A Visible Darkness Part 9

'What's that?' I asked, though I knew, as every Prussian must.

He held it up to the lamp. 'Can you see that insect trapped inside? It's big. A serious collector, someone interested in curiosities, would give his right arm for it, sir.'

'Where would one find such a man?'

He raised his shoulders and his goitre bulged beneath his chin. 'Nordcopp's the place.'

'Do the women go there?'

'There and back in a spit and a cough,' he replied. 'One of the soldiers would let her in and out in exchange for a quick . . . I'm sure you can guess,' he added with a smile that showed the gaps in his teeth, jabbing his right forefinger rapidly in and out of a hole that he formed with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

'Who would she seek in Nordcopp?' I pressed him.

He handed back the amber with a shrug of his shoulders.

'She'd know exactly who to give it to.'

'Who?' I insisted again.

'I cannot tell you who,' he said. 'Only where.'

Nordcopp was a forty-minute walk away, he said, along the same rutted carriage-track.

'And while you're there,' he called after me, 'be sure to try the fish soup. It's as good as the amber, but a sight less dangerous.'

I thanked him for his help, and continued tramping on through the sand.

10.

LONG BEFORE I saw the place, my lungs got wind of it.

Fried fish, salt fish, fish boiled and baked. And everything in between, from fresh to foul. The air was more malodorous than the cattle-besmirched streets of Lotingen. There were flies as well, though not so many, nor so big as the ones that I had left behind me. But hunger rebels against such niceties, and I lengthened my stride towards Nordcopp.

This trading-post was known to the Ancients. I have since read up on the place. They considered it to be a sort of Mecca, where all the greatest craftsmen in the world came in search of amber for their workshops. A highway made of tree-trunks, the Amber Road, once stretched to the Mediterranean Sea in the south, and it was regularly tramped by Roman, Greek and Arab traders. Amber was a rich spring from which a mighty river flowed. A thousand streams branched off to every city in the known world. The Romans carved the amber into religious idols; the Greeks chose to fashion fertility phalli. In Italy the heirs of the Renaissance jewellers have long been famed for their tabernacles encrusted with amber and precious stones. In Catholic Danzig they still make rosary-beads to count off Pater Nosters, though amber Bible-covers are the pride of Protestant Konigsberg, where the Pietists hold sway. In Russia, Orthodox churches are panelled with it. And even in the Temple of Atheism, Paris, the sacred stuff is moulded into buckles and gaudy hairpins for harlots and ladies a la mode.

Everyone has always wanted amber, but nowadays the French want it most of all.

Napoleon subdued the rest of the continent, while we pleaded neutrality. But we had amber, so he invaded us. For a year or more, the supply of amber has flowed in one direction only. As I stood before the gates of Nordcopp, I knew that carts and ships packed with succini prussici, as amber was called in the Latin tongue, were travelling towards Paris at that very moment.

It might be the colour of honey. It might be red, like a blazing sunset. Straw-yellow, like wine. Or the deep, dark brown of mahogany. Whatever the hue, it was worth a small fortune. The stolen riches of Prussia would pay French soldiers' wages while they fought in Spain, and provide them with firearms. Spain would soon be crushed by the power of amber. Then, when Napoleon was ready, he would turn his sights on his only ally, and our Prussian amber would conquer Tsar Alexander as well.

Nordcopp was far smaller than I had expected, but more full of people than I could have guessed. A crowd of men were pushing their way towards a wooden watch-tower. It was so ancient, it seemed about to topple and crush them all. I joined the throng, and began to thrust with equal determination. On either side, tables of baked fish, stuffed eels, trays of bread and cakes, jugs of ale, legs and wings of roasted chicken were being offered for sale, their virtues loudly proclaimed, as I shuffled towards the guardians of the citadel.

A group of French gendarmes were blocking the entrance, armed with muskets. One of them-a large, fat man with an oriental moustache-was staring hard at me. 'Oi, you!' he called, his bayonet flashing close to my nose. 'Your face is new. What are you doing here?'

Before I could answer, the man began to provide answers for himself.

'Amber, is it? Come from far off, too, I suppose.'

He hardly seemed interested as his face heaved close to mine. His uniform was smart enough, but his breath stank of half-digested fish, and my empty stomach rolled.

'Where are you from, then?'

'Konigsberg,' I said on impulse.

He nodded back. He did not ask my name, or demand to see my papers. New arrivals were pushing up against my back and they all seemed bent on entering the place as quickly as possible. All around me, I heard muttered complaints in German. No one moaned too loud, however. They did not intend to be held up by me, or by the guards.

'A bit of business, a plate of fish soup, and I'll be on my way,' I said in French.

His heavy hand fell on my shoulder. 'Don't rush, monsieur. Enjoy yourself. Every coin you spend in a Prussian shop will help to pay French taxes. You'll be body-searched on the way out, so make sure you get a receipt. And if you haven't got a bill of sale, have some loose change handy in your pocket,' he added with a wink.

I was tempted to pull the written order of General Malaport from my pocket, and wipe that smile off his face. Instead, I pushed on silently through the narrow entrance-gate as he lifted his bayonet and waved me on.

Was Pastoris correct? Were the French in Nordcopp a party to the illegal trade in amber? How would les Halles react if I returned that night and gave him a name with an acute accent on the final syllable, instead of the Prussian name that he seemed to expect?

Nordcopp had once been a fortified village. The wooden watch-tower above the entrance looked down on a maze of narrow by-ways, and I was quickly carried into the heart of this labyrinth. The wattle walls were ragged, worn with age, the grey timber frames of the houses rotten and pockmarked with sh.e.l.l-holes. Evidently, the French had bombarded the stronghold before they sent marauders in to secure it. It was the sort of rank-smelling medieval warren that had all but disappeared in Prussia. As the pride of the nation grew in the wake of reforms of the great King Frederick, hovels like these had been flattened. I might have stepped back into a former time in history. The buildings were dark and low, the straw roofs barely higher than my shoulder, packed so close together that the traders and the open drains all ran stinking downhill in the same direction. On either side of this fetid alley, waist-high counters were loaded with jars and strung with beads, which gleamed and glistened in the half-light, like candles in a church.

We might have been pilgrims jostling our way from one chapel to the next in search of sacred relics or papal indulgences. Each man in that thrusting company had one thing only on his mind: amber. In the first alley, I counted seven tiny shops, like troglodytic holes in the wall. Each cave was crowded with men, heads bent low as they examined the merchandise on offer. Their muted voices were a constant buzz, broken suddenly by a loud exclamation, or a vile expletive, as a deal was made or rejected.

Two or three times I tried to enter a shop, hoping to see what was going on in there, but the backs seemed to stiffen, and elbows suddenly became dangerous weapons. I was forced to pull back on each occasion into the lane and swim with the tide, hoping to find a shop that was less furiously busy.

How should I go about asking questions without provoking suspicion?

It was dark and cramped inside those caverns, and I was ill-equipped for the part that I had chosen to play. Many of the men crushing up against the sellers' tables held a tiny lamp in their hands to make the task of choosing easier. Thin beams of light flashed this way and that as each man cast around, frantically seeking what he was after. Many a customer had a magnifying-gla.s.s that he clamped to his eye by exerting the muscles in his cheek and brow.

They looked the part of professional amber-traders, whilst I did not.

I felt as out of place as any novice must.

It might be wise, I thought, to find some place where I could eat, and take more careful stock of my position. The smell of grilling fish was overwhelming. Blue smoke swirled and drifted above the heads of the milling crowd. Was there a tavern or a chop-house nearby? Was that where they were all going? I followed the throng down another narrow alley without finding the place. Tavern? I had the impression that these people ate with their eyes, and that the object of their hunger was one thing, and one alone.

Like vultures, they seemed to feast and gorge on the sight of amber.

More than once I was obliged to stop while the man in front of me concluded his business with a dealer on the threshold of a shop, and money changed hands. On another occasion, I was brought to a sudden halt behind a man who began to p.i.s.s against the wall. An obstinate seller continued to dangle a string of amber beads in front of his face, while he emptied his bladder. 'By the Lord, Herr Franz!' the merchant insisted. 'Are they not the finest matching set of natural rarities you have ever seen?'

Franz thrust his member back in his pants, and grunted dismissively about them being rather too 'natural' for his taste. As he moved away, the salesman began to look around more keenly. He did not try his arts on me, but settled instead on the man behind me. 'Just the job for you, Ludwig. Aren't they perfection? Step inside, do, sir!'

Was I marked out in some way? Everyone appeared to know everyone else, but I knew n.o.body. 'Anything for me?' was the phrase that I heard most frequently on the lips of the customers. They would stop for a moment by a doorway, look in over the heads of the men who had got there before them, then call out loudly to the shopkeeper: 'Anything special, Harald? Anything lemon-coloured?'

I was quick to learn, or so I thought.

I stopped before a shop that seemed less crowded than the others. There were only three men inside. 'Anything for me?' I called out.

The seller raised his head. The purchasers turned around. They stared at me in a manner that, I am sure, was intended to be hostile.

They did not say a word. The looks that they exchanged were eloquent enough. Who is this intruder? I held their gaze for a moment, then quickly moved away, carrying my embarra.s.sment off with me.

Halfway down the next alley, I stepped out of the surging flow to take a closer look at the sparkling array of goods on open display. Various lumps of amber and a jar full of beads like large beans were laid out on a plank of wood blocking the entrance to a tiny den. I leaned close, and I was greeted by a jab in the ribs from a man already positioned there. Voices from behind began to shout more loudly, 'Get a move on!'

The owner looked up and flashed a winning smile at the man beside me.

'Herr Gusmar! Welcome back, sir! Do come in.'

Was that the secret? Would traders only speak to men they knew, customers they had dealt with before? If that was the case, the best thing for me to do was search out the gendarmes, make my ident.i.ty known to them, then question these people while slapping Malaport's order in their faces. But what if the soldiers were in cahoots with the amber dealers?

'Come with me, sir. The real thing. Prize goods only.'

The voice seemed to rise up from the earth, like shifting gravel. I looked down. She was not much taller than my daughter, Suzi. That is, she barely reached my waist. But this child's hair was an artificial flaxen colour streaked with grey, as if she had dyed it badly. It was tied up in a thin tail at the nape of her neck, like a newborn kitten's. Her voice was shrill and seemed to rattle in her throat. Her hand was small, but it clutched at my hand like a blacksmith's vice, and refused to be shaken off. In the lobe of each ear, a bit of rough-cut amber shone.

The strangest little girl that I had ever seen.

The only female I had noticed in Nordcopp that morning.

Wearing a white gown with many strings attached, she might have been wrapped in swaddling clothes. Yet everything about her contradicted everything else. Do little girls have grey wrinkles? The lines ridged at the corners of her mouth, and hung in heavy folds beneath her eyes, which were over-large, red-veined, rheumy like a grandmother's.

'They won't sell you anything,' she declared. 'They can't.'

There were people buying and selling amber everywhere in Nordcopp.

What did she mean?

I looked around for a.s.sistance, and was roughly pushed aside. I was creating a bottleneck. The cork threatened to explode as the pressure built up in the alleyway behind me.

'Get a move on there!' someone shouted violently.

'Follow me,' the child hissed. 'Before you get yourself arrested.'

There was urgency in the voice, crushing strength in the fingers.

'Call the French,' another voice insisted. 'They'll move him on quick enough.'

'Gendarmes! Gendarmes!' the cry went up.

A French soldier appeared at the end of the alley, waving his bayonet in the air.

'There's amber here for everyone,' he shouted. 'Calm yourselves down!'

His execrable German caused a general laugh to go up.

'We have to get off the street,' the child insisted, tugging at my sleeve, charging forward towards the gendarme, brushing hard against the wall, barging people out of the way.

'Well done, Erika!' the gendarme called. 'Caught another, have you?'

She skipped to the left without warning, pulling me after her, cutting through a narrow breach in a wall. Though limping heavily, she was extremely agile. Three pigs squealed in fright and skittered away to the corner. Underfoot the earth was mushy, the smell of filth unbearable. We were in the wreck of what had once been a house. Though the walls still stood, the roof had collapsed and left the building open to the sky.

I tried to free myself.

'Let go of me!' I shouted, but the demon child would not release my hand.

Grim tales of the countryside rang in my head, tales of wanderers waylaid by beautiful maids, toothless crones, or smiling children, lured to their deaths in the name of Prussian hospitality.

'Will you not leave go?' I grabbed at her wrist, struggling to throw her off, as if she were the Devil himself. As I swung her around, she crashed against the wall, and I heard the rattle of her bones.

The pigs squealed, and ran away to the other corner.

The child breathed heavily, leaning back against the wall, looking up at me.

'Near tore my arm off, you did,' she complained. And yet, there was a hint of a smile on her lips. 'My hands are as strong as an eagle's claws. Did you feel the force, sir?'

'What do you want from me?' I looked at her intently, struggling to suppress a wave of revulsion. I was eager to get out of that foul pigpen.

'You're after amber,' she said, panting after the tussle. 'I heard you say so to the soldier on the gate.'

Had she spotted me so soon? Had she been following me?

'This town is full of people selling amber,' I replied.

'They'll never sell it to you,' she answered quickly.

'My money is as good as any man's.'

'I told you, sir,' she said sternly, staring into my eyes. 'The Nordcopp guild don't ever deal with strangers. I can help you, though.'

Nothing in her manner was childish. Indeed, she spoke to me as if I were a child that had to be protected.

'How can you help me?'

She kicked out at a pig that came too close. 'I know where amber's freely sold, sir.' She looked at me coyly. 'Is that all you're looking for?'

Incredulity robbed me of speech. I had just been propositioned.

'Amber is my only interest,' I murmured in reply.

'Ours is the very best,' she said. 'Our prices are the lowest. And if you're hungry, why, we'll sell you a bowl of fish soup, too.' She jammed her hand up to her mouth and suppressed a girlish giggle. 'I heard you tell that story to the guard.'

'Amber that is not controlled by the French, or the guild?' I asked. 'You know the punishment for stealing amber . . .'

'There's profit here for everyone,' she replied with a shrug. 'The guild don't care. Their own business is flourishing. And the French take a cut from everyone, legal or not. That gendarme knew where I was leading you. I'll have to grease his palm before the day is out.' She laughed shrilly. A harsh metallic sound. 'He don't care if you buy amber, or the little jewel between my legs.'

I had always thought of amber as something sacred, ancient, mysterious. A gift of G.o.d, a blessing on mankind. Instead, it seemed to affect the people on the coast in a way that was unwholesome. In Nordcopp every soul was blighted with evil intentions, or marked by their consequences. The corpse of Kati Rodendahl flashed before my eyes again. The face of Hilde, the woman who worked for Pastoris. The speech and manners of this child blotted out any presumption of innocence. Had all the females on the coast been seduced and ruined by amber?

'Amber, sir?' Her head tilted to one side, smiling, taunting. 'The finest in Prussia! And the best fish, too. Don't let the opportunity get away.'