Toymaker, The

by Quidt, Jeremy De

  Katta tugged at his sleeve. ‘We could stay here, eh?’ she said again. ‘What do you think?’

  No grandchildren. ‘But that can’t be right,’ he said.

  ‘Course it ain’t,’ she said. ‘It’s the wrong man. It must be someone else he’s talking about. Come on, we just have to wait here, see?’ She was growing more desperate in what she said. ‘We’ll just wait here. Right?’

  She sat down at the bench. But Stefan stood up. He put his arm on Mathias and Mathias turned round and looked at him blankly.

  ‘We go the inn,’ said Stefan carefully. ‘We do the Koenig says us.’

  Then he looked at Katta. ‘You do the Koenig says us too.’ It sounded like a warning.

  ‘Tells us,’ said Katta. ‘Not says us. And we could wait here just as good. You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m going with you, Burner boy.’

  Stefan had already got his hand on Mathias’s arm and began steering him towards the door. Katta sat defiantly where she was, expecting Stefan to stop and argue, but he didn’t. He led Mathias through the door and closed it behind them. She watched it for several moments, expecting it to open again, thinking that they would have to come back. But they didn’t, and suddenly The Bear didn’t seem such a good place to be on her own.

  There were fewer people now, and she didn’t like the look of them at all. She had seen their sort before. Fleshy-faced, hard-drinking men, with sudden, loud, dirty laughs.

  ‘You on your own now, sweetheart?’ said a voice next to her.

  She hadn’t seen the man step out of the shadows beside the stuffed bear, but he must have been watching her for a while. He put his drinking pot on the table and sat down too close to her. His breath smelled of onions and schnapps.

  ‘I’m waiting for my friend,’ she said quickly. ‘His name’s Koenig. He looks after me.’

  ‘I could look after you just as well, sweetheart,’ the man said in a wheedling voice. ‘Be a bit of a change for you, wouldn’t it?’ He pushed his face closer to hers. ‘Someone different.’

  She tried to stand up but he held onto the sleeve of her coat and pulled her back down.

  ‘Can’t go if he’s not here yet, can you?’ he said, and this time there was a dangerous edge to the words.

  ‘He’s just outside,’ said Katta.

  She snatched her coat out of his hand but, just as quick, he caught hold of it again.

  ‘Maybe we should go and look for him together then?’ he said. ‘Have a little walk, you and me?’

  Still holding onto her with one hand, he drained the pot of beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of the other. ‘Let’s go and see if he’s here yet, shall we?’

  He stood up, gripping her arm. She looked about, but there was no one to help as he led her towards the door. He opened it and they went out, up the steps into the dark alley. The ground was frosted and hard with ice. She was praying that Koenig would be there, but he wasn’t. The alley was empty.

  ‘Doesn’t look like he’s here,’ the man said, and pulled her closer to him.

  She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It was now or not at all.

  ‘There he is!’ she said.

  Startled, the man turned to look, and as he did so, Katta tried to jerk her arm free. She almost managed it, but he had too tight a hold and his fingers closed around the cuff of the coat.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ he said.

  He made a grab at her and she stepped back, but her feet slipped on the ice, and down she went like a stone. But he was still holding on, and her fall pulled him off balance. He lost his footing and down he came as well. But he’d let go. She pushed him away, her feet sliding on the ice. He tried to catch hold of her ankle, but he slipped again and that was enough for Katta. She was on her feet and running as fast as she could keep her balance. She could hear him shouting and swearing at her to come back, but he wasn’t chasing her. As she turned the corner, she looked round and saw that he’d fallen again and was lying in the middle of the alley, spread-eagled on his back, but she didn’t stop running. She ran until she had no more breath left to run with, and then she stood, bent over, hands on her knees, taking in great lungfuls of air with her heart going bam, bam, bam in her chest.

  There was no sign of Stefan or Mathias anywhere. She stood bent over until she’d got her breath back, then walked carefully to the end of the narrow street and looked both ways, but they weren’t there. She hadn’t a clue where she was. It wasn’t that bad, though, she thought. All she had to do was find her way down to the harbour. That would be easy. It might take her some time, but she could do it. If she was lucky, Koenig would already be there and Stefan wouldn’t be able to touch her.

  She was hot and clammy from running. The air was ice-cold. She pulled up the collar of her coat and, choosing one of the two narrow lanes, began to walk. She went beneath a low arch and came out into a wide paved street.

  All along the street, paper lanterns had been strung with candles flickering inside them. Some were decorated with ribbons – blue and white – like the frost that sparkled on them. Others were painted with the face and feathers of a smiling angel. People were strolling together, lots of them. They were all wearing carnival costumes and wrapped in warm cloaks and gowns. Some carried a small feather mask on a little stick with which to hide their face. Some had whole masks – she could see Pierrot faces, animals and beaked birds. The people bowed to each other as they passed. She could hear singing and laughing. In the middle of the street, big fiery braziers had been lit, and men were selling hot chestnuts, pastries and wine. She stood staring. It looked like a dream. For a moment she thought it was.

  Along the edges of the street, their backs against the buildings, children stood and watched. When she looked up at the windows, she saw that there were other children leaning out of them too. She began to walk open-mouthed, staring at the costumes and the people as they strolled on each side of her.

  When she came to a group of children standing in a doorway, she stopped.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ she said.

  They looked at her as though they thought the whole world would know.

  ‘It’s the Festival of the Angel tomorrow,’ a boy said.

  She turned round and looked down the street. ‘This happen every year?’ she said.

  The boy laughed at her. ‘You stupid?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not from here,’ she answered.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow’s church day. You not seen it then?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  She stood staring at the fires and the lanterns. ‘It’s wonderful.’

  The boy nodded knowingly at his friends. ‘You want to go up the other end,’ he said. ‘It’s better up there. You can see them all coming out the opera.’ He pointed. ‘It’s right down there,’ he said. ‘That’s where you want.’

  A woman in a fine gown swept past, and then Katta found out why the children were standing, waiting. Why they were so keen to send her on her way.

  ‘Sweets, lady!’ they all cried at once, holding their hands out towards her.

  The woman lifted the little mask she carried to her face and, putting her hand into the folds of her cloak, scattered something on the ground at their feet. At once the children forgot Katta and were scrabbling and fighting in the frost for the sweets that had been strewn for them. There was a chorus of voices from the open windows above.

  ‘Sweets, lady!’

  But she had already passed on, leaving the squabbling children behind her.

  Katta didn’t try to pick up any of the sweets: she knew there’d be a fight if she did. So she turned her back on them and looked down the street.

  There was plenty of time, she thought. She didn’t need to find her way back just yet. If she was late, there’d be more chance that Koenig would be there, and he’d be more angry with Stefan for leaving her behind. The thought of that made her smile.

  No. There was still time yet.

 
She began to walk slowly along the wide street, the way the boy had pointed. She wanted to see the fine people coming out of the opera. As she walked, she watched the ladies, saw how they nodded their heads to each other, how the men made graceful bows, and she tried to make herself taller and walk like them. There was a bright green-and-gold feather on the ground that had fallen from a mask. Picking it up, she brushed it against her cheek and walked on, pretending that she was a fine lady and that the feather was a mask of her own.

  Trinket stalls and booths lined the street. People were selling whistles and ribbons, brooches and pins. In one place a small crowd had gathered in front of a painted cart, and Katta pushed her way forward, the better to see what it was they were watching. One side of the cart had been opened to make a small stage. Tar flares were burning in front of it. A fat moustached man in a ringmaster’s coat was beating on a big drum while a thin woman in a tight silk costume doubled and folded her body through tiny hoops, as though she were a snake. People were throwing money – coins that glinted in the light of the flares – but Katta had nothing to throw. She watched for a while, then wandered on.

  A much larger crowd had gathered in front of the big white building at the end of the street. As before, Katta pushed and wormed her way to the front of it. Wide stone steps led up to the open doors of a grand entrance. Footmen in velvet coats and powdered wigs stood beside the doors while people in carnival costume made their way down the steps in ones and twos to the waiting carriages. The ladies wore jewels that sparkled as they went by.

  Then two men came down the steps together. One was very tall. He wore the red and purple robes of a churchman, but even he held a small mask in his hand. He was talking to the man beside him; he’d taken his mask off too – it hung loosely by its ribbons from his fingers. Katta saw the mask first and only then the face – and her heart stopped. She’d seen that face before. She pushed herself back into the crowd as the man passed by, but he didn’t notice her, which was just as well, because his face was round like a moon, and in the hand that didn’t hold the mask he carried a silver-topped cane.

  Stefan and Mathias had walked most of the way back to the inn before Mathias really understood that Katta wasn’t with them. The whole time he had been thinking about what Jacob had said and what it must mean.

  If the man at the theatre had been right, then the conjuror with the mark on his face was Meiserlann. Unless there had been two – but you wouldn’t get two people, not two conjurors, the same, with a big stain like that on their face. It was the thing that Gustav had always kept hidden. It was what Leiter had looked for first – why he’d washed the white paint from Gustav’s face. It had to be – Meiserlann was Gustav.

  But Meiserlann had no wife, no children. Jacob would know a thing like that. He wouldn’t have to lie about it, and it could mean only one thing. Mathias could hardly bear to say it.

  ‘He wasn’t my grandfather,’ he said. ‘He never was.’

  It had been the one thing that had made him stay. All those times he would have run away but for that one fact, and it hadn’t been true.

  Ever.

  He felt suddenly sick. He looked about for Katta, but she wasn’t there. The street was empty.

  ‘Where’s Katta?’ he said.

  Stefan kept on walking. Mathias caught him by the arm and stopped him.

  ‘Where’s Katta?’

  ‘We go the inn,’ said Stefan. ‘The Koenig says us.’

  ‘But we’ve left her behind.’

  ‘The Koenig says us,’ said Stefan coldly, and he pushed Mathias’s hand away. ‘We go the inn.’

  ‘Not without Katta,’ said Mathias. He began to walk back the way they had come, but Stefan grabbed him by his arm and pulled him back. Mathias winced.

  ‘We go the inn,’ said Stefan.

  He didn’t let go of Mathias’s arm.

  Suddenly, in the street behind them, came the sound of firecrackers – several, all at once. Instinctively they turned to see what it was, and as they did so, a crowd of youths and boys came running and dancing round the corner. They had fireworks on sticks and were waving them in the air. Showers of silver and gold sparks fell all around them. Each one wore a black mask in the shape of a big beaked bird. Some had them pushed up onto the top of their heads, others down over their faces. They were blowing horns and beating drums. A huge banner of an angel in a boat flew above them as they ran, whooping and shouting. They were upon Mathias and Stefan before they had realized what was happening.

  Grabbing hold of them, they pushed the two boys from one to another, then, tripping them, they sat on them and smeared their clothes and hair with thick treacle from a pot and covered them with cold ashes from a sack. Stefan was the first to scramble to his feet; with his arms covering his head, he turned and ran. He could hear whistles and jeers behind him, but he didn’t stop. He ran until, breathless, he found himself at the end of a narrow street with a lantern burning above it. He pushed himself into the safe dark of a doorway and stood there, shaking. He could hear the sound of the firecrackers and drums growing fainter in the distance. He waited until he couldn’t hear them at all, then, slowly, he poked his head round the doorway. With a rising sense of panic he looked back down the street. It was completely empty.

  Mathias had gone.

  Mathias hadn’t been able to run. He’d lain where he was on the ground while the boys had kicked him and dropped firecrackers around him. Then someone had thought of claiming him as their prize. They’d picked him up like a sack and, hoisting him above their heads, they’d run laughing and whooping headlong down the street, blowing their horns and beating their drums, sparks and firecrackers raining around them, the banner fluttering over their heads. Mathias had cried out in pain with each agonizing jolt, but they paid no heed. A huge screaming wheel of light was going round and round in his head, but they just ran and ran.

  They carried him up and down, running bedlam through the crowds, until at last they’d had enough of him. They dropped him in a back alley, making mocking bows in front of him as though he were a god. Then, with a last kick, hooting and laughing, they were gone. He could hear the drums and the horns getting fainter and fainter, then all was quiet. He lay on his back and closed his eyes.

  He didn’t know how long he lay there like that, but it must have been for a long time. When finally he opened his eyes again, there was a rime of frost in his hair and he was shaking with the cold. The screaming light in his head had stopped; there was just inky silence. He lay on his back, looking up at the line of black sky marking the narrow gap between the dark tall buildings that reached over him.

  Slowly he crawled onto his hands and knees. He’d been left in the dirty gutter of a narrow street. He said Stefan’s name, but Stefan was nowhere to be seen. He pulled himself to his feet and found that he was leaning against the side of a cart. He was covered from head to foot in ash and treacle. He stood swaying unsteadily, with his eyes closed and his arms hugging his ribs. They hurt so much. He could hardly breathe. He wasn’t sure he could walk at all.

  Then he realized that he could hear noises. They were coming from the cart. Someone was moving about inside. He opened his eyes. The street was quite dark. The only light came from the cart itself – just a thin crack through one of its shutters. He stood, listening. Maybe whoever it was would help him if he asked. Very slowly, he made his way round the cart until he found its steps. They were very steep. He stood holding the rail while a wave of pain swept over him. Then he took a teaspoon of breath and, one by one, he went up the steps and tapped on the dark door. The sounds inside stopped but nothing happened, so he tapped again.

  This time there were different noises – a bolt being slid back, and then another, and the door opened just a crack, spilling warm, yellow lamplight into the street. Mathias lifted his face and was about to speak but the words died in his mouth.

  Standing in the doorway, face painted, lips as dark as blood, was Anna-Maria.

  She didn’t recogn
ize him at once, this ash-covered boy in a Burner’s coat. He could see that she hadn’t and, mumbling an apology, he began to back slowly down the steps, and that was his mistake. Anna-Maria might not have recognized him, but she knew his voice. He saw her eyes suddenly widen as she realized who he was. He tried to turn round but she shot out her hand and grabbed hold of his coat.

  ‘Lutsmann!’ she shouted.

  He tried to push her hand away, but the ends of bones grated in his chest and he folded like a broken toy. It was all she needed. She caught hold of him with both hands and, pulling him off his feet, dragged him by his collar up the last of the steps and into the cart, kicking the door shut behind her with her pointed shoe.

  The light seemed so bright. Lutsmann was lying on the small cot bed in his shirt and braces. He stared with drink-bleary eyes, first at his wife and then at Mathias. Anna-Maria pushed Mathias forward with her foot.

  ‘Look who I’ve found,’ she said.

  18

  Things Told

  The old man was already at the end of the alley, but Koenig could see him well enough – a dark shadow moving against the darker shadows of the buildings. He wasn’t walking quickly. Koenig let him go a few paces more and then followed.

  It was as he had thought – Jacob had not come far. The old man walked over a small bridge, then into a narrow alley with tall uneven buildings reaching across on both sides, almost blocking out the dark sky above. A gutter piled high with frozen filth ran down the middle of it. On both sides, all the way along, there were slits of light showing through the cracks of closed shutters. Somewhere a dog was barking. Jacob did not once look round. He walked steadily to the end of the alley, where an open doorway led into one of the shabby buildings. A candle stub was burning just inside, and by the light of it Koenig saw him slowly climbing the wooden stairs.

  Koenig quickened his pace; coming to the foot of the stairs, he stood, hand on the banister, listening, counting Jacob’s shuffling steps until they stopped. There was the sound of keys and a door opened and shut. Koenig waited a moment, listening to the noises from the other rooms above, but there were no more steps. Quietly, keeping count, he began to climb the stairs.