Rogue Princess

Chapter 5

AT THE GATES of the palace stood a pair of troopers of Greenland's microscopic armed force, wearing parade uniforms, topped by conical, cossack-style lambskin hats. When Malling identified himself and his fellow-passenger they snapped to present-arms with a click and a clank that made Godwin wince.

"You will get used to it," said Malling.

The taxi drove around a winding driveway between scrubbv dwarf trees and stopped in front of a big field-stone house similar (except in size) to the other residences of Julianehaab.

"The palace," said Malling, getting Out and paying the taxi-driver. "Oh, here comes the king!"

Godwin looked around at the crunch of tires on gravel. Three men were approaching on bicycles. The one in front, in civilian tweeds, was a man about Godwin's stature with a fringe of graying red hair around his nude scalp. He looked stocky and powerful, and the resemblance to his daughter was obvious. Behind him pedalled two more soldiers in black kalpaks, each with a drawn saber held against his right shoulder.

Malling came to-attention and took off his hat, saying; "God Dag, Herlighed!"

The leading cyclist braked to a stop and got off, saying; "God Dag, Malling," and then to Godwin, "So this is my future son-in-law, eh?" He wrung Godwin's hand in a bone-crushing grip. "Come inside."

King Edvard III led the way to the front door and bellowed, "Ingeborg!"

When a woman appeared, the king exchanged words with her in Danish, then said to Godwin, "Your room is not quite ready yet. Come into my sitting-room."

Then he conversed briefly with Malling, who finally unfastened the hand-grip of Godwin's fetter from his hand and remained outside while the king led Godwin into a room and closed the door.

"He was afraid to leave you alone with me," said King Edvard. "As if I needed protection from you! Ha!"

"What ja mean, your Majesty?"

The king stuck out his jaw and thrust his face close to Godwin's, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I mean if it weren't for Gram's fordoemme banquet tonight, I'd tie you into knots and stamp the remains into the floor, young swine!"

The king reached out and tweaked Godwin's nose between his powerful fingers.

"Ouch!" said Godwin.

"That's just a taste. Lucky for you, I can't afford to have you turn up at the banquet with a pair of black eyes and a few broken teeth."

Godwin's temper rose in its turn. "Look here, pop, I don't care who you are; you can't push me around! If you wanna fight, I know something about that too. An actor has to learn—"

"Actor! To make it worse, he had to be an actor!"

"What's the matter with being an actor? I didn't ask you to kidnap me up to the end of nowhere and marry me to your daughter!"

"And who asked you to seduce my poor innocent darling and drag the honor of the royal house in the mud?"

"I never did!"

"But those photographs—"

"That was just a joke—"

"Yust a yoke!" roared the king, his speech more Danish under stress. "I'll show you vat is a yoke—"

"I can prove it! Damn it, let me talk for a change! You can take your parachron to California and set it up on the beach, and see exactly what happened! And if I didn't leave her as pure as I found her, I'll not only marry the dame; I'll eat your second-best crown, jewels and all."

"So?" .said the king. "That's an ill wind of another color. If we could take the parachron to California ... But Gram would never consent."

"Why not?"

"It suits his purposes to marry you to Karen, and this gives a fine excuse. He can always say that since the rumors about, those photographs have got out among the people, nobody would believe our denials even if the machine proved otherwise." The king lit a knobby pipe and blew great clouds of smoke.

"Is Gram a kind of dictator in Greenland?"

EDVARD lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. "For practical purposes, yes. He is in a strong political position and controls the police and the guards, so the rest of us must jump to his bidding. If I could get away with it I'd—hew do you say it—hop the coop too."

"You mean quit?"

"Absolutely. This monarchism is a lot of nonsense; an archaistic revival based on a temporary emotional aberration among the world's peoples. Maybe after you're safely—ah—hooked I can persuade Anker Gram to let me abdicate, and you and Karen can handle the headaches. I have no more use for Greenland now that my wife is dead. Maybe I'll settle in your California, where it's at least warm."

Godwin lit a cigarette and said: "If you fly the coop you oughta take me along."

"Why? You caused this trouble, even if you only meant it as a joke."

"No reason. But—I don't suppose you can bribe a king, can you?"

"Not this king; I've made arrangements to be assured of an adequate income no matter where I live."

"How about a screen test?"

"A screen—you mean you could get me in the movies? Yes?" A light of eagerness showed in the king's eyes.

"I don't say I can get you a good part, but I can give you a start. I got some little influence."

"Now you are speaking. You promise to get me into the movies, I'll promise to try to help you escape ... If you can prove what you said, about you and Karen."

"I can't do that until we're in California."

"I understand; we have to trust each other a little. We shall have to try to make it in one foul swoop—you and me and the Bruuns and their machine all together. Karen, too, if she wants to come. But don't fool yourself; getting away from Anker Gram won't be so easy as falling off a tree."

There was a knock on the door, and Ingeborg announced that Mr. Godwin's room was ready. In the hall Detective Malling waited to take up his old duty. He looked relieved that nothing had happened either to the king or to his charge.

IN THE suite turned over to the future prince-consort, Godwin found a valet, one Syv, waiting to serve him. Syv had laid out a gaudy costume of the sort that Godwin would have associated with historical movies; a garb similar to a diplomatic uniform, with a high-necked coat covered with gold lace in front. "Do I wear that?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Syv.

By the time Godwin was regally clad, sounds without indicated that the festivities were imminent, though the sub-Arctic summer day still had several hours to go. Godwin said; "By Goldwyn, I could use a drink about now!"

"I vill get vun, sir," said Syv. "Vat vould you like?"

"How about a double Martini? And get one for Otto too."

Malling protested, but with little fire of conviction, and when Syv came back he let himself be persuaded to drink. Half an hour later Godwin was regaling his hearers with reminiscences, "...so the director says: 'Are you a stunt man or aren't you?' and the stunt man, he says: 'If you wanna wrassle that there octopus, you get in that there tank and wrassle him. I got a family.' So the director turns to me and says—what is it?"

It was Ingeborg with a message that his Majesty and her Highness were awaiting Mr. Godwin to accompany them in to dinner.

Feeling no pain, Claude Godwin, accompanied by a slightly weaving Malling, rose to leave. Godwin murmured; "Pull yourself together, Otto. They'd never believe you could control me if they saw you stagger."

The ill-matched pair made a reasonably smooth progress to a reception-room where they found the king and the princess milling around with early arrivals. Godwin, remembering his costume-pictures, half expected a liveried trumpeter at the door to blow a flourish and announce his name, but no such thing happened. The Greenlanders, even if they kept a king, were somewhat stingy with their pomp. Malling whispered; "Hold your left hand close to my right, Mr. Godvin, so the handcuff von't show."

"Hell with that," said Godwin. "If they're such dopes as to throw an engagement party they gotta drag the groom to with bracelets, damned if I'll help 'em out."

Godwin was introduced to various people, but as most of the talk was in Danish he could only give them glassy smiles of polite incomprehension. A servitor passed him with a tray of glasses containing a pale liquid that Godwin took for more Martinis. His first sip however showed that he had got hold of something stronger.

"Aqvavit," said Malling.

Karen was saying; "Father, how shall Mr. Godwin take me in to dinner with Mr. Malling attached to him?"

Godwin suggested: "The king could take Malling in, and I could follow right behind with you,"

"Nonsense," said Edvard. "I shall take my daughter in, and since you're joined to Malling you can take him."

Karen said; "Has not this foolishness gone far enough? I am sure we could trust Mr. Godwin not to dive through the window if he were freed."

The king shrugged. "No doubt, but he won't agree." He nodded towards where Anker Gram was talking to the British Minister Plenipotentiary. "By the way, I don't think you know Thor Thomsen, our leading industrialist."

Godwin saw that Thor Thomsen was old and potbellied with a jowly bulldog face. The Stuart Pretender glowered gloomily over the industrialist's shoulder.

"I have had that—ah—pleasure," said Werner von Wittelsbach.

As Godwin finished his drink it occurred to him that his unknown ill-wisher might have poisoned it, but he was too well lubricated by now to care. When dinner was announced he trailed docilely in behind the king and Karen, Malling shambling beside him.

AN HOUR later, Godwin had tucked away the last of the banquet and sniffed suspiciously at a glass of yellowish liquid set before him.

"Svedish punch," explained. Malling. "Used for breading."

"For what?"

"Breading. You know, ven we say 'skeal'."

"Oh, toasting." Godwin tried some and found it good though sweetish. Malling had already drunk half of his.

The chatter died as Gram finished his coffee and rose. He made a speech ending in "Skaal!" which Godwin took for a toast to the king. Godwin watched those around him and went through the same ritual motions. Gram made another speech with a "Skaal!" to Karen Hauch. When he did the same thing once more Godwin started to rise for the third time, but a jerk on his handcuff brought him down again. Malling hissed. "Sit down, stupid! That vas to you!"

"How should I know? He knows I don't understand Danish."

"Den you better learn, but fast."

Gram, ignoring Godwin's gaffe, went ahead to make another speech introducing somebody, who in his turn made a speech. Not being able to understand what was said gave Godwin an uncomfortable feeling of having been struck deaf, though he tried to laugh when the others did.

Two hours, five speeches, and uncounted Swedish punches later the banquet broke up. Godwin awakened Malling by jerking the handcuff, and together they wandered into the ballroom, where the king had started the record-player and was dancing with Thomsen's wife, a middle-aged dame with a battleship jaw. Through the broad windows on the north side the long Greenland sunset blazed in purple and gold. Godwin spotted Karen Hauch and dragged the now alarmingly unsteady Malling over to her, saying; "Miss Hauch, I hope some day when I'm not hitched to old Otto I can ask you for a dance."

"It is too bad," she replied. "If Mr. Malling could find a partner we could make a foursome of it ..."

"You mean like a square-dance, the kind I danced in Blood in the Ozarks? But it would take awful good shink —synchronization, and I don't think the guy's up to it. Matter of fact I'm not either."

Then Karen went spinning away in the arms of Werner von Wittelsbach, who gleamed triumphantly over her shoulder at Godwin. Maybe, the latter thought, the German had cherished hopes of not only acceding to the British throne, but also of becoming Karen's consort.

"Mr. Godwin." It was Sir Keith Lampson-Hart, the British minister.

"Yesh?"

"What's this rumor about your putting in a bid for the British crown, on some silly dynastic pretext?"

"Better ask Gram or the king," said Godwin. "They cooked it up, not me." He hiccupped.

"I just thought I'd say," said the diplomat, "that the British crown is conferred by the British people, you know. They make the rules of legitimacy and any time they don't like the result they can change them, you know."

"Thanks for the advice, Sir Keith." Godwin turned to Malling. "Otto, let's get outa here! If I don't get a breath of fresh air I'll pass out in front of all the bigshots of Greenland!"

He dragged the wordlessly goggling Malling through a door. Not knowing the layout of the mansion and being the worse for wear, it took him some time to find an exit ...

HE FOUND himself, not quite knowing how he had come there, leaning against the fieldstone wall on the west side of the house. He was standing on moss-covered ground dotted with waist-high dwarf willows and birches. Beside him, Malling had folded into a sitting position with his back to the house, his prominent blue eyes picking up highlights from the sun set.

Godwin drew in long breaths of the cool air and felt his vision clear somewhat, though a headache threatened to take the place of his former anesthesia. He did not know how long he stood there gazing at the sunset. In more equatorial latitudes the phenomenon would have ended long since, but in Greenland it lasted from twenty-one hundred to midnight and was immediately followed by a sunrise of equal leisureliness.

"Hey, you!" said a voice.

Godwin turned. Werner von Wittelsbach stood before him with a couple of elongated objects cradled in his arms.

"I have been looking all over for you," said the Stuart Pretender. "I thought you had run away; now, you degenerate American mongrel, we shall see who files a claim to the British throne!"

"Pardon me if I'm thick, old boy," said Godwin, "but what the hell are you talking about?"

"We will fight it out, pig-dog!"

"How the hell can I fight with Malling tied to me?"

"We shall not fight in the barbarous American fashion, with fists, but in the cultured German manner. Take one!"

"One what?"

Von Wittelsbach thrust the large ends of the objects into Godwin's face. Godwin saw that they were the hilts of a pair of swords. Hardly knowing what he did he took one and waggled it for balance, saying: "Are you kidding?"

"On the contrary, I am most serious! Only a light-minded American would joke about the duties and honors of kingship-."

"Don't be a sap. I don't want the damned kingdom; I got a career and plenty of dough already. If you wanna be king, go ahead; I'm not stopping you."

"A coward, eh? Then I shall have the pleasure of beating your backside raw with the flat. Bend over." Von Wittelsbach's voice was thick with the effects of alcohol.

"Look here," said Godwin, "I said I wasn't interested in fighting, but I won't let you push me around. I suppose you think I don't know how to handle these silly stickers, huh? You didn't see me do Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet a coupla years ago, didja?"

"Bend over, swine!" yelled von Wittelsbach, and be took a wild swipe at Godwin.

Godwin parried more by reflex than by intention and instantly found himself engaged. He discovered that he was holding, not a foil, epee, or other familiar hand-weapon, but a German Schlaeger with a big basket hilt, a long straight narrow blade, and no point but a razor-sharp edge. The purpose of the implement was not to kill an antagonist, or even to pretend to do so, but to inflict cuts on his scalp and face which would later result in a prized set of scars, and also give him a chance to show his Aryan mettle by continuing the fight without flinching even when his head was a mass of gore.

If he had been less befuddled, Godwin would perhaps have devised a way out of his predicament. After all the weapon was unfamiliar to him and the Stuart Pretender had an advantage of height and reach. Godwin could not run with the half-corn arose Malling chained to him, and he never thought of yelling for help. While he could fence well enough for cinematographic purposes, he had never expected to have to fight a real duel for blood— handicapped, moreover, by having a drunken detective chained to his wrist!