Part 23 (2/2)

'If I may make a suggestion, Herr Stiffeniis,' Gurten intervened, 'perhaps we ought to look at the records for the year 1805, that is, the year before the French arrived. Just for the sake of comparison.'

It was a sensible proposal. 'Herr Tanzig?' I said, turning to him.

'I have to warn you,' he replied. 'I shall be obliged to inform the margrave.'

'Do as you must,' I said.

Tanzig went across and took a ledger out from the stack. It was as large as a slab of black bread, but twice as thick, a heavy studded volume with dark brown leather covers. As he dropped it onto the desk, a storm of dust flew out from between the pages, dancing and floating in the sunlight. 'Here you are, sir. This one runs from 1804 'til the day that we were ousted. We used to keep the records proper back in them days. Without a birth certificate, no girl could be employed. Prussian law was strict . . .'

I opened the book near the middle, took out a sheaf of loose papers that divided the pages, and set them to one side on the desk. The top sheet was a fading copy of an edict. The t.i.tle caught my eye: Amber Edict & Convention-France & Prussia. Two paragraphs had been ringed in ink: Commercial amber, that is to say, amber of any quality, type or size [from the finest powder to the largest block], and for any general purpose [medicinal, chemical, decorative, etc.] will be consigned to the nearest French Office.

All amber of a scientific nature, that is to say, amber containing objects, animals, plants, or any other unusual 'insertion,' will be consigned to the Round Fort, in the person of Benedikt Tanzig, Archivist to the Margrave of Marlbork, who will despatch the said consignment to the Royal Scientific Society, Berlin, for immediate examination and cla.s.sification . . .

I had just such a piece of amber in my pocket. It had belonged to Kati Rodendahl. That is, I corrected myself, it belonged to the Royal Scientific Society, and it ought to have been consigned into the safe-keeping of Herr Tanzig.

'Do you send many pieces to Berlin?' I asked him, waving the edict in the air.

'Haven't seen one in the last uh . . . ten or twelve months,' he said. 'The other papers in that pile are official receipts for pieces sent, which I retain for the margrave's inspection. I have, of course, written to inform him that somebody is robbing him. That's his only income now from the coast. Today, of course, I'll add the thalers that your young a.s.sistant has given me.'

So, that's where the money would end up, I thought. Not in beer, or food, or a new pair of stockings, but, as tradition required, those coins would go to fill the coffers of the margrave of Marlbork, wherever he was surviving after the deluge that had swept away the remnants of ancient Prussia.

'Are you suggesting that the French are holding back amber?' Gurten asked. 'And that they are not respecting the agreement?'

''Tain't my job to suspect no one, sir,' Tanzig replied gruffly. 'Let the margrave suspect, if that's what he wants to do! Still, I reckon it is the French. They don't bring it here, which doesn't mean that they don't send it someplace else!'

Tanzig suspected the French. The French, of course, accused the Prussians of wholesale theft. Only the verb differentiated them: Prussians were not permitted the luxury of accusing anyone.

I turned my attention to the ledger, and began my search for Annalise and Megrete.

1. Anna Strudel, 26, of Ostroda, 24th April 18046th May 1806.

2. Mabel Bartold, 25, of Elbing, 24th April 18041st September 1804.

3. Krista Wiecwinski, 19, of Warsaw, 24th April 180411th June 1804lost a hand (compensation150 thalers).

4. Angeljka Cord, 30, of Lotingen . . .

I had lived in Lotingen for fifteen years, but I had never heard that name.

I picked up the separate bundle of papers and began to search through the leaves until I found the yellow registration certificate of Angeljka Cord. Born in the Roederstra.s.se district of our town in 1771, the girl had been raised inside a Pietist community for dest.i.tute female orphans. From this scant information, I guessed that she might have been the illegitimate daughter of a prost.i.tute. Where was she now, I wondered. Above, or below ground? The last recorded date of her existence was written in the ledger as 7th November 1807. She had worked on the coast for two and a half years, then left as suddenly as she had arrived.

'Is this your handwriting?' I asked the archivist, who had seated himself on the chair behind the desk.

He pulled a gla.s.s from his pocket, and lowered his nose until it grazed the page. 'It is,' he said, glancing up.

'I don't suppose you remember this girl?'

'Don't remember any of them precisely,' he said. 'They're here one minute, gone the next. They drift from place to place in search of work. She was in one piece when she left here, otherwise there'd be a note of injury. My records were a miracle of precision 'til the French took over. Date of arrival, date of departure . . .'

When had Edviga Lornerssen appeared in Nordcopp?

I ran my eyes over the pages ranging up and down the lists with my forefinger. Ostensibly, I was looking for the names Annalise and Megrete, but my finger jolted to a halt as I read the name Edviga. It was not the entry I was looking for, however. Edviga Brandt had arrived from Danzig in April 1806, and she had disappeared in June of the same year. Swept out to sea by a storm, the note read, as if that storm had come for her, and no one else.

What would Edviga Lornerssen make of that? A girl adrift in the after-life without a piece of amber to protect her.

'Can I see the records kept since the arrival of the French?' I asked.

Tanzig began to cough and splutter violently. He was laughing, I realised.

'The French don't bother with formality,' he said. 'If a girl looks fit, they take her on. If not, away with ye!'

'Surely you have a copy of their lists? For the margrave, I mean. Surely he would want to know the names of those who left the sh.o.r.e,' I said. 'And who was taken on to replace them.'

Herr Tanzig shook his head. 'None of my business, the Frenchmen said. I wrote to the margrave, of course . . .'

'So, there's no way of knowing who is working on the sh.o.r.e at present,' Gurten concluded.

'They may keep a roster down on the beach,' the old man replied.

I could verify that fact from personal knowledge. I had heard the roll being called before I went with Adam Ansbach to examine the corpse that he had found in his pigsty. I had been hoping that the Round Fort records would verify whether the girls that Pastor Bylsma accused of theft were registered as amber-gatherers. Now, I would need to check the French lists instead, and convince Colonel les Halles that it was not Prussian intrusion in French military affairs.

'What else can we do here, sir?' Gurten asked softly.

'Nothing,' I admitted.

Downstairs in the entrance hall, I was just about to leave when the archivist called me back. 'Herr Procurator,' he said, 'you asked me before if I remembered a particular girl.'

'Angeljka Cord,' I reminded him.

'That's right, sir. And I told you that I didn't. Well now, there is somebody who might know.'

I clutched at this straw. 'There is?'

'There is, indeed, sir. I may have mentioned it, in fact. She's been hanging around here, off and on, for a couple of years, I'd say. She pesters the girls when they're coming in. Or she chases after them on the way out.'

'She?' I asked, surprised.

Herr Tanzig began to chortle, as if he were seeing something very funny in his mind's eye. 'A strange little creature, sir. The contrast is quite hideous. Just imagine, all them big, fine strapping maids-beautiful, all of them-and this little imp in a skirt that skips and limps at their heels, telling them G.o.d knows what. If you could find her, sir, she might have a better memory for names than me. She'll know them. She speaks to every one without exception. She was hanging about outside last Monday, too, come to think of it. When no one came, she sat herself down on the bridge, dangling her legs over the ditch, and waited for a couple of hours. Next thing I looked, she must have realised n.o.body was coming, she'd taken off. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes back next Monday, though. Never misses a day, she doesn't.'

As Gurten and I began to retrace the dusty road to Nordcopp, the image of Erika Linder would not leave me alone.

Did Erika know what the Round Fort register could not tell me?

20.

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