The Ludwig Conspiracy(122)
“Hide what?” Steven turned Zöller’s heavy body over on its back. He looked at Luise, bewildered. “Why would Marot have hidden anything?”
“Don’t lie to me!” the industrialist screeched. Once again she seemed to have slipped into the world of her delusions. “The puzzle leads somewhere. Out with it, before I shoot another one of you.”
“What are you raving on about?” Sara asked defiantly. “We don’t know of any place. All we have are the titles of a few poems and a whole lot of numbers, nothing more.” Meanwhile she had hurried over to Zöller and unbuttoned his shirt. Cautiously, she felt his weak pulse. “You ought to have waited a little longer before firing that shot. Without Uncle Lu, we’ll never find out what the solution to the puzzle is. Steven hasn’t even finished reading the book yet.”
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.
IN 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.”