The Great Game (34 page)

             
Moriarty shook his head. "Although there is an Alexandre Sandarel, who does claim to some clairvoyant powers, I am not he. My name is Professor James Moriarty, and Benjamin Barnett was for years my close friend and confidant. I have borrowed Alexandre Sandarel's identity for the moment to make my work here easier. I came to you because I believe our interests coincide. I neither request nor expect a reward."

             
"Professor Moriarty." The prince paused in thought for a moment. "I have heard of you," he said. "Barnett mentioned you and called you a friend. But I have also heard—" his voice faded out, but then he resumed, "Why do you travel under a pseudonym? Is that not a sign of guile, an indication that you are not to be trusted?"

             
"If it isn't an indication of deceit when you do it, Your Highness," Moriarty said, smiling, "then why should it be when I do it?"

             
"A point!"
Prince Ariste admitted. "How do you know of my friendship with the Barnetts and, as it seems you must, the events surrounding it?"

             
"Mummer Tolliver told me the story. He was traveling with the Barnetts as their servant."

             
"The midget?
I remember him."

             
"The mummer is a midget in stature only," Madeleine interjected. "In courage and quickness of wit he is a giant."

             
"Indeed he is," the princess agreed. "Cecily—Mrs. Barnett— and I spoke of him."

             
"Why is he not here with you?" Prince Ariste asked. "How do I know whether I can believe what you tell me? It sounds like the beginning of a fantastic story. The Barnetts kidnaped? Held in a castle? Why? Who is this von Linsz and what does he want?"

             
"Reasonable questions," Moriarty agreed. "The mummer is at the castle I spoke of, watching and waiting. He has been there for the—what is it now?—seventeen days they have been captive, leaving only long enough to notify me of the events. I—well—how can I convince you that I speak the truth? I can think of no better way than telling you the whole story of what Miss Verlaine and I are doing here, a thousand miles away from my London abode, and why. May I sit?"

             
"Of course.
Excuse my lack of hospitality." The prince waved Moriarty and Madeleine over to a divan that stretched across a corner of the room and settled
himself
in a high-backed wooden chair against the wall. He turned to one of the guards by the door. "A bottle of the St. Joseph
Goldwasser
and some glasses—see to it, Karl."

             
The big man nodded and disappeared into the hall. In a second he was back, obviously having passed the message along to a servitor. A guard's job, after all, is to guard.

             
"A light, fruity, white wine, locally produced," the prince said when the bottle and glasses appeared so quickly that they must have been waiting outside the door. "It seems suitable for the moment. Now—"

             
With occasional interruptions for sipping the wine, Moriarty told the prince and princess the entire story of why he had come to Vienna, and what he knew of the Barnett's ordeal, leaving out only the identity of "Paul's" father, which he was sworn not to reveal. He was not interrupted.

             
When he had completed the narrative he leaned back on the sofa and stared fixedly at the prince.

             
Ariste returned the stare for a moment, and then shook his head. "Amazing!" he said. He turned to Madeleine. "And you, Lady Madeleine, do you verify this?"

             
Madeleine nodded. "The parts of it I know first-hand have been accurately recounted. As for the rest, I've worked with the professor before, and he's a square shooter. I've met Paul in prison, and he is an Englishman, and he has, as far as I can tell, been framed. But as to why—that's beyond me."

             
"So," the prince said, turning to Moriarty, "you have come here to aid an English spy, and you expect me to help you."

             
"No,
Your
Highness. I do not expect you to help me in freeing Paul. That is my concern. But Benjamin and Cecily Barnett are not involved in any sort of espionage, and you might feel that you owe them something. So I have come to you to give you a chance to repay that debt."

             
"And why do you not go to the police?"

             
"Because they are ill-equipped to deal with such a thing.
An aristocrat kidnaping a foreign couple?
Who would believe it? They would go to the door of the castle and ask politely whether the Barnetts were there. Graf von Linsz would say no. They would thank him, tip their hats, and go away.
Because further, until I have proof otherwise, I believe the local police to be agents of this graf."

             
Prince Ariste turned to his wife, who was staring wide-eyed at Moriarty. "What do you think, my dear?"

             
"I think that Mr. Barnett and his dear wife have been kidnaped, and we must do something to help them!"

             
"We must? Of course we must!" Ariste turned back to Moriarty. "Is that the only reason you're here? You want our help?"

             
"I believe we can probably help each other," Moriarty told him. "And I'm afraid it will take both of us to help the Barnetts."

             
The prince stared at a picture on the wall across the room for a while. A mountain landscape, it powerfully evoked the brooding stillness before a coming storm. One could almost feel the increasing wind as the dark clouds skittered across the sky. "Why do you suppose the Barnetts were kidnaped?" he asked. "What could anyone want from them? They have little money."

             
"Perhaps, my dear, this is related to the attack on you at the Villa Endorra," Princess Diane suggested.

             
"I did not want to think that," Ariste replied. "The idea that, by saving my life, Barnett has put his own in danger is repugnant to me."

             
"That may not be the explanation," Moriarty offered.

             
"Then you think the two events are unrelated?"

             
"No, I believe that they are definitely related, but not as cause and effect. I believe that we have two strands of a larger tapestry that have come together in this way, at this time."

             
Prince Ariste stood up. "I wish to hear your ideas," he said, "and I fancy we'll be speaking for some time. So I suggest that we adjourn this discussion for a couple of hours. I am hot and sweaty, and need to wash and change clothes after our gallop, and I'm sure that my wife feels the same. And we should give you a chance to freshen up after your journey." He pulled a pocket watch from an inner pocket of his jacket. "It's almost three o'clock. I'll have a valet take you to rooms, where you can refresh yourselves."

             
Princess Diane nodded. "And a lady's maid," she said to Madeleine. "We'll have Bentley send a maid up to your room to assist you."

             
"Bentley?" Moriarty raised his eyebrow.

             
"The chief steward," Prince Ariste explained. "He's English. English butlers are the best, or so they say."

             
"Do they?" Moriarty asked.
"How curious."

             
"We'll meet again at five in the map room," the prince said. "I'll send someone to show you the way. It's not horribly difficult to get lost in here. I still do myself, sometimes."

             
The prince nodded and Karl disappeared through a door. Shortly a large, stalwart young man in yellow velvet knee breeches and a red velvet coat appeared to show Moriarty and Madeleine to their rooms.

             
Moriarty was deposited in a small but well-appointed bedroom and Madeleine was taken one door further down the long hall. A minute later there was a knock at Moriarty's door and two maids entered; one carrying his traveling bag and owl-headed stick, which she placed by the bed,
and the other bearing a basin and a pitcher of hot water, which she put on the dresser. "If there's anything you require, sir," the basin-carrying maid said, "the bell pull is to the right of the bed." And they left.

             
Moriarty hung up his jacket and pulled his shirt off. He washed the grime of travel off his face and hands, and then lay down on the
bed and closed his eyes. He had always been able to fall instantly to sleep, and to wake up just as rapidly. It was an ability that had proved useful on more than one occasion.

             
Two hours later a man in the black uniform of the prince's guards showed Moriarty and a refreshed and glowing Madeleine through the maze of corridors to the map room. "You look different somehow," Moriarty commented to Madeleine in an undertone as they followed their guide. "You've changed your dress."

             
"It's a new dress," Madeleine told him, "sent down by the princess. Bella, the maid, did my hair and helped me touch up my makeup. It was wonderful! I now aspire to having a lady's maid of my very own."

             
"A worthy goal," Moriarty agreed.

             
"Now that they've had a chance to think over what you told them, do you suppose they're going to help us, or have us arrested?" Madeleine asked softly.

             
Moriarty smiled a grim smile. "We'll know in a few moments," he told her.

             
The map room was a large room on the second floor with windows overlooking a closed courtyard. It held several dozen massive cabinets full of, presumably, maps. An oversized table surrounded by chairs filled the middle of the room, perfect for spreading the maps out and studying them. "My great grandfather was a field marshal in the war against Napoleon," Prince Ariste explained. "He developed a great fondness for maps."

             
"I, myself, have always been fascinated by them," Moriarty admitted.

             
"Feel free to peruse the ones in these cabinets when you have the time," Ariste offered. "There are a set of French military maps here that were captured during the Italian Campaign, and we've always fancied that the writing scribbled all over them is in Napoleon's hand. Perhaps the secrets of his military genius are right there in that cabinet, if only someone could read his handwriting."

             
"A pleasant conceit," Moriarty offered. "But I fancy that his genius lay not so much in what he did, as in the way he did it. And that is probably not written down."

             
"Please sit down everyone," Princess Diane said, seating herself at the far end of the table. "We have excluded the servants and guards from this meeting, as you seem concerned about what they might overhear. There are refreshments on the sideboard under the window. I am anxious to hear about poor Benjamin and Cecily."

             
"I'm afraid that their abduction is more my responsibility than yours," Moriarty said, lowering himself into one of the chairs and laying his owl-headed stick along the table top in front of him. "What the Barnett's captors seem most interested in
is
my whereabouts and my intentions. Since they have knowledge of neither, I'm very much afraid that the only reason they're being kept alive is to use in negotiating with me, should our antagonists manage to locate me."

             
"How could you know that?" Prince Ariste asked.

             
"Every night Mummer Tolliver climbs the castle wall and perches outside the barred window to the room in which the Barnetts are being held. They exchange information."