‘Is it that you are fascinated by death, my friend?’ he asked.
‘Only that I must have the proof.’
The screws were tight and took considerable effort. It was Mademoiselle Arcuri who said, ‘Rene, come here. Let me hold you by the hand.’
The boy did as he was told. That was good, so good. She’d remained standing as close to the door as possible.
‘Hans, please, I beg you,’ began the countess. ‘It isn’t necessary. I swear to you Charles is dead.’
Ackermann said nothing. As the last screw came gradually out of the wood, he watched it intently.
Bocke, standing a little to one side and behind St-Cyr, kept his eyes on all of them.
Jeanne Theriault took a step. ‘Countess, please,’ warned Ackermann, not looking up at her. ‘Stay where you are.’
She had to try. ‘Hans, you’re a soldier. You’ve seen war at its worst. Charles was as good as dead when we got him. He’d received a piece of shrapnel in the head. No doctor could have operated. He was in a coma, mumbling in his sleep and crying out for me.’
Ackermann looked up at her. ‘That has no bearing on this. None whatsoever.’
‘But it has!’ she implored. ‘When he had recovered sufficiently to walk about a little, he wasn’t the same. He said so little, it was as if he hardly knew us. Distant … he was so distant not just from me, but from Gabrielle. He began to wander. I’d find him in the maze, in the tower here, in the cellars … Rene and I had to watch him constantly. One day in summer we … we found him down by the river, hiding from you and hiding from us.’
St-Cyr paused. Was she trying to distract Ackermann? He’d have to say something. ‘Rene, he was so good that first day I met him, Countess. I knew he must have had some practice when he led me completely astray.’
‘He’s a good boy and knows what has to be done. He’s … he’s exactly like the son I lost.’
Ah, Mon Dieu, of course she wanted to encourage the boy, but did she want sympathy as well? If so, it was of no use but …
Under cover of the exchange, Mademoiselle Arcuri had moved the boy to her left and now her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. She’d push the son away and scream as the lid was removed. She’d take the first shot, would sacrifice herself.
Rene would make a run for it.
As the last screw came out, St-Cyr put it in his pocket with the others. ‘Rene, there will be nothing much left of your father. Just the hair, the teeth, the skin perhaps but dried and old, withered as if by the sun. The uniform, it will be stain …’
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ shrieked the countess.
Ackermann lunged and flipped the lid off. ‘Bags … Bags of stone!’ he swore. He lashed out at the countess and she fell back against the wall and to the floor.
‘He’s dead! I swear he’s dead!’ she cried.
‘The boy! Get him, Bocke, or pay the price!’
‘Jawohl, General.’
St-Cyr moved to help the countess to her feet. Blood trickled from a split in her lip. The dark eyes were filled with hatred as she looked past him to the general. ‘You call yourself a man, my cousin, but you are nothing,’ she spat. ‘Nothing! Compared to my son.’
‘Where is he?’ demanded Ackermann, jamming the muzzle of his pistol against the back of Mademoiselle Arcuri’s neck and forcing her to bow her head. He had her by the wrist. He was hurting her …
Jeanne Theriault looked at her daughter-in-law. Was it to be the last time they’d see each other alive? Suddenly there was so much to say and no time in which to say it. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to him, Hans. I really thought his body was here.’
*
Out of the corner of the only eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Kohler caught a glimpse of the boy. The little nipper was down at the far end of the stables, over by the far wall. One minute he was there, the next he wasn’t. He was making his way stealthily along the wall by climbing from stall to stall.
He had a kitchen knife clenched in his teeth, was scared stiff and yet determined.
‘Water,’ muttered Kohler. ‘In the name of Jesus, give me something to drink.’ Every effort to get away had failed.
Jensen wrenched open the door to the nearest stall and took the mare’s trough from it. ‘Water, eh? Then water you shall have!’
Sputtering, Kohler gasped then bellowed, ‘Bastard! I’ll see you in hell for this.’
‘You’ll see nothing if you don’t shut up,’ shouted Jensen, reaching for the whip. ‘I’ve had enough from you.’
‘Some duel I’m going to fight, eh? Blind in one eye and cut to ribbons. Weak from loss of blood -’ He kicked out fiercely and lost his balance, giving a scream of anguish as his wrist was wrenched.
A breathless Bocke appeared on the run. ‘Klaus … Klaus, the boy has escaped. Help me to find him.’
Jensen looked to Kohler and then back to Helmut. ‘Help me to tie his feet, otherwise I can’t leave him.’
One of the mares whinnied and began to stamp excitedly about her stall, tugging on the halter rope. Again Jensen went over to the door and yanked it open. Straw on the floor, dung, oats … nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing. The boy? he wondered.
They tied Kohler’s ankles together and ran the rope up behind him, bending his head back so far that if he moved, he’d break his neck.
‘Rest easy,’ snorted Bocke. ‘We’ll be back.’
The one good but bloodshot eye closed in pain rather than look at them.
The boy … where was the boy? These guys, they knew every angle. They’d let the boy show himself and then they’d come back and take him. The kid didn’t have a chance.
*
Ackermann twisted Mademoiselle Arcuri’s arm behind her back and forced her to her knees. ‘One false move and she dies, St-Cyr,’ he shouted.
The countess wiped the blood from her lip with the back of a hand. She was over by the window, caught in the fading light and contemplating a foolish, foolish thing.
The casket was between him and Ackermann. No chance there … Not yet. ‘General, I am only too aware that you will kill Mademoiselle Arcuri. Me, I am at your service. Lock the two of them in the tower here and take the key, eh? Then you and I can settle this business with Hermann.’
He gave the countess a glance of warning which she failed to notice. The woman was going to rush Ackermann in a vain attempt to give them a chance.
‘Countess, please,’ said St-Cyr. ‘Both the general and I know he’d only kill you.’
The wind came to feel its way through the embrasures, echoing softly in the tower. No one moved. Perhaps half a second passed, perhaps a little more. Ackermann still stood behind Mademoiselle Arcuri with the gun pressed firmly to the back of her neck and her left arm wrenched painfully upwards.
‘I won’t tell you anything!’ she shrieked. ‘There is no body. You’ll never find it. We hid no one, Hans. No one! Charles died at Sedan. You have no proof we hid him. Nothing but a coffin full of rocks.’
Kohler … was the boy trying to get to Kohler? St-Cyr was watching for a chance. The countess …
Ackermann released the arm and seized Gabrielle by the hair. He’d make her scream. He’d tear it out by the roots. ‘Talk,’ he said quietly.
She winced in pain and gasped. ‘With no body there is no proof. Rene … Ah, my hair … my hair.’
Her scalp was on fire. The skin was ripping …
‘Hans, stop it, please! You’re not a total coward. Let me talk to Gabi. She’ll understand.’
The countess moved away from the window. Swiftly Ackermann lifted the pistol and shattered the glass behind her, filling the tower with the sound of the shot.
Again none of them moved. Gabrielle Arcuri’s face was a mask of pain. Her eyes were filled with tears which streamed down her cheeks.
‘Please,’ said St-Cyr. ‘I beg you, General. Be decent.’
‘Gabi, tell him where you hid the body. You can’t hope to save the chateau for Rene. He’s finished. Even without the proof, Hans will see that the boy is …’ She couldn’t say it and turned quickly from them to stare out through the shattered glass at the growing dusk.