“You had a crush on Depp? You and every other teenage girl in Grantville back then, I think.”
“Oh, big-time crush; for about six months. Edward Scissorhands is still one of my favorite movies.”
The two women chatted for a few more moments, then exchanged farewells, walked down the steps of the opera house and parted in different directions at the bottom.
Schardius was seething in his shadow, almost trembling; first, at Frau Higham’s denigration of his morals and motives; and second, as he realized that the only major power in the city Frau Linder hadn’t mentioned ties to was Otto Gericke, who was probably the last person Schardius could look to for assistance. Especially in something like this. The young woman was correct: against that rank of names, his ties to the Old Magdeburg Rat were nothing. He would have to be very careful.
It took a while, but Schardius contained his anger, forcing it into a corner of his mind, where it coiled and glowed like a forge in a smithy.
Foolish, oh so foolish Marla Linder would pay for her insulting him, he vowed. He would begin by taking care of her obvious object of amor. He wondered how long it would take to send someone to Grantville and get back a report. If she thought so highly of this Johnny Depp, then let him suffer for her.
Chapter 46
“Two days?” Otto Gericke asked.
Albrecht, his secretary, handed the radio message form to him so he could confirm what he had been told. It took only a moment for Otto to read it: Emperor Gustavus Adolphus planned to arrive at the docks in Magdeburg in two days.
He looked up from the form.
“Right. Get the word out, Albrecht: Princess Kristina and Prince Ulrik; all the members of Parliament in the city; the palace staff and the commander of the Marine palace guards; the naval base; and the newspapers. Send an unofficial notice to Spartacus and Gunther Achterhof.”
Albrecht nodded. For a moment, Otto wondered why he was still standing there and not moving on getting the notices out. Then it occurred to him that the list was incomplete. He made a sour expression, and said, “And I suppose we should send a notice to the Old Magdeburg Regierender Rat. We would never hear the end of it if we left the old city council off the list.”
Albrecht nodded again with a smile, and now headed for his desk to begin drafting messages.
Otto looked at the files on his desk and on the side table, and wondered if there was anything he could get done before he had to start dancing attendance on the emperor.
* * *
“Really?” Kristina’s face lit up with surprise and joy. “Papa will be here in two days?”
“Really,” Caroline Platzer said with a smile.
Ulrik watched as the girl did a little dance of glee around her tutor/governess/friend. He had a smile of his own on his face, but inside he was far from overjoyed. Oh, it was good to know that Gustav would be here soon. The fact that the emperor was apparently back in his right mind was a matter for serious rejoicing, and the fact that he was well enough to travel was the subject of prayers of thanks. But “right mind” and “well enough” did not necessarily equate to “good health,” and Ulrik, along with anyone with a firm grasp of the current political situation in the USE, had some serious concerns about the emperor’s health and future prospects.
Very serious concerns.
A practical concern popped to his mind at that moment, and he walked over to where Captain David Beaton was standing with the Marines currently on bodyguard duty. Like most of his Marines, Beaton was a Scot; in his case, from Skye in the Western Isles. He wasn’t the largest or most fearsome-looking man in his company, but not a one of his men would cross him, and given that he had several Highlanders and even an Irishman or two in his command, that said something about him. Ulrik had found him to be attentive to duty and competent at his work.
“In case no one else thinks of it,” Ulrik said quietly, “it might be a good idea to get that car the princess and I rode in ready for the emperor.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ulrik nodded, and turned back to the princess.
* * *
Schardius visited the opera house a few times every week, usually at dusk or later, when his appearances would be less noticeable.
By now he knew the inside of the place very well; even the basement, with its maze of storage rooms, equipment closets, stairs, and the under-stage area that was mostly open between the supporting pillars but contained provisions for trapdoors, elevators, and other strange theatrical equipment.
He always made a visit to the Women’s Dressing Room. Sometimes it was the first place he visited back stage; sometimes it was the last. Tonight it was his last stop. He flashed his light around, and walked down the way to the table of his interest, where he poked around the various jars and bottles on the table top. He couldn’t take any of them, of course, but he did lift the one bottle of scent and sniff at it. That smell—it sent fire through his head and to his groin. But he only allowed himself the one sniff.