The Secret Crown

information about Ludwig’s secret mission. Unfortunately, their inspection was hindered by a lack of electric lights, a surprising oversight considering the special effects in the grotto but one that was probably done to avoid incriminating power cables. Jones noticed ventilation shafts in two of the corners, which would have allowed Ludwig to use candles or lanterns without fear of asphyxiation.

Shining his flashlight on the left-hand wall, Payne stopped in front of a series of sketches that caught his eye. None of the artwork had been signed, so he didn’t know if Ludwig had drawn them or not, but they highlighted the rocky coastline of a scenic island. Most of the sketches featured a spectacular palace, whether real or imagined, that made the Linderhof look like a shack. Built on the edge of an imposing cliff, it was designed with an assortment of whimsical details – decorative chimneys, ornamental turrets, steep gables and stone sculptures – yet the structure seemed to sprout out of the earth as if it had been there for ever. With beautiful gardens and sweeping views of the endless sea, it appeared to meet Ludwig’s definition of Camelot.

A few feet to his right, Payne noticed a collection of architectural blueprints hanging from two hooks mounted on the wall. Having grown up in the offices of Payne Industries, he was familiar with a wide variety of technical drawings, but their combination of age, language and scope was unlike anything he had ever seen. Drawn in the 1880s and labelled in Bavarian, the pages showed the interior rooms of a massive palace that was larger than most cathedrals. Payne studied the floor plans and tried to imagine what the building would actually look like. When he did, he realized the designs matched the sketches to his left.

Apparently, Ludwig’s scheme wasn’t just a pipe dream. They had started the planning process.

In the centre of the room, Jones sat on the carved chair and sifted through the drawers of the antique desk. A version of the Bureau du Roi (King’s Desk) – a richly ornamented roll-top desk commissioned by Louis XV of France – it was inlaid with an intricate variety of coloured woods. The original desk, which still stands in the Palace of Versailles, has a miniature bust of Minerva on top, but Ludwig’s featured an elaborate bust of the Swan Knight. On the public side of the desk (away from where the king would sit), there was an oval filled with the carved head of Silence, a symbolic figure that held a forefinger to its lips. It was a reminder that discretion was required in matters of the king. Down here, where the desk had been locked away for more than a hundred years, the symbol seemed to have extra meaning.

Unable to read Bavarian, Jones searched through the desk for anything that seemed unusual – although that was a tough term to define in the underground lair of a man with his own secret grotto. Still, he went about his search with zeal, realizing it was a unique opportunity to investigate the death of an important historical figure.

At first glance, most of the objects in the desk seemed to be artistic in nature. He found dozens of pages of sheet music and the vocal scores for Ludwig’s favourite operas. There was a sketchpad filled with doodles, ranging from clouds to mountains to horses. In addition, one of the smaller drawers was stuffed with nineteenth-century office supplies, including pencils, fountain pens and stationery. Like most people in the modern world, Jones was tempted to steal some items for personal use, but decided against it since they belonged to the king.

Jones was nearly ready to abandon the desk and focus his attention on the right-hand wall when he came across a handwritten receipt. The paper itself was an early sheet of letterhead that had been printed from a copper engraving. The emblem at the top of the page was a fierce-looking lion holding a shield. At the bottom, there was a name and an address. Jones tried to translate the words but struggled with the language.

‘Hey Petr,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘are you familiar with a city named Minga?’

Ulster, who was reading one of the letters on the wall, stopped and turned round. ‘As a matter of fact, I am. Minga is the Bavarian name for Munich.’

‘Really? I thought Munchen was the name for Munich.’

Ulster shook his head. ‘That’s the German name for Munich, not the Austro-Bavarian name. Most people get them confused. Why do you ask?’

‘Minga is written on this letterhead.’

‘What letterhead?’

Jones handed it to Ulster. ‘I found it stashed in Ludwig’s desk. I think it’s a receipt. Then again, it could be a grocery list. My Austro-Bavarian is kind of rusty.’

‘So is mine,’ Ulster admitted as he shone his light on the document. ‘But as luck should have it, I believe you are correct. This is a receipt.’

Jones stood from his chair. ‘A receipt for what?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea. It’s one of the most cryptic receipts I have ever seen.’

‘Wow, I guess your Bavarian does need some work.’

Ulster smirked. ‘No, it’s not that. I can read the words perfectly. It’s just, well, the receipt doesn’t say very much. According to this, the item will be available on the first of July 1886.’

‘What item?’

‘That’s the cryptic part. It simply doesn’t say. There’s no price, description or item number. There’s a date of availability and nothing more.’

Jones considered the possibilities. ‘Well, if you think about it, I guess it isn’t too surprising. I mean, how often does a king order something from your store? They’re bound to remember what he bought.’

Ulster nodded. ‘That’s a very good point.’

Heidi turned from the rear wall. ‘What kind of store?’

Jones laughed. ‘We mentioned shopping, and you came running. That’s a shocker.’

She smiled. ‘I am a woman.’

‘Trust me, I’ve noticed.’

Ulster stared at the letterhead. ‘Actually, I don’t know if it’s a store or a law firm. The enterprise was called Hauser amp; Sons. With a name like that, it could have been anything.’

Payne entered the conversation. ‘What about the address?’

‘What about it?’ Ulster asked.

‘Different parts of a city are sometimes known for different things – like Wall Street or Madison Avenue. Maybe the address will give us a clue.’

Ulster struggled to read the tiny print at the bottom of the page. ‘Hauser and Sons was on a street called … Briennerstrasse. Wait! Why do I know that name?’

Heidi giggled with excitement. ‘I used to work near there! Briennerstrasse is one of the best shopping districts in Munich. It’s where wealthy people go to shop.’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, my dear, that’s incorrect. I know it for some other reason.’

She laughed at Ulster. ‘I wasn’t answering your question. I was telling you why I know the road. The reason you’re probably familiar with Briennerstrasse is because it’s the oldest road in Munich. Plus, it’s very close to Nymphenburg Palace, which is where I used to work.’

Ulster nodded. ‘Yes, of course, Nymphenburg Palace! The summer residence of Bavarian kings. How could that have slipped my mind?’

‘And,’ she added, ‘the birthplace of Ludwig the Second.’

Jones stared at her. ‘Ludwig was born near the street on the receipt?’

She nodded. ‘A few blocks away.’

‘And when was he murdered? Something like two weeks before his order was ready?’

Ulster reread the date on the receipt. ‘I’ll be darned. I failed to make that connection. I must need a snack to recharge my brain.’

Jones patted him on the back. ‘Don’t worry about it. In fact, don’t worry about anything. Call me crazy, but I think Ludwig is trying to tell us something.’

Ulster glanced at him, confused. ‘Really? And what is that?’

Jones grinned. ‘He wants us to go to Oktoberfest.’

66

Everyone assumed Jones was kidding about Oktoberfest. He assured them he wasn’t. ‘Go ahead and laugh, but I’m completely serious. I think the receipt is a major clue.’

Ulster graciously disagreed. ‘As much as I hate to squabble, I think our time would be far better served in this environment than the party atmosphere of Munich.’ To illustrate his point, he shone his flashlight on the walls.