Borrower of the Night vbm-1

by Elizabeth Peters

  ‘How did he find out about the shrine?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘He read the same book you all found, and reached the same conclusion. When you arrived he got panicky. He wanted the shrine and he was afraid you’d beat him to it. I met him prowling the corridors one night and persuaded him to join forces with me to discourage you. But he didn’t realize how far I was prepared to go. The night we staged the armour episode, I had to use the dagger myself, after I tapped Tony on the head. The sight of blood sent the old fool into a tailspin. I had to keep him from yelling, and in the struggle he passed out. I thought I was going to have an attack myself before I got him out of that armour and into his room, so I could rush down to take my part in the drama.’

  ‘And the second attack? Staring eyes, look of horror?’

  ‘Baffling, wasn’t it?’ George grinned. ‘I only meant to scare him. He was threatening to confess all.’

  ‘Then the Gräfin is in with you,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Tony said wildly. ‘Everybody’s guilty. There’s only supposed to be one criminal. What about Miss Burton?’

  ‘She is innocent, if that consoles you any. Arrogant, stupid, and innocent.’

  ‘Nolan, don’t you see you’re being used?’ Tony demanded. ‘That old bitch is in the clear. She’ll end up with the shrine, after you’ve killed Irma, and you’ll end up in the chair, or whatever they use in this country. You’re a stooge, buddy; a lousy cat’s-paw.’

  For the first, and last time in his life, he hit George where it hurt. The big white grin disappeared. George took a step forward, almost stumbling ovet Irma, and Tony braced himself. I got ready to jump. Then I saw two things.

  One was a hand, whose whitened fingers were curled gruesomely over the edge of the topmost step. The other was Irma’s eyes – wide open.

  ‘No,’ I said hysterically. ‘No, don’t! Don’t kill us!’ I threw myself onto my knees, yelped as the gritty stone bit into my lacerated skin, and wriggled gracefully forwards until my body was between George and the stairwell.

  It was no use. George’s gun stayed smack on Tony’s liver, and Blankenhagen followed his hand out onto the roof.

  He looked like death walking – tattered, bloody, smeared with dust and cobwebs. He was an automaton, moving by pure will. It was so awful it was fascinating; I half expected to see him walk stiff-legged into a hail of bullets, like the monster out of Frankenstein.

  Everybody has his limits, though, and Blankenhagen reached his. He fell to his knees, his eyes crossed and his mouth half open.

  ‘What do I have to do, use a meat cleaver?’ George demanded irritably. ‘All right; you’ll be out of your misery in just a few seconds.’

  I didn’t see exactly what happened. My eyes, like those of the others, were fixed on Blankenhagen. I saw enough, though, to keep my dreams uneasy for some time to come. Suddenly Irma was up on her hands and knees. George’s arms were in the air, flailing frantically. I’ll never forget the expression on his face. The sudden change from triumph to failure, and his awareness of it, were blended with the most ghastly terror. For a moment he tottered on the edge of oblivion. Then he was gone. His scream came up like a shriek of anguish from some bodiless ghost borne through the air by the scudding clouds. It ended in another sound. Then there was silence.

  I looked at Irma. She had risen to one knee. Her arm was lifted in the gesture that had just sent a man to a messy death. Her black hair was whipped about her face by the wind, and her eyes were enormous.

  ‘Well,’ said Tony weakly, ‘well, well, well . . .’

  He might have gone on like that indefinitely if Irma had not interrupted.

  ‘He would have killed you,’ she cried, gesturing from Tony to the prostrate form of the doctor. ‘Should I lie still and see him kill you?’

  She didn’t mention me. I was in no position to complain; I don’t mind having my life saved as an afterthought.

  I cleared my throat. Nobody looked at me. Irma had decided the doctor was the more pathetic of her two heroes, and had taken his bloody head onto her lap. She was crooning over him, and I thought I detected a slight smirk on his face. One of his eyes was open; when he saw me staring, it quickly closed. Tony was trying to look pitiful too, but he couldn’t match Blankenhagen’s performance.

  ‘Somebody should go for help,’ I said. ‘Hey, Tony – ’

  ‘Aber nicht!’ Irma gave me a cold look. ‘He cannot go, he is bleeding, in pain – near death, in saving our lives. Run! Go at once!’

  ‘Run?’ I said. ‘Me?’

  Tony moaned and let his head fall back against the parapet.

  ‘You creep,’ I said to him. I looked at Blankenhagen. ‘The same to you,’ I said. With great dignity I crawled to the stairs and started down them.

  I covered about half the distance to the Schloss before my legs gave out. Shivering with shock and reaction, I squatted in a patch of nettles and let my mind wander.

  The outlines of the castle wall wavered like fog in front of my half-closed eyes. I was sick. I was thirsty. I was all covered with dirt, and nobody loved me.

  After a while my head cleared a little, and I tried to think. Maybe I should go directly to the police. The idea made me giggle wildly. They would take one look at me and send for a doctor. Meanwhile the Gräfin would be on the loose. What if she took a notion to go out and see how George was coming along with his murder? Tony’s groans weren’t altogether phony, he wasn’t in shape to fight anybody, and the Gräfin had always scared the hell out of him. She wouldn’t have to shoot him; she would just stare at him. He would shrivel up and blow away. So would I, if I ran into the old lady now. She could demolish me with a breath.

  ‘What I need,’ I said aloud, ‘is an army. Right now.’

  Then I remembered a fact out of a past that seemed years away. I hauled myself to my feet and headed for the front door of the castle.

  My entrance was public, and as spectacular as any ham actress could have prayed for. In the hall I met one of the blond waitresses on her way to the lounge with a big tray of steins. I grimaced into her horrified face and went on my way, hearing the crash of glassware behind me. In the lounge was the group I had hoped to see – the university kids, brimming over with beer and song and youthful joie de vivre. I was incapable of counting them, but the general effect was just what I wanted.

  ‘Guten Abend,’ I said politely and saw four . . . eight . . . sixteen – good heavens, how many were there? – all those eyes focus in glazed stares. I’m sure they expected me to bend over and extract a knife from my stocking. Only I wasn’t wearing stockings.

  ‘There has been an accident,’ I said, in my best German. ‘We must have the police. And a doctor. And on the top of the keep, behind this place, you will find several people who need to be transported to the Schloss. And – could I have a drink?’

  I fell flat on my face, but they wouldn’t let me pass out; dozens of enthusiastic arms bore me to a couch and another arm poured the dregs of a glass of beer down my throat. I lapped it up like a dog, and somebody brought a full glass, and somebody else held my head . . . I have some unpleasant memories about my sojourn at the Schloss, but the heavenly coldness of that beer trickling down my dusty gullet compensated for all of them.

  I shouldn’t have had it, though; on an empty stomach it was almost disastrous. After a while I found myself lying flat on the couch with my head floating up somewhere near the ceiling and a handsome tanned boy bending over me with a glass of brandy.

  ‘Oy,’ I said, pushing it away. ‘That I don’t need. Will you please – ’

  ‘I am a student of medicine,’ said the boy grandly. ‘Rest quietly, Fräulein, all has been done as you directed. But what in God’s name has happened?’

  ‘Look at my face,’ I said hysterically. ‘I know I’m drunk, but I can’t help looking like this, I didn’t do it on purpose; and I don’t know why all you men can’t stop looking at my – ’

  He had been patting me – absentmind
edly, I’m sure. He got quite red and leaped to his feet.

  ‘I apologize! No disrespect was intended – ’

  ‘I know,’ I said sadly.

  I had not forgotten the Gräfin, but I was no longer worried about her; with all those husky witnesses rushing around, it was unlikely that she could do any more damage. She must have heard all the activity and come down to see what was going on. When I saw her standing in the doorway, I struggled to a sitting position.

  She dismissed the student with an autocratic wave of her hand. Her faint smile, as she studied my unkempt person, told me more clearly than any mirror how terrible I must look. It stung me into relative coherence.

  ‘Grin all you want,’ I said. ‘You still lose. All is known.’

  Her smile didn’t change.

  ‘Poor girl, you are delirious after all you have suffered. But if you will insist on prying into places where you have no right to be – ’

  ‘It won’t work,’ I said. ‘George is dead.’

  That did it. Her smile vanished.

  ‘I’m going to let you go,’ I said. ‘I hate to do it, but without George I’m not sure how much we can prove. In your position, though, I wouldn’t risk it.’

  ‘You would turn an old woman from her home?’

  ‘You can go live with Miss Burton. I’ll bet she’s loaded; you wouldn’t cultivate her for her gracious personality. And you probably have plenty stashed away. You’ve been milking this place of its saleable antiques for years.’

  She stood there looking at me with the Medusa stare that had paralyzed so many luckless victims. It didn’t affect me. She had no power, except over weak minds like Irma’s and Miss Burton’s.

  ‘The police will be here any minute,’ I said.

  She left.

  The local constabulary of Rothenburg, accustomed to drunken brawls and traffic jams, were out of their depth at the Schloss. The case was closed. There was nothing for them to do but gather up the wounded. However, they were understandably confounded by the train of events. Finally one of them settled the matter.

  ‘Mad,’ he said, tapping his forehead. ‘The man was mad, no doubt.’

  Everyone agreed. Then, at long last, they led me to my room, and with a groan of voluptuous satisfaction I fell full length on the bed, dirty and half naked as I was, and let my poor old eyes close.

  It was late the following afternoon when we all assembled in my room for the denouement. I had slept till noon. Then I washed. That took quite a while. I spent the rest of the time at the hospital with Schmidt, who was coming along nicely. We had a fascinating talk. I was giddy with the implications when I joined the others.

  Tony and Blankenhagen were still acting like wounded heroes. I thought Tony had overdone the bandages just a bit, but the effect was impressive.

  Irma looked beautiful. She hadn’t dug through forty feet of dirt or fallen down a shaft or crawled through a couple of miles of brambles. She had simply rested peacefully for a few hours. She was safe, rich, beautiful, and surrounded by men who had risked all for her sake – at least that was how she thought of it. No wonder she looked gorgeous. She could even afford to be nice to me. She made me a pretty little speech thanking me for my help.

  I looked at my bare arms, which were covered with a network of scratches, and squinted at the tip of my nose, which had a scab on it, and I said dispiritedly, ‘Oh, no problem. I had a talk with your aunt last night. I was dignified, but convincing.’

  ‘You should not have let her escape,’ said Blankenhagen critically.

  ‘It would be hard to prove her guilty of anything except poisoning Irma’s mind. That kind of crime is hard to describe in a court of law.’

  ‘It was a nightmare.’ Irma shivered prettily. ‘To think that the soul of that dead woman could seize my body . . ’

  All of us looked at that astounding portrait. ‘Damn it,’ Tony muttered. ‘The resemblance is uncanny.’

  ‘Not really.’ I lifted the portrait off the wall. I had had plenty of time to study it, and I wasn’t proud of myself for seeing the truth. It should not have taken me so long. ‘The Gräfin didn’t miss a trick. See how faded the rest of the picture is, compared to the face? Someone has touched it up.’

  ‘You mean – that is not how she looked?’ Irma gasped.

  ‘No one will ever know what she looked like.’ I tossed the portrait carelessly onto the bed. ‘When your aunt mentioned that she had studied painting . . .’ I shrugged. ‘If you doubt me, have an expert examine this thing. Even I can see that it is modern work.’

  ‘It started so long ago,’ Irma said, pressing her hands to her face in another of those pretty, fragile gestures. ‘Even before my uncle died, she hated me. Then, later, she started to tell me stories – terrible stories about the crimes of the Drachensteins and the burning of Konstanze. I had not noticed the portrait till she showed it to me; there are so many faded pictures here.’

  ‘She had to keep you off balance so she could steal your belongings,’ Tony said.

  ‘She sold even the locks from the doors. She said there was no money from my uncle, that we had to live.’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘Everybody has a few rotten apples on the family tree. We all have the same family tree, if you go back far enough. I have a little surprise for you that should take your mind off your troubles.’

  ‘I hope,’ said Blankenhagen apprehensively, ‘that you do not want any stones moved?’

  ‘I’m no more anxious to move stones than you are. George has already been here, so it shouldn’t be necessary.’

  Mortar had been cleared from around four stones that formed a door. It yielded easily to the pressure of my hand, exposing a dark cavity in the wall. The space was almost filled by a big wooden box. Everyone rushed forwards to help me get it out onto the table. I brushed off some of the encrusted dirt and broke the corroded hasp with a twist of my hands. The front of the box fell away.

  Against a Gothic tracery of carved vines and flowers sat the Virgin, her unbound hair flowing over her blue robe, her hands lightly touching the Child on her knee. Above them, cunningly supported by sections of the vine, hovered two angels, slender youths with austere young faces and lifted golden wings. One of the wings was missing.

  The three kings knelt at Mary’s feet, and for a disgraceful interlude my eyes forgot the beauty of the carving and lingered greedily on the stones set in the sculptured forms. Balthasar was dressed in crimson; on his head, framed in gold, was an emerald whose depths caught the sunlight and flung it back in a thousand green reflections. Melchoir, behind him, wore a turban set with a great baroque pearl. The third king, balancing the group on the right, lifted his gift in both hands: a golden bowl, holding a globe of scarlet fire.

  Irma’s eyes were as round as saucers.

  ‘Mine?’ she said, in a childish squeak.

  ‘Yep,’ I said.

  She was staring at the stones, not the figures. Her open mouth was pink and pretty and wet and greedy. And then, just as I was enjoying my contempt for her, she did something that cut the ground out from under my feet.

  ‘No, it is yours,’ she said suddenly. ‘Three gems, for the three who saved my life. Do they measure any value compared to that?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Blankenhagen; and ‘My God, no,’ said Tony.

  They could afford to be noble. Whoever married Irma – and I figured they had an equal chance, she was ready to fall into the arms of any man who asked her – got all three stones. I felt old and wise and rather sad. She was corny, but she was a good kid. I think she really meant it – for about a minute and a half.

  ‘Aw,’ I said, ‘shucks. Forget it, Irma.’

  ‘But I mean it!’

  ‘Sure you do. But we can’t accept anything like that.’

  ‘But – but what can I do with it?’ Irma asked helplessly.

  ‘The National museum, I think,’ said Blankenhagen. ‘It is the richest in Germany; it will offer a fair price.’

  �
��The Met, or some foreign museum, might offer more,’ said Tony. Irma looked at him.

  ‘No,’ said Blankenhagen firmly. Irma looked at him. ‘It is fitting that such a treasure should remain in Germany.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Tell you one thing. If I were you, I’d take those jewels out and sell them separately. Nobody can afford to buy the shrine as it is; and the jewels will attract every crook on two continents. You can substitute paste copies without affecting the beauty of the workmanship; and isn’t that the important thing?’

  ‘Are you always right?’ asked Blankenhagen, looking at me severely. ‘You are too clever. That is a very annoying quality. How did you know the shrine was here, in this room?’

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said modestly; ‘that was easy. You told Irma about the arsenic, and Burckhardt’s murder? But don’t you see, that was the clue we were looking for. Many of the details will never be known; but I think I can reconstruct the outlines of the story now.

  ‘Konstanze was young, seventeen or eighteen, when Burckhardt married her and brought her here. Yet even then she must have been deeply involved in the witch cult; they started young, usually at puberty. It isn’t surprising that she should have learned to despise her oafish husband. Maybe she turned to Nicolas because he was available, and corrupted him. Maybe he didn’t need corrupting. A man of his ability must have hated the social system that labelled him inferior, and the ignorant clod who exemplified that system.

  ‘Anyhow, I’m sure the two became lovers before the Revolt broke out. Konstanze had been poisoning her husband for some time; it takes several months for arsenic to work its way through the body and show up in the hair and nails. And there were all those references to Burckhardt’s queasy stomach, remember?

  ‘Burckhardt’s call to arms must have pleased her. She wouldn’t have shed any tears if he had been killed in battle. Then the matter of the shrine came up, and that was a real bonus. I can see Konstanze drooling over those jewels and cursing the old count for giving them to the church.