1636: The Devil's Opera

by Eric Flint

  He nodded slowly. “That will be all for now, Herr Dauth. Thank you for your help. If I need anything more, I’ll try to talk to you during the day.”

  Dauth slipped back inside his door, and Honister turned away, thinking furiously.

  His father had had dealings with Master Schmidt, and didn’t have much kind to say about him, so in and of itself he had no problems with making the merchant a suspect in his investigation. But Master Schmidt had connections, he did. To be precise, he was Mayor Otto Gericke’s brother-in-law. And that may have just put Honister’s investigation into a new light.

  * * *

  Hans drifted back to stand by Gus. He took one of the bills he had taken from the purse and jammed it into the other fighter’s coat pocket.

  “For you. Now get out of here. I don’t think you want to be involved in what’s coming.”

  “Truth,” Gus muttered.

  As the other man started to turn away, Hans said, “And Gus? Thanks. You didn’t have to stand with me tonight. If I survive what’s coming, I’ll remember this.”

  Gus hesitated. “I hope you do survive,” he said, and moved off.

  Hans’ answering thought was dark.

  But that’s not the way to wager, is it?

  Chapter 56

  Ursula was still awake when Simon walked in the door, followed by Sergeant Hoch. The candlelight was wavering on her face; her long hair brushed out and flowing over her shoulders.

  “Simon…Sergeant Hoch!” One hand flew to grasp the closures of her robe, the other to grope for her cane where it rested against her table.

  “Fraulein Metzger,” the sergeant said, setting his back against the door and not moving.

  “Where is Hans?” She asked, struggling to her feet with panic and worry plain to see on her face. “Is he hurt? Is he…”

  Dead was the word Simon knew would have completed her sentence, if she could have brought herself to say it.

  “He is downstairs waiting for us,” Simon replied. “He said that you should get dressed, bring all your money and leave everything else.”

  Ursula stood up straight. “I will not take a single step until you explain what is going on!”

  In the flickering candle light, she looked positively regal. Simon’s heart was drawn to her even more than it ever had been.

  Simon ducked his head. She wasn’t going to be happy.

  “Some bad things happened tonight.”

  “What?” Ursula’s tone was sharp.

  “Hans was offered fifty thousand if he fought a man from Hannover and beat him.” He didn’t want to say any more.

  “So Hans took the offer.” Ursula’s voice was heavy. “I assume he won. What happened? Why isn’t he here?”

  Simon swallowed, still looking at his feet. “The other man was bigger than Hans, and meaner. It was a hard fight.”

  Ursula sighed. “How badly was he hurt?”

  “Cuts, black eyes, sore ribs.” Simon swallowed again. “He got hit in the head a lot.”

  Ursula put her hand to her mouth. Simon could see tears in her eyes. “Why did he do it?”

  “For you,” Simon squeezed out. “He wanted you to have the money.”

  He pulled the purse from inside his jacket and tried to hand it to her. She ignored it.

  “I don’t want the money,” she almost wailed. “I want to see Hans.”

  “He is downstairs. He said for you…”

  “To get dressed, bring my money, and leave everything else. I remember that. But why should I?”

  Sergeant Hoch stirred, and said, “Because there are some very powerful men who want that money, Fraulein Metzger, and probably want your brother dead. They won’t stop at hurting you to get to him. We’re here to take you someplace safe, where they can’t get to you.”

  “Dead? Hurt…me?”

  Ursula seemed to have trouble taking that last in.

  Simon stuffed the purse back in his jacket, and stepped forward to take Ursula by the arm. He turned her toward her room, nodding to the sergeant to bring the candle.

  By the time they had shuffled their way to the door, Sergeant Hoch had lit another candle and brought the one on the table to them. Simon opened the door, took the candle and passed it to Ursula.

  “Fraulein Ursula.” He spoke to her calmly. “Get dressed. Get your money, all of it, and then come out so we can go to Hans.”

  She stepped forward into the bedroom.

  * * *

  Marla sat on her dressing stool. Franz was brushing her hair; long, slow strokes through the ebon tresses, stopping every minute or so to pass the fingers of his crippled left hand over the almost liquid fall of the hair.

  This was almost a ritual for them. They didn’t do it every night, but at least once or twice a week Franz would pick up her brush as they readied for bed. He didn’t even have to say anything anymore. Marla would smile and sit with her back to him as he sat on the edge of the bed behind her.

  He claimed it relaxed him. She knew it definitely relaxed her.

  It was always a time of deep intimacy; a communing without words, a mutual submission and service that was both an offering of love and at the same time a celebration of it. And if such a moment at times led to deeper intimacy still, well, did not Solomon say in his Proverbs, “Rejoice in the wife of your youth…and be thou ravished always with her love”?

  Normally Marla just sat there, still, eyes closed, simply enjoying the sensuality of the experience. Tonight, though, she stared at the mirror hanging over her small dressing table, watching Franz. His own eyes were half-closed, there was a small smile on his face, and he seemed to be moving with a languor.

  It was funny, she thought to herself. He wasn’t the handsomest man she’d ever met. She wasn’t even sure he could be called attractive; pleasant might be about the best that could be said for his description. She remembered having school girl passions over Johnny Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio, dreaming of being caught up by one of them. It had been years since she had thought of them, and she couldn’t even remember what they really looked like. Every attempt to recall how they looked morphed into Franz’s features.

  She knew this man. She knew his heart, his goals, his passions. She knew his fire. She knew his love. And she knew that no one was his equal. No one was a better match for her than the violinist with a crooked tooth, a small mole high on his cheekbone, a hand with crippled fingers, and a smile that turned her insides to warm goo.

  Her thoughts went back to Herr Schardius. She would be just as happy if she never saw the man again, but living in Magdeburg and moving in the circles around Mary Simpson, that was probably a futile hope.

  Franz reached past her to lay the brush on the table, and lifted handfuls of the shining ribbons of night of Marla’s hair to breathe deeply of it. She smiled a bit and banished the unpleasant thoughts; the frown line went away. She leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Intercepting his scarred left hand, she raised it to her lips and kissed the palm.

  They stood together and she moved into his arms. Tonight was a time for celebration.

  * * *

  Schardius looked at Ernst. “You know what I want.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Hans Metzger, alive or dead, here in the warehouse.”

  That was what Schardius had always liked about Ernst. He was so matter-of-fact about everything. Nothing seemed to stir him.

  “Right. Now get after it.”

  The handful of men standing behind the overseer stirred, and they all went out the back door.

  So, that was Metzger dealt with, Schardius thought to himself. And soon he would know who to blame for the destruction at the construction project. He didn’t care that much about the people who’d been killed, but he deeply cared about the loss of money. That would be repaid by someone, one way or another.

  But what to do about Marla Linder? That was the burning question on his mind at the moment.

  * * *

  Cicl
ope looked at the building that housed the Schardius grain factorage. Like most such operations, it had a small office space at the front of the large warehouse, which was close to the river for easy access to boats and barges bringing grain shipments. Seemed big enough.

  He knew where it was, now. He’d come by tomorrow morning and see it in the daylight.

  * * *

  The door to the bedroom opened and Ursula came out, dressed and with her coat on. She had a bag in one hand that, from the way she was carrying it, had some weight to it.

  She stopped after clearing the doorway and beckoned to Sergeant Hoch with the hand that held her cane.

  “Take this, please.”

  Simon was pleased to see that Ursula had returned to her senses. Her face was alive, and her voice sounded normal to him, with a put-upon tone that was perfectly normal for the moment.

  The sergeant stepped forward and took the bag from Ursula’s hand. His eyes widened as he hefted it. All things considered, Simon was glad the Polizei man had it rather than leaving it to him to carry.

  Ursula looked around the sitting room, sighed, and moved toward the door at her slow pace.

  “If Hans says go, we had best go.”

  “Wait,” Simon said. He pulled the purse from his jacket. “Put this in the bag.”

  Sergeant Hoch looked to Ursula, who hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He placed the bag on the table and opened it up, whistling when he saw the coins filling the bottom of it. Simon handed him the purse, and a moment later it the bag was closed again around the addition to its load.

  The sergeant picked the bag up again and looked at Ursula with a nod. She opened the outer door without a word and stepped out onto the landing. Simon hesitated for a moment, then grabbed Ursula’s old Bible and her embroidery from the table and stuffed them inside his jacket before following her.

  * * *

  Hans watched as the door to their room finally opened and Ursula came out. She turned and locked the door after Simon and the sergeant joined her.

  The eyes of Lieutenant Chieske and the cart driver were fixed on the crippled woman as she negotiated the stars. It made Hans almost sick to watch her lurching movements step by step.

  He shook his head, hard, and moved back a step. After a moment, another step. After another moment, another step.

  By the time Ursula reached the bottom of the steps, he had retreated totally into the shadows and was about to turn the corner of the nearest street.

  Her plaintive “But where is Hans?” tore at his heart as he hurried away.

  Hans had never been one for much more that rote lip service to the church, but for the first time in years, he truly prayed. Go with God, Uschi. Maybe He can keep you safe now, for I can’t. Please, God.

  * * *

  Simon saw Lieutenant Chieske’s head whip around after Ursula’s cry. He joined both of the detectives in shooting glances in every direction. He even went so far as to run over to the nearby corner and look up and down the other street. Nothing caught his eye.

  “Simon,” Sergeant Hoch called out. “You’ve got to come with Fraulein Metzger. Come on.”

  With a heart full of dread for his friend, Simon turned his reluctant steps back to the cart, where Ursula waited with the detectives and their driver.

  “No sign of him?” the lieutenant asked.

  Simon shook his head.

  “Right. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to get ahold of us. Our job now is to get you two to safety.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without Hans,” Ursula declared in strident tones.

  “Sorry, Fraulein, but your brother has taken himself off on his own and of his own free will. I don’t know where he went, or what he’s planning on doing. But I do know that he asked us to take you to a safer place than this, and we promised to do it. Ask the boy.”

  Ursula looked to Simon, and he nodded. “I heard Hans ask it, Ursula, and I heard the lieutenant and sergeant promise to do it.”

  “But where is he?” Desperation now rang in the young woman’s voice.

  “Fraulein Metzger,” Sergeant Hoch said, “the way he left tells us that he doesn’t want us to know where he is. My guess is he thinks that by doing this he makes it safer for you. He may well be right.”

  The sergeant placed the bag in the cart, then turned back to Ursula. “Take Simon’s word for it, if you won’t take ours, but we need to get you out of here now, before those Hans is running from show up.”

  He held out a hand to her, a nonverbal plea.

  For a long moment Ursula stood, rigid and unbending, in rejection. But then she sighed, her shoulders slumped, and she reached out a tentative hand to take his.

  “Right. That’s settled.” Chieske looked over at Hoch. “Where do you think? The police station for now?”

  Hoch shook his head. “My home. They would never think of looking for them there, and there are enough servants around the place to provide protection.”

  Chieske mulled that over, and nodded. “Works for me. We’ll post a couple of patrolmen outside as well.”

  It took a bit of doing to get the young woman up into the cart without violating her dignity. In the end, Sergeant Hoch scrambled into the cart and took her hands and Chieske placed his hands on her waist. Simon watched with envy as they lifted her into the cart with seeming lack of effort.

  The next moment the lieutenant almost threw Simon up into the cart, then he vaulted up to sit beside the driver. He pointed a finger at the driver, the sergeant rapped out some directions, and with a lurch they were off.

  Simon looked back. Those rooms were the closest thing to a home he had known for a long time. It hurt to leave them this way, especially since he didn’t know if or when he’d see them again.

  Or if or when he’d see Hans again, for that matter.

  Chapter 57

  Hans leaned against the side of the hovel by the riverside. He had made his way step by careful step, keeping to the shadows, through the exurb and into and through the Neustadt, until he had arrived at the part of the riverbank claimed by the poorest of the fishers. Now he was watching to see if anyone had followed.

  A veil seemed to pass in front of his vision. He thought for a moment it was blood seeping into his eyes again from the cut on his forehead, but it cleared before he could run his sleeve across his face. He looked up; just a wisp of cloud passing across the moon.

  Right. Enough waiting. He slid around the corner of the shack and knocked on the door. No answer; no sound of anyone stirring. He waited a moment, and knocked again.

  “Who comes knocking on my door in the middle of the night?” a woman’s voice demanded.

  Hans put his mouth against the crack around the door and spoke just loudly enough to be heard by the person on the other side of the door.

  “Hans Metzger.”

  There was a moment of silence, then, “Bide a moment.”

  He heard a bar being drawn, then the door opened into a darkness blacker than the night outside.

  “In.”

  Hans stepped through the door, then moved to the side so the woman could close it and put the bar back in place. Then a couple of shuffling steps, followed by the scratching of a match brought a flicker of light, which was transferred to a stub of a candle on a chipped and cracked dish.

  The light revealed the face of old Anna the clothes seller. She lifted the dish and held it closer to Hans’ face. He winced as the brightness neared his eyes.

  “Frau Anna.”

  “Heaven above, lad, what have you been doing to yourself?”

  “Won a fight,” he said with a tired smirk.

  “Well, if you look like that, I’d hate to see the loser. That have any bearing on why you’re here disturbing my sleep?”

  Hans nodded, suddenly weary.

  “Yah. Some men will be looking for me. Need different clothes.”

  “Ah. That kind of fight, was it?”

  “Yah.”

  “Fraulein Ursula k
now about this?” She gave him a sharp look.

  “Yah, and she’s in a safe place by now.”

  “Well, sit down there on the edge of the bed and I’ll see what I can find. Sorry that I don’t have a proper chair, and all.”

  He lurched over to the bed and sat as she began rummaging through bags lined up against a wall.

  * * *

  The cart pulled up in front of a large house off of Gustavstrasse in the Altstadt of Old Magdeburg.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Gotthilf murmured from where he sat by Ursula Metzgerinin. He was rather reluctant to remove her hand from where it had been holding his arm; for stability as the cart moved, he was sure. But it had provided a pleasant sensation, nonetheless.

  He hopped to the ground and looked up at his partner. “Give me a moment to make sure someone is up and can get rooms ready.”

  Byron looked back at their passengers.

  “Right, but you’d better make it quick, because Simon’s already asleep and I doubt she’ll be able to stay awake much longer.”

  Gotthilf pulled his key from his pocket as he stepped up to the front door. A moment later he had the lock open and entered the house. An oil lamp provided light in the short entryway.

  “Gotthilf, is that you?”

  His mother’s voice sounded from the salon to the right, and she appeared in that doorway a moment later holding a candlestick.

  “Yes, honored mother.”

  She smacked him on his arm. “Funny boy. Did you solve whatever the problem was that your lieutenant called you out for?”

  “Almost. Mother, I have two guests that I need you to provide rooms to sleep in tonight.”

  She frowned at him.

  “Guests? Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? You know I don’t like these kinds of surprises.”

  “I didn’t tell you about it earlier because I didn’t know I needed to guest them until just a few minutes ago. They were part of the problem I was called out for, you see.”

  The frown deepened.

  “Gotthilf, I don’t think I can have any kind of person associated with the city watch or your Polizei affairs in my house.”