The Zenda Vendetta

1

As the train pulled out of the Dresden station in a cloud of steam and early morning mist, Rudolf Rassendyll sat in the dining car over a light breakfast, trying to recall where he had seen the scar-faced man before. The object of his ruminations sat several tables away from him, drinking coffee. They had exchanged several glances and Rassendyll found the situation somewhat embarrassing. Clearly, the man remembered him from somewhere and was awaiting some sign of recognition. With none forthcoming, he must have thought that Rassendyll was slighting him. To stall for time while he racked his brain for some clue as to the man’s identity, Rassendyll hid behind his copy of The Strand Magazine, pretending to read while he kept glancing furtively at the scar-faced man, hoping to jog his memory into remembering where they had met.

He was an unusually large man with the broad shoulders of a laborer and big, muscular arms. However, he was quite obviously not of the working class. The large ruby ring he wore on his left hand indicated that he was a gentleman of some means, as did the diamond stickpin, the gold watch chain, and the elegant, gold-headed ebony walking stick he carried. His suit was the height of Parisian fashion, but the man did not look French. His dark complexion and curly black hair gave him a Slavic aspect that was further borne out by the high forehead, the strong nose, the prominent jawline, and the square chin. His eyes, which one might have expected to be dark, were a surprisingly brilliant shade of emerald green. Their bright hue, combined with his dark complexion, gave his gaze a piercing, magnetic quality. His striking good looks were marred only by the scar that ran from beneath his left eye, across the high cheekbone to just above the corner of his mouth. It was arrow-straight, quite likely a dueling scar. Hardly anyone dueled anymore, especially with sabres, except for the young Prussians and the Central Europeans, who were known to drop a glove at the slightest provocation.

The man’s posture, the quality of his dress, and his impeccable grooming all spoke of wealth and breeding. Taking into account his Slavic features, the dueling scar, the expensive clothing and the man’s carriage, Rassendyll deduced that he was probably a Balkan, a nobleman from one of the small mountain principalities perhaps. This deduction was facilitated by the fact that they were aboard a train that was heading for the Balkan frontier, but Rassendyll decided that not even Sherlock Holmes himself could have done better under the circumstances. Unfortunately, he was still no closer to recalling the man’s name, although he seemed to remember now that they had met in London fairly recently, at some sort of function. In another moment, surely, he would have him placed.

The scar-faced man glanced up and saw Rassendyll staring at him intently. Immediately, Rassendyll averted his gaze, but he was too late. The scar-faced man stood up and approached his table.

“I beg your pardon,” he said in a startlingly deep and resonant voice. “Forgive me for intruding, but I seem to have the strongest feeling that we have met somewhere before.”

“You’re English?” Rassendyll said with surprise. The man spoke in English, without a trace of an accent, which made Rassendyll disappointed at having guessed so far off the mark regarding his nationality.

“I have spent a great deal of time in England,” the man said, “but I am not a native. Permit me to introduce myself.

The name is Drakov. Nikolai Drakov.”

“Rudolf Rassendyll, at your service.” They shook hands and Rassendyll felt slightly vindicated.

“Rassendyll?” said Drakov, frowning slightly. “By any chance, would you be a relation of Lord Burlesdon’s?”

“Robert is my brother,” said Rassendyll. Suddenly, it came to him and he struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. “But of course! I saw you at a party hosted by my brother several weeks ago in London, in honor of the new Serbian ambassador. You were the chap escorting that dazzling Countess Sophia! Forgive me, my dear fellow, for having such an abominable memory. Won’t you join me?”

They sat down opposite each other at the table. “No need for apologies,” said Drakov. “As I recall now, we were never formally introduced.”

“Yes, well, Robert’s parties do tend to be somewhat informal, despite their size,” said Rassendyll.

“Still, I can hardly blame you for having failed to place me at once,” said Drakov, with a smile. “Next to the countess, I must have been quite invisible.”

Rassendyll laughed. “Hardly, old chap! It would take quite a bit of doing to render a man of your formidable dimensions invisible! How is the lovely countess?”

“As lovely as ever,” Drakov said. “As it happens, I am just now on my way to join her in Strelsau.”

“What a coincidence!” said Rassendyll. “I, too, am traveling to Strelsau! Doubtless, you are going there to attend the coronation of Rudolf Elphberg?”

“I am to escort the countess to the coronation,” Drakov said.

“Perhaps, then, you will introduce me,” Rassendyll said. “I did not have the opportunity to meet the countess in London. I could not seem to break through the throng of admirers she was surrounded by. To tell the truth, I felt myself at a bit of a disadvantage in that witty crowd. Though I’m ordinarily a garrulous fellow, I tend to stammer like a schoolboy in the presence of a beautiful woman.”

Drakov smiled. “I doubt you would have had that problem with the countess. She has quite a way about her. You should have asked Lady Burlesdon to introduce you. The two of them seemed quite taken with each other.”

“Yes, that’s just like Rose,” said Rassendyll. “Lady Burlesdon takes her position in society quite seriously. She has a knack for insinuating herself into the center of attention, or as close to it as possible.”

Drakov raised his eyebrows. “I seem to sense a note of disapproval.”

Rassendyll grimaced. “The disapproval is more Lady Burlesdon’s than mine. Rose considers me the bane of her existence. Not only does she find my lack of industry appalling, but it is a source of constant irritation to her that my features bring to mind the family scandal.”

“Scandal?”

“You mean you haven’t heard the story? I would have thought that someone would have brought it up that night, at least once.”

Drakov frowned. “No, I must confess to ignorance. If it is an awkward topic, perhaps we should — ”

“No, no, dear fellow, not a bit of it,” said Rassendyll with a wave of his hand. “Frankly, I’m surprised that you’ve been spared. The so-called skeleton in our family closet sees such frequent display in London society that it is something of an open secret. Since Lady Burlesdon blushes so prettily, some wag always brings it up whenever someone comments on the difference in the coloring between my brother Robert and myself. Though it’s something of an embarrassment to the sensitivities of my sister-in-law, I find it somewhat amusing. My father did, as well. He gave me the name of Rudolf because it is an old and common Elphberg name and I was born with what my family refers to as the ‘Elphberg Curse’ — I mean this rather aristocratic nose of mine and my red hair. I suppose I should explain. As you are on your way to Rudolf Elphberg’s coronation, you might find it diverting to hear the story.”

“I must admit to being intrigued,” said Drakov.

Rassendyll leaned back in his chair and tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat. An inveterate gossip, he delighted in telling the tale afresh to a new listener.

“It happened in 1733,” he said, “when George II was sitting on the throne of England. A prince who was later known to history as King Rudolf the Third of Ruritania came on a visit to the English court. He was a tall and handsome fellow marked by a somewhat unusually straight and sharp nose and a mass of dark red hair — in fact, the same nose and hair that have stamped the Elphbergs time out of mind. The prince stayed some months in England, where he was most courteously received, but in the end, he left rather under a cloud. He fought a duel with an English nobleman well known in the society of his day not only for his own merits, but as the husband of an exceedingly beautiful wife.”

“Ah,” said Drakov, with a knowing grin.

“Yes, quite,” said Rassendyll. “In that duel, Prince Rudolf was severely wounded and, recovering therefrom, was adroitly smuggled off by the Ruritanian ambassador, who found him a pretty handful by all accounts. The nobleman in question was not wounded in the duel, but the morning being raw and damp on the occasion of the meeting, he contracted a severe chill. Failing to throw it off, he died some six months after the departure of Prince Rudolf. I should add that he passed on without having found the leisure to adjust his relations with his wife, who after another two months bore an heir to the title and estates of the family of Burlesdon. This lady was the Countess Amelia and her husband was James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon and twenty-second Baron Rassendyll, in both the peerages of England and a Knight of the Garter.

“As for Rudolf, he went back to Ruritania, married and ascended to the throne, whereon his progeny in the direct line have sat from then till this very hour. The results of this episode can be seen today if one were to walk through the picture galleries at Burlesdon. Among the fifty or so portraits of the last century and half, you would find five or six, including that of the sixth earl, distinguished by sharp noses and a quantity of dark red hair. These five or six also have blue eyes, whereas among the Rassendylls, dark eyes are the commoner. So now, the occasional appearance among the dark-haired Rassendylls of a red head such as mine brings to mind Countess Amelia’s indiscretion. Some might consider it Fate’s way of smirking at my cuckolded ancestor, but I see it as a romantic reminder of a refreshing episode in an otherwise crashingly dull family history. I fear that Lady Burlesdon does not share my view of it, however, which would account for her having neglected to introduce me to the charming countess and yourself. Actually, it would please her no end if I were to make my residence in Ireland or someplace equally far removed from her social circle.”

Drakov chuckled. “I see no reason why she should concern herself. Even the finest of bloodlines have less than noble tributaries, though that would hardly be the case in your situation. Your Countess Amelia might have done far worse than to dally with an Elphberg, and a prince, at that. So you and Rudolf the Fifth are cousins, then! How extraordinary! I take it that you are enroute to the coronation as a representative of the English branch of the family, so to speak?”

“Dear me, no!” said Rassendyll. “That would be highly indelicate of me, I should think. No, I have received no formal invitation and I go as a representative of no one save myself. In fact, if Robert knew that I were going he would not approve, and poor Rose would be absolutely beside herself with shock at my impropriety. Lady Burlesdon is very proper in all things, you see. She is determined to do something about me and her latest scheme is to saddle old Sir Jacob Borrodaile with my humble self as an attache. He’s to be posted to an embassy somewhere. Frankly, I haven’t the foggiest notion of what it is that an attache is supposed to do. If it isn’t very much, who knows? I may even find it to my liking.”

Both men laughed.

“So you see,” continued Rassendyll, “with the imminence of this attache business, it would appear that my days of leisure are numbered. Therefore, I decided upon a holiday to celebrate the final days of my indolence. Upon reading in The Times of the impending coronation in Ruritania, I became seized with a sudden desire to see how the other half lives. In order to spare my sister-in-law any anxiety, I put it about that I was off on a hunting trip to the Tyrol. Not a soul knows that I am on my way to Strelsau save yourself. It may sound a bit clandestine, but I merely intend to observe the proceedings from a quite respectful distance, do a little fishing and shooting in the countryside, and then depart for home and a life of depressing diplomatic drudgery.”

“I commend you on your discretion, Mr. Rassendyll,” said Drakov. He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a slender flask. “Some brandy for your coffee, perhaps?”

“The very thing!” said Rassendyll. He held out his cup and Drakov poured a small amount into the coffee, whereupon the flask trickled dry.

“Oh, dear,” said Rassendyll. “It appears that I have taken your last.”

“Think nothing of it,” Drakov said. “I have another bottle in my compartment. In fact, perhaps you’d care to join me there for brandy and a cigar or two?”

“A capital idea!” said Rassendyll. “I must say, this promises to be a most pleasant journey.”

They adjourned to Drakov’s compartment after a few moments, where they opened a bottle of Napoleon brandy. From an elegantly finished gentleman’s necessary case lined with plush red velvet, Drakov removed two small glass snifters and poured for them both. Then he offered Rassendyll a handsomely crafted cigar case with the name Alfred Dunhill, Ltd. engraved upon it. Rassendyll paused for a moment to admire it before selecting one of the excellent Havanas it contained, an exquisitely mild leaf in a maduro wrapper. Drakov handed him a tiny silver cutter with which to snip the end off. Before lighting it, Rassendyll removed the band.

“My father always used to say that one should never smoke a fine cigar with the band still on it, just as one would not make love to a beautiful woman without first removing all her clothing.”

“Most amusing,” Drakov said, turning his cigar slowly as he held a match to it.

Rassendyll shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a slight numbness in his lower region. “You know I really must compliment you, old chap,” he said. “You certainly travel with all of the most modern conveniences.”

Drakov smiled. “Interesting that you should say that. Since you appear to have an appreciation for such things, perhaps you will be intrigued by this.”

He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a small black case. At first, Rassendyll thought that it was covered with a finely grained black leather, then he realized that it was not a covering at all, but some sort of curious material that he could not identify. He noted that the case had extremely unusual-looking fastenings. He watched with interest as Drakov opened it, holding it upon his lap.

“You know, Rudolf, if I may call you that,” said Drakov, “I have a confession I must make to you. This meeting of ours was not entirely accidental.”

“Oh?” said Rassendyll, watching with growing fascination as Drakov removed a series of curiously shaped strips from the case. They were translucent and appeared to have very intricate workings within them. He had never seen anything quite like them before.

“I arranged this encounter,” Drakov said. “I also arranged to be present at your brother’s party, so that we might see each other. That way, when we ran into each other on this journey, I could more easily approach you in a familiar manner.”

“I say,” said Rassendyll, “this all sounds like quite the plot.” He frowned. There was a peculiar tingling sensation in his legs. Was it possible that so small an amount of brandy could be affecting him?

“But wait a moment. How could you possibly have known that I would be aboard this train? I only decided to take the journey several days ago!”

“As you say, it’s quite the plot,” said Drakov. “I wish I had the time to explain it to you fully. However, I fear that it would prove to be quite beyond your comprehension.”

Rassendyll looked puzzled. Was the man insulting him? “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” he said, uncertainly. The tingling sensation had now spread to his chest, and his legs felt numb. “By the way, what are those things?”

Drakov was bent over, connecting the strange-looking strips together in a circular pattern on the floor of the compartment. Though Rassendyll watched closely, he could not make out just how they were connected.

“They’re called border circuits,” Drakov said, finishing his task and straightening. “I’m afraid the term will not mean anything to you, but you should find their operation fascinating, just the same.”

He reached for the case once more, this time opening it so that Rassendyll could see inside it. What he saw baffled him completely. It looked like a device out of one of those fantastic novels by that imaginative Frenchman, Verne. Rassendyll had no idea what it was. It seemed quite complicated, what with controls of some sort, reflective surfaces upon which numerals appeared as if by magic and tiny, winking, glowing lights.

“See here, Drakov, what manner of contraption is that?”

“It’s called a chronoplate.”

“A chronoplate? What does it do?”

“It is a device for traveling through time.”

“For — ” Rassendyll looked astonished, then realized that the man was having him on. He laughed. “Traveling through time, eh? Jolly good! What say we voyage to tomorrow and see what the weather will be like, what? Come now, really, what does it actually-”

Rassendyll’s voice suddenly trailed off and he turned pale.

“Is something wrong?” said Drakov.

“I do believe I’m feeling a bit ill, old chap. Perhaps a little air — ” He attempted to stand, only to discover that he was unable to move from the waist down. “What the devil? I seem to have lost all feeling in my legs!”

“That’s because the poison is taking effect,” said Drakov.

“What did you say?”

“That brandy I poured into your coffee,” Drakov said, making some adjustments inside the case. “It was laced with an interesting concoction that would totally baffle your present-day chemists. By now, the numbness you’ve been feeling should be spreading very rapidly. In another few seconds, you will be completely paralyzed and dead moments after that.”

Rassendyll’s eyes grew very wide. “Dead! You cannot be serious!” He abruptly realized that he could not move his arms. Realization of his situation plunged him into abject terror. “My God! Poisoned! No! No, please, in Heaven’s name, man, help me!”

“I’m afraid that you’re quite beyond help,” said Drakov. “I’m sorry.”

Rassendyll now found it difficult to speak. He wanted to scream, but he could not. The most he could manage was a croaking whisper.

“Why?” he said, forcing the words out. “What have I ever done to you?”

“Nothing,” Drakov said. “There is nothing personal in this, Rudolf. That is the main reason I have made it as physically painless as I knew how. It’s slower this way, but at least it doesn’t hurt. In a way, I’m even doing you a favor. You would have died within another year of tuberculosis — what you call consumption. Not an easy death, by any means, what with fever, chills, internal lesions causing you to cough up blood; this will be far less unpleasant. Soon, you will simply lose consciousness, almost like falling asleep. When your body is discovered, it will appear as though you had suffered a stroke.”

Rassendyll could no longer move at all. He could not speak; he could not feel a thing. Large tears made wet tracks down his cheeks. Drakov wiped them away gently with a silk handkerchief. While he spoke, he reached into Rudolf’s coat and removed his billfold, replacing it with one of his own. Then he systematically searched his other pockets.

“I knew all about your trip,” he said. “In fact, I know all there is to know about you, such as your relationship to Rudolf Elphberg. However, there are always slight historical discrepancies that one cannot account for and I had to engage you in conversation to make certain of a few things. You were very helpful, telling me all I needed to know with almost no prompting on my part. If it’s any consolation to you, you’re dying in a good cause. Your death is something that I find regrettable, but necessary.”

He did something inside the case and the border circuits on the floor began to glow. He shut the case; then, holding the walking stick in one hand and the case in the other, he stepped into the glowing circle.

“I’m afraid that Lord and Lady Burlesdon will believe that you must have had some sort of accident upon your hunting trip,” he said. “The papers you are now carrying identify you as Peter Andersen, the name under which I booked passage. Rudolf Rassendyll will simply disappear, as shall I. I’m sorry that it had to be this way. I truly am. You will be missing the adventure of a lifetime. However, we have someone else in mind to play your part. Goodbye, Rudolf. Better luck in the next life.”

The glowing circle flared and vanished, taking Drakov with it.