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Authors: Magnus Flyte
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was able to form some coherent questions about what she would be doing. Miles explained that most of the work on the music collection was complete, but there were gaps, loose ends, and a certain amount of disorganization. He hoped she wouldn’t be overwhelmed.
“Fortunately for us, the 10th prince had all of the family’s art, ceramics, weapons, books, and papers inventoried,” Miles explained. “So we work off that 1906 list, plus the Nazi records of what they took. The Nazis were bastards, but very meticulous bastards. When we find things listed in the inventory, like say, the automaton, that aren’t here in the palace or in one of the castle {of moss, then we begin searching the databases of Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy. We try to determine if it disappeared during World War II, or after 1948, when the communists starting dispersing the collection. If it went to Moscow, it can be tricky, but we did have a sixteenth-century pillbox restituted from the Hermitage.”
“Wow,” said Sarah. “How did you learn to do this?”
“I have a masters in art crime,” said Miles. “After drugs and weapons, art crime is the third most lucrative illegal worldwide business.”
Miles showed her how to access the computerized inventory from 1906. The original hard copy was kept in his office. He also showed her the links to the art databases of the major countries and Interpol’s list of stolen artworks.
On one point, Labrador Miles became a pit bull: Every single item, as soon as it was acquired, he glowered at her,
had
to come to his office. No cleaning, no exploring, no examining. Just straight to Miles. No exceptions.
“I catalog everything,” he said. “I know it sounds harsh, but you understand. We’re talking thousands of objects. We have to assign them numbers and track them through the restoration and installation process. Some things are to stay here and go on display, others will go to one of the other family castles, like Roudnice or Nelahozeves, or Nela as it is known. We have a large staff and tons of workmen around. It’s kind of a nightmare, frankly, so sometimes I have to be harsh with people. We can’t have things disappearing after we’ve worked so hard to get them back.” His tone had become cold, and slightly aggrieved.
“I totally get it,” said Sarah soothingly. “Everything goes through you.”
Miles brightened again. “I don’t expect it will be a problem. Like I said, most of the music collection is complete, it just needs to be organized for display in a coherent fashion. Okay, so I’ll give you the tour and show you your workspace.”
He led Sarah up the stairs to the second floor.
“These were the public rooms, so they’re pretty spacious,” explained Miles. “They haven’t been renovated yet, so forgive the water stains and don’t expect working AC. Each room is dedicated to a different area of the collection. That way we try to stay out of each others’ way.” Something in his tone suggested that that was more of a goal than a reality.
The first room at the top of the stairs had a series of large canvases leaning against the walls, and long worktables set up with portable lights, brushes, and solvents. Some of the paintings were torn, and others had water and mold stains. Standing over one of these was a tall, very thin woman with magenta hair, wearing a pale blue lab coat.
“Sarah Weston, music, meet Daphne Kooster, family portraits of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,” said Miles. Daphne looked Sarah up and down and gave a provisional smile. “Did ve meet at Harvard?” asked Daphne in a thick Dutch accent, shaking Sarah’s hand firmly.
“Daphne’s from Amsterdam but did her masters at Harvard,” explained Miles.
“I’m at Thoreau,” said Sarah.
“Oh,” said Daphne. “I thought ve vere all connected vith Harvard or Yale in one vay or another. Thoreau?” She stru {?Minion ggled to pronounce the name.
“It’s a couple stops from
“Fortunately for us, the 10th prince had all of the family’s art, ceramics, weapons, books, and papers inventoried,” Miles explained. “So we work off that 1906 list, plus the Nazi records of what they took. The Nazis were bastards, but very meticulous bastards. When we find things listed in the inventory, like say, the automaton, that aren’t here in the palace or in one of the castle {of moss, then we begin searching the databases of Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy. We try to determine if it disappeared during World War II, or after 1948, when the communists starting dispersing the collection. If it went to Moscow, it can be tricky, but we did have a sixteenth-century pillbox restituted from the Hermitage.”
“Wow,” said Sarah. “How did you learn to do this?”
“I have a masters in art crime,” said Miles. “After drugs and weapons, art crime is the third most lucrative illegal worldwide business.”
Miles showed her how to access the computerized inventory from 1906. The original hard copy was kept in his office. He also showed her the links to the art databases of the major countries and Interpol’s list of stolen artworks.
On one point, Labrador Miles became a pit bull: Every single item, as soon as it was acquired, he glowered at her,
had
to come to his office. No cleaning, no exploring, no examining. Just straight to Miles. No exceptions.
“I catalog everything,” he said. “I know it sounds harsh, but you understand. We’re talking thousands of objects. We have to assign them numbers and track them through the restoration and installation process. Some things are to stay here and go on display, others will go to one of the other family castles, like Roudnice or Nelahozeves, or Nela as it is known. We have a large staff and tons of workmen around. It’s kind of a nightmare, frankly, so sometimes I have to be harsh with people. We can’t have things disappearing after we’ve worked so hard to get them back.” His tone had become cold, and slightly aggrieved.
“I totally get it,” said Sarah soothingly. “Everything goes through you.”
Miles brightened again. “I don’t expect it will be a problem. Like I said, most of the music collection is complete, it just needs to be organized for display in a coherent fashion. Okay, so I’ll give you the tour and show you your workspace.”
He led Sarah up the stairs to the second floor.
“These were the public rooms, so they’re pretty spacious,” explained Miles. “They haven’t been renovated yet, so forgive the water stains and don’t expect working AC. Each room is dedicated to a different area of the collection. That way we try to stay out of each others’ way.” Something in his tone suggested that that was more of a goal than a reality.
The first room at the top of the stairs had a series of large canvases leaning against the walls, and long worktables set up with portable lights, brushes, and solvents. Some of the paintings were torn, and others had water and mold stains. Standing over one of these was a tall, very thin woman with magenta hair, wearing a pale blue lab coat.
“Sarah Weston, music, meet Daphne Kooster, family portraits of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,” said Miles. Daphne looked Sarah up and down and gave a provisional smile. “Did ve meet at Harvard?” asked Daphne in a thick Dutch accent, shaking Sarah’s hand firmly.
“Daphne’s from Amsterdam but did her masters at Harvard,” explained Miles.
“I’m at Thoreau,” said Sarah.
“Oh,” said Daphne. “I thought ve vere all connected vith Harvard or Yale in one vay or another. Thoreau?” She stru {?Minion ggled to pronounce the name.
“It’s a couple stops from
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