The Holy Lance - Chapter 5 cont.

Although it had obviously been snowing recently, it was a sunny day, showing off the baroque grandeur of the capital to its best. Following the inner ring road which circled the old centre of the city, Simon slowly arced round, past the Opera House where Mozart had plied his trade, the Burgarten park and the back end of the Hofburg Palace. Crossing the road, he approached the majestic museum through the gardens of Maria Theresa Square, all signs of greenery hidden beneath the white tarpaulin of snow.

Completed in 1891, after 20 years of construction, the museum had been built in the form of two wings, linked by a central section topped by a spectacular octagonal dome towering 60 metres towards the heavens. Intended to display the artistic treasures of the House of Habsburg, no expense had been spared on its marble halls and sweeping staircases, with every surface seemingly covered in art, stucco or gold leaf.

Approaching the desk, Simon asked to see Doctor Fleicher. A raised eyebrow. “Who?”

“Dr Fleicher, here is his card.” Simon’s German was fine for reading scholarly texts, the Germans having re-invented the modern study of the ancient world in the 1800’s, but it was less good at day-to-day chit chat. Added to which, he was aware that the German spoken here was subtly different to that across the border.

The guard, thought for a moment and suggested that Simon might like to follow him. Pushing through the double doors behind the desk, the contrast between the public and private areas was immediately obvious. The ornate decoration and subtle lighting of the museum gave way to a bare flight of stairs, the walls painted in the municipal shade of pale green, familiar to all public offices the world over. Obviously the Habsburgs only dyed the parts that showed..

Passing through another set of double doors, the guard led Simon down a long corridor turning at one of the anonymous doors which marked its length. A plain wooden desk, couple of chairs and fluorescent light strip were all the room contained, the window so heavily frosted as to be useless.

“Please wait here.” The guard said turning on his heel, leaving Simon to wonder about the extent of Austrian hospitality. As the minutes ticked by, he continued in the same vein, before wondering how to broach his mission with Dr Fleicher. The tale of the coded letter, the safe-box and the card and ring seemed implausible, but pretending to be a visiting academic seemed unlikely to work also. He would play it by ear, but if the doctor was as welcoming as the rest of the staff, it was unlikely he would get very far at all.

A knock at the door. Far from being the academic he expected, Dr Fleicher turned out to be a rather pretty blonde of about his age, bright blue eyes sparkling under a carpet of spiky hair. Simon immediately began to re-think his views on female academics, perhaps he was just at the wrong University.

“Dr Fleicher?” the blonde inclined her head, playful. He liked this. Maybe the trip to Vienna had not been wasted.

“I’m Dr Simon Pelham, Wadham College, Oxford. I’m a Roman historian” A look of slight puzzlement crossed her face. Obviously she was not in his field. Why then was he here?

“I came across your card recently and thought I should look you up.”

“My card, really? Where was that?”

Hmm, how to answer that? The truth was probably best.

“It was left to me actually, by an old colleague, Jonathan Strange. He was also at Wadham, maybe you knew him?”

“Strange? No, not that I know of. Why did you decide to ‘look me up’?” she was almost playful, her English unaccented. Her eyes though concerned him. Never leaving his, they seemed to bore into him. He was feeling uncomfortable.

“Jonathan said that I should” he stammered, his best gambit failing woefully.

“So someone I never met told you to come and meet me. Is that not a bit strange? If you’ll forgive the expression”. She smiled, but there was no warmth there. “Perhaps you might like to try again, Dr Pelham?”

Simon was getting nervous now, aware that he was way out of his depth. Why had he not just stayed in Oxford? A faint layer of sweat began to form on his brow and upper lip, despite the cold outside.

Dr Fleicher took a wallet from her inside pocket and placed it on the desk. “Let me make this easier for you, Dr Pelham. I’m not actually Dr Fleicher” A momentary sigh of relief gave way almost instantly to confusion.

“Dr Fleicher is dead. And I am Inspektor Elena Stahlberg of the Vienna Police”. She opened her wallet to show him her warrant card. “I really am most curious to know the real reason you are trying to contact a dead man.’ She smiled, like a chess player who was one move away from mate, and there was nothing her opponent could do.