by Anna Lord
“Are you sure about what you heard?”
“Yes,” he vowed, crossing himself. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“And you have no idea which man it was?”
“None.” His eyes now drifted to the fireplace where the five men stood together, and she could see the flicker of fear. “If you tell them what I say I am dead man.”
She gave him another drink. He was going to need it.
“Our turn,” declared Reichenbach, growing impatient with the secretive line of questioning. This was clearly men’s business and women should play no part in it. They had humoured the Countess long enough.
“Let’s get the truth out of him,” said von Gunn with sadistic relish.
The men were helping themselves to a second measure of cognac prior to interrogating the terrified toreador when Xenia signalled with her hand. She heard a noise on the stairs.
In a wink the candles were extinguished and darkness flooded the hall except for the embers which glowed red once more. Guns at the ready, the men took up their earlier positions. Velazquez took cover with the women behind the settee. It was now he understood they had not been lying in wait for him but for someone else. And that someone could only be Sarazan. He tried not to wet himself a second time. Someone was definitely moving on the stairs but the footsteps were coming down not going up! Had one of Sarazen’s men managed to scale the walls and squeeze through the lancet window in the latrine? Was this person now coming to unbolt the front door and the main gate to allow his fellow brigands in? Or did a secret tunnel lead right up to the top of the south tower, perhaps inside a buttress, thus catching by surprise whoever was holed up inside the castle expecting an attack to come from below?
Cold despite the fire, breaths on hold, hearts pounding, they lay in wait, poised for battle, when they heard a supernatural sound like an angel singing, heavenly and eerily beautiful. Each man thought he might be hearing things, froze with fear then shook himself, reminding himself he did not believe in angels or devils or ghosts. The sublime singing seemed to grow slightly louder, pass right past the archway, just on the other side of the tapestry, then grow gradually softer, as though fading away. Moriarty was the first to break cover. He raced toward the archway, realizing nothing was going according to plan, and that whoever had just passed was getting clean away.
“Reichenbach,” he whispered as loudly as he dared, “the other stairs!”
The Prussian was swift to act. He knew Moriarty meant for him to take the kitchen stairs and head off whoever it was. They would corner the supernatural singer, coming at the strange creature from both directions. Reichenbach had to get to the chamber with the well before the singing phantom had a chance to disappear. Prince Orczy followed hot on the heels of Reichenbach. Von Gunn chased after him. Dr Watson ordered Fedir to stay with the Countess then took off in pursuit of the Irishman.
14
Le Fantom
Moriarty flew down the spiral stairs several curves ahead of Dr Watson. The stone corkscrew was steep, dark and narrow and it took all his concentration not to break his neck. Chanteloup was not designed for royal courtiers and ladies-in-waiting to traipse daintily back and forth, it was a medieval fortress for a suzerain and a place of refuge for hapless villagers in times of war. Reichenbach and his cohort fared better. The kitchen stairs were built wider so that servants could pass two abreast. The stairs turned just once near the base as they opened into the main kitchen where foodstuffs were plated-up just before serving, thus avoiding rank food smells and smoke from the cooking fires venting into the great hall.
Moriarty reached the chamber that housed the well, took a huge mouthful of air to replace what had been expended, and looked quickly around. A door on the far side was bolted this side and the room was empty. He cursed loudly and made a dash through various storerooms, past the larder and pantry and scullery which were all similarly bolted this side, and stopped abruptly outside the door of the old bakery, the room where the old couple slept because it was warm and adjacent to the main kitchen. A fire was crackling in the hearth warming the bread oven. The old couple was seated at the bread table, cutting a slice of bread from yesterday’s loaf. In front of them sat two cups of steaming bouillon broth and a flickering candle in a wooden holder. Before he could question them, Reichenbach came from the opposite direction, followed by Orczy and von Gunn. Stupefied, the four men stood outside the doorway and stared at each other while they recovered their wits and breaths. Dr Watson, panting heavily, arrived a few moments later. He was the first to speak.
“Well?” he said, wondering what he’d missed, looking eagerly from one man to another until his eyes spotted the old couple who appeared to be having supper or perhaps breakfast. He actually wondered if they were just going to bed or just getting up. “What happened?”
Moriarty looked vexed. “Nothing!”
“Nothing!” repeated Reichenbach.
The five men packed themselves into the bakery and fired off a fusillade of questions at the old couple: Did you see anyone? Did you see anything? Did someone just rush past? Are you hiding someone? Does someone else live in the castle? Is there a secret tunnel? Where is the Singing Wolf? Where is your mistress? What’s going on?
The old man and his near-deaf wife remained nonplussed. They dipped crusty morsels of bread into their cups of steaming hot bouillon broth and chewed the crusts with toothless gums and shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. Exasperated, the men made a cursory search of the room then gave up in frustration and returned to the great hall.
“I’m telling you there was no place to hide on those stairs,” snarled the Irishman when von Gunn accused him of rushing straight past the fantom in his wild panic.
When they returned to the great hall it was Xenia, who, having posted herself back at the same archway as before, confirmed that no creature had doubled back. Reichenbach and his cohort likewise asserted that there did not appear to be anyone in the main kitchen as they rushed through it to meet up with Moriarty. Prince Orczy suggested they mount a search of the domestic storerooms but in truth they were all exhausted and, besides, they didn’t even know what they were searching for. They all agreed an attack by Sarazan was unlikely but they would nevertheless see out the night in the great hall. The bedrooms in the west wing were freezing cold, and the fires in the east wing would have burned themselves out by now. Just to be on the safe side, Velazquez was ordered to remain with them until morning.
The remainder of the night passed uneventfully and it was not until breakfast when they were all seated bleary-eyed back around the dining table that Moriarty voiced something that had been troubling him before he fell into fitful sleep.
“Last night, as I was rushing down the stairs I smelled something unusual.” He looked to Dr Watson for a response and was not disappointed.
“I smelled something too - perfume.”
Moriarty was bracing for the inevitable gibe from his cohort but it never came. The next comment came from the Countess.
“Why don’t the two of you go up to the south tower after breakfast and check the scent bottles on the dressing table. See if you can pinpoint the smell.”
Von Gunn gave a snort. “What’s the use of that? We all agree there is someone else here in the castle. It may well be that our hostess has lost her mind. Or it could be a lunatic, some mad servant or a crazy relation who has murdered the Singing Wolf and intends to do the same to us. Who cares what scent the maniac prefers! Which reminds me - we haven’t interrogated Velazquez. I noticed it was Inez and Desi serving the breakfast. This time it was a rack of toast on the floor. That black bitch is getting clumsier by the day. I think the toreador is keeping out of sight. I will catch up with him straight after breakfast.”
Reichenbach was the voice of reason. “First up, I think we need to check if there was another rockslide during the night and if there has been any damage to the walls or ramparts. If we all take a different section of wall it will be quicker.”
They all nodded.
“We should also check how the rock clearing is progressing,” suggested the Prince. “I can do that after we check the walls.”
“No,” said Moriarty with determined emphasis. “When we open the gates and the portcullis I think it is important that we are all there together. If Sarazan is waiting on the other side we need to be prepared to back each other up. Until we know what’s going on and what we are up against we must remain vigilant. That means no wandering off on your own, gentleman, and lady in particular.” He looked meaningfully at the Countess. “It is advisable that you keep your muff pistol handy and one of your trusty servants by your side any time you are not with one of us.”
Dr Watson waited until they all spread out to check the walls. He followed Moriarty and caught up to him when the latter stopped to light a cigarette, shielding the lucifer from the wind with his hand; a gold signet ring glinting in the dull morning light highlighted a shamrock.
“Do you think the Countess might be in personal danger from whoever is at large?”
Moriarty offered a cigarette to the doctor and waited for him to light it. “Anything is possible at this stage and if there’s a lunatic on the loose who has a penchant for perfume and dolls and has murdered our hostess and disposed of her body, well, it could well be a mad woman with a grudge against her own sex.”
The two men climbed up to the ramparts and gazed out across the southward spreading plain. They were standing at the highest point of the steepest part of the plateau. The drop was almost vertical - fortunately it had not suffered any damage. A rockfall here would bring down the entire south tower.
“By the way,” said the doctor as they were making their way to the portcullis to meet up with the others. “I thought I smelled that same perfume in the room where the old couple sat.”
Moriarty turned sharply. “I did too. I wasn’t sure because of the smell of the bread and the bouillon, but I thought it was there. We can check the scent bottles later this morning.”
They reconvened in the shadow of the barbican. Prince Orczy informed them there had been a minor rockslide on the western side. None of the walls had suffered any damage. It was time to open the gate and the portcullis. This was a painstaking exercise that could not be hurried. Cautiously, they ventured outside and down the zig-zag path, some continued further while others took up defensive positions behind the rocks. The villagers were still hard at it, clearing the way. Their voices could be heard shouting directions, and every now and then rocks like giant marbles could be heard rolling down the slope. Prince Orczy clambered onto a large boulder to speak to the one of the villagers but as soon as he called out to the man a gunshot rang out. He leapt back in fright and landed awkwardly. Dr Watson, dodging a hail of bullets, rushed forward to see if the Prince had injured himself. Fortunately, he was only bruised and winded. Gradually, the two men inched their way back to safety.
They could have immediately retreated behind the safety of the gate but they had the advantage of higher ground and Reichenbach urged them to make the most of it. Fedir and the Countess were positioned on the ramparts which gave them a bird’s eye view of the battleground. Sarazan had posted only eight men to keep watch. If they could dispatch all eight now it would be easier for them when they eventually tried to leave. Fedir shot the nearest bandit clean through the head. The Countess claimed another. Reichenbach winged a third. It was hard to know who scored next but in less than twenty minutes they had taken down seven men. The eighth could be seen fleeing for his life back to his horse.
They were congratulating themselves when someone shot out of the gate and down the slope. It was Velazquez.
“What the hell is he doing?” cried Moriarty.
“Come back!” called Dr Watson. “Don’t be a fool!”
But Velazquez was running for his life, dragging his injured leg. He tripped and fell, picked himself up, and pushed on, limping awkwardly one moment, sprinting like a drunkard with the devil on his tail the next. Only the Countess understood how terrified he was of being interrogated. He preferred to take his chances with the brigands than with the men inside Chanteloup.
Suddenly they heard a gunshot. Velazquez fell and this time he did not get up. His body rolled and rolled down the mountainside, crashing against the rocks, until it came to a precipice and went over the edge into freefall. They did not hear the thud when it crash-landed, but there was no way Velazquez would have survived the bone-crunching punishment. Badly shaken, they retreated inside Chanteloup, lowered the portcullis and barred the gate.
Coffee and seed cake was waiting for them in the great hall.
“That was damn bad business with Velazquez,” pronounced Reichenbach, pouring himself a cup of strong hot black coffee. “What possessed him to run like that?”
Everyone shrugged and shook their heads, lost for words.
“It went well for us at least,” noted Moriarty. “Sarazan will know he’s not dealing with amateurs.”
“It certainly lifted the odds in our favour,” said the Prince. “That was a first rate shot by the Countess’s man.”
Von Gunn preferred something stronger than coffee and went to the sideboard. “Blast that lily-livered bull-fighter! He polished off the cognac before he bolted. He must have been blind drunk. I’ll bring up another bottle.”
“Bring two,” said the Prince. “We might need it tonight.” He looked at the Prussian. “I presume we are following the same defensive plan tonight?”
“I think it would be wise. The same possibility exists about being picked off one at a time. And as the Colonel cautioned – until we know what we are up against we should not take chances.”
Reichenbach and Prince Orczy opted to catch up on some sleep. They were not expecting Sarazan to launch a counter-offensive so soon after suffering severe losses and with their doors locked they felt safe from murderous attacks by singing phantoms. The Countess opted to do the same but when she reached her bedroom the first thing she noticed was that the mysterious doll she had deposited on her bed had disappeared. She quizzed Xenia but the maid had not seen it since they all set off after breakfast to check the ramparts and she had gone to help in the kitchen. That meant a third party had visited her bedroom in her absence.
“Light the fire,” she said to her maid, feeling a cold chill that had more to do with the missing doll than the temperature of the chamber, “and instruct Desi to bring up some hot water. I will take a bath this afternoon and wash my hair.”
Xenia waited until her mistress reached the door. “That man not good for you.”
The Countess looked back over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“The Irish – he trouble.”
“I can look out for myself.”
“He want your money.”
“Then he will be disappointed.”
“He want marry to you.”
“I’m not after a husband.”
“Wait! I come with you!”
The Countess was annoyed with her maid for speaking out of line, though their relationship had long ago moved beyond maid and mistress. If truth be told she was actually annoyed that her maid was right. The Irishman was trouble and he did want her money and he did want to marry her - he had declared himself from the start. He played by a different set of rules to most suitors and it fired her imagination more than she cared to admit.
“No, stay here and light the fire. I’m going up to the south tower to speak to Dr Watson. I want to tell him the doll has gone missing.”
“The Irish – he is there too,” warned Xenia. “Take care, mistress.”
As she climbed the spiral stairs the Countess told herself that there was no such thing as singing phantoms and murderous ghosts and disappearing bodies, she warned herself not to let her imagination run wild, but she couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder more than once.
“This one,” she heard Moriarty say as she entered the bedchamber of the Singing Wolf. He was holdin
g a bottle of scent for Dr Watson to sniff.
“Yes,” agreed the doctor. “That’s it. That’s the smell. That means the lunatic who is at large in the castle was in this room dabbing on perfume as we barricaded ourselves in the hall.”
“I swear I flew down those stairs. When I got to the chamber that houses the well the door on the far side was closed with the bolt drawn this side. They could not have fled down to the cellar unless they passed right through the old timbers. The storerooms are lined with open shelving. It would be impossible to hide and not be seen. And the perfume smell in the bread room suggests that our phantom entered that room. But where did they go after that?”
“The bread oven was alight. They could not have hidden inside. They could not have gone up the chimney for the same reason. The twin beds had the blankets folded back. There was nowhere to hide inside the beds and we could see under the beds clearly.”
“Von Gunn checked the armoire. There were a few cloaks hanging on hooks but they did not trail to the floor of the cupboard, so unless the phantom had no legs he or she could not hide inside. Orczy checked the storage chest. It was full of old sabots and hats and scarves. I saw when he opened it and poked about.”
“What about that door at the end of bread room?”
“I checked that myself. It was bolted and a small sack of flour was standing in front of it. There was flour and sawdust on the floor which had not been disturbed. If someone had darted that way there would have been footprints or tell-tale marks. The sack had not been placed hurriedly in front of the door for the same reason. There’s no way that old couple had time to hide anyone in that room, slide home the bolt and sprinkle sawdust and flour on the floor. I checked their hands just in case. They were clean.”