The Ludwig Conspiracy(52)

“Er . . . I’m Greg Landsdale from the Wisconsin News.” Following a sudden inspiration, Steven brought out his crumpled notepad and a pencil, and bowed to her slightly. “I’m writing a story for our readers in Milwaukee about Ludwig’s fairy-tale castles. Neuschwanstein, Herrenchiemsee, Linderhof . . . A great many people locally are descended from German immigrants who are interested in that kind of thing. Oh man . . . I fly back to the States tomorrow, and my boss said I absolutely had to visit the Grotto of Venus or he’d have my head.”

Steven spoke with a strong American accent, trying to sound like a provincial Milwaukee reporter who had studied German for a few semesters. He had remembered, just in time, that David, Sara’s ex-boyfriend, had traveled in these clothes as a magazine journalist. Steven gave the woman a beaming all-American smile—the world belongs to me—while sweat dripped into the collar of his leather jacket.

“Just a little look?” he asked, twinkling at her. “The United States of America will be grateful to you.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously, and then without a word went back inside the cave. Unsure what to do, the bookseller was lingering at the entrance when he heard the woman’s voice come out of the grotto, with a slight echo.

“Well, come on then. Hurry up before I change my mind.”

Steven breathed a sigh of relief. The woman hadn’t even asked to see his press pass. He followed her into the cave, which at first was only a narrow passage with a few niches in the rock, but broadened into a large hall. It was all exactly as it had been described in Marot’s diary. The shell-shaped golden boat rocked gently on the lake. Beyond it, at the back of the cave, was the painting from Wagner’s opera Tannhäuser, and in front of the painting there was a small stage made of artificial stone. Only the lighting, the swell of the waves, and the swans were missing.

“It . . . it’s magnificent!” Steven cried enthusiastically as he looked around desperately for any sign left by Marot.

“It is indeed. A magnificent illusion, and a masterpiece of technology,” said the woman, pointing to the stalactites hanging from the roof. “All that is only linen sprayed with cement. There was a machine to make artificial waves, and a device to project a rainbow. The lighting installation responsible for the red and blue light in the grotto was driven by twenty-four dynamos.”

“Dynamos? Lighting installation?” Steven was intrigued. “I thought the king lived in the nineteenth century?”

“And was well ahead of his time,” the woman said. “Neuschwanstein Castle has one of the first telephones, the moon-lamp of his sleigh was battery-powered, and he even planned to build a flying machine. Ludwig tried to unite technology and nature into a single whole.”

“You obviously know a lot about it,” Steven said, smiling. “Is it a hobby or your profession?”

The woman’s lips narrowed in a thin smile. “My vocation, if you like. Only those who know the roots of technology can see its future.”

“I’m afraid I don’t entirely understand,” the bookseller replied. “Are you responsible for maintaining this grotto?”

At this the woman genuinely laughed, a soft, gurgling sound like a babbling brook. “Not entirely; my business is with computers.” She gave him a small bow. “Luise Manstein of Manstein Systems.”

Steven nearly dropped his notepad. “You . . . you’re Herr . . . I mean Frau Manstein?” he stammered. Only now did he register the fact that the middle-aged lady’s suit was perfectly cut, and she was wearing an expensive perfume. “But I thought . . .”

“That I would be a man.” The head of Manstein Systems nodded. “Women in leading positions always have to contend with that prejudice. The fact is that my dear husband died more than ten years ago. I have been running the company since then, and I think I may say that I do it well.” She gave Steven a sharp look. “Our revenue has increased by almost fifty percent in that time, and we have expanded considerably.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t . . .”

Luise Manstein waved this away. “Forget it. I don’t have much time. As you probably know, I have planned a private birthday party for today. Part of it will take place in here, too. So if there’s anything else you want to know, please hurry up.”

Steven industriously brought out his pencil and concentrated on where Theodor Marot might have hidden a clue. In his mind he went through everything that the assistant doctor had written about the grotto.

The king’s favorite spot . . . the boat like a huge seashell . . . the red and blue light . . . the painting from Tannhäuser . . .