The Swan King by Nina Clare

Author:Nina Clare [Clare, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: lost&foundStories
Published: 2019-05-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Isle of Swans

Herr Weimann arrived in state and splendour in the second-best royal carriage. It flew along with a team of four white horses, four outriders and two postilions, announcing to all between München and the village of Swanstein that there was someone of great importance coming.

A footman ran to unfold the steps at the carriage door, for Herr Weimann’s short legs required them.

‘Your Majesty!’ cried the great architect, upon alighting. He removed his tall hat to make an ornate bow. ‘At last I am released from the oppression of walls without sunlight, without sweetness of fragrance. For what life has there been for me in the city once His Majesty withdrew his presence?’

He and the king strolled to the castle entrance, Herr Weimann’s raptures booming across the courtyard, while his apprentice was left to follow behind, bearing so many scrolls and folders that Elisabeth was sure he would drop them all. Every footman was laden with trunks, and Paul was busy giving orders regarding the horses, so Elisabeth took it upon herself to assist Herr Haller.

He gave a muffled greeting from behind the piled-up papers. The topmost scrolls wobbled.

‘Stand still,’ she said, taking four of his burdens from the top of the pile.

She could see his face now. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But you shouldn’t trouble yourself.’

‘It’s no trouble.’

‘You look well,’ he said with a friendly smile.

‘You look tired.’

‘I’ve been working.’

‘Watch your step,’ she counselled, for he was too busy looking at her to notice the steps before them.

‘Ouch!’ His foot stubbed the bottom step, and he stumbled.

‘Do not drop those scrolls, Haller!’ came the deep voice of Herr Weimann from the top of the steps. ‘I’ll rub your face in the dirt if you foul His Majesty’s plans!’

‘What a charming master you have,’ Elisabeth said as Herr Haller righted himself.

They deposited the papers in the study room and she led Herr Haller to the hall where refreshments were laid out for Herr Weimann’s arrival.

The king and his architect stood side by side before one of the arched windows. They made an incongruous-looking couple: the king taller than any man she had yet seen, slim and broad shouldered, his black hair perfectly arranged in smooth waves around his face. Even in heeled shoes Herr Weimann only reached the king’s shoulder, his head large and sitting slightly askance on his thick neck. His legs were short, his body squat and dense, his greying hair smoothed down with oil, but still grizzly looking. And yet both exuded an energy that filled the large space of the hall.

‘There, my friend,’ the king announced, pointing at the view they stood before.

‘I see only mountains, Your Majesty.’

‘You see the mountain where Tannhäuser once sang in the castle halls. You see the ruins of the castle built by Gundelfinger himself.’

‘The magician?’

‘So they called him. The Guardian of the Mountain. He who kept the land free of her enemies, who caused the earth to be fruitful, until he transgressed against the Fair, and brought trouble to the land.

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