HS04 - Unholy Awakening Read Online Free PDF Page A

purpose because he wanted her to be found? He could have thrown the body in the Cut. Why place that tooth in the bucket, and remove the well-cover?’
    ‘We don’t know how the tooth arrived there.’
    ‘The tooth is hers, is it not?’
    I did not reply. What could I say? I had not thought to open the dead girl’s mouth and check while making a cursory inspection in the gloom. And how could I explain the omission to her, except by saying that I had been as shaken and confused as my secretary, Knutzen?
    She seemed to want no explanation, however. In her opinion, no other possibility existed. ‘It must be hers. It belongs to no-one here.’
    With a rapid tug, she tore the clip from her hair, which tumbled down in a mass upon her shoulders. Equally rapidly, she pulled at the bow which held her cloak in place, kicking away the garment as it slid to the floor. She was like a grass snake shrugging off an old skin. The cambric blouse she wore was dyed a dark, rusty red. It might have been a man’s shirt, if not for the lace cuffs attached to the sleeves. She had turned the cuffs back at some point, exposing her forearms, perhaps to lean more easily on the rim and look down into the depths of the well. Her naked skin was the gold of Baltic amber. It contrasted sharply with the dark tint of her blouse, and even more so with the paler skin of her breasts, just visible where she had undone three or four buttons at the neckline. It was as if the sun had cut its way through the weave of her clothes and left its imprint on her body.
    And yet, her face remained as pale as before.
    Two seats had been cut into the stone on either side of the window. Perhaps the Catholic monks had sat there reading, taking advantage of the last rays of the sun in the failing light. They may have been sitting there, I thought, when the Lutheran hordes came to chase them from that place forever. Emma Rimmele let herself fall down on one of the stone benches, resting her back against the wall, gathering her gown in both hands, crushing it tightly in her joined fists. She looked out of the window, releasing her imprisoned dress, resting her elbows on her knees as she clasped her face in her hands.
    She looked down, shook her hair out, and her profile was lost to my sight.
    Beneath the gown, her legs appeared long. Her hands were nervous, energetic, constantly in movement. I could not find a trace of domesticity in her. Had those fingers ever sewn a hem, or darned a sock? The muscles of her hands and wrists suggested a life spent tugging at the reins, urging timid horses over stiles and fences. I had an impression of contained sensuality, and a tendency to dominate. This notion was reinforced by all her gestures, which were somehow masculine and brusque.
    ‘Sit here in front of me, Herr Magistrate,’ she invited with a wave of her hand towards the other window-seat. ‘I need to look into a human face, and feel compassion when you tell me what you saw down there. I saw no pity on the faces of the Schuettlers and that man of yours. I saw nothing at all,’ she said, ‘except for childish terror.’
    I took my place on the opposite bench.
    ‘Nor can I expect anything else if my father is to be told…’
    She looked up at me, her face a mask of concern.
    ‘Let me tell you about my father, sir. He is ill. In the mind, I mean. No physician has been able to follow the pattern of his thoughts for a long time now. Every time that I look into his face, whenever I try to speak to him, I have no idea what he is thinking. Can you believe that? No idea who he has become.’ She pressed her hands together, pushing them down between her knees once more, which caused the hem of her gown to rise. Her shoes were not the fashionable pumps that well-bred ladies generally favour. They were boot-like, tightly laced above her ankles. Except for the flat heel, they were the sort that a man might wear for walking in the country. And yet, her rapid steps had been quite silent on