The Mortality Principle (28 page)

She knew what she wanted—to unmask the killer on film, and record the whole thing.

“So what's the plan, Stan? We just drive up there,
knock on the front door and ask if Garin is coming out to play?” Annja asked.

“I don't believe that anyone is even aware Garin has taken up residence there.”

“Why not? He's a charmer. His silver tongue can open any door…”

“It can open more than just doors,” Roux said with a trace of distaste. The inference was obvious.

“Right. So if we're not just banging on the front door, what are we doing?”

“We are going to use our heads. Do what we do best. Ask questions, gather answers and make an informed decision about what happens next. We are meeting the librarian at the castle in forty-five minutes.”

“But surely we know all we need to know, don't we?”

Roux nodded slowly. “I suspect we do, but rather importantly, this meeting gets us
inside
the castle gates. There are benefits to old-fashioned legwork. Anything we actually learn there will be a bonus.”

There was more to this than he was saying, she was sure of it. There was the beginnings of a plan somewhere deep in the old man's brain. He'd get them inside the castle gates. What happened when they were there was anyone's guess. She was banking on it falling into place when the time came.

Roux pushed back his chair, removing a few notes out of his wallet and laying them on the table, again overpaying ridiculously for two black coffees, no matter how good they were. “Time to go,” he said, and he made his way over to the door.

There was no sign of the cavalry.

Annja pulled out her phone and sent a one-word text: Castle

She had been expecting someone considerably older. She always did when someone used the word
librarian
, as if the title came with pince-nez spectacles and a blue rinse.

The man welcomed them with a broad smile, offering his hand. He couldn't have been more than thirty. Late twenties, with soft hands that had never done a hard day's work. They did, however, give a warm shake. Annja noticed that his nails were immaculately manicured and varnished. She wasn't sure quite what she thought about the affectation, only that it lent a peculiarly sexless quality to his hands. The librarian was dressed in a charcoal suit, white shirt and a gray-and-red tie that added a splash of color to his otherwise drab appearance.

“I am led to understand that you are interested in Johannes Kepler?” he said, flashing a smile of perfect teeth. Not only was he younger than she had expected, he was considerably more attractive and obviously aware of the fact.

It took her a second to place who the man reminded her of.

It was Garin, of course.

“We are indeed,” Roux said, effortlessly taking control of the situation.

On the short drive to the castle, he had assured Annja that he did have a few ideas about what they should do, but didn't deign to mention what any of them might have entailed.

“Hopefully the assistant curator—the gentleman you spoke to at the museum—explained that our library here is a private collection. Obviously if you wish to apply for a reader's card, I will do my utmost to expedite your application with all the necessary pace.”

“But that won't be today, I assume? We're only in town for the afternoon.”

“Ah, yes, I'm terribly sorry, but I am sure you understand. There are processes and procedures in place, checks and balances, and despite your companion's obvious popularity, unfortunately none of these measures either move very quickly or can be circumvented. These things are bound up in rules and rituals that were set in stone long before either you or I were put on this Earth.”

Roux gave no visible reaction, though Annja could imagine what he was thinking.

“Surely Kepler scholars visit the area regularly,” Roux suggested, making it sound more like a statement than a question, where obviously it was leading.

The younger man shook his head. “Actually, no. Despite the fact that this is his final resting place, there's precious little that remains to be seen here. He was only with us for a very short time.” He spoke as though he himself had held the door open for the astronomer's visit and laid him to rest at the end of his days. It was as though he considered the building part of his own
personal fiefdom. Pure arrogance. It was another reason why he reminded her of Garin.

“Was he working on any particular theories while he was here?” Roux asked.

The man's expression changed.

It seemed like an obvious question, but clearly it wasn't one he was used to coming up against, so he didn't have any carefully prepared answer tripping off his tongue.

“Actually, I don't know,” he was forced to admit. “As I said, very little survives from the time. Ravages of war. But I can tell you he fell ill very soon after he arrived here. He may indeed have already been in the slow process of dying before he arrived. We have nothing in our library to suggest he worked on anything during his days here.”

“He was always working on something,” Roux said. “Always. The man was an obsessive. He couldn't rest. He seldom slept because his mind would not slow down. There was always something going on. Could he have kept his studies secret while here? Is that possible?” Before the librarian could offer an opinion, Roux continued. “Of course it is. Of course it is. How would you know? He lived in constant fear that someone from the scientific community might either steal his ideas or, worse, laugh outright at them.”

“Hasn't that always been the way with so many geniuses? Jealous and secretive? Keeping themselves to themselves, the knowledge lost forever when they are gone?”

“Indeed,” Roux agreed.

“So, if I were to read between the lines, I take it that you suspect that he was working on something while
he was here, and now you're hoping to find out what it was.”

Roux held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty,” he confessed. “As I am sure you're aware, none of the journals Johannes kept during those last few years of his life have ever come to light. Sadly if they are not here, I suspect the truth is that they never will.”

The hook was baited. Now all he needed to do was reel the big fish in.

“I know it's almost crass to ask, but do you think these lost journals would be valuable?” the librarian asked, biting.

There were two lies Roux could sell him now. It just came down to which one was more likely to appeal to the man before him—money or knowledge? He picked the latter. Had the man been interested in material gain, he would have been a stockbroker, not the loving curator of a private library in the farthest reaches of the country.

“In themselves? To be honest, probably not, but the ideas he was working on? Well, you know his mind. Anything on that front could prove invaluable.”

The librarian nodded sagely, drawing in a slow, musing breath. “If there was anything in the library, I'm sure I would be aware of it,” the younger man said finally.

“Of course, of course, as no doubt would many others. After all, neither of us are the first to wonder about the fate of those ideas, are we? Not over the course of centuries. It is inconceivable to think that greater men than us haven't come looking for the same knowledge.”

“Indeed,” the librarian agreed. “I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. It is such a shame, given you have come all this way.”

“Actually, there is something you might be able to help us with,” Annja said. “Would you happen to know where in the castle Kepler stayed when he lived here?”

“Ah, indeed, yes, I do,” the man said, the smile on his face reappearing as he found himself back on comfortable ground. “Obviously, given the prevailing fears of the day, there was some concern that his illness may be contagious. Both he and his servant were given quarters in one of the outbuildings rather than here in the main building. Their meals were taken to them so they did not need to enter the ecclesiastical buildings.”

“Would it be possible to take a look at them?” Annja asked.

“There's not very much to see, I'm afraid, and sadly I have another appointment in ten minutes so I can't really give you the grand tour. There are no written materials, or tools of the trade, but if I point you in the right direction, do you think I could leave you to your own devices? Feel free to have a wander around the grounds. It is quite beautiful here at sunset.”

“Certainly,” Annja said. “And thank you. You've really been most helpful.”

“Well, we try to be accommodating when we can be,” the librarian said. Annja got the distinct impression this was his version of flirtation.

She rested a hand on the man's arm as he guided them toward the door. “Checks and balances,” Annja said. “Processes and procedures.”

“You must think we're terribly set in our ways.”

“Not at all,” Annja lied. “It's rather nice to see somewhere that upholds the nobility and traditions of a better, vanished time.”

“My thoughts precisely,” the librarian said. “It is a
pity you are leaving this evening… I don't suppose I could interest you in a drink at the beer cellar later? Who knows, perhaps I could find some papers that might be of interest.” This was definitely his version of the mating ritual.

Annja smiled sweetly at him. “Anything is possible.”

“I will be done here in an hour.”

“You're worse than Garin, you know that? Batting your eyelashes at the poor boy.”

“If you've got it, flaunt it,” Annja said as they walked in the direction of the building that the librarian had pointed them toward before he had disappeared inside again. “I guess our luck's turned.”

“Luck?” Roux shook his head sadly as he opened the door. He felt around inside the small room for a light switch. A bulb burst into life. “It had very little to do with that, capricious little madam. It was a gray-haired old man who thought things through.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What I said. It's not luck that meant that our charming friend couldn't show us around the building because he had another appointment so soon after ours.”

“Roux, that's bad,” she said, smiling as a similar grin spread across the old man's face.

“I made the call before I left the museum. He had to apologize that he had a couple of time-wasters already on their way to see him, but he was sure that he would make time for a visiting dignitary.”

“Visiting dignitary? Dare I ask?”

“Comte de Saint-Germain,” Roux said, with that wicked grin of his. “Son of Francis II Rákóczi.”

“Who just happens to have been dead for two hundred years?”

“Or has he?” Roux tapped the side of his nose and smiled. Sometimes she couldn't help but admire him. It was moments like this that made her grateful these two incredible men had stumbled into her life. “These Germans don't know their famous French alchemists from their reality-TV stars.”

“How many lives have you actually lived, you old rascal?”

“Sometimes I think too many, other times not enough.”

“Good answer. How long do you think we've got before he starts to wonder why his ancient dignitary hasn't turned up?”

“Oh, we should have a good twenty minutes, I would think. Maybe longer, if he allows for the fashionably late quirks of the rich and famous. I warned him that I was visiting a school before our meeting, and there was every chance it might overrun by a few minutes given the unruly nature of children. He was quite understanding.”

“You're a disturbingly convincing liar, Roux. Have I ever told you that?”

“I'm not sure you have. But I'll take a compliment when it's on offer, assuming that was a compliment. It makes life that little bit more interesting if you can spin a good story.”

Annja followed him inside the first room. There was nothing at all remarkable about it. The room's walls were whitewashed, the floor bare stone. A collection of broken furniture was stacked against the far wall: a
couple of straight-backed wooden chairs that had broken stakes, a cabinet that had a slit up one side. All of the pieces looked as if they might be repairable, and almost certainly antique, which would explain the reluctance to discard them.

The next room had a workbench in the middle and was dominated by the smell of fresh sawdust and varnish.

“Some kind of workshop?” Annja suggested.

“Or at least a storage room for while the salvageable stuff waits for repair,” Roux replied. He walked over to the bench and picked up a small disk. He turned it over in his hand, holding it up to the light before putting it down again.

“Do you think Kepler worked in here? Or did he just sleep and eat while he was ill, knowing that the end was growing nearer every time he closed his eyes?”

“It's possible,” Roux said. “He wasn't just an astronomer. He was an astrologer, a mathematician. He was many things.”

He scuffed his foot through some of the sawdust on the ground.

The old man seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

Annja could tell from his furrowed brow that something was nagging at him.

Finally he said, “Do you suppose that whoever has been working in here has finished for the day?”

She looked around at the debris. It was impossible to be sure it was from that day or three months ago: the tools that were scattered across the bench, the piece of wood still gripped in the vice and the sawdust that seemed to cover everything.

“Have you ever been in a workshop like this before?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“Well, in every one that I've ever been in the mess has
always
been cleared up at the end of the day so the craftsman has a clean start the next morning.”

“You think he's coming back?”

“No,” Roux said. “I think he's still here.”