Muffled Drum (11 page)

“I’m not sacked, then? Sir?”

“Get out. No. Wait. You can redeem yourself or make a start at it.”

“Anything, sir.”

Rudolph turned a mirthless smile on Goertz and saw the man blanch even paler than he was already. It seemed cruel to set Goertz onto Ernst and to frighten him out of Berlin, but in a way it seemed fitting punishment for both of them. He briefly explained what he wanted doing, adding, “Make sure you don’t kill him.” And turned away, letting himself relax once more, hardly even hearing the door close behind his batman.

That vision he’d been seeing of Mathias, it was real. It was
real.
The reason why it had felt false was he’d been recalling a daguerreotype—
stupid, reckless fool to make it, and idiot that I was to carry it around with me
.

Somehow he’d hoped the memory of that portrait would bring along with it what else he’d lost, for it seemed unfair of the gods to withhold what they’d shared. He could have asked Goertz for details of times and dates, but there were things he didn’t discuss with Goertz, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. All he needed now was for Mathias to show up, and the devil within Rudolph had a plan for when that happened.

On the street corner, Goertz kept himself in the shadows. The little tart had been difficult to find. The first things Goertz had done were to investigate the building and the neighborhood where Fetter had been kept by Rudolph. He knew Rudolph had stopped paying the rent there, but the wretch might have found himself another protector just as rich—and just as gullible. Fetter might have decided to stay in the same area, but all inquiries Goertz made, professing himself an estranged uncle Fetter, back from the war, had come to naught.

Then he’d gone after Fetter’s friends. Goertz knew of Wilhem Genz and called on him in a formal manner but obtained no information from him. Genz denied knowing where Fetter was and ordered Goertz out of the house, “no matter whom he represented.”

After that, Goertz went to the seedier side of Berlin, sure in his mind he would find some of Fetter’s friends and colleagues there. Most of these were no better than Fetter himself, and they were easy enough to find, carousing and flirting and selling themselves in bars the length and breadth of the Reeperbahn. A few discreet questions led him to a darkened underground bar, stinking of sex and piss, and an emaciated and pox-marked young man, with only the merest hint of the beauty he once had, who would sing any song Goertz liked about Ernst Fetter.

“I caught a rumor von Ratzlaff was back in town.” His opiate-dark eyes stared greedily at the fresh bottle of absinthe Goertz had in his hand. “Lost his mind, I heard.”

“Never mind what you heard.” Goertz restrained himself from putting the man out of his misery. “Just you give me what you promised.”

“Well, it makes a nice change. To get paid to talk. You sure you don’t…”

“If you don’t deliver soon, my boy,” Goertz growled, “that drink will be going in the wrong way, or the right way—the way you like it.”

The man grasped the large glass in two hands and drank the noxious mixture greedily, then wiped his hand with his mouth. He gave Goertz an address.

“That better be right,” Goertz said. “I can find you again, you know.”

“Oh that’s right,” he said. “It’s a step down from what he had with von Ratzlaff, but it’s all dear Pieter can afford, and probably more than, in fact. Talk is that if Pieter’s father-in-law doesn’t come up with a lump sum by dying, then Ernst’s for the chop. Trouble with Ernst is that he can’t live to his income, never has, never will. No matter how high it is, Ernst wants more.”

“Pieter?” Goertz asked.

“Pieter Eichel. Lives on Friedrichstrasse.”

The absinthe went down in the bottle, and as it did, Goertz obtained everything he needed—who this Eichel was, where he lived and how long he’d been Fetter’s protector. From the sound of it, Eichel had a tiger by the tail and didn’t know how to let go. Goertz left the almost comatose snitch in the darkened club. He realized he could probably do more than von Ratzlaff a good turn.

Staying out of the lamplight, Goertz waited on the dark side of the street until Fetter came in sight. He had arrived at eight the night before, and a carriage had collected him at nine. Goertz could only hope that this Eichel was a man regular in his debauchery and that the pattern would be repeated tonight.

At a little after nine the same carriage pulled up outside, and Goertz moved quietly across the near-deserted street, unseen by the coachman, who had gone to press the bell. He pulled open the off-side door and stepped into the carriage. “Not a sound, Herr Eichel,” he said. “Call your coachman back, and don’t make too much noise about it.” He waited while this was done, and the coachman clambered back onto the box. If last night was any indication, Fetter wouldn’t be out for a good ten minutes. “I’m not here to hurt anyone—quite the opposite.”

Eichel’s face was moon-pale against the dark cushions of the coach. “What money I have…” he spluttered.

“I mean it, I don’t want to rob or hurt you. I just want to tell you that Rittmeister von Ratzlaff is back in town, and…well, he’s heard that you’re poaching on his land…if you get my meaning.” When the idiotic man still looked entirely bemused, Goertz said. “Ernst Fetter. He belongs to my master. And it cost him a pretty penny while he’s been away…at the war. And he’s a nasty-tempered soldier, and he’s none too pleased to find that Fetter’s been giving it away for nothing to all and sundry.”

“Nothing!” Eichel squeaked. “Nothing? The man’s beggaring me. I can hardly afford my own establishment, let alone…” He paused, proving to Goertz that he wasn’t quite as stupid as he looked. “I had no idea…Tell von Ratzlaff that he has my sincere apologies, and that I was misinformed. Hardly surprising, given the source.”

“That’s right,” Goertz said. “You won’t regret it.” He pressed a heavy purse into the man’s hand. “I know I can trust your discretion, just as you know you can trust mine. Good day, Herr Eichel. Give my regards to your wife. Friedrichstrasse, isn’t it?” And he slipped out of the coach. From inside he heard a thump as Eichel signaled the coachman, and the coach lurched forward and around the corner.

Now to deal with the louse himself, Goertz thought, climbing the stairs.

He stood outside Ernst’s apartment door for a few minutes with the patience of a soldier used to long periods of inactivity and short exciting ones. When the door opened, he slid sideways, kicked it open with his knee to keep the noise down, and grabbed Fetter around the neck and mouth to keep him silent. Even under that level of control Fetter was able to squeak pretty loudly, like the rat he was, and Goertz got the door closed again as soon as he could.

He dragged Fetter into the apartment and shoved him into a chair. “I’m going to take my hand away,” he growled, putting his face as close to Fetter’s as he could, rather enjoying the pop-eyed expression of the terrified young man. “You know me. You know who I work for, and what he’s capable of. He keeps his hands clean. Now, I ain’t so fussy, so you aren’t going to be making a fuss, are you? That way no one gets hurt—and believe me when I say it would only be you that does.”

Fetter nodded and mumbled something under Goertz’s calloused hands.

“Good boy.” Goertz let go and straightened up while Fetter gasped for breath and pushed back in the chair.

“You can’t do this! I have someone calling for me—they’ll be worried if I don’t open the door.”

“There ain’t no one coming for you,” Goertz said. “And pretty soon there won’t be a man higher than the gutter who will even speak to you. You crossed von Ratzlaff one time too many. Your fancy man had a case of the conscience and he’s gone back to Friedrichstrasse and he won’t be straying again, not on your side of the street for a long time, I’ll wager. So, no, Ernst, no one’s going to call for you. Not in Berlin, not while von Ratzlaff lives—I’ll make very sure of that. Get yourself another protector and I’ll tell him the same as I told your idiot Pieter, and I’ll keep on and on and on until you’re forced so far down that you’ll end up back sucking cock for a puff on a cigar, which I’m sure is where you started.”

Goertz had to give the man his due, he looked cowed, but not beaten. A guttersnipe like him would already be working out his next move, his next target.

“So what do you expect me to do?” he said, with a bold attempt at sneering defiance.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Goertz said. “Do what you like. Find a sailor, a count, a prince if you want. But don’t do it in Berlin. Preferably not even in Prussia. Bugger off to Constantinople—I’ve heard they like them just like you there. Or Morocco. But don’t come back here. Not ever again. If von Ratzlaff is unlucky enough to clap eyes on you just once more, that’ll be your last day. And that’s a promise.”

“I can’t just leave…” And as soon as Fetter said that, Goertz knew he had won. “I have expenses. Debts.”

“Who cares,” Goertz said, moving toward the door. He wasn’t going to give the scum one coin. “Sell something. You’ve got things here. This vase looks valuable.”

“It—”

Goertz dropped it on the floor, watching it shatter into a hundred pieces. “Oh well, I’m sure you’ll find something else. Or you could start running. You wouldn’t want von Ratzlaff to bump into you, by accident-like, would you?” He gave a grin, as Fetter realized finally the danger he was in, and he left, leaving the door wide open.

It got his master out of one predicament, and he was glad to do it, but knowing Rudolph von Ratzlaff, it wouldn’t be long until he got himself into another.

Mathias’s eyes skimmed the drawing room, a scowl of anxiety tightening his face, as though he expected to find Ernst also in attendance. The thought of it sent a shudder up Rudolph’s spine.

Pushing aside gloomy thoughts, he shook Mathias’s hand. “I was beginning to think you had ridden away, never to return.”

“I’ll not do that.” Mathias’s handshake was as cool as his demeanor.

“You’ve decided to stay in Berlin, then?” Rudolph turned away to pour them drinks and hid a smile. He’d make Mathias pay for his deception, however well-intentioned. “You’ll move your horses back here then, of course.”

“It’s kind of you, but no.” Mathias took the glass with the smallest of bows and swallowed the clear liquid in one mouthful. “They can manage perfectly well where they are, or I’ll rent them out to a livery.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Rudolph said, thoroughly scandalized. “I won’t have them subjected to the mercies and vagaries of that dump you’re staying in. If you choose to roll in squalor, that’s your prerogative, but those horses deserve better. Putting a warhorse in a livery! Do you want to kill people?” He smiled at Mathias, who was still showing every sign of brittle stupid pride. “Hiller, take his coat, then he can’t escape. Mathias, get another drink inside you, or six. And let’s relax.”

Hiller did as he was bid and, after pushing the drinks trolley to within easy reach of Rudolph’s chair, he left them alone.

“Do you have any other company?”

“Tonight? No. And don’t play the innocent with me, Mathias. I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to be honest with me. Say what you mean.”

Mathias clenched his jaw, and the frown remained.

I wish he’d smile more. It takes an abundance of
schnaps
to make him smile, it seems.
Rudolph poured Mathias another drink and they took seats opposite each other by the fire.
He looks as nervous as I feel. It’s more like a battle than a social occasion.

“All right,” Mathias said. “As you force me to be indelicate. Is the lovely Frau—oh, excuse me—
Herr
Fetter going to grace us with his presence?”

The fact that Mathias had joined the ranks of the Loathe Ernst Brigade made Rudolph feel a little embarrassed. Before Ernst there had been other men. He remembered them very clearly, and even Fritz—despite his disapproval of Rudolph’s sexual habits—had received them in male company.
What madness was I under to be ensnared by Ernst? Was it really pride because he was the only one to say no?

“No,” he said, determined to tease Mathias as far as he could. “Not tonight.”

Mathias however seemed to be deliberately obtuse and helped himself to more spirits from the table beside his chair. “May I ask why not? Not that it’s any of my business. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I would have thought that—with your wife permanently in the country…”

Rudolph scowled. It was a low blow but not entirely undeserved. He continued to play his part. “You’re right.” He pretended to be irritated. “It is none of your business.”

“Oh, this is new. You were willing to tell me all about him in Dresden. What’s changed?”

“I don’t generally bring lovers here.” Familiar pain lanced through his temple, but he was damned if he was going to show weakness to Mathias.

“How convenient. I suppose I should consider myself lucky, then.” Mathias’s voice could have frozen rivers. “If you’d allowed my unwelcome attentions to continue, I wouldn’t be allowed through the door. It must be very nice,” he continued, “to be able to put things away in little boxes. Indeed, nice to own enough boxes to keep everything
nicely
separate.”

Rudolph wondered if Mathias had been drinking before he’d arrived. He’d never seen him this cool and sarcastic—and the comment about separate boxes cut deep, it was too similar to the accusations Ernst made.

Mathias stood, his face a mask of indifference. “I’m afraid that’s rather too
nice
for me, Rudolph. I won’t be compartmentalized like a beetle in a collection. And I won’t be used as a standby for when your pretty piece gets bored with you. I think I’ve had enough of being used.”

“I—” Rudolph felt the game had gone on long enough. Mathias was already far more offended than Rudolph had meant him to be. “I had no intention of having you as a standby.”

“I’m sorry,” Mathias said. For a moment Rudolph thought it was all right, until Mathias added, “I should have said second string to your bow. Or—the piece you fucked while you were on campaign, the muddy companion, the bed-warming convenience you had when you nipped back to Berlin for a nice clean fuck with a…with
that
…”