The balcony of the royal palace was spacious, a table set with tea and cakes lent it a homely, inviting air, and the broad windows made it difficult for anyone to listen in unnoticed. King Karol Stefan still finding his feet in the unaccustomed reality of his new country, had taken to using it for private audiences. The studied informality suited the local style and served to distance him from the Viennese court. Franz Ferdinand, as far as he knew, never spoke to anyone with fewer than ten servants and clerks in attendance. An additional benefit was that the setting helped to reduce the bearers of fancy titles to common humanity. It helped if you were going to face a living legend, but the moment still took its toll on the young king’s nerve.
The Polish war had made three men into living legends. The first, predictably, was Pilsudski, the leader of the first heroic uprising. His moustache had set off a fashion among the male population, and the mere sound of his voice made every Polish male over the age of ten long to throw himself into battle for glory, country and king. The second, somewhat embarrassingly, was Brianski, the dashing general whose face had adorned as many propaganda posters as his exploits had filled newspapers. He had a knack for making men feel deeply inadequate and women long to rip off their underwear and throw themselves at his feet, and if rumour was to be believed, he was using the opportunities of his posting in Warsaw fully. The third was Felix Dzerzhinski. Inspiration was not the word that came to mind.
Up close – now that he finally had the opportunity to see him personally – the king found him a physically unexceptional specimen. Most of Poland’s military leaders were tall and fit, sporting men whose bodies were steeled by riding, hunting and gymnastics. Dzerzhinski looked like a clerk. His steel-rimmed glasses and quiet voice added to the impression of physical fragility. Karol Stefan looked at his lopsided face and shivered. They told stories about what the man had survived in the katorga.
“It is good that you could come, Mr Dzerzhinski.” The king said, trying not to make his discomfort too obvious..
“I was unavoidably detained on earlier occasions, Your Majesty.” Dzerzhinski replied, subservience tinged with just a hint of unyielding metal.
“No doubt you were. I am glad you found the opportunity to dress for the occasion.”
Dzerzhinski smopothed his shirt front and stood straighter, pretending to briefly admire his suit. “I would not dream of disappointing your Majesty.” He said flatly.
The king summoned his courage and locked eyes. “Give me one good reason why I should not dismiss you and dissolve your agency.”
Dzerzhinski shrugged. “Three, Majesty.” He counted off. “First, Wilhelm III. Do not be mistaken in the intentions of the German government. They support us because we are useful to their purposes. As soon as our interests no longer align with theirs in any way, they will make sure that we obey. You will need to be apprised of these developments early.”
“Very well”, Karol Stefan conceded, “though I take it your organisation itself is in the pay of the German general staff.”
“We cooperate by sharing information.” Dzerzhinski bristled. “They pay us for services rendered. The interests of Poland are not infringed upon in any way. And of course, if your Majesty desires and end to this cooperation, all that is required is an order to that effect. And the provision of commensurate funds from the state’s coffers. Now, two: Georges Clemenceau. That man may be the smartest politician alive in Europe today, and that is saying something! If he can do anything to weaken Poland, he will. Understand he bears us no malice, but that is neither here nor there. The interest of France requires it.”
The king sighed. Politics was a shark tank, what else was new? But of course, the NSB had served up enough spies lately to justify the most paranoid of fantasies.
“Third, Grand Prince Nikolai Romanov. You know he is already planning to take his revenge. No matter what else the future might bring, Russian enmity to Poland is as certain as the sunrise. These people do not play fair, your Majesty. They will use lies and propaganda, bribery and blackmail, subversion and assassination. That is why you need me.”
“So you say.” Karol Stefan retorted. Dzerzhinski’s smiled, relieved. He’d won. “So you say, but what of your conduct? Your agents tortured and murdered people…”
“Executed. If you are going to call them murderers, then you must also call what the Okhrana does murder. The NSB acts in the interests of the state.”
“But not within its laws?”
“It was war. Extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary measures.” Dzerzhinski bowed his head momentarily. “I would not countenance such acts in peacetime.”
“We all hope so.” The king raised a teacup to his lips to make time, collecting his thoughts. He might dislike the man, but what choice did he have? “You are a Socialist, are you not? Tell me, Mr Dzerzhinski: Why should a king trust a Socialist?”
“I do not expect you to trust me, your Majesty.” Dzerzhinski stated bluntly. “I fully expect you to submit my every step to the closest of scrutiny. But I will say that attacking your majesty would be against my interests and my ideals. You may believe bad things of me, but understand that I love Poland. We may disagree on what our country should look like, but we serve her as best we can. More importantly – I hate the Romanov tyrant. That, you may trust in.”
Karol Stefan nodded slowly. “I will rein you in every chance I get. I will not tolerate any inhumanity.”
“Your Majesty, rest assured that the National Security Bureau will operate strictly within the law of the kingdom. Once such a law exists, that is.”
“You will end your vendetta against the church.”
Dzerzhinski bowed his head wordlessly.
“And you will apprise me of any threats to my person that you become aware of. Personally and immediately. I expect reliable men to be placed on this duty”
“Of course, Majesty.” Dzerzhinski promised. “Will the NSB be involved with guard duties as well?”
The king hesitated for the briefest of moment. Poland – was Poland. If he was to trust the man, he had to demonstrate it. Trajan and the barber... : “Yes. Have a detail of agents report to the commander of the royal bodyguard tomorrow. We will discuss the duties of plainclothes branch.”
“Of course, your Majesty.”