rix_scaedu | Entries tagged with franz

This is for

aldersprig and anyone else who wanted to see what Rune's relatives are up to. It runs to 861 words.

Caliburn Sjeldnjar was lying in wait for his only niece’s husband, Archduke Franz of Terrencia. That involved staying judiciously out of arm’s reach because he suspected that a fit, retired major-general on the shady side of sixty would not enjoy having direct, personal proof of the accuracy of his suspicions about a fit man roughly thirty years younger. Just to keep things civil he coughed before that young man entered what could be considered the kill zone of an ambush.

“Yes?” Franz reacted much as Caliburn had expected, moving from relaxed to tense almost instantly.

“I was wondering if the Terrencians have a formal view on the matter of Rune and the Cadleran succession?”

“The Cadleran succession is a matter for the Cadlerans,” replied Franz automatically. “Wait, Rune and the Cadleran succession? Oh, because of your mother, of course. Doesn’t Rune follow her father?”

“There’s some question as to whether acknowledged equals ‘legitimate’ under Cadleran law,” answered Caliburn, using the Cadleran word for lack of an exact equivalent in the language they were speaking. “The matter’s been with legal experts and in committee almost since her maternal grandmother announced her existence. We, like you, agree that it’s a matter for the Cadlerans, although Constantine has requested of our royal cousin that a negative decision not be phrased to suggest that she doesn’t count.”

“That would be unkind given her history,” agreed Franz, “and I can’t imagine King John being deliberately unkind. A number of other things, but not that.”

“I agree,” nodded Caliburn. “That’s not Jack’s style at all. If he sets the wording it will be very polite and about the circumstances of her birth, not about her. The current Prime Minister, on the other hand….”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” agreed Franz. “Although, I’d be surprised if it was at all important in the end. I mean, she’s what, third cousin, twice removed, to King John?”

“Third cousin,” corrected Caliburn. “Our family has a bigger generational gap than theirs.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” promised Franz. “By the way, do you know anything about this Genakuran Pig Eradication Board job they’re offering me? I would have thought it was right up your alley.”

“Oh, they asked me,” said Caliburn Sjeldnjar to his nephew-in-law, “but I’ve retired from all that sort of thing – no more foot slogging through swamps of uncertain depth or sleeping up trees for me, thank you. I gave them your name instead.”

The younger man looked puzzled. “Thank you, I think, but why?”

“You need something to do, you need to be seen doing something, and having spoken to a few of your friends at the wedding reception, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have applicable skill sets.” He took in Franz’s expression and added, “You don’t get to my final rank without picking up a clue or two. Everyone in my profession has that one friend, but all of your friends are like that.” He finished with a lifted eyebrow.

Franz sighed. “So, how does my supposed skill set apply to a wildlife control program?”

“You and Rune haven’t discussed Genakuran pigs, have you?” Caliburn was deadly serious.

“No, should we have?” Franz was obviously wondering what he was missing.

“The Genakur were a Samoyedic-speaking tribe who invaded us roughly a quarter of the way into the tenth century, well before the Church arrived up here.” Caliburn’s voice dropped in pitch in the manner of a story teller trying to bind his audience. “They were supposedly following the visions of their religious leaders, and aside from a tendency to massacre their way across the country side with cavalry, part of their force was made up of hybrid creatures created of dark sorcery. Frankly,” his voice returned to a more normal tone, “no-one knows if the things were an Atlantean creation, came out of someone’s reconstruction of Atlantean work, or were a completely separate development somewhere in central Siberia. They do sound like exactly the sort of problem that made the old Han Emperors ban sorcery in their territories.”

“You said hybrid creatures,” prompted Franz.

“Well the ones we have left are mainly porcine,” allowed Caliburn, “but there’s wolf in the mix and some of them used to walk upright, climb trees, and be able to open doors.”

“Scheisse!”

“Exactly. Our ancestors apparently eliminated that strain back in the 1700s.” Caliburn gave a crooked smile, “One of the problems we have with these things is that they’re aggressively reproductive. Farms up in Outofaeste where the remnant population is don’t keep pigs, dogs are inside animals, and the locals always lock their doors. Even so, I’ve met a few people from those parts with odd noses and or sharp teeth.”

“What did you do?” Franz was seriously curious and it was oddly appealing, but both of them were in relationships so Caliburn put the impression aside.

Caliburn shrugged. “Nothing. If they’re our loyal citizens, soldiers, and subjects to the Queen then it’s nobody’s business what their ancestry is. It’s the same deal with helots. The wild ‘pigs’, on the other hand, are a menace to public safety. There’s a reason I mentioned sleeping up trees.”

The official negotiations were done and the political deal had been struck. Now the two people who were going to have to make the public, symbolic front- end of those agreements work were meeting in a conference room. Archduke Franz had one of his uncle’s negotiators at his side while Vordamma Princesza Rune sat opposite him with a man who seemed like a family solicitor beside her.

His Imperial and Royal Highness had a list both of issues and of things that simply needed to be decided. The first one was, “Where will we live? I had expected we would get a larger apartment in the Schloss Leopoldsberg but the treaty specifies that we will live in this country.”

“Yes.” Rune acknowledged the treaty’s provisions. “That’s a requirement from my father’s family. Unless something surprising happens, I will be the Sjeldnjar Ruhtig and our child will follow me into the position. It’s unacceptable for the future Ruhtig to be raised as a foreigner.” A slight hesitation then, “Might I ask why the Leopoldsberg and not one of the palaces in the capital? Do you prefer the countryside?”

“It’s less occupied by family and retainers and everything else that revolves around the Emperor.” He shrugged. “There are days when I can imagine that the whole place is mine. I like it that there are very few people around to question my comings and goings.” He smiled at her and added, “I like your hair, by the way. That cut’s very fetching. You shouldn’t cover it up.” The other two men looked at Princess Rune’s bare short, dark hair and the solicitor raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she smiled back and added, “I don’t yet have an opinion on beards. My Uncle Algernon has offered us the wing of the Sjeldnjar townhouse with the nurseries. As I’m the only member of my generation in the direct line, the implication seems to be that we should fill them. If you don’t want to live in the city, I’m sure we have other options.”

“I would like to see the townhouse before I make a decision.”

“That’s probably wise.” She nodded in agreement while the solicitor made a note. “What’s next on your list?”

“Occupation. Now-.”

She cut him off with a gesture and started talking. “I’m glad you brought that up. I’m resigning my position and I expect you to resign from any and all military and/or intelligence positions you now occupy.”

“Archduke Franz holds no military positions,” inserted the diplomat seated at the Archduke’s side smoothly. “Your Highness’ request is unnecessary.”

“Indeed?” Rune opened the folder in front of her, picked up the black and white photograph that sat on top of the papers inside and placed it right way up in front of Franz. “Just so neither of us can put the other in an uncomfortable or difficult position if we talk in our sleep.”

The diplomat looked at the six Imperial Nachtjäger soldiers in the picture. He’d seen it before in an article on Imperial assistance to one of the remaining satrapies. “I don’t see what-.”

“Thank you Hermann, I’ll take this.” The Archduke put his finger on the photo and pushed it back towards the Princess. “Where did you get this?”

“The picture? It was published in an international current affairs magazine two years ago. The connection? It came up during the security assessment of my foreign husband-to-be.” Rune pushed the picture back towards him. “I’ve pencilled your squad mates into the guest list, not that I have names, as I assume you’ll either be inviting them or they’ll be among your groomsmen. Would a partner and an average of three children each be about right? If you want to invite them personally, I can arrange for you to receive the requisite number of blank invitations after you firm the numbers up for me.”

“Your Highness?” The diplomat was getting a little worried that this was about to be undiplomatic.

“This,” the Archduke told him tersely, “is that ‘there are no friendly foreign intelligence services, just the intelligence services of friendly countries’ thing they tell you about.”

“Yes,” the Princess agreed with him, “it is. The other thing I’m trying to say, Franz, is that I don’t see why you should lose your friends on top of leaving your home and losing your job. I don’t see why your friends,” she indicated the photo again, “shouldn’t come to the wedding. There are quite enough unrelated people on the guest list that I’m sure neither of us know,” she finished tartly.

Franz sat back and folded his arms. “What do you think I’m going to do with myself?”

“I have no idea,” Rune admitted, “but I’m out of a job too. I thought we might be able to work it out togther.”

“I would like to see the townhouse before I make a decision.”

“That’s probably wise.” She nodded in agreement while the solicitor made a note. “What’s next on your list?”

“Occupation. Now-.”

“Archduke Franz holds no military positions,” inserted the diplomat seated at the Archduke’s side smoothly. “Your Highness’ request is unnecessary.”

The diplomat looked at the six Imperial Nachtjäger soldiers in the picture. He’d seen it before in an article on Imperial assistance to one of the remaining satrapies. “I don’t see what-.”

“Thank you Hermann, I’ll take this.” The Archduke put his finger on the photo and pushed it back towards the Princess. “Where did you get this?”

“Your Highness?” The diplomat was getting a little worried that this was about to be undiplomatic.

“This,” the Archduke told him tersely, “is that ‘there are no friendly foreign intelligence services, just the intelligence services of friendly countries’ thing they tell you about.”

Franz sat back and folded his arms. “What do you think I’m going to do with myself?”

“I have no idea,” Rune admitted, “but I’m out of a job too. I thought we might be able to work it out togther.”

Archduke Franz was exploring the back streets of a foreign capital on foot, alone and at night because he was bored. He had spent two weeks shuttling between the Embassy and the palace to be trotted out when his Imperial Uncle’s negotiators wanted to point out that the ninth in line to the Terrencian Imperial Diadem was really quite a good deal.

Quite a good deal if you discounted his penchant for slipping off without security and his taste for a bit of rough, both of which he’d probably gotten from his secondary education at a military academy that had been not much more than an expensive reform school. Not that this princess they were offering up didn’t have her secrets, no-one had heard of her a year ago and then she’d just been inserted into the succession, the peerage and the order of precedence by a small notice in the Royal News column of the better newspapers. These Northerners were known to be a bit strange, of course. There was no record of her parent’s marriage but then, as the Archbishop back home had commented to his Imperial Uncle and his parents, the concepts of legitimacy and illegitimacy of children didn’t translate into their language. To top things off, all he’d seen of his proposed potential bride was an official portrait in formal gown and coronet. Interesting that no-one he knew had been able to lay hands on any other pictures of her.

Tonight’s wanderings had a point. He’d heard something he wanted to check out. If the street map he’d looked at was right then what he was looking for was about here, he looked at the narrow streetscape with interest, but first, “You’ve been following me for at least three blocks, why?” He’d spoken to a piece of shadow above an awning.

The shadow straightened, swung round to drop over the edge and hung by its fingertips for a moment, then dropped neatly to the ground. The dark clothing might have been unisex but the wearer was female.

“You might be marrying one of our princesses. When you go wandering alone at night we have a chance to found out more about you.” She was shorter than him, athletic in a practical way, with fair northern skin and a dark, knitted cap covering her hair.

“I want to find out more about the princess no-one’s ever heard of.” He smiled, a conversational move rather than a real pleasantry. “I understand the Lovvey Street orphanage might be worth my attention. It’s just around here, isn’t it?”

She looked at him with interest. “It was. It burned down about eight years ago. Arson. Everyone got out. I hear the fire alarm went off sooner that it should have if the fire had set it off.”

“Interesting.” He was looking at the office building that now occupied what was probably the old orphanage site.

“What I find interesting is that you’re a Terrencian Archduke who’s never seen in military uniform. Not once, not ever.” She had been careful, he noted, not to get within his arms’ reach. Her body language said she would either fight or run if she had to. The street lights showed a strong but elegant nose in proportion to her face, one his maternal grandmother would have described as ‘a nose of character.’

“I’m a Terrencian Archduke who’s about to return to the Terrencian Embassy. Might I escort you home on my way?” He crooked an elbow as an invitation to her to take his arm.

“Thank you, but no.” She kept her distance with a polite smile. “Your Imperial and Royal Highness could be hiding all sorts of aliases behind that fine and unfashionable beard – so short, tidy, easy to take off and quick to grow again. I don’t think I want you to know where I live, and you are known to carry to a knife,” his eyes narrowed as she spoke, “three recorded uses - two to free accident victims from entanglement but in the third, Archduke Sigismund’s attacker didn’t get to draw another breath.”

“That was rather the point.” He let himself shift his stance and look like someone who had the musculature he did, a thing he normally avoided. “He did try to kill my father in front of me.”

“I know,” she nodded in acknowledgement, “but I still don’t want you to know where I live.”

She looked at him with interest. “It was. It burned down about eight years ago. Arson. Everyone got out. I hear the fire alarm went off sooner that it should have if the fire had set it off.”

“Interesting.” He was looking at the office building that now occupied what was probably the old orphanage site.

“I’m a Terrencian Archduke who’s about to return to the Terrencian Embassy. Might I escort you home on my way?” He crooked an elbow as an invitation to her to take his arm.

“That was rather the point.” He let himself shift his stance and look like someone who had the musculature he did, a thing he normally avoided. “He did try to kill my father in front of me.”

“I know,” she nodded in acknowledgement, “but I still don’t want you to know where I live.”