"And you are?" Father Edmund prompted after allowing the silence to hang for a few moments.
Krista heaved a sigh. "I have no choice, do I?"
Herta gave her a level look. "Actually, you do, Krista, but in all conscience, Father Edmund should know the truth. He was Hans' confidante and Gunther's friend. We owe him that much."
Edmund snorted. "Hardly confidante, fräulein. I don't think I spoke to Hans above half a dozen times in my entire life."
Herta smiled grimly. "You didn't have to talk to him, from what I've discovered. He spoke in other ways. According to some of the receipts, he paid your entry into the seminary, just as he's paid for--"
Edmund's jaw dropped. "He what?!"
It was Herta's turn to be surprised. "You didn't know? I'd assumed you did. You offered to translate his letter, so I assumed he'd taught you the language."
"So you could read his letter without difficulty?" Edmund asked.
"I could read the letter you gave me. It was his first letter that gave me serious problems."
"His first letter?" Edmund was confused.
Krista had been following the conversation with the same confusion Edmund now displayed. "You wouldn't care to start at the beginning, would you?" she asked.
Herta opened her mouth to speak and stopped. How much to tell? She was beginning to understand both sides of the problem, but would the others?
"Are you Hans Theiner's great-granddaughter?" Father Edmund asked into the silence.
Herta laughed. "Yes. Oddly enough that part of the story is true. Not that I knew it when I first got drawn into all this." She leaned back in her chair, one elbow propped on the desk, and began.
"You are correct. I am not a reporter. I am..." She cocked her head, searching for the right description. "My sister calls me a 'professional student', but I am, primarily, a linguistical historian. Or a linguist with a love of history, if you prefer. I speak, read and write about ten different languages and canread and write only in a few more."
Both of Edmund's eyebrows raised, a reaction Herta was used to getting.
She grinned. "English was actually the third language in our household. William Tanner was born and raised in Quebec, learning most of his English in school. Mother, of course, was fluent in German, Latin and English. I learned French, German and English as a child, plus picking up the basics of Hebrew, Chinese and Italian."
"You learned all that before you started university?"
Herta shook her head. "Before I started high school. It comes from living on the border between 'Chinatown' and 'Little Italy' and having friends in both areas. The Hebrew came from helping one of my classmates with his English homework and staying on to learn Hebrew with him."
"Grossmutti, Anika, wasn't impressed with my having Jewish friends, but that didn't stop me. I added Spanish and formal Latin in high school and Russian and Gaelic in university. When Anika died, Mom taught me the basics of what Hans' writes, but the letters I have are far more complex than I've learned. I have to parse some of the words to get them to make sense, but I'm still not sure I've got them right."
"So how did you meet Krista?"
Herta let out a deep breath. "I majored in history in university, concentrating on World War 2. I managed to get a position helping catalog and translate some of the Kremlin's archives in Moscow. There were some records that the Russians couldn't - or wouldn't - touch. I got those. Most of them were personal records that the Russians had picked up in their travels. There was one group of letters that confused everyone. It was a correspondence between 'Herr Schwartz' of Munich, 'Herr Wald' of Cologne, and 'Herr Brun' of Berlin.
Both Krista and Edmund started.
Herta nodded and continued. "Exactly. The Germans eventually caught up with 'Herr Brun' and he was executed for helping 'enemies of the Reich' escape, but they never did figure out who the other two were."
"Hans?"
Herr Schwartz," Herta confirmed. "I have a copy of one of the letters and the handwriting seems to match the letter you sent me. Give me a day or so, and I can confirm that the letters I have will match those in the boxes upstairs, too."
"And Herr Wald?" Edmund asked.
He and Herta exchanged telling glances before she answered the question. "At the time, no, I didn't know who he was."
"And now?" Krista asked sharply.
Herta took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not positive. I have only suppositions."
"And suspicions." Krista didn't make it a question.
"And suspicions," Herta agreed. "But, Krista, the entire explanation would take longer than we have, if what I think is true. I'm just not sure how to go about getting the help I need to get all the answers."
Krista leaned forward. "If you can help me catch a murderer, you have the resources at my command at your disposal."
Herta scrubbed her face with one hand. "It's not that simple, Krista."
"Then start explaining what you know."
Herta looked to the cleric, asking questions with her eyes.
He shook his head. "You're Der Reizenbegleiterin, Herta. It's your decision."
Herta snorted in disgust. "Very well." She sat upright. "Krista, given that the explanation could be long and complex, will you accept the basic premise that Herr Wald and his people were once held up as the 'Original Aryan Race'?" She bracketed the title as she spoke, fingers sketching quote marks in the air.
Krista stared, then burst out laughing. "You can't be serious. Original Aryans? That's as crazy as Frau Hörst's idea of vampires.
"That's only what some people thought, Krista," Edmund confirmed. "They're actually older than that."
"Older than...?"
Herta settled back in her chair, relaxing only slightly. "Much older and -- different."
"Different? How?"
Herta shrugged. "I'm not sure. Nor am I sure that I could explain it, even if I understood it myself."
"Couldn't explain? Or wouldn't?" Krista's tone was sharp.
"Couldn't. There are some things, some words that don't have an exact translation in any language I know."
"And you haven't gotten to the part where you met Krista," Father Edmund reminded Herta. It was a not-so-subtle subject change.
Krista sighed. "First vampires, now Aryans. What next?"
"Actually, I can see where the vampires come into it," Herta said. "That's about the only part I do understand. In northern China, the people are called 'soul-drinkers'. Tur-- Herr Wald made a reference to something similar." Herta hoped that Krista hadn't noticed her slip.
Krista hadn't. "Tur--? As in 'Turan Freiermann? How does he fit in?"
There was silence.
"He's one of them," Krista said slowly. "Isn't he?"
Herta nodded. "But he doesn't have anything to do with what's going on now," she added.
"No?"
"No." Herta went back to Father Edmund's question. "One of my fellow translators in Moscow is a teaching assistant in the University of Munich. When Herr Hörst died, one of the things recovered from the wreckage was a file folder of information that eventually got sent to Jan in Munich. Jan couldn't translate it, but he thought the language was similar to what we'd found in Moscow. With permission, he forwarded it to me in Canada."
"So the file is still in Canada? Did you manage to translate it?"
"For the most part," Herta acknowledged. "I emailed Krista what I had, but left the original in Canada. At her request."
Edmund's expression was a silent question, aimed at Krista, who took up the story.
"Shortly after the file was sent off for translation, the police computers were broken into."
Father Edmund's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt.
"The only files that were accessed were those with the words 'Nazi' or Hörst's name in them." She grinned. "Or, at least, those were the only files they tried to access. The internal safeguards prevented anything more than the preliminary report from being downloaded. I hadn't had the translation yet, either, remember. When the hack was discovered the next morning, both Jan and Herta were contacted and told to put the information in a safe place."
Herta continued. "Which has been done. The lawyers found me about that time, so it was decided that no one need know that I had some idea of what was going on here."
"So this pose as a travel writer is just that? A pose?"
Herta tensed and a flash of anger lit her eyes. "Unfortunately, no. That part is true -- to a point. The trip to Russia was at my own expense and I didn't have the money for another jaunt to Europe. My sister is the editor of a Toronto newspaper. In return for her paying for a one-way fare here, I have to write a dozen full-page articles on Bavaria over the next 6 months."
"And she takes credit for writing them," Edmund guessed.
"Isn't that illegal in Canada?"
Herta shook her head. "Illegal, no, because she has my written permission to do so. In Rae-Lynne's case, however, it's just borderline ethical." She shrugged. "But I have no doubt that she'll pin herself eventually. I'm not worried about that."
Her expression lightened. "Actually, the lawyers tell me that I can claim my fare here has an estate expense and get reimbursed for it, so I'll at least have something to live on. The one good thing about writing travel articles is that it gives me an excuse to ask all manner of silly questions in places where Krista can't go."
"From dialects to detective work. That's a bit of a job switch, isn't it? Father Edmund asked, smiling.
Herta laughed. "It's like languages and history, bits and pieces of a puzzle that I have to put together to make sense. It's fun."
The two Germans shared an astonished look and shook their heads.
"So where does what we've found today fit in?"
Herta frowned. "I'm not sure. One section of the papers mentioned a 'listener', a 'hörest', which we both took to mean some sort of listening device or person."
Krista added her findings. "In case it was simply the misspelling of a name, I spoke with Illyana. She'd known Hans, but not very well, she said. Most of what she knew was based on the tales we'd been told as children." Krista shrugged. "Hans was a miser, a vampire, a witch, a crazy old man. She did seema bit afraid of him, but I put that down to her believing the stories."
Father Edmund, too, had something to add. "I think she knew Hans better than that, if only slightly. I saw her talking to him once, a long time ago. He looked angry and she nervous. Gunther was still alive then, I think. Or it was shortly after his death. Does it mean anything?"
The two women exchanged mystified glances. "It might," the detective said slowly. It could be that --"
Herta interrupted Krista with feigned enthusiasm. "Here, let me show you the passage I'm talking about." She turned to her laptop, opened a file and typed something quickly. She sat back to let the others view the page.
"Don't say too much. We may have company."
There was a moment of silence and then...
"How? Are you sure?"
"I'm not sure I understand.">
Herta's companions spoke together. Edmund added the last question. "And you have proof of this?"
Herta shook her head. "No, but there's another reference to it in this letter." She touched a few more keys and an image appeared. It was one of the ones she'd taken that morning, upside down. Two keystrokes and it flipped vertically, showing the interior of the ashpit, just below the entrance. The flash had illuminated the area below the entrance to show an obvious tunnel and a bright red sneaker rounding the corner.
"So what now, my historical linguist?" Edmund said finally, breaking the silence.
Herta chuckled. "Well, historically speaking this symbol here..." She pointed to a carving on the side of the tunnel entrance. "This symbol should be the symbol of Astaroth, but see these side pieces? They look more like the alchemic symbols for 'spirit'. They don't quite fit with either the time period or the subject. Another part to the puzzle, I guess."
"Astaroth?"
Father Edmund filled in the history, much to Herta's surprise. "Astaroth was supposedly a golem creatd to destroy the Sword of Souls, but other gods interfered and the sword ended up taking lives, rather than saving them."
"Others? Who?" Krista asked.
"Legend has it that it was Ares, the God of War who interfered, but I'm not sure which historical figure that could have been. The story I read came from a 16th century manuscript, so it could have been just about anyone. Sort of like the legends of King Arthur and Excalibur."
Krista stared from Herta to Edmund and back. "You believe these stories are true?"
"Not exactly," Herta answered. "That the entire story is true is doubtful, but there's got to be some truth in there somewhere." She leaned back in her chair and held up one hand to tick off points. "Consider the common threads. The Aryans," sheraised one finger,"for lack of a better name to call them, were powerful beings. One legend implies that there were powerful enough to drive out evil spirits - or drain the soul of an evil man."
Another finger went up. "The Sword of Souls fed on human souls, drew power from them, to the detriment of Humanity." A third finger. "Vampires are supposed to steal human souls by drinking their blood. Vampires, by definition, don't have souls of their own. There is also an older legend that says that humans originally had two heads, four arms and four legs and that they were punished by the gods of the time and doomed to spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half of their souls."
"So you're saying that Illyana, her son and Hans were all killed by someone or something who wanted their souls?" She shook her head in disgust and stood up. "Either the pair of you are crazy, or you think I am."
Herta, still seated, opened her mouth to say something to Krista and froze, her mouth hanging open. She stared past Krista.
The other two followed her gaze upwards.
"What now?"
"What is it, child?"
"Well, that would explain..." Herta murmurred, totally engrossed in this new puzzle. She stood up and walked to the window closest to the door, still staring upwards at the ceiling.
No! Not the ceiling, Krista realized, but the elaborately carved border rails at the top of the wall! Krista studied the carving as intently as Herta, but it was Father Edmund who recognized what Herta was staring at.
"There, Krista," he pointed. "You see it? It's the same symbol as in the picture."
"Uh-huh," Herta confirmed. "Now, where's the other two? The letter said there should be three markings I'd have to look for."
"What letter?"
The one Hans left for me, Krista. It told me, sort of, what to look for, but it didn't tell me where to start looking. There were three signs that I had to find and press simultaneously. Ah! There! Zayin!" She frowned. "I wonder how that got past the Nazis?"
"Zayin?" Krista asked.
"A Hebrew letter that also represents a sword."
Edmund watched as Herta pointed out the symbol. It was about a meter to the right of the first symbol. He took a guess from that, but Krista beat him to it.
"There! Isn't that the symbol for Ares?" she asked.
Herta laughed. "Not so hard after all," she crowed.
"And how are we going to reach so high as to press them at the same time, ladies?"
Herta glanced around, surprised. She hadn't thought of that.
"A stool from the kitchen," Krista ventured.
"Too slow," Herta said, slumping back down in her chair. The letter said they had to be pressed together. If we didn't, the implication was that something unpleasant would happen."
"And no indication of what?"
Herta grimaced. "I'd rather not find out." She heaved a sigh. "Anyway, let's finish our lunch. I get the feeling that we'll think better on a full stomach."
The soup, now cold, was pushed aside in favour of the ham and cheese sandwiches. No one spoke. Herta reached for the last part of her sandwich and banged her elbow on the table. She sat bolt upright. Of course! The table had been blocking the door when she'd first arrived. If it were put back to that place, a tall person could put one hand on each of the outside symbols and their nose or chin on the central one and push. She smiled. Or two or three people could climb on the table and push those symbols in.
She stuffed the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth and began clearing off the large table. Krista and Edmund were staring at her. Hastily swallowing her mouthful, Herta explained what she needed.
Krista helped her push the table back into place, shutting them into the room in the process.
"Now what?"
"Now," said Krista grimly. "Now, we find a few logical answers."
Edmund declined to scramble up onto the table, but Krista and Herta both jumped up with enthusiasm.
The two women took up their places and, at Herta's nod, pushed on the three symbols.
They sank into the wood as they were designed to do. The three head the soft snicks as the locks were undone. A section of the ceiling slid back and a ladder slowly slid down onto the table.
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