Graves crossed his arms and tossed his hair back from his forehead. ‘Our concerns are with what happened before that devil arrived. Perhaps we will have a chance to shoot him later. Very well, let us begin. What are you looking at me like that for?’
‘I think I am glad you are come, Owen.’
Graves looked a little shy. ‘I promised your mother that I’d look after you. And Susan. If you come back all wan-looking and destroyed, it will only make her passion for you stronger, you know. I want you fat and balding before my ward is out on the marriage market, otherwise all men shall be compared to you and be found wanting.’
‘And we wouldn’t want that, would we?’ Daniel said.
‘No, we damn well wouldn’t.’
The cell became a hive of activity. Harriet asked the guard at the door to send them up something to eat, then turned to see the younger people preparing to set to work. It was a moment where she felt the difference between them. They seemed eager, revived. She knew there was something desperate in their sudden energy, but thought it better they exhaust themselves. It would do them all good. They were preparing a sheet for each day that Rachel and Clode had been at court, then some fierce discussion ensued if it would be better to instead have a sheet for each personage encountered. Harriet felt weary, and wished for Crowther.
III.5
PEGEL WATCHED THE HOUSE of Dunktal all afternoon. He thought of Florian coming to find him, then leaving disappointed, and felt a slight shiver of regret. However, his job was to follow the trail and this was where it had led him. A house that suggested prosperity, but not great wealth. There was a man in a green coat working at the window upstairs. It took an hour before Pegel recognised him as one of the men he had seen leaving the back room of the bar in Leuchtenstadt where he had first set eyes on Florian. He had left some hours before the others, so Pegel had not thought him important. It seemed he had been wrong.
He had expected some activity, some stirring within – but nothing came. The news of the attack on Florian did not seem sufficient to scare Dunktal into the streets. Jacob consulted his notebook again. The message had reached Dunktal, Dunktal had sent messages back, but none forward. Pegel wanted very much to get into that upper room where the man was working so assiduously, but he might be there for hours, days even. He needed to alarm one of the lieutenants enough that Dunktal would need to provide reassurance in person. He looked at the list of people who had sent to Dunktal. Three. Two men and a woman, the wife of the Head of the Law Faculty. She lived on Charlottenstrasse. Now these friends of Florian obviously liked to think of themselves as the noblest of men. If a woman were threatened, surely Dunktal would not only send a polite coded note. He would go there himself – ideally in such a hurry he would forget to lock his door. But what manner of threat should it be? Nothing like the attack on Florian, of course, but it had to look as if it came from the same source. One of the odd little books of alchemy and allegory the Rosicrucians claimed as their manifesto would do nicely. Sent with no note. He tapped his pencil on his teeth and hid away his notebook, then sauntered up the road until he found a bookseller who had what he required, a cheap printing of The Chemical Wedding. He had it wrapped and then found a boy at play among the gutters and handed it to him. ‘Fourpence to deliver it,’ he said. The boy looked suspicious. ‘And if they try and get you to say who sent it, tell them a man in a brown coat with a yellow wig. I’ll be by and listening. Do as I tell you and there’s another fourpence. Deal?’
The boy put out his hand.
It worked just as Pegel had hoped. The boy handed over the package to a manservant who disappeared back into the house on Charlottenstrasse. The boy began to slouch away, then the door was pulled open and the manservant re-emerged and made a dash for him, catching him by the collar and lifting him almost off the ground. Pegel heard the boy whine out, ‘Yellow wig,’ then watched the gentleman look about him before striding back into the house. When the door was shut, Pegel beckoned the boy over and gave him the promised fee, then trotted back to his post outside Dunktal’s house. The same manservant from the house on Charlottenstrasse arrived soon after him and was admitted. Five minutes later, and he and Dunktal were off again, and walking at a cracking pace.
The manservant had left first, with his hat pulled down hard over his wig, then Dunktal followed, locking the door behind him and tugging at the latch to check it held. Pegel reckoned he had maybe an hour.
There were too many comings and goings on the street to risk picking the lock on the front door, so Pegel slipped into the yard and up the back staircase. It was a risk, certainly, but the veranda had a low bowed roof on it which gave him some shade, and at this time of day most people’s business faced forward, onto the street. There was a stout lock on the back door too, but Pegel was prepared for that. He pulled a long iron bar from under his coat and fitted it into the padlock. The only worry was the wait until he heard the rattle of a coach passing by, then he pressed down hard, and the snap of the lock was lost in the sparking rattle of iron wheels on cobbles.
District Officer von Krall did not keep Crowther waiting long, for which Crowther was grateful. He had underestimated Manzerotti’s ability to shake him. He sat at his desk for some quarter of an hour trying to concentrate on what the castrato had said about the drug on the mask and recall what he knew of datura. Very little, he had to admit to himself. The only story he remembered with any clarity was of a doctor who had served in the American wars. He reported a case of a family, found by their neighbours sick and raving in the road in front of their farm. They claimed to see visions of Christ descending. Luckily their neighbour fetched a doctor as well as a priest. The latter prayed with them, while the former interrogated their maid of all work. The youngest girl in the family had been sent to pick greens for their midday meal, and the doctor found alongside their neat rows of vegetables a thorn-apple bush. Datura Inoxia. The doctor had done his best, but the little girl could not be saved.
The knock at the door came and another of the ubiquitous footmen bowed the District Officer into Crowther’s chamber. They exchanged slightly awkward bows, then Krall sighed and lowered himself onto one of the armchairs.
‘Drowned? Truly? You’re not blowing smoke in my eyes, Mr Crowther?’
Crowther smiled. Krall’s English was redolent of the docks more than the drawing room. He gathered some of the sheets from his writing-table before taking a seat opposite him.
‘I am not. The evidence is in the notes you yourself prepared, Herr von Krall.’ He pointed out the relevant passages and explained their significance. The District Officer shook his head.
‘I thought that Professor was a damn fool.’
Crowther sat back and put his fingertips together. ‘Your English is remarkably fluent.’
Krall scratched his chin. ‘Four years in London.’
‘And your opinion of the English?’
‘What? Oh, that they are like the Germans. All just wanting to be a little better than their neighbours. Why do you ask?’
‘Simply curious.’ Crowther felt Krall’s eyes travel over him, and the corner of the District Officer’s mouth lifted.
‘Wondering if I’m prone to be prejudiced against you and your little group, more like.’ Crowther lifted his shoulders slightly. ‘No, Mr Crowther. I am glad of your help, and too old to want the glory of finding out the truth of this nonsense myself. Shall we talk it through?’
They did, and by the time they had done Crowther was confirmed in his respect for his unpolished companion. The broken carafe on the floor was dismissed by them both. Krall had put his hand to his head and with visible effort tried to recall any scraps from his memory not already faithfully recorded in his reports that could be significant. There had been water in the smaller of the back rooms for the ladies to wash, and in a large basin that could have been sufficient to drown a woman in, if she were held with considerable force. But again, the lack of signs of a struggle gave them doubt.
‘What i
f she were drugged also?’ Crowther said at last. ‘There are substances that can cause great weakness, lassitude. If a man were capable of making a substance that could cause Clode’s visions, he could also create something that would make a person weak, but that would leave no trace in the body.’
Krall had his shoulders hunched. ‘Sounds more likely than Lady Martesen just holding still while someone drowns her. Indeed. If you are at liberty, Mr Crowther, perhaps we might make a call on a gentleman of my acquaintance who might give us some help in the matter.’
‘I am willing.’ Crowther stood and picked up his cane.
‘It will also give us the opportunity to get out of this damn palace,’ Krall added.
‘In that case,’ Crowther said, ‘I am delighted.’
‘I’m sorry, Clode, what did you say then?’ Harriet said.
‘I mentioned that on the third evening, I was invited to attend a meeting of the local Lodge of Freemasonry, Harriet,’ he said, looking across at her. He already looked a great deal improved. ‘But of course, I can say nothing about it, other than that nothing remarkable occurred.’
‘Why can you say nothing about it?’
Rachel took the opportunity to set about mending her pen. ‘Harry, you know it is a secret society.’
‘Not very secret, Rachel. When Daniel’s Lodge opened the charity school in Pulborough, they had a parade! And the bookseller in town always has at least one pamphlet on display on the rituals and secrets of Freemasonry.’
Daniel smiled. ‘It’s different here, Harriet. The Catholic Church has banned membership, and though I doubt that bothers many Englishmen, it is a consideration here. There are any number of groups calling themselves Freemasons on the continent, and very few of them bear much relationship with the English Lodges. That is my understanding and experience. Some even admit women. But it is a useful way to meet people away from the court. One only encounters nobles there.’
‘Have you been to many meetings while in Germany, Clode? And don’t look at Graves as if you need his permission to speak! I haven’t asked you for any of your secret words of power.’ Harriet folded her arms. ‘I read one of those pamphlets once. I cannot say I was greatly impressed with the poetry of the drinking songs.’
Graves grinned, and Daniel said, ‘Very well. I have been to several meetings of different Lodges here and in Berlin. Various of the gentlemen I have met who have business dealings with the Sussex estate are members of one Lodge or other. When they recognise I am a Freemason as well, they invite me along.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘It is a sort of international gentlemen’s club.’
Harriet still had her chin in the air. ‘Like-minded men of business?’
‘Never any harm in making friends, Harriet.’
She sighed and sat back in her chair.
‘Clode, have you come across any group calling themselves the Minervals in your travels?’ Graves asked.
‘No – why do you ask?’
‘Just that, during a Lodge meeting I attended in London last year, there was a German fellow visiting, and he was full of dire threats about them.’
‘What manner of terrible threats, Graves?’ Harriet asked, putting her chin in her hand. Then, when he looked a little sheepish: ‘If you do not explain, I will tell Verity you were not helpful.’
Graves cleared his throat. ‘I suppose it will be all right, in the circumstances. This chap had been at a conference in Wilhelmsbad in eighty-two, and he met some of these fellows there. They were recruiting from the ranks of the Freemasons, he said, and he became convinced they were intent on overthrowing the governments of Europe. He claimed they had spies and agents everywhere and saw chucking over the old order as a duty. Seemed a little crazed to me.’
Rachel was arranging the papers disturbed by Graves’s elbow. ‘In such a place as Ulrichsberg, I have some sympathy with them.’
Graves was silent for a moment. ‘You know, Clode, if this plot against you had succeeded, we would have refused to renegotiate the bonds and demanded the repayment of the principal.’
‘That would have been foolish.’
‘Probably, but we would have done it. It might have been an embarrassment to Maulberg.’
‘You think a group of revolutionary Freemasons has been plotting against me, Graves?’ Clode shook his head. ‘It seems unlikely, though between the wedding and the death of their Chief Privy Councillor last year, I do not think they know what money is in the Treasury at all. It is said round court, he once told the Duke, if he wished to put on the Carnival he had planned, he would not be able to feed himself the next day. And now that wise hand is removed.’
‘What was his name?’ Harriet said sharply.
Clode looked at her curiously. ‘Count von Warburg, I think.’
‘How did he die?’
‘There was a fire.’
III.6
PEGEL STOOD IN THE room in which he had seen the gentleman writing, and thought. If he was correct in his assumptions – and he was sure he was – the message he had sent had travelled upwards and come to a rest in this place. Therefore here was the top of the tree, and it was very interesting Dunktal had not sent a message to some other town. Did he have any masters? That was just one of several rather pressing questions.
If there were crucial papers here, and that was what Pegel had come in to search for, Dunktal would not be so stupid as to leave them loose on his desk. He thought of Florian’s terrible sincerity, his idealism. Did that extend up the organisation too? If so, and given the apparent love of secrecy and symbols, all these codes and owls, it was possible the gentleman would leave the papers somewhere clever. Pegel had discovered that life was easier when people tried to be clever, since it often made them obvious. A clever code was far easier to break than a random one, a clever hiding-place much easier to find than an unlikely one. He would have to assume that this gentleman would want his putative papers to hand. That meant this room. Good. Now for the clever bit.
The walls were lined with books – Lord, these radicals loved to read. Pegel stood very still, letting the details of the room shift and settle in his mind as he panned his impressions for gold. There it was. On the bottom of the bookshelf, crushed into the corner by any number of volumes on law, was a large, elderly-looking Bible. If Florian was anything to go by, these people were not religious. Perhaps it was an heirloom of the family? Then surely it should be on display downstairs in the public rooms, not tucked up here. He teased it out of the shelf towards him and considered. It was certainly lighter than it should be. He picked it up and cradled it between his forearms.
‘Open Sesame!’ he said in a deep voice, then gave a soft whistle. It was hollowed out and a thick stack of letters and papers lay in the nest cut out for them. He grinned, considered, set the Bible down on the desk, then spent five minutes giving the room the look of a place speedily ransacked. He pulled out the desk drawers and scattered the papers, yanked out a random number of volumes from the upper shelves and dropped them all so their spines snapped. The pages that had been loose on the desktop when he entered, he threw over his shoulder.
His ransacking done, he sat down on the floor with the papers from the Bible and sorted through them. Some were letters in plain language. Of these he noted down an idea of the contents, and names used; these were mostly classical pseudonyms, but one never knew where these things might lead, and each one was addressed to Spartacus. So Spartacus is Dunktal, he thought. The signatures were similarly unlikely, though Pegel grinned, his eyebrows raised, to see letters apparently from some of the Muses of Antiquity. For Muses, he couldn’t help thinking, they wrote ugly sentences. Some pages seemed to be instructions on the recruitment and training of members; others some of the central tenets of the organisation. He whistled silently and made notes. Several sheets were in code and there were three longer documents that seemed to have been written by the same hand, and bearing the same date. They must be copied exactly and there was no way of knowing how much time he had. H
e set down his notebook, picked up the coal-scuttle and emptied its contents down the stairs then shut the door, wedged a chair under it and opened the hatchway into the attic.
Thus, as prepared as he could be, he settled down to his work.
‘An alchemist?’ Crowther said coldly.
‘Yes,’ Krall replied, and knocked again. ‘He is a good man. He was an apothecary.’
‘The drugs used on Clode are of a sophistication—’
‘Bugger off!’ The voice sounded from deep within.
Krall rattled the handle again. ‘Open up now, Adam, or I will break down the door.’
‘I said, bugger off!’
Crowther looked around the square while negotiations continued. So even in a city as new as Ulrichsberg there were places that could look neglected. The house at which Krall hammered so vigorously looked like a crabbed old woman surrounded by spring brides. Its windows were thick with filth, there were tiles loose and greenery sprouted from the gutters. The paint on the half-timbering was peeled. The houses on either side showed what it should have been and it seemed to hunker and slump between them, neglected and resentful. Above the door was a faded emblem of a unicorn.
Krall began to count slowly down from ten and a new storm of expletives erupted from behind the low door. Crowther was a little gratified to realise how many of them he understood. He had always thought German a pleasing language to swear in. It had the proper supply of consonants. The unseen owner of the house was proving himself to be an inventive user of the linguistic tools to hand.
As Krall reached ‘Five’ there was a screech and a wrench and the door opened. The man who appeared behind it was an elderly, stooped creature whose eyes were made huge by a pair of smeared glasses. He peered at Krall over them and sneezed, then kicking the door open a little wider against some resistance, spoke.
‘Come in then.’ Noticing Crowther for the first time, he paused. ‘Who’s your pet?’ He spoke clearly enough, but under his words was a faint high wheeze; it was like a slow puncture in an organ bellows.
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