once considered my friend imagined. I followed him through the rain, tracking him across the city. I asked myself why I was doing it. But the very thought that Eva Gray, who had rejected me when we were both so young, might have to hand over her son to that vile sorcerer, made my stomach turn and was sufficient reason for me to confront Dr Cain once more, even though I was increasingly aware that I might not escape unharmed.
‘Fleischmann’s wanderings led me to the new lair of my former acquaintance, the Prince of Mist. His new home was a travelling circus, and to my surprise Dr Cain had given up his role as fortune-teller and clairvoyant in favour of a persona more in keeping with his sense of humour. He was dressed as a clown, his face painted white and red, although his constantly changing eyes gave away his identity even beneath dozens of layers of make-up. Cain’s circus flew a flag decorated with the six-pointed star at the top of a tall mast and the magician had surrounded himself with a group of sinister companions who used the cover of being circus performers to disguise something else much darker. For two weeks I spied on Cain’s circus and soon discovered that its threadbare, yellowing big top concealed a gang of tricksters, criminals and thieves who robbed and stole wherever they went. I also discovered that Dr Cain’s lack of care in choosing his slaves had resulted in a trail of crimes, disappearances and thefts which had not gone unnoticed by the local police, who could smell the stench of corruption emanating from the ghoulish troupe.
‘Naturally, Cain was aware of the situation, so he decided that he and his friends must vanish from the country as quickly as possible, but in a discreet way, preferably avoiding the police and their irritating procedures. That is how, taking advantage of a gambling debt that had been handed to him at a convenient moment – thanks to the stupidity of the Dutch captain – Dr Cain was able to board the Orpheus that night. And I alongside him.
‘What happened on the night of the storm is something that even I cannot explain. Fierce winds dragged the Orpheus towards the coast and flung her against the rocks, opening a gash in the hull that caused her to sink in a matter of minutes. I was hiding in one of the lifeboats, which broke loose when the ship ran aground and was then hurled by the breakers onto the beach. That is the only reason I survived. Cain and his henchmen were travelling in the bilge, hidden under crates in case of an inspection halfway through the journey. I suppose that when the icy water flooded the bowels of the ship, they didn’t even realise what was happening…’
*
‘And the bodies were never found.’ Max was stunned.
Victor Kray shook his head.
‘Often, when storms are violent, the sea carries the bodies away,’ said the lighthouse keeper.
‘But it usually returns them, even if it’s many days later,’ Max replied. ‘I’ve read that.’
‘Don’t believe everything you read,’ said the old man, ‘although in this case it could be true.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Alicia.
‘For years I’ve had a theory even I didn’t quite believe it. But now everything seems to confirm it.’
*
‘I was the sole survivor of the shipwreck. Yet when I recovered consciousness in hospital I realised that something strange had occurred. I decided to build this lighthouse and stay here, but you already know that part of the story. I was sure that the night of the storm didn’t spell the end of Dr Cain; it was only a pause in time. That’s why I’ve remained here all these years. When Roland’s parents died some time later, I took him in, and he, in exchange, has been my only company during my exile.
‘But that isn’t all. A few years later I made another fatal mistake. I tried to get in touch with Eva Gray. I suppose I wanted to know if everything I’d gone through had been worth it. Fleischmann got in first – he discovered my whereabouts and paid me a visit. I told him what had happened, and my words seemed to free him of all the ghosts that had tormented him for years. He decided to build the house by the beach and, soon after, little Jacob was born. Those were the best years of Eva’s life. Until the death of the boy.
‘The day Jacob Fleischmann drowned I knew that the Prince of Mist had never left. He had remained in the shadows, waiting patiently for something powerful to return him to the world of the living. And nothing is as powerful as a promise…’
11
When the old lighthouse keeper finished his story, Max looked at his watch: it was a few minutes to five. Outside, light rain had started to fall across the bay and the wind from the sea banged insistently against the shutters.
‘There’s a storm brewing,’ said Roland, scanning the leaden horizon.
‘Max, we should get back home. Dad is going to call us soon,’ Alicia added.
Max agreed, reluctantly. He needed to consider everything the old man had told them, to try to fit the pieces of the jigsaw together. The effort of remembering his tale seemed to have plunged Victor Kray into a listless silence, and he stared blankly ahead from his armchair.
‘Max…’ Alicia hissed.
Max stood up and waved a silent goodbye to the old man, who responded with a tiny nod of his head. Roland observed the old lighthouse keeper for a few seconds more, then followed his friends outside.
‘What now?’ asked Max.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Alicia declared.
‘Don’t you believe the story?’ asked Max.
‘It’s not an easy story to believe,’ Alicia replied. ‘There must be some other explanation.’
Max looked at Roland.
‘You don’t believe your grandfather either, Roland?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know what to believe… Anyway, let’s go before the storm reaches us. I’ll come with you.’
Alicia jumped onto Roland’s bicycle and they sped off on the return journey. Max turned for a moment to look at the cottage and wondererd whether years of solitude on the cliff top could have led Victor Kray to make up his grim story, which he clearly believed to be true. He let the cool drizzle refresh his face then set off downhill.
The tale of Cain and Victor Kray was still running through his mind when he reached the road that bordered the bay. Pedalling on through the rain, Max began to sort the facts into the only order that seemed plausible to him. Even supposing that everything the old man had told them was true – which was hard to accept – the situation was still unclear. A powerful magician who had been hibernating for many years appeared to be slowly coming back to life. If he followed this train of thought, the death of Jacob Fleischmann had been the first sign of Cain’s return. And yet there was something about the whole story, which the lighthouse keeper had concealed for so long, that just didn’t add up.
The first flashes of lightning stained the sky scarlet and the strong wind began to spit large drops of rain in Max’s face. He hurried on even though his legs had not yet recovered from that morning’s exercise. There were still a couple of kilometres to go before he reached the beach house.
Max knew he couldn’t simply accept the old man’s tale and assume that it explained everything. The ghostly presence of the statues in the walled garden and the events of those first few days in the town suggested that some sinister mechanism had been set in motion and nobody could predict what might happen next. With or without the help of Roland and Alicia, Max was determined to carry on his investigation until he got to the bottom of the mystery. He would begin with something that might hold the key to the whole conundrum: Jacob Fleischmann’s films. The more he went over the story in his mind, the more Max was convinced that Victor Kray hadn’t told them everything. Not by a long shot.
*
Alicia and Roland were waiting on the porch when Max, soaking wet, left his bicycle in the shed and ran over to take shelter from the downpour.
‘That’s the second time this week.’ Max laughed. ‘At this rate I’ll shrink. You’re not thinking of going back now, are you, Roland?’
‘’Fraid so,’ he replied, gazing at the thick curtain of water. ‘I don’t want to leave my grandfather alone.’
‘At least take a coat. You’ll catch your death out there,’ Alicia pointed out.
‘I don’t need one; I’m used to it. Besides, it’s only a summer storm. It’ll soon be over.’
