Read Online The Ludwig Conspiracy by Oliver Pötzsch - Free Book Online
Authors: Oliver Pötzsch
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not the book.”
“And where are they now?” The king’s voice was still low, but it took on a threatening undertone that the henchmen knew only too well.
“We left men watching his apartment and the bookshop,” Erec murmured, his broad shoulders drooping like injured wings. “Gareth, Ywain, and Tristan. He can’t get away from us. Sooner or later he has to turn up.”
The king adjusted the royal signet ring and blinked very slowly. Little beads of sweat ran down the foreheads of the two bodyguards. The grotto was as hot as a sauna. To reach this place they had had to pass two security barriers. They had descended into the depths in an elevator, then hurried through the throne room with its mighty Bohemian glass chandeliers, and passed countless windows that looked out on a painted scene of a mountainous landscape in bright daylight. Neither of the men could have said how much their boss’s eccentric hobby had cost to date. Behind the king’s back, they sometimes joked about The Royal Highness’s crazy notions, which had recently been getting even crazier. But no matter how deranged the king was, they took care that none of their comments ever reached the royal ears. The pay was too good for that.
And the king was far too unpredictable.
“That . . . is not good,” The Excellency murmered after a few minutes of silence. “Not good. We were so close to it, so close. And now this!”
The last words were a shout, the sound of the king’s voice echoing around the grotto. But seconds later, the king was composed again.
“I want you to do everything possible to find this antiquarian bookseller,” The Royal Highness whispered. “Everything. I’m sure he has the book in his possession. I can
feel
it. If anyone solves the riddle, all is lost.”
One of the gorillas muttered something unintelligible. The king raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
“I’m just wondering what we’re supposed to do if this guy takes the book to the police. Not that I think he will, but well, if he did, then we would have a problem.”
“We would indeed.” The Excellency breathed slowly and deeply, eyes closed, as if suffering from a migraine. “That would most definitely be a problem. One hell of a problem.”
Suddenly the king’s expression brightened, and giggles filled the room.
“But I think I know how to solve it.”
The king outlined a plan to the two paladins, who nodded along enthusiastically. Once finished, the king steered the boat out into the water again, and it glided back to the middle of the lake, where it slowly turned in a circle, bathed in blue and red light.
6
“W HO . . . WHO ARE THOSE guys?” Steven asked, staring at the screen in front of him. The three figures in hooded capes, carrying torches, looked as if they came from another time. Images of burning pyres passed through the bookseller’s mind, of priests flagellating themselves, of monasteries enveloped in mist. He could almost hear the somber polyphonic chant of monks.
“Them?” Sara tapped the monitor as if it would bring the strange figures to life. “Cowled Men. Members of a secret order that’s been around since Ludwig’s death. They preceded the casket at his funeral. They operate in the underground, and for a hundred years they’ve been trying to prove that their beloved Fairy-tale King was murdered. Sounds loopy, but it’s true.” The art historian clicked her way through a couple of websites about the hooded figures. “The Cowled Men are everywhere they think there’s danger of someone casting aspersions on the name of Ludwig the Second. At theatrical performances, musicals about Ludwig, major anniversaries . . . A few years ago they even tried to open the king’s casket, to no avail.”
Confused, Steven shook his head. “Are you kidding me? A gang of lunatics in black hooded capes. That’s absurd.”
“Absurd or not, the Cowled Men come from all over and all types of people.
“And where are they now?” The king’s voice was still low, but it took on a threatening undertone that the henchmen knew only too well.
“We left men watching his apartment and the bookshop,” Erec murmured, his broad shoulders drooping like injured wings. “Gareth, Ywain, and Tristan. He can’t get away from us. Sooner or later he has to turn up.”
The king adjusted the royal signet ring and blinked very slowly. Little beads of sweat ran down the foreheads of the two bodyguards. The grotto was as hot as a sauna. To reach this place they had had to pass two security barriers. They had descended into the depths in an elevator, then hurried through the throne room with its mighty Bohemian glass chandeliers, and passed countless windows that looked out on a painted scene of a mountainous landscape in bright daylight. Neither of the men could have said how much their boss’s eccentric hobby had cost to date. Behind the king’s back, they sometimes joked about The Royal Highness’s crazy notions, which had recently been getting even crazier. But no matter how deranged the king was, they took care that none of their comments ever reached the royal ears. The pay was too good for that.
And the king was far too unpredictable.
“That . . . is not good,” The Excellency murmered after a few minutes of silence. “Not good. We were so close to it, so close. And now this!”
The last words were a shout, the sound of the king’s voice echoing around the grotto. But seconds later, the king was composed again.
“I want you to do everything possible to find this antiquarian bookseller,” The Royal Highness whispered. “Everything. I’m sure he has the book in his possession. I can
feel
it. If anyone solves the riddle, all is lost.”
One of the gorillas muttered something unintelligible. The king raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
“I’m just wondering what we’re supposed to do if this guy takes the book to the police. Not that I think he will, but well, if he did, then we would have a problem.”
“We would indeed.” The Excellency breathed slowly and deeply, eyes closed, as if suffering from a migraine. “That would most definitely be a problem. One hell of a problem.”
Suddenly the king’s expression brightened, and giggles filled the room.
“But I think I know how to solve it.”
The king outlined a plan to the two paladins, who nodded along enthusiastically. Once finished, the king steered the boat out into the water again, and it glided back to the middle of the lake, where it slowly turned in a circle, bathed in blue and red light.
6
“W HO . . . WHO ARE THOSE guys?” Steven asked, staring at the screen in front of him. The three figures in hooded capes, carrying torches, looked as if they came from another time. Images of burning pyres passed through the bookseller’s mind, of priests flagellating themselves, of monasteries enveloped in mist. He could almost hear the somber polyphonic chant of monks.
“Them?” Sara tapped the monitor as if it would bring the strange figures to life. “Cowled Men. Members of a secret order that’s been around since Ludwig’s death. They preceded the casket at his funeral. They operate in the underground, and for a hundred years they’ve been trying to prove that their beloved Fairy-tale King was murdered. Sounds loopy, but it’s true.” The art historian clicked her way through a couple of websites about the hooded figures. “The Cowled Men are everywhere they think there’s danger of someone casting aspersions on the name of Ludwig the Second. At theatrical performances, musicals about Ludwig, major anniversaries . . . A few years ago they even tried to open the king’s casket, to no avail.”
Confused, Steven shook his head. “Are you kidding me? A gang of lunatics in black hooded capes. That’s absurd.”
“Absurd or not, the Cowled Men come from all over and all types of people.
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