The Great Game (40 page)

             
"My newspapers are ready."

             
"Think of it!" It was von Linsz.
"A general European war.
Chaos and the destruction of governments."
His voice rose. "And out of the ashes of this war shall
rise
a new order! Led by the Knights of Wotan, the German people shall take their rightful place in the world."

             
There was the scraping sound of chairs being pulled back, and then a voice rang out: "To Greater Germany!
"

             
"
Greater Germany!"
came
the response.

             
"Wotan!
"

             
"
Wotan!"

             
Jenny fought back her sneeze as the group filed out of the room. A silence descended, and she was about to crawl out of her hiding place, when she heard another door open.

             
"You heard?" It was von Linsz.

             
"I heard."

             
A new voice.

             
"You arrived with no trouble, Highness?
"

             
"
Trouble?
Wha-what sort of troub-trouble?
"

             
"
If you were recognized—"

             
"Bah!
A slight alteration of facial hair.
They see only what they expect to see. They d-do not expect to see me, and therefore I am not here."

             
"You do me a great honor in coming, Most Highborn—
"

             
"
Hush! Not here, and not from you.
The mistaken belief that one man is b-better than another because of his birth, or his position in society that was d-determined before he was born, is for soft-headed fools.
We may make use of it, but we must not ourselves believe it. There are too many examples of empires that have crumbled because a wise and forceful ruler was followed by a dunce or a dimwit who happened to be his son.
"

             
"
But, you yourself, Most—"

             
"As I say—I am able and I am highborn. I also have brown hair and a bad temper and a se-slight tendency to stammer. Which of these did my highborn parents pass on to me?
Nothing that ten thousand lowborn children don't share.
That is the reason why I, of all people, must constantly remind myself of the truth that ability does not necessarily follow birth."

             
"If you say so, Highness."

             
"Indeed, the accident of my birth put me in position where I could achieve what must be achieved, and the, I must call it, accident of my being b-born possessed of outstanding abilities of planning and leadership have enabled me to forge this union of impossible-to-be-united groups."

             
"Who do not even know that they are united," von Linsz interrupted.

             
"Even so.
That was, you will admit, the masterstroke.
"

             
"
It was. And you are the master."

             
Jenny sneezed.

             
There were hurried footsteps, and the cupboard door was pulled open. "What are you doing in there?" von Linsz barked.

             
Jenny looked up, her eyes blinking in the light. "Looking for a fish knife," she told him.

Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand,

Like some of the simple great ones gone

For ever and ever by.

One still strong man in a blatant land,

Whatever they call him, what care I,

Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat—one

Who can rule and dare not lie.

And ah for a man to arise in me,

That the man I am may cease to be!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

             
Swinging his stick aggressively in front of him, Holmes strode briskly down the street in the direction of Schloss Uhm, with Watson trotting behind. They bypassed the first inn they came to, a bright, well-scrubbed establishment that was so close to the train station that Holmes surmised it must cater to travelers, and went on. A quarter mile further they reached the
Albrecht in Himmel,
a fine, ancient whitewashed building with a slate roof and a wooden sign, freshly painted with the image of a chubby angel gazing down from a cloud. Holmes peered over the thick wooden half-door and decided that it had a local trade, and they went in. There they received permission to leave their traveling bags, stood the innkeeper to a drink, and learned that a blond woman named Fraulein Vernet had been seen staying at Schloss Uhm with Graf von Linsz for the past few weeks. Not merely seen, but heard, for the lady was an opera singer, and she had been prevailed upon to give a recital of Schubert's Lieder at the church hall. Her rendition of "Der Tod und das Mädchen" had been particularly memorable, said the innkeeper.

             
"I imagine," Holmes told him.

             
When they asked about a bed, the innkeeper shook his head. He knew of none available unless they wanted to share a great trundle bed with his nephews: "Great strapping lads, they are, and what with the festival they probably won't be getting to bed until midnight, perhaps later." Holmes and Watson decided to forgo the pleasure. They headed for the great meadow in front of the castle on which the various tents, booths, and festivities were strewn.

             
It was early evening and they had been wandering around the meadow for a couple of hours, when Watson caught up with Holmes and found him frozen into immobility, staring through the open door into one of the tents. He poked the great detective on the shoulder. "What is it, Holmes?"

             
"Look at that man on the platform," Holmes said, pointing with his stick, "do we know him?"

             
"Dr., ah, Alexandre Sandarel?
That's what it says on his little sign. What is he, some sort of charlatan?" Watson peered into the tent. "No, Holmes, I can't say I recognize him. The beard looks familiar."

             
"I fancy that if you were to pull it, it would come off," Holmes remarked. "No, no, Watson, try to look beneath the beard."

             
Watson stared intently for a few seconds. "Sorry, Holmes, he means nothing to me."

             
"Ah, Watson," Holmes said with a sigh, "you see, but you do not observe. Or, in this case, hear. Does not his voice sound familiar to you?"

             
"Well, Holmes," Watson told him with a slight air of petulance, "you said nothing about
listening
to him." He stepped closer to the tent flap and cocked an ear.

             
"Imagine him speaking English instead of German," Holmes offered.

             
After a minute Watson nodded. "I say," he said. "I believe I have heard that voice before.
Rich and full, resonant, dramatic, precise pronunciation.
Could it have been on the music hall stage?"

             
"Sandarel," in the meantime, had noticed the two of them standing by the tent flap. He motioned for Madeleine to take his place on the stage, and went over to them. "Sherlock Holmes, I believe!" he said in English. "Dr. Watson! This is an unexpected— ah—meeting. But I am never surprised when you turn up, like the proverbial penny."

             
"Well I'll be dashed!" Watson exclaimed. "It's Professor Moriarty!"

             
Holmes pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Even before I saw you I should have known you would be here," he said. "She wrote that the Barnetts were prisoners here, so it should have come as no surprise that you had come after them. A leader, even a criminal leader, cannot afford to be disloyal to his troops."

             
"And yet so many are," Moriarty said.
"Who?"

             
"Who?"
Holmes frowned.
"Who what?"

             
"Who told you the Barnetts were here?"

             
"Ah! A young lady named Jenny Vernet; an opera singer who is apparently another guest of that household. She does not seem to be an actual prisoner, since she has been seen in public, but how free her movements are is open to question. You are presumably here to effectuate the release of Mr. and Mrs. Barnett; whereas I have arrived here to ascertain the status of Miss Vernet and rescue her if need be. And if possible to discover just what is going on and why. Incidently, I've been standing here listening to your billet readings for awhile. I must say, Moriarty, the stage lost a fine performer when you chose to become a master criminal."

             
"The two professions are not unrelated," Moriarty said, choosing not to quibble with Holmes's characterization of him. "How did Miss Vernet get involved with this Graf von Linsz?"

             
"As to that, I cannot say," Holmes told him. "My knowledge of Miss Vernet's recent doings is very slight. I only found out she was being kept prisoner by a message she managed to slip out to me."

             
"In code, it was," Watson said, "and invisible to boot.
Holmes did a masterful job. It was addressed to 'Emma,' whoever she might be, and yet Holmes deduced that it was indeed for him. Incredible!"

             
"Elementary," Holmes said
,
looking annoyed at the praise. "How are you planning to deliver Miss Vernet?" Moriarty asked.

             
"At the moment, I have no idea. I assume she's staying at the castle, but it's a large structure, and I don't know where she is within it, or how to
effect
an entrance without being instantly seized. My inclination is to pound on the door and insist that she be produced forthwith, but I feel that would be counterproductive." Holmes thrust his walking stick into the ground and leaned on it. "I must consider the fact that her status here may well be part of a larger problem I'm working on, but as yet I have no proof of that."

             
Moriarty locked his hands behind his back and leaned forward.
"A larger problem?"

             
"Yes," Holmes said. "I confess that I was tempted to believe that you might be a part of that problem, but your presence here, as you are now—" Holmes waved his hand about to indicate the tent and Madeleine within it, "—would indicate that I was mistaken. It would seem that we have the same enemies."

             
"And therefore we should be friends?"

             
Holmes smiled grimly. "I wouldn't go that far."

             
"I didn't think you would," Moriarty assured him.

             
"I assume that the Barnetts are being held physically captive, and that you have a plan for rescuing them. How are you going to go about it?"

             
"I do.
By air."