HS01 - Critique of Criminal Reason by Michael Gregorio

early hour of the evening. Near to the fireplace, a knot of customers sat on high-backed wooden settles and regarded Koch and myself with undisguised curiosity. Having satisfied themselves that we were nothing more or less than two travelling gentlemen seeking refuge from the snowstorm, they turned back to their beer and pipes and resumed their conversations. Three of the drinkers wore Prussian naval uniforms, while another sported the garb of a Russian hussar with a short green cape and festoons of gold braid stitched like skeletal ribs across the breast of his uniform. The man seated nearest to the fireplace was dark-skinned, and stroked a huge handlebar moustache, a bright red fez sitting lopsidedly on his small head. I guessed him to be a Moroccan or a Turk, most probably a naval officer from a merchant ship. Mediterranean novelties had been arriving in Europe, and even Prussia, for some years now. Indeed, it was widely agreed that if the Egyptians had had the good sense to keep their exotic secrets to themselves, Bonaparte would have left them in peace. But the Emperor loved the fruits of the date-palm tree to distraction, and so he…
    Before I had the opportunity to notice more, the innkeeper entered with my luggage. ‘Yours is the second room on the left, first floor. Come up whenever you are ready, sir.’
    I joined Koch in front of the fire and warmed my hands.
    ‘This is a welcome sight,’ I conceded.
    Koch murmured agreement, without lifting his eyes from the crackling logs; we remained standing there together in silence for some time, as if bewitched by the dancing flames.
    ‘We have an hour or so before your appointment with Doctor Vigilantius, Herr Procurator,’ he reminded me.
    ‘Ah yes, the moon!’ I joked. ‘You’ll keep me company, I hope?’
    Koch turned to me, a show of surprise on his face. ‘Sir?’
    ‘Do you have any other plans tonight?’
    ‘Oh no, Herr Procurator,’ he enthused. ‘My orders were to make myself useful in any way you might think fit. I wasn’t sure…’
    ‘That’s settled, then,’ I said with decision. The thought of entering the bleak fortress in Ostmarktplatz and having to do so alone was daunting. Up to that point, my relationship with Sergeant Koch had been neither cordial nor easy, but he was the only person in the city to whom I could turn for aid.
    ‘As I have had good reason to note today, Koch, you are both efficient and discreet,’ I said, pausing for a moment. ‘Discreet’ was the most tactful word I could find to describe behaviour which had touched a raw nerve more than once. ‘I was wondering…that is, I’d be grateful to benefit from your knowledge of the city. Will you assist me during my stay in Königsberg?’
    ‘Procurator Rhunken has no need of me at the moment,’ Koch considered, his eyes fixed upon the fire. ‘If I can be of use to you, sir.’
    Beneath the detached, austere attitude of Koch I thought I read a hint of willingness to help me in my task.
    ‘I am Herr Rhunken’s successor,’ I said with relief, making a bluff attempt at humour, ‘so I suppose I inherit you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must write a letter. Can it be delivered this evening?’
    ‘I’ll take it myself, sir,’ Koch replied promptly.
    ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Order two large glasses of hot toddy, will you? I won’t be long.’
    Upstairs, I found my room without any difficulty. The door was ajar, so I walked straight in. Herr Totz, the innkeeper, was standing next to a boy who was down on his knees working a wooden bellows which caused the fire to roar. Their backs were turned to the door, so neither of them was immediately aware that I had entered the room. I laid my hat on the bed, conscious of the delicious warmth and general neatness of the apartment, noting the low, sagging ceiling with dark, tarred oak beams, the whitewashed plaster, and a carpet that was only slightly worn at the centre. A small desk was placed beneath the window, an oil lamp