Frank Tallis - Death And The Maiden

Rheinhardt put on his coat, stepped out of his apartment, hurried down the stairs and let himself out onto the streets of Josefstadt.

It was a clear, bright evening. A cloudless sky glittered with stars and a gibbous moon floated high above the rooftops. Rheinhardt breathed in the chill air and looked up and down the empty road. He could not see the man who had been following him but he knew that he was hiding somewhere in the vicinity. It was a mystery how policemen acquired this sixth sense; however, its existence was indisputable. The stranger had been following Rheinhardt for almost a week, a situation that ordinarily would not have caused Rheinhardt excessive anxiety. But an auxiliary intuition had been persistently warning him to exercise caution, and at the back of his mind Orsola Salak’s prophesy refused to be dismissed.

Rheinhardt set off, weaving through cobbled streets until he found himself near the old theatre. He turned into Piaristenstrasse and glanced up at the baroque complexities of the Maria Treu Kirche. Its two spires thrust upwards with impressive vigour. Between them was a gable on which winged figures perched and gesticulated with a commensurate surplus of energy. The exuberance of the architecture contrasted starkly with Rheinhardt’s sober mood. He began to walk faster.

When Rheinhardt neared his destination he thanked God for a piece of good luck. A carriage came rattling down the narrow passageway, making enough noise to cover the sound of his footsteps. He came out on a road that terminated in a high wall to the left. It was only possible to go one way. Rheinhardt walked a few metres along the pavement and then slid between two bearded caryatids which stood on either side of a deep porch. Positioning himself behind one of the stone giants, he held his breath and waited. The brisk tread of the stranger could be heard over the fading rattle of the carriage, becoming louder as he turned the sharp corner. It was obvious that the man had been following Rheinhardt very closely — a professional, without doubt.

As soon as the stranger stepped into view Rheinhardt leaped forward and hooked his elbow round the man’s neck. He pulled the man backwards into the porch and held him fast. As his prisoner struggled, Rheinhardt felt something heavy collide with his hip.

‘Keep still and I’ll let you breathe.’ The man didn’t stop moving so Rheinhardt applied more pressure. ‘Keep still, I say.’

Although his captive had a slim physique, he was remarkably strong and limber. Rheinhardt felt his hold loosening and to his horror the man slipped down and out from beneath his armlock. A moment later, Rheinhardt was deflecting punches that came at him with great force and speed. He wasn’t fast enough to maintain an adequate guard and he got caught on the chin. Another punch drove into his stomach, winding him badly. With bovine determination Rheinhardt snapped his head forward again and butted his assailant in the face, before pushing him with considerable force against one of the caryatids. The man’s hat fell off and rolled across the pavement and into the gutter. Rheinhardt grabbed the man’s lapels but, once again, he could not keep hold of him. The villain escaped, stumbling out of the porch before righting himself and turning to confront Rheinhardt. It was a hard face — expressionless — sharp features, cropped hair, and cold reptilian eyes. The man thrust his hand into his coat pocket and his expression flickered with doubt and uncertainty.

‘I believe you are looking for this,’ said Rheinhardt, producing the man’s gun. He pointed it directly at the man’s heart. They were both breathing heavily. Somewhere, out on the streets, some people were carousing. A woman was laughing as two men sang Trinke, Liebchen, trinke schnell from Die Fledermaus . ‘Tell your master that the case is closed. His secret is safe with me. I am fully aware that it is no longer in my interests to continue the investigation.’ The man’s eyes darted from the gun barrel to Rheinhardt’s eyes and back again. ‘Do you understand?’

The man nodded and edged backwards to the kerb where he bent his knees and scooped up his hat. After replacing it on his head, he showed Rheinhardt that his hands were empty, turned on his heels, and walked off into the night. Rheinhardt leaned back against the building and massaged his jaw. It hurt a great deal, but there was no blood. Suddenly he was overcome by a profound tiredness. He felt drained of energy and would have liked nothing more than to just lie down on the ground and rest. Rheinhardt peered into the darkness. The man really had gone.

‘Dear God,’ Rheinhardt sighed. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

The voices of the carousers could still be heard, but they were already fading.

The Emperor and the lord marshal were seated at the conference-room table. A sudden draught made the candles flicker, and the unsteady light created a general illusion of movement. The bust of Field Marshal Radetzky seemed to leap forward. Franz-Josef was unnerved by the phenomenon. He frowned, drew on his cigar, and fell into a state of meditative contemplation.

They had been discussing the mayor — a subject which reliably lowered the emperor’s spirits. Franz-Josef’s humiliation at the 1896 Corpus Christi procession still haunted him: the crowd, applauding Lueger and slighting their Habsburg sovereign.

Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Jerusalem, King of Bohemia …

Franz-Josef tacitly enumerated his many titles, until he came to Grand Voyvoce of Serbia . He felt an acid burn in his chest and the pain made him grip the arm of his chair. Gradually the discomfort subsided and he continued smoking.

Corpus Christi.

This year’s procession was even worse .

Back in May he had been fulfilling his obligation to God and the people, walking beside the Cardinal Archbishop, when Count Goluchowski had appeared at his side. It was immediately obvious that the man was distressed. ‘Grave news from Serbia, Your Majesty — a group of rebel officers have brutally murderered King Alexander andthe Queen.’ Franz-Josef had straightened his back and asked, ‘ Is there anything we can do ?’ He had hoped that Goluchowski would answer in the affirmative, that he would disclose a clever response strategy. Instead, the minister had adopted a regretful expression and replied, weakly, ‘ Nothing, Your Majesty.’ Even though the sun was shining and Franz-Josef had — up until that point — felt hot in his uniform, a chill seemed to settle around his shoulders. Where would it all end? He had thanked the minister and continued walking.

The emperor exhaled and stared in an unfocused way through the dissipating cigar smoke.

‘One must suppose that, once again, the mayor will be re-elected.’

‘Sadly, Your Majesty, that is the outcome we must anticipate.’ The lord marshal made an apologetic gesture.

‘I take it that the delicate matter you have previously referred to has now been resolved?’

Their speech became more elliptical.

‘An unforeseen difficulty did arise, Your Majesty, but it was promptly dealt with by my office.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Franz-Josef stubbed out his cigar and pulled at his mutton-chop whiskers. ‘Even so …’

The lord marshal detected the emperor’s unease.

‘Your Majesty?’

‘I think, perhaps, we should take measures to ensure that the waters remain untroubled. Loyalty should be rewarded.’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’

‘One wouldn’t want…’ The emperor did not feel it was necessary to be explicit.

‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Well then,’ said the emperor, indicating with a change of intonation that, as far as he was concerned, their business was concluded. The lord marshal placed some signed documents in his leather briefcase, bowed, and crossed the floor.