Free Gretel and the Dark by Eliza Granville Page B

It was no accident. Day after day, I went to the police and told them Anna was being starved and tortured to death. Nobody would listen. They won’t listen now – I’m nothing, only a gardener’s wife. Will
you
listen? Will you tell Vienna what really happened?’
    Benjamin swallowed hard. Either the woman was mad or there were unguessed horrors being perpetrated in the backstreets of this city. Hugo met his eyes.
    ‘Gehenna,’ he said, softly. ‘Hell. Sheol. Hades.’
    Benjamin nodded. He needed a drink, but every tankard and glass was empty. No, what he needed was to get out of here. Without another word, he stood up and stumbled towards the door, followed by curses and catcalls as he fell into tables and tripped over chairs.
    A hand descended on his shoulder as he reached the entrance. Benjamin pulled free, spinning round and bringing up his fists. The size of the man who’d accosted him put paid to any ideas of successfully fighting his way out of trouble, but he kept them up all the same. Two steps behind the huge man, tucked into his shadow, lurked the sharp-featured fellow with the long nose. Away from the tavern’s lights he resembled a weasel, but his authority became evident when he stepped forward. He flicked his skinny fingers at Benjamin’s bunched fists.
    ‘No need for that.’
    ‘What are you after?’ demanded Benjamin, sobering up fast. ‘I’ve got no money.’
    ‘Judging by the state of you, any you did have is about to be pissed into the nearest gutter.’ He drew close enough for Benjamin to smell peppermint on his breath, only faintly masking the odour of fried fish. One bony finger shot forward to prod his sternum. ‘You’re keeping bad company, Benjamin. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to.’ The finger jabbed again. ‘Your fat, shit-stirring friend imagines he knows everything, but let me tell you, nothing goes on in this city without me hearing about it. Nothing. I’ve got my eye on you, boy. Go home, unless you fancy sobering up in the cells.’
    ‘You’re police,’ said Benjamin, only now taking in the bulky man’s grey uniform, the grenade insignia. ‘But I haven’t done anything.’
    ‘Wallow with pigs and expect to get dirty. My advice to you is – keep away from Besser and his kind.’
    ‘All right, sir.’ In spite of the lingering emphasis on ‘pigs’, Benjamin deliberately kept his voice even, his demeanour reasonable. He reached for the door. ‘I’ll go straight home, sir.’
    ‘Give my regards to
Herr Doktor
Breuer.’
    Glancing back, Benjamin saw that both men had already been swallowed by the crowded tavern. He started to make his way through the maze of backstreets, wondering how much, if anything, they knew about Lilie. After a few hundred yards he came to the lamp where he’d seen the clown-faced whores earlier. They were still eager for business, but to his surprise both suddenly turned their backs on him. One minute he was upright, staring towards the soft glow of the
Altstadt
and wishing himself home, the next he was lying on wet cobblesregarding the Seven Sisters high in the heavens. Pain rushed at him, wild as a runaway carthorse. He groaned, reaching a hand towards his aching skull, the movement interrupted by the large boot stamping on his wrist. Benjamin shrieked.
    ‘Keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.’ The voice seemed to come from a long way away and was accompanied by the distinctive aroma of Turkish tobacco. ‘Gentlemen’s clubs aren’t for you or your ilk. Neither are the women in them. Understand?’
    ‘Ye-
es
.’ The man released his wrist and what felt like a sledgehammer crashed into Benjamin’s ribs. He rolled on to his side, trying to escape. The next blow was unerringly aimed at his kidneys, landing on the side of his back, between his ribs and pelvic bone. Black chrysanthemums flowered in mid-air and he felt himself falling into a deep chasm. The small hands searching his pockets