The Ludwig Conspiracy(105)

“I’ll put your eyes out if you don’t go faster!” one Allgäu farmer shouted to Count Crailsheim. A young peasant woman pointed to the staggering prisoners, who were deathly pale, and called to her little boy loud enough for everyone to hear, “When you’re grown-up, you can tell your own children how you once saw the traitors.”

I expected the first stones to fly through the air at any moment, the first flails to smash the heads of the officials like clods of earth, but nothing of the sort happened. And so Holnstein, Gudden, and the other traitors toiled up to Neuschwanstein, where they were locked up together in a sparsely furnished room in the tower building.

I stood in the courtyard, a smile on my lips, and looked up to where the sun was just rising behind the castle walls. The king, it seemed, had been saved.

Only a few hours later, I was to be bitterly disappointed.





27





A STRONG AROMA TICKLED Steven’s nose. He awoke with a start and saw a young woman before him, holding out a mug of steaming coffee. It took him a moment to recognize her as Sara. He had been dreaming again of the girl with the blond braids. They had been struggling, with something lying on the floor between them. When he tried to pick it up, the aroma of coffee had brought him back to reality.

“You grind your teeth horribly in your sleep,” Sara said, smiling. “Did you know that? I hope it wasn’t to do with what you were reading last night.”

Wearily, Steven sat up in bed and gratefully sipped the hot brew as he tried to shake off his dream. “If I was grinding my teeth, it was more likely because of our experiences last night,” he said. Yawning, he told her what he had read before sleep had overcome him at last, long after the first dawn chorus of birds began to twitter.

Sara listened thoughtfully as she took small sips of her own coffee. “As far as I remember, that corresponds almost exactly to what’s already known about Ludwig’s last days,” she said when he had finished. “Maybe Zöller knows more.”

“You trust him again?”

She laughed softly. “Far from it. I saw him down by the lake just now, along with some unshaven character in a Windbreaker and dark sunglasses. They were having a lively discussion about something, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to catch any of it. But, wait until you hear this.” She paused for dramatic effect. “A quarter of an hour later, I managed to get a quick look at Zöller’s cell phone; he’d left his jacket over a chair down by the kiosk. I went through the latest numbers he called, and guess who Uncle Lu called no less that five times recently?”

In spite of the coffee, Steven’s mouth felt dry. “Don’t keep me in suspense like this,” he said. “Who was it?”

“A detective agency.”

For a moment the bookseller looked at Sara, bewildered. “A detective agency?” he finally asked. “Why in the world would Zöller be getting in touch with a detective agency?”

Sara shrugged. “No idea. I called the number and then checked the name of the company on the Internet. It’s a small place in Garmisch, run on a shoestring. Nothing special, it mainly investigates insurance fraud and missing persons. But why would Zöller be calling a detective agency five times? And he made a few calls to the States, but before I could try out any of those numbers, he came back.”

“A detective agency in Garmisch and a few calls to the States . . .” Steven skeptically shook his head. “I don’t know. It could all be a coincidence. Maybe he’s desperately searching for a distant relation and was phoning his sister in the States about it. I’m beginning to think you’re as paranoid as I am.”

“Could be you’re right.” Sara got off the bed. “Could be I’m working myself up about nothing. Either way, it’s about time we were off to Neuschwanstein. It’s after ten already.”

“After ten?” Steven stood up and found that every bone in his body ached. He felt as if he hadn’t slept for more than half an hour. “What day is it?”

“Saturday. Why?”

Steven sighed wearily, buttoning up his shirt. “Exactly the day for an expedition to Neuschwanstein. We probably won’t even be able to see the castle for all the tourists. But so what? Tomorrow will be no better.”

Outside the weather had cleared, the sun shone brightly down from the sky, and only a few puddles of rain on the asphalt still bore witness to last night’s storm. The old Prien steam locomotive was approaching from the village, whistling and hooting, to bring a new set of tourists down to the pier, and it promised to be a beautiful fall day, a final farewell to summer.