He regarded me with surprise for a moment, but then he replied, as if such avid curiosity on my part were entirely natural. 'Nothing has changed very much,' he said with an open-armed gesture. 'Prus sia used the sea, and so do we. At least, within the Baltic basin. The British are blockading the straits of Denmark, but that is hardly my concern. The amber reaches Konigsberg-from Nordcopp, let us say-and having been worked to the required standard, it is loaded onto a schooner which will carry it along the coast to Danzig. From there, land transport to Paris, though slower and more costly, is the safest way.'

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

'What does the movement of amber have to do with anything?'

I groped for an answer that might make sense to him.

'I was wondering about the commercial ties that exist between Nordcopp and Konigsberg, Herr General,' I replied. 'We know for certain that Prussian women have been murdered in both places. Those killed in Konigsberg may have been involved in the amber business here. As was the case in Nordcopp. That's what I was thinking. Is it the amber industry which ties the crimes together?'

I chose the word 'industry' with care, then I asked another question, as if it were a logical consequence of the first.

'Does amber of par tic u lar interest arrive in Konigsberg as well?'

'What d'you mean by that?' he enquired, looking like a hungry infant who had just lost sight of the spoon and his pap.

'Pieces which contain things provoking curiosity,' I said. 'Small creatures, tiny insects, plant fragments, and so forth. They have fallen out of favour with the jewellers, it seems, though scientists throughout Eu rope show no sign of waning enthusiasm. Where would such unusual pieces go, sir, before being sent to Paris? I mean to say, they must be separated out from the general commerce somewhere.'

I did not mention the convention drawn up between Berlin and Paris.

Nor did he.

Indeed, I wondered whether he knew of its existence.

His large head wobbled on his shrivelled neck. 'Procurator Stiffeniis! Is a general of the high command supposed to know every detail involved in the transportation and the commerce of amber? I see that you are disappointed. I cannot say what happens to it. Frankly, I do not care. I know that amber arrives from the various sorting-stations, and that it is distributed to the local workshops which we rigidly control. We don't receive as much as we-by which I mean myself and Col o nel les Halles-would like, but measures are being taken on that account, as you know. Amber arrives each day, and a few days later-a week at the most.i.t is ready to be shipped. Then, like any other commodity, it is taken to the port. We run a regular ferrying ser vice aboard armed gunboats. I can tell you nothing more precise than that.'

He stared at me again in that disconcerting manner that he had. Then, a sudden smile erupted on his toad-like face. 'Come sir, this apparently innocuous question about the transportation of amber-special pieces, and so on, and so forththat's not what you really wished to ask. There is a different "merchandise" down at the port which needs to be "transported," so to speak. Am I not correct, Herr Procurator Stiffeniis?'

I had no idea what he was talking about.

He shrugged. 'I suppose that you Prussians have your own secret sources of information. You are a magistrate, after all. We watch you, but you watch us, as well.' He breathed out noisily through his nostrils. 'Very well, then. The murder suspects that les Halles sent up from Nordcopp are being held at the port, as you correctly surmised. They will be transported aboard the next available convict ship. They are destined for the labour camps.' He sat back, and waved his hand dismissively in the air. 'I will not condemn them to death without more substantial proof of guilt. The discovery of the file relating to those corpses here in Konigsberg counsels prudence. The boy has been spared an imminent meeting with the hangman, but only on that account.'

As he spoke, he slid open a drawer in his desk.

'Adam Ansbach's file is still open,' he said, waving it at me. 'I cannot ignore the fact that a mutilated body was found in his pigsty in Nordcopp. Nor can I forget that other human bones were buried in the same ground. If he should prove to be the guilty party, I will not hesitate to do my duty.'

I sat up straight.

'Colonel les Halles sent those people here to you, sir, without waiting to hear what an expert witness would make of the bones,' I protested. 'Dr Heinrich, the surgeon in Nordcopp, a.s.sures me that they are ancient. No living member of the Ansbach family had been born at the time the bones were buried.'

'But they were living on the farm when the corpse was discovered. Is that not correct, Herr Procurator Stiffeniis?'

I mumbled something to the effect that his statement of the facts was accurate, though I had grave doubts about the ident.i.ty of the murderer.

'Can you offer me a more likely candidate for the noose?'

'I cannot,' I admitted. 'For the moment, anyway.'

'Furthermore,' he said, looking over the papers in the file, 'I am bound to act on the consequence of what has happened since. Magda Ansbach,' he specified, reading out the name, 'bit off the ear of one of the guards while under custody. Her son then attacked the guard in defence of his mother.'

He blew out noisily, vibrating his lips at the immensity of the crime.

'What else can I do? Forced labour is letting them off lightly.'

'I suppose you have no choice in the matter,' I conceded.

'None.'

'And if I wished to speak to them?'

'You would not be allowed within a mile of them,' General Malaport continued. 'Still, I did appoint you to conduct this investigation, Stiffeniis, so I must forget that you are a Prussian, and tell you what I would be reluctant to tell my own men. You want to know where they are being held, I suppose?'

'I know where deported convicts are collected,' I replied, unable to suppress a smile. 'It is a secret to no one in Konigsberg.' I was thinking of the ruined warehouse in the outlying district of Pillau, which I had visited four years before. I had gone there to speak to a murderer who was about to be deported to the wastes of Siberia. The cold, the squalor and the violence of that night could still provoke an involuntary shiver.

General Malaport returned my smile, but shook his head.

'Do not a.s.sume that we are careless, sir,' he warned me. 'Nothing here is as it was. We must be on our guard against those nationalists who continue to plague our efforts. The news from Spain is fanning the Prussian rebels' flame ever higher. Those condemned to labour camps are dry straw added to a fire. It could blow up into a raging inferno, unless we douse it quickly.' He beat his fist three times on the table as if to extinguish a spark. 'I will allow you access to the area where the deportees are kept. I can do no more for you. Whatever else you wish to do, whatever else you hope to learn there, Herr Procurator, you must do it on your own initiative. Silence and discretion are the key words.'

Half an hour later, I found it easier to enter the military section of the harbour than General Malaport had led me to expect. A soldier standing guard at the gates seemed far more interested in the bread and sardines that a pretty wench was offering him from a covered basket than he was in the laissez-pa.s.ser that I surrendered up for his scrutiny.

'Berodstein's ware house?' I asked.

'Down by the harbour light,' he mumbled, his eyes half on his lunch, half on the woman.

I folded up the general's note and began to walk along the quay.

According to the information that I had gleaned from Malaport, three ships would be sailing out of Konigsberg that day. A sleek black cutter had just cast off from the sea-wall. It was being manoeuvred out into midstream with the a.s.sistance of two long-boats, each manned by six men working the oars. It was a warship of some sort, armed with cannon fore and aft, a line of grappling hooks hanging over the rail. A huge tricouleur waved defiantly from the stern-pole, making it impossible for me to spy out the name of the vessel.

I walked on, making careful observation of what was going on beside the ships which were still being loaded. The larger of the two, L'Eugenie, was a square-sailed brigantine, while the smaller vessel-her large triangular sails flapping idly in the breeze-was an armed schooner of the type that General Malaport had mentioned. I was unable to read her name or port of origin. The name-plates on the prow and stern had been tarred over. A sizeable cargo of Prussian amber was destined to be carried off that day by the French, it seemed, and all in the name of war-reparation.

I stopped to let a cart pa.s.s, stepping carefully around another wagon which the labourers were unloading. Wooden packing-cases slid down a plank onto the cobbles for the waiting hands which would carry them aboard the ships once the teller had counted off the number against his bill of lading. Glancing at the boxes piled up on the quay, I saw that many bore addresses in Paris, most of them in the area around Place Vendome. I had been to Paris, I knew that this was where the great majority of the Parisian jewellers had their workshops. I did not see a single crate for the Academy of the Sciences, the Society for the Encouragement of Industry, nor any other scientific inst.i.tution inside or outside the French capital.

I tried to imagine the fortune that those boxes must contain.

Halting beside a very large man in a leather ap.r.o.n-a Prussian overseer whose loud voice marked him out-I thrust my laissez-pa.s.ser into his hand.

'Which way is Berodstein's ware house?' I asked him.

'Straight on, sir.'

'Are these ships full of amber?' I murmured.

'All of them,' he replied in an undertone, glancing warily at a French sergeant sitting on an iron mooring-bollard a short distance away. 'All that's left in Prussia now is s.h.i.t,' he hissed.

Had he been to Lotingen and seen the streets, I wondered.

I saw the sign painted on the side of a large wooden shed at the end of the dock. It was written in English: FABIEN BERODSTEIN-PRECIOUS HARDWOOD EXPORTS.

No English ship was tied up on the wharf, of course. I could only imagine them sitting somewhere out beyond the visible horizon, tracing out with their prows the liquid barrier that the French had hoped to impose on them, and which, instead, now confined the French to a narrow, navigable coastal strip. Of course, Herr Berodstein might sell his precious woods to France, but his trade did not appear to be brisk. Indeed, the sight of a band of armed French infantrymen standing by the doorway suggested that the trade in exportable hardwoods had ground entirely to a halt.

They were a prison detail, and I was obliged to show the paper signed by General Malaport before I was allowed to enter what was, in effect, a prison. To my surprise, however, the warehouse contained no French soldiers.

'Fabien Berodstein. Born in Alsace of a Prussian father. Half French, half German,' Malaport had informed me, reading from a paper. 'Almost bankrupted by the British blockade. Provides s.p.a.ce and surveillance for criminal deportees waiting out on the quay. He would have built a hardwood gallows for Prussian rebels, if that was what we had asked him for. Whether he helps you or not will depend on which of his national souls prevails today.'

That day, Berodstein decided to play the Prussian. Especially when I told him that I was a magistrate. He glanced at the note, then glanced at me.

'What can I do for you, Herr Stiffeniis?'

A stained leather notebook lay before him on the table, next to a lighted lantern. Despite the bright sunlight outside on the quay, it was as dark as Hades in there.

'I want to know when the prisoners will be transported.'

His face was waxy yellow in the light of burning whale-oil.

Two younger men emerged from the shadows as I spoke. They took up places like sentries just beyond his shoulders. They did not speak, and looked to me like twinsof equal height, the same narrow build, their faces dark and harrowed like shrivelled apples from the same bitter tree. They stood behind their master like well-trained guard-dogs, watching me sullenly.

'The ships are expected any time,' he said, and looked towards the door, as if he expected the captains of the vessels to appear before him that very instant.

He shrugged, and peered into the dark interior of his warehouse.

Pale faces pressed against the metal bars of a door.

'They've been here since yesterday,' he said without prompting.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom-the blazing sun outside was as far away and forgotten as the celestial planet was from the Earth-I saw the careworn faces, the curious eyes staring out at me. Perhaps it was the echoing sound of Prussian voices that drew their attention. Perhaps they thought that I had come for them.

The prisoners themselves did not make a sound.

The warehouse had been divided in two distinct halves by a high wall of rough-hewn planks with the metal gate in the centre. On this side, there were stacks of hardwood trunks, others of sweeter-smelling Scandinavian pine, waiting, I presumed, for the departure or defeat of the French, and a return to normalcy before Herr Berodstein would order them to be cut. On the other side, through the narrow aperture of the gate, I saw a crowd of men and women sitting in groups upon the wooden floor, or stretching out disconsolately on ancient tree-trunks, waiting for Destiny to take them where it might. The atmosphere was muggy, heavy, odoriferous, a dense concentration of sap and seasoning wood, musty sea and salt, the faecal stench that wretches left in their filth, and without a change of clothes or air, might provoke. Was there a latrine on the other side of the wall? Was there a place to wash? As I looked, a rat came running along the top of the barricade. p.i.s.s, s.h.i.t, poor food, vermin, close confinement, abundant filth. Unless the ships came soon, the number to deport would quickly start to fall.

'How many are you holding?' I asked.

'Two hundred, more or less,' he said. 'From all the gaols in East Prussia.'

'Where are they bound?'

Berodstein closed his leather notebook with a clap.

The heads of his helpers snapped sharply in the direction of the sound.

Neither moved an inch. They stood stiffly at his shoulders, and seemed to quiver with the effort. Their eyes met mine, their nostrils flared. They looked from me to him, then back again, staring with the fixity of terriers, waiting only for a word from their master before they tore me to shreds.

'Where are they going?' I said more sharply, rapping my knuckles on the table.

'Abroad,' he muttered, opening his book, flicking carelessly through the pages.

He was fifty years old, I would have said. His face was the same pale colour as the Scandinavian wood that he sold. His hair was thick and white, delicately streaked with blond swaths, tied up in a bow.

'When are they leaving?'

His gaze was fixed unflinchingly on the barred door, and the silent prisoners.

How did he keep them quiet? I wondered.

'La Pleiade,' he read. 'Out of Hamburg. Should be here today. They'll go where she goes. My job's to load them on the ship, and make sure they don't cause any bother. I have no say about the route . . .'

A howl of pain cut through the air.

Berodstein leapt up, his chair sc.r.a.ped loudly on the floor. The notebook fell, as he reached for the lantern. Then, he was gone, racing round his desk, muttering wildly. The twins went trotting at his heels without a sound.

'Easy, my lads,' he snarled over his shoulder, s.n.a.t.c.hing up a stick, striking it against the bars, holding off the mastiffs with his other hand. 'There, there,' he said, looking through the bars, rea.s.sured by what he saw. 'Everything's as it should be. Come! Keep an eye on them, while I finish with the gentleman.'

'Are your charges troublesome?' I enquired.

No one had asked for so much as a drop of water. No one had protested about the way that they were kept, nor about the prospect of their imminent deportation to an unspecified destination.

Berodstein sat down. 'Call yourself a magistrate, do you, sir?' he chortled, looking at me with a puzzled frown. 'Konigsberg's full of patriotic sc.u.m. A hot-bed of rebellion, if you ask me. More troublemakers here than rats. And the port is worse than all the rest together.'

'Are the prisoners the only thing you handle?' I asked obliquely. 'Unsold wood apart, I mean.'

'What else would there be?' he replied, lifting up the lantern, shining it into my face, as if my question had excited his curiosity. 'After something special, are you? You can find a bit of anything here on the docks.'

'Quality amber,' I said, keeping my voice low.

'Got some strange ideas, you have, magistrate,' Berodstein replied, his stare more hostile than before. He snapped his fingers, and the two boys quietly appeared at his side, their eyes fixed immovably on me. 'That job belongs to the Frenchies,' he added dryly. 'They guard it and load it and ship it themselves. Don't need help from me. Not so far, anyways. You work for them, it seems. You should know what they are like.'

I attempted a bold smile.

'I am engaged in private enquiries of my own,' I admitted conspiratorially. 'There may be Prussian amber that takes a road that does not lead directly to the French wharf. Special amber. Amber that the French send somewhere else . . .'

'You're on the wrong road,' Berodstein interrupted rudely. 'If you want to know about amber, ask the French. Or the jewellers out in Kneiphof. I have heard there's plenty knocking about down there. And a lot of it the French don't know about.'

He lowered his lantern, rested it on the table.

'Now, sir, if there's nothing else, me and my lads have got things to do before that ship gets in.'

'Are they your sons?' I asked, hoping to prolong the conversation.

The sound that came from the throats of the twins made my hair stand up on my head. There is a wild dog in Africa, I have read, that makes a sort of b.e.s.t.i.a.l howl that has been mistaken for human laughter. Herr Berodstein looked at this brace of young hyenas, then burst out laughing with them.

'Ain't never s.h.a.gged no she-wolf, me,' he said roughly. 'She was mother to 'em. Who the father was, I cannot say! I found them in Siberia ten years back. I was up there buying prize wood for the Brits. Saw these eyes peering out at me from behind a juniper bush. And nearly lost a thumb just catching them. I brought them home, but G.o.d knows where they came from. I don't need no whips to keep the peace, sir, not with them two. Deportees, nationalists, thieves, it's all the same to them.'

He pushed the general's letter across the table, as if to say that the interview was over.

'I want to speak to one of the prisoners,' I objected. 'Request reluctantly refused,' he said, beating his clenched fist on his chest. It was the Frenchman coming out in him, I suppose. His lips pursed tightly, he rolled his 'r's, aspirating his 'e's like an Aeolian harp, though he was speaking German. 'No one talks to no one here. Forbidden! Those are the rules! The French were clear on that account. There are rebels in the midst of this lot. If there's trouble here on the dock, I'll lose my warehouse. I want them quiet, and I want them orderly. They know it to their cost.'

'I have General Malaport's permission,' I insisted, waving the paper at him.

My appeal to French authority failed dismally.