The Devil's Opera(34)
Gotthilf flicked a particle of dust off the top of the polished wood. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Byron grabbed for the case. “Anything that comes in a presentation case to a firing range interests me.”
Gotthilf slapped his partner’s hands away. “All right, all right! Don’t get greedy.” He lifted the lid of the case on its hinges, and unfolded the cloth from where it covered the contents.
“Ahh.” That lengthy satisfied sigh from Byron made Gotthilf chuckle. “What?”
“You sound like a tad in the kitchen when the cook is baking pies,” Gotthilf said.
Byron started to reach into the case, stopped, and looked to his partner. “May I?”
Gotthilf nodded. Byron completed his motion by pulling the pistol from its nest in the case. He held it in both hands at first, turning it this way and that to examine it in detail. “That’s nice,” he finally passed judgment. “Hockenjoss and Klott?”
“Of course,” Gotthilf affirmed. He was very happy with the H&K .32 he’d been carrying for almost a year, so when he decided to look for another pistol he naturally gravitated to that firm’s designs.
“Big bore,” Bryon commented as he hefted the pistol. “Bigger than your other pistol.” He held it out at arm’s length, sighting down the range. “A bit heavy, I think. Nice balance, though.”
“Forty-four caliber,” Gotthilf nodded as he took two gunpowder flasks from his coat pockets and the small box of percussion caps from its slot in the presentation case. He staggered from the slap Byron delivered to his shoulder.
“All right! It’s about time you got a man’s gun.”
“Give me that.” Gotthilf plucked the pistol from Byron’s hands, and swung out the cylinder to begin loading. “In truth, I wanted something heavier than the thirty-two, and I also wanted more shots.”
“Wait a minute,” Byron reached out and tapped the cylinder. “Seven shots? When did they come out with this one? Your thirty-two only has five.”
“Uh-huh. New design.” Gotthilf was pouring powder into the cylinder chambers, tongue sticking out from between his teeth. At that moment he envied Byron the up-time .45 cartridges more than ever. He knew H&K was making some cartridge weapons, and he lusted after one of them, but the price of the ammunition was so high he just couldn’t justify it right then. Maybe in a few years. “I was in Farkas’ gun shop a few months ago, and I talked with the master gunsmith of H and K when he dropped by, told him what I wanted. They’ve been making six-shot forty-fours for a while. I asked for more, and he came back to me with this.”
“Hmm. Seven shots.” Byron obviously mused on that for a while as Gotthilf finished loading the cylinder. “Okay. With a percussion cap system, it will take that much longer to reload, though.”
“Maybe.” Gotthilf started loading the bullets into the chambers one at a time. “Remind me to tell you what Herr Farkas suggested when I complained about that.”
Byron stepped back when Gotthilf began placing the percussion caps on the chamber nipples. “That stuff makes me nervous, even in small doses.”
“Relax. H and K switched to the French caps, the potassium…potassium chlorate. It’s not nearly as sensitive.”
Gotthilf swung the cylinder into place in the gun frame, keeping it pointing down range. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the flat pill case he used to carry his wax ear plugs. Moments later, he was ready to shoot, and nodded to the range officer.
“Range is hot!” the officer yelled as Byron pulled his ear protectors back up.
Gotthilf waited for the range officer to give him the nod, took a two-handed grip, focused on the target through the sights, and began squeezing the trigger.
Bam!
Chapter 13
A T & L TELEGRAPH
BEGIN: MBRG TO GVL
TO: ATWOOD COCHRAN
ADDR: LOOK IT UP
FROM: MARLA LINDER
DATE: 14 DEC 1635
MESSAGE:
DOES YOUR PORTABLE RECORDING RIG STILL WORK? STOP
IF SO, CAN YOU BRING TO MBURG FOR A ONE SONG GIG PROBABLY ON OR AROUND JAN 14 TO 16? STOP
WILL PAY EXPENSES AND GOING RATE FOR RECORDING OR IF TROMMLER BUYS IN YOU CAN TAKE ONE FIFTH OF DEAL STOP
RESPOND BY TELEGRAPH STOP
TELL MARCUS HI STOP
END
Chapter 14
Simon’s day turned out to be a good one. He ran messages for several merchants and delivered a package as well. At the end of the day, as he walked toward Frau Zenzi’s, he had three pfennigs in his pocket, and that was after spending the one Hans had given him for a piece of grilled sausage on a stick. That and the remaining roll from yesterday, despite it being a little the worse for wear, had given him more of a day’s meal than he could remember having since forever.