City of Lost Dreams

TWENTY

“Vienna as dull as ever?” asked Nico in the taxi. He had insisted on taking Sarah to his favorite place for dinner. She had agreed, since it had become immediately obvious that she needed to separate Alessandro and Nico, who disliked each other as much as they adored Sarah, and perhaps for that reason.

“Why does the little person think he can break into my apartment and make fun of my sofa?” demanded Alessandro after Nico made a crack about pink being the new black. “Is not pink, is rosé. And why he wipe his hands on my towel? No one touch my towel but me. That is why I put out the guest towellinos.”

Having achieved enough détente to get Nico into a taxi before Alessandro threw him into a boiling pot of gnocchi, Sarah gave the little man the short version of her adventures: Bettina’s disappearance, the theft of the laptop, the stolen galleon, the murder/suicide of Gerhard and Nina, and Adele’s testimonial to the scientist’s skill.

“A moment, please,” Nico said. “That galleon. Did it have a secret compartment?”

“How did you know?”

“You forget, I watched it trundle down Rudolf’s table. Sometimes he challenged people to find the secret hiding place. You found it?”

Sarah told Nico about the drug.

“I don’t think Bettina knew it was there. She’s an avid clock collector, so maybe this was some sort of bribe. She called it an ‘unwelcome gift.’”

“Tell me more about this Bettina person.”

“She’s brilliant; she’s frightened; Adele said she’s paranoid, but Bettina does get hate mail”—Sarah shrugged—“so maybe her paranoia is justified. I don’t know much more than that.”

Nico pondered this, brows furrowed, fingers tapping on the cab’s armrest.

“What happened in London?” Sarah asked. “Did you get what you needed for Pols?”

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry, Sarah. The whole trip, it was like someone was one step ahead of me. There’s hardly a decent powder to be found in London. And we have a leaky time problem in Prague. Another dead man.” Nico told her about Jan Kubiš, adding, “Either hell portals are busting out all over or the Fleece has been found. I rather think the latter, because of all the missing alchemical ingredients. I believe someone is using the Fleece’s secrets to bring people back from the dead. My question is: why?”

“Um, my question is: how?” Sarah said. “Because that’s impossible. I don’t mean that’s ‘weird,’ I mean that it’s impossible. I’m willing to believe that alchemy was an early form of science, and that perhaps the early alchemists unwittingly stumbled upon things of incredible significance, but that’s going too far. Saint John? Jan Kubiš? Those people are dust now. Bones and dust.”

“Yes. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not talking about resurrection. Both of the men appeared in the place they are said to have died. Nepomuk in the river, and Kubiš in the church crypt. As if they were wrenched from the past at the moment of their, well, passing. As if time were being bent. And that is not impossible. Einstein did not think so. String theorists do not think so.”

“But to move an actual person from one time to another . . .”

“For that you need a portal.” Nico nodded. “Or maybe a really, really big magnet.”

“You sound like Mesmer.” Sarah shook her head.

“Franz Mesmer?” Nico smiled. “Knew him in Paris. He cured my mistress’s chronic yeast infections.”

Nico’s favorite place turned out to be a Heurigen, or wine bar, in Heiligenstadt. Sarah had always longed to visit Heiligenstadt. It was the place where Beethoven had spent many summers, escaping the heat of the city and communing with nature. Just as in his day, rows of neat vineyards still looked down on narrow cobblestone alleys of ancient houses surrounded by green fields. Sarah had seen engravings of Heiligenstadt from Beethoven’s era and though of course there were changes, it was still quite recognizable, especially the leafy little square in front of the village church. A couple of wizened old men in fedoras were smoking pipes on a bench under the trees, eyeballing a pair of shapely young ladies passing by with miniature pinschers on brightly colored leashes.

Beethoven’s most seminal visit to Heiligenstadt had been in his darkest moment, in 1802, when his deafness was becoming apparent.

I would have ended my life—it was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me.

It was here that Beethoven had chosen life over death, Sarah thought.

“I like this one,” said Nico, leading her under an awning into a long, narrow cobbled courtyard of a Heurigen. Rough wooden tables and chairs balanced precariously on the stones, and waitresses in dirndls brought pitchers of wine to customers.

Sarah had condemned Gottfried as pretentious for dressing in Austrian Tracht. But is it pretentious, or even kitsch, she wondered, if it’s not done for effect, but just because that’s the way it’s always been done? Perhaps she would find out. What with Adele’s perspective on Bettina and Nico’s appearance, she had decided to postpone her departure, and in the taxi had made a date with Gottfried to tour the Spanish Riding School tomorrow. She would try to discern what he thought about his brother’s possible larcenous tendencies.

Sarah and Nico sat at a small table in the corner, under the grape vines trellised over the courtyard. Tables of locals laughed and gossiped over carafes of icy, lemony Grüner Veltliner. Some of the windows of the Heurigen were still the old bubbly hand-blown leaded glass. She ran her fingers over one of them, wondering if Beethoven’s fingers had also traced its surface, having a drink with friends. It would be nice to see Beethoven happy. It would be nice to have a drink with him, take a walk in the countryside afterward. Picnic, Luigi?

“That the galleon was here surprises me,” Nico said. “It suggests a link. Either Bettina Müller is Moriarty—”

“She’d have to be pretty busy,” said Sarah. “Nanobiologist by day, thief of all things alchemical by night?”

“Yes, it suggests nimbleness to an unlikely degree. Perhaps Moriarty sent the galleon to her in order to harness her skill. If she could analyze the drug inside she could reproduce it. I’d really like to talk to her.”

“Get in line. The drug seems to stimulate the vagus nerve, which seems to temporarily reset the immune system. The effects fade, or did in my friend Renato’s case. Do you have any idea of what might be in it?”

“No, but I know who gave the galleon to Emperor Rudolf,” said Nico. “Philippine Welser. She might very well have had Schlottheim build a little compartment inside it to hold medicine for Rudy’s many ailments. So it wasn’t just a clock or an automaton. It was a giant pillbox.”

“But the effect on me was crazy. I was hearing voices. I mean, my voice projected upon other things.” Sarah decided against describing the multiple orgasms.

“You do not have an autoimmune disease, so it merely stimulated an already healthy vagus nerve, causing hallucinations, a feeling of warmth, and usually a significant arousal of the . . .”

“Yes,” said Sarah. “So maybe Philippine came up with an early form of steroids, which work only if you keep taking them and can have consequences for the rest of your body. Like Renato and his stripes. But it’s still serious medicine. It wasn’t placebo effect stuff, you know. It was a drug.”

“I understand, but you should know that this modern idea that one drug should work the same on different people—that’s not medicine, it’s commerce. There’s no knowing how it would affect Pols. Still, I’m glad you finally appreciate Philippine’s genius.”

“I met the family, the von Hohenlohes, who have her book. Heinrich is the one I was telling you about, who works for the drug company. He’s not very friendly, but I’m meeting his brother tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Nico, putting his hand over hers to calm her. “But tonight we relax.”

“I can’t, really,” said Sarah. “The connections . . . things are starting to coalesce, but . . . I just keep thinking that the answers are out there, just out of my reach, and if I just figure out a way to put everything together . . . I keep thinking about Bettina’s research, how progressive it is and yet how simple. Ashes and gold. The galleon. Philippine’s book. Mesmer and his armonica. We’ve got to try everything, no matter how crazy it sounds. I wasn’t there before, but I am now. I’m ready for the fucking witchcraft, you know. Bring on the witchcraft.”

“This is how it goes,” Nico said softly. “This is the worst part. When you love someone.”

“Don’t say it,” said Sarah. “I don’t want you to say it.”

“The price of love is loss.”

Sarah choked back the despair rising in her throat. She would not give in. There was still time to fight, and she would fight. Until I have brought forth all that I feel is within me.

The waitress came, took their orders, and walked away.

“I have a little surprise for you.” Nico held one palm aloft and passed the other over it. Like magic, a pill appeared in the center of his tiny hand.

Sarah looked at the pill, then glanced at Nico, then stared at the not-perfectly-circular pill again. It couldn’t be. The ingredients were gone. No longer obtainable. Weren’t they?

“It can’t cure Pols, but it’s going to take you where you want to go,” whispered Nico. “All you have to do is open your eyes.”

“Westonia,” said Sarah.