EVERYTHING WAS GREY as the rowing-boat pushed off.

The sea, the sky, everything in between. Only the stark outline of the coq du mer stood out in the gloomy light of dawn. The derrick hung over the water like a gallows painted black. The sky pressed down like a sheet of basalt on the molten lead of the sea. The boatman groaned and grunted at his labour, each dip of his oars producing an oily swirl in the water, yet we barely seemed to advance an inch. Rippling reflections grazed the flanks of the boat, fanning out in a wide chevron behind us. He was carrying me to the barge where les Halles had been labouring all night. There was no one left to whom I could turn for help. But would he help me? Was there one single reason why he should?

Inside my head a dull heaviness reigned.

The day before had been a total failure.

The Round Fort in the morning. Nordcopp in the afternoon. Gurten and I, looking everywhere for Erika Linder. The cellar was empty, as if a magician had waved his wand and caused every single thing to disappear: Erika, her mother, the tables and benches, the cauldrons of amber and fish soup. Only the smell of fish confirmed the fact that I had not been dreaming.

I had turned for help to the French.

Sergeant Tessier was not on duty. The soldier who was pretended not to understand my French until the name of Colonel les Halles brought him to his senses. He admitted that a girl answering to the description of Erika was often seen around town, but neither her name nor her mother's was registered with them. As for the cellar, he explained, it was rented out on a daily basis. One day someone might be brewing beer down there, the next it could be used as a tavern. Sometimes no one rented it. In Nordcopp, anything could happen when the streets were full of amber-traders.

As the sun began to sink, Erika was nowhere to be found.

Gurten invited me to spend the night in the guest-house of the convent.

'I need to speak to les Halles,' I said.

'Well, you . . . you know where you can always find me, Herr Stiffeniis,' Gurten said, an expression of uncertainty on his face.

I knew what puzzled him, and I had no reason to prolong his uncertainty. Could I deny that he had set me on a new track? Adam Ansbach was no longer the only suspect. That was the news that I would be carry ing back to les Halles.

I nodded, smiled, and said: 'It is important for a magistrate to know where his a.s.sistant may be found.'

a.s.sistant.

Gurten's face lit up at the word. And I was glad to have him at my side.

I no longer felt like a total stranger in my own country.

I had to pa.s.s through Nordbarn going back towards the coast. Pastoris was next on my list of things to do. But as I approached the settlement, I saw French uniforms milling around outside the workshop.

I ran, expecting the worst.

They had found another corpse.

But as I drew near, I saw no signs of alarm on the soldiers' faces. I showed my papers to an officer who was holding a black cheroot in the doorway of the workshop. He blew a puff of aromatic smoke in my face.

'I know you,' he quipped. 'The Prussian magistrate in our camp!'

'Has something happened?' I asked him.

'Nothing,' he said, flicking away the stump of his cheroot. 'We marched here this morning with Colonel les Halles. When he left for the coast with his steam-pump, he told us to stay put. Up at the farm, and here.'

The Ansbach property would be run by four men who had worked on farms before being drafted into the army. The soldiers would look after the pigs, cows and hens, and make sure that the supply of food and milk to the camp on the coast was regular. The Ansbach family would not be coming back, the officer said, sounding ominously like Magda Ansbach herself.

'The corpse?' I asked him, wondering whether les Halles had had it carried back to the coast.

The officer shrugged. 'Fish food by now, I reckon.'

The night before, Edviga Lornerssen had asked a favour of me. She had given me a chip of amber, telling me to place it under the tongue of Ilse Bruen before her body was thrown into the Baltic Sea. That bit of amber was still in my pocket. I had fainted when I saw the body. And now, it was too late. I would never be able to fulfil my promise to Edviga.

'What's happening here at the workshop?' I asked him.

His name was Ducros, and he was a second lieutenant. There would be seven soldiers under his command, he said, two for each room, plus one to guard the door and search each person pa.s.sing through it. All the rough amber coming in from the coast, and all of the polished amber going out to Nordcopp, would pa.s.s through his hands.

'Herr Pastoris will translate my orders for as long as I need him,' he said.

I looked across at the master grinder, but Pastoris looked the other way.

'My men will learn to handle these grinding wheels easily,' Ducros confided. 'I mean to say, French soldiers with two hands can do what a Prussian cripple manages with one. Don't you agree?'

There is a legend on the coast. Some folk even claim to have seen such phenomena. Monster waves which sweep down from the North Pole, pushed by the winds, gathering momentum as they race across the Baltic Sea, where they crash at last upon the Prussian sh.o.r.e, then flood the hinterland, bringing choking mud and wholesale destruction. Ilse Bruen had had the same effect on Nordbarn. The discovery of her body in the neighbourhood had swept away everything, destroying the lives of all the other people who were living there.

Pastoris refused to meet my eye.

He sat at his place, giving orders to his women in short sharp barks, showing the French soldiers by eloquent mime and gesture how to use the treadle, how to bring rough amber into contact with the whirring grindstone. He taught them to chip away marine deposits, turning the amber all the while, insisting that they keep it soaked with grease, and avoid over-working the parts where air-bubbles were present.

The Frenchmen watched the women work.

Now and then, the girls looked up, studying the concentrated expressions on the foreign faces, glancing back at their grinding-wheels as fear got the better of them. One question was written openly on their features.

What will happen next?

Only Hilde Bruckner worked alone. No Frenchman wanted to get too close to her. Pastoris busied himself about everything, explaining something to the French, chivvying the sad-faced women, making sure that all the amber went back into the sack that it had come from. He was purposely avoiding me, I decided. But sooner or later, I thought, he would be obliged to speak to me. A storm was coming on, the sky outside was the colour of sand. The air inside the hut was hot and heavy. The overcrowded, festering, unwashed bodies, the unremitting concentration which Hans Pastoris forced on the French, the intensity of the labour which was new to them, could not last forever. The soldiers would wish to stop, sooner or later. They would want to smoke and relax. I was waiting for this moment, and I meant to take advantage of it. Pastoris kept them at it for an hour, or more, but then Officer Ducros spoke out.

'My men need a break,' he said.

Hans Pastoris could only nod. The wheels stopped spinning. The soldiers trooped outside, and Ducros followed them. I took advantage of the interruption, walked across and cornered Pastoris. The ugly scrofula beneath his chin was physically trembling.

'What will become of us, now?' he hissed at me, before I could speak.

'You knew les Halles was coming,' I said. 'It was only a question of when.'

'You gave him the excuse,' he snarled. 'They wanted a Prussian, and that is what they got! Now, we'll all be given the push. And a Prussian magistrate will sign the order!'

The women studied our lips, trying to make sense of what we were saying. No one left her place, fearing that she might never be allowed to return to it, perhaps. All eyes were on Pastoris. They were waiting for a word from their master which would signal the hope of survival, or the beginning of a painful exodus.

'I did not order Adam's arrest,' I insisted. 'The corpse of Ilse Bruen was found at the farm, together with a pile of bones that no one has been able to identify. Adam Ansbach was there, and les Halles refuses to look any further. He ordered the boy's arrest.' I lowered my voice. 'But all is not yet lost. There might be an alternative solution. A plausible one, which would set Adam free. You must help me, Pastoris.'

The man looked up at me. 'What are you talking about?'

'Amber was stolen from the church in Nordcopp some months ago. Two women, posing as runaway amber-gatherers, gave their names as Annalise and Megrete. I've been to the Round Fort, but I found no trace of them in the registers.'

Pastoris peered at me attentively.

'What has a theft to do with the murders of Kati and Ilse, Herr Procurator?'

His sharp breath blew into my face. I had to resist the temptation to pull back.

'What if those names were false?' I said.

'Kati and Ilse? Is that what you're saying? You think that they stole the amber?'

'Tanzig at the Round Fort says he's seen no amber with insertions in a long time. Yet that is the amber that everyone wants. The girls know it. They must be smuggling lots of it out. But no one seems to know who comes, who goes. I'm going back to check the lists the French keep on the coast.'

I paused, expecting his reaction, but Pastoris did not say a word.

'You were right,' I went on, 'the French do know what's going on. The guards are a party to the smuggling. If Kati and Ilse went to Nordcopp using false names, then that is the end of it. But if they did not, Annalise and Megrete could be two more girls who have vanished, possibly murdered. Have you ever heard those names p.r.o.nounced by your workers, Pastoris? I need to know it before I speak to Colonel les Halles.'

'Is that your game, Herr Stiffeniis?' The words bubbled angrily up from his throat. 'See if you can get Pastoris into the s.h.i.t, as well? Whose idea was this? The Colonel's? I'll give you Adam, if you give me Pastoris. Is that what he told you?' His face was bright red. Veins stood out on his forehead. The swollen sac throbbed and pulsed beneath his chin with rage. 'There's not one drop of Prussian blood left in you,' he said. 'Can't you see how low you've sunk, working for them?'

He spun away before I could reply, advancing on the women.

'Back to work!' he shouted. 'This pause has lasted long enough.'

Ducros came in as these words were spoken.

'You'd do well to stay, monsieur,' the French lieutenant called from the door, inviting me to take note of the sky. A forbidding, black barrier masked the horizon. 'A storm is brewing,' he said.

I tried to sleep on a hard wooden bench, and set off for the coast before daybreak.

Without managing to speak to Pastoris again.

THE BOAT WAS halfway to the barge.

The sky was growing darker by the moment.

The sea was a black mirror, which reflected my pessimism.

'What time did the Colonel come out this morning?' I asked the boatman.

'Been here all night, monsieur,' he replied.

'Problems?' I asked warily.

'There's nothing wrong with the coq,' the boatman said. He thought on that for a while, then he added, 'It's the pump. Something must have blocked the suction pipe.'

The pump had drained the slime in the Ansbach pigsty perfectly, according to les Halles. Now, it was broken. I took a deep breath. Les Halles would not be in any sort of a mood to speak to me.

And yet, I had to face him.

I looked down at the register on my knees. It had cost me a great deal of effort to lay my hands on it. I had arrived at the gate an hour before, plastered with sand and mud. It had showered on and off all the way from Nordbarn. The muscles in my legs were taut and aching. I had to speak with les Halles, I announced. The guards on the gate had told me that it was out of the question. I threatened to report them to General Malaport. They looked at each other and decided that les Halles was a greater threat.

Impossible, monsieur!

Desperation led to inspiration. 'I have news of a potential rebel attack on the coq du mer,' I announced. 'Try telling Colonel les Halles that you refused to let me through, if anything should happen!'

In fifteen minutes, I had got what I wanted. A rowing-boat to take me out to the barge. And a list of all the people who were present in the French camp: French soldiers and Prussian workers.

I glanced again at the lists.

That rowing-boat seemed fixed for eternity on the same spot. The water rolled against the clinkered boards as heavy as liquid quicksilver. No sound came from it.

I had made a promise to Spener as I opened that book and scanned the names. If I found the names of Annalise and Megrete in the French register, I would donate Kati Rodendahl's amber to the church in Nordcopp to make up the loss which their theft had caused. I realised how ridiculous I had become. I was asking G.o.d to intercede for something that I wanted. Was I becoming Catholic in my desperation?

On the first page were the names of Colonel les Halles, his officers and men.

Then, a longer list of all the women who were currently employed on the sh.o.r.e.

My name, and those of the French technicians, completed the roll.

I ran my finger down the women's names.

No Annalise. No Megrete.

Next to the name of Kati Rodendahl someone had written the briefest of annotations. Tue. There was no reference to the date, place or manner of her murder. And as for Ilse Bruen, according to the French list, she was still alive.

Next to some of the names was a note to the effect that the girl had run away. In several cases, the list had been updated when the runaway had returned. No such information was reported in the case of Kati Rodendahl. The name of Edviga Lornerssen caught my eye. She had 'run away' twice, and 'come back' on both occasions. No details were provided of where she had gone, or why she had returned.

The list was a slipshod, hit-or-miss affair.

Did the absence of Annalise and Megrete signify that the names were false? Were Ilse Bruen and Kati Rodendahl the girls who had entered the church and committed the crime? And if they had stolen Spener's amber, what had they done with it?

The boatman docked his oars.

The rowing-boat b.u.mped gently against the side of the coq du mer.

Les Halles leant out over the side. 'I was about to send out a search-party,' he muttered. His voice was a harsh growl. It was the voice of a man who had worked all night, shouting orders into the face of a raging storm. And yet, I knew that he would find the strength to spit poison in my direction if he needed to.

'You've brought your report about the killer, I suppose?'

I gripped the slimy rope-ladder and began to climb.

The Colonel stood back at the last moment and let me board.

He was not alone. Two of the engineers who had travelled up with me from Lotingen were resting on the taff-rail. They were as haggard and pale as ghosts. Their eyes sparkled like frightened children. He had worked them hard, that was obvious. But les Halles himself made the greatest impression on me. A bib and trousers cut in one piece hung from his shoulders. His chest was bare, his pale arms naked. On his head he wore a woollen bonnet that had taken on a strange dangling shape from all the rain it had absorbed during the night. In that rig he looked like a common labourer, a drudge who followed orders, rather than giving them.

Our eyes met.

He read my thoughts, I think.

And I caught a glimmer of something else. He did not wish me to see him in that state. His cheeks and forehead were streaked and black with oil, smoke and filth. His eyes were hollow red rings of exhaustion.

Defeat, I thought. There was defeat in his eyes.

As combatants, we were well-matched. I had not slept, I was equally filthy, my own eyes would betray my tiredness. But I was the stronger. What ever my defeats had been, his failures had been worse. The silence aboard the barge was eloquent. I felt my heart lift.