The Ludwig Conspiracy(34)
“Marot obviously wanted them to stand out from the rest of the text,” said Steven. “They mattered to him. But as for what they mean . . .” He shrugged.
“Wait a moment.” Sara took a paper napkin and began writing the separate words down on it.
QRCSOQNZO, NECAALAI, IIEAPQRX, FHRT, LALJEDIE
“Looks like a letter cipher,” she said. “As if separate letters have been exchanged for each other according to a certain pattern.”
Steven nodded. “I thought of that myself. I worked on it a bit last night. Do you know Caesar’s code?”
“I’m an art detective, not a cryptographer.”
“Apparently Julius Caesar used that kind of code for his messages. In the Caesar code, you agree on a letter in the alphabet. Then the letters to be coded are shifted the appropriate number of places. Caesar usually set out from C.”
“I get it,” Sara said. “So an A becomes C; B becomes D . . .”
“C becomes E, and so on. To decode the cipher, you just have to reverse the process.” Steven tapped the scribbles on the paper napkin with his ballpoint pen. “I’ve already tried that for the first words, but it didn’t work. Probably would have been too simple, anyway.” He sighed and pushed the diary over to Sara. “I give up. Those words are already swimming before my eyes.”
Sara took the book from him and began leafing through it, lost in thought. Steven was horrified to see the chocolate cream sticking to her green fingernails.
“Wait a second,” she said suddenly. “There are two more words here written in capitals and the normal alphabet.” She tapped her chocolate-smeared finger on the page. “Right at the end of your decoding so far. LINDERHOF and LOVED.”
Steven stood up and looked over her shoulder. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t notice last night. I was probably already nodding off.”
“And there’s something else odd about it.” Sara pointed to the line in which the word LOVED occurred. “Look what comes directly after it.”
“That was the key that could open the door of truth to the world,” Steven read aloud. “Do you mean . . .”
“I mean it’s a highly emotional remark,” Sara said. “Then again, it could mean exactly what it says. Marot is talking about love that can reveal the truth. Suppose the word LOVED is the key to reading the real story? Some kind of clue. And that clue is . . .”
“In Linderhof Castle. The other word written in capitals.” Steven struck his brow. “You just might be onto something.”
“Well, it’s worth a try, anyway. Especially . . .” Sara paused, then dipped another croissant in her coffee. “There’s one thing I haven’t told you yet. That swan amulet our friend the Hulk was wearing, with its strange inscription. Tmeicos Ettal, remember?”
Intent on her now, Steven asked. “What about it?”
“While you were asleep, I did some research online. The swan was a favorite symbol of Ludwig’s. He used it on pictures, furniture, and jewelry. But that isn’t the interesting part.”
“So what is the interesting part?”
“Tmeicos Ettal is an anagram. If you switch the letters around, you get Louis the Fourteenth’s famous saying, L’état, c’est moi.”
“I am the state.”
“Exactly.” Sara bit into her croissant and went on with her mouth full. “A puzzle word that Ludwig used to code the architectural plans for one of his favorite projects. A castle in the Ammergau Alps.”
“Linderhof,” Steven breathed.
“Yep.” Sara wiped her mouth on a napkin and stood up. “I think we ought to pay that little castle a visit. Like, today. Could be we’ll find some kind of clue there to help us untangle this letter code. Something to do with the word LOVED.”
Steven remained seated and looked at her skeptically. “Why would I put myself into even more danger? Who’s to say those murderers aren’t wandering around out there somewhere, just waiting for us to show up? At least I’m safe here.”
“Didn’t you tell me books were your great passion?” Sara winked at him. “This book is probably the greatest find an antiquarian bookseller could ever make. Don’t tell me you aren’t excited. This is the puzzle of the decade. We have a chance to solve the most famous crime in nineteenth-century German history. A deadly secret that’s been lying between the covers of a book for a hundred and twenty-five years.” She picked up the diary and went to the door. “But of course you can always stay here sulking. In which case I’m going alone.”