“I couldn’t think up anything else on the spur of the moment,” Steven replied. “Anyway, she bought it, and now we have a way to get into the castle when it’s empty, so stop complaining.”
“Oh, I’m to stop complaining, am I?” Sara said crossly. “The old cow has the hots for you, and you’re going along with her game.”
“Only because it’s a way to get us into the castle, damn it!”
“Would one of you be kind enough to tell me what’s going on?” Zöller asked. “Why am I suddenly a photographer called Adolf?”
Steven mopped his brow. “It’s a long story,” he said with a sigh. “I’d better tell you while Sara books us a hotel. It looks like we’ll be here at least until tomorrow.”
AFTER SOME SEARCHING, they found an overpriced, old-fashioned place to stay in the town center of Schwangau, not far from Neuschwanstein. When Steven saw the shabby hotel furnishings down in the lobby, dating from the 1960s, he was reminded of what Luise Manstein had said. The place really was still stuck in the last century. If terrorists bombed it, there wouldn’t be much loss, apart from the two castles.
This time they booked a double room and a single room, so that Sara and Steven had a little time to themselves during the next few hours. However, their friendly conversation soon died away, and they lay in silence on the bed, staring at the wood-paneled ceiling.
“One way or another all this will soon be over,” Steven said.
Sara turned to look at him. “How do you mean?”
“Well, either we crack the puzzle of the third keyword tonight and find out what Theodor Marot was trying to say, or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or I go to the police with that damn diary. I’ve reached the point where I don’t care whether I’m wanted for two murders or even three. I just want it to be over.”
Sara sat up. “You can’t say a thing like that!” she exclaimed. “Not so close to finding the answer. Do you want it all to be for nothing? And what’s more . . .” She took Marot’s diary off the bedside table and held it in front of Steven’s nose. “Didn’t you yourself say the book held a magical fascination for you? That something about it seems to have to do with your past? If you give up now, Steven Lukas, you’ll never learn the whole truth about yourself.”
“Do I want to?” he asked. “The whole truth? I’ve managed okay without it so far.” He looked thoughtfully at Sara. “Besides, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Who are you, Sara Lengfeld? Everything I know about you would fit on a postcard. So don’t you talk to me about secrecy.”
For a moment Sara seemed about to say something, but then she dropped a kiss on his forehead and got off the bed. “All in good time. Right now I’m too busy making sure that wrinkled old industrialist doesn’t seduce my Parsifal. She’s crazy for you.” Her eyes sparkled. “Now let’s go for something to eat. I have a feeling we’ll both need to keep our strength up.”
On the hotel terrace, they met Uncle Lu. The wiener schnitzels were so tough that they could hardly chew them, and the beer tasted like dishwater. After that they had to kill time somehow until their date at the castle.
As if by mutual consent, neither Sara nor Steven said any more about the diary. There was tense expectation in the air. While the art detective surfed the Internet in the hotel lobby, and Uncle Lu rummaged in his crate for books about Neuschwanstein and the medieval legends, Steven went up to his room. He picked up the account written by Theodor Marot and made himself as comfortable as he could on the creaking hotel bed. There were only a few chapters left to read. Steven felt that he would soon discover the real background to the death of Ludwig II.
And maybe, also, the truth about himself.
28
JTI, JG
Time in the castle ran on inexorably slowly, like the sand in an hourglass.
In retrospect, those hours seem to me the real turning-point in the life of Ludwig. How different the history of this country would have been if he had only acted with decision! But like Hamlet, he hesitated, and when the king finally made up his mind to flee, it was already too late.
Directly after the arrest of the doctors and officials in the tower building, Ludwig telegraphed his loyal adjutant, Count Dürckheim, who was still in Steingaden after his suspension from his duties. It turned out that the Füssen telegraph office was not, as we had expected, in the hands of the enemy. Furthermore, the traitors had even neglected to tell the local gendarmes in advance about the change of regime. Yet instead of firmly giving the signal to attack, the king continued to vacillate between boundless hatred and weary apathy. Like a caged panther, he paced up and down the throne room, uttering fearsome curses.