The Assassins by Alan Bardos (best novels in english txt) 📗

reception can you expect in Bosnia, Franz?' Sophie had taken the pause in shooting as an opportunity to further press her concerns. His beaters were taking their time and these interruptions to the hunt were starting to irk him.

'One is always in God's hands, Sopherl. Worries and precautions cripple life.' Franz Ferdinand had a sense that something could happen in Bosnia, but he had chosen to ignore it. 'Fear is always one of the most damaging things,' he affirmed.

If something did happen, Franz Ferdinand had left instructions with his nephew, Karl, the next in line, on where to find his plans for reforming the Empire. Franz Ferdinand had also made arrangements for his burial at his family seat of Artstetten, ordering the construction of a crypt so that he could be interred with his wife and children, who couldn't be buried with him in Capuchin Church, the traditional resting place of the Habsburgs.

Sophie wasn't placated by his stoicism. 'Sopherl, His Majesty the Emperor has assented to your accompanying me, so you can at least look after me,' he reminded her.

Sophie seemed to draw some comfort from that at least, but having to ask the Emperor's permission still galled Franz Ferdinand and brought to mind all of the indignities his wife had suffered as a result of the Emperor's obsession with court protocols. The fact that they couldn’t even ride in the same carriage together, in the Empire which he would one day rule, was a never ending source of outrage to him.

The roebuck still hadn't been brought up, but lost in the fervour of the hunt, it appeared that the Archduke had brought down a white roebuck. It was said that to shoot anything white was a portent to death and the bad omen was causing a certain degree of apprehension amongst the beaters. The Heir finally lost his temper, 'Janaczek, you useless peasant! Do you mean to keep me waiting all day?'

Sophie pressed his arm and whispered, 'Franzi-Franzi'. The flash of anger left as quickly as it had come. He smiled, feeling that she was as good for his health as she was for his peace of mind.

'I'm sorry, Janaczek - forgive me,' Franz Ferdinand said, regaining his self control. Janaczek bowed graciously and hurried away to look for the roebuck. Janaczek may have been the son of a peasant, Franz Ferdinand mused, but he trusted him implicitly; he was more like a family member than a servant.

Franz Ferdinand turned his attention back to Sophie. 'We can mark the fourteenth anniversary of my Morganatic Oath by riding in an open car, side by side, within the borders of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy - and you, my everything, can enjoy the full recognition of your rank.

The idea pleased him. It was one of a series of small victories in a campaign to present Sophie as his consort on the international stage. They'd already visited the Romanian and German Royal Courts, been entertained by the King and Queen of England at Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, and in a few days they'd be playing host to Wilhelm II of Germany.

The roebuck appeared at last, taking him by surprise, but the Archduke automatically lifted his rifle and fired two shots in quick succession, bringing down two of them.

Chapter 19

The sound of voices carried into Johnny's room; there was a heated discussion about something tedious and political going on in the house. Johnny tried to ignore it, as he’d been doing for most of the previous day, while he prepared to meet his new housemates. He glanced around his bare, white-washed room - it looked as if it had seen better days, although some effort had been put into making it look presentable. It had cost fourteen crowns, barely leaving him enough money to pay for food. Breitner had said that carrying around any more money would raise suspicion.

Johnny sighed and turned over on the bed. There was nothing to distract him in the room so he went back to the books Breitner had given him, which were all written in Serbo-Croat. Johnny was a bit rusty but he’d had to learn the language in order to assist Sir George in case he needed to conduct supplementary negotiations for the Treaty of London. However, by the time Johnny had got to grips with the language, the second Balkan war had started and the Treaty was in tatters.

Johnny was totally lost with the poetry. It was very rich with tales of betrayal and noble sacrifice and he'd have liked to have been able to study it properly, but his head still throbbed and he needed something to eat. The out of sync chiming from the bells of the various denominations informed him that it would be lunch time soon. He thought he’d better see if he could find something out before he met Breitner.

He picked up the Kropotkin - it brought back memories. Kropotkin was one of the plethora of revolutionary writers coming out of Russia. Johnny hadn’t read any of his work; he'd mainly been interested in Lenin and Marx who wrote about modern industrial society, and they'd been hard enough to get hold of at his school. He pulled himself off the bed - he'd just have to wing it as best he could.

Still holding the book, he followed the sound of the voices along a narrow corridor to the next bedroom, and seeing that the door was open, he stopped in the doorway of a grimy, book-lined room. Two men were inside, reading Kropotkin. Johnny grinned - Breitner had actually done his homework.

They were still in deep conversation and didn't notice Johnny. The younger, intense one sat on what looked like a pull down bed and was in full flow. 'Danilo, can’t you see? Kropotkin is quite correct. The State crushes the individual. What we need are systems of mutual aid and collaboration.'

Johnny