And the king was far too unpredictable.
“That . . . is not good,” The Excellency murmered after a few minutes of silence. “Not good. We were so close to it, so close. And now this!”
The last words were a shout, the sound of the king’s voice echoing around the grotto. But seconds later, the king was composed again.
“I want you to do everything possible to find this antiquarian bookseller,” The Royal Highness whispered. “Everything. I’m sure he has the book in his possession. I can feel it. If anyone solves the riddle, all is lost.”
One of the gorillas muttered something unintelligible. The king raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
“I’m just wondering what we’re supposed to do if this guy takes the book to the police. Not that I think he will, but well, if he did, then we would have a problem.”
“We would indeed.” The Excellency breathed slowly and deeply, eyes closed, as if suffering from a migraine. “That would most definitely be a problem. One hell of a problem.”
Suddenly the king’s expression brightened, and giggles filled the room.
“But I think I know how to solve it.”
The king outlined a plan to the two paladins, who nodded along enthusiastically. Once finished, the king steered the boat out into the water again, and it glided back to the middle of the lake, where it slowly turned in a circle, bathed in blue and red light.
6
“WHO . . . WHO ARE THOSE guys?” Steven asked, staring at the screen in front of him. The three figures in hooded capes, carrying torches, looked as if they came from another time. Images of burning pyres passed through the bookseller’s mind, of priests flagellating themselves, of monasteries enveloped in mist. He could almost hear the somber polyphonic chant of monks.
“Them?” Sara tapped the monitor as if it would bring the strange figures to life. “Cowled Men. Members of a secret order that’s been around since Ludwig’s death. They preceded the casket at his funeral. They operate in the underground, and for a hundred years they’ve been trying to prove that their beloved Fairy-tale King was murdered. Sounds loopy, but it’s true.” The art historian clicked her way through a couple of websites about the hooded figures. “The Cowled Men are everywhere they think there’s danger of someone casting aspersions on the name of Ludwig the Second. At theatrical performances, musicals about Ludwig, major anniversaries . . . A few years ago they even tried to open the king’s casket, to no avail.”
Confused, Steven shook his head. “Are you kidding me? A gang of lunatics in black hooded capes. That’s absurd.”
“Absurd or not, the Cowled Men come from all over and all types of people. Garbagemen, artists, university lecturers, civil servants. It’s thought they have connections very high up in the Bavarian government.”
“Hang on a second,” Steven interjected. “Are you trying to tell me there’s a Bavarian secret society that’s been around for a hundred and twenty-five years, operating underground, with connections to the highest levels of government? It sounds more like some crazy Freemason conspiracy theory.”
“You know, Herr Lukas, the Illuminati themselves started in Bavaria. As a Berliner, I can tell you the Bavarians are surly little mountain people who have always been a little different from the rest of the world.”
“If you say so,” Steven said. “But why would these Cowled Men be interested in getting their hands on that little box? If your uncle had decoded the book and published it, then that would prove Ludwig was murdered, and the Order would have what it wanted.”
Sara dropped to the sofa again. “These Cowled Men are about as conservative as they come. They’re only slightly to the left of Genghis Khan. Remember that theory that Theodor Marot could have had a relationship with the king? What do you think would happen in Bavaria if something like that came to light? The beloved Fairy-tale King turns out to be an old queen who likes cute boys? It would be scandalous.” She took off her ballet flats, aimed, and threw them on top of a crushed pizza box in the corner of the room. “Believe me, the Cowled Men will do anything they can to get hold of that book. And they won’t publish what’s in it until they’ve removed any reference to that particular suspicion.”
“Then you genuinely think these Cowled Men murdered your uncle?” Steven asked.
Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her head raised, Sara stared straight ahead. “Think about it,” she finally replied. “They have a strong motive, and they’re definitely after that book. Your encounter with them on the Theresienweise proves that. And I’m sure that guy in the lederhosen is one of them.”