Prince Louis of Carolath-Beuthen, resplendent in his Lang House rugby kit and captain’s armband, turned to Maxim Elphberg, similarly garbed, but for Temple House. With a Prussian precision that was very much in Louis’s character, he accepted the offered rugby ball with a half bow, ‘Your majesty,’ he smiled. ‘You bite my bum in the scrum, and we’ll see what these studs can do to your pretty face.’
Maxxie grinned and returned the bow to his cousin. ‘Durchlaucht, if anything gets bitten it’ll be your balls, as that injury will take you out of the game longer.’ Prince Louis was a large young man for his age, a broad-shouldered and powerful prop to the school’s Under-15 team who had embraced rugby football (unlike cricket) as his birthright. He was the Lang House and School Under-15 team captain. The prince casually tossed the ball to the Lang scrum half, Martin Westenra, and organised his forward pack, which with much grunting and snarling grappled with Temple and began the manoeuvres that resulted in the ball emerging to be swept up by Westenra and passed meticulously down a line that carried it over for a classic try against Temple, It brought a ripple of applause and some cheers from the Lang supporters, and also from the impressed rugby aficionados amongst the Temple onlookers.
While the try was being converted successfully by Westenra, Maxxie wandered over to the nearby touch line, where a red-headed Year 7 Lang boy was leading the chant of his little mates. He grabbed Leo and put his head under his arm and gave his scalp a ferocious knuckle rub as his brother squealed.
‘Wha’chu do that for, Maxxie?’ Leo complained. ‘Can’t I cheer for Lang?’
‘Let ‘im go! Sir! Intimidation by Temple! Off the ball incident!’ cried out the little knot of Lang Year 7 boys whom Maxxie knew were Leo’s loyal gang. A linesman trotted up and told the king to get back on the pitch or be penalised.
Maxxie complied with a grin, an expression that rarely left his face, though when his team went down 45 to 12 to Lang, it was a bit strained.
As Maxxie dressed after his shower, he yelped as a towel snapped against his bare butt. ‘Louis, you fucking grunt! What was that for?’
‘I’m a Prince of Prussia, Rothenian, winning is never quite enough.’
‘Don’t wander off, Louis. I wanna word. No, not about your wonderfulness as a rugby captain, though to be fair, you do impress.’
They ambled together back to New Building, chatting in German. ‘So what is it you want to talk about, Maxim?’
‘You can call me Maxxie, Louis. The whole world does. We’re cousins for God’s sake. Why not you?’
Louis shrugged. ‘It does not seem right, your majesty. Humour my place on the autism spectrum. So why are we having this conversation?’
‘It’s about our common relative, Nicky Romanov.’
‘The Tsarevich? Sizing him up for a marriage with your sister, Princess Osra?’
Maxxie’s grin disappeared, and a scowl took its place. ‘The House of Elphberg does not now trade its women for political influence, Carolath. That’s your family’s speciality.’
Prince Louis was not as insensitive as he liked to pretend, and he realised he had done that rare thing and trespassed on the good nature of the King of Rothenia, who despite his humour and whimsicality was as much an Elphberg as that great hero, his father, the creator of the Oecumene. He hastened to backpedal. ‘My apologies, Elphberg, that was uncalled for. Put it down to a regrettable excess of euphoria in the aftermath of a sensational victory over Temple on the field.’
‘You know Nicky’s family better than I do. What’s going on there?’ Maxxie respected his Prussian cousin for more than his rugby skills. Louis had a precocious knowledge of European royalty and its politics. In part it was a genetic survival trait, Louis had told him. The Carolaths owed their influence to making strategic alliances with far greater families, the Hohenzollerns, the Hapsburgs, the Romanovs and indeed the Elphbergs. A stepdaughter of King Maxim I, the Countess of Templerstadt, had married a Carolath prince before the Second World War, and Louis was her great grandson.
The prince gathered himself for one of his genealogical lectures. ‘Nicky’s grandmother was a Carolath, Maxxie. His father, Grand Duke Georg, settled in one of our houses near Berlin after the Wiedervereinigung, when we recovered a lot of our property in East Germany and Poland too, so I know him well enough. When the Russian president cosied up to the monarchists in his land and took the title “Regent of Holy Imperial Russia”, awarding himself princely status and a very fancy wardrobe of uniforms and even an ermine mantle and coronet, Georg was besieged by petitions from supposed Romanov loyalists to come to St Petersburg and lay claim to the imperial throne that the Russian government had now admitted actually existed.’
‘But he wasn’t dumb enough to trust the enticements of that sort of people, was he?’
‘No, he was astute enough to see that these were minor oligarchs and criminal associates of the Regent who had no sincere attachment to the former imperial house. He also knew that the Regent brooked no rival for real power and for him to cross into Russia would bring him under the thumb of that evil man.’
Maxxie raised an eyebrow. ‘But he still went, obviously.’
‘That was not entirely his fault. The Grand Duchy of Finland elected one of his American Romanov cousins to its throne. It was a fair vote though there were enough rumours of Russian interference to make the losing Swedish prince think he had a chance of contesting the vote, so he appealed to the Oecumene, with which Finland was not yet aligned though Sweden was. Needless to say your father would have nothing to do with any such intervention.’
‘I remember.’ Maxxie stated. ‘Dad had a chat with me about it. But tell me how Grand Duke Georg ended up in St Petersburg.’
Louis shrugged. ‘It could have been an astonishingly devious manoeuvre by the FSB or more likely, stinking bad luck. Georg was asked by his cousin, the new Grand Duke, to visit Finland as an act of support, which he thought he should do. Georg travelled on a Baltic ferry rather than risk a land route. But the ship was hit by an unusually fierce Baltic storm, cars shifted below decks and it had to limp for shelter to the port of Kaliningrad.’
‘Ah, the Russian exclave on the southern shore of the Baltic. Very bad luck.’
‘Yes, Georg was alarmed. He was forced to disembark and had to join a special closed train laid on for the passengers to take them to St Petersburg. Obviously his papers identified him and he was arrested when he got off the train at the Baltiysky Station. No one’s seen him since.’
Maxxie frowned. ‘So everyone assumes he was packed off to a Siberian gulag.’
Louis shrugged. ‘It seems most likely. Myself I think the FSB will keep him alive, because if he was bumped off there is still a Tsarevich, our Nicky, and he is not under their control, unlike his father. My people agitated with the Poles to get some information as to his whereabouts, and I know King Tomas Bernenstejne made a serious effort, but turned up nothing concrete.’ ‘Poor Nicky,’ sighed Maxxie. ‘Leo says it’s the uncertainty that’s killing the kid. He’s worried about him.’
‘Only the Oecumene can do anything. Is there a chance the Emperor might intervene? I hear that an Oecumenical force has successfully landed in Crimea and annexed the peninsula to the Commonwealth of Ukraine. It looks to me that the Oecumene is about to tackle the Russian problem. A Romanov hostage who is the Emperor Rudolf’s cousin is as good a casus belli as any.’
Maxxie brooded. ‘I don’t know anything about that, or at least anything I can tell you, Louis. But it’s worrying that Grand Duke Georg is caught in the middle of events.’
***
Henry Atwood was standing at the tall window of his ministerial office overlooking Strelzen’s Parlementplaz, taking a break from a current problem and missing Davey Skipper, whose expertise in the music industry would have been very useful to him at that point. But Davey was many light years away building the Kingdom of the Petakhij, and unreachable. Henry was suddenly aware from senses other than human that he was no longer alone in his office. He turned to face the youth in an English school uniform, occupying a sofa that had been empty moments before. He bowed and said: ‘Your majesty, welcome home to Rothenia, and do you have a pass from your headteacher permitting you to leave the school grounds in lesson time?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, Uncle Henry,’ Maxxie grinned.
‘Don’t lie, Maxxie, there is enough still human in you to enjoy skipping boring lessons. I recall long ago meeting you in Eden with a very feeble excuse, when you were otherwise supposed to be in the International School.’
‘And you told on me to Mum, Henry. Don’t rush to condemn. I did that weird time thing you taught me this time, so in fact I will not be missing math, tempting though that might be.’
‘So what brings you home unexpectedly, sir?’
‘I caught a BBC report from Moscow this morning that bothered me. The Regent has been fulminating about the Oecumene’s occupation of the inalienable territory of Holy Imperial Russia and doing that thing he does, threatening to rain down nuclear annihilation on Thrace, Kurdistan and — which is why I’m here — Rothenia.’
Henry shrugged. ‘I talked it through with your Uncle Ed first thing. He said it’s just that amoral ape Medvedhev crying wolf again.’
Maxxie growled, ‘Not this time, he’s set a deadline for the Oecumene to withdraw at which point ballistic missiles may fly. The fool thinks he can terrorise the world to get his way.’
‘Oh! Is this prophecy from our friends amongst the Dead?’
‘It is, and according to the rules the Creator sets, I may do something about it if I so choose, and I do choose because Leo’s best friend, Nicky Romanov, is concerned. So Lord Mendamero, prince of the erelim, do you fancy a big adventure?’
***
Della Kral had invited Bolo, Will and Afran for Sunday lunch because, as she said, there was little chance of their ever getting a square meal out of Bolo’s kitchen. She confided to Will that her regular Sunday lunches used to be most of his father’s food intake for many months after the split-up with Will’s mum. ‘He just survived on crisps and chocolate bars from the court canteens. not even the Macdonalds super-meals he used to consume when he was a kid. You, my boy, are far more sensible, the influence of Krista I have no doubt. Not that she was ever a great cook. For superior cuisine you really need to go scavenging at your Grossmutta Martinovica’s door.’
Will laughed and said that he and Afran had already gone down that route, and that they were the fortunate beneficiaries of his two grossmuttas’ competitive campaign to monopolise him, and consequently Afran too, whom they both adored for his good manners and looks. ‘And how’s your mutta doing in Turkey, Will?’ Della said.
‘She’s in Crimea with General Cornish at the moment, Aunt Della, at the head of the Royal Guard regiment of Rum, which is part of the Emperor’s expeditionary force to put down the Black Sea pirates.’
‘Oh, Crimea? I was reading some disturbing reports in the Ruritanischer Tagblatt about Russian threats after what they call the aggression of the corrupt “Eurogays” of the Elphberg Empire.’
Afran suddenly laughed. ‘General Cornish addressed his troops of the Oecumenical Expeditionary Force, the heroes of the Starel Basin and Kaleczyk, on that very subject. His men’s response was to vote to adopt a shoulder flash in the Pride rainbow colours as their OEF identifier. I’m proud to report that my Royal Guard regiment voted unanimously to adopt it.’
Two of the Kral children were at the table though not Jules, for which Will was grateful. Jules’s sour look whenever in company with Afran annoyed him. When he asked his godfather about Jules the man leaned in and murmured briefly ‘Later.’
Following dinner, Afran was cajoled into playing live action games with young Radek Kral, who said he was delighted to have a real army officer as an opponent. Herr Kral led Will into his office, and sat him down. ‘Now Will, a drink? No? I hope you don’t mind if I do.’
‘How can I help, sir? Is it Jules again?’
‘You read my mind, Will. He’s found the love of his life, he tells me. I hope he’s wrong, cos he’s still got a few months before he’s sixteen and the law has an opinion on that sort of thing.’
‘Er … maybe sir, but Aunt Della tells me that Uncle Yuli and Uncle Roman were doing it before they made legal age.’
Herr Kral rolled his eyes. ‘You’re getting too much like your dad, Will. Yes that’s true enough, but Jules’s “love of my life” is a man in his late twenties.’
‘How’d they meet, sir?’
‘He’s not very forthcoming on the subject, Will. But I expect it’s got something to do with the Internet.’
‘What can I do, sir? He won’t listen to me, you know.’
‘I know, Will. But you’re better placed to ask around than me. Find out what you can about this man, enough maybe to reassure me. Can you do that?’
‘I’ll do what I can, sir. I still have some contact with his old friendship group, my cousin Gino for one.’
‘Gino? Evgeny Wyzhinsky?’ Herr Kral grinned. ‘Another good lad. The only Wyzhinski I ever employed and never regretted doing so, apart from your dad,. Your Wyzhinski relatives may be just what we’re looking for.’
***
Willem Martinovic surprised himself with a feeling of homecoming as he entered the White Tree on Neueplaz. But there was something about the old place which appealed to him. Afran too seemed to appreciate something about the place.
‘Why do I like it?’ he replied when asked. ‘It was a place of refuge in unfriendly times for people like us, Will. There’s no reproach here from anyone. It’s smart enough but not demanding that you are impressed by its alternative style. Unassuming, that’s the word.’
‘Ghosts of queers past …?’
Afran shook his head. ‘That’s an overly romantic way of putting it, and very Willem.’
‘Hi, king,’ Gino said as he came up. He hugged Willem tight, and after a moment of hesitation, repeated the gesture on Afran.
‘So guys we’re here to have a conference about Jules Kral, right?’
‘That is so, Gino,’ said Afran. ‘I know you are no fan of his. But you have sources about his present doings, I believe.’
‘Let’s start with this boyfriend he says he has,’ said Will.
‘He’s a foreigner,’ Gino said. ‘Difficult to say what sort of foreigner, as Strelzen is packed out these days with as many varieties as the world contains. He’s got good Rothenian, so that makes him an unusual sort of immigrant. Also he’s one of a gang that’s setting up for itself in the Third, sex work mostly, and that’s how Jules and him made contact. You gotta know that boy is getting a real reputation as a whore up for anything, very specialised queer porn. I’ve seen some tapes that I find difficult to believe.’
Will shuddered. What had that insane Kral boy got himself mixed up with now? ‘So how do we get him out of the toilet he’s flushed himself down, Gino?’
His cousin shrugged. ‘He’s gotta want to be saved, and that smug superiority of his wouldn’t admit he has a problem in any case.’ Gino pondered a moment and then added. ‘Here’s a thing I want you to forget I ever told you. I am a Wyzhinski and that gives me a certain pride in the Third. We care for the old place and the regular petty criminals and whores to whom it is home. So in these difficult days a number of us have made an alliance with our natural enemies, the Strelzen City Police and their Vice Department.’
‘What?’ yelped Will, strangely surprised to find his criminal family had its limits. Afran caught something of that and squeezed Will’s hand, whispering in his ear, ‘They’re Rothenians, darling.’
Gino grinned. ‘That threw ya, Will.’
‘It certainly did. Are all the Wyzhinskis in on this?’
‘One of that Jules’s porn gang made the mistake of moving in on Grossmutta’s street, starting a kiddy brothel in a property two doors down the street, the bastard. His idea was to intimidate the residents into compliance with his business. He made the mistake of challenging Grossmutta on the street as she was comforting a runaway girl child.’
‘I expect that didn’t go too well for him.’
‘Nope, she broke his nose and Uncle Janos came out and broke a lot of other things of his. He may evenually surface sometime, wherever the Starel takes what’s left of him. Artem talked to his contacts in Vice and there was a surreal conference at Grossmutta’s where the City Police commandant and her sorted it out over tea and those rather nice shortbread biscuits she makes. Two more of our uncles are going to get early release from the Arsenal with licence to take back the streets of the Third. The Ignacij clan is in on it too. So it’s serious.’
Will shook his head. ‘So there’s an undercover gang war in progress on our patch, and Grossmutta is gonna take out the foreigners.’
Gino gave a broad grin. ‘My dad may have his limits, but his criminal intelligence network is phenomenal. He’s mapped out all their assets and houses. The City police are poised for a decisive strike.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Will, ‘But that means that prick Jules will be swept up in it, and his problems only worsen. What can we do?’
***
Oskar von Tarlenheim, Duke of Husbrau and Chief of Staff of King Maxim II of Rothenia stared at his office screen and the email that had just dropped unwelcome into his inbox.
It featured a screenshot of a much younger Oskar naked on his knees covered by a much younger Will Vincent, a still he recognised from the shoot of Falkefilm’s An American in Strelzen.
The attached message was in English, but not the English of a genuine Anglophone: Hey Mr Tarlenheim, got your attention? I bet your fancy friends in government and the media don’t know about your adventures as a kid, nor about your boyfriend either. But they will soon, Mr Porn Actor Marc Bennett. Don’t waste our time arguing with me. I’m happy to delete these files, and you’ll never hear from me again. I don’t want your money. What I want is access to your government files about Grand Duke Nikolai Romanov, the Tsarevich. Copy as much as you can to me within 24 hours Moscow Time, and this will be goodbye for good from me. Not to do so and you’ll be tomorrow’s news splash.
Oskar called the number of Will Vincent, and rapidly filled him in. ‘Didn’t you get one?’ he laughed. ‘They must have concluded their seedy sex-tortion attempt had a better chance of getting me to cave in.’
‘You’re oddly cool about it, Osku.’
‘To be honest Willemczu, it’s something I suspected might happen in time. So the Sichertsdeinst has long been fully appraised of my previous life as Oskar Prinz, and I cannot be convicted of any cover-up about my dubious life.’
‘That’ll not help you if some of the papers get hold of it. You obviously won’t have any trouble from Eastnet on that account, on the other hand, the Roteniske Spegele …’
Will pondered briefly. ‘There’s no doubt where this is coming from. It’s got the Regent’s FSB fingerprints all over it.’
Oskar scoffed. ‘Including that strange Russian belief that exposing a man’s homosexuality is a career killer in the West.’
‘The focus on Nikolai Romanov is alarming. They have his father on ice somewhere, literally so if it’s in Siberia, now it appears they want control of young Nicky too. So what’s to do?’
Oskar sighed. ‘I’ve copied it over to my contact in the Sichertsdeinst. I got a strangely optimistic reply, saying it fitted in with other recent intelligence they’d had and I was to expect some news soon.’
‘Queen Harry’s been in touch too. It seems there are alarm bells going off all the way to New Constantinople. Harry is about to break off diplomatic relations with Russia and expel a large list of Russian operatives. Something I will relish doing very much.’
***
Afran was in an oddly decisive mood after their conference in The White Tree. ‘We should do something. Your Uncle Artem was full of intelligence about the foreign gang. Not only that but he could even pinpoint the likely hideout where Jules Kral is.’
‘Oh? Sure, and are you suggesting a raid to liberate the little shit? He doesn’t want to be liberated.’
‘Understood, Will. But the City Police are gearing up for a massive raid on all their suspect houses. If we strike first we can make sure that the boy Jules isn’t swept up in the raids. He may deserve no less than he would get, but you have an obligation to his father, I know.’
‘You’d seriously do this?’
‘Remember who my mother is, Will, and the sort of life I lived in Kurdistan as a boy and a teen. I have learned a few things they don’t teach in the Technische. Now I had a chat with your uncles, and we think a small snatch squad could be in and out of their place on Antongasse without too much risk, and that’s where Jules is most likely to be.’
‘And you expect me to sit this out?’
‘No offence, Will. I have a personal stake in this. I suspect these are the people who were behind the attempted assassination in the Plaz earlier in the year. And I have real experience of urban warfare to count on. Oblige me by sitting this one out.’
So Will observed anxiously as Afran and two of his Wyzhinski uncles geared up like commandos. He sat in the back seat of Artem’s aged BMW as they drove up from the Wyzhinski home though tight back lanes until Artem parked up behind a large property which faced on to Antongasse. Artem checked his watch. ‘The police raid is going to launch in twenty minutes. They’re planning to take the front entrance, and I told them I’d keep the rear under observation. So let’s go.’ He paused and grinned. ‘Just to say that’s an honour to have you with us Afran, and a pleasure to see you already engaged in the family business, so to speak.’
The three men disappeared and stood beside a back gate in the back wall. There was the audible crack of a crowbar and the door sagged open. Artem in the lead, the three men rapidly disappeared inside. The minutes ticked past in slow motion, and Will was surprised to see only ten of them had passed when the three dark figures re-emerged, bundling a smaller figure with them, wrapped in a blanket, but plainly naked underneath it.
Copyright © 2025 Michael Arram
Posted 27 September 2025