The Devil's Opera(53)
Up the ladder they went. Simon had been up and down the ladder so many times over the last few weeks that he’d learned how to balance himself to get on and off at the top and didn’t even think about it now.
“Now, where’s Tobias?” Hans was looking around.
“Ferret-face,” Simon muttered. Hans heard him and laughed.
“There he is.” Hans pointed and they pushed their way through the crowd, accepting congratulation and claps on the back as they moved. In a moment Hans had Tobias by the arm and was watching him count out bills.
Simon counted along with them. “…ten, eleven, twelve.” Twelve hundred dollars! Hans was making even more money for each fight. It still amazed Simon that people would pay to see a fight, despite all the proof he had received over the last weeks.
“Twelve for tonight,” Hans said as he pocketed the money. “Next time it’s fifteen.”
“Fifteen!” Tobias almost screamed. “That’s robbery!”
Hans shrugged. “The people pay to come see me. If you want me in your fights, the price is now fifteen hundred dollars.”
Tobias’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. This increased his resemblance to the weasellike ferrets to such an extent that Simon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. They left Tobias wordless and huffing.
“There you are, Hans.” The crowd parted to let Andreas Schardius and his friends through. “You are indeed the Samson of Magdeburg. Congratulations on your win tonight. May it not be the last.”
“Thank you, Master Schardius,” Hans said. Simon could hear a strained note in his voice.
The merchant waved a hand. “I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint me, Hans. If you had lost, well, it would have been costly.” With that, he turned and walked away.
Simon was alarmed. Hans’ hands were fists again. He laid a hand on Hans’ arm. “Hans…Hans…pigeons, remember.”
After a moment the fists relaxed, but this time there was no smile. “No, Simon, not a pigeon. Not that one. A kestrel, maybe, or better yet, a carrion crow.” Hans spat as if clearing his mouth. “Come on.”
* * *
Byron and Gotthilf looked at each other from where they stood on the fringe of the crowd.
“Interesting,” Gotthilf said.
Byron nodded.
* * *
The torchlight around the bear pit dimmed behind them. The moon was in half-phase, riding high in the sky, so their way was lit before them. Simon was perplexed, and finally worked up his courage to ask a question.
“Hans?”
“Hmm?”
“Why is Master Schardius not a pigeon?”
Hans spat again. “The preachers say that we are God’s flock, the sheep of His pasture. They might as well say we are the pigeons in His roost. Sheep and pigeons are both stupid, messy, nasty creatures, helpless for the most part. That probably describes most people—certainly the ones you and I know.” They walked a few steps farther on. “But there are always those who prey on the flocks. Call them wolves, or hawks, or carrion crows…” Hans kicked a rock out of his path. “…but they batten on the misery of others. And some of them…” Simon heard the smack of a fist into a palm. “…some of them feed on pain. And Master Schardius,” loathing dripped from the title, “he is one of the worst. He misses no opportunity to increase his wealth at the expense of others. I know that he brings stolen property into Magdeburg on his barges. I know that he cheats his customers, giving them short weights when they buy his grain. And I know that he delights in tearing at people to cause pain or to receive gain, and if he can do both at once then he is a happy man.”
Simon walked beside his friend, trying to absorb everything that had just been said. “But…but he seems so nice and friendly.”
“Does he? Think about what he told me before the fight. Think it over carefully.”
Simon recalled the words the merchant had spoken. One phrase in particular stood out in his memory, I shall only be disappointed if you lose, Hans. He thought of the expression on the merchant’s face, of the tone of his voice. A realization dawned in his mind.
“He ordered you to win.”
Hans spat. “Yah. Ordered, and threatened.”
Simon shuddered. “Threatened?”
“Oh, I know the words seem mild. But there was a warehouseman who did something to ‘disappoint’ the good master some time back. One day he didn’t come to work, nor the next day. The day after that he was found floating face-down in the river.”
“You think…”
Hans was silent for a moment. “Not that it would have done much good, the words of such as us against the word of one of the richest men in Magdeburg.”