The Ludwig Conspiracy(59)

Sara hurried up the stairs and stopped briefly at the door to their room. She put her ear to the thin wood but heard no suspicious noise on the other side. Finally she quietly unlocked the door, pushed down the handle, and swung the door inward without a sound.

The room was empty.

Relieved, Sara went to the safe in the wall directly beyond the door. She opened it and took out the diary; before setting out, they had hidden the little treasure chest, her laptop, and Steven’s notes under the mattress. Once again she listened intently in case anyone was coming upstairs. The sound of music and laughter rose from the ground floor, but otherwise all was quiet.

Sara flung the book, the little chest, and everything else in her small case, along with her few items of clothing. To be on the safe side, she put the late Bernd Reiser’s pistol in her purse. Then she quietly zipped up the case and turned back to the door, where she almost collided with a man in the dark. She uttered a hoarse scream before breathing a sigh of relief.

It was Steven Lukas.

“We have to talk, Frau Lengfeld,” the bookseller gasped, his voice cracking. “The Cowled Men were lying in wait for us. It was the magician. And now I know what the keyword is. It’s . . .”

“Wonderful. You can tell me all about it in the car. Now, come on.”

Steven looked at her in surprise. “But why . . . ?”

“Because there’s a knight six feet tall trying to steal the journal, and I’ve put out one of his eyes, that’s why.” Sara was already running downstairs with her case. “I’ll tell you all the rest on the drive. Come on, for heaven’s sake.”

Steven followed her. They forged a way through the dancing, laughing hotel guests in the foyer, hurried across the forecourt, and at last they sat, exhausted, in Sara’s Mini Cooper. For a few seconds there was nothing to be heard but their breathing and the soft sound of a waltz. The hotel stood among the forest like a gigantic Christmas tree decorated with thousands of ornaments; only a few yards behind it, all was pitch-dark.

“So you’ve cracked the code?” Sara finally asked, starting the engine. She put the car into first gear with shaking fingers. “Great. Now we can finally say goodbye to this castle with its deranged inhabitants—one-eyed giants, magicians, fat tenors . . . Talk about a degenerate society.”

Tires squealing, the Mini rounded the corner of the hotel building.





HALF AN HOUR LATER, the car was driving steadily through the darkness of the Ammergau Alps, and Sara was on her third menthol. The fir trees stood like silent giants on the sides of the road, and few cars came the other way toward them. The only sound was the quiet humming of the engine.

They had told each other what had happened to them in the park, and Steven had also told her his theory about the keyword. The art detective had switched places with Steven and was now in the passenger seat with the new MacBook on her lap, the monitor shimmering with a ghostly effect in the night. She felt cold. The memory of the giant on the leafy pathway sent shivers down her spine.

“And you’re sure the magician was that guy in Bavarian costume who came into your shop?” Sara asked yet again.

Steven nodded as he drove through the dense forest. “One hundred percent sure. He’s the leader of the Cowled Men. When I ran, he showed me his hood.”

“But why would he do that?”

“How do I know? To scare me? To let us know that they’re after us?”

Sara sighed. “That knight certainly scared me. I guess he’s something like a watchdog for those lunatics, and it’s his job to get hold of the book for them.”

“But suppose he has nothing to do with the Cowled Men at all?” Steven suggested. “Remember those two guys in the cellar of my shop? We still don’t know who they were. And you said yourself you wouldn’t really expect such crimes from the Cowled Men. Suppose it only seems to be about the death of Ludwig the Second? Suppose that’s just a front? I’m beginning to feel that there’s something much bigger at stake.”

“Like what?”

They both fell silent as the Mini rolled on through the clear, starlit night with its quiet hum.

“Let’s think about something nicer,” said Sara at last. “For instance, your theory about the keyword.” With a couple of rapid clicks at her MacBook she opened the decoding program she’d downloaded. “MARIA, then,” she murmured. “Why not?”

“It’s the keyword. I know it,” Steven said, trying to concentrate at the same time on the dark road ahead of him. “Everything points to MARIA. Of course, that assumes that the journal really is using the Vigenère code.”