The Eastern Front(95)

Norddahl was always fascinated by up-time concepts, even if he thought many of them were nonsense. "What exactly is it?" he asked. "This borderline personality disorder, I mean."

Caroline grimaced. "Well, that's the problem. It's a pretty vague diagnosis. Maureen doesn't like it much because she thinks it's so sloppy it gets applied too often. But the gist of it is that someone with BPD suffers from instability of moods, unstable personal relationships—chaotic relationships, even—and what we call ‘black and white thinking.' The technical term is ‘idealization and devaluation.' You're either a good daughter or a bad daughter, there's nothing in between—and your status can flip from one to the other at the drop of a hat."

She gave Ulrik the gleaming smile. "Or a good future son-in-law or a bad one, with nothing in between."

Ulrik snorted. "I've seen that change in mid-sentence."

"That's how it works. People with BPD also tend to have an unstable self-image. In extreme cases, that can even lead to dissociation. That means—"

"She turns into a witch," interjected Baldur. "Just as I said."

Kristina came into the suite just in time to hear the last exchange. She looked quite upset. "Do you think I'll turn into a witch too, when I grow up?"

Caroline put her arm around Kristina's shoulders and gave the girl a little hug. "Of course not. And why are you listening to the diagnosis of a social throwback, anyway? If Baldur Norddahl had ever taken an MMPI or Rorschach test up-time, they'd have put him in a straightjacket right away."

Baldur was intrigued. "What is MMPI and who is Rorschach?"

"MMPI stands for Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. It was one of the most commonly use personality tests up-time by mental health professionals. The Rorschach test was developed—"

"If I took that MMPI, would I pass it?" asked the princess, still agitated.

"Ah . . . Kristina, it's not the sort of test you pass or fail."

"That's just silly," the girl pronounced, as if she were royalty. Which, of course, she was. She drew herself up like a future empress. Which, of course, she was.

"You must develop a new one of these tests," she commanded. "Where you either pass or fail."

Caroline stared at her.

Ulrik laughed. "You'd have done better to leave it at ‘witch,' " he said.


Vaxholm Island, in the Stockholm Archipelago

Rather than hire one of the island's local fishermen to ferry them, as they usually did, Mademann and his associates appropriated Bleecker's boat. It was just big enough to get them all to the capital in one trip.

There was no reason not to take the boat. Geerd Bleecker was no longer in a position to complain. Neither was his shrew of a wife.

Eventually, their bodies would be found, but not soon. Most likely, they'd be uncovered in the course of an investigation launched by the local authorities, rather than because their neighbors spotted anything amiss. The tavern's well-built root cellar would slow the decomposition quite nicely.

Everything was going according to plan—except the weather. The skies had grown darker even as the morning advanced. By mid-day it would probably be raining.

That could be a real problem, if their targets appeared.

The Huguenot zealots had managed over time to acquire a few up-time firearms on the black market. Brillard had used one of them to assassinate Dreeson, but he'd been forced to leave the rifle behind. Of the ones that remained, unfortunately, Ducos had insisted on keeping them in Edinburgh. So all they had in their possession here in Stockholm were down-time guns.

Very good ones, true. Mademann had managed to obtain a Cardinal breech-loading rifle for Mathurin Brillard, their best marksman. He'd gotten percussion cap pistols for himself and Gui Ancelin, which shouldn't be affected too badly by the rain. But they were single-shot weapons and muzzle-loaders. Reloading them would take some time.

The others were all armed with double-barreled flintlock pistols. The weapons were better than wheel-locks, but they were also susceptible to misfiring in wet weather. It was possible to keep a flintlock's firing pan covered from rain, so they should be able to count on firing the two shots already loaded. But if they needed more shots than that, they'd be in a very difficult position. Reloading a flintlock in the rain was impossible unless you could find shelter, and who wanted to be worried about that in the middle of a firefight?

That assumed they'd have any chance at carrying out their mission at all, of course. Or even part of it. By now, the plotters had reconciled themselves to killing any one of the appointed targets if the opportunity arose. Ducos had insisted on all three royals being assassinated but Ducos was in Edinburgh. They'd do what they could.