The Red Necklace (5 page)

Oh, Topolain remembered all right, but he knew there were no words to keep him safe.

The count’s voice broke through his memories. “No bullet . . .”

“No bullet,” repeated Topolain, “can harm me. I have drunk from the cup of everlasting life.”

With these words he walked away bravely as if he were about to fight a duel, though, unlike Kalliovski, he was unarmed. He looked his murderer straight in the eyes as he lifted his white handkerchief.

“Fire!”

The count pulled the trigger. There was a loud retort, followed by the acrid smell of gunpowder and scorched flesh. Topolain stumbled and the audience gasped as they watched the handkerchief he was holding turn bright red.

Topolain straightened himself up. In his sweating palm he held up the bullet and showed it to the audience. He staggered forward to take a final bow.

The curtains were drawn and the audience clapped politely. By now they had lost interest.

“Most peculiar,” said the marquis. “Come, I think we are all in need of champagne. Let us go upstairs, where the card tables demand our attention.”

The great library doors were opened and music filtered into the room. The marquis led the way out, quite forgetting his daughter, who stood staring transfixed at the curtains as the other guests filed past her. All seemed unaware of the drama unfolding behind the velvet drapes. None of them turned around as there was a thud from backstage. None of them saw Topolain slumped down on the chair.

Death had made his entrance upon the small stage. He was all too visible to the magician. As a trickle of blood ran down his chin, he had the strangest sensation of becoming detached from his body, connected only by spider threads of silver memory. Now he was floating up over the guests, past the crowded bookshelves toward the bright painted ceiling with its angels and cherubs.

The silver threads snapped and he was free. Caught in a gust of wind, he was blown out of the library and into the hall with its marble busts and winged statues, where the doors had been opened to let in a latecomer. The snow flurried in as Jacques Topolain, the magician, glided out into the dark night. He saw no more, he heard no more, he was no more.

Yann had rushed with Têtu to help. He had taken one look at Topolain and seen Death’s black gown trail across the stage. Sido too had witnessed Topolain’s end, but the count had turned her around and led her from the room, locking the doors behind him. The candles flickered in the draft.

Têtu put his head to Topolain’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. He shook his head. There was nothing to be done.

“It has never gone wrong before. Why now?” cried Yann.

Têtu was examining the weapon. “It didn’t go wrong this time either,” he said. “The pistol has been tampered with. Topolain didn’t stand a chance. He was murdered.”

chapter five

If ann had never before stared death in the face as he did now. It looked to him so absolute, a final curtain fallen. The essence of Topolain had gone, snuffed out like a candle. Only the body that housed him was left lying on the stage in a pool of congealing blood, with Têtu kneeling beside him, tears rolling down his cheeks, rocking back and forth on his heels and sobbing.

“I should have listened to you. We shouldn’t have come. Then this would never have happened,” he said defeatedly.

Yann put a gentle hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and bent down to whisper to him. “We have to leave.”

Têtu was silent. In the dim light of the room Yann could see him shaking. He was in a bad way. He was already exhausted from doing two performances in one night, and now the shock of losing such a dear friend had taken all his strength away and robbed him of his senses.

All Yann could think was that they must somehow get out of here.

Out in the hall, the guests were making their way up the grand staircase to where the Marquis de Villeduval stood, champagne glass in hand. Sido felt perplexed by their indifference. Surely they realized that the magician wasn’t acting, surely they realized he had been seriously hurt. Why did no one summon a surgeon to help?

She turned in desperation to the duchess. “I think the magician has been wounded.”

“Nonsense, child! It was just playacting.”

Could these people not see what had taken place? Sido wondered. Did they not care? She felt she had arrived in a foreign land, where the language seemed twisted and words possessed double meanings.

“There is really no need to alarm yourself, my dear child,” said the duchess, hardly glancing down at Sido. Her eyes searched the room for more distinguished company. “I can assure you that your magician will live to work another day.” She walked away, leaving Sido alone.

I don’t want to grow up to be like that, thought Sido. She looked up at Count Kalliovski, who was surrounded by ladies. They reminded her of hens bobbing up and down, preening their feathers, all vying for his attention, all hoping to be first in the pecking order.

Sido would have liked to go back into the library to see for herself what had happened to the magician, but one of the count’s men was standing guard outside and she knew that if she moved any closer she might attract unwanted attention. She moved behind a pillar and watched with a sense of relief as Kalliovski escorted two ladies up toward the card room and out of sight.

Beside her on the first step of the staircase stood a young lady in an elaborate pink silk dress, with a hawk-nosed gentleman.

“Do you remember the time the marquis brought in a fortune-teller? ” the young lady was asking.

Her admirer shook his head. “Alas, I was not invited. I suppose it was Count Kalliovski’s doing.”

“The count was not even there. The marquis sent his gamekeeper out into the countryside and he brought back this old Gypsy. She refused to tell our fortunes, no matter how much gold she was given. She would only speak to the marquis and no one else.”

“What did she say?”

“It was so ridiculous, it made us all laugh. She told the marquis he would lose everything to the king of the Gypsies.”

Sido, who had been half listening to this and half looking about her, caught a glimpse of light coming from under the staircase. A door opened and a footman came through, carrying a tray of champagne glasses. Behind him Sido could just see the beginnings of a passageway. She knew then what she was going to do. Without giving it a second thought she slipped over to the door and found herself at the bottom of a flight of stone stairs. She knew there must be a way through the secret corridors to the library. It was just a matter of finding the right door.

Gently, Yann helped Têtu to stand and with difficulty guided him up the spiral staircase and along the wooden gantry to the concealed door in the bookshelves. By now all the color in Têtu’s face had drained away. Yann knew that it was up to him to save the dwarf. His exhaustion had robbed him of his instinct to survive. What surprised Yann was that although he himself was well aware of the danger they were in, he felt no fear. His vision was clear, colors were electric, and everything seemed sharper. Every nerve of him felt completely alive.

But the concealed door was shut fast.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here,” he said soothingly, knowing full well that the shutters of Têtu’s mind had closed down. He heard the library door open and then close with a firm click, and pulled Têtu back into the shadows.

Count Kalliovski called out, “I know you’re both there. My man tells me there is a boy as well. There’s no point hiding. Listen to me carefully. If you don’t want to go the same way as Topolain, you’d better tell me how the Pierrot works.”

He waited for an answer. Yann kept quiet. He could hear the count walking to and fro, trying to determine where they were.

“I have examined the doll. It is a piece of solid wood: It could not have been worked from the inside. I am a man of science. Come now, tell me its secret.”

“Why did you murder Topolain?” shouted Yann.

“Quiet, boy. Dwarf, answer my question. Tell me the secret of the automaton and I will protect you. If you refuse me, I tell you this: No matter what you do, no matter where you hide, I will find you. Think carefully before you answer, for I never make an offer twice.”

Têtu’s small legs had started to shudder as if caught in a trap. Yann heard the scrabble of Balthazar’s claws up the spiral staircase and there was the dog staring at them with his yellow eyes, his mouth snarled back, his fangs shining bright with saliva. Balthazar growled.

“Bring them to me,” commanded the count.

Têtu’s legs twitched all the more as the dog’s shadow was thrown large against the bookshelves. Yann stood up. Holding his hands out in front of his body, he pointed his fingers directly at the dog’s eyes and spoke softly in a language that Balthazar seemed to understand. The beast dropped on all fours as if the firm hand of a giant had suddenly crushed him.

Yann did not blink or break his stare. Defeated, Balthazar, his tail between his legs, went back down the stairs whimpering to his master.

“What have you done to him, Têtu? What Gypsy sorcery is this?” demanded Count Kalliovski angrily.

Yann said nothing but moved silently toward the banister rail. To his despair he saw Milkeye enter the room. The count spoke to him. Yann couldn’t hear the words, but knew what he was saying. Quickly, he moved back to the darkness of the bookshelves and tried again to push with all his strength upon the concealed door. He could hear the count below as he walked with Balthazar toward the library doors. The dog’s clicking claws told him they were leaving.

“I want the dwarf and I want that boy,” said the count. “Don’t let them get away.”

“Yes, master.” Milkeye was already at the bottom of the staircase.

For the last time Yann tried the door, feeling it desperately with his hands for hidden locks or latches. He could hear Milkeye getting closer. He was near the top of the staircase and still the door wouldn’t give. Yann could almost see the top of his head. It was no use. He would have to stand and fight—that was all that was left to him.

Suddenly the door opened. Standing in the darkness of the passageway he could see the girl.

“Help me,” he whispered, and together they pulled Têtu through.

By the time Milkeye had taken the last few steps to the top of the gantry, there was nobody there.

chapter six

It wasn’t easy to drag Têtu along the narrow passageways. He was heavy, as if his bones had turned to stone. Only when they were in Sido’s chamber with the screen moved to block off the peephole did Yann finally feel safe, safe enough to say, “We must lie him down.”

“Of course,” said Sido, pulling back the bedcovers.

“He’ll be better once he’s slept,” said Yann.

It took all his strength to get Têtu’s heavy body up on the bed. He was an alarming sight, with all the color drained from his face. Hastily he covered the dwarf with a quilt, his anger subsiding a touch when he saw Sido standing there anxiously watching. By some twist of fate she had become unwittingly involved in what was happening. The only hope he had of escaping lay with her. If she lost her nerve, he and Têtu wouldn’t stand a chance of getting out alive.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“His name is Têtu. He’s looked after me since I was born. We work together, with Topolain.”

“Will he be all right?”

“Yes, but he should stay hidden. If anyone comes in, it just looks as if the bed has been turned down.”

“What about the magician?” asked Sido. “Is he dead?”

“His heart gave out,” said Yann.

“I don’t believe that.” She said it so bluntly that he knew she couldn’t be fooled.

“No, it isn’t true, but there’s no time to explain. We have to get out of here. I need your help.”

“But what can I do?”

“Be brave.”

“I don’t think I am brave.”

He smiled at her. “I know you are. Will you stay here with Têtu while I search for a way out?”

The thought of being alone in the room with the sleeping dwarf terrified Sido. With a sickening feeling in her stomach she nodded, hoping that Yann could not read her mind. She wanted to scream
No, I am not brave
, but when she looked into his dark eyes she knew she would do as he asked.

“I’m not good at lying,” she said, hoping that this might make him change his mind.

“I know that too.”

The silence after he had gone felt almost solid, as if it were pressing down on her chest, squeezing the air out of her. She sat on a chair by the bed and told herself again and again to be calm.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. Sido felt every nerve in her body tighten. Checking that Têtu was completely covered, she stood up, took a deep breath, and said, “Come in.”

Count Kalliovski stood in the doorway, Balthazar at his side.

“I came to see if you were all right. You vanished so quickly after the little show.” He entered the room, closing the door behind him. “Why, my dear child, how pale you are. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sido moved toward the bed.

“It was only an illusion, you know. No harm was done.”

Despite herself she began to shiver, and as if in response, Balthazar started to growl softly. Count Kalliovski looked around him suspiciously.

“I was feeling very tired, sir,” said Sido hastily. “I came up to my chamber to lie down. I have not eaten since early this morning and there has been more excitement than I am used to.”

“Your life at the convent is, I imagine, a quiet one,” said the count. He looked around the bedchamber again. His gaze fell upon the screen before returning to the bed. “I suppose by now you would be fast asleep?”

Sido nodded and wondered if her legs would continue to support her. They felt like hollow reeds shaking under her petticoats. The count stood facing her, his shadow casting a monstrous figure on the wall behind him, one that appeared to possess a multitude of hands, all poking and prodding into the dark recesses of the bedchamber.