As he came closer to them, Kinkel leaned towards the two women at his side and muttered to them. ‘The English have brought their tame bear with them. It is true what they say, an English person will not be separated from their pets!’ The ladies tittered. He was their satirist. The man stopped in front of them and to their collective shock spoke to them in their own dialect.
‘They’ve brought a friend with big fists and big ears, brother.’ With his free hand he slapped the pocket of his coat and made it jingle promisingly. ‘Now my preference is to sleep warm on my own bedroll and eat as the servants eat. Can you accommodate me?’
Kinkel shut his hanging jaw and managed a bow. ‘Naturally, whatever sir wishes. I am Mr Kinkel.’
‘Don’t “Sir” me. I am Michaels. As long as my friends are looked after, I’m a lamb and a generous friend. If they are spoken of without respect, then I am like to get a little riled. Do we understand each other?’
Mr Kinkel hesitated, then put out his hand. Michaels took it and grinned. His teeth looked very white and sharp. Was he a fox or bear? Mr Kinkel could not decide. ‘Can I ask how you come to speak our language so well, Mr Michaels?’
‘Mother was born on the border here, and wont to express herself very free in her native tongue. So I came to see my party travelled fast and safe. Now can I trouble you for a billet and hot water? The roads are nothing but dust and I can hardly breathe for the muck on me.’
Kinkel considered. He thought of himself as a clever man and pondered the problem at hand with a certain confidence. Service at the palace often threw up interesting problems of this nature. This Michaels was too large a creature, and his money clattered too nicely for Kinkel to think it appropriate to put him to sleep among the servants, but at the same time he could not see a man who wanted to sleep on his own bedroll wishing to stay in the luxurious surroundings of the guest suites. After a moment’s thought he smiled. ‘I think I have an idea where you might be comfortable, Mr Michaels, if you don’t mind being a little bit out of the way.’
‘Out of the way is fine with me, Mr Kinkel.’ With a significant glance at his companions, Kinkel put his hand on Michaels’s sleeve and guided him out of the courtyard.
By the time the sausage, bread and potatoes had been disposed of and their leavings carried away by a sweet-faced daughter of the house, Florian zu Frenzel was well on his way to being drunk. Jacob Pegel was giving a good impression of being so.
The tavern was popular with the middle-ranking students. The beer was strong and cheap, the food not bad at all, and it was clean enough for a man brought up in respectable comfort to feel at his ease. In other places a man might risk his wealth among a crowd of men who liked to gamble as deep as their courage would let them. In other dark corners, especially those nearest the river on the edge of the old town, he might risk his health with one of the whores who sashayed to and fro for business, or lose his pocketbook to the thieves and slut-masters who watched the drunken young gentlemen like wolves seeking out the injured deer in the herd.
To be fair Pegel had never seen Florian in that corner of town, and found he liked him for it. A serious devotion to cards or women might have made him easy to blackmail, but Pegel suspected the more earnest and serious the young man was, the closer he might lead him to his goal. Pegel suspected he would only get what was required from an idealist.
The beer had loosened their tongues, then smeared the talk from mathematics to the personal. Pegel began laying down his lies to build a friendship on like a mason settling his first cornerstone. There were ways to dance into intimacy with a boy such as Florian, like a mountain goat, but he needed to establish a solid base first.
‘There are some good men in Weimar,’ he said. ‘Good thinkers. I thought there was a chance of a place there, but no! Some squid who can barely add up got the job.’
‘Why?’
‘His father was a Baron, of course. He had the name, he had the grease …’ He rubbed his fingers together. ‘So, it’s “Sorry, Mr Pegel, maybe next year”. Bah! Perhaps I should go to England. They take a man there for his brains, not some bit of paper that proves no man in his family has done a day’s work in generations.’
‘My father is a Count.’
‘I’ll try not to hold it against you, but honestly, don’t you ever feel this … this rage against the system we live in? Good men ground down, the arrogance of the nobility while better men starve. Ah, forgive me. The beer is heating me up.’
Florian put a hand on Pegel’s sleeve. ‘You are not alone.’ Then in a lower tone, ‘You are not alone, brother.’
Pegel had his pocket-watch in his hand. There were no numbers on it, but a compass, set-square, radiant eye. He flicked it shut and thrust it into his pocket now it had done its work. He had bought it from a man in Strasbourg who had offered him some interesting stories of Leuchtenstadt for the chance to rant about his own misfortunes. Now Florian had seen it and assumed Pegel was a member of a masonic lodge. He had also confessed, by calling Pegel ‘brother’, that he was one himself. Easy. Pegel began to build. ‘I don’t know. There are good men in the fraternity, but in the Lodge in Weimar they seemed more interested in legends of Templars and Alchemy than in the truth of universal brotherhood. I am afraid I held out hopes …’ He turned away slightly and touched the corner of his eye as if wiping away a manly tear. He almost felt it. Germany had lost a fine actor when Pegel was trained as a code-breaker. When Jacob looked back, Florian’s eyes were sparkling in sympathy. God, it was too easy.
‘Do not give up hope! Some have taken a false path, a path of vanity and mysticism. But. There. Are. Others.’
Pegel began to worry that the boy was drunker than he had thought. The afternoon would not go as planned if he could not walk.
‘Air!’ He stood up and was dismayed to find the room swayed a little. ‘Come along, Your Graciness. I want you to show me this town. I have been here a day already and have hardly seen a thing.’
Florian looked up at him and gave a slightly fuddled nod, then lifted his hand to summon the girl.
After five minutes’ walk Florian and Pegel reached the embankment and rested against the stone wall, looking back the way they had come. The lapping tiles on the roofs on the half-timbered houses ran in wavelets up the hill towards the castle and cathedral, washing up the high, steeply pitched roofs. The slates were small and tightly packed enough to look like dragon scales. Neither spoke. Pegel glanced at his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He still seemed a little bleary, but he was awake.
‘Is that man staring at us, Mr Pegel?’
Jacob glanced in the direction Florian nodded. A tall man in a slightly old-fashioned brown frockcoat and dark breeches was standing at the east entrance to the little square. His wig was rather yellow. He seemed to notice that he was observed and crossed towards them before making a bow which both young men, a little unsteadily, returned.
‘May I enquire,’ he said in the voice of an educated man, ‘if I have the pleasure of addressing His Grace Lord Florian zu Frenzel?’
Florian nodded. ‘I am he. May I have the honour of learning who it is that enquires?’ he said, slurring only very slightly.
The man was perhaps in his late thirties or early forties and had a vigorous air to him. Solid. A gentleman with a modest estate, perhaps. ‘My name I cannot give you, Your Grace. I am come to Leuchtenstadt to give you a message. One which I hope you will carry to your friends. We do not want you here. Any of you. We do not like your ideas or your leaders. Disband and return to your proper studies.’ Florian seemed able to do nothing but look amazed. The man reached into his pocket and pulled from it a folded sheet of paper which he held out to Florian with another bow. Florian took it from him automatically. ‘This is a warning, Your Grace. Heed it or worse will follow.’ With that the man turned and walked away from them.