Children of The Dragon book 5
THE QUEEN'S MARKSMAN
Smashwords Edition by Theresa M. Moore
Copyright © 2010-2012 by Theresa M. Moore, all rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author. Requests to make copies of any part of this work should be addressed by electronic mail to: tmoore@theresammoore.com. Any resemblence to any dramatic character or personality, living or dead, or geographical locations, is purely intentional within the context of human history without libelous intent. Not intended for readers under the age of 16.
Published by Antellus, Los Angeles, California, USA
http://www.theresammoore.com
Antellus catalog no. 10640705
Other books in this series by Theresa M. Moore:
Destiny’s Forge – To Taste The Dragon’s Blood – NAGRASANTI Illustrated Vampire Omnibus – Red Dragon – A Pirate’s Daughter – Truth and The Dragon’s Blood – Written In Blood – Swords of The Dragon’s Blood
FOREWORD
This is the fifth book in a planned series loosely based on a collection of short stories written for a monthly fan magazine from 1988 to 1995. My stories featured a character named Antonia Bellero, whose creation was a homage to numerous science fiction and horror films and novels I had read over the years. The result was a string of epic adventures of espionage, fellowship, betrayal, murder, conspiracy, political intrigue and a host of other snippets about the human condition within the confines of a rigidly defined universe established by precedent; one which did not leave much room for innovation. I found it challenging to introduce a character which could exist credibly within that universe without violating the basic rules.
As a result of this outpouring of creativity, I decided to embark on writing more speculative science fantasy stories featuring my characters in my own universe, which is as real for the reader as I can make it. These are fresh and original stories and as such I have designed them to stand alone but linked together by a common theme. Each book explores more of the origins and adventures of Antonia’s people while keeping faith to the original concept.
The Children of The Dragon series is a chronicle of the Xosan, living vampires from the mythical planet Antellus, who were once human but were transformed by a dragon’s blood. They are stories of science fiction and fact, myth and history, tragedy and triumph; intermixed with real historical events in the theme of the vampire as hero.
There are many facets to this fantasy universe that are as yet unexplored and as I continue to delve into its mysteries the whole is becoming greater than the sum of its parts, much to my own delight. As I write each story, another comes calling to add to the saga and challenges my creativity and imagination.
I hope you will be fascinated and entertained by the descendents of Xosan and the inheritors of the dragon's blood.
--- Theresa M. Moore
1
EDWINSTOWE GAZETTE
September 16, 1878
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Young Robert St. John, all of 20 years old, ran pell-mell into the parlor and nearly stumbled over the butler, who was carrying a tea service and just about to lay it on the morning table in front of the Earl. He caught James by the elbow to right him again and steadied the tray in his hands before it tipped over and went to the carpet, hot tea and all. His face was flushed pink with excitement as he waved the folded newspaper bunched in his hand like a flag. “Have you seen today's paper yet, father?” he exclaimed, panting. He had run from the front gate all the way to the door. His bright hazel green eyes twinkled. He was tall and lean like all good British subjects, and his wild golden brown Saxon hair was cut short but stylishly so.
William St. John, eleventh Earl of Huntingdon, put the paper down and calmly looked up at his excited middle son. “I'm reading it now, Robert,” he replied patiently with a tolerant smile. He was used to these displays by now, for Robert was an excitable and energetic young man, not yet ready to settle down into the life of a proper English gentleman. Then he looked to the butler, who by now had recovered from the near accident. “Thank you, James. Just put it there.” He nodded toward the unoccupied corner of the table.
The butler placed the service gently on the oak surface and remarked candidly, “If you don't mind my saying so, sir, young master Robert could do with a lesson on self-restraint.”
“Thank you James, I'll take it under advisement. That will be all for now.” Unlike many of his peers the Earl was prone to consult his servants for advice, and sometimes got it whether he wanted it or not.
When James had gone Robert addressed his father. “There is an advert calling for young men to serve the Queen in the army. I finally know what to do with my life, father.”
“As I recall you told me you wanted to go to medical school,” the Earl observed mildly. “Have you changed your mind?”
Robert made a queer face and replied, “You know I was only contemplating the idea. I was not at all sure about it. But I may be called upon to serve in the field hospital, and that might give me some experience. I would be better able to determine if that was what I wanted to do.”
“Then again, I fear they may assign you to combat on the front lines,” his father said. “This is far beyond playing forts and sieges.”
At this Robert's mother put down the sampler in her hand and rose, her face gone pale with concern. “Oh, no. Robert, dear, you are not going to sign up, are you? I could not bear the thought of you going off to fight those fuzzy-wuzzies --”
“Mother, that is Africa, not India,” Robert reminded her gently.
Her eyebrows crimped with worry. “Wherever they are. You could be killed. I don't like what it means. A hard life in a strange place far from home. Far from England.”
“Let Robert decide his own life, Mother,” the Earl said. “You've had him under your wing long enough. He is a man now, and if he chooses to serve he is free to do so.”
Robert caught his mother's hands in his and brought them up to his lips, kissing her fingers. “I promise I won't let anything happen to me. Not if I can possibly help it. But there are people out there who need protection, and it is my duty and honor to serve the Queen. I have been following the situation out there, in India and Afghanistan, and it is becoming more and more volatile as time goes on. Besides, Reggie is going, and Blinky, too. Oh, mother, do give me your blessing, won't you?”
Her eyes were bright and moist with tears. “Robert, dear, you have it no matter what you decide to do. I just don't like the thought of losing my baby. It seems like only yesterday that I was holding you in my arms, and now you've grown too fast to suit me.”
Robert's heart melted at this. “I will only be gone for two years at the most,” he promised her, though he knew it was beyond his control. “I promise I will write as often as I can, and come home as soon as I am able.”
“Make us proud, boy,” the Earl said. “It is all I ask.”
“I will do my best, father, you can be sure of that,” Robert replied, drawing himself as straight as he could. “And I will give you an account of all I see and do. I may be able to get some practice drawing, too, so I will send you pictures if I can.”
Later that afternoon Robert cantered down into the village astride his hunter. The whole place was abuzz with people, and a long line of men snaked out the door to the post office and down around the block. He found his two young friends already there and standing near the back of the line conversing with some of the others.
Reginald Hempley was a merchant's son who had gone to secondary school with Robert. He had a head of bright red hair and was already sporting a moustache and sideburns. He was dressed in tweeds and wore a colorful muffler. He started and smiled at Robert's approach and remarked, “Robert, old man, what brings you here?” He stretched out a large hand, which Robert shook with vigor, then pounded him on the back.
“The same as you, I expect,” Robert replied. “I hope we will be serving in the same regiment together.”
“I'm afraid that will be rather up to them,” Reggie said.
His companion, Bernard Fitzwalter, was called “Blinky” because of his habit of blinking rapidly whenever he was nervous. He stammered a bit, too, but today he seemed to be in his element, and his mood was even upbeat. His pudgy overfed face was flushed pink at his cheeks. “I say, chaps. What kind of action do you think we'll be seeing out there?”
“Quite a lot, I would imagine,” Reginald replied.
Robert nodded his head. “If the letters home from Steven are any indication we will probably wind up serving in Afghanistan.”
“I hear the Sikhs have been acting up a bit, too,” Reggie added. “It looks like we'll have our work cut out for us.”
“Afghanistan, you say? Your cousin is serving in Nepal, isn't he?”
“Yes, the infernal luck of him,” Reggie said. “In his last letter home he spoke of a sect that practices a peculiar form of strangulation. 'Thugee', I think he called it. He said they don't discriminate between foreigners and their own, and they kill for just about any reason on God's green Earth in the name of a goddess called Kali. I wish I could understand more about that but Tommy said he keeps running out of paper out there, so he is limited to a few pages at a time. I imagine someone must be taking it all down so we can read an account of it later.”
“Have you heard from him recently?” Robert asked.
“Oh, yes. He's been promoted to second lieutenant and given a small company of men to command. I suppose that means he's doing well.”
“Still, war is a grim business,” Blinky said. “You remember what happened during the first Afghan war, don't you?”
“I remember reading about it,” Robert said. “The mughals destroyed a whole battalion, nearly to the last man. Only one man got out alive to tell the story. I hope I have that kind of luck.”
“Let's hope we all have that kind of luck,” Reggie agreed.
Robert looked down the line of men stretching out on either side of them and said, “It looks like half the town is going.” He did not know everyone there. Sons of farmers, and millers and smiths, mixed with sons of the local gentry. All looked alike in their modest tweeds and rough cotton suits. All were equal in the queen's eyes, though her armies boasted officers that were from the upper classes, while the commoner folk were assigned as privates, corporals, sergeants and other noncommissioned service staff.
By the time the sun had dipped lower toward the horizon the three young friends walked out of the postal station, their marching orders in hand.
“I say, what do you say to a pint before we go home to pack?” Blinky asked amiably.
“A capital idea!” Reggie exclaimed. “Coming, Robert?”
The young man smiled back. “Lead on!”
The public house was already crowded to the rafters with young men with precisely the same idea, and the bedlam was astonishing. The three friends practically had to fight their way to the bar, where they had to shout to be heard over the din. And once they had their pints and bitters in hand they had to run the jostling, laughing gauntlet yet again in search of someplace to sit, but every square centimeter of space was already occupied.
Finally they headed out of the pub onto the small outdoor patio in the rear, where they found rough-hewn wooden benches and tables beneath the twilight. The furniture was formed from the same oak trees that had sheltered the famous outlaw Robin Hood, who was said to rally the Saxons against the Norman occupiers of England while King Richard was away on the 2nd Crusade. At least, that was what the owner of the Black Swan claimed, and no one had any reason to doubt his veracity given the history of the place. The hooded man of the 13th century was rumored to be the 4th Earl of Huntingdon, Baron of Loxley. The present Earl was not inclined to correct that rumor, and the legend brought with it a certain degree of fame and the comfort that the Huntingdon estate would never be in jeopardy.
When they had settled on a table against the whitewashed stone wall Reginald raised his mug and said, “When we leave here we will leave our youth behind. When we return we shall be seasoned men. Let us celebrate our last few hours on this blessed plot in good cheer and in the company of good friends.”
“Hear, hear,” his companions chanted.
They each took a deep swallow, then plunked their pewter steins down onto the oakwood, nearly sloshing their beers, following with the whiskey.
“And you, Robert, shall become an earl,” Blinky said expansively.
Robert protested, “Not that soon, surely. Father is still a young man himself. I expect I'll be promoted to general before that is likely to happen. And Steven is the eldest, so he would be first in line. In many ways I think I would prefer the life of a general to the life of the nobility. You have no idea how deadly dull it is, rather like watching grass grow. I crave action and excitement, the challenge of adventure in distant lands.”
Reggie took another swig. “Really? But you can't walk away from your inheritance. Suppose your brother Steven caught a bullet, or one of those strange diseases from the tropics? Malaria, or dengue fever? You would be next in line, and you can't forsake your family fortune for the life of an adventurer.”
“True, there is that,” Robert mused. “But it's in my blood, you see, like the reknowned explorer Alan Quartermain, or the heroes in those Jules Verne novels. Or even my famous ancestor, Robin Hood.”
If there was anything he could be certain of, it was that he sought learning through experience and adventure. Books were never enough to satisfy his craving. He longed to see for himself what lay just beyond the horizon, never satisfied with what he saw just in front of him, unlike many of his younger and older siblings of the English Peerage.
Reggie laughed. “You can be all that and still be an earl.”
Robert smiled at that, and took another drink. Then Blinky asked, “Have you talked to Edwina about your going yet?” His smile flattened, showing a hint of surprise that his relationship with young Edwina Ainsley was common knowledge. He had been careful about that, or so he had thought. “I haven't. I hope I can make her understand. I hope she will wait for me,” he replied.
Reginald exchanged a glance with Blinky and then took another swig of beer. When he finished he said, “she may not have the choice. You know how her father is. She may be married off by the time you come back, and with children, no doubt.”
“I know,” Robert said, his face crimping with dissatisfaction. “Her father is dead set against a union between Edwina and me, but I don't know why.”
“She is a lovely girl, and you are very lucky to have caught her eye. But I fear he has more practical concerns in mind, like her security and inheritance. Perhaps he's not willing to see his daughter married to an adventuresome rascal like you,” Blinky said with a wink.
“She shares my sense of adventure. She has said she would like to travel and learn more about the world outside of England. If I could marry her I would take her on expeditions to the four corners of the world, and our children would be well versed with the customs and languages of other people. There is a whole universe out there to explore, gentlemen, just within our grasp. All we have to do is to reach out and take the chance.”
Reggie raised his mug again. “Then let us drink to short wars and long engagements,” he declared.
“I'll drink to that,” Blinky added.
“Amen,” Robert agreed. When he had drained off the last of his brew he rose and straightened himself. “It's getting late, and I still have to pack. I'll see you both at the train station tomorrow. Save a seat for me, will you?”
“Righto!” Blinky replied.
The next morning Robert rode down the long road toward the stately manor house called Amberley, the home of John Ainsley, Lord Burgham, and his only heir and daughter Edwina. The sprawling mansion was set well back from the road on a rolling hill of green, well tended lawn surrounded by a grove of gnarled ancient oak and birch trees.
In modern times, Edwina could be considered “the girl next door”, if one did not count the five kilometers of distance between the front door of the Huntingdon estate and her front door. But English blue-bloods of the 19th century were far more concerned with keeping the bloodlines pure than with geographic distance, and marriage betrothals were formal affairs with more hurdles than a dressage tournament.
He coaxed his bay hunter into a canter the last few hundred feet, then drew him to a halt as he spotted a coach and four pulling out of Amberley's wrought iron gate. He pulled the horse into the shelter of a dense thicket of mulberry bushes to avoid being seen as the coach trundled down the road and away. A moment of panic gripped him when he realised that Edwina could be on that coach and he must have just missed her. He spurred his mount into a desperate gallop on toward the house. He came to a stop on the circular front driveway and jumped from his horse, then willed himself to calm and tethered the reins to the post ring. He took a deep breath while he smoothed down his windswept hair and tugged his clothes into order, then lifted the ring in the lion's mouth and pounded it against the brass plate set in the dark veneer of the oakwood door.
After two or three minutes of breathless waiting had passed the door opened, and the pale face of a young maid peered out at him. Her eyes went wide and round and her voice came out a mousey squeak as she asked, “Mister Robert, have you come to see Lord Burgham? You just missed him.”
Robert smiled as he replied, “No, Jenny. I'm here to speak to your mistress. Is she in?”
The girl simpered with a coquettish grin. “Oh, yes sir. Won't you come in?” She stood aside to let him enter. Robert passed her into the large entry hall, his riding boots clicking loudly on the black and white marble checkerboard floor. She took his hat and coat, then said, “Please wait here, sir, and I'll tell her you are here.” She scurried away, leaving him standing expectantly alone beneath the large domed skylight.
He combed his fingers through his unruly hair again to make absolutely sure it was straight as he gazed up at the stained glass above his head, then wandered along the floor studying the framed portraits of his lady's ancestors. He paused in front of the largest, which dominated the center of the gallery. It was a face of stern propriety in a full wig and courtly silks and lace, the 17th century lord of the manor, Phillip Ainsley, who had helped to defend Parliament against the royalist rebellion. The portrait stared back at him as if he dared Robert to take his great great granddaughter away.
“He was always my favorite,” said a soft warm voice from behind him.
Robert turned and beheld the object of his affection walking toward him with her right hand outstretched in a gracious gesture of welcome, while the other held a white lace handkerchief. She was dressed in a stiff white blouse of crinoline and lace pinned with a pink shell cameo, a short overjacket and a bell skirt of dark rose colored taffeta that rustled against the marble to complement her footsteps. An ivory colored shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her face was pale against her dark hair, and her large expressive brown eyes were lined with pink as if she had been crying. Her smile was gentle but did nothing to hide her distress.
He met her halfway, seized the hand and brought her delicate fingers to his lips, noting the way they trembled. Without thinking he reached out, pulled her to him and planted a soft kiss on her lips. Edwina permitted this intrusion for several long seconds before she broke free and pushed him away gently. “Oh, dear Robert, please don't.”
He looked down into her moist sad eyes and promptly forgot whatever he was going to say, mired in their sparkling warmth until her voice pulled him out again. “Why did you come?”
“I wanted to see you, to say goodbye,” he said. “I've signed on to go to Afghanistan. I could not leave until I saw you again. Edwina, what's wrong?”
“Father...Lord Burgham has gone to London to transact a marriage contract with the son of Lord Berkeley,” she said. “I must do as he says, of course, though I don't want to. I told him that I love you, but he will not hear of it.”
“Really, I don't understand what I've done to earn his contempt,” Robert declared.
Edwina bit her lip lightly. “He thinks you're too reckless, too foolhardy. Too free with your life. That your behavior is not in keeping with that of a proper English gentleman. He told me flat out that he would not see me married to you if you were the last young man on Earth.”
“Why, because I want to travel and see the world? What on Earth is wrong with that?”
“Nothing, my darling, nothing at all.” Then she burst into sudden tears and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I feel as you do, but it is all so hopeless,” she sobbed. “Father will not relent. He thinks you're a pirate. He says he is doing it for my happiness but I am not happy at all.”
“Edwina, can you resist him? Will you wait for me? Will you consent to be my wife when I return?” Robert asked her insistently, as if she had the power to change all that.
“You know I would if I could, but ...”
“Let me prove myself to your father. Let me convince him with deeds what I cannot do with words. I will show him that I am worthy of taking your hand, that I am not the pirate he thinks I am.”
A smile broke through her tears like the sunshine after a storm. “But I love the pirate in you, Robert. You were always so daring, so courageous when we were children. I don't want you to change that. Father can be so medieval at times once his mind is made up. He would rather see me wed to a complete stranger rather than to a lifelong friend.”
“Then I shan't,” he replied. “I'll stay alive through thick and thin just for the moment I can take you in my arms again. I shall become the most fearless pirate on the bounding main.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly, then more desperately when she snuggled against him as close as her bell petticoat would let her.
When he broke it he held her close and said into her small ear, “We are prisoners of time and tradition, Edwina, and I long for a day when we can be together without these shackles. But we will never have to touch to stay close. I will make love to you in my letters. I will make every rifle shot a kiss, every stroke of my sword a caress, and while you live I shall love no other.”
Edwina looked up into his green hazel eyes and shook her head. “No, my love, I can't bear to have you unhappy on my account. If by chance you meet a woman who loves you as much as I do, please take her with my blessing no matter where you find her.”
He groaned slightly and pulled her against him harder. “I can't think of anyone else. I want you and only you.” He kissed her until her lips parted and became more pliant. Then she pushed him away. “Go now, please, Robert,” she said, her voice breaking against the fresh flow of tears. She turned and fled down the hall into the darkness of the house without saying goodbye.
Sadly, Robert waited in the hall for the maid to return with his things. Then, with a lingering gaze at the second story window of the mansion and Edwina's sad, weeping face, he mounted his horse and rode away without looking back.
2
The station platform was packed with groups of young men filing onto the train with their baggage and their anxious relations watching and waving, parting with tearful hugs and heartfelt farewells. Some of the men already had children. They kissed babies and toddlers and wives with equal regret, and instructed their older sons to mind things while they were away. Robert mounted the platform alone, having said his farewells to his parents at home. He had insisted on going this way rather than subject his mother to the discomfort of a long carriage ride and the rough jostling of the crowd. She had fallen ill before when his older brother Steven had left for the Sudan, and he wanted to spare her that.
The train was a serpent of iron and wood sitting on the tracks and puffing steam. It gave out a sudden belch of white vapor and a blast on its whistle to nudge the boarders to hurry, while the conductor called out, “Last farewells, please. All aboard!”
Robert paused as he headed for the car he was assigned to and scanned the sea of humanity for some sign of Edwina among them, hoping that he would see her again, but he could not see beyond the steam and the crowd. Then he spotted Reginald hanging halfway out of his compartment window and waving frantically to get his attention. Reluctantly, he headed in that direction, gave one last look around for her and then boarded the train, towing his heavy duffel bag behind him like a quiver of arrows.
When he entered the compartment Reginald said, “We saved a seat for you but we almost had to give it up. All the other compartments are full, so we may have to share it with a couple of strangers.” Then he noticed the muffler around Robert's neck, and he said, “I've never seen that one before. Is it new?”
Absently, Robert muttered, “It was a gift from my mother. She made it herself.”
Blinky shifted over so that Robert could have the window seat, but Robert was barely aware of it. As he sank down against the plush leather of the bench he continued to scan the crowd.
“Edwina?” Blinky prodded him gently with a sympathetic tone.
“No,” Robert replied finally. He leaned back and took a deep, resigned breath. “She stayed home. We said our goodbyes there.”
“Bad luck, old man,” Blinky said, and clapped a pudgy hand on his shoulder. Across the way, Reginald watched in stoic silence. Whatever Robert said in reply was obliterated by another blast of steam, and they were jolted as the train began moving.
The compartment door opened abruptly, and two young men entered toting their luggage. One was tall, six foot two or thereabouts, with dark hair and steel grey but friendly eyes. The other was shorter, just under six feet. His blond hair was loosely cut with a splash of bangs on a high intelligent forehead, and his eyes were blue as the sea after a storm. They were dressed like well-bred gentlemen, with their hats already doffed and in their hands.
“Sorry about this, chaps, but we're packed onto this train like a can of sardines, and there is no more room in the other compartments,” the taller man said. “I don't suppose you could spare some space for us?”
Reginald gestured with a gracious hand. “I think we can find room,” he replied affably.
“Capital!” With a deft movement of his arm the bag sailed upward onto the overhead shelf, followed a moment later by the other man's tapestry bag. After some shifting and jostling the five men managed to fit comfortably with enough wiggle room for their legs.
“The name's Reginald Hempley. My friend here is Bernard Fitzwalter. And the brooding one next to you is Robert Saint John.” He indicated Robert, who had left off staring out the window and focused on them.
The taller man said, “Not the heir to the Huntingdon estate? I've heard the legend. You are supposed to be descended from the hooded man.” His voice was smooth baritone and inflected with an accent, but from which country could not easily be guessed. “Alexander Vincent Corvina. And my friend here is Count Karel Nikolai Arkelin.”
He stretched his hand toward Robert, who looked at it blankly before he took it. Robert noted how strong but cold Corvina's hand was. “The legend is really a fabrication,” he replied. “No one knows if it is an accurate tale or not.”
“Still, wouldn't it be exciting if it turned out to be true,” Alexander said.
“There is that,” he said. He noticed that the count had not done the same, and dismissed it as the typical aloofness of foreign nobility.
“Arkelin,” Blinky said, snuffling slightly. “It sounds Russian.”
Arkelin responded with a short smile. “My family home is in the Ukraine, but we moved to Saint Petersburg to be at court. My parents are buried there.”
“You also sound like you're not English,” Reginald said to Corvina.
“My people are from Transylvania,” Alexander replied urbanely. “My father keeps a house in Derbyshire when he is not doing business in London. We breed horses for racing.”
“And you, Count?” Blinky asked. “What are you doing in England?”
Robert threw him a sharp glance, thinking the question rather cheeky and artless, but Blinky paid him no heed.
The count hesitated before replying. “I came here as Alexander's guest to study at Oxford University.” His voice was soft, almost effeminate, but the cultured words penetrated the noise of rattling joints and the clackety-clack of the wheels beneath the car; and his intense gaze reminded Robert of a timber wolf at dawn, sizing up his prey before running it down in the snow. There was something nameless and dangerous about him. In fact, there was something very different about both these two young men, undeniably so. They carried themselves like older men despite their attractive youthful appearance. Robert found himself wishing he had that quality, that economy of scale and self-assurance, found it admirable, something to respect and even emulate. He shook himself loose of his fascination before he was caught staring.
As if he had read Robert's mind Corvina turned to him and smiled, nodding his understanding. There was something indefinable in those eyes. Robert felt drawn to them, sinking into their friendly silver greyness slowly until everything around him faded into a soft blur.
Then Reginald Hempley's voice broke through the trance. “What form are you in, may I ask? Mine is in engineering.” Robert turned away and focused on him. He was asking the blond young man that question.
Arkelin said, “Ah. My form is in botany.”
Blinky chuckled. “Gardening?”
A dark expression crossed the slav's face until he caught the warning look in his companion's eyes. Then he replied, “I specialize in the study of the genus Orchis. I have been able to identify and catalog one hundred thirty different species of orchid, ranging over a wide area. Several countries, as a matter of fact. For example, the species Orchis sanguinaria can be found only in South America, on the southern shores of the Orinoco river. The flower is beautiful and white as the moon itself. It blooms only once each month during the night when the moon is fullest, then dies back and regenerates to repeat the cycle again the next month. I have been able to preserve a specimen and hope to prepare and publish a full study of it as soon as I return.”
“Orchids, you say,” Blinky remarked artlessly again. “I had no idea the subject was so complex.”
“Yes, Mister Fitzwalter, most complex,” Arkelin replied.
“Well, since we have never been there before, have you been to Afghanistan, and have you found any orchids there?”
Count Arkelin leaned over and said, “Not in Afghanistan. The environment is unfriendly to such delicate plants. In the summer the temperature in the shade during the day is well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and at night it falls to near freezing. It is a harsh mountainous area full of canyons and valleys that have never seen the footsteps of man. No, gentlemen, there are no orchids there.”
“You've been there, from the way you tell it,” Robert said. “What about you, Mister Corvina?”
The tall man glanced at him and smiled. “Yes, my father and I passed through there on our way out of Nepal. We used to travel quite a lot when I was younger.”
This made Robert only the more curious about Corvina's past, but he decided to keep silent until later. After all, they had just met, and it would be bad form to pry too far too soon. But as he glanced out the window he saw the English countryside pass by slowly in the late afternoon sunshine and suddenly exclaimed, “Blast and damn!”
“What is it, Robert?” Blinky asked, his face a mask of concern.
“Edwina. I should have taken her away with me, rather than leave her alone like that.”
Alexander looked at him askance. “Edwina? Your fianceé, I am guessing?”
“Yes,” Robert replied. “Her father is going to marry her off to someone unsuited for her, and I abandoned her to that terrible fate. What was I thinking?” He leaned over and put his head into his hands, trying to hide his distress.
“Come. Not as bad as that,” Alexander said. He placed a long fingered hand on Robert's shoulder and squeezed it gently to reassure him. “A lot can change in two years. She may stay unmarried and be waiting for you when you return. Or she may marry and become a widow through happenstance. Or she could renounce her fortune and stay unmarried in defiance of her father's will. Or her father may have a change of heart and she may be waiting for you still. The future is ever in flux. Think of the alternatives, and you will see that destiny is subject to fate, fortune, and time. It is malleable as molten metal, waiting to be shaped in the forge of your will. All is not lost.”