Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis (novels in english txt) 📗

unequal distribution of weight about my person would make the performance of a perfect turn almost impossible.”

“Of course, sir,” said Haussmann, noting the appearance of a sly smile on his superior's face.

The advancing light was surrounded by an indistinct shadowy aura, the dimensions of which suggested the approach of something very large. The vague outline was lumbering, ursine. Rheinhardt wondered if the mist might be creating an optical illusion. Nobody could be that big! Yet twigs were snapping beneath a ponderous tread. The horses began to whicker.

“Gentlemen,” said the driver nervously, “perhaps you'd like to get back inside. Shouldn't we be on our way?”

Rheinhardt did not reply.

The footsteps became louder and the light grew more distinct.

“Well, Haussmann,” said Rheinhardt, “I suspect that in a few moments all will be revealed.”

The thick curtains of fog parted and a huge figure stepped out of the darkness, the glow of the flickering candle in his lamp preceding him like a spirit emissary. Rheinhardt heard his young companion gasp.

“Steady, Haussmann,” Rheinhardt whispered.

The man was well over six feet tall but appeared even more massive on account of his clothing. He was wearing a Russian hat, with the flaps released over his ears, and a long fur coat pulled in at the waist with a thick leather belt. Hanging from it was a cleaver. In one hand he held a tin lamp suspended at the end of a whittled staff, and in the other the hind legs of a brace of bloody animal carcasses that were slung over his shoulder. Almost all of his face was concealed behind a wild, wiry black beard.

“Good evening,” said Rheinhardt. “We are looking for the Aufkirchen oberrealschule.” The mysterious woodman remained silent. Rheinhardt tried again: “The military academy? Saint Florian's?”

At last, something in the big man's eyes showed recognition. He grunted an affirmative and began to speak.

“Back down the hill.” The sound he produced was low and sonorous. “Take the right fork.”

“Right fork?” Rheinhardt echoed.

The giant grunted again. Then, turning abruptly, he trudged back into the woods.

“Thank you,” Rheinhardt called out. “Much obliged.”

Rheinhardt and Haussmann stood very still, watching, as the mist closed around the giant's shoulders and the shimmering flame faded into obscurity.

“You see, Haussmann,” said Rheinhardt, straightening his bow tie and adjusting the studs on his cuffs. “Country folk: full of stolid virtues, I'm sure. But their conversation always errs on the side of brevity, don't you think?” Rheinhardt turned to address the driver.

“Well, did you hear what our friend from the forest said?”

“Down the hill—right fork.”

“Exactly.”

“And you want us to follow his directions?”

“What else would you suggest?”

“Himmel, he was a strange one.”

“True, but I dare say we looked a little strange to him too.”

3

THE DORMITORY WAS PITCH-BLACK but alive with sounds: snoring, rustling, mumbling, and the occasional terrified cry as one of the boys surfaced from a nightmare.

Kiefer Wolf listened to the breathing darkness. It had an orchestral quality—a heaving, restless depth.

“Drexler?” He reached out across the narrow space separating his bed from the next, and poked his fingers into the warm eiderdown.

“Drexler, wake up!”

His neighbor moaned.

“Drexler, wake up, will you!”

“Wolf?”

“Wake up, Drexler. I can't sleep.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Wolf,” said Martin Drexler.

“I'm going for a smoke. Are you coming?”

The boy sleeping in the bed on the other side of Wolf began to stir. “What…” His voice was thick with sleep. “What's happening?”

Wolf's fist swung out with ruthless ferocity, slamming into the boy's stomach. The youngster let out an agonized cry.

“Shut up, Knackfuss!” Wolf hissed. “Just shut up!”

The boy began to whimper.

“Oh, for God's sake, Wolf!” It was Drexler again. “What's the matter with you!”

“I'm going upstairs. I'm going to the lost room.”

Wolf got out of bed, felt for his clothes, and slipped on his jacket and trousers. He did not bother with his shoes.

“Well, Drexler? Are you coming or not?”

Wolf heard Drexler turn over, grumbling into his pillow.

“Sleep, then!” said Wolf angrily. “You… you baby!”

Wolf groped his way into the central aisle and—orienting himself by touching the bedsteads—took short steps toward the door. Turning the handle very slowly, he pushed it open and peered through the narrow gap. The corridor was empty. Slipping out of the dormitory and closing the door quietly behind him, Wolf took one of the paraffin lamps from the wall and tiptoed off into the shadows. He had not gone very far when he heard something: footsteps, rushing up the stairs, and voices.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Wolf sprinted to the end of the corridor and, skillfully negotiating a sharp corner, pressed his back against the wall. He held his breath and listened. He could hear a man's voice (speaking very quietly) and then a woman's voice.

Nurse Funke?

He had no intention of waiting there long enough to find out. He hurried off.

On one side of the corridor were windows overlooking a courtyard, and on the other side was a row of empty classrooms. At the end of the corridor was a wooden staircase that rose in a series of right angles and small landings. A further staircase ascended to a locked iron door.

Wolf paused—and listened.

Apart from the sound of tiny claws behind the baseboard, there was silence.

The upper level of the school had—over a period of many years—been subject to a series of eccentric modifications and revisions. Thus, the partitioning of spaces around the attic had led to the creation of many architectural anomalies: redundant corners, blind alleys, pointless niches, and steps that led nowhere at all. Among these architectural anomalies was the lost room—a neglected cavity that existed between the attic and the third story of the building.

Wolf crept underneath the final staircase and, crouching down, ran his hand over the floorboards. The tips of his fingers soon found the edge of a trapdoor, which he lifted gently. He sat on the edge of the hole, dangling his legs in the cold emptiness. Then, lowering himself, he eventually found support on a crate that had been positioned there especially for the purpose. Reaching up, he grabbed the paraffin lamp