The Colonel looked at him very steadily. Manzerotti sighed. ‘If you would perhaps write out a short notice of leave, and allow a gap for some half-dozen names to be filled in, and place it on the table before you return to your duties?’
‘And that would be all right, would it?’ the Colonel asked, half-suspicious, half-hopeful.
‘Yes, Colonel, that would be quite in order.’
‘You going?’
Manzerotti smiled the same thin smile. ‘I am engaged to perform again this evening. I cannot leave here without drawing too much attention. However, as Mr Crowther, Mrs Westerman and their party aim to take no further part in the festivities, perhaps they might go for a ride in the moonlight.’
Pegel followed Florian and Wimpf into a wide hallway, tiled in black and white, and watched as they passed through a medieval-looking doorway and let the door close behind them. Pegel was not at all sure what was happening, but his suspicions were dark. He had risked a great deal to get Florian out of harm’s way, and now it seemed his friend would have been a great deal safer in the custody of the Duke. There was a narrow staircase to the right of the doorway. Pegel scuttled up to a small landing with a low door leading from it, slightly ajar. He dropped to his hands and knees and pushed it open before slipping through. Voices. Deep shadow here, and to his right candlelight. He glanced in that direction and saw the top of an old-fashioned chandelier. All functional iron, where the palace lighting was crystal and silver. He was in the minstrels’ gallery of some great hall. There was a movement in the shadows in front of him and he saw he was sharing his perch with a very old man, trembling, eyes wide, staring at him.
‘Gunter?’ Pegel whispered hopefully and the old man nodded. Pegel crawled towards him. ‘I’m Pegel. What’s going on?’
The old man looked miserable. He pointed into the hall. Pegel peered through the balustrade. It was a grand room, a rectangle, high and plain. The old refectory, perhaps. He wished it were still full of nuns — he’d take any help he could get right now. Instead, at the far end of the room were two figures. A woman, finely dressed in a rather old-fashioned style, and an old man seated on a chair in front of her.
‘Who is that?’ Pegel whispered.
‘He was always a hard man, and a bad master. But then that girl came, Beatrice. Told him he could talk to his wife again.’
‘Who is the old man?’
‘Chancellor Swann.’
Pegel swore under his breath. ‘I was afraid of that.’
Swann’s left hand was trailing. Even from the other end of the hall Pegel could hear the steady patter of his blood draining into a brass bowl at his side.
‘Father, what have you done?’ Florian was standing some twenty feet in front of the little tableau. His hands were still tied, and Wimpf still had his gun in his hand. But Count Frenzel had his arm round his son’s shoulders.
‘I have become a worker of miracles, Florian,’ he said. ‘I am become like a God, aren’t I, Wimpf?’
‘You are, sir.’
‘Every one of her enemies I kill, she grows stronger. She returns. With Swann’s blood, with his death, all is done. Tonight, my child, you will hear her speak.’ Pegel could see that Florian’s shoulders were shaking. He was crying. ‘Is the pyre ready, Wimpf?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘Excellent. I shall carry him there myself.’
Pegel turned to the old man beside him. ‘Where are the guns in this house?’ he murmured.
‘Locked away,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘in the master’s study. You’d have to go through this hall.’
‘Can you get help?’
Gunter looked near to tears. ‘No one would come!’
Pegel thought for a moment, then pulled at the lining of his coat and fished out two gold coins. ‘Take these.’ He pressed them into the man’s hands. ‘Tell them if they come, there will be more. Be quick.’
For the first time the old man looked hopeful. ‘What will you do, sir?’
Pegel shrugged. ‘Improvise. Now go.’ The old man scurried away.
‘You are mad!’ Florian burst out. Pegel crept back to the balustrade. Florian had staggered away a step from his father. His face was bright red.
‘Florian! I had faith even before I saw these miracles, yet you remain blind. Try — try to be worthy of these wonders and I will be generous. But you do make it very, very difficult.’ Count Frenzel was holding a knife in his hands. ‘How you can think I am mad, when God has delivered into my hands … but you do not understand.’ With a light step he approached Swann and produced something from his pocket to bind the wrist.
‘Is he dead?’ Florian said, his voice high and trembling.
Frenzel took a handful of Swann’s hair and lifted up his chin. The eyes were dull, unseeing. ‘Swann here? No, not yet. He will be soon though.’ He sank down on his haunches so he could look into the Chancellor’s emptying eyes. ‘You see, Swann? You killed her, now it is up to you to bring her back to life. Everything fits together. All is balance. You caused her death, that of her child, and my child. But if you had not driven her from court, she would not have become my wife. You killed her with the banishment, but at the same time put her into the arms of one who could make her live again.’ He let Swann’s head fall forward again and stroked his long grey hair. ‘God is wonderful.’ He picked up the bowl into which the blood had run, then stood and turned to the automaton. ‘This is the last time, Antonia.’ He said it with such love, Pegel was almost touched. He went round to the back of the machine and bent over. Pegel’s view was partial, but he thought he saw a panel opened. ‘Wimpf, help me,’ the Count said.
The servant approached and took the bowl of blood from his master. Then Frenzel removed some vessel from the machine. Pegel could see it gleam gold in the candlelight. He untwisted it, then held it as Wimpf poured Swann’s blood into its base. Pegel swallowed; his mouth had gone very dry. Frenzel was closing the panel again. His son looked as if he was going to be sick.
‘You are mad,’ he said again, quietly. His father shrugged and adjusted his wife’s dress with a little smile of pride. Then Florian began to shout. ‘I do not care if that thing comes over here and talks to me! It can get down on its knees and tell me it is come from hell! You are still insane, Father, and your “miracle” is an abomination!’ The Count stepped over to his son and slapped him hard. Florian spat onto the floor and kept yelling. ‘You killed her! You did! You kept her apart from her son and that is what killed her; even when she was kind to you, good to you, you denied her that and it killed her! It should be your blood in there!’
Frenzel slapped him again, and Florian stumbled this time.
‘Take him outside,’ Frenzel said. He turned to the automaton and lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing it with his knuckles. ‘You see, my love? I always told you he was wilful. So soon, Antonia. The fire will burn, Swann will die, and when I come back into this room, we shall talk again.’
He turned from her, hoisted Swann over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a rabbit and followed his son and servant out of the hall through a doorway in the west.
Pegel counted to ten, then ran lightly down from his hiding-place and into the hall. He went along the east wall as quickly as his ankle would allow, like a rat trying to keep to the shadows. He found the door to the Count’s study easily enough. There were papers covering the desk — many drawings and pages and pages of writing. Pegel had a fleeting impression of the seals and sketches. A separate table had been set up with mortar and pestle on it, next to little boxes and piles of dried plants. He found a pistol in a case in the desk itself, loaded it as swiftly as he could, then returned to the hall and approached the automaton. Now that he was inches from her, he could see that of course this was not a real woman. But the work was so fine, if she had only turned her head at that moment, he would have stepped back and apologised for staring.