The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

  Now as he strode across the courtyard after Dan, he experienced a sudden twinge of unease—a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. Salzburg really never needed their services. It was one of the safest cities in the world with an almost zero crime rate. He never felt the need to hurry, although his long legs carried him in seconds to any destination he pleased. He hadn’t felt this uneasy when he had heard that the very highprofile head of Israel, a very sensitive personality, was to visit the Schloss in the next few days. Nor even when Isabel had stood in his office, jostling a host of unwanted memories…

  ‘Here it is!’

  Dan threw open the door of the chapel and Stefan stepped into the holy domain. He had been here several times. It was one of his favourite recluses in the Schloss. It possessed an intrinsic energy which had always appealed to him. But now, as he entered the chapel, his mind half on the matter in hand and half on Isabel, he almost reeled with shock.

  ‘Mein Gott!’ the words escaped Stefan before he knew it. ‘The heart—’

  ‘Precisely! The heart is gone,’ Dan confirmed, glad to finally voice his concern openly. ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it? That something like this can happen at the Schloss?’

  ‘Certainly, no one has attempted to steal a centuries-old heart before! The grave looks positively grotesque,’ Stefan remarked.

  ‘I know what you mean. And this here is the note.’

  The officer unfolded the sheet of paper and his eyes flew over the cryptic words. An incredulous expression crossed his face.

  ‘A letter from Max Reinhardt? After seventy years!’ he expostulated.

  Dan shrugged. ‘Scary, isn’t it? The heart stolen, a note from Reinhardt…’

  ‘Weird. This can’t be possible. Okay, let’s assume for a moment, that for some incredibly fantastic reason, the note is indeed from Max Reinhardt. But we do know, without the slightest doubt, that Reinhardt did not steal the heart,’ Stefan pointed out.

  ‘No obviously not. Unless it’s his ghost which did it.’

  ‘Which means someone, with a love for history and drama, is pulling a fast one on us.’

  Dan drew a hand through his hair distractedly. ‘I should’ve listened to Re. He knew something was going to happen. He warned me, and like a fool, I ignored the warning!’

  ‘Now who’s Re and how did he know something was going to transpire at the palace?’ Stefan turned to face the general manager of the Schloss, his attention caught.

  ‘Re Parkar, an investigative journalist. He’ll be here any minute now.’

  ‘Looking forward to meeting him. Meanwhile, I will have to cordon off the chapel. And of course, I would need a list of all the people present on the hotel premises last evening. Hotel guests included. As well as the final list of all the guests who will begin arriving from tomorrow.’

  Dan nodded, his heart sinking into a morass. If only he had paid more heed to Re’s warning.

  ***

  The police car headed out of the Schloss gates and yet Dan felt not an iota of relief. He hoped the officer would take action, of course. The polizei had their ways. And although Stefan hadn’t promised anything, just barked orders into his phone, Dan was pretty sure the police machinery had begun to roll.

  He stood by the lake, something he very rarely did nowadays. It glistened an olive-green now and for the umpteenth time Dan realized just how beautiful it all was and how much he loved it. The Untersberg right across him, sharp and rising in graceful curves. The long lines of trees which bordered the lake, the path that ran all around it and the beautiful lake itself, like an ever-present, reassuring presence. He loved it all! But it was only now, when someone had actually threatened the tranquillity and peace of this haven, that he realized how much he had taken it all for granted. It was all just too precious to lose.

  Impulsively he bent down, and plucked away some stray weeds from the banks. His head was pounding and he hoped against hope that Re would turn up soon. As if on cue, a finger tapped his shoulder and he whirled around.

  ‘Re! So glad to see you.’

  Re’s rust-coloured T-shirt sat casually on his straight shoulders and a pair of well-fitted blue jeans. His trademark black jacket with multiple pockets hung on his arm. A highlighted ponytail swung with the wind and he tucked back the long loose strands of hair that had strayed from it behind his ear. His eyes behind the silver-rimmed glasses were expressionless.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ Re said without preamble.

  ‘The unthinkable! The Archbishop’s heart from the chapel has been stolen.’

  Re stared at Dan in incomprehension.

  ‘Stolen? How’s that possible?’

  ‘It was dug out last night. Martina discovered it this morning. And I found this note—or a copy of a note—in the grave.’ The hotelier thrust the paper towards him, without further ado.

  Re read the words, two deep lines etched between his eyebrows.

  ‘Follow the Trail of Four and find my last gift to the Schloss. You have two days. If you fail, you endanger the Four Pillars of my beloved Salzburg, on the strike of twelve, everytime! Save my Pillars. Find my gift. Follow the Trail of Four.

  Max Reinhardt

  P.S. The heart will be destroyed on the 4th strike of 12 and the energy will destroy Salzburg.’

  The second page read:

  Start: Where everything begins, And everything ends,

  And the angels are delighted, the envious demon growls, human

  wisdom vanishes and the triumphant church rejoices,

  And then she wears the crown of life.

  ‘What is this?’ Re shook his head in confusion. ‘Some kind of a game for the Schloss fellows?’

  ‘Actually, it sounds more like Max Reinhardt speaking from the grave.’

  ‘If I’m not wrong, Max Reinhardt was the Austrian-American director who bought the Schloss in the early half of the twentieth century? The theatre person?’ Re wanted to confirm.

  Dan nodded. ‘That’s right. The famous maestro who changed the life of the Schloss.’

  ‘And you found this note in the grave in the chapel?’

  ‘Come, let me show you.’

  Re followed Dan across the courtyard to the Schloss. Opposite the main entrance, he noticed ancient statues of two deer, made of some greenish metal, their backs weathered, slightly discoloured and cracked over time. They stood on an oval platform, pretty flowers surrounding them like a wreath. Their ears were pricked up for sounds and their tails were down, almost as if they were ready to scamper away. But it was their soulful, realistic almond-shaped eyes which established an immediate connect with Re. He would’ve stood there for hours, taking pictures, if Dan hadn’t already disappeared inside the Schloss. Re hastened after him.

  Minutes later, the hotelier pushed the enormous wooden door and entered the sacred chapel. With a heavy heart, he pointed to the gaping, uneven tear in the floor.

  ‘The Archbishop’s three hundred-year-old heart is stolen,’ he repeated in a dead voice.

  Re glanced at the splattered, dug-out earth and then at Dan, startled. ‘Incroyable! Seeing it like this is more gruesome than hearing about it. The act seems actually warped.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  Re’s gaze cruised around the chapel, taking in the huge wall paintings, the pink marble altar with the statues on either side, the glistening candle stands, the wooden benches and the seating arrangement in the balcony.

  ‘What a lovely place,’ he remarked.

  ‘It is, isn’t it? There’s an inherent peace and charm here that fills you from within. But now, sadly, it will be permanently tainted by this hideous act,’ Dan replied, bitterly.

  Re referred to the note again, re-reading it slowly. ‘So someone stole the heart and left this note from the dead Max Reinhardt in the grave,’ he repeated. ‘But this note could be a fake, n’est-ce-pas? Someone is obviously posing as Max Reinhardt, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Stefan has taken the original to show it to a sp
ecialist. We will know soon enough if this had ever been written by Max.’

  ‘And what’s all this about the energy? And which are the pillars of Salzburg?’

  ‘Salzburgers believe that there is an energy that protects the town. It’s an ancient thought supported by generations of belief. This same energy also, of course, protects the Schloss,’ Dan explained. ‘But someone—I wish I knew who—has stolen the heart and now wants us to believe that the energy has been disturbed. Which means, if we don’t find Reinhardt’s last gift, the disturbed energy would destroy the Four Pillars of Salzburg. And to be honest, the only pillars I know of in Salzburg, are not even actual physical pillars! They are more representations of what is important for Salzburg. And to top it all, I haven’t the faintest idea about Reinhardt’s last gift.’

  ‘Sounds fantastic, but then why am I not surprised?’ Re sighed. ‘You have contacted the police, of course?’

  ‘Yes of course. Officer Stefan Weiss is capable, intelligent and on it. But I can’t afford to stop at that. I need your help.’

  ‘Mais oui, I’ll do my best, mon ami,’ Re assured him. ‘I hope that you have not shown the note to anyone.’

  ‘No one, except Stefan. Our event begins tomorrow night with a welcome dinner. The grandest of all at the Schloss. I have the heads of different countries staying at the Schloss and the Meierhof Hotel. I need to have this cleared before the Session begins. What do I do?’ Dan’s tone was desperate.

  Re straightened to his full height, fixing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. ‘Take a deep breath. And tell me all you know. I need to acquaint myself with as much as possible of everything “Salzburgian”—if I may use the word—to understand the “what”, “where” and “why” of this incident.’

  ‘Thank you. God bless you!’ Dan clutched Re’s hands dramatically.

  Re did not smile. For a brief moment, he saw past the relief in his friend’s grey eyes and was aware that he had undertaken a Herculean task.

  ‘In the exact words of Isabel, our local historian: “The Schloss is beautiful and a symbol of changing times. But look beyond its beauty and you may notice a rather strong spirit and the desire to survive extreme calamities.”’

  ‘Eh bien, sounds like the perfect line from a travelogue,’ Re agreed.

  Dan managed to respond with a smile. ‘Yeah, she was good. An asset to the Schloss, but unfortunately she refuses to come anymore—but that’s another story. Let me begin at the beginning. The Schloss, as you already know, was commissioned as a family estate by Prince Archbishop of Salzburg, Leopold Anton Freiherr von Firmian, in 1736. He was a great lover of science and the arts but he barely got to live here. He died in 1744, leaving the Schloss to his nephew Count Laktanz Firmian. The Archbishop’s body is buried in the Dome Cathedral but he requested his heart to be buried in his private chapel in the Schloss, as a symbol of his love for it.’

  ‘Wow!’ Re expelled a breath.

  ‘Yes, wow, but that heart is now gone. Of course, it must be a fistful of earth and dust—if that—by now, considering it was buried in an urn almost 300 years ago. I doubt if there’s anything in it now. But symbolically it still stays strong and beloved at our palace. And now it’s stolen.’

  Re was silent for a moment, as his gaze swept over the chapel: the larger-than-life paintings on the wall, the elaborate altar and the balcony seating overhead, for the Bishop himself, no less. It was imposing and yet quietly dignified. He experienced a tremor of sadness inside him.

  ‘And tell me about Reinhardt,’ he prompted.

  ‘Max Reinhardt was a famous impresario and conductor who bought the Schloss when it was in a rather dilapidated condition in 1918 and totally rebuilt it to its former glory. He used it as an exhibition pad and almost like a theatre for his plays, using the different rooms for different scenes, so that his audience would actually have to move around accordingly. He loved the place and had many rooms added, such as the Venetian Room and the Chinese Room.’

  ‘But what is his gift to the Schloss? Was it in his will?’

  ‘I have no clue. I have never ever heard of any such thing. As far as I know, Reinhardt fled to America when he realized that the Nazis would be in Salzburg and would seize all Jewish property. Finally, the Gestapo did confiscate the Schloss in June 1938. Max Reinhardt was in America and when the news reached him, he said: ‘I have had it!’ He is supposed to have died in exile pining for the Schloss. He lost almost everything he owned at the Schloss.’

  ‘And what about the Salzburg Global Seminar? When did that begin here?’

  ‘After the Americans took over Salzburg from the Germans, the Schloss was returned to Reinhardt’s widow, Helene Thimig, in 1947. Three Harvard students were scouting for a location to begin a unique event, which would support dialogue between America and Europe after the Second World War. They approached Helene and she agreed. This was the beginning. In 1959, the Seminar bought the Schloss and in 1973, they bought the Meierhof as well.’

  ‘So now the Seminar owns both these two mansions.’

  ‘That’s right. These were later converted into hotels as you see them now. This is where the guests are hosted. The Meierhof has fifty-five rooms and the Schloss has twelve suites. It’s all rather grand.’

  ‘And the Four Pillars of Salzburg?’

  Dan expelled a big sigh. ‘The Four Pillars of Salzburg have always been the film The Sound of Music—you do know that some parts of the film were shot here at the Schloss and in Salzburg—the Schloss itself, the famous Salzburg Festival and the awesome Mozart. But how can one destroy these Four Pillars?’

  ‘Good question.’

  Dan shook his head. ‘I’ve spent fifteen years in the hospitality business, spanning different countries from India to America and I have never ever faced such a challenge. This is my worst nightmare.’

  Re shook his head thoughtfully, pressing back his spectacles. ‘Non, your worst nightmare would be if we could not find Reinhardt’s gift before midnight tomorrow.’

  Dan stared at his friend, a chill crawling like a worm over his skin.

  Re stood in the Marble Hall, gazing at the magnificence of it all. This was where all the Hotel and Seminar guests enjoyed their grand meals. The two-storey high ceiling, the wall-size grand paintings, the fireplaces below the paintings and the checked rust-cream floor were awe-inspiring. An elaborate buffet was laid out on one side of the hall. The huge round wooden tables with pristine white tablecloths, dainty wine glasses and polished silverware, under the two grand chandeliers, spoke of elegance and luxury.

  Re noticed that Joanna and her friend sat at the far end of the hall, near the wide windows overlooking the terrace and the lake. The Hollanders were by the buffet, serving themselves a sampling of the fruit. Richard was nowhere to be seen.

  Re crossed the hall to the adjacent Library, the most charming place in the Schloss.

  As far as Re’s little knowledge permitted, the Library was also Reinhardt’s special room. It had been specially modelled along the lines of the Abbey Library in Saint Gall in Switzerland. Some bookshelves curved along the wall, others formed a straight line. The combo was extremely alluring. Gilded, ornate nameplates in blue and gold above the shelves announced the name of each section. A pillar flanked either side of a bookshelf and Re counted the pillars. Twenty-eight! These small, wooden pillars also supported the top floor of the Library. A balustrade ran along the upper half which was lined with bookshelves.

  Two round tables and a small rectangular one in the centre of the Library hosted ornate lamps. And a big elaborate fireplace in the middle of the library displayed a four-winged cherub. A big gilded clock stood like a statue at the extreme end of the Library, near the windows, overlooking the lake. The ornate brass door with the Reinhardt symbol, the polished wood panelling, the colour of warm mahogany, brown-gold tones and the reading lights, all emanated an old-world charm. Re had already taken many pictures of the Schloss, including of the Library, and knew most of its well-know
n history. But in the light of the present situation, he felt the acute need to reacquaint himself with it all, with a different perspective.

  He stood in the middle of the room, soaking in the energy which seemed to engulf him from all corners of the wood and glass…a rush of heady creative energy, finely balanced between an air of subtle contrasting emotions. His fingers tingled and he clenched them. An urge to close his eyes swamped him like a wave. Heat splashed over his body. Like flashes in a film, visuals burst into his head—his father’s ashen face floating before his eyes, his mother’s loud, uncontrollable sobs echoing in his head…Nisa slipping over the cliff, her eyes boring into his with a mix of shocked realization and desperation, asking, beseeching, him to save her, her hand flung out to be held one last time. The images collided with the sound of a crash and the pungent smell of flames.

  With a jerk, Re opened his eyes and the vision escaped into oblivion. Drops of perspiration travelled down his forehead. His heart was thumping as he clutched a chair and slid into it. Nisa!Why on earth had her image appeared here at the Schloss? His darling sister. Guilt and pain slashed at him and he almost choked on the intensity of his feelings. A two-year-old wound had been torn open!

  Re inhaled deeply, steadying his wildly erratic heartbeats as he clasped the small metal ‘Om’ that hung round his neck. Trying to douse the scorching pain inside him, he smothered all thought of his little sister with the clinical expertise of a well-practised professional.