Refocusing on the landscape, I realize I’ve never seen so much unspoiled beauty in one place, nor expected to see it in the very heart of Europe, the world’s most domesticated continent. I marvel at the picture-perfect valleys with shimmering lakes, gentle pastures, and lush woods ensconced between steep mountain ranges and peaks.
Anders negotiates a particularly tight curve, which creates an illusion of floating over the valley below.
“Welcome to Mount Evor,” Max says.
“Are you now at liberty to tell me about it and more about you?”
“If you ask our head of Secret Service then not really.” His eyes glint. “Which is why I didn’t ask him.”
“Good.” I sit back and half turn toward him to signal undivided attention.
“Where to begin? My line, the Valois-Montevor descend from Isidore Pox-Face, a knight whom the King Louis V of France made Prince Isidore I of Mount Evor.”
“When was that?”
“In 986.”
“Wow, that’s a long time ago! What valorous act earned Isidore such an honor?”
“Exceptional business acumen.”
I give him a quizzical look.
“For decades, my illustrious ancestor engaged in lucrative racketeering—erm, tax collection—from noble travelers, envoys, and merchants crossing the border between France and Italy through the Mount Evor Pass. It must be said that he chose the location of his stronghold very strategically.”
I point toward the scenery. “I’d say so, yes.”
“Besides, the Knights Companions of the Brassiere had the good sense to share their revenue with the French crown, so?—”
“Hold on, hold on!” I flash my palm at him. “Companions of theBrassiere? As in ‘bra’?”
He shrugs as if he can’t see what’s funny. “Haven’t you heard of the British Most Noble Order of the Garter?”
“I have, and I always wondered why it was called such a bizarre name.”
“Legend has it, a countess lost a garter while dancing at a royal ball at Calais. The courtiers around her sniggered, but King Edward III picked it up, returned it to the countess, and berated the courtiers.”
Max puffs his chest and raises his right arm in a wide, sweeping gesture. “Shame on him who thinks evil of it! That’s what the king famously said. The phrase became the motto of the Order of the Garter.”
“King Edward III sounds like a cool guy!” I exclaim. “What is the motto of the Knights of the Brassiere?”
“Initially, it was ‘With Jesus against Unlawful Kings,’ but when King Louis V gave them the principality, the knights amended their motto to, ‘With Jesus and the Kings of France Against Unlawful Kings.”
I giggle. “They certainly knew how and when to pivot.”
We fall silent, and I enjoy the vistas until another question pops into my head.
“At MINDFUCH,” I say, “does everyone know about Mount Evor?”
“Only the staffers who’ve been there for over a decade and proved themselves one hundred percent reliable. Plus, the Intervention Squad.”
I startle. “What’s that?”
“The only department that does useful work at MINDFUCH.” His lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “It’s kept secret from the rest of the organization, and the work they do is classified obviously.”
“Obviously,” I ape him before asking my next question. “Do all of those people know who you are?”
“Only the top management, a few key staffers, and the intervention squad. Oh, and the board.”
