Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘Where is Krall?’

‘He has gone to fetch my knives for me.’

‘Did he say anything to you about this mysterious chamber?’

‘He seems to think it was a place for confidential meetings. That is his speculation, at any rate. He asks us to let him interrogate Major Auwerk himself.’ She nodded. ‘It seems we were not the Countess’s first visitors, Mrs Westerman. The Duke came and sat vigil with her as dawn came up.’

Harriet sighed deeply. ‘I will never know what is meant here, and what is true. Do you trust Krall?’

Crowther shook his head. ‘I don’t think I trust anything I see here. My instinct is to think Krall honest and well-meaning, but that is my prejudice. I see the show and fakery of the court and do not like it. Therefore when I see Krall looking ill at ease amongst it in his old coat, I am disposed to like him. There is no logic in it. Do you trust him, Mrs Westerman?’

She smiled slightly. ‘You put faith in my instinct, Crowther? I have learned to my cost it is not so accurate as I would like, but my feelings are as yours on the subject.’

She pulled one of the ribbons on the release order through her fingers. She could hear the usual shouts and orders coming from the other courtyards now. The palace was waking.

‘Have you ever seen anything like this murder, Crowther?’ she said at last.

‘No, Mrs Westerman. I imagine few people have.’

‘I cannot help remembering what you told us of Kupfel’s drug. I wish he had not told you about the continued suffering of those rendered passive by it.’

‘May I suggest you do not dwell on the subject? Whatever hell they passed through, their sufferings are over now.’

She did not reply at once, then: ‘Why does he want their blood, Crowther? I had been almost seduced by Graves’s talk of revolutionary Freemasons into thinking these killings had some sort of political intention behind them, then the blood and that symbol. This is some manner of ritual.’

‘Freemasonry is all ritual, in my opinion. It makes the members feel they are more than some ordinary drinking society, but this is a step beyond anything I have heard imputed to any branch of Masonry I know of. No mention of collecting blood, or smothering people with earth.’

‘A pity. It would have made life rather more simple.’ She sat forward and put her chin in her hand, tapping Daniel’s release order against her skirt. ‘The elements. We have three of the four: water, earth — fire, possibly, if Warburg is another victim — what of air?’

‘It is a very easy thing to smother a person who is incapacitated. Close the mouth, pinch the nose. In the absence of any other of the four elements at the death of Fink and Raben, I would suggest that this insanity could say they were killed by air, or rather, the lack of it.’

‘It has a rather twisted logic to it.’ She stared at the flagstones in front of her. ‘Why do people perform rituals? Make sacrifices?’

‘To gain some advantage, some blessing from the gods.’

‘I read a rather colourful account of instances of human sacrifice in my father’s library,’ she said. ‘Peoples who were in the habit of killing prisoners or their own kin for success in wars or some such.’

He smiled. ‘I am surprised your father let you read such things.’

‘Oh, I was forbidden to do so. But he often forgot to lock his study door. Crowther, if these are sacrifices, these victims with rank and position, I feel that whoever is offering them must be asking for a very great favour from his gods. And there is another matter,’ she went on. ‘If we are right, and the blood is being removed from the place of killing …’

‘We are right. The blood flowed, the blood is no longer there. Ergo, it has been removed.’

She lifted her hand, impatient at the interruption. ‘Then perhaps we are not seeing the ritual, but only a part of it. He is doing something else with the blood.’

‘I see.’

At last she stood and smoothed her skirts.

‘I mean to track down this symbol that was on the door, Crowther. And put the order for Daniel’s release into Rachel’s hands.’

‘You will tell them of the murder of Countess Dieth?’

‘I shall.’

‘It is to be given out that Countess Dieth has gone into the country.’

‘Naturally. The new Duchess arrives in state tomorrow morning, does she not? Poor child.’ She turned away. ‘I shall leave you to the Countess. I wish I had had the opportunity to speak with her further.’ She bit her lip, then without another word, left him.

The priest, Huber, opened his door himself, but when he made no move to stand aside, Michaels gave it a firm push and dragged in the blacksmith. The priest stank of brandy, though if they were fumes lingering from the night before or he had started again, Michaels could not say. He saw a simple parlour with a sturdy-looking chair in it, so dropped the blacksmith there.

Huber looked baffled, and Michaels paused, wondering what explanations he should try and give. Then he simply walked out of the door again. Let them sort it for themselves. It was possible they would come after him, but Michaels had not given his name, and it didn’t look like anyone would be seeking that hard for justice on the blacksmith’s behalf. Still, it would be best not to linger. He walked back up the track again, knowing the rabble would not turn on him now the blacksmith was put away. As he entered the square he saw the young man with the shovel in the forge. It looked as if he and his friends had found the blacksmith’s strongbox, and were trying to break it open. The woman and her child were gone. He went to untie his horse. His mount had felt some of the violence in the air and was blowing hard through her nose. He put a hand on her neck and murmured to her. The words weren’t important, but she needed the touch, the steadying from him. He felt her muscles beginning to relax a little.

The skinny girl he had seen at the blacksmith’s came running up and slid to a halt at his side. Her eyes were a little vacant and the bones at her collar stuck out like a bird’s.

‘They said you were looking for the witch.’

Michaels continued to stroke his horse. ‘Looking for a girl, bit older than you, might have come through here two years ago.’

‘She had black hair. Never seen hair like it. Devil must have spat in it to make it so shiny.’

‘You know her then?’

The girl began to chew at one of her fingernails. ‘She wandered round here from time to time. I saw her. Three times.’ She held up three fingers to show him, her nails bitten and dirty.

‘Where was she staying?’

‘Dunno. She’s dead. Came with her head held high and no nod or smile for anyone. Time one. She was a witch. Saw her out in the fields. Time two. Then I saw the devil himself burying her. Time three. She’s dead. Just before the first snow.’

Michaels nodded very slowly. ‘The devil, you say? And where did he bury her?’

‘By the waterfall.’

‘Where’s that?’

She swung from side to side so her thin skirts swished around her ankles, chewing her thumbnail and staring at him. ‘Path goes up from old Rebecca’s place. You passed it if you came in from the big town. Steep. Your horsey won’t like it. You’ll have to walk.’

Michaels ran his hand through the horse’s mane. It snorted and shook its head. ‘How come you saw it?’

She kept swinging from side to side. ‘I like it there. Here is not nice. I only come when I am hungry. Would you like to know what the devil looks like?’

‘I think I should.’

She stopped swinging and gave a little skip, speaking so fast Michaels could hardly keep pace with the sense of it. ‘Like a man! Tall and thin with a long black cloak! I hid in the bushes and watched for a while, then the devil made me sleep, so I never saw him disappear. I liked her hair. I made a wreath for her, even if she was a witch. I am glad the devil buries his servants somewhere pretty. Maybe I should work for him.’