Chapter 2: The Secret of the Old Ledger

He died later in the river ditch, struck on the back of the head with a blunt weapon. By the time the key finally reached my hands, the blood on it had not yet dried."

Viktor stared at that key, his throat moving slightly. His perception reminded him: the blood on this key did not belong to a stranger. It carried an aura similar to that in the ledger's hidden compartment--the same deliberately buried trace belonging to his father.

"What lock does it open?"

"Vienna. The old castle." Clara took the key back, her movement extremely light, yet like taking in a spark. "The old master's dying instruction was only one sentence: when the young master comes of age, if he sees with his own eyes the truth inside the ledger, give him this key. If he cannot see it, let it sink forever at the river bottom."

She raised her eyes, her gaze cold and sharp. "You saw it. So it is yours."

Viktor did not take it. He asked: "Why did you not stop me from investigating the ledger?"

"I could not stop you." Clara said, "And it would have been wrong to try. The old master said the ledger is a door, and the key is the door's lock. Whether the door opens or not follows its own fate. I only protect your life; I do not make your choices for you."

Outside the window came the old city church bells, heavy and distant. Viktor closed the ledger again, his fingertips pressing against the blurred family crest on its cover. He felt himself standing before a narrow door--inside the door lay the blood-stained past his father left behind; outside the door lay the Vienna castle Clara spoke of, and the unsolved mystery behind the key.

"What is in the castle?" he asked.

Clara did not answer immediately. She looked out the window, her gaze crossing the old city's layer upon layer of rooftops, as if she could see that castle by the Danube, unvisited for many years. After a long while, she said in a low voice:

"Young master, what the old master left is not an inheritance, it is evidence of crimes. Locked inside the castle is what those who forced him into silence least want anyone to see. And this blood on the key--" She stopped, looking at him, word by word, "is the old master's own."

Viktor's fingertips froze. The bells ceased, and inside the room only the two people's breathing remained.

Clara put the key back into her inner pocket and turned toward the doorway. Just leaving, she stopped, without turning back: "If you go to Vienna, I will wait for you at the city gate. If you do not go, this key will rot in the earth with me. But young master--the ledger is already open, blood is already on your hands. Some doors, even if you do not enter, will open by themselves."

The door closed behind her. Viktor stood alone under the dim lamp, looking down at his own hands. Paper scraps from the ledger's edge still stuck to his fingertips, like a scab that could not be rubbed off. He slowly opened the hidden compartment, his fingertips touching a folded, brittle old photograph--in the photograph, his father stood before a castle, behind him a gray, hazy sky.

On the photograph's back was one line of extremely faint writing, as if written and then mostly wiped away, leaving only three characters:

*Do not come back.*