Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  Luke blinked. “Your family home is a… castle?”

  “It is.” The man paged through his sketchbook until he came to a beautiful picture, rendered in pencil, of a medieval-style stone castle complete with a rounded tower at one corner. Luke gaped, unsure whether to believe him or write him off as either a con man or a lunatic. “This is Castle Schattenberg. When I am not traveling, I still make my home there.” Smiling, he pointed out a particular window about halfway up one of the vast stone walls. “That is my bedroom.”

  “Does that mean you’re some kind of royalty?” The question sounded foolish to his ears even while he said it. Belatedly, it occurred to him his first hunch might have been correct after all. Maybe the guy really was some kind of movie star or famous model in a country Luke didn’t know much about. Some of them occasionally bought castles to live and party in, he’d heard.

  “You might say so, though that word has a different meaning to Americans—and even Englishmen—than it does in my own country. I am second in line to the throne of Schattenberg, a small principality that has maintained its independence since the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. There I am known as Prince Boris von Schatten.”

  “Never heard of it,” Luke said skeptically. He began to lean toward his con artist theory. Yet the sketch of the castle seemed remarkably detailed for something this Boris, or whoever he was, had invented.

  “Of course you haven’t. The people of Schattenberg are intensely private, our country virtually inaccessible to those who have no reason to go there. We have no tourist industry and little contact with the rest of Europe. We prefer it that way and always have, going back to the era when my castle was built.”

  “Yet your English is perfect. You can’t have grown up all that isolated.”

  “My father’s first wife was British, and he maintained a great interest in the customs and language of the English. Though my own mother, his second wife, was an Eastern European, he engaged tutors from my infancy to teach me English, along with several other languages.”

  Luke stared at the sketch and then at Boris. “Yeah? That’s impressive.” If any of it’s true, he added silently. Yet he could detect no hint of smugness or hesitation in Boris’s face or voice, either of which might indicate deception. Much as he hated to admit it, Luke had racked up plenty of experience dealing with men who lied. He didn’t sense that Boris was one of them.

  “I always find it interesting that Americans are so taken with titles and castles and the like, when they made certain to carry none of those relics to their own country.”

  “I didn’t say I was taken with that kind of stuff. I mean, sure, it’s different, but….” Luke blushed. He’d been about to blurt out what he’d actually been taken with: Boris himself.

  Boris waved a hand as if to fan away the distasteful expression. “No matter. I am not offended in either case. I am what I was born to be. What others think of me, for good or ill, can never change that.”

  Not sure how to respond, Luke changed the subject. “Is your castle haunted?” The question was silly, he knew, but he suddenly wanted very much to keep the conversation going.

  This time Boris laughed. “Of course. Not by ghosts, though.”

  “What, then?”

  “By my brother, Georg.” He pronounced it in the German way—“Gay-Org.” Luke smothered a grin as Boris went on. “His sour looks and angry moods would make any ghost flee for his safety.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “Since our father died last year, he has ruled our small territory as though he were Augustus Caesar governing the Roman Empire. He finds no attempt by me or our people to please him sufficient. Nor does he find our laws adequate or our punishments harsh enough. Since he came to power, it is as though Schattenberg has returned to the Dark Ages. In fact, the Dark Ages might have been more enlightened.” Boris laughed.

  “That’s terrible,” Luke said. Again Boris’s account sounded more like something out of a disturbing fairy tale than any reality he was familiar with, but on the other hand, it seemed just bizarre enough to be true. “He must be a lot different from you.”

  “That is what you might safely call an understatement,” Boris said. “Yes, we are as opposite as two brothers can be. But then, he is only my half brother. His mother died when he was very young, which might be why he grew up with such a bitter heart. Perhaps we should pity him after all.”

  “She was the English wife you spoke of earlier?”

  “Yes. From what I understand, he inherited nothing of her pleasant personality. Our people, as well as my father, loved her for her warm heart and generous smile. Their feelings toward Prince Georg are not quite so tender.”

  “I suppose that’s why you prefer to travel? Your brother seems the sort of person you’d be smart to avoid.”

  “You are a perceptive young man, ah….”

  Luke felt a blush cloud his cheeks. He’d had the incredible good fortune to meet a heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and possibly genuine, prince, and he’d been too socially inept even introduce himself. “Luke Martin,” he said, extending his hand. His pulse quickened when Boris slid his warm fingers around it and pressed down in a way Luke found oddly intimate. A tingle moved up his arm and filled his chest with a comfortable heat.

  Then Boris dropped his hand and stood. “And now I shall leave you to your work. I hope my suggestion will help you to complete your essay.”

  “You’re leaving? But weren’t you planning to draw the cathedral? I mean—I assume that’s why you came in here. I don’t want to keep you from your work either.”

  “I have done enough for one day. The exteriors interest me most in any case.”

  Boris looked down at the oversized book under his arm. He had closed it but kept his thumb wedged between the last pages they had looked at together. Now he opened it just far enough to tear out the sketch of the castle, which he handed to Luke. “Keep this as a souvenir of our conversation today. I found it most enjoyable.”

  “So did I,” Luke assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He had no idea, after all, if Boris was the sort of man to accept the kind of attention Luke wished to focus on him. Still, no one had ever accused Luke of shyness. “Can we talk again? Tonight, maybe? I’m not planning to spend all that long on my essay, really, especially since you’ve shown me the trick to getting it written. I’d rather go out for a drink, honestly.”

  The smile Boris flashed him seemed maddeningly noncommittal. “You should take your education more seriously. Your parents are right about the prestige that will come with a university degree.”

  Frustrated at the lack of an answer, Luke rose and followed Boris to the arched doorway of the cathedral. Just then, a group of older tourists entered, conversing in a foreign language he didn’t recognize. Boris stopped and addressed them in the same language. They chattered on while Luke stood by, feeling lost and awkward. At last, the tourists moved inside while Boris stepped through the heavy double doors into the courtyard. Luke followed him outside.

  The moment his feet touched the flagstones, he stopped in confusion. The path leading back to the street entrance lay quiet and empty. The grassy areas to the right and left also stood peaceful and deserted. Luke had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The alternative made no sense at all. In a matter of seconds, Boris seemed to have disappeared.

  At least he knew he hadn’t imagined the entire encounter. He still had the information that would help him complete his essay, after all—and in his right hand, he held Boris’s sketch.

  Later that afternoon, after he’d typed a draft of his essay on cathedral structure into one of the public computers set up in the private library at his college, Luke ran a search on the name of Boris’s alleged principality, Schattenberg. He’d been tempted to investigate the moment he returned to his rooms, but two considerations stopped hm. One, he desperately needed to finish his essay, which was just few hours shy of being late. Two, and more importantly, he dreaded the perha
ps inevitable discovery that everything Boris had told him had been a fib designed to make him look and feel foolish.

  His suspicions seemed to be confirmed when his first few attempts on different search engines turned up nothing. Then, suddenly inspired, he changed the spelling from his first guess, “Shattenburg” to “Schattenberg” and tried again. At last, a short but serviceable page of results appeared.

  So Boris had been telling the truth, after all. He even saw the name Prince Georg, the ill-tempered half brother. Though no photo came up, the entry profiled Georg as the current ruler of the tiny, isolated territory, which consisted of one small city and a great deal of mountain territory. Remarkably, Schattenberg still preserved a semifeudal form of government and avoided contact with the modern world. From what Luke read as he scanned the web page in amazement, the place didn’t even have a proper hotel. Visitors, such as there were, could stay in one of a few rooms rented out by the only tavern.

  All of the rooms, the site noted, featured a full view of the castle that loomed on the mountain above them. A single, somewhat blurry photo looked identical in every respect to the drawing Boris had given him.

  Amazed, he sat back and stared at the screen while he wondered what to do next. Now that he knew the fantastic story was true, he had to find Prince Boris again.

  “Mr. Martin!” Professor Carlyle snapped. “You seem determined not to pay attention to me—not for the first time today, I might add.”

  “I’m sorry.” Luke looked down at the book of history open in his lap. He was on the wrong page, having thumbed back a few chapters to a black-and-white photo of a castle dating back to the days of Richard the Lionhearted. From there, his imagination had begun to run away with him. The professor was correct in that he had not heard a single word of instruction since the picture had first caught his eye. “I guess I lost track of what we were talking about.”

  The other three members of his tutorial group shifted in their chairs, embarrassed and perhaps a bit frightened. Professor Carlyle didn’t like being made a fool of, and no doubt they resented this wayward American for exposing them to his supercilious wrath.

  “The rest of you may go. Mr. Martin, I want to speak to you alone.”

  “All right,” Luke said, aware his obvious disinterest would only inflame Professor Carlyle further. At least the old man had the manners to wait until the other students had hurried out before blowing up at him, Luke thought. Maybe there was something to be said for that famous British reserve after all.

  The professor rose and shut the door after the departing group. Luke looked up, chewing his lower lip, and was surprised to find Carlyle not infuriated, as he’d expected. Instead, he simply appeared disappointed, even a bit deflated.

  “Very well, Mr. Martin. Explain it to me. What is the problem?”

  Luke shrugged. “I guess I got distracted. I was looking at this castle….” He held up the open book hopefully, hoping Carlyle was an aficionado of castles who might take pity on his transgression.

  “I’m not talking about just this afternoon. I’m talking about all term—all year, if you want to be technical. I understand that summer break is only three weeks away, but your—shall we call it disinterest?—cannot simply be the result of spring fever. It has become an established pattern with you.”

  “Oh.” Luke shrugged and averted his eyes, slapping the book shut. “I guess I can’t deny it. It isn’t just you, though, I promise you.”

  “I am well aware of that. All of your tutors have reported similar experiences. Thus I am hoping you can clarify for me. Most young men in your position would count attendance at this venerable institution as a privilege not to be taken lightly.”

  “I know. And I do, trust me, even if I don’t always show it. It’s just that… well, sometimes I feel I don’t fit in here.”

  “We have a number of Americans attending this university. I daresay you’ve met some of them.”

  “Yeah, I have. It’s not where I’m from that’s the problem. It’s this… I don’t know what to call it. Detachment, I guess. I’m just not as into it as I should be. I wish I could make myself interested. I can’t, and I’m sorry.”

  Professor Carlyle’s face softened into an expression akin to pity. Luke appreciated and resented his kindness all at the same time.

  “You might find that things would go easier for you if you simply turned your mind to your studies. You have a good brain, Mr. Martin. I believe that, in spite of your efforts to convince me otherwise. Why not use it?”

  “I’ll try to do better.”

  Carlyle sighed. “Well, it’s a start. Do think over what we’ve talked about today, will you?”

  Luke nodded.

  “Very well. Dismissed.”

  After pushing his chair back, Luke slouched out and left Professor Carlyle alone with his piles of books and stacks of dusty paper that covered every available surface of the office. He knew his tutor was correct—he was wasting the valuable chance his parents had provided for him. They expected great results from him. How could he tell them he hated the college they had so carefully chosen for him?

  Things had only gotten worse since Boris von Schatten had taken over his mind. Ten days had passed since that chance encounter, and he’d been able to think of almost nothing else.

  After returning to his room and ditching his textbook, Luke headed for the front gate of his college and crossed the busy street, just as he did every afternoon after his tutorials ended. Quickly he bent his steps along the familiar path to the cathedral where he’d first met Boris.

  He had made a habit of returning at least once every afternoon, even on days when the weather was nasty or the tourists were thick. He looked in other places, too, of course, always keeping his eyes peeled in crowded marketplaces, near museums and bookshops, or around other Gothic buildings he thought might interest the prince.

  Once, he’d even started walking toward a man perched on a set of stone steps with his back to the sidewalk and a sketchbook on his lap. When the man heard his footsteps and turned to see who was approaching, Luke had been crushed to find him middle-aged and dull-looking, though a glint of interest flashed briefly in his eyes. Luke had given him a brief, distracted smile and darted past him.

  Lately, his hope of running into Boris had been fading—exponentially with each passing day, in fact. He had no idea how long royal vacations tended to last, but surely the prince had left the city by now and returned to Schattenberg. One day, he knew, he would find himself doing something else instead of staking out the old cathedral. On that day, Prince Boris would be lost to him forever.

  So wholly did that depressing realization take hold of him that he didn’t notice the figure standing in the courtyard, examining a plaque on the side of the building, until he’d walked right past him. He stopped short when the man turned and a familiar voice reached his ears.

  “I feel rather bad for the blokes who inspire plaques like this, don’t you?” Boris said, pointing to a nondescript brass square bearing a man’s name and a date from the nineteenth century. “Poor sods probably got no recognition at all while they were alive. Now that they’re dead, thousands of people read their names every day and they’ll never even realize it. The definition of foul luck, I would say.”

  He looked at Luke without even registering surprise. Luke, however, found himself too tongue-tied to speak.

  “I can’t believe it! I thought you’d probably gone by now,” he finally cried out, barely able to stop himself from hugging Boris in excitement.

  Boris shrugged and smiled. He was wearing the same leather coat, though he’d exchanged the black shirt for a tan Henley that showed off the muscles in his chest to perfection. Luke stared at those muscles for some time. “In a way, that is true,” he admitted. “I’ve been away touring a few other places. I’m leaving England altogether in three days. But I wanted to see this city one more time.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Luke didn’t dare hope he was the reason B
oris had returned. Besides, what difference did the reason make? He’d come back, and that was what mattered. Luke hadn’t lost him forever. Not yet, anyhow.

  “So… how did your essay turn out? The one about this cathedral?”

  “Not too good, I’m afraid. My tutor liked the part you suggested. My ideas, not so much.”

  Boris smiled and shook his head a little. “What a shame. I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t care.”

  “You should care. An education is very important. My brother convinced my father not to send me to university, probably because he couldn’t go himself and would have resented my experiences. Instead, I was privately educated at the castle, as he was. Nonetheless, I always feel I missed something.”

  “Well, from where I’m standing, you didn’t. I think university is overrated, personally. But I suppose everyone’s different.”

  “Quite so.” Boris tilted his head the way he’d done when they’d first met. Luke felt as though Boris were sizing him up somehow. He only hoped he could pass muster. “Tell me,” Boris said at last, “are you busy tomorrow?”

  Luke struggled not to sound too excited. “It’s Saturday, so no. I’m free all day.”

  “Then may I invite you on an excursion? There is a medieval castle I wish to explore a few hours’ drive from here. I have arranged for a private showing.”

  “Sure—I’d love to. That sounds great!”

  “Excellent. I must attend to some business this afternoon, but I will pick you up here at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Perfect!”