Vienna

by William S. Kirby

  I’ll trip.

  “That book is too boring for our little princess. Here is one on knights in shining armor.”

  But I want to read about Sisi and the Star of Memphis.

  “They would have recognized…”

  “Knights in shining…”

  “How far to that light?”

  My shoe is untied.

  “They would have…” More than one. Another man in Justine’s limousine back in Brussels. Pointing at Vienna and laughing. “She walks funny.”

  Wet pavement under her hands. I’ll trip.

  “They used gold to tint the windows red.”

  “Au” for aurium. The shining dawn. Enough for a plane ticket home, so far away.

  Gold to measure distance.

  Metal to measure time.

  Start at the sun and walk north to Mercury. Each gram of gold translated into a meter. Then each gram of quicksilver stepped off anticlockwise in an orbital arc. Time recorded in the movement of the planets. Then out to Venus …

  My shoe.

  “… have recognized…”

  The alchemy of the planets.

  My shoe is untied.

  She bent down to tie her shoe. “Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?”

  “You never saw a unicorn.”

  My shoe

  My

  My Little Storm Cloud

  Justine?

  You’re just like her.

  And the forest was full of ghosts; acolytes of a forgotten goddess, drowning in the lake by the Cart House. She felt water on her face.

  Know ye not this parable? And how then will ye know all parables?

  help me help me help me

  Justine smiled. “You are now rid of my presence and annoyance; be happy in your own way.” Dying under the boughs of the ancient forest. The thick smell of pine. Winter wind through the trees. The dark shadow of the Cart House, warm lights in the windows.

  “They were wrong to abandon you, my Lady. But I am forever your knight.” And it sounded like Lord Davy, but his hair was deep brown and there was no scar on his face. All around him were walls covered in pictures and diagrams and riding crops and medals. And there was blood dripping all over her and she cried and cried.

  It’s the rain that made you this way.

  And that had to be true because the blood became cold rain, reaching her even though she was under all the pillars filled with gold.

  A small crowd gathered around the girl in the courtyard. Her torso twisted as she rocked back and forth, her fingers clawing at the air. But no one was a doctor and no one felt safe touching the girl. It was obviously a seizure of some sort. Moving her might hurt her, and then who knew what the lawyers might do? The museum’s eaves were keeping her dry, and she didn’t seem to be in immediate danger.

  A man tried to calm her with a reassuring stream of words. His companion thought he recognized her. “Wien.”

  27

  The museum courtyard was a gloomy mine shaft sunk in a massive outcrop of stone buildings. Vienna sat on the far side, a marionette slumped over tangled strings. Her hands jerked over cobblestones, working an impotent spell against whatever ripsaw vision had severed her from reality. A museum guidebook beside her, drinking rainwater and pissing a dark smear of ink. Meaning slipping to entropy.

  The police held the crowd back. No one approached the girl. Her mouth half-open, torso rocking over collapsed legs. Her fingers grabbing at nothing.

  Justine was escorted by the same officers who’d snatched her from the Belvedere and given her a heart attack ride through the Innere Stadt. Their car’s two-tone siren a screeching echo of Vienna’s ancestry, reaching out to protect the girl.

  Then why leave her here, pinned to the wall by gawkers? It didn’t make sense. Unless this was a shadow of her ancestry as well? Prince Rudolph had been caught in the woods with no witnesses to record his fate. No worry of that here. Cameras clicking at the girl, images flashing to Facebook and Flickr. Had the danger become so great that shame was her only shelter?

  Would the same protection have been extended to me?

  The wind shifted, kicking rain over Vienna.

  Justine went to her, kneeled down. “Vienna?” It came to her that Vienna was tying shoelaces. Fingers winding together and pulling a bow tight, despite wearing flats. Justine cupped her hands over the girl’s frantically working fingers. “Vienna?” It wasn’t the textbook way to handle such a case. It wasn’t what she would have tried back in the wards of Felton Gables.

  Vienna slowly looked up. Through the rain, Justine could see tears filling her eyes. Her gaze held nothing of the place around her; pupils searching for a reset button she couldn’t find.

  “Vienna. It’s time to go home.” Justine tightened her grip, stopping Vienna’s fingers. The best thing would be to let Vienna lie down, but the pavement was sinking under a growing lattice of puddles.

  “I’m a good girl,” she whispered. Justine remembered the words from their lovemaking. Fought back her own tears.

  “You’re a beautiful girl.”

  “My head hurts.”

  “I know.” Justine moved her right hand to Vienna’s head, brushing back wet hair. “Can you stand?”

  “The sky is spinning. Circles in circles. The machinery of God. Day into night into years. Prince Rudolph couldn’t stop it and it ate him up.”

  “We can sit longer, if you need to.”

  “Did you know that carbon tetrachloride was first synthesized by Henri Regnault in 1839?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “It is.”

  “Petrichor.”

  “Vienna?”

  “The smell of water on soil. It’s what makes everything seem fresh when it rains.” She was back, making eye contact for a heartbeat. “Do you think it made me the way I am? The rain?”

  Justine tried to smile, knew it came out wrong. “Then let it rain.”

  Vienna gathered her feet under herself and slowly rose, Justine holding her arm. “Vienna? Are you okay?”

  “It’s cold.” She threw her arms around Justine and held her with trembling strength. “I dreamed you were dead.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here.” Justine held her tightly for several seconds and then gently pried her loose so they could walk.

  They made their way to the crowd. Hushed applause, as if Vienna had made a difficult chip at Augusta. People stepped forward, holding umbrellas over them. Justine thanked them with a half smile. She heard, among the strings of Austrian words, both her name and Vienna’s.

  But not everyone was helping. Justine saw Mr. Sunglasses from Emily’s photographs, barely glimpsed as people stepped closer. Her world turned sickeningly, ugly thoughts pivoting on growing realization. Shift a little and new reflections appear.

  Lord Davy still had access to the Cart House and all its noble, dusty history. He wouldn’t have had to deal with Andries to uncover the estate’s secrets, much less kill him. Even so, that didn’t erase Grant’s phone number from Davy’s phone. Was there no one left to trust?

  Justine quickened the pace as much as Vienna could handle. Protecting her head as she sank into the backseat of the police car.

  In front of the Hotel Sacher, Justine assured the officers that Vienna would be fine. Once in their suite, she stripped Vienna down, held her in a warm shower, and toweled her dry. “Off to bed with you,” she finished.

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Doctor’s orders.”

  Vienna crawled under the covers, propping herself up on a stack of king-sized pillows. Justine went to the kitchen. The dissected remains of her Sony laptop were spread across the counter. Straight rows of tiny screws arranged by size. Letters popped off the keyboard and laid out alphabetically. Circuit boards evenly spaced over wet spots. She held the components under water. The hard drive had been taken from its spindle and bent almost in two. She must have stomped it against a floor board.

>   “Vienna? What happened to my computer?”

  “I wanted to see how it worked.”

  Two weeks ago, it would have fit expectations. She thinks I’ll write it off to her condition. Not a chance.

  “I see.” Justine looked at the twisted hard drive. Something stored on the computer’s disk.

  “Are you mad?” Vienna asked.

  All those pictures of the manikins changing. No proof of it left. At least I have none. What had Vienna discovered?

  “No.” Too scared to be mad. Justine poured a glass of cold water and returned to Vienna. “Drink if you can.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re at the last statue. They’ll kill us.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Davy. Or one of his friends.”

  “Not going to happen. I promise.”

  Vienna shifted. Her voice slow and careful. “We should open the last statue and tell everyone what’s inside.” She paused, lips moving over the next words.

  Getting more lies straight.

  “It might save the woman who owns it, maybe,” Vienna continued. As if guessing that was the right thing to say.

  She knows! She has the answer to the coded riddle. The Star of Memphis. She only needs to see the cylinders inside the last manikin. But how? The BlackBerry.

  “Vienna, did you find anything on my BlackBerry?”

  “No.”

  “Vienna, you had to—”

  “I hate how you never believe me.” Tears starting again.

  Shit.

  Vienna would know the solution before the killer. Every step she took would be watched. Mr. Sunglasses would see to that. His boss would shoot Vienna the second she succeeded. There was no other way to keep the secret.

  With the evidence on my computer destroyed, I might escape. She’s trying to save me, but she can’t save herself.

  Except … the killer was like David Andries in one respect. He would never run from a woman. He would never believe one was a threat, not on a level that mattered.

  “Doesn’t that make sense?” Vienna asked. “To take it apart before it’s replaced?”

  “It won’t be replaced. There was never a chance to make a duplicate. The owner won’t let anyone see it but me.”

  Vienna shrank under the covers. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “The only chance to get the cylinders would be to fake an accident serious enough to break the manikin open. They could drop it during unloading and grab the goods in the resulting chaos.”

  Vienna remained silent. Constructing a new argument to get to the manikin.

  Justine brushed her fingers through Vienna’s hair. “It never made sense to me—how we started in Budapest and skipped over Vienna—the closest city. But this had to be the last manikin. The thieves knew they’d have to destroy it with no duplicate to replace it. They couldn’t do that and expect the other owners to give them access.”

  “We still need to take it apart.” No reason given—none left except that Vienna needed the last piece of the puzzle.

  The killer will go after her.

  “I’m certain the owner will let me see it first. We can take it apart tomorrow morning, if you feel up for it.”

  “Okay.”

  He’ll never see me coming after him.

  28

  Vienna didn’t like the old house. The furniture was spindled wood and no padding. Antiques from when people had stronger arses.

  The woman living there was broken. She thought Justine was her daughter. She kept on calling Justine “dear” and “sweet child.”

  “Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?”

  It made Vienna self-conscious.

  The lady showed them to a domed library that held the manikin. “It’s such a cute piece, and it looks so much like you, Heather.” It didn’t look anything like Justine. “If only the pose were more dignified.”

  The manikin wore a dark gray hobble skirt and a matching top. Vienna thought the dress was a sad attempt to conceal the impish pose of the doll; bent at the waist and her back swayed in open invitation to explore everything south of the shoulder blades. Standing on tiptoes. Some anthropologists speculate that wearing high heels mimics lordosis behavior, observed in cats and other … She blushed, remembering the last night in Iceland. Justine’s hands on her back, the answering arch of her spine.

  The manikin’s hands were close to her chest, palms open, as if she were leaning on a high counter. She had long, curled hair, seductively dark. Her glass eyes were deep brown.

  “She’s very pretty,” Vienna said.

  “But in poor taste. I’m putting her up for sale when this is over,” the old lady said. “I only kept her because I knew someday Heather would want to see her.”

  “Very kind,” Justine said. “May we take it apart?”

  “By all means, sweetie. I had no idea it even came apart!”

  They removed the clothes, Vienna folding them on a spindled chair of polished mahogany. Lowering the statue to its side was easy with Justine’s help. Vienna went to the feet, seeing the expected star, bowl, and horn. The other foot was branded with the statue’s name: Theodrada. A forgotten queen, known as little more than dame to her king.

  Women are nothing but machines for producing children. Napoleon. That French bastard who invaded Austria. My home. She liked the way that sounded. My home.

  Vienna twisted the big toe lightly, stopping at a slight click. She began to dismantle the manikin.

  “Shouldn’t you label the pieces?” the old lady asked, alarmed at the growing pile of wooden parts.

  “Vienna is an expert,” Justine assured her.

  Thirty minutes later, Vienna held up a tiny disk of gold and a small cylinder of stone.

  “It’s marble!” she said, delighted with the beauty of it. The Earth had no alchemical metal associated with it, so Bell had used marble. It was perfect. She guessed at the dimensions. “Five grams of gold.” The density of marble was harder to find, but the Chemical Rubber Company Handbook of Chemistry and Physics had it. “Marble has a density of 2.563, assuming this is solid, which I think it is.” She did the calculation in her head and added five grams. It would throw the final calculation off by meters. I will never let them get it! “Twenty-six grams.”

  “What does it mean?” asked the lady.

  “Weights for balancing the machine used to make the manikin,” Justine answered.

  “They used gold for such things?”

  “It could be precisely measured.” A ridiculous answer, but there was no change in Justine’s voice, no way to tell she was lying.

  “How nice,” the lady said.

  “I’m sure historians of such things will be pleased,” Justine said. “Let’s get it back together.”

  Vienna worked faster than in Iceland, taking delight in the ingenious way the pieces slid together. She listened to Justine instruct the old lady how to lie. “I don’t want anyone to know we took the manikin apart. You know how these photographers are. Once something is studied it’s no longer art. We’ll record the contents on a note and slip it into the skirt pocket. That way, everyone can discover it for themselves.”

  It won’t matter. Vienna had all she needed. It was beautiful. Circles within circles. Treasure hidden among the planets.

  Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.

  29

  The girl was a ghost once again. Rising from bed the instant twelve flashed blue on the bedside clock. Of course Vienna would start a nocturnal quest precisely at midnight. It was a function of who she was. Across the floor with the preternatural grace of the socially traumatized. No one notice me. I’m not here. Leave me alone.

  Justine feigned sleep on an anthill of caffeine pills. Belatedly realizing that anxiety would have kept her awake.

  Vienna dressed from a stack of folded clothes left on an oversized
chair. Shoes on, she hesitated. “I had a dream,” she whispered, “which was not all a dream.” Justine imagined Vienna’s eyes scanning over words only she could see. What meaning did they hold? An exaggerated sigh, and she was gone. Justine sprang from the bed, dressing from her own ready stash.

  A lone man in the lobby, his face hidden behind the latest edition of Der Kurier. Blue jeans over black motorcycle boots. Justine wondered if he still had the sunglasses on.

  How many other people had taken note of Vienna’s flight? None of them could doubt her destination. The great forest at the edge of the city. Justine’s phone showed the distance to be roughly eight miles from the hotel. The obvious plan would be to hit the front desk for access to the business center. Call up Google Earth and print a map of the area. Then ask the valet to flag a taxi. Show the driver your map and you’re off. All it required was interaction with three or four strangers, most of whom would not speak your language. Easy to see how that’d play out in Vienna’s world. They’d be angry at being disturbed by such stupid questions. They would laugh at you because you’re such an idiot. They might even take you to the wrong place and then what would you do? So much safer just to walk. It would take less than three hours if Vienna kept a good pace.

  The girl stepped into the night, hunched down in a black Pringle of Scotland sweater she’d found in a boutique off Stephansplatz. It would keep her warm enough as long as she kept moving.

  Following was effortless. Vienna never looked to either side, let alone behind. Apprehension manifest in her broken stride; skipping over lines or tightroping along cracks in the sidewalk. Justine trailed a half block behind, her steps lost in the low drone of nocturnal traffic.

  So how easy would it be to follow me?

  She stepped to the side and quickly turned around, expecting to see Sunglasses. It was worse. Fifteen people close enough to see their faces. Was the man in the blue jacket familiar? Had he been at the hotel? A useless surge of adrenaline. Maybe in the elevator? Now what?

  Justine turned away and quickened her pace to keep up with Vienna. Past a black-windowed bar, Jimmy Buffet absurdly spilling into the night. “God I wish I was sailin’ again…” The staccato pulse of a UV light from the second floor. Impossible to imagine what for.