Kristina turned the wide eyes onto Ulrik. Her hand had never left his grip. "Would Uncle Axel really cut me up?"
Ulrik shook his head. "No. Oxenstierna has been your father's friend and close adviser for many years. He wouldn't harm your father or you, of that I am quite sure." He paused a moment. "Not himself. But succession crises have a dynamic of their own. They're like wild horses. Set them loose—which is exactly what I fear Oxenstierna is doing—and you're likely to get trampled."
He gave the girl's hands a reassuring little squeeze. "So, no. I don't think Uncle Axel means you any harm. But he does believe—with great certainty—that he knows what is best for you. And for your incapacitated father. And for Sweden. And for the Germanies." His jaws tightened. "And probably for Denmark, when it comes to it. Which it will."
Kristina made a valiant last stand. She'd been told many times—including by Ulrik—that she needed to think for herself and especially to consider all sides of a question instead of just jumping onto the conclusion that pleased her the most. Caroline could get downright tedious on the subject.
"But what about Papa? I really would like to be with him. And Uncle Axel says that maybe just by being there I might help Papa get back his wits."
Ulrik's jaws got tighter still. He'd just bent over backward not to blacken Oxenstierna's name. In fact, he had come to a much darker assessment of the man. Oxenstierna might not wish any harm on Gustav Adolf and his only child. But Ulrik was now certain that the man wouldn't let their well-being restrain him, either, if the situation came to what he considered a critical juncture.
"And he may be right, Kristina," he said. "But I would like the answer to a different question. Several questions, actually."
Ulrik nodded toward the table. The Leubecker Zeitung was only the latest newspaper and journal and broadsheet stacked on it. The pile was so big it threatened to spill off entirely. If it did, it would cover a good portion of the floor.
"I have been following the news closely, Kristina, as you know. Why did the chancellor of Sweden send away the American Moor Nichols? Everyone knows he's the best doctor in the world. So why is he no longer at your father's bedside in Berlin?"
Kristina looked uncertain. "I . . . I don't know, Ulrik. But maybe Uncle Axel has a reason."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure he does. In fact, I'm sure I know what he would say to me right now if he were in this room and I asked him the question directly. He'd say that he sent Dr. Nichols away because the doctor himself said there was not much more he could do, now that he'd saved the king from the infection in his body. And so—being as he is such an important physician—it would really be best if he returned to Magdeburg, since everyone knows Magdeburg is becoming the great center of medicine in the Germanies. It might even have surpassed Grantville and Jena, by now."
"Well . . . doesn't that makes sense? It sounds like it does."
"In and of itself, yes. But it simply raises the next question, which is—"
Caroline interrupted. There was real anger in her voice.
"Which is why the hell didn't James Nichols take your father back to Magdeburg with him? So what if there's not much more that can be done for him? ‘Not much' isn't the same thing as ‘nothing,' and whatever can be done for your daddy can be done a lot better in Magdeburg than it can in Berlin."
So. Platzer had come to the same dark conclusion as Ulrik had. Axel Oxenstierna would not kill his own king. But he was willing to risk letting him die, wasn't he?
Still, Kristina soldiered on. Ulrik was very proud of her.
"But . . . maybe the travel would be too hard on Papa."
Ulrik shook his head. "I'm sure that's what the chancellor would say. But it's simply not true."
Baldur finally gave up the softball act. "To put it mildly!" he said, in a caustic tone. It sounded so much more like him, too, it really did.
He'd been leaning against a nearby wall. Now, he levered himself away from it with a little heave of his shoulders and took two steps toward Kristina. "They hauled your father in a horse-litter across western Poland and Brandenburg—which is to say, along cow trails—for five and a half days, didn't they? And he survived, didn't he? Don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise, girl. King or not, emperor or not, your Papa is as tough as men come."
Kristina looked pleased, as well she might. Baldur Norddahl passed out praise the way a miser passes out coins to the needy.
The Norwegian shook his head. "It's all crap. You've ridden in a plane."
"Yes, it's wonderful!"
Baldur smiled. "Probably not so wonderful if you're badly injured. Still, if the pilot is being careful, the ride won't be any rougher than a trip in a horse-litter."