The Prince Commands: Being Sundry Adventures of Michael Karl, Sometime Crown Prince & Pretender to the Thrown of Morvania (8 page)

The Marquisa was leaning over, staring straight into the man's face. “Don't swear, Duke Johann, oaths that you can not keep.”

Duke Johann smiled sweetly. “Where I go, Laub, Karnow, Kallhant, Conve and Kaptan will follow with everything they possess. The entire nobility except your bootlickers will take their cue from me.”

“Not,” the Marquisa grinned like a wolf, “not if they believe you're one of the murderers of Urlich Karl.”

Duke Johann showed no surprise. “I expected that. You can not do it.”

“Rumor is an ugly thing, and if you were to vanish for a day or two, who would there be to stop men talking?”

“I!” the black-haired man almost shouted. “I want to free the people of Morvania, but I'm not going to use lies, trickery or murder. If anything happens to the Duke, the
Nationalist
and all the rest of my papers will print the whole story of what has gone on in this room. No matter what happens to me, that story will go to press if I don't report in person to my office every morning. And, Marquisa, the whole episode of the Laubcrantz Mines is part of that story.”

The Marquisa turned pasty white and sank into his chair. Duke Johann smiled at the man by his side. “Bravo, Lukrantz! Had we but one of the Karloffs to lead us, we could pull out of this mess after all.”

One of the Karloffs! Michael Karl straining to catch every word stared down at the Duke. One of the Karloffs. He was one, he had only to step out and the Duke would make him king. While he hesitated, playing with the thought, the Count spoke again.

“We have a month to clear and then we must go.”

Duke Johann stared at him, and when he spoke there was such contempt in his voice that the Count started as if he had been cut with a whip. “So the rats are thinking of leaving. Well, I and mine stay.”

The man with the mustache leaned forward. “You and yours, my fine duke? Well, I and mine will make an end of all of you. We've had enough of the nobles and their doings. It is about time the South had a little to say in the government. The day of the Karloff and his lily-livered flunkies is over. The people are going to rule.”

The Duke surveyed him as if he were some sort of a strange animal.

“So the people wish to rule,” he said gently. “Well, perhaps they won't make as big a mess as we have; but to reach the throne they will have to climb a wall, Friend Kamp, a wall I think they won't attempt just yet. Do you know what that wall is?”

Kamp growled some sort of an answer.

“That wall,” the Duke went on, his voice a smooth and deadly purr, “is composed of the bodies of every noble and every loyal man in the kingdom. We all remember Russia, Kamp, where I believe you did business, and forewarned is forearmed. You will find us ready.”

Kamp sneered. “That is as it is. You will see the Red Flag on the Fortress yet.”

“It grows late,” said the Count hurriedly.

Duke Johann, Lukrantz and Kamp took the hint. Kamp hurried away with the briefest of good nights while the Duke and Lukrantz followed more leisurely. The Marquisa stamped out by himself frowning horribly, and the little man in the red robe scuttled behind him still holding his silver cross.

Michael Karl was about to ease his aching feet by dropping down when he saw that the three men left were not going to leave at all. They got up from the table, to be sure, but instead of going to the door they were crossing the room to a point directly below Michael Karl. He realized that the secret door was more than a foot above the floor.

He could no longer see them through the peephole but he could still hear them. There was the sound of an opening drawer and then the soldier spoke.

“Duke Johann may control the nobility, but, what Kamp says is true, the day of the nobility is over. The Duke is getting out of hand. He should be reasoned with,” he ended with a dry unpleasant laugh.

Some one drew in his breath with a sharp whistling sound.

“Then you think that Kamp is the man to bargain with?” demanded General Oberdamnn.

“Nobody could bargain with Kamp, he actually believes the stuff he preaches. No, he wouldn't save our sinking ship if we gave him the key to the treasury.” That was the soldier again.

“Then what can we do, Laupt?” wailed the General. “We have no Prince to produce, and the Council has their accounting next—”

“If you are worrying about those military funds you, shall I say, borrowed, you needn't be afraid. Your share of the concession will pay it up.” Again the soldier laughed unpleasantly.

“But you heard what the Duke said: the concession has to be signed by the king and there is no king.”

“The Marquisa is next heir to the throne, General.”

“But, Major Laupt,” broke in the Count, “no one would support his claim.”

“No?”

“You have a plan?” asked the General eagerly.

“Perhaps. Is there any way we can trick the Duke out of Rein for the next week or so?”

“We might,” the Count said slowly, “suggest that new information has been received which leads us to believe that Urlich Karl is a prisoner and we know the place where he is imprisoned. All the information coming from a loyal spy. It is a thin story, but it may do and get the Duke and all his crew out. For if Johann believed that Urlich Karl was still alive, he would storm the gates of Hell for him and every one of the nobles would cheerfully aid him in doing it.”

“Then we must fix up our story to-night. General Oberdamnn, you are chief of the secret service. Who is on duty in the mountains now?”

“No one. Our last spy,” the General's voice shook a little, “came floating down the Laub with his throat cut.”

“Well, who might be there?”

“Dimk might. He has some reputation too.”

“Where is he now?”

“Off on one of those silent hunts of his. He works without orders but he usually brings in just what we want although sometimes he doesn't report for days at a time.”

“Would Johann believe Dimk?”

“Yes, Dimk worked under Johann once.”

“That is excellent. Then this is what we'll do.”

Michael Karl found that he could hear better by crouching down in the passage and putting his ear against the door.

“To-morrow”—began the Major.

Chapter VIII

Michael Karl Hears What Was Not Meant For His Ears

“To-morrow,” said Major Laupt, “Dimk will come to you with a story. You will of course be alone when he comes. Urlich Karl was not killed a year ago but is being held prisoner by the Werewolf in the Laub Mountains”—the Major broke off with a laugh. “It has just occurred to me that the Werewolf might finish off Johann and his men and thank us for sending him the chance if the Duke goes too deeply into the mountains. Well, Johann's Prince will be there waiting for him.”

“But we'll have to have some proof, we can't produce Dimk. Why, I don't even know where the man is,” protested the General.

“You will have proof. The estate of the late Crown Prince contains a ruined mountain castle which no one but the wolves or a forester has visited these last ten years. In fact most people have forgotten about it. What more probable than that the Werewolf has made it his headquarters— it is in the heart of his country—and is holding the Prince a captive there? I can furnish you a map of the castle and the surrounding country.”

“But,” protested the General again, “Johann will demand to see Dimk and question him himself. Johann is no fool.”

“That, of course, is the weak spot,” admitted the Major. “But we must be firm upon the point that Dimk has returned to watch the Prince and his captor.”

“Will Johann believe any story that we tell? He knows we hated Urlich Karl,” the Count was doubtful now.

“He knows that we must have a prince to save ourselves from the public accounting. Perhaps you can suggest delicately, my dear General, that the Prince has remained where he is through our efforts. Johann would be apt to believe that. That would help the Dimk part too. Or better yet, you play the craven, Oberdamnn; go to Johann secretly and reveal this plot of ours and tell him all about the Prince. Pretend that you're afraid of Kamp and his supporters.”

“I'll try,” promised the General with no great relish.

“You'll do better than try, Oberdamnn,” snapped the Count.

“To-night, within the hour, you will pay a visit to Kamp,” continued the Major. “You will tell him that Count Kafner wishes to see him at ten tomorrow morning. From Kamp's lodgings you will go straight to the Pala Horn and demand to see the Duke. They will tell you that he isn't in, he's attending some sort of a meeting at the Journalist's Club with Lukrantz. You will seem much disturbed. Mutter a little and pace the floor, do anything to impress upon the minds of the servants that you are deeply worried about something, but be sure and come away before twelve when the Duke will arrive. Tell the butler that you will call his master in the morning as you can no longer wait. And call upon him as early as you can within reason. Remember you've got to act your part well. You must give Johann the impression that you have cold feet about this whole affair and are ready to talk. Give him something to think about.”

“With Johann out of the city”—suggested the Count.

“With Johann out of the city we begin to work. Lukrantz must be muzzled, I leave that to you. Kamp will be told that we are ready to see things his way if he will support Cobentz for king. He will agree because he will think he sees a chance of raising the people against us, Cobentz being what he is. Yes, Kamp will join us with his tongue in his cheek.”

“Next Sunday the Archbishop must preach a very moving sermon, we'll get Mantz to write it, all about the ancient Karloffs, and at the end he will pray for Michael Karl as one dead. That will set the people to thinking. Then we produce a body and hold a state funeral. Cobentz must make a parade of great sorrow as chief mourner. That will identify him with the throne in the eyes of the people.”

“But the people hate Cobentz,” protested the General.

“Just so. That's where Kamp comes in. He will try to organize a revolution, and so will we. Kamp will raise the red flag and we the silver standard”—

“For Cobentz?”

“No, you fool, Cobentz will be disposed of, only Kamp will believe that he is our man. We will raise it for the Duke; he has Karloff blood and the nobles will follow him.”

“He'll never accept the throne.”

“But, my dear Count, he will not be here to refuse, and our cry of the Duke for king will confuse the issue until we're safely out of the whole muddle, I, for one, find Morvania too confining anyhow. And I believe you gentlemen will be ready to follow me over the border. We can fill our pockets at the Treasury before we go.”

“But what will happen in the end?” asked the General.

“What do we care? We've made our pile and will be safely out of it. Do you agree to the plan?”

“Of course, of course,” they hastened to assure the Major.

“Then it's time for you to be off, General. Remember, Kamp first and then the Pala Horn. I wish you a very good night, gentlemen.”

They moved away and Michael Karl could no longer hear their voices. So they were going to start a revolution and a counter-revolution and then leave Morvania to her fate were they? Well, Michael Karl had a word or two to say on that subject. No wonder the Werewolf was so dead against the rulers. Now if the Werewolf and a choice assortment of his pack could be turned loose on Kamp and the rest of his ilk with special attention to Major Laupt—Michael Karl drew in his breath sharply. The Werewolf against the Council, the Werewolf to win! That was an idea.

Johann must be warned of course. He and Lukrantz might do something to stem the tide. And Michael Karl must get word to both of them. He arose stiffly from his aching knees and almost ran down the passage and the steps. Dropping his torch on the ledge he jammed down the lever viciously. The panel swung outward and he almost fell into the room.

“John!”

Michael Karl, dazed by the light, stared straight into the face of the American.

“Yes,” Michael Karl leaned against the desk, breathing heavily from his run, “I know the secret. Tell me, how do I reach the house of Duke Johann?”

“And what do you want with Duke Johann, boy?” From behind Ericson arose the bored gentleman in the drab uniform whom Michael Karl had seen at the Council table a short hour before.

“I want to tell you not to believe Oberdamnn,” said Michael Karl. He was no longer to be surprised at anything. Somehow it seemed very natural that the Duke should have been there very much at home and smoking one of the American's long cigarettes.

“Perhaps,” suggested the Duke pushing forward a chair, “you had better sit down and tell us the whole story.”

He was in command now, and Ericson was back in the shadow where Michael Karl couldn't see his face.

So Michael Karl told the whole story, the discovery of the passage by chance, the loss of the letter (he produced and laid it on the desk before the American), his second trip, and what he had overheard in the council chamber. They were very quiet when he had finished. The Duke was leaning back in his chair, blowing one perfect smoke ring after another while Ericson had shaded his eyes with his hand.

“So Oberdamnn is the bait and Laupt the trap. Well, well,” remarked the Duke, “the passage has served us welt after all. And who may you be?” He turned to Michael Karl.

In answer Michael Karl pulled the diamond Cross from beneath his shirt. “I thought once that I had some small right to wear this.”

The Duke's eyebrows were raised very high. “So you are the pretender?”

Michael Karl nodded. “I never wanted to rule,” he said as if to himself.

“You won't have to,” the Duke assured him. “Laupt has a good story, and the queer thing about it is that it is true. Urlich Karl is still alive.”

Ericson made a swift movement with his hand, and the Duke stopped.

“I think,” said the American abruptly, “that enough has been said. Here,” he pulled a small black book from the drawer before him and pushed it across the desk towards Michael Karl, “is your passport. The sooner you leave Morvania the better for all concerned. There is money for your passage inside that.”

Michael Karl fingered the book. “Then,” he said very slowly, “you wish to get rid of me?”

“In your own words,” returned the American coldly, “you wish to be free of Morvania. It is better that you go now. You have done us a great service for which we thank you.”

Michael Karl picked up the passport and opened it. He returned to the desk top the thick wad of paper gruden which was inside. The American wanted him out of it. That hurt.

“Thank you for the passport,” he was looking down for he was afraid of what he might do if he saw the American's face. “I do not need the money. This also belongs to some one else.” He unhooked the Cross and laid it beside the money. “You will give all the thanks I want if you will return it to the owner. The curse is working, it seems.”

He stuffed the passport into his hip pocket and started for the door, only to turn again just before he went out. “The Werewolf might be of more help than you think,” he suggested.

So the American was through with him. Well, he couldn't expect much else after what had happened to the letter and the secret passage. There was really nothing he had to pack, but he had better get his tunic, it was cold walking. And since he had refused the American's money, he would have to leave Morvania on his own two feet. He mounted the stairs.

This then was where adventuring got you. You might save a kingdom, but you lost your best friend. He wondered what Urlich Karl was like and wished a bit wistfully that he might have seen his cousin. His tunic was on the chair.

Something in an inner pocket rustled when he picked the coat up. His investigating fingers found a scrap of paper. It was a sketch the American had once made of him in the armor of a knight. He had laughingly assured Michael Karl that he looked just like one of the crusading Karloffs and had proved his point by sketching the picture from memory with Michael Karl's face above the breast-plate. Michael Karl folded it carefully and tucked it away again.

“Michael Karl.”

Michael Karl started. By the door of his room the American stood very tall and straight.

“Where are you going?”

Michael Karl shrugged. “America, of course. I came from there.”

“Why won't you take that money?”

“Really, you know, I am not used to being paid to get out when I'm not wanted.”

“Do you believe that?”

Michael Karl didn't answer. He wished that the American would get away from the door so he could get out.

“You know you don't believe that.” This time it was a statement instead of a question.

Michael Karl refused to look at him. He turned and was staring out of the window at the domed roof of the Cathedral.

“You know that I want you, but not against your will. I guessed your name and rank from the first and, well, you see you wouldn't trust me, and I have a devil of a temper. I didn't mean what I said downstairs. We do need you badly.”

Michael Karl refused to believe. There was the matter of the secret passage.

As if reading his thoughts the American continued, “That was the best thing that ever happened to our cause, when you found the passage and stumbled on the meeting. Will you stay? We haven't much to offer,” the American laughed shortly, “and the whole wild thing may end with us blindfolded before a firing squad, but it will be fun while it lasts. I suppose that I shouldn't urge you into it”—

Michael Karl turned on him. “Of course I'm in it. I've been in from the first and loved every minute of it, although I didn't realize it until just now. And,” he added eagerly, “I really can obey orders.”

The American laughed. “I shall believe that miracle when I see it. Now come down and join us. The Duke is very much interested in you. And we have another gentleman coming to see us, a Herr Lukrantz.”

“He's the newspaper man,” nodded Michael Karl.

The American stared at him in surprise. “Is there anything you don't know?” he asked.

Michael Karl nodded. “Where is Urlich Karl?”

“That,” said Ericson as they went down the stairs, “is just what we would all like to know.

“The Council's men did not get him. It appears they blame the whole business on the Werewolf. They don't stop to consider,” he spoke very slowly emphasizing every word, “that the Werewolf never appeared until a month after Urlich Karl vanished.”

“But the Werewolf himself told me”—protested Michael Karl.

“What? That Urlich Karl was murdered in a private quarrel, and he only hinted at that if I remember rightly what you told me. It looks very much as if the Werewolf wants Urlich Karl dead just as badly as we want him alive.”

“Quite right.” The Duke was standing before the fire waiting for them. “The Werewolf wants him dead. Does that suggest anything to Your Highness?”

Michael Karl's only idea seemed too wild to tell. “Perhaps”—he ventured—“perhaps there is some connection between the Werewolf and the Prince.”

Duke Johann smiled, and the American laughed. “You guessed what it took Johann months to discover. The Werewolf either is Urlich Karl or some one very near to him. He got into communication with our party for the first time a month ago.”

“Those were the mysterious green letters,” explained the American.

“You say that Kafner and Laupt want me out of Rein for the week?” asked the Duke.

Michael Karl nodded.

“Then I'll go, quite publicly, so that a great crowd can testify to my going. Can you spare me a bed and a place at your table for the rest of the week?” He turned to the American.

“Gladly,” Ericson answered. “You can use the secret passage too, no extra charge.”

The Duke arose lazily. “That last is too tempting. I accept. You may expect a mysterious visitor soon after nightfall to-morrow. And now I must take my leave. Tell Lukrantz, when he comes, that the papers he wants concerning Cobentz's latest activities are waiting for his messenger in the usual place. I am glad,” he smiled at Michael Karl, “that Your Highness had been persuaded to join us. And now, gentlemen, good-night. If you should happen to look about nine to-morrow you will see me departing for the mountains. I can assure you that my exit will be worth watching.”