Angela was awake the rest of the night. Had the visitation been a dream? Was it a trick of the devil? Or had the archduchess really come to her, perhaps by means of some secret passageway behind the painting? Angela prayed it was a dream or the devil. If it were the archduchess, she’d be too scared to ever sleep again.
At dawn, maidservants brought her new clothes: a pale yellow frock adorned with a rich brocade about the bodice, a matching bonnet, white silk stockings and undergarments, an ivory fan, and satin shoes with silver buckles. Angela dressed quickly and soon was reunited with her parents. They were likewise in fresh attire, with elaborate new wigs. Her father’s had three large rolls above each ear; her mother’s was in the shape of a ship. It was as if they’d been costumed for a fancy dress ball.
What cruel sport is this? Angela wondered.
Her mother held her. “Thank heaven you’re safe.”
Her father kissed her forehead. “We were alarmed by all the shouting.”
“Much ado about nothing,” Angela smiled. Her playacting calmed them.
A bell tinkled. The Spoon appeared. “His Royal Highness Archduke Arnulf is ready to see you.” He escorted Angela and her parents to the throne room, a hall so vast and dark that its vaulted ceiling and rear alcoves seemed to disappear into night.
Angela shrank. All around, the mounted heads of stags, bears, and wolves stared down at her. Ahead, she could dimly see an oak table covered in parchments with archducal seals, a globe, and the throne itself, an ebony marvel alive with carved dragons. Beside the throne was a matching stool with a red satin cushion; at its center was a small gold statue on a chain, depicting a pair of hands clasped in prayer.
“Friends,” said Archduke Arnulf, emerging from the shadows in a military breastplate and armored hands, arms, and legs.
Angela and her parents fell to the floor.
“Rise,” he commanded. “How good to see my loyal subjects, the Count and Countess von Schwanenberg.” He turned to Angela. “And you must be the Little Countess, Angela Gabriela.”
Angela curtsied twice. “Your Highness.”
She couldn’t help noticing that the archduke looked nothing like his official portrait, which hung in the dining hall of every noble family in the archduchy. The portrait featured a dashing young man, lean of body, ruddy of cheek, but Arnulf in the flesh was another creation. His frame was as stout as a wine barrel, his hair as long and murky as a basket of river snakes, and his face as pale as dawn, with thin blue lips and a rim of red under the eyes. A large, purple vein pulsed at his left temple.
“I trust you had a good sleep?” the archduke inquired.
Her parents looked down. “Yes, Your Highness.”
He turned to Angela. “And you?”
“I slept soundly, Your Highness.”
Arnulf chuckled. “You’re an excellent actress, Little Countess, much better than your parents. But I’m told you had a fearsome dream.” He cupped her chin in an armored paw. “Don’t try to fool me. I have eyes everywhere.” Angela tried to look away; Arnulf held her fast. “Once more—and this time the truth—tell me about your night.”
“If you must know, it was horrible,” Angela blurted. “What do you expect? For three days, your soldiers kept my parents and me locked up in a carriage like criminals. Then we were held in pitch-black cells under guard.”
The archduke laughed. “A saucy tongue. I like that.” He eyed her closely. “Show me your gums.” He inspected her teeth as if she were a horse. “A full set. Good,” he said. “You’ll do well at the palace.”
“Your Highness?” the count and countess asked in confusion.
“I’m in need of a new archduchess,” Arnulf said. “I seem to have found her.”
“But Your Highness already has an archduchess,” her father said hoarsely.
“Alas, no more,” Archduke Arnulf sighed. “Last night, the poor thing tripped and caught her braids on a doorknob. She strangled on her ribbons.”
Angela’s head swam. There could be no more pretending. Her visit with the archduchess was real. Her life was in danger.
Her parents sensed danger, too. Spots of crimson flushed her mother’s cheeks. Her father’s fingers twitched.
“It is a heavy loss, Your Highness,” her mother said in her courtliest manner. “Yet, while we are honored by your proposal, surely it is unwise to pick a bride when lost in grief.”
The archduke shrugged. “I am in constant grief. My wives are no sooner wed than dead. They fall off parapets, tumble down staircases, and go to sleep in their baths. It’s why I invited you here while the last clumsy creature was alive. I felt the need to plan ahead.” He whispered in Angela’s ear: “Promise me you’re not clumsy.”
Angela shook her head in terror.
Her father cleared his throat. “With great respect, our Angela is but a child.”
“Not so,” the archduke corrected. “In a month, she’ll be thirteen. A common enough age to wed.”
“Quite,” her mother nodded in panic. “Yet in truth,” she lied, “our Angela has been promised to the Convent of the Holy Sisters of Schwanenberg. She’s to take her vows next Sunday.”
Angela gulped. Becoming a nun wasn’t the future she’d pictured for herself, but it was certainly better than marriage to a murderous madman.
“The archduchy has more than enough holy sisters,” Arnulf yawned. “I’ll make a donation to the mother superior. Your daughter will be released from her pledge.”
“Thank you,” Angela said, surprised by the sound of her own voice. “Even so, I’m afraid I have other dreams than to be an archduchess.”
Arnulf raised an eyebrow.
Angela swallowed hard. “I have a puppet theater where I produce plays. It’s my fondest wish to perform in the great courts of Europe. So you see, I won’t have time for marriage.”
“Oh, but you will. You shall entertain my court each night,” Arnulf gurgled. “I love puppets. In fact, I have one of my own. A special marionette.” The vein at his temple started to throb. He pressed it gently, then went to the stool with the gold statue of the praying hands. He raised the statue by the chain that ran through its middle fingertips. “A simple puppet on a string. See how I make it frolic.” He jerked the chain and the golden hands hopped about.
Angela clapped politely. “What do the hands represent?”
Arnulf winked. “It’s not what they represent—it’s what they hold. Come see.” He held the statue in front of Angela’s nose. There was a little crystal window above the cupped thumbs. Through it, Angela saw that the statue held two sets of hand bones.
“They’re mine,” Arnulf confided.
Angela trembled. “What happened?”
“I had them removed,” Arnulf said airily. He hung the chain around his neck. The bones in the reliquary rattled.
“Then what’s under your armor?” Angela asked, pointing at his sheathed mitts.
“This is no armor,” Arnulf said, his voice as thick as gravy. “These are my new hands. My iron hands. Observe the movable fingers and joints.” He wiggled a wave. “With these I can pen letters. Or attend to more pressing matters.” He strode to a marble bust beside the middle window. “Behold the head of my brother, the late Archduke Fredrick.” He placed his iron hands on either side of the bust and squeezed. The marble turned to dust.
Jaws dropped.
“I asked the former bishop of the Cathedral of Saint Simeon to bless these hands,” the archduke said mildly. “He refused. His body lies with his fellow martyrs in the catacombs. His head, however, sits by my bedside in a reliquary of its own.” He paused. “The present bishop respects my wishes. I trust you will too.”
Angela’s father gathered his courage. “No, Your Highness! You cannot have my daughter!”
Archduke Arnulf grabbed him by the throat. “Yes, Count, I can.” He lifted Angela’s father off the floor. “Give me your blessing.”
“Never,” the count choked. His legs flailed the air. He clutched the iron fist.
Angela threw herself at the archduke’s feet. “Stop! Spare my father and I’ll marry you!”
“Willingly?” Arnulf asked. “An unhappy bride would ruin the celebration.”
“I’ll be the happiest, willingest bride in all of Christendom!”
Arnulf released his grip. The count fell to the floor. Arnulf rolled him over with a toe. “As for the dowry, Count, you have a fine stable. I shall take it, as well as a gift of ten gold ducats from each of your citizens.”
“Ten gold ducats!” the countess exclaimed. “The people can’t afford it!”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” the archduke observed, “and I most certainly have the will.” He clapped his hands. There was a dreadful echoey clang. “Begone. In one month, I shall meet you at Castle Schwanenberg to take my dowry. Then I shall escort your Angela to the cathedral for her marriage.”