VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XX.THE REFUGE HUT
Dawn broke cold and clear over Wengen. Edris, striking in her cord breeches and scarlet tam-o'-shanter, met Marcus for a quick breakfast before the climb. In the privacy of his room afterward, he held her with a grip that bordered on desperation.
"Don't go to any dangerous places, Carina," he whispered. "I shall be lonely until the moment you return."
"Seti, you're being silly," she teased, though she kissed him fervently. "John is an expert, and Karl has climbed this twice. You aren't... still jealous, are you?"
"I feel you slipping away," he admitted, his voice thick. "But go. Enjoy the sun. Just remember you are mine."
He watched from the hotel door as the trio—Edris, Karl, and the guide John Zuber—faded into the snowy distance. John carried the heavy rucksack and the coiled rope; Karl carried the confidence of a man half Marcus's age.
For Marcus, the day was an exercise in slow torture. He attempted to work, but his fountain pen remained dry. He spent hours on the balcony with his micro-telescope, scouring the jagged face of the Männlichen. He saw a chamois leap across the rocks, but of the three climbers, there was no sign. He lectured himself on the folly of suspicion. I have never known jealousy, he told himself, and I never shall.
High above, near the summit, the reality was far from Marcus's idealistic visions. They reached the small refuge hut at half-past one. John Zuber, a seasoned judge of character, had already seen enough during the ascent to make him uneasy. The way Miss Temperley and Herr Weiss spoke—the Christian names, the lingering glances—suggested a bond that John hadn't expected. Feeling like a "third wheel," the guide finished his meal and moved off toward a ridge. "We descend in forty-five minutes," he called back. "The weather is turning."
Left alone outside the hut, the air between Edris and Karl grew electric.
"Isn't it perfect?" Edris sighed, gazing at the sea of peaks.
"As perfect as you," Karl said, taking her hand. When she tried to pull away, citing her engagement to Seton, Karl laughed. "He is old enough to be your father, Edris. Why tie yourself to a man with one foot in the grave?"
"How dare you!" Edris snapped, her gray eyes flashing. "Seti is more active than you'll ever be. He is kind, humane—"
"He is a relic!" Karl interrupted, suddenly seizing her. He kissed her with a fierce, violent passion that left her breathless and reeling.
"You swine!" she shouted, breaking free. "If Seton were here, he'd kill you!"
Karl's expression shifted to something dark and vindictive. "He isn't here. And you will love me, Edris. I will it, and so it shall be." He smiled a strange, uncanny smile—a smile of cold, calculated evil. "You are already mine."
The descent was hurried as gray clouds swallowed the sun. By the time they reached the Palace Hotel, the first dinner gong was sounding. Edris ran straight to Marcus's room.
"It was glorious, Seti!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. But when he looked into her eyes and asked, "Has Karl been making love to you?" she evaded him with a laugh. "You are too jealous! I must dress for dinner."
That night, Edris wore a new dance frock, one Marcus had never seen. At the table, her conversation was a rapid-fire exchange with Karl. Marcus, playing the drums with the hotel orchestra to keep his mind busy, watched them from the platform.
He saw them dance every number together. He saw them disappear from the ballroom for long intervals. He saw the way Edris leaned into Karl's strength, her eyes no longer searching for the drummer on the stage.
His heart was a leaden weight in his chest. He drummed the fox trots with a smiling face, but the "Architect" was beginning to realize that while he had been guarding the gates of the Empire, the gates of his own heart had been left wide open to a traitor.