Once Upon a Crime (24 page)

“I need to think,” she told them. “There are questions to be answered and decisions to be made. Not the least of which being how best can we use the charming Frau Peterson now that she has so helpfully put herself within our reach.”

Hans flopped onto one of the two beds on offer. “The woman certainly seems to have fallen on hard times. Decidedly the worse for wear, if you ask me. Must be losing her husband an' all.” He tutted through his cigar. “Barely recognized her.”

“That is because she did not wish to be recognized.”

“What, you mean she's in disguise?”

“Again.”

“Again? What does she really look like, for heaven's sake?”

“Who can say? Though I'll wager this latest incarnation is not her look of choice. She must have used this place before and knows that to pass unremarked one needs to present a singularly down-market style of appearance.”

Roland settled into a threadbare armchair. “I have encountered her before,” he said.

“On the stagecoach?” Gretel asked.

“Yes, there. But also in Gesternstadt.”

“Oh?”

“She came looking for Johanna.”

“Who?” Hans asked.

Gretel ignored him. “Whatever for?”

“She would not say. She came to our workshop.”

“Before or after it burned down?”

“Before. A week or two before. She pressed me to tell her Johanna's whereabouts, but of course I would not. I knew her to be acquainted with the Muller brothers.” He paused, shaking his head. “A bad lot. There is nothing they will not do for money.”

“Would not have done,” Gretel corrected him. “You know that they are both dead?”

“I did not.” The information clearly amazed him.

“Oh, yes.” Hans nodded behind plumes of smoke. “Gesternstadt's been ankle deep in dead Muller brothers of late. One of 'em in our garden, no less. Messy business.”

“And the other,” Gretel added, “was the corpse in your workshop. Surely Strudel told you.”

“The kingsmen tell us nothing. They poke around in our affairs, asking questions, questions, all the time, endless questions. But do they tell us anything? No.”

Hans shifted on the bed, searching for a comfortable spot. Small clouds of dust added to the smoke as he fidgeted and bounced about. “What I don't understand is,” he said, “why Inge Peterson is here, in this awful place, looking awful, drinking really very awful ale, eating awful food, with those awful men. She was such a quiet, well-spoken, elegant lady when we met her in Bad am Zee. Her being here seems so out of character.”

“She's not here for fun, that's certain,” Gretel agreed. “She's here looking like that because she hopes to gain by it. Roland, where does this road actually go, apart from east and to the giant? I mean, where could she be going? Come to think of it, why is this place so full? What are they all doing here?”

Roland shrugged. “There's the small town of Higgenbaum just this side of the giant's cave, but there's nothing special there, not even a proper market. The route leads farther up into the mountains—it's high and difficult terrain, and at least two more days' riding before Bunchen on the other side of the range. There's nothing of interest there, either. An insignificant place.”

“So”—Gretel began to pace the floor, which she found helped her organize her thoughts—“the facts as I see them in regard to Inge Peterson-Muller are these. First, she is not and never has been Frau Peterson, as that was a name taken by the late Dieter Muller to disguise his identity. Second, she was in Bad am Zee when Bechstein died, and quite possibly in Gesternstadt when the first Muller brother was burned to a crisp at Hund's yard. Third, she knows of Johanna's existence
and wished to find her. Lastly, she is here, once again incognito, and the only place of any interest for leagues around in any direction one cares to look is the giant's abode. What conclusions can we draw from all this?”

“She gets about?” Hans offered.

Gretel sighed. “What is the unifying factor? The thing that ties all these seemingly disparate facts together?”

Roland looked puzzled. “The giant?” he asked.

“Think smaller.” Gretel stopped pacing, placed her hands on her hips and announced with a flourish, “It is the
cats
, gentlemen.”

“What?” Hans raised his head from his lumpy pillow. “Frau Hapsburg's moggies?”

“The same. And others, too, of course, but yes, crucially, Frau Hapsburg's cats.”

“You're not trying to tell me,” said Hans, his head flopping back down, sending up more dust and a few escaped feathers, “that some people or other have been murdering some other people or other and charging hither and yon all over Bavaria for the sake of a few cats?”

“Not for the cats per se, but for what they can get for the cats.”

“Fetch a good price, do they? I hadn't realized the pesky things were of such value,” Hans said.

“They are to some people,” Gretel told him. “Isn't that so, Roland?” He nodded, but would not meet her questioning stare.

“Come, man.” Gretel was losing patience. “I think it best you tell us precisely why it is that the giant wants the cats. Wants them so much that he is prepared to pay ludicrous amounts of money for them.”

When Roland spoke, his voice was weary. “It is because of Johanna,” he said.

“Who?” asked Hans.

“Be quiet, Hans. Go on, Roland.”

“He liked to find unusual gifts for her. To impress her. To convince her that she was better off with him. He has, you know, an incredible horde of treasure.”

“The stuff of legend,” Gretel agreed.

“And he would give pieces to Johanna, wildly valuable things, some made of gold, some encrusted with jewels. If only she had been allowed to sell just one of these gifts, well, our financial difficulties would have been at an end. But he knew that to permit her to make money was to risk losing her. To equip her with the means for independence would almost certainly result in her leaving him. So he demanded that she display these gifts in her rooms, and that together they inspect them daily. They might have been priceless, but in these circumstances, to poor Johanna, they were worthless. They were merely reminders of how trapped she was. So she began to ask him for curious things. Odd things. Things that, she told him, took her fancy. The giant saw it as a challenge to find whatever it was she asked for. He began to boast that there was nothing he could not find for her. Nothing beyond his reach and his wealth. Johanna was quick to spot a way she might persuade the giant to let her leave. She goaded him into making her a promise. If ever there was something she desired that he could not procure for her, he would allow her to go without recrimination, without rancor, and, most important, without him ever trying to bring her back. It wasn't that she was an actual prisoner, you see, but the giant was infatuated with her. She knew if she simply left, he would send his minions after her to fetch her. She had to have his word that he would not do this.”

Hans chuckled. “She must have had a high old time dreaming up impossible things for him to find. It surely cannot have taken long for her to stump him.”

“You don't know the giant,” said Roland. “He is wealthy beyond measure, terrifyingly strong and powerful, with a determination to match. Whatever she named, within the week it was at her feet. A necklace of fairy wings. A dragon's-tooth letter opener. The eyelashes of a unicorn.”

“A resourceful creature indeed,” said Gretel.

“Johanna was at a loss to think of something he could not provide. She asked for the finest and rarest furs: white bear, silver fox, mink, black wolf. He found them all. In desperation she declared herself unsatisfied with the quality of the fur, saying that it was too coarse and itchy, and that she needed something softer. Not just a coat, but a whole room for her to sleep in with all its furnishings covered in this softest of soft, most beautiful of furs. One day he handed her a small fur cushion. The colors were exquisite, and the texture so delicate, so silky . . . it was impossible for Johanna to hide her delight. The giant saw at once that she loved the fur and he told her he would give her the special chamber she had requested, all furnished with fabulous skins like the one he had just given her.”

“Cat skins,” said Gretel.

“Yes,” said Roland quietly. “Once Johanna discovered what they were, she was mortified and begged the giant to stop, but he wouldn't hear of it. That very night she ran away, thinking that the only way to prevent the cruel hunting and slaying of what would surely be hundreds, maybe thousands of adored pets, was to go. And she knew then also that there was, in fact, nothing she could ever ask for that the giant would not somehow find. She had no choice but to flee.”

“So she came to Gesternstadt and found employment at Madame Renoir's Beauty Salon.”

“A room of cat pelts!” Hans was shocked. “Wouldn't do for me, not at all. Wretched things make me sneeze. Wouldn't be able to set foot in the place.”

“So you see”—Roland looked at Gretel—“it is unlikely Frau Hapsburg's cats have escaped the skinner's knife.”

“We don't know that for certain,” said Gretel. “We have to work on the assumption that they are still living. The only way we will know for sure is by getting inside that castle.”

“An impossible task, fraulein; I told you, the castle is within a cave, the cave has only one entrance, which has a heavy locked and fortified door. There is no method of gaining entry unnoticed.”

Gretel allowed herself a small smile.

“In my experience,” she said, “the best way to go anywhere unnoticed is to do so in plain view.”

“Look out,” said Hans, the gruff beginnings of a snore in his voice. “That sounds horribly like the start of a plan to me.”

“Indeed it is,” said Gretel. “Roland, don't get too comfortable. I need you to do something for me. Go outside and find out which conveyance belongs to Frau Peterson. A coin should get it out of the stable boy. Examine the cargo therein.”

“You think there will be cats?”

“It would confirm my suspicions. Have a care,” she added as he headed toward the door. “Do not disturb them. We must not alert Inge to the fact that we are onto her. Hans. Hans!”

“What's that! Hell's teeth, Gretel, I was just drifting off.”

“Well, don't. There is work to be done. Go downstairs—”

“Must I?”

“—and use your charms on that beauty of a barmaid. We need warm clothes for tomorrow's journey. Sensible stuff that will keep out the cold and allow us to be taken for farmers or some such. And have her pack us provisions. There is hungry work ahead.”

“And what will you be doing,” Hans wanted to know, “while the rest of us are running all these errands? Tell me that, eh?”

“I shall be thinking, Hans. We must each of us play to our strengths.”

Hans left the room muttering. Gretel began to pace once more. She was listing possible courses of action when a somewhat breathless Roland returned.

“You found cats?” she asked.

“A dozen or more.” He nodded. “And something else. Frau Peterson's wagon is a large covered one, with the cat cages positioned near the rear. If you lift the canvas to look inside, all you see are cats. I was on the point of leaving when one of the larger animals moved and revealed something curious behind it. I investigated further and found, loosely wrapped, a frightening collection of weaponry.”

“Swords, d'you mean?”

“And shields and muskets. And gunpowder.”

“Gunpowder!”

“What do you think it means?”

“I think it means we have underestimated Frau Peterson. She is no longer satisfied with payment for the cats. I think she means to take the giant's treasure.”

“She would have to kill the giant to do so.”

“Hence the gunpowder and the brawny physique of her companions.”

When Hans reappeared, he was equally excited and more than a little alarmed. “I say, Gretel,” he puffed, “you'll never guess what.”

“No, probably not,” she said, judging it best to humor him.

“Go on, try.”

She might have continued to play the game and let him have his moment of importance, but the smug look on his face irritated her, and her patience frayed to nothing in an instant.

“Inge and her men are going to attack the giant and try to steal all his treasure,” she said.

Hans's mouth gaped, his cigar stump dropping to the floor. “How the devil did you . . . ?”

“Never mind me, how did you find out?”

He grinned broadly. “Kristina is skilled at retaining interesting things she overhears. And she can be wonderfully helpful and accommodating, given the right encouragement.”

“I hardly dare ask what that might be.”

Hans put his thumbs in his waistcoat, puffed up with pride. “Oh,” he said casually, “a kind word in her ear, a gentle touch on her cheek, a simple kiss on her lips, a firm hand on her—”

“Stop!” Gretel closed her eyes. “You have told me quite sufficient to give me nightmares. It is a mercy, therefore, that we are none of us going to sleep this night.”

“No?” Hans deflated like a harpooned puffer fish.

“Where are the clothes I sent you to fetch?”

“Kristina's seeing to it. She's going to leave them in our trap. The food, too. But look here, we need our rest, you said. Proper sleep, you said.”

“Circumstances demand our immediate action,” she told him. “It is imperative we arrive at the castle before Frau Peterson. We must get there, get inside, find Frau Hapsburg's cats—”

“If there are any living,” put in Roland.

“—and ensure that witnesses are at hand to observe Inge Peterson's nefarious actions and to extract a confession from her regarding the murders of which Hans and I stand accused.”