Chapter 10
Schloss Stahlberg, Liebnitz
Elena had signed out an unmarked car from the pool, and left a message for her boss, saying that she was taking a few days off to arrange things for her father’s funeral. Simon was released into her custody which, as she told him, meant that he had to do what she told him to the letter.
Ignoring his suggestion that they stop by his hotel to pick up his belongings, she wove the car through the empty streets of the capital and headed for the A2 toll road heading south. The Opel, while not glamorous, was efficient and ate up the miles as they headed for safety, the smooth ride combining with the metronomic passing of the street lights to lull Simon to sleep.
As he awoke, the sun was poking its head above the horizon, revealing a postcard -like landscape of farms and forests. No mountains here, the landscape was surprisingly flat, making the area, Elena informed him, the bread-basket of Austria. At the mention of food, his stomach gave an involuntary growl, a sign she said, that he was recovering from his shock.
Driving through the town of Leibnitz, a sleepy country settlement, just waking up, with bakers opening and children dawdling their way to school, Elena passed the white stucco church and headed for a small hill over-looking the city. It had snowed recently here and she was grateful that the fall had not been heavier as she twisted her way up the switchback road.
Ahead lay what looked like a bell-tower, and arch at the bottom through which she drove, coming to a halt slightly further on. The building was four storied, the ground floor surrounded by an arched colonnade. Not looking much like a castle to Simon, there was a noticeable lack of towers and battlements, the beige plasterwork and terracotta tiles reminded him more of Italy and the country houses found in Tuscany.
Getting out of the car, he was surprised to see a vineyard cascading down the hill towards the town. “My father loved the vineyard. He always made sure he was here for the harvest. I’ll show you the cellars later.” Elena slammed her door and headed for the double oak doors “Come with me.”
The hallway had a cold grey stone floor, and heavy wood panelling, the heads of various dead animals dotted about the walls, a reminder of the occupants’ hunting prowess. A couple of ornate portraits, seventeenth century from the look of the clothing, dominated the staircase. A man in late middle age stood next to the table in the middle of the floor. Wearing lederhosen and a short jacket, he was the very model of the Austrian domestic.
“Graeffin, welcome home. I am so sorry for your loss. He was a great man. Who could do such a thing?”
“Thank you Georg, I know. Don’t worry, the police will find him. How are the others?”
“We are all in shock, Graeffin, but we will do anything we can to help you. He was like a father to us all.”
“Thank you. This is Dr Pelham, he will be staying with us for a couple of days.” She gestured to Simon, standing slightly sheepishly near the door. “Please show him to one of the guest rooms.”
“Dr Pelham, I will see you for lunch at 12:30. Get some rest. I think we have much to talk about.” With that, she was off, turning left, through another set of double doors.
“Do you have any luggage sir?” Georg asked.
“No, I don’t. It was a spur of the moment thing.” was the best reply he could manage.
“Very well. Please to follow me.”
Georg led the way up the curving staircase, turning right at the top. He led Simon down a long corridor, or gallery more properly, the outside wall lined with windows, the inside with a selection of French furniture and paintings which would make Versailles blush. Turning right again, Georg led him up another, less grand staircase and down a short passageway before opening a door.
“Your room sir” Covered in fine green silk wallpaper, the room was stocked with heavy wooden furniture, a four poster bed and huge armoire. The dressing table featured a jug and bowl, and seeing his glance, Georg reassured him. “The bathroom is through this door, sir.” pointing to a plain white door on the far wall.
“I will bring clothes for you at 11:45 for your lunch with the Graeffin. And sir, I would suggest you get some sleep, you look terrible”
The servant left the room before Simon could get in a snappy reply about being shot at, and gave him time to reflect on the wisdom of what he had said. He was tired, and the bed looked extremely inviting. Lying back, he fell asleep almost instantly.
Dreaming about being on a yacht, Simon was enjoying the sensation of being rocked by the sea when he heard a voice in his ear suggesting that he might want to get up. Opening his eyes, he saw Georg leaning over him, all pleasant sleepy sensations now overtaken by embarrassment, how had he not heard the man come in the door?
“Good morning again sir. It is time to rise, the countess does not like to be kept waking.”
Sleepily thanking him, Simon got up.
“I have placed some clothes in the wardrobe for you sir. If you leave what you’re wearing in the basket next door, we will take care of it for you. Everything you need is in the bathroom.”
As the servant left, Simon went into the bathroom, choosing between the large white free-standing bath and the shower tucked into the corner. Wrestling with the controls for a moment, he was greeted with a torrent of scalding pure water. Obviously the castle drew its supply from some nearby spring fed by the winter snows.
Feeling awake, he wrapped one of the fluffy towels around his waist and proceeded to shave with the razor Georg had kindly provided. Padding back into the bedroom, he crossed the rug-covered wooden floor to the wardrobe, finding a selection of clean shirts and corduroy trousers, all, miraculously, the right size. Choosing the least old-fashioned combination, he left the room to find Georg waiting to take him to the dining room.
On the first floor, halfway along the grand corridor, they turned through a discreet door and found themselves in a long room, dominated by a massive oak dining table set only for two. At the far end, Elena stood, dressed totally in black, silverware and crystal in front of her. More ancestral portraits lined the walls, interspersed with more hunting trophies, and a couple of the guns which had resulted in them.
Beckoning Simon to the place by her right, she told Georg to serve lunch.
Simon’s attempts to play the good guest fell flat over the first course of consommé with dumplings, and the second of boiled beef and potatoes. Elena was distracted, as well she might be given that her father had been dead for less than a day, but he learned that the castle had been started in the eleventh century and most generations of the family had made some additions. The bit they were currently in dated to the 16th century when the bulk of the building had been completed. More recent generations had concentrated on renovating the cellars and turning the Schloss into a world-class winery.
They retired to the neighbouring drawing room for coffee, sitting slightly adversarily opposite each other on the yellow chintz sofas separated by a mahogany table. Sunlight filtered in through the leaded windows, striking the large gilt mirror which dominated one wall. A display cabinet, full, not of dead animals, but medals, took up the other. “All the awards my family has won go in there, Dr Pelham” she explained. “As you can see, there are rather a lot.”
She was right, the cabinet was full, some of the items, like scrolls and deeds looking particularly old. “Have you contributed any yourself, countess?”
“Only a small one, in the bottom right hand corner. An award for bravery. I was shot making an arrest. It was nothing really, but the papers got hold of it and you know what they are like.” Simon didn’t really, but made sympathetic noises.
“My father was very proud. Horrified at first, but proud as well. He wanted to keep the bullet, but wasn’t allowed - it was evidence after all.” A slight smile appeared on her face, revealing a couple of hitherto unsuspected dimples.
It soon disappeared, and the efficient police officer took over again. “You are here Dr Pelham because I agree with what you said last night. The murder must be connected to Dr Fleicher’s and to the theft of the Lance. As you are the only member of the Order we know of, you must be the one to recover the object, and lead us to the killers. Do not worry for you safety. The castle is well protected. It is a quiet part of the world here, and strangers stick out easily. No-one comes here in the winter and if they do, we will hear of it quickly. We have no mountains to attract skiers, only pasture for walkers, and you cannot walk when the snow is 10 feet deep.
“I asked Georg to bring in the package you left in the car. Perhaps we can open it here and start to make some progress.” She gestured to the brown-paper wrapped box sitting on the sideboard.
Simon fetched it and, placing it on the table between them, undid the string knot. The box inside was about the size of a paperback, covered in red leather. There was no note. Obviously Richard would have explained it to him when they met.
Opening the box, Simon saw a picture of the lance; it’s black and gold surfaces hinting at the menace it could cause. Below the photo lay a handwritten correspondence card. All it contained, beneath the embossed name and crest was another name, this one written in the now-familiar copperplate script was a name, Eric Weiss and the word Paris.
At least this latest clue was relatively clear, no codes to solve. Obviously, they were to make contact with this Eric Weiss. But who was he? Seeming to read his thoughts, Elena suggested they go to her father’s study where a computer would help them. Passing through the dining room and long corridor, she led him down the stairs and through the right hand doors off the main hallway. Another corridor awaited, panelled, but this one seemed more functional, with fewer portraits of ancient grandees. Opening a door on the right, she took him into a large room lined with bookshelves, the sash windows opening onto the courtyard and the vineyard below.
Booting up the computer, she typed the name into Google, and was immediately offered thousands of sites about the magician Houdini.
“Was Houdini involved with the spear somehow?” she asked.
“Not that I know of. Although, his real name was Erich Weiss, that must be the problem.” One of the flaws of the search engine was that it ranked results by popularity, not necessarily by relevance. It was a frustration that researchers knew well and could only be overcome by patience.
Simon took over and scrolled through the thousands of hits, Houdini having been one of the celebrities of his day. Eventually he found something more recent, but it was an obituary.
Eric Weiss had died the previous year. A holocaust survivor, he had returned to his native France at the end of the war and opened a successful engineering company. He left behind a wife and son who had taken over the business.
Elena sat in the window seat, gazing out of the window. “A dead end then.” she stated blankly.
Simon was thinking, what could be the connection between a Jewish concentration camp survivor and the Lance? Used mainly as slave-labour, how would a prisoner come into contact with what must have been one of the Nazi’s most prized possessions? Putting himself in the Nazi’s shoes, as difficult as that was, he quickly found the answer. If they had wanted the power of the Lance, they would want to test it, particularly to save embarrassment in front of the Fuhrer. They would need to know it worked and that they could control it. If you were a Nazi scientist, who else would you use as a guinea pig than a Jewish prisoner? Mengele did it all the time. That must be the answer. They had to find Eric Weiss’ family.
Until next time...
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