The Devil's Opera(181)

“It was worth it,” Simon murmured. “For Hans.”

* * *

Baldur came back from the side of the car, where he had been answering questions from the occupants inside.

“They want to know how much longer we’re going to be sitting here,” he reported.

“Well, I would say ‘As long as it takes,’” Captain Beatty said, “but since I can see Sergeant MacDonald and Private MacDougal returning, I think not much longer.”

The two Marines walked up to the captain’s horse. The fact that they had their rifles slung from their shoulders was an indication of how peaceful they felt the situation really was. They came to a halt, and saluted.

“Well?” The captain’s voice was dry.

“Och, ’twas not so much of a much,” Sergeant MacDonald reported. “Ain domned fool, a murderer and a rapist to boot, decided to play at guns with Lieutenant Chieske and Sergeant Hoch.” The sergeant’s wide grin exposed two missing teeth. Some of the Marines had personal experience with those two members of the Polizei, and had a healthy respect for them as a result.

“Ah,” the captain replied. “I assume the fool is no longer a problem?”

“Nae problem a’tall,” MacDonald chuckled, “seeing as how he is full of large holes and floating in the Big Ditch.”

“Take your places, then,” the captain ordered. He looked back at the car, then raised his hand and pointed ahead.

“Forward.”

* * *

There was a stir in the auditorium as Emperor Gustav, Princess Kristina, and Prince Ulrik filed into the imperial box. Franz raised his baton. All the orchestra members’ eyes were instantly on him, and instruments were raised to play.

* * *

“Tell me again why I’m coming to this,” Gustav muttered.

“Because Frau Marla is singing in it,” Kristina replied. “I like her.”

Gustav looked over her head at Ulrik.

The prince shrugged. “What she said.”

They took their seats in the box’s front row.





Chapter 68

The overture began with a slow passage by the clarinets in their lowest register. Mournful, plaintive, almost haunting, the melody ebbed and flowed. Friedrich was reminded of walks in forests where everything was shadowed.

At the end of the passage, the low part was taken over by the horns, and the clarinets began playing up an octave. Somehow, the effect was not just a doubling of the notes and more volume; there was an eeriness to the music that made Friedrich’s neck hair prickle.

Halfway through this second iteration of the passage, Friedrich noticed drums playing a beat pattern. They were so soft, he wasn’t sure when they had actually started, but as the pattern recurred over and over again, they grew a little louder with each repeat.

At the end of the second passage, Franz the conductor cut the woodwinds off, and led the drums to grow louder, and louder, and louder, culminating in a massive roll on every instrument that had a skin head, from the raspy snare drum to two of the big thundering kettle-drums.

Just as it seemed the thunder would deafen Friedrich, there was a crash of the cymbals, and the entire orchestra, led by the trumpets, entered with a majestic march.

Friedrich sat back, marveling at what Kappellmeister Heinrich Schütz had wrought. That was his last conscious analysis of the opera until the end of the first scene, as the music just subsumed him.

* * *

Amber, seated next to her husband Heinrich Schütz, leaned over and spoke in his ear.

“Superb, darling. Simply superb.”

His hand tightened its grasp on hers, and he flashed her a smile.

* * *

Byron slid his pistol back into its holster.

Gotthilf leaned over the edge again to watch the body slowly floating down the canal toward the river in the sluggish current. Byron walked over to stand by Gotthilf as Honister arrived.

“Phillip’s okay. Bullet creased his thigh. He was bleeding pretty good, but I wrapped his shirt around it, so he’ll keep until someone can get him to the hospital. Where’s Schardius?”

Gotthilf pointed over the railing. Honister took a look, and shrugged.

“We going to let him float out to sea?” Gotthilf asked.

“That’s a thought,” Byron said with a morbid chuckle, “except that the CoC might gig us for water pollution. So Sergeant Honister, here”—he grinned at Karl—“needs to go roust out some fishermen to grab the body and bring it to shore.”

Honister had a bit of a why me? look on his face, but he headed toward the riverbank.

Gotthilf looked over to where Simon was standing on the other side of the bridge, leaning back against one of the end pillars.

“Simon okay?”

“Yah. Been a long day for him, though.”