The sun was setting as Hart’s cab approached Buckingham Palace. The people bustling through the city about their business were starting to disperse, as a new, altogether different population took their place. He saw them through the tinted glass of the cab, exiting their impressive homes, tentatively looking out to see if the time was right, if the light had dimmed enough for their tastes.
The cab pulled up to a side entrance of the palace, and Hart gave a few coins more than were necessary. He noticed the driver avoided eye contact and sped away as quickly as possible the moment Hart’s bags were clear. This was not a place to linger, especially not without official business.
Hart’s business lay before him. A tall woman, intimidating and poised. Breathtakingly beautiful. She shook his hand and introduced herself as Miss Satō. The handshake had the same feel as any from her kind: As if she was making a special effort not to accidentally separate his arm from his shoulder.
“You are a little early for your meeting with His Majesty.” Her eyes slid to the duffel over his shoulder, the portfolio under his arm, “I also see you have a couple of bags. Would you like me to take them somewhere secure for you?”
He gripped the duffel a little too tightly. She noticed. He imagined she noticed a great many things.
“I have known a few artists, young man. I know how special your pencils and papers are to you. Perhaps you would rather take them immediately to your quarters, they are just across the street from the palace, behind you.”
She gestured to a nice enough building. It was a small bed and breakfast. A labourer stood at the door, smoking a cigarette and staring at them.
“Enter the palace through this entrance when your possessions are well-situated. I will be waiting for you in my office. Ask for me, a KF guard will show you the way.”
She turned her back to Hart, seemingly done with their interaction, and disappeared back into the shadows of the palace entrance. Hart brushed past the smoking man, and after a short conversation with the owner, made his way to the little room that had been covered for him by the Palace.
He carefully placed his bag and portfolio in the empty old wardrobe and kicked off his boots. He sat on the creaking bed and stretched his toes. He realised that he had been tensing every muscle in his body all day. That is what it was to live in England, to be constantly looking over one’s shoulder. Constantly performing for the eyes that glinted out from the darkness. He checked the bomb in his duffel twice more before leaving the room. It was still intact, still ready for what must be done.
But first, as any artist will tell you, before the work begins, the subject must be comfortable.
—
Miss Satō was, as promised, sitting at her desk when Hart made his way in an hour later. He was glad to have left his bags in his lodgings, as there were multiple checkpoints between the entrance and this office. He had no American with which to distract the guards this time.
“You are oriented?” The tone had changed. Hart assumed he had worn through whatever customary politeness and patience he could expect from her.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
He was not. Not in the slightest. He could feel his hands shake, his pulse quicken. He knew she could sense it too. Her eyes darted surreptitiously to his neck as she continued.
“There is protocol to observe. As you enter, a neck bow will be expected. You will refer to His Majesty as ‘Your Majesty.’
“Yes.”
“From there, ‘Sir’ is appropriate. He has been known to enjoy a more casual tone of conversation, but this will be initiated first by him. Everything is to be initiated first, by him. Do you understand?”
“I do, I read some-”
“My question was simple, and your answer sufficient. There isn’t a need for any more.”
She placed both palms on the table, underscoring her next point, which she spoke very deliberately, with something approaching caution.
“I have a very simple objective. I wish to facilitate a portrait for the King’s centenary. He can be a challenging man. He is, however, an immovable object. I will expect you to move with grace and dexterity to facilitate a good outcome to your meetings. By that token, I will also hold you accountable if you fail.”
Hart knew the stakes. He knew what ‘failure’ meant with a man as dangerous as the King. Miss Satō was also not to know his… other objectives.
“I came to do a job, and I will do it, Miss Satō. I must first meet my subject, get to know him, and allow him to become comfortable with me. Only then can I put charcoal to paper and begin my process.”
She laughed at that. He noticed her eyes move back to his neck.
“I am absolutely certain he will be comfortable. My concerns lay more with him becoming too comfortable.”
“How so?”
“Mister Hart. I am worried that he will eat you.”
He took a step back. The shake had moved from his hands to his entire body. It rippled through him. Sweat began to pool in the small of his back. Miss Satō stood and approached, standing nose to nose with him. She smiled, exposing her sharp fangs.
“You are about to walk into a room with Dracula I. King of the United British Empire. He is a king, an emperor, but above all, as with all our kind, he is a predator. You are not food because I have decided you are not food. You will remain ‘not food’ for as long as he heeds my counsel. Regrettably, he does not always heed my counsel.”
She stepped back. The smile and its threat subsided. She gestured to the room behind her.
“Now, go to him, he’s waiting.”