The Devil's Opera(154)

Simon looked up from where he had just managed to buckle his belt one-handed. His head tilted as he contemplated the wardrobe.

“You have a cabinet just for your clothes? How many shirts do you have?”

Gotthilf looked in the wardrobe. “Here and in the laundry, seven or eight.”

Simon’s eyes widened at the thought of that much wealth. “You could wear a different shirt every day of the week.”

Gotthilf chuckled as he reached for his holster rig and shrugged into it. “There have been times when my mother forced me to do just that.”

Simon stared at the rig. “You carry a gun all the time?”

Gotthilf shrugged. “I deal with dangerous people, sometimes. So, yes, I carry a gun all the time. Two, actually. Big pistol here”—he placed his right hand on the .44 in his left armpit—“extra loaded cylinders for it here”—he touched the cylinders on the right side strap—“and smaller back-up pistol here.” He turned to show Simon the .32 holstered in the small of his back, grip upward. He picked up his jacket and put it on.

Simon had a disconcerted look on his face.

“Have you ever shot anyone?”

Gotthilf abandoned a flippant answer before it was fully formed in his mind.

“Yah, but only to keep them from hurting someone else.”

Simon considered that, tilting his head again as he thought. When he reached his conclusion, he nodded firmly and looked up at Gotthilf.

“So,” Gotthilf said. “Ready for something to eat?”

That got an enthusiastic nod from the boy.

“Well, get Fraulein Metzger’s bag and let’s get to the table while there is still food on it.”

Simon grabbed the bag off the table with his one hand and lugged it out the door. Gotthilf followed him, chuckling. “This way,” he said as he headed for the stairs.

They clomped on down the stairs together, and Gotthilf led the boy to the eating room at the back of the house. They arrived to find Frau Fickler at one end of the table, flanked by Margarethe on the left and Fraulein Metzger on the right. That encouraged Gotthilf. His mother took Scripture seriously in many ways, one of which was that anyone that she seated to her right was someone for which she had some sort of favor.

Gotthilf nodded to the women.

“Mother, Fraulein Metzger, Margarethe.”

He guided Simon to a chair, and sat next to him. The kitchen girl brought small bowls of broth to them, along with fresh rolls. Simon sat as if paralyzed, as if he had been struck by a gorgon’s gaze.

Gotthilf chuckled at that thought. His mother might be a bit of a scold at times, but this was the first time he’d seen evidence that she might be a medusa. He nudged Simon and whispered, “Watch me.”

* * *

Amber looked around from the edge of the stage under the proscenium. Not for the first time she wished the stage had an apron area in front of the proscenium. But it didn’t, so she mentally shrugged and moved on in her mental checklist.

Franz Sylwester stood with baton in hand in the orchestra pit, watching her as the musicians in the pit watched him. The chorus and soloists were standing in the wings in full makeup and costume, ready to make their entrances. Frau Frontilia was standing at the stage manager’s desk wearing the headset, ready to start giving cues. Back stage hands were poised by the scenery flats and furniture that would have to be moved on and off stage. Even the props manager was focused on her, hands on the first props that would have to be passed out.

“All right, folks,” Amber called out. “One time through, no stops, just like it’s for real; because tomorrow it is for real.”

Amber left the stage and walked past the stage manager’s desk, collecting a high five from Frau Frontilia with a grin. She walked through another door into a hallway that paralleled the auditorium. It didn’t take long to circle around to the main doors. Walking through them, she walked down about halfway to the stage, then moved to a seat in the center.

Taking her seat, she said one word.

“Begin.”

* * *

The maid ushered Byron Chieske into the eating room. Gotthilf set his half-eaten roll down. This was only the second time that Byron had called on him at home in their entire partnership. Of course, the first time had been last night, and look what had come of that.

“Time to go?” Gotthilf asked.

“Something interesting has come up,” Byron said. “We need to get on it right now.”

“Is it about Hans?” Simon asked eagerly, starting to get up from his chair.

Byron pressed down on the boy’s shoulder, but Gotthilf noticed he didn’t answer the boy directly.

“No, you can’t come with us. We’ll let you know when we find out where Hans went.”