Three Emperors (9780062194138) by William Dietrich

was damp, mud-smeared, and musty, but newly risen. It was time to rejuvenate myself as Ethan Gage and hurry on to Vienna.
    A man is not completely born until he is dead , my mentor Franklin had said.
    Somewhere my wife and son were in peril.
    Richter’s agents were in a boil behind me.
    And it was past time for answers from the prophetic Brazen Head.

Chapter 6
    Astiza
    A s with all grand and venerable castles, the agglomeration of architecture at Český Krumlov is haunted. Naiads guard treasure in the lake of the castle gardens. A spectral White Lady, cursed by her father for not forgiving his cruelty, wanders the halls with white gloves at cheerful events and black gloves when death nears. On the floorboards of the castle theater are bloodstains from the virgin Evelyn, an actress with unrequited love who stabbed herself to death onstage. Decades of scrubbing have yet to rinse her rose stain away.
    The castle bell tower has a golden flagstaff, green copper roof, and rose-colored paint bright as a stick of candy. The rest of the castle is grayer, the centuries having produced a rambling warren perfect for aristocrats and mice. Its pride and penury are evident in the bears kept captive in its dry moat. The castle’s Czech families have claimed relation to the prestigious Ursini family of Italy, ursus is the Latin word for “bear,” and the beasts are imprisoned to bolster the pretense. They pace, more forlorn than fierce, while bored sentries pelt them with vegetables. Harry was fascinated, and leaned too far over the moat parapet before I pulled him back.
    The moat bridge leads to a gate and courtyard with barracks, mint, and buttery. Then another gate, and a tunnel up the hill that twists so the way is blind to invading troops, who can be met with grapeshot ricocheting down the passageway. The castle is no longer a practical fortification, however. There are still stone dungeons and kitchens below, but the top is Renaissance and baroque rooms with leaded glass windows, ceramic stoves, and Flemish tapestries. We passed through the chapel, hall of mirrors, and Chinese salon. Most charming was the masquerade hall, where the artist Lederer decorated every inch of the walls with life-size frescoes of ballroom attendees in carnival costumes, posed as if viewing the dance.
    â€œThe people are dressed like clowns!” Harry exclaimed. I loved the whimsy.
    A chamberlain led us across the enclosed Na Plášti Bridge to the “Princes’ Box,” in the huge castle theater, the last building before the castle gardens. It was in their theater that Josef and Paulina Schwarzenberg could live for a few hours in worlds more controllable than the violent one of Napoleon. That is where they chose to receive me. Fortune-tellers are entertainment.
    â€œAh! The gypsy seer!” Paulina greeted. “How propitious that you’ve arrived at a time I’m trying to talk sense into my husband.”
    â€œDestinies entwine,” I recited. “Signs from heaven.”
    â€œI wish God saw fit to correspond with me,” grumbled Josef. “His whispers seem audible only to the fairer sex.”
    â€œAudible to those who listen,” I said.
    Paulina laughed and clapped her hands.
    â€œHmph. You are Astiza?” He looked at me skeptically. “Curious name.”
    I curtsied. “A priestess from Egypt, by way of Paris, the French city founded on a temple of Isis at the place where Notre Dame stands today.” Soothsayers from the East fascinate Europeans. I bought clothing to dress the part, and wore a peaked felt cap, black cloak, pointed boots, and a dress spangled with stars. An ankh and the Eye of Horus dangle at my throat. My fingers have rings with hieroglyphic symbols, and my waist belt is embossed with the signs of the zodiac. My dark hair falls, deliberately wild, to the small of my back. I carry a white-handled dagger for magical spells, a wand of ash, and a satchel with