In my mind's eye, I saw Adam Ansbach set free, while the dark shadow of the murderer hovered just beyond the edge of my vision. The presence of Ilse Bruen's body in the pigsty remained to be explained, but of two things I was certain: no other woman had died there, and Colonel les Halles had sent an innocent man to Konigsberg. At the same time, another unavoidable question rose up to confront me. If Adam was not the killer, who was? Could he be standing there before me?

'I am pleased to hear you say so, Doctor,' I said.

Despite this compliment, the doctor's face seemed to lour resentfully.

'And I would be most grateful, sir,' he said, carefully weighing his words, 'if you were as scrupulous in your own investigations, as I have been in mine. It is all too easy to sling mud. We are all vulnerable to casual misinterpretation in this place. Our position, vis-a-vis the French, is a fragile one, to say the least. And now, sir, if you have finished, I have work to do!'

Outside, the street was crowded with amber-traders.

I turned on Gurten and grabbed hold of his arm.

'Do not dare to interfere like that again,' I warned him. 'Never question a suspect with such an open show of vehemence or hostility. If you are to play the part of the bull mastiff, you will do so because I have instructed you to do so, and for no other reason. Do you understand me?'

I expected a show of penitence, or fright. After all, his career as a magistrate would depend on how I chose to a.s.sess his apt.i.tudes, and report them to our masters.

But Gurten did not excuse himself. He strode along at my side, stepping out of the path of other pa.s.sers-by at the very last moment, as if daring them to b.u.mp into him.

'Are you listening to me, Gurten? You can't . . .'

Suddenly, he turned and stared at me.

'The doctor is guilty, sir.'

It was not a question. He spat the words out in a fury.

'How can you make such a wild suggestion? We have nothing against him, except for Erika's testimony. And I know well enough what that . . .' I swallowed back the word child, 'I know that the girl is able to deceive.'

'That may be true,' he agreed. 'But she was terrified, sir. Witnesses tell the truth when terror takes possession of their senses. She was not lying about Dr Heinrich.'

'We have only her accusation,' I hissed at him. 'What sort of magistrate will you become if you are prepared to trade one Prussian for another so easily?'

'Prussian?' he said. His eyes were huge with surprise. 'That man is in league with the French, sir. They need our amber to sustain their theories, they are carry ing it off to France. That's why nothing important is reaching the Academy of Sciences in Berlin. They're stealing our most precious trea sure, taking it to France. Baltic amber contains the history of the world. And Heinrich is giving it to them.'

'Very well,' I said, prepared to hear him out before correcting him again. 'But what proof do you have of his involvement in the trade? On what specific evidence do you base your accusations?'

He did not hear me. That is, he did not heed me.

'It is a perfect triangle,' he said. 'The girls smuggle amber out from the camp with the connivance of the French soldiers. Or they steal it from a church. Then, they pa.s.s it on to Erika. Those pieces go to men who appreciate them, men like Dr Heinrich, and then they go to the scientists in Paris.'

'It is not a crime to believe in the theories of Lamarck,' I challenged. 'Nor to inherit a few poor bits of amber from one's dying father. Nor is it against the law to study human deformity and attempt to cure it.'

Gurten did not hear a word. 'He is blowing smoke in your eyes, sir. He is lying to save his own skin. Those trifling pieces of amber in his study are irrelevant. They are not enough to sustain his theories. And why would Erika lie in this specific case? She says she has sold him many precious pieces . . .'

'No judge would believe her,' I interrupted him. 'I do not believe her. No sensible man would take her word as gospel. Now, what other "proof" do we have?'

'The victims were mutilated by an expert hand,' Gurten replied at once. 'He is a surgeon, educated in anatomy, skilled with a knife. Perhaps the girls became too greedy in their demands. They may have threatened to tell the Prussian authorities that he was buying up amber which belongs to our country. Perhaps he decided to cut Erika out of the equation, and deal directly with the amber-gatherers. I believe that he is the killer . . .'

'This is too far-fetched,' I said dismissively.

'As doctor to the French camp,' Gurten went on relentlessly, 'he lacks no opportunity to make the acquaintance of the workers from the coast. The French trust him, and so do the girls. Indeed, for some of them it was a fatal mistake.'

I recalled my first conversation with Dr Heinrich. We had talked about our work, and our shared sense of regretful submission to the French. I would not give him up without convincing evidence of his guilt.

'He has faithfully served the local community for years,' I replied, playing the Dev il's advocate. 'He was here before the French arrived. He amputates limbs, it is true, but his real talent is the making of artificial replacements. Against all odds-despite the obstacles posed by the French occupation-he continues with his scientific studies, as any serious doctor should. It makes me proud to think that there are Prussians who still go about their business as if the French had never come to hinder them.'

Though I spoke on behalf of the doctor, I realised that I was defending myself.

'Are we-you and I, that is-are we not hampered in our investigative task by the ambiguity of our relations with a foreigner who has possessed himself of us, and all that is ours? Are we guilty of a crime?'

Gurten did not answer immediately. We had pulled up in a doorway as the argument raged. His eyes were on the people pa.s.sing up and down the street. 'Heinrich may believe that his scientific studies are more important than any other thing on earth, sir. That is what I fear.'

'I do not follow you,' I said.

'He is a Lamarckian,' Gurten said again. 'He believes that the Enlightened culture which the French are trying to impose on us is an upward step-an inevitable gain-for Prus sia. An evolution. There, sir! That's what Heinrich would call it. He would explain himself and his actions by saying that he is working for a better future. But he is still a collaborator.'

'He is not alone,' I said abruptly. 'And you should never forget it, Gurten. If we wish to pursue our chosen professions here in Prussia-if we are allowed to do so-it can only be within a context in which the interests of the dominant foreign power are always preeminent.'

He stiffened, stared at me.

'What if we can find the necessary proof?' he said. 'What, then, sir?'

Was the apprentice throwing out a challenge to his master?

'I would be prepared to bet that he has published something on the subject,' he rushed on. 'Heinrich is a believer in the merits of Lamarck, but even in France there is frantic debate going on about the validity of those theories. Heinrich must have given his drawings and writings to someone. Indeed, he spoke openly of the fact that he is in touch with various scientific journals.'

Was this the stuff of which a magistrate was made? Gurten's initiative was undeniable, his thoughts were bold. He did not hesitate to posit that a man might kill for the sake of his own advancement in the hierarchy of learning. Was this another one of his good intuitions?

'Where would you look for proof?' I asked him.

'In the French scientific press,' he replied at once. 'That man is pa.s.sing Prussian amber on to them.'

I considered this proposal. 'Isn't it a bit like trawling in the sea for a rare fish? You might spend your whole life at it, and never catch the species you are fishing for.'

'Knowing where the rare fish dwells is half the hunt, sir,' Gurten replied.

He was so determined, I did not know how to deter him. It might be better to let him run. On a loose leash, as my father said when the hounds had caught a scent. Either he would catch the prey, or he would come quietly back to heel. And I knew of a library where French scientific journals could be consulted. Count Dittersdorf in Lotingen was an avid collector of anything scientific. He had provided me with that copy of the Proces-verbal de la visite faite le long des deux rives de la riviere Seine, le 14 fevrier, 1790 as I struggled to understand the implications and dangers of the animal excrement fouling the streets of my home town.

'There is a place close by,' I said, 'where you might test your theory.'

Even as I made this announcement, I realised the temptation to which I had just exposed myself. Dittersdorf's library was in Lotingen. It would be the perfect excuse for me to return home, and visit my wife. I would be testing a theory, after all, not abandoning my task there on the coast.

'Where, sir?' Gurten was bright-eyed, watching me in a sort of impatient ecstasy. The fact that I had admitted the possibility that his idea was worth the testing seemed to have quelled the fire in him.

'Lotingen,' I announced.

Gurten's mouth fell open with surprise. 'Shall we continue the investigation there, sir?'

I was sorely tempted for a moment.

Then again, Adam Ansbach and his mother were in Konigsberg. A French judge might decide their fate before I could do anything to help them.

'No,' I said at last. 'The doctor's declaration regarding the age of the bones that were found in the Ansbach pigsty changes everything. I must speak to les Halles about Adam and his mother, and I need to do it now.'

'Don't you think that we should force the doctor into saying more, sir?'

I had begun to fear the pa.s.sion with which Gurten threw himself into proving his theories. And I could hardly leave him there in Nordcopp, knowing that he might be tempted to pick up the argument with Dr Heinrich in my absence.

'You go on to Lotingen,' I said. 'And I will come to you there.'

By the time we reached the North Gate, I had told him how to find Dittersdorf, where to contact Knutzen, and what he was to say to Helena on my behalf. At that point, our ways would part. He would take the next coach to Lotingen, I would return to the coast.

'Monsieur Magistrate!'

A French voice called out my name.

'Monsieur Stiffeniis!'

Standing by the office door at the foot of the tower I saw Sergeant Tessier. He was waving his hand in the air. He might have been waving a signal-flag, but he was holding up a letter, instead.

'I've been searching for you for over an hour, monsieur,' he said, coming towards me at a trot, his plump face red, swollen with the effort, holding out the missive in front of him like an overweight Greek athlete carry ing the sacred flame the last few strides to the top of the steep summit of Mount Olympus.

I took the note, turned it over, and realised immediately what had made for such a marked, servile change in his att.i.tude towards me. The envelope had been closed with red wax, and over the seal, in a flamboyant hand, was the name Louis-Georges Malaport.

I broke the seal.

16th August '08.

FOR THE EYES OF MAGISTRATE STIFFENIIS ONLY.

The coach which brought this note is waiting for you. Colonel les Halles has been informed of your departure by means of the daily despatches. There is something you must see here.

L.-G. M.

'A waiting coach is mentioned here,' I said, waving the paper.

'It is just outside the gate,' the sergeant pointed. 'It was sent to the coast, but Col o nel les Halles said that you were here in Nordcopp.'

'Thank you for your help, Tessier,' I said.

For one moment, he seemed disappointed, as if he were bored and hoped that some excitement might be brewing. He had seen the name and seal of General Malaport on the note, after all. He sighed, saluted, then marched away as if he had just received a worthy commendation after a particularly arduous battle.

'Herr Stiffeniis?' Gurten appeared at my shoulder.

'A sudden change of plan,' I explained. 'I must go to Konigsberg. You go on to Lotingen. I will be in touch with you soon.'

He nodded, then bowed.

'Thank you for your faith in me, sir,' he simpered.

For a moment, I thought he wished to take my hand and kiss it. We looked at each other in silence for some moments. I was perplexed, he was radiant.

'You should not be excited at the thought of hunting down a Prussian,' I reproved.

'It isn't that, sir,' he said, a warm smile on his face. 'It's just that . . . well, I did not expect to have the plea sure of making the acquaintance of Frau Helena.'

24.

KoNIGSBERG CASTLE IS a dark and gloomy place.

As the coach drew up in the shaded courtyard, my spirits drooped.

The Royal Guard had gone. Some to the grave, without a doubt, while others had thrown their death's-head shakos in a heap on the cobbles before they fled to the Tsar in Rus sia, or to those remote and secret hideouts where our rebels gather in the East.

In their place, a regiment of French cha.s.seurs now occupied the castle courtyard. They were wearing faded blue jackets which had certainly been slashed at by Prussian sabres. Their bright red caps by contrast, being evidently new, had felt nothing sharper than the p.r.i.c.k of a hatter's needle. These foreigners lounged upon the steps, comfortably straddled the ornamental cannon, or propped up as many door-posts as they had been able to find. Knots of them coalesced around the parade-ground, as if they had just come off duty, or were waiting to go on. Their muskets stood in upright piles like tents, the new-regulation bayonets glinting. They smoked and spat and swore out loud, jostling, pushing and shouting as if each one of them were the King of Prus sia. The vast cobbled square, once the hub of ordered Prussian military life, had become a shambles. To add to the disgrace, piles of rubbish rotted and stank beneath the windows from which they had been unceremoniously tipped.

'Monsieur le General is on the second floor,' the driver called, as I jumped down.

I ran up the broad stone staircase, well aware that the general would be anxious to hear my report. Louis-Georges Malaport had made himself at home in the city governor's apartments. At the far end of the long room, a small fire smouldered inside the baroque depths of an im mense marble fireplace, the sputtering flames like a ship's lamp glimpsed in the vastness of a dark ocean. Cold enough in August, I did not like to think of that room in winter. The ceiling was almost invisible, the ogive arches lost in a permanent twilight high above my head. The walls were thick, roughly plastered, the stone floors shiny and slick with damp. Maps and standards hung from the walls, almost as heavy with age-old mould and clogged dust as the faded material from which they had been made. Three pointed windows, very tall and very narrow-the ancient stained-gla.s.s panes as cracked and opaque as the lead that fixed them-let in no light at all.

Like a desert island in that calm, cold ocean stood a vast black desk.

A silver candelabrum with a dozen tall candles gusted to no effect in the flurrying currents of chill air.

'Herr Stiffeniis,' a voice groaned from behind the ma.s.s of flickering lights.

Louis-Georges Malaport appeared to be even more thoroughly exhausted than when I had seen him last. Was it only five days before? His uniform was so weighed down with medals-I noted that he was prominently wearing a Commander of the Legion of Honour-he seemed to sink beneath their weight. His large bald head was more bowed than ever, his rounded shoulders more sloped, more stooping. His tiny hands were joined together, as if in supplication. Those grey eyes fixed me with their glaring intensity.

'I've been expecting you,' he said, inviting me to sit, continuing to stare at me in silence for longer than was polite, as if he expected me to blurt out everything that I had discovered.

What should I tell him? And what I should keep to myself?

Those questions had occupied my mind as I travelled to Konigsberg, and tried to make sense of what I had learnt in Nordcopp: the dead amber-gatherers, Jakob Spener's trea sure, the shadowy figures of Annalise and Megrete who had stolen part of it, the rank corruption of the French soldiers, the illicit smuggling of amber of a scientific nature, the role that Erika Linder had played in the trade, my suspicions about Dr Heinrich. I had struggled to shape these elements into a convincing whole, but something always jarred, as if some vital piece of the narrative was missing. My princ.i.p.al aim was to demonstrate the innocence of Adam Ansbach, but the absence of any other person to accuse did not help me.

General Malaport asked me nothing, however.

He looked down, stretched out his fingers, then laid them flat on a scuffed and dirty pile of papers that were spread out before him on the table.

'These come from what remains of the police archives,' he began, pushing the doc.u.ments across the table towards me. A moment later, he shifted the candelabrum as well, as if I might need it.

Could such miserable sc.r.a.ps have come from a Prussian police office?

'French rule was enforced here with great difficulty,' he announced, as if a general overview of the situation were somehow necessary. 'Indeed, there had been a widespread breakdown of law and order. Most of the town watch abandoned the city when our army approached, along with what remained of the Prussian garrison. In the last ten or eleven months, there have been sporadic outbreaks of looting, vandalism, the wanton destruction of public offices. Many important civic matters, together with some hideous crimes, have been obscured or overlooked in the chaos. Only now are the facts coming slowly to the light. My task, as you know, is to re-establish civil order, and guarantee the safe transport of amber back to France.'