The Ludwig Conspiracy(137)
“We’ll see.” I put my arm around her shoulders, the clouds parted for a moment, and the sun shed a thin ray of light on us. “Until then, in any case, we must conceal that letter,” I said firmly. “And if we die before the secret of Ludwig’s death can be aired, we must make sure that only those who do not want to harm his reputation know of the hiding place.”
“But how will you do that?” she asked. “How can you make sure that the statutory declaration doesn’t fall into the wrong hands?”
I hesitated, but then a plan suddenly began to form in my mind. It was such a fantastic plan, like something out of a fairy tale, that I’m sure Ludwig would have liked it. I held Maria’s hands firmly, and at that moment I felt a bond between the three of us—Maria, me, and the king.
“Didn’t you say yourself that there were very few people who really knew Ludwig?” I began. “Who knew about his most secret wishes, the many themes and symbols of the world he dreamed of? About his fairy-tale castles and plans for the future?” My voice was firmer now, and I raised my hand as if to take an oath. “I promise you, Maria, I will think of a puzzle that can be solved only by those who really understand the king. None of the ministers, none of the bureaucrats who thought Ludwig was insane. And this puzzle will lead to the place where I shall hide the statutory declaration.”
Maria looked at me, baffled. “What kind of puzzle?”
I smiled and drew her gently down into the tall grass under the linden tree.
“It will be our story, Maria. Ours and Ludwig’s.” Tentatively, I dropped a light kiss on her cheek, and I felt her trembling. “And now tell me all you know about the king. His deepest secrets and wishes. The whole truth. I will devise a puzzle worthy of a fairy-tale king. Even if it is more than a hundred years before it is solved.”
We sank into the grass and saw clouds moving in the sky overhead in the shape of fabulous creatures.
“IS THAT THE END of the diary?” Sara asked, nestling close to Steven for warmth. She fished the last cigarette out of her pack and lit it. A small cloud of smoke rose to the cupola in the roof.
Steven leafed through it and shook his head. “No, there’s one page left. It was written almost a full year later.”
“Then read it aloud,” Sara said, drawing deeply on her cigarette. “I want to know how the story ends.”
In a faltering voice, Steven read.
AFTERWORD, WRITTEN ON the morning of 28 July 1887
This is our story.
The puzzle has been written, and I have hidden the statutory declaration. Maria does not know where. I am going to keep it a secret from her, for fear of endangering yet another human being. May those who understand and love the king as Maria and I did find the place someday.
It all happened just as we feared. A year after the murder, the new ruler’s men are out and about everywhere, intent upon silencing every possible witness to their plot. One of Ludwig’s servants is alleged to have committed suicide; others have died in unexplained ways, or were incarcerated in asylums, or are said to have disappeared. Those gentlemen have also muzzled my mentor, Dr. Schleiss von Loewenfeld, threatening him. Hornig and Kaulbach are keeping quiet, whether out of fear or because they have been bribed, I cannot say.
They will not find me.
I am sitting outside our little house in a remote valley of the Werdenfelser Alps, watching Maria and Leopold playing. I resigned from my position as assistant to the royal physician directly after Ludwig’s death, even before the prince regent could send me packing. The simple country folk here can do with a qualified doctor; until now they have always had to make do with rustic barber-surgeons. I splint broken bones and treat coughs with camomile, echinacea, and coltsfoot; I put my stethoscope to old women’s chests and listen to their tirades about unfaithful, good-for-nothing husbands; I mix medicines in scratched stoneware pots and mortars, yet I can imagine no better profession.
For Maria is with me, Maria and Leopold. We are a family, and even if I am not the boy’s father, I feel that all the same there is an invisible bond between the three of us that no one can break now.
Only occasionally does one of the local farmers ask about Leopold, and why he does not look at all like me. Then I tell the truth, saying that his father is dead. The men say no more and nod. There is not much talking in these remote, deep Alpine valleys, and that is just as well.
Here come Maria and Leopold running over the mown fields of stubble toward me, the boy with his arms outspread as if to take off in flight. The sun is climbing above the mountains, and its light wanders from tree to tree, from house to house. Maria’s laughter rings out in the air like the clear sound of bells.