Circle of Shadows

by Imogen Robertson

  ‘Where is Frenzel?’ he asked.

  ‘Returned to his estate, so Herr Kinkel tells us,’ Mr Graves said.

  ‘Strange,’ Krall said, and drew on his pipe. ‘I know he spends much time there, but the Duke is only married an hour. What of Swann? Where is he?’

  ‘He received an offer of sanctuary from Gotha,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Did he now?’ Krall folded his arms and tapped the stem of his pipe against his sleeve. ‘That got here awful quick.’

  The door opened and Mrs Westerman and Mr Crowther appeared. There was colour in Mrs Westerman’s face, and Crowther looked a younger man than when they had first met.

  ‘Frenzel!’ Mrs Westerman said, and everyone started speaking at once.

  Black years. Comfortless years. Years where my only company was her grave. I buried her with my own hands in my own grounds, refusing to share her even with God. The monster I would have burned, but little Christian begged me to lay the stillborn infant in the ground with her, and so I did. The household dwindled. I shut up the east wing, left all my expensive toys to rot and waited to die. For four years I waited in this tomb. Then she came. A common little trickster in a dark blue dress, but I realised that night that Antonia had chosen her. Florian, the things she knew! But then she would try to worm her way in between Antonia and me, saying things that were nonsense. The frustration then! Waiting for Antonia to speak. I did not understand, and in the darkness of my heart asked Antonia why she had chosen this sharp-eyed fool as her way of speaking to me? Then little Beatrice showed me her book, a scrap-book of images, designs, incantations copied in her schoolgirl hand, pages cut from Renaissance grimoires, and I understood. Antonia had been guiding her. I dreamed of my wife sitting over the little schemer by candlelight in the cave of some forgotten mage whispering to her when to turn the pages, what passages and diagrams to copy down. During her third week here I found the book of poisons. It was written in another hand, but she had added her little notes of explanation. I saw it all. Antonia had given me everything. Now I just needed to get rid of the girl. Again, she made it so simple for me. Antonia inspired her even to her death.

  She told me Antonia wished to show me to a store of jewels on a waterfall near the borders of my little kingdom. As if Antonia would ever have been bothered with such paltry stuff, but I indulged her and she spent several days ‘preparing to do battle with the spirits’, to recover the treasure. She took me to the waterfall, lit a candle and bade me to be quiet while she summoned her angels to defend her. It was quite entertaining, the girl had learned how to put on a show. Her body went rigid, she tossed her head from side to side and muttered and croaked, calling on the names of the angelic hoards. There was no sense to her cries, her incantations were as like to call spirits to her as the wind. Then she lay still. After some minutes she seemed to awake, weak from her battles. I put out my hand to help her to her feet and enquired as to her health and well-being, all concern and kindness then. She leaned her small weight against me and said, in fading, faltering tones, she knew where the treasure was hid. And so she did. I was commanded to move some stones to one side at the base of the waterfall, and what a surprise! A little store of gems and jewellery. I was a little moved, I think, to see how she invested her small worth in me. Here was her ancient hoard of magical jewels, a handful of trifles, the sort of shoddy and overvalued nothings a Duchess might give to her maid in a moment of weakness. I can give a performance too. I was delighted, amazed by the miraculous wealth and its miraculous discovery. I got down on my knees in front of the little strumpet and told her she was my queen, my goddess, that I would settle on her at once a house for her own use in Oberbach, and that from this day forward I would be honoured to have her as my counsellor in all things. Dear girl, she shook her head, offered her jewels as a free gift, declared I was too generous, too kind, and as she trembled and dissembled I saw the hard shine of triumph in her eye. Her victory. She sat down on the stones I had just moved and turned away, as if overcome by her surprise at my generosity. But I knew she only turned from me to hide her delight. The first blow I struck fell just behind her right ear. She tried to stand, to turn, looked at me and for the first and only time her eyes seemed innocent. The second blow landed on her left temple and sent her sprawling on her front. The third blow might have been unnecessary. It was certainly conclusive. So then I gathered her book, the contents of her pockets, I tore open the linings of her clothes to find what else of value might have been hidden in them.

  Antonia was guiding me then, my boy, for it was in the lining of her cloak I found the dried herbs and matter folded in paper and sealed which I discovered I needed for the drugs. Then, when my search was complete, I dug her a grave. It was her suggestion I carried a spade with me on our little excursion, in case the treasure to which the spirits led her was underground. I rested a little, packed up what I had taken from her body, then threw her jewels into the stream.

  Harriet found Manzerotti at the centre of a large group of rather amazed young women. It took some time before he could extricate himself.

  ‘Come to toast the happy bride and groom, Mrs Westerman? Clode is released, the conspirators are under guard, the fountains flow with wine, and good cheer abounds.’

  She unfolded the paper in her hand. ‘This is the portrait of Antonia Kastner, the woman slandered by the Minervals. It is also the model for the walking automaton the Al-Saids were asked to build.’ He nodded but said nothing. ‘The model had a Seal of Solomon painted on its torso. A brass vessel with the same seal was commissioned from Julius, and there was a space left in the body large enough to accommodate it.’

  Manzerotti was very still for a moment, then he took her by the elbow and led her to a quieter part of the room. ‘The blood … I did not realise I could still be shocked. How exciting. Do you know who is trying to reclaim her from the dead?’

  ‘I believe I do. It is one of the Knights Imperial with a position at court. We wish to ride out at once and place him into Krall’s custody, but Colonel Padfield will not give up any of his men.’

  ‘I see. He has a point, my dear. Sending troops into lands not under his rule would be a serious breach of etiquette. You wish me to use my influence with the Duke? It would be a great deal better to wait until the morning. The lawyers can draw up a few Warrants Extraordinary and cover them with seals and Latin phrases. They are very particular about such things. This man will be just as mad then.’ He looked at the portrait again. ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘I overheard Pegel ask you to give him time to get his friend away to his father’s house. That friend was Count Frenzel’s son.’

  ‘Yes?’ Manzerotti frowned.

  ‘This is a portrait of Antonia Kastner. She was Count Frenzel’s second wife.’

  ‘I see.’ He folded up the picture and returned it to her. ‘That boy is a trial. Come then, to the Colonel – and Mrs Westerman?’ She looked up at him. ‘Thank you.’

  VI.10

  THE DOORS THAT LED from the courtyard were unlocked. Pegel chose one at random and began moving quietly through the corridors. The place was a warren; it seemed full of sudden dead ends, branching passageways. Pegel began to feel, with a rising sense of panic, that the building was a living thing, laughing at him. When he had climbed out of the bedroom, his intention had been to ride off indignantly into the night, but then there was that fire and the name of Kastner. He could not leave Florian here alone with his mad father. He thought about it, but he couldn’t. If he could find the room where Florian was, perhaps he could pick the lock. Florian would know where to search for guns in this place. Or a way out would be a start. This corridor looked familiar … Pegel fought down his nerves and nausea and stumbled on till he found himself on some sort of gallery looking down and into a room on the opposite side of another courtyard. He saw the Count cross the window. He was dancing with a young woman and smiling at her. The look on his face was one of such intense happiness, Pegel felt his heart contract. The old glass made it hard
to see her face, but she seemed to be smiling, too, the jewels flashing around her neck. The grace of her movement was clear though, as she nodded, turned, took Frenzel’s hand. But Florian said his step-mother had died. A door opened behind him and Pegel pushed himself into the shadows, holding his breath. It was Florian, his hands tied behind him. Christian was standing behind him with a pistol aimed at the small of his back.

  ‘Christian, listen to me! Antonia was a kind woman, a good woman – she would never want this! He is quite mad! For God’s sake, man, stop now. I shall do everything in my power to help you.’

  The servant’s voice was shaking a little. ‘Honestly, Master Florian, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s true. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen! She’s coming alive. Every time, she gets stronger.’

  There were tears in Florian’s voice. ‘Christian, please! It is an automaton. We saw the ones my father used to have when we were children. We both swore they were alive, but they were just machines.’

  ‘Not like this, Master Florian.’ Christian’s voice had grown firmer again. ‘Antonia asked for my help. This is what she wanted. She came to me, and asked me to send Beatrice to your father.’

  ‘So he could murder her?’

  Christian frowned. ‘You’re lying! She left here rich and happy.’

  ‘She’s buried by the waterfall. It’s in his damn letter, read it yourself.’

  Pegel wondered if he could reach Christian and knock the gun from his hand before he could squeeze the trigger. Not a hope, and he was too weak to overpower the man even if the shot didn’t kill him. Why had Florian let his hands be tied! Pegel made a resolution not to risk his life saving damn fools from this point on.

  ‘You’re lying. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen,’ Wimpf repeated stubbornly. ‘Now move, Master Florian. The Count is waiting for us.’

  They disappeared round the bend in the corridor and, hardly daring to breathe, Pegel followed them.

  ‘It cannot be done!’ Colonel Padfield was beginning to sweat. ‘I can understand that in your ignorance, Mrs Westerman, you might think otherwise, but Mr Crowther, Signor Manzerotti, you are, I think, men of the world. To send a party of horse to Frenzel’s home! His estate is held unmittelbar – it is tantamount to an invasion!’

  Krall was leaning against the mantelpiece, his shoulders hunched. ‘Colonel, Kinkel saw Swann leaving this place with Wimpf. I reckon they weren’t heading to Gotha but to Frenzel’s home.’

  ‘It is no concern of ours, Herr District Officer. The Duke made it clear that Chancellor Swann has made his own bed. The man is a traitor, we cannot risk such an action for his sake.’ The Colonel turned to Manzerotti. ‘Sir, you know – you know this is an impossible request.’

  Manzerotti smiled at him, but it was not the usual cat-like smile. It was tight. Impatient. ‘Of course it is impossible, Colonel. I wouldn’t expect you to entertain it for a moment.’

  Harriet looked at him in disbelief, but he held up one long hand. ‘However, I think you may find it in your power to give a day’s leave, effective at once, to a small number of your Turkish Hussars. They then would be available for hire by some other party. I think you may then find that they, on the road, hear a disturbance that takes them, unwittingly, onto Count Frenzel’s land. You may then find that by morning, Count Frenzel will be on Maulberg territory where he can, of course, be arrested at once. Major Auwerk might also welcome the opportunity to do some extraordinary service today.’ The singer turned to Harriet. ‘His name is on the list of Minervals, of course, but very, very low down on that list. Krall, you and the Major could deliver this murderer to the Duke as a wedding present. Whatever the Duke’s feelings about the Minervals, he, I’m sure, would like to see the killer of Lady Martesen in custody. It reflects well on his authority.’

  The Colonel looked at him very steadily. Manzerotti sighed. ‘If you would perhaps write out a short notice of leave, and allow a gap for some half-dozen names to be filled in, and place it on the table before you return to your duties?’

  ‘And that would be all right, would it?’ the Colonel asked, half-suspicious, half-hopeful.

  ‘Yes, Colonel, that would be quite in order.’

  ‘You going?’

  Manzerotti smiled the same thin smile. ‘I am engaged to perform again this evening. I cannot leave here without drawing too much attention. However, as Mr Crowther, Mrs Westerman and their party aim to take no further part in the festivities, perhaps they might go for a ride in the moonlight.’

  Pegel followed Florian and Wimpf into a wide hallway, tiled in black and white, and watched as they passed through a medieval-looking doorway and let the door close behind them. Pegel was not at all sure what was happening, but his suspicions were dark. He had risked a great deal to get Florian out of harm’s way, and now it seemed his friend would have been a great deal safer in the custody of the Duke. There was a narrow staircase to the right of the doorway. Pegel scuttled up to a small landing with a low door leading from it, slightly ajar. He dropped to his hands and knees and pushed it open before slipping through. Voices. Deep shadow here, and to his right candlelight. He glanced in that direction and saw the top of an old-fashioned chandelier. All functional iron, where the palace lighting was crystal and silver. He was in the minstrels’ gallery of some great hall. There was a movement in the shadows in front of him and he saw he was sharing his perch with a very old man, trembling, eyes wide, staring at him.

  ‘Gunter?’ Pegel whispered hopefully and the old man nodded. Pegel crawled towards him. ‘I’m Pegel. What’s going on?’

  The old man looked miserable. He pointed into the hall. Pegel peered through the balustrade. It was a grand room, a rectangle, high and plain. The old refectory, perhaps. He wished it were still full of nuns – he’d take any help he could get right now. Instead, at the far end of the room were two figures. A woman, finely dressed in a rather old-fashioned style, and an old man seated on a chair in front of her.

  ‘Who is that?’ Pegel whispered.

  ‘He was always a hard man, and a bad master. But then that girl came, Beatrice. Told him he could talk to his wife again.’

  ‘Who is the old man?’

  ‘Chancellor Swann.’

  Pegel swore under his breath. ‘I was afraid of that.’

  Swann’s left hand was trailing. Even from the other end of the hall Pegel could hear the steady patter of his blood draining into a brass bowl at his side.

  ‘Father, what have you done?’ Florian was standing some twenty feet in front of the little tableau. His hands were still tied, and Wimpf still had his gun in his hand. But Count Frenzel had his arm round his son’s shoulders.

  ‘I have become a worker of miracles, Florian,’ he said. ‘I am become like a God, aren’t I, Wimpf?’

  ‘You are, sir.’

  ‘Every one of her enemies I kill, she grows stronger. She returns. With Swann’s blood, with his death, all is done. Tonight, my child, you will hear her speak.’ Pegel could see that Florian’s shoulders were shaking. He was crying. ‘Is the pyre ready, Wimpf?’

  ‘It is, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. I shall carry him there myself.’

  Pegel turned to the old man beside him. ‘Where are the guns in this house?’ he murmured.

  ‘Locked away,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘in the master’s study. You’d have to go through this hall.’

  ‘Can you get help?’

  Gunter looked near to tears. ‘No one would come!’

  Pegel thought for a moment, then pulled at the lining of his coat and fished out two gold coins. ‘Take these.’ He pressed them into the man’s hands. ‘Tell them if they come, there will be more. Be quick.’

  For the first time the old man looked hopeful. ‘What will you do, sir?’

  Pegel shrugged. ‘Improvise. Now go.’ The old man scurried away.

  ‘You are mad!’ Florian burst out. Pegel crept back to the balustrade. Florian had staggered away a step from his father. His face was
bright red.

  ‘Florian! I had faith even before I saw these miracles, yet you remain blind. Try – try to be worthy of these wonders and I will be generous. But you do make it very, very difficult.’ Count Frenzel was holding a knife in his hands. ‘How you can think I am mad, when God has delivered into my hands … but you do not understand.’ With a light step he approached Swann and produced something from his pocket to bind the wrist.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Florian said, his voice high and trembling.

  Frenzel took a handful of Swann’s hair and lifted up his chin. The eyes were dull, unseeing. ‘Swann here? No, not yet. He will be soon though.’ He sank down on his haunches so he could look into the Chancellor’s emptying eyes. ‘You see, Swann? You killed her, now it is up to you to bring her back to life. Everything fits together. All is balance. You caused her death, that of her child, and my child. But if you had not driven her from court, she would not have become my wife. You killed her with the banishment, but at the same time put her into the arms of one who could make her live again.’ He let Swann’s head fall forward again and stroked his long grey hair. ‘God is wonderful.’ He picked up the bowl into which the blood had run, then stood and turned to the automaton. ‘This is the last time, Antonia.’ He said it with such love, Pegel was almost touched. He went round to the back of the machine and bent over. Pegel’s view was partial, but he thought he saw a panel opened. ‘Wimpf, help me,’ the Count said.

  The servant approached and took the bowl of blood from his master. Then Frenzel removed some vessel from the machine. Pegel could see it gleam gold in the candlelight. He untwisted it, then held it as Wimpf poured Swann’s blood into its base. Pegel swallowed; his mouth had gone very dry. Frenzel was closing the panel again. His son looked as if he was going to be sick.

  ‘You are mad,’ he said again, quietly. His father shrugged and adjusted his wife’s dress with a little smile of pride. Then Florian began to shout. ‘I do not care if that thing comes over here and talks to me! It can get down on its knees and tell me it is come from hell! You are still insane, Father, and your “miracle” is an abomination!’ The Count stepped over to his son and slapped him hard. Florian spat onto the floor and kept yelling. ‘You killed her! You did! You kept her apart from her son and that is what killed her; even when she was kind to you, good to you, you denied her that and it killed her! It should be your blood in there!’