Prologue
Tuesday 22nd July 1766, Drumin Castle, Glenlivet, Scotland
“Hilf mir!”
These words escaped from from the body chained to the wall like a whisper from beyond the grave, directly into the face of Dorathea, the servant girl.
She screamed and dropped her candle, plunging the room into darkness. Her instinct was to run, but her feet froze to the stone floor. The darkness embraced her with a haunting silence and for a moment she expected the figure to leap forward and finish her. But no, this was a helpless creature before her. She took a deep breath, groped on the floor for the tinder box in the darkness, and after a few shaky attempts, re-lit the candle.
She gazed at the figure before her. The poor creature’s arms were stretched above him, his wrists bound by a manacle attached to a chain that suspended him from the ceiling. His head shifted and he whispered again, but this time she couldn’t hear it. Finally, he managed to lift his head and meet her gaze. His eyes were black, lifeless.
“Hilf mir,” he said again.
Dorathea knew very little German, but she’d picked up bits and pieces. He was asking for help. She took a couple of deep breaths.
“What … ?” she said, trying to grasp the situation. She’d escaped here from the castle above, to avoid the cruel attentions of Eleonore. She hadn’t expected to find anyone else.
His eyes rolled in her direction, and settled on a space just to the left of her. “Befreie mich,” he said, his rasp stronger this time.
This she didn’t understand. “What happened to you?” she said, more in wonderment than in any expectation of an answer.
The black eyes moved again, now locating her exactly. “Release me,” said the man. He managed to move his arms slightly, rattling the chains that held him.
Dorathea glanced down at the chain attached to the manacles on his wrists. They shone in the darkness and appeared to be made of silver. She gazed around the cell, taking in a couple of chairs, a table, but nothing that would make any impact on the chains. Then she remembered something she’d seen on her wanderings around the dungeons the day before.
“Wait here,” she said, then muttered under her breath, “as if you could go anywhere.”
Minutes later she returned with the axe. She had no problem using it; she’d often cut firewood back on the farm and had developed a hefty swing. But the chain was fastened high against the wall, above her head. Dorathea frowned and placed the candle at her feet. She dragged the table in front of the prisoner and climbed onto it.
“Brace yourself,” she said.
She hefted the axe onto her shoulder and swung it hard against the chain. There was a loud ‘clang’ and one of the links bent a fraction of an inch.
This might take a while.
It took her several attempts before the chain severed. He dropped forward to his knees, his wrists still secured by the manacles, his head bowed. Dorathea jumped off the table, clutching the axe tightly. He needed her help, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat.
The man lifted his head and looked around the room. His eyes were still dark, vacant. “Der Stecken,” he said.
“What?”
“Stick,” he said. “For lock.” He held out his bound wrists to indicate the bracelet.
“Oh, I see.” Dorathea picked up the candle and walked around the room, searching the floor. Something glinted in the far corner. She held the candle closer and found three rusty nails. “Here,” she said, returning to the man’s side. “But I don’t know how to pick a lock.”
He shook his wrists, either not understanding, or lacking the energy to explain further.
Dorathea sighed and knelt down, placed the axe beside her and cautiously cradled the lock in her hand. With no idea what she was supposed to do, she inserted the longest nail and jiggled it.
“Drück,” said the man. “Push.”
She did as he told her and something clicked inside the lock. To her amazement the manacles sprang open and fell to the floor. The man kicked them away violently.
Dorathea lifted the axe and stood up. Her companion didn’t appear to be in any state to fight, but she had no idea what she was up against.
“Danke sehr,” gasped the prisoner.
“Do you speak English?” said Dorathea.
The man nodded. The darkness was beginning to clear from his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I forgot where I am.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“Long time.” He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.
“When did you last eat?” said Dorathea, still amazed that he was alive. Nobody else had come down to the caves since she’d been in hiding, and that was some days now.
“Don’t remember.”
“I’ll get you something.”
Dorathea returned to the place she’d set up her makeshift bed, in a lone corner of another cell further down the stone corridor. She had a small piece of bread left, which she’d hoped would last a day more, and some water from the well. She returned to find the man in the same position she’d left him. He attacked the food and drink voraciously and when he’d finished he held up the cup.
“More.”
She returned with more water, which he knocked back immediately, spilling much of it on the cell floor. Dorathea was astonished to see how quickly his strength was returning. His skin, which had resembled parchment when she’d found him, was already starting to look human, the lines and creases fading as he ate and drank.
He dropped the cup and moved into a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall and resting his arms on his knees. He regarded her clearly now, his sight fully restored. “You are not one of them then,” he mused.
“One of them?”
“Johann Lechte, Eleonore Helmuth. Their kind.”
Dorathea shuddered. “No. I am not one of them.”
The man frowned. “Why are you here?”
“I’m hiding.”
He nodded, appearing to understand. “They are back here, then?”
“Eleonore is here, yes,” said Dorathea. “I don’t know of any Johann Lechte.”
The prisoner looked surprisingly restored now. “My name is Caspar.”
“Dorathea,” she replied.
“I know where we can get more food for both of us. But I must get away from here as soon as possible. Tell me, what time of day is it?”
“I have no way of knowing.”
Caspar looked up at the ceiling as if seeing beyond it to the stars.
“I need to leave here too,” said Dorathea. “But it isn’t that easy.”
“I can help,” he said. “We will work together to get out of here.”
