The last kingdom, p.1
The Last Kingdom, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Steve Berry
Cover design by Eric Fuentecilla
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Berry, Steve, 1955– author.
Title: The last kingdom / Steve Berry.
Description: First Edition. | New York : Grand Central Publishing, 2023. | Series: Cotton Malone
Identifiers: LCCN 2022042128 | ISBN 9781538720998 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781538742891 | ISBN 9781538742907 | ISBN 9781538721018 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3602.E764 L37 2023 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20220902
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022042128
ISBNs: 9781538720998 (hardcover), 9781538742891 (signed edition), 9781538742907 (signed edition), 9781538721018 (ebook)
E3-20230119-NF-DA-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Present Day Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Writer’s Note
Discover More
About the Author
Also by Steve Berry
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks to Ben Sevier, senior vice president and publisher of Grand Central. To Wes Miller, my editor, whom I’ve greatly enjoyed getting to know and working with. He’s a man of remarkable insight. This book became much better thanks to him. Then to Tiffany Porcelli for her marketing expertise; Staci Burt, who handled publicity; all those who worked hard to create the cover and make the interior of the book shine; and to Sales and Production, who made sure both that there was a book and that it was widely available. Thank you, one and all.
A deep bow goes to Simon Lipskar, my agent and friend.
A few extra mentions. Jessica Johns and Esther Garver, who continue to keep Steve Berry Enterprises running smoothly; Peter Rohde, who escorted us around Bavaria; Slobodan Gudalovic, our guide for Herrenchiemsee; and Augela Finley, who was most generous with her time at Linderhof.
And, as always, to my wife, Elizabeth, who remains the most special of all.
Novels have a long lead time. For me that’s two years. This book was written in 2020 but not published until 2023. During the course of its creation, Elizabeth and I decided to move. Building a home is never easy. It could rank as one of the most difficult things a marriage can endure. But building a house from 150 miles away, and during a worldwide pandemic, now that’s a challenge.
But we did it.
Countless talented trades and craftsmen worked on our house. Too many to even attempt to list here. But five stand out. Collectively, they expended thousands of hours of time and stretched their imaginations to the limit. Without them, nothing would have ever been created.
First, our builder, Derrick Koger, and his son Nick, who oversaw the entire construction at Derrick Builders. Then there is Toni Sims Design Studio. Run, of course, by Toni Sims. But there’s also her daughter, Trinity Dorner (a.k.a. TOO), and Kelsey Deal. You’ll note later that Derrick, Trinity, and Toni have characters named for them. Please know that the real-to-the-fictional bear little resemblance, save for a shared name. And Kelsey and Nick? Their names were front and center in the 2022 novel, The Omega Factor.
Elizabeth and I want to thank them all.
So this book, the first to be finished in our new home, is theirs.
For Derrick Koger, Nick Koger, Toni Sims, Trinity Dorner, and Kelsey Deal, Imagineers Extraordinaire
At least permit me this final joy. I adore the mysterious and wish to remain an eternal enigma.
—King Ludwig II
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Prologue
Bavarian Alps
August 8, 1881
3:10 A.M.
LUDWIG FRIEDRICH WILHELM VON WITTELSBACH LOVED THE NIGHT. He’d long ago stopped living in the sun, finding the serenity of a velvet sky dotted with sparkling stars far more preferable to the warmth of a summer day. For an ordinary person such a preference would not have mattered.
But he was far from ordinary.
He was King Ludwig II. Duke of Franconia and Swabia. Count Palatine of the Rhine. The latest in a long line of Wittelsbachs who’d ruled Bavaria for over seven hundred years. He’d occupied the throne for the past seventeen of those years, governing a principality that stretched from the jagged Alps in the south to the forests of Prussia in the north. In between flowed the Danube, Inn, and Isar Rivers. It was a diverse and rural land of hamlets and villages, home to four and a half million subjects who lived under both his rule and the fading influence of the Catholic Church. One of thirty-nine independent states that made up the Bund, the German confederation formed seventy years ago from the last remnants of the Holy Roman Empire.
Bavaria was his kingdom.
He owned it all.
But he hated it.
A strange attitude for a monarch.
And one he’d come this night to change.
His carriage stopped.
The bumpy trip east from his palace at Linderhof had taken several hours. He’d sat well back, out of sight, muffled in a cloak, the curtains on the windows drawn, lanterns on the carriage lighting the way. He loved his nocturnal journeys. He took one nearly every night. Some only a short ways through the dark Alpine forests. Others deep into the mountains to places that few ventured. Those were his favorite since solitude had become his refuge. He hated politics, people concerned with politics, or anything even remotely associated with politics. His crown had become nothing more than a burden. Government more a nuisance, not an end to any means. Instead, he preferred to dream, to build, to be enveloped in a peculiarity all his own , a law unto himself, a ruler from some ancient mystical legend subject to no one.
How marvelous.
He’d found that safety existed in fantasy.
Relief too.
Plus enjoyment.
The Bavarian constitution mandated that the monarch must reside within Munich at least twenty-one days each year. What a ludicrous requirement. But he obeyed. Then, on the twenty-second day, he always fled the capital for the mountains in the south. To a glorious place. One he truly loved. He’d heard the talk. Some had begun to call him Mad King Ludwig.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Instead, like everyone, he was simply searching for peace.
The carriage door opened and he shifted his bulky weight off the silk-lined bench and maneuvered himself out the small door into the night. One of the footmen offered a hand as he stepped down onto stairs that had been positioned on the ground for his convenience.
He was thirty-six but looked far older, his body a disgrace. Once he’d been tall, slim, with long curly hair and piercing blue eyes. Handsome. Desired. A brilliant horseman and fine swimmer, like a heroic character from one of his beloved operettas. But that lean figure had been replaced by a girth that grew ever larger each day. The fire in his eyes, so bright in the beginning of his reign, had been dulled by the many disappointments he’d been forced to endure. His walk, formerly a slow and dignified gait with his head held high, was now more a waddle. His passion for sweets and a fear of the dentist had rotted away his teeth. His mouth constantly hurt, his head pounding from headaches. Narcotics and alcohol had become his closest friends. He knew both of those were wrong. But they were far more faithful companions than the quivering acolytes who liked to surround him. He’d grown to detest both them and all of the pomp and ceremony that came from being king. Instead, he preferred the simple quiet life of the peasants, many of whom he’d met during his nightly forays into the milieu of hill farmers and woodsmen. Tonight, though, he’d come to meet a special visitor from far away who was bringing what he’d dreamed about for a long time.
A man approached. Short, bespectacled, with a whiskered face, wearing a dark suit. He looked the part of a Herr Professor but he was actually the director of the Bavarian archives, trained as a lawyer and historian, and one of the few people Ludwig trusted.
“Welcome, Majesty,” Franz von Löher said to him, bowing.
He nodded an acknowledgment of the greeting, but said nothing. He’d chosen an Austrian uniform to wear for the occasion with a grand cordon sash—red with white stripes bordering the edge—aslant across his broad breast. Upon it was pinned an octagonal silver star, with a companion cross, suspended by a red ribbon trimmed in white. He’d been awarded the medal in 1865, one year into his reign. A somewhat insignificant platitude at the time from a foreign monarch that had now become all important. Normally he shunned military dress, preferring simple trousers, a shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. Armies and war had never interested him. But this was an occasion that demanded the highest of protocol.
He’d selected the location for the meeting with care. Altach. Beside the cold waters of the Walchensee. Which, ironically, meant strangers in High German. His geologists had told him it might be the oldest lake in Europe. But on this night the fact that it lay not far from Salzburg loomed most important, since that was where the nearest train station was located.
“Is he on the way?” he finally asked.
Von Löher nodded. “A messenger rode in a short time ago. His train arrived and he is now headed here by carriage, less than thirty minutes away.”
His gaze drifted out to the small meadow and the solitary mountain scenery, all filtered by the grandeur of a summer’s Alpine night. He loved nature, with its solemnity and magnificence, along with an eternal everlasting youth that had to be admired.
Four torches illuminated an oak table with a red woolen cloth draped over it. An enormous bouquet of fresh wildflowers decorated the center. He also loved flowers, particularly those that grew in abundance along the mountain slopes. A Turkish carpet covered the grass beneath and two high-backed chairs waited at either side. Beyond the torches’ glow stood two attendants, stiff as ramrods, dressed in blue-and-white liveries, three-cornered hats perched atop powdered wigs, ready to pull back the chairs for both himself and his visitor.
“How is he to be addressed?” he asked von Löher.
“I am told the same as you. Majesty.”
He liked that. The single word. No Your added to it. Much more suitable for an absolute monarch.
“What is he like?”
“Six years ago, when I met him, he was a man of fine presence. An educated gentleman of good abilities. He’s now forty-five, but he makes little display and does not talk much of politics. There, you are similar.”
He liked that as well.
“From my previous visit I found him to be a quiet, dignified, sensible man, who would do no discredit to his kingly office. He loves to sing and play an instrument called a ukulele. Quite well, too, I might add.”
“I wonder if he brought it with him.”
“I doubt it. It seems something he only does at home.”
A shame, but he liked everything he’d just heard. Definitely a kindred spirit. “Are the papers properly prepared?”
“The lawyer assured me they are.”
“Can Lehmann be trusted?”
No one could know what he was about to do.
“He is bound by secrecy and absolutely loyal to you. Rest assured, nothing will be revealed.”
Good.
In the distance he caught the flickering light of an outrider, bearing a torch, signaling that the carriage was not far behind. He’d provided the coach for his visitor. All gilded, lined with velvet, drawn by six dapple-gray horses harnessed with Moroccan leather.
Definitely fit for a king.
He was weary—always weary—and restless. But the unbroken silence around him comforted his frayed nerves. He gazed up at the moon and stars. Hopefully, they’d smile upon him tonight.
“My goal is in sight,” he whispered to von Löher. “Finally. I shall have it.”
“That you will, Majesty.”
His dream.
Come true.
Das letzte königreich.
The last kingdom.
Present Day
Chapter 1
Chiemsee, Bavaria
Tuesday, December 9
3:30 P.M.
COTTON MALONE KEPT HIS ENTIRE ATTENTION ON THE MAN AND THE woman. He and they were part of a tour group at Herrenchiemsee, a seventy-room nineteenth-century palace tucked away in southern Germany. Ludwig II had wanted his own Versailles, a Temple of Fame in honor of his hero, the Sun King, Louis XIV. So he’d bought a heavily wooded island washed by the cold waters of the Chiemsee and erected not a copy, but his own paraphrase to Versailles. As with the original practicality had not been part of its design. Instead, both palaces had been built as monuments to absolutism. Ludwig’s version came with an added memorial to his Wittelsbach ancestors, a way to align himself, if only in his own mind, with that storied past.
But the palace was never finished.
When Ludwig died in 1886 only the central axis had been erected and twenty rooms completed. None of the immense side wings, pavilions, or the famed dome were built. Still, what he’d managed to create was definitely impressive. A nearly overpowering mixture of baroque and rococo, each room more gilded and grander than the one before. Which all seemed to send a clear message of power and wealth to any visitor.
Cotton’s attention, though, remained on the man and the woman.
He’d noticed them immediately once the group had formed on the ground floor. They’d arrived at the last minute, coming in out of the cold with the final two tickets of the day. The palace closed at a quarter past four, so this was the last tour. He’d noticed earlier that a few had made the journey across the lake on the ferryboat, then either hiked or taken a horse-drawn carriage from the dock. He’d opted to walk the half mile through groves of pine and birch, enjoying a brisk winter’s afternoon in Bavaria. Before heading out he’d purchased his admission ticket and a pamphlet in a gift shop near the dock, one that not only told him all about Herrenchiemsee but provided a schematic of the second floor. He was particularly interested in one room in the north wing, between the king’s bedchamber and the dining room, and was pleased that the booklet contained some useful information.
