Chapter 3.

The sky above our heads was an immense, dark sheet, furled, rippled and corrugated by the driving wind. Shards and shooting splinters of the Northern Lights shimmered low along a silver-edged horizon that I knew to be the Baltic Sea. The snow had ceased to fall. It lay on the ground in a sparkling carpet as we approached the city.

'The weather seems to be easing,' I began to say, as the coach drew up before a ma.s.sive Gothic arch which marked the western entrance to Konigsberg.

Sergeant Koch made no reply as a troop of heavily armed soldiers came running out of the gate and quickly surrounded the vehicle. Opening the window, he leaned out to face them. 'I am an employee of the Court. This gentleman is the new Procurator of Konigsberg,' he stated boldly to the guards, inviting me to show my face at the window.

The soldiers looked at us, then at each other, their muskets at the ready, while one man ran back in through the gate. Not a word was said until he returned a few moments later in the company of an officer.

'Which one of you's supposed to be the magistrate?' he asked sharply.

The dark blue of his cape, his leather kepi and tall purple plume, the impressive array of silver decorations criss-crossing his uniform jacket lent little dignity to the man as he scrutinised my face. His eyes were bagged and bovine, his waxed moustache sagged heavily, his expression a disconcerting compound of mocking incredulity and alert tension. His podgy right hand, formed by Nature for the purpose of turning heavy clods in some secluded village out in the wilds of Bory Tucholskjie, pointed a percussion pistol in my face. Clearly, he would not hesitate to unload it.

'I am Procurator Hanno Stiffeniis,' I said, holding up my bag for him to see. 'I have a letter here which is signed by the King himself...'

'You are obstructing the Procurator in his duties,' Koch said suddenly, an unexpected authoritative tone in his voice.

'I'm sorry, sir, but I must see your laissez-pa.s.ser,' the officer insisted. 'I have got my own instructions to follow. General Katowice's order-of-the-day. No one is to enter Konigsberg by land without authority. Haven't you heard? There was a murder...'

'That is why I am here!' I snapped, handing him the commission which Sergeant Koch had delivered to me that morning.

The officer read it over, looked at me again, then handed the doc.u.ment back.

'Don't lose that paper, sir,' he warned, waving the guards back. He saluted, then called to the driver to proceed.

'What was that all about, Sergeant?' I asked as the coach rumbled over the cobblestones in the direction of the centre of the town. It was not yet four o' the clock, but all the shops were closed and shuttered, the streets empty, except for squads of soldiers marching through the town or standing guard with bayonets fixed at almost every corner. 'Has martial law been declared?'

'I've no idea, sir,' Koch replied. Indeed, he said nothing more for quite some time, until the vehicle came to a stop in a tree-lined square before a large, green, barn-like building.

'Ostmarktplatz,' he announced, skipping down from the carriage with surprising agility and pulling out the folding step for me. 'Herr Rhunken is expecting you, sir.'

I ought to have guessed that Herr Procurator Rhunken would wish to speak to me immediately. But why had Sergeant Koch not told me beforehand? I took a deep breath, and did my best to smooth my ruffled plumage, telling myself that all would soon be revealed. After all, Rhunken was the person best placed to instruct me in my duties. I hoped to obtain from him by word of mouth the essential facts which were missing in the doc.u.ments I had been reading during the journey.

'You said that he was in no fit state to speak, Koch.'

The sergeant did not reply, but busied himself giving orders to the driver, whose oilskin and leather gauntlets glistened with crystals of h.o.a.r-frost in the gathering gloom. I had to repeat myself twice before I could manage to catch Koch's attention.

'Procurator Rhunken has suffered an apoplexy of the brain, has he not?'

'Indeed, he has, sir,' Koch replied. 'Herr Rhunken was an excellent magistrate to work for.'

I chose to ignore the implications of this compliment. 'Has he been ill for long?'

'Always in the best of health 'til yesterday, sir. Herr Rhunken collapsed in his office, and the physician diagnosed an apoplexy as the cause.'

Koch pointed beyond the ugly green building to a pretty pink villa with a tiny snow-covered garden set back from the road. 'That's his house, sir. It stands opposite the Fortress on the other side of the square, as you can see. The Court House is in there. Work was everything to him.'

My eyes followed the direction indicated by Koch's stubby forefinger, as it swept the vast, snow-strewn s.p.a.ce and ran the length of an enormous building in soaring grey stone. Battlements, keep and watchtowers in bewildering display. A ma.s.sive central doorway with a steel portcullis bore a marked resemblance to the rat-traps used throughout Prussia. Narrow pill-boxes on either side of the doorway were occupied by sentries wearing grey winter capes and black fur busbies. They stared fixedly ahead, long muskets frozen to their broad shoulders.

'I suppose I'll be spending much of my time over there,' I said warily. The building was an architectural horror. At the same time, I recollected, it represented the limitless power and authority that I would be free to wield in my new position.

'I'll take you over at the appointed hour, sir,' Koch said shortly, striding away along the pathway towards the villa, slipping and almost falling in the knee-deep snow in his haste. As I reached the door, the sergeant gave three short raps on a large bra.s.s knocker to announce our arrival. The door did not open for quite some time, and not before Koch had been obliged to knock again.

'Herr Stiffeniis to see His Excellency,' Koch announced to the pale young chambermaid who opened the door.

The serving-girl raised her watery blue eyes to mine for just an instant, then quickly looked down again. 'Doctor Plucker is with my master,' she murmured.

'How is Herr Rhunken today?' Sergeant Koch enquired, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

The girl shook her head. 'He's in a sorry state, Herr Koch. He was always such a fine, proud, handsome man...'

'Take Herr Stiffeniis through. I'll wait with the driver,' Koch said to me, rudely cutting in on the girl, whose words dissolved in sobs.

Closing the door, the maid looked uncertainly at me, as if she knew not what to do with me.

'Your master is expecting me,' I said, too sharply perhaps, taking my cue from Koch.

'This way, sir,' the girl mumbled timidly into her handkerchief, before leading me through a series of small connecting rooms, the walls of which were lined with gla.s.s-fronted bookcases full of leather-bound volumes. All the tables were piled high with books and papers, sofas and armchairs forced to do the camel's work of accommodating on their backs what would not fit on the crowded shelves. Procurator Rhunken seemed to have transformed his house into a private library. With the exception of the maid, there was no other indication of a female presence, no suggestion of the tempering influence of a mother, wife or daughter.

The girl stopped short before a door which stood ajar. A low voice could be heard murmuring inside, and suddenly a drawn-out whimper shook the air. I laid my hand on the wench's arm before she could knock.

'Can the Procurator speak?' I asked.

'Doctor purged him twice this morning. He's going to do it again...' She stopped to wipe her nose and dab her eyes. 'Sent me down the port this morning, he did, sir. To fetch those...creatures.' Her shoulders shook with fear or revulsion, or just possibly with the cold. The temperature inside the house was lower than the air in the street.

'A ship came in last night. The sailors laughed and told me to carry the bucket with care. If I touched one, it would suck my life out, they said.' She looked up at me with fear in her eyes. 'I did not know such creatures existed, sir. I did it for my master,' she whispered, sniffling into her handkerchief again.

I had no idea what she was muttering about. The sailors? The creatures, whatever they might be?

'If he has truly seen the Devil,' she added, 'all the physicking in the world won't save him.'

I did not shift myself to rea.s.sure her, reflecting only that the Devil's name enjoyed great popularity in Konigsberg. Just then, the door was thrown open and a tall, gaunt man stepped out into the dimly lit pa.s.sage. He was wigless, his head recently shaved. A tight, dark suit made him seem even taller and thinner than he really was. He saw the maid and his face lit up with some private satisfaction. But then he saw me, and his manner changed.

'Who are you, sir?' he barked in an uncouth manner. Without waiting for my reply, he turned on the girl and hissed, 'His Excellency is in no condition to receive visitors. I told you that before!'

'I am the new Procurator,' I announced. 'I have business with your patient, sir. Urgent business, which cannot wait.'

The doctor drew himself up like a hooded serpent preparing to strike. His eyes gleamed like points of light in the dim corridor.

'So, you are the person who is the cause of this distress!' he snapped in a blunt and accusing fashion. 'Herr Rhunken has been in a state of nervous anxiety all the day regarding you. I confess my surprise,' he continued, staring rudely at me. 'I was expecting someone altogether...different. An older man, let's say. A more...experienced magistrate.'

'I will not keep him long,' I said.

'I should think not!' he replied. 'I have work to do.'

If the doctor was rude, I put it down to strain. I was on edge myself as I followed him into the sick-room. Procurator Rhunken was not confined to bed, as I had expected, but lay on a leather chaise longue close to the far wall, his legs naked and raised on pillows towards an open window. This ice-cold chamber was more cluttered than the rest of the house put together. Three thin candletapers wedged together in a single candle-holder lit up books and papers scattered everywhere, great piles of them tottering like drunkards against the walls on either side of a four-poster bed which stood in the darkest corner.

If Doctor Plucker had been expecting someone older, His Excellency, Herr Procurator Wolfgang Rhunken, was far younger than I had antic.i.p.ated. He could hardly have been forty-five years of age. I recalled the chambermaid's description of him as fine and handsome, but I could find no evidence of those attributes. He was propped up in a sitting position, large cushions at his back, a dark woollen shawl draped around his shoulders, his careworn face hollow with suffering, his naked legs raised to the freezing night air. Drawing nearer, I observed the sickly colour of his face, his mouth drawn tightly into a thin black slit, eyes half-closed like a man looking into the next world. Large beads of sweat stood out on his pale brow like condensation on a warm gla.s.s, his hair drenched, despite the glacial cold. He turned like a blind man as my boots clattered on the stone pavement.

I looked uncertainly at the doctor.

'Closer, sir. Go closer,' he urged. 'Let's get it over with, and quickly!'

As I approached the patient, I heard the doctor out in the pa.s.sage, calling to the maid. 'Bring a stool for the new Procurator! And bring in that bucket!'

Rhunken's feverish eyes flashed open at the rude note of irony in the doctor's voice. He glared at me, though he did not speak. The stool arrived and was placed beside the couch. I hesitated for an instant as the sick man raised his quivering right hand with what seemed to be a superhuman effort, then let it fall with a heavy thump on the stool.

I took a deep breath and sat down, as the maid placed a large oak bucket covered with a linen cloth on the floor beside her ailing master. The sharp odour which I had at first taken to be the musty smell of a little-used room intensified. A heady compound of sweat, faeces and urine dosed with camphor and other medicines, it was the ethereal vapour of the magistrate's volatilising decay.

'I hope you'll soon recover your health, sir,' I began, uncertain what else to say, my voice lower than I might have wished.

Procurator Rhunken's mouth fell open, his lower lip trembled, the left side of his face twitched frantically. He struggled against the rebellious muscles, grasped my arm and pulled me close to that vile stench. Then, gasping desperately for air, he fell back against the cushions without having managed to say a word. For one moment, I thought that he was going to expire before my eyes. A violent tremor shook his body as he attempted to raise his head again.

'Do not exhaust yourself, sir!' Doctor Plucker exhorted. 'This gentleman has excellent young ears and patience aplenty. Now, stay still, sir, while I apply the remedy,' the doctor muttered. 'A ship came in last night from Rio del Plata. I had to fight for these with Surgeon Franzich from the Fortress infirmary. You'd baulk, Herr Rhunken, if you knew how much they cost. Haementaria ghilianii,' he announced, whipping the cloth cover from the bucket and raising it to his nose. 'Hmmm! The primal stench of the Amazon forests! You can almost see the dark, musky swamps where it creeps and crawls. These will do you the world of good, sir. They're a hundred times more effective than the hiruda worms that Monsieur Broussais brought back from Egypt. Military authorities throughout Europe are stocking up before the outbreak of war.'

I watched in awe as the physician extracted a ma.s.sive black worm from his bucket with a pair of callipers. The creature squirmed and wriggled, trying to wrap itself around the doctor's arm. The instant it touched his patient's naked flesh, all the fight went out of it. Doctor Plucker stretched the ma.s.sive leech out along Herr Rhunken's calf from the knee to the ankle, and left it there to feed.

'If I can help in any way,' I offered weakly, my gaze horridly attracted by the ma.s.sive Amazonian slug. It was thirty centimetres long, at the very least. As it began to siphon off the invalid's blood, it seemed to surge and swell. 'I am...'

A yellow hand shot out from beneath Rhunken's shawl and came to rest before my face with such rapidity that the words froze on my tongue. 'You have come, then,' Rhunken gasped. 'From Berlin, I suppose?'

'Berlin, sir?' I repeated, uncertain what he meant. I darted a glance at the physician, but found no comfort there. He was busily engaged, laying out another giant leech upon the sick man's other leg. 'I have come this day from Lotingen, Your Excellency.'

Herr Rhunken frowned. A chasm seemed to split his brow.

'Where?'

'Lotingen. On the western circuit,' I said. 'I am the presiding magistrate there.'

'Lotingen?' Rhunken cried, the distress on his face painful to see. 'What are you doing here?'

The last thing I expected was to be quizzed about my ident.i.ty by the man who had recommended me.

'I was ordered by His Majesty to relieve you of the case. I have your own note here in my pocket!'

Rhunken shook his head, disbelief writ large on his face.

'Surely you nominated me?' I pressed.

Procurator Rhunken turned his face to the wall as Plucker applied two more famished bloodsuckers to his naked thighs.

'I nominated no man,' the patient muttered angrily. 'This is his doing! That serpent does it to torture me!'

I chose to ignore his raving. Herr Rhunken was ill, after all. I could understand his situation. When a man is ill, he knows not who to blame, and so blames every man whose health is better than his own.

'I expected a special emissary,' he went on. 'From Berlin. From the secret police. Not you...'

'He's never heard of you,' Doctor Plucker hissed angrily in my ear, as he draped a smaller black worm across his patient's sweating brow, and another on his right temple. 'Any fool can see that. You are inflaming his brain, sir! You'll kill him! He was removed from the case. Sacked! Forced to cede. To an expert, he believed. Have you no grain of pity, sir?'

Suddenly, the magistrate gasped for air. Phlegm bubbled in his throat, and he coughed violently, spitting into a bowl which the doctor held up for him. 'Do not exert yourself, sir,' the physician implored. Looking over his shoulder at me, his expression tense, he cried, 'I beg you, sir!'

'I am not to blame if he is sick,' I replied stubbornly, then stopped short, uncertain how to continue. I had no wish to worsen his condition. 'I have been empowered to act by the King. Herr Rhunken knows more about these murders than any other living soul. I need his help.'

Doctor Plucker turned on me with anger.

'Herr Rhunken needs rest. You have robbed him of peace enough, I think, for one day. Leave him be!'

If the physician was determined to end the interview, the patient seemed intent on prolonging it. His hand clenched at my sleeve, dragging me down, and I was forced to my knees on the floor at his side. The leech at his temple throbbed and buckled, gorged with blood, sliding onto his cheek until the doctor picked it off with haste.

'Go to the Court House,' the magistrate said weakly. 'See if you...can do what I have failed to do.'

He fell back against the cushion, eyes closed, panting desperately for air.

'This will be the end of him,' Doctor Plucker protested, pushing me away from the stool without ceremony and sitting down himself, his hand on the pulse of his patient.

I stood back, my brain in a whirl, and watched the doctor administer to him.

'But you must know what weapon killed them!' I shouted, confusion giving place to frustration, as Procurator Rhunken closed his eyes and seemed to fall into a dead faint, those worms on his face and temples wriggling and twisting like the portrait of the Medusa I had seen in Rome at the Villa Borghese.

'Can't you see the state he's in?' Doctor Plucker shouted, taking hold of my arm, pushing and pulling me to the door. 'I must order you to quit this room!'

Throwing open the door with great energy, the doctor surprised me by his strength as he thrust me out into the corridor, where the maid was waiting.

'Show Herr Stiffeniis out!' he thundered.

I must have looked like a lost child, for the girl began to coax me gently along the corridor in the direction of the front door.

'Come along now, sir,' she said, retracing our path through the book-lined rooms and darkened corridors. 'Just follow me.'

As the front door closed behind me, I stood stock-still in the cold light of the low moon. Beyond the garden fence, Sergeant Koch was waiting. He turned at the sound of the door closing and began to advance towards me, his face mottled like veined marble in a church. The temperature had dropped while I had been inside, and fresh-fallen snow had settled on the crown of his hat.

'Is everything in order, Herr Stiffeniis?'

I ignored his solicitude. 'Who instructed you to come to Lotingen today, Sergeant Koch?' I was quivering with humiliation and with rage.

'Procurator Rhunken, sir,' he replied without a moment's hesitation.

'He had no idea who I was,' I said with a coolness which surprised me.

Koch opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Finally, he said, 'I presumed it was Herr Rhunken. I was handed a despatch by a messenger.'