A crowd—by Geiststadt’s meager standards—had gathered around the cooper’s yard by the time Jon and Isaac arrived. Benjamin Noir’s fear that Rolfs body might be moved or otherwise tampered with seemed entirely groundless. No one wanted to touch it. No one wanted to even get near it. Jon could understand why. No one wanted to be contaminated by the terror and sudden, awful violence that it represented.
The crowd parted wordlessly as Jon and Isaac [76] approached. A dozen whispered conversations slipped into silence as they neared the death scene.
Rolf Derlicht’s corpse sprawled upon the wooden table where Jon and Johann Schmidt had sat drinking brandy the day before. His bloody torso lay on the top of the table while his legs dangled over the edge. The bench on that side of the table had been knocked over. Rolfs right arm was bent at the elbow. The hand and forearm hooked under the edge of the table, holding the corpse in place. His left arm was pointing straight out at a right angle to his body. His fingers were clenched in a fist, except for his index finger, which was extended, apparently pointing.
Jon leaned down close to the body, sighting along the arm. It wasn’t exactly clear what, if anything specific, Rolf seemed to be pointing at. Perhaps the cooper’s combination house and workshop. Perhaps Noir Manor, which lay past the cooper’s shop, farther out on the edge of Geiststadt. Perhaps anything in between.
Rolf had been brutally slain by a knife. Like Erich, his chest had been opened and the heart removed. Jon made himself examine the wound closely. The technique seemed similar to that used on Erich, though Jon was not an expert on either surgery or butchery. The main difference in the deaths lay in the placement of carved letters spelling out I AM RETURNED. In Erich’s case they’d been incised into his cheeks. In Rolfs they’d been cut across his forehead. The childishly executed cupid hearts, this time, were carved on his cheeks.
“What is all this fuss? What? Eh?”
A thick, harassed-sounding voice pulled Jon upright. [77] He turned to see a bleary-eyed Johann Schmidt approaching, Trudi hustling in his wake. The cooper was dressed in rumpled, brandy-stained clothes, probably the same he’d worn the day before. Jon could smell the liquor on him from ten feet away. He looked perplexed and angry at the same time, and centered both emotions on Jon. The crowd had parted silently, precipitously at his approach, allowing him to reach Jon’s side undetected.
“This, Herr Schmidt,” Jon said simply, and stepped aside.
The cooper caught sight of the body for the first time, as did Trudi. Both stopped dead in their tracks. Trudi gasped. Her hands went up to her cheeks in an expression of horror that would have looked childishly comical if it also hadn’t seemed so sincere. Schmidt blundered to a halt. His red face went white in the space of a single breath as all blood drained from it, seemingly puddling, Jon thought, in his doughy gut. The cooper put a hand out in sudden terror or denial, and shook his head swiftly. It took him a couple of moments to find his speech, and even then he stuttered.
“N-n-no,” he finally said. “This has n-n-nothing to do with m-m-me. N-n-nothing,” he repeated, and turned and like a bull pushed his way though the crowd, which had closed again around the murder scene. He staggered blindly, shoving those he stumbled against with stiff, outstretched arms. Several fell to the ground. Many muttered angrily at Schmidt as he plowed a path back to his home, and, Jon suspected, a bottle of brandy.
* * *
[78] Thomas awakened with Callie standing over him, a concerned look on her ancient, wrinkled face.
“What is it now?” he asked with a sigh, settling down comfortably on his feather bed.
“Another killing,” she said economically.
“Indeed?” Thomas sat up, interested. “Who, this time?”
“Rolf Derlicht.”
“Rolf, hmmm?” Thomas didn’t even try to conceal his smile. “No loss, I say. Though this is rather a fatal blow to the Captain’s theory.”
Thomas didn’t like the way Callie looked at him. There was bitter knowledge in those ageless eyes sunk in an aged face. He could never keep a secret from her. In many ways her powers were as potent as the Captain’s, though hers were the rude untutored abilities of the savage hedge wizard while the Captain’s were those of a studious, erudite man. Still, over the years he had learned not to be contemptuous of the old woman’s talents. She had uncanny sources of knowledge and a strength of will second to none. Thomas knew that he had to be careful around her.
“The Captain wants you to go with him to examine the body.”
“All right.” That was a chore he wouldn’t particularly mind. “Be a dear and tell McCool to fetch me a cup of tea while I dress.”
Callie swept out of the room in silence.
What to wear to a body viewing? Thomas thought. On one hand, it wasn’t exactly a highly fashionable event. On the other, almost the entire village was sure to be present and he wanted to make a good impression. No [79] sense, however, in wasting his very best for this sort of thing. In fact, Thomas wondered idly, if anything could conceivably happen in Geiststadt that would call for his very best.
Fresh underwear and stockings, of course. Perhaps his Hessian boots with the black silk tassels. The grey trousers tailored to be worn tucked into, not over, the boots that were polished to a mirror-sharp sheen. His lavender waistcoat with high rolled collar. Linen shirt with cravat, of course. To top off the ensemble his double-breasted morning coat that fit him like a second skin. Better do without the white gloves, he thought. That would be gilding the lily just a little bit.
Thomas had finished dressing and was giving his pocket watch its morning wind when the Captain appeared in the doorway, watching him with silent disapproval.
“Ready?” Benjamin Noir asked, sourly.
Thomas put the watch and chain into place in his waistcoat and tugged the garment into its exactly precise and proper place.
“Ready,” he said, reaching for hat and cane waiting on top his dresser.
The Captain stepped aside, letting Thomas precede him down the stairs. McCool met them halfway up, carrying an ornate silver tray with tea cup and saucer, sugar bowl, creamer, and cozied teapot.
“Ah,” Thomas said. “I guess I’ll take my tea in the kitchen after all.”
McCool turned without a word and led the procession downstairs.
[80] “Tea?” Thomas offered. “It’s a special blend I order from Coronation. In London.”
“There’s a body out there—”
“Exactly,” Thomas said. “A body. Rolf’s not going anywhere. Except, perhaps, to Hell. He can wait.”
Benjamin Noir stood before the table, glowering at Thomas. Finally, he nodded.
“Perhaps you’re right.” He sat down suddenly, and transferred his glower to Isaac, who was standing by the fireplace. Benjamin Noir gave him orders to tell Jon to guard the corpse. “I want to examine it myself,” he said to Thomas as Isaac ran from the kitchen.
“Examine it for what?” Thomas asked mildly.
“I don’t know,” Benjamin Noir admitted. “Clues. Indications as to who killed him. And why.”
“It sounds to me like the work of a madman,” Thomas said, pouring tea for the Captain, who took the cup with a grunt. “Perhaps we’ll never know why he died. Or even who did the killing.”
“A madman.” The Captain paused with a spoonful of sugar halfway to his cup. “I thought you were better trained than that, boy. Everything has a reason behind it. Everything has meaning.” He snorted. “Are you being obtuse for a reason, or are you just being lazy?”
“No, not at all,” Thomas said mildly. “It’s just that Seth will be bringing the magistrate’s men from Brooklyn. They’re the experts at solving crimes. Ferreting out clues and all that.”
“Those dunderheads! They couldn’t find their asses if they were looking for their hip pockets. No.” Benjamin Noir shook his head. “Besides, they know nothing about [81] Geiststadt. About what has happened here over the years.”
“That’s all
for the best, isn’t it?” Thomas asked. “We don’t want them to know our business.”
The Captain nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I’d like to find a solution to this, this insanity, perhaps even before they arrive.”
“I don’t suppose we have time for some toast then?”
“Toast,” Captain Noir muttered. Suddenly he put his teacup down and looked at his son with a questioning expression in his usually hard eyes. “You have a theory about the killings?”
Thomas shrugged. “With Rolf apparently the second victim, it seems unlikely that they’re part of some kind of vendetta against the Noirs.”
“Then what’s behind it all?” the Captain asked.
“Vengeance of a sort. Perhaps blind vengeance against Geiststadt as a community.”
“Then you do have a theory about these murders?”
“Let me think about it a bit more,” Thomas said placidly. In reality, he didn’t want to lead the Captain right to it. He wanted him to figure it out for himself. “Ah.” His eyes lit up as Callie slipped a plate onto the table before him. “Toast.”
The Captain waited with commendable patience as Thomas carefully applied butter and jam to several slices of toast while McCool hovered around in the background trying to appear useful. Thomas ate slowly and neatly, sipping his tea and wiping his lips between bites with a linen napkin that had been on his tray.
[82] “Finished?” the Captain asked as Thomas popped the last bite into his mouth.
“Hmmm,” Thomas said, chewing. He stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs from the front of his waistcoat and trousers. “That’s better. Never view a body on an empty stomach.” He smiled brightly at McCool, as if in great good humor. “Isn’t that right, Tully?”
“If you say so, Sorr,” McCool replied, marginally more respectful to Thomas in front of Callie and the Captain.
If anything, the crowd had grown by the time the Captain and Thomas, followed by McCool at a respectful two paces, arrived in the cooper’s yard. Jon was still examining the body while the crowd continued to speculate uselessly in quiet murmurs. A pretty blonde girl, unfamiliar to Thomas, was isolated in a no-man’s land between the table and surrounding mob whose members were more than a little unwilling to approach the corpse. She herself seemed unwilling to face the multitude of eyes cast upon her by the crowd, and unable as well to look upon the corpse, cold and stiff and bloody on her father’s table. She looked sad and frightened and worried as her eyes cast around her like those of an animal’s in a trap.
Thomas Noir saw her, and was struck by a wave of desire that almost overwhelmed him. Almost. But not quite.
“Jonathan.” His brother looked up. Their eyes met and Thomas smiled to himself at the expression that flitted across Jonathan’s face. Dislike, distaste, distrust. But all overwhelmed by the over riding realization that he couldn’t act on those feelings. Jonathan Noir was in a [83] position of subservience to Thomas and he knew it. “Sorry we haven’t had the opportunity to speak ’ere now, dear brother. Fatigue from my journey, don’t you know. To meet again under these sad circumstances.” Thomas pulled a linen handkerchief from his sleeve and patted his forehead, playing the gentlemen to the yokels all around him. They ate it up, murmuring appreciatively. Now to show his hard, decisive side. He put the handkerchief back up his sleeve and took a long step forward, so that he could peer over Jon’s shoulder. He pointed at the body with his walking stick. “Who could have done such a terrible thing?”
Jon looked at him sardonically, as if well aware of Thomas’s play acting.
“That’s the question, isn’t it, brother?”
“Indeed.” Thomas whirled suddenly, his gaze for the first time openly falling on the young girl who had the undefined role in the little drama before them. “My name is Thomas Noir, madchen. I hope that this—” Thomas paused, glanced at the body “—that is, Rolf Derlicht was neither kin nor close friend.”
“I—I barely knew him. My father and I are newly come to Geiststadt.”
“Ah.” Thomas turned and looked at his brother, trapping him. For the sake of basic politeness, he knew that Jonathan couldn’t avoid introducing them. He knew also, for some reason, that Jonathan didn’t want to. Of course, he could contrive to meet the girl soon enough later on, but he so enjoyed making his brother perform in public.
He enjoyed it even more when Jonathan knew he was doing it.
[84] “Thomas,” he said in as friendly a manner as he could manage, “this is Trudi Schmidt. This yard belongs to her father, Johann Schmidt, a cooper. They moved here from Flatbush only a few weeks ago.”
“I see.” Thomas stepped toward the girl and took her hand. His gestures were fluid and dramatic and so quick as to not be denied. Now Thomas knew why Jonathan was reluctant to introduce them. She was an exquisite thing. Five years from now she’d be just another dumpy hausfrau, coarsened by work and childbirth. But now she was quite gorgeous with a fresh beauty and lively vitality that even this horrible scene could scarcely dim. He bent over her hand and kissed the air above it. It was prettily done, nor overdone.
“Trudi,” Jonathan continued in the same tone of forced friendliness, “my brother, Thomas.”
“You two can continue to exchange significance glances concerning the girl,” Benjamin Noir said in an icy voice, “Or you can try to turn your brains to something more useful. For example, discovering clues about the identity of the killer. Like—what is Derlicht pointing at?”
“I noticed that,” Jon said.
Thomas glanced, almost unconcernedly, at the corpse.
“Looks to me like he’s pointing at the cooperage.”
“But why would he do that?” Trudi asked.
Excellent, Thomas thought. Encourage that question. But he only shrugged, preferring to let the onlookers draw their own conclusions, now that Trudi had invited their speculation.
[85] “Or,” Jon said dryly, “he could just as well be pointing at Noir Mansion.”
“Yes.” The Captain pulled at his beard thoughtfully. The stone amulets braided into it shifted silently in its thick coils. “Or at anything between. Still, it’s something to keep in mind. Perhaps we’d better question Herr Schmidt.”
“My father’s not well,” Trudi offered immediately. “He went to bed early last night. Both of us slept until the commotion in our yard awoke us a little while ago.”
“You know this for a certainty?” the Captain asked, much to Thomas’s relief. Thomas didn’t want to get on the girl’s bad side by questioning her harshly. You could rely on the Captain, Thomas thought, for a thorough interrogation. He had a flair for it. And he certainly seemed to enjoy it.
“Of course,” Trudi said.
“How is that, girl?” the Captain asked. His natural acerbity showed through, though he tried to keep his words softer than normal. “Do you generally sleep within sight of each other?”
“No, of course not,” Trudi said. There was a general hum of excitement from the on-lookers that Trudi seemed to take for a bad sign. “But, I-I’m a light sleeper. I would have heard my father get up and move around.”
“But you heard nothing,” the Captain insisted. “You slept soundly all night.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
The Captain spread his hands in a there-it-is gesture. Thomas had to bite his lips to keep the smile off his face. The Captain had managed to turn the girl’s words against [86] her, at least in the crowd’s mind. So, she had heard nothing. Who wouldn’t say that to protect their father? A man newly moved to Geiststadt. A man whom nobody knew. A man to whom the victim seemed to be pointing, perhaps clenching his fist with his very last breath. A man who, clearly, drank more than he should. And why did he drink to such excess? To forget something, perhaps?
It’s easy to turn a small, insular community against a newcomer. Especially one who has left his prior home under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Especially one who has an all-too apparent vice.
What, Thomas wondered, would happen ne
xt? He wanted the pot to bubble, but not boil out of control. Not yet, anyway.
“Let’s drag the cooper out and question him,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. The group shifted, seeming to sway back and forth like a multi-legged beast. Voices murmured in agreement with the shouted suggestion.
Benjamin Noir held out a hand.
“No sense in being hasty. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll make sure of that.” He turned to Isaac. “Get some men to watch his workshop,” Benjamin Noir said in a quiet voice, and the burly young farmhand nodded and went off to do the Captain’s bidding.
“We do not know,” Benjamin Noir continued, “nor can we assume, that Herr Schmidt has done anything wrong. But we must make sure that he can give an account of himself.”
The crowd murmured agreement and looked about [87] uncertainly. Because if Schmidt wasn’t responsible for the murders, that meant someone else was. Someone who had lived in Geiststadt for a long time. Or, if not someone then, perhaps, something.
And to the villagers both those thoughts were intolerable.
It was a long day, unsatisfactory on all accounts. Jon spent it trying to catch up with the unending chores that were necessary around the farm. He wanted to investigate the murders, to help pacify the fear that seemed to have settled over Geiststadt like a deadly fog, choking everyone with its acrid, bitter stench.
But he couldn’t figure out how to do that. There were no concrete clues to investigate. No lines of inquiry that could lead to a possible solution of the terrible mystery. His father had come away from his interrogation of Johann Schmidt grim-faced and close-mouthed, but there was nothing unusual about that. His father was almost always grim-faced and close-mouthed. Schmidt closeted himself in his shop the rest of the day—probably drinking—and so did Trudi.
Jon wanted to see her again, but could think of no excuse for a visit. He hadn’t liked the way Thomas had looked at her. Nor did he like the fact that his brother had accompanied their father to question Schmidt. Knowing Thomas, he’d probably spent his time conversing with Trudi rather than working on anything related to the murders.
THE TWILIGHT ZONE, Book 1: Shades of Night, Falling Page 7