41

Realisation

The news of what had happened at the castle and the Frost Fair began to move and grow, like a sheet of ice spreading from a riverbank in winter, until it crossed the entire extent of Schleswig-Holstein from the North Sea to the Baltic. By then Maulwerf and the rags of his Fair of Wonders had departed, heading back to Finzeln to wait the winter out, mend what could be mended, drinking too much wine in Herr Volstrecken’s cellar, mourning their dead.

Philbert, though, didn’t go with them. He gave Lita a letter for Corti telling him some of what had happened since Ullendorf broke into his head, and how it seemed to him that some of Corti’s music had seeped inside him, blowing through him like Corti’s breath through his reeds, making the world a little fuller, a little deeper, everything taking on a significance it had previously lacked. He also wrote about how Ullendorf had died, and how sorely he would be missed, ending by telling Corti of a carillon of cats he’d seen at the Cloth Fair and later at Magendie’s, that went by the name of a Felisophone – cats in cages, nails on sticks, sticks attached to buttons that the Felisophonist played to produce a weird chorus of wails and shrieks and hisses.

Everyone’s head seems to be like that, he wrote, or mine at least – a cat-filled cage waiting to be prodded and poked into action, a ramshackle orchestra from which I try to extract some kind of order, and maybe even a durable tune or two.

Philbert brushed Maulwerf’s velvet waistcoat for the last time and Maulwerf shook his hand and wished him well.

‘It has been a pleasure, sir,’ said Maulwerf solemnly, ‘and an education. And I know we’ll see you again soon. Great things, I was told,’ he added, tapping his stick against the wood of his cart as he geared up for leaving. ‘Great things, Philbert, and don’t you ever forget it.’

That great things, and not necessarily good ones, had already happened to Philbert and the Fair they neither of them mentioned, and if Maulwerf was relieved to see Kwert’s protégé leaving he kept it to himself. Lita cried, clutching at Lorenzini’s arm which doubled as prop and handkerchief, but did not attempt to dissuade Philbert from his course. They were the last people to whom Philbert said goodbye, handing over his letter for Corti as he did so, bowing low to them both.

‘Until May, then,’ Philbert said, for he’d promised he would do his utmost to meet up with them at the next Cloth Fair at Brother Langer’s Abbey. Philbert had no idea if he would make it there or not, but it didn’t seem a bad promise to make. He had Kwert’s knapsack slung about his neck, and in it was the Philocalia that held his mission like a nut within its shell. He would take those last words of Federkiel’s to Lengerrborn and to Helge, if she was still alive. He knew it wasn’t the smartest move, that someone might recognise him and turn him in even these many months later. He had the advantage of having Amt Gruftgang and the surviving Schupo, Ackersmann, on his side, for surely they would protect their miracle, if only to keep the church of their Lady St Lydia alive. So perhaps not so absurd a plan as it first appeared, besides which Philbert saw it not so much a plan as a duty, and one he meant to carry out, one way or another. He was no longer the naïve, knuckleheaded yard of skin and bone as when he’d first joined the Fair. The intervening years had been kind as well as cruel; he’d outgrown himself, older on the inside than on the out, a person who knew his own mind and understood both his limitations and capabilities. He had on his large head the hat that La Chucha Lanuga had made for him with its squares of green silk and little mirrors, and had at his side his companion, Kroonk, and that was all Philbert needed.

He set off on foot down one of the snow-strewn paths ­meandering out from the castle grounds and the frozen river and into the surrounding forests, heading away from winter towards the west. He looked back only once, to see Lita and Lorenzini clasped together like the two halves of a walnut, Oort and Otto holding up their hammers in a farewell salute, Maulwerf sitting on the bridge of his cart with hand held high. Philbert gave a single wave before turning and disappearing into the forest, Kroonk waggling her red behind beside him: a boy with his monstrous head hidden within his monstrous hat, ready for anything the world had yet to throw at him.

For the first time in his life he was treading his path alone and was not afraid, indeed was happy for it. Life was his for the taking, and by God he meant to take as much of it as he could.