trouble in svardovia 5

 

Chapter 5

 

The court of the Archduke of Austria was a dramatic venue for Victorina to launch her counter-accusations at Sophie.

“The child took advantage of me leaving the train a trifle secretively, wishing to renew an old acquaintance, but not wishing to bring scandal upon the name of my old friend,” said Victorina, airily. “She must have realised how much like me she looks, superficially, at least, and wanted to play some schoolgirl prank, in seeing how long she could fool my servants. My poor Boris was quite taken in by her, but then, he is not the sharpest stick in the bundle,” she added, throwing the baron to the wolves. “I was, of course, devastated to hear that my evil cousin had taken her hostage in mistake for me; I cannot think what she is playing at in continuing the imposture and promising what she cannot fulfil, unless it is some perverse game of Dmitri’s, using the malleable schoolgirl’s desire for thrills. I think that must be it,” she added. “Goodness knows what the child’s poor parents feel about this.”

 

Sophie’s father arrived at the palace in Berzhostrov, in a British cloud destroyer, before the men from the newspapers had left.

They clamoured for a story.

“You shall have one when I have spoken with my daughter and, I collect, future son-in-law,” said Edward Harmon.

“Papa Harmon, I have not asked yet for your permission,” said Dmitry, bowing low. “Your daughter has quickly become my sun and my moon, and my friend.”

“If you had not said the last, I’d have said, ‘No’ and made you court her,” said Edward. “Your highness, I am uncomfortable about sending my daughter into a war zone.”

“I wish it were not so,” said Dmitry. “I am hoping to raise the interest of Britain, so keen to support the underdog, and fight injustice. I have dared to write a letter to King Edward, in the hopes that he will support my claims for justice.”

“I was told to negotiate with you, and find out the justice of your claim,” said Edward.

“Well, in that case, you had best come to my study, and I will show you sundry documents,” said Dmitry. “It will do Sophie no harm to review them as well as having my opinion. The gentlemen of the press must drink coffee and eat cakes for an hour or so; please ring for servants, who are instructed to care for you.”

 

Dmitry talked for an hour, showing letters, and copies of orders, whilst Edward Harmon nodded his head, and made notes.

“You make a convincing case,” he said. “In which case, I am requested and required to place the services of HMS ‘Thunderchild[1]’ at your disposal, to aid your fight against Svardovia if a peaceful settlement cannot be reached, which covers your independence.”

“I am much obliged,” said Dmitry, who might have hoped for more, but had expected less. A British ironclad liftium cloud-ship was a great boon, and could carry more firepower than any zeppelin of equivalent size.

 

Edward Harmon returned to the room where the press men were waiting.

“Gentlemen; I am Ambassador Harmon, and I have brought HMS ‘Thunderchild’ to help enforce a peace and negotiations towards the independence of Krasnytsya.”

“Britain is not joining Krasnytsya in the war?”

“No, Britain will remain ruthlessly neutral unless given any reason to be otherwise,” said Edward.

Of course, overseeing independence was hardly neutral, but the ‘Thunderchild’ would only fire if fired on first.

Naturally, it was only proper for Prince Dmitry to be shown the ship, and meet the captain and his officers, and for Sophie to go too.

She clung to the arms of both her father and Dmitry, as Captain Thorndyke was introduced, a man in his thirties with a full naval set of whiskers in dark brown, and light blue eyes which crinkled around laughter lines.

“An honour to meet your highness, and Miss Harmon,” said the captain.

The reporters had not been forbidden to come, so there were more pictures taken, and Captain Thorndyke asked what his opinion of the situation was.

“Gentlemen, I will answer you in rhyme,” said Thorndyke. “My job is to prevent; I go where I am sent; the rules are never bent.”

“Now, I heard that although Britannia rules the waves, she mostly waives the rules,” said the reporter from New York.

“Not at all,” said Captain Thorndyke. “We always obey the rules; but it’s not our problem if our rules don’t coincide with those of other people.”

“Casuistry,” said the New Yorker.

“We invented it,” said Thorndyke.

“Oh!” said Sophie. “Papa, you have let me down. If you had told me that Politics was no more than little boys grown large jostling in the schoolyard to determine who could sit at the back of the class and get the penny for carrying the teacher’s  books, I should have understood far more than you  telling me that it was a complex and often dirty business.”

“Well, Sophie, some of the games little boys play to determine the pecking order should not be mentioned in front of girls and ladies,” said Edward  Harmon. “His highness is killing himself with laughter.”

“Please, papa, call me ‘Dmitry,’” said Dmitry.  “I am struck by how well my bride has understood the realities of the basis of politics. Sly kicks to the ankles, and barging each other into the wall are the less pleasant realities of such polite open diplomacyfare, as one cannot call it warfare. But perhaps we might shelve the politics so that Captain Thorndyke can tell us what are the capabilities of this wonderful ship. It does not run on coal or oil, I see?”

“The use of coal or oil makes the weight too great for liftium,” said Thorndyke. “I believe experiments are being made into the use of kerosene, such as most motor-cars run on.”

“My own adapted vehicle  runs on such,” said Dmitry. “I have had no problems. The keel has been steeped in Liftium until saturated,  I believe is the proper way to do things.”

Thorndyke looked briefly over at the reporters who had wandered off, bored by technical details they could look up in the naval Kalendar, and gripped Dmitry by the arm to lead him further away,

“And it is not commonly known,” hissed Thorndyke. “The French use tanks of Liftium. How did you know? It is a secret technique invented, like the production of Liftium, by Sir Humphrey Davy.”

“My apologies,” said Dmitry. “I had no idea it was still secret, since I worked out what must have been done when I found the crashed pinnace; there was a distinctive scent to the keel. I  thought it common knowledge by now. Otherwise I would not have spoken of it. I notice, too, that the effect wears off over time, and that is why I added wings.”

“Yes, it must be re-treated from time to time,” said Thorndyke. “I will ask about having your pinnace brought to England for treatment, if you will be so good as to remain silent.”

“I do not need a bribe to keep an ally’s secrets,” said Dmitry, proudly. “But I will not turn down the offer. My little craft was lost from the ‘Warspite’ during the Russian war.”

“Ah, then of similar vintage to ‘Thunderchild,’ who started life as a flying wooden wall,” said Thorndyke. He raised his voice slightly as the reporters seemed to wonder what private discussions might be about. “The ship is the incorrectly named ‘ironclad,’ though it is actually steel, stronger and lighter than iron,” said Thorndyke. “It was a compromise; armour or coal. It’s not heavy armour, but it protects certain vital areas. She’s an old lady. We carry three three-inch guns on the centreline, one forrard, one aft, and one amidships. They are supplemented by a couple of six-pounders, one each side of the bridge, just aft of the fo’c’sle gun. We have two heavy machine-guns, and a number of mounting-points on which to put them, and they carry Buckingham rounds, specifically against Zeppelins – the rounds are arranged to be one explosive, and one incendiary, so that the first pierces the gas bag, and the next ignites the hydrogen within.”

“In other words, Captain Thorndyke, this one small, aging vessel is a devastating fox amongst any gaggle of a dozen or fewer zeppelins,” said Dmitry.

“Well, yes, so it is,” said Thorndyke.

“I feel an affection for your old lady already,” said Dmitry. “I am sure that when the members of the press write about her, they will find her venerable record and note that His Majesty of Great Britain has sent an ageing vessel as a token to enforce the peace on the border whilst negotiations are arranged?”

Edward Harmon shot him a sharp look.

“You think that the Svardovians would try to shoot down ‘Thunderchild?’” he asked. “Would that not be counterproductive, and bring Britain into the war fully?”

“If the negotiations are to be held on ‘Thunderchild,’ and I have already moved aboard to await Victorina, with my bride,  I think it will be a bait she would take,” said Dmitry. “Especially if she can manoeuvre some way in which ‘Thunderchild’ fires first.”

“I believe I am wise to most machinations to avoid doing such a thing,” said Thorndyke.

“Then you must warn your men to be equally continent,” said Dmitry. “We are not western Europeans, captain. We show our teeth when we smile as well as when we snarl. And I do not rule out various ways in which the English… no, sorry, British, flag is defiled and ridiculed. Would your men refrain from shooting if a pair of hairy buttocks overhung  a gondola gallery, and then used your flag to wipe up what he has supposedly produced?”

“Hell!” swore Thorndyke.  “I am not sure my crew would not be incensed by such.”

“Then, you must tell them that such things are possible, and that to ignore them is their victory, to avoid firing first and embarrassing your king. Me, I was educated in England, so I understand what is the English way; which is stoic and unrelenting, a stiff upper lip, but that an Englishman can be taunted with certain things. Miscall his wife, and he will smile, icily. Miscall his family, and he will put on a faint, derisory sneer. Miscall his dog, or his horse, and he will show that he is vexed with you, and might call names. Miscall a sailor’s ship, and he will fight; miscall the King or the Late Queen or the flag, and he will fly into a fury.”

“I see you have the number of the average Englishman,” said Thorndyke, with a faint smile. “I will tell my crew that the Svardovians do not have the advantage of a ruler with an English public school[2] background, and that they are barbarians, and one should pay them no more heed than children trying to shock.”

“That seems reasonable,” said Dmitry. “Of course, despite my years in Winchester, I am still a wild barbarian when I wish to be, so do not be disappointed with my education, Sophie!”

“Oh, thank goodness for that,” said Sophie. “I despaired of you throwing me into your flyer and making off with me to your barbarian fastness.”

“Oh, I am wild and wicked,” said Dmitry. “You will find me totally barbaric.”

Sophie blushed.

“Not in front of me, please,” said Harmon. “She’s still my daughter, you know.”

“Of course, sir,” said Dmitry. “I won’t let her rip off the veneer of civilisation until we are safely married, and she can let out the wild man at her leisure.”

“Well, if she has control of letting the wild man out, I will worry less,” said Harmon.  “I will write a diplomatic letter inviting the King of Svardovia or his representative to join us aboard the ‘Thunderchild’ on the border.”

 

oOoOo

 

Victorina’s story came out, but was paralleled by Sophie’s admission of a childish prank on her – and the clear story that she had been called to Victorina’s suite, backed up by Victorina’s former maid. The maid’s testimony was considered very telling.  Dmitry made sure that Sophie did not see any newspapers which encouraged letters, for though some were supportive, others suggested that she should be well whipped for leaving her destination of finishing school, whether voluntarily or enticed. He wrote a stiff letter to the editor himself, saying that a true lady does not rudely turn down an invitation, hardly expecting the request to change clothes to be very much an order, at which point a young girl surrounded by adults could do little but what was forced upon her.

Public opinion tended to be in Sophie’s favour; she was very young, and had an openness to her, which was not dispelled by admitting to a brief pretence to ‘pay back’ the woman who had kidnapped her.

Subtle, judicious, and almost invisible makeup by Magda also led to several comparisons being drawn between her youthful loveliness and the heavily- made-up princess, with her scarlet painted mouth.  Sophie hated the feel of lipstick and refused to wear it.

Dmitry did not mind; her kisses tasted sweeter.

 

oOoOo

 

One reason that Victorina was the face of Svardobia was that her father was succumbing to senile decay, and though he was sharp enough some days, he was aware of losing days, and felt the need for his daughter’s support. Victorina, summoned home after the gaiety of Vienna, as well as the tide of public opinion turning against her, was in a fine old rage.

“I want that girl in my dungeons, stripped for flogging and torture!” she declared.

“What about this English gunboat sent to enforce an independent Krasnytsya?” asked her father.

“It will have to be have to be destroyed!” cried Victorina.   “And perhaps I will promise to spare the girl some torture if Dmitry will submit to me, to save her. I will still torture her, of course.  Boris! Find me a peasant girl who looks similar enough, for me to practise on.”

---

[1] Yes, the name of the ironclad featured in ‘War of the Worlds.’ I love Jeff Wayne’s musical version, and I might have to write the adventures of HMS ‘Thunderchild’ in this steampunk world, just because.

[2] Public school – in England this is a fee-paying school with a board of governors, considered the cream of the cream of education. Places like Eton and Winchester.

trouble in Svardovia 4

 

Chapter 4

 

On Dmitry’s advice, Sophie remained in the national dress of Svardovia, and Magda helped her plait her hair into two braids, which were then braided together for the last length of her hair. It kept it out of the way very well, and she could not reach either braid to absently nibble, another of her bad habits.

Another trip in the flying boat was undertaken, this time to the Krasnytsyan capital, Berzhostrov. The original city, like Paris, had been based on a river island, but had grown past that, with many fine bridges, and the shining domes of the eastern Orthodox churches which chiefly caught Sophie’s eye.

“We are going to the radio station headquarters first, to make a news announcement, whilst international reporters are summoned for a press conference,” said Dmitry. “Remember to call me, ‘Dima.’”

“I will think ‘Mitka’ when I do so, and remember your kiss,” said Sophie.

“Oh, now that will make me look suitably enamoured,” said Dmitry.

He was dressed in the uniform of his regiment, tight white trousers tucked into boots, and a green tunic over it, with much gold braid, and a black fur pelisse over one shoulder. Sophie thought him tremendously handsome.

 

The stir created when the prince walked into the national broadcasting studios with the hated enemy on his arm had to be experienced to be imagined.

He got a time slot to make an announcement right away.

“Rejoice, my people!” said Dmitry.  “I have managed to rescue my childhood companion, Princess Victorina Pyshkaya, from the vile machinations of the evil Baron Boris Slabynyski who has been keeping the King of Svardovia drugged, and also the real Princess Victorina, whilst a double has been making herself notorious across the world! Princess Victorina, my own true Victorina, is now free. I beg you, my people, be gentle with my bride, who is recovering from captivity so vile that I can barely speak of it. But she has pledged that independence for Krasnytsya is her wedding gift to me!”

He had coached Sophie in a few phrases.

“What Dima says is, indeed, the case,” said Sophie. “I am going to have to learn to be free, and to be in the public eye.”

She was glad that a letter should have already reached her father via a daring young man with a zeppelin, explaining everything.

 

oOoOo

 

In Warsaw, Edward Harmon agreed to receive one Karol Blatinski of Krasnytsya, who bowed low by removing his hat with a flourish, and drawing it across his body in a bow which was a bend in the middle, not the more western style presentation of a leg.

“I have the honour to convey a letter from  your daughter, sir,” he said, and handed it over.

“Do you mind?” asked Harmon. “Please, take a seat.”

The young man bowed, and seated himself as Edward Harmon opened the letter.

“Dearest Papa,

I was kidnapped by Prince Dmitry himself, in the belief that I was Victorina, but he rapidly realised that I was no such thing.  I am going to help him by pretending to be the real Victorina and denouncing the actual real Victorina as a fake, a puppet of Baron Louse, who is a nasty little man, and is quite capable of devising wicked plans even if he has not the stomach to carry them out himself.  Mitka is going to tell his people that the independence of Krasnytsya is my wedding gift to him, which will embarrass Svardovia more than a little, and oh, Papa, will you try to get the foreign office to support Krasnytsya and negotiate a deal? Even when it all comes out, as it must do eventually, if there is independence, nobody will mind except the Svardovians.

Sophie.

It was a rather muddled outpouring of what had happened, and Edward Harmon lifted one austere eyebrow over the use of the nickname, ‘Mitka,’ for the prince.

He would send a letter by diplomatic pouch to London, and take such transport as he could arrange to Krasnytsya as soon as he could do so. And he would send a telegram to London first. At least that was still a secure means of communication.

 

oOoOo

 

Sophie quailed before the collected press; but she smiled, and clung to Dmitry’s arm to be photographed.

The picture of the handsome couple would grace the front pages of every reputable publication, with headlines such as ‘Peace in Svardovia?’ and “Beastly Baron’s Base Blueprint” and “Princess a Pawn for Plot Perpetrated!”  and “The Real Victorina?”

With Magda’s skilful make-up, managing somewhere between the dewy schoolgirl and the sophisticated socialite, there would be very few questions asked about who was the real Victorina.

“Who is the false Victorina really?” asked one of the reporters, thankfully in English.

“I do not know; but she is welcome to the embraces of the Louse,” said Sophie. “He makes me feel dirty, and he gives parasites a bad name.”

This raised a laugh, and pens busily recorded the quote.  As it seemed that any attraction was one way, it was Sophie’s revenge on Victorina.

“How will we tell two Victorinas apart?” asked another.

“You will have to learn to tell which is which,” said Dmitry. “My Victorina is considering changing her name, however, to Sophia, her baptismal name, to be free of the taint of the imposter.”

He had explained that most people took a second name when baptised as adults in the Catholic or Orthodox church; and since Sophie had been baptised in the Church of England, and Sophia was the version of her name in Dmitry’s country, it was not even too much of a lie.

“It cannot be mangled as the Louse does to call false Victorina ‘Trina,’” said Sophia, with malicious intent that the press take up this vulgar nickname.

It was very trying; and it was the reporter of ‘The Times’ who scooped the photograph of Sophie, looking very vulnerable, looking up at the prince, to say, “Dima? Can we go soon, please?”

The ‘Times’ was to run this photograph alongside one of Victorina, pouting at the camera, and the headline, “Which is the real princess; the gentle young girl, or the notorious woman?”

 

“I’m beginning to wonder if I just did something I will regret,” said Sophie, as Dmitry flew his odd vehicle back to Castle Baba Gora. “I just told a big lie in public, and the truth will out.”

“Hush, harna, I will take the blame, and say I took advantage of a schoolgirl who had been set up most cruelly by the real Victorina, and your natural desire to play a practical joke on her.”

“Oh! If you think we can pass it off as partly a practical joke – which I suppose it was – then I am happy to take equal blame,” said Sophie. “But perhaps we should set up a press release, an exclusive with a few selected newspapers, where I tell my story about how she was, and the letter she wrote to her father, where she hoped you would kill me, which would garner British aid. And how frightened I was until it became apparent that you believed me, because I was, I was terrified.”

“You did not show it; you were like a true princess,” said Dmitry. “More so than Victorina could ever manage. And this, I will tell them.”

“And I will say that I was so angry that I was to be sacrificed for Victorina, I wanted to pay her back,” said Sophie. “Which I do. Of course, your people will be disappointed, but at least you will be able to marry a bride they will not disapprove of.”

“Harna, I am going to marry you – if you will have me,” said Dmitry. “You are brave, regal, honest and true, and my people will take to their hearts the English schoolgirl who defied the formidable Victorina and called Baron Slabinysky a louse to his face. I am also stirred by you as I thought I never would be again, when my Maryla was murdered three years ago.”

“Oh, Mitka, truly? I… I am not too young and callow for you?”

“Age is cured by time, and if you are ignorant about my country I am sure you will quickly learn.”

“I will, and your language too,” said Sophie. “I want to be worthy of you.”

“Oh, Sophie! I want to be worthy of you, and to be able to bring you to a home in peacetime, not torn with war. But the taxation on my people is unfair, and our slightly different customs suppressed by Svardovian governors until I threw them out, even our titles denied. Victorina said that if I surrendered myself to her in chains, she would consider independence for Transnystya, but I doubt she would consider long enough to do more than laugh at me, and say, ‘no,’ for she is cruel enough to raise hopes and dash them. Once, you see, she desired me, but I would not play her games; and since then her grip on our poor little country has been vicious.”

“What part does her father play?”

“He is king, but I fancy he mostly plays at it, permitting Victorina to make the decisions,” said Dmitry. “I need to kiss you, but I cannot do so whilst we are flying.”

“Then you must take twice as long over it when we have landed.”

“Sophie! I love you!”

 

The interview with representatives of ‘The Times’ and ‘The New York Times’ was arranged for the next day, to take place in the royal palace in Berzhostrov. The building was built in blocks of red and white, in a restrained baroque style, around a central courtyard, which was overlooked by open galleries, with staircases at east and west corners. Turrets arose on the north and south corners, with tops not unlike the onion domes of Orthodox churches. The interior was opulent, the walls of various salons covered in exotic brocaded silks.

“I have not set foot in this place since Maryla was killed,” said Dmitry. “But I abrogate my responsibility to avoid it. I must rule as a prince, not just as a guerrilla leader.”

“I will try to be your helpmate in all things,” said Sophie. “I am not knowledgeable about military matters, but Papa made sure I am proficient with a pistol, and I have it with me, in the beaded bag I stole from Victorina.”

Dmitry stared.

“You mean, all the time I was examining your frillies, you could have shot me?” he said.

“Yes,” said Sophie.

“Why ever did you not?”

“I did not like Victorina, and I wanted to know what you had against her, and so I was only going to use it if you planned to kill me,” said Sophie.

“I adore you!” said Dmitry.

There was an interlude before they went to meet the gentlemen of the press.

 

 

“I have a confession, gentlemen,” said Sophie. “And it comes with a fantastic story, which led to a desire to pull a prank in revenge for ill-treatment. My name is Sophie Harmon, I am seventeen years old, and I am an English schoolgirl. I was on my way to a finishing school…” she spoke of seeing and being seen by Victorina, and how this had left her playing a part, and the conclusion she had rapidly come to, that she would not have been given any choice had she baulked.

“Magda, who was her maid, and who came away with me, tells me that there was a syringe prepared in a hurry to make me what Victorina described as ‘tractable,’ said Sophie.  “And I suspect that Dmitry would have assumed me to be a dope fiend or something, had I been in such a state of lethargy.”

“It is said that Victorina has been known to take cocaine,” said Dmitry. “I would have assumed that my arrival had been inopportune for her.”

Sophie showed the reporters copies of the letter draft.

“I sent the original to my father, in Warsaw,” she said. “I know it was reprehensible to use the world press to entertain my desire for own-back on Victorina, but it also brought Dmitry and his people’s struggle to the world press, so I cannot be truly sorry, for Victorina is not the socialite she projects, but a ruthless, callous woman.”

“Is that how she struck you, miss?” asked the reporter from the ‘Times.’

“Very much so,” said Sophie, with a shudder. “She was known to slap her maids about, and her utter indifference to the fate of the foolish young schoolgirl, me, flattered by her attention, was chilling.”

“So, what will you do, now? Go back to school?” asked the writer of the ‘New York Times.’

“Scarcely; it is in Svardovia, and I would fear for my life if I entered Victorina’s realm,” said Sophie. “I do not know what she might have intended to do, had she not seen me, but I cannot think she meant to face Mitka. I am going to marry him; we fell in love.”

“I know what she planned, Miss,” said Magda. “She had decided that because I am a grandchild of her lascivious grandfather, and have some bone structure in common, I was to have my hair bleached and then dyed red. And the drug was for me, for I did not want to follow through with this plan, I was afraid. I had to stick by you, for you were so brave!”

Magda then found herself answering many questions about Victorina, whose cold nature was shocking to the reporters who had followed her devotedly, like many others.

The reporters promised to hold this story until Victorina had countered the original press release.

 

oOoOo

 

It was several days before Victorina discovered what the English Schoolgirl had done, for she had slipped out of the train in Vienna, her distinctive titian locks hidden under a headscarf, and wearing tinted spectacles, dressed in a most ordinary-looking blue gown. She was accompanied by her other maid, who did not have the way with her hair that Magda did, but was untroubled by the honesty and scruples which made Magda less useful. Here, she had made her way to the home of one Major Ferencz Ónodi, of the household guard of the Archduke of Austria, and a former lover of hers. He was happy to rekindle the flame of their affaire, and Victorina was pleased to pretend more interest in him than she felt. He was similar in looks to her cousin Dmitry, if older, with a long hussar moustache and long golden hair, which was why Victorina had chosen him. Perversely, she found Dmitry physically attractive, though her deepest dreams regarding him had him begging at her feet.

She enjoyed the solitude for a day or two, and then began wondering if Dmitry had wrung the silly schoolgirl’s neck as he had threatened to do to Victorina; and sent out a servant for a newspaper.

Major Ónodi found his house devoid of anything breakable, as the princess had already broken it in sheer rage.

“I will not rest until she is dead!” swore Victorina.