The Prince Commands: Being Sundry Adventures of Michael Karl, Sometime Crown Prince & Pretender to the Thrown of Morvania by Andre Norton Page B
Authors: Andre Norton
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they're too loyal. Morvania hasn't changed since the Middle Ages. They're loyal to death and beyond for some worthless cub—”
“Like the Crown Prince,” murmured Michael Karl.
“Just so. He probably doesn't care a thing about them. All he wants is the throne and what he can get out of it. The Karloffs are noted for looking out for themselves first. What does he care about Morvania?”
“Maybe,” began Michael Karl hesitatingly, “maybe he never wanted to rule, maybe he wants to be free to live his own life.”
Ericson looked at Michael Karl somewhat sternly. “No one of Royal blood,” he answered slowly, “is ever free. He has a certain duty, he is a soldier always on active service. If this Crown Prince was true to the service he would come here and clean out the whole mess of idlers and worse who have been living off the people and ruining the country. He would be king in fact as well as in name. There is a big job before him, but it is more than certain that he will shirk it.”
“But,” Michael Karl almost wailed, “he doesn't want to rule. He never wanted to come to Morvania; they practically dragged him here.”
“I said,” repeated the American, “that he wasn't big enough for the job. He's selfish like all of his line.”
Michael Karl thought furiously. Was he selfish? Was it his duty to rule the country? Would he be a deserter if he slipped out of Morvania on a forged passport and left the country to the General, the Count, and their following? He had never looked at that side of it before.
Ericson was talking of something else, “He has something more to do, this Crown Prince. His cousin, the rightful heir, died in the mountains—how?”
“Black Stefan,” answered Michael Karl promptly, at least he was sure of that. But the American shook his head.
“Why do you suppose I came into the mountains?” he asked and then answered his own question swiftly. “Because I heard a very queer story about Prince Urlich Karl. I don't know whether you know the laws of Morvania or not, but this is what happened. When a King dies suddenly and the heir does not claim the throne within seven days, the control of the government passes to the Council of Nobles for one year. At the end of that time the heir must claim the throne or another heir be found.”
“Why didn't Urlich Karl claim the throne?”
“He was—prevented!”
“How?”
“By certain of the Nobles. He was on an hunting trip when his grandfather, the old king, was killed. The news reached him and he started back for Rein. On the way he disappeared, and the Council of Nobles got control.”
“But what happened?” demanded Michael Karl.
The American answered him with one word, “Murder!”
“Black Stefan—” began Michael Karl; he was still bewildered.
“Black Stefan had nothing to do with it,” answered the American almost savagely, “in fact—” but he did not finish his sentence.
“The Council—” ventured Michael Karl somewhat timidly.
“The Council.” And the American's tone was grim.
“You see,” he explained after a moment, “I knew Urlich Karl.”
They drove on in silence. Michael Karl was frowning into the reflecting windshield; somehow it was no longer so easy to think of leaving the Cross and slipping away to America. Urlich Karl must have been rather the right sort, for suddenly Michael Karl knew that this new friend of his would like only the right sort. And when Frank Ericson talked of Urlich Karl, he made a person want to go out and shoot the General and the Count and the rest of the Council.
The road was climbing again, and they left the level farmlands behind them. As Ericson had said, the poor paving of the early miles had disappeared and they were making good time on smooth concrete.
“Rein is over the mountain,” remarked Ericson as the roadster started the steady pull.
“And here,” he said a moment later, “is where we stop for passport inspection. Now remember you're a dumb
“Like the Crown Prince,” murmured Michael Karl.
“Just so. He probably doesn't care a thing about them. All he wants is the throne and what he can get out of it. The Karloffs are noted for looking out for themselves first. What does he care about Morvania?”
“Maybe,” began Michael Karl hesitatingly, “maybe he never wanted to rule, maybe he wants to be free to live his own life.”
Ericson looked at Michael Karl somewhat sternly. “No one of Royal blood,” he answered slowly, “is ever free. He has a certain duty, he is a soldier always on active service. If this Crown Prince was true to the service he would come here and clean out the whole mess of idlers and worse who have been living off the people and ruining the country. He would be king in fact as well as in name. There is a big job before him, but it is more than certain that he will shirk it.”
“But,” Michael Karl almost wailed, “he doesn't want to rule. He never wanted to come to Morvania; they practically dragged him here.”
“I said,” repeated the American, “that he wasn't big enough for the job. He's selfish like all of his line.”
Michael Karl thought furiously. Was he selfish? Was it his duty to rule the country? Would he be a deserter if he slipped out of Morvania on a forged passport and left the country to the General, the Count, and their following? He had never looked at that side of it before.
Ericson was talking of something else, “He has something more to do, this Crown Prince. His cousin, the rightful heir, died in the mountains—how?”
“Black Stefan,” answered Michael Karl promptly, at least he was sure of that. But the American shook his head.
“Why do you suppose I came into the mountains?” he asked and then answered his own question swiftly. “Because I heard a very queer story about Prince Urlich Karl. I don't know whether you know the laws of Morvania or not, but this is what happened. When a King dies suddenly and the heir does not claim the throne within seven days, the control of the government passes to the Council of Nobles for one year. At the end of that time the heir must claim the throne or another heir be found.”
“Why didn't Urlich Karl claim the throne?”
“He was—prevented!”
“How?”
“By certain of the Nobles. He was on an hunting trip when his grandfather, the old king, was killed. The news reached him and he started back for Rein. On the way he disappeared, and the Council of Nobles got control.”
“But what happened?” demanded Michael Karl.
The American answered him with one word, “Murder!”
“Black Stefan—” began Michael Karl; he was still bewildered.
“Black Stefan had nothing to do with it,” answered the American almost savagely, “in fact—” but he did not finish his sentence.
“The Council—” ventured Michael Karl somewhat timidly.
“The Council.” And the American's tone was grim.
“You see,” he explained after a moment, “I knew Urlich Karl.”
They drove on in silence. Michael Karl was frowning into the reflecting windshield; somehow it was no longer so easy to think of leaving the Cross and slipping away to America. Urlich Karl must have been rather the right sort, for suddenly Michael Karl knew that this new friend of his would like only the right sort. And when Frank Ericson talked of Urlich Karl, he made a person want to go out and shoot the General and the Count and the rest of the Council.
The road was climbing again, and they left the level farmlands behind them. As Ericson had said, the poor paving of the early miles had disappeared and they were making good time on smooth concrete.
“Rein is over the mountain,” remarked Ericson as the roadster started the steady pull.
“And here,” he said a moment later, “is where we stop for passport inspection. Now remember you're a dumb
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