Cocktails are good, champagne is better, and best of all are chilled champagne cocktails, exquisite confections of bubbles and bitters with the added fragrance of raspberry liqueur. I contentedly mixed myself one from the crystal decanters on the sideboard. We were sitting around a large log fire in one of the sitting rooms in Schloss Himmelsberg, getting comfortably squiffy before the other guests arrived for Prince Ludwig's suicide party.
"Whom have you invited?" Anastasia inquired.
"My cousin, the Cardinal. Hans-Jurgen Gauss, Lady Rudolphine Bing, and Lord Hades. They should all be here soon, except the Cardinal who will come shortly before dinner."
"How do you know Lord Hades, sir?" I asked in amazement.
"We fought against each other in the war," Prince Ludwig said, as though this were enough to make people pals. "I captured him twice. He got away both times. After the war I went looking for him. It was a question of honor. I finally found him ten years later in Cambridge. We fought a duel, wounded each other grievously, shook hands, and have been the best of friends since then. Why? Do you know Hell?"
"I had the privilege of working for him until recently."
"Otto Hell is living proof of a theory I have maintained since I read the Bible in its entirety rather than merely the bland expurgated New Testament pabulum I was force-fed as a small boy. But when I read the Old Testament, the lyric poetry of savagery and brutality and massacres, I understood that the Jews are essentially a noble race. How can one not respect a nation that produced Bach, Kant, Goethe…"
"They were Jewish?"
Prince Ludwig nodded. "Secret Nazi research proved this. Of course it was immediately suppressed. The Jews are clearly the chosen people. What fierce warriors they make! Look at Israel where they have returned to their roots. How well they fight! If they were left to their own devices, without all this nonsense about human rights and the laws of war, they would wipe out all these filthy Arabs in a matter of hours, leaving not a single lice-infested kaffiyeh behind. Not that I have anything against Moslems. The clean ones of the desert, the hard ones, they are a fine people as well." Prince Ludwig stared sternly at the past. "That was what I always suggested when I was in the General Staff. Send the Jews into the Sahara. Let them fight for their promised land in the sands with the Bedouin, let them purge themselves through sacrifice and blood." A bitter look crossed his fierce face. "But no! Even the most noble generals, men whose families had been aristocrats for centuries, through whose veins flowed the purest of blue blood, even their heads had been turned by that moustached maniac, that ranting fool, that proletarian scum..." Prince Ludwig spat into the fireplace.
"Don't say mean things about Hitler in front of Gauss, please, Ludi," Pipi entreated. "You know he is always making speeches about our glorious Nazi past."
"That's just because he is a politician," Prince Ludwig replied impassively. "Gauss is a fat fool but he hasn't been the Chief Minister of Bavaria for thirty years without being able to squint around cunningly through his little pig eyes and hear the ecstatic squeals and approving grunts of these bourgeois swine when he gives Hitler the freedom of Munich in absentia. You must not think that Gauss really believes that Hitler is alive and well in Paraguay," Prince Ludwig said reprovingly. "However, you might be right. What he says may well be affecting what he thinks. I, for one, find this limp forelock that Gauss has been affecting lately distinctly annoying."
He broke off in mid-monologue. "But our guests are arriving now." A gorgeous old lady was advancing towards us with long strides. Her deep tan accentuated the mocking brightness of her very blue eyes. "Rudolphine!" Prince Ludwig smiled broadly and enclasped her in his arms.
"Lady Rudolphine Bing. My father's first wife," Anastasia said to me. "I adore her. She took care of me whenever I was in trouble."
"She's your stepmother?" I asked in confusion.
"No, he married my mother after Rudolphine divorced him," Anastasia explained. "But my father and Rudolphine have always stayed in touch. She was the only one of all his wives who divorced him."
I watched Anastasia and Lady Rudolphine talking animatedly. Prince Ludwig greeted another new arrival, a gigantic man whose tweed jacket threatened to burst at the seams at any moment under the pressure of his enormous belly. The big man seemed oddly familiar and I tried to remember whom he reminded me of as I watched him clumsily gesticulating with thick arms that were too short for his body. It was only when he laughed uproariously at the dirty joke he had just been telling Prince Ludwig and stroked the bristles on his thick pink jowls and squinted around with an air of cunning good-natured amusement that I realized that Doctor Hans-Jurgen Gauss reminded me irresistibly of a wildlife documentary which had made an indelible impression on me, a masterfully made movie about the wonderful adventures of a herd of wild boar. And, indeed, the crowd of bulky security guards watchfully standing guard on their master, the Chief Minister of Bavaria, looked exactly like the smaller swine surrounding the alpha pig in the herd.
"Good to see you again," a voice said gruffly. I turned and breathed deeply. My former boss, Professor Otto Hell, was standing at my elbow, bent over his walking sticks. He looked at me for an uncomfortably long moment and then nodded slightly. A smile flickered across his pursed lips. "Been all right?"
"Not too bad," I replied as airily as I could, considering all that I had lived through in the last month. "Thanks for asking Xox to tell the Sikhs to free my friend."
Hell shrugged. "No skin off my nose. Let me know next time someone gets kidnapped. Xox likes bribing people. Your friend all right?"
"I think so. I should call her."
Hell pointed at the tall form of Prince Ludwig. "How do you know Ludwig G and T?"
"Through his daughter," I said, waving my champagne glass at Anastasia. "I met her in Berlin. That's where I went after I left Prague."
"Takes after her mother."
"There's a striking resemblance to Prince Ludwig," I objected.
"They were cousins." Hell smirked faintly. "That's why Rudolphine left him for that surrealist photographer, something or other Bing. Rudi was his muse."
"She is very beautiful."
"Most beautiful woman I ever saw in my life," Hell said succinctly. "People killed for her. Bing was knifed in a bar brawl in Naples by some mafioso who thought that anything he saw belonged to him. 'Course somebody killed him in his turn. Like the Hope diamond. Bringing bad luck to all its owners. Except nobody ever owned her. Rudi always does exactly what she pleases. Even managed to tempt a saint once."
"Excuse me?"
"Ever heard of Murti?" I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Interesting mystic. Brahmin, naturally. The theosophists took him away from his parents when he was a small boy and brought him up in England like a rajah. Thought he was the messiah, for some strange reason. They were all crazy. Set up this big organisation called the Order of the Morning Star. Millions of followers all around the world. And on his twenty-first birthday, young Murti was supposed to take over and spread the word."
"And what happened?" I asked curiously.
Hell took a reflective sip of champagne. "Well, he got up in front of a huge crowd of ecstatic followers and told them that he was just an ordinary chap and that salvation was everybody's individual business. Disbanded the whole thing and gave the money they had collected to charity."
"Did they lynch him?"
Hell shook his head. "Spent the rest of his life going around the world giving lectures on salvation. Funny chap," Hell said meditatively. "Sat on an aeroplane next to him one time on my way to some conference in Brazil. Asked him why he wandered around lecturing. Said he hoped someday someone would walk into the tent where he was speaking, maybe just to shelter from the rain, and understand what he was saying. Didn't own anything, no house, no property, nothing. Just the clothes on his back. 'Course people always took care of him wherever he went. Damn convenient arrangement. I hate packing. Always forget my dentures."
"You're talking about Murti," a rich contralto voice purred. Lady Rudolphine's bright blue eyes smiled warmly at me. "Anastasia has been telling me about you," she murmured. "And I've heard all kinds of nice things about you from my niece, Monica Bigglesworth-Fume."
"How is Lady Monica?"
"Oh, much the same. Bullying the students at D'Urberville College, throwing herself with excessive fervour into right-wing causes... Poor dear." Lady Rudolphine smiled mischievously. "She takes herself too seriously. Murti would never have approved of her."
"Just telling him how you seduced Murti."
"Did I?" Lady Rudolphine grinned. "There was a child... One can't rule out the possibility of immaculate conception. I was still a virgin then. That's how long ago it was, dear Otto. It couldn't possibly interest this young man."
"What does your child do?"
A shadow briefly crossed Lady Rudolphine's serene face. "He lives in England with me. He is paralyzed."
"I am so sorry..." I stammered.
Lady Rudolphine cut off my apologies. "Murti Bing has had an interesting life," she said smiling. "He lived in San Francisco for many years. Anastasia said that you grew up in Kalifornia?" I nodded. "Perhaps you will meet him someday. Otto has invited us to visit his university in Prague soon."
"I don't work there any more," I said, wincing.
"Want to talk to you about that," Hell said grumpily. "Nero is causing trouble."
"Nero Insanetti? My replacement as your assistant?" A wave of satisfaction surged through me.
Hell nodded. I noticed with some concern that he looked upset. "Can't talk right now," he said quickly. "Ludwig wants us to get dressed for his last supper. Better go squeeze myself into a penguin suit."
We dispersed to our rooms to change for dinner. On my way up to my room, I made a quick phone call. "Flossie, darling, how are you? No teeth missing? Good. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that Rasputin is using Navel as slave labor taking care of some incontinent old man in the Outer Hebrides. The thing is, Rasputin is out of commission now so here's our chance to free Navel. Will you take care of it? Great. Yeah, I'm fine. Drinking champagne cocktails in a Bavarian castle. Yes, Anastasia's here. How do you know about that? God? Is he actually staying with you again? Do I have to speak to him? What do you mean he turned on the speaker phone? Oh fuck. Hi Godfrey."
"Hullo there," Godfrey replied suavely. "What you have done with Rasputin?"
"Oh nothing," I stammered, remembering that Godfrey also worked for the British secret service. How much had he heard of my conversation with Floss? "He just didn't seem very well the last time I saw him."
"Oh good. Serves him right."
I was baffled. "It does?"
"Certainly. Terence is rather upset with Rasputin at the moment. He had no business trying to haul you off to Kalifornia."
"Terence had nothing to do with it?" I asked sceptically. "What about all those masked men in beige trench coats?"
"Rasputin was acting entirely on his own initiative. A loose cannon."
"So Terence isn't upset with me?"
"My dear fellow." Godfrey sounded positively cherubic. "Why on earth should Terence be upset with you? The firm can always write off the casualties. Depreciation and all that. Tell me, where are you at the moment?"
"Um… I'm heading towards Prague, Godfrey. That's all I can say for now."
"Fair enough. Have a lovely trip."
I hung up the phone and scratched my head. Had God overheard me tell Floss where I was, or hadn't he? I felt a terrible misgiving welling up within me, a knot of tension ballooning into panic. I took a deep breath and told myself that there was nothing I could do about it. I poured myself another cocktail and dashed up to my room. The drink calmed my nerves: I whistled cheerfully as I tied my bow-tie, wondering how Floss would free Navel. Champagne bubbles burst merrily in my head and the thought of returning to Prague filled me with satisfaction. All play and no work makes Jack a playboy.
"Whom have you invited?" Anastasia inquired.
"My cousin, the Cardinal. Hans-Jurgen Gauss, Lady Rudolphine Bing, and Lord Hades. They should all be here soon, except the Cardinal who will come shortly before dinner."
"How do you know Lord Hades, sir?" I asked in amazement.
"We fought against each other in the war," Prince Ludwig said, as though this were enough to make people pals. "I captured him twice. He got away both times. After the war I went looking for him. It was a question of honor. I finally found him ten years later in Cambridge. We fought a duel, wounded each other grievously, shook hands, and have been the best of friends since then. Why? Do you know Hell?"
"I had the privilege of working for him until recently."
"Otto Hell is living proof of a theory I have maintained since I read the Bible in its entirety rather than merely the bland expurgated New Testament pabulum I was force-fed as a small boy. But when I read the Old Testament, the lyric poetry of savagery and brutality and massacres, I understood that the Jews are essentially a noble race. How can one not respect a nation that produced Bach, Kant, Goethe…"
"They were Jewish?"
Prince Ludwig nodded. "Secret Nazi research proved this. Of course it was immediately suppressed. The Jews are clearly the chosen people. What fierce warriors they make! Look at Israel where they have returned to their roots. How well they fight! If they were left to their own devices, without all this nonsense about human rights and the laws of war, they would wipe out all these filthy Arabs in a matter of hours, leaving not a single lice-infested kaffiyeh behind. Not that I have anything against Moslems. The clean ones of the desert, the hard ones, they are a fine people as well." Prince Ludwig stared sternly at the past. "That was what I always suggested when I was in the General Staff. Send the Jews into the Sahara. Let them fight for their promised land in the sands with the Bedouin, let them purge themselves through sacrifice and blood." A bitter look crossed his fierce face. "But no! Even the most noble generals, men whose families had been aristocrats for centuries, through whose veins flowed the purest of blue blood, even their heads had been turned by that moustached maniac, that ranting fool, that proletarian scum..." Prince Ludwig spat into the fireplace.
"Don't say mean things about Hitler in front of Gauss, please, Ludi," Pipi entreated. "You know he is always making speeches about our glorious Nazi past."
"That's just because he is a politician," Prince Ludwig replied impassively. "Gauss is a fat fool but he hasn't been the Chief Minister of Bavaria for thirty years without being able to squint around cunningly through his little pig eyes and hear the ecstatic squeals and approving grunts of these bourgeois swine when he gives Hitler the freedom of Munich in absentia. You must not think that Gauss really believes that Hitler is alive and well in Paraguay," Prince Ludwig said reprovingly. "However, you might be right. What he says may well be affecting what he thinks. I, for one, find this limp forelock that Gauss has been affecting lately distinctly annoying."
He broke off in mid-monologue. "But our guests are arriving now." A gorgeous old lady was advancing towards us with long strides. Her deep tan accentuated the mocking brightness of her very blue eyes. "Rudolphine!" Prince Ludwig smiled broadly and enclasped her in his arms.
"Lady Rudolphine Bing. My father's first wife," Anastasia said to me. "I adore her. She took care of me whenever I was in trouble."
"She's your stepmother?" I asked in confusion.
"No, he married my mother after Rudolphine divorced him," Anastasia explained. "But my father and Rudolphine have always stayed in touch. She was the only one of all his wives who divorced him."
I watched Anastasia and Lady Rudolphine talking animatedly. Prince Ludwig greeted another new arrival, a gigantic man whose tweed jacket threatened to burst at the seams at any moment under the pressure of his enormous belly. The big man seemed oddly familiar and I tried to remember whom he reminded me of as I watched him clumsily gesticulating with thick arms that were too short for his body. It was only when he laughed uproariously at the dirty joke he had just been telling Prince Ludwig and stroked the bristles on his thick pink jowls and squinted around with an air of cunning good-natured amusement that I realized that Doctor Hans-Jurgen Gauss reminded me irresistibly of a wildlife documentary which had made an indelible impression on me, a masterfully made movie about the wonderful adventures of a herd of wild boar. And, indeed, the crowd of bulky security guards watchfully standing guard on their master, the Chief Minister of Bavaria, looked exactly like the smaller swine surrounding the alpha pig in the herd.
"Good to see you again," a voice said gruffly. I turned and breathed deeply. My former boss, Professor Otto Hell, was standing at my elbow, bent over his walking sticks. He looked at me for an uncomfortably long moment and then nodded slightly. A smile flickered across his pursed lips. "Been all right?"
"Not too bad," I replied as airily as I could, considering all that I had lived through in the last month. "Thanks for asking Xox to tell the Sikhs to free my friend."
Hell shrugged. "No skin off my nose. Let me know next time someone gets kidnapped. Xox likes bribing people. Your friend all right?"
"I think so. I should call her."
Hell pointed at the tall form of Prince Ludwig. "How do you know Ludwig G and T?"
"Through his daughter," I said, waving my champagne glass at Anastasia. "I met her in Berlin. That's where I went after I left Prague."
"Takes after her mother."
"There's a striking resemblance to Prince Ludwig," I objected.
"They were cousins." Hell smirked faintly. "That's why Rudolphine left him for that surrealist photographer, something or other Bing. Rudi was his muse."
"She is very beautiful."
"Most beautiful woman I ever saw in my life," Hell said succinctly. "People killed for her. Bing was knifed in a bar brawl in Naples by some mafioso who thought that anything he saw belonged to him. 'Course somebody killed him in his turn. Like the Hope diamond. Bringing bad luck to all its owners. Except nobody ever owned her. Rudi always does exactly what she pleases. Even managed to tempt a saint once."
"Excuse me?"
"Ever heard of Murti?" I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Interesting mystic. Brahmin, naturally. The theosophists took him away from his parents when he was a small boy and brought him up in England like a rajah. Thought he was the messiah, for some strange reason. They were all crazy. Set up this big organisation called the Order of the Morning Star. Millions of followers all around the world. And on his twenty-first birthday, young Murti was supposed to take over and spread the word."
"And what happened?" I asked curiously.
Hell took a reflective sip of champagne. "Well, he got up in front of a huge crowd of ecstatic followers and told them that he was just an ordinary chap and that salvation was everybody's individual business. Disbanded the whole thing and gave the money they had collected to charity."
"Did they lynch him?"
Hell shook his head. "Spent the rest of his life going around the world giving lectures on salvation. Funny chap," Hell said meditatively. "Sat on an aeroplane next to him one time on my way to some conference in Brazil. Asked him why he wandered around lecturing. Said he hoped someday someone would walk into the tent where he was speaking, maybe just to shelter from the rain, and understand what he was saying. Didn't own anything, no house, no property, nothing. Just the clothes on his back. 'Course people always took care of him wherever he went. Damn convenient arrangement. I hate packing. Always forget my dentures."
"You're talking about Murti," a rich contralto voice purred. Lady Rudolphine's bright blue eyes smiled warmly at me. "Anastasia has been telling me about you," she murmured. "And I've heard all kinds of nice things about you from my niece, Monica Bigglesworth-Fume."
"How is Lady Monica?"
"Oh, much the same. Bullying the students at D'Urberville College, throwing herself with excessive fervour into right-wing causes... Poor dear." Lady Rudolphine smiled mischievously. "She takes herself too seriously. Murti would never have approved of her."
"Just telling him how you seduced Murti."
"Did I?" Lady Rudolphine grinned. "There was a child... One can't rule out the possibility of immaculate conception. I was still a virgin then. That's how long ago it was, dear Otto. It couldn't possibly interest this young man."
"What does your child do?"
A shadow briefly crossed Lady Rudolphine's serene face. "He lives in England with me. He is paralyzed."
"I am so sorry..." I stammered.
Lady Rudolphine cut off my apologies. "Murti Bing has had an interesting life," she said smiling. "He lived in San Francisco for many years. Anastasia said that you grew up in Kalifornia?" I nodded. "Perhaps you will meet him someday. Otto has invited us to visit his university in Prague soon."
"I don't work there any more," I said, wincing.
"Want to talk to you about that," Hell said grumpily. "Nero is causing trouble."
"Nero Insanetti? My replacement as your assistant?" A wave of satisfaction surged through me.
Hell nodded. I noticed with some concern that he looked upset. "Can't talk right now," he said quickly. "Ludwig wants us to get dressed for his last supper. Better go squeeze myself into a penguin suit."
We dispersed to our rooms to change for dinner. On my way up to my room, I made a quick phone call. "Flossie, darling, how are you? No teeth missing? Good. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that Rasputin is using Navel as slave labor taking care of some incontinent old man in the Outer Hebrides. The thing is, Rasputin is out of commission now so here's our chance to free Navel. Will you take care of it? Great. Yeah, I'm fine. Drinking champagne cocktails in a Bavarian castle. Yes, Anastasia's here. How do you know about that? God? Is he actually staying with you again? Do I have to speak to him? What do you mean he turned on the speaker phone? Oh fuck. Hi Godfrey."
"Hullo there," Godfrey replied suavely. "What you have done with Rasputin?"
"Oh nothing," I stammered, remembering that Godfrey also worked for the British secret service. How much had he heard of my conversation with Floss? "He just didn't seem very well the last time I saw him."
"Oh good. Serves him right."
I was baffled. "It does?"
"Certainly. Terence is rather upset with Rasputin at the moment. He had no business trying to haul you off to Kalifornia."
"Terence had nothing to do with it?" I asked sceptically. "What about all those masked men in beige trench coats?"
"Rasputin was acting entirely on his own initiative. A loose cannon."
"So Terence isn't upset with me?"
"My dear fellow." Godfrey sounded positively cherubic. "Why on earth should Terence be upset with you? The firm can always write off the casualties. Depreciation and all that. Tell me, where are you at the moment?"
"Um… I'm heading towards Prague, Godfrey. That's all I can say for now."
"Fair enough. Have a lovely trip."
I hung up the phone and scratched my head. Had God overheard me tell Floss where I was, or hadn't he? I felt a terrible misgiving welling up within me, a knot of tension ballooning into panic. I took a deep breath and told myself that there was nothing I could do about it. I poured myself another cocktail and dashed up to my room. The drink calmed my nerves: I whistled cheerfully as I tied my bow-tie, wondering how Floss would free Navel. Champagne bubbles burst merrily in my head and the thought of returning to Prague filled me with satisfaction. All play and no work makes Jack a playboy.
No comments:
Post a Comment