The Devil's Opera(29)
“Not in our cards or stars today,” Gotthilf replied as they moved through the crowd.
“Yeah. No joke. Don’t think I’ve heard of the Metzger guy.” Byron pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Still, I suppose we’ll have to follow up on the name, since it’s the only lead we’ve got right now.”
“True. And we will be able to tell Captain Reilly that we’re pursuing our investigations.”
“True.”
Byron fell silent, and Gotthilf followed suit. Byron hadn’t recalled the name Metzger, but it rang a bit of a bell with Gotthilf, and he worried after that thought for the better part of a block. Then it came to him.
“Metzger…I think he was the guy who got pulled in on that splashy drunk and disorderly arrest a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, yeah…” Byron nodded. “Yeah, I remember him now. Big blocky guy, right? Looked like a warehouseman?”
“That’s because he is a warehouseman.”
“Who does he work for?”
“Mmm,” Gotthilf thought for a moment. “One of the corn factors; Bünemann or Schardius, I think.”
Those two names were familiar to both men, as they had investigated the murder of Paulus Bünemann earlier in the year. Schardius turned out to have no connection with the murder, but had impressed them both as being a sharp operator. Gotthilf wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the man skated close to the edge of the law in his business.
After a few steps, Byron looked over at Gotthilf. “You don’t suppose Schardius…”
Apparently Byron’s thoughts were running in the same channels as Gotthilf’s. He shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
After another long silence, Gotthilf asked, “Do you really think Demetrious is a gypsy?”
Byron chuckled. “Not full blood, no. But with that Greek name and his facial features and complexion, he’s definitely not from around here. And he might be part Romanian, or Egyptian, or Armenian. Wouldn’t surprise me if he came from Istanbul, even, although he doesn’t look Turkish to me.” He laughed again. “Not that I’m an expert on Turks, mind you.”
Chapter 11
Otto looked up from the document he was reading at the sound of the tap on the door frame. When he saw Jacob Lentke standing in the opening, he stood and moved around the desk.
“Come in, Jacob, come in.” He ushered the older man to a chair. “How goes your gout today?”
“Not badly, Otto. Not badly at all.” Jacob waved a hand at the desk. “Sit, sit, my boy. What are you poring over so intently?”
“Oh, Father Christoff forwarded some documents from Fürst Ludwig that will be useful to me. He has granted me, or rather, the mayor of Greater Magdeburg, police authority over the properties of the Stift within the confines of the city.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose. “The new city?”
“Not just the new city, but Old Magdeburg as well.”
The older man’s face adopted a grin that could only be described as evil. “That means you will have unquestionable authority over nearly half of the old city, which also removes it from the sphere of influence of the City Council. Hah! Can I tell them?”
Otto made a note to himself that one of these days he needed to find out just who on the council had offended Lentke, and just what they had done. Jacob was normally not a vindictive man, but this was not the first time he had indicated displeasure with the council.
“No, because the Fürst sent a copy of the documents to them as well.”
Disappointment showed on Jacob’s face, but he shrugged it off.
“Oh, well. That is still good news. But enough of that. I won’t be long, must be someplace else soon, but I needed to leave this with you.”
Otto picked up the leather folder that Jacob pushed across the desk to him. He opened and scanned the document it contained. “Ah, you finished the opinion already.”
“Yes. It turns out that we each of us had a surprising amount of case material in our homes. Not enough to reconstruct the archives, of course, but enough to provide some useful precedents. And the review by Master Thomas Price Riddle from Grantville was useful, as well. The man has the clearest of minds and a most incisive wit. I wish his health was stronger. We of the Schöffenstuhl would be delighted if he could come to Magdeburg and spend some days with us in discussions.”
“Discussions. Hah. I know you and your cronies,” Otto smiled. “You would pick the poor man’s mind cleaner than a wishbone at a feast-day meal. You would leave him without two thoughts to keep each other company.”
Jacob smiled in turn. “Perhaps.”