Metamorphoses

IV

Elenja Rassendyll, princess of Tarlenheim and princess royal of Rothenia, was third in line to the Crown of Tassilo, though that was not a consideration that much engaged her. But her seniority in the succession and the age of the three children ahead of her in it meant that the court counted on her to take a prominent public role in the activities of the monarchy. Elenja found her seniority went with a lot of commitments.

The latest one puzzled her a bit. It was more politics than ceremony, but Maxxie had been most insistent that he wanted her to chair the conference. ‘You’re a grown up, Lennie!’ said the boy-king, with his usual charm. ‘Those old men might get shirty with a kid calling the shots at the end of the table.’ So she had consented, though she was nervous enough about the occasion to do some serious research about the Anatolia Question first.

‘Test me, Fritzy!’ she commanded her husband over the breakfast table in the Tarlenheim palace on Strelzen’s Raathausplaz.

He grinned back while burping their latest child, Hugo count in Tarlenheim, aged ten months, who was seventh in line to the Crown of Tassilo. ‘Relax, darling. Oskar and Tommy will have it all sorted for you. Just follow their script. But keep an eye on Maxxie. That boy is remarkably astute for his age, and devious with it.’

Elenja rolled her eyes. ‘From what Tommy says about him, astuteness and deviousness are two of his lesser gifts. He is the Golden Elphberg, remember. I am beginning to work out that he’s up to something here which he is not sharing.’

The prince nodded. ‘It’s at times like this that we miss Lance Atwood, Damien Macavoy and their gang. He and they had some sort of connection with Maxxie that encouraged people to think they at least had a clue as to what he was up to. My brother Oskar is not in the same loop, I fear.’

Lennie smiled. ‘Maxxie did make him a duke, that shows confidence.’

Fritz laughed. ‘It was a wedding present when Maxxie’s uncle Peter married Oskar. Maxxie thought it a good idea that his cousins on the Peacher side should be an important part of the peerage of Rothenia. My nephew Piotr will be duke of Husbrau after his dad as well as count of Modenehem, and his parents call him by the name Piotr Peacher von Tarlenheim zu Templerstadt to make the dynastic point.’

‘And very likely young Piotr will be the wealthiest man in Europe when he inherits. See what I mean, Maxxie is devious. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s not planning a constitutional change, reviving the Reichsrathe and maybe replacing the Senate with it.’

‘A Rothenian House of Lords again? Surely not. Though from my history classes I remember it played a very important part in making the first Maxim king and restoring the Elphbergs in 1910. But then by contrast the Adelsgenoffenschaft were a troublesome pressure group in the recent crisis, in favour of your unlamented father, Robert Rassendyll. Hmm. As the premier peer of Rothenia I think it’s time I had a chat with the Queen Regent about what the court is playing at.’

‘And in doing so Fritzy my love, you’ll be unconsciously making the case for awarding the peerage a constitutional role. Devious, like I said.’

***

Half against his own inclinations. Will allowed himself to be persuaded back to the Toblescu house, where Johan triumphantly summoned up the front page of AllmyFans Returning to the service of Europe and the Oecumene as it cheekily announced in a banner.

‘So you’ve seen no American accounts?’ Will asked.

‘No, I haven’t seen any. The web has been slower to rebuild across the Atlantic I suppose, though it might be their crazy politics too. But I’ve been trying to check out what I can. I’ve found French, German and Spanish creators, and masses of British kids. Men make up about a third of the creator accounts, I guess, but only a fraction of them are going to be gay.’

‘That’s a small niche to fill then. Have you opened an account, Jo-jo?’

Johan shrugged. ‘Yup. I had to if we want to scout the site out. They take Rothenian krone, British pounds, Canadian dollars and Euros, but not US dollars.’

‘The next step better be to open some subscriptions to creators to see what it is they do. But first open up the menu and let’s read up terms and conditions. Like, how much of my profits are they gonna take, and how much do we keep.’

Johan grinned. ‘The question that interests me is why everything’s still in fucking English. It may have been the language of the old internet, but its relays and satellites are being reinstalled by Rothenian and German engineers for the Oecumene.’

Will shook his head. ‘If I need to sext with Italians, Spaniards, Dutch and French guys it’s gonna need to be in English. I can manage German but English reaches way more people than Rothenian.’

Johan sniggered. ‘I made a very long English word list of obscene terms. Interested?’

‘You’re getting me horned up, Jo-jo.’

‘Wanna do something about it? Something marketable?’

***

The company of the guard at the Residenz paraded for Princess Elenja and after receiving a royal salute she was delighted to be welcomed by Tommy Entwhistle, the Queen Regent’s chief of staff. ‘Well! Baron Entwhistle!’ she cried as she kissed her old friend and sometime lover. ‘How has Bela dealt with your elevation to the peerage?’

‘Queen Harry was very kind, and issued a new regulation that same sex partners in Rothenia share the dignity awarded one of them. So he’s himself Bela, Baron Entwhistle, these days. Though he still says “Envissel”. He can’t manage English names that well. One of the consequences of the Queen’s edict is that as a result Peter Peacher her brother is now a highness, since he’s married to a Rothenian duke.’

The princess laughed. ‘I’m delighted for you both. I have lots of kiddie pictures for you and Harry to admire later, but first I believe we have a meeting with young Prince Afran, so he can tell us his mother’s mind.’

‘He’s waiting for us in the lounge of the royal quarters. Maxxie and Prince Leo are currently with him, trying to talk him into a game of Risk. He is resisting, which is a hopeful sign. It seems he’s not as easily influenced as some by Maxxie’s … er … powers.’

It appeared Afran was still defying the charisma of King Maxim when they reached him, though he did seem relieved at the appearance of adults in the room. With his usual precocious dignity, the boy king took control of the meeting, sending his brother off to the nursery with charm and grace, and a promise of a game of Risk before his bedtime.

He grinned around the room. ‘If Dad makes it back on time, that’ll get me out of the state banquet, or it will if I put up a better than my usual fight against my little bro, who is more than a chip off the old block. Now then friends, can I just ask His Highness Prince Afran to give us the Kurdish view on the establishment of a Kingdom of Rum in Anatolia? Take your time, sir.’

Afran gathered himself and began a detailed exposition of his mother’s views on the power vacuum in the Near East. He began hesitantly but before he had finished he was discoursing fluently and apparently from his own head rather than prepared notes. He made a very good impression on Lennie.

The gist of the Kurdish argument was that a Turkish state was a necessity in the region and it could be an enduring force for stability, despite former tensions and conflicts. The problems as the Kurds saw things were the colonial history of Ottoman empire-building in the region and the former imperial dynasty’s inflammatory appeal to the Turkish people by adopting language recalling past glories and religious pre-eminence. A kingdom of Rum could succeed but only if it found a stable view of itself as an ethnic state without defining itself by aggression against its neighbours.

Lennie had to ask Afran, ‘Would you then think that the only hope is in selecting the candidate for the throne of Rum who understands this and has the capacity to guide his people along that route?’

Afran nodded. ‘Certainly. We count on the Oecumene to deliver just that. It is what was done in Armenia, Georgia and in my own country. You have the advantage presently of the Turks being desperate to join the Oecumene and reap the benefits in trade and security. But the problem is not just choosing the right person for the throne, it is in accommodating rivals who would undermine the new monarchy by nationalist posturing.’

Maxxie giggled suddenly. ‘The old Ottoman emperors in Constantinople had this idea of locking up their close relatives, brothers and uncles, in a luxurious palace-prison and holding them captive there so they could not plot against the throne. They called it the Cage. You can see now why they did it. Maybe we should suggest to our candidate that he revive the idea.’

Lennie shushed the boy. ‘That’s not the way the Oecumene works, Maxxie, as you well know. Don’t give Prince Afran reason to doubt us.’

‘Just having a silly moment, Lennie,’ Maxxie shrugged and added wistfully. ‘I need to be a teen sometimes.’

Afran grinned across at the boy-king. ‘I quite understand your majesty. I get that way. People ask a lot of us.’

Lennie wondered if Maxxie was up to something here, looking to further solidify a relationship with the boy Afran, but to what end? The young king could be Sphinx-like in his moves, as if he was playing on a bigger chessboard than his opponent. ‘Devious’, as her husband had said to her that morning.

‘Just one more question, Afran,’ asked Maxxie. ‘Do you carry any recommendation from Queen Rozhin as to who we should choose for the throne of Rum?’

‘I do not, your majesty. That is to say, my mother has made a string of comments about each of them, and asks that you take them into consideration when you make your asssessment. But she does not choose a “Kurdish candidate” so to speak, as that is likely to prejudice future relations between Rum and Kurdistan in any number of ways.’

Maxxie smiled, nodded and said. ‘That’s wise.’ He looked across at Lennie. ‘So dear cousin, what now?’

The princess laughed. ‘You can go and play Risk with Leo, Maxxie. Whether you get out of the state banquet depends on your father’s arriving on time. If he does he and your mother will host the event and you won’t be troubled. If not, it becomes a job for you and Queen Harriet. In the meantime, Prince Afran might wish to join you in the nursery, if he has nothing else in mind.’

***

Willem Martinovic exhumed his old laptop from the box where it had lain since he left Rechtenberg. He called through to his father in the lounge in front of the TV with a beer. ‘Dad! Have you got wifi? If so what’s the password?’

Bolo brought the details through. ‘I just switched the router on. First time since the War. I think it’s still included in my RotCom package. Is it worth the effort? Guys in work said there’s not much worth looking at online. The EU had closed down the poisonous US-based social media even before the internet went down. And the porn sites were pretty bad too in the end, not of course that either of us ever looked at them. Right?’

‘Yes Dad. Absolutely. Wouldn’t dream.’

‘Okay Will, tell me what you find once you’ve had a look.’ Bolo shambled back to his beer and court papers.

Will’s laptop happily booted up and found the internet connection. The connection speed was surprisingly good, probably (as Will hypothesised) because the city police barracks was more or less next door.

Will found his old browser had survived the shut down, and indeed his bookmarks were still in place, though only Rothenian wikipedia, which he had used a lot when he was a young teen in gymno, responded to the summoning click. The site was in very good shape, and a long and very current article appeared when he searched for ‘Kurdistan’. He followed its cross-references to learn about Queen Rozhin Yousefi and her installation by the Oecumene and found that Afran Yousefi, prince of Kurdistan, was highlighted in blue in her article. And there his friend was, in a very fetching photo with a long article beneath. He read the tale of the boy’s violent genesis and the fate of his father, and wondered how on earth Afran could have turned out so normal and as friendly as he was. The speculation as to whether Afran was heir to the kingdom of the Kurds passed him by.

Down to business. He had Johan’s email and his own RotCom account had survived the shutdown, so he sent a missive to the boy announcing his arrival on the web, and asking for links.

Johan’s response arrived in only a half hour, including a long list of current gay sites which would repay careful scrutiny, but Will’s present interest was in AllmyFans.org.uk. So, it was not a US site. That would probably explain how it had been revived so quickly in the Oecumene. He called up the page and registered for an account, which cost him 500kr from his dad’s allowance he had rather not paid, but it was the first step to upgrading to be an AllmyFans creator and the subsequent fortune that would pour in, he hoped. Looking at the shirt he had bought earlier with Afran on the Plaz, he chose as his online name ‘JackJones’ which seemed Anglo enough. He revisited the Terms and Conditions and rehearsed the mechanics of posting and charging. He spent a lot of time selecting an image and devising a banner for his front page. He told his potential followers that he was 18 and a college student and into … what? He needed to think about that. He did however advertise future collaborations with ‘horny twinks’, finding the English term a little hilarious.

He sent off asking Johan for his views on the site. He got by return a number of sexy nude or near-nude stills they had taken, and his proposed first video post, a long masturbation episode they had made with an explosive happy ending. ‘Start slow,’ Johan cautioned, ‘work up to the fucks.’ Johan’s online account name was ‘Jo-joboy’, and that was how he would be credited in their joint collaborations, with a proportion of the income from videos going to him.

Will spent the rest of the evening touring pages of self-professed gay creators, discovering that the majority called themselves femboys and seemed to find wearing cat and dog ears and nothing else the height of sexiness. Fem or not, they mostly seemed to have bigger dicks than he did, which was a bit sobering. Dick size seemed to be a selling point and he was no more than 7 inches fully erect. By bed time Will was encouraged to find that his first video had garnered a dozen ‘likes’ and three complimentary comments. His read-out told him he had so far only gained three subscribers at 96kr each monthly, which was a start, but did not promise sudden wealth.

***

Yuli Lucic and Roman von Ebersfeld came late to property-ownership but had decided it was time to buy a house when Yuli finally accepted the directorship of the Strelzen Hofkapelle. Yuli would have been happy to settle in the city, which he loved, but Roman had other ideas.

‘Yuli my love I am not settling in a small house on the Altstadt or in a flat on Domstrasse. It’s time to think big. The Horjhaszelesnjes district is just outside the capital but it’s semi-rural and has long been favoured by Strelzen’s elite.’

‘We’re the elite then, Freiherr Roman-Rudolf Staufer von Ebersfeld?’

‘We are. Leaving aside our income, there is the fact that we both now possess the order of St Lucacz, which comes with a nice medal and ribbon, awarded us by our greatest teen fan King Maxim for our contribution to the musical life of Rothenia. And on a practical point we need a big house for your grand pianos and a garden shed for that recording studio you keep saying you want to build. So the Green Hills it is. And my dad is very keen to help.’

And so the pair knuckled down under the Baron Staufer’s knowledgable direction, visiting the houses he had selected, browsing plans, and poring over contracts. The one thing they insisted on was that their attorney should be Bolslaw Wyzhinski, a decision which brought their old friend a good deal of money, and also eventually an invitation to their first big party, which they threw to celebrate the victory of Henry Atwood in the general election. So it happened that Will Martinovic and his dad hitched a lift out to the country house of Starcrossed with Marek and Johan Toblescu, who also had an invitation.

The house, which Yuli and Roman named Rucz en Rucz after one of their early hits, the one which had in fact been their Eurovision Song Contest entry in 2005, lay within a fifteen-minute drive of the Staramesten of Strelzen. It had the dubious distinction of being built in the late 1940s as one of the dachas of the Rothenian Communist leader, Chairman-President Wittel Horvath, a house where he indeed entertained Stalin and Kruschev on separate occasions. Roman grimaced when his father had explained this to him, but the baron knew his son, and followed up by observing that the great Russian composer, Dmitri Shostakovich, had occupied it for a year in the 1950s and wrote most of his 11th Symphony there. He had spent a lot of time in Strelzen as guest conductor of the Rothenian National Orchestra once he had been rehabilitated after Stalin’s death.

The house lay nestled in a woodland bowl and was built in a Russian style in wood with lots of jumbled turrets and porches, heavily adorned with gingerbread carving and painted electric blue and white. It had a bathhouse attached which Yuli was enamoured with. It also had a derelict former stable block, where engineers from Hamburg had installed a huge recording suite, big enough to host an orchestra, which was in fact Yuli’s plan for it.

‘Bet you Jules will be here,’ Johan commented to Will as they entered the crowded rooms.

‘How can you know that?’ Will responded.

‘His dad is Starcrossed’s oldest mate, and was also a major donor to the At-vood campaign. If Willem Kral is here, Jules will be on his coat tails. He wouldn’t want to miss an occasion like this would our Jules.’

Will sniffed. ‘He’s not my Jules, Jo-jo.’

Johan raised an eyebrow. ‘He pissed you off? He’s not to everyone’s taste I guess. Pity he’s not gay, he has a neat little ass and he let me see it once. Got some cool pictures I can show ya if you’re interested.’

‘Johan he’s only fourteen, for fuck’s sake!’

‘He’s old enough to have hair on his balls! He goes nude down the Stadbad, which he should not. Caught him wanking there in the open air once for some other pervs. I had a camera. Nobody saw. Quite a gusher it was, right over some girl’s face.’ Johan sniggered happily at the memory.

Will shook his head. Johan Toblescu’s sexual tastes had caused him some doubts in the past, and this exchange did not reassure him.

A catering firm had been employed and little expense had been spared by Starcrossed on drink and food with heaped tables and white-jacketed waiters circulating with trays of interesting glasses. Johan swiped two as a tray passed and sipped approvingly. ‘Champagne!’ he grinned.

The place was packed. Starcrossed were near the open French windows with Henry Atwood, their chief guest, but also some famous faces Will could not but recognise, including the Queen Regent and young King Maxim who was chatting happily with — fuck it — Jules Kral.

‘There you are!’ said a voice loud in Will’s ear. It was his mum. He turned, and things brightened abruptly, for smiling shyly beside her was his new friend Prince Afran. ‘Can you look after Afran for a while, Will. I have to report to the Marshal Prince.’

Will looked around, and standing now beside the Queen Regent he saw the striking figure of the former king Rudolf VI Elphberg, in his usual Rothenian field marshal’s uniform. His hand was on his son’s shoulder, and the beaming boy was clasping it happily.

‘Hi Afran!’ he said enthusiastically, as his mother disappeared in the direction of the royal family.

‘Hello friend Willem,’ came the encouraging reply. ‘I was glad to see someone here I know, and asked your mother to take me over. It was fortunate. A very persistent young boy was — how d’you say — pumping me for confidential details of the present negotiations at the palace.’

‘Oh? Was he called Jules?’

‘That was the name he gave. He was very persistent to the point of rudeness, although remarkably knowledgeable for a young teenager.’

‘He’s only fourteen and a human wikipedia.’

‘Had he been ten years older I would have thought him a particularly unsubtle intelligence operative.’

‘Odd that, Afran. He has a strange compulsion to know more than anyone else, and the contacts to indulge it. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a journalist.’

‘Or an author of wikipedia articles,’ laughed Afran. He straightened his face. ‘Friend Will I did enjoy our time together yesterday. I hope we can do it again soon.’

‘How long are you going to be in Rothenia?’

‘That was not specified. I know I must be at the Proclamation of the Imperium in New Constantinople next month. So a few weeks yet I should think.’

‘Do you have a handij?’

Afran looked briefly puzzled at the Rothenian term. ‘Handij? Oh, you mean a cell phone or mobile. Yes I do, it will receive your calls. Here is the number. Is there something you’d like to do together?’

‘Yes. It’s still warm and sunny, and one of the most popular attractions in the city in summer is the Spa and its Gardens. It has a Russian Baths which I find very refreshing.’

‘Good. We will go there. How about at the weekend? My mission will be over by then.’

‘Agreed, Afran. Now perhaps we should circulate.’

***

Henry Robert Atwood MP was really enjoying himself, in a party full of his favourite people. Then his day was made. ‘Broody!’ he yelled, as Rudolf Elphberg made his appearance. ‘I hadn’t expected you!’

‘Well Outfield, it appears anyone who is anyone is here tonight, and that includes my wife and son. So I must be too. Congratulations on the election result. You’ll be a chirpy voice of sanity in the Parliament.’

‘I intend to be. Will you be opening parliament this year, Maxxie?’

‘Me, Uncle Henry? Make the speech and all? I’ll be back in Medwardine by then. It’ll be mum as Regent.’

Henry laughed. ‘Well, Harry, it looks like the SDP and Unity, not to mention the Greens, have enough seats to form the first left wing government for quite some time. Looks like Trachtenberg will be back in the Chancery and Von Lauern will be packed off back to his country estate in Glottenberh to get on with breeding his dogs, children and horses.’

The queen regent gave a very broad grin. ‘The conversation topics in the weekly audience at the palace will be very different from now on I imagine. What about you, our Henry? There has to be a ministry for you, surely?’

‘There are much bigger fish out there who need flattering with a ministerial office and car. I’m just a newbie.’

Rudi shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that, Outfield. You have a huge public profile and a history of successful campaigning on issues that matter to people. Selection for office does not just go on seniority. Expect the call from Trachtenberg, he is a great fan of yours.’

‘What, despite all I said on air about him when I was behind the desk at Eastnet?’

Rudi shrugged. ‘Good politicians don’t keep grudges. Trachtenberg is the best. I’m hoping you get something in defence. You at least have real life experience in combat and command. There aren’t many others in your parliamentary group who could say the same.’

Henry found Yuli Lucic at his shoulder. ‘Hey Herr At-vood! Romesczu and I want to do a musical item to celebrate your victory in the polls, but also to celebrate the achievements of you, your royal highness.’

Rudi’s eyebrows rose. ‘How did I get to be part of this, Yuli?’

‘Without you, sir, none of us would be here. Can I borrow your son, sir?

‘Maxxie? Are you behind this, son?’

The boy beamed. ‘Yes, dad.’ He held up an electric guitar. ‘You’ll like this Uncle Henry. I’m ready, Yuli.’

Starcrossed and King Maxim took station at the keyboard and the room fell silent. Yuli began the lead in and Roman’s voice rose above it

I've paid my dues
Time after time
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime

By the time the chorus began and the bell-like chords and riffs of Maxxie’s accomplished guitar joined in, everyone had got the message, it was the famous Queen hit, and Roman’s voice was agile enough to rival that of the great Freddie Mercury.

We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions of the World

The whole hall joined in and Henry was for once not immune to the music and the message. He just wished Ed could have been there. He was delighted when afterwards young Will Martinovic came up to him and offered to share a video he had made of the event.

‘That is so very kind, kid,’ he said.

NEXT CHAPTER

Copyright © 2025 Michael Arram