Circle of Shadows

by Imogen Robertson

  ‘Has the body been touched?’ Krall asked. Crowther began to translate the exchanges from German to English for Mrs Westerman.

  The son-in-law stepped forward. ‘We didn’t like to, sir. All looks so strange we weren’t sure what to do beyond call the Watch.’

  ‘You did well, son. Right, one step at a time. Mistress Schneider, tell me what happened. Start at the start and go slow.’

  Mistress Schneider smoothed her apron and wet her lips. For some reason Crowther liked her. She seemed young to have a daughter full-grown and married. He was reminded of his own housekeeper and wondered, briefly, how she did.

  ‘Shall I start in the morning, sir?’ she said.

  ‘Whenever you think best,’ Krall replied, lifting his eyebrows.

  ‘Mr Glucke was at court, as he always is in the mornings with the Privy Council, when there was a great banging at the door. I opened it to find old Mr Kupfel on the doorstep.’

  ‘The Alchemist?’ Harriet whispered to Crowther. He nodded but kept his eye on the housekeeper.

  ‘Did he visit here often, mistress?’ Krall asked.

  She hesitated. ‘He used to, sir, but these last years it’s been more his son that comes. Not in the morning, though.’

  ‘Mr Glucke buy a lot of face potions, did he?’

  She shook her head, unsmiling. ‘Young Mr Kupfel has done very well, sir. He is even spoken of as a future Mayor of Ulrichsberg. Mr Glucke was often visited by the better people in town, those who have not the rank to attend court.’

  Krall scratched the back of his head. ‘I understand you, mistress. But it was Adam Kupfel came this morning? Do you know what his business was?’

  ‘He wouldn’t share with me, now would he? No, all I know is he seemed to have worked himself into a rage. He said he’d wait for Mr Glucke in the study, and beyond getting me to give him a plate of something hot, that was all his talk with me, and even that cost him so much twitching and sneering you’d think I was a dog not to be trusted without a muzzle.’

  ‘How long did he wait?’

  ‘It was an hour till Mr Glucke came back – so early in the afternoon. Then there were voices raised.’

  ‘Raised loud enough for you to make any sense of what was said?’

  ‘Two words only from Kupfel. My master always spoke low. They were “thieves”, and “fools”. I thought maybe the children had been rifling through Kupfel’s junk again.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Kupfel stormed out in the same mood he arrived in. I gave my master his meal.’

  ‘He did not dine in court?’

  ‘He only sups there from time to time, sir. The food is too rich for him. The food was too rich for him,’ she corrected herself. ‘The master asked me to come in and clear away his plate, then he went down to the cats.’

  Crowther stopped translating and looked at Krall with his eyebrows raised. The District Officer sighed and turned to them. ‘Mr Glucke was a scholar, but he had his quirks. He had a fancy for cats – used to have them in the study while he worked. Unsanitary, I always thought it, though they are pretty enough. He’s always had a dozen or so of them at any one time.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Harriet said to herself. ‘The mechanical mice.’

  ‘Then what?’ Krall said to the housekeeper.

  ‘Then nothing, District Officer. I knew he was going back to court in the evening, but time was getting close for his usual hour of leaving, and there was no sign or sound of him. I knocked and got no answer, so I went into the garden round at the back and looked in through the window. I could see him sitting there, but he didn’t move when I knocked. The only things that were moving were the cats, and they seemed …’

  ‘Seemed what, mistress?’

  ‘Seemed strange, sir. They were all gathered round him. I thought he was ill so I fetched my son-in-law here to help William knock down the door, and then we saw …’

  ‘So the door to the study was locked from within?’ Crowther asked.

  ‘With the key left in the lock. The garden door was locked too, though there was no key in that.’

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ Krall said slowly. ‘I think it best if we go to the study now.’

  Crowther did not move. ‘Madam, this may sound a little unusual, but did your master have anything with an owl on it?’

  The housekeeper frowned and was shaking her head, when the footman touched her shoulder and whispered to her.

  ‘Of course – on his watch, sir. On the case.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The cats?’ Krall said suspiciously.

  ‘Still there, sir. We left the door to the garden open, thinking they’d be off, but they don’t seem to want to leave him.’

  Adolphus Glucke was seated in the centre of the room; he had been a thin man in late middle age. With a slight shock Harriet realised he was the man she had seen during their first evening in Ulrichsberg, the one who had reminded her of Crowther. His body had slid forward slightly in the chair and his head was tilted back. He could have been sleeping off his beer on a tavern bench, except his left hand was covered in blood. On his lap was curled a large snow-white cat. Another wound its way in a regular figure of eight between his feet. The room seemed full of white fur and a low throb of purring. Krall entered first. Harriet and Crowther followed more slowly, looking about them at the unfamiliar chamber. It was smallish and square. The wooden floor was covered with red and black rugs, a little threadbare in places. Three walls were covered in books. The fourth was dominated by a French window; the night air blew softly in through it, carrying the scents of the garden. Tasteful, forgettable landscapes hung either side of it. The desk had its back to the light.

  Crowther crossed to the body and looked into Glucke’s upturned face. The cat on his lap turned its head towards him, put back its ears and hissed. Crowther ignored it. Glucke’s mouth was filled with earth. It was as if the head had been held back in its current position and the dry soil poured in until it overflowed round his cheeks, leaving a haze of particles over the skin. Around the eyes it was darker, as if it had turned to mud. Crowther felt a chill run through him; the man had been crying as he died. One of the cats was pushing against Glucke’s hanging hand as if wanting to be stroked. Crowther hoped they had been this close to him as he died, that somewhere under his suffering he had felt their comfort.

  ‘It is the same,’ he said.

  She was standing by the window.

  ‘The killer must have come and gone through the garden,’ she replied after a pause. ‘I wonder why Glucke let him in.’

  ‘Someone he knew, must be,’ Krall said.

  ‘Someone he did not think could be a threat,’ Harriet added. ‘Crowther, could you close the door?’

  He moved away from the body to do so, and the cat on the body’s lap settled again and began to knead the thigh of the corpse, purring. The same symbol was chalked on the white paint of the door. Triangle, circle of seven spokes.

  ‘He has done it,’ Crowther said. ‘Unless Swann survives. Seven wine glasses, seven spokes. Seven victims. His work is done.’

  ‘Or she,’ Harriet said softly. ‘But Swann has not been bled.’

  Krall looked around the room, following the progress of another of the cats over the top of the mantelpiece. ‘I shall have a look along the path. Perhaps the killer dropped a visiting card, though more like I shall just find the key to the garden door thrown into the shrubbery.’

  Crowther heard the hopelessness in the man’s voice. ‘We will find who did this, Krall. He will make a mistake, leave a mark behind he doesn’t mean to.’

  ‘Perhaps. But this … A disgusting, humiliating way to die.’

  Crowther had no comfort to offer. ‘Were you acquainted with Glucke?’

  ‘A little. I believe he recommended me as District Officer in Oberbach when I handed my business on to my son-in-law.’

  His tone suggested he had no more to say on that. Instead he ran his hand through his hair. ‘It all co
mes too fast. I must speak to Colonel Padfield and Count Frenzel immediately.’

  ‘But first we must go straight to Kupfel and discover why he was so angry this morning,’ Crowther said.

  ‘In time. For the good of Maulberg, and the Duke, this crime must be concealed.’

  ‘The Duke?’ Harriet said. ‘Why should this be concealed just to protect him from embarrassment?’

  Krall turned on her. ‘The Duke is a good man, appointed by God to guide us. He shall be protected.’

  ‘From whence this enthusiasm, Krall? Until this morning you have been rigorous in your honesty, your pursuit of the truth,’ Crowther said. ‘You questioned the Duke in our presence.’

  Krall’s face flushed red. ‘Twice a month the gates of the palace are opened, and anyone – anyone who wishes it – may petition the Duke in person. He greets the people as his children and cares for them. He listens to what they say and he acts. It drives his advisers mad half the time. But he does it.’

  ‘But the palace, the Opera House,’ Harriet objected. ‘All the luxury of the court … the Duke does nothing but indulge himself!’

  ‘How long have you been here, Mrs Westerman? Three days? Four? But you think …’ He turned away for a moment, then spoke again, more slowly. ‘Do not be fooled by the manner in which the Duke presents himself to the world. There is not an inch of ground under his authority he does not know. And the land under his authority flourishes. He will not be made vulnerable, not by the actions of some madman. The extravagance of the court is the gilding on something real. Something of value.’

  There was no sound in the room other than the low rumble of the cats purring.

  Harriet crouched down to stroke one which had decided to rub up against her. As she put her hand out to it, she noticed it had dried blood streaked across its white back, and she recoiled slightly. ‘Forgive me if I spoke hastily, Mr Krall. You are right, we know little of Maulberg. Conceal the murder if you must, but surely, for the good of the Duke, you must find who is responsible. May I have the map of the secret chamber that Wimpf drew? Perhaps there is something useful there. We will be discreet.’

  The District Officer hesitated, then drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Agreed. But you will continue to act with some discretion or I will have you and your party thrown out of Maulberg. I have my arrangements to make.’ He left the room, and in a moment they could hear his voice upstairs barking out commands.

  Harriet examined the paper in her hands as she spoke. ‘I had no idea he was so devoted to the Duke.’

  Crowther was watching the door through which Krall had disappeared. ‘I think it may have come as a surprise to Krall himself.’

  Harriet placed the paper in her pocket. ‘Go to Kupfel. I shall examine the secret chamber.’

  Crowther looked concerned. ‘I shall go to Kupfel, but Mrs Westerman, you cannot go looking for the chamber alone.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘I hate to state the obvious, but there is a killer at court.’

  ‘I begin to suspect there are several of different sorts. I shall take Graves.’

  ‘And now, Mrs Westerman, you are forcing me to sound like your sister. You cannot wander the palace at night alone with Mr Graves. Though I know your sister has courage, she cannot be a sufficient guard. Clode himself is still weak – and in any case, they must guard Swann.’

  Harriet might control her temper with Krall, but she did not with Crowther. ‘Then what would you have me do?’

  He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his weight onto his cane.

  ‘Take Manzerotti.’

  V.13

  PEGEL SAT BACK IN his chair. He was uncomfortable. Normally when he looked up from his work he linked his hands behind his head, crossed his ankles and thought about what he wanted to eat next, but tonight he stood slowly and looked down at his notes with great unease. He took a step away then returned and swept the papers into one of the drawers, slammed it shut and turned the lock. Then he headed towards the main door of his room to release himself. His momentum carried him until he had the key in the lock, but then he turned back, gathered up the papers once more and folded them into his coatpocket. There were three places in the room he had prepared for papers to be concealed, but now the messages were translated into plain language, none of these places seemed sufficiently secure. He was almost angry with Florian and his little group for making their codes simple enough for him to unpick. He didn’t want to know all those names, whatever profit it might bring him. The thought of the money stilled him for a little while. Money of his own. It would be enough for him to establish himself somewhere with a decent university. He could stay there, in one place, teach mathematics and pursue his own studies. He might even be able to make a friend he could keep.

  As soon as the idea formed he thought it nonsense. He was not the sort of man who could afford to lead a settled existence. Better to dance through people’s lives, blow smoke in their faces and disappear while their eyes were still smarting. Damn these papers! It was no good. It was simply too dangerous to leave them lying about as they were. He must burn them, take the originals and translate them once more in front of his master. He unfolded the pages and looked at the names. He had watched some of them, and thought them good men. Fools, of course, idealists too protected by their position to see how the world really worked, their eyes so fixed on some distant lofty goal they probably hadn’t even noticed when they stepped off the edge and into the abyss. The papers burned and curled in the grate and he prodded the ashes into nothing. He wondered what would happen to them. Some of the smoke got into his eyes on this occasion. He would ride out as soon as it was light.

  There was a light knock at the door and Harriet opened it to find Manzerotti leaning on the frame, a candle in his hand.

  ‘I received your note, as you see, Mrs Westerman. I do hope you haven’t reconsidered your decision not to shoot me dead.’

  She turned back into the room and he followed. ‘Frequently. But tonight I am asking you to examine this chamber with me.’

  ‘How exciting! Secret passageways, darkness. I should be delighted, of course, but, flattered as I am, why is not Mr Crowther or Mr Graves at your side?’

  She kept her back turned. ‘Crowther has to visit Herr Kupfel, and Graves is on watch at Swann’s bedside. Rachel and Daniel need to rest.’

  ‘I am sure the happy couple would be delighted to continue their vigil?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘Perhaps, but Mr Crowther feels it would be unwise of me to be found alone at night in the company of Mr Graves.’

  ‘Whereas a being such as myself? We eunuchs are a useful breed.’

  ‘It is nonsense to worry about such things in these circumstances.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I thank you for coming.’

  ‘Gabriel loves you very much, I think, Mrs Westerman. I am sure to make the suggestion was as distasteful for him, as it was for you to comply.’

  She hesitated briefly then picked up the map Wimpf had drawn from the table. ‘Why do you call him by his Christian name, Manzerotti?’

  He shrugged. ‘Because it irritates him, but he knows that to order me to call him by any of his titles, real or imagined, would make him ridiculous. He is a vain, proud man. It is a nature I understand, being both vain and proud myself.’ He took the page from her and examined it in the light of his candle. Harriet guessed he must be about her own age, but his face was as smooth as her ten-year-old son’s. ‘I think the most discreet way we can let ourselves into these passageways is through a doorway on this corridor.’

  ‘Why were they built, Manzerotti?’

  He tilted his head to look at her. His expression was almost affectionate. ‘Your naivety is one of your great virtues, my dear. Do try never to lose it. In palaces such as these the great do not want their servants on view unless they are liveried and as superb as the gilding. I am sure they were built so the lower servants could go from room to room without offending their masters
by breathing the same air. Shall we?’

  Crowther knocked on the door with the head of his cane. There was a shout deep from within.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The Englishman.’

  The door was shuffled open. A little. ‘What? Why are you here? I heard the Watch call midnight already.’

  ‘Will you not let me in? Do you not wish to know how Chancellor Swann does?’

  There was a moment of doubt on his face, but the door was dragged open enough to allow Crowther entrance and he once again followed the Alchemist’s stooped back through the junk to the comfort of the back room. Crowther did not wait for an invitation to be seated.

  ‘Why were you arguing with Glucke?’

  Kupfel remained standing, staring at the fire. ‘None of your business. How is Swann?’

  ‘Still more asleep than awake, but much improved, I understand. His hands are less inflamed. Glucke was murdered this evening.’

  Kupfel turned round at that, his mouth open and his face suddenly pale. Crowther realised he had not known the power of the blow he was delivering. ‘What? Glucke?’ Kupfel sat down heavily in his armchair and began to cry, covering his face with his hands. Crowther felt a spasm of pity. Kupfel raised his head. ‘Was it? Was it … like the woman?’ Crowther nodded and Kupfel howled. His face was red now and running with tears; he gulped and wiped his sleeve across his face. ‘Oh God, oh God … I wish I had never met that man. Never asked … What suffering I have brought among us.’

  Crowther stood and poured a brandy from a dusty-looking carafe on the desk then handed it to his host. Kupfel took it and drank. Crowther poured a glass for himself and tipped it down his throat. He had never been a man who drank. It had marked him out in his youth and made his fellows suspicious of him – confirmed him in their eyes as a dry eccentric even at that age – but confronted with Kupfel’s animal grief he reached for it. It burned, but he felt its warmth. Kupfel stopped crying, but he rocked back and forward in his chair, and Crowther discovered that he grieved for him. What strange beings he found himself in sympathy with these days.