Imogen Robertson - Circle of Shadows

Now Manzerotti was watching him. The castrato looked as comfortable and composed as ever. The drama of Krall had left Crowther feeling ragged, and he envied Manzerotti’s ability to retain his poise so completely. Crowther wondered if it was a result of being stared at for his entire adult life. Perhaps he had developed some thicker skin that allowed him to ignore both the adoration and the suspicion with which he was regarded. An animal adapting to its environment. Perhaps the poise was trained into him from his earliest age, just as the music was.

‘Did you submit to the operation willingly?’ he asked as the thought formed in his head. For the first time he saw something like a spasm of emotion cross the castrato’s face, but so fleeting and slight was it, a moment later Crowther could not swear to having seen it at all.

‘No. I did not. I come from peasant stock, Gabriel. My family were as ignorant and mean as the rocks from which they tried to drag a living. I sang at church with the other children, the priest recognised my talent and suggested to my parents that there was money to be made. They leaped at the chance to make some easy gold from one of their brood.’

‘I am sorry.’

Manzerotti looked up at him and smiled briefly. ‘How strange — I believe you are. But you should not pity me. I am terribly rich now, you know, one way or another. How nice it is to chat, Gabriel.’ He dropped his eyes. ‘You realise, we are not very different, you and I. If what I hear is to be believed, and my information is usually very good, it is the sins of your family that made you a recluse. Thus you are a man with no sons to follow him, just as I am.’

Crowther turned away slightly.

‘My friend Johannes volunteered for the operation. He was eager. He saw it as a chance to serve God. Then when his voice failed, he chose to serve me.’

Crowther recalled the last time he had seen Johannes, Manzerotti’s assassin, heard the crow-crack of his mangled voice. It had been in a room as hot as this but in a hovel, not a palace. He had stuck a knife into James Westerman’s belly, then Crowther had in turn left him to be torn apart by a mob. Crowther did not shy away from the memory, and he felt no shame about letting the man be murdered. Nevertheless he found himself speaking. ‘He died proclaiming your escape, your invulnerability, Manzerotti. He said you were his voice.’

Manzerotti was silent, then nodded slowly. ‘I was a cruel and unforgiving deity. But his devotion was absolute, and as you see, his faith was not misplaced.’

For some time the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of the Chancellor.

‘Shall we be successful in sweating the poison out of him?’ Crowther asked at last.

‘It is one strategy among others, but I shall be easier when your Alchemist has examined him.’ Crowther watched the castrato take a cloth from the basin at the bedside and carefully wipe the Chancellor’s hands again, then discard the material he had used.

‘Anything of the murder of Mrs Dieth you wish to confide in me, Gabriel? As we have become so confidential? You see, I know she is not in the countryside.’ Crowther clenched his jaw. ‘Ah, not yet. I understand. It is my turn to offer you something, is it?’

He washed his hands and took a seat by the fire once more, his attitude more businesslike. ‘Very well. You know I am not here simply to fill my pockets singing for the Duke, though he is a fine judge of opera. I am interested in Maulberg, Gabriel, because over the last five years there have been a series of minor … events that have begun to look suspicious to my eyes.’

‘To your eyes, Manzerotti, or to the eyes of those who employ you?’

‘I have no intention of naming my employer, so for the moment you must think of us as one. Do you wish me to continue?’

Crowther nodded reluctantly. ‘I do. What manner of events?’

‘Nothing serious in themselves, but a pattern of minor illnesses and ailments. Nothing as violent as this, or as exotic as the other murderous attacks. Some of the victims have held position at court, others have been visitors to Maulberg on business either mercantile, military or diplomatic. I suspected, and in the past few weeks have confirmed, a pattern in these troubles.’

‘Interesting. You believe the Duke has a pet poisoner?’

Manzerotti turned towards him, and blinked his black eyes. ‘He would not be the first sovereign to find such a person of use.’

‘Have you been of such use?’

‘Tush, Gabriel. So crude! I would not tell you if I had been. I do not think the Duke himself has commissioned this poisoner.’

‘Why not?’

‘Dear man, I have my reasons. No, I think someone has been acting without the Duke’s authority, occasionally on Maulberg’s behalf, mostly on their own.’

‘Poisoners who have a tendency to be civic-minded.’

‘Occasionally. Once or twice a man with claims on the Maulberg Treasury such as Graves has become rather ill here, and left to recover their health, before they could recover their money. But one case might serve as a more typical example. An architect from the French court was passing through Ulrichsberg and was made welcome in the usual way. The Duke took a liking to him and they spent some time closeted together discussing plans for a new palace — nothing on this scale,’ he raised his hand to the magnificence around them.

Crowther put his other wrist into the thin draught and felt his blood carry the cooling through his arm. ‘You have my attention, Manzerotti.’

‘Their discussions reached beyond architecture; the Duke was observed reading books that the architect had recommended. The architect then became ill.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Yes. He recovered after some weeks, then became ill again. After that, he returned to France saying he did not find Ulrichsberg conducive to his health. He tried to continue his intimacy with the Duke by letter. He received no replies.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Isn’t it? There have been other occasions. My little enquiries have taken me far afield. Have you been to St Petersburg? Lovely city. Then Vienna. But when news reached me of a member of the court actually murdered and some rumours of the distressed state of the Englishman accused, I decided to come to the source of these incidents. It is also interesting to note, Gabriel, that Colonel Padfield has his own house and servants in town, and Count Frenzel still spends most of his nights on his own lands.’

‘The men who helped arrange the current marriage. Yet these murders of Countess Dieth and Lady Martesen …’

‘And the others. Yes, I have heard of your interest in the recent accidental deaths too. They are on a very different, how may I say it, scale. I agree. And they are of a much more recent date. The petty poisonings in which I am interested began several years ago, long before that interesting little poison book was taken.’

‘Would it surprise you to learn, Manzerotti, that there is some sort of hidden meeting chamber within the walls of this palace?’

‘No. It was built by the uncle of Ludwig Christoph. There are slightly secret passages all through the building. But it is no longer in use.’

‘It is. And Countess Dieth’s body was found there.’

Manzerotti raised an eyebrow. ‘By whom?’

‘A footman who has orders from a Major Auwerk to clean the place. He informed the Major, who put the body into one of the grace and favour bedrooms before he summoned Swann, Krall or ourselves.’

‘The Major did that?’

‘Then Swann asked to meet Mrs Westerman and myself. I believe he knew something more of that secret room than even Major Auwerk did.’

‘Fascinating. What a nest of vipers this place is,’ Manzerotti said with a yawn. ‘It makes me long for the Opera House. Well, Gabriel, now we have begun, perhaps you had better tell me everything you and the lovely Mrs Westerman have discovered.’