A Succession of Questions (Part 10 of 15)
Armed with a good night’s sleep and a sheaf of the morning newspapers, Prince Rensselaer advanced past the guards and opened the door to the KronPrinz’ study.
To his surprise, it was filled with a most exquisite ambience of music, the sound of which filled the room. He halted, and wondered. Indeed, there seemed to be just the music. No one appeared to occupy the room. Certainly no musicians. Nor the KronPrinz.
“Hello?” ventured Rensselaer, tentatively.
“Oh,” said a voice from the direction of the window. “Guten morgen, Pietr!”
Peering more closely, Rensselaer could see some legs and a shoe visible, though the KronPrinz’ frame was hidden inside the window seat. Nearby was one of those newfangled music makers, with the phonographic horn spewing forth sound. “Good Heaven,” he said. “What is this wondrous music?”
“Johann Hummel,” said the voice.
Rensselaer walked toward the sound, where it now appeared Waldemar was reading a book next to the open window, enjoying the crisp spring air. “French horn?” Rensselaer inquired, looking skeptically at the contraption.
“Ahh… Muted trumpet, I think. Do you like it? I brought it with me from America!”
“Nothing like carrying a symphony in your pocket,” Rensselaer said, absently. He handed the papers to Wally. This was the second day since the Zeitung had burned. And the second morning when General Thorn’s cavalry had been on patrol through the city to enforce the nighttime curfew. “The conservative papers have backed off quite a bit. They have now returned to relatively innocent charges, like your inexperience and that you will make an American your Empress.”
Wally placed his book aside, stood, and walked toward his desk while leafing through the papers.
“The liberal press are the only ones, however, who have announced your coronation schedule, as yet. The others remain silent.”
“And the Zeitung remains utterly silent, I note.” Waldemar smiled. He and Rensselaer both raised their heads to watch as a guard entered to announce the arrival of more of the KronPrinz’ makeshift staff. Anders Asche and Gerhard Niemann entered.
After an exchange of pleasantries, Asche began to explain the foreign situation, as he understood it. This remained a most peculiar half-coup, with Foreign Minister Holstein exerting some control of information at the Wilhelmstrasse, keeping it especially from Asche, or anyone else who would advise the KronPrinz. But news such as Asche had to deliver was hard to keep quiet. “The French remain massed on the border,” he said. “But have as yet made no move to assault, or otherwise cross. There is some activity on the Russian border, too.”
“Probably,” Rensselaer suggested, “just them preparing to move if there is a power vacuum to exploit.” Niemann and Asche nodded in concurrence.
They all turned in surprise when the door burst open again. Niemann grumpily resumed his stance away from the door when he saw it was only Major Korenyi-Both. Rensselaer simply frowned, disapprovingly.
Adalbert had an excited look on his face, though, and Wally asked, “Al, what on earth?”
“Wally,” he began. “You’ll never believe who’s downstairs!” He held onto the door, as if for support. “Elizabeth!”
His white hair quivering against his red scalp, frail Rensselaer shouted in a booming voice. “SHE. IS. NOT!”
Korenyi’s eyebrows rose in a stunned expression. He blinked. After a moment of silence, he said, “No, really, Renss. She said that’s her name, and she’s a friend of Wally’s from America, and she looks…” He trailed off. Rensselaer was casting him a contemptuous glare. “What?!” he asked, innocently.
Asche looked uncertainly at Waldemar. “Her presence here will simply lend new life to the rumors.”
“Send her away, then!” Niemann demanded, as if the solution was obvious.
“You will not send her away!” Waldemar shot back, in a moment of shocked irritation. He addressed his perplexed friend, at the door. “Please bring her up, Al. Thank you.”
