by H J Peterson
“Is it a match?” Hiro asked as Brooks looked over at her. The Doc didn’t look up at her: he was too busy taking notes about the fingerprints. She really hoped that that was a very good sign.
“He’s almost done looking at it,” Brook said. “So far, it’s a match.”
“It is a match,” the Doc said. “Ten point match; this Adelric Biermann person is your guy.”
Hiro couldn’t help but smile at that. Already, her first case was cracked; this could only mean good things for her career.
“Let’s go get him,” Hiro said.
“That can wait,” Brooks said. “For now, you–all of us–need to get to bed; don’t want to go to arrest this guy without a clear head.”
Hiro hesitated, but she nodded. She didn’t really want to wait any longer to arrest this Adelric person, but he was right: she wasn’t about to lose this guy just because she was too tired to think straight.
With that, she headed up the stairs and to her bike, hoping that she wouldn’t fall asleep on her way back and crash.
VIII. FRIEDRICH
“Friedrich, are you alright?”
Friedrich looked over at Hiro. She was looking especially radiant that night: her raven black hair cascaded down just past her shoulder blades; her cosmetics were done simply, with only her dark lipstick to give away the fact that she was even wearing any; her pale green dress brought out her equally pale eyes; she looked like an angel straight out of heaven. If only he could convince his father that the girl sitting on the other side of the table from him wasn’t just out for his money. If he had the courage, he would just go ahead and marry her, thus giving up his birthright and making his father disown him, but… well, he wasn’t nearly brave enough for that.
Unfortunately, he also wasn’t courageous enough to tell Hiro about what his father said about her quite yet. So, he put on a brave face and smiled, hoping that she wouldn’t see past the façade.
“Of course I am,” Friedrich said. He took up his glass of wine and took a sip. He had a feeling that he was going to need it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A bump in the road jostled Friedrich, waking him up and ripping him out of his dream. It was dark in his carriage, to the point where he wasn’t even totally sure where he was until he looked through the window he’d been using as his pillow. When he looked outside, he could see that they were among the familiar tree-lined avenues and mansion-filled lots that made up the Weinberg quarter of Königstadt, one of two quarters that the elite of the city lived. The mansions were all dark; it must’ve been really late if there weren’t any parties going on. In fact, Eltz Manor was the only mansion on that street with the lights still on; obviously, his father didn’t mind the high power bill that came with keeping the lights on.
He sat up, rubbing his temples.
“How long was I out?” Friedrich asked, looking over at the Borusali his father had been employing for years, Chayim Kaufmann. Chayim had been there since he was born, and had become the father that Lord Eltz hadn’t been. Of course, he’d been more than happy to come and get him from the police station once he was finished there, and had even grabbed one of the other stable hands to help him with it.
“Only about ten minutes,” Chayim said as the carriage began to roll down the long drive to the house, passing them through perfectly manicured gardens. “You’ve had a long day, so I thought it best to not wake you up. Was I wrong?”
“No; I probably needed it,” he said as he stretched his arms over his head. “Has anything happened with my father today that I should know before I see him?”
“…I don’t think so,” Chayim said as he scratched at his chin, where a gray beard was starting to form. “He was a little annoyed with the papers, today; something about how commoners don’t appreciate what nobles do for them enough.”
Of course, that’s what he thought; he always did have a bit of a superiority complex when it came to… well, everything, really, but especially where the difference between nobles and commoners were concerned. He’d even heard him say that the difference wasn’t just in money: according to some scientific field called genetics, nobles were physiologically superior to commoners; it was like the difference between pure breed dogs (the nobles, according to his father) and mutts (the commoners). He’d asked what nobles they called “new money” (the ones who earned their fortune rather than inherited it) were according to that theory, then, but his father had told him to go to bed rather than an actual answer to the question.
“How angry was he about the papers?” Friedrich asked.
“No more than he usually is, I think,” Chayim said. “If not, I’ll turn a blind eye to you skipping out on your shooting lessons to hide in the library.”
Friedrich chuckled at that. Oh, if only he could do that without his father noticing; he’d never leave the manor’s library, again. That was, until he ran out of books, which would happen quite a bit sooner than he would’ve liked.
Soon after that, the carriage rolled up to the front doors of Eltz Manor. As far as Friedrich knew, only the emperor, himself, lived in a home bigger than Eltz Manor. The place was absolutely massive, with grand windows, a ballroom as big as the theater at the Überhaus, and gardens all around it. All the windows in the house glowed, except for the one for his parent’s room; it looked like his father and his mother were asleep, thank heaven: he would need a lot more sleep than ten measly minutes before he could talk to his father.
“Make sure you get plenty of sleep, Friedrich,” Chayim said as the two of them got out of the carriage. “No late-night reading, alright?”
“Alright.”
The two of them parted ways, with Friedrich heading for the front door of the manor and Chayim heading towards the stables with the stable hand and the carriage.
When he walked into the house, he saw something that kind of surprised him: his parents standing in the entry hall with a few of their friends. It looked like they’d had some sort of party here that night while he was with Hiro at the police station.
“Welcome back, Friedrich,” Viktoria said with a warm smile as she walked towards him. She gave him a quick hug with one arm, while holding her champagne in her other hand. “How are you? Did everything go okay?”
“Viktoria, he was at the police station, not his first day of school,” his father said. Somehow, he managed to do it without rolling his eyes. “Did you at least give them something helpful?”
Friedrich nodded. “They think they’ll be able to make an arrest, soon.”
Friedrich wasn’t sure whether or not his father was faking his surprise. “Will they, now? Well, it’s good to hear that you were of use.” He went back to having his conversation with… well, whoever he was talking to; he didn’t actually recognize their two houseguests; they must not have been from that influential of a house, or he would’ve recognized them.
“Lord Eltz, I’m afraid we really must be going, now,” the lord said. From the sound of his voice, he was Rocheran. Funny; Friedrich didn’t think his father had many Rocheran business associates, especially not minor lords like this one. “I have a very important meeting in the morning, and I would rather not be tired for it.”
“Of course, Lord Giroux,” Eltz said as they shook hands in goodbye. “Good luck on that meeting, by the way. Lord Horowitz can be rather tough when it comes to business deals.”
With that, Lord Giroux and his wife left, leaving Friedrich alone with his parents. Exactly what he was hoping wouldn’t happen.
“So, how is our favorite police inspector?” Eltz asked as he walked towards Friedrich. “I trust that nothing… inappropriate happened between the two of you while you were being questioned.”
Viktoria’s mouth opened wide in horror when she heard that. “Dieter!”
“Nothing happened between the two of us,” Friedrich said. He could feel himself getting angry; he really didn’t want this, not now, especially not while his father was drunk. Lord Eltz was notorious for not being able to hold his
liquor very well. “I know you don’t think so, but Hiro–Inspector Ikeda–is a very respectable woman.”
Lord Eltz snorted. Of course, he did; he thought that Hiro was little more than a money-grubbing common whore with nothing to contribute to the world but syphilis.
“Respectable,” Eltz said. “Tell me, then: if she’s such a respectable woman, then why did she sign up for the police academy? A woman that’s respectable doesn’t engage in work that should be left to men: she supports her husband if she has one, maintains the household. A proper woman knows her place, Friedrich, and that is the last thing that woman would ever come to understand.”
“Her place is with the police,” Friedrich said. “Times are changing. You’re going to be left behind in the dust of progress, father, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.”
Both Viktoria and Eltz looked at Friedrich like he had something crawling out of his ear. Friedrich was pretty shocked, as well. That was only the second time in his life that he’d ever stood up for himself. Where in the world had he grown such a mouth in such a short period of time?
“Where in the world did you get those silly ideas?” Eltz asked. “That damned von Thurzó girl gave them to you, didn’t she?” He cursed. “I knew that she was no better than that ‘Jai bitch from the start; I expect you to break things off with her within the week while I look for a suitable match for you-“
“I’m not breaking off my relationship with Katalin.” Friedrich’s response was almost immediate.
Eltz seemed surprised, and it didn’t seem like it was in that mocking way.
“And why not?” Eltz asked. “Don’t tell me that you actually plan on marrying the girl.”
Part of Friedrich–a shamefully large part of him–told him to back down, to avoid the confrontation, just like part of him told him to back down when Dankopf was insulting Katalin, earlier. However, just like that moment, there was an equally large part of him that told him to stick to his guns and show his father that he wasn’t afraid of him.
“Actually, that’s exactly what I plan on doing,” Friedrich said. “She’s a noblewoman and I love her; why isn’t that enough for you?”
“Boys, I don’t think now is the time to have this conversation-“ Viktoria interjected before things to escalate any more than they already had, but neither Friedrich nor Eltz seemed to hear her; they were focused on each other.
“That girl is about as noble as that inspector,” Eltz said. He was getting angry: his face was getting redder and redder, and he almost seemed to have steam coming out of his ears. “Why would I let you marry a Magyaran noble when there’s Vorbereicher dogs with more nobility?”
“Dieter, that’s enough!” Viktoria snapped. And she never snapped.
For a few seconds, all Eltz and Friedrich could manage to do was stare at each other, hatred in their eyes. Then, Eltz simply sighed and walked away towards the dining hall, muttering something about how Friedrich wasn’t much of a son to him, anymore.
Horribly frustrated, Friedrich cursed and began to storm up the stairs, fully prepared to use his dueling sword on the nearest portrait of his father.
“Friedrich, wait,” Viktoria said as she followed him up the stairs.
He stopped and turned to look at her to see that her face had softened, now that her husband was out of the room. She looked hurt, more than anything. And that hurt Friedrich more than anything his father could say to him.
“You know that your father still loves you, don’t you?” Viktoria said cautiously. “He’s just… trying to do what he thinks is best for you.”
Friedrich looked down at his mother for a few seconds, then sighed, running a hand through his pale hair. He hated the position she was in, now: no matter how the feud between him and his father would turn out, she would lose. She would either lose her husband or lose her son.
Eventually, he took a deep breath and shook his head. “It sure doesn’t feel that way, sometimes.”
IX. ADELRIC
The Archangel was like some monster out of a child’s nightmare. He was wearing a double-breasted coat with a hood that he pulled over his head, a mask modeled after the bird-like masks doctors wore back when plagues ravaged the country, a knit sleeve that covered his neck, pants, boots, and gloves, with the sleeves shoved into the gloves and the pants shoved into the boots. He was menacing, and the fact that they were supposedly on the same side didn’t help to change that.
“So, this is the one who took care of Lord Saaltz,” the Archangel said. His voice was deep to the point where it was unnatural. He must have been a Doc: they could change their vocal chords to make themselves sound deeper or higher, depending on what they needed. It was common practice for them to change their voice so they couldn’t be recognized in the mob. “That was a nice job you did. Messy, but it served its purpose.”
Adelric didn’t say anything.
The Archangel sighed, dejected, as if he’d just found out some piece of unenviable news.
“You’re still… unsure about my mission, aren’t you?” he asked. “About what my New Dawn movement is trying to accomplish.”
A chill went down his spine. That was, in fact, exactly what he was thinking. This Archangel guy seemed to be like those old Magyaran women who claimed they could tell you your future and things like that, except… well, this guy seemed a lot more real than that. The logical part of his mind told him that he was just using the same tricks those Magyarans on the street did–reading body language, looking for clues about someone’s past in their clothing–but another part of his mind told him that this man’s abilities were more than abilities that could manipulate the laws of the natural world, something that he’d been taught was impossible.
Could it be that everything that was taught to him growing up about the difference between science and the works of God was a lie?
“Of course you are,” the Archangel said. “The world has taught you that nobles are superior just because their great granddad a few hundred years ago kissed the ass of the emperor since you could walk. Believe me, I used to think that way, too.”
Adelric swallowed the fear that was rising up in his chest before he tried to say anything. “What made you think differently? All I’ve ever seen from trying to resist the nobility is a whole lot of heartache.”
“I’ve killed enough of them to know that they all die the same way the rest of us do,” the Archangel said. “They’re the same as us; the only difference between us and them is what bastards like them tell us is different.”
That exchange had been a day ago, and it was still bothering him. He thought about it as he sat on the curb just in front of the Cathedral of Our Salvation, applying some rosin onto his violin bow as he got ready to do his daily busking. It was Sunday, the holy day according to the Gerechtists and Viasanctists, meaning that there would likely be plenty of people in that square who would be feeling a little extra generous with their marks. Church would be getting out in a few minutes, meaning that the square would soon be flooded: he had to get ready, before that happened. His mind was far from all of that as the conversation ran through his head over and over again, wondering what it would all mean in the end-
The church bells began to ring, bringing Adelric out of his thoughts. People began to stream out from the church, talking and laughing with one another.
Adelric cursed and tossed his rosin back into his open case. He stood up, made sure that his bow and his violin were ready, and started playing through his usual set of songs.
He began with “Midnight Sonata”, by his favorite composer: the Valtruscan master violinist, Paul Bassani. He played through the quick runs with ease, the staccatos without batting an eye, the technical passages without flinching; though the piece didn’t exactly have his soul in it (his mind still lingered on his little chat with the Archangel), he still got plenty of marks. The flow of money continued as he played song after song: “Wedding Dance”, movement 2 of “Sketches of Valtrucia”, “The Trübe”; wi
th each song he played, more and more money filled up his violin case. Heaven knew that it probably wasn’t enough to pay for everything he needed, but it should be enough to pay for food and part of his rent; the rest of the money would have to come from his work with Bator, until he auditioned for the Imperial Symphony Orchestra.
After about an hour of playing, Adelric stopped and began packing up his things, putting all the marks into his wallet and putting the violin into the case. He’d have to head over to the Viasanctist church, next: if those penny-pinching Gerechtists were feeling this generous, who knew what they would be willing to give-
“Adelric Biermann?”
Confused, Adelric looked up from his violin case. Two police inspectors walking towards him. He recognized both of them almost instantly: he’d seen their faces in the paper enough to know who they were. It was Inspector Hiro Ikeda, top of the class at the academy that year, and Inspector Robert Brooks, the most famous inspector in the city. The two of them were the inspectors that had been put on the Saaltz case.
His heart began pounding against his chest. Please, let this just be another public nuisance thing!
He shut the case, closing the latches on it, shoved his now filled wallet into his pocket, and stood up, doing his best to keep from showing just how nervous he was. “Is this about the violin, again? I have my busking license: let me just find it-“
“That’s not what this is about,” Brooks said. “We’re going to need you to come down to the station: we’ve got a few questions to ask you.”
Adelric’s hands began to grow hot as Alchemical power began to fill them.
He desperately tried to suppress it. He couldn’t do that: things would only get worse