Prince Ulrik.'
She frowned. 'Well…'
'Of course, Admiral,' said Platzer. She rose and extended her hand to the princess. 'Come on, Kristina.' Seeing the girl's stubborn expression, Caroline added gently: 'It's a perfectly reasonable request on the admiral's part.'
Kristina was still looking stubborn.
'Now, Kristina.'
The girl pouted, but rose. After giving Ulrik a sharp glance-you'd better not try to keep any secrets from me!-she took Caroline's hand and followed her out of the room. Baldur came right behind them.
After the door closed, Simpson smiled. 'I have to say I am deeply impressed.'
Ulrik shook his head. The gesture was simultaneously admiring and rueful. 'No one else can do it. I certainly can't. Caroline's come to be something close to the mother Kristina never had. Well…more like a very respected governess crossed with a favorite aunt. We're quite fortunate to have found her.'
'Yes, I think you are.' Simpson leaned forward and picked up his cup. This time, he took a full drink from it.
'I need to know your intentions, Your Highness. Frankly, and in full. This is not a situation into which I can afford to steam blindly.'
Ulrik had been thinking quickly ever since Kristina blurted out the truth. More precisely, he'd been trying to discipline his will after figuring out what to do. That much had taken no more than ten seconds, since he really had no alternatives.
Unfortunately-or not; it could be argued either way-speaking frankly and in full came as unnaturally to a prince as dancing to a bear. Not…impossible, as it would have been for a fish. Just difficult to do, much less to do well.
Where to start?
'I'd like to avert a civil war, if possible.'
Simpson shook his head. 'So would I-but I think that time has passed.'
Yes, difficult to do well. Ulrik had exactly the same opinion as the admiral, so why had he wasted their time with pious platitudes?
'Well, yes, I agree. I should have said that I hope to limit the damages produced by the coming civil war.'
'Limit them, how? I'm sorry, Your Highness-'
'I think you'd better call me Ulrik,' the prince interrupted brusquely. Informality came no easier than speaking frankly or fully. But under these circumstances, he needed to adopt-accept, at least-another up-time custom.
Simpson paused, then nodded. 'Probably a good idea, given what we face. And please call me John.'
'Not 'John Chandler'?'
The admiral smiled-quite widely, this time. 'Not unless you're announcing me to a crowd of rich people whom my wife is planning to fleece for one of her charities. Or you're my mother about to give me a scolding.'
Ulrik laughed. So the fearsome admiral had a sense of humor? Who would have guessed? He'd sooner expected to see a dancing fish.
'To be honest, John, I'm feeling my way here. Operating by instinct, as I once heard an American say. If that's too vague for you, my apologies. But it's the simple truth.'
'I can accept that. I've done the same myself, at times. Still, you must have a sense of the parameters within which your instincts are operating.'
'Oh, yes. There are three such parameters, I think. The first is that Oxenstierna's goal, regardless of its intrinsic merits-I'm simply not interested in that issue any longer-is impossible. For good or ill, monarchical rule and aristocratic privilege is crumbling. 'Privilege,' at least, insofar as it pertains to wielding political influence.'
The admiral nodded. 'That's the critical issue. We still had plenty of noblemen in the world I came from, and a high percentage of them were still wealthy. But you were far more likely to find them gambling in the casinos in Monaco than playing for stakes on the fields of power. Go on.'
'The second parameter is military. Neither side has a clear advantage there. The provincial armies are fairly evenly matched. I think that of the SoTF is probably better than any of the others, even the highly-regarded forces of Hesse-Kassel. But the provinces that will naturally lean toward Oxenstierna and Wettin can place more soldiers on the field.'
'Agreed.'
'So it will come down to the Swedish mercenaries against whatever forces the democratic movement can muster.'
'You're overlooking the city and town militias,' said Simpson. 'They'll mostly side with Oxenstierna. Well, Wettin-they're no fans of the chancellor. But Wettin is giving the Swedes the needed cover.'
'That…depends a great deal on how the Fourth of July Party and the CoCs conduct themselves, John. If they're belligerent and provocative, then yes, certainly. By and large the town militias are instruments of the patricianate, who are even less fond of the CoCs than they are of the Swedes. But if Oxenstierna is seen as the aggressor, then I think you might be surprised at how many militias will choose to stand aside. There's a great deal of resentment toward the Swedes, although the dynasty itself is rather popular.'
'All right. What's the third parameter, as you see it?'
'Legitimacy. Here again, both sides are about equally matched. It might be more accurate to say, equally mismatched.'
The admiral grunted softly. 'Both bastards, you're saying? On one side, a bunch of scruffy lowborn radicals. On the other, a bunch of arrogant noblemen, at least some of whom are Swedish puppets.'
'Yes, precisely. That is the reason, of course, that if Gustav Adolf still had his wits about him, none of this would be happening. He does have legitimacy, and it's recognized by everyone. Not even the CoCs have ever challenged the dynasty; not openly, at any rate, however much they may mutter in their cups of an evening.'
Again, there was a pause. Simpson left off his scrutiny of the prince to look out one of the windows.
'She's only nine years old, Ulrik,' the admiral said softly.
'I understand that. But she's all the nation has left, John, unless the emperor recovers. And after two months, my hopes for that happening are fading.'
Simpson sighed. 'Yes, mine too. Strokes are things people usually recover from quickly or they never recover at all. I'm not as familiar with this sort of brain injury, but I think it's not too different.'
His eyes came back to Ulrik. 'Even if you go to Magdeburg-even if you proclaim Kristina the new empress from the steps of the royal palace-you won't be able to stop the war. There's too much momentum behind it now. Oxenstierna is too committed, for one thing. For another-I don't know if you've heard yet-Baner has reached Dresden and his troops have been committing atrocities since they entered Saxony. The city has closed its gates to him. Gretchen Richter is now ruling Dresden-and she's taken off all the gloves and stripped away whatever fig leaves she still had on. I don't know if this will mean anything to you, but she's calling the city's new governing council the Committee of Public Safety.'
Ulrik scowled. 'Does that woman always have to sow the earth with salt?'
'In this case, I have to say I think she's doing the right thing. Baner has made it crystal clear that he'll be following no rules except those of the blade. And Oxenstierna is obviously making no effort to restrain him. Under those circumstances, what do you expect Richter to do, Ulrik? Try to play nice? That would not only be pointless, it'd sap the morale of her own people. The way it is, she's matching an ax to the Swedish sword.' His lips twisted a little. 'Or a guillotine, soon enough.'
Ulrik pursed his lips, as if he'd bitten into a lemon. 'I suppose. But to get back to where we were, I don't expect to stop the civil war, John. As I said earlier, I hope to limit the damages. And there is only one way I can see to do that. With this civil war, at any rate.'
'How?'
'End it as quickly as possible, by helping one or the other side to win. But do so in a way that precludes- limits, at least-any wreaking of vengeance in the aftermath.'
Slowly, Simpson picked up his cup again and drained it. Just as slowly, he set it down. 'You're a nobleman,
