Free The Kingdom of Shadows by K. W. Jeter

Germany. Nobody has watched it other than myself and a few other officials at the Propaganda Ministry.”
     
    “Huh. That’s strange.” Herr Wise shook his head. “When I received the print of the film back in Hollywood, I figured that it was one of your staff who had sent it to me. I watched it in the screening room at my office, figuring maybe you were shopping it around for a distribution deal. Partners, like you were talking about before.”
     
    “As you say – strange.” The angles of Joseph’s face had turned hard and sharp. “This is something . . . I shall have to look into.”
     
    One of the squadron of functionaries stepped from behind. “ Herr Reichsminister  –” He leaned close, whispering into Joseph’s ear.
     
    “We must talk again, Herr Wise.” Joseph gave a quick tilt of his head. “I’m sure there’s much we could learn from each other.” He turned away, his retinue closing around him. Marte watched him leave the reception, walking with a careful, measured pace; she knew well by now his particular vanity, that of a man who took care to conceal his club foot, the disfigurement that marked him.
     
    “Quite a priest he would make, eh?”
     
    “Pardon me?” Herr Wise turned toward the bearded figure who had come up beside him.
     
    “Shame on you,” scolded Marte. “You have been eavesdropping.”
     
    “As does everyone in Berlin these days. If only for self-preservation.”
     
    “ Herr Wise –” Marte turned back toward the American. “May I present to you Ernst von Behrens? He directed me in Die Prinzessin. ”
     
    “And discovered you, my dear. Right here in Berlin, in that shabby coffee house.”
     
    “You have an eye for talent, Mr. von Behrens.”
     
    “It has served me well. The Reichminister ’s estimation of my worth has risen considerably of late.” Von Behrens used the empty glass to point across the crowded banquet hall. By the great gilded doors, one of the functionaries was helping Joseph into his fur-collared overcoat. “The priesthood lost quite a candidate in him, I’m afraid.”
     
    “Yeah, I bet,” said Wise. “Probably would’ve been a real Savonarola type. I hear he likes to burn things.”
     
    “Ah, yes, the unfortunate books. I did not see the bonfire that night, but I did pick up a scorched Heine collection in the gutter the next morning; it was still quite readable.” Von Behren nodded, watching the distant figure bid farewell to a fawning circle. “I believe the good doctor now regrets that incident. I’ve heard him talk about it – not in public, of course – and about how he hadn’t known at that time just how powerful such images are, how they’re seen by outsiders. With that lean, fanatical face of his, and the fiery – yes? – the fiery speeches he gives, incidents such as the burning of books give people the wrong impression of him. Or so he believes.”
     
    “Must be hell, all right, being so misunderstood.”
     
    The director shrugged. “Perhaps. Though in this case, it is useful to him to be thought of as something of an ascetic. As you say, a Savonarola. A great discipline is being demanded of the German people, great sacrifices to achieve great ends. And they might feel less than kindly toward Reichsminister Goebbels – they might feel they were being abused, or tricked – if they were to have their noses rubbed into his taste for luxuries.”
     
    Wise snorted. “As if they didn’t know.”
     
    “Oh, of course they know. They make jokes about such things, especially here in Berlin, where the people are so cynical to begin with, and they see so much more of his comings and goings. They know; they just want a modicum of discretion on his part. That’s all. Bad enough when Goebbels allowed pictures of his children’s horses to appear in a magazine. So now, no matter how proud he is, say, of having in his house at Schwanenwerder a bar that rises up from the floor when he pushes a button, he