Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘One who thought I was King of the Fairies. There, that almost made you smile! Your mask was drugged, my friend. We have just seen a demonstration this morning. A child wore it for a short time — and she saw all manner of things.’

‘So it was drugged?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that does not prove I am innocent of doing Lady Martesen harm.’

Graves was quite red in the face. Harriet felt a wave of affection for him. ‘From what I read, you were hardly capable of standing. Could you, in that state, pour water down a woman’s throat till she drowned?’

‘Drowned?’ Clode lowered himself onto one of the rough stools in the room and stared at Graves, his mouth slightly open.

‘Yes, drowned. You were drugged with your nasty mask — I can’t believe you were fool enough to wear such a thing — and she drowned on dry land. Hoffman will be delivering you back to court within the day, I guarantee it. And you will look every silk-smothered devil there in the face like a free-born Englishman! So there is a little parcel of facts for you and we have others to hand too if you will stop staring out of the window like a hero in a novel and act like a man. Do you have food here? Rachel says she always brings you delicacies and finds them untouched.’ He picked up a stool and placed it opposite Daniel, blocking his view of the forest. ‘And by the way, Manzerotti is in court.’

Daniel turned to stare at Harriet. ‘Good God, Harriet! Is he …? Have you …?’

Harriet tilted her head to one side. ‘I was going to stab him with one of Mr Al-Said’s files, but he provided a pistol so I almost shot him instead. I hate to say it, but I think having the opportunity to do so, and not killing him, has done me a great deal of good.’

Rachel smothered a shocked laugh. Clode was speechless. Graves ploughed on.

‘Now we have a mission, Daniel. We must think through every moment of your time in court before the Carnival and see who might have had a reason to try and murder you alongside Lady Martesen.’

Daniel was looking confused and distressed, and Rachel put out her hand. ‘Graves, please! Daniel has been very ill.’

Graves reached across the table and grabbed one of Clode’s wrists, jerking it towards him. His coatsleeve rode up and the scar, thin and livid across his wrist, was exposed. Graves turned his hand back and forth. ‘Seems to be healing well enough. A year and you won’t even have to wear long cuffs. Rachel, you have been too sympathetic. What Clode here needs is good food and a swift reminder of his duties.’

‘You think they aimed to kill me ?’ Clode said slowly, looking up at his friend.

‘Don’t be a fool. Lord, I’ve entrusted my ward’s fortune to a babe-in-arms. Think , Daniel — if Colonel Padfield had not broken down the door, you would have died on the floor in your own blood. It was the merest chance saved you. Someone meant you,’ he released his grip to point at Clode fiercely, ‘ you — to die there. Now who?’

Clode looked across at Harriet. ‘Is this your opinion too, Harriet?’

‘Yes. In all particulars,’ she said very calmly, ‘and Crowther’s too.’

Clode shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself again. ‘Very well.’ Then he lifted his head and looked at Harriet. ‘You and Mr Crowther are come like angels to deliver me, Harriet.’ The corner of his mouth twitched, and she saw something of his former self trying to return. She only smiled in reply, trying somehow in that smile to show both her faith and her sympathy.

‘Do you have pen and paper?’ Graves asked, looking about him. ‘I shall act as your scribe.’

‘No, Graves. Dear God, only years of close study have taught me to read your hand.’ Clode sighed deeply and shook himself. ‘Let Rachel write while you play drill master with my memory. But Manzerotti?’

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.

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.