The Baltic War(293)

"Please. I flew a tanker. Big, big difference—and never mind what any stupid fighter pilot jock says."



He looked around and, seeing no alternative, sat in another chair that was every bit as absurd. "Where did they get these damn things, anyway? Every time I sit in one of them I expect a museum guard to start shouting at me."



Frank's cheerful grin seemed fixed in place. "Frederiksborg Palace, where else? You know how much King Christian loves this airfield. I think Gustav Adolf's offer to build it for him right away is what really turned the tide and finally reconciled him to the union       of Kalmar. Well, between that and agreeing to betroth Princess Kristina to Prince Ulrik. You're in the air most of the time, so you probably aren't aware of it, but Christian comes out here bright and early at least every third morning, all the way from the palace in Copenhagen. How he manages that, with the hangovers he must have, is a mystery to me. Hollow leg is one thing. That guy's got a quasi-dimensional leg, from what I can tell."



Frank half-rose from the chair, supporting himself with his left hand on one of the armrests, and pointed out the window with the other. More precisely, out of the three panes in the huge window that weren't stained glass. Like the chairs, the window was a preposterous thing to have in such a ramshackle and hastily constructed edifice.



"I hate to be the one to break the news to you, Jesse, but they've already started breaking the ground out there. Just past the perimeter fence."



"Breaking the ground? For what?"



"What do you think? Christian's new palace. He says it'll be a small one, though. A 'flying cottage,' he calls it."



Jesse rolled his eyes. "God help us. I've already had to give him four joyrides."



"Piker. He's pretty well adopted Woody. Who's given him at least a dozen joyrides—and is now trying to figure out how to fend off the increasingly royal insistence that we teach Christian how to fly."



Jesse didn't roll his eyes, this time. He closed them tightly shut, the way a man does when he's feeling intense pain. "God help us, again."



"He's pretty well coordinated, actually."



"Yeah, I know. So what? He's also half-drunk most of the time."



By the time he reopened his eyes, Frank was back to lounging in his chair. "But you never answered my question. Why are you here, Frank? Puh-leese don't tell me you want a joyride, too. I just got finished having to listen to a seven-year-old girl squealing with delight for hours."



Frank chuckled. "Yeah, I saw. What a mob, huh?"



He was referring to the huge crowd that had been at the airfield to greet Princess Kristina and her two companions when they landed. The emperor himself had been at the center of it, along with King Christian, surrounded by umpteen officials, officers and courtiers. Prince Ulrik had been there also, of course, to greet his new seven-year-old fiancée. Or rather, fiancée to be, since the betrothal wouldn't be official until the formal ceremony in a few days. But, by now, the news had even spread through most of the United States of Europe, much less Denmark. There'd been an even bigger crowd at the airfield in Magdeburg to cheer the princess on her way—although that one had mostly been made up of commoners.



Lady Ulrike and Caroline Platzer had spent the entire flight from Magdeburg in absolute silence, clutching anything available to clutch with knuckle-whitening intensity. Lady Ulrike had been terrified because it was the first time she'd ever flown. Caroline Platzer had been even more terrified because she'd flown many times—and therefore knew perfectly well how far removed Jesse's Gustav was from anything an up-time commercial airline company would have allowed to even taxi onto a landing strip. They wouldn't have trusted the damn thing to tow luggage carts to the ramps, for that matter.



Kristina had just been ecstatic. It was her first time flying, too, and so what? Fifteen minutes after they got into the air, she'd started pestering Jesse to teach her how to fly.



The odd thing was, he might very well wind up doing so. When the girl got bigger, of course. But in her case, the thought only caused him to wince a bit. The truth was—all you had to do was watch her on a horse—Kristina had the physical skills to do it. God knows, she had the attitude. The biggest problem would be to keep her from trying fancy acrobatics and dive-bombing routines the first time she went up behind the controls.



"To answer your question," said Frank, "I'm here on a private mission from our beloved prime minister. Things are still kinda dicey for Eddie Cantrell, and Mike wants to know if—in a real pinch—you could be ready to fly the scapegrace out of here on a moment's notice. 'Moment's notice' as in, just before the headsman's axe comes down. That's assuming Mike can figure out a way to get him out of the palace, but he's pretty sure he can manage that. Seeing as he sent for the experts. It's being kept very quiet, of course, but Harry Lefferts and his crew got here two days ago on a ship they swindled somebody out of. Mike's prepared to go to the mat on this one, if he really has no choice."