Page 83 of The Last Kingdom

They walked across the market to one of the larger booths where two men in colorful vestments were crafting medieval leather shoes. They passed through the booth and then a thick curtain that opened into a covered tent. Some sort of work area. Waiting for them was a man in his mid- to late fifties with short iron-gray hair brushed straight back. He wore a stylish cashmere knee-length overcoat with a dark Louis Vuitton scarf.

“This is the guy I told you about,” Christophe said to the man in English. “Jonathan Smith.”

The older man made no effort to shake hands, so Luke kept his own stuffed into his coat pockets.

“This is Marc Fenn, the grand master of the Guglmänner,” Christophe said.

“I am told you’re not fluent in German,” Fenn said.

“American, through and through,” Luke noted. “But I am good at what I do. Christophe says you need some…specialized help. I can do that.” He paused. “For a price.”

“Everything is for a price with Americans,” Fenn said.

“It’s called capitalism. We like it. Makes the world go round.”

He had no intel on this guy, and he was a little suspicious that the head of the brotherhood was taking the time to meet with a total stranger. He’d learned long ago that the owner of a place rarely did the hiring. That was left to others lower on the organizational chart. So what was this about? Maybe Christophe was not nearly as good as he thought he was.

“I am also told you might like to join our ranks,” Fenn said.

Luke shrugged. “I’m not much of a joiner, but my friend here says there are benefits. I like benefits.”

“We cherish the bond between the brothers. It is something we all hold dear.”

He could not decide if the words were pandering or he meant them down to his core.

“I have a job that needs doing,” Fenn said. “And it comes with…benefits. It is a job for which I prefer not to involve the other brothers.”

“He’s a brother,” Luke said, pointing at Christophe.

“He is special, since he also works for the prince. He is our spy. Christophe said you would understand the necessity of that duplicity, as you, too, work for the prince.”

“I understand euros and dollars. And I don’t owe the prince a thing.”

Fenn nodded. “You owe me nothing either. But I will owe you when you complete the job I need done.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“We can handle it,” Christophe said, eager.

“I require something,” Fenn said. “But it will be difficult to obtain.”

“I assume the benefits are in proportion to the risk?” Luke asked, playing the part of what was expected.

“Twenty-five thousand euros each, if you succeed. And all for just a few hours’ work.”

“And if we don’t succeed?” Christophe asked.

“You’ll probably end up in jail, at which point I will disavow ever knowing you.”

Christophe shrugged. “Nothing new there. I’m in.”

“Me too,” Luke said.

* * *

STEFAN DID NOT LIKE THE FACT THAT NO ONE RECOGNIZED HIM.

Few knew, or cared, about a Wittelsbach. Once they were among the most elite royalty in all of Europe. The sovereigns of Bavaria, a fairy-tale-like place that everyone admired. Now they were nothing. His brother possessed a bit of notoriety, but not much. Albert had long withdrawn from the public, preferring to stay cloistered at Nymphenburg with his stamps. When death finally came he doubted anyone would give the Duke of Bavaria much thought. No elaborate state funeral. No accolades. Little to nothing. Just a body hauled down into a crypt and sealed away. Of course, everything would be different if he could find that deed and make a deal with Berlin.

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