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Záhorie

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Vilby, Tingsted

The Vilby District of Tingsted was a bit more rough than the old homes featured in books and the thoughts of many. Far away from the palace and even further away from the wealthy district of Bisbakken, the little tavern was beginning to fill with workers on their way home who were stopping for a quick schnapps or lager. Hans Plessen ducked his head as he approached the tavern. He raised his head briefly, noting that the tavern did not even have a name. Dressed in a fine gray suit, Plessen certainly stood out. Most of the men were dirty in their work attire or the lowest functionaries wore ratty suits. Scanning the room, Plessen noted that indeed several eyes had turned to examine him before returning to their drinks and conversation. The smell for Plessen would be intolerable if not for the copious amount of pipe smoke. The smell of sweat and what he assumed was piss caught in his nostrils, barely perceptible through the sweet tobacco scent. He fixed his eyes on a booth near the back and slowly made his way. Ludvig and Hector were already seating, lager beers sitting on the table. As he sat, Hector quietly pushed a beer across the table and met Plessen's eyes. "Were you followed?" he asked, coldly. Plessen shook his head. Ludvig interjected. "A fucking Rigsdahler. For 3 beers. That scum barkeep knows we have money" he said, shrugging. Plessen sat back and grinned. Of course they were standing out. He was against meeting here from the start. "Last month I mentioned reorganizing the nobles to take action" he began. Hector nodded. "You said you have an idea. Let us here it" said Ludvig. Plessen carefully examined the two young men. Nobles like himself, neither was above the age of 35.

"King Erik's days are ending. My sources in the palace have confirmed he has left to one of the Royal Estates" said Plessen quietly. Ludvig and Hector looked at each other briefly as if to communicate mutual interest in the news. Plessen took a deep breath and looked down to collect his thoughts. He eyed the sawdust covered floor passively, his brow furling. "There are many nobles already behind what I propose. The nobility of Dyfolt and even the Lahti nobles are behind what I will tell you. The fact is that you two are the biggest landowners in Bollend. Without you, I cannot convince the Sunnlend nobles to join our cause" Plessen said, sipping his beer. "Our ancestors going back to the great warrior-trader Jutes built this Kingdom with their blood, sweat, and tears. We are being robbed. The legacy of our households is being robbed. The King has gone too far and that Statsgilde is nothing but a blood-sucking tax machine built to allow those social anarchists to walk in and take Jutegn" Plessen said, stabbing his finger into the table. Ludvig took a long swig of beer before turning more to directly address Plessen. "Blood sucking is right. Our rights are stripped. I cannot even afford to tax my tenants what I should be to cover the tax increase. We had to sell the hunting lodge!" Ludvig said, his voice full of indignation. "I was to buy one of those new automobiles this year. Now, it will be next year or the year after. All of my family's work is being pulled down by that senile fool" he said, his voice growing louder.

Plessen held up his hand. "Not so loud my dear friend, these places have eyes and ears. Even in Vilby. If you want to restore our God given rights, meet me here in one weeks time" he began, pausing to gulp at the beer. "If not, your gentlemanly discretion is most appreciated" said Plessen. Abruptly, he stood and gave a curt bow of his head before turning and walking out the door. Ludvig and Hector looked at each other and shrugged. Change was coming.
 

Záhorie

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Gunderup Castle, Gunderup

"His condition is definitely not improving" said the senior doctor, Lars Skeel. The other doctors nodded in agreement as some turned to look down the corridor and through the open door where the King was laying in a single bed, with shallow breathing. A sigh from the doctors was collective as the King jerked involuntarily several times before subsiding. "Shall we tell him?" asked Skeel, puffing his cheeks. The doctors muttered and slowly they began to nod again. "Very well. Dr. Ingmann will stay with the King" said Skeel. His old and weathered face was dominated by a bulbous but snub nose and a pair of oversize glasses. The face turned slowly to the young doctor. Ingmann looked around in alarm. He was only a new general practitioner. "You will be fine" said Skeel. "Nothing will happen. If it does, do your best and we will come immediately. A footman will be just inside the door. Just sit with him until we return" said Skeel in a reassuring tone.

The dark wood of the halls and the cobblestone floor of the main corridor echoed heavily as the group of doctors made their way to the library. As they walked, staff and maids scurried out of the way. Skeel glanced at the portraits that lined the wall as he walked. For a hundred years the Royal Family had visited this remote village in order to enjoy some peace. Skeel wondered how many doctors had walked same hall with terrible news.

The Crown Prince was leaning against a bookcase and glanced up from the book as the team entered. His dark hair and mustache contrasted heavily with his pale appearance. Tall and in his 30's, the Crown Prince looked rather plain in his dark gray suit. Skeel suspected that it was a very expensive suit but he decided the appearance was that of a suit a professor or engineer might have. The doctors bowed their heads slightly. "Well?" asked the Crown Prince, his eyes narrowing in the most classic of aristocratic manners. Skeel took a step forward. "Your Highness, his Majesty will not survive the month" he said, attempting to sound as calm and professional as possible. The Crown Prince slowly closed the book and took exceedingly good care to replace it properly. Without turning from the bookcase, he asked "how long?". Skeel could hear the strain and anguish in the voice that might otherwise sound rather pleasant or simply inquisitive.The doctor shrugged. "1 week. 2 weeks. Maybe 3....maybe" said Skeel.
 

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Gunderup Castle

The mood in Gunderup was solemn. The King's breathing was labored and there was a thicket of disbelief among the staff and visitors. In theirs eyes shown the heaviness of the moment. Their gazes were downcast and their speech muzzled. Hans Plessen's eyes darted as he fought to control his breathing. 'What was going on' he wondered. The newspapers had all announced that the King was recovering and yet the castle seemed like it was shouldering a thousand Jute ships. He sucked on his teeth quietly. "Something isn't right" he said, turning to Ludvig. Ludvig's stare was fixed and he looked like he had just lost 50 Rigsdahler in his mistress's bedroom. Plessen elbowed him lightly. "Stop. Acting. Like. A fool" he said to Ludvig, through gritted teeth. Ludvig shook his head and gave a curt nod. They had been waiting for 2 hours under the pretense to pay their respect to the King and wish him well. So far, nobody had acknowledged them since they were shown to the billiard room.

The room was indeed grandiose but it was clear it had not been used in ages. A thick dust blanket covered the surfaces and the decanters of spirits were draped in cobwebs. Plessen curled his lip looking at the filth. So far, staff had darted in and out as a main corridor ran along one side of the room. Ludvig's head suddenly snapped and followed a figure as the Crown Prince hurried by. Ludvig and Plessen looked at each other, their brows furled. Something was indeed happening. And as if at once, they both understood. The King was either dead or dying. "If he is dead, we must speak to the Prince the second he is alone. We must tell him we wish to speak to him privately" said Plessen. Ludvig nodded slowly. "We may wait long to get our chance" said Ludvig, standing to grab a dusty ashtray which he cradled in his hand as he smoked a cheap cigar. Within minutes, a housekeeper appeared and stared at Ludvig. Without a word she strode up, grabbed the cigar and ashtray and retreated out of the room. Ludvig chuffed. "These court types are diluted" he said; Plessen nodding in agreement. Another hour passed before an Underhusmester appeared. "His Majesty has passed" said the elderly house master. Plessen noted the age and wear of the old man's green-gray uniform. It hung from his body. Clearly he had worked for the Court for decades. The man's expression was empty but Plessen detected a sadness behind the eyes. "May we pay our respects?" Plessen asked. "I must ask the Prince, sir. Please, wait here" the man said in a shaky but calm voice.

Within minutes, the man returned. "The Crown Prince thanks you and says that you may enter the King's chamber for no longer than a moment. Follow me" said the Underhusmester. Slowly, the two conspirators followed the shuffling house master.
 

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Prince Henrik's hands slowly went up as Plessen crossed the room, pistol raised. Henrik's eyes slowly shifted from Plessen to Ludvig who looked terrified. His eyes returned to Plessen. He exhaled slowly as he saw the telltale signs of fatigue around the assailant's eyes. The door had been shut only moments before Plessen crossed the room. The beige plastered walls did nothing to brighten a room lit by a single oil lamp and a dingy window. Plessen had glanced at the body King Erik- frail. Open mouthed. One eye still open. Plessen remained wooden faced as he turned to the would-be King, Henrik. The pistol rose without a word being uttered. There was no going back.

"Sit" the noble said, his nostrils flaring as adrenaline racked his body. The outstretched hand pointed with the pistol to a tufted armchair in the corner of the room. "Make a sound and you will pay for it" Plessen stammered. Henrik turned his eyes to the seat and shook his head. "I will stand" he said flatly. "SIT" said Plessen; not yelling but with definite firmness. Henrik sighed and walked slowly to the chair. "This is not the first gun that has been pointed at me" he said, trying to sound calm and collected. He eased himself into the chair and theatrically looked at his raised hands and looked at Plessen questioningly. Plessen nodded. "You may put those down....but do not move" said the noble. A 'thunk' sounded as Ludvig locked the door, his sweating face visible to all in the room. Plessen launched into his plan.


He stood in front of Henrik, gun at his side. He scratched his ear momentarily before he looked at Ludvig and then quickly at the dead king. "Your father took something from us. Something that was ours by right. If..." he said, pausing to lean forward slightly. "If you want to live to see the crown as yours, you will indeed listen" Plessen went on. Henrik leaned back and crossed one leg over the other- as if he were discussing chess or sports over a cup of tea. Henrik nodded and motioned for him to go on. Plessen looked and struggled to keep his composure. What kind of man acts this way? "You will restore noble rights to their proper place. Since the Jutes of old, our families have built this country on blood and sweat. OUR blood and sweat. Your father stole our rights with his constitution" he said, with maximum disdain. "The nobles of this country are allied against you. Nearly every single one. The choice is yours. Restore our pre 1911 rights or you will be executed under the laws of the ældrefamilier. We will place Ludvig's family on the throne as is right. You will be considered deposed" Plessen said quickly, clearly rattled by the adrenaline.

The silence was long.Henrik remained quiet and uncrossed his legs while he slowly stroked his mustache. "There is one problem alone" Henrik said quietly. "Your plan needs some improvement" he continued, trying to hide a grin. "Where are these nobles? Have they raised an army? Are they besieging this castle? This is the 20th century Plessen. The 20th. We are passed that kind of thing. Maybe the Knights or in some other place you might do this .Even if the nobles are behind you, do you think they have any power to do anything? Yes, they own land. But they have no army. No legal basis for this. They have dirt. You have dirt and blood. Should you pull that trigger Plessen, you will be hung. Not shot. You will be hung. Publicly. My brother is cruel. He will send you to your precious land with cold blood" Henrik said, watching Plessen's eyes widen. Ludvig looked nervously between the two as a sharp rap on the door was followed by an order to open. Clearly the old steward had sensed something was off.

"I am warning you" Plessen began shakily, inching closer to Henrik. "This is your final chance" he said, stopping a few feet from the chair. Henrik eyed him coolly. It was possible that he had the backing of the nobility. Likely even. But not enough for them to gamble much on this longshot. These two were alone, Henrik reasoned. Perhaps some minor conspirators. "When I spent time at the front, the War was in its climax. I saw shells blow men into mist and paste. I saw men cry for their mothers as they dragged themselves along a ditch- both legs missing. Do you thing I find this situation to be troubling?" Henrik asked. "Do you really feel this was going to work?" he continued. Before Plessen could continue, Ludvig began to sob, dropping to his knees. "It is over: Henrik said. This excuse for a coup was done before it began" he said, wagging a finger. "You want to put the Bagges on the throne? Look at him" said Henrik, pointing to the still sobbing Ludvig Bagge. "You want him to be the King?" he exclaimed as hammers and axes began working on the door- romp smash romp smash romp smash. "You are the one with the choice, not I" Henrik said, slowly standing as Plessen leveled the pistol. "You can either put down your gun and have the King's mercy or....." he trailed off, nodding to the door. "Police and soldiers will come through there and seize you both. I might die. But you certainly will at the end of a bayonet or the hangman's rope. Dont. Be. A fool".
 

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The two men stood before the Prince Regent at saber point, an officer of the bodyguard holding his revolver at his side. Henrik was never going to drag Jutegn back and, in doing so, destroy the future of the monarchy. When it became clear that Plessen was not going to fire, Henrik had calmly walked to the door. As his hand reached the cold metal of the lock, he looked down to the blubbering Ludvig who was curled in the corner of the room. Without remark or even expression, Henrik held the whimpering man in his cold gaze as he turned the lock. With that, the door flung open and several soldiers and his police bodyguard rushed in- grabbing both men and roughly pinning them to the floor.

Bruised and bloodied, the two men looked at the Prince Regent with a mixture of shame and contempt. "Ludvig Lodesen. Olav Plessen." the prince said, shaking his head. "You are lucky to be alive. Now," began Henrik, sitting back into the seat he had initially been forced into. "Who are your fellow conspirators?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. Several moments passed and neither had spoken. A long sigh came from Henrik. "I want an attorney" blabbed out Plessen. "I too" said Ludvig, still blubbering. A haughty smirk appeared on the Prince's face. "I think we are passed that" he said, the smile disappearing. He waved his hand dismissively. "No matter. None at all. We will find the truth out one way or another. Olav Plessen..."the Prince stood. His impressive height imposing on the two as he stood and stopped inches from Plessen's face. "Your family is stripped of its noble status. You are to leave Jutegn by noon tomorrow or you be arrested. And you will be hanged" the Prince said, his eyes somehow even colder. "You will never return to Jutegn. If you do, you will be labeled an outlaw and traitor. You will be hanged" he said. The Prince began pacing back and forth in front of the two conspirators. "Your family can retain its lands. It loses all noble privileges immediately and....". Plessen interrupted. "You can't do this!" he shouted.

Henrik rounded on the man and got so close as to press his nose against his. "CANT I?" asked the Prince, backing away only a fraction. "It's....It's... illegal!" said the conspirator in a hushed tone. "Who appoints the judges in this nation? You think for even an instant a fair trial would occur or I would allow you to waltz away?" said the Prince menacingly. Prince Henrik began to pace again as it became clear that Plessen had no retort. "Ludvig Lodesen. You will also have the same punishment. If you so much as step foot on Jute soil again- for any reason....You will be hanged. Your family is stripped of their noble titles" he said calmly as the police officer-bodyguard bound their hands. "Take them. Ensure they are given no more than an hour at their estate to pack. Military escort. If they resist, you may use whatever force necessary. They may visit a bank for no longer than 15 minutes. Then take them to the nearest port. Book them on anything. A junker. A tanker. A cruise liner. Anything. In steerage. Understood?" said the Prince, his anger slightly returning. The Captain of the Guard stood to attention and the two men were escorted out. Now, was the time for action.
 
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