Free The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead by David Wake Page A

all tired.”
    The Graf laughed: “I’m sure not, but I must leave you, duties you understand. I must see my father, the Crown Prince, and the dowager Gräfin. Tell her the good news.”
    “I’d like to see around the castle.”
    “Later, I will show you.” He stood to attention, clicked his heels and bowed. “The Vögte will see to your needs.”
    Charlotte did the same in reply as she was still wearing the fabulous uniform with its trousers. The Graf strode away, every inch the leader of men. The Vögte, whatever that meant, was a subservient, bent figure, weighed down by his robes rather than augmented by them. He led a different way to a stone spiral staircase that descended seemingly into the bowels of the Earth, although each window afforded a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Finally, the dizzying rotation came to an end and a long landing stretched in a straight line to another wing of the castle. Everything was bare stone with the occasional hanging tapestry depicting mythical beasts or battles between knights in armour. It was all too thrilling.
    Her quarters were spacious, furnished by big solid pieces of oak that were islands in the expanse.
    The Vögte pointed out a few things without speaking: the four poster bed, the chest with linen and towels, and a water jug. He clapped his hands and a flurry of servants swept in and out depositing the luggage she’d last seen in the cabin of the Zeppelin. The view from her window didn’t include the Zeppelin and its moorings; instead, there were mountains, a tower on a projecting section of the castle itself, and below a compound with large stone buildings that belched smoke.
    “Mister Vögte, what’s that?”
    The Vögte came over: “They are factories, Your Highness. We are not so backward in this part of the world as people believe. The revolution in Britain has found its way to our little retreat. We have machines of all kinds in our Vulcan’s forge.”
    “Yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “And up there?”
    “That is the research tower.”
    “What’s there?”
    “It is forbidden. There are experiments.”
    “Experiments?”
    “Chemistry and gal–”
    “And the flying machine is there,” Charlotte interrupted, pointing in the direction she thought the airship was positioned.
    “We have many airships.”
    Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with delight.
    A clutch of maids arrived to unpack her luggage. For a moment Charlotte wondered what they were doing, but then she realised that this luggage was hers on loan. She took to indicating where she wanted items placed, but she was only guessing. Her own battered suitcase always went under the bed.
    “Hello,” she said to one.
    The maid looked away hiding her eyes. They all did, these identical maids, as if to look upon royalty would turn them to stone. Briefly, when the Vögte was engrossed in triple–checking the Princess’s belongings were unpacked correctly, one of the maids made eye contact. Suddenly, the woman gripped Charlotte’s hand and whispered, almost like a prayer: “Sie sind so mutig.”
    The moment passed as suddenly as it had arrived and soon everything was stored away. The maids stopped in a line, heads down and hands clasped in front of them.
    With an imperative ‘shoo’, the Vögte ejected the women and turned to Charlotte, bowing in an altogether ingratiating way.
    “I will leave you now, Your Royal Highness.”
    “Mister Vögte, what does ‘Zee zint zo mootig’ mean?”
    The man raised an eyebrow: “You are so brave.”
    “Thank you,” Charlotte said, pleased that she was a magnanimous ruler.
    Once she was alone, all that remained for to do was to whoop, throw herself backwards onto the immense bed and grin foolishly.
    She could go and have a little explore too, she thought. Except that a key turned in the lock. She ran over, banged on the thick oak and bent two hatpins beyond rescue in the lock before she admitted defeat, flopped down on the bed and went to