Following the departure of the Countess and the Bishop, other mourners started to leave the church and call for their carriages. While they waited they fiddled with their hats and canes and talked briefly in standard cliches to the monastery monks.

Even Brother Matthew seemed subdued as he shook hands with Dr. Auspitz, who until 1867 had been the headmaster of the Realschule, but who was now the Inspector of Schools for Moravia, and Karl Schwippel, secretary of the Natural History Society. Neither man stayed long, however, and they both hurried off together as soon as they decently could.

Most of the monastery monks were feeling disoriented, lost and without a sense of direction. For many of them Abbot Napp had been the only leader they had ever known and his death had not only deprived them of a colleague, but also someone they had instinctively turned towards for advice, guidance and council. Without him, even making the simple decisions of the day were harder and their inner consciences could still hear his voice warning them when they drifted too far from orthodoxy.

"Brother Gregory, is it not?" said a tall soldier, walking up to Mendel and holding out his hand. "I hope you remember me, I stayed with Onkel Cyrill during the recent war, and you were a great help in sorting out that matter of the Krautstrunk beaker".

Mendel recognized him at once, despite his more splendid uniform. Clearly the war against Prussia had been good for Ludwig Reishach, Abbot Napp's nephew.

"Yes indeed - er - Oberstleutnant," Mendel replied, shaking the offered hand, which was surprisingly hard for an aristocrat and a military officer.

"Oberst - Brother Gregory, I was promoted to Colonel during the '67 army reorganizations," he was too polite to say that, with conscription ended, the full reorganization of the Austrian army was stalled and would not start again in earnest for another month when the whole contentious issue of Hungary and Hungarians in the military would be once again discussed.

He tapped the gold lace on his shako, and the three gold stars on his collar. "We have come a long way since Koniggratz, but as Colonel of my regiment I hope to play a leading role in our future." Then he switched topics. "I trust no one objects to us taking Onkel Cyrill to his final rest in the family grave. His sister was particularly insistent."

"I'm sure no one minds," Mendel told him, not even certain of his own feelings, but Napp's family had allowed no other options, and after the requiem was over Napp's body was to be taken from Brno for the last time.

"Good, good, well - er - nice to have met you again. Must get on, there is a reception at the Bishop's Palace later and I must make a token appearance". With that the new Colonel tapped his Shako with his stick, nodded to the monk and briskly walked down the steps to his waiting horse. No effeminate carriages for Ludwig Reishach.

Father Kohl, totally confused by all the surrounding celebrities, was talking to Father Vitezslav from St. Thomas, and Mendel was about to join them when his arm was seized from behind.

"Mendel, I must talk to you," the voice of Otto Grunewald boomed in his ear. "Let me introduce to a friend of mine, recently arrived from England."

Wincing slightly at the pain in his arm, Mendel turned to see Herr Otto Grunewald standing beside a tall, clean cut young man of about 30 years whose face was clean shaven but with a heavy shadow of stubble beneath the skin. As their eyes met, Mendel noticed that the brown irises were flecked with green, a most remarkable combination.

The stranger clicked his heels and jerked his head in a typical Prussian gesture, and spoke with a high German accent. "Please to meet you, Brother Gregory. Otto has told me so much about you".

"Mendel, this is Herr Carl Emmanuel Waldschmidt, an engineer who has been working for the last few years with Hoffmann and Perkin. We need to talk to you." Clearly Grunewald thought that the names of Hoffmann and Perkin would be instantly recognized by the monk, so he did not explain that August Wilhelm von Hofmann was the man who had been, until recently, the first director of the new Royal College of Chemistry, in London. While Sir William Henry Perkin (as he was known later, after his honors), was the famous English chemist who had recently extracted a purple aniline dye from coal tar.

"We have a problem, Mendel, which we think you can solve for us," Grunewald said with his typical bluntness. Few in Brno did not know of this ambitious industrialist who owned several cloth weaving mills in the area. Even fewer were not slightly envious of all the recent profits he had made from the war.

But, to his credit, Herr Otto Grunewald was not solely interested in money. He had been a member of the local Natural History Society since its inception, worked with Abbot Napp in matters of sheep breeding, and was constantly seeking ways of keeping his manufactories at the cutting edge of the new technology coming out of England.

Grunewald was a man of science, and proud of the fact. He was also very blunt and direct in all his actions. No one could accuse him of trying to dissemble or pander to his guest's more delicate sensibilities. You always knew where you stood when talking to Otto Grunewald.

"Er - I'd be glad to help if I can," Mendel stuttered. Herr Grunewald was a good patron of the monastery and frequently gave Mendel boxes of imported cigars, to which he was particularly addicted.

"Excellent. We need your help urgently in a matter of some importance. As you know, the great-granddaughter of Countess Truchsess-Zeil is getting married soon, and the Countess insists that everyone be dressed in Royal Red cloth in honor of her intended husband." He shook his head impatiently at the foolishness of some women. "Apparently she saw the dress worn by Queen Victoria recently and the wants one the same, but better".

Seeing the look of distress on Mendel's face at the rapid pace with which his friend was throwing out facts, Waldschmidt smiled and explained, "In 1864 the English Queen Victoria wore a dress that was pure mauve. It created quite a sensation in England at the time as the dye that had been used to color the cloth was totally synthetic. It had been prepared from coal tar by William Perkin, and the British love anything new, so the Queen insisted that it be used to make her outfit".

"And now the Countess wants to do the same, but go one better. Mauve is no longer in fashion," Grunewald shook his head again, "so she insists that we use this new red dye that the British have invented called aniline".

"Alizarin," corrected Waldschmidt gently, his friend could sometimes confuse important names. "The new synthetic dye is called alizarin. It has recently been made in Perkin's laboratory and tested out in the Huddersfield dye works". He quickly explained that Huddersfield was a town in the north of England in the county of Lancashire.

"The Countess has specifically asked that the cloth for her dress, that of the bride and most of the major guests be made in Austria - not England - and I have been selected as the manufacturer. It is a great honor!" He puffed up his chest as he said it, and Mendel could not help noting the pride in his voice. Grunewald was also a bit of a snob, and the idea of making the Countess's dress was clearly very important to him.

"I see," replied Brother Gregory, still not sure why he was being told all this. "But in what way can I help you make red cloth?"

At this the German engineer and the weaver of cloth looked at each other with some embarrassment and did not reply at once. After a slight, awkward pause, Grunewald said, "Well ... we have a slight problem with the dye. Some of its chemical properties are hard to understand, and since this is all new to us, our dyers in Namest don't know what to do to correct it".

"Why don't you just ask the person you got the dye from in the first place?" Mendel asked in all innocence.

At that Grunewald coughed, and Waldschmidt suddenly developed a strong interest in looking at the exterior church carvings.

"Well ... er ... that is also the problem. We ... er ... cannot really ask for British help in this matter," Grunewald told him, going slightly red in the face. "Perkin has refused to release any serious quantities of the dye until he has filed the patent for its synthesis and manufacture. I suppose this is natural. But it is making it difficult for us to get enough of the dye to prepare the cloth for the Countess".

"So where will you get the dye?" Mendel could not help asking.

"Well, there is a rival group starting up here, on the continent, away from British interests, but they are having the same problem we are having," Waldschmidt said. Then avoided Mendel's question by saying, "It is a problem of solubility, you see. The Alizarin dye, made by the Perkin method, is not very soluble in water. We cannot get enough of the chemical to dissolve to make a strong enough dyeing vat".

"Not only that," Grunewald added, "when we try to use the weaker solution of the dye, it will not stain the cloth red! In several recent tries, we have had almost every color but the one we want".

"I suspect that the dye we are using is not quite ... er ... complete," Waldschmidt said, softly and looking away from the monk. Mendel was beginning to sense that he was not being fully informed of all the facts.

"But wouldn't Herr Doktor Perkin be able to help you?" he asked with suspicion growing in his voice. "If he is the one that made the dye, he should know how to get it dissolved in water".

"Perhaps he would, if he knew that we wanted the answer," Grunewald said slowly, then, in his usual blunt way, finally confessed, "But he does not know we have his formula".

"We are making the dye ourselves," Waldschmidt said to Mendel, "I have the Perkin formula for making alizarin dye, and we have already made several batches in the dye works in Namest. Unfortunately, the formula appears to be incomplete and a vital step is missing, right at the end of the synthesis. Without this final step we get a version of alizarin that is a lot less soluble and therefore a lot less useful".

"That is why we need your help, Mendel," Grunewald told him forcefully. "We want you to work with Waldschmidt here, to try and find a way to get that dye into solution and to stain cloth red. There is not much time and you must start at once".

"But," stuttered Brother Gregory, amazed at the request and its implications, "Abbot Napp has just died. The Monastery is in total mourning and ... and I don't know anything about the new science of chemistry. I'm a botanist, remember".

"Nonsense," snorted Grunewald, glad to be off the topic of the synthetic dye and where he got the formula, and back on more familiar territory; bullying others to do what he wanted. "There will be at least six weeks of mourning for Napp during which the Monastery will be essentially closed. You will have a lot of time to work on the dye problem. Also, you know more about science than any other man in Brno. Remember how you worked out that matter of the Prussian's glass beaker, and just last year, the way you solved the problem of the Egyptian mummy (see Chapter the Sixth of this series - ed.). Mendel, you are a natural at all this logic and thinking business, any problem you set your mind to you will be able to solve".

Suitably flattered, Mendel blushed, but continued, "There is also the election of the new Abbot. I must be here for the voting. This is a most important matter for the Monastery".

Grunewald almost snorted with impatience, "Of course, of course, we will make sure you are here for any election. You don't think you stand a chance of being the next Abbot, do you?"

"No, no, of course not," Mendel insisted strongly. There was nothing he wanted less. He had seen what administration and politics had done for Abbot Napp and the many problems he had faced, day after day. All Mendel wanted was a quiet life in his garden surrounded by his friends and intellectual conversation.

"Well then, there is no problem. I have to go, but Waldschmidt here will take you to the Monastery in my carriage. Pack yourself a bag and come with him to my new manufactory down by the Svitava river. You can get to work right away. I appreciate this help, Mendel, and you won't regret it".

For some reason, Mendel could not remember agreeing to become a chemist or offering to help Grunewald in his less-than-honest schemes, but that was often the way when dealing with the German cloth manufacturer. He shook his head and wished that he never left the church that morning.

What had he got himself into this time?