The Devil's Opera(137)

There was a smattering of applause, and a few boos, but most of the crowd was silent.

“Fighting out of the red corner,” Herr Pierpoint began while Hans climbed through the ropes, “here is Magdeburg’s resident champion, undefeated in his professional career, with a record of nineteen wins and no defeats. Give it up for Magdeburg’s own Hans Metzger.”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Simon saw Recke looking around with a sneer on his face. Hans, expressionless, simply stood in his corner, waiting. It was very unlike him, he thought.

The noise died away faster than usual. Simon must not have been the only one intimidated by the big man from Hannover. Herr Pierpoint continued. “You both know the rules. We won’t go over them again.” He pointed to Hans. “Are you ready?” Hans nodded. He pointed to Recke. “Are you ready?” Recke’s big head creaked down and up. Herr Pierpoint tossed the microphone over the ropes to Tobias and pointed to the timekeeper. The bell rang. He stepped back and waved the fighters forward.

* * *

Herr Schmidt placed his hands on the table, letting them aimlessly clasp and reclasp.

“We need to change our attacks.”

Ciclope could barely hear the man’s voice. He bent closer to him.

“No more attacks on the project. The Polizei, the company, and the Committees of Correspondence will be watching things with very sharp eyes, right now.”

Ciclope snorted. “I won’t argue with that. Besides, with Pietro dead, I couldn’t do another bomb or fire again anyway. That was his skill.”

Schmidt nodded. “Well enough. Are you still willing to work for me?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Ciclope retorted.

“Well enough,” Schmidt repeated. “There is a man…the man I’ve been trying to hurt with what you were doing. I believe it is time to start looking for more direct ways to hurt him.”

“So what’s the problem?” Ciclope sneered. “Kill him and be done with it.”

“All right,” Schmidt said, still in a near-whisper, “how much would you ask to do it?”

Ciclope’s sneer grew. The fool wouldn’t even say the word “kill”—he wasn’t even honest enough with himself to admit he was asking for a murder.

“Ten thousand dollars; in good silver, mind you. I don’t hold with paper money.”

“All right.”

Ciclope was surprised that Schmidt didn’t try to bargain with him. He must be desperate.

Schmidt actually relaxed a little now.

“How will you do it?”

“Well, I’m not going to blow him up, with Pietro dead.” Ciclope took his hat off his head with his right hand while pulling Pietro’s pistol from his coat pocket with his left hand and sliding it under the hat on the table. He tilted the hat for a moment, so that only Schmidt could see the pistol. “But I can take care of him, have no doubt.”

He slid the pistol out from under the hat and put it back in his coat pocket.

“Now, who is it you need removed?”

Schmidt’s throat worked as he swallowed.

“Schardius. Andreas Schardius.”





Chapter 53

From the beginning it was obvious this would be a fight like no other in Hans’ career. The crowd knew it, and their yelling approached the level of a frenzy as the two men approached each other. Hans circled the bigger man slowly, hands up, arms tucked in. Recke just turned in place, flat-footed, fists at the level of his chin.

The action began when Hans stepped in and threw a punch at Recke’s gut. The big man didn’t bother to block the blow but threw a riposte at Hans. He ducked but not enough and the punch glanced off the top of his head. He stepped back and shook his head, testimony to Recke’s power.

The first round consisted of the two fighters feeling each other out. The second started out the same way, but midway through it Recke went on the attack. He smashed a fist through Hans’s guard and delivered a thundering body blow. It was followed up by a punch to the head and one to the chest. Hans was staggered and his defense wavered.

Recke was not lightning fast; nowhere near as quick as Hans. But he was faster than anyone in the Magdeburg crowd would have believed before the fight. The crowd noise faltered as they saw their favorite being stalked around the ring. Not every Recke punch connected, but enough did that Hans was definitely absorbing some punishment. A cut had opened on his left cheek and blood was beginning to trickle down.

Simon’s stomach was churning so badly he thought he was going to be sick. He wished with all his heart that Hans had not accepted the fight, but he knew that Hans being who he was, that would never have happened.