II.7
Pegel and Florian had been debating for some hours. They agreed, repeatedly and with frequent examples, that society was viciously unfair and it was obscene that so much wealth should be enjoyed by the privileged when others went hungry. There followed an hour on Rousseau and his Discourse on Inequality. Pegel wondered how often young men had debated such matters in attic rooms, heated up by wine and the flourishes of their own rhetoric.
‘You are lucky,’ Florian said, leaning forward, then twitching as his side ached. ‘It is much better to have been born poor. You are an honest man. My birth, the fortune I am to inherit, makes it so much harder to be honest.’
Pegel almost choked on his wine. ‘Give it to me then! You have a try at being poor. There have been times I haven’t had the blunt to feed myself. Nothing makes a man dishonest quicker than that.’
‘I did not mean to offend.’
‘You can either hand over your wealth, or promise not to say such stupid things. Choice is yours.’
Florian smiled a little reluctantly. ‘I shan’t hand it over just yet, Jacob. I mean to make use of it.’
‘I’d make use of it,’ Pegel said, drawing up his knees. ‘Steak every day and my own horse. No more hired nags. He can have steak every day too.’ He pressed his cheek onto his knees, feeling the rough texture of the material. ‘That might not be good for him. He can have his hay on a silver platter instead. He shall be very beautiful and I shall call him Philippe.’
‘No, I shall use it for the greater good. There are ways, Jacob. Things can change.’
‘No, they can’t.’
‘But listen-’
Pegel suddenly jumped to his feet. ‘I cannot listen any more without some food and more wine.’ He put his hand out. ‘Give me a Thaler and watch the fire.’
Frenzel rolled his eyes, but handed over the coin quickly enough. Pegel swung on his coat on his way to the door.
‘Jacob?’
‘What is it? A minute more and I die of thirst. Or starve.’
He turned back. Florian seemed very slight curled up on the settee. He glanced at Pegel then back at his glass. ‘Do you think those men might have followed us here?’
‘No.’ Pegel paused. ‘Tell you what. Key’s on the table beside you. Lock yourself in while I’m gone. When I come back I’ll knock three then two then one — all right, Florian?’
Frenzel swallowed and nodded and Pegel slammed the door to behind him and headed down his rickety staircase whistling.
The two gentlemen were waiting opposite the bottom of the stairs. He walked west twenty yards and turned down a side-street then waited for them to catch him up.
‘Ooh, sir!’ the giant said. ‘Your poor jaw. I’m ever so sorry — I didn’t want to hit you so hard.’
‘Not at all, Titus,’ Pegel said, pulling out a purse. ‘Absolutely splendid job. Nothing that needs a surgeon and yet looks as dramatic as you please. Could not be happier!’ He counted out five thick and heavy-looking coins, then paused and added a sixth and handed them to the giant.
‘Ooh, now there’s handsome,’ he said with glee as he closed his great paw round them. Pegel turned to the man in the wig and coat.
‘Now you! You! What a triumph! Come here at once.’ Pegel clasped the man by the shoulders and kissed him firmly on each cheek. The man blushed.
‘Really, merest trifle. You think I convinced the lad? Truly?’
‘Convinced him? You scared the hell out of him. Brilliant performance! You must, must use this money to get to Berlin.’ He counted out the five coins, again apparently had a slight struggle with himself and added a sixth. ‘You are wasted, absolutely wasted in country fairs. No, not Berlin. They don’t deserve you. There’s a fellow called Schiller doing lovely work in Mannheim. Excellent chap. Tell him you are sent with a recommendation from Jacob Pegel and you’ll get the audience you deserve.’
‘Herr Friedrich Schiller? The Schiller? You mean it, Mr Pegel?’
‘But of course! Leave tonight, gentlemen — destiny calls!’ The men grinned at each other. ‘Now would you be so kind as to do me one small favour before you go?’
When Pegel gave the coded knock at the door to his room he found Frenzel so pale that the growing bruises round his eye stood out like a sunset.
‘Florian, you’re white as a ghost. What is it?’
‘I saw them,’ he said, dragging Pegel in and slamming the door behind him.
‘Who, those men?’
‘Yes, of course — from your window. You were gone so long, I looked out to see if I could catch sight of you.’
Pegel held out the steaming plates he carried in front of him by way of explanation. ‘Mother Brown makes a splendid cutlet. You have to wait a bit this time of day.’
‘Never mind that. They were there in the square looking about them as if they knew we had come this far, then did not know where to find us exactly. Then you came out from the shop.’
‘Did they spot me?’ Pegel said quickly, glancing towards the door.
‘No! It was the luckiest thing, they were looking at the other side of the square as you came past. You went within an inch of them!’
‘Are they still there?’ Pegel said, putting down his tray and making for the window. Frenzel grabbed hold of his coat.
‘Don’t look! Jacob, I hate to have you think me a coward, but might I stay here tonight, just while I think what to do? There are people who should be warned.’
Pegel put his hand on the young Count’s shoulder. ‘Naturally, my friend. You are welcome here. But don’t you think you might see your way clear to giving a fellow a bit of a hint as to what is going on? You say you will, then it’s all philosophy till my head is aching.’
Frenzel turned away from him slightly. ‘Yes, of course. I must. I have … I have exposed you to some danger; it is your right to know something of this.’
Pegel settled himself on the floor again. ‘Can we eat first?’
For the first time since the messenger had arrived at Caveley, Harriet could think of nothing but what was in front of her eyes. The tiger turned its head warily towards her, blinked, then continued to pad across the work-top until Adnan picked it up, pressed a brass pin on its side and it became still. Harriet sat with her elbows on the work bench and her chin in her hand. Entranced.
‘I’d swear it was alive! It looked into my eyes. Mr Al-Said, you are a miracle worker.’
Adnan laughed and reached upwards to unhook a cage from the ceiling which held two brilliantly-coloured, frozen birds each about the size of Harriet’s thumb. ‘No, Mrs Westerman, a craftsman. I learned how to make watches in Constantinople, but when the first automaton was given to the Sultan by the French Ambassador, I fell in love. Why have something simply tell you the hour when you can make it do all this.’ Harriet put out a hand and touched the sleeping tiger. Al-Said watched her. ‘The paws are weighted, madam. A simple trick when you know it, which gives the illusion of natural movement.’
He touched something on the base of the cage and the birds began to pipe to each other, their beaks opening in time with their song and their wings flapping. Suddenly one sprang from one side of the cage to the other and Harriet laughed.
‘Oh I must have one like that for my children! They would adore it.’
‘They are not toys, Mrs Westerman,’ he said, somewhat serious.
‘Of course not, Mr Al-Said. I have no doubt that they will treat it with the proper respect.’ Adnan gave a slight nod. ‘Were you acquainted with Lady Martesen, sir?’
He touched the base of the cage and the birds were still again. ‘I am not certain how to answer you, madam. The courtiers are not sure how to treat my brother and I. They like to have us here — we, as well as what we create, are ornaments to be boasted of — yet we work, and with our hands. So they flatter us and pay us well, but you will not see us at the supper-table in the palace. And even if I were a Prince, how many men have you met of my complexion in the palaces of Europe?’