Read Online The Prince Commands: Being Sundry Adventures of Michael Karl, Sometime Crown Prince & Pretender to the Thrown of Morvania by Andre Norton - Free Book Online
Authors: Andre Norton
Ads: Link
youngster I picked up in the mountains.”
They slowed down before a whitewashed stone hut in the curve of the road. At the sound of their engine a black-uniformed soldier stepped smartly out; to his horror Michael Karl recognized the uniform as that of his own regiment. What if the fellow had seen a picture of him?
He slipped down in the seat as far as he could and was thankful that Ericson was between him and the inspector.
“Your passport, yes?” The soldier smiled pleasantly and held out his hand for the bundle of papers.
“And this is your chauffeur?” he tried to get a better look at Michael Karl, but almost by chance the American leaned forward at the same time so all he could see was one dark green coat sleeve.
He ruffled the papers together again and handed them back. “You had better keep them at hand, sir, there are patrols out between here and the city.”
“What's happened?” asked the American.
The soldier frowned. “It is not permitted to ask,” he replied shortly and waved them on.
“Then they haven't told what happened to the Crown Prince,” Michael Karl was excited.
“They don't dare. If anything happens to this candidate for the throne, the Council will be left holding the bag and the Communists will make hay. They're making a still hunt for the Prince hoping to get by without the people learning what's the matter,” explained the American.
Then he had a better chance then ever, thought Michael Karl. They didn't dare hunt for him openly. He wished though that they would catch the Werewolf. Usually he didn't wish anybody bad luck, but he had no brotherly feeling for the Werewolf after that meeting in the hall.
Ericson slowed down and finally came to a stop at a cleared place in the forest.
“Look down,” he commanded.
Far below a river twisted about the base of a tall rock-like hill and reflected a thousand times the spires and towers of a gray city built upon the rock's crown these hundreds of years. Above the city itself was the Fortress Castle of the kings, and even as they watched a colored standard was raised to crack in the high wind from the peak of a tower.
“The City of Rein,” said the American softly with a queer note in his voice.
Michael Karl stared down, studying every detail of the city below and thought that the American was right, Rein had an enchantment all its own, so much was it like the fairy city that Ericson had compared it to.
“There's another hour before we cross the old bridge,” Ericson said at last as he started the motor. “Well, what do you think of Rein?”
“It is very beautiful,” said Michael Karl soberly.
They started down the mountain road and for the first time met fellow travelers. It was a road of contrasts between the old world and the new: a smart sport roadster of the latest model, guided by a laughing officer who blew the horn furiously until a two-wheeled ox cart crawled out to give it room to pass, flashed by a peasant in a scarlet blouse and round cap who was plodding steadily along under a heavy bag, on his way to the markets of Rein. It was all new and rather exciting.
The patrol did not appear to stop them, and they were in sight of the bridge in less than the hour Ericson had promised. A soldier snapped to attention as they pulled onto the ancient stone paving.
“He's saluting that crest on the car door not us,” the American informed Michael Karl. “As T told you these people are feudal in their ideas. This car belongs to one of the great lords and landowners who is a good friend of mine. That guard probably came from his section of the country.”
“Look at the flowers!” Michael Karl leaned over the door to see them closer. The whole side of the bridge was covered like a small rainbow with blue, violet, orange, all shades from pink to deepest crimson, flowers. And among them, peasant girls, looking like old-fashioned bouquets of their own sweets in their brilliant skirts and shoulder shawls, were busy
They slowed down before a whitewashed stone hut in the curve of the road. At the sound of their engine a black-uniformed soldier stepped smartly out; to his horror Michael Karl recognized the uniform as that of his own regiment. What if the fellow had seen a picture of him?
He slipped down in the seat as far as he could and was thankful that Ericson was between him and the inspector.
“Your passport, yes?” The soldier smiled pleasantly and held out his hand for the bundle of papers.
“And this is your chauffeur?” he tried to get a better look at Michael Karl, but almost by chance the American leaned forward at the same time so all he could see was one dark green coat sleeve.
He ruffled the papers together again and handed them back. “You had better keep them at hand, sir, there are patrols out between here and the city.”
“What's happened?” asked the American.
The soldier frowned. “It is not permitted to ask,” he replied shortly and waved them on.
“Then they haven't told what happened to the Crown Prince,” Michael Karl was excited.
“They don't dare. If anything happens to this candidate for the throne, the Council will be left holding the bag and the Communists will make hay. They're making a still hunt for the Prince hoping to get by without the people learning what's the matter,” explained the American.
Then he had a better chance then ever, thought Michael Karl. They didn't dare hunt for him openly. He wished though that they would catch the Werewolf. Usually he didn't wish anybody bad luck, but he had no brotherly feeling for the Werewolf after that meeting in the hall.
Ericson slowed down and finally came to a stop at a cleared place in the forest.
“Look down,” he commanded.
Far below a river twisted about the base of a tall rock-like hill and reflected a thousand times the spires and towers of a gray city built upon the rock's crown these hundreds of years. Above the city itself was the Fortress Castle of the kings, and even as they watched a colored standard was raised to crack in the high wind from the peak of a tower.
“The City of Rein,” said the American softly with a queer note in his voice.
Michael Karl stared down, studying every detail of the city below and thought that the American was right, Rein had an enchantment all its own, so much was it like the fairy city that Ericson had compared it to.
“There's another hour before we cross the old bridge,” Ericson said at last as he started the motor. “Well, what do you think of Rein?”
“It is very beautiful,” said Michael Karl soberly.
They started down the mountain road and for the first time met fellow travelers. It was a road of contrasts between the old world and the new: a smart sport roadster of the latest model, guided by a laughing officer who blew the horn furiously until a two-wheeled ox cart crawled out to give it room to pass, flashed by a peasant in a scarlet blouse and round cap who was plodding steadily along under a heavy bag, on his way to the markets of Rein. It was all new and rather exciting.
The patrol did not appear to stop them, and they were in sight of the bridge in less than the hour Ericson had promised. A soldier snapped to attention as they pulled onto the ancient stone paving.
“He's saluting that crest on the car door not us,” the American informed Michael Karl. “As T told you these people are feudal in their ideas. This car belongs to one of the great lords and landowners who is a good friend of mine. That guard probably came from his section of the country.”
“Look at the flowers!” Michael Karl leaned over the door to see them closer. The whole side of the bridge was covered like a small rainbow with blue, violet, orange, all shades from pink to deepest crimson, flowers. And among them, peasant girls, looking like old-fashioned bouquets of their own sweets in their brilliant skirts and shoulder shawls, were busy
Similar Books
