“What I mean to say is, it is only natural and right that a father should seek to protect his child. Even if that child is all grown up and perfectly able to make his, or her, own decisions in life; to choose, not always wisely, his, or her, own path.”
“Fraulein, I urge you to come to the point.”
“Of course, Herr General. Forgive me, I am anxious to state my case as clearly and yet as respectfully as I am able.”
“Yes, I can see that you might want to,” he said, expertly removing the backbone from his kipper.
It took an enormous effort of will for Gretel to keep her mind fixed on the subject of the royal family. She had, completely unexpectedly, suddenly found herself dining on food of the finest quality imaginable, in the company of a disarmingly handsome and—she was now certain she was not imagining it—flirtatious man. The combination of food and a frisson of sexual tension was a heady mix. It had been a very long time since any man had been able to addle her brains (unless one counted Hans, which she did not, as the two things could not be more different). It was poor luck, she decided, that the very person who was now having such a stirring effect on her should also hold her very life in his hands. The balance of the relationship was worryingly loaded in his favor. She took a breath, pulling herself together. After all, he had given her no real reason to suppose his interest in her extended beyond his duty as the king’s employee. And yet, and yet . . . it wasn’t so much what he said as the way that he said it. And the way that he looked at her. The way that he was looking at her right now, head slightly on one side, brows raised just a smidgen, secretive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes sparkling . . . . Stop it, woman, Gretel berated herself, and tucked into her eggs.
“It has come to my attention,” she went on, “that there is a person whom Princess Charlotte, rightly or wrongly, holds in high esteem.”
Ferdinand met her gaze levelly but said nothing.
“Now, this person is a pleasant enough fellow, but he is not, alas, of noble birth. I understand—”
“You do a great deal of understanding, fraulein.”
“I do my best, Herr General. I do my best,” said Gretel, parrying the implied criticism by accepting it as a compliment. “And it leads me to understand that the great house of Findleberg, this royal house, the family that built this glorious Schloss, the name that is known throughout the civilized world as a byword for decency, strength, honesty . . .”
Ferdinand straightened up impatiently, tugging his napkin from his collar and dropping onto the table in front of him. “Yes, yes, and the royal laundries are sufficiently equipped with flannel already, thank you, fraulein.”
“. . . finds itself financially embarrassed.”
“It is no secret that the wars in the hinterlands and the failed expedition to the China Sea have left the royal purse somewhat diminished.”
“Quite so. Just as it is public knowledge that the queen is particularly desirous of her eldest daughter making a profitable marriage. All three of her daughters, in fact, but she must, as tradition dictates, begin with the eldest.”
“A healthy alliance with a similarly prestigious . . .”
“. . . but seriously wealthy . . .”
“. . . family of equal noble rank would, indeed, be advantageous.”
“My point exactly,” said Gretel. “But none of that is going to come about if King Julian’s Dear Little Lottie gets herself entangled with a local peasant.”
The idea caused Ferdinand to grimace.
He drained his coffee cup before responding. “It would be helpful information indeed,” he said slowly, “to know the name of the young man, if what you say is correct.”
“I’d stake my life on it.”
“You are indeed doing just that. What I need you to convince me of, Fraulein Gretel, is why I should not simply take you back to the chamber below the Schloss and ask Herr Schmerz to use his undoubted talents to extract that name from you?”
“Ah. I was rather hoping you wouldn’t do that.” Gretel used a piece of sourdough bread to mop up the last drops of golden yolk.
“As I say, convince me that I should not.”
“Well, you could, of course, extract a name from me. But how would you be sure it was the right name? I mean, under the threat of torture, well, I would give up my own beloved brother, would I not?”
“I could have the man you name brought here anyway.”
“He would deny ever having spoken to the princess, and you wouldn’t know if he was telling the truth or not. Only time would tell. When, one day, Princess Charlotte would go missing again . . .”
“So what is it you suggest, fraulein? How can all our disparate wants and needs be satisfied, hmm?” Ferdinand asked. He plucked a fig from the silver platter in front of him, and, never for one second taking his eyes from Gretel’s own, sliced it open with his thumbnail and then thoughtfully devoured the flesh inside.
Gretel swallowed loudly. She signaled to the nearest flunkie for a top-up of coffee and downed it hastily. It occurred to her that Ferdinand von Ferdinand would be capable of extracting any amount of information from her even more speedily than Schmerz, and without the need for employing expensive devices.
“Let me go,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Let me return home and continue my investigations. It is what I do best, after all. I will find you proof of the identity of the secret lover. I will deliver you that proof, discreetly, within an agreed period of time. You can be the one to present this crucial information to Her Majesty, thus saving the princess from making a foolish decision, saving the royal family from certain financial ruin . . .”
“And saving your own neck, fraulein?”
“That too. Definitely.”
Ferdinand was silent for a moment. Gretel found herself holding her breath.
“You ask a great deal of me, you know that?” he said at last. “If I release you, and you fail me, or disappear, I will have broken the king’s trust, and for nothing.” He gave a little smile. “That being the case, I may well find myself in the very . . . interesting position you were occupying such a short time ago, under the attentions of Herr Schmerz.”
“I will do my utmost to see that does not happen. I promise,” she said.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I believe you will.”
He signaled to a servant, who opened a door, through which several soldiers appeared.
“Take the fraulein back to her cell and await my instructions. Do not leave her door.” He stood up and strode over to Gretel. “Go with them. Wait for me. Say nothing. Do you understand?”
Gretel nodded vigorously.
“I won’t let you down, Herr General.”
“You had better not, fraulein. You had better not.”
Back in her cell once more, Gretel found the tension as she waited to be rescued almost unbearable. Outside in the courtyard an eager crowd was beginning to gather, some bringing picnics and clearly planning to make a day of it. She fumed silently, resenting them for making a family holiday with her own brutal demise as the main event. On the scaffold, a large block had been placed, center stage, suggesting a beheading. Gretel swallowed hard, her hand instinctively going to her neck. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to fear, that Ferdinand von Ferdinand was a man of his word, and a deal was a deal. But still, the sight of a hooded executioner lovingly inspecting his axe was unnerving in the extreme. A tortuous hour passed before she heard the bolts to her cell being drawn back. To her surprise, when the door opened, it was not the general who stepped over the threshold but an elderly priest.
“What are you doing here?” Gretel asked.
“My name is Father Wagner,” he told her in a soft, tuneful voice, “and I am here to accompany you on your final journey.”
“But . . . I was waiting for someone.”
“Have courage, fraulein, you will not be alone. God is with you always, and forgives all repentant sinners.”
“I’m not a sinner, I tell
you!” Gretel alarmed herself with the shrillness in her voice. “At least,” she said, a little more calmly, “not that sort. Where is General von Ferdinand?”
“Uber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand, you mean?”
“Are there likely to be two General von Ferdinands in the Schloss, for pity’s sake?”
Father Wagner was puzzled. “The general does not attend executions. I would not expect him to be present today.”
“I tell you, we cannot proceed without speaking to him.”
“I’m sorry, fraulein.” The priest shook his head. “That won’t be possible. As I descended the dungeon stairs I passed two of Uber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand’s men, who informed me that they were quitting the Schloss with their master—called away on urgent business. They even complained a little at not being allowed to stay and watch the execution.”
Gretel opened and shut her mouth, silently. She pushed the priest aside and scanned the passageway. Ferdinand’s soldiers were indeed gone, replaced by a gaggle of guards and the malodorous jailer.
“Come, child,” said Father Wagner gently, “let us go up together.”
“What? No . . . wait. Look, there’s been some sort of mix-up.”
But Gretel’s protestations went unheeded. Two guards roughly took hold of her arms and hauled her along behind the priest as he intoned prayers, his solemn words echoing off the dungeon walls as they ascended the twisting stone staircase.
SEVEN
Gretel was surprised to find that she was more cross than scared. She knew she was being led to her death; that a fearsome figure in a hood was about to detach her head from her body with an oversize axe while an eager crowd looked on. And yet the overwhelming emotion she was experiencing was fury. Fury at the injustice of her fate. Fury at the careless whimsy of princesses. Fury at the feckless promises of good-looking men.
She was so furious, in fact, that when two of Ferdinand’s soldiers appeared through a hidden entrance in the passageway and tried to rescue her, she attempted to fight them off.
“Let go of me, you brutes!” she shouted as they sought to take her from the guards.
“But, fraulein,” said the nearest soldier, “you must come quietly, please! We are here on the instructions of Uber General—”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, come on then. We don’t have time for his whole name,” she said, coming quickly to her senses.
The guards handed her over without a struggle, the praying priest moving slowly on, all the time seemingly unaware of what was taking place behind him. Another figure was hauled out of the shadows and bundled toward the guards, who continued on their procession behind Father Wagner. The soldiers assisted Gretel along an uncomfortably narrow tunnel. Just as she feared claustrophobia might get the better of her, they reached a doorway and stepped through it into a smart and luxuriously appointed room. Ferdinand stood in front of the fireplace.
“Fraulein Gretel, so pleased you were able to join us.”
“Not as pleased as I. You might have warned me about the priest and the whole last-journey business. I nearly had kittens.”
“A necessary subterfuge, for which I apologize.”
“Didn’t Father Wagner know what was going on? He seemed under the impression you had been called away.”
“It is better that as few people as possible know of your . . . release. Better, indeed, that some believe the execution has taken place as scheduled.”
“And would that some people include the king?”
“Alas, His Majesty’s mind is not as clear as once it was. It is the queen’s wish that he be spared the worry of troubling himself on the matter of Princess Charlotte’s possible assignations.”
“I see. But won’t he notice? I mean, there’s quite a throng gathering out there. There’ll be a riot if the execution doesn’t go ahead. Even King Julian might notice a riot.”
“Indeed. Which is why I have taken steps to prevent such a thing. Please, see for yourself.” He indicated the south-facing window.
Gretel looked down upon the courtyard below. Even from the safety of what she learned were Ferdinand’s private quarters, it was unnerving to think about what she was seeing, and about how close she had come to providing entertainment for the ruthless crowd. As she watched, Father Wagner emerged from the Schloss, the gaggle of guards still following. They appeared to be supporting the hapless figure who had been so roughly maneuvered into Gretel’s place. The poor fellow seemed to have lost consciousness, so that the guards were all but carrying him up the steps and onto the scaffold.
“But who is that?” Gretel asked. “Don’t tell me you sent some other innocent soul in my place?”
“Please, do not distress yourself, fraulein.”
“Oh no, that’s not right. I mean, it wouldn’t be right if it were me either, but . . . I can’t let you do this!”
“Your moral outrage does you credit, but please, remain calm. No one will suffer on your behalf. Look closely.” Ferdinand had come to stand beside her now. He gestured through the window, urging her to do as he said.
Hardly daring to do so, Gretel squinted down at the terrible scene in the courtyard. The priest had finished his prayers and stepped away from the condemned. The victim was so robbed of strength that the guards were required to lay him down on the block and hold him there. The executioner raised his great axe. Gretel wanted to look away, but found she could not. There was a collective intake of breath among the crowd outside and the smaller one in Ferdinand’s room. The axe swung down. Gretel emitted an embarrassingly girlish scream. There was a gasp as blood gushed from the opened neck, and the head plopped noiselessly into the waiting basket. A cheer rattled off the walls of the enclosure. The executioner held up the head for all to see before tossing it carelessly back into the basket. Gretel thought she might well throw up. Blood continued to flow from the inert body.
“Oh,” said Gretel, too shocked to form a sensible thought.
“Convincing, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“It really does look as if a real person has been executed,” Ferdinand said.
“It really does? Hasn’t it? Really?”
“No, my dear fraulein. As I told you, no one has suffered to enable our plans to come about.”
“But . . . the body . . . ?”
“Was a scarecrow from the Schloss gardens.”
“And the blood . . . ?”
“Came from a pig, freshly butchered for the royal supper tonight.”
“And the guards?”
“Are well practiced in this particular charade. As is everyone else.”
“You mean, they all knew? What, even that crowd out there—they all knew it would be a fake?”
“Regrettably, such pretenses have proved necessary on many occasions over the last ten years or so. King Julian is much loved, but, sadly, his powers of reasoning have left him. It is up to us, his loyal aides, and the queen, of course, to see to it that his wishes are carried out, while at the same time, as few people as possible suffer as a consequence.”
All at once Gretel felt giddy. The events of the night, culminating in such peaks and sloughs of emotion, had taken its toll. She put a hand to her brow.
“Might I, d’you think, have a little water?”
“Of course. I think we can provide something more reviving.” Ferdinand took her arm and steered her to an ornate carved chair by the fireside. He signaled to a servant, who quickly fetched a bottle of eiswein. He poured a glass and handed it to her.
Gretel drank and sat in silence for a few moments until she felt she had sufficiently regained control of herself to speak.
“The archer,” she said at last. “It was you, wasn’t it? You who killed the lion and helped me to escape?”
Ferdinand smiled. “My services were hardly needed. There were times when I feared for the lions.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier simply to have sent your men to release me?”
Ferdinand considered this and his
face became serious again. “It is important you understand, fraulein, that there is still danger in what we do. While the queen does her best to care for the king, she must allow him to at least be seen to rule. For outsiders to gain the knowledge that his mind is enfeebled could be catastrophic for the security of the realm. This means that we can never publicly be seen going against the king’s orders. It also means that the volatile, shall we say, unpredictable nature of His Majesty’s thought processes can, sometimes, have unfortunate results, which we are unable to prevent.”
“Particularly when you’ve got Princess Charlotte stirring things up, I should imagine.”
“Quite so. In which case I urge you to proceed with the utmost caution. I will have one of my most trusted men take you from the Schloss and return you to your home. You must not be observed. We may be able to convince the king his wishes have been carried out, but the princess has sharp eyes and ears, and a talent for protecting her own interests.”
“She is a Findleberg, after all.”
“If she were to see you, or if she were to hear that you are conducting investigations that might lead to revelations regarding her private life . . .”
“I get your meaning, Herr General.” Gretel rose to her feet, dusting herself off, mentally preparing herself for the task ahead. “Fear not. I shall return to Gesternstadt and at once set about discreet but effective work, which I promise you will produce proof of the princess’s unsuitable paramour.”
“Within the week, fraulein.”
“Absolutely. Within the week,” said Gretel.
She was sneaked out of the Schloss and placed on a sturdy but surprisingly swift horse, which, mercifully, required no instructions from her but galloped happily after the mount of General von Ferdinand’s trusted man. By the time they reached Gesternstadt, there wasn’t a bone in her body that did not feel jarred and jolted in such a way she was certain would plague her in old age. If she ever lived to be old. Recent events had shaken her, she realized. Somehow, while she was actually dealing with dangerous situations and perilous predicaments, she was always able to find the strength to endure, and to be resourceful. Later, however, when she had time to consider what might have happened, what painful and horrific fate might have claimed her, she found herself weak with terror and in need of comfort and solace. The sight of a splinter-fringed hole where once her front door had been offered little by way of either. As her escort deposited her wordlessly in her porch and sped away, she struggled to haul herself up the front steps and into her house.
Once Upon a Crime Page 11