The Ludwig Conspiracy(148)

The glances exchanged by the two guards told Steven that they were far from enthusiastic at this prospect. Nonetheless, they obediently picked up their shovels and picks and began digging.

Meanwhile, the bookseller was staring across at the little white dot to the east that was Neuschwanstein. Steven’s thoughts were with Sara. What had Lancelot done to her? She had obviously been lying to Steven; yet he still loved her. Had she merely been using him to get her hands on the diary? Had it all been just an act? Sara had made him feel able to break away from his lonely, dusty world of books at last; she had made him feel young again. But the way it looked now, she was nothing but a fraud.

And probably dead already.

With tears in his eyes, Steven sat down beside a contorted old tree not far from the entrance to the castle and looked down into the yawning gulf. The damn diary had taken him back to his childhood and finally brought him here. Once again, he felt a desire to jump.

Then perhaps I’ll meet Sara again.

Tristan and Galahad picked about at the niches in the walls first and then began breaking several large blocks of stone out of the walls. Meanwhile, Luise prowled up and down the small courtyard of the castle like a panther in a cage.

“It must be here somewhere!” she cried. “Search, dig, keep those shovels working! Maybe Marot left a sign of some sort behind, something scratched on the rock, something.”

“Have you seen the gigantic heap of stones on the north side of the castle?” Steven asked, pointing behind him with a weary smile. “I suppose you’ve heard of Sisyphus, Luise?”

“Very funny, dear cousin.” Luise Manstein tossed him a shovel encrusted with mud. “I suggest you start in on that heap of stones right away. Galahad will go with you, so don’t get any stupid ideas.”





THEY DUG FOR more than an hour, and in spite of the chilly fall wind, Steven soon had sweat running down his forehead. The mountain of rubble stretched the entire length of the castle ruins, a waste of limestone bedrock in pieces large and small, and to make matters more difficult, they were sometimes wedged together. Galahad kept looking at him darkly.

“Once we’ve found that bloody letter, it’ll be your turn,” he said. “I’ll stone you with my own hands. Every rock I have to turn over I’ll throw at your head.”

“This could take quite a while yet,” Steven replied, straightening up with a groan. His back ached from the unaccustomed manual labor. “If we’re out of luck, my beloved cousin will have us tear the entire castle apart.”

Steven went over to the contorted tree, where there were several bottles of water ready for them. As he drank deeply, he glanced down at the hotel. The helicopter still waited on its pad. A light drizzle of rain had set in, but all the same the pilot had already had to get rid of two early-morning hikers with Nordic walking sticks. Steven was briefly tempted to call to them for help. But probably that would have cost not just his own life, but also the lives of the innocent elderly couple.

Breathing heavily from the hard work, he sat down on a rock beside the tree and watched Luise and Tristan digging holes at random in the castle courtyard while the industrialist shouted and cursed at the top of her lungs. She had now switched to speaking of herself in the royal plural. Indeed, she seemed to be getting more deranged every minute. She reminded Steven more and more of the defiant ten-year-old who shouted, ranted, and wanted to scratch his eyes out. It seemed as if Luise simply did not realize how pointless all her efforts were.

“The letter will occupy a special position in Our castle,” she gasped, and struck the rocks so hard with the pick that splinters of stone sprayed up. “Right beside Our bed, or maybe in the throne room next to the picture of St. George. We will have a chapel built, a vault for the worthy descendants of Ludwig.”

“And where is this pretty castle of yours?” Steven called to her. “It’s strange that I’ve never heard of it. Must be quite large if all the furniture from Neuschwanstein fits into it.”

“That’s none of your business,” Luise said. Her gray suit was torn and dirty from all her grim digging; her hair stood out around her face in confusion. She looked like a furious little gnome wielding a pick.

Like Alberich in search of the Rhine gold, Steven thought. But I am neither Wotan nor Siegfried.

Thoughtfully, he ran one finger through the soil mingled with roots under the contorted tree. Rotting fall leaves clung to his hand. He rubbed them off and let them drop to the ground. They were withered, brown linden leaves, the typical heart shape.

Suddenly he stopped.

Linden leaves . . .