Circle of Shadows

by Imogen Robertson

  ‘The Wealth of Nations! Very nice. I didn’t know it had been translated.’

  ‘A friend of mine.’

  Pegel hobbled across to his own bookshelf and pulled a number of papers from between the books.

  ‘Give the Professor this, with my compliments. It hasn’t been published yet, but Laplace is a friend of mine. He explains it all pretty clearly.’

  Florian took it a little doubtfully. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just working on a little idea. As you know, you can’t ask a man to discuss it when he’s in the midst of a new idea. Might all just dissolve in front of me if I do.’

  Florian shrugged in the direction of the door. ‘I suppose I should …’

  Pegel looked at him, poor little rich boy in search of a friend. He suddenly knew what he would ask for if his idea for the codes worked.

  ‘Sorry, old boy! Don’t go.’ He stood up and put a hand on Florian’s shoulder. ‘Just a bit out of sorts today. Got a letter from my father. He says my mother is ill and wants me to come home and settle down. Take up the law and all that.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother, Jacob. Is there any danger?’

  ‘She’s always ill. The old man just wants me where he can disapprove of me eye to eye is the meat and measure of it. Come and sit for a bit. You never mention your family. You get along?’

  They took their seats side by side on the worn settee. ‘I hardly know my father,’ Florian said at last. ‘I remember my mother a little. She died when I was five. My father never had anything to do with me when I was a child, then he sent me away to school. He married again, a kind woman but she died too, soon after giving birth to my little brother.’

  ‘You have a brother?’

  He shook his head. ‘Born dead. Mostly I lived with my aunt and uncle after that.’

  ‘What sort of place is it, your father’s?’

  ‘Old. It used to be a nunnery. It has a cloister still and the dining room is where the church once was.’

  ‘So you were brought up in a nunnery!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, nothing. Sounds very grand.’

  ‘Very cold. Courtyard after courtyard and not a room in the place of a convenient size. But fitting, I suppose, for an Imperial Knight.’

  Frenzel talked for some time, and listening to his stories of the children he played with, the landscape, the gardens, Pegel let his mind rest. He was happy. Florian was the son of an Imperial Knight. Pegel’s work would lead to a number of arrests, but if Florian could be got out of the way … Off the lists. Off lands where the Duke’s word was law. Even if his friends gave his name, it would be easy to bluff his way out of it. Yes, Pegel could save Florian from himself – if his master would let him.

  Crowther watched Manzerotti bending over Krall’s hands for several minutes. The fire had been banked up and the room was becoming oppressively hot. Crowther’s thoughts were growing foggy and thick, and a thin layer of sweat was beginning to burst out of his pores. He felt like an old creature, cornered. He stood and crossed to the window and found there, like a cold movement in the fug, a whisper of healthier air. He placed his hand into it, letting the draught slice over the pulse in his wrist.

  Crowther felt that he was growing old. He had dedicated his youth, his maturity, to study and to the avoidance of other people, but he believed now that the only work of any real significance he had accomplished had been in the company of Mrs Westerman; had been done since she had dragged him out of his study and thrown him among other people. The ghosts of his own past had glowered over him for thirty years; in her company they were exorcised. He smiled, feeling the cold air over his wrist. He had tried this winter, perhaps fearing that Mrs Westerman wanted to return to her domestic concerns, to rediscover his zeal for his own private study. The readiness with which he abandoned it at her request was demonstration enough that he had not been particularly successful. He did not mind the years he had wasted; rather he was glad, even as he felt the pressure of his age, that he had not wasted them all.

  Now Manzerotti was watching him. The castrato looked as comfortable and composed as ever. The drama of Krall had left Crowther feeling ragged, and he envied Manzerotti’s ability to retain his poise so completely. Crowther wondered if it was a result of being stared at for his entire adult life. Perhaps he had developed some thicker skin that allowed him to ignore both the adoration and the suspicion with which he was regarded. An animal adapting to its environment. Perhaps the poise was trained into him from his earliest age, just as the music was.

  ‘Did you submit to the operation willingly?’ he asked as the thought formed in his head. For the first time he saw something like a spasm of emotion cross the castrato’s face, but so fleeting and slight was it, a moment later Crowther could not swear to having seen it at all.

  ‘No. I did not. I come from peasant stock, Gabriel. My family were as ignorant and mean as the rocks from which they tried to drag a living. I sang at church with the other children, the priest recognised my talent and suggested to my parents that there was money to be made. They leaped at the chance to make some easy gold from one of their brood.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  Manzerotti looked up at him and smiled briefly. ‘How strange – I believe you are. But you should not pity me. I am terribly rich now, you know, one way or another. How nice it is to chat, Gabriel.’ He dropped his eyes. ‘You realise, we are not very different, you and I. If what I hear is to be believed, and my information is usually very good, it is the sins of your family that made you a recluse. Thus you are a man with no sons to follow him, just as I am.’

  Crowther turned away slightly.

  ‘My friend Johannes volunteered for the operation. He was eager. He saw it as a chance to serve God. Then when his voice failed, he chose to serve me.’

  Crowther recalled the last time he had seen Johannes, Manzerotti’s assassin, heard the crow-crack of his mangled voice. It had been in a room as hot as this but in a hovel, not a palace. He had stuck a knife into James Westerman’s belly, then Crowther had in turn left him to be torn apart by a mob. Crowther did not shy away from the memory, and he felt no shame about letting the man be murdered. Nevertheless he found himself speaking. ‘He died proclaiming your escape, your invulnerability, Manzerotti. He said you were his voice.’

  Manzerotti was silent, then nodded slowly. ‘I was a cruel and unforgiving deity. But his devotion was absolute, and as you see, his faith was not misplaced.’

  For some time the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of the Chancellor.

  ‘Shall we be successful in sweating the poison out of him?’ Crowther asked at last.

  ‘It is one strategy among others, but I shall be easier when your Alchemist has examined him.’ Crowther watched the castrato take a cloth from the basin at the bedside and carefully wipe the Chancellor’s hands again, then discard the material he had used.

  ‘Anything of the murder of Mrs Dieth you wish to confide in me, Gabriel? As we have become so confidential? You see, I know she is not in the countryside.’ Crowther clenched his jaw. ‘Ah, not yet. I understand. It is my turn to offer you something, is it?’

  He washed his hands and took a seat by the fire once more, his attitude more businesslike. ‘Very well. You know I am not here simply to fill my pockets singing for the Duke, though he is a fine judge of opera. I am interested in Maulberg, Gabriel, because over the last five years there have been a series of minor … events that have begun to look suspicious to my eyes.’

  ‘To your eyes, Manzerotti, or to the eyes of those who employ you?’

  ‘I have no intention of naming my employer, so for the moment you must think of us as one. Do you wish me to continue?’

  Crowther nodded reluctantly. ‘I do. What manner of events?’

  ‘Nothing serious in themselves, but a pattern of minor illnesses and ailments. Nothing as violent as this, or as exotic as the other murderous attacks. Some of the victims have held position
at court, others have been visitors to Maulberg on business either mercantile, military or diplomatic. I suspected, and in the past few weeks have confirmed, a pattern in these troubles.’

  ‘Interesting. You believe the Duke has a pet poisoner?’

  Manzerotti turned towards him, and blinked his black eyes. ‘He would not be the first sovereign to find such a person of use.’

  ‘Have you been of such use?’

  ‘Tush, Gabriel. So crude! I would not tell you if I had been. I do not think the Duke himself has commissioned this poisoner.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Dear man, I have my reasons. No, I think someone has been acting without the Duke’s authority, occasionally on Maulberg’s behalf, mostly on their own.’

  ‘Poisoners who have a tendency to be civic-minded.’

  ‘Occasionally. Once or twice a man with claims on the Maulberg Treasury such as Graves has become rather ill here, and left to recover their health, before they could recover their money. But one case might serve as a more typical example. An architect from the French court was passing through Ulrichsberg and was made welcome in the usual way. The Duke took a liking to him and they spent some time closeted together discussing plans for a new palace – nothing on this scale,’ he raised his hand to the magnificence around them.

  Crowther put his other wrist into the thin draught and felt his blood carry the cooling through his arm. ‘You have my attention, Manzerotti.’

  ‘Their discussions reached beyond architecture; the Duke was observed reading books that the architect had recommended. The architect then became ill.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Yes. He recovered after some weeks, then became ill again. After that, he returned to France saying he did not find Ulrichsberg conducive to his health. He tried to continue his intimacy with the Duke by letter. He received no replies.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Isn’t it? There have been other occasions. My little enquiries have taken me far afield. Have you been to St Petersburg? Lovely city. Then Vienna. But when news reached me of a member of the court actually murdered and some rumours of the distressed state of the Englishman accused, I decided to come to the source of these incidents. It is also interesting to note, Gabriel, that Colonel Padfield has his own house and servants in town, and Count Frenzel still spends most of his nights on his own lands.’

  ‘The men who helped arrange the current marriage. Yet these murders of Countess Dieth and Lady Martesen …’

  ‘And the others. Yes, I have heard of your interest in the recent accidental deaths too. They are on a very different, how may I say it, scale. I agree. And they are of a much more recent date. The petty poisonings in which I am interested began several years ago, long before that interesting little poison book was taken.’

  ‘Would it surprise you to learn, Manzerotti, that there is some sort of hidden meeting chamber within the walls of this palace?’

  ‘No. It was built by the uncle of Ludwig Christoph. There are slightly secret passages all through the building. But it is no longer in use.’

  ‘It is. And Countess Dieth’s body was found there.’

  Manzerotti raised an eyebrow. ‘By whom?’

  ‘A footman who has orders from a Major Auwerk to clean the place. He informed the Major, who put the body into one of the grace and favour bedrooms before he summoned Swann, Krall or ourselves.’

  ‘The Major did that?’

  ‘Then Swann asked to meet Mrs Westerman and myself. I believe he knew something more of that secret room than even Major Auwerk did.’

  ‘Fascinating. What a nest of vipers this place is,’ Manzerotti said with a yawn. ‘It makes me long for the Opera House. Well, Gabriel, now we have begun, perhaps you had better tell me everything you and the lovely Mrs Westerman have discovered.’

  It took some time. Crowther could not remember when he had spoken at such length to anyone other than Mrs Westerman. At some point during his narrative, the door had opened and Harriet herself had entered the room and taken a seat quietly between them, only motioning for him to go on. He concluded with a mention of the ring, necklace and fob in the shape of owls. Then he turned towards Harriet. ‘Did you discover anything, Mrs Westerman?’

  ‘Only this.’ She held out a sheet of paper towards them. It was folded twice and contained a series of groups of five letters. Crowther examined the broken seal. An owl.

  ‘Do you think Swann learned something of this group and meant to tell us?’ Harriet asked as he looked at the seal.

  Crowther handed the paper to Manzerotti and sat back. ‘Then he was poisoned to prevent sharing his knowledge? Possible.’

  Manzerotti sighed. ‘Codes are such a frustration. Without the key we do not know if this is an instruction, a warning, or a request of some sort. Nor do we know if it was addressed to Swann, or found by him.’ Having given Harriet a brief account of the reasons for his presence in Maulberg as he had described to Crowther, Manzerotti continued, ‘A little club. These owls – interesting. I doubt that they are merely enthusiasts for the theatre or somesuch. Who are the members, I wonder? Shame we cannot turn out the pockets of every person at court in search of owls.’

  ‘A cabal,’ Harriet said.

  ‘So it would seem, my dear,’ Manzerotti replied.

  Suddenly Harriet got to her feet and crossed to where Swann’s hip-flask sat on the mantelpiece. She nodded to herself then handed it to Crowther.

  ‘Another owl. So Swann is certainly part of this group,’ Crowther said, passing the flask to Manzerotti. The latter studied the engraving a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him.

  Harriet remembered Swann’s muttered words in the garden. ‘And now they are being hunted.’

  Manzerotti smiled very faintly. ‘It seems so. Gabriel tells me you have thought of revenge when you have seen the pantomime of these crimes. Their viciousness. I wonder if you are right. I know of many little plots and shufflings here, but that does not mean I know them all.’ He looked at his watch. ‘The moment for the triumphal return from Castle Grenzhow approaches. I think I had better remove myself from the reunion. Though I am delighted to see the handsome Mr Clode released, perhaps it would be best if he didn’t discover us here, so intimate.’ He stood. ‘My dear Gabriel, Mrs Westerman.’ He bowed. ‘Such a joy to spend a little time with you both. You must come and hear me sing this evening. Not only because it will give you pleasure, but I think you had better start asking who else Swann’s little clique has damaged, don’t you agree?’

  Pegel examined his stack of purloined messages and rolled his shoulders. It was a simple insight, that people could not resist writing themselves into what they created, and it had been the case with many codes and ciphers he had come across in the past. He had written out the square before Frenzel had interrupted him. Now he wrote out that phrase above it. Per me caeci vident. Then knocked out the repeated letters. Permcaivdnt.

  ‘Well, let’s see if that’s true,’ he said, and began.

  He pulled out the first of the letters and moved up and down the square guided by his keyword. The first two groups of letters were nonsense, but then the words began to unfurl. His excitement was touched with regret; the search over, his weariness was gaining the upper hand. The pompous idiots! If they’d chosen something at random, he might never have found it. The first paper contained instructions on how to indoctrinate new members to the order. Slowly. Guiding them into habits of obedience and secrecy through their readings and discussions. Offering them help, approval, admiration, friendship, punishing any who left their order with scandal and hatred. The second contained in a series of numbered paragraphs some of the philosophy that Florian had shared with him. That, to return the world of men to a happy state of equality and peace, property must be abandoned, borders between nations removed, and a group of enlightened individuals would then guide the people like Olympians. The document didn’t actually mention Olympians, but that’s what it seemed like to Pegel.
>
  He sighed deeply and put down his pen. Surely there was no sensible man alive who would believe this nonsense. And yet … If it were revealed little by little, dressed up with the proper ritual, and when people encoded their letters, they seldom allowed themselves any great, persuasive flights of rhetoric. Perhaps these rather bald statements could be made to sound glorious in the words of a skilful orator. But could there really be, as Pegel’s master suspected, members of the Minervals in positions of real power in Europe? He started on the third sheet, and the neat little groups of letters unfurled into a name, then the name of a town and a title, then there was another … He had his answer. His master had been right.

  Pegel got up from his chair and checked that the lock was turned in his door. He was returning to his chair when he changed his mind again and dragged a stool in front of it as well. As he sat down he noted that his fingers were shaking. There were Minervals in power all across the Empire – and he had the list of their names.

  V.11

  HARRIET LEFT CROWTHER TO guard Swann while she went to greet Daniel and tell her friends of Swann’s illness. Their discussions were interrupted on numerous occasions by court officials knocking lightly on the door to offer their congratulations to Clode on his return and express their pleasure in seeing him. When she asked if Clode, Rachel and Graves might watch over Swann, they responded with such enthusiasm Harriet suspected that the continual exchange of polite platitudes was having as severe an effect on their tempers as it had on hers.

  ‘You were right to say that Clode would not want to leave until this business was cleared up, Mrs Westerman,’ Graves said. ‘We suggested to him that we could leave at once and he was most emphatic in his refusal.’

  Harriet and her brother-in-law exchanged glances. Daniel was looking better than he had two days before. There was some colour in his face and he had lost a little of his hunted look.

  ‘Harriet,’ he said. ‘What you have told us … I – this madman did not collect my blood also?’