Page 81 of The Last Kingdom

He came to his feet and opened the door.

The chopper was flying away.

Chapter 43

STEFAN TRIED TO ENJOY HIS BREAKFAST.

He’d dispatched Christophe to head back to the Guglmänner. The time had come to play his hand with those fanatics. The current incarnation of the brotherhood had existed for about seventy years, restarted in the 1950s during Germany’s postwar rebuilding as a specialized social organization. An amusement in the media every once in a while. The only thing making them relevant at the moment was that they possessed a wealth of information passed down from the time of Ludwig II’s death and in the decades after. Much more than his own family possessed.

“I want you to know, Christine, I appreciate your help here.”

He and Professor Ertl had left her apartment and walked to a nearby café. The Guglmänner had moved quickly on the book, exactly as Christophe had predicted. He’d made Ertl aware of his plan and she’d agreed to be the bait. That’s why she’d accepted the book from Christophe, locked it in her desk, then left for the evening, providing the perfect opportunity. Now that the black hoods controlled the book, perhaps they could solve the mystery. The one Christine had researched as best she could. The same one his father and uncles barely mentioned.

At least to him.

They were dining on fresh bread, strong coffee, and some delicious Danish ham.

“I glanced through the book when Christophe first brought it,” she said. “It’s an 1875 edition.Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg.Not a mark on any page. The correct seal was there, though. The embossed swan with a break in the neck.”

King Ludwig III had owned an impressive private library. A few thousand volumes, each one embossed with a swan as a personal mark that denoted ownership. He’d adopted it from his cousin Ludwig II, who’d loved swans. Odd, really. In German lore swans were an ill omen. Yet images of them adorned all of the castles and palaces. So many that Ludwig II acquired a nickname. The Swan King.

“There are other volumes from Ludwig III’s library in the national archives,” she said. “All with the same embossing on the title page.”

Good to hear the book was absolutely authentic.

Ertl was an expert on late nineteenth-century Bavaria, post Ludwig II, during the time of Luitpold’s regency and Ludwig III’s brief reign. They’d met a decade ago when he first began to show an interest in that period. He’d rekindled their relationship a few months back and she’d seemed eager to help.

“We need to find another copy of that book,” he said to her. “Can it be done?”

She nodded. “Now that we know what we’re looking for, I should be able to locate another in one of the state libraries.”

“Please do that. And quickly.”

Ertl’s knowledge, like his own, of the legend surrounding Ludwig was hampered by a disturbing lack of information. But she had discovered among Ludwig III’s papers a reference to a possible hiding place in the desk. So he’d sent his people to investigate, which had resulted in success.

“Marc Fenn and his brothers now need to go to work,” he said to her.

“They will. It’s their whole purpose.”

Fenn was an interesting fellow. He inherited his wealth from his grandfather, who founded a household cleaning products company in the late nineteenth century. His father turned it into a global chemical empire that eventually had close ties with the Nazis. But, like so many other entities that had been needed after the war to rebuild a destroyed Germany, their sins were forgiven and the company flourished. Smartly, Fenn diversified in the 1990s and started making cables, antennas, and receivers for cell phones. He was a billionaire several times over, with all the time and money in the world.

Which he envied.

Once king, he would deal with Marc Fenn and all of the other industrialists who wanted to profit fromhisBavaria. There’d be a price to pay for the privilege. Just like the old days.

“It is the Guglmänner’s move,” he said to Ertl. “We have supplied them with all we have. Now they need to use it.”

He’d already told her everything that happened last night.

“If there’s a chance they can recover the body, they will,” she said. “They have long peddled theories of Ludwig II’s murder. The body, if found, along with modern forensics, will give them the first opportunity to actually prove their beliefs. A way to possibly legitimize themselves. Have you seen their video?”

He had. A thirty-minute exposé on the death of Ludwig II, with everything pointing to murder. Lots of supposition. Not much evidence. They’d posted it online two years ago, garnering over two million views. That’s a lot of interest in a bunch of obsessed men wearing black robes and hoods.

“No one has ever had the opportunity to study Ludwig’s remains,” she said. “The autopsy done at the time of his death was totally controlled by the government, who had an interest in suppressing the truth.”

“Do you believe he was murdered?”

She shrugged. “It’s doubtful. That secret would have been too difficult to keep. More likely he died at just the right moment through his own fault. He was a foolish, reckless man.”

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