Trouble In Svardovia 3

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The stranger was remarkably handsome, with flowing flaxen locks framing a chiselled face, and a long pair of moustaches which ended in ringlets. His eyes were as green as emeralds, and Sophie tore herself from staring at him to curtsey in greeting.

“I presume you have an explanation for this rude intrusion,” she said. She spoke in Latin, being the language of the educated in Eastern Europe.

“Well, obviously, I have an explanation, Victorina. I’ve come to take you hostage.”

“Well, it is fortunate that I keep an overnight bag packed,” said Sophie, her heart hammering.

“Do you think I am fool enough to let you bring a suitcase with your favourite explosives in it?” said the young man, with scorn.

“Do you want me to start to smell?” snapped Sophie. “There are certain essentials for women for their monthly manifestation of womanhood, not to mention clean underwear. You may look through the bag.”

“Aloft, my dear cousin; for then I can throw it overboard, and not be delayed. Up the rope ladder, if you please!”

Sophie ascended the rope ladder with an aplomb which startled her captor; Sophie was used to travel, but did not always have the sort of courtesies given to a princess when boarding ships, flying or waterborne.

“I will go with my mistress; she will need someone,” said Magda, firmly. “Now, do not look up my skirts while I climb, Prince Dmitry!” She followed Sophie. The young man followed behind angrily, feeling somehow that his cunning plan had been usurped by the beautiful, but poisonous, de facto ruler of Svardia.

Sophie had time to whisper to Magda, as she helped her off the ladder.

“You called him Prince Dmitry; is it the prince himself?”

“Yes, and I am so glad you pretended to recognise him, or who knows what might have happened!” Magda whispered back.

“I did not know if I would be supposed to recognise an agent of the prince, as I thought him, so it was best to be neutral,” said Sophie, helping Magda into the strange craft, and climbing in herself.  Dimitry followed, frowning in puzzlement at mistress aiding maid.

“This boat is the pinnace of the British warship ‘Warspite,’ for it is written on the transom,” said Sophie, accusingly, to him. “And that is why it has liftium to allow it to fly. How did you acquire it?”

“It was deemed lost in battle in the Russian-European war, dear cousin, and I found it,” said Dmitry, mockingly. “And I added wings and an engine to help it go faster.”

“It looks like nothing on earth; a mad dream from the head of some anti-hero in a novel by Jules Verne,” said Sophie.

Dmitry grinned with very white teeth, causing Sophie to look at him askance that a gentleman, a prince at that, should reveal his teeth so readily.

“I take being likened to any character in a Jules Verne novel to be a compliment,” he said. He pulled on a short rope which somehow started his engine revolving, the big blades of a propellor installed at the aft of his vessel springing into life.  He concentrated as the vessel lifted ponderously off the train’s roof, his take-off along its length as he gained the height to lift over the high walls of the cutting through which it ran, waving to the small zeppelins which guarded the front of the train. They immediately lifted and fell in behind him.

“Now, open that suitcase, and make sure the lid is fully opened before reaching into it, so I have no surprises,” he said. Sophie did so, blushing furiously that a man should see her underwear and intimate garments. “What, can you still blush, cousin?”

“These are garments no man should ever see, save a husband,” said poor Sophie, burning with embarrassment.

Dmitry laughed, cynically.

“What, do you undress in the dark for your lovers?” he sneered.

“You are insulting,” said Sophie, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “And if you have finished with my underthings, I should like to pack them again, and close the case.”

“If I did not know you of old, I would almost believe that you were a frightened virgin,” said Dmitry. “You have learned how to act the innocent; is that the next phase of your career? Are you looking to make a dynastic marriage?”

Sophie bit her lip, a bad habit of hers, to stop herself crying at the sneering tone of this young man who looked so fine, and yet whose features contorted in hatred.

Magda took her hand, and Sophie clutched it convulsively.

“Scared of me, cousin?” sneered Dmitry. “You did not think I would forget the slaying of my fiancée in so short a time?”

“What?” blurted Sophie. “What do you mean?”

Uncertainty lurked in his green eyes.

“You could almost make me believe you innocent of complicity,” he said. “But then, I remember that you said you would take away everything I valued and everyone I loved.”

Sophie felt a roaring in her ears, and she fell back from the narrow bench on which she sat, in a swoon.

She came to, cradled against the faithful Magda.

“It looked quite genuine, you know; you fell most inelegantly,” said Dmitry.

Magda spoke  up in Svardovian, which Sophie could only partly follow.

“Enough of this farce! Your highness, she is not your cousin, she is an English girl tricked into playing the part of the princess, and she has no idea of what she has got herself into!”

“English? I speak some English,” said Dmitri, in that language. “But of course, Victorina is quite fluent. It is an interesting way to avoid my vengeance. And what name are you supposed to have?”

“Sophie Harmon,” said Sophie. “My father is a diplomat in Warsaw, and I was on my way to school, and the princess asked me to impersonate her, so she could avoid the attentions of the press.”

He gave a harsh laugh.

“Well, that’s a lie!  You love the attentions of the press, Victorina, so don’t try to fool me.”

“The English girl thinks it reasonable to hate the attentions of the press, your highness and believed the lie,” said Magda.

“You may laugh at me for being taken in by the romance of impersonating a princess, and enjoying playing dressing up in her clothing, and for being royally fooled until the Louse let it slip that an attack was expected and that I was supposed to be the target not the princess,” said Sophie. “And if I had not found out that the princess cares not a jot if you kill me, but hopes that it will bring England into the war against you, I should have been happy to impersonate her indefinitely as a hostage for the sport of it. But if she is a murderess, I am not going to be treated as guilty of her crimes.”

He laughed, cynically.

“A multiple murderess,” he said. “This I will have to verify.”

He manoeuvred his vessel over a jagged row of mountains, and Sophie heard a whirring noise in her beaded bag.

“What, can altitude set off a clockwork musical box?” she asked, of nobody in particular. “Dear God! It is a bomb!”

She took the small, decorated box from her bag, and hurled it over the side of the ship. It was scarcely in time, for the little box exploded on the way down.

“She meant to kill us all,” said Sophie, her voice trembling. “She meant to kill us all and use that to drag in England.”

“Either I owe my life to your quick wits in realising that, or Victorina plays a very deep game. You are identical to her,” said the prince, who looked shaken. “Plainly the clockwork was set to unwind by the removal of an obstacle, which broke under the low pressure of our altitude, which must be known to be on the route I have to take, crossing the Baba Gora ridge – Baba Gora, the mountain up to which it runs resembles an old woman in the mist,” he explained.

“Baba means old woman, and Gora means heights,” Magda told her. “And she is not so like the princess under the makeup, for the Princess looks what she is, under her makeup, a woman of twenty-two, with the marks of her lifestyle on her; and Miss Sophie also looks like what she is, which is a young girl with a fresh and dewy complexion, which needs none of the artifice the princess uses.”

“It does cover my freckles,” said Sophie, wistfully. “They are a sore trial to me, which lemon juice does not remove.”

“I am beginning to be convinced,” said Dmitry. “Victorina would not admit to freckles.”

“Nothing so honest as a common freckle would go anywhere near her,” said Magda. “Miss Sophie’s freckles give even more sweetness to her pretty face, which is not beautiful, no, but it is wholesome. And it will be more beautiful than the princess when Miss Sophie is two-and-twenty, because it will be serene and kindly, with a ready smile.”

“Well, we shall see,” said Dmitry. “We are coming in to land.”

 

Dmitry switched off his engines, and took in the sails, and turned on the liftium inhibitors to bring the small vessel down onto the turret of a rugged castle, built out of a mountain spur. He jumped out of the boat, and assisted Sophie and Magda to climb out.

“You may show your teeth like a barbarian, but you are a gentleman to assist Magda,” said Sophie.

“What is wrong with showing my teeth? There is nothing wrong with them,” said Dmitry, mystified.

“It is not considered proper for those of the upper classes to do so, at least, in the west,” said Sophie. “If it is not taboo here in the east, then I apologise for the solecism in mentioning it.”

“No, it is something to know if I can treat with England, through you, in our struggle for our traditional freedoms,” said Dmitry, leading the women down a stair. “I had intended this room a prison for my cousin. But, forgive me, I must tell you to remove your makeup, and then to make a final test.”

“I hope you will permit Magda to help me; you see, I had not used makeup at all until she put it on for me to impersonate the princess,” said Sophie.  “It is a comfortable looking room, even as a cell, and well-appointed, and not at all the dank and rat-infested dungeon I confess I had half feared.”

“Oh, we have them,” said Dmitry. “I am becoming more convinced; Victorina would not describe such a room as ‘well-appointed.’

“Why, the bed seems broad, and well-equipped with covers, I perceive a closet in what must once have been a garderobe, a desk and chair, writing paper, a bookcase with books, though probably not those I can read as yet, if they are in Svardovian, but some international magazines, and some gay rugs on the floor,” said Sophie. “I will sit at the vanity for Magda to remove my makeup; is she to share the bed with me, or will she have her own room?”

“I will have a trundle bed brought up for her,” said Dmitry.

Magda swiftly cleaned off the makeup, and Dmitry examined Sophie’s face in the light of the broad window, which looked out towards the mountain which did, indeed, resemble an old woman with a headscarf, an overhang like a hooked nose adding to the illusion.

“Remarkable,” said Dmitry. “But there is one thing I know Victorina could not fake.”

He pulled Sophie to him, and as she looked up at him in surprise, he crushed his lips to hers. Sophie gasped, and put her trembling hands to his chest to steady herself.

Her lips parted under his insistent kiss, and she found herself trembling, and quite overcome by a feeling of softness which flowed through her entire being.  His lips softened on hers, and moved sensing and feeling her mouth, and his hands on her upper arms loosened their grip, but drew her closer. He lifted his mouth from hers, and his green eyes, softer than Sophie had yet seen them, gazed into hers, the veins blue under them seeming to give him a look of vulnerability. Sophie put her hand wonderingly to her lips.

“You’ve never been kissed before,” said Dmitry.

“No; but how could you know?” asked Sophie, tremulously. “I should be slapping your face, or fleeing in confusion to sob on my bed, at least, that is what heroines in books do. Am I the scarlet woman you seemed to think me because I would not mind if you did it again?”

He laughed a genuine laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“What a nice, natural girl you are,” he said. “I am taken by surprise that I want to do it again, and for that reason, I must not. For if I start, I may not stop.”

“It is a pleasant way to pass the time,” said Sophie.

“No, little girl; I mean, I might not stop at kisses,” said Dmitry, letting go of her and taking a deliberate step back. “I did not think I would feel again after Maryla was murdered.  But you move me, and I… I must think hard.”

“And you must also consider what to do about your cousin’s attempted murder of us both, for I doubt she realised Magda would come.”

“She wouldn’t count her as a person to care about,” said Dmitry, with a cynical sneer.

“Don’t do that; it spoils your looks,” said Sophie. “Your highness, it will be given out first, will it not, that Princess Victorina was abducted, before they want to use my supposed death?”

“Yes, very probably,” said Dmitry. “Then the news that I took the wrong girl, and managed to kill her and myself in the mountains.”

“Then why do I not continue the imposture?” said Sophie. “And claim that the real Victorina is an imposter, and that you… you rescued me from the wiles of Baron Louse, whose name I cannot be bothered to remember, and… and that we are betrothed to end the tensions between our countries?”

“Josef, Mary, and all the saints, it might work, at least to keep them off balance,” said Dmitry. “You shall call me ‘Dima,’ in our press releases, it is what Victorina called me when we were children, though I prefer the diminutive, ‘Mitka.’”

“Very well; but you shall have a messenger sent privately to my father, who should have received my message that I have been kidnapped by Victorina, and that she expects me to die to involve Britain,” said Sophie. “I will write to him that you have been the soul of courtesy, and seek aid from Britain to mediate in the differences between the Principality of Krasnytsya and the Kingdom of Svardovia.”

“I like it a lot,” said Dmitry.

 

trouble in Svardovia 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Sophie awoke, confused, at the rattle of curtains and the drawing back of some of the filmy white curtains around the bed. Magda stood there with a teapot and a cup. Her cheek was red.

“Baron Slabynyski said you would have milky coffee like her highness, but I said, you are English, and used to tea. He was not pleased, but have I, please, the right thing done, because there is nobody to see.”

“Oh, Magda! Did that nasty little man hit you? I am so sorry. Yes, I like tea in the morning, but I must go in search of the lavatory first.”

“Oh! You have an ensuite,” said Magda. “Through that door. It is not too primitive. Shall I draw you a bath?”

“I will enjoy the luxury of tea in bed for once, before bathing,” said Sophie. “What is the princess’s custom for breakfast? Does she send out?”

“Oh, we have our own food in these carriages,” said Magda. “In the servants’ carriage right at the end, and it will be prepared and brought to you. What would you like?”

“Bratkartoffeln, with eggs and bacon, please,” said Sophie. “And then pain au chocolat, or a roll with honey or jam, I’m not particular.”

Magda sniggered.

“Her highness will not touch so hearty a breakfast, so the servants who do not know will be surprised,” she said. “She usually has a peach and a piece of thinly-cut lightly toasted bread with a little butter.”

“I wouldn’t mind that as well,” said Sophie, tentatively.

Magda laughed.

“I will see to it,” she said. “I will tell them the rest of the breakfast is for a mysterious lover.”

“Goodness! Won’t they look at me askance if they think me such a scarlet woman?” asked Sophie.

“The princess has many lovers,” said Magda. “Oh! She left you a gift; it is a musical box, it is to identify you, and she said you should carry it with you always. But it is also a recording device, and if you have any trouble from Krasnytyan separatists, you should start the recording, to use in court.”

“I see,” said Sophie.

She enjoyed her tea, and then bathed, and was faced with a huge wardrobe of clothing, which was larger than the sleeping carriage designed for six sleepers.

“I will wear bloomers, I think,” she said to Magda. “They always look such comfortable garb, and I may never get another chance.”

Magda giggled.

“Our bloomers are based on Cossack trousers, and are worn with an embroidered knee-length tunic with small slits at the side and wide sash. Our princess wears such things when she is being very much the patriot.”

“Then, I will be a patriot of Svardovia,” said Sophie. “And while I am eating breakfast, I would like to speak to Baron Slabynyski.”

“Yes, highness,” said Magda, curtseying. “As I must call you, now.”

“Oh, well, in private, you can call me ‘Sophie,’” said Sophie. “There is a lot of room in these garments.”

“Miss is slimmer than the princess,” said Magda, with what Sophie thought an almost vicious sense of satisfaction.

“You do not like the princess?” asked Sophie.

“She is as sweet as honey when things go her way,” said Magda.

“Oh.” Sophie knew that meant that she took things out on Magda when things did not go the princess’s way.

She went into the opulent sitting room, where a dining-table had been unfolded ingeniously from somewhere, with a white linen-work cloth over it, and real silverware. A pot of coffee and a teapot sat on the table, and covered dishes on chafing dishes. The baron was already there, and rose to bow.

“I customarily take breakfast with her highness for her to give me the day’s orders,” said he.

“Good.  I wish to take issue with you hitting Magda, for her kindness to me in guessing that I would prefer tea first thing, not coffee.”

He frowned.

“She is a servant; she is used to rebukes.”

“Nevertheless, whilst she is my servant, I do not expect her to receive any blows for doing her best,” said Sophie. “Do I make myself clear?”

“My dear young woman, I merely wanted to make sure there was no discrepancy to be seen, like this remarkable breakfast  you have called for….”

“And who are the servants in the cooking car supposed to be able to tell?” asked Sophie. “Magda told them I was entertaining a lover, and seemed to think this credible.”

“It is,” said Slabynyski, grudgingly.

“Good. Then I will eat the sort of hearty breakfast I am used to,” said Sophie, trying not to look scornfully on his piece of thin toast and half a grapefruit.

“You will do well to remember that I am here as your tutor in the princess’s manner, and to do as you are told,” said Slabynyski.

“Oh? Well, it is a shame to waste breakfast, I can change back into my normal clothes and go back to my cabin once I have eaten,” said Sophie.

“You can’t do that! You agreed!”

“I agreed to be the princess,” said Sophie.

“I will prevent you from leaving,” said Slabynyski.

“I am supposed to be photographed at stations,” said Sophie. “What a story if I cry to the journalists for aid after you laid lewd hands on me.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Do you really want to try me?” asked Sophie.

“I hope the separatists do try something, and you get kidnapped,” cried Slabynyski.

“Ah. Now we get to the real reason the princess wanted a double,” said Sophie, tucking in to her breakfast. The baron looked at her healthy appetite with a look of horror that anyone might eat bacon, sausage, and fried egg so early.

“The princess did not think you would accept the real reason with equanimity,” said the baron.

“She was wrong,” said Sophie.

He regarded her balefully. Sophie made sure to smother her toast with plenty of butter and a thick layer of honey.

He fled.

Sophie giggled.

 

After breakfast, Sophie asked Magda if she would mind helping her to wear some of the princess’s beautiful clothes, and a morning passed happily enough. Sophie chose an evening gown in green and flame, embroidered with tiger-lilies for the evening, and dined with the baron, who watched, aggrieved, as she took the size of portion a growing girl needs.

“Why, what is this dish?” she asked, tasting it. The baron was smirking, unpleasantly.

“It is called ‘Goulash,’ and it is one of our national dishes,” he said. “What, is it too spicy for you?”

“Not at all,” said Sophie. “It is really nice; has a decent bite to it. I like the spicy foods of India, too, and Morocco. I am a diplomat’s daughter, after all, so I have travelled widely.”

She had to smother a laugh at the fury on the baron’s face; plainly he had hoped to make her choke on the spicy dish.

“I look forward to Svardovian food, I think,” said Sophie. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”

“No,” said the baron, shortly. “Good grief, girl, isn’t your appetite affected at all by fear of what the Krasnytsyans might do?”

“No,” said Sophie. “Should I?”

He gave a mirthless laugh.

“Prince Dmitriy loathes our princess cordially, and is likely to be rough.  Of course, you can reveal who you really are, but it may take a while for him to accept your story.  I am looking forward to the thought of you in his hands.”

“You know, calling you the louse fed on dried blood is almost too insulting to a louse fed on dried blood,” said Sophie, amicably. “Pass the potatoes, please.”

“You are a pert chit!” snarled the baron. “I hope he flogs you!”

“You have some very exotic wishes,” said Sophie. “Perhaps it is you he wants, not me, to see if you have any blood at all. Aren’t the Krasnytsyans supposed to be barbarians?”

“They are!” he almost whispered.

“You’re afraid,” said Sophie. “You are almost quivering in terror.”

“So would you be, if you had any sense,” said Slabynyski.  “But you have served your purpose, and will continue to do so; there are no more places before the capital where you might be expected to wave to your adoring public, so I can keep you here, and make you go through with it. My princess is safe, and I don’t care what happens to you.”

Sophie laughed.

“And the princess does not care what happens to you,” she said. “Otherwise, you would have had some excuse to leave manufactured for you. But you are as sacrificial as I am.”

“She loves me! I am only here to make sure they think you are Victorina! They will take or kill you, and I will join my princess!”

“You’re deluding nobody but yourself, you know,” said Sophie. “She despises you; I saw it on her face.”

“You lie!” he went to slap her, and Sophie threw the rest of the goulash in his face.

He cried out, trying to clear the spicy food from his suddenly painful eyes.  Sophie finished eating, and retired to her bedroom.

She had let herself be taken in, just because the person who had fooled her was a princess. Well, she had agreed to be the princess, and she would be so, until she knew more about the situation of the politics.

And she would keep a handbag on her at all times, with her little gun, and that musical box recorder… if it was a recorder at all, and not something more sinister.

Well, she would just have to wait and see, and enjoy being a princess in the meantime, playing with the other woman’s clothes and jewellery, and learning about Svardovia as well, something Magda was willing to impart.

“Magda,” said Sophie, “I am going to write to my Papa. It is very important. Can you get it in the post for me?”

Magda blushed.

“We have been forbidden to let you write… but you are kind, and they have more or less kidnapped you.  I will see that it goes in the train’s bag tonight.”

“You are so good, Magda! When this is over, would you like to stay with me? It is not as prestigious, and I doubt I can pay you as well.”

“I would like that,” said Magda. “And I will pay myself with the sum of money she set aside to bribe you, if you would not do it willingly; and she laughed, and said that she would easily charm a schoolgirl, who would do it for her beauty.”

“I did it because I felt sorry for her, always hounded by the press,” said Sophie.

“Of course you did, lady!” said Magda. “I don’t think she understands fellow feeling. I think you should read this draft of a letter she has written to her father, the king.”

The relevant passage ran,

“And it does not matter what happens to this English schoolgirl, whom Dmitry will likely have killed, assuming her to be me, because when it comes out who she is, which I will publish, England will let us have liftium to crush Dmitry and his separatists for ever, and we shall execute every last one.”

Sophie shuddered.

“Thank you, Magda; I needed to know,” she said. “Well, I will play on, to save my own life, and we will see what happens. Will she miss the draft or the money?”

“No, Miss Sophie, she is too careless,” said Magda. She provided writing materials for Sophie, who wrote,

“Dearest Papa,

Please do not worry Mama, but I find myself in a bit of a pickle, because I was taken in by someone of exalted rank. I will never trust princesses and princes again.  I saw the Princess Victorina of Svardia, and she saw me, and asked me to take her place. I have discovered from the Louse, whose nickname is an insult to all Lice, that it is because an attack on the train by Krasnytsyan separatists is expected; and I want you to know that their claims may be just, since I have determined personally that Princess Victorina is a cold and callous woman who is very good at projecting herself to the press, but in private, she hits her maids and is spiteful. Her tame louse is a vile little man; and such represent Svardia. I am including the draft of a letter that Magda has given me, my temporary maid, who is going to smuggle this out, as I am not allowed to communicate and am essentially a prisoner of the Svardian royal court, which shows what sort of people they are. Pray for me, please! I will have to pretend for now but perhaps I can tell Prince Dmitry who I really am.

 

Sophie.”

 

Sophie was quite tired of being a princess by the third day, but she wore the costume of loose trousers and tunic again, her hair in a plait, which she suffered Magda to put up with pins.

“I don’t suppose I would have been any less bored in my own cabin,” she said, to Magda. “I wish I had brought a novel to read on the train.”

“Oh! There are novels,” said Magda. “Often left by sundry people travelling with the royal carriages.” She opened a hidden bookshelf, and Sophie hesitated before choosing a speculative fiction novel by the celebrated Jules Verne, so many of whose speculations preceded scientific discovery.  She picked ‘To Jupiter’s moons,’ about a flight to that huge, mysterious planet and its satellites. It kept her happily occupied until she was startled out of her reveries when the train came to a sudden, unanticipated halt.

“Seperatists!” gasped Magda.

“They will not hurt you,” said Sophie. “And I will pretend for as long as possible to protect the princess.”

She looked out of the window, and saw the most extraordinary flying machine, a boat with wings and sails, as it swept over the ridge of the cutting in which the train had come to a stop.  It manoeuvred with a consummate skill which made Sophie murmur in appreciation, as it landed on top of the broad carriage. She took up the beaded bag she had chosen, which had a shoulder strap from which to hang it, and reviewed its contents again. The musical box, her pistol and ammunition, clean linen for bandages, a box of matches in a tin, a candle, an emergency sewing kit for running repairs, and her manicure kit.  It was extraordinary what you could do with a manicure kit. Quickly, she went into her ensuite and relieved herself, so she might be ready for anything with equanimity.

And then a hatch in the ceiling opened, and quite the most beautiful young man Sophie had ever seen dropped down in front of her.