The Devil's Opera(179)
“Where have I been? That’s a tale for later tonight.”
* * *
Byron and Gotthilf burst out the door onto the portico and went down the steps at a reckless rate of speed, risking falling or worse in the desire to catch up with the fleeing Schardius.
“Come on, Karl!” Gotthilf yelled as they rushed by him.
“Schardius, drop your gun and put up your hands!” Byron yelled from in front of them, his long legs shortening the distance with every stride.
Schardius responded by twisting his body and squeezing off another shot as he ran. No one saw where it went, but it slowed everyone down for a step or two.
* * *
Ciclope’s ears perked up. From all the yells, that was Schardius running toward him being chased by all those men. He burst from the shadows by the Royal Academy of Music building, then simply had to stand and watch as Schardius ran by him, with four policemen hot on his heels.
Ciclope cursed bitterly. A lost opportunity, but if he had shot at Schardius, it would have been impossible to explain to the Polizei later, especially since he would have been shooting in their general direction as well. He doubted that they would have been restrained about shooting back at him.
He calmed himself, and began running through his options. Okay, if the Polizei captured Schardius, there wasn’t much he could do about that. But if Schardius managed to elude them, where would he go? Easy answer, Ciclope thought to himself—the warehouse. The place was stout enough to be a fortress, and who knows what all he had stashed there.
Ciclope pushed his own pistol back into his pocket, and headed for the western bridge across the ditch into the Altstadt.
* * *
“Halt!”
Captain David Beatty held up his hand, and the Marine detail around the emperor’s car stopped. This perforce caused the car to stop.
Erling Ljungberg and Baldur Norddahl stopped their horses alongside his.
“What’s toward?” Baldur asked, trying to find a comfortable position on the saddle.
“Gunfire,” Beatty said. “That way,” motioning to the north and a bit east; almost the direction in which they were traveling.
There came a few more shots, and this time they all heard it.
“Sergeant MacDonald,” Beatty snapped, “front and center!”
A large red-haired man stepped out of the Marine detail and saluted. “Aye, sir!”
“Take Private MacDougal with you, go find out what’s what up there, and bring the word back to us.”
“Aye, sir!”
The sergeant saluted again, beckoned to another Marine, then led off down the boulevard, unslinging his rifle as he did so.
“Trouble?” Ljungberg asked.
“I doubt it.” Beatty’s broadly accented tones were calm, almost serene. “But I’ll not risk the emperor or the princess. Or the prince, for that matter.”
Baldur grunted in agreement with that last.
“We will bide right here until we know what’s happening,” the captain finished. “And if I don’t hear word, or if I don’t like what I hear, then we fall back on the palace.”
Ljungberg looked back at the car. “How easy is it to turn that thing around?”
“No need.” The captain laughed. “Harold can drive it in reverse almost as fast as a horse will run.”
Ljungberg pursed his lips as more shots sounded from ahead of them.
* * *
Not for the first time in his life, Gotthilf cursed his lack of height. Schardius was running like a frightened prey animal, with long-legged Byron following like a sight hound with quarry in his gaze, even though Schardius shot back at them at least twice more. They swept east at a rapid pace, and it didn’t matter how fast Gotthilf moved his legs, he lost ground with every step.
“I didn’t ask to be short,” he panted. “It’s not fair.”
* * *
“All right, people!” Amber called out after Marla returned with makeup freshened and costume straightened. “Get in your places, and get set. We’re waiting on the emperor. I don’t know why he’s late, but it doesn’t matter. Our job is to be ready. As soon as he’s here, we begin. Break a leg!”
Amber went out the door that led to the stage right lower box seats hallway. It only took her a couple of minutes to make her way around to the front foyer, then through the main doors and down to the railing surrounding the orchestra.
“Franz!” she hissed. He turned slightly and leaned toward her from where he stood at the front of the orchestra.
“The emperor should be here soon. Keep an eye on the imperial box. When the imperial butt hits the imperial seat cushion, you start the overture. Got it?”
Franz flashed a smile, then turned back to the orchestra.