Part 4 (1/2)

Suddenly, a loud shriek split the night.

Leather brakes bit harshly on the steel rims of the wheels. The carriage creaked, rocked, skidding from side to side on the sandy surface of the road. The smell of burning took the place of salt and sea air. Above our heads, instruments, tools and boxes began to clash like warring bands of medieval knights locked in a battle to the death, coming to a cras.h.i.+ng, rowdy climax as the vehicle lurched to a sudden halt.

My travelling companions flew into a fit.

They leapt down onto the sands before the coach had fully stopped.

I did not follow, but remained where I was. I was going on to Nordcopp after all, and I dared to hope that the rest of the journey would be more peaceful without them.

'Les forets!' one man shouted. 'Avez soin des forets!'

'Descendez mes instruments tres vite!' another voice demanded.

I heard the studded boots of someone up on the roof, the repeated calls for their valuable cargo to be unloaded, and carefully, too. I stared out through the open window, wondering whether I ought to get down and offer them a hand, but then dark shadows ran into the circle of light that was cast by the coach-lamp. They would have no need of me. Indeed, the local helpers seemed to be more efficient and orderly. A voice stood out above the others, issuing orders in a sharp, commanding tone, while a succession of boxes, packages, bags and more unwieldy objects were handed down from the roof to the hands now reaching up to receive them.

I took complete possession of the empty vehicle, and closed my eyes.

'Paralysed with fright, are you?'

The accent was French, though the language was German.

I opened the eyes. A head was poking in through the door, a dark silhouette against the sulphurous light of a lantern.

'Or are you deaf?'

Wisps of sea-fog hung about his face and hair like drifting pipe-smoke.

I sat up quickly. 'Colonel les Halles is expecting me in Nordcopp,' I began. 'The sooner I get there . . .'

'You are there,' he snapped in bulldog fas.h.i.+on. 'And I am he. Now, get out quick, monsieur, or that carriage will take you straight to Konigsberg.'

I made haste to jump down from the coach, embarra.s.sed to be told by a Frenchman what a native Prussian might be expected to know. So, this was the ogre that my fellow-pa.s.sengers had been speaking of, the one with whom General Malaport had told me that I would be required to work.

He was shorter than myself, more square, robust, rugged. His head was a cube, his close-cropped hair as white as salt. And yet, he was not old. Certainly, he had not pa.s.sed forty. There was a piercing, challenging, brutal quality to his rude stare, as if he were summing me up for future use.

'Procurator Hanno Stiffeniis,' I announced. That 'get out quick' still stung, and I thought it best to meet his rampant arrogance with disdain.

'I know who you are, monsieur,' he replied brusquely. 'I do not know what you may yet be. But we have work to do. The stink of the Baltic Sea will not cover the stench of the fraulein for very much longer.'

He turned away, shouting to the man on the roof of the coach. 'That drive shaft! Break it, and I'll break your neck!'

As I retrieved my leather satchel from the ground, he turned to meet the other new arrivals, informing them that their instruments would be stored in a hut close by, warning them that nothing should be touched without his say-so.

He exercised authority like a bludgeon.

'Coach clear, Monsieur le Colonel!' a soldier saluted.

Les Halles grunted, and waved the man away.

'It's too late to do anything tonight,' he said, his voice gruff and low, as if he were accusing us of coming late on purpose, just to frustrate his plans. 'You'll start first thing in the morning. We rise at five.'

He raised his lantern to my face, let out another dismissive grunt, then turned away, stumping off into the fog. 'Follow me,' he shouted.

We trudged after him in silence, each man carrying his bag or valise. It was heavy going; the sand was very fine, damp with fog, and it clung to our boots like lead. A dark structure loomed up suddenly. A wooden hut. There appeared to be others dimly glimpsed in the s.h.i.+fting half-light.

Colonel les Halles kicked his boot against the frail door.

'Entrez, monsieurs!'

He might have been urging a.s.sault troops forward on a suicidal mission.

Was he capable of conversational speech? Every word was an order. Every order was to be obeyed. Was I alone in hearing the sarcasm in his voice? Or was it a question of Prussian sensibility, and nothing more?

One of the newcomers pushed past me, hurrying forward into the light and the shelter. 'This is true French hospitality!' he exclaimed.

I followed him up the wooden steps and took a few wary paces into the room.

We might have been aboard a whaling-s.h.i.+p. The edifice was ribbed and panelled like an upturned boat, the wood as s.h.i.+ny as metal, green-tinged where damp had made its home in the grain. The wooden roof was low, the room was small, and it seemed even smaller, crammed with sets of drawers fixed along three of the walls. Heaps of tools and instruments were stored above the drawers. Those drawers were narrow, as if they were used to hold maps and drawings, each marked with an iron letter from the alphabet. There were picks and hammers hanging from hooks. Large boxes containing screws and nails, all the paraphernalia of carpenters and woodworkers, were ranged on top of the drawers. In the centre of the room, a large table was illuminated by a hanging oil-lamp. Bread, cheese and wine had been set out on trays.

There were four soldiers standing around it. Their eyes slid over me and settled on the newly-arrived Frenchmen. Greetings and names were quickly exchanged, together with more particular enquiries, regarding their journey and the state of the empire. The words Spain and guerrilla were like magnets to men who were isolated on the extreme northern coast of the continent.

I stood apart, holding tight to my travelling-bag, like a lost pilgrim, uncertain to whom I might address myself. But Colonel les Halles had other plans for me. He had taken up a position at the far end of the room, well away from the feast.

'Stiffeniis,' he called. 'Come over here.'

I went to stand beside him.

We were like a small private island; the other officers composed a larger, more convivial land ma.s.s some way off across the wide sea.

'I received a note regarding you from General Malaport,' he began, then stopped abruptly. 'First, let me see your orders.'

As he spoke, he slipped the cape from his shoulders. His uniform was stained and spotted. Mud had dried in places, as if he had just recently stopped working, and then in such a hurry that he had had no time to restore his finery. Only the stripes on his sleeves and the silver epaulettes on his shoulders proclaimed what he was. In the days to come, I would understand that this was what he wanted his underlings to think of him: he was a commander, he was ready to soil his hands, having no time for social nicety. He put first things first, and all the rest flew out of the window.

'You have left a wife and three young children in Lotingen,' he said, taking the letter that I held out to him, folding his arms, settling his bulk on the edge of the table, staring at me out of dark, hooded eyes. 'Your wife is expecting a fourth child, I've been informed. It cannot have been easy for you to leave them there, not knowing how long it will take to . . . to resolve the situation here.'

It was the first word of ordinary humanity that I had heard from his lips. Was there a Madame les Halles waiting for him in France? Was there a child who could squeeze a drop of tenderness from the heart of Colonel les Halles?

At my back, I heard the start of a small welcoming party for the new officers. Bottles were broached and exclamations of appreciation were made, concerning the unexpected quality of the German wine, the excellence of the dried sausages and the pickled herring.

He was keeping me well apart, I realised, singling me out, marking me off from the others. I was his Prussian guest, though that did not mean that I was to be generally made welcome. I waited in silence while he cast his eyes over my letter of commission. When he had finished, he handed it back to me. 'Carry this letter with you always,' he warned. 'It will be your pa.s.sport here. You won't go far without it.'

'Without your a.s.sistance, I will not go far, in any case,' I said.

He did not reply immediately.

'Do you know what is happening here on the coast?' he asked, his voice low and guarded. His eyes flashed into mine.