The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

  ‘I have all sorts of letters you see, they exchanged notes… he was a great flautist and greatly valued in the company until the misunderstanding cost him his job. How different life must’ve been then.’ A girl’s voice carried through the still evening.

  ‘I know what you mean, Joanna, misunderstandings can ruin a life. It did for my grandmother…can imagine what this place must’ve been then, though I don’t believe much has changed since that unfortunate fire,’ the man responded.

  They had approached the bench and were almost close before they noticed Re. Their steps faltered and immediately the man steered Joanna away from the bench, where they had probably been headed to sit and chat.

  ‘Excuse me, I was just about to leave. You may take the seat if you like,’ Re remarked, rising.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ the man replied, in perfect English. ‘We are on our way to the Schloss for dinner anyway.’

  Re watched them amble towards the palace, conversing in low tones.

  The dark had swallowed up the tree trunks and bushes along the lake and Re followed the path of the lanterns. He spotted a piece of paper clinging to a bush by the Meierhof door and plucked it away. It was an old newspaper clipping with a faded photograph on it. It was a news report. His eyes flicked over it quickly. Then, he tucked it into an inner pocket of his black jacket.

  It was time to leave.

  ‘But I’ll be here tomorrow,’ he promised, staring up at the Schloss.

  ***

  Five miles away, in the wooded area of Palace Florenberg, a meeting was in progress. The Committee room, of dark wood paneling, with heavy curtains drawn across the big windows, emanated an atmosphere of melancholic brooding. Aaren hated this room of the Schloss Florenberg. No sunshine ever seemed to touch these jaded walls. Even the chandelier hanging overhead laboured under the weight of responsibility. He must remember to order the cleaning of the top floor hall. Like he had to remember a host of other things too. Repair the wooden framework of the decaying windows, polish the wooden doors, get the chandeliers to function and the dining area prepared. The lawns were overgrown. Mercifully, winter would set in soon and snow would cover the uneven grass, thus delaying the expenditure. But the cold would involve the cost of central heating. Aaren sighed. He felt weighed down by his duties and his lack of enthusiasm. Could he just quit? No, no, of course not, he forced the damaging thought out of his mind with a shake of his balding head. Right now he had to get through this meeting. Although he had no wish either to see or meet any of these unimaginative members, he had no choice. He turned to face the dull faces round the table.

  ‘So you’ve all heard of the event taking place at the Schloss Leopoldskron. I have no clue what it is they have that we don’t. But the fact is that every month we are getting fewer and fewer applications to attend our sessions,’ he commented. He was a portly man with a fleshy face. ‘Need I add that this affects the grants we receive for our own sessions? If this continues, we shall be in deep trouble regarding the upkeep of our palace and we need to do something about it quickly. Schloss Leopoldskron has become too much of a competition for us. We have to stop it or we will be in a distressing situation.’

  He faced the Committee room. The grim faces of the members present were enough to make him wince. They were all useless, handicapped as they were by out-dated ideas. He needed fresh brains, exciting new blood.

  ‘Any suggestions? Anybody?’ he asked, with forced patience.

  Silence.

  ‘No suggestions?’ His gaze cruised over the solemn faces.

  A hand rose tentatively. It was the eager-looking intern recruited a month ago.

  ‘Ya?’

  ‘I have a theory, sir. I think we need to restore the balance of energy, of our Schloss,’ the intern put forward.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As of now, I can sense a lot of negative energy on the premises and we need to convert it to positive. A balanced energy would change the course of things at Schloss Florenberg.’

  ‘And how do you propose doing that, young man?’ Aaren was surprised he was even discussing something this stupid with such a youngster.

  ‘I’ve been studying the history of Florenberg ever since I arrived here, sir, and I found some very interesting references. I have a plan, but I need to speak to you in private.’

  The other withered faces turned to him, eyebrows raised in disdain. But the young intern continued to stare fixedly at the director. Something passed between them—a signal.

  ‘What’s your name, young man?’

  ‘Kit, sir.’

  ‘Okay, meeting dismissed,’ announced Aaren. ‘Kit, follow me to my office,’ he rasped the order.

  A murmur of protest rose rather unceremoniously but the director ignored it and strode out of the room. The young intern pushed his chair back, collected a sheaf of papers from the round conference table and followed him out.

  ***

  It took a few minutes for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark. The portraits in the Leopoldskron Chapel seemed to gaze at each other with intense gravity. He clicked the lighter and a gentle blue flame threw a gloomy light on the big slab in the centre of the floor, as the shadows thickened in the corners.

  COR

  LEOPOLDI FIRMIANI

  ARCHIEPISCOPI SALISBURGENSIS

  IN HOC LOCO

  QUEM AMAVERAT QUIESCIT.

  The heart of Leopold Firmian Archbishop of Salzburg

  Rests at this place

  Which he had loved.

  He read the words etched on the stone slab with grim satisfaction.

  Here lies the heart of Archbishop Leopold Firmian…

  Not anymore, he thought gleefully. In a few minutes from now, he would pluck the heart out of its resting place. It would have to be a clean and soundless operation. Not that any amount of sound would make the slightest difference at this hour. All the hotel guests would be in peaceful slumber in their grand palatial rooms, unsuspecting of the shock that would greet them in the morning.

  A window creaked and instantly, he was on the alert. He stayed stock-still for long minutes, anticipating more sounds. But the silence remained undisturbed and he began to breathe easy again.

  He glanced at the three sheets of paper in his hand. In the pale light, the material used appeared yellow and lined but still sturdy. The letter was short and simple, written in a bold hand on small separate sheets of paper.

  ‘I hand over to you my last gift for the Schloss. My life was the Schloss. I lived it and breathed it and now I give it for one last time. My personal offering as a pilgrim on his way… Humour me… Follow the Trail of Four and complete my last wish…’

  Very intense and in a way pathetic. At least he hadn’t had to suffer what she went through. Poor woman, life had been most unfair to her. But not anymore. This letter would be her redemption. This last gift would be her final reward, even if it meant facing the gravest danger!

  But first, he had to destroy the stone slab which marked the place of Leopold’s sacred burial. The idea sent a thrill of pleasure down his spine. He placed the notes delicately on the wooden bench and stared in contemplation at the grave. Once it was turned into an empty shell, it would be the perfect place for the trail to begin…

  Chapter 2

  The hole gaped unevenly, and stones and mud were splattered in all corners of the chapel. The visual was terribly wounding to the eye and Martina stared at the floor, a hand over her mouth stifling a scream. With a swift turn, she fled the room, breaking into a run. Her heart was pounding, and her long legs covered the short distance across the courtyard, from the Schloss to Dan’s office in the Meierhof, within minutes. She pushed the door open without ceremony and barged in.

  ‘What—?’ Dan turned in his swivel chair, startled.

  ‘You won’t believe this—the heart is gone!’

  ‘Verzeihen Sie bitte?’ the general manager of the hotel raised startled eyes to the artist, a frown of uncertainty marring his g
ood looks.

  ‘Das Herz! The Archbishop’s heart has been taken from the chapel!’

  For moments, Dan stared at Martina, incomprehension and confusion stamped on his face. Then he thrust his chair backwards and rose sharply.

  ‘The heart? Gone? What do you mean?’

  ‘I think you better see this for yourself.’

  Martina did not wait for his response. She rushed out of the room, across the open courtyard towards the Schloss. Dan followed her, the gravel crunching under their hasty feet, into the Great Hall, past the grand piano and turning right, pushing the big wooden door to the chapel. And then they stopped short. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Nobody would. It was unheard of—Unerhört! The spot where the Archbishop Firmian’s heart had once been grandly placed, was now merely a deep gash of rubble and earth. The heart had vanished!

  For some moments, the world whirled around him, swamping out all credible thought. The hole was like a laceration in his own heart. How? Who? Why? The questions zipped through his head in a maze of perplexity.‘Ich kann das nicht glauben!’ he muttered under his breath, in a state of shock and disbelief.

  Something white caught his eye. He peered over and picked up the folded sheet of paper lying on the edge of the grave. He unfolded the sheet carefully and realized that there were actually two sheets, stapled together. The paper was old and yellow and the message was handwritten and brief. Dan gaped at it for a long minute. A single bead of perspiration travelled down his forehead to the side of his bearded cheek. His heart pumped in dread. Dan knew in that moment that he was on the threshold of the biggest challenge of his life. He hadn’t experienced this kind of fear ever before.

  He fumbled with his phone, his fingers trembling and spoke briefly into the instrument.

  ‘Pat, I need you here right away. I want you to close and lock the door of the chapel at once. Allow no one to enter. And contact Officer Stefan Weiss immediately.’

  He turned to Martina, who was standing motionless by his side, still staring at the hole.

  ‘I must request you not to utter a word to anyone.’ Dan’s grey gaze rested sharply on her.

  The artist nodded, a look of understanding on her face.

  ***

  ‘I heard someone play the flute at dawn,’ a voice spoke from behind him.

  Re froze in action. The first rays of the sun spilled over the sloping black roof of the small chapel, varnishing it with a delicate golden sheen. He had already taken a variety of shots with his camera. It appeared to be a privately-owned chapel, as far as he could make out. Probably belonged to the owners of one of the old-fashioned houses across the street. Nevertheless, it was extremely impressive.

  ‘Hey, want to take a look inside the chapel?’

  He turned his gaze to the beautiful dark-brown door of the B&B—a magnificent structure of slanting wood—facing him across the steeply winding alley. The flower beds on both its sides seemed to be overflowing, and there was an assorted riot of blooms from even the box windows.

  A slender woman stood by the door, attired in a blue, traditional dirndl. In flat comfortable shoes, she was of medium-height, with her short hair tousled, almost boyish, and sun-bleached. Meg Ryan-style, he thought. Her blue-green eyes rested on him with an expression of curiosity and amusement. Spontaneous sea waves lashed in his mind.

  Re lowered the camera and stared at her. There was something arresting about her—the sharp features set in a heart-shaped face, flawless skin, and carved eyebrows. One of which was raised, right at that moment, in a questioning, rather impatient way. But it was actually her pensive eyes that really caught his attention. And a certain sense of hidden sadness beyond the layer of amusement that he detected at once. A violin played in his mind, slow and agonizing in its emotive quality.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  ‘Mais oui, that would be wonderful!’ he agreed in French, willing the violin to stop.

  She descended the three steps and strode towards him, her arm raised for a handshake, which Re accepted in a firm clasp.

  ‘I am Isabel and you must be Re Parkar, from Paris. But…’

  ‘Indian father and French mother, but Paris is my home,’ Re offered quickly. His name confused people… He confused people!

  ‘Oh, I see that explains the choice of the instrument… It was you playing the flute this morning, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oui, genes inherited from my musical father. I play the flute to calm my nerves.’

  ‘I trust your nerves aren’t frayed because of the lack of comfort at our B&B.’ A hint of a smile peeped from behind her nonchalant look.

  ‘Oh no, absolutely not! It’s a divine place,’ he responded spontaneously.

  ‘Hardly that!’ she scoffed, the smile widening slightly but not really coming forth. ‘But yes, I agree it’s comfortable. I saw you clicking photos through the upstairs window. This is a family-owned chapel, by the way. Our chapel. Luckily, I always carry the keys.’ She plucked at an old set of iron keys from her skirt and dangled them before his eyes.

  Her English was heavily accented. With confident steps, she approached the chapel and inserted a key in the rust-coloured, studded metal door. Re experienced a stab of excitement. A private family chapel! Just what he would love to see and film.

  ‘The B&B is actually our flourmill turned into a guesthouse owned by my family since the sixteenth century. And this is the Maria Luggau Chapel.’

  She pushed open the heavy door and Re stepped into the rectangular hall.

  It was one of the smallest chapels he had ever set foot in, with a seating for barely twenty people and yet the altar and the statues associated with it were an exact replica of a full-scale church. He instantly set his video camera rolling, shooting every nook and cranny of the religious edifice.

  ‘It’s amazing…’ he whistled, his gaze resting reverently on the altar. He took quick shots of the interiors. ‘I thought a private family-owned chapel was a rarity anywhere in the world.’

  ‘It is, but actually there’s a very interesting story associated with this one,’ Isabel offered, as she waited patiently for him to finish his task. ‘In 1869 a new house was being constructed here. Suddenly, a scaffolding broke and seven workers fell into a ditch, luckily unhurt. So, to acknowledge the good luck, the family built this chapel in honour of Mother Mary. In fact, this chapel is situated along the famous pilgrims’ path to St. Wolfgang.’

  ‘Fascinating!’

  ‘It is, isn’t it? My family now takes care of the upkeep of the chapel. Some years ago the government did take it over, but now, it’s been some years that it has been handed back to us for caretaking.’

  Re took a last picture. Then, conscious of the lady’s keen, observant eyes, he quickly murmured a prayer.

  ‘What’s that?’ He indicated a black metal box standing in the right-hand corner of the chapel.

  ‘That’s a donation box from the sixteenth century. Been at the church forever. Are you done?’

  ‘Yes, thank you!’

  Re stepped out again and she quickly locked the door behind her.

  ‘Are you in Salzburg for long?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  A notification buzzed on his phone just then and instinctively a cold hand clutched at his heart.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured and glanced down at his phone.

  ‘Re. Come. It’s urgent!’

  Dan’s brief message was enough to send the expected chills down his back. Something had happened. It had finally happened!

  ‘Anything the matter?’ Isabel enquired, a hint of concern in her voice.

  Her query cleared the momentary daze in his brain. ‘I’ve got to leave. I’ll see you later. A bientôt!’ Re floundered, as he stuffed the camera in its bag and headed to his car without a backward glance. He was in such haste that he almost missed the tall, lanky figure in a brown cardigan, leaning against the wall, keeping a watchful eye on the B&B.

  ***

&nbs
p; ‘One day to go,’ Dan murmured, ‘one day to the Event…’ He thrust a frustrated hand through his brown-tinted hair. The Global Seminar had taken enormous effort to put this event together. Continuous contact for the last two months with the heads of different countries and their aides, emails flying back and forth, ironing out security issues and the endless, personal requests which had ranged from bizarre to outrageous—it had been all too much. And now that the Event was actually all set to unfold, this had happened!

  Dan stared out of the office window. The Schloss stood tall and complacent, right before him. Unaware that the worst thing possible could’ve just happened to it. Its heart had been stolen! Dan shook his head in disbelief. The heart? Who would want an Archbishop’s 300-year-old heart? If at all it was in any condition to be taken? And why would anyone want it? It sounded like one hell of a crazy idea. Except that whoever had done it had chosen the worst possible day to do it.

  Dignitaries across the world had already set their travel plans in motion. Tomorrow, they would all be headed to Salzburg to attend the most prestigious of its events. It was a moment to be proud of. An accomplishment which Dan and his team had worked hard to achieve. And now that the proud moment was within grasping reach, this ghastly turn of events had occurred. What was to be done?

  The screech of brakes on the gravel outside interrupted his thoughts. Thank God, the Polizei were here!

  ***

  Officer Stefan Weiss, from the Criminal Investigations’ Department, was a man of few words. Good looks, grey-blue eyes, a pleasant smile and dimples which offset a firm jawline, gave rise to the general opinion that, even in his navy blue uniform, he was more suited to the stage than the police force. But that, he himself acknowledged, was a mere façade. He was as tough as a nut on the inside. The deceptively smug look on his face, his hands in his pockets, feeling something within the thick folds of the jacket, he was focused on the job at hand. There was too much on his mind. The security at the Schloss for the Seminar for one. But more than that, he couldn’t get Isabel’s image out of his mind. Her visit last evening to the police headquarters had taken him offguard. Even shaken him! Until then, he had done his best to restrict their exchanges to minimum, appointing his junior to interact with her. Whether it was to look for clues at her residence, or respond to her infinite queries and demands. True, she had reacted like any normal wife would if her husband went missing. The same concern, almost the same hysteria. In fact she had been perfect, and he would’ve almost believed her, if it hadn’t been for… Stefan shook his head. Fokussiere dich, focus!