The Devil's Opera(85)

“Enough,” the sergeant finally directed. “Now get.”

The boys vanished.

* * *

Gotthilf looked at Ursula Metzgerinin, and felt a smile spread across his face in response to the one that was lurking around the corners of her mouth.

“Quite the taskmaster you are,” she murmured.

“Are you all right?” Gotthilf asked as he stepped closer.

“Yes.” She lifted a hand from her cane and waved it in the air. “In truth, it was more a matter of I tripped myself. They barely touched me. And you, stern face of authority that you are, you…”

She paused, obviously looking for a word.

“I read them the riot act?” Gotthilf contributed. “Lowered the boom? Chewed them out? Gave them what for?”

Ursula tilted her head and furrowed her brow.

Gotthilf laughed. “Those are all up-time figures of speech meaning I berated them thoroughly.”

Her expression cleared, and she laughed.

“Yes, you did that well.”

They stood, smiling at each other, and Gotthilf thought to himself that Ursula stood in beauty. Oh, not that she was the most striking woman he had ever seen. His father would call her “presentable at best,” and his mother would probably sniff at her, but something about Ursula as she stood there in the weak winter sunlight caught his regard.

That was the moment when he finally admitted to himself that he was intrigued with this working class girl—woman. It was a moment of light, of expansion, of ebullience.

And the next moment it all came crashing down in shards in his heart and soul. She was the sister of a suspect under investigation. He could not act on his interest. Could not. He almost shuddered at the thought of what Captain Reilly would say about that—never mind what his partner would say.

“Are you going after more embroidery thread?” he asked, in an attempt to move past the moment.

“No,” she replied. “Just out getting some sun and air. But I think I have had enough of both for the day, so I will return to our rooms now.”

“Then have a good day, Fraulein Metzger.” Gotthilf touched a finger to his hat brim, and forced himself to stand in place and watch her limp back the way she had come.

* * *

Ursula called herself fifteen different kinds of fool as she hobbled back to the rooms. She was not a stranger to attraction to the opposite sex. Before the sack, she had had contact with boys of her own age, had felt the stirrings of interest, of emotion, of what might have become the beginnings of passion. Then the sack happened, and the wrack of her body. Since then, the only man she had seen for more than a few moments had been her brother.

Of all the men to be attracted to, it had to be one of the Polizei. And not a watchman, either, but a sergeant. And he was from a well-to-do family. His clothes would tell that to anyone with an eye for fabrics and tailoring, like her. And she really did remember his sister from the catechism classes.

Dreams; the thought that someone like him might find her interesting, poor and broken as she was.

Dreams dry as dust. What did she have to offer him?

* * *

Magdeburg Times-Journal

February 6, 1636

Magdeburg Polizei Captain William Reilly appealed to the public today for assistance in solving a brutal double homicide committed on February 4. The two men, both employees of Schiffer Painting and Contracting, were found stabbed to death in an alley off of Kanalstrasse in Greater Magdeburg. When last seen at the company headquarters, they were carrying the week’s payroll for the expansion building project at the Magdeburg Memorial Hospital. The payroll was not found at the crime scene.

“It seems obvious that robbery was the motive for the killings,” Captain Reilly stated to reporters today. “If anyone noticed anything unusual around that alley on the afternoon of the 4th, please let us know. Likewise, if anyone sees someone flashing a lot of cash around.”





Chapter 35

Franz walked into the auditorium from the rear audience entrance. It was early in the morning, and he was confused for a moment that some of the players were already on the stage and playing. Then he recognized Thomas Schwartzberg standing in front of them waving his arms in a simplistic conductor’s pattern. So, by process of deduction, those who were on the stage must be the players Thomas had recruited to play his march.

He smiled when he remembered Thomas asking him for advice on how to conduct. “Just give them a good solid beat,” he’d replied. “You can’t go far wrong if you do that much.” And from the look of it, Thomas had taken that advice to heart.

The piece they were playing was recognizably a march; at least to someone who had an ear for up-time music, which definitely included Franz. He stood in the back of the hall and listened to them run through it. Thomas’ experience in notating up-time music from recordings had definitely shaped his style in this first work as a composer.