Honour be Damned Read online

  Inside the palace, Dante and his travelling companions were greeted by two soldiers in full ceremonial dress, complete with black bearskin hats and sabres. "If you'll follow us, we have orders to escort you to his majesty," they said in unison.

  "Lead on!" Dante said grandly, waving for Spatchcock and Flintlock to follow. Within minutes they were outside the royal bedchamber.

  Dante told his associates to wait by the double doors. "Best you stay here while I assess the king's mood," he said. "Henry may be pants-on-his-head-mad, but he's no fool. I want to make sure this isn't some kind of trap after all."

  The others were happy to stay put while Dante ventured inside. The first thing he saw was a vast four-poster bed standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by courtiers and attendants in various states of undress, all standing to attention. Rich tapestries lined the walls, while naked soldiers stood in front of the windows, facing the glass exterior. Of King Henry, there was no sign. His bed was unmade but empty. "Er, your majesty?" Dante said nervously.

  "Hello! I know those dulcet tones anywhere," a voice called from beneath the bed. "It can only be the lovely Nicola, come to rescue me again!"

  Dante raised an eyebrow at the nearest member of the household staff. The attendant sighed wearily and shrugged. Dante stepped closer to the four-poster. "Where are you, your majesty?"

  "Under the bed, of course! Safest place to be - come and join me!"

  "Well, I don't know if that's wise..."

  "I said join me," the king insisted. "Otherwise I'll be forced to give you a smacked bottom, you saucy little minx!"

  Perhaps you'd best do as he says, the Crest suggested. I doubt even you would enjoy receiving a spanking from an elderly man.

  Dante dropped to his knees and crawled towards the bed. A single candle lit the scene beneath the mattress, where the king was cowering in a blue and white striped nightshirt, clutching a white porcelain chamber pot to his chest. Henry had aged since Dante saw him last. The king's hair was now snow white where once it had been greying, and heavy bags underlined his eyes. The ruler of all Britannia had lost weight too, his short but rotund figure a shadow of its former opulence. "There you are!" Henry said, a hint of desperation audible at the edge of his rich, rasping voice. "Hurry along, Nicola, we haven't got all night you know."

  "Actually, it's morning outside," Dante replied, joining the king in his refuge.

  "Already? My, how time crawls." Henry offered the contents of his chamber pot to the new arrival. "Care for a drink?"

  "No thank you, your majesty."

  "Oh well, all the more for us!" The king supped greedily from the yellow liquid in the bowl.

  "Us, your majesty?"

  "Yes, of course! Haven't you ever heard of the royal wee?"

  Dante decided to ignore Henry's latest flight of fancy. "You sent for me, sire."

  "That's right, I did, Nicola!"

  "Nikolai, sir."

  "That's what I said, Nicola - don't contradict me, damn you!"

  Be careful what you say, the Crest warned. It seems his majesty is more unstable and paranoid than the last time you met here. Remember, he could have you executed on a whim.

  "Of course, sire. You were going to explain why you sent for me?"

  "I was?"

  "Yes, your majesty."

  "Isn't it obvious?" Henry asked, gesturing at the naked legs of his attendants and courtiers standing around the bed. "They're trying to kill me!"

  "Who is trying to kill you, sire?"

  "Everyone, obviously. That's why I don't let anyone remain fully dressed in my presence, as a way of ensuring they don't have any concealed weapons about them."

  "I see..." Dante replied cautiously. "Have specific threats been made against you?"

  "Not since my daughter tried to have me beheaded in Trafalgar Square, but you and valiant troopers saved me on that occasion. What I wouldn't give for a squad of such soldiers!"

  "That was during the war, sire. The Rudinshtein Irregulars were disbanded after the Tsar won, but I have brought two of my men with me."

  The king smiled gratefully. "Good, Nicola, good. Besides Babs, you're the only person I can trust anymore. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

  "Never, sire."

  "There'll be a knighthood in this for all of you, if you can ferret out the conspirators."

  "Well, we'll do our best," Dante promised.

  "That's the ticket!" Henry enthused, shaking his chamber pot enthusiastically and slopping the remaining contents all over the floor.

  "Coo-eee!" a female voice called out. "Anybody in here?"

  "We're under the bed, my dear," the king replied cheerfully.

  "Who's we?" the woman asked.

  "Henry and Nicola - Nicola's come all the way from the continent to see us!"

  "I don't think I've met her. Send her out so we can be introduced."

  "Yes, dear," Henry said. "It's high time you met Babs, Nicola. She's been a boon to me these past few months. Well, off you go!"

  Dante twisted round to see the new arrival. Most of her was obscured by the vast bed overhead but he could make out a pair of dainty feet leading to two slim, shapely legs. "Who is it? You never told me you had a lover, your majesty."

  "A lover? Don't be disgusting!" The king's face crumpled disdainfully. "As if I'd do anything so unsavoury with a member of my family!"

  That confused Dante still further. Princess Marie-Anne was still being held captive in the Tower of London. "I thought you only had one daughter?"

  "I do," Henry insisted, pushing his guest out from under the bed. "Now go and talk to Babs. Don't worry, she won't bite - the dear lady should have had her breakfast by now."

  Dante reluctantly emerged from beneath the royal bed, not at all sure what he would find waiting for him. Amidst all the semi-naked staff stood a beautiful young blonde woman, wearing a translucent black baby doll nightie. She was petite in height, the top of her head level with Dante's shoulders, but possessed a gently heaving bosom of remarkable proportions. She smiled at Dante with gleaming white teeth, a twinkle of mischief at the corner of her warm, friendly eyes. "Hello? I thought Henry said your name was Nicola? You don't look like a Nicola to me, duckie!"

  Dante shook his head politely and smiled. "My name's Dante, Nikolai Dante." He leaned forward and kissed the back of Babs's left hand. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

  She gave a raucous giggle in response, her considerable décolletage bouncing in time with her laughter. "Ooh, ain't you a charmer? I bet you're a real smoothie with the young ladies!"

  "They don't come much younger than you, Miss...?"

  "Miss! You hear that, Henry? He called me Miss!" Babs giggled again, flapping her hands in the air. "You'll make me blush, you will!"

  Dante, I'm searching all Imperial records for any mention of a Babs Windsor McKray. There's only one such name listed in my database.

  But Dante was not listening to the warning voice in his head. "Perhaps we could get better acquainted, once my assignment for the king is completed," he said smoothly.

  "Ooh, that would be nice," Babs enthused. "Normally young men run a mile when I try to persuade them to be my special friend." She winked heavily at Dante, then broke into another raucous round of tittering and hand flapping.

  Babs Windsor McKray is better known as Queen Barbara Windsor McKray, the Queen Mother. This woman is a hundred and three years old!

  Dante froze, his gaze still fixed on Babs's bouncing bosoms. "I..."

  The king emerged from beneath his bed, still clutching the chamber pot. "Well, how are you two getting along?"

  "I think this young man is coming on to me," Babs confided.

  "I... I..." Dante repeated helplessly.

  "Nonsense, mother!" Henry said brusquely. "Eating all that royal jelly may make you look younger than my daughter, but we all know what happens when the effect wears off - don't we?"

  Babs nodded unhappily.

  "Besides," the king continued,
"young Nicola is already betrothed to me!" He illustrated the point by slapping Dante's buttocks and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  Spatchcock and Flintlock stood outside the royal bedchamber, their arms folded, backs leaning against the glint-edged doorframe. A slow smile of satisfaction crossed the smaller man's face, closely followed by a look of disgust on Flintlock's features. "I say, where is that vile smell coming from?" He caught the mischievous glint in his companion's eye. "Must you break wind in every building we ever enter?"

  "I like to leave something behind everywhere I go," Spatchcock said, grinning broadly.

  "You could at least give me fair warning!"

  "The element of surprise is half the fun."

  Before Flintlock could reply Dante hurriedly emerged from the bedchamber, leaving behind two giggling members of the royal family. "Well, what's the story?" Spatchcock asked.

  "The king thinks he is going to be assassinated soon."

  "Not an unlikely event, considering the bloodline," Flintlock observed. Britannia's royal household had survived its last crisis through intermarriage with London's most infamous crime family. The result had secured the future of the monarchy but doomed its descendents to a lifetime of bloodletting and backstabbing worthy of the Borgias. Princess Marie-Anne's many attempts to usurp her father were notable for their lack of subtlety. The McKray blood was obviously more dominant in her genetic make-up. "But why should it happen sooner rather than later? And what does he want with you?"

  Dante shrugged. "Apparently Britannia Intelligence intercepted a coded transmission of an assassin being hired to kill the king. They didn't get all the message, so we don't know who is behind it, but the hit is due to take place any day now. The king believes I'm the only one he can trust and it's our job to keep him alive." Dante tugged thoughtfully on the bristles of his beard. "I want you two to stay here and keep watch over Henry. He's madder than a three-pound note, but I believe he's genuinely afraid for his life. Whatever insanity he drags you into, play along - just make sure he stays safe until I return, okay?"

  "Where are you going?" Flintlock asked.

  "To see the person with the most to gain from Henry dying." Dante sighed. "Get one of the courtiers to call ahead to the Tower of London. Tell them Nikolai Dante requests a private interview with Princess Marie-Anne."

  THREE

  "Better free than in a gilt cage."

  - Russian proverb

  "The Tower of London's history dates back almost 1600 years when William the Conqueror had a wooden fortress built beside the Thames to keep locals from rebelling against the Normans. A stone keep known as the White Tower was constructed on top of old Roman fortifications and soon grew into a full-scale castle. The Tower was best known as a prison for many centuries, holding such celebrity inmates as Queen Elizabeth I, the explorer Sir Walter Raleigh and Twentieth century German war criminal Rudolf Hess. The famous structure later became a tourist attraction and home to the fabled Crown Jewels. Fifty years ago the historic structure was disassembled, moved a mile west along the Thames and reconstructed as part of the new look London tourist zone. Lately the Tower has resumed its role as a place of incarceration for out of favour royalty."

  - Extract from The Smirnoff Almanac of Fascinating Facts, 2673 edition

  Dante emerged from the king's private skimmer to find twenty-five yeoman warders waiting for him. Each was clad in full ceremonial uniform, their red knee-length tunics resplendent with gold piping. The midday sun gleamed on each warders' black patent leather shoes and glinted from the blades of their ceremonial swords. A dozen guards stood on either side of the grey cobbled path that led into the Tower of London.

  "Bojemoi," Dante muttered under his breath. "Does this entire country like nothing better than getting in a queue?"

  The yeomen are forming an honour guard for your visit, the Crest sighed.

  "Oh!" Dante smiled. "I usually see the inside of a prison when I'm under arrest or trying to break somebody else out."

  One of the warders marched toward Dante and saluted briskly. "Yeoman First Class Marcus Reynolds at your service, sir! Please accept our apologies for the paucity of this reception party, but we were only informed of your imminent inspection ten minutes ago, sir!"

  Dante did his best to return the salute. "No need to apologise, er, yeoman - this is not an official state visit. I've come to speak with her royal highness, Princess Marie-Anne."

  "So I understand, sir. If you don't mind my asking, is that wise?"

  "Wise?"

  Reynolds looked abashed. "It's simply that... Well, her royal highness is not the easiest prisoner we have kept in our custody here. She is prone to unhappiness and... outbursts."

  Dante's eyes strayed to the other warders. Almost all of them bore bruises, livid scars or broken noses. Reynolds himself had a badly blackened eye, the surrounding skin purple and blotchy, while a savage cut extended through both lips. "So I can see. I trust you have a safe enclosure in which to keep her during my visit?"

  The warder nodded grimly. "We've recently transferred her to our maximum security wing in the basement, as much for our safety as anything else, sir. Her royal highness may have all the airs and graces of a princess, but you should never forget what she is."

  "What is that?"

  "Oh, she's a monster," another voice interjected. "Pure sociopath. It's so rare to have one in captivity - normally they occupy positions of power within the political system."

  The person speaking was a tall, elegant man who had appeared from within the tower. He advanced toward Dante, hand outstretched in welcome. "Forgive me, I'm Doctor Eric Malvern, the Tower of London's resident psychiatrist. I've been counselling the warders in how best to deal with her royal highness - or the people's princess, as she likes to be called."

  Dante shook the offered hand, struggling to mask his distaste at Malvern's moist, clammy grip. "She's always been prone to delusions of grandeur, in my limited experience of her."

  The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "You've met her before?"

  "Twice. I proved she had used the drug Psykd: Range 27 to drive her father insane. That led to her being imprisoned. I also stopped her having the king executed during the war."

  Malvern could not disguise his delight. "You're Nikolai Dante!"

  "In the flesh."

  "This will be fascinating! To see her royal highness brought face to face with the man responsible for her downfall - psychiatrists wait years to witness such confrontations! Of course, she hates all of us, thinks I'm her nemesis."

  Dante, you will get nowhere with the princess if Doctor Malvern insists on observing your meeting with her. He shows a level of fascination far beyond professional interest, to the point where it verges on sexual arousal. You need to dissuade his attendance, the Crest suggested.

  "Indeed," Dante replied, "I couldn't agree more. Perhaps you could show me the way to her royal highness's cell?"

  Malvern beamed happily and led Dante into the tower through a foreboding wooden doorway. They strode along ancient corridors, then descended a narrow stone staircase to an underground chamber where more warders were waiting. As they walked, the psychiatrist did his best to warn Dante how dangerous the princess could be. "I fought in the bloodiest battles of the Tsar Wars. I doubt I have much to fear from a single woman."

  The doctor's eyes narrowed against Dante's sarcasm. "Good, then you should be able to remember the rules. Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass. Give her nothing. If she attempts to pass you anything through the food carrier, do not accept it. Do you understand me?"

  Dante nodded. "If you are her nemesis, perhaps it would be best if I went in on my own?"

  "But I-"

  "That would be the sensible approach from a psychological standpoint, wouldn't it?" Dante added, prompted by the Crest. "What do you think?"

  Malvern's face fell as he acknowledged the truth of Dante's suggestion.

  "Very well," the doctor said huffily. He nodded to Reynolds
, who had followed them down from the entrance. "When our guest has finished, bring him out." Malvern stomped back up the stairs, his fussy, leather-soled shoes squeaking with each step.

  The chief warder smiled sympathetically at Dante, then unlocked an old but sturdy metal gateway leading to a holding chamber. "She's past the others, the last cell. You keep to the left."

  Once Dante was inside the holding chamber, he could see a long corridor beyond another metal gateway. The walls were made of the same cold bricks as the rest of the tower, crumbling mortar visible between the stones. Intermittent sections of glass and iron bars marked the presence of cells on the right hand side of the corridor. Light spilled in from a metal walkway overhead, but it could not remove the dank, dismal feeling that hung in the air. Dante had been in more than his fair share of prison cells but the tower was as bad as any of them. This place was despair made real. A folding chair was already positioned outside the most distant cell, facing the glass-fronted enclosure. Dante nodded his readiness to Reynolds.

  "I'll be watching you," the warder said kindly, gesturing at a selection of security screens set into the stone wall behind himself. Reynolds signalled another yeoman and the inner gateway between Dante and the underground cells swung open. "You'll do fine."

  Dante stepped into the corridor, unable to stop himself being startled when the gate closed again, even though he knew it would happen. The sound of prison doors closing was never comfortable for someone so familiar with the wrong side of the law. Willing himself to be calm, he strolled along the corridor towards Princess Marie-Anne's cell. Dante could smell her before he could see her, the sickening aroma of expensive perfumes cloying his nostrils. When he did reach the cell she was waiting for him, clad in an elaborate gown of silk and brocade, her blonde hair delicately coiffured, her make-up immaculate. She saw him and grimaced.