A Castle in the Clouds

by Kerstin Gier

  “As well as being worth about three million euros,” I said.

  “What?!” Ben exclaimed. “Well in that case, we’ll go out first thing tomorrow morning and look for it, even if we have to dig up every square inch of snow. But we don’t need the ring as evidence. They’ve confessed to everything. And Pierre and that man in the gloves are going to give statements, too—that’ll give the police everything they need. Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go out and join the others. We don’t want to miss the sky lanterns.”

  I stood up. It had gone very quiet in the bar—even the pianist was taking a break. Suddenly, the light of the chandelier went out with a soft sigh and the candles in the windows burned brighter. But I didn’t need that to know we’d wasted too much time already. I went over to Ben and put my arms around his neck. Like me, he seemed to feel that the sky lanterns could wait. With a quiet sigh, he pulled me close and kissed me, passionately and tenderly.

  Tristan’s kiss outside in the snow might have been the most exciting kiss I’d ever had in my life, but this one was the sweetest. It just felt right.

  A FEW MONTHS LATER

  September was my favorite time of year in the mountains. The light was so beautifully soft, and a sort of golden haze lay over the green of the mountain pastures, fir trees, and ferns. Castle in the Clouds looked more magnificent than ever.

  On my way back from the stables, where I’d popped in to feed Jesty and Vesty, I stood still for a moment to take in the sight of the hotel in all its glory. A year ago today, I’d seen it for the first time—tomorrow I’d officially have been working at Castle in the Clouds for a whole year. Nobody had told me anything, but from the way Ben and Monsieur Rocher fell silent midconversation when I approached, and the way Pavel kept trying to change the subject, I’d guessed they were planning something to mark the occasion. I’d just have to pretend I wasn’t expecting anything and act totally surprised.

  The dramatic events of New Year’s Eve felt like a lifetime ago—hardly anyone at the hotel ever mentioned them now. (Apart from Old Stucky, who never tired of telling people, with a fervent gleam in his eye, about how he’d repeatedly walloped that evil Mr. Ludwig over the head—“A boshed him rond tha heed wi’ the hoarses’ harrniss.”) Mrs. Ludwig’s so-called engagement ring had never been seen again, though we’d searched high and low for it. We’d hoped it would turn up when the snow melted, but there was no sign of it. The Ludwigs had retracted their confessions on the advice of their lawyers, but there’d been more than enough evidence to convict them and send them to prison. It turned out they hadn’t even been intending to kidnap Dasha at first—they’d set their sights on Don and his father’s suitcase of dirty money. It was only when they realized that the Smirnovs were actually the Yegorovs and that one of the most valuable pieces of jewelry in the world was within their grasp that they’d decided to scrap their original plan and abduct Dasha instead. Who knew—they might have pulled off yet another kidnapping plot if their greed hadn’t gotten the better of them. Either way, the case was now closed once and for all, and the Ludwigs were languishing in jail. Yegorov gave me a hug every time he visited the hotel to see how the renovation work was going, and every time he hugged me he got a bit tearful. It must have been his Russian temperament.

  Yegorov had kept his promise, you see, and invested in Castle in the Clouds. Gordon Montfort had been reluctant at first, but he’d soon realized he’d be able to strike a much better (and more legal) deal with Yegorov than with his old mate Burkhardt, and since money trumped friendship every time for a man like Montfort, he had quickly come around to the idea. He’d officially signed over his share of Castle in the Clouds to Ben and withdrawn from the day-to-day running of the hotel. Now Ben was one of the managing directors, along with Yegorov and Gutless Gilbert. We’d last seen Gordon Montfort in March, when he’d told us he was splitting up with his girlfriend in Sion and moving to Frankfurt to be with Mara Matthäus. They seemed pretty serious about each other. So serious that they’d just announced they were getting married next spring, and wanted to have their wedding at Castle in the Clouds. The renovation work should be finished by then. Yegorov was very keen to preserve the old-fashioned charm of the hotel, but he’d put a lot of money into refurbishing the building—not only “front of house” but everywhere, right down to the tiniest little attic room.

  Last week, the scaffolding around the building had come down and, from the outside at least, everything looked pristine.

  The biggest changes to Castle in the Clouds were taking place in the basement—specifically in the spa, which now had a new terrace with loungers and a big outdoor pool. The former cold storage room was being converted into a steam room. Mr. Heffelfinger was in seventh heaven. Yegorov had put him in charge of redesigning the spa area, and Stella Yegorov had made lots of suggestions as to the various additions and adaptations she felt to be indispensable. It wasn’t just that she had to spend a lot of time here now. The spa also had to meet the expectations of her rich and famous friends from all over the world who would now be coming here on holiday. We’d already taken countless reservations for the coming year, and we’d been fully booked for the winter holidays since April. To our great surprise, the Burkhardts had booked the Large Tower Suite again. I was actually looking forward to seeing Don Jr., would you believe. But I was even more excited to see the Barnbrookes again, especially Gracie, Madison, and Amy, whom I wrote to regularly. Gracie and Madison were now learning karate and both wanted to join the Secret Service when they grew up.

  Sometimes I wondered whether Tristan and his grandpa and the people from the secret society they worked for really had taken the diamond back to the Indian temple. The balance of the universe was definitely restored up here at Castle in the Clouds, at any rate. Fräulein Müller was still smoking a secret cigar at her window every night; Pavel, Monsieur Rocher, and Old Stucky were still playing scat every third Tuesday in the laundry room; the head chef was still yelling at his staff; and Madame Cléo was still stuffing us full of carbs.

  The only one missing was Jaromir. It turned out he’d been working undercover for a Czech investigative agency that was trying to build a case against Burkhardt for money laundering. Burkhardt owned several incinerators and waste-processing plants in the Czech Republic, and was suspected of doing various dodgy deals there. Jaromir and Mr. Huber, the insurance company agent (who, had he but known it, had failed rather spectacularly to do his job) knew each other from their days at Interpol, where they’d both worked years ago. That was why Huber had been looking for Jaromir in the staff quarters on the morning I’d first seen Tristan. They’d both agreed not to reveal each other’s true identities. But since Burkhardt was no longer going to be using Castle in the Clouds to launder his dirty money, Jaromir’s presence here was no longer required. We’d been very sad to see him go—undercover agent or not, he was the best caretaker the hotel had ever had. He’d promised to come back and visit with his family someday.

  Luckily for Mr. Huber, there was a good chance the Yegorovs would never realize their necklace had been swapped for an excellent fake. Stella Yegorov loved the necklace now more than ever. She was convinced she had personally broken the curse of the Nadezhda Diamond.

  I came through the revolving door and wandered across the lobby, nodding to Denise at Reception, stroking the Forbidden Cat—who wasn’t technically “forbidden” anymore—and arranging with Monsieur Rocher to meet for a cappuccino at four o’clock that afternoon.

  Upstairs in my room, I opened the windows wide and waited for the seven Hugos. I no longer lived in my little attic room—like all the other rooms in the south wing, it was being renovated. Instead I lived next door to Ben in Room 210. It was a corner room with a balcony. To the south, I had a view of the valley and the twelve-thousand-foot-high mountains, and to the west I could see my old friend the half-moon fir tree. I was already looking forward to lighting a fire in the fireplace when it got colder.

  I sometimes missed my l
ittle bedroom and the old water pipe. Perhaps I would move back in there over the winter holidays and free up Room 210 for guests for a little while—after all, it was one of the nicest rooms in the hotel. Ben wanted to put my parents and my little brothers, who were coming to visit us that autumn, in the Large Tower Suite. He was a bit nervous about meeting my parents—he was afraid they wouldn’t like him. But I told him he had nothing to worry about.

  Delia had come to visit as soon as she’d finished her exams and, although the hotel was still a building site, she’d liked it so much she said she wished she could cancel her year as an au pair in America. She was now sending me lots of hilarious messages from Wyoming.

  There was just one thing that was still puzzling me and Ben. And it was to do with the kitchen temp I’d had that memorable conversation with in the elevator, the one about the human heart. It was the same girl who’d stopped Ben running down to the basement on New Year’s Eve and had sent him out to the half-moon fir tree instead. Ben remembered her teardrop earrings very clearly. And the rest of his description matched my memory of her, too. The weird thing was that nobody else seemed to know who she was. No one in the kitchen had ever seen a girl like the one we described, and Ben—who wanted to thank her for helping us—went through all the personnel files without finding any details on her. It was as if she’d never existed. I was tempted to believe we might have had the pleasure of meeting the Lady in White.

  A cawing sound brought me out of my reverie. As usual, it hadn’t taken long for the seven Hugos to land on the windowsill and start tucking into the milk roll crumbs. They still hadn’t learned to speak, unfortunately, but Kleptomaniac Hugo had gotten so tame that he even let me pet him.

  When the milk roll was all gone, the birds took flight one after the other: first Suspicious Hugo, then Melancholy Hugo, Hopping Hugo, Chubby Hugo, Unbelievably Greedy Hugo, One-Legged Hugo, and finally Kleptomaniac Hugo. But just as I was about to shut the window, Kleptomaniac Hugo flew back onto the windowsill and hopped toward me with his head on one side. He was holding something shiny in his beak, and looking quizzically at me.

  I put my hand out and he placed the glittering object carefully on my palm with a proud coo. For a second, I didn’t realize what it was—but then I let out a gasp. The platinum was pure silvery white, and the pink stone sparkled as if it was brand new.

  So it had finally been found. And things had come full circle at last.

  Kleptomaniac Hugo had brought back Mrs. Ludwig’s lost engagement ring.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Ben.

  “Gier has created a smart heroine who loves a good mystery and has her wits about her.”

  —Publishers Weekly on the Silver trilogy

  “Plot twists, dream make-out sessions, a touch of humor, and a scary culmination make for a thoroughly enjoyable read.”

  —School Library Journal on the Silver trilogy

  ⋆ “Adventure, humor, and mystery all have satisfying roles here.”

  —Booklist, starred review, on the Ruby Red trilogy

  KERSTIN GIER is the author of the Silver trilogy (Dream a Little Dream, Dream On, and Just Dreaming) and the New York Times–bestselling Ruby Red trilogy (Ruby Red, Sapphire Blue, and Emerald Green), which has been translated into twenty-five languages.

  Visit her Online at KERSTINGIER.COM/EN, or sign up for email updates here.

  Thank you for buying this

  Henry Holt and Company ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Kerstin Gier

  Translation copyright © 2020 by Romy Fursland

  Henry Holt and Company, LLC

  Publishers since 1866

  Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

  120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271

  fiercereads.com

  All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  First hardcover edition 2020

  eBook edition January 2020

  eISBN 9781250300201

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  A Few Months Later

  About the Author

  Copyright