Part 3 (2/2)

'If you have no objection, sir, you will leave immediately.'

My thoughts flew instantly to Helena.

'My wife is ill,' I said. 'I am reluctant to leave her in a state which . . .'

The fat on Malaport's forehead corrugated into a frown. 'Is the lady dying?' he asked. He was not being sarcastic. Rather, he was informing himself of the situation, and I was forced to smile. He seemed to be a man of extreme judgements.

'My wife is pregnant.'

'Pregnant?' he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'I thought you were talking of something serious. Your wife has a doctor, surely? He'll play her fool while you are away. When is the child expected?'

'In a month,' I murmured.

'If all goes as I expect,' he charged on, 'you'll be home in a couple of weeks. I do not see that as a reasonable objection. You will be serving France, but Prussia will thank you for it. I have already spoken to the district governor. Herr Count Dittersdorf agrees with me. You will report to Colonel Richard les Halles who is in command of the area, though you should consider your authority to stem directly from me. I will be keeping a close watch on the situation. In the final a.n.a.lysis, I'll hold you responsible for the investigation. Do you understand what I am saying, Stiffeniis? Do as you wish, but try not to step on too many toes. A coach will be leaving for the coast at five o'clock. Make sure that you are on it. Bon voyage.'

I had been dismissed.

Yet one thing p.r.i.c.kled me as I walked to the door.

'Herr General,' I said, turning back to face him, 'we have a serious problem in Lotingen. The French army is at the root of it.' I told him of the situation in the town, the filth on our streets, the danger of an epidemic which was on everyone's lips. 'If I help you, sir, will you help the town in return? Not all French soldiers are en route to Spain, after all. Couldn't the ones who remain be set to work to clean the streets after those who are departing?'

General Malaport pursed his lips, then nodded twice.

'First, I want results on the coast, Herr Stiffeniis. Good day, monsieur.'

I closed the door, and walked out into the hall.

'Stiffeniis.'

I met the eyes of Colonel Claudet as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been sent out, but he had not gone away. He had something more to say to me 'Remember, monsieur,' he warned me, 'you can weigh la merde, you can discuss it in a Prussian court of law if you like, but the streets of Lotingen will not be clean until it suits me.'

'Herr General said . . .'

'Herr General watches his own back. I watch mine. I advise you, sir, to watch out very carefully for yours. Bon voyage, monsieur.'

With an ironic salute, he turned and walked away.

The French needed me, but that did not change the facts. I would not be working with them, I would be working for them.

I walked home in a daze through the narrow streets.

What if the child were born before I could resolve the case?

6.

THE BALTIC SEA was breathing in our faces.

I felt its salty presence tickling at my nose and coursing down my gullet.

I had spent the last three hours in a corner of the coach with my head propped on my hand, eyes closed against the dust kicked up by the horses on the bone-hard highway, sometimes sleeping, otherwise pretending to sleep.

We were going to a place called Nordcopp, I and my travelling companions.

The appointment had been set for five o'clock at Lotingen town cross.

Having kissed Helena goodbye with less pa.s.sion than I truly felt-Lotte and the children were looking on-I had walked back to town, my leather travelling-bag hanging from my shoulder. The road was empty, except for swarms of flies, which nipped at my face, neck and hands.

The carriage was waiting.

Pulled by four stout horses, it was grey with dust, though painted black, and it appeared to have travelled many miles that day. I quickened my pace, taking stock of the vehicle as I approached. It was not the sort of carriage that generally ferried pa.s.sengers along the coast road. A large square box with stout wheels and great leather suspenders, it was a transport wagon of some sort. On the roof, as well as a mound of valises, bags and sacks, there were a number of metal tubes, some wooden crates, and a set of oversized drilling bits. The French had deemed that I should be conveyed not as a pa.s.senger worthy of care and consideration, but as just another piece of heavy equipment that needed to be moved up to the Baltic coast.

There were three other pa.s.sengers, and all of them were French.

I announced my own name; they fired back with a rapid cannonade of French double names and surnames which went straight over my head. No doubt my name had been equally quickly forgotten. As the coach pulled away, the luggage on the roof began rattling, shaking and clanking, as if a dozen blacksmiths had been hard at work up there. My companions shouted angrily at the driver, but there was nothing to be done, the man shouted back. The road was full of holes and ruts after the long, hot summer.

The other pa.s.sengers were soon engaged in heated discussions. They were talking of their experiences in Spain. Their tales of the campaign froze the blood in my veins. In one instance, thirty French troopers had been caught in ambush and cut to bits with scythes and pitchforks. In another case, the throats of five French officers had been slit by guerrilla warriors posing as peasants in a country taberna. Their still-beating hearts had been ripped from their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and French blood had been quaffed as if it were the finest Madeira wine.

I closed my eyes, thinking of Helena, and the tribulations she must suffer in my absence. The children, the unborn child, the flies and insects, the foreign occupants, the stench which hung over Lotingen. I recalled the details of our parting. Of necessity, I had told her of my meeting with General Malaport.

'I must go the coast,' I announced. 'A woman has been murdered there.'

'Do you know who she was?' she asked. 'Was she married? Did she have children?'

'I only know that she was employed collecting amber,' I said.

'She was Prussian, then.' She placed two fresh s.h.i.+rts in my bag, and closed the strap. 'There, that's everything. Except for the promise you must make me.'

'To be back soon . . .'

'No, no,' she protested. 'I want something else from you.'

She had made me promise that I would find the killer before the baby was born.

When not pretending to sleep, I sat in silent isolation looking out of the carriage window. The road was unusually busy, the travellers almost exclusively French. While we drove north and east, French troops, cavalry and baggage-trains flowed by in the opposite direction. There was nothing surprising in that river of marching Frenchmen-though it did make the direction being taken by my travelling companions all the more mysterious. After serving two years in East Prussia, where they had besieged the city of Konigsberg, then mercilessly crushed a more recent rebellion in Kamenetz, the marching troops were going down to Spain. I had seen the same battle-worn faces every day for the last month as they marched or rode through Lotingen, turning left towards the interior on the long road that would lead them eventually to Paris and beyond, or wheeling right towards our port and the galleys which would race them to Spain.

As dusk came on, a heavy sea-fog rolled in off the sea, and the coach slowed down to walking-pace. Not long afterwards, we turned off the main highway, heading out towards the sh.o.r.e along a sandy lane. The Frenchmen grew ever more anxious, shouting up to the driver, warning him to take care of the 'beak,' and go more slowly. I did not ask what they were referring to. As I was climbing up into the coach in Lotingen, handing my bag to the coachman on the roof, I had caught a glimpse of a long, slender object made of metal. Rolled up in heavy canvas, it had been tied to the vehicle with a great many ropes. The further down that lane we went, the more loudly this metal tube began to clank and judder as it pulled against its moorings.

On every occasion, French conversation died in an instant.

Their eyes rolled up to the ceiling, they spoke in worried whispers, and the man sitting next to the window dropped the sash, leaning out to see that nothing had come adrift above us, reaching up to check that the ropes were holding, calling to the driver, ducking back inside to announce that all was secure, and that, despite their worst fears, nothing had happened to upset their plans.

Plans?

One thing was clear to me: their military careers would be at stake if any damage were done to the 'beak.' At the same time, I began to feel that they feared for more than just their careers alone. They spoke of the officer that they were delivering it to as some sort of ogre, who might eat them all if any harm came to his metallic plaything. It gave me unexpected pleasure to hear the thrill of fear in their harsh voices.

<script>