Heidelberg Effect (24 page)

The stable master beckoned to her with a fat
curled finger and she pushed off the wooden stall wall toward him.
When she got to him, he smashed her hard in the stomach with the
wooden bucket he had been holding behind his back. The other boys
instantly began to laugh.

In the process of trying to protect herself
from the bucket, Ella smashed one of her fingers. She succeeded in
not falling down, which she had a feeling would not have ended well
for her. Her finger throbbed painfully as she clutched the heavy
bucket and prayed the finger wasn’t broken.

“Fill it,” he said, “and get ‘em watered.”
Then he turned from her and focused on the other boys. Ella bolted
from the stall as soon as the man shifted his bulk enough to allow
her to squeeze past. She could barely lift the bucket empty and had
no idea how she was going to manage it full of water. But she
decided to take her problems one step at a time. Getting away from
the stable master seemed a top priority at the moment.

Once out of the stall, Ella looked around to
see what might be the best way to get inside the castle. The stalls
lined a small courtyard which faced a broad cobblestone walkway
that wound up the hill to the castle. She had no idea where Axel or
Krüger’s rooms were. But it was a safe bet they weren’t on the
ground floor or within easy running distance from the stables. She
looked toward town to see if she could possibly see Rowan but she
realized it wouldn’t bode well if she could. She walked over to the
water trough to fill the bucket. She could hear the horses nicker
in their stalls, the same stalls she would be clearing out before
the day was done with her bare hands if, like yesterday, the other
boys commandeered all the shovels and pitchforks. By the time the
boys emerged from the stall, she had succeeded in filling the
bucket. Even though she was taller than any of them, she feared
them. They were rough and hard. They reminded her of Fagin’s gang:
poor, cunning and desperate. She learned that the stupid ones were
the most dangerous. But all the boys were to be avoided.

With a strength she didn’t know she
possessed, Ella filled and dragged the heavy water bucket to the
horses. She filled each of their ten water reservoirs. When she
finished, it probably wasn’t eight in the morning yet but she was
already so tired she could barely walk. Her arms trembled as she
set the empty bucket down in the dirt with a heavy thud. Like her,
the other boys had been too busy to pay attention to anything other
than the chore in front of them. Now, she looked around to see
where they were. The stable master was not visible, but that didn’t
mean he wasn’t there watching her.

She wiped the sweat off her
forehead with the back of her hand. Now what? The last thing she
wanted to do was ask for instructions. But she didn’t want to be
caught doing nothing either.
Why hadn’t
the charge gone off?
Had Rowan been
caught?
She looked at the open bloody
blisters on her hands and was in the process of turning toward the
main stable to find the stable master when the first blast sounded
in the distance.

When it finally happened, a combination of
exhaustion and heightened anticipation momentarily immobilized her.
As soon as the other boys dropped their tools and began to run
around the courtyard, Ella headed for the side of the barn as she
had planned to do all morning. She ran up the winding stone
pathway. A man with wild eyes came toward her from the castle but
ran past without a glance. She looked over her shoulder to see that
pandemonium had broken out in the stables. One of the boys,
presumably trying to save the horses, had opened the stalls doors.
A dozen horses were charging around the courtyard screaming, the
whites of their eyes showing in their panic.

Ella entered the castle. In her experience,
even if a person didn’t look like they belonged, if they acted with
conviction and purpose, people tended to accept their presence as
reasonable. Once inside, she could see that the main hall was
straight ahead, the dining hall to the left, and the long stone
stairway to the upper rooms on her right. The narrow steps were
steep and slick with years of wear. Angry voices and panicked cries
came from the main hall. She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she had
allowed enough time for the upstairs to vacate and she sure as hell
didn’t want to meet anyone on her way up.

She slid behind a ten-foot tall stone vase
at the base of the stairs and watched the activity for a moment.
Five people came down—mostly servants and a few wealthy landowner
types—and ran out the door. When the hall was clear, she moved
quickly up the steps, taking them two at a time. She slipped but
caught herself on the last step. She was breathing heavily from the
climb and her own fear. She stopped to listen for anyone in the
hall. Deciding it was now or never, she ran past a set of open
doors toward the far end of the hall, where she expected to find
Küger’s room. Most of the doors were open and she looked in them as
she ran, praying no one was inside to see her.

The second explosion went
off as she was halfway down the hall. She felt a thrill of delight
fighting with her fear as she thought of Rowan planting
two
bombs in order to
make things interesting. At the hall’s end, she stood panting in
front of the massive double wooden doors of the private chamber of
the master of Heidelberg. She put her hands against the right side
door and gently pushed it open. As she did, she noticed her hands
were shaking.

The room was anchored by an enormous
four-poster bed, its canopy draped with enough canvas to rig a
large sailboat. Pausing only long enough to confirm that the room
was vacant, she ran to the bedside table on which were several ale
mugs, a sheathed boot knife, and two candles in holders. She was
sure this was Axel’s room. It was a young man’s room. A warrior’s
lair. She rummaged in the pocket of her trousers and pulled out
Rowan’s Bic lighter. She wrenched open the wooden drawer on the
bedside table and with trembling fingers shoved the lighter to the
furthest corner—exactly where the letter to the Magistrate said it
could be found. She looked around the room until she saw a door
leading to an anteroom. She pushed open the door to reveal a
larger, more ornate room in which sat the biggest desk she had ever
seen.

Was this Axel’s den or his
father’s?
She hesitated and stepped back
into the bedroom. She realized she didn’t have time to go looking
for another office.

She entered the office and went straight to
the desk, fumbling to turn on her cellphone as she went. It didn’t
matter which papers she photographed. She just needed Axel or
Krüger’s signature. Quickly, she sifted through the papers on the
desk but found nothing signed. She yanked open the top drawer and
pulled a large sheaf of papers onto the desktop. She instantly
found what she needed. She positioned the cellphone and snapped a
picture of Krüger’s signature and another of Axel’s. She found a
letter from some guy whose name she didn’t recognize. She
photographed that too.

Through the window behind
the desk, she could see smoke curling up in the distance. People
were running everywhere and now she could see that several small
fires had broken out by the castle wall.
Good going, Rowan
, she thought. Then
she retraced her steps down the stairs. As she passed a stairwell
window, she noticed that people were beginning to make their way
back to the castle.

At the bottom of the stairs, she froze.
Standing there, and blocking her way was one of the two young lords
of the castle. He stood with his back to her, his arm on the
shoulder of a servant. Ella took in a sharp breath and began to
tiptoe behind him. The servant noticed Ella’s movement, and when he
turned to look at her, the young Krüger turned around too.

It was Christof. Although she had never seen
him before, she was sure it was him. His hair was as blond as
Hugo’s was back in 2012 Heidelberg. He had the same ideal Arian
looks. When he saw her, a puzzled expression came to his face.

But he smiled. He gave the servant a
reassuring pat and spoke to Ella, kindly but quickly in the local
German she didn’t understand. She turned and ran down the main hall
and out the door, where she easily hid herself in the crowd of
servants returning to the castle. Christof called after her but he
did not try to follow.

Dear God. What if it had been Axel? Would he
have recognized her?

By the time she reappeared in the first
stall in the stable, the stable master had just begun to
orchestrate the roundup of the castle’s horses. He gave her an
unsure look as if surprised to see her again, and then bruskly
ordered her to help.

Chapter Fifteen

Later that evening, Ella limped back to the
convent. She was filthy, aching, and covered with blisters. She
still wasn’t sure her finger wasn’t broken. Nonetheless, by the
time she saw Rowan standing at the foot of the garden watching for
her, she was smiling.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, sugar,” he
said as she hobbled up to him.

“Best not touch me yet. The street has eyes.
The retarded gardener and the mute stable boy would be some pretty
hot gossip.” She walked past him though the gate

“I can wait. Just tell me it wasn’t all for
nothing.”

“I planted it,” she said as he shut the gate
behind them. As soon as she heard the gate shut, she stumbled and
fell to her knees. Rowan lifted her easily and carried her into the
convent.

Greta had prepared a hot bath for her. She
held a stack of thin but clean towels in her arms. She began to
usher Ella into the bathing room but Rowan took the towels from
her.

“I’ll take over, Greta,” he said, his hand
on the small of Ella’s back, nudging her forward into the room. “A
large glass of brandy would be good, though.”

Greta gave Ella a reassuring smile and left
to get the brandy.

Within minutes, Rowan had Ella stripped and
into the tub of hot water. She groaned as she went in. He could see
she was covered in bruises and cuts.

He gently poured water on her shoulders.
“What the hell are they doing to you there?”

She closed her eyes. “The other boys play
kinda rough,” she said. “Don’t let me fall asleep, Rowan.”

“I won’t, babe,” he murmured, soaping her
neck. “God, the water’s turning black. Did they have you cleaning
the stalls with your hands again?”

She smiled, her eyes still closed, and shook
her head.

He soaped her arms and hands. At one point,
she cried out and pulled her hand back. He examined her finger but
didn’t think it was broken.

God knows what her typical
day is like,
he thought
. And she wasn’t going to worry the shit out of me by telling
me about it either
.

The door opened and Greta entered with two
glasses of brandy, cheese and freshly baked bread.

“That looks great, Greta,” Rowan said.

“Has she said anything?”

Ella opened her eyes. “I’m
just about to,” she said. She reached a wet hand to Rowan.
“
Two
explosions,”
she said.

He laughed. “Yeah, kind of a surprise for
both of us.”

“But nobody hurt?”

“No, thank God.”

“Why two?”

“Just thought you might need a little extra
boost to the distraction level.”

“It helped,” she said, closing her eyes.

An hour later, her hair washed and her
battered body clean and nestled in fresh, dry clothes, Ella sat at
the kitchen table between Greta and Rowan. She showed them the
photographs she’d taken with her phone.

“We’ve got both their signatures and a
letter from some dude.” She pushed the phone across the table to
Greta who squinted at the tiny screen.

“It is a letter from a confederate of
theirs, Wilhem Burkmeister,” Greta said. “He does business with
Krüger.” She shrugged. “It is not damning in any way. Just a letter
from a business associate of Axel’s.”

“You never know,” Rowan said. “It might come
in handy. Good work.” He frowned at Ella.

She smiled at him. “I’m fine, Rowan. Just
tired.” She turned to Greta. “How’d you do today?”

Greta picked up a flat black box that was on
the bench beside her. From it she withdrew an ornately written
letter on fine paper.

“What’s it say, basically?” Rowan asked.

“As we decided,” Greta said, “it is an
anonymous letter addressed to the Protestant Magistrate Herr
Schwartz informing him that Axel was witnessed creating fire with
his fingertips and dancing with Lucifer.”

“And he’s likely to believe this?” Ella
said.

“Absolutely. People have been executed on
far less.”

“Okay,” Ella said, yawning. “What else?”

Greta produced the birth
certificate she had requested from the monastery. It was ornately
embellished and looked very official. It registered Axel, his
birthdate, his birth mother, but instead of Krüger as father, the
name
Jorge Klein
was written. A waxy magistrate’s seal anchored the bottom
corner of the page.

“Looks official to me,” Ella said. “If
nothing else, it’ll put doubt in the old wanker’s mind. Keep it
some place safe until we’re ready. Did I mention I ran into
Christof?”

“Did he try to apprehend you?” Greta
asked.

“No, he seemed kind of nice,” Ella said.
“Not a dick at all.”

“That’s my girl,” Rowan said. “Can’t wait to
bring you home to meet the folks.”

She grinned at him, but her eyes were
already closing sleepily. Without any more conversation, Rowan
excused them both, scooped her up in his arms and took her to
bed.