Page 34 of The Last Kingdom

Between 1862 and 1871, Otto von Bismarck used a combination of persuasion, strategy, skill, and war to create the Second Reich, ruled by a kaiser. Bavaria had been swept up in that German nationalistic fervor and Ludwig II signed off on a document that brought his kingdom into the union, all while preserving much of its eight-hundred-year-old independence. After the German defeat in World War I, all that vanished and the cursed Weimar Republic was declared. Bavaria became a part of that when Ludwig III, Luitpold’s son, walked away from his crown. Ever since, Bavaria’s identity had been tied to Germany. Sometimes with disastrous results. Nazism had been born here. Hitler called it home. The land was eventually ravaged and bombed to oblivion over its loyalty to a führer. He admired Bismarck, though. Hard not to. One of the geniuses of European history, and mainly because he’d known when to stop. None of the German leaders after him shared that insight. But he would. First, though, he had to make Bavaria a kingdom once again.

“The people will vote overwhelmingly to secede,” he said. “Every poll shows that a clear two-thirds favor that move.”

Scholtz stood and approached the cart with the drinks and food. The head of the German parliament poured himself a splash of brandy and sampled the foie gras.

“My compliments to your chef,” Scholtz said.

He wasn’t interested in platitudes. “I will deliver exactly what you want and you will give me what I want. My brother will die of his cancer, and I will become king of Bavaria.”

Maas seemed unimpressed. “Just don’t take too long, or this deal is off. Time is critical.”

Scholtz enjoyed some of the truffles. “That means in the next three days. After that, we will be moving to another route to satisfy our benefactors.”

That was news. Three days? “This is the first I have heard of a deadline.”

“First we learned of it too,” Maas said. “But those benefactors want immediate results. As do we. The politics here are volatile. Our ruling coalition in the Bundestag is shaky, at best. We can hold it together, but that will take some outside assistance. If we can’t deliver, those benefactors will make a deal with others. One that does not include us or you. And we will all not get what we want.” She paused. “They set the three-day deadline, not us.”

He gazed into the drink like a fortune-teller reading tea leaves, looking for insight. Three months he’d been preparing, ever since first learning of Albert’s terminal illness. He’d made the best use of the limited information he possessed, hoping to learn more. But he needed more time.

“My path is the fastest and quickest way to achieve all of our goals,” he said. “Make that clear to our benefactors.”

“Just get it done,” Scholtz said. “In the next three days.”

Chapter 19

LUKE HARBORED A GREAT ADMIRATION FOR GERMANS. THEY WEREApeople who loved to have a good time without shame or regret. Each stein of beer they downed seemed a reminder of the bygone glories of royal Bavaria, kaisers remembered, and wars forgotten. Within merriment, Munich, and all of Germany, seemed to forget its troubled past.

He stared around at the revelers, most with a stein clasped in one hand while endlessly gesturing with the other. The hall, colorfully decorated in the old German style, reeked with atmosphere thanks to dark paneling and leaded glass. Two huge, green-tiled stoves in the far corners caught the glow of several immense wrought-iron chandeliers. He sat at one of the long wooden tables and kept watch on the man with the pilgrim beard. He’d also ordered a broiled bratwurst with sauerkraut. A portion of the hall had been cleared of tables for a dance floor and a brass band shook the rafters. Many of the patrons kept time with the music by banging their glasses on the tables.

He joined in.

The gaiety mounted higher and higher, offering plenty of distractions.

He watched Pilgrim as the older man paged through the book. Who was this guy? Who were the other two? Movement caught his eye. Up toward the ceiling.

A bird flying across the vaults, trapped inside.

Huh?

Where he grew up superstitions were a part of life. His grandmother had been a big proponent. She lived in Blount County, Tennessee, as did all of his family on both sides. Once he was visiting her on a warm August evening when a bird flew through an open window into the house and flittered around until they were able to shoo it back outside.

But his grandmother became really upset.

He had no idea why, but she finally told him,If a bird flies into your house, it’s a sign there’ll be a death in the family real soon.He’d been no more than nine or ten and the seriousness on her wizened face, and the danger in her words, had scared him. Later, when he told his mother what happened she’d said,It’s just an old woman’s silliness.

But his great-uncle died a week later.

So he made a point to learn more of the superstitions handed down through the generations.If you tell a bad dream before breakfast, it’ll come true. Petting a calico cat brings good luck. If the bottom of your right foot itches, you’re about to take a trip. It’s bad luck to kill a ladybug.And one that always drove him crazy.A way to tell if the mother or father is the boss is to look at their toes. If the one next to the big toe is longer, that’s the boss.He’d studied both his parents’ feet and determined that neither one of them was the boss.

Yes, it was all crap.

But it was the kind of crap that stuck with you.

To this day the hair on the back of his neck always rose when he heard a dog howling mournfully in the night.

He watched the bird and could hear that dog.

Something was up.

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