The Devil's Opera(45)
“They are a bit large, but I think they will do.”
Ursula nodded and passed the clothing bundle back to Simon. “As with the coat, that is probably not a bad thing for a boy his age. He might actually wear them out before he outgrows them.”
One more round of bargaining ensued, perhaps cut short by the woman’s persistent cough. Hans hung the boots around Simon’s neck and flashed a grin of triumph and congratulations at him. Simon was absolutely jubilant. Shoes! Real leather shoes, not clogs. He couldn’t ever remember having leather shoes. He reached up to touch them, and managed to get a finger on them without dropping the bundle. He knew there was a silly grin on his own face, but he couldn’t help it. Shoes.
Ursula turned to Hans. “We are done here, I think. Can we go someplace to sit and eat?” Simon thought it odd how her voice had gone all soft after being so firm earlier in the day.
Hans nodded and picked her up again. He gave her a moment to settle herself, then looked over to Simon, who was just enjoying the thought of his new belongings. “Do you know where the Green Horse is from here, lad?”
Simon thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yah. That way,” he made an abortive move with his hand, but the package dragged it down.
“Lead the way, then.”
Filled with joy and pride, Simon did lead the way, unerring in his path, arriving at the door to the tavern before much more of the day had passed. Hans set Ursula on her feet with his usual care, she settled her skirts, and they entered the tavern together
* * *
It was the middle of what was shaping up to be a very long day for his partner and himself, Gotthilf decided. They had made the rounds of their informants once again—nothing new there, not even from Demetrious. They checked with the patrol watchmen who had been keeping a particular eye on the warehouse of Andreas Schardius’ corn factorage—nothing out of the very ordinary reported. They talked to the other investigators who had questioned the workmen who labored in that warehouse. Nothing at all noted.
“Three strikes and we’re out,” Byron muttered as they walked back toward the police house.
“I don’t know,” Gotthilf replied, thinking back over everything they had heard. One thing stuck out to him. “It strikes me that the answers of the warehousemen seemed to be uniform to an unlikely degree.”
Byron gave a slow nod. “Yeah, now that you mention it, it did seem like they all gave more or less the same answers to the questions.”
“That, and not a single word spoken against their work bosses or Schardius himself.”
“Too right that’s odd. Never met a workman yet who didn’t have some kind of gripe against the men he worked for. It’s like someone passed the word to watch what they said.”
Their steps had wended their way toward the Green Horse in the new town. Gotthilf looked up and almost stumbled. “Byron, that’s Metzger going in to the tavern.”
Byron gave a sharp grin. “So it is, and that’s the boy that was with him that night at the fights. Don’t know the woman, though.”
Gotthilf decided this was an opportunity for observation. He grinned back. “It’s about time we had something to eat, right?”
“By all means, partner,” Byron replied. “Let’s duck into the tavern and grab a bite.”
And so they did.
* * *
Simon opened his mouth to say something about the Polizei men coming in the door, but Hans looked at him from under lowered eyebrows, so he closed his mouth without saying anything. The three of them proceeded to have what Simon found to be a very pleasant luncheon. He finally sat back, unable to eat any more. Hans looked over at him and winked. “A good day, eh, lad?”
Simon nodded with another silly grin.
The three of them sat there for a while, just idly talking about various things that crossed their minds—usually whatever crossed Ursula’s mind. Simon didn’t say much, but his hand would reach up every few minutes and touch his new boots, which action would be followed by another smile.
The pleasantness came to an end for Simon when the two detectives finished their last flagons of ale, stood, and came toward their table. Hans looked at him again, so Simon didn’t say anything. But he did shrink away from them a little. He couldn’t help it. Men like that usually caused him problems.
“Good day to you, Herr Metzger.” That was the up-timer speaking. “And to you, too, lad. I don’t think I heard your name when we met the other night.”
Simon had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. “S-Simon Bayer, sir.”
The up-timer nodded, then looked back at Hans. The down-timer, however, was looking at Ursula. Simon startled to bristle, but Hans’ hand grabbed his leg under the table, and he settled back.