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An unlucky coincidence. That’s what all this had looked like at first, but the more van Zieks thought about it, the more convinced he became of the deliberateness of it all. The gunshot, the multiple witnesses, being discovered alone with the body and the murder weapon, and his swift arrest - it all clicked together too perfectly. He’d thought he was following Gregson’s trail, but the whole time, it was he who’d been the hunted.
He didn’t dare predict if he’d ever learn who’d plotted his demise. The likeliest option was that one of those harbouring a grudge against the Reaper had seen how all previous attempts at his life had failed and had decided to spin a web he couldn’t cut with his sword. Had wine been available in prison, van Zieks would have raised a toast for the nameless mastermind. It was bittersweet irony that he’d be destroyed in court, the same way he’d brought down some of the worst scum of London. The public would no doubt view it as his sins finally catching up with him.
There was little chance of an acquittal with so much evidence against him. It mattered not that all of it was fabricated or circumstantial. The investigation wouldn’t uncover anything new in his favour. Scotland Yard detectives were mourning their legend and wanted swift justice, not the truth.
He’d requested an audience with Lord Stronghart, but the man was keeping him waiting. Though by no means his friend, van Zieks had assumed the Lord Chief Justice valued him as a prosecutor and would do what he could to help. The possibility that he’d been abandoned shouldn’t have come as a surprise but weighed heavily on him still. Foolish, perhaps, but he’d thought he mattered more.
Truth to be told, he was terrified of standing accused in court. He’d been alone and feared for the past ten years, the curse of the Reaper casting a shadow on him even during his absence from the Prosecutor’s Office. He’d tried to accept it as the price to pay for a more peaceful London, but it was hard not to feel resentment and fear rise up now when he could see the approaching end and had nobody by his side to face it with him.
No sensible defence attorney would want to touch his case. A certain wide-eyed Eastern lawyer would no doubt show up with an offer, but van Zieks was going to turn him down. There was no hope for him. He’d rather meet his fate with his head held high than appear desperate enough to put his life in the hands of the man he’d spent the past year deriding in court.
Or… perhaps even he wouldn’t come. He and his assistant had been friendly with Gregson. All they needed was one look at the evidence, and perhaps they’d want to see him hang, too. Why would they hurry to his aid when he’d done nothing but insult them and their homeland every chance he got?
The sounds of a door opening and footsteps getting closer brought him back from his thoughts. Van Zieks held his breath to see who was coming. When a prison guard stopped in front of his cell, he was dismayed to realize it was disappointment that squeezed his heart. Was he actually hoping for the Easterner to visit him?
“Can I help you?” he asked and gave the guard his most piercing glare, as if he’d just showed up uninvited at his office rather than his cell.
“S-sorry to bother you, Lord van Zieks, but this was sent from the Prosecutor’s Office.”
“What is it?”
“Your mail for the day.”
“Impudent fool! Does it appear as if I’m going to be working on any cases in the near future?”
The man nearly jumped out of his boots at his scathing words. “W-well, I guess not, but… They told me to bring this over.”
In his hand, he held a stack of letters and documents. Van Zieks supposed he shouldn’t act too ungrateful when presented with an opportunity to get his mind off his current situation for a while.
“Fine. Leave it here. You’re wasting my time,” he said. As if he had anything to do. Anything he could do but sit and wait.
He didn’t pick up the letters until he’d heard the door bang shut again. He flipped through them as he returned to his seat. The results of an autopsy, a coded message from one of his spies in East End, a request to prosecute a case, and -
He froze when he saw the stamps and postmarks that revealed the journey the last letter had travelled. It was the message from Germany he’d been anxious to receive. He put everything else aside and hurried to tear the envelope open.
The messy lines of writing that he discovered made relief wash over him. Part of him had spent the past week worrying that he’d receive news of Albert’s death, but this letter proved he’d made it back safely.
My dear friend,
First, I must apologise for sending this letter to the Prosecutor’s Office, but I’m afraid I’ve lost your private address. I forget who, but somebody once told me it’s a good idea to write important details on pieces of furniture since it’s a lot harder to misplace a chair than a slip of paper. Very clever! Only a genius would think of that.
Van Zieks didn’t let a muscle move on his face, but the pull to smile was there, stronger than he could remember in a long time. Albert wrote the way he talked, never stopping to consider if everything he said was necessary, so it was easy to imagine his voice filling the candle-lit cell.
As you can guess, I have arrived safely. I suffered from intense seasickness for most of the voyage, but I recovered as soon as I got my feet on solid ground again. I’m currently in the process of clearing my laboratory of everything connected to instantaneous kinesis so I can start afresh. Some news of what happened in London have reached my associates here, but it seems my reputation isn’t entirely in shambles outside Britain. I might still have a chance at a successful career, as long as my next theory is a little less fantastical. After all, even the greatest geniuses of their times must have had a few botched attempts at first, right?
Van Zieks felt his shoulders relax for the first time since Albert’s trial. His friend was safe, beyond the reach of the Reaper’s scythe, and it seemed like his terrible experience in London had done little to blacken his spirit.
I must once again thank you for making the travel arrangements. I understand why you felt it was urgent I return to Germany as soon as possible, but I confess that I wish we’d had time to discuss the past few years. I can tell the whole Reaper predicament is weighing heavily on you, and while no apology is sufficient, I want to say I’m sorry for not being there for you. I was so lost in my theories that the past ten years flew by without my notice. I regret that I let all that time go to waste.
Van Zieks scowled at the letter. If either of them was to feel guilt over the state of their friendship, it was him. He’d never written to Albert to tell him what had happened. He had drafted many such letters in his head and dipped his pen in ink to write them, but in the end he’d always kept the words locked inside.
He’d argued with himself that he didn’t want Albert to worry when he was overseas and could do nothing to help, but the truth was that he hadn’t wanted him to know what had become of him and what everyone thought he was guilty of. Albert should remember him as he’d been in university. He should only think of the carefree days together when he heard his name.
To at least one person in the world, he’d wanted to be something other than the Reaper.
But we’ll make up for that! Send me word when it’s safe to visit, and I’ll make my way there on the next ship! Even seasickness won’t stop me! Perhaps I’ll have new theories to explain to you by then. I wonder if it’d be possible to build an underwater rail line so nobody would have to feel sick on a ship ever again. Perhaps I’ll look into that next. If there is anything I can do for you, you can count on me. I’m forever indebted to you for all you’ve done for me.
Please thank Mr Naruhodo and the others for me one more time. I shall be awaiting your reply (hopefully you’ll reply this time, unlike so often in the past!) and looking forward to the day we meet again!
Your friend,
Albert Harebrayne
His throat was tight as he read the last few words over and over. Unless a miracle happened in court, he wouldn’t see Albert ever again. He might be allowed to write him one more letter before facing the gallows, but he dreaded the thought. What words could he possibly pen while knowing they’d reach his friend only after he was already gone?
He pushed such woes away and began to read the letter again from the beginning. Albert sounded happy. That was all that mattered right now. He was out there, alive, free to follow his passions. And he’d be able to do that even if the name Barok van Zieks went down in history as nothing more than the Reaper of the Bailey, the demi-god of a prosecutor who’d paved his way to hell with the souls of the acquitted.
Van Zieks sighed and rubbed the side of his face. He’d come so close to discovering the true force behind the Reaper. He’d begun to entertain hope that it wouldn’t be his burden to carry forever. The thought that he would fail when the truth had nearly been in his grasp made him tired. He knew there were steps he could take even from within his prison cell to prepare for the trial, but the temptation to give in and no longer struggle against the net he was caught in had never been so strong.
Perhaps the Reaper would disappear with him. Then Albert could come home. Would it really be so wrong if he gave in and took comfort in knowing that at least his friend would be safe?
***
When the Easterner and his assistant left, van Zieks saw as little hope for him as before, but the pair seemed to have taken some of his grim resignation with them. He’d told them to leave him be, of course, but deep down he was touched by their urgency to offer him a helping hand. He could see in the Japanese man’s eyes that it wasn’t an empty gesture. His passion to defend him and see him acquitted was genuine.
Accursed be the Japanese. Even now when he’d almost been ready to accept the inevitable, they’d come and trampled all over him. They’d not only made him feel as if it wasn’t yet his time to bare his throat but that it had been a coward’s act to even consider it.
Ashamed that he’d let them see a glimpse of his earlier apathy, he called for a guard and arranged for the case files to be delivered to him discreetly.
***
When Mr Naruhodo and his assistant Mikotoba left the second time, van Zieks spent a long moment with his eyes closed in thought. He felt more free of his shackles than in years. He’d been able to ask Mr Naruhodo to represent him. Throwing away his pride and opening himself up to rejection had been the hardest thing he’d done in a long time, but he felt much better now.
It was only a small thing, but it made him feel like his heart was beginning to beat again after years of disuse.
He opened his eyes and picked up Albert’s letter.
I’m sorry, old friend, he thought as his eyes scanned the scribbly writing once more. He’d been ready to throw away their friendship and had even convinced himself it was better so. It wasn’t up to him to decide if Albert would be happier without him, not when affection was pouring out of every line he’d written to him.
His one day in prison had nearly made him forget something important, even though there had been little else on his mind these past ten years.
Even if everyone in London believed otherwise, he wasn’t the Reaper. Even if everything else was a lie, that was the one truth he could hold onto. It had to be possible to uncover the hidden strings that someone had been pulling all this time. And he no longer had to do it alone. Mr Naruhodo believed in his innocence and was willing to fight by his side. This trial was a chance to shine a light to all the murky secrets.
And if they managed that… Then he’d reply to Albert’s letter with happy news and invite him back to London so they could resume their friendship. They’d said goodbye before Albert’s ship had departed, and van Zieks had assumed it’d be for years once more. He’d braced himself for more slow investigations that only led to crumbs of information.
It was overwhelming to think that one way or another, everything might be over in only a day or two.
He folded Albert’s letter in his hands until it was small enough to fit into a pocket on his vest. Good luck charms were for the ignorant masses that believed in horrors like the Reaper, but it wouldn’t hurt to carry a reminder that the future didn’t have to be entirely bleak.