The Trail of Four

by Manjiri Prabhu

  For a moment, they all stared at each other. Re thrust a fidgety hand through his ponytail. For the first time that night, he sensed the closing in, of the Trail. As if it was within touching distance, to be caught in the curl of the palm. They were so close to ending Max Reinhardt’s trail…and perhaps preventing disaster from striking the town again.

  ‘But wait. There seem to be no mirrors in the Library. Mirrors that would coat the McCoy of four with their reflection.’ Re looked thwarted.

  ‘There are mirrors in the Library,’ Dan spoke up.

  ‘Where?’ Re turned to him with renewed hope. As far as he could see, there were no mirrors within sight.

  ‘Look up there, in all four corners of the upper level of the Library!’ Dan pointed.

  Everyone glanced up to where he indicated. Four fulllength mirrors embraced the walls next to the windows, in each corner of the balcony. They were completey hidden behind the thick balustrade of the first floor, and Re and the others had to move position and crane their necks to locate them.

  ‘Oh, my gosh! I had forgotten those!’ Isabel exclaimed. ‘Wow! You are right. Even “as the mirrors, like Cheaters”…I am going up,’ Re announced.

  He opened the secret door, disguised as a bookshelf and ascended the spiral staircase which led up to the upper section of the Library. The others followed suit. He pushed the swinging door with the oval glass peep-through and walked down the balcony to the left, his hand sliding over the curvy balustrade, towards the mirror. The creaking wooden boards welcomed the visit nosily. From the top, the view of the Library was magnificent, with the ornate ceiling, the glossy wooden shelves, pillars and wavy balustrade and the treasure of books. From his vantage point, all the four mirrors were visible. They stood at slight angles to reflect the different parts of the Library.

  ‘So, as per the clue, all the men, and the bird, keep watch on the core and the mirrors like sunglasses, glaze the real McCoy of Four,’ Re repeated almost to himself, but Isabel was by his side.

  His mind was ticking, almost in rhythm with the clock. The reflection of the Library was visible in each of the mirrors. Re walked to the mirror closest to the owl and the mask. He turned around to identify which part of the Library reflected in the mirror. Re’s heart began a tattoo. The image of the secret door, with the covers of hardbound books aligned to form a bookshelf was clearly evident in the mirror.

  ‘Isabel, I think we’ve found it!’ he remarked, for moments forgetting his altered thoughts of her.

  Isabel, Stefan and Dan leaned over, uncomprehending. Re did not await their reaction. He hastened down the steps again and stood by the thick bookcase’s secret door, waiting impatiently for the others to descend. As soon as Isabel, Dan and Stefan clattered down, he shut the bookcase door. The atmosphere in the room was loaded with a sudden poignant silence.

  The spines of the withered, thick book covers were visible through the glass cupboard door. Re opened the top bookshelf and ran his hand down the spines. They were hard, like hardbound books, gold-embossed and were numbered. Histoire Monarch Volume 1, Histoire Monarch Volume 2, Histoire Monarch Volume 3, Histoire Monarch Volume 4. Re’s finger paused on it and he inhaled deeply. The moment of discovery was here. He turned around briefly to glance at Isabel. The look in his eyes made her step forward instantly.

  ‘Have we?’ she whispered.

  He nodded. For the briefest moments, he touched the pendant round his neck, then tugged at the Histoire Monarch Volume 4. It was stuck, so he tapped and tugged at the other volumes. Then drew out Volume 4 again and it slipped out this time with only a little resistance. It was an excellent make-belief spine of a book but projecting a hollow space where the pages should’ve been. Re slid in his hand and his fingers touched something round. Joy and relief surged through him as he drew out a slim cylinder of a box.

  ‘Reinhardt’s gift!’ he announced to the others.

  In the light of the chandeliers, Isabel, Stefan and Dan appeared stunned and speechless. Isabel’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. Stephan sucked in a quick breath. Dan whistled.

  ‘And here’s the last and final note from Reinhardt,’ Re continued. He unfolded the sheet of paper pasted loosely on the cylinder box.

  ‘Congratulations! Thank you for participating in the Trail. You’ve done it!You are now holding my most treasured Gift to the Schloss.

  Max Reinhardt’

  Silence ensued after Re’s brief reading. Isabel’s blue gaze locked with Re’s brown eyes. An unspoken sadness conveyed itself from her moist eyes to Re’s impenetrable ones. In that moment Re knew, that whatever the future brought, he would never forget this moment of shared triumph with her. Their journey over the last two days, fraught with physical and emotional tensions and upheavals had finally reached an end. They had reached the end of the Trail together. They were now irrefutably connected with history, and history was inerasable!

  ‘Bring it to the table,’ Isabel advised. ‘Be careful, please… doesn’t this look too big to be evidence that Mozart played at the Schloss?’

  Re plucked away the lid of the cylinder and extracted another roll of paper, tightly wound in an oilskin. With gentle fingers, he unrolled the oilskin and gradually, as parts of the sheet were revealed in the light of the table lamp, bit by bit the answer to the riddle that had dogged them for the last two days appeared in full view. A collective huge gasp burst in the room. For moments no one spoke. Re was stunned. To an expert eye, there wasn’t the least bit of doubt of what this was.

  ‘It’s a Rembrandt. A self-portrait!’ a voice exclaimed from behind him.

  It was Jim Sorey. He was staring at the painting, completely taken aback while Martina stood beside him, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  ‘I am sorry Dan. I came to ask you something. But may I see this?’

  Jim did not await for permission and the others stood back, a little helplessly, as the art curator came forward and quickly pored over the painting. It was the picture of a young Rembrandt with auburn-blonde wavy hair, his face partly in shadow but the other half revealing a thoughtful gray-black eye which seemed to contemplate the viewer in a direct stare.

  ‘What perfect skin tone! And that small smile, almost mischievous. And the dark cloak, the texture, the minute life-like strokes—magnificent work! Rembrandt created around a hundred self-portraits in his lifetime. It was a part of his learning and growing process. This must be one of them.’

  Dan glanced at Re who looked at the clock. It was 11.40. Re nodded.

  ‘Excellent, excellent. This is absolutely an original! Worth millions of dollars. Where did you find it?’ Jim continued, sounding excited.

  ‘Mr Sorey, it’s a long story. But let me show you something else. Will you follow me, too, Martina?’ Dan rose and taking the gentleman by the elbow, began leading them out.

  Isabel touched the painting with reverence. ‘The final Gift. Amazing!’

  She quickly took out her camera and clicked a photograph of the painting.

  ‘During the Laktanz era there were many Rembrandt paintings here which later got sold and lost. Reinhardt must have found this one when he was renovating the Schloss and hid to create this trail for his friends,’ she said.

  ‘Let me take charge of this,’ Stefan said. ‘Time is falling short. We have to now hand this beautiful painting to Richard—the criminal mind. Dan got an email asking him to place the gift in the pot of the lady by the lake.’

  He rolled the painting carefully.

  ‘But how does he plan to get it out of there?’ Re wondered. ‘It’s almost in full view of the Meierhof and the Schloss.’

  ‘That remains to be seen. Right now, we have to do what’s instructed. For the safety of the last Pillar and the stolen heart. I want the heart back safe and restored to its place.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Re said at once.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Isabel added.

  Stephan hesitated for an atom of a second, flashing Re a quick worried glance.
Then he nodded.

  They headed out of the Library, crossing the Marble Hall. Joanna had taken the makeshift stage near the terrace and had begun a classical rendition. Re, Isabel and Stefan quietly slipped across the hall, down the stairs and out of the Schloss. The rain had ceased but a thick mist had rolled in, creating inaccessible patches of the premises. Stefan strode with long legs towards the Meierhof. Patrolmen with two dogs were walking the grounds. Re felt an iota of security.

  The Lady with the Pot seemed to relax under the tree, away from prying eyes and almost hidden by the mist. Her pot rested on her waist at an angle. Without another word, Stefan slid the rolled painting into the pot. Then he turned and glanced at Re and Isabel.

  ‘That’s done. Let’s go inside, out of the cold, and wait.’ It was more a command than a request.

  ‘I’ll follow you. Please give me a few minutes. I need some fresh air and a few minutes alone,’ Re requested.

  And Stefan nodded. ‘I can understand. I’ll meet you inside the café. Don’t be too long. Isabel, will you come with me?’

  Isabel followed the officer. Stefan noticed that she looked tired.

  ‘Three coffees—and can you please make it quick?’ he requested the attendant behind the counter. The cheerful girl nodded. ‘Right away!’

  Stefan took the corner seat, with the black-and-white photos above him on the wall, studying him gravely. Isabel took the opposite seat but he noticed that she deliberately fiddled with her cellphone. He experienced a stab of deep sadness as he quickly punched into his own phone.

  ‘Keep a steady eye on the sculpture. I want no mistakes. This guy has to be caught, once and for all. No mistakes, do you understand?’ Stefan ordered in a low, commanding tone. He switched off his phone and stretched his lips in the semblance of a smile. ‘Now, we wait.’

  He glanced at his watch 11.45. Re appeared just as the coffee was ready and carried the coffee tray to the table, seating himself beside Isabel.

  ‘Who would’ve thought that it was a painting?’ Isabel murmured, voicing Re’s thoughts. ‘But what a fantastic gift to the Schloss…and now it has to be traded for a threat!’

  Re opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a great commotion broke outside. The dogs began to bark, the sound ripping through the night. Like lightning, Stefan rose, his hand flying automatically to his hip. He ran outdoors, followed closely by the journalist and historian.

  Re froze as he reached the Meierhof steps. It was a sight he would never forget in his whole life, A sight infinitely more terrifying and blood-curdling than any he had seen before! In the thickening mist, the street lamps beamed hazy rays onto the gate of the Schloss which was swarming with creatures that appeared to have stepped straight out of their graves. It was as if a mass of ghosts were streaming in through the gate, scattering unchecked, running helter-skelter in the premises. Hideous shaggy creatures, with horns, bared bloody fangs, venomous, gruesome faces and long hairy bodies, slouched, dragged themselves and ran into the park and towards the lake. They raced, crawled and slunk hither and thither without uttering a single word, their silence more evil than any agonizing cries they could’ve uttered.

  ‘Krampus! Now?’ Isabel cried, shocked.

  ‘What’s that?’ Re asked, tremors running down his spine.

  ‘Krampus processions! They happen only in December.’ Stefan dashed out in the midst of the running figures, sending out sharp orders to his officers. Policemen seemed to materialize from behind dark corners, chasing the scattered men as the dogs barked incessantly.

  Re spotted Dan emerging from the direction of the Schloss, looking alarmed as some of the grotesque creatures crossed him.

  ‘Dan, get back to the Schloss and bolt the doors,’ Stefan ordered.

  ‘What—’ Dan was struck.

  The hotelier turned around, broke into a sprint and vanished towards the Schloss which was a hazy form peeping from the midst of thick, scarlet-patterned mist. Re hoped that he had heard Stefan and had secured the doors from the inside.

  Isabel screamed! One of the creatures ran straight towards her, nearly goring her with his huge horns. He had the head of a devil, with teeth projecting outward and eyes that were so bloodshot, they leaked blood. He vanished behind them towards the lake.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Re asked anxiously.

  ‘I almost got hit,’ Isabel gasped. ‘What in heavens is happening?’

  The confusion was mindboggling, the stream of devilish people descending on the Schloss almost like an uprising. Except that they were more chilling. It was a mercy the high-profile guests in the party were not distracted by the commotion. Distraction. Distraction? The thought streaked through Re like lightning—Mon Dieu, the painting!

  ‘Isabel, I know what’s happening! It’s the Gift!’ Re shouted and broke into a run.

  Like a flood, understanding had washed over him. All these devilish men who entered the Schloss premises—untimely Krampus as Isabel had pointed out—it was under the guise of the Krampus that Richard, too, had entered the premises! This was how he was going to lift the painting from the pot!

  Re’s legs skidded on the grass as he slid to a halt just in time with Isabel close on his heels. The sculpture of the lady was partly draped in a white veil of mist. And the hideously masked figure who had almost slammed into Isabel, appearing to bore his horns into her, was already by the moss-covered statue, his hand dipped into the hollow pot.

  Before Re could react, a voice rang out from behind him.

  ‘Stop!’ Stefan shouted, a gun raised in his hand.

  The masked man froze, his back to them, hesitation reflecting in his hairy body. Then he turned, his creepy face catching the glint of light and smiling eerily in the mist.

  ‘Raise your hands or I’ll shoot!’ Stefan warned again.

  The Krampus man was lightning fast. He streaked straight towards Isabel and, in a flash, dragged her to him, holding her throat in a strangling grip.

  ‘Drop that gun or I swear I’ll crush her neck. Let me go or—’

  Stefan pulled the trigger and the man never finished his sentence. The silencer masked all sound and the next instant, the man collapsed to the ground. Isabel stifled a scream as his clutch round her neck relaxed, releasing the pressure. The cylinder of painting dropped and rolled away. Re gasped. Had Stefan killed the man? But the masked man moved and struggled to rise, clutching his side where the bullet had hit him. With quick strides, Stefan reached him and zipped off his Krampus mask. The man slumped to the ground again, crying out in pain.

  ‘Justin!’ Isabel cried in shock.

  ‘Justin!’ Stefan couldn’t hide his surprise.

  ‘And also Richard,’ Re added, staring at the handsome face.

  Isabel ran to the fallen man and slumped down, cradling her husband’s head in her lap, as he gasped for breath.

  ‘What have you done!’ she shouted at Stefan, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘I’ll get you for this…’ Justin mumbled, hatred in his eyes.

  ‘It’s over Justin. Your game, your masquerade…No more targeting Pillars, no more killing of innocent people. You are answerable to a lot of people, including the CIA.’ Stefan said, with controlled anger.

  Justin’s chest heaved agitatedly.

  ‘Just tell me where you’ve kept the Archbishop’s heart!’ the officer ordered.

  ‘You’ll never find it, Stefan. The Schloss will always remain an empty shell without it,’ Justin whispered, his voice hoarse and his breathing laboured.

  ‘Don’t say another word! I’ll get you to a hospital right away,’ Isabel admonished.

  ‘I love you…’ he mumbled.

  ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she moved a caressing hand over his head.

  Justin was looking ahead, past Re into the mist. His eyes were focused behind him and Re turned around to see if there was anyone there. But it was just the mist billowing around him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the injured man mumbled again. ‘I love you and
will always love you!’

  ‘Don’t try to talk now,’ Isabel hushed him.

  Justin’s eyes lost their glaze and for moments he sought Isabel’s attention.

  ‘Isabel…tell him, confess, please…’ he stared at his wife.

  ‘Confess? What do you mean?’ she asked, confused. Justin turned his gaze to Stefan. ‘It was all her plan. I was just a tool, trying to help her. She wanted the painting. She knew about it…ask her! She’s brilliant…a mastermind…’

  Isabel stared at Justin, her face inscrutable. She slowly laid his head on the grass and rose, a sudden cold detachment overcoming her entire countenance.

  ‘Go on, ask her, Stefan! You fool, you’ve always been in love with her! Blind fool. She’s used me, and you…’

  Re glanced from Stefan to Isabel. Stefan was staring at Justin and yet not really seeing him. Isabel gazed at Stefan, her face stark white and unfathomable as she stood motionless, as if moulded into metal, yet alert, like the deer outside the Schloss door. And with eyes exactly like the deer—soulful and sad—yet hopeful.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been a blind fool,’ Stefan spoke up. ‘Very blind indeed. Say what you want, Justin, but I know that by dragging Isabel into this terrible mess, you’ve done me the biggest favour. I’ve known Isabel since high school and I’ve loved her all my adult life! Yes, I can vouch for her. She loves Salzburg the way I do. She loves the Schloss like her home. She understands humanity and love. Not you, not anyone in the world can convince me that she could ever commit such terrible crimes as you have committed. I don’t need proof. I don’t need explanations. I know what the truth is.’

  Isabel stared at Stefan, stupefied. Then the expression on her stricken face was replaced by pure, unadulterated joy.

  Chapter 6

  Re glanced at his watch. Eight minutes to midnight. It was over. Justin was taken in the ambulance to the hospital. Isabel had insisted that she would accompany her husband, but Stefan had firmly and politely denied her permission. Justin was under arrest and he had several grim charges against him. Dan had unlocked the doors of the Schloss and ventured out to ensure all was under control along with the security men of the guests. The party in the Marble Hall had been luckily unaware of the night’s goingson. Dan had taken charge of the painting at once, along with the notes and clues from Reinhardt. Re had left them and strolled along the lake. The terrace with its chairs and tables tempted him—the back entrance from where they had entered via the boat—but instead, he chose to sit on the terrace steps overlooking the lake. A cold, rain-laden breeze lifted his ponytail and wisps of hair flew around his face. Dark clouds hung low over the lake and Re raised his hand and closed an eye. He could touch the clouds and with his fingers he cleared them away, allowing a small, peeping patch of light more space to emerge.