Metamorphoses

VII

Will did not give his reaction much thought. He simply threw himself at Afran and clasped his arms round the boy. There was a commotion behind him, and some shouting, but no crack of a pistol shot. Afran eventually whispered in his ear. ‘You can let go, Will. I think we’re safe now from any assassin.’

The hammering of his heart began to slow as he looked around. The first person he recognised was his mum, striding over to examine Afran and check him out. She was in civilian clothes for once.

‘How are you, sir?’ she demanded.

‘Undamaged, general,’ he replied with a grin. ‘And though your son gave me a powerful squeeze, I think it’s survivable.’

Will scanned around for the gunman. He guessed that he was the man on the ground, cuffed behind his back. Another man had his knee in his back, a fit and determined-looking dark-haired man in his forties, who looked up and winked at Will. Police were in increasing evidence. A response vehicle in green police livery was edging through pedestrian traffic on the square. Will turned back to his mother. ‘What’s going on, mum? Was that an attempt on Afran’s life?’

He did not get a direct response. She looked over at the man who had restrained the gunman and said in English, ‘Mr Peacher-White, would you be so good as to see the prince and my son safely to the Residenz. I will finish up here with the Sichertsdeinst and the city police.’

‘Sure enough, general babe,’ came the faintly mocking response, ‘You kids want to come with me? Sorry your drinks and cake got delayed. Rudi will probably make up for it if I gives him a subtle hint like.’

The man shook their hands in the Rothenian way, though he was plainly an Englishman. ‘Name’s Justin, guys.’

The penny dropped for Will. ‘Justin Peacher-White! The Peacher Corps boss?’

The man grinned. ‘Sorta, though Uncle Pete might disagree. But I run the Security division for sure.’ Afran nodded. He seemed to know the man. Will carried on with his queries. ‘What just happened, sir? What’s your connection with my mother?’

Justin shrugged. ‘Can’t tell you a lot, kid, but you need to know something at least. Some people, whom I won’t identify but you might guess at, decided that your boyfriend was not the king of their choice and decided to remove him from the reckoning. But they were being monitored by the Sichertsdeinst, the security services, and their hiring of an assassin was detected. ‘Prince Afran was in the meantime under surveillance by friends, including me and your mum, and if those guys hadn’t moved faster than we expected, you’d not have been inconvenienced. Those unnamed persons are now being rounded up I believe and they will be dealt with by Rudi, pretty decisively I should imagine.’

‘Er … Rudi?’

‘The ex-king, soon to be Emperor.’

‘Oh! And how did an Englishman get so involved in Rothenian security, sir?’

‘It’s my principal business, kid. And on top of that, England’s part of the Oecumene these days. So what Rudi says, I do. He’s got a close relationship with Peacherworld ain’t he.’

‘Of course, the Queen Regent is a Peacher and his wife. I understand.’

They had reached the palace railings by now, and flashing an ID, Justin led them through the King Henry gate and into the forecourt. ‘This way kids,’ he said cheerily and led them through an arch, up some stairs and into the carpeted corridors of the main palace. A teenage boy was lounging around the corridor, a boy with shining golden hair.

‘Uncle Justy!’ he yelled and barrelled into the man’s arms. ‘You had fun!’

‘How d’you know? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

King Maxim II of Rothenia grinned up at Willem. He talked to him in English. ‘Hi. You’re Afran’s boyfriend aintchya? Welcome to my house. I’m … well you know who I am I guess, just call me Maxxie. But let’s do the handshake and become friends. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other — believe it. Come on up to the domestic quarters, dad and mom want to talk to you guys. Okay Afran?’

The prince grinned back at Maxxie. ‘I’m alive, your majesty. So that’s good.’

‘Hey Afran. Mr Pokolosky, my head of protocol, says that even though you’re nearly four years older than me, that I still go before you in any procession even when you’re a king. It’s the date of accession that counts, he says.’ He shot an amused look at Willem. ‘Course your place in any procession is gonna be a bit difficult to work out, Will.’

‘Why the concern about processions … er … Maxxie?’

‘Me and old Pokolosky have classes on this sort of stuff. My homework’s been about the Proclamation Ceremony later this month. There’s gonna be a big royal gathering in New Constantinople, so the protocol buffs are going apeshit about the details.’

‘There are protocol buffs, Maxxie?’ Will giggled.

‘No word of a lie, Will. And you’re giving them palpitations.’

***

To be in the same room as the legendary Marshal-Prince of Elphberg, the Saviour of the West, was the most intimidating experience in Will’s life so far, made not much easier by the fact that the man was in jeans and barefoot on his sofa. Prince Rudi was always top of the World’s Most Desirable Man lists that Will and Jo-jo had made, despite his age. And here was the man himself, not only that but he was smiling at Will and apparently very happy with him.

‘And dad,’ said Maxxie, ‘our Will threw himself over Afran when the guy drew a gun!’ Fuck! Did the King of Rothenia just call him ‘Our Will’?

‘Good job, Willem,’ the prince said. ‘Fortunately Justy already had the dickhead down by then, and even better the would-be assassin was still alive.’

Will exerted himself, despite his state of mild euphoria. ‘Can you tell me and my Franzi a bit about this plot, what you’re able to anyway?’ Afran seconded the request and squeezed Will’s hand.

The marshal-prince chuckled. ‘You’d do best to ask your mum, Will. She’s the officer heading the investigation. But I’ll sketch out what we know. We knew Prince Suleiman took the decision in favour of Afran as King of Rum badly. He has a past record of criminality on the old dark web before the Horde Wars, so we knew he had to be watched. In our new Oecumene Internet 2.0 you cannot any longer browse the old TOR onion sites of the dark web, which are defunct, but he was dumb enough to try to locate his old contacts on the clear web, and our Tech Intelligence Group followed his negotiations with a Russo-Serbian syndicate. It all moved very fast. Their assassin was alarmingly competent in planning his strike, and I rather fear he had somehow got access to sensitive information about you two boys which he should not have had. Fortunately we had assets in place when he made his move, which was not so competent.’

Afran nodded and said, ‘What do you propose to do next, sir?’

Prince Rudolf shrugged. ‘We have Suleiman under arrest now in the Arsenal prison, and there he will stay as his case is prosecuted, hopefully for years. I’ve called a meeting with the senior members of the Osmanoğlu clan, when I will lay it on the line how unhappy with them I am. It so happens that in the days when they were exiled from the Turkish Republic, the Ottoman princes built lives in exile in Portugal and Southern France, where they rode out the Horde years too. So you should in due course, dear Afran, talk with your new government of Rum about renewing the ban on their entering your kingdom, at least till a new Osmanoğlu generation grows up, educated in the ideals of the Oecumene.’

Afran gave the room an exaggerated quirky look, which caused Maxxie to giggle. ‘That seems to cover everything then,’ he said, ‘but I have some concerns. The first is the safety of my boyfriend Willem, as much as myself.’

Queen Harriet agreed. ‘We don’t know the danger is over, and Will is certainly in the line of fire. So I would suggest moving Afran and Will into one of the vacant apartments in the Osraeum.’ She looked around. ‘These are grace and favour accommodation in the smaller palace across Gartengasse. They are high security accommodation. There’s even a fully equipped gym in the basement. Self catering however.’

‘Bad news for you then, Franzi,’ laughed Will. ‘Cooking is not something I do by choice.’

Maxxie, also sniggering, volunteered to take them across. When Afran objected that the young king was putting himself in danger, he was taken aback by a solemn look from Prince Rudolf and the assurance that there was nothing in earth or even possibly heaven which could be a danger to his son. ‘He has no security detail.’

***

Will was intrigued. ‘So what is it with you, Maxxie? Do you have advanced martial arts training or something?’

The boy chuckled. ‘I’m the Golden Elphberg,’ he said, as if that was an explanation, then he pointedly changed the subject. There’s a couple of apartments free in the Osraeum. Princess Lennie used to have one, and her dad, the mad old duke of Glottenberh, my great uncle. But when she married Fritzy Tarlenheim Lennie moved to the Tarlenheim palace on Raathausplatz. Cousin Tom Bernenstejne has one still but he’s going to be King of Poland soon. I think maybe you’d better be put in Nanny Vinodol’s old place. She died last year, she was an amazing old lady. Her apartment is awaiting redecoration. It stinks of lavender, but she kept it clean and tidy.’

The forecourt of the Osraeum was guarded by a detail of royal guardsmen. They turned out at the sight of the boy king and offered a very smart salute. Maxxie was clearly pleased and led Afran over to inspect the guard. ‘You can have a royal guard in Rum when you’re king, Franzi,’ he said

‘The Turks call them the Bostanji, I think,’ said Afran. ‘Good that you know Turkish, Franzi,’ approved Maxxie. ‘You’ve got a tough gig as King of Rum. But you’re the right guy.’

‘I hope you’re correct, Maxxie.’

***

As they pottered around the Osraeum apartment that had previously belonged to the Princess of Vinodol, Will came to the conclusion that his Franzi needed to be brought up to date with the parts of his life which were growing increasingly uncomfortable to him.

Afran was at his laptop. ‘Hey Will! English Wikipedia says that this place was named after an 18th-century Elphberg princess called Osra Madeleine, but it’s on the site of an older house belonging to her father’s mistress. Oh yes, and the princess of Vinodol was the Red Elphberg’s grandma. She belonged to a cadet lineage of the Elphberg house deriving from King Henry II but whose female heir married into the lineage of Kesarstein. The princess married the great nephew and heir of King Maxim I in exile in England in the 1940s, Lord John Rassendyll, who was killed in the Korean War, serving as a lieutenant in the British Army.’

‘Wikipedia survived the great shutdown then?’

‘Fortunately yes. The Oecumene’s Internet 2.0. brought the site back as a cultural necessity, and even offered funding. Good for me. It’s one of my favourite timewasters.’

‘Good for me too,’ laughed Will.

‘Why’s that?’

Will gave a devilish grin, and grabbed the seated Afran from behind. ‘Cos I can use it to embarrass my Franzi.’ He struggled with his boyfriend and finally was able to click on the site for Afran Yousefi, prince of Kurdistan. ‘Woohoo! Great picture! You’re in a sexy Kurdish army uniform, with a peaked cap. You look good, Franzi!’

Afran surrendered. ‘Will, you are a prat. Loveable, but definitely a prat.’ He scrolled the screen down. ‘It’s up to date. Someone’s been busy. It’s got my nomination as King of Rum in the last section. Bet some drone in the Kurdish foreign ministry has been assigned to maintain it. Oh yeah, phrases like “generally welcomed” and “much anticipated” have all the hallmarks of my mum.’

‘Oh! Then I bet it doesn’t mention me under “Personal Life”.’ Afran just laughed, and Will settled in his lap. ‘Baby we need to talk.’

‘Yes we do, my Will. I love you, and I have no intention of living my life as prince and king without you. My mother knows this and accepts it, as I believe does your mother and father.’

‘But what does this mean baby? Our relationship is a political risk to you. My mum thinks you might get away with it. And for all I know she may be right. I’ll do my best not to cause King Afran Yosefi problems and I’ll live a retiring existence out of the limelight, but people will look at me all the same, and some of them will not be friendly.’

Afran shrugged. ‘I don’t know how it’ll play out, my Will. But I will want you to be at my side, waking and sleeping.’

Will gathered himself, for knew he had to confess to his stupidity with Jo-jo Toblescu to be worthy of his relationship with this good and honest man. ‘Baby mine, there is a thing I have to tell you …’

***

Johan Toblescu’s bedroom was the same as it had been that fateful afternoon Will had been seduced into his get-rich scheme, other than a lot more tech which Will guessed had come from AllmyFans cash. Jo-jo was fizzing with what he imagined was his success.

‘We have nearly 4,000 subscribers now, Will. They all so love your butt.’

‘What the fuck? How could it have grown so quickly?’

Jo-jo tapped his nose. ‘Ah, that would be the genius of Jules Kral.’

‘What’s that little fucker doing in an executive position in what was supposed to be our money-raiser?’

‘He lent us his ass and dick in a crisis situation, and he and I got it on quite nicely. He’s definitely going over to the pink side these days, he’s always hanging round in hopes. But it’s that Kral commercial acumen.’

‘I’m not gonna want to know, am I?’

Jo-jo gave a grin that Will was beginning to loathe. ‘It’s genius. The key to success on AllmyFans is making connections with our cash cows. They need to think they’re in a personal relationship with the boy behind the site whose butt they so admire and wank off to. But you won’t do that sort of graft, so it’s all on me. I can do it pretty well, and on a good night I can rake in scores of thousands of krone from old guys who think I’m you and who find me cute and relatable on line and just want to reward me for it. But there’s only so much time available.’

Will sighed. ‘What has that little fucker Kral gone and done?’

‘Genius. Just genius. Strelzen’s still a beach full of Horde refugees who washed up here and stayed, many of them cute boys with good English and Rothenian, usable handijs and no money. So Jules went on forums and spammed addresses looking for lads who would take peanuts for chatting online with our subscribers and luring them into expensive downloads. He calls them his “chatters”. He has designed scripts for them to work from. In one week our profits have gone up 600 per cent and we still keep 70 per cent of that income from AllmyFans. The chatters get ten per cent. So everyone’s happy.’

Will stared at the boy. ‘You fuckers are practising modern slavery. That is it. I am so outa here.’

For a moment Jo-jo’s face lost its easy grin and revealed something else, the impatience and contempt that lay behind his professed feelings for Will. ‘Somehow I thought that your reaction would be immature. But you’re not needed any more. Some of our chatters will lend their bums and dicks to produce content. A couple of them have your build and hair colour. That little genius Jules has the tech to modify their shorts to feature your face. So we now have a virtual Willem Martinovic working for us.’

‘I’m gonna stop this, you disgusting jerk.’

Jo-jo actually laughed. ‘How? You no longer have any access to the site, Jules saw to that. And just think, what if it got out that Prince Afran’s boyfriend was a porn princess?’

***

Will stumbled back to his dad’s apartment after this latest disaster, kicking himself all the way for letting himself put Afran in danger. Would Jo-jo carry out his threat? He rather feared he would, and the sinister capabilities that Jules Kral were revealing made him doubly dangerous.

His dad was home, and he went to him for their customary hug. Bolo hung on to him and looked in his eyes. ‘You don’t look okay, Will. Marek Toblescu rang me at work to tell me about the business in the Plaz. The south end is still taped off by the police. How are you feeling?’

‘Crap dad. Seriously crap.’

Bolo just hugged him closer, and said nothing. Will realised a little later that his dad had read him all too easily and had acquired in his time as a lawyer an instinct about eliciting confessions. It all came out in a rush, Johan, Jules and AllmyFans, Jules’s illegal posting and use of slave labour, his feelings of unworthiness with regard to Afran and fear of disappointing his mum. ‘That’s my boy,’ said Bolo as he released him from his grip and went to get Will a glass of spirits, a first.

‘Feel better, kid?’ said his dad, as Will coughed from the strength of the hrotvast shot.

Will pondered and realised he did, a lot. ‘Yes, dad. Thanks for listening. But what can I do?’

‘Just let me say, for a start,’ said Bolo, ‘that I don’t think any the less of you, Will. The Kral boy and Johan set you up, exploiting your naïvety and their supposed friendship. I see it a lot in my work, sadly. Now, talking about my work, there are things I can do professionally to help you. I need to go online to check, but AllmyFans will have got you to sign an online contract at some point. You and Johan will have signed it knowing you were under age at the time. That voids it, although it also opens you two to legal action if they feel like making your lives uncomfortable. But that’s not the result we want.’

‘What do we want, dad?’

‘To get them to take down your site which, with a lawyer on your side, they may well want to do. And then, the punishment begins. That little blackmailing serpent Jules Kral is the source of the poison, and I’m gonna have him.’

***

Will returned to the Osraeum a lot happier than he had left it. He found Afran on the lavender-smelling sofa and snuggled up to him. He was kissed gently and urged to tell Afran how the confrontation with Johan had gone. ‘This is not good, my Will’ was his response. He was a lot more positive when he heard about Bolo’s plans. ‘Your father is a good man and an eminent lawyer. He has excellent ideas.’

To distract Will, Afran got out his course materials and discussed his upcoming enrolment in the Strelzen Technische Universität to study Political and Economic Science. He had already ordered a stack of course books, all in Rothenian Will noticed. Afran was particularly excited about the module in International Law. ‘Very relevant, dearest Will,’ he said, ‘in the new world of the Oecumene. It will be a great day when the Emperor is proclaimed in New Constantinople. For the first time in the modern world there will be a custodian of Law above nations, someone to whom all may look for justice.’

Will thought about that. ‘Er … wasn’t that what the old United Nations did, or was supposed to do?’

Afran smiled and nodded. ‘That is so, my Will. But it often happened that powerful nations just ignored its attempts to enforce law and justice, and the rest simply backed off and avoided the necessary conflict. An Emperor on his throne is a different matter I feel, especially when he is Rudolf Elphberg. He will act on principle rather than expediency.’

‘So how do we get there for the big event? And who pays for us?’

Afran shrugged. ‘At the moment I’m still a charge on the Kurdish state, and I guess I will stay that way till the kingdom of Rum becomes a reality and my new government votes a budget.’

‘I’d better talk to my mum about travel expenses to be at the Proclamation,’ Will pondered. ‘I can’t see how I can be a charge on the Kurdish exchequer, Franzi. That’s not right. Oh dear, I suppose I can use the money that’s been coming in from AllmyFans, though that no longer seems right to me and I’m willing to bet Jules Kral already has a scheme to cut me out of it.’

Afran frowned, but said nothing.

***

Henry Atwood arrived at the Kirchenhaus am Domshorja restaurant on the Staramesten in good time for his midday lunch appointment to find Marek Toblescu already waiting on the doorstep. The man’s grin was not quite as ready and carefree as it had been when the two men had first met.

‘Hey, boss!’ the younger man said.

‘Marek, I am not and never have been your boss!’ Henry insisted.

The man’s grin widened. ‘In my head you always have been, Henry. Though I notice I am no longer your Mareczu.’

Henry laughed. ‘It would not be respectful to Strelsenermedia’s head of media and programming and Will Vincent’s right hand guy, who is I think about to offer me a job opportunity.’

‘We grow older, boss.’ Then Marek sized up the older man. ‘Though some of us show it more than others. You must tell me what your diet is. Can’t get rid of this gut that Anjelka’s cooking has given me.’

They were promptly whisked to their tables by the friendly staff and sat sipping Aperol Spritzes as they reminisced about the fun times they had at the time of the 2005 Eurovision Song Contest. ‘That’s why we’re here, Henry,’ Marek eventually said.

‘What? Eurovision is in Iceland next year, you’re not offering me the presenter contract?’

Marek shook his head. ‘No, it’s a much bigger deal.’

‘There is no bigger deal. And I have a day job now you realise.’

‘Boss, the job you did back in 2005 is a legend in Eastnet, it was the beginning of a great career for you, and an entrée into TV production for me. It is your presenting skills I want, not for Eurovision but for the Proclamation event in a couple of weeks in Istanbul. You have the personality, the historical and political knowledge and the popular trust that only you can offer the audience.’

‘Marek, I’m not the first person you’ve tried to recruit for this gig, am I?’

The younger man shook his head. ‘Nobody could cut it like you, Henry. Will Vincent and I are in agreement that you need to be the voice behind the Eastnet cameras in Istanbul. He’s told me to accept any deal you suggest. Anyway, General Ed will be there in a leading role won’t he?’

Henry sat back in his chair as the starters arrived and gave the offer some thought. It was tempting for several reasons. He missed the cameras and the rush he got from live events, especially events with a high historical content. The money was neither here nor there, but it could be useful, and he could use the opportunity to do some good to others.

He fixed Marek with a sharp look and said, ‘I’ll do it.’

It was all the younger man could do not to leap up and punch the air. ‘Fucking ace!’ he responded, loud enough for other diners to look sharply their way.

‘There are conditions. I won’t take more than the standard current rate for Eastnet presenters. But I want a budget for additional items.’

Marek beamed. ‘Done, Henry.’ His smile faltered a little, ‘But what additional items?’

***

Willem Martinovic finally surfaced that morning well after his Afran had got up and occupied the Osraeum apartment’s dining table, stacking up a rampart of books and folders around him. Will looked in on him, gave the boy a quick kiss and adjourned to the kitchen to organise coffee. Will mused as he did so that his life had reverted to the purposelessness he had experienced when he had first moved to Strelzen. What was he going to do today? Walking the city streets was not allowed by the security people these days. AllmyFans was naturally no longer a source of employment. Back to bed then? Check the news sites? It was as he delivered the coffee to Afran, who rather cutely had a pen tucked behind his ear, that the door buzzer went off. They exchanged glances. ‘Not expecting anyone,’ Afran confirmed.

‘Hi!’ said the figure in the CCTV. ‘Henry Atwood for Will Martinovic if he’s in.’

‘Oh, hi Herr At-vood. This is Will. We weren’t expecting you. What’s up?’

‘Let me in and I’ll tell ya, babe,’ Henry said.

Five minutes later, the man was stationed on the sofa accepting a coffee from Will. ‘It’s been years since I was last in this place,’ he commented. ‘Tom Bernenstejne often had me and Ed around for dinner. We had to keep it down with Rudi’s granny in residence. Tom’s quite a good cook, though I doubt that’s why he’s ended up as King Tomasz of Poland.’

‘No sir,’ said Will, ‘we’re only here till the situation around the Rum nomination settles down. Then we’re heading to New Constantinople.’ ‘That’s good, Will. ‘Cos it fits into my plans.’

‘Sir?’

‘Will, I want to offer you a job.’

‘Me, sir? Why …?’

‘When we had lunch in Berwinckels a few weeks back you made quite an impression. I found your summary of the state of social media really quite insightful and very well expressed. Now I find myself in need of a bright and insightful production assistant, who’s fully clued in with the present situation in the Near East and Anatolia. It’s likely to be a short-term post but it will pay well, with travel. It’ll look good on your CV. What d’you say?

NEXT CHAPTER

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