Lanceheim (18 page)

“No idea.”

“What'd you say?”

“That I don't know. There are others who have said that it must have been Maximilian. He looked shady, and had some kind of coiled cap, you know?”

“And how do you know the chaffinch's name was Adam?”

“Maximilian called him Adam. He said, ‘Adam, who have you brought with you?'”

“And what did the chaffinch say?”

“No idea. I was hurting like holy hell.”

“And that was it?”

“Yep.”

Giraffe drank up without immediately waving for a new glass.

“But that was when it started,” he added. “With all you cuckoos who come and ask the same things all the time.”

 

Philip Mouse was standing
outside, waiting, but thankfully he demanded no immediate account of the conversation.

They walked together through the random streets in south Yok en route to the avenue and a possible taxi. There was something that felt different, and not until Reuben had been able to walk silently and think about the matter a long while did it occur to him what it was.

Hope.

“Mr. Private Detective,” he said. “I have a new lead to give you.”

S
he had never forgiven him. They didn't talk about it; they had put it behind them. Fox von Duisburg was a stuffed animal who seldom dwelled on times that had passed. But where Reuben Walrus was concerned, she could not forgive, only try to forget. That was not to say that she didn't feel for him now. In Fox's opinion Reuben was a poor wretch for all time, and after the news about Drexler's syndrome, she saw the panic shimmering in his round, black eyes of glass. He put on a good face, but was close to a breakdown. He had always been the weaker of the two of them.

“Do you really have time for this?” she asked.

Walrus had begged and pleaded to be allowed to go along and shop. It was absurd, considering that he had always despised going into stores. And it was even more absurd that he still loved her. Despite the fact that she dismissed his constant declarations of love with feigned severity, she knew that he was serious. In his way. And now, under these circumstances, she gave in. She let him go along.

Reuben looked out through the window. Still no sign of clouds. He should be back at the rehearsals in the concert
hall before the Afternoon Rain. At most it took half an hour to walk from Grand Divino. The orchestra had been at it for nine days now; soon half the time would have passed. He nodded.

“I have time.”

“Good,” said Fox, “there's a jacket I would like your opinion on.”

This was a lie. She did not care in the least what he would think of the jacket, and he knew that too. She set the money on the black tray where the check already was, and they got up at the same time. Lunch had consisted of a much-too-healthy shrimp salad, and she would be hungry again in an hour.

At the Grand Divino department store there were two lunch restaurants, an exclusive variety with white linen tablecloths and an extensive à la carte menu on the street level, and a simpler café on the sixth floor. Fox preferred the café. Probably it was the ultimate form of snobbery: shopping at the city's most exclusive department store and at the same time choosing the cheapest lunch alternative. Only a stuffed animal with a lot of money could afford to appear thrifty, at least in the circles in which Fox moved.

She had cast covetous glances at the jacket in question for a whole week. It was too expensive and did not go with anything else in her wardrobe.

“It's a Carél av Turtiano,” she said.

“That says nothing to me,” answered Reuben, shaking his head. “But it sounds expensive.”

“Worse than you think.” She smiled.

She led him through the department store down to the fourth floor, where Carél had a boutique with gloomy clothing deep within one of the most exclusive departments. Fox parked Reuben on a hard couch and went off to demand the attention of the clerks. It did not take long before she was standing before him dressed in the jacket. Opposite was a
full-length mirror in which she critically regarded herself.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Nice,” he said neutrally.

“Is it worth five thousand?” she asked.

“Are you joking?”

He was shocked.

“But it suits me in some way,” she added, turning her back on him.

“What does he think? The other male?” asked Reuben.

He sounded so bitter that she instinctively avoided meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“It's you who are the other male, fool,” she replied.

“It's not that way at all.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

“Not.”

“Careful now,” she advised. “I have sympathy, but not an unlimited supply. He was there when I needed him.”

“You need resistance,” he maintained condescendingly.

“You're the one who needs resistance. I need support.”

“From someone you respect.”

“You're not going to talk your way out of this,” answered Fox in an attempt to jokingly redirect a conversation that she knew was heading in the wrong direction, seen from Reuben's perspective. “Shall I take this one or the green one?”

“Take the one you have on,” he advised.

“But is it worth the money?”

“Absolutely not.”

She sighed but ignored him, and both of them knew that she would buy the jacket.

 

Reuben and Fox left
Grand Divino a few minutes later by way of the exit toward Krönkenhagen. In her paw she was carrying a white paper bag that read “Carél,” with expensive
strips of leather as a handle. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had stopped on the sidewalk.

“I don't know what I should do,” he said piteously.

The clouds had gathered at the horizon, and animals passing by them on the narrow sidewalk hastened their steps. Fox waited. She knew him so well.

“I don't even have two weeks left,” he said.

He said this as much to himself as to her. He remained standing, frozen stiff by the cruel sentence he had just pronounced. Fox observed him. When she was certain that he did not want to say anything more, she took a step forward. Endlessly careful, so that he would not recoil, she placed her arms around him and enclosed him in an embrace. He let her do this, as so many times before. She gave him her warmth, her confidence, and power. He needed her more than ever.

They remained standing like that until an angry truck honked at a wobbly cyclist farther down the street. Reuben gave a start and again became aware of reality. The clouds were on their way in over the city; the philharmonic was surely back after lunch, ready to attack his unfinished symphony anew.

In silence they again began walking north on Krönkenhagen. The peddlers along the river observed them hopefully, and Reuben's gaze roved involuntarily along the spines of the used books. The rain would be upon them soon, and the stands would close. Not because the goods were unprotected, but because the customers had disappeared.

“Won't it be better if you take a taxi?” she asked.

He nodded. They placed themselves on the sidewalk and turned toward the cars driving from the south.

“Can't you come along?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly.

“I need you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I've always needed you.”

“I know.”

“We were much too wise when we left each other,” said Reuben.

“Careful now,” she warned.

“No, it's true,” he insisted. “We certainly did the right thing, but—”

Fox raised her paw and waved a taxi over to the sidewalk. She opened the back door, and unwillingly he got into the car. The rain was no more than a few minutes off.

“I never should have let you disappear from my life,” he said.

“I never disappeared.” She smiled gently, feeling endlessly tired. To the driver she added, “He's going to the concert hall.”

Then she closed the car door on him, and walked quickly away.

 

They had been happy.
They had lived in an equal, intense relationship; they had been so different, and yet she felt that they were very close. It had always been hard for her to show her feelings, let herself go, let someone else get inside the protective walls. With him she had given in. In the clarifying paleness of reflection she understood exactly how it had happened. Reuben Walrus was one of the most naive stuffed animals she had met; he showed his feelings spontaneously like a little cub, it was impossible to feel threatened. He was thirty-four years old when they married; it was his second marriage. She was a year younger, and she had no experience with relationships. That was one of her many excuses.

The early years of their marriage were hesitant. Then they found their routines, their roles, positions they were comfortable with, and they lived a few happy years to
gether. As the von Duisburg conventions directed, they put themselves on the Cub List, and after Josephine was delivered…Reuben changed. Probably Fox changed too. It was not something that happened overnight, but their daughter took time away from them. Gave life a new meaning. She would have the exact same priorities if she could do it over again today. Besides, his temperament and character had nothing to do with either her or Josephine. Reuben Walrus's reality—this she had always been aware of—orbited exclusively around Reuben Walrus.

Josephine had reached the age of six when it happened. It was by chance, which was obvious: Only chance can expose such things.

 

Hotel Grandville was on
fire red Mount Row in Amberville. Fox von Duisburg knew of the hotel, but had never visited it. It was her brother who suggested they should meet there and have a cup of tea, but as usual he was late. The hotel was of the smaller variety, furnished like a private home from the turn of the century, and she went into the lounge and sat down on a couch that was right out of a fairy-tale book about princes and princesses. Embroidered pillows rested against the pink velvet on the seat and back. The room had a low ceiling, and on the walls hung solemnly framed oil paintings depicting the forest under dramatic skies. Chairs and tables stood close beside each other. She was the only guest. While waiting for her brother, she ordered a cup of coffee with hot milk. She felt stressed and irritated. The cubsitter had said firmly that she had to be back and pick up Josephine before the breeze died down for the evening.

When Fox von Duisburg heard the sound of the little bell on the outside door in the next room, she prepared herself
to give her brother a proper telling-off. But it was not her brother. Into the lounge came a beautiful silver fox. The stranger sat down as far from Fox von Duisburg as possible, and they exchanged a hasty nod.

In the following moment the server, a suave sloth dressed in a waiter's uniform, appeared and approached the silver fox.

“Madame is early today,” he said in a low voice.

“I went past Jean-Luc, but that was a waste,” the silver fox said.

“Really? Shall I bring in the tea?”

“Please,” she replied, taking a magazine out of her handbag.

Preoccupied, she began leafing through the periodical. The sloth left the lounge with the order, but nonetheless his words were clearly heard from reception:

“Madame von Duisburg will have her chamomile now.”

Time stopped.

Fox von Duisburg kept her eyes riveted on the silver fox on the couch. She did not look up from her magazine; she appeared completely undisturbed. It was impossible that her name was von Duisburg. The family was not so large that Fox did not know all its members. She had not said her name to the sloth, so it could not be a matter of a misunderstanding. Fox von Duisburg was dumbfounded.

The silver fox closed her magazine and got up.

“Alex,” she called to the sloth, “I've changed my mind. I'll take tea up in the room instead.”

And without wasting any more time she left the lounge. Fox remained sitting. But she did not have time to pursue her thoughts in one direction or the other before the doorbell was heard again. The voice that greeted the reception clerk was familiar.

“Has Mrs. von Duisburg arrived?” asked Reuben Walrus.

Fox von Duisburg was in the lounge and could not see
what was happening at the reception desk. Nor could Reuben Walrus see her.

“Madame went up to the room just a moment ago,” Fox heard the reception clerk report.

“Fine. I'll keep her company. You can send up dinner in an hour.”

And then footsteps were heard on a stairway.

Fox von Duisburg could not breathe. It was Tuesday, and as usual Reuben was rehearsing with the Conservatory chamber orchestra the whole evening. As usual. On Tuesdays.

Fox von Duisburg was short of breath. She got up from the couch, happened to bump against the table, whereupon coffee splashed out of the cup and down onto the table and rug. She ran out to the reception desk, and at the same moment the little doorbell was heard for the third time, and in came her brother. She fell into his arms and wept bitter tears.

 

It was not only
the flagrant infidelity that she had uncovered, it was the way in which he had done it. It would chafe like a sharp stone in her heart longer than she would ever admit. He had stolen her identity and given it to someone else.

It would be many years before Fox von Duisburg, also by chance but possibly a related one, met Reuben Walrus's first wife Vanja Duck, and realized that Walrus had two lovers at that time who had both been ducks, both of whom for the sake of simplicity he called Vanja.

W
hether they wanted to or not, the prisoners were forced to have two outdoor breaks a day, one before lunch and one before dinner. The break area consisted of a patch of woods whose pine trees were shorn of branches the first five meters; the lower part of the trunks looked embarrassingly naked. Some played ball, some did their exercise routines in small groups, but most sat or stood, carrying on quiet conversations, smoking or trying to figure out how they would survive one more day in this realm of monotony. The scene was beautiful, in a way; the prisoners all had on prison clothes, so that thousands of pieces of mauve cloth moved slowly around the stripped tree trunks.

King's Cross was Mollisan Town's only prison, a fact to which Mayor Sara Lion gladly called attention; thanks to her social welfare program, no more than one institution was needed to take care of the city's criminals. At the same time an unceasing expansion of King's Cross went on in silence; when Maximilian was brought in, the facilities housed almost four thousand prisoners. Wing was added to wing, square kilometers of forest were cleared, and new
underground passages were constantly being added. Again and again the prisoners' previous exercise yards had been transformed into cells, dining halls, workshops, and space for personnel or modern maximum-security cells.

Security at King's Cross was rigorous. The guards were well trained and armed. Their instructions were to attack rather than wait, and to assist them they had the most sophisticated electronic system imaginable. Surveillance cameras were built into the walls and thereby impossible to detect; there was at least one eavesdropping microphone per square meter, and infrared light doors and enclosures were used around the entire prison area. All information was recorded and analyzed in a computer center that was run by programmers and civil engineers who, with their experience at King's Cross, could get any job whatsoever in the private sector. For every server there was at least one backup located at a secret address in the city; it goes without saying that no one had ever escaped from King's Cross.

 

There were several firsthand
accounts of how Maximilian passed his initial weeks at the prison, and they all testify to the same thing: Maximilian seemed to feel at home. At least he appeared unperturbed by his new situation. He ate, slept, and participated in therapy with an indifference that was reminiscent of acceptance. He prayed quietly in his cell and kept to himself. During breaks outside he would withdraw and sit on one of the stumps just beyond the provisional cricket field. Those who were there at the same time say he looked calm and collected, and most often would direct his gaze up to the sky.

That was how he was sitting when Dennis Coral sought him out the first time.

“Uh…sorry, but you're new, aren't you?”

Maximilian turned toward the snake and nodded. For
reptiles there was a variation on the washed-out, mauve prison clothes with broad trousers and large shirt; a closer-fitting extended shirt without sleeves. In addition, Dennis had on a mauve cap that was the internees' only free choice in the question of clothing. The mauve color contrasted beautifully against the red, yellow, and black bands so characteristic of coral snakes, embroidered with a coarse yarn in broad bands across his body, almost up to his eyes. Dennis's black face almost looked marbled; he was a beautiful animal, but the way he wriggled back and forth, he could have been a mamba.

“And…mmm…sorry, but what's this?” asked Dennis, making a movement with his head.

Maximilian understood the question because he'd gotten it many times in recent weeks. Under the cap he wore his usual cloth. One of the many doctors at the prison had given his approval. Since the first day under lock and key, Maximilian had suffered from a splitting headache. It would not go away as long as he was at King's Cross.

Maximilian noted, however, that the pain diminished somewhat when Coral approached.

“For the headaches,” Maximilian answered amiably, as always.

“Mm,” nodded the snake.

As with all the stuffed animals who lived in Mollisan Town, there was anxiety deep inside the snake's salt-and-pepper eyes, but despite Maximilian's considerable experience at that point, he could not immediately interpret it.

“I'm Dennis,” the snake introduced himself, making a kind of pirouette with the tip of his tail, “and…uh…I know who you are. That's why…uh, there are a few of us who shouldn't be here, right? You, for example, I'm sure of that, you shouldn't be here. And…uh…me. I shouldn't be here. But nobody knows that. I mean, there's probably not a soul in here who wouldn't say that they're innocent,
right? But…mm…I don't know. It's all the same. We…uh…are where we are. And that wasn't why…”

Coral fell silent and looked down at the ground. Maximilian said nothing.

“Watch out,” Dennis said at last, looking up again. “That's all I was thinking, huh? Mm…watch out. You're starting to get a reputation. That you don't squeal or quarrel. That can be…uh…not so nice.”

Maximilian still did not reply, but he met the snake's gaze and was again surprised that he could not decide what it was he saw in the mirrors that were the other animal's eyes. The tip of the snake's tail swayed back and forth in front of his face in warning.

“You…uh…you're in prison now, huh?” said Dennis. “If the others think that you're…mm…weak…if they take you for the kind who goes along…who does what's he's told…”

Coral shuddered so that his thin body was shaking under the mauve shirt.

“Uh…watch out,” he said. “It's called…uh…Slave. You don't want to be that.”

“Why are you warning me?” asked Maximilian.

“Uh,” said Coral, but he couldn't put what he felt into words, and wriggled away instead.