Book 2 Chapter 43: Plots and Schemes

Janosh, Fake King of Sweden

The Royal Residence was not to Janosh's liking, he decided as he took the secret corridor. He was a man with simple tastes, and he preferred a comfortable chair, a good meal, and a room that didn't look as if someone had emptied a gold mine into it. Unfortunately, pretending to be the King of Sweden meant he had to endure all the bling. The ceilings were painted with scenes of glorious victories, the walls were covered with expensive tapestries, and practically every piece of furniture had been carved, gilded, or decorated by someone who clearly charged too much for his services.

At least it's not Versailles. He wrinkled his nose.

The French had terrible plumbing, meaning none at all, even after the Outworlders had brought their technology into the Realm. Their kings had apparently considered washing a matter of personal preference, and their architects had cared more about making everything look impressive than making it usable. Janosh had visited Versailles once, and he still remembered the smell.

He sighed as he entered the salon, taking a seat behind a desk large enough to accommodate a small family, and stared at the report in his hands. His guests were fretting, waiting for him to deliver the news. However, he took his time. Rushing important information was out of the question. Ten minutes later, he closed the report and put it aside.

"We couldn't stop Napoleon from taking over Brazil," he told the others bluntly. "Argentina will be next, and we have even fewer people there. Basically… none."

The meeting was taking place in a smaller room adjoining the royal office. Janosh had insisted on it because he didn't want half the court listening through the doors. His servants had been dismissed, the guards were stationed outside, and the windows were shut. Nobody was supposed to know what they were discussing, especially not the people who still believed Janosh was actually the King of Sweden. That he was a vampire who had transferred his brain into the king's body was something only a handful of people knew. Those inside that room, and, unfortunately, Isolde and her friends.

Cursed detective…

The others began ranting, arguing about what to do, or not do, but Janosh's mind, the only organ of still his own in that body, erred. The whole arrangement had started as a temporary measure. The real king had become inconvenient, Janosh had been available, and somebody, Elena, the former Baba Yaga, had decided that a convincing replacement would be more useful than a dead monarch. Since then, the temporary arrangement had acquired a court, a treasury, and enough diplomatic responsibilities to keep Janosh busy for the rest of his life. He wasn't sure whether to see it as a promotion or a punishment.

"Oh, no!" Rasputin blurted, widening his eyes. The man's exclamation extracted Janosh from his daydream. "They took out Karoperos, and killed the Slime—"

"What? When?" Janosh gasped.

"Minutes ago. Now they're fighting for the artifact. That pseudo-elf, Cedric, and the Queen."

"You mean the staff you're using to spy on them?

"I'm still connected with it. Oh, fuck… she lost… They destroyed the staff in the process," Rasputin hissed.

"Well, asking her to take it back for you didn't work out very well, did it?" Rasputin's assistant, code name Karamazov, said. "An Elven woman cannot be trusted. Elven percent chances they do the job.

Rasputin gave him a look that suggested he wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Don't you understand how screwed we are?"

The Russian who had taken the mystic's name for himself had a talent for making every piece of bad news sound like the beginning of the end. Janosh suspected that he actually enjoyed it. Some people liked wine, others liked music, and Rasputin liked telling everyone that they were doomed. Maybe because it had escaped capture and execution by the skin of his teeth, at least twice.

"We'll find a better one," Karamazov said. "Even more potent and evil."

The man had tanned skin, a heavy brow, and a beard that made Janosh think of a particularly unpleasant bear. One of the Karamazov brothers. Janosh had forgotten which one, but it didn't matter much. They were all evil, and they all had the same habit of talking about world domination as if it were a perfectly reasonable career choice.

"And they did something to the Elves. To all of them."

"Something like what, a massage?" Janosh asked.

"I think they messed their magic… That was the last thing I could read before I lost the connection," Rasputin continued. "It means we may be cut off both from the Elven world and Earth. We'll be reduced to whatever forces we have here."

That got everyone's attention.

Janosh leaned back in his chair. "Sweden and Russia are strong. China is still a power. If we ally, we can take Napoleon head-on."

"As a last resort," said the only woman at the meeting.

Chevalier d'Eon smiled at him. It was a pleasant smile, the sort that could have belonged to a charming young lady or a handsome gentleman, depending on how Eon felt that morning. Nobody could really tell whether the vampire was a man or a woman, partly because Eon had no problem pretending to be either, and partly because asking the question usually led to an argument nobody wanted to have.

"As the only resort," Janosh replied. "If we don't go big, we lose. Overwhelming force, coordinated attacks, and enough troops to make sure Napoleon can't simply move his armies from one continent to another. We need to end this before he gets any stronger."

"My dear friend," Eon said smoothly, "you are underestimating us, the Old Magic beings."

"How old are you?" Rasputin asked.

Eon frowned. "You don't ask a lady for her age."

"You're a vampire."

"And?"

"That means you could be three hundred years old or three thousand."

"How very rude. Besides, I'm not old. I'm using Old Magic. That was what I was trying to convey."

Janosh rubbed his forehead. This was exactly why he preferred dealing with armies. Soldiers could be stupid, ambitious, or violent, but at least they usually understood what they were being told.

"The Elves are probably lost for our cause," Eon continued, raising an index finger, "but what if Earth is still within reach? What if there are ways to go there and bring more nukes? Do you think Napoleon would know what was coming? Bang!"

She clapped her hands together, sending a gust of air mana around, making everyone jump except the guest sitting at the far end of the table, someone brought into the cabal by General Georgescu. The alien had only barely moved, although the blue patterns on his skin brightened for a moment. They knew very little about him, except that he wanted to contain the portal tech to alternate realities and prevent humans from using it as a warp drive.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Here is what I propose. We hit Napoleon in Argentina," Eon continued. "We eliminate his armies, his command structure, and anyone foolish enough to stand in our way. No more Napoleon, no more French expansion, and no more problems with the New World. Nobody will even have time to understand what happened."

"Nobody except the people who live there," Janosh pointed out.

Eon waved a hand. "Collateral damage."

"That's a convenient word for killing thousands of people."

"It's justified if it's for the greater good. War is full of inconvenient things. You should know that by now," Rasputin said.

"Absolutely," Eon nodded vigorously.

Janosh didn't reply immediately. He had seen enough wars to know that Eon wasn't entirely wrong. Still, there was a difference between accepting casualties and proposing to erase an entire region because it happened to be occupied by the wrong army. The vampire seemed to regard the distinction as a minor administrative concern.

Rasputin, meanwhile, had directed his attention to the map spread across the table. "Why does he want Argentina?" the Russian asked. "It's nothing of importance."

"Nothing of importance?" Janosh looked at him. "It's enormous, fertile, and full of rivers. There's a long coastline, plenty of room for settlements, and enough agricultural land to feed a continent. The Midwest and Argentina are among the best regions for large-scale food production. Add control of the ports and the shipping routes, and you have an empire that can feed its armies without depending on anyone else."

"And Brazil?"

"Timber, minerals, plantations, ports… manpower for his armies. The freed slaves. Napoleon isn't collecting countries for the pleasure of looking at them on a map. He's building an economic base. If he gets both regions, he can supply his armies, expand his fleets, and put pressure on every other power in the Realm."

Karamazov nodded slowly. "Which means we must stop him before he consolidates his gains."

"Exactly."

"Then Eon's proposal makes sense."

"Only if Eon can actually get to Earth," Janosh said. Everyone turned toward the vampire. "So," he continued, "are you sure you can find a way there?"

"Look, I can't tell you how, but yes, I can. You have to trust me on this. I go to Earth, bring nukes, mercenaries, and whatever else we need, then wipe out Napoleon. After that, the dominoes will fall by themselves."

"And who would give you nukes on Earth?" Janosh asked. "Even if you get there, you can't simply walk into a military base and ask for a few. Those weapons are closely guarded, and most governments won't hand them over to a stranger who claims to be from another world."

"More than one country has them," Eon replied. "And more than one government would like to have access to the Realm's resources. Some smaller countries have nuclear weapons in secret, or at least enough connections to obtain them. If they could use those weapons to gain access to new territory, magical resources, and advanced technology, they wouldn't necessarily hesitate."

"You are suggesting that we offer them a share of the Realm."

"I'm suggesting that we make them an offer they can't refuse. And I'll make sure to dispose of them if they cross us."

"That's usually what people say before a negotiation goes horribly wrong," Rasputin observed.

"Thank you for your contribution," Eon said sweetly. "Do you want to go negotiate in my place? Your nickname is sure to win minds and hearts."

Rasputin smiled, revealing a row of suspiciously sharp teeth. "Perhaps another time."

Janosh wasn't convinced by the plan. Earth had its own politics, rivalries, and assortment of ambitious people. The discovery of the portal had changed everything, but it hadn't made humanity any wiser. If anything, it had given politicians another continent to argue over and another excuse to spend money on weapons.

Still, the idea had possibilities. If Eon could establish contact with even one government, the others would eventually hear about it. Some would want to cooperate, others would try to seize control of the operation, and a few might attempt to use the situation against their rivals. The trick would be to ensure that nobody gained enough power to become another Napoleon or Lafayette. That, at least, was something Janosh understood.

"Don't worry," Eon said, feeling the vibe. "It will be done. Of course, I will need some money to open the doors."

There it was. The vampire looked intently at Janosh, who happened to have the most cash on hand. Sweden was doing reasonably well, at least compared with the other major powers. Russia was dirt poor and bankrupt, as always, and China had its own problems to deal with. Janosh's treasury was the only one that could finance an operation on such a scale without immediately collapsing.

"How much?" he asked.

"A couple of millions. We'll discuss the details later."

"No. We'll discuss them now."

Eon sighed again. "You really do spoil the atmosphere. I know your type. The one who asks a lady to pay her share when they go out to a Restaurant."

"I can't siphon to much money, or the ministers will begin to—"

"For the greater good," Rasputin added, apparently deciding that this was an appropriate moment to remind everyone of their shared purpose.

Janosh wondered whether Rasputin ever said anything without adding that phrase. It seemed to be his answer to everything, from political assassinations to questionable experiments. If someone objected to a particularly nasty plan, Rasputin simply explained that it was necessary for the greater good. Apparently, the greater good had very flexible standards.

"Think. If we gain control of the Realm," Karamazov continued, "we'll be able to influence Earth too. Think about it," he repeated himself. "We could control the trade in magical materials, and the flow of people between worlds. Governments would have to negotiate with us."

"Assuming we survive long enough to enjoy it," Janosh said. "Napoleon is a first step. There are also those with the System to consider. Samuel, Tristan, Isolde—"

"Which is why we need to act now. Napoleon has their backs. If we overwhelm them with problems, we'll divide and conquer."

"Nukes are a coward's weapon. There is no honor in using them," The alien at the far end of the table finally spoke, a little late and out of order. His blue skin was covered in shiny patterns that shifted whenever he moved, and Janosh had never quite worked out whether they were a form of communication or simply a natural feature of his species. At the moment, they were blinking in a slow, steady rhythm. The creature had spent most of the meeting looking as though he had swallowed something unpleasant.

"Honor?" Eon asked. "You want to talk about honor now?"

"I do."

"How noble. And what exactly do you intend to do when Napoleon's armies arrive? Charge at them on your own?"

The alien's patterns flashed brighter as it leaned forward. "I will fight Napoleon's champions. I will fight Sam, and I will fight anyone who stands in our way. But I will not be a part of a plan that relies on weapons designed to kill without distinction."

Does he have a Universal Translator of sorts? Janosh wondered. He's quite articulate.

"Then don't use them yourself," Eon said. "You can stay behind and polish your honor while the rest of us do the work."

Janosh raised a hand before the argument could continue.

"Enough. We aren't deciding the whole war today. We are deciding whether Eon gets the money to establish contact with Earth. If that works, we'll have more options. If it doesn't, we will have wasted money that could have gone toward our armies."

"And if it works?" Rasputin asked.

"Then we decide what to do with the information we receive. We don't promise anyone nuclear weapons, we don't promise foreign governments half the Realm, and we don't start a war that we can't control. Is that clear?"

Karamazov looked unimpressed. Rasputin looked thoughtful. Eon looked as though Janosh had just suggested replacing a grand opera with a village puppet show.

"You are making this unnecessarily complicated," the vampire said.

"No. I'm making it slightly less stupid."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Janosh could hear the faint noise of servants moving through the corridor outside. Somewhere in the palace, a clock chimed the hour. He found himself wishing he could abandon the meeting, go to the kitchens, and eat something that hadn't been prepared by a chef who believed that every meal needed at least three sauces. But he was the king, fake or otherwise, and this was the sort of thing he had to deal with.

Eon finally smiled.

"Very well. We establish contact first. Once I have proof that Earth is reachable, you release the funds. I'll bring back the necessary people and negotiate with whoever is willing to help us."

"And the nukes?" Rasputin asked.

"We'll see what is available."

Janosh considered it. It wasn't much, but it was better than handing Eon a fortune and hoping for the best. Besides, if the vampire really could reach Earth, the potential benefits were enormous. Even a small amount of cooperation from the right people might change the balance of power.

He nodded reluctantly. "Fine. I'll authorize the first payment. Two hundred thousand. Nothing more until we have proof."

Rasputin and the Karamazov raised their hands immediately when Eon asked whether they supported the proposal. Janosh raised his more reluctantly. The alien didn't move, but he didn't object further either.

"Then it's settled," Eon announced, rising from the chair. "I'll go to Argentina and teach Napoleon how to tango."

Janosh watched the vampire adjust their clothes and head for the door.

"Try not to start a war before you've even arrived," he called after them.

Eon glanced back with a bright smile.

"No promises, Your Majesty."

The door closed.

Janosh looked at the three remaining men around the table. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had just agreed to finance a disaster, but he couldn't see a better alternative. Napoleon was expanding too quickly, their connections to the other worlds were disappearing, and the champions were becoming more dangerous by the day.

"Well," he said, gathering the reports, "at least we have a plan."

"Do we?" Rasputin asked. "Or are we played by one of the most notorious swindlers in history?"

For the first time that afternoon, Karamazov laughed. Janosh didn't find it particularly reassuring.