Last Act by Jane Aiken Hodge

how they killed themselves rather than go? Or got killed when they arrived?”
    â€œYes. Horrible.”
    â€œWe didn’t send ours. Little Lissenberg hung on like Liechtenstein. Most of our Russians were Russian Jews. Some of them were Polish. Everyone knew what would have happened to them. They’d got in, mostly, over the mountains from Austria, helped by our people. The kind of dangerous journey no one forgets. Well, it came up to the Diet—that’s our House of Commons. There are twelve men in it. Six of them then were mountain guides; the other six were … oh well, call it war rich. The vote was even. So Michael Josef cast his; and they stayed.”
    â€œMichael Josef?”
    â€œYou want people here to like you, don’t ask that question here, not in that tone of voice. Michael Josef was the Hereditary Prince then; he had the casting vote in the Diet. They threw him out ten years ago.”
    â€œWho did?”
    â€œThe Diet. Four of the six guides had died, see, and been replaced. By business men. Michael Josef was standing in the way of progress, they said. He didn’t want light industry, and tourism on the grand scale and Steak Diane. He wantedLissenberg to stay Lissenberg.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    â€œNothing. Unless you call a broken heart something. He has a very nice modern flat. Oh, they offered him rooms in the castle, but he had more sense than that. He got a job and a flat that went with it.”
    â€œA job?”
    He laughed. “He’s not that old. He was twenty when he gave that casting vote. Not an old man now exactly. But not a happy one either. You’ll see. You’ll meet him.” He glanced up at his rear view mirror. “Here comes your bus. Let’s go! Stand by for your first view of Lissenberg.”

4
    The Town Was a remarkable mixture of old stone gable-ended buildings, many with ornate wooden balconies, and drab concrete modern offices. “A muddle, isn’t it?” Michael slowed the car and pointed to a mounted statue in a small flower-filled garden. “That’s the first Hereditary Prince, Heinz Gustaf. He’d turn in his grave if he saw his town now. He’d planned it as a kind of
rus in urbe.
Country in town,” he translated for her.
    â€œI know,” she said. “Girls get educated in England, too. But how exactly did he plan his country-town?”
    â€œEvery house was to have its plot of ground, for vegetables and vines. We make very good wine here in Lissenberg—you must try it. The self-supporting bit was his idea, and a very good one. It worked for years. Until after the last war, when the banks came along, bought up the vineyards, and—see!” He turned the car into a park at the bottom of a fair-sized square and pointed to a handsome gabled building at the upper end. “That’s the third Heinz Gustaf’s Rathaus—council chamber to you. He built it in the local stone and style when he got tired of having the Diet troop up to the castle for their meetings. And facing it we have the brain-child of the Tenth National Bank of Nebraska.”
    â€œOuch,” she said.
    â€œPrecisely. And I’m afraid the bus station’s not much better.” He took her arm to guide her across the square. “We’ll leave your bag in the car. You never know your luck. Herr Meyer may need a cab to take you up to the hostel.”
    â€œUp?” In her first quick panoramic view of the town, she hadlooked in vain for the opera house and the new hotel.
    â€œYes. It’s up between the town and the castle. Now, that was ingenious of our Rudolf—you have to give it him. We’ve got conservationists now, you understand. There won’t be horrors like that bank again.” He pointed up and beyond the ugly fourstorey building to where the castle loomed high above them. “You wouldn’t think it, but there’s a valley runs sideways