direct line have sat from then till this very hour. The results of this episode can be seen today if one were to walk through the picture galleries at Burlesdon. Among the fifty or so portraits of the last century and half, you would find five or six, including that of the sixth earl, distinguished by sharp noses and a quantity of dark red hair. These five or six also have blue eyes, whereas among the Rassendylls, dark eyes are the commoner. So now, the occasional appearance among the dark-haired Rassendylls of a red head such as mine brings to mind Countess Amelia’s indiscretion. Some might consider it Fate’s way of smirking at my cuckolded ancestor, but I see it as a romantic reminder of a refreshing episode in an otherwise crashingly dull family history. I fear that Lady Burlesdon does not share my view of it, however, which would account for her having neglected to introduce me to the charming countess and yourself. Actually, it would please her no end if I were to make my residence in Ireland or someplace equally far removed from her social circle.”
Drakov chuckled. “I see no reason why she should concern herself. Even the finest of bloodlines have less than noble tributaries, though that would hardly be the case in your situation. Your Countess Amelia might have done far worse than to dally with an Elphberg, and a prince, at that. So you and Rudolf the Fifth are cousins, then! How extraordinary! I take it that you are enroute to the coronation as a representative of the English branch of the family, so to speak?”
“Dear me, no!” said Rassendyll. “That would be highly indelicate of me, I should think. No, I have received no formal invitation and I go as a representative of no one save myself. In fact, if Robert knew that I were going he would not approve, and poor Rose would be absolutely beside herself with shock at my impropriety. Lady Burlesdon is very proper in all things, you see. She is determined to do something about me and her latest scheme is to saddle old Sir Jacob Borrodaile with my humble self as an attache. He’s to be posted to an embassy somewhere. Frankly, I haven’t the foggiest notion of what it is that an attache is supposed to do. If it isn’t very much, who knows? I may even find it to my liking.”
Both men laughed.
“So you see,” continued Rassendyll, “with the imminence of this attache business, it would appear that my days of leisure are numbered. Therefore, I decided upon a holiday to celebrate the final days of my indolence. Upon reading in The Times of the impending coronation in Ruritania, I became seized with a sudden desire to see how the other half lives. In order to spare my sister-in-law any anxiety, I put it about that I was off on a hunting trip to the Tyrol. Not a soul knows that I am on my way to Strelsau save yourself. It may sound a bit clandestine, but I merely intend to observe the proceedings from a quite respectful distance, do a little fishing and shooting in the countryside, and then depart for home and a life of depressing diplomatic drudgery.”
“I commend you on your discretion, Mr. Rassendyll,” said Drakov. He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a slender flask. “Some brandy for your coffee, perhaps?”
“The very thing!” said Rassendyll. He held out his cup and Drakov poured a small amount into the coffee, whereupon the flask trickled dry.
“Oh, dear,” said Rassendyll. “It appears that I have taken your last.”
“Think nothing of it,” Drakov said. “I have another bottle in my compartment. In fact, perhaps you’d care to join me there for brandy and a cigar or two?”
“A capital idea!” said Rassendyll. “I must say, this promises to be a most pleasant journey.”
They adjourned to Drakov’s compartment after a few moments, where they opened a bottle of Napoleon brandy. From an elegantly finished gentleman’s necessary case lined with plush red velvet, Drakov removed two small glass snifters and poured for them both. Then he offered Rassendyll a handsomely crafted cigar case with the name Alfred Dunhill, Ltd. engraved upon it. Rassendyll paused for a moment to admire it before selecting one of the excellent Havanas it contained, an exquisitely mild leaf in a maduro wrapper. Drakov handed him a tiny silver cutter with which to snip the end off. Before lighting it, Rassendyll removed the band.
“My father always used to say that one should never smoke a fine cigar with the band still on it, just as one would not make love to a beautiful woman without first removing all her clothing.”
“Most amusing,” Drakov said, turning his cigar slowly as he held a match to it.
Rassendyll shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a slight numbness in his lower region. “You know I really must compliment you, old chap,” he said. “You certainly travel with all of the most modern conveniences.”
Drakov smiled. “Interesting that you should say that. Since you appear to have an appreciation for such things, perhaps you will be intrigued by this.”
He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a small black case. At first, Rassendyll thought that it was covered with a finely grained black leather, then he realized that it was not a covering at all, but some sort of curious material that he could not identify. He noted that the case had extremely unusual-looking fastenings. He watched with interest as Drakov opened it, holding it upon his lap.
“You know, Rudolf, if I may call you that,” said Drakov, “I have a confession I must make to you. This meeting of ours was not entirely accidental.”
“Oh?” said Rassendyll, watching with growing fascination as Drakov removed a series of curiously shaped strips from the case. They were translucent and appeared to have very intricate workings within them. He had never seen anything quite like them before.
“I arranged this encounter,” Drakov said. “I also arranged to be present at your brother’s party, so that we might see each other. That way, when we ran into each other on this journey, I could more easily approach you in a familiar manner.”
“I say,” said Rassendyll, “this all sounds like quite the plot.” He frowned. There was a peculiar tingling sensation in his legs. Was it possible that so small an amount of brandy could be affecting him?
“But wait a moment. How could you possibly have known that I would be aboard this train? I only decided to take the journey several days ago!”
“As you say, it’s quite the plot,” said Drakov. “I wish I had the time to explain it to you fully. However, I fear that it would prove to be quite beyond your comprehension.”
Rassendyll looked puzzled. Was the man insulting him? “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” he said, uncertainly. The tingling sensation had now spread to his chest, and his legs felt numb. “By the way, what are those things?”
Drakov was bent over, connecting the strange-looking strips together in a circular pattern on the floor of the compartment. Though Rassendyll watched closely, he could not make out just how they were connected.
“They’re called border circuits,” Drakov said, finishing his task and straightening. “I’m afraid the term will not mean anything to you, but you should find their operation fascinating, just the same.”
He reached for the case once more, this time opening it so that Rassendyll could see inside it. What he saw baffled him completely. It looked like a device out of one of those fantastic novels by that imaginative Frenchman, Verne. Rassendyll had no idea what it was. It seemed quite complicated, what with controls of some sort, reflective surfaces upon which numerals appeared as if by magic and tiny, winking, glowing lights.
“See here, Drakov, what manner of contraption is that?”
“It’s called a chronoplate.”
“A chronoplate? What does it do?”
“It is a device for traveling through time.”
“For — ” Rassendyll looked astonished, then realized that the man was having him on. He laughed. “Traveling through time, eh? Jolly good! What say we voyage to tomorrow and see what the weather will be like, what? Come now, really, what does it actually-”
Rassendyll’s voice suddenly trailed off and he turned pale.
“Is something wrong?” said Drakov.
“I do believe I’m feeling a bit ill, old chap. Perhaps a little air — ” He attempted to stand, only to discover that he was unable to move from the waist down. “What the devil? I seem to have lost all feeling in my legs!”
“That’s because the poison is taking effect,” said Drakov.
“What did you say?”
“That brandy I poured into your coffee,” Drakov said, making some adjustments inside the case. “It was laced with an interesting concoction that would totally baffle your present-day chemists. By now, the numbness you’ve been feeling should be spreading very rapidly. In another few seconds, you will be completely paralyzed and dead moments after that.”
Rassendyll’s eyes grew very wide. “Dead! You cannot be serious!” He abruptly realized that he could not
