City of Dark Magic by Magnus Flyte Page B

correspondence were kept there in the library, and technically all the academics had access to them. The catch was that only Max had the key. Since the night of the crucifix debacle, he had become more surly, withdrawn, and paranoid. According to Suzi, when she had gone to Max’s office to ask him a harmless question about missing hunting trophies, he had refused to let her in, and had all but accused her of spying. He spoke to no one but his dog, Moritz.
    “He’s a nut job,” Suzi said. “You know how these Hapsburgs are all inbred. Look at him, he’s the exact image of every one of his relatives going back five hundred years. That’s not healthy.”
    Max took his meals apart from them now, and Sarah had only passed him once in the hallway. He didn’t make eye contact.
    Sarah made loud footsteps on the polished terrazzo floor as she walked down the hallway to his office. She rehearsed her speech about asking for the key, and steeled herself.
    But only Jana was in the office, with Moritz panting beneath her desk. He thumped his tail at the sight of Sarah. “Are you looking for Prince Max?” Jana asked politely.
    Sarah nodded. “We need the key to the library,” she explained.
    “The prince is at Nelahozeves now,” Jana said. “But the phone lines are down and his mobile is turned off. I’m not sure . . .”
    “Will he be there tomorrow?” Sarah asked. “I mean, is it okay if we just show up?”
    Jana hesitated.
    “We won’t disturb him,” Sarah promised. “But we really need the time with the archives. I promise he won’t even know we’re there.”
    “I did get one message from the prince asking for his drum set,” said Jana. “Petr was going to take it in the van tomorrow. Perhaps you and Eleanor can drive the van and deliver it for us?”
    Drum
set
, thought Sarah.
That completes the picture.
    “Oh, and would you take this to him?” Jana asked, handing Sarah a letter. “It came yesterday.”
    Sarah looked at the envelope. It was high-quality stationery, printed with the return address of the Hotel Gritti Palace in Venice. Fancy.
    “Sure,” Sarah said. It was weird how everyone assumed it was an honor to do things for aristocrats. As if they weren’t already the privileged ones.
    As she was turning away, she sensed Bernard Plummer, the Rococo expert, to be close by. Once Sarah’s nose had cleared, she learned that Bernie tended to overdo it on Chanel No. 5. Beneath the massive chest beat the heart of a refined and accomplished French matron. He often brought embroidery to the dinner table.
    “Oh, Sarah, some of us are going over to Old Town Square for dinner out,” Bernie said, appearing from behind a corner. “It’s Godfrey’s turn to cook and I just can’t face the offal.” Sarah nodded.
    “Plus we have to plan the costume ball,” he said, as they turned into Daphne’s portrait hall. Daphne, dressed as always in her impeccable lab coat, was giving instructions to two workmen who were carrying a glass case.
    “Costume ball?”
    “Yes, we’re all dressing up like
them
.” Bernie nodded at the family portraits staring down at them. “I’ve already dibbed rights to Maria Manrique de Lara and I found an extraordinary shop where I can get ermine. Fake ermine! I love these kinds of things.”
    Sarah and Bernie paused to peer over Daphne’s shoulder into the glass case. It contained a small blond, blue-eyed wax doll with pink cheeks dressed in a fancy red muumuu. The dress was trimmed with gold embroidery and sported a white lace ruff and cuffs. A cross hung from its neck.
    “Somebody’s dolly?” Bernard said, pulling out a pair of glasses to inspect the needlework.
    “De Infant of Prague,” Daphne corrected with a sniff.
    “
That’s
Il Bambino di Praga?” Sarah almost laughed out loud.
    “It’s a copy of course,” Daphne said, witheringly. “De original is in de Church of Our Lady Victorious.”
    “Huh,” Sarah said. “What’s this one doing here?” Daphne