The Anatomist's Dream (33 page)

His own throat was dry as dust, but he managed to go on. ‘We'll tie you up if you like, make it look like we took the horses by force, that you tried to fight us off, safeguarded the greater part of your master's things. You'll be a hero. And you'll have the ring and the pick of whatever Petitorri has in his carriage, for you can always say we took it with us.'

It was a huge chance Philbert was taking, and he'd no notion how it would go if his plan succeeded but he had to do something, and this was all he'd got. Goffaggino licked his lips, and agreed.

‘Two minutes,' he said. Philbert turned and ran across the cobbles, back through the door of the inn, surprised to see Kwert already on his feet, moving towards him, heading for the latrine. Philbert crooked his arm and waved Kwert on, holding his finger to his lips, and without a sound Kwert stalked the short way down the tavern bar, pausing only for a moment as he handed a coin to the bar-keep, saying a word or two before coming on.

‘No time to talk,' Philbert said, clutching at Kwert's hand the second he came within reach. ‘Come on!'

And on they went, moving fast as Kwert was able, past the stinking shack of the latrine and its piss-trough, the hole dug in the ground where men could squat and squeeze. Goffaggino was already a-perch his driver's seat, the horses in their traces, the long tail of Goffaggino's whip whispering above their backs.

‘Get in,' Philbert commanded Kwert, and before they'd even settled the carriage was off, clearing the corner of the inn and into the copse beyond, Goffaggino slapping his whip against the horses' sides, urging them on, the switch of tree branches scratching at the carriage's paint as it cut quick and fast between them. Five minutes forward, and then ten, as Philbert garbled his plan to Kwert as they fell from one side of the carriage to the next. He knew that at any minute Goffaggino would stop the horses. They had a slender chance if they could blend their way into the bushes and scrub that lined the meagre track, be gone by the time someone came looking for Goffaggino.

They stopped. And then Goffaggino's face was at the door as he pulled it open roughly and in a flash he had Philbert by his collar and was dragging him out.

‘Did you really think I could be bought so easy?' Goffaggino panted, hard-done from the ride, hand so strong about Philbert's collar he was finding it hard to breathe.

‘Did you really think we didn't know what you were worth?'

And then Goffaggino had Philbert right out of the carriage and was dragging him on through the mud.

‘This was always the plan anyways,' Goffaggino forced the words out between clenched teeth. ‘Maestro knew who you were the moment he clapped eyes on you, and stands to make a pretty fortune selling you both on – one to the head-doctors, the other to the soldiers. Big payday for the supplier of the Murderer of Lengerrborn.'

Philbert struggled, squirmed and fought, but Goffaggino's rough hand was twisting his collar tight and all he could hear was the whooshing of his blood and the croak of Goffaggino's voice directly in his ear.

‘But you're right about me wanting a little something for myself,' he said, ‘so thanks for setting it all up so nice and orderly. I'll take that ring and be more than glad to beat the pulp out of you, be that hero you mentioned. No one will mind you being just this side of dead before delivery.' Goffaggino hit Philbert hard across the face and they both went down. ‘Might even prefer it that way,' he grunted, ‘save Maestro the trouble of doing you in.' Goffaggino's knee was pressing hard into Philbert's chest, knees astride him, holding him fast. ‘Maestro saw this coming,' Goffaggino panted. ‘Told me to take the chance when it came, and so I will.'

Goffaggino ripped the thong from Philbert's neck, scooping Hermann's ring into his hand, Otto's nail from the Wagoners slipping from its loose end, Philbert's fingers scrabbling for it as Goffaggino was momentarily distracted by the ring; he fetched it up, fixed it between forefinger and thumb and plunged the nail with all his strength into Goffaggino's left eye. Goffaggino screamed, rolling off Philbert into the mud and Philbert picked up the nearest hard object to hand – a three sided granite rock – and hammered it at Goffaggino's head as if he was beating a shoe on Otto's anvil, hearing Otto's gruff voice telling him to mind his fingers, mark the sidings, lean his hand into the swing. Again and again that stone came down on Goffaggino's head, Philbert looking right into his eyes – the blooded one and the good – first hit going lucky, second cracking Goffaggino's skull just above the ear, third one sending streams of blood onto his face, and still Philbert went on, each blow coming easier and a little stronger, his body alive with the power that comes from rage and the fight to survive.

It was only when Philbert saw the small flash of gold in the mud beside Goffaggino's fallen hand that he stopped, his heart beginning to subside into normal rhythm, and he heard the late afternoon birds singing on unperturbed in the trees, felt his knee slipping in the mud churned up by their struggle, hand grazed by the stone and slippery with the inside of Goffaggino's head, the red warmth of it creeping up his sleeve almost to his elbow. He dropped the stone and looked up. Kwert was standing a few yards away, yelling as he had been yelling since the ten or so seconds of Philbert's murderous attack.

‘Oh my God, Little Maus! What are you doing? Oh stop, you have to stop! Oh my God, what have you done?'

Goffaggino was dead, no doubting it, face no longer distinguishable, a mere mix of gore, cartilage and flesh.

‘Don't ever call me that again,' Philbert growled through clenched teeth, face and clothes splattered with Goffaggino's blood, ‘the Little Maus is gone and is never coming back.'

The blood drained from Kwert's face. Looking at Philbert he knew it was true, and wondered just how long ago it had ­happened, and who or what had risen up to take his place.

34

Strike to the Core

‘We have to go,' Philbert said, grabbing the thong from the mud, putting the ring back on and tying it about his neck with an untidy knot. He fetched up a load of old boughs and bramble runners, piling them over Goffaggino's body, kicking on dead leaves to cover the gaps. Next, he went to the coach and undid one of the horses, gave Kwert a leg up onto its broad sweating back before slapping the other hard with Goffaggino's whip so that it began a mad canter further on down the track, dragging the carriage lopsidedly behind it. Philbert jumped up in front of Kwert, still clutching the whip, and forced the horse into the trees, the two of them ducking beneath the low branches of alders and oaks, birch and beech, Kwert shaking with awful apprehension, expecting capture at every turn. But none came, and on they went until it became too dark to see their way, when they slipped from their mount and Philbert lashed its flanks with the whip, sending it careering off blindly into the night.

Not a word had they spoken, and now they leant themselves against the bole of a wide oak, Philbert dragging the leaves all around to give themselves some warmth. There were no stars nor any sight of the moon, only a low swirling sort of mist that covered them completely, damping them to the skin. Goffaggino had done them a favour by riding on much further than Philbert had intended, and there could be no question of a search until morning came, by which time the horse and carriage must have gone a good way distant before eventually grinding to a stop or tipping over into the drainage ditch beside the track. With any luck, some impoverished passer-by would find it and loot its goods and chattels, all Petitorri's baggage already being on board, and if they did that they would no doubt destroy the cart and use it for firewood, sell on the horse or, more probably, butcher it for its meat so no trace of either could be found by anyone who came looking. Goffaggino had further aided their escape by dragging Philbert some yards from the track so that his body could not easily be seen by someone riding by, disguised as it was, even if they were looking for a dead body and not the wreck of Petitorri's stolen carriage.

Neither could sleep, both looking blindly into the darkness, until eventually Kwert spoke.

‘What happened, Philbert?'

Only the rustling of leaves answered Kwert as Philbert shifted slightly at his side, a long pause before Philbert replied.

‘The world happened,' he said simply, and those three words said it all. He'd been waiting for this moment, this confrontation; had seen the look of accusation and approbation in Kwert's eyes when he stood useless above his Little Maus as he beat another boy to death – never mind that Goffaggino had been planning to do exactly the same to him. He'd been having the anticipated conversation over and over in his head.
What did
you expect
? he'd been planning to say.
You're always
going on about my destiny
,
how I'm to
do great things
,
but I wouldn't have been
able to do any of them if Petitorri had his
way
.
And you'd have been sold out as
the Murderer of Lengerrborn
.
Ever think on that
? But when the time came the words had lost their meaning, Philbert's anger spent; all that mattered was the simple fact that what was done was done, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Kwert knew it too, and in the darkness the tears ran down his cheeks for the man he had become, weak and sick, entirely dependent upon this boy who lay beside him in the leaves; the boy who had killed in order not to be killed himself and who, by doing so, had saved Kwert not once but twice. And he cried because he was a man who truly believed in destiny, and was heartsick at what that destiny had become. The first time he'd seen the boy he'd had such a strong conviction that great things were in store for him that it never crossed his mind great things are not always for the good; cried too because he knew he'd sought the boy out and, had he not, then he'd most probably have carried on being that quiet Little Maus who toured with Maulwerf's Fair of Wonders, no greater burden to bear than his head, however big that head might be. All gone now. They'd been fugitives from the law before tonight, and now were doubly so.

Great things
, Kwert thought bitterly. His meditative way of life was all about silent prayer, dedication to the Christ-child who dwells inside the heart of every man if only he can block out the world enough to find him there. But there was nothing great about the way things had gone this last while. Philbert was right. The world had happened to them both in ways entirely unforeseen even to the Kwert, the Great Tospirologist. No more lifting of the veil between past, present and future, not for Kwert. All he could do now was wait for the world to happen to them again and he no longer looked forward to it, felt only the cold chill of it as it crept inexorably on.

They spoke little during their next travelling, going as long and far as they could with each day, taking their bearings from the stars at night, pointing them always on towards the north, towards where they hoped they would find Maulwerf and his Fair. Philbert knew Kwert was finding the going hard and tried not to show the impatience the young and healthy always have for the old and sick. He wasn't troubled by Kwert's withdrawal from him, had no need of talking any more than Kwert had. They'd been cast into an aloneness neither felt able or eager to broach; it diminished Kwert and caused him guilt, but to Philbert it gave strength, the heady realisation he could be instrumental in the way his life might go. He pushed Kwert on through bushes and forests, resting as often as Kwert needed. At night there was no companionable sitting around a fire, for there was no fire at all, both wanting to remain away from the eyes and company of other men. They didn't read from the
Philocalia
, they ate handfuls of the berries, nuts and roots Philbert procured on their way. They became thin or, in Kwert's case, even thinner, his teeth wobbling and loosening in his gums, arms so weak they could hardly support him on his crutches, at which point Philbert called a stop. He took out his tinder and struck it against some bracket mushrooms and made a fire. He also laid some traps, and eventually snared a squirrel and got it skinned and spitted, and the scent of the apple boughs they were burning on the fire was the sweetest thing either had smelled for many weeks.

‘There's a village about a half mile up through the trees,' Philbert said, ‘I can hear their cattle in their pens. I'm going to leave you a while, see if I can find out exactly where we are.'

‘Are you sure it's safe?' Kwert said, before realising how ridiculous those words of caution were. They'd been travelling for a couple of weeks since Goffagino's murder, passing through what had seemed an interminable forest before going over hill and dale and back into forest again, always keeping away from tracks and villages, to which this was the closest they'd been so far, always taking the harder route that slowed them up but kept them hidden.

‘I'm not sure it will ever be safe,' Philbert replied, ‘not for us. But we can't go on hiding for ever.'

He left then, Kwert shivering despite the small fire, wondering if this was the last time he was ever going to see Philbert, if he'd finally taken the decision to abandon the old man who was the thorn in his side, slowing him up at every turn.

They'd fought silently through their respective days, both knowing someone would eventually find Goffaggino's body, the remains of Petitorri's carriage or the horses they'd sent off through the woods. And both understood Petitorri was a vengeful man. Folk might blame the bandits who supposedly roamed these woods like wolves, but they knew Petitorri would have scotched such theories at the start, shouting out to anyone who would listen that he'd had in his hands the fugitive Schupo murderers, and now they'd murdered again. What worried Philbert more was that Kwert had spoken so freely to Petitorri of their trying to reunite with Maulwerf and his Fair of Wonders. There was money on their heads, and by getting themselves back to Maulwerf they might be bringing trouble with them. He hoped it would not be so, that if they went by a circuitous enough route and hid their tracks it would not happen. He needed an aim, and the only one he had was to get back to the Fair, see Little Lita, Maulwerf and Kroonk, always Kroonk, his childhood companion – the only reminder of his childhood he had left. She was only a pig, but was a pig to him as others had a faithful hunting dog, and he hankered after her unqualified devotion and affection more than he could say. And he needed someone better than himself to take care of Kwert, and because of it would travel and tramp until they found Maulwerf. What would come then would come, which would most probably be nothing. He understood he'd done things Maulwerf and Lita would not understand, but would have no reason to tell them, neither more would Kwert. And he owed Kwert a way home, for Kwert had nurtured and looked after him, taken him out into the world and, no matter what had happened once he'd got there, by God he was glad he had. And for all these reasons he needed to break cover, for Kwert couldn't go on much longer the way they were going. He needed care and comfort; all the fire and vitality Kwert had once displayed had gone and Philbert wanted to see it back, needed to restore him to the fold. Philbert had changed, Philbert had grown, but at his core Little Maus still resided, and he yearned for the familiar as much as Kwert did, and for both that meant returning to Maulwerf's Fair.