by Nina Clare
‘And Count von Wuelffen has only just regained his faculties after his fall into the lake, but is refusing to supply the missing testimony?’
‘He denies all charges, as you have witnessed. His mind is sadly disordered and erratic since his fall into the water. He spent a full twenty-four hours in a near-comatose state after Baron Fleischmann pulled him out of the water, punctuated with outbursts of ranting.’
‘What did he speak of in these rants?’
‘He talked of a girl who will not get away again, and of flogging and drowning various persons, and of a horse that could speak. He also talked repeatedly of a lady of bright light hurting his eyes. We are uncertain if the girl and the lady are the same person.’
‘Does Dr Mensdorff consider Count von Wuelffen to be suffering from a condition?’
‘He has diagnosed damage to the front cortex, most likely caused by the shock of entering cold water as he did when he leaped from the boat. Dr Mensdorff has seen similar cases, including a recent one he is working with. Generally, the most prominent symptoms are that of confusion and delusion. The Princesses Marie and Sibylle, the great-aunts of the late king, are two such examples of this condition. They fell into Lake Swanstein in their childhood, on the day of our late king’s birth, and though recovered by their nurse, they had suffered irreparable damage.’
‘And have they been found yet? It has been some time since they too were lost.’
‘They have not been found. The worst is feared. They could not have survived long in such extreme cold wearing only their nightclothes. The queen mother is greatly to be pitied at this time.’
‘Indeed. What tragedy our kingdom has seen in these days.’
‘Truly unprecedented. But we look forward to better things to come, do we not?’
‘Certainly, we do.’
It was unsettling to know that the same sanatorium where Christian lay, completing his recovery from hypothermia, was also where Count von Wuelffen had been treated before he forcibly discharged himself and made his way to the testimony chamber. The boat journey across the lake to Füssen had been short, but dreadful, as Christian and I huddled together at one end of the boat, numb and soaked and shocked, and the count, the man who had haunted my nightmares, sat at the other end, in a strange state of imbecility. The baron, in his fur coat and hat had expostulated all the way across the lake that he had never expected to get caught up in something like this—the king shot dead! That was not the plan—that was not the mission!
The royal train at Füssen had taken us to München, where we had been hurried to the sanatorium. There I had been separated from Christian, and from the count, who was ushered away between two orderlies, under the eye of Dr Mensdorff.
Alexis was all I could think of now. I had to get to him; had to give him the flowers from the cave. What he would do with them, I did not know. But first I must wait for Christian, I would not leave him; he was due to be discharged the next day, and I could not leave München myself until all the testimony statements had been signed and the interviews completed. It was a trying time. The Chief Inspector took statement after statement from me. I had to identify the four men in the employ of the count who had abducted me. I shook for hours afterwards, huddled in the little room the crown had given me as my accommodation during the investigations.
‘What will happen to my stepmother?’ I had asked the Chief Inspector.
‘She will be interviewed. But there is little evidence to bring against her. It is her word against yours, my lady, unless Count von Wuelffen admits to her as an accomplice. But even then, his is the word of a proven liar. The allegation will not likely stand before a judge.
‘So, she will get away with it? And I have to suffer her in my home.’
‘I understand she is negotiating a sale of the family home,’ the Chief Inspector informed me. ‘Her debts have caught up with her.’
I stared in horror at him. ‘I have to get back, I have to see my brother. When can I leave?’
‘You are free to leave now,’ the chief inspector said. ‘But there is someone I would like to show you before you go. Someone who claims to know you, though it’s a strange case, and we’re still dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on it, so to speak. An odd turn of events.’
But I could not wait another day. I didn’t care who the Chief Inspector wanted me to meet; if it were not compulsory under law, then I was not going to be delayed one day further. I hastened to the sanatorium to talk to Christian of my plans.
Christian had a visitor. Herr Weimann was dressed in rose pink.
‘I thought you had left München, sir,’ Christian said, clearly surprised to see his master. ‘Due to…er…the usual problem.’
‘Mere trifles, my lad,’ said Herr Weimann, flicking his money troubles away with his cologne drenched handkerchief. ‘What a dreadful place this is. Reeks of antiseptic. We must get you out of here. There is work to be done!’
‘I won’t be working for you, Herr Weimann. I thought I had already made that clear.’
‘What? Nonsense. You are my indentured apprentice. You have two more years with me. You cannot stay with the king, for there is now no king. You have to work.’
‘Show me the stamped papers that say I have to work another two years, sir.’
‘Papers? What have I to do with formalities such as papers? I am a man of my word. If I give my word that I will take you on for five years, then that is what I do, and you shall likewise keep your word.’
‘You took every pfennig I had for my indenture and gave me no certificate in return. I have worked for three years for you without the legal rights I am entitled to.’
‘Legal? Rights? What violent language is this, Haller? Have I not been as a father to you these three years? Did I not take you from the streets when you begged me to? Have I not shown you all of Europe and brought you into the presence of kings? What ingratitude is this?’
‘I have repaid your kindness with many long hours, sir. I have followed you about the continent, assisting you in your evasions of debtors. I have gone against my conscience in lying for you so they would not find you. I have suffered lack of food and shelter and sleep as we fled from city to city.’
‘And you have drank champagne and slept in feather beds when I have done well!’ cried Herr Weimann.
‘I don’t recall there being much sleeping,’ said Herr Haller dryly. ‘In short, sir, you’ve worn me out. I can’t go on with you any longer. I shall not.’
‘But Duchess Tucher von Simmelelsdorf desires a summer schloss in the style of New Swanstein! The late king, Beloved Friend of my heart forever—he is so very fashionable now—romantic tragedy is so a la mode—everyone wants something built in the style of New Swanstein. You have to come!’
‘Good bye, Herr Weimann,’ said Christian. ‘If you wish to pursue your claim against me, then you must take my stamped, signed, indenture papers, that do not exist, to the magistrate and sue me.’
Herr Weimann tried another tactic.
‘Haller, as good to me as my own son. Come away with me, together we shall draw up beautiful plans for the duchess. She will pay in Österreichen gold, think of it! And you will be promoted, you shall be Assistant Architect to Herr Weimann—chief architect of Europe! You will receive a wage. And you may sleep all you want. Don’t abandon me, my son. Together we make the most beautiful architecture—we make true art, do we not? The Muse she loves us because we love her!’
Christian looked miserable. I could see the inner wrestling he was undergoing. He looked at me from across the room. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but it was enough to strengthen his resolve.
‘I have other commitments now, Herr Weimann. Our time is at an end. There is nothing you can say to change my mind. I care nothing for Österreichen gold.’
Herr Weimann blustered. He was so vexed he threw his pink velvet hat to the floor and stamped his silver-buckled shoe on it. But Christian would not be moved. When an angry matron came to see what all the noise w
as, Herr Weimann stamped and cursed one last time and was bundled out in a cloud of fury and attar of Persian Rose.
‘Well done,’ I said when he had gone.
Christian gave me a weary smile. ‘So why do I feel so bad? He did take me in when I had nowhere else to go.’
‘He took you in because you offered him indenture money for an indenture he never had drawn up. He kept you because you’re a gifted artist. So what do you feel bad about? You’re too soft-hearted.’
‘I suppose we should all be tough like you,’ he said with another wry smile.
‘You should. Then the likes of Herr Weimann wouldn’t get away with exploiting people. I’m proud of you. And you look much better,’ I added.
‘I can’t wait to leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I hate being confined. How I miss the mountains. Don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘You’ve kept busy.’ I picked up a sheaf of drawings from the bed and looked through them.
‘Trying to get things down before they fade from memory. They’re fading fast.’
The pictures were of a tall man, shining and golden; a faery king. Other sketches were of faery folk and creatures.
‘They’re beautiful. I’m glad you’re drawing them. My memories are fading too. It all seems so dreamlike now. Where will you go tomorrow, when you leave?’
‘That depends on you, Elsa.’
‘Me?’
‘I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I don’t want to leave you.’
I tried to smile, but I felt saddened. ‘I have to see my brother. I have to go home.’
‘Then I’ll come with you.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what will await me back home. Perhaps trouble. A lot of it.’
‘I thought your problems were tied up with the count. He can’t hurt you anymore.’
‘No. But others can. There’s not evidence enough against my stepmother to have her arrested. The word of servants is not enough, apparently.’
‘Then I will come with you. I’m not going to let you walk away into danger. Again.’
‘I can’t turn up with a strange young man, Christian. What would that look like? If it weren’t for my brother, I’d never go back. I’d start a new life somewhere else. But I must go back to him.’
‘Of course you must. Family is important.’
I pulled out the spray of clear lilies I kept with me at all times. I feared letting them out of my sight. ‘Hansi says I ought to show this to his aunt. She’s a gifted herbwoman. Otherwise, I don’t know what to do with them, or how to use them to help my brother.’
‘Then it’s simple. Tomorrow we go to the mountains to see the herbwoman. Didn’t I tell you we’d find a way through together?’
‘I wondered when you would return. I knew it must be soon,’ said Tante Trudy, sitting by the fireside where a piney fragrance filled the room. ‘Come, sit and rest. You are in time for supper.’
‘Hansi kissed his aunt’s lean cheek, then was hugged fiercely by a tall girl with blue-green eyes, who could only be the sister he had spoken about.
‘This is m’lady, who I’ve told you of,’ said Hansi, introducing me to his aunt and sister.
‘Call me Elsa,’ I said. ‘I’m very glad to meet you.’ So, this was the famous Tante Trudy of the mountain. The woman who could drive away trolls and had brought the king into the world. She examined me closely, but I was no less interested in her.
‘And this is Herr Haller,’ Hansi said, making the introductions.
‘Call me Christian,’ said Herr Haller, with a bow of his head.
Tante Trudy’s green eyes examined him briefly but thoroughly, noting the hazel-green of his eyes. I had noticed myself that the hazel became greener when he was in the mountains.
‘You are from this region?’ she queried.
‘No. But my mother was.’
‘I see. Perhaps I knew her. What was her name?’
‘Aveline. Klass was her maiden name.’
This was more information than I had heard from Christian before. He rarely spoke of his mother.
‘Klass,’ said Tante Trudy thoughtfully. ‘There was a family of that name on the other side of the mountain. The youngest daughter was very beautiful.’
‘My mother was very beautiful,’ Christian said quietly.
‘She caught the eye of a passing nobleman. The family had little choice but to agree to the marriage, though it was a fateful decision to let her leave.’
Christian was silent. He stared unhappily at the floor. My curiosity was aroused.
‘Why was it fateful?’ I couldn’t resist asking.
‘She was closely tied to the land, as mountain folk often are,’ said Tante Trudy. ‘Her fey blood was of a particular kind that needs constant connection to its ancestral lands. Some of us can come and go between places, but some must stay where they belong, or they wither away. I am sorry for your loss, Christian, son of Aveline.’
‘Fey blood?’ I repeated. But I was not surprised. Nothing of that nature could surprise me anymore. And it made sense. Only those of the mountain could bear the magic when it awakened. If Christian had fey blood, it would explain why he had thrived at New Swanstein, his creative gifts enlarged. But what of me, I wondered? Did I have fey blood? Did that explain my animal-speaking gift that I had hidden all my life? Did it explain Alexi’s gift of knowing things, a gift our mother had shared?
‘I brought this to show you, Tante Trudy,’ I said, reaching for my bag to take out a wooden box. Inside lay the stem of faerie flowers. ‘Do you know what it is?’
Hansi’s sister gasped at the flash of light that burst out as I opened the lid.
Tante Trudy’s eyes gleamed as the flowers lit up her face. ‘May I?’ she asked, putting out an eager hand.
‘Of course.’
‘Exquisite,’ she murmured, drinking in the beauty of the flowers. They were shaped as lilies, their petals pliant and translucent as gossamer, yet strong as leather.
‘They do not wither or fade, even without water or light,’ I said.
‘They need no water or light from this world,’ said Tante Trudy, her voice low and full of awe. ‘They have power and life of their own. They were given to you?’ she asked sharply, her expression changing suddenly.
‘Yes. The king gave it to me.’
‘Good, good,’ she murmured, looking relieved. ‘It would be a terrible thing if you had taken them. Take even a single flower stem from Faerie without it being gifted, and a terrible price will be exacted.’
‘He said it would heal my brother. But I don’t know how. What am I to do with it?’
‘An elixir must be made from it. A stem of a royal Faery rose has the power to break any curse, but the stem of a royal Faery lily has power to heal any ailment. What a blessed child you are to receive such riches.’
Me, blessed? Orphaned. As good as homeless. I almost laughed in reply. But it was near impossible to remain cynical in the presence of the royal Faery lily. Its beauty and light had a healing power just in looking upon it.
‘Let Christian hold it,’ I said impulsively, plucking it from Tante Trudy and laying it in Christian’s hand. ‘He has been unwell, and our journey has been tiring. It will strengthen him if it has such power, will it not? Can you make an elixir, Tante Trudy?’
‘I’m not sure. I have never worked with so much power before. Even the powerful herbs and flowers we have gathered while the mountain was awake have not strength comparable to this. Never before have I touched something directly out of Faerie.’
‘But you will try? Please. The king would not have given it if it could not be used.’
‘If Tante Trudy cannot do it, no one can,’ said Hansi decisively. ‘Of course, she will do it. She will begin at dawn, will you not?’
‘I will not.’
‘But—’ I began to argue.
‘I will begin at moonrise. Moonlight is the closest we have to their light.’
Supper was a cheerful meal, and for a w
hile I forgot my troubles, caught up in the pleasure and warmth of friendly faces and hearty food. Hansi’s sister put the precious lily in a pottery cup, where it sat as a benign light in the centre of our table.
Hansi raised up his cup when the plates had been filled and said jovially, ‘A toast! Our beloved King of the Mountain. Our Faery King. Our Swan King.’
We gladly raised our cups. ‘To the King of the Mountain!’
A long-forgotten memory suddenly surfaced in that moment. I recalled sitting by candlelight around the table, with Papa and Mama, as a small child. Other people had been present, but I could not remember them. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone was merry and light-hearted. Glasses were lifted up, sparkling in the light and clinking together as the adults gave the Christmas blessing to one another.
‘Happy Christmas, Sisi. May love find you always, and bring you home to feast,’ Papa had said, clinking my glass with his and saying the traditional blessing. I had felt very grown up to have a glass of my own, with a little watered-down wine, to share in the toasts.
‘Happy Christmas, Papa. Love bring you home,’ I replied, making Papa laugh at my forgetting half the words.
‘Something wrong?’ Christian asked.
I shook my head and wiped a tear away.
‘I’m fine. I wish happy memories weren’t so sad sometimes.’
He nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘So how is it you ended up with Herr Weimann, when your father is a nobleman?’ I asked, wanting to turn the attention from me.
‘Same as you. I ran away.’
‘Your father wanted to marry you off to an old harridan for her money?’
He couldn’t quite manage a smile. ‘I fell out with him. Over my mother’s death. I blamed him. Though I should not have.’
‘Oh. I see.’ I would not press any further on what was clearly a painful subject.
‘So, Tante Trudy,’ said Hansi. ‘Will you now tell our friends the true story of the king?’
‘The true story?’ I repeated eagerly.
‘Tante Trudy knows more than anyone,’ said Hansi’s sister. ‘She was there when he came into the world, and you were there when he left. She wasn’t able to speak of it until he had gone again, is that not so?’