The Keep

"Forty-nine rooms in all, counting the suites in the tower," Alexandra said.

"An odd number, don't you think? Why not round it off to fifty?"

Alexandra shrugged. "Who is to say?"

Woerma

They walked along one of the rampart walls that ran out diagonally from the tower then angled straight back to the mountain. He noted that there were crosses imbedded in the breast-high parapet, too. A question rose in his mind: "I don't recall seeing any crosses in the outer aspect of the wall."

"There aren't any. Only on the inside. And look at the blocks here. See how perfectly they fit. Not a speck of mortar is used to hold them together. All the walls in the keep are constructed this way. It's a lost art."

Woerma

"Two tiers of them within each wall, each with a slit window through the outer wall, and a door to a corridor leading to the courtyard."

"Excellent. They'll do nicely for barracks. Now to the tower."

The watchtower was of unusual design. It had five levels, each consisting of a two-room suite that took up all of the level save the space required for a door onto a small exposed landing. A stone stairway climbed the i

Breathing hard after the climb, Woerma

"Not much can go by u

Alexandra replied unexpectedly. "Except in the spring fog. The whole pass gets filled with heavy fog every night during the spring."

Woerma

"Where are all the birds?" he asked. It bothered him that he hadn't seen any yet.

"I've never seen a bird in the keep," Alexandra said. "Ever."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"The keep itself is odd, Herr Major, what with its crosses and all. I stopped trying to explain it when I was ten years old. It's just here."

"Who built it?" Woerma

"Ask five people and you will get five answers. All different. Some say it was one of the old lords of Wallachia, some say it was a defiant Turk, and there are even a few who believe it was built by one of the Popes. Who knows for sure? Truth can shrink and fancy can grow much in five centuries."

"You really think it takes that long?" Woerma

As they reached courtyard level, the sound of hammering drew Alexandra toward the corridor that ran along the i

"Herr Captain, they're driving spikes between the stones!" he cried, his hands twisting together as he spoke. "Stop them! They're ruining the walls!"

"Nonsense! Those 'spikes' are common nails, and there's one being placed only every ten feet or so. We have two generators and the men are stringing up lights. The German Army does not live by torchlight."

As they progressed down the corridor, they came upon a soldier kneeling on the floor and stabbing at one of the blocks in the wall with his bayonet. Alexandra became even more agitated.

"And him?" the Romanian said in a harsh whisper. "Is he stringing lights?"

Woerma

"Who assigned you to this duty, soldier?"

The private started in surprise and dropped his bayonet. His pinched face paled as he turned to see his commanding officer standing over him. He scrambled to his feet.

"Answer me!" Woerma

"No one, sir." He stood at attention, eyes straight ahead.

"What was your assignment?"

"To help string the lights, sir."

"And why aren't you?"

"No excuse, sir."

"I'm not your drill sergeant, soldier. I want to know what you had in mind when you decided to act like a common vandal rather than a German soldier. Answer me!"

"Gold, sir," the private said sheepishly. It sounded lame and he evidently knew it. "There's been talk that this castle was built to hide papal treasure. And all these crosses, sir ... they look like gold and silver. I was just—"

"You were neglecting your duty, soldier. What's your name?"

"Lutz, sir."

"Well, Private Lutz, it's been a profitable day for you. You've not only learned that the crosses are made of brass and nickel rather than gold and silver, but you've earned yourself a place on the first watch all week as well. Report to Sergeant Oster when you've finished with the lights."

As Lutz sheathed his fallen bayonet and marched away, Woerma

"The crosses must never be touched!" the Romanian said. "Never!"

"And why not?"

"Because it's always been that way. Nothing in the keep is to be changed. That is why we work. That is why you must not stay here!"

"Good day, Alexandra," Woerma

As he turned away he heard Alexandra's plaintive voice behind him.

"Please, Herr Captain! Tell them not to touch the crosses! Not to touch the crosses!"

Woerma

Wednesday, 23 April

0320 hours

It was late by the time Woerma

The shutters were all open to the night. He had turned off his lights and spent a quiet moment at the front windows. The gorge was obscured by a gently undulating layer of fog. With the passing of the sun, cold air had begun to slip down from the mountain peaks, mixing with the moist air along the floor of the pass, which still retained some heat from the day. A white drifting river of mist was the result. The scene was lit only by starlight, but such an incredible array of stars as seen only in the mountains. He could stare at them and almost understand the delirious motion in Van Gogh's Starry Night. The silence was broken only by the low hum of the generators situated in a far corner of the courtyard. A timeless scene, and Woerma