Fathers and sons -- Fiction; People with disabilities -- Fiction; Princes -- Fiction; Refugees -- Fiction
"Father!" He said only that word. He could say no more. He knew he must
not ask questions. "Silence is still the order." But as they faced each
other in their dingy room at the back of the shabby house on the side
of the roaring common road--as Lazarus stood stock-still behind his
father's chair and kept his eyes fixed on the empty coffee cups and
the dry bread plate, and everything looked as poor as things always
did--there was a king of Samavia--an Ivor Fedorovitch with the blood of
the Lost Prince in his veins--alive in some town or city this moment!
And Marco's own father knew where he was!
He glanced at Lazarus, but, though the old soldier's face looked as
expressionless as if it were cut out of wood, Marco realized that he
knew this thing and had always known it. He had been a comrade at arms
all his life. He continued to stare at the bread plate.
Loristan spoke again and in an even lower voice. "The Samavians who are
patriots and thinkers," he said, "formed themselves into a secret party
about eighty years ago. They formed it when they had no reason for
hope, but they formed it because one of them discovered that an Ivor
Fedorovitch was living. He was head forester on a great estate in the
Austrian Alps. The nobleman he served had always thought him a mystery
because he had the bearing and speech of a man who had not been born a
servant, and his methods in caring for the forests and game were those
of a man who was educated and had studied his subject. But he never was
familiar or assuming, and never professed superiority over any of his
fellows. He was a man of great stature, and was extraordinarily brave
and silent. The nobleman who was his master made a sort of companion
of him when they hunted together. Once he took him with him when he
traveled to Samavia to hunt wild horses. He found that he knew the
country strangely well, and that he was familiar with Samavian hunting
and customs. Before he returned to Austria, the man obtained permission
to go to the mountains alone. He went among the shepherds and made
friends among them, asking many questions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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