitated, reluctant to end his interrogation of Jonas, but then followed the soldiers, telling the boy they would continue this later.

As he reached the terrace he found a half dozen troopers of the Prinzengarde with drawn swords forming a ring around a stunned-looking Prince Henry, with a determined-looking Ensign Andreas Wittig standing over Anton von Gerlitz, flat on his back, the ensign’s sword at his throat. Courtiers were in a huddle to the left, chattering and appalled. The day’s petitioners were against a wall with muskets trained on them.

‘Damn it, let me through, you men,’ the prince commanded, seemingly having regained his composure. He walked over to Andreas and looked down at Anton, squeezed young Andreas’s shoulder, then called over Serge, who was let through by the guardsmen.

‘What’s happened here, sire? Did I hear a gunshot?’

‘You did indeed, Phoebus. Young Von Gerlitz pulled a pistol and clapped it to my temple. I’m not sure what happened next, but apparently I’m still alive.’

‘My God! Whatever possessed the fool?’

‘That’s for you to discover, my lord Marshal. Attempts against the life of the prince and violence within the precincts of the court are in your jurisdiction. Now, Ensign Wittig, perhaps you can tell me exactly how it is I’m still alive’.

The boy grinned. ‘Not too difficult, royal highness. I gets to recognise people acting odd round me. The uniform brings it out of them, and my lord von Gerlitz was in quite a state this morning, especially when I looked at him. He was edgy, with sweat on his brow, and after I noticed that I got very suspicious, especially when he began pushing his way to the front of the court when you began receiving them bills from the poor people.

‘I was in two minds about whether I could have him seized before he could try anything, since he is a lord and all. But he was too quick and had that pistol hidden in his cuff. Clever that. He whipped it out, but didn’t have a chance to get a fair shot at your head before I grabbed his arm and pulled it down, when it discharged into the ground. Then my lads were on him and knocked him down, so you’re still in the world, sire.’

‘Is this the pistol, Andreas?’ Serge asked, picking up the gun in question from the pavement.

‘That’s the one, sir,’ the boy replied.

‘Very well. With your permission, sire. Andreas, escort my lord von Gerlitz to the North Citadel and have him placed in close custody. In the meantime I suggest that guards on the city gates and around the Residenz be doubled. All travellers in and out of the city must be closely interrogated. This may be a conspiracy, not merely the act of a lone assassin.’

***

Prince Henry did not seem particularly shaken by his close brush with death. He seemed more puzzled than anything else. ‘You see, Willi,’ he observed, as he and his retinue passed into the Residenz and sought the council chamber, ‘it was all just too quick, and then it was over. The surprise was in the identity of the would-be assassin. Anton von Gerlitz? Could you credit murder to a character that bemused and hesitant?’

‘He didn’t exactly shine in his new role,’ Willi observed. ‘Whoever incited him to it didn’t choose a particularly sharp instrument.’

‘I imagine it was his closeness to me rather than his aptitude for murder that brought him into the plot, for plot there is, I think. Hey-ho. Time to sort out that Wittig boy. He really does have a knack for being heroic as well as a capacity to be in the right place at just the right time. Have him brought to the council.’

So Andreas was called back from escorting Anton von Gerlitz to the Citadel and told to report to the prince. Knocking at the well-guarded door he was admitted and instructed to stand at the end of the council table opposite the prince, who surveyed the youth with some consideration from his chair. The boy was now man-height and a fine figure of a young soldier. After a long silence the prince began.

‘There on the table in front of you, Ensign Wittig, you will find a blue, gold fringed waist sash, which I ask you to assume, and also a silver gorget, which you will likewise assume. You know what they signify?’

The boy beamed. ‘Makes me a captain, royal highness.’

‘Exactly so. You will have a company of your own in my Prinzengarde when one comes vacant. It’s the very least I can do for you after yet another signal service to the Crown, but besides that, it really is time to settle your affairs. Now then my lord marshal, is the boy literate yet?’

Serge rolled his eyes. ‘He can make out words with a bit of effort and sign his name, but I doubt he’ll ever read for pleasure.’

‘You do have high standards, Serge. But for me that’ll do, as it fulfils one condition for what must happen next.’

‘Sire?’ Andreas looked puzzled.

‘Andreas Wittig, your services in the field and in my household show that you have the physical qualities to shoulder the burden you must now assume, and as I have come to know you I have seen that you have the moral ones too. What you lack is what men call “blood”. Now I can by a simple impress of my seal on a patent declare that you are a nobleman, though that’s never enough for the world in general. I’ve been considering what to do with a young fellow of your quality since your exploits at Basovizza. So, some weeks ago I had my lord chancellor of Mittenheim investigate the present state of the nobility of this duchy, and he found that there is a baronial house of great respectability and lineage which has no heir, male or female, and so its estate will very soon revert to the Crown.

‘At my command and in consideration of certain favours regarding the disposal of his estate, the chancellor has come to an arrangement in my name with the Lord Baron of Bernenstein, a fine old gentleman in his seventies, that he will adopt you as heir to his estate and name, having been persuaded that you have already at the age of fifteen demonstrated more valour and nobility than most men do in an entire lifetime. Also the ransom for the Lord Mehmed has begun to come in, and you’ll easily be able to pay the entry fine which is owed for succession. You know what this means?’

‘Er ... sire?’

‘It means, that as of this day you will be Captain the Freiherr Wittig von Bernenstein, a noble gentleman of the duchy of Mittenheim. As an act of my grace as duke and in recognition for your repeated bravery, you may assume the red heels of the highest nobility. I suggest you talk this through with my lord Serge, as soon as you’ve regained control of your lower jaw. Now off you go and practice being arrogant and entitled, like all the other Freiherren of your age. Out, young man!’

Andreas stood a moment stunned, then delivered a very graceful bow, evidence of the effect residence in the princely court was having on him, and with a sidelong glance at Serge left the room.

***

When Serge emerged from the council, a troubled man, he found Andreas still waiting for him. Serge’s mood lightened, and he grinned at the boy as he bowed and said, ‘Well my lord Von Bernenstein, I’m sorry to have kept you.’

‘Oh please, sir. Pack it in.’

Serge took and held the boy’s hand. ‘You’ve earned it, Andreas, and for myself, I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more, though I am biased since you did save my life at Basovizza.’

‘But what does it mean, sir?’

‘Being noble?’ He shot the younger boy a mischievous look and added ‘I can recommend some books.’

‘Not helpful, sir.’

‘I suppose not. My experience, so far as it goes, is that you have to manage expectations. Noblemen have to have appropriate residences, they adopt the expensive fashions of the court, assemble a household and pay it lavishly. You’re a wealthy fellow, Captain von Bernenstein, and people will expect you to spend accordingly. You need to go and talk to Herr Simon Ashkenaz when we get back to Strelsau.’

‘Master Lisku explains things better. Maybe he’ll consent to leave your service and become my domestic steward.’

Serge frowned. ‘Of course another thing we noblemen do is defend our honour by killing people who affront it. I could challenge you for trying to poach Jan from my household.’

Andreas gave a chuckling laugh in which the boy was still very much present. Serge deliberately took his arm to bring home to him the reality of his rank and the fact that he and Andreas now were equal before the world in standing. Then he walked him out of the Residenz and together they made for the Citadel.

‘You looked troubled, coming out from the council, sir,’ Andreas observed as they left the palace grounds.

‘I did? If so I had reason to be. Do you know the punishment for treason in Mittenheim?’

‘Pretty horrible, I’d guess, sir. How can it be worse than Ruritania? The way they dealt with my lord von Strelsau’s father was pretty revolting.’

‘Here they seem to have preserved the oldest and worst traditions. If Anton is found guilty, as he will be, he’ll have his balls cut off, the wound sealed with hot pitch, and be made to run naked up through the city streets at the tail of a cart to the cathedral square and there tortured publicly for as long as he can be kept conscious and screaming. The grand finale is to have his intestines removed slowly from his body on a wheel and, if he’s still alive, have what’s left of his manhood sliced off. Then his gutted body will be dismembered between four horses and the pieces exhibited in an iron cage till they rot to bones.’

Andreas looked grim. ‘Treason to the lord is the deepest crime, sir. You can see why they do it that way. When you attack the prince you attack all of us, the whole people he rules.’

‘That’s the theory, Andreas, but when people are licenced to commit and glory in such savagery, that undermines them morally, just as much as the crime weakens the state.’

‘How would you have it, sir?’

‘Me? There is an argument for death as the sentence for the worst of crimes, but the rope or axe can do the deed efficiently without the macabre theatre and the jeering of delighted crowds. It panders to the lowest of humanity.’

‘There’s a lot of them, sir. Many of them to be found in the Platz of Strelsau, believe me.’

‘Your experience there is considerably more extensive than mine, Andreas. You may take it that I’m not happy to have to consign my former colleague, the Graf von Gerlitz, to such an end. But it is my duty, like it or not, and I really do need to find out what drove the man to this mad act, or, which is more likely, who drove him to it.’

‘Ah sir, that’s likely also to involve pain, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Indeed it will, I’m afraid to say.’

‘Then I know who you should talk to, sir. My lord Mehmed. From that odd boy Hans Blicke, I get the idea that our Turkish gentleman has some experience in that sort of thing, and knowing him as we do, sir, I’d imagine that he would likely be the very best at it.’

***

Returning from the Citadel to his quarters in the Residenz, Serge remembered his unfinished business with his page. He rang for Karl Wollherz, and when the boy arrived told him to locate and bring Jonas to him.

Karl gave an apologetic little bow. ‘Sorry, my lord,’ he said, ‘but I can’t.’

‘What? Why?’

‘He’s resigned your service, sir. He said you’d had some difference of opinion and he couldn’t carry on here, so he’s taken himself off.’ Karl adopted a pious look. ‘It’s the problem with street kids, sir. They can’t settle. Always have to be off after new thrills. You was lucky to keep him as long as you did.’

‘But where’s he gone?’

‘Don’t you worry, sir. He’ll look after himself, I paid him the balance of his salary on your behalf. Probably he’ll go to join up as a drummer boy again, or maybe find a new master, though without you as a reference that may not be so easy. Not everyone’s as understanding and generous as you, sir.’

Serge frowned at Karl. He suspected he was being played by his groom, but found himself unable to challenge him on the subject. But he could at least put him on the spot. ‘Well, I regret that. Jonas may have been a street boy, but he was a good servant. Tell me, Karl, what do you know of his background?’

‘Not much sir. He was best friends with that Wilchin, if you remembers him. Jonas turned up at the Conduit not long after I took service with you, sir, so I never knew him from the old days. Wilchin and him joined up with the regiments when our prince went to war against the Turks, so he came to mind when you were looking for servants. Wilchin recommended him, not that you’d take his say-so on anything much if you had any sense. But Jonas turned out alright, didn’t he?’

‘I suppose. Did you ever notice anything ... er ... odd about him?’

‘Odd, sir? Odd like Hans Blicke?’

‘No, Karl. I mean ... uncanny.’

‘Uncanny, sir?’

‘Were there things about him that were not easy to explain?’

Karl frowned as he pondered. ‘I once saw him dispose of half a tray of Mistress Margrit’s almond pastries straight from the oven without making himself sick. That what you mean?’

Serge shook his head and dismissed Karl, asking him to locate and fetch Mehmed, if he was free. He was however pretty sure he had indeed been played.

***

Mehmed was silent for quite a while after Serge had shared the day’s news with him and described his problem. When he spoke up he wanted to know more about the state of politics in Ruritania and the Empire.

‘The idiot Gerlitz is clearly but a dupe,’ he reflected after he had listened patiently to Serge’s explanations. ‘I would say that for you it is rather more important to find out who is behind him, and then you will know a lot more about the shape of this conspiracy. Thank you for the confidential information about this Bavaria and its vain and ambitious lord. One day I may be able to put it to good use in my Emperor’s service. It is clearly in Bavaria that you will find the mainspring of the plot. Who else but its prince has the motive to murder your own Red Elphberg? Had the Gerlitz fellow succeeded, I imagine that the armies of Bavaria would already be crossing your frontiers. Tell me about his pistol.’

‘Pistol?’

‘You remarked he could keep it in his cuff, and that makes it unusual. I imagine it was small in size, and made of lighter materials. In other words, specially crafted for the purpose of assassination. Find the maker, or at least the dealer who sold it, and you may find your trail to Bavaria or to Bavaria’s agent.’

‘Oh! I’ll get people on it.’

‘A fascinating problem for you,’ the pasha smiled.

‘The fact that we have Gerlitz under lock and key is one benefit we have out of this. If, that is, he can be made to talk.’

‘Paff!’ the Turk exclaimed. ‘Getting prisoners to talk is easy. It’s getting them to tell the truth that’s the problem. Is the man under close guard? There are people out there who will want to remove him from the board, and quickly.’

‘I made a point of it. So how do I get him to talk?’

‘There are ways to do it properly, but they take time. The brutal ones produce quite quick results, but what you get is not usually reliable, especially in this case.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘From what you say, this Gerlitz may think he has a cause. Such people can be difficult to break. Whether it is their faith in their God, or faith in some political dream, it gives prisoners a thing greater than their own life to hang on to and defend.’

‘Can you assist me in this?’

Mehmed gave a wicked little smile. ‘I thought I was doing. But what will you do for me in return?’

***

Meanwhile, in a corner of the great stable of the Residenz of Mittenheim Karl grinned at Jonas. ‘Didn’t take yer long to get out of clothes,’ he observed.

The elf stretched his slender brown limbs, and sighed. ‘I hate them. Don’t know how you put up with ‘em.’

‘They has their uses, ‘specially in the winter. So you’re leaving us?’

Jonas shrugged nonchalantly, yet another human gesture he had acquired. ‘It was a good idea and I’ve learned a lot more than I thought I would while it lasted, but your lord Serge saw too much and started asking questions I couldn’t answer.’

‘Just how did he get suspicious? Did yer get caught out magicking the hot water into their chamber? I told yer not to do it.’

Jonas grimaced to himself. ‘My mistake, but one I made some time ago’ he admitted. ‘I’d been watching the Hofburg for a while, and your lord Serge. I thought for a long time he might be the one whose blood was going to be stolen; that was before I realised Boro was a much easier target for the plotters. But as I was observing his arrival at the Hofburg I was accidentally summoned.’

‘How could that happen?’

‘Oh, words can be said at the right time and place, and then the clouds break around me and I can be seen. I just had time to cloak myself in a disguise. But I was seen by him and he remembered me, despite everything I could do. And then he wondered how in all the time since I had changed not a whit.’

‘Pity. We’ll miss yer, Jonas. I’d thought that maybe Ando could take you on as his groom, now he’s a lord and all.’

‘It wouldn’t work, and it’d take me away from my main job, which is to watch over Boro. I have a feeling things are coming to a head. But I’ll be always near at hand. I’ll send Wilchin to you, he’s becoming my official agent in the world, a job he loves. He can summon me at need and his talents can be useful to you. You’ll have to find somewhere to put him up though.’

‘Maybe they’ll take him on here as a stable hand; there’s never enough of them, and the stablemaster is a friend. Wilchin’s not bad with horses. He can manage people too when he has to.’

Karl stood. He held out his arms, and hugged the elf boy. Then he stood back and let him vanish, which Jonas did with a very human wink.