The Secret Crown

by Chris Kuzneski

  Payne smiled but said nothing.

  ‘Sadly,’ she added, ‘that’s one of the reasons it took so long to build the castle. Thirty people died during its construction – mostly because Ludwig was so demanding about self-imposed deadlines. Occasionally, when he made urgent changes to the designs, he had as many as three hundred workers at the site working in shifts around the clock. They used to set up oil lamps on the scaffolding so they wouldn’t have to stop at night.’

  ‘They must have hated him,’ Jones said.

  She shook her head. ‘Despite the challenging conditions, the locals loved Ludwig because he was the biggest employer in the region by a wide margin. Without Neuschwanstein, many of the craftsmen would have been out of work. That carried a lot of weight with them.’

  Payne glanced at her. ‘If I remember correctly, you said Neuschwanstein means new swan stone in English.’

  She stared at him, trying to read the emotions in his eyes. But it was difficult. He was a much better poker player than Ulster. ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘What else can you tell us about the name?’

  ‘That depends. What are you keeping from me?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She sighed, frustrated. ‘I mean, it’s a simple translation of three German words – neu, schwan and stein. You didn’t need me to tell you that. Petr could have told you the same thing. He speaks German, too.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ Payne demanded.

  ‘My point is you asked me about the translation on Schachen. When I explained it to you, your eyes lit up when I mentioned the word swan. Then you huddled with DJ to discuss it when I took Petr inside the house.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I want to know why. Otherwise, I won’t be much help to your search. Not because I’ll refuse to help you, I simply won’t be able to help.’

  Payne glanced around the room. First he looked at Jones, who nodded his approval. Then he looked at Ulster, who enthusiastically did the same. Finally he looked at Heidi, who was staring at him with her light blue eyes. He didn’t know her very well, but he was starting to understand how she had convinced Ulster to talk about Ludwig’s treasure. She was smart, perceptive and very observant. He was glad she was on their side.

  Payne asked, ‘Are you familiar with Petr’s grandfather?’

  She nodded. ‘I unknowingly quoted him earlier today.’

  ‘Recently, we discovered some of Conrad’s belongings. In one of his notebooks, he had written some clues that are supposed to lead us to Ludwig’s treasure.’

  ‘What kind of clues?’ she asked.

  ‘The first one is a riddle that uses the word swan. That’s why we keep asking you about Neuschwanstein. We thought maybe he hid the treasure there.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ she said.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Jones asked.

  ‘Because Ludwig was murdered before the building was finished.’

  Ulster questioned her from across the room. ‘Are you sure, my dear? Wasn’t Ludwig staying there on the night of his arrest?’

  She nodded. ‘Ludwig lived in the palace for 172 days, but the castle was far from done. Only fourteen rooms were finished before his death. The rest of the building was filled with workers, struggling to complete the project. I doubt he would have hidden a treasure with so many witnesses around.’

  Payne agreed with her. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Jones cursed. ‘I guess that means we should cross it off our list.’

  She stared at them. ‘Before you do, don’t you think you should tell me the riddle? I know you guys don’t fully trust me, but didn’t you say several clues needed to be solved in order to locate the treasure? What’s the harm in telling me the first one? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’m stuck on a mountain in the middle of Switzerland.’

  Jones glanced at Payne. ‘She has a point.’

  Ulster nodded in agreement. ‘I concur.’

  Payne pointed at Ulster. ‘Conrad was your grandfather. You should tell her, not me.’

  Ulster grinned with satisfaction. He was touched by the gesture. ‘On the surface, the riddle seems fairly straightforward, but we haven’t figured it out yet. We’d love a fresh set of ears.’

  ‘What’s the riddle?’ she asked.

  ‘Where would a swan go on his journey home?’

  52

  Heidi closed her eyes and leaned back on the couch. Wearing a colourful ski sweater she had found in Ulster’s guest closet and her own pair of jeans, she whispered the riddle to herself, trying to decipher its meaning. After several seconds of this, her eyes popped open – only to realize that Payne, Jones and Ulster were staring at her, patiently waiting for her response.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing.’

  Jones mumbled to Payne. ‘Expert, my ass.’

  Heidi didn’t hear his comment but quickly amended her statement. ‘Actually, let me take that back. I’ve got nothing definitive. Plenty of possibilities, but nothing definitive.’

  ‘How many possibilities?’ Ulster asked.

  ‘At least ten, maybe fifteen.’

  ‘Fifteen? We came up with less than five.’

  She stared at Ulster, who was sitting behind his desk. ‘As you know, Ludwig was fascinated with swans. They were an important part of his life from his childhood to his death. That’s a whole lot of ground to cover. I only wish I had more information so I could narrow it down.’

  Payne, Jones and Ulster exchanged a series of glances, much as they had done when they were deciding if Heidi was worthy of the riddle. This immediately got her thinking about their visit to the King’s House and the questions they had asked up there.

  ‘Just a second,’ she blurted. ‘Up on Mount Schachen, you were asking me about local lakes. Is that because of the riddle, or does that have to do with another clue?’

  Jones answered. ‘That had to do with the riddle. We thought maybe there was a special lake there where he watched swans.’

  She pointed at them, one at a time, when she spoke. ‘Then what was all that glancing back and forth you just did? I’ve seen those looks before. You’re hiding something.’

  Payne looked at her. ‘Will you stop doing that?’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Reading our minds. It’s really annoying.’

  She smiled. ‘Sorry. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m stubborn, ill tempered and paranoid. I hit the genetic trifecta.’

  Jones leaned forward. ‘Don’t apologize. Your genes look great to me.’

  She laughed and blushed slightly.

  Jones whispered to Payne. ‘See what I did there? I complimented her genes, but she’s also wearing jeans. That’s what they call repartee.’

  ‘If that’s the French word for retarded, I agree with you.’

  Heidi overheard the comment and snickered quietly. She tried to cover up her laughter by adjusting the band round her hair. A few seconds later, her blonde ponytail was back in place and the grin was off her face.

  ‘Anyway, where were we?’ Payne asked.

  ‘I was reading your mind,’ she said.

  Payne smiled and nodded. ‘In addition to the riddle, Petr’s grandfather also provided a hint about the treasure’s location. In his journal, he described the hint as a starting point. It might give you the context you’re looking for in order to solve the riddle.’

  She looked at Ulster. ‘What’s the hint?’

  ‘According to my grandfather, Ludwig hid a secret document inside his gartenhaus that would help us find the treasure.’

  ‘His gartenhaus?’ She pondered the significance of the word. ‘Okay, now it makes sense.’

  ‘The riddle makes sense?’ Payne asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, the reason you asked me about Ludwig and the Alpengarten auf dem Schachen makes sense. I wondered why you got upset when I told you the botanical garden was opened in the 1900s. Seriously, think of all the time you would have saved if you had ju
st come clean with me from the very beginning.’

  Payne countered. ‘Probably less time than you’ve wasted with all your gloating. We get it: you’re perceptive. Now use your ability for good, not evil. Tell us what the riddle means.’

  She smiled at Payne, enjoying their banter. They had been going at it since they had met on Schachen, verbally jousting about everything. After a while, she knew something was bound to happen. Either they would get into a huge fight, or they would rip each other’s clothes off. She wasn’t sure which, although she hoped for the latter. It sounded a lot more fun.

  ‘Let me ask you a question,’ she said.

  ‘What now?’ Payne grumbled.

  She pointed at Ulster. ‘Actually, I was talking to him.’

  ‘Oh,’ Payne said.

  Ulster responded. ‘What is it, my dear?’

  ‘Your grandfather, he wrote these clues in his journal?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How was his handwriting?’

  ‘His handwriting?’ Ulster asked, confused.

  ‘Was it easy to read, or were some of his words open to interpretation?’

  ‘For the most part, his penmanship was exquisite. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was wondering how certain you were about the word gartenhaus. Could you have misread that particular term?’

  The leather-bound journal was sitting on the desk in front of him. Ulster flipped to the appropriate page and studied the word. ‘It says gartenhaus. Clear as day.’

  ‘That’s disappointing,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why is that?’ Payne wondered.

  ‘I was hoping it said something else. If it did, I’d know the answer to the riddle.’

  ‘Really?’ Jones asked. ‘What word were you hoping for?’

  ‘Gartenlaube. I wanted it to say gartenlaube.’

  ‘What does that mean in English?’

  She looked at Jones. ‘It means garden arbour.’

  ‘That’s pretty close to garden house. Could it be that anyway?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

  Payne looked at Ulster, who was searching the pages of the journal for additional clues. ‘Petr, after all the grief I’ve given you over the years about your long-winded stories, I can’t believe I’m about to say this. Earlier today, I think I cut you off a little too early.’

  Ulster relished the moment. ‘Oh? Which time was that? Was it when we entered the bunker? Or when we opened the first crate? Or when we were talking about the black swan?’

  Payne shook his head. ‘None of those.’

  ‘Then which instance are you referring to?’

  ‘When we first landed on Schachen, you started telling DJ and I about the original language of the riddle. We begged you to skip the background information about the journal because we wanted to know the actual riddle. Do you remember that?’

  ‘I do, indeed.’

  Payne continued. ‘I could be wrong, but didn’t you say something about the original version of the riddle being written in an ancient language that needed to be translated?’

  ‘Actually,’ Ulster said, ‘it wasn’t an ancient language at all. It was merely an older dialect, known as Austro-Bavarian. My grandfather then translated the riddle into Austrian German, which was the language he had spoken prior to moving to Switzerland. Once he took residence here in Küsendorf, he started speaking Italian, which is the unofficial language of the canton of Ticino. Growing up, I found it strange since Küsendorf is such a German-sounding name. However, through some research of my own, I learned that this town was actually founded by a man with Polish ancestry, who had the surname of Kuz—’

  ‘Petr!’ Payne shouted. ‘This is why we cut you off. Although everything you said about Küsendorf was riveting, it has nothing to do with our current conversation. Don’t you see that?’

  Ulster nodded. ‘I do now.’

  Payne took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to remain focused on your grandfather’s journal.’

  ‘What about it?’ he asked.

  ‘When your grandfather translated the riddle, could he have slightly altered the original meaning when he used Austrian-German words?’

  Ulster nodded again. ‘It happens all the time – especially with unusual words or highly specific terms. Sometimes there isn’t a perfect word in the new language, so a translator is forced to choose the closest possible replacement.’

  Heidi spoke up. ‘Could gartenhaus have been substituted for gartenlaube?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Although their definitions are slightly different, their basic structures are remarkably similar, right down to the “au” in the last syllable.’

  ‘So it’s possible?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, it’s possible.’

  Heidi broke into a wide grin. ‘If that’s the case, I know the answer to the riddle. I know where a swan goes on his journey home.’

  53

  During the two-hour car ride from his business meetings in Hamburg to his residence in Berlin, Hans Mueller reflected on the early-morning phone call he had received from Max Krueger, a devoted employee who wasn’t known for hyperbole. Krueger had seemed truly excited about the appearance of Petr Ulster in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, yet several hours had passed without an update of any kind. With the day winding down, Mueller was curious.

  From the back seat of his custom-built Mercedes limousine, Mueller flipped a switch that lowered the soundproofed partition in front of him. ‘Have you heard from Krueger?’

  His eager assistant responded. ‘No, sir, I haven’t. But I assembled the information you requested on the Ulster Archives. Shall I send it to your laptop?’

  Mueller nodded. ‘Then give Krueger a call. I’d love to know what’s going on down there. Garmisch isn’t known for excitement – unless you’re a skier.’

  The assistant laughed. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll call at once. Would you like to speak to him?’

  ‘Only if it’s worth my time.’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Mueller nodded and flipped the switch to raise the partition. It was a third of the way up when he heard the deep voice of his muscular chauffeur, a man named Bosch, who spoke approximately once a week. If he had something to say, it was bound to be important. Mueller stared at his driver in the rear-view mirror. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Bosch looked back at him. ‘Something happened in Garmisch.’

  Mueller lowered the partition. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was listening to the news while you were in your meeting. There was a shootout in Garmisch.’

  ‘A shootout? What kind of shootout?’

  Bosch looked at him. ‘A bad one.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Multiple gunmen, several deaths.’

  ‘In Garmisch? Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m certain. Someone was killed at the ski stadium.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘In the mountains.’

  Mueller rubbed his chin in thought. According to Krueger, choppers had been flying in and out of Garmisch-Partenkirchen for the past week and had been landing in a field near the base of Zugspitze. One of the choppers, registered to the Ulster Archives, had arrived there early that morning, and now this? In Mueller’s mind, it couldn’t be a coincidence – not in a town where the last shootout had occurred in World War Two.

  His assistant turned around. He was holding an encrypted satellite phone against his ear. ‘Sir, it went straight to voicemail. Shall I leave a message for Krueger?’

  Mueller shook his head. ‘No.’

  He quickly hung up. ‘Now what, sir?’

  ‘Who do we know in Garmisch?’

  ‘Krueger is our lead man. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.’

  ‘What about the police? Who’s our local contact?’

  The assistant tried to come up with a name but couldn’t due to the complex structure of the German police. Every state in Germany was responsi
ble for operating its own force, which was then divided into a number of regional police authorities. The Bavarian State Police, known as the Bayerische Polizei, had ten such subdivisions. Krueger had many contacts within the Polizeipräsidium München, the force that protected the city of Munich, but Krueger’s organization did so little business in Garmisch-Partenkirchen that his assistant wasn’t even sure which regional authority was in charge of that section of Bavaria.

  ‘I don’t think we have a contact in Garmisch. Do you have a suggestion?’

  ‘Call Munich. With so many dead, they might get involved.’

  ‘What about the SEK, sir?’ It was an abbreviation for the Spezialeinsatzkommando, a special response team that handled unusual cases, such as hostage situations and violent crimes. ‘I know they have a unit assigned to the Alps. Perhaps they’re in charge of the mountains.’

  Mueller shrugged. He honestly didn’t know. Most of his deals happened in major cities, not in the rugged terrain near the Austrian border. ‘Call whoever you want! Just find out what happened in Garmisch. And track down Krueger. I want to speak to him at once!’

  He punctuated his statement by raising the partition, sealing himself off from the commotion that was sure to follow in the front seat. While his assistant tracked down names and made a series of phone calls to their contacts all over Germany, Mueller could focus on the heart of the matter: Who was Petr Ulster, and what was he doing in Garmisch-Partenkirchen?

  Although Mueller was familiar with the Ulster name, he didn’t grasp the scope of the Ulster Archives until he viewed the file that had been sent to his laptop. The comprehensive dossier included videos about its history, newspaper articles on its collections and thousands of pictures of its most famous treasures. Mueller had never cared much about art or artefacts, but that changed when he read the estimated value of the archives was more than a billion dollars. In his opinion, there was no way a man of Ulster’s wealth (or weight) would fly to the nether regions of Bavaria to hike up a mountain unless he had found something extraordinary.

  The question was, what?

  Mueller spent the next fifteen minutes searching the internet, trying to figure out what Ulster could have discovered that would have been worth his time. Historically speaking, there were a few possibilities in that part of Germany. Partenkirchen originated as the Roman town of Parthanum. It had been founded on the trade route from Rome to Augsburg and was first mentioned in AD 257. Its main street, Ludwigstrasse, followed the original Roman road. More than a millennium later, the town flourished as a way station on a trade route to the Orient.