City of Lost Dreams

TWENTY-SEVEN

Gottfried von Hohenlohe leveled a disdainful glance at his brother, Heinrich, as he strode into Zum Schwarzen Kameel. Heinrich was wearing a boxy American suit with broad lapels and what looked to be Italian shoes. Disgraceful. Gottfried, who favored traditional Austrian Tracht, as their father had, wore a loden cape over a jacket with standing collar and staghorn buttons. He placed his Tyrolean hat neatly on the shelf, where members of his family had been placing their variously shaped hats since 1618 while they patronized what was first an exotic spice shop, then a wine tavern, and now a tony-yet-traditional coffeehouse. Gottfried stroked his red beard.

“Servus,” said Heinrich, to which Gottfried gave a curt “Grüss Gott.” The two men exchanged a quick and formal kiss. Though Gottfried usually preferred to stand, he settled into Heinrich’s corner booth away from the prying eyes and ears of their fellow Viennese.

Gottfried wiped an imaginary crumb off his loden as Heinrich ordered, to Gottfried’s horror, a Diet Coke.

“I’m watching my weight,” said Heinrich defensively. He shifted uncomfortably inside his brown tweed suit. “That was a most unfortunate event,” he said quietly. “We were lucky not to be seen.”

Gottfried leaned forward and stared hard at Heinrich. “The important thing is that we were not seen. You must not lose your nerve. You must remain in control of yourself at all times.”

“I could say the same of you, brother. Remember Thumbkin.”

Gottfried refused to dignify this with a response. They both knew what had happened. When they were children, Gottfried had shot their mother’s cat Thumbkin with a crossbow from the family armory, which was part of a historic collection, and which they had been forbidden to touch. Their mother had asked their father to punish Gottfried appropriately and Gottfried’s father had taken him to the stables, produced a flask from a secret compartment, and given Gottfried his first taste of schnapps.

“You have killed today,” his father had said. “And sometimes a man must take the blood of another creature. But make sure you have a worthy adversary. Always adhere to this rule and you won’t go wrong: never shoot an animal whose head you wouldn’t be proud to display in your trophy room.”

“People are animals,” young Gottfried had said, after a long silence and a few passes of the flask.

“We take no pleasure in killing people. We do it to defend our family, and to defend Austria. For this, honor is the only trophy.”

Gottfried had never told Heinrich what had happened in the stables. His younger brother was not capable of understanding such nuance.

And now he, Gottfried, had done what was necessary to save their inheritance.

Heinrich lit a cigarette. “There is still the matter of the missing research.”

“I tell you I could find nothing in the apartment.”

“It must be somewhere.”

“Very well,” said Gottfried at last. “I will look into the matter further, and you will inform them of my new price.” He slid a piece of paper across the table. Heinrich unfolded it and considered the number.

It would be enough to save their family lands and home for the next generation, his sons. He would do it for no less.

“I am sorry about the old man,” said Gottfried, a shadow crossing his brow. “He was a good Austrian.”

Heinrich nodded. “I know you are sorry. But how many good Austrians does my company employ? Forty-five thousand. Do these people not matter? And the fifteen billion euros that it earns for Austria each year?” Gottfried could always be won over with this line of attack.

“You are right. Many wars have been fought over less. We do this for Austria, as well as for the family.”

“I have to get back to the office,” said Heinrich. He passed his brother a bottle of antipsychotics. One of the company’s most important developments, it had made normal life possible for hundreds of thousands if not millions around the globe. “One a day, remember? Please! It’s better for everyone.”

Gottfried nodded with great dignity and put the bottle in his pocket, knowing he would pass it off to a homeless man who sat outside the Café Hawelka with his dog. Yes, he might have some psychological qualities that people found unacceptable in this ridiculously sedentary era, but those same qualities had been highly valued in other times and would be again. People called the Hapsburgs insane, and look at the glorious Austrian empire they built, which once covered all or part of what was now Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Poland, Slovenia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, the Ukraine, Bosnia, Croatia, and Romania. An empire that would still be intact if it weren’t for the democratic movements of the twentieth century, which had reduced their homeland to a second-tier stop on the European tour, a tiny country known for sickly sweet pastries, singing families, and dancing horses.

You couldn’t honorably assume only part of your birthright. You had to assume it all.

“And the American girl?” Heinrich stubbed out his cigarette.

“She knows very little.” Gottfried kept his features impassive. “She is not important.”

“My superiors do not think so. They think she knows quite a bit.”

“You and I also know a thing or two,” Gottfried pointed out. “But surely they will not ask that I eradicate my own brother?”

Heinrich smiled.

“They trust you,” he said. “They trust us.”

Gottfried burst into laughter. The sound startled Heinrich. He seldom heard his brother laugh.

“For myself, I have no fear.” Gottfried narrowed his eyes. “And I would never let any harm come to you, my own flesh and blood. I would cut off the hand that touched you.”

“I am not a scientist, I do not understand what it is they think she has found. But I have never seen them so eager,” Heinrich said. “But this amount . . . it is a great deal of money.”

“We are not asking for much.” Gottfried flared his nostrils. “We are not asking to be as rich as a man who sells colanders on television. We are only asking that our name not be disgraced.”

“Gottfried.”

“We are only asking to preserve what is rightfully ours and pass it on to the next generation of von Hohenlohes, to keep Austrian treasures in the hands of Austrians.”

“That is true.”

“Very well,” Gottfried said grandly. “It will be easy. Sarah has already suggested the means. I offered to show her Philippine Welser’s book, and she was most interested and anxious to take me up on this. We drive to Innsbruck tomorrow. She will not be a problem.”

“Good,” said Heinrich, showing his small teeth. “Very good. My superiors, too, have a request”—here Heinrich leaned forward—“about the research.”

Gottfried sighed.

“Yes? Let’s have it. I have things to do. I cannot linger here all night.”

“The scientist said she conducted her experiment on an animal. Rat number 134, she called it.”

“Yes?”

“Well . . .”

“Please, brother. You have come this far. Do not hold back now.”

Heinrich smiled weakly.

“They want the rat.”