Gretel and the Dark (21 page)

In retrospect, Benjamin thought to himself, the policemen’s visit was troubling the doctor. After all, he’d wanted his return to Vienna to remain a secret. What chance of that now? Gudrun had betrayed him, the poisonous old hag.

He reached the end of the street, about-turned, and ambled back, whistling under his breath. This time he steeled himself to stop on the pavement outside the final house and look more carefully at the entrance. His face suddenly flamed. The tiled panels to each side of the front door were decorated with scantily clad dryads – nothing wrong with that – but below them were curved stone benches, each supported by a pair of leering satyrs, or perhaps representations of Priapus, all possessed of such huge and enormously engorged
shvantz
that they must surely fall flat on their faces should they attempt to
walk. This was the place all right, the Thélème. And there was the side entrance –

His nose twitched as it detected a faintly remembered smell, pleasant enough and yet bringing with it some associated fear that set his heart pounding and the hair at his nape prickling. Benjamin spun round, fists clenched, to find himself facing another character from that drunken evening with Hugo. No policeman, this. The flaxen hair and sweetly serene choirboy face belonged to the man who’d sat by the fire eavesdropping on their conversation and, Benjamin was now convinced, followed him through the back alleys in order to administer that savage beating. He winced. The deep bruising caused by his assailant’s feet and fists was not yet fully healed. This afternoon, the fellow was sporting a warm smile contradicted by the wicked glint in extraordinarily pale-blue eyes; the duelling scar on his cheek seemed even more pronounced by daylight.

Benjamin swallowed hard and took two steps backwards. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn’t obvious.

‘Clear off.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Go back where you came from. You’re not welcome here.’

‘Very well.’ Benjamin politely inclined his head. ‘Then I’ll wish you a good –’

‘If I catch you sniffing round here again,’ whispered the other, coming horribly close and gripping Benjamin’s coat lapels, ‘I’ll take great pleasure in breaking every bone in your filthy body. Do you understand?’ He was still smiling.

Benjamin’s throat closed up. He nodded mutely and began walking back towards Stephansplatz, stopping only when he faced the great cathedral. Eyes cast down, he sneaked inside
the Christian stronghold and found a quiet corner from where he could sympathetically view the public agony of Vienna’s
Zahnweh-Herrgott
, Lord of Toothache. An hour later he returned to the Thélème. Benjamin knew, for a fact, that Lilie would do as much – more – for him. This time there was no hesitation: striding down the side of the building, he made straight for the servants’ entrance.

The rear of the house lacked the well-polished respectability evident at the front. Blistered and peeling boards – similar to theatre backdrops, depicting Venetian palace interiors, imperial ballrooms, bucolic landscapes, seascapes – partially screened grounds so badly neglected they suggested the proprietor’s complete lack of interest in anything outside the building’s four walls. Benjamin cast his eye over the grim tangle of brambles and nettles, the battalions of damson suckers massing for a final onslaught on the foundations, and decided his most sensible option would be to offer his services as a gardener. A few steps more and he saw two men smoking and playing cards at an ornate cast-iron table lacking one leg and supported instead by a wooden block. The men were in their shirtsleeves, despite the chill wind sending rags and tatters of black cloud scuttling across the overcast sky. A carafe of wine and crumb-strewn plates stood between them, and he noted with interest the fine-quality glasses being used. Nobody here, it seemed, passed on the cracked and chipped tableware for the use of servants. Both men looked up as he approached.

‘What you after?’ growled the nearest.

Benjamin hesitated. At close range neither fellow looked as he’d expected such men to look. There was nothing womanish about their appearance. On the contrary, both were broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He shrugged. ‘Heard tell this
was a friendly place to those who don’t fit in with the rest of the world.’

‘Might be,’ said the nearest, with a low-pitched grunt of laughter. ‘What’s it to you, pissling?’ He stood, lazily stretching, and Benjamin hastily shuffled backwards. The man was huge, the biggest man he’d ever encountered, considerably taller than him, probably not far off seven foot. Ugly, too, with an upper lip twisted and scarred – perhaps indicating a cleft palate clumsily repaired. His frank appraisal alarmed Benjamin. It must have showed: the giant grimaced ferociously before bellowing with laughter. He winked, turning towards the open doorway. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,
Zwerg
. Right now, there’s work to do.’

‘You go on, Kurt,’ said his companion. ‘I’ll sort this out.’ He put his hand on Benjamin’s arm. ‘Sit down, my young friend. Take a glass. What’s your name? I’m Wilhelm.’

Wilhelm’s hands were clean, well-cared for, and Benjamin self-consciously hid his own beneath the table edge. He realized this hadn’t been thought through well enough; on the other hand near-enough honesty was probably the best policy, and he plied Wilhelm with simple questions about the club. ‘I’ve heard so many rumours about this place.’ This was true enough. ‘I could never work out what was real and what was tavern-talk.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Is it true they sell foreign girls to the highest bidder? Is it true you have beds big enough for ten?’

Wilhelm smiled. ‘You shouldn’t listen to such tittle-tattle, my young friend.’

‘What about orgies that last seven days and seven nights?’ Benjamin asked hoarsely. ‘Is that true?’

‘This is a very discreet club,’ said Wilhelm, pulling at his left
ear. ‘It’s not for run-of-the-mill folk who follow dull rules and restrictions handed down from above. Only the better sort of gentlemen are invited to become members.’

‘Rich, you mean?’

‘That, too,’ agreed Wilhelm. He gathered up the playing cards, shuffling and splitting the pack before replacing it in its box. A small chill ran up Benjamin’s back as he caught sight of the topmost card. Gudrun often amused herself with cartomancy on the kitchen table after their evening meal. Her readings were usually on behalf of people she’d only come across in newspaper headlines while cutting and pasting into her scrapbooks: Luigi Lucheni, Mark Twain, Jan Szczepanik (the crazy Polish inventor of what he called the
Fernseher
) – and, more recently, Carl Schlechter and Philipp Meitner, in an effort to predict the outcome of their eagerly awaited chess tournament. While he took very little notice of her solemn pronouncements, Benjamin did know that the ace of spades was the card indicating misfortune, sometimes associated with death or, more often, a difficult ending. ‘This is an interesting place to work,’ Wilhelm added, watching Benjamin’s face. ‘Rarely a dull moment.’

‘Where I work, there’s an old woman who makes my life hell. You know what they’re like – always at you. “Fetch this.” “Carry that.” “Buck up.” “Get a move on.” Don’t know how much longer I can stand it.’ Benjamin sighed deeply. ‘Anyway, I’d rather be among people who understand me.’

Wilhelm sat back in his chair and took out another cigarette. ‘Benjamin,’ he said, with an air of triumph, ‘you can stop beating about the bush. I know exactly what you’re after.’

Benjamin gulped. His throat muscles contracted, but he forced a bashful smile. ‘Do you indeed?’

‘Well, one of the things, at least.’ Wilhelm laughed. ‘You want a job here. That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘I thought you might need a gardener.’ He nodded towards the unkempt garden.

‘The yard’s better left as it is. Digging large holes in smooth turf is too noticeable. Anyway, you’d be wasted on such work.’

‘I don’t have much experience in other –’

Wilhelm waved that aside. ‘From time to time, we take on custodians. There are no vacancies right now, but I could make it happen.’ He looked speculatively at Benjamin. ‘Yes, I could be very helpful.’

Benjamin met his eyes. ‘I’d be grateful.’ He hesitated. ‘If I worked here, what exactly would I be expected to do?’

‘Oh, simple enough work. All an
Aufseher
really does is enforce order … keep an eye out for trouble, nip it in the bud. We’ve a couple of hundred’ – again he glanced at Benjamin – ‘odalisques in residence. They aren’t always peaceful creatures.’

‘Odalisques?’

‘The females.’ Wilhelm sniggered. ‘That’s what we’re told to call them. There are many less dignified terms.’

‘Oh.’

‘Thing is, my young friend, all animals have certain characteristics in common. Put too many rats in a box and they fight, or try to break out. We’re here to make sure everything runs smoothly.’

‘And do they? Break out, I mean?’

‘Occasionally.’ Wilhelm’s eyes strayed to the garden. ‘They don’t get far.’ He was silent for a moment then touched Benjamin’s arm again. ‘We’ll be a man short soon, and it strikes me, Benjamin, that you’d fit in here very well. If you like, I’ll recommend you for the position –’

‘I would indeed!’

‘You are eager.’ Wilhelm laughed and ruffled Benjamin’s hair. ‘Must go now. There’s a lot to get done before this evening, but I’ll have a word with …’ He picked up the glasses and made for the door Kurt had entered earlier. ‘Come back tomorrow. I may have good news for you.’

Conscious of Wilhelm’s eyes on his back, Benjamin strode towards the street as boldly as he dared. Luckily, there was no sign of the fair-haired man who’d threatened him earlier; nevertheless, he increased his pace, anxious to lose himself in the crowded thoroughfares of Vienna’s centre, only slowing as he reached Stock-im-Eisen-Platz, site of the ancient horse market. He stationed himself near the Nail-tree, catching his breath and listening to a burgher’s wife – obviously dressed in her
Sonntagskleider
, her Sunday best – showing her drably attired country cousins the countless nails hammered into the tree over more than four centuries, turning it into the famous staff in iron. The tree was guarded by the Devil himself, she assured them, her voice hushed. Benjamin hid a smile as each of the women looked askance at the facade of the Palais Equitable as if expecting the Prince of Darkness to leap from the shadow of one of the American eagles.

When the women departed in the direction of Stephansplatz and the sanctity of its cathedral, Benjamin also moved away from the niche housing the tree trunk and stood deep in thought before the bronze reliefs of the legend on the building’s door. Someone had sworn one of the locksmiths depicted here had six fingers, a sly reference to the nimble digits possessed by members of that guild. He’d never found it, was almost sure they’d invented the story, but he continued to
examine the figures closely even as he assessed his visit to the Thélème. Granted, he’d done well, established a contact within the club, who’d even dangled the promise of a position there … yet he felt no real sense of achievement. The prospect of returning to that place of dark undercurrents and secrets made him uneasy, though he must for Lilie’s sake. Remembering her sweet face bent over the rose brought a rush of longing and Benjamin turned for home. However, the prospect of being interrogated by the doctor in his present sour mood stopped him in his tracks; instead he headed towards Stephansplatz, cutting through the line of buildings that divided it from Stock-im-Eisen-Platz so that he arrived minutes before the burgher’s wife and her easily impressed entourage. Ignoring their suspicious glances, he stopped at a street-seller’s brazier to buy the first
Maronen
of the year, chestnuts, plump and sweet, fresh from the southern forests. Something about the man’s scrawny and ill-fed assistant, furiously blowing on the glowing coals, nudged at his memory. After a moment the picture of Hugo Besser’s barefoot protégé crouching by the
Kneipe
fire gnawing at kitchen scraps presented itself. Benjamin nodded; he’d meant to go back. With so many contacts, Hugo would undoubtedly have discovered something about Lilie. Juggling his last hot chestnut to rip off the peel, Benjamin tossed it into his mouth and crossed Stephansplatz in the direction of Leopoldstadt.

As he approached the Donaukanal, two men fishing from the bank glanced briefly in his direction, frowning as if the sound of his footsteps might frighten away any chance of dinner. Their anxiety was unjustified: moments later both lines twitched and, from his vantage point on the bridge, Benjamin observed the men land a fine pair of carp. He lingered a while, watching the late-afternoon sun illuminating the south tower
of the cathedral; as the sun set it would also shine on the Giant’s door on the western side, where Gudrun swore the bones of a gigantic man had hung in days gone by. Benjamin thought of Kurt and shuddered. Though he seemed good-natured enough, the fellow’s massive fists could pulverize him as easily as any other man might swat a fly. A knot of fear tightened below his ribs. He took a long breath to calm himself, staring into the winter-grey depths of the water before again lifting his eyes to the
Innere Stadt
. For now, all was serene: there was no mist today, the sky was still bright, the air clear and crisp; the wind had died away and now not even the slightest suggestion of a breeze ruffled the line of bare trees pencilled against the inner-city walls. Why then this lingering sense of foreboding? He frowned, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, as a vast black cloud swelled from the cathedral roof, swirling, rising and falling, rapidly increasing in size as it approached the bridge. Storm hags? A demon? Perhaps he was asleep, caught fast in an
Alptraum.
Benjamin pinched himself, grunting at the sharp pain. This was no nightmare. Then the cloud was directly above him and he laughed aloud, for his demon was nothing but a mass migration of starlings, probably including the same ones he’d noticed while talking with Lilie outside the stable earlier. Still smiling at his own folly, Benjamin turned his back on Stephansdom. With a swift glance towards the slowly revolving Big Wheel, he took a second deep breath before plunging into the malodorous underbelly of Mazzesinsel.