“Are we on the move again?” Hans asked. “Ouch! I say, that does smart a bit,” he declared as Ernst applied something stringent and pungent to his injury.
“Don’t make such a fuss, Hans,” Gretel told him. “And yes, we will be departing very soon. Our presence in Baumhausdorf has become far too visible for our safety. Word of the detective and her card shark clergyman brother will have spread by now. We have remained unchallenged only, I suspect, because the residents are recovering from the excesses of last night. It is likely they will return to the bar tonight, and after a few jars of ale or schnapps they will be sufficiently stirred up to seek us out and demand answers. And whatever answers we were to give would not, I fear, satisfy them that we would keep the secret of their hideout. In which case …”
“Oh no, sister mine. Please do not finish that thought!”
“Calm yourself, Hans. We shall be long gone before that time comes. Herr Arnold, I recommend stout walking shoes and non-chafing breeches.”
“Am I to come with you?”
“You are.”
“But, Fraulein …”
Gretel stopped him with a raised hand and a commanding look. “Come you must, sir. It will profit none of us for you to resist what must be.”
“You don’t understand …”
“I understand perfectly. More than you do, in point of fact. Take the matter of the attacks upon myself and my brother.”
“The attacks?”
“We came under assault on three occasions during our journey here, and I have reason to believe those attackers were your clients back in Gesternstadt. Why, one of them is even in this village. Frau Webber.”
“The baker’s wife? Here?”
“Yes and yes.”
“I know nothing of any attacks or assaults, you have my word.”
“I have more than that. I have logic and facts, and they point clearly in a direction that does not have you at its end.”
Hans gave a little chuckle. “She does that, you know. Takes facts and whatnot and deduces things. Quite clever really.”
“Thank you so much, Hans. The facts are these: the hapless victims of your blundering magic owe you no allegiance.”
The sorcerer sighed. “I cannot disagree with that.”
“What they all have in common—aside from a grievance against you—is the state of penury to which they have been reduced. Therefore, I concluded they acted for money. I thought at first you yourself might have paid them to prevent my finding you. The flaw in this postulation is that the want of money is at the very core of all that has driven you to your current situation. I quickly dismissed the theory that Evalina might have engaged them to search. First, she has no money, and second, she has engaged me, and rightly considers me to be the only person whose assistance she requires. There is only one other interested party in this case.”
Ernst stared at her. “Otto!” he breathed.
“Precisely. He is, I’d wager a fair sum, pleased to be rid of you. I believe that he believes you to be living still, in which case he most definitely does not want me finding you.” She paused as another thought occurred to her. “Tell me, did Herr Voigt know about your ability to numb pain?”
“Oh yes, he knew. He was quite jealous of it, in fact. I should have thought seeing me humiliated, prosecuted, and thrown in jail might have found favor with Otto.”
“To some degree, yes, but he would rather you were dead than jailed. Oh, I don’t think he would go as far as murdering you himself. It suits him very well that you have arranged for your own ‘death.’ If you were to be jailed your loyal wife would no doubt stand by you, visiting you frequently, and waiting stoically and faithfully for the day of your release. If you were dead, however, after a very necessary and sincere period of mourning …” Gretel tactfully left the sentence unfinished, wishing to spare the sorcerer’s feelings, so that he might draw the obvious conclusion silently and privately.
Hans, alas, suffered no such inhibition.
“Evalina could marry another!” he declared, delighted at having been able to follow what was going on, for once.
Ernst sprang to his feet. “No! Otto will make his move! He will woo her while she is grieving and lonely!” He began to pace the room urgently. At last he stopped in front of Gretel.
“I must go to her,” he said. “I cannot stay away, whatever the consequences.”
“I had hoped you would see it that way.”
“Take me with you this night, I beg you.”
“You see? Cooperation and good sense and everything will go much more pleasantly for all concerned.” She stood up and pressed the letter and the note into Hans’s hand. “Take these. Ernst tells me the messenger is to be found at the end of main street. They are addressed and directions given upon them. Give him this,” here she handed him a somewhat crumpled note of money, “tell him he will receive the same again after they are both delivered successfully. His trustworthiness and speed will earn him double if no one discovers our plans.”
“Consider it done,” Hans said, turning to leave.
“Come back here directly you have run that errand, Hans. I will send to the guest house for our things. Herr Arnold, pack a bag if you must.”
“We are to return to Gesternstadt?” he asked.
“Ultimately, yes. But in the first instance no. In order for things to work out in your favor you will have to place your trust in me, Herr Arnold, for we must first make all haste and get ourselves without delay to the Summer Schloss!”
EIGHTEEN
They formed a curious and unhelpfully noticeable trio when later Gretel, Hans, and Ernst made their way along the wooden main street under cover of darkness. Even in the gloom, with the feeble glow of the few lamps that were hung up to illuminate the walkway, they still looked out of place, somehow: a large woman in a flamboyant gown and heavy boots; an even larger vicar with a backpack and sporting a small cut to his throat and the remnants of a black eye; and a physician-dressed-as-a-sorcerer, a diminutive bat flying at his shoulder. Nevertheless, Gretel had been right about the likely habits of the residents of Baumhausdorf, and they were able to make their way to the wooden lift unseen. They climbed aboard and Gretel called down to the brawny youth below.
“Lower away, if you please.”
He did so, his sizeable muscles powering arms that had no difficulty turning the handle that worked the winch. The cage came to a thudding stop at ground level, but he did not immediately move to open the door.
“Thank you, young man. If you would be so kind as to let us out … ?” Gretel asked.
He shook his head.
Herr Arnold fidgeted. “It’s rather cramped in here. What is the delay?”
Hans tried to shift over to give the sorcerer a little room, but there was really nowhere to shift to.
“Come along,” Gretel spoke in what she hoped was a firm but friendly way. She dare not raise her voice for fear of being discovered by somebody up top, but the longer they stayed in the village, the greater their chances of never being allowed to leave it. “Open up, there’s a good fellow.”
Again the silent youth shook his head and made a cryptic gesture.
“He wants something,” Hans observed.
“What would I do without you?” Gretel asked her brother with a chilly smile.
At that moment Cornelius arrived on silent footfalls. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
“He wants something,” Hans repeated.
Cornelius entered into an exchange of gestures and signals with the lift attendant that ended with both of them smiling.
“He wants to see another card trick!” Cornelius explained. “He enjoyed the first one so much, that’s his fee for working the lift.”
Hans grabbed the opportunity to look smug, for such chances rarely came his way. “Oh, see, Gretel? He wants something!”
She bundled her brother to the fore of the cage and he took his cards from his rucksack. “Choose a short one,” she urged him. “
We are not yet out of harm’s way.”
Hans tutted at her, as if she were asking him to rush the painting of a masterpiece, but his fear of being caught was greater than his pride, so he heeded her words. With a sleight of hand that impressed even the sorcerer, he performed a neat little trick that had the desired effect of the young man, who promptly unlatched the cage door and waved them a smiling farewell.
Cornelius was all fresh-faced energy and sensible clothing. He did not question what might have occurred to necessitate a moonlit flit, nor did he comment upon their choice of outfits, and Gretel found she liked him all the more for these small but helpful things. The man was built entirely of the practical, his every bone and muscle existing only to work and work well, but he had at his core a soul with a greater love for mankind, and therefore a tolerance of it, than Gretel could ever hope to possess.
They walked on in silence, save for curses and exclamations uttered sotto voce when one or other of them stumbled into something painful in the dark. The path was reasonably clear beneath a helpful moon, and Cornelius furnished them each with a slow-burning stick for a torch. Despite these assistances, the way seemed strewn with things intent of delivering scratches and bruises at every turn. After two hours, Gretel called a halt. Cornelius led them off the track and found a secluded glade suitable for stringing the hammocks. They could not risk a fire in case a search party came after them. They ate cold sausage and black bread, drank a little ale, and then hauled themselves into their respective sleeping slings. Gretel did not sleep well. Whatever she recalled of the silence of the forest from their inward journey, it now seemed a place jammed full of alarming noises and disturbing sounds. Was that a fox or a wolf calling a way off? Does an owl really sound like that? How many and how large are the creatures that scuttle and scamper about in the dark? She shut her eyes, her ears, and her mind as best she could and chased sleep until a shiny dawn heralded another day.
Breakfasting as they walked, the party struck out again. With both the map and Ernst to guide them, there was less chance of getting lost, and the continuing warm weather devoid of thunderstorms now made the going reasonable. Hans was just starting to mutter about it being time for a proper meal of some sort, and surely they were far enough from the village to risk a fire, when Cornelius held up a hand to stop them.
“That’s strange,” he said. “I’m certain those weren’t there a few days ago.”
The others crowded forward to see what it was that perplexed him. In front of them, in a neat line along the side of the path, were four wooden boards, each nailed to a tree. They were similar in shape and size, with small variations, and appeared to be of polished wood, rather than something roughly hewn from the forest.
“Quite quaint,” said Hans, stepping forward to run his hand down one of them. “They’ve no carvings or inscriptions I can see, but they are nicely made.”
“What are they for?” Ernst wondered aloud, moving to see for himself.
Cornelius dropped to the ground, investigating the forest floor, searching for footprints and clues as to who had put these peculiar wooden items in this remote spot. He ran his fingers over the damp soil and trampled twigs and leaves.
“Very recent,” he nodded before raising his head to peer down the path ahead. “Whoever put these here has only just done so.”
“I know what they are,” Gretel said levelly. “I have never seen one before, but I have read about them.” She too stepped up to take a closer look. “Yes, the right length, neatly lathed wood, polished.” She sniffed. “Beeswax.”
Hans scratched his hat, which he had reclaimed and insisted on wearing despite it not entirely going with his clerical ensemble. “But why on earth would anyone be polishing bits of wood in a wood? I mean to say, once you start that sort of caper, where would you stop?” He took in the entire forest with a sweep of his arm.
“They have a highly specific use,” Gretel explained, “and are always, to my knowledge, made with a fair amount of care. Out of respect for the dead.”
“Dead?” chorused Hans and Ernst, striking a querulous note.
“They are Totenbretter. Death boards. The tradition predates the use of coffins or caskets,” she told them. “The deceased would be placed upon these boards and kept at home for a few days so that all with an inclination to do so could pay their final respects. Sometimes the boards were buried with the corpses, sometimes they were used again, other times they would be taken back to a place the dead person used to frequent. As this region has always been full of woods and those who made their livings from the forests, the boards were often nailed to trees, or set beside a pathway, or both, as in this case. The idea was that they took something of that person back to that place, and that as they disintegrated, just as the body decomposed, they returned to their natural state.”
There was an uncomfortable silence while everyone contemplated decomposing.
At last Ernst spoke up. “I’ve certainly never seen them here before, and I have made this journey many times.”
“Oh look!” said Hans, bending down to peer more closely at the Totenbretter nearest to him. “This one has got something carved on it. Well, more scratched than carved really. A bit hard to read … let me see … d … is it? Yes … d something … t … hmm, hard to read this bit … ah, v, yes, definitely a v … then there’s a bit of a gap, so second word—I say, isn’t this like charades?—begins with … G … a capital letter. After that, an r, I believe, then something, something … finishes el.” He straightened up, his face scrunched with the effort of trying to work out what was written. Suddenly he beamed. “I have it! Definitively Gruel!” He announced, tremendously pleased with himself. “Fancy that, Definitively Gruel. Curious, but there it is.” He turned to find three pale faces regarding him, his sister’s the palest of them all.
“I rather think it is not,” she said, “a food-based inscription.”
“Not?” Hans queried.
Ernst swallowed hard. “I fear it is a name. Yes, I can see it now … Detective Gretel.”
Hans’s mouth opened and shut as if his jaw were being worked by an unseen puppeteer. He made no sound, save a thin wail when Ernst went on to point out that there were three more boards, and three more of them. A nervous search showed up no more inscriptions, but nonetheless the idea had taken hold. These were boards for conveying the dead, and someone had thoughtfully provided one for each of them.
“Come along,” Gretel struck off down the path again. “There is nothing to be gained by dallying here.”
“But, Gretel …” Hans trotted after her. “Cornelius said the person who put them here must be quite near. Should we not proceed with extreme caution? Or perhaps, not proceed at all?”
“That is presumably what somebody wants, Hans. I am not about to give in to threats, however creative. We go on! Cornelius, if you would be so good as to take point duty?”
“Of course,” said Cornelius, bounding fearlessly ahead.
And so they continued on their way. The forest seemed to have taken on a darker, more sinister aspect now, so that shadows were jagged and the sounds sharp. The little party did not chatter, nor did they graze upon snacks, but instead kept watchful eyes, squinting into the gloomy corners and sunless patches beneath the trees, turning toward unfamiliar noises, alert now for an unknown danger. They paused only briefly halfway through the day in order to feed, and then moved on again, the mood of the group, with the exception of the indomitable Cornelius, somber. Gretel found herself more peeved than scared. She was tiring of being on the receiving end of assaults and tricks and jibes. Having one’s nerves jangled for days at a time brought on the manner of exhaustion that took all the color out of life. The sooner they reached the Summer Schloss and she could put her plan into the next stage of action, the happier she would be.
That night it was decided they were far enough from the village to risk a fire. Gretel deemed it a necessity to keep them safe, provide some hot food, and raise morale. When she said
as much Cornelius patted her arm, delighted.
An hour later, the fire burning brightly, a meal eaten, and a little more ale imbibed, it was decided a watch should be set, and Gretel elected to take the first shift. While the others slumbered in their hammocks, she sat on a log, poking the embers and low flames of the campfire with a long stick, letting her eyes lose their focus as she stared at the flaring tongues of fire. There was something so very hypnotic about the tiny, flickering orange heart to each one, with its flashes of scarlet and gold leaping to sparks that jumped upward to burn for an instant before melting into the night sky. Gretel shifted her position slightly, leaning back against Hans’s rucksack. It had been a testing few days. She was deeply relieved to think that the end of the case was in sight. All she had to do was reach the royal castle, see through her plan to bring about the restoration of Ernst’s finances and reputation, take her large and well-earned fee from the insurance company, and return to the relative comforts of her own little home. Not far now, she told herself, not many miles to go, nor many days to tolerate the privations of forest life or the annoyances of people attempting to undo what she was attempting to do. She dropped her stick into the fire and watched the flames consume it. She allowed her eyes to close and her head to loll forward just for a moment, just for an instant, for the watch was hers, and she must not, on any account, allow herself to fall asleep.
The first thing Gretel became aware of as she woke up two hours later was the unusual timbre of Hans’s snore. Over the years she had become accustomed to the rattling in-breath, the wheezing tremor while it was held, and the puffing, flappy-lipped outpouring of the used-up air. While it was irritating, there was comfort to be had in its familiarity, like the creaking sign of the inn across the street when the wind blew from the southwest, or the squeak-squerk of the milkmaid’s barrow wheels as she made her early morning deliveries. So it was with a vague sense of something being not quite as it should be that Gretel came to, for the familiar note of the snore had changed and the pitch altered, replaced with a deep, sustained rumble.
The Sorcerer's Appendix Page 17