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“The entire royal family was just taken out in a bombing – you can’t blame them for increasing security. The way I heard it, they’ve only found a few people they think are responsible so far, but there are a bunch still out there.”
“I don’t know. I’m on a flight in a few hours.”
“Palmer, this could be the story of your life. You’re in a long-forgotten-about country. There was an assassination of the royal line. Now, they have a new Queen who’s just lost her entire family. If you can get close enough to this, there’s a Pulitzer in it for you.”
That had been Palmer’s dream. For as far back as she remembered, she’d wanted to be a reporter. She’d started out on her high school paper staff as a freshman, worked her way up to editor her senior year, and majored in journalism at NYU, repeating those same steps. Then, she’d gotten a job atThe New York Courieras a cub reporter on their website side. Now, at twenty-nine, she was ready to move up and on from writing what were essentially, blogs. Palmer wanted something with meat to it, something that could put her on the map, and her editor was right: this could be something.
“Fine. I’ll stay,” she replied.
“Great. What do you need?”
“My per diem would be nice.”
“No problem. I’ll have Cynthia get that taken care of.”
“I might need more than two weeks. It depends on what I can do now and if I need to travel anywhere. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get into the palace or talk to anyone close to the royal family.”
“Whatever you need. Keep Cynthia in the loop. She can extend your stay. I’d like at least a thousand words in my email by the end of next week, though. We need to get on it before something else happens. And if you can get me something quick before that, as sort of part one, that would be even better. You can still work the long angle.”
“Sure,” Palmer agreed. “I assume, since you’ve never heard of this place, we don’t have any connections here I can use?”
“Not in St. Rais, no. But I do have connections in the UK. I’ve also got a friend in Norway, one in Sweden, and a couple in Denmark.”
“Thanks for letting me know how popular you are,” Palmer teased.
“I’ll have Cynthia get you the names of the guys in London. They should at least know more about the history and the people. Outside of that, Google is your friend,” he replied.
“Can’t use Google as a source, but you’re hilarious,” she said sarcastically.
Palmer hung up the phone and lifted her bag onto the bed to unpack everything. Before she dove too far into her clothes, though, she pulled out her laptop and connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. She’d already researched St. Rais for the resorts, spas, and tourist attractions, but this vacation had been a last-minute, although a much-needed one. She’d found the deal online through some travel site, thought it would be cool to visit somewhere no one she knew had been to before, and booked it. She’d had a nice, relaxing vacation, using her computer only to stream Netflix in the evenings.
This time, when she looked up St.Rais online, she went to a Wikipedia page. Starting at the top and working her way down, she learned that the country hadn’t been independent for all that long, establishing independence from the United Kingdom in 1717 after a brief war over fishing rights. It reminded Palmer a lot of the Boston Tea Party that would occur not long after. In this case, when the British realized the island wouldn’t be as plentiful and, therefore, wouldn’t be worth the trouble of sending more soldiers in the freezing-cold winters, they let it go, and St.Rais was named. Palmer continued to scroll through the pages regarding its history, focusing specifically on the ones about the monarchy.
When St.Rais broke away from the UK, the people there didn’t create a government for the people by the people as the United States would later do. They chose a relative of Sophia of Hanover, the mother of King George I, who was the King at the time of St.Rais gaining independence. The first monarch of St.Rais was King EdwardI. He had two sons. It went on and on from there until King Maxwell I took the throne. Martin would have then succeeded him, and later, little Edwina would have been the very first Queen to rule outright, not through marriage but by birth and by law. Palmer closed her eyes as she looked at a picture of the now-deceased little girl with her father, the future King, his wife, the future Queen Consort, and their even younger son, Anthony, the Prince and the first male heir that wouldn’t have superseded his older female sibling only because he’d been born male.
Palmer’s phone went off, indicating she had an email. She’d loved not hearing that sound while on vacation. Today, though, she grabbed for her phone, opened the app, and checked Cynthia’s email, which had the information for her per diem, her hotel stay, and a list of contacts for her in several Northern European countries.
“Time to get to work,” she told herself.
???
“Can you get me in?” Palmer asked.
“They’re guarding the palace more now than ever; you’re not getting a visit. You probably wouldn’t have before, but you’re definitely not getting in to see the new Queen now. There are even rumors they’ll be relocating the Princess after the coronation because they have no heirs until the Queen gets married and has children,” the correspondent she had never worked with but knew of informed.
“Jonathan, I’m in St.Rais to work the story. I need a source,” she replied, leaning back against the pillow in her hotel room.
“I can get you to a friend of a friend who knows someone who works in the palace. Best I can do. Will that help?”
“It’s something. I’ll take anything,” Palmer replied.
Then, she hung up and immediately called the contact Jonathan had just provided.
“Hello. My name is Palmer Honeycutt withThe New York Courier. Your friend Jonathan gave me your number. I’m looking to get in contact with someone in the St.Rais palace. He said you might be able to help me with that.”
That phone call led to another call, which led to an email, which led to another phone call. It was the part of reporting most people didn’t understand – the legwork. Palmer liked the legwork probably more than she liked the actual writing. She also preferred to have an idea of where her story was going before she got started, even just an inkling. Right now, she knew there had been a terrorist incident, but that was it – any reporter out there could report on that. She wanted to find something no one else could or would find. That was what would win her the Pulitzer.
“Okay. I can get you the number of someone on the Queen’s staff. How’s that?” the sixth person she talked to offered.
