Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

‘The District Officer has spoken to Major Auwerk,’ Crowther said.

‘Meetings were held in the room from time to time,’ Krall said, dabbing at his mouth, ‘between some friends of the Duke who wished to meet away from the public gaze. However, the Major never attended himself. Countess Dieth would ask him to leave the room unlocked, and clean it afterwards. He was willing to hold the key, but must have thought the cleaning below him, so employed Wimpf and put in a good word for him from time to time.’

‘What friends?’

Krall pushed away his plate. ‘The Major says he did not know, but that he trusted the Countess absolutely.’

‘And do you believe him, Herr District Officer?’

‘I do. I sense he would have loved to know who met there with the Countess — ’

‘Seven glasses,’ Harriet said. Krall ignored the interruption.

‘- but that he did not. He was glad to hold the key though. The Countess had great influence and I am sure she helped his rise through the ranks. He is young to be a Major. I have called on the Countess’s servants in town. They did not seem altogether surprised that she had decided to spend some time at her country estate. Her maid said they expected as much when she returned to the palace last night. She told them a servant had arrived with a summons. She then instructed Auwerk to leave the door unlocked after supper.’ He stood. ‘Forgive me. I must make the arrangements I spoke of earlier. I fear I shall be of no use to you for some hours.’

They watched him go and Crowther told her how the murder of the Countess was to be concealed. She wrinkled her nose, but said nothing. ‘What news from the Duke, Mrs Westerman?’

‘The Countess wore a ring with an owl on it. Lady Agatha wore a necklace with one too. And Chancellor Swann wishes to speak to us. What is it, Crowther?’

‘The owl. Fink had a fob with an owl design — it went missing when he died.’

Harriet frowned. ‘Good Lord. Can it be coincidence?’

Crowther shook his head. ‘I doubt it, Mrs Westerman.’

By early afternoon frustration and hunger had driven Pegel down the stairs and out into the streets of Leuchtenstadt, leaning heavily on a staff his diminutive manservant had filched for him from one of the neighbours’ woodpiles. He was beginning to doubt his ability to break the code. Pegel was used to excelling, and had come to enjoy it. If he left now with the names he had collected, his belief that the man in green, Dunktal, was Spartacus, leader of the Minervals he had come to hunt, then he would be praised and rewarded. If he rode into Ulrichsberg with the coded messages made readable he would impress a man thought unimpressible. He would be able to ask anything. But he was not sure he could do it. He kicked at a pebble and it danced into one of the gutters that ran along the street.

He stared into the water; it was one of the many channels that ran along the streets of Leuchtenstadt. It was an aspect of the old town that appealed to him, these little rivers flowing in the gutters. He was told by his landlady, with a wink, that if he stepped in one he’d marry a Leuchtenstadt girl. He doubted it. He chewed a pastry still warm from the oven and, to avoid seasoning his food with his disappointment over the coded messages, he began wondering idly if it would be possible to describe the motion of water in the language of mathematics. A thing so simple, that was also so complex — was there a key? A way to unlock? His thoughts became wordless and he looked up from the water to the cathedral spire. Dark red, yet so light, so apparently delicate was the structure, it seemed to lift away from the earth and take the body of the cathedral with it into the air. Pegel liked the earthy sense of humour of the stonemasons who had carved the waterspouts around the flying buttresses, the frogs and demons, the spitting woman and hanging arse, what private revenges or jokes had they built into the stone? Was the woman the wife of the man who carved her? His mother-in-law? Pegel was sure that no one could resist folding themselves into their work. It was another reason he preferred mathematics to literature. Less personal. He dusted the last of the pastry from his hands then became still. Surely it could not be so simple? Would they use a phrase so readily bandied about as a key? It was certainly memorable. In his excitement he leaned on his right ankle, and the joy of inspiration gave way to a stream of curses.

Swann was waiting for them by a shallow pond, surrounded with high beech hedges. In its centre stood a statue of a young boy, one stone leg bent, pouring water from a giant conch into the pool below. Harriet was glad of her cloak. The naked statue made her feel cold. She thought of the new Duchess, wondered what her life had been up to now, which of these many statues would become her favourites, or if she would claim the right of a new bride and have them replaced with her own fancies.

Swann did not greet them. He had been seated on a stone bench examining the boy, and now he stood slowly and came towards them.

‘The Duke has enjoyed this winter,’ he said as he joined them. ‘There was an ice fair once a week, with skating on the grand lake, and each of these little garden rooms was made into a grotto where the guests could retire to warm themselves. We burned enough fuel each evening to warm a village for a month.’

Harriet frowned. The straight-backed servant of the Duke had never spoken to them in this way before, and there was something strange in his tone. Something lost and floating. A sheen of sweat lay on his brow.

‘Chancellor, do you know of this group who met in the secret chamber?’ Crowther’s voice was quiet. He sensed something out of joint here too. Swann was carrying a cane. He placed it in front of him and leaned on it, swaying a little forward and back. His eyes were unfocused, looking up over the fresh-clothed beech hedge into the solid grey sky.

‘The last summer was cruel, this winter worse. We will need guidance. Help. And my sovereign thinks only of how he loves to skate.’

Harriet examined his profile. He seemed to see something other than the world they saw. She had only just heard the Duke talking of the need for fresh blood among his advisers. He had arranged an advantageous marriage. These did not seem the actions of a man who thought only of skating. ‘Your Excellency?’ He turned his hooked nose slowly towards her, and she thought of a man sleeping, trying to wake. ‘Chancellor Swann? Were you one of the seven people who met in that room? Was Lady Agatha another? Was Fink?’

Swann frowned and waved his hand. ‘We have done much good. Now we are hunted.’

He staggered slightly; the cane slipped away from him and twisted on the gravel. Harriet reached out to put a hand under his elbow and guided him back to his seat on the bench. He sat rather heavily and a silver flask clattered from the folds of his cloak.

‘Crowther! He is unwell. Help me.’

He sat on the other side of the Chancellor and lifted the man’s chin. ‘Swann! Swann — can you hear me?’ The man’s eyes were half-closed and his hands were beginning to twitch. ‘Who is being hunted?’

He blinked and managed to turn his head in Crowther’s direction, looking at him as he might a particularly stupid child. ‘It is all for the greater good. We shoulder the burden of control for the greater good.’ A thin thread of saliva hung from his lip.

‘Crowther, we must get help.’

‘A moment, Mrs Westerman. What do you mean, Swann?’ Crowther took him by the shoulders and shook the man. A little sense flickered into Swann’s eyes again

‘I serve the secret superiors. We obey. For the greater good.’

Crowther snapped his fingers in front of Swann’s swimming gaze. ‘For God’s sake, Crowther,’ Harriet hissed.