“Oh, certainly. But it would have to be something very dramatic—even more so once you arrive in Magdeburg.”
“Like what?”
Ulrik didn’t have to think about it. He lay awake at nights worrying—about all things, and he a prince!—that the continent’s most notorious agitator would fail of her purpose.
“Dresden. He has to take Dresden, Kristina. Has to, now—and soon. Dresden has become the symbol of his weakness. Every day that Dresden defies him, he loses legitimacy.”
The girl’s expression got very intent. Eager. “Maybe we should—”
“No! We are not going to Dresden.”
“But it’d be fun!”
Magdeburg, capital of the United States of Europe
There was never any question, Rebecca knew, where they would stay once they got here. It would have to be the royal palace. To stay anywhere else would work at cross-purposes.
That was a pity, in some ways. The palace was still not finished, for one thing. But enough of it was to serve the purpose. An entire wing already had plumbing and electricity. The bigger problem was security. The palace, as you’d expect of a structure designed for Gustav II Adolf, was immense. It had always been assumed, of course, that plenty of troops would be available to guard it. Most likely, given the Swedish king’s nature, different units would be rotated through the assignment. An army base was being constructed very near the palace that would be large enough to accommodate up to an entire battalion, although it would be crowded.
Usually they’d be units from the USE army, but Rebecca was fairly sure that Gustav Adolf had planned to occasionally rotate Swedish and even Danish units into the prestigious assignment.
But none of that could be done now. There were no USE soldiers left in the city, beyond a skeleton cadre at the large training base outside the city. Using Swedish troops was out of the question, of course. Using Danish troops…might be possible, but it would be political unwise.
Rebecca looked around at the very large foyer of her house. It was really too bad they couldn’t just move Ulrik and Kristina here. This townhouse had been designed with security in mind. For all practical purposes, it was a small fortress. And she already had a superb security staff in place, the clan of former Yeoman Warders whom her husband had brought back from England.
But that would be just as politically unwise as using Danish troops for security. Two things were critical, above all.
First, everything possible had to be done to enforce the legitimacy of the pair of royals. That was the whole reason, of course, they couldn’t just smuggle Kristina and Ulrik into the city. As a technical exercise, that would be extremely easy to do and almost entirely risk-free. But legitimate heirs do not skulk about. Their arrival into the capital—their capital—had to be public. Indeed, it had to be turned into a public spectacle.
Second, they had to appear as impartial as possible. In one sense, of course, the mere fact of their coming here would throw impartiality to the winds. They were choosing sides, quite obviously. But choosing sides was one side; favoring factions, something else entirely.
By coming here, Kristina and Ulrik would place their stamp of legitimacy on the existing capital. They would be thumbing their nose at Oxenstierna’s bastard capital in Berlin—and, by implication at least, everything Oxenstierna had done.
But it was still essential that they be seen by most citizens as not being the tools of the Committees of Correspondence. In the end, this peculiar civil war—this half-civil-war, as she often thought of it—would be won because large numbers of the people who voted for the Crown Loyalists in the election would withdraw their support. Some of them would then be willing to give their support to the Fourth of July Party.
Not all. Not even most, in her estimation. But they would be willing to give their support to the dynasty, which would appear to them to be the only thing stable that still remained. Their willingness to do so, however, would depend on the dynasty not looking as if it were anybody’s puppet.
Which meant—once again she was back to squaring the circle—they couldn’t be too closely associated with the Fourth of July Party, much less the Committees of Correspondence.
Who, unfortunately, were the only people in Magdeburg who could provide reliable security for Ulrik and Kristina. Certainly if they moved into that huge palace.
Her daughter Sepharad came charging in, followed by her brother Baruch. “Mommy, Barry and I want to go to the navy yards!”
Rebecca frowned. “Why? The big ironclads are all gone. There’s really not much to see there anymore.”
“Not true,” pronounced Baruch. Despite just having celebrated his third birthday, he spoke with the same surety—so she hoped, at any rate—with which he would someday speak on the most profound questions of metaphysics and ethics. “The Marines change the guard every day at noon. It’s not noon yet.”