Vienna Blood (46 page)

When Kanner entered, he drew the curtains, making sure that every part of the window was properly covered.

“Where are we going?” Liebermann asked.

“I am afraid I cannot say. The location of Elysium is a closely guarded secret.”

The cab began to move.

“But why are we going there now? The initiation is tomorrow.”

“It is where our venerable has gone into hiding.”

After they had been traveling for some time, Kanner lifted the curtain and peeped out.

“Maxim, I am sorry. But I must blindfold you.”

“What!”

“We shall be arriving at our destination soon—and it is strictly forbidden for non-Masons to know the whereabouts of Elysium. If you do not comply, we cannot proceed. I am obliged to do this.”

Liebermann rolled his eyes. “Very well.”

Kanner produced a dark handkerchief from his coat pocket and tied it around his friend's head.

“I'm sorry,” Kanner muttered.

“Yes,” said Liebermann, unable to disguise his irritation.

The cab drew to a halt. Kanner leaped out and spoke to the driver, who responded with a cry of satisfaction and profuse thanks. He had been encouraged to exercise discretion with a very large gratuity.

“Here … let me help you.”

Kanner guided Liebermann out of the cab.

The driver cracked his whip and the cab rattled off.

Liebermann listened carefully. A slight echo suggested a wide street but the ensuing silence indicated that they were a long way from the town center. He guessed that they were probably in the suburbs— and the cool, fresh air informed him that they had gained altitude. Perhaps they had traveled west?

“Come on,” said Kanner.

Liebermann heard the sound of an iron gate opening and then the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“Be careful, Maxim. There are some steps just here—three of them: quite deep and high.”

Liebermann imagined the façade of a smart villa. Perhaps they had driven out to Penzing or Hietzing?

Kanner knocked on the door.

Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat.

The precise repeated rhythm suggested a code.

When the door opened, Liebermann heard a gasp.

“I must see the venerable at once,” said Kanner. “It is a matter of the utmost importance.”

They were admitted and were escorted down what Liebermann assumed was a long hallway smelling of polished wood and lavender. This led to a flight of carpeted stairs, which Liebermann supposed would deposit them in the basement. However, when they arrived, there was a rolling sound—like that of the castors beneath a university bookcase. They then negotiated a more precipitous descent around a
tight spiral stairwell. When Liebermann reached out to touch the wall, he felt cold, slightly damp stone. The air smelled of earth. Once again, for the second time in as many days, Liebermann found himself in the underworld.

Elysium.

Yes, the name was beginning to make sense.

Behind the venerable was a large painted wooden panel. It appeared to show a pelican with outstretched wings, feeding three young with its own entrails. It stood below a crucifix decorated with a single red rose.

Liebermann had just come to the end of his story, and a heavy silence prevailed. His attention returned to the panel—which had fascinated him from the moment Kanner had removed his makeshift blindfold.

The venerable let his forefingers meet to form a steeple.

“Very interesting.” He then looked at Kanner and nodded approvingly. “Thank you, brother. You acted wisely.” Kanner inclined his head in grateful acknowledgment. “Herr Doctor Liebermann,” continued the venerable, “you have been considerably more lucid than Inspector Rheinhardt. But in evaluating the risk—to ourselves and to our guests—we must be mindful of the facts. If the fiend is a devotee of Guido List, then he is certainly no friend of Freemasonry—and his debasement of Brother Mozart's blessed creation is further proof.” The venerable paused again, tapped his fingers together, and added: “It
is
possible, we must suppose, that I am to be his Sarastro, and Prince Nádasdy his Tamino. But you cannot be certain, Herr Doctor.”

“No,” said Liebermann. “But I think it very likely.”

The venerable stroked his snowy Vandyke beard. “How on earth could he have learned of our intentions?”

“Perhaps one of your number has been indiscreet?”

The venerable shook his head. “I doubt that very much. Tomorrow's initiation ceremony is the most important date in our calendar for more than a hundred years. Moreover, there is not a single member of our lodge who does not recognize the political sensitivity of the occasion. Prince Nádasdy still claims to be the rightful ruler of Transylvania. His father's estates were confiscated after the revolution. … When we meet tomorrow, we are not only defying the police but the Hofburg. Indiscretion would cost us dearly. None of us are keen to spend the rest of our lives locked up in the Landesgericht.”

“Then it may be that Olbricht has intercepted some document?”

“Impossible,” said the venerable. “Sensitive information has always been encrypted.”

“He may have broken your code.”

“Our Masonic cryptograms are inviolable. He would have to be a genius.” The venerable leaned back in his chair. “All of which raises— in my mind—some significant doubts.” He squeezed his protruding lower lip and frowned. “With respect to the accuracy of your …
theory.
”

“Herr Lösch,” said Liebermann, “I very much hope that you do not intend to proceed with tomorrow's ceremony.”

The venerable sighed and turned a ring on his finger.

“Herr Doctor Liebermann, I am indebted to you. But, in truth, I do not accept that we are in as much danger as you imagine. How would this Olbricht enter the temple? It is situated four stories beneath the earth! And although there will be many in attendance, we are all known to one another. We are as brothers. An intruder would be highly conspicuous.”

“Olbricht has an extraordinary knowledge of the sewers. There may be some entry point with which he is familiar.”

The venerable shook his head.

“I was party to the design of Elysium. There is no such thing. And
even if there were, we would simply guard it, or seal it up! Herr Doctor, this Olbricht is only mortal. Yet you speak of him as if he were some supernatural being. He may be capable of monstrous acts—but he cannot walk through walls or become invisible.” The venerable's features hardened, reflecting a sudden resolve. “The inaugural meeting will take place as planned. And Prince Nádasdy will become an entered apprentice of the craft.”

Liebermann examined the venerable's face. The armature of rigid muscle around his jaw relaxed, and his resolute expression was replaced by a somewhat self-satisfied smile.

For some reason that Liebermann could not identify, Herr Lösch seemed curiously unwilling to heed his warning. Liebermann felt frustrated—close to anger. He suppressed the urge to reach across the table and shake the old fool. What was wrong with him? Wasn't he troubled by the possibility of his own imminent demise—or, for that matter, the death of his Hungarian guest?

Liebermann found himself staring in mute incomprehension at the old man's enigmatic smile, and his mind was suddenly occupied by the image of a Sphinx. Once again he was reminded of the vast number of these mythical beasts that inhabited Vienna: crouching among sarcophagi in the museum, adorning the feet of lampposts, lining the paths of the Belvedere Gardens, squatting on Professor Freud's desk … All at once, he realized the nature of his error. He had entirely misjudged his appeal. The Masons were a secret society. His emphasis should not have been on the physical threat of death, but on the psychological threat of exposure!

“Herr Lösch,” said Liebermann calmly, “I am most impressed by your courage and resolve. However, I beg you to consider: what if I am correct? Suspend your disbelief for a moment and contemplate what might happen if some terrible harm
does
befall Prince Nádasdy? There will be a full murder inquiry. Eventually, the police will find Elysium
and all your activities will be revealed. Within days this place will be swarming with reporters from the
Kronen-Zeitung
, the
Tagblatt,
and the
Freie Presse.”

A flicker of anxiety unsettled the venerable's calm features. His shoulders tensed.

“Yes … yes.” He gave a soft, purring hum of rumination. “That would be most unfortunate.”

“Everything that you hold dear will be sensationalized— subjected to unsympathetic public scrutiny. Such a scandal would probably herald the end of Freemasonry in Vienna. Surely, Herr Lösch, you do not wish such a thing to happen during the span of your protectorate?”

The venerable raised his hands. The pitch of his voice communicated something close to desperation.

“But what do you suggest? What can I do?”

“Abandon the ritual.”

The venerable's expression snapped back to a mask of stubborn intransigence. “Never.”

“Then let me attend.”

“I beg your pardon?” said the venerable, tilting his head and leaning forward a little as if he were hard of hearing.

“Let me attend your ceremony,” said Liebermann softly. “If Olbricht does appear, I may be of some assistance: at least I will be able to recognize him. And if you are right, and he does not appear, then I give you my word that your secrets will be safe with me.”

The venerable assumed an expression that Liebermann associated with the ingestion of a particularly bitter pill.

“But that is impossible, Herr Doctor. You are not a Mason!”

Kanner, who had been sitting quietly throughout the exchange, coughed to attract the venerable's attention. “Master Lösch?”

The venerable turned his head.

“The fundamental tenet of the Royal Art,” said Kanner, “is that all men are brothers and must be judged according to their good works. I am proud to call Doctor Liebermann my friend and honored to count him among my most esteemed colleagues. I trust him implicitly. Tomorrow's ceremony will be exceptional in so many ways. … I beg you to give Herr Doctor Liebermann's request the most serious consideration.”

The venerable sighed and allowed his fingers to come together again.

“To allow a man who has links with the security office into Elysium is one thing. But to permit him to attend a ritual is altogether different. Herr Doctor Liebermann is evidently of good character and we have much to lose if his speculations prove to be correct. Moreover, it is incumbent upon me to take whatever measures are necessary to ensure the survival of the lodge. … Brother Kanner, I promise that I shall give Doctor Liebermann's request the careful thought that it deserves.”

83

I
T WAS A GLORIOUS MORNING.
Clara was seated on the terrace, next to the stone balustrade, from where she could enjoy the most spectacular alpine views. The sunlight was dazzling. So much so that she had to lower the brim of her hat to examine the snow-covered slopes. She took a deep breath—and felt quite dizzy: the air possessed the invigorating vitality of champagne.

Clara had already taken a bath in the hot springs and was feeling quite virtuous. However, she had decided to abandon the lettuce and buttermilk diet prescribed by Doctor Blaukopf, which seemed to be doing her no good at all. Besides, she was singularly unimpressed by Doctor Blaukopf. How could she respect a man who failed to notice the stains on his necktie and hunched his shoulders? Like all medical men, she reflected, his priorities were entirely wrong.

When the waiter arrived, she realized that the fresh air had sharpened her appetite, and so she ordered cinnamon coffee, freshly baked
Kaisersemmel
rolls, plum preserve, honey, eggs—and a little fruit.

While she was waiting for her breakfast to arrive, Clara observed the marchioness stepping through the open veranda doors. She was wearing a long black dress buttoned up to the top of her neck and had a fur pelt wrapped around her shoulders. Clara recognized the pelt from the previous evening. One of its extremities was decorated with
a diminutive feral face with needle-sharp yellow teeth and black glass eyes. Clara marveled at how young the marchioness looked—a quite extraordinary phenomenon, considering that Aunt Trudi had established that the woman must be at least thirty-two.

The marchioness glided past.

“
Buon giorno,
” she said softly, managing the strange accomplishment of being both polite and indifferent at the same time.

Clara bowed, then wondered whether she had committed a social indiscretion. Had she bowed properly? Had she bowed too low? Should she have bowed at all? Perhaps she should have merely returned the greeting. She would consult Aunt Trudi later.

The waiter arrived with a tray piled with breakfast things. Clara broke the
Kaisersemmel
in half. The warm bread steamed in the cold air and emitted a fragrance like ambrosia. She smeared one of the pieces with creamy yellow butter and heaped on a generous mound of preserves that seemed to glisten from within like amethyst. When she bit through the crust, an explosion of sweet pleasure rippled through her body. This was not a delight that she was prepared to forgo again, irrespective of medical opinion.

As she contemplated the nearest summit, memories of the previous evening surfaced in her mind. She had been playing cards in the games room with Aunt Trudi and they had been joined by a young cavalry officer called Lieutenant Schreker. She had found his conversation most entertaining. He was witty, amusing. He had attended countless balls and seemed to know hordes of important society people. And how romantic that he should be convalescing after receiving an almost fatal sabre wound in Transylvania. His regiment had suppressed a revolt organized by some renegade Hungarian aristocrats. It all sounded so very exciting.

How different he was from other men she had met. How different
he was from Max, who was always talking about the hospital— patients and illness. Psychoanalysis!

While they had been playing a round of taroc, her feet had accidentally come into contact with Lieutenant Schreker's boots. She had blushed and looked down at her hand, but before doing so she had caught a glimpse of Schreker's expression. He had been smiling. It was a wicked smile, but at the same time, she had to admit, he looked devilishly handsome. Clara conjured in her mind an image of the dashing Uhlan. How smart he looked in his uniform—the star on his collar, his polished spurs, and those blue breeches that clung tightly to his long rider's legs. … Even though she was alone, Clara blushed again.