Free TW04 The Zenda Vendetta NEW by Simon Hawke Page B

was.
Chapter 4
    A bucketful of stinging cold water brought Finn sputtering to his feet, ready to commit murder. “God
damn
it!” he shouted, but Sapt pushed him back down onto the bed, ducking under his wild punch easily.
    “Stay yourself, man,” the old officer said, sharply. “I tried every other means of waking you and you would not budge. It’s five o’clock.”
    “
Five o’clock!”
said Finn, still not fully cognizant.
    “Rassendyll,” said Fritz von Tarlenheim, taking him by the arm. “Look here.” Rudolf Elphberg was stretched out full length upon the floor, completely drenched. It appeared that they had thrown at least four times as much water on him as they had on Finn and still he slept. Sapt moved over to him and gave him a sharp slap in the face, hard enough to make Finn wince.
    “Wake up, Your damned useless Majesty!” he said. “Hang him, he drank three times what either of you did,” Sapt said, eyeing both Finn and von Tarlenheim with fury. “And damn me all to hell for sitting there and letting him! This is a fine muddle!”
    “We’ve spent half an hour on him,” von Tarlenheim said with exasperation.
    Finn knelt down and felt the king’s pulse. It was quite slow.
    “What, Rassendyll, are you a doctor?” von Tarlenheim said, hopefully.
    “I’ve studied medicine,” Finn said, improvising. “However, a thousand doctors wouldn’t do him any good right now.”
    “What!” cried Sapt, with a look of horror on his face. “What are you saying? He’s not dead!”
    “No, he’s not dead,” said Finn, “but he has every appearance of having been drugged.”
    “Drugged!” said Fritz. Understanding dawned on him. “
Michael! Damn the bastard!
It was that last bottle, for a fact! Sapt, we have been taken for a pair of mighty fools! How on earth will we get him to the coronation now?”
    “He won’t be crowned today,” said Finn. “My guess is that he won’t come around for at least eight or ten hours.”
    Von Tarlenheim licked his lips. “This is a disaster,” he said. “We shall have to send word that he’s ill.”
    “We are ruined,” said Sapt. “If he’s not crowned today, I’ll lay a crown he’s never crowned.” “But why?” said Finn. “Surely, it can’t be so serious?” “Serious?” said Sapt. “The whole nation will be there to meet him and half the army with Black Michael at its head. Shall we send word that the king is drunk?”
    “That he’s ill,” said Finn.
    “Ill!” said Sapt. “His ‘illnesses’ are only too well known. Rudolf’s been ‘Ill’ before.”
    “There’s nothing to be done,” said von Tarlenheim. “We shall simply have to put on a sober face and make the best of it. I say,” he paused, “that was a poor choice of words, under the circumstances.”
    “I should have known,” said Sapt. “I should have known that he would try something of this sort, but I did not give him enough credit. He’s let Rudolf be hoist with his own petard!” He slapped the king again. “The drunken dog! Still, I’ll rot in hell before I see Black Michael sit on the throne in his place!” Sapt chewed furiously on one end of his moustache, his brow deeply furrowed.
    “Surely, something can be done!” said von Tarlenheim, though his tone of voice did not hold forth much hope. Suddenly, Sapt looked up, staring at Delaney. Finn played dumb and simply stood there, looking bewildered, as did von Tarlenheim for a moment or two, until he realized what Sapt was thinking.
    “No!” he whispered softly, looking from Sapt to Finn and back again.
    “Yes, by God!” said Sapt. “It just might work!”
    Finn gauged the moment right to “realize” what they intended, but he had to play it well. “Oh, no,” he said, stepping back from them and snaking his head.
    “Rassendyll, do you believe in Fate?” said Sapt.
    You don’t want to know, thought Finn.
    “It was Fate that sent you here, man, and now it’s Fate that beckons you to