His Majesty's Hope(45)
She hung the IV on the frame of his bed. “Come, Herr Mystery,” she whispered as she wheeled the bed out of the room, looking straight ahead, trying to appear as though what she was doing was perfectly normal. Her heart raced. “Let’s find you somewhere more private to convalesce.”
“It’s an emergency,” Elise said into the receiver, her hands worrying at the thick metal cord.
“I’m a priest, not a taxi service,” Father Licht objected. “And I’m celebrating Mass tonight.”
“It’s—it’s important. I’d rather not say more over the phone.
But it’s life and death.”
“The paperwork?”
“Something else. But similar.”
Father Licht took off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where there was a red indentation from their weight. “All right. When do you need me?”
Elise looked out the window, cursing the summer, which brought with it longer days and more sunlight. She would prefer to wait until dusk. But she needed to get back for her mother’s birthday party. She was supposed to accompany Clara on the piano. If she didn’t show up on time …
“Meet me at seven—at Charité’s service entrance. And, Father—please bring a change of priest’s clothing.”
Maggie and Gottlieb were getting dressed for the Fire and Ice Ball. “Feuer und Eis?” Maggie asked, dabbing on perfume in Gottlieb’s bedroom. “You know, there’s a Robert Frost poem about fire and ice:
“Some say the world will end in fire—”
Gottlieb, trying to tie his bow tie in the bathroom mirror, quoted back:
“Some say in ice.…”
“You read American poetry?” Maggie was shocked.
Gottlieb gave up on his tie. “Surprised the brutish Hun has read something besides Goethe?”
“Because—oh, never mind. Do I look all right?” Noreen had anticipated Maggie’s needing a formal dress when she’d packed her case, but it was blue—and according to Gottlieb, for this particular party young women were supposed to dress in white, older women in black.
Luckily Noreen had also thought to give Maggie clothing rations. During the day, Maggie had gone to the KaDeWe department store in Wittenbergplatz. There she bought, with most of her coupons—and a lot of her cash—a white chiffon evening dress.
“Would you mind helping me with my tie?”
“Of course.” Maggie retied his bow tie, deliberately looking away from the swastika pins in his lapel.
“Do you have the microphone?”
“It’s in my handbag.”
“Not loose, I hope.”
Even though she was nervous, Maggie bit her lip. Gottlieb and his attitude were getting on her already stretched nerves. “I have it wrapped in two handkerchiefs.”
“Good, good.” He walked to the front door and opened it, giving her a courtly bow. “After you.”
Maggie breezed through. “Thank you, Schatzi.”
Elise waited for Father Licht in the shadows of Charité’s service entrance, emerging only when the priest’s battered car pulled up. She had transferred Herr Mystery from the bed to a wheelchair.
“Gott sei Dank,” she said, looking both ways to make sure no one was around. “I’m going to need your help.”
Father Licht left the car with the engine idling, and looked at the young man in the wheelchair, who managed to give him a crooked smile. “I can see why you didn’t want to discuss this over the telephone,” he muttered.
“Father Licht, please meet Herr Mystery. Herr Mystery—Father Johann Licht.”
“Freut mich,” Father Licht said as he opened the back door, then helped Elise lift the man out of the chair.
Herr Mystery nodded at Father Licht, then grimaced from the pain of moving.
“He’s not a big talker,” Elise explained to the priest. Then, to Herr Mystery, “Are you all right?” She leaned in to push his curly dark hair out of his eyes and feel his forehead. He was feverish. She pulled the priest’s garb Father Licht had brought over his head, then tucked a blanket around him.
“Look,” she whispered in English in the injured man’s ear. “I know you’re British—you were talking in your sleep. If you get caught, you’ll … be in a lot of trouble. So, I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
Herr Mystery closed his eyes. Elise realized he had too much morphine in his system to be aware of much.
“Your friend’s the silent type,” Father Licht observed as he and Elise slid into the front seats.
“The less you know, the better,” she retorted.