"But we can hope and pray that the true Princess Gwenda would remain alive," Graf von Esbach said.
"Alive-but a prisoner," Megan pointed out. "Where would this Gray Piotr be holding her?"
"Anywhere in his domains," Vojak replied. "Grau- heim is the tallest mountain in Latvinia, surrounded by some of our wildest countryside. There are more hunting lodges, old fortresses, and plain robbers' dens than anyone could count."
"Starting now, they'll have to be counted-and checked," Leif spoke up from the front of the car. "Miss O'Malley's appearance buys you some time. But neither the country nor the real princess is safe until she's rescued."
"All too true," Colonel Vojak growled.
As they'd driven along, the valley had widened still farther, turning into rich farmland. Now a large town or small city appeared in the distance, quaint, old-fashioned buildings surrounding an even older medieval wall. Dominating everything for miles around was a castle or palace in the middle of the town. As Megan stared, a red rocket shot up from one of the towers. "We've been spotted." Colonel Vojak turned to Megan with a formal bow. "Are you ready to greet your people, Princess?"
Megan had to push back a sudden surge of stage fright. "As ready as I'll ever be," she answered.
Leif could barely keep his mind on his driving as he aimed the car down the grand boulevard of Herzen. He kept shooting suspicious glances at the cheering crowds all around them. The townsfolk were all waving green, red, and gold flags and shouting their heads off to welcome the "princess."
But Leif, recalling certain events prior to World War I, especially the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, couldn't help but think how easy it would be for someone to burst from that crowd waving a revolver. If that were to happen, Leif was determined to make a good try at running any such assassin down before the fatal shot was fired.
Beside him, David-or Menelik-glanced into the backseat and shook his head.
"How's she doing?" Leif asked in a whisper.
"She's eating it up," his friend replied quietly. "What do you expect? Who wouldn't like riding into town in the back of a fancy car and having everyone treat you as if you're the greatest thing since sliced bread?"
They continued along the wide street until they found themselves at the gates of the castle that dominated the town. Thick oak doors strapped with steel swung inward to admit them, revealing a courtyard with beautiful gardens.
"What do we do now?" Leif heard Megan ask Graf von Esbach.
"I think a visit to the king is on the order of business, first and foremost," the prime minister replied. "And then, perhaps to the throne room. All the nobles of the land will have gathered to welcome their princess back."
Leif brought the Mercedes to a stop, and Megan got out, removing her rather dusty motoring coat. She'd already taken off her hat and scarf while waving to the Latvinian people on the boulevard. Servants came rushing to take care of any needs the "princess" might have. Von Esbach waved them off.
"This way," he said in a low voice, circling around the inner walls of the palace. They entered through a smaller, inconspicuous door. A pair of guards in crimson and gold stood at attention.
Trailing along behind the prime minister and Megan, Leif, David, and P. J. marched through a maze of corridors. Leif wondered if the royal architect had been drinking when he designed the castle, or if the wandering halls were a security measure to confuse attackers. They certainly confused him. Here and there portraits and tapestries brought bits of color to ancient graystone walls.
"I keep expecting to see Dracula's brother-in-law come popping out of the shadows," P. J. whispered.
"Let's concentrate on the real-life dangers," Leif whispered back.
"Odds are that the conspirators know that Megan has arrived by now," David said, taking on the situation logically. "We'll probably have a short breathing period while they decide what they're going to do."
Provided nobody loses it and tries to take out this new Princess Gwenda before she's really in play, a suspicious voice muttered in the back of Leif's head.
They seemed to zigzag back and forth for a bit, then climbed a circular staircase into one of the castle towers. This part of the castle had been modernized, and the hallways began to show a few creature comforts-thick carpets on the stone floors and even more tapestries.
Looks like someone might actually live here, Leif thought. They arrived at a guarded door. Only Megan and von Esbach went through.
The boys stood around for a bit.
Some minutes later, the Graf and Megan returned. Leif noticed that Megan looked very serious. "The king doesn't actually look like your father, does he?" he asked in a low voice as they proceeded down the corridor.
"No." Megan shook her head. "That would be way too weird. The king is in a coma, so the Graf used our visiting time to prepare me for the people I'll meet in the throne room."
A different-and equally confusing-route brought them down to ground level. This was obviously the public part of the palace. Everything was done up in grand style, from the paintings on the wall to the furniture to the guards standing stiffly at attention.
At last they reached a huge pair of double doors that not only had guards but a pair of uniformed flunkies in knee-breeches and powdered wigs. They'd have looked more at home as doormen for George Washington than for a twentieth-century kingdom. At the first sight of von Esbach and Megan, they leaped into action, opening the doors.
Megan took a deep breath. "Wish me luck," she whispered.
Leif didn't say anything-not out loud. But a voice in his head jeered, You'll need it
Megan swept through the door on the Graf von Esbach's arm, doing her best not to gawk at Latvinia's throne room. It wasn't as large as the virtual space used to house Net Force Explorer meetings-not quite. But the crowd of waiting nobles made up in color what they lacked in numbers.
/ always thought the turn of the century was a pretty conservative time, Megan thought as she took in the assembled throng. Guess I was wrong.
The wild fashions of the Fin de Siecle SIG should have warned her. Here, in veeyar, the costumes were even more extreme. Most of the males were in some sort of uniform, with an apparent contest going on to see who could wear the most gold braid. The glitter on the men was only outdone by the gleam of the women's jewels and the clashing colors of their court gowns.
Even without her motoring coat and scarf, Megan felt downright dowdy in her plum-colored velvet traveling suit. But apparently it didn't matter what a princess wore. The peacock-hued lords and ladies all bowed and curtsied as she made her way into the center of the room.
Where was the infamous Gray Piotr?
Over the bobbing heads Megan noticed an out-of- place group. It looked as if a shadow had been cast over part of the colorful mob. Instead of gorgeous uniforms, the men in the group wore darker colors. Their faces had a harder edge than those of the surrounding nobles-and the swords they wore didn't look like decorations. They seemed to bow to her grudgingly, and one figure in their midst didn't bow at all. He was in uniform, but his jacket and trousers were in shades of gray instead of the garish ensembles worn by most of the men. Light glinted off a monocle in his right eye as he gave her a long, thoughtful look. By now, Megan was close enough to recognize Alan Slaney. But like so many people in this room, he was transformed, and it wasn't just the uniform. His brilliantined hair was parted in the middle, and besides the monocle, he boasted a magnificent handlebar mustache that even now he twirled between his thumb and forefinger.
A villain's mustache, Megan thought. Which was only appropriate, since Alan had cast himself as the villain of the piece-Gray Piotr!
Alan moved from the spot where he'd been standing- right beside the throne, Megan suddenly realized. He advanced through the crowd until he'd almost reached Megan, then gave her a courtly bow.