Crime (and Lager) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 3)

by Blake Pierce

  Emil pointed to a group of brightly dressed people moving about in a strange mechanical manner, almost like wind-up toys. Their “leader” was dressed in a brightly colored Turkish costume.

  Emil explained, “Those people are dressed as characters from Hoffmann’s story Automata, which deals in part with remarkable machines that imitate the actions of people. An early example of science fiction, in its way.”

  Then Emil actually became animated when a woman dressed in rags approached. She wore a bushy gray wig and a long fake nose with a wart on it, and she carried a basket of apples.

  “Would you like to buy an apple, young man?” she asked Emil in German.

  Emil waved her away as he replied in German.

  “Begone, old woman! Go turn into a beet!”

  A beet? London was startled by his rudeness.

  But the costumed woman let out a wild, gleeful cackle.

  “Then away with you, child of Satan!” she laughed. “Run into the crystal which will soon be your downfall!”

  Emil laughed as the woman hobbled away. He turned to the group and explained, “The lady and I just acted out a scene from Hoffmann’s novella The Golden Pot—although if we’d done it accurately, I would have knocked her whole basket of apples to the ground. I was playing a young student named Anselmus, who winds up imprisoned in a crystal bottle—among many other strange adventures.”

  Emil pointed to a group of three young women doing a shimmying dance while dressed in full bodysuit leotards all covered with green sequins.

  “For example,” Emil continued, “those attractive young ladies are enchanted snakes, the daughters of an alchemist named Lindhorst, who is actually a magical salamander exiled from the lost continent of Atlantis. Once Anselmus is freed from his crystal bottle, he will marry Serpentina, the loveliest snake of the three. Oh—and the apple seller really will turn into a beet.”

  Proceeding on their way, the group passed an ensemble of men playing the most gigantic horns London had ever seen. Each of the instruments was about three yards long.

  “Those are alphorns,” Emil grumbled less cheerfully. “They were invented to send messages up in the mountains. Alas, they are also used as musical instruments of a sort.”

  When they arrived at the bank of the Regnitz River on the far side of the island, a quaint and peculiar sight awaited them—the Alte Rathaus, or the Old Town Hall.

  “Why, the whole building looks as though it was dropped into the river!” Letitia cried.

  “In a way, that’s not far from the truth,” Emil replied with a chuckle. “When Bamberg’s original town hall burned to the ground, the Bishop of Bamberg refused to grant land to build a new one. So the builders literally put up a building on stilts in the middle of the river—a building that grew and developed over the centuries until it became its own artificial island.”

  The Rathaus was a startling mix of architectural styles, from ornate and stately looking to medieval half-timber. Emil led them across an old stone bridge that connected the riverbanks and literally cut through the building in the form of an arched passageway. The building’s façade was completely covered by beautiful fresco mural paintings portraying heroic figures. Emil explained, “The original murals were painted by Johann Anwander in 1755, but they have been restored and repainted many times over.”

  “The figures look so lifelike,” one man observed. “They appear completely three-dimensional, although I know they are actually flat.”

  Emil chuckled again.

  “Interesting you should say that,” he said. “Look here.”

  He pointed to a painting of a cherub.

  As they all stared, Audrey commented, “That’s not just an optical illusion.”

  One of the little angel’s legs was sculpted from stone and stuck out from the wall. Audrey actually joined the others in their laughter.

  London smiled. At last, Audrey seemed to have found something entertaining.

  After they viewed the frescoes on the other side of the building, Emil led them back into a nearby street. He shuddered with disgust, but made no comment as they passed by another peculiar musical ensemble. Several women standing along a table were lifting up little bells and ringing them, managing to produce a semblance of the old Dixieland tune “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  They soon approached a narrow little house squeezed between two other residences.

  “This is where E.T.A. Hoffmann himself lived with his wife between 1809 and 1813,” Emil explained. “Let’s have a look inside.”

  He led the group up to the second floor, where Hoffmann’s apartment had been turned into a little museum. They continued on into a little room with a clavichord and a small writing desk looking out through a window in a cramped gable-shaped alcove.

  As Emil began to speak to the group, London moved closer to Letitia, who had been known to take small “souvenirs” from places like this. Letitia pretended not to notice, but she clasped her hands together as she listened.

  “Hoffmann’s years here weren’t happy ones,” Emil explained in hushed, reverent tones. “But then, little about his short life was happy. He and his wife lived hand-to-mouth during most of their years together, and he spent much of his life working as a lawyer and bureaucrat, scraping together a living in such cities as Berlin, Warsaw, Dresden, and Leipzig without ever quite finding a true home.”

  Emil peered out the alcove window.

  “Here in Bamberg, he gave private music lessons and worked as a stagehand, theater manager, and music critic.”

  Touching the writing table, Emil added, “Sitting right here, he also wrote his first successful literary work—Ritter Gluck, a supernatural story about a man who believes himself to be possessed by a long-dead composer. It was then that he began to call himself E.T.A. Hoffmann, replacing his middle name ‘Theodor’ with ‘Amadeus,’ in honor of the composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

  Emil fell silent for a moment, clearly soaking in the history of this room.

  Finally he said, “Despite the squalor of his life, Hoffmann truly lived a life immersed in poetry, ‘where the sacred harmony of all things is revealed,’ as he put it.”

  London smiled at Emil’s display of cultural reverence.

  This is the Emil I like, she thought.

  As London and Emil led the group back outside back across the Inselstadt, they encountered more costumed revelers, including a soldier-shaped nutcracker, dolls, toys, and mice—all characters from the Hoffmann story that became the basis for Tchaikovsky’s ballet The Nutcracker.

  The group soon came to the edge of a broad paved square where a splendid fountain stood adorned with five statues.

  Taking her turn at lecturing, London explained, “This is the Maximilian Fountain, built in 1880. The statue on the pedestal in the middle is of King Maximilian I of Bavaria. The four statues around the fountain are of St. Heinrich II, his wife Kunigunde, King Konrad III, and Bishop Otto von Banberg …”

  London’s voice faded as she realized she was losing the group’s attention.

  And small wonder, she thought.

  Maximilian Square was clearly the center of the city’s festive bustling activity. Stalls and booths with food and beer were set up all around the perimeter, and the middle of the square was filled with tables, chairs, and umbrellas. A curtained makeshift stage stood at the far end of the square. A band was playing nearby, and perhaps hundreds of people were dancing, drinking, eating, and celebrating.

  London chuckled and said, “Well, I guess the tour ends here. Enjoy the party.”

  The group broke up to join the festivities. London turned to look for Emil, but found that he suddenly wasn’t there.

  Where did he go off to? she wondered.

  Before she could go looking for him, she heard a woman’s shriek nearby.

  “How dare you, sir!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  London whirled around to see an unexpected confrontation. A very angry-looking Audrey Bolton was standi
ng face to face with a middle-aged man in a three-piece pinstriped suit. The man was holding a nearly empty beer mug in his hand, and he was laughing in the woman’s face.

  The front of Audrey’s dress was drenched with beer.

  “Schau dir das an!” roared the man. “Ein großes nasses Huhn!”

  Audrey looked all around frantically. When her eyes fastened on London, she cried in a voice fierce with anger, “What did he just say?”

  London knew the answer to her question.

  “Look at this!” the man had said. “A big wet chicken!”

  But she really didn’t want to translate for Audrey.

  As she approached the conflicting pair, London noticed that none of the bystanders looked amused by the man’s proclamations. Apparently their sympathy was with Audrey.

  “American, are you?” the man said to Audrey in accented English. “Is this your first taste of Bavarian lager? How do you like it?”

  “This isn’t funny,” Audrey snapped back.

  “My dear, you should learn to watch where you’re going.”

  “I was watching where I was going!” Audrey shrieked. “You stumbled and bumped right into me!”

  Several bystanders murmured their agreement with Audrey. Even though London had no doubt that the drenched woman was telling the truth, she wanted to defuse the situation before things got a lot worse.

  London took Audrey by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s go back to the ship and get you dried off.”

  The man was still laughing heartily.

  “You Americans can’t hold your beer!” he bellowed.

  London turned and stared directly at him with disbelief. The man was wearing a monocle and had a waxed mustache. In other circumstances, she might take him to be a sophisticated gentleman. She thought he certainly should know better than to behave like a boorish drunk.

  Wherever she traveled, London made a strict point of not quarreling with locals. But Audrey she was clearly not at fault here. And the woman’s enjoyment and well-being were London’s primary responsibility at the moment. She decided that she actually had a professional responsibility not to let this incident go.

  She spoke to the man in German, telling him, “I think you should apologize to the lady.”

  The man let out a noisy scoff.

  “Apologize?” he said. “For her inexcusable clumsiness? I hardly think so.”

  London felt her face redden.

  Stay cool, she told herself.

  The last thing she wanted to do right now was lose her temper. She felt frustrations that had built up over recent days—discovering murders, accusations of guilt, the constant pressures of keeping passengers happy. She knew that those frustrations were in danger of exploding.

  She brought her feelings under control and said, “Just say you’re sorry, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  The man stopped laughing and frowned at London.

  “What business is it of yours, anyway?” he asked.

  “Tell her you’re sorry,” London repeated firmly. She saw heads nodding in the group that surrounded them, and heard expressions of support in several languages.

  The man glanced around, then the edge of his lip turned up into a sneer.

  “Very well then, fräulein,” he said. “If you absolutely insist.”

  Turning toward Audrey, he nodded his head and spoke.

  “I sincerely apologize, Frau Huhn.”

  Then, with a casual jerk of his arm, he splashed London with most of his remaining beer.

  “Oh, dear,” the man said. “Another accident.”

  London whole body flooded with rage. This was no accident. She stepped directly in front of the man and looked him straight in the eye.

  “You are very rude,” she snapped at him in German. Stepping closer, she continued, “I did not expect to encounter such behavior in such a charming place as this. You should be ashamed …”

  Before London could say another word or make another move, she felt a strong hand pushing her away from the man.

  A uniformed security guard had forcibly separated the two of them.

  “Let’s have no more of this!” the guard said in German.

  Turning to the belligerent man, he added sternly, “Especially from you, sir.”

  Cursing under his breath, the man turned and stumbled away.

  London felt simultaneously relieved and embarrassed—but most of all, grateful to the guard for intervening.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said to him in German.

  “Don’t mention it,” the guard said with a tip of his cap. “I just hope this unfortunate incident doesn’t spoil your visit to our lovely city.”

  London turned her attention back to Audrey, whose own humiliation seemed so great that she hadn’t noticed the rest of the altercation.

  “Come on, let’s go,” she said to Audrey.

  The two of them headed back toward the Nachtmusik.

  Audrey exclaimed, “That man just called me Frau Huhn—Mrs. Chicken!”

  “Just forget it,” London said.

  As they continued on their way, London fingered the blouse and vest that were part of her uniform. She wasn’t actually drenched with beer—not like Audrey. It would soon dry and be hardly noticeable.

  Meanwhile, Audrey was stalking silently along beside her with her arms clutched across her soaked blouse.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” London asked.

  Audrey scoffed loudly and said, “Now you ask. No, I hardly think so. Not at this point.”

  London felt a pang of guilt, and then a touch of annoyance.

  Audrey clearly thought that London shared some responsibility for her discomfort. But obviously, London couldn’t have stopped the man from spilling beer on her. And she felt sure she’d been right to demand an apology from the guy.

  But she admitted to herself that things could have gotten worse if the security guard hadn’t pulled them apart when he did.

  Why did I let him get to me like that? she wondered.

  She reminded herself that she’d been through a rough several days, even besides the two recent murders. Other things had been bothering her as well, including Emil’s behavior and Amy’s secretiveness.

  Small wonder that I’m not at my best, she thought.

  “I’m very sorry your visit to Bamberg had to end this way,” London said to Audrey as they neared the boat.

  Audrey let out a burst of harsh, angry laughter.

  “Oh, this isn’t over,” she growled. “Not by a long shot. I’m not one to take an affront like this lying down. No, this is far from over, just you wait and see.”

  Audrey rushed on ahead of London and headed up the gangway.

  Following behind her, London felt uneasy at Audrey’s proclamation. Audrey practically radiated hostility at the best of times, and she did have good reason to be angry with the drunk who had splashed her. But would she really pursue some kind of retribution?

  As she turned that over in her mind, London looked up and saw that Bryce Yeaton was on his way down the gangway. He was wearing street clothes instead of his chef’s outfit.

  “Goodness, what happened to you two?” the handsome Australian asked. Without responding, Audrey just hurried past him.

  “We just ran into a bit of trouble,” London told him, not wanting to explain further. “It’s OK, we just need to clean up a little. Where are you off to?”

  “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Bryce said. “I’ve always dreamed of attending Hoffmann Fest, and this is my chance. Why don’t you join me? I’ll wait here while you get ready.”

  London thought she might be blushing and looked down to avoid his gray eyes. She had always found this man attractive, with his dimpled chin and carefully groomed stubble of beard. But right now, she wasn’t in much of a mood to party.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m finished with my tour, and I’d better get back to my onboard duties.”

  Bry
ce chuckled and said, “I doubt you’ll find a lot of work to do here. Just about everybody else is out enjoying themselves. The Nachtmusik looks like some kind of a ghost ship. Are you sure you won’t come?”

  “Thanks, but no,” London said. “I think I’ve seen enough of Bamberg for one trip.”

  “OK, then. I take it the Maximiliensplatz is the hub of festive activities.”

  “That’s right. Most of the action is right next to the fountain.”

  “That’s where you’ll find me if you happen to change your mind,” Bryce said.

  “OK, have a good time.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Then with a flirtatious smile he added, “I really hope you’ll decide to join me. It would make things much more fun.”

  Bryce continued on his way into town.

  Resisting the urge to call him back. London headed up the gangway. She found no one in the reception area, not even behind the desk. Audrey must have gone on to her room.

  London stepped into the nearby Amadeus Lounge, hoping to talk with her friend Elsie. That was when she realized Bryce was right—there wasn’t going to be much for her to do on board. The popular recreation area and bar was nearly deserted. The Nachtmusik really did seem like a ghost ship.

  Elsie wasn’t even at the bar. Instead London saw an assistant bartender, who didn’t seem to have anything to do except polish the brass rail.

  London sighed. The festival hadn’t turned out to be very entertaining, at least not for her. But maybe it was a mistake to miss out on it this evening. Especially now that she knew that Bryce would be there, maybe even still hoping for her to join him.

  She reminded herself that there was at least one onboard responsibility that she really should attend to.

  London checked her list of passenger quarters to find Audrey Bolton’s stateroom. Then she took the steps down to the Adagio deck and knocked on Audrey’s door. There was no answer. She realized Audrey might well be in the bathroom getting herself cleaned up.

  Or maybe she’s just sulking.

  London knocked again, and this time a voice called back.