The Devil's Opera(23)

“It happened during the sack of the city,” Hans began. “We were trying to get out, get away from Pappenheim’s troops. I was able to force our way through the crowds, able to hold on to her and keep her with me. She was only fifteen, and so small, so delicate.” There was a pensive expression on Hans’ face in the candlelight. “I thought I could keep her safe, keep her protected. But there came a surge of the crowd and her hand was torn from mine. I turned and looked for her, I called for her, I started pushing against the flow trying to get back to where I lost her. Then I heard her scream.”

The big man clasped his hands together, hard. “She had fallen, and before she could get back up some fool on a horse had ridden right over her. Her left leg was cut up, but her right…the knee was crushed, and the bones were broken in two other places.”

Simon heard Hans swallow, hard.

“I almost went for him. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, before or since, but him I wanted dead. Still do, for that matter. If I ever see his face, he’s a dead man. But she screamed again, and I turned to her. I picked her up and carried her, out of the city and away to one of the villages. I didn’t care where we went, so long as Ursula could find help.”

Simon could see that scene in his mind; Hans cradling Ursula and walking as far as he had to go.

“It was months before she healed and could walk again. The leg didn’t heal straight, and it’s shorter than the other. You’ve seen what she’s like.”

Hans stared ahead, rocking his clasped hands. Simon said nothing, just waited.

“She’s a saint, Simon. I know her leg hurts, but she hardly ever complains. And she never blames me, even though it’s my fault she got hurt. She’s a saint,” he repeated. “She hardly ever gets out, because of the leg. It hurts her to walk, and she doesn’t like people staring at her, but she does what she has to do. She takes in embroidery and sewing. She reads her Bible. And she’s so good it almost kills me to see her like she is.”

There was another long pause. Simon broke the silence. “Is…is that why you brought me here? To meet her, I mean?”

Hans looked into his eyes. “Yes. I mean, I thought…You’ve got a weakness,” Simon’s pride flashed a bit at that statement, but he forced it down, “I thought you would understand what she’s going through.” Hans looked down again. “You’ve been my luck tonight; I thought maybe you could be hers, too. Maybe even be a friend.” Simon could see his hands twist together. “I think she may need a friend, maybe soon.”

The big man looked up again with a strange expression on his face. Simon looked back at him solemnly. “If Fraulein Metzger will have me, I would like to be her luck, and her friend as well.”

The biggest smile of the evening broke out on Hans’ face. “Great! That’s great, Simon. We’ll talk to her about it in the morning.”

They sat together in a companionable mood, neither speaking. At length, Hans rose and went through a door opposite the one into Ursula’s room, returning with a thick blanket.

“Here. You can pull the two chairs together, or roll up in this on the floor for the night. We’ll do something better if you stay over longer.”

Simon took the blanket, marveling at how thick and warm it was. “Oh, this will be fine. I’ll just roll up in front of the fireplace.”

“Go ahead, then, before I blow out the candle.”

Simon wasted no time in kicking off his wooden shoes. Suiting his actions to words, it was the work of moments to lay the blanket out in front of the fireplace and roll up in it.

“Good night, lad.” Simon heard Hans blow out the candle. Darkness descended in the room, alleviated only by the glow of the banked fire in the fireplace.

“G’night.”

Hans walked across the room in the darkness. The door closed behind him.

It had been an exciting day. Simon had never dreamed when he awoke in his cramped little nook this morning everything that he would do. New people to meet and adventures of a sort. He yawned, and fell asleep thinking that Fraulein Ursula was an angel. He’d never met an angel before.

* * *

Marla stepped into her study and pulled her lighter out of her pocket to light a lamp. She and Franz hadn’t been able to afford a generator package yet, so they were still making do with lamps and candles. After getting the light started, she stared down at the old stainless steel Zippo for a moment. Odd how something that had belonged to her cigar-smoking grandfather and had almost been thrown away by her nonsmoking dad was now something that never left her possession, especially now that someone was producing up-time style lighter flints. She’d heard that the stuff they made it from came from India. She didn’t care if it came from Antarctica, as long as she could keep using the lighter.