features.
‘Then the watchmaker understood. It was his shadow watching him. His own defiant shadow. He tried to catch it, but the shadow laughed and spread itself across the walls. Blöcklin, terrified, watched as his shadow seized a long knife and ran out through the door, vanishing into the darkness.
‘The first crime on Oranienburger Strasse took place that same night. There were witnesses who declared they’d seen Blöcklin cold-bloodedly stab a soldier who was strolling along the road just before daybreak. The police arrested the watchmaker and interrogated him for hours. The following night, while Blöcklin was still locked up in his prison cell, two new deaths took place. People began to talk about a mysterious murderer who moved through the shadows of the Berlin night. Blöcklin tried to explain to the authorities what was happening, but no one would listen to him. Newspapers speculated about the mysterious assassin who, night after night, managed to escape from his high-security cell and perpetrate the most horrific crimes Berlin had ever witnessed.
‘The shadow’s reign of terror lasted exactly twenty-five days. The end of the story was as unexpected and inexplicable as its beginning. In the early hours of 12 January 1916, the shadow of Hermann Blöcklin entered the dismal prison where the watchmaker was being held. A prison guard who was keeping watch swore he’d seen Blöcklin struggling with a shadow and stabbing it during the fight. At dawn, the guard who took over from the night watch found Blöcklin dead in his cell, with a wound to his heart.
‘A few days later, a stranger called Andreas Corelli offered to cover the cost of Blöcklin’s burial in an unmarked grave in Berlin Cemetery. Nobody, except the gravedigger and a strange individual wearing glasses with black lenses, was present at the ceremony.
‘The case of the Oranienburger Strasse murders is still classed as unsolved in the archives of the Berlin Police . . .’
‘Wow,’ murmured Dorian as Lazarus ended his story. ‘And did this really happen?’
The toymaker smiled. ‘No. But I knew you’d love the story.’
Dorian looked down into his cup. He realised that Lazarus had made up the tale to make him forget the fright he’d received on seeing the mechanical angel. A clever trick, but a trick all the same. Lazarus patted his shoulder.
‘I think it’s getting rather late to be playing detectives,’ he remarked. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
‘Promise me you won’t say anything to my mother,’ Dorian pleaded.
‘Only if you promise not to wander around the forest on your own again at night; not until we know what happened to Hannah . . .’
They looked at each other.
‘It’s a deal.’
Lazarus shook Dorian’s hand like a good businessman. Then, smiling enigmatically, the toymaker walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a wooden box. He handed it to Dorian.
‘What is it?’ asked the boy, intrigued.
‘A surprise. Open it.’
Dorian opened the box. In the lamplight he saw a silvery figure the size of his hand. Dorian looked at Lazarus in astonishment.
‘Let me show you how it works.’
Lazarus took the figure and placed it on the table. He pressed it lightly with his fingers and the figure unfolded, revealing its shape. An angel, identical to the one Dorian had seen earlier.
‘You won’t be frightened of it if it’s that size, will you?’
Dorian shook his head enthusiastically.
‘Then this will be your guardian angel. To protect you from the shadows . . .’
Lazarus escorted Dorian through the forest, talking to him along the way about the mysteries surrounding the making of automata and other mechanical marvels. To Dorian, the ingenuity of their construction seemed akin to magic. Lazarus appeared to know everything and he had an answer for even the most obscure and difficult questions. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, Dorian was fascinated by his new friend, and proud of
‘Then the watchmaker understood. It was his shadow watching him. His own defiant shadow. He tried to catch it, but the shadow laughed and spread itself across the walls. Blöcklin, terrified, watched as his shadow seized a long knife and ran out through the door, vanishing into the darkness.
‘The first crime on Oranienburger Strasse took place that same night. There were witnesses who declared they’d seen Blöcklin cold-bloodedly stab a soldier who was strolling along the road just before daybreak. The police arrested the watchmaker and interrogated him for hours. The following night, while Blöcklin was still locked up in his prison cell, two new deaths took place. People began to talk about a mysterious murderer who moved through the shadows of the Berlin night. Blöcklin tried to explain to the authorities what was happening, but no one would listen to him. Newspapers speculated about the mysterious assassin who, night after night, managed to escape from his high-security cell and perpetrate the most horrific crimes Berlin had ever witnessed.
‘The shadow’s reign of terror lasted exactly twenty-five days. The end of the story was as unexpected and inexplicable as its beginning. In the early hours of 12 January 1916, the shadow of Hermann Blöcklin entered the dismal prison where the watchmaker was being held. A prison guard who was keeping watch swore he’d seen Blöcklin struggling with a shadow and stabbing it during the fight. At dawn, the guard who took over from the night watch found Blöcklin dead in his cell, with a wound to his heart.
‘A few days later, a stranger called Andreas Corelli offered to cover the cost of Blöcklin’s burial in an unmarked grave in Berlin Cemetery. Nobody, except the gravedigger and a strange individual wearing glasses with black lenses, was present at the ceremony.
‘The case of the Oranienburger Strasse murders is still classed as unsolved in the archives of the Berlin Police . . .’
‘Wow,’ murmured Dorian as Lazarus ended his story. ‘And did this really happen?’
The toymaker smiled. ‘No. But I knew you’d love the story.’
Dorian looked down into his cup. He realised that Lazarus had made up the tale to make him forget the fright he’d received on seeing the mechanical angel. A clever trick, but a trick all the same. Lazarus patted his shoulder.
‘I think it’s getting rather late to be playing detectives,’ he remarked. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
‘Promise me you won’t say anything to my mother,’ Dorian pleaded.
‘Only if you promise not to wander around the forest on your own again at night; not until we know what happened to Hannah . . .’
They looked at each other.
‘It’s a deal.’
Lazarus shook Dorian’s hand like a good businessman. Then, smiling enigmatically, the toymaker walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a wooden box. He handed it to Dorian.
‘What is it?’ asked the boy, intrigued.
‘A surprise. Open it.’
Dorian opened the box. In the lamplight he saw a silvery figure the size of his hand. Dorian looked at Lazarus in astonishment.
‘Let me show you how it works.’
Lazarus took the figure and placed it on the table. He pressed it lightly with his fingers and the figure unfolded, revealing its shape. An angel, identical to the one Dorian had seen earlier.
‘You won’t be frightened of it if it’s that size, will you?’
Dorian shook his head enthusiastically.
‘Then this will be your guardian angel. To protect you from the shadows . . .’
Lazarus escorted Dorian through the forest, talking to him along the way about the mysteries surrounding the making of automata and other mechanical marvels. To Dorian, the ingenuity of their construction seemed akin to magic. Lazarus appeared to know everything and he had an answer for even the most obscure and difficult questions. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, Dorian was fascinated by his new friend, and proud of
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