The Ludwig Conspiracy (43 page)

Briefly, Luise Manstein closed her eyes. Steven thought she was going to give her henchmen the order to mow them both down with their Uzis, but she regained her self-control.

“Very well,” she whispered, “very well. Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You three stay here in the throne room with the diary. I’ll give you three hours.” She held three fingers up in the air as if swearing an oath. “Three hours, no more. If you can tell me where the secret is hidden then, I’ll call a doctor for this stubborn old man. You have my royal word of honor on that. If not . . .” She turned to go, and her henchmen followed her in silence. “If not, there’ll be another couple of mysterious deaths in the Ludwig case.”

Royal cloak billowing, The King’s Majesty stalked out of the throne room toward the study, with the two paladins. Only Lancelot lingered behind for a moment in the doorway, fixing Sara with his one good eye.

“You and I are going to have fun soon, baby,” he whispered. “And if you two cute kids think you can call for help with your cell phones or the laptop, forget it. Up here there’s no cell service, no wireless network, nothing. Tried it myself. Neuschwanstein is deep in the Middle Ages.”

The two wings of the door slammed shut.

I
N THE SILENCE
that followed, all they could hear was Albert Zöller’s tortured breathing. He kept his eyes closed, his eyelids flickering nervously now and then. Sara tore strips of fabric off her jacket and began improvising a bandage for the old man.

“This man needs help!” she shouted at the top of her voice, hoping that someone outside could hear her. “My God, is there no one here who’ll help us?” But the silence around them only felt more oppressive.

“What kind of situation have we gotten ourselves into?” Steven cursed, running his hands through his graying hair. “I should have burned that damn diary back in my bookshop.

“Then that madwoman would probably have burned you as well,” replied Sara. “Stop whining, and think how we can get out of here. It’s the only way Uncle Lu may have a chance.” The art detective seemed to be back in control of herself to some extent. Once more she felt Zöller’s pulse and mopped the sweat from his brow. Her improvised bandage was already wet with blood.

“I don’t think Uncle Lu can last much longer. Not three hours, anyway,” Sara whispered. “That lunatic. She really does think she’s Ludwig reborn. I’d guess she’s built herself a little palace somewhere, where she lives out her royal dreams surrounded by the original Neuschwanstein furniture. How crazy is that?”

“But then why the book?” Steven asked. “What does Marot’s diary have to do with it? And what place did she mean—this place we’re supposed to find for her?”

Sara shrugged
.
“The woman’s downright deranged. Who knows what goes on inside her head?”

Suddenly she got up and stood, legs apart, in the middle of the room, her face turned to one of the cameras under the ceiling. “Hey, you, Queen of Hearts!” she shouted. “Can you hear me? Ludwig would never have done a thing like this. Maybe he was a little eccentric, but you are totally deranged. Do you hear,
to-tally de-ranged!
”

When there was no reaction, Sara looked all around her, searching frantically, and finally hurried over to a small door on the left of the apse. She opened it, and Steven felt a cold draft of air.

“I’m sure there’s a great view from up here in the daytime,” he heard Sara saying from outside. “But the only way down is a sixty-five-foot drop.
Fuck!
”

She closed the door and turned back to Zöller, who was breathing heavily. Gently, she laid his head on what was left of her jacket. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but to go along with that deranged old bat’s proposition,” she said. “Not that I think Luise will let us go then, but maybe we can at least save Uncle Lu.”

“Whom, incidentally, you suspected for no good reason,” Steven interjected with annoyance.

“As if that matters now.” Sara rolled her eyes. “I guess we’ll never find out what he was doing with that private detective agency, and those phone calls to the States. Or at least, not if Uncle Lu doesn’t get to see a doctor very soon.”

Steven frowned. “What did he mean when he said it was no coincidence that your uncle came to see me?” he asked. “He said Paul Liebermann had known my parents. How could that be?”

“Who knows,” Sara said. “Luise shot Zöller the moment she heard him. Obviously she didn’t want you to know any more.”

“More about what? Uncle Lu said it was time I learned something very important about myself. What the hell was it?” Steven sighed and rummaged listlessly around in Zöller’s books, which were scattered all over the mosaic floor. There were smeared bloodstains on some of them. “We’ve solved the third puzzle, we’ve made it to Neuschwanstein, and we still don’t know any more than we did at the start.”

He stared at the picture of St. George fighting a green dragon in front of a small castle on a rock. That was just how Steven felt: he was fighting, struggling, thrashing about, and still he didn’t move from the spot.

“I’m beginning to feel fairly sure that all this is to do with my childhood memories,” Steven said quietly. “I don’t know how and why, but there’s some kind of connection between me and the diary. The sensation of dizziness that I get when I read it, the memories of earlier times . . . it’s as if something were knocking at the door to my consciousness with all its might. The diary takes me back to my childhood. And Zöller knows what the connection is.” His voice rose, echoing in the high cupola. “Hell, why didn’t he say something sooner? How does he know what I’m not supposed to know?”

“Crazy Luise was talking about a hiding place just now,” Sara said. “Presumably the ballad puzzle takes us there. But what can the something be? A treasure? Obviously it’s something that’s extremely important to her.”

Steven cleared his throat. “Up to this point we’ve always thought that finding out about the true background to Ludwig’s death was all that mattered. But maybe it’s something else. Something to do with my own past.” He picked up the diary, which bore a large drop of blood. “Only one thing to do,” he said, wiping the drop away with his last white handkerchief. “I have to finish reading the damn book. Luckily there are only a few pages left.”

“If Uncle Lu’s going to have any chance, you’ll have to read fast,” Sara told him, mopping the sweat off Zöller’s forehead. “I don’t think he has much time left.”

“Then you’d better listen to the end of Marot’s story. Maybe you’ll spot something that I’d miss.”

Steven sat down on the steps up to the gallery, opened the book, and read the penultimate entry in the diary out loud.

JG, JG, JG

T
hey came at midnight to take the king away.

By now most of the servants had already left the castle. Only four had stayed with Ludwig, and an almost unreal silence reigned. Even before this, Neuschwanstein—with its scaffolding and half-finished rooms, its bare corridors floored only with loose boards, and its fairy-tale furnishings—had seemed to me like a ghost castle. Now I actually thought I felt a touch of evil seeping through its walls.

I had lain down to get a little rest in one of the servants’ bedrooms and had fallen into a restless state of half sleep, from which I was awoken by the sudden sound of several loud voices. When I hurried up the steep spiral staircase, I saw Ludwig’s massive form standing in the bedroom doorway. Two attendants were positioned, one on his right, the other on his left, holding the king with their strong arms. Ludwig himself looked pale and bloated; he had clearly been drinking. His voice sounded soft and apathetic, as if he were already resigned to the inevitable.

“What . . . what do you want?” he stammered. “What does this mean? Let go of me!”

Dr. von Gudden, with his assistant, Dr. Müller, beside him, stepped out of the group of madhouse attendants and addressed the king.

“Your Majesty, what I have undertaken to do is the saddest task in my life. Your Majesty has been certified by four doctors who are specialists in insanity, and on the basis of their opinions, Prince Luitpold has assumed the regency.”

“But how can you call me insane?” asked Ludwig in a muted voice. “You did not come to see me and examine me first.”

“Your Majesty, that was not necessary. The material in the files is extensive and positively overwhelming.”

Ludwig suddenly looked at the doctor with a steady gaze. As so often, his mood seemed to change from one second to the next, and now he seemed extremely reasonable.

“How can you, as a serious neurologist, have so little conscience as to make out such a certificate?” he asked in an objective tone. “A certificate that decided the fate of a human being whom you have not seen for years? How can such a thing happen?”

“The . . . the certificate has been made out on the basis of evidence from your servants,” replied the doctor, looking nervously at his assistant. “As I said, it is more than sufficient.”

From my vantage point on the staircase, I sensed that Dr. von Gudden was becoming less and less certain of himself. He took off his pince-nez and began polishing the lenses with ceremony. Obviously he had expected to confront a babbling lunatic, not a man with his mind clear. Meanwhile, Ludwig was growing heated.

“A medical certificate based on statements from paid individuals?” inquired the king indignantly. “And by way of showing their gratitude, they have betrayed me.”

Gudden was not going to broach this subject. “Your Majesty,” he said huskily, “I have orders to accompany you to Berg Castle this very night. The carriage will be brought at four in the morning.”

I gave a start of surprise. So the king was going not to Linderhof but to Berg! Obviously the plan had been changed at short notice. Ideas raced through my head. Dürckheim was planning an escape from Linderhof, but that plan was now invalid. What was I to do? Time was running out for us, for the longer Ludwig was in the power of the conspirators, the more unlikely did his liberation become. Berg Castle was probably being converted into a prison at this moment, and the people’s indignation at this coup d’état would die down with every passing day. We had to act immediately.

I was still standing, as if transfixed, in a niche on the spiral staircase. So far neither Gudden nor the king had noticed me. Only after a while did I make my decision. I crept quietly down the staircase and was about to step out into the castle courtyard, when I saw some of the gendarmes at the gate patrolling back and forth. Obviously they had strict instructions to let no one else out. The black-roofed carriages that were to accompany Ludwig to Berg already waited in the courtyard.

Cursing under my breath, I went back inside the castle to look for another way out. I must,
must
warn my fellow conspirators! At this moment I thought of the throne room on the upper floor. The balcony on its western side was indeed at least fifteen feet from the ground, but it was unlikely that the gendarmes would be guarding that side.

After a moment’s hesitation, I hurried back to the servants’ rooms, where I purloined several sheets from the beds and went upstairs with them. I could still hear the voices of Gudden and the king from the direction of the royal bedchamber. Taking no more notice of them, I went to the throne room and quietly closed the two great wings of the door behind me. Alone in that high, vaulted room, with its starry cupola and mighty chandelier, I felt almost as if I were in some Far Eastern funerary monument.

Reaching the balcony at last, I hastily began knotting the sheets together. From time to time I looked at the depths below, where the castle walls came to an abrupt end in the undergrowth. Farther to the south, I could see the Pöllat Gorge in the moonlight, spanned by the slender Marie Bridge that Ludwig had had built for his mother, who liked walking long distances. Although it was June, up here on the balcony an icy wind blew, and dark rain clouds were coming down from the mountains.

After a good fifteen minutes I had knotted the sheets into a long rope, and I now tied it fast to one of the columns. I tugged at it to try it out, then took a deep breath and swung myself out silently above the void. Cautiously I clambered down, using several stone gargoyles below the balcony as handholds, until after what seemed like an eternity, I felt solid ground beneath my feet.

I crossed to the Pöllat Gorge along a narrow path. It led past the little Pöllat River, winding its way beside waterfalls, scattered rocks, and finally into a wooded valley not far away.

At last I had reached Hohenschwangau, where one of my horses was still stabled. The coachman, Osterholzer, had taken good care of him, and he whinnied happily when he recognized me. I opened the stable door, led him out into the night, and rode away into the darkness.

Just as I left the sleepy little town behind me, the rain set in.

I
T RAINED WITHOUT
stopping, a thin, wet, all-enveloping drizzle that accompanied me for the next few hours, making my clothing as heavy as lead. I had only this one horse, so I had to ride more slowly in order to spare him. As we approached Lake Starnberg, which could hardly be made out through the wet mist of the rain, my faithful steed’s trot became unsteady, and I realized that he had lost a shoe. He swerved to the left and to the right, then shook his head reluctantly, and I had to dig my heels into his sides to make him go on.

At last, in the gray light of dawn, I reached the royal equerry Richard Hornig’s estate in Allmannshausen. When my horse recognized his old stable, he broke into a final gallop and stopped at the stable door so abruptly that, exhausted as I was, I fell forward and off his back. With the last of my strength I scrambled up and ran to the manor house, where lights were already on despite the early hour. I knocked frantically at the door, until finally Hornig, unshaven and in a bad temper, opened it. When he saw me, his annoyance gave way to an expression of astonishment.

“My God, Theodor! What are you doing here?” he asked. “Count Dürckheim has sent us a dispatch saying that the king will be brought to Linderhof. We thought that you were with Ludwig . . .”