HS04 - Unholy Awakening (22 page)

‘The victims here in Marienburg are French officers,’ he conceded lightly, ‘but the trail of victims continues to the nearby town of Lotingen. There, monsieur, the corpses are Prussians.’

General Layard cleared his throat, as if words failed him.

‘I have just sent a patrol across to the tavern that you mentioned,’ he said. ‘To be on the safe side, Colonel Lavedrine. One of my men was butchered there. I reversed my judgement of last night. I cannot afford to wait until you reach your conclusions.’

Lavedrine pursed his mouth and shook his head. ‘Another officer was attacked in town, sir, in a street frequented by men of every description – Frenchmen, Prussians, and many another nation. An officer was murdered in the same street two days later, where all three men had been lodging together in a private apartment.’

A man came up with a map in his hands.

‘Not now,’ hissed General Layard with a wave of his hand. He stared at Lavedrine as though he were the captured Duke of Wellington. ‘Are you suggesting that three of my men have been attacked and murdered by Frenchmen?’

‘That is exactly what I am saying.’

No doubt my own expression matched the surprise which registered on the general’s face. Lavedrine had spoken with measured determination.

‘I hope that you can prove the consistency of this theory, colonel.’

Lavedrine seemed to relax. His fingers caught at the slight red ribbon which was holding his hair in place. He pulled hard on the knot, and his curls fell loose. He let out a sigh, as if some charade were over, and he might now revert to his own true self. He had tried to play the part of a subservient officer, apparently, and he had failed. So, he seemed to say, why continue to act? He shook his head, then vigorously ruffled his curls with his right hand.

‘These things have already happened in the
Grande Armée
, sir. As you well know, Monsieur le Général. There is too much proof. I consulted the statistics this morning. The fortress is provided with the most recent information, as you well know. There have been feuds involving rival groups of officers in the garrison of Arles. Five men died. Duelling incidents in Venice. There were four victims, in that instance. Then, in Utrecht, Limburg, Essling…Shall I go on, sir? The list is all too long. Cliques form up wherever men are thrown together. Freemasonry represents just one of these groups.’ Lavedrine shrugged and let out a sigh. ‘Something similar has happened here, I think, and for some reason, these vendettas have involved people living in Lotingen, not thirty miles away. Prussians. The killings are physically identical—’

‘Are you certain, Lavedrine?’ I spoke without thinking, forgetting what I had agreed with him, that is, to give General Layard the impression that we had arrived at these conclusions together.

Lavedrine’s eyes blazed angrily into mine. The hand with which he had been combing out his hair clasped suddenly into a closed fist. For a moment, I thought he was about to plant it in my face.

‘Procurator Stiffeniis is right to doubt,’ murmured General Layard with barely concealed sarcasm. ‘Where is your evidence for these accusations, Lavedrine?’

‘Evidence is too strong a word, sir. I would talk of hints, suggestions…’

‘Hints?’ Layard repeated, and a smile traced itself at the corners of his mouth.

Lavedrine renewed his assault with fury. ‘In the first place, sir, why is Lieutenant Lecompte so reticent to tell us what he knows? He was wounded in the same manner as the other two, and he escaped with his life by a miracle. Yet his account of the attack is totally unconvincing. And he was talking to
me
, sir, a French soldier talking to a superior French officer. This morning I informed him that the corpse of Grangé had been found. I saw the terror in his eyes, but it makes no difference. He stubbornly repeats the tale that he told me when I was investigating the murder of Philippe Gaspard. He is not telling the whole truth. He is hiding something. If a Prussian had attacked him, don’t you think that he would have told us? Why would a French soldier defend his Prussian aggressors? If he will not denounce his attackers, General Layard, I must conclude that something strange is going on within the ranks of the French army. Before we start arresting Prussians who just happen to live close to the place where only
one
of the three attacks occurred, I must have more precise information from you, sir. That is, if we are to avoid the outrages which are taking place in Lotingen.’

‘Lotingen? What has Lotingen to do with Marienburg, Procurator Stiffeniis?’ Layard turned on me, his face stern with anger.

I was about to answer, but I did not. This was a French duel. It was between Lavedrine and Layard. I would leave them to sort it out.

‘You will have read of the recent murders in Lotingen, sir. The news was reported in some detail in
Le Bulletin Militaire
,’ Lavedrine replied. He turned to me. ‘Stiffeniis, please tell the general what has happened, and what may happen next if other people die in Lotingen. Tell him what could happen in the cemeteries. Regarding
vampires
.’

He sounded the final word with particular emphasis.

I did as I was told, and measured the effect of my words in the expression on the general’s face. It passed from sarcasm to incredulity, and, finally, to concern, as I began to describe the violated tombs and graves that I had seen, corpses torn from their resting places, subjected to the final indignity of a pointed stake driven through the heart. As I recalled the violated corpse of Lars Merson, I felt the fright rise up in me once more. If another corpse were found, I said, and if a vampire were invoked again as the cause of death, no French bayonet would be able to keep the Prussians in check.

‘Not one corpse will remain beneath the ground,’ I concluded.

‘Naturally,’ Lavedrine picked up the tale, and he accentuated the catastrophic consequences, ‘the fear will spread to other towns and villages. Cities will be overrun. You will be faced with a rebellion of enormous proportions, General Layard. You won’t have time for any of this,’ he said, indicating the room and its contents. ‘Your plans will all dissolve into dust. Did you not foresee this danger, monsieur?’

Lavedrine’s sarcasm faded into silence.

General Layard’s hawkish eyes flashed from Lavedrine to me, then back again. Then, he looked beyond us at the workforce in that room, the cartographers, carpenters, model-makers, and all the rest.

‘What do you want from me, Lavedrine?’

‘Some files are not available to me, sir. I want to examine your regimental lists, sir. The lists which relate to the officers in the companies of Gaspard, Lecompte and Grangé. I want to see your confidential files regarding these men.’

Layard nodded stiffly, and gave the order for the files to be brought.

Lavedrine turned away to watch the work going on in the Realm of Universal Intellect. I stared down at the floor, examining the exquisite grain of the parquet beneath my feet, fearing to look at General Layard in case he changed his mind.

The messenger returned, and a sheet of paper was duly placed in the hands of Lavedrine. He studied it attentively for some moments.

‘Thank you, Monsieur le Général,’ he said, handing back the paper, staring into the eyes of the superior officer, on whose account he appeared to have scored a sort of victory. ‘Believe me, I understand the difficulty in which you find yourself. Just as you have understood the delicacy of my position. Where can I find these men?’

‘You’ll find them in the
longue paume
room at this time of day,’ he said.

Lavedrine saluted, and we turned away.

As we made for the door, I threw a sideways glance at the relief map they were modelling and shaping on the other side of the room. I saw the snaking blue of rivers, the raised heights of a vast plateau, ranges of hills and mountains, the names of a hundred towns and villages written in bright red ink. To my surprise the entire map was painted white.

Was it snow?

It was not a three-dimensional map of Prussia, that was for certain.

The Realm of Universal Intellect was looking to the future, attempting to predict events and mould them into a crushing victory, I gathered. Pierre-Simon Laplace would have been proud to see his ideas taking shape in reality.

One word was written large in red capital letters.

Moscow

This was the threat that Lavedrine had used.

Vampires, cemeteries, uprooted corpses, riots.

Nothing must happen in Prussia to compromise the Emperor’s future plans.

The
longue paume
room was situated on the northern flank of the castle.

Light flooded in through windows set high up in the walls. And above our heads there were three large latticed skylights as well. Given the length and vastness of the hall, and the beaten earth floor, I guessed that it had once been designated by the governors of Marienburg fortress as an indoor school where horses could be exercised when the winter winds brought snow and ice that would prevent any man or beast from venturing out for more than minutes at a time.

Evidently, the French had found some other solution to the problem.

The room had been set aside for a form of exercise which was more congenial to the officers lodging in the fortress than the breaking-in of horses. I was surprised to think that General Layard had taken so much care of the physical well-being of his men as to provide them with an entertainment which was, I believe, available to them nowhere else in Prussia. The room had been laid out for playing
longue paume
, as Lavedrine was quick to tell me. It was a game which I had never seen before.

A net was stretched tightly from side-wall to side-wall, dividing the playing area into two equal rectangles. Along the left-hand wall a seating area had been laid out for spectators in the form of a raised balcony containing rows of benches – the pavilion, as I soon learnt to call it – in which we could sit and watch the game protected by netting in front, and a high sloping roof above our heads. Dozens of iron braziers hung high upon the walls. They would provide light and heat, and allow the game to go on when the sun had faded, or on days when it did not shine at all.

When Lavedrine and I ducked in through one of the narrow doors which led to the pavilion, a game was in progress between four young men, two on either side of the net. The players were armed with what appeared to be large fly-swatters made of a wooden frame and latticed gut – ‘
raquettes
’, as Lavedrine called them, ‘“long palms”, the traditional name, is out of fashion now,’ he added – with which they were hitting a small cork ball from one side of the playing area to the other with unrestrained ferocity. There was a large crowd of spectators in the pavilion, together with an individual seated on a high stool, a judge or referee, who called out the score whenever a point was scored.

‘
Trente–trente
,’ he cried, as we sat down.

One of the players picked up the ball, called out, ‘
Tenez!
’ and struck it very hard, aiming at the pavilion roof, which resounded with the violent force of the blow. The ball flew off at a wild angle, bouncing high off the ground on the far side of the net. I watched in bewilderment as the game went on, then came to an abrupt end for no reason I could easily divine, and the third round of the fourth set of six games began with only a short pause for refreshments in the form of fluted glasses of wine. The more that Lavedrine attempted to explain to me what was going on – he spoke of chases, forces, hazards, bobbling volleys, and
piqué
long shots – the less I understood of what I saw.

The other people in the pavilion were better informed.

They followed what seemed to be the vagaries of the game with loud excited whoops, or grunts of fierce disappointment, egging on one side, or the other. No-one down in the playing arena wore military uniform, though they were all dressed in like manner. The players wore long white linen shirts which hung loose, their sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, baring their arms, while trousers of the same light colour and material ended just below the knee. Their riding-boots had been replaced with leather-soled shoes made of stuff that looked like jute, and they were tied with long ribbons strapped around their calves.

‘The pair on the right are winning,’ Lavedrine informed me. ‘Now, they are coming up to serve for the set, defending
dedans
.’

I did not ask him what he meant. There was a pervading smell of sweat and warm bodies, and the shouts of the players and the watchers echoed and rebounded all around the playing-hall, but I did not find it unpleasant.

‘They’ll be at it for some time yet,’ said Lavedrine. ‘Wait here for me, Stiffeniis. I want to find the fellows that we are looking for.’

I watched him go towards the centre of the balcony, directly above the net, where the majority of the spectators were sitting tightly packed, ignoring the empty spaces on either side of them. He tapped one man on the shoulder, and spoke to him. I saw the puzzled faces of the soldier and his neighbour turn unwillingly away from the game. Then, a fellow next to them leapt to attention, having recognised the presence of a superior officer. The other two made haste to follow their companion’s example, but Lavedrine held up his hand, indicating that they should remain where they were. And even while he spoke to them, I could see that their attention was torn between what was happening on the court in front of them, and what the eccentric colonel in civilian clothes was saying, as he nodded to the left and to the right of the net, indicating the players.

Lavedrine waved his hand in thanks, and made his way back to me.

‘The men we are interested in are losing badly,’ he murmured. He sat down at my side, leant close and said, ‘I would have abolished the game forever after what happened on the twentieth of June, 1789.’

‘The twentieth of June?’ I asked, uncertain of what he was getting at.

‘Versailles. Our national assembly. Mirabeau’s confrontation with the king. The revolution began on a
longue paume
court, remember. I’m in favour of the revolution, you under stand, but I hold a less favour able view of many of the hotheads who seized power in the name of the people, and exercised it in their own miserable interests. Now, of course, the Emperor has put an end to all that nonsense.’ He puffed out loud and shook his head. ‘If they lose, they’ll be in no mood to speak to us. Can you be patient a little longer, Stiffeniis? We ought to encourage them to put their hearts into the game.’

No sooner said, than he had done it, standing to his feet, cupping his hands to his mouth, letting out a sporting cry in French which was beyond my comprehension.

‘I have never seen this game before,’ I said as he sat down, ‘and probably never will again. I am told that the French are fanatics.’

Lavedrine watched the ball fly and spin and thump around the walls. ‘I played a lot when I was young,’ he said, ‘but now I find it boring. I have never enjoyed the passive role of the spectator. I cannot watch other men doing something, while I sit idle.’ In that instant he sprang to his feet with a curse. ‘There! They’ve have lost another point. God in Heaven, what lying compliments we’ll be obliged to pay to induce them to talk.
Merde alors!
Can they not pull off a single chase?’

Although I did not understand it, I was beginning to enjoy the ritual of the game. The server hitting the ball towards the pavilion roof, the thumping noise that it made as it bounced away, the strange trajectories that the sphere took, the desperate attempts that our two fellows made to return it.

‘Any idiot could read the under-spin on that shot,’ Lavedrine muttered angrily, as yet another point was lost.

‘What do you intend to ask them?’ I said, hoping to distract him.

My eyes were on the two young men who interested us. They glistened with sweat, their faces tense. They were speaking together in whispers, one of them having gone to retrieve the ball from the far corner where it had landed as they lost another point.

‘The same thing that I asked Lecompte,’ he replied. ‘He refused to answer me…Damnation, another point! I went to see him this morning, and told him of the finding of the corpse of Grangé, but I couldn’t get a word out of him. His throat may be damaged, but his hearing is not. He can say yes and no. You read those reports last night, I take it? They all belong to the same regiment. They were friends. I cannot believe that Lecompte knew nothing of what Grangé may have been up to on the other bank of the river, and why he ended up in that abandoned house.’

‘A closing of the ranks,’ I said, my eyes moving left, right, then left again, as a cry of momentary victory exploded from the throats of the two men that Lavedrine intended to interrogate, and a burst of applause erupted from a section of the spectators.

‘If that is the case, there may be others involved.’

‘Is that why they are not telling you the truth? Do you include Layard in the conspiracy?’

Another burst of applause greeted a spectacular parry.

‘I include everyone. Even you, Stiffeniis. You’ve told me very little about this woman, Emma Rimmele.’

Had I been struck in the chest by the cork ball, the effect could hardly have been more painful: I gasped for breath, my heart seemed to stop. I had not expected to hear the name of Emma Rimmele. Not in that moment, nor in that place. In Marienburg, I had made a conscious effort to put her out of my mind. As if, by doing so, I could hide her away from everyone else, especially Serge Lavedrine. Then again, we were deep inside Marienburg Castle. Two officers had been killed, another had been wounded. Lavedrine had voiced his suspicion that there might be a feud going on within the ranks of the army. He had mentioned personal vendettas which had left a trail of blood in Arles, Venice, and many other places. Now, suddenly, he raised the name of Emma Rimmele, as if she had some role in the conspiracy.

‘I’ve told you everything,’ I said, my tongue as rough as sandpaper.

‘It is very little, given that the first victim was found in the well of her garden. Don’t you think you ought to have unearthed a great deal more on her account?’

‘It is not her house,’ I said, instinctively rising to Emma’s defence. ‘She arrived in Lotingen a short time ago…’

‘I was thinking of the stories that people tell about her.’

I forced myself to look at him. He was watching the game as if it concerned him more than any strange Prussian story possibly could. ‘Superstition is a terrible thing,’ I said. ‘It turns the tongues of ignorant people into slashing blades and piercing nails. No-one is safe against it. Fraulein Rimmele is a stranger in Lotingen; her ways are not
their
ways. Her appearance is…eccentric. The accusations I have heard are no thing more than slander. Her arrival in town with a coffin on the roof of the coach did not win her friends. But I see nothing which would induce me to accuse her of not one, but
three
murders.’

He turned and looked at me. His clear blue eyes held mine for a moment, then they shifted to my neck, as if he were looking for some remaining sign of the fading marks in the vicinity of my collar. His left eyebrow curved upwards in an ironic fashion which was characteristic of him.

‘You know nothing. Not even where she comes from. Did she tell where this country estate of theirs is located? When you were reporting to Claudet, I remember thinking that you had barely scratched the surface. Did she avoid your questions, or did she employ some other…strategy?’ He tilted his head and peered more closely at my neck.

‘Why are you asking me now?’

‘I am whistling in the wind, Stiffeniis. The investigation of the murders in Lotingen was in your hands in that moment.’ He waved his hand emptily in the air. ‘Who can say why we wish to know so little of the people who perturb us most? Perhaps we are afraid to think that they hold us, somehow, in their power.’

I turned back to the game, as if it truly interested me. ‘I thought you said that the reason for these killings would be found within the ranks of the French army? Isn’t that what you told General Layard? Now, instead, you harp on about Lotingen, pointing an accusing finger at Emma Rimmele.’

‘We’ll sit through the tedium of this dull game,’ he growled, ‘until the time is ripe to ask these men what they know about the behaviour of officers in their regiment. But I can never forget that we are also looking for a link connecting Marienburg to Lotingen.’

My temper broke forth in a rush. ‘You wish to lay your hands on my investigation in my town.’

I felt his breath hot upon my cheek. His face was so close to mine that I could not turn to face him and retain my dignity. I froze in profile, eyes fixed on the players on the right of the net, while he hissed into my ear. ‘Having seen the corpse of Grangé and read those reports, don’t try to tell me that there is no connection. The wounds are identical. There is a link, Stiffeniis, and I will find it!’

I stared ahead, the game forgotten.

There would be no shifting him. And yet, I believed more strongly than ever that Lotingen and Marienburg were two distinct and separate cases, and that the victims were equally distinct and different.

‘To sustain your theory,’ I said, ‘you’ve got nothing but vulgar superstition in the form of vampires.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Don’t give me that, Hanno Stiffeniis. I will exclude no possibility from this investigation. No person either, no matter how embarrassing you may find it. I am breaking all the rules, as I hope you realise. A Prussian magistrate in a French barracks? It will be the end of me if I fail. That’s how far
I
am prepared to go. You, instead, have backed down, failing to make exhaustive enquiries about a witness for reasons that I prefer not to speculate about. Damn your embarrassment! You are not impartial, and it clouds your judgement. You guard your secrets as if you were the subject of the investigation. I…’

The rest of what he had to say was drowned by cheering. The game was over, the men he wished to speak with had been defeated. He punched me lightly on the arm and leapt to his feet. ‘Come, Stiffeniis, the waiting is over. See if you can find something positive to say about the way that they were playing. We must unglue the tongues in this place.’

He had spoken in the plural. As if together we might enter into the confidence of those young men by means of shallow compliments. Frankly, I did not understand what he expected of me. A moment before, he had been critical of how I had conducted the murder investigation in Lotingen. Now, he wanted to involve me in the interrogation of French soldiers. If the wounded officer had refused to answer him, what could he expect from these two? How would the presence of a Prussian magistrate en able him to penetrate a barrier of French silence?