Flashman And The Tiger

"As I was saying," says Kralta calmly to me, "I was the lure to attract you. As you know, I used the unsuspecting Blowitz to bring us together. He was most obliging, hinting slyly that if I still wished to know how the Berlin Treaty was obtained, you could he persuaded to tell me. Naturally, I did not tell him that we already knew that little secret, but pretended delight, and urged him to lose no time in bringing you to Paris. You may resent the deception we … I have practised, but I cannot regret it." The horse face was proudly serene, but with the little smile at the corner of her mouth. "For several reasons. When you have heard what Prince Bismarck proposes, you will understand one of them." She made a languid gesture to Starnberg to continue.

"Well, thank’ee, ma’am," says he sardonically, and filled my glass. "But before we come to that, we have a few questions, and ’twill save time if you answer without troublin' why we ask ’em. You’ll learn, never fear. How friendly are you with the Emperor of Austria?"

"Franz-Josef? Hardly friendly … I’ve met him—"

"Yes, on his yacht off Corfu in 1868, on your return from Mexico, where you had led the unsuccessful attempt to rescue his brother Maximilian from a Juarista firin' squad. A gallant failure which earned you the imperial gratitude, as well as the Order of Maria Theresa, presented to you …" he cocked a quizzy eyebrow "… by the Empress Elisabeth, and ain’t she a peach, though? I’d call that friendly."

They’d done their lessons, up to a point. The "gallant failure" had been the biggest botch since the Kabul Retreat, thanks to the idiot Maximilian, who was damned if he’d be rescued, so there, and I’d come off by the skin of my chattering teeth and the good offices of that gorgeous little fire-eater, Princess Aggie Salm-Salm, and Jesus Montero’s gang of unwashed bandits who were on hand only because Jesus thought I knew where Montezuma’s treasure was cached, more fool he. Another fragrant leaf from my diary, that was, and my only regret for Emperor Max was that he’d been a fairish cricketer for a novice, and might have made a half-decent batter, if he’d lived.' But it was true enough that Franz-Josef had been uncommon civil, for an emperor, and the beautiful Sissi (Empress Elisabeth to you) had given me the glad eye as she’d handed over the white cross. Can’t think what became of it; in a drawer somewhere, I expect.

Kralta asked: "Did the Emperor Franz-Josef shake hands with you?"

A deuced odd question, and I had to think. "I believe he did , , , yes, he did, coming and going."

"Then he’s certainly friendly," says Starnberg, "He only takes the paw of close relatives and tremendous swells, usually. That was the only time you met him … would he be pleased to see you again, d’you think? You know, hospitably inclined, stop over for a weekend, that kind of thing?"

"How the devil should I know? What on earth has this to do -?" "Bismarck is sure he would be. Not that he’s asked—but your name has been mentioned to the Emperor lately, and he spoke of you most warmly. Gratifyin', what—from such a cold fish?"

"And the Empress?" This was Kralta. "Was she well disposed towards you?"

"She was very … gracious. Charming. See here, this is—" "Did you admire her?"

"Of course he did!" laughs Willem. "Who doesn’t? Half Europe’s in love with the beautiful Sissi!"

"You met her again, later," says Kralta. "In England." "I hunted with her, once or twice, yes."

"Hunted, eh?" Willem’s tongue was in his cheek. "Was that the only … exercise you took with her?"

"Yes, damn your eyes! And if that’s where you’ve been leading with your infernal questions—"

"It had to be asked," says Kralta sharply. She stared down her nose. "Then there are no grounds at all for the Emperor to feel … jealousy towards you? Where his wife is concerned?"

"Or to put it tactfully," says Willem, "if you happened along, Franz-Josef wouldn’t bar the door on you just because little Sissi was on the premises?" He gave the snorting little chuckle which I was beginning to detest. "Ve-ry good! D’ye know what, Kralta? Bismarck was right. `Flashman is the man' … I say, Munich already! How time flies in jolly company!" He stood up and consulted his watch. "We stop only five minutes … but you won’t do anythin' rash, Harry, will you? A German gaol wouldn’t suit, you know."

He needn’t have fretted. One thought alone was in my mind as we waited, looking out on the orderly bustle of Munich station: the Austrian frontier lay a bare sixty miles off, we’d cross it in two hours, and if (a large if, granted) I could give ’em the slip I’d be beyond the reach of Bavarian law in a country at loggerheads with Germany and as likely to oblige Bismarck by returning a fugitive as I was to take holy orders.