Once Upon a Crime

by P. J. Brackston

  “So she came to Gesternstadt and found employment at Madame Renoir’s Beauty Salon.”

  “A room of cat pelts!” Hans was shocked. “Wouldn’t do for me, not at all. Wretched things make me sneeze. Wouldn’t be able to set foot in the place.”

  “So you see”—Roland looked at Gretel—“it is unlikely Frau Hapsburg’s cats have escaped the skinner’s knife.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” said Gretel. “We have to work on the assumption that they are still living. The only way we will know for sure is by getting inside that castle.”

  “An impossible task, fraulein; I told you, the castle is within a cave, the cave has only one entrance, which has a heavy locked and fortified door. There is no method of gaining entry unnoticed.”

  Gretel allowed herself a small smile.

  “In my experience,” she said, “the best way to go anywhere unnoticed is to do so in plain view.”

  “Look out,” said Hans, the gruff beginnings of a snore in his voice. “That sounds horribly like the start of a plan to me.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Gretel. “Roland, don’t get too comfortable. I need you to do something for me. Go outside and find out which conveyance belongs to Frau Peterson. A coin should get it out of the stable boy. Examine the cargo therein.”

  “You think there will be cats?”

  “It would confirm my suspicions. Have a care,” she added as he headed toward the door. “Do not disturb them. We must not alert Inge to the fact that we are onto her. Hans. Hans!”

  “What’s that! Hell’s teeth, Gretel, I was just drifting off.”

  “Well, don’t. There is work to be done. Go downstairs—”

  “Must I?”

  “—and use your charms on that beauty of a barmaid. We need warm clothes for tomorrow’s journey. Sensible stuff that will keep out the cold and allow us to be taken for farmers or some such. And have her pack us provisions. There is hungry work ahead.”

  “And what will you be doing,” Hans wanted to know, “while the rest of us are running all these errands? Tell me that, eh?”

  “I shall be thinking, Hans. We must each of us play to our strengths.”

  Hans left the room muttering. Gretel began to pace once more. She was listing possible courses of action when a somewhat breathless Roland returned.

  “You found cats?” she asked.

  “A dozen or more.” He nodded. “And something else. Frau Peterson’s wagon is a large covered one, with the cat cages positioned near the rear. If you lift the canvas to look inside, all you see are cats. I was on the point of leaving when one of the larger animals moved and revealed something curious behind it. I investigated further and found, loosely wrapped, a frightening collection of weaponry.”

  “Swords, d’you mean?”

  “And shields and muskets. And gunpowder.”

  “Gunpowder!”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I think it means we have underestimated Frau Peterson. She is no longer satisfied with payment for the cats. I think she means to take the giant’s treasure.”

  “She would have to kill the giant to do so.”

  “Hence the gunpowder and the brawny physique of her companions.”

  When Hans reappeared, he was equally excited and more than a little alarmed. “I say, Gretel,” he puffed, “you’ll never guess what.”

  “No, probably not,” she said, judging it best to humor him.

  “Go on, try.”

  She might have continued to play the game and let him have his moment of importance, but the smug look on his face irritated her, and her patience frayed to nothing in an instant.

  “Inge and her men are going to attack the giant and try to steal all his treasure,” she said.

  Hans’s mouth gaped, his cigar stump dropping to the floor. “How the devil did you . . . ?”

  “Never mind me, how did you find out?”

  He grinned broadly. “Kristina is skilled at retaining interesting things she overhears. And she can be wonderfully helpful and accommodating, given the right encouragement.”

  “I hardly dare ask what that might be.”

  Hans put his thumbs in his waistcoat, puffed up with pride. “Oh,” he said casually, “a kind word in her ear, a gentle touch on her cheek, a simple kiss on her lips, a firm hand on her—”

  “Stop!” Gretel closed her eyes. “You have told me quite sufficient to give me nightmares. It is a mercy, therefore, that we are none of us going to sleep this night.”

  “No?” Hans deflated like a harpooned puffer fish.

  “Where are the clothes I sent you to fetch?”

  “Kristina’s seeing to it. She’s going to leave them in our trap. The food, too. But look here, we need our rest, you said. Proper sleep, you said.”

  “Circumstances demand our immediate action,” she told him. “It is imperative we arrive at the castle before Frau Peterson. We must get there, get inside, find Frau Hapsburg’s cats—”

  “If there are any living,” put in Roland.

  “—and ensure that witnesses are at hand to observe Inge Peterson’s nefarious actions and to extract a confession from her regarding the murders of which Hans and I stand accused.”

  Roland gasped. “You think she was responsible?”

  “I’m certain of it. I had my suspicions before, but now I believe, beyond doubt, that it was this ruthless creature who killed both the Muller brothers and the hapless Bechstein.”

  Hans’s brow knotted in puzzlement. “But why would she kill Bechstein? Why would anyone?”

  “I do not claim to have a complete set of the facts, as yet. All in good time. Now, there is much to be done. Roland, you will not be coming with us.”

  “What? But, fraulein, I have come this far, you will need me. I cannot let you face the giant alone.”

  “She has me,” Hans pointed out.

  Roland ignored him. “Fraulein, please reconsider.”

  Gretel put a comforting hand on his arm. “I am touched by your concern, but there is something else I must ask of you. There is more at stake than money here—my very freedom . . .”

  “And mine!” Hans reminded her.

  “I must convince someone of my innocence. Someone whose word will be trusted without question. I need you to ride to the Summer Schloss and take a message to Uber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand.” She took out her notebook and pencil, leaned over the small bedside table, and began to write. “Deliver it into his hands. Trust no one else.” She turned back to Roland. “It is a long journey. You must take our wonderfully swift horse and ride like the wind. Then offer to act as guide to the general and bring him to the giant’s castle. I will be waiting for you there.” She handed him the note and then another sheet of paper. “Here, draw me as good a map as you are able of the route my brother and I must follow.”

  Hans was shaking his head. “And what are we to do for a horse? I’m not getting between those shafts again, thank you very much. Haven’t got all the splinters out from the last time.”

  “We will borrow Frau Peterson’s animal.”

  “Oh, more borrowing again, is it? I’d think you would be worried about being accused of horse theft on top of everything else.”

  “Needs must, Hans. Besides, taking her horse will slow her down further. No doubt she will obtain another, but it will buy us precious time.”

  The three crept out of the inn and into the stables. The stable boy was given another coin to buy his silence and advised to make himself scarce before the missing horse was noticed. Kristina had clearly been won over by Hans, and a flask of beer, a small canvas bag of food, and a sack of clothing were in their trap. Gretel handed out garments, each one filthier and more grim than the last.

  “Great heavens, Hans. I suggested farmers, not vagrants,” she said.

  “‘Farmers or some such’ were your actual words, if I recall, which I’m pretty certain I do.”

  “Very well, you can take this,” she s
aid, thrusting a greasy greatcoat at him. “Here, Roland, there is a passable jacket and a cap. And a muffler.” She wrapped it around his neck. The boy looked suddenly terribly young to be entrusted with such a task. The night wind whined around the little barn, its icy fingers seeking out bare flesh through every crack and gap in the weathered boards.

  “Take care,” she told him as she gave him a leg up onto the fidgeting horse. “Speed is important, but it is a dark night, and the road is rough and uneven.” She caught herself revealing her concern and altered her manner. “Only remember, you are no good to anyone, least of all me, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I will remember, fraulein. Do not fear for me, but be wary of the giant. He can be courteous, almost solicitous, but he has a vile temper and does not heed his own strength.”

  The stable boy opened the rattling wooden door and they watched Roland gallop into the night.

  “Right.” Gretel marched toward Frau Peterson’s fat bay mare. “You, my dear, are coming with us.”

  With Hans’s help she maneuvered the animal between the shafts of the trap. They repacked their few possessions and their provisions. Hans’s movements were slightly hampered by the length of his greatcoat, which had clearly been cut for a taller make of man, and one with a more slender girth. The selvedges did not quite meet, but had to be held together with a stiff leather belt. Gretel recoiled at his choice of headgear.

  “Scoff all you like,” Hans told her, adjusting dangling earflaps on the brown lamb’s-wool bonnet so that it covered as much of his head and neck as possible. “I will be warm.”

  Gretel’s own outfit comprised a pinafore of some sort of red, felted wool, fur-lined boots at least one size too big, and a pair of leathery mittens. She put everything on top of her own cotton dress, and topped off the ensemble with the cape she was very glad to have snatched from the hallway as she fled from Gesternstadt. What a long time ago it all seemed now.

  “Haven’t you a hat?” asked Hans. “The wind will be bitter.”

  Gretel dug deeper in the sack in which the clothes had been stashed. At the bottom her hand met something soft and fluffy, making her shriek. She forced herself to pull it out. It was a deep-crowned black hat made of the fur of an animal that must have inhabited a place of fearsomely low temperatures, so thick and bushy was its pelt.

  Gretel jammed it onto her head. Hans stifled a guffaw. “Don’t,” she warned him. “Just, do not.”

  Hans climbed aboard.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “I wouldn’t want Inge Whatever-her-name-is and her merry men catching us taking their nag.”

  The stable boy held open the door once more. The night outside looked ever more bleak and inhospitable.

  “One more thing,” said Gretel. She stepped over to Inge’s wagon, reached inside, and pulled out a cage of cats. She hurried back to the trap and buried them beneath the sacking.

  “What the devil do we want with those?” asked Hans. “I thought we were going to rescue cats. You know, get them out, not take them in.”

  “These,” said Gretel, patting the angular shape beneath the hessian, “are our ticket into the castle.” She hauled herself into the trap beside Hans, took up the reins, and flicked them across the mare’s broad rump. “On you go, old girl!”

  The horse did not move. “Yah! Hup, hup! On with you!”

  The animal remained where it stood, its feet firmly planted on the dusty but dry floor of the barn, its ears flat back, giving it an exceptionally bad-tempered expression. “She doesn’t like the look of it out there,” said Hans. “Can’t say I blame her.”

  Gretel slapped the reins smartly down on the mare’s backside twice more, but nothing would induce the creature to take a step.

  “Hans, you’ll have to get down and lead her.”

  “Why me?”

  “Just do it! She probably needs a bit of encouragement to get her started.”

  Muttering complaints, Hans climbed down. He took hold of the bridle and pulled while Gretel made vaguely threatening noises from the trap.

  “It’s no use,” Hans told her. “She simply isn’t going to move.”

  Gretel called to the stable boy. “Find me a whip.”

  “No!” Hans was horrified. “You can’t whip the poor thing.”

  “This is not the time for sentiment,” said Gretel. “If she won’t be persuaded, she must be forced.”

  “Wait a moment,” he said, digging into his trouser pocket. “Let me try something.” Gretel craned her neck to see what he was doing but her view was obscured by the mare’s bulky shape. Hans appeared to whisper in the animal’s ear for a moment and then feed her some small tidbit. The horse chomped thoughtfully and then nuzzled him for more. “Try now!” he called back to Gretel, tugging gently at the bridle.

  The mare hesitated, and then began to shuffle forward. Hans fed her a morsel more. Her ears took up a more cheerful position and she gave a little swish of her tail.

  “Get back in, Hans. Quickly.”

  He scrambled aboard. Gretel clicked her tongue and the horse at last leaned into the collar and set off down the road. Whatever treat Hans had found for her had woken her up sufficiently to discover that her new cargo was considerably lighter than the heavy wagon she had been accustomed to pulling. Soon they were jogging along, the trap swinging slightly to the rhythm of the mare’s short but purposeful stride.

  “What on earth did you give her, Hans?”

  “Oh, just a little toffee.”

  “Toffee! All the vile food we’ve had to endure and you have been in possession of a secret supply of toffee?”

  “Come on, Gretel, it’s just a few chunks. Not enough to go round, really . . .” He was silenced by her hard stare.

  The road climbed ever upward, the temperature dropping with each vertiginous bend. It was as if they were entering territory so remote, so inhospitable, so devoid of redeeming features, that even spring did not trouble itself to visit. The land became rocky and sparsely treed. Here and there a lost sheep dug at the frozen earth to get at the very roots of the shriveling grass, so little sustenance was there to be found above ground. The night sky was cloudless, and a cold moon lit their progress. They were traveling into a cruel wind that seemed intent on pushing them back down the hill, snatching away their breath clouds, tugging at any uncovered hair, and stinging their faces until their eyes watered.

  Gretel felt the chill of doubt creeping into her mind. What if Inge caught up to them in this desolate place? What if the giant merely snatched the cats from her and refused to admit her into the cave-castle? What if he did let her in and then . . . ? And what if Roland failed to reach the Summer Schloss and return with Ferdinand von Ferdinand in time? She shook such thoughts away—no good could come of dwelling on them.

  Flicking the reins and clicking her tongue, she urged the mare on. According to Roland’s map, even at such a pedestrian speed, they should be in sight of the giant’s abode before dawn.

  As the miles jogged by, Gretel allowed her thoughts to wander. She found, even amid the peril and uncertainty she faced, that there was one detail of her immediate future that was giving her a little inner lift, a definite spark of enthusiasm, a minuscule frisson of excitement. It was the prospect of once again being in the company of Uber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand. She tutted at her own foolishness. The man had given her no definitive reason to believe he was interested in her beyond the requirements of his position as aide to King Julian. It was nonsense, therefore, to allow herself to entertain girlish notions of what-ifs and I-wonders. And yet, and yet . . . there had been a special glance here, a lingering look there, perhaps even the teeniest spark passing between them.

  “Look!” cried Hans, hoarse from the cold. “Look at that!”

  Gretel pulled herself from her reverie and focused on the cause of her brother’s excitement.

  They had rounded another hairpin bend and revealed before them was a great wall of rock; a towering mountain of stone that seemed to v
anish upward into the dawn-lit skies. There was not a tree or a bush to relieve the unyielding, sheer face of the hillside, only hideous gargoyles at irregular intervals, finials of stone and iron, heavy bars across inaccessibly high windows, and one, single, magnificent portal. Taller than a house, the gigantic double doors were constructed of huge timbers strapped together with steel, hinged and studded with iron. These were doors for keeping shut. Doors for keeping people out. And, quite possibly, doors for keeping people in. What they most evidently were not were doors that encouraged flimsy strangers to knock upon them in pursuit of a hare-brained scheme of short planning and unlikely success. Even the wind that had accompanied Hans and Gretel on their journey took fright and disappeared. She was suddenly reminded of how long it had been since she had had the opportunity to spend time in her own, safe water closet. Her bowels rumbled ominously. The gray sky glowered ominously. Nearby a crow cawed ominously. She raised her chin, set her jaw, and did her utmost to shut out such things.

  “Good Lord,” said Hans, “that looks ominous.”

  Gretel scowled at him. “It is a door into a cave. That is precisely what we were told to expect.”

  “Yes, but, what a door. What a cave.”

  “It is simply a matter of scale,” she said. “We are calling upon a giant, not an elf.”

  “Pity,” said Hans. “Elf sounds rather good to me just now. Quite like elves. Small fellows. Not in the least threatening or terrifying. Don’t look for a minute like they might pull off one’s limbs and devour one for dinner.”

  “Hans.”

  “Yes?”

  “Be quiet.”

  They maneuvered the trap until it was hidden behind a smaller lump of rock. Gretel quickly ate a little weisswurst, lamenting the lack of mustard, and chomped through a stale cracker, washing it all down with a swig of ale. It tasted unhelpfully weak and watery, so that she found herself recalling the troll’s grog quite fondly. She emptied the canvas bag and slipped it over her head and shoulder, but beneath her cape.