1636 The Devil's Opera (Ring of Fire) (12 page)

“Sooner would be better, but if it takes a week, and it’s good, so be it.”

Herr Sylwester leaned forward and whispered in Frau Linder’s ear. She nodded in response, then returned her focus to Friedrich. “How much?”

Friedrich was tempted to play word games with the woman, but in the end decided not to. “Nothing. I will do this just for the pleasure of being a part of it.”

He was surprised when Frau Linder didn’t remonstrate with him. She simply took him at his word, and nodded. “Within the week, then. Good day to you, Herr Logau,
meine Herren.
”

Herr Sylwester nodded, having never said a word to the gathered writers, then turned and followed his wife. Friedrich felt his mouth quirk again. With Frau Linder for a wife, why would the man need to say anything? And from what Friedrich had heard, although he followed in his wife’s wake often, Sylwester was no rudderless ship sucked along in an undertow. One could be quiet, and still be a rock of strength.

Friedrich turned back to his friends.

“Well?” Plavius demanded.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to show us the English lyrics?”

Friedrich made a pretense of considering this suggestion, before letting his face settle into a grin. “No,” he said as he beamed at them. “You will hear them like everyone else, when
she
is ready to salvo them at the world.”

“Salvo?” Gronow caught at that word. “You infer that it will be a momentous occasion.”

“My friends, you have no idea. But you will remember that day, I doubt not.”

As those around him erupted in expostulations, Friedrich looked back down to his notebook, and crossed out “destruction.” He wrote in a simple word, so that the last line of the epigram now read “Compromise brings death.” He read the line again, nodded, and put the notebook back in the breast pocket of his coat.

* * *

Bam!

Gotthilf walked up to the counter just as Byron fired his last shot. The action in the .45 locked back; Byron ejected the empty magazine and laid it and the empty pistol on the counter.

“Clear!” he called out to the range officer as he slid the ear protectors down to hang around his neck.

The range officer blew his whistle. Even though Byron was the only shooter in the range at the moment, the officer still yelled out, “Range is cold.” After a moment, a young man ran out to grab the target off the hook, then ran back to the side and around the range perimeter to bring it to the lieutenant.

Gotthilf looked around his partner’s arm to see the grouping. “Not bad, Byron.”

Byron laid his hand on the spread. Nothing showed outside his palm. “Yeah, eight shots in a five inch diameter at thirty feet. Not world class, maybe, but good enough for the guy’s heart and lower left lung lobe to be hamburger.” He put the target on the counter, then bent over and picked up his cartridge casings. “I almost forgot these. I’ve got almost a box worth that I need to get reloaded.”

Gotthilf winced at Byron’s description of the effect of the shots on a body. He couldn’t disagree with it, but the thought still caused his stomach to lurch a bit. He covered for that by setting his case on the counter.

Byron started feeding stubby .45 cartridges into the empty magazine.
Click. Click. Click.
“Whatcha got, partner?” In a matter of moments, seven cartridges into the magazine, ram it into the handle, one cartridge into the chamber, release the action, throw the safety, and shove the pistol into the holster in the back of his belt, all the while looking with interest at Gotthilf’s case.

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.

So he was in a good mood when he arrived at the bakery, whistling on his own as he claimed his broom and began sweeping.

“You seem happy,” Frau Zenzi said as he worked.

“Yah. I made a couple of new friends yesterday, and pulled in a couple of coins today.” Simon bent down to look under the edge of the counter to make sure he had swept it clean underneath.

“That is good,” Frau Zenzi replied.

Simon continued sweeping. His good mood made the time pass swiftly, and before he knew it he was done. After he put the broom back in storage, Frau Zenzi gave him a roll. He gave a florid bow in reply, then exited the bakery with her laughter ringing in his ears.

He looked around, but Hans was not in sight yet. There was still a bit of light coming over the roofs of the western houses, so he might be a bit early himself. He sat down on Frau Zenzi’s steps and bit into the roll. It was crusty and filled with flavor. Before he knew it, he was almost done. He was about to finish the last piece, when he realize he hadn’t seen Schatzi yet today.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, than Simon saw her, nosing her way down the street. He whistled and she looked his way, ears perked. “Schatzi,” he called, holding out the last scrap of the bread. As always, she approached him slowly, getting just close enough to grab the bread, then scooting back out of his reach to eat it. A few chomps and it was gone. She looked at him for a moment, then moved on her way, following her route, sniffing for the scraps of food that would keep her and her pups alive.

“What was that all about?”

Simon jumped. Hans was leaning against the front of the building next door, hands in pockets, watching him.

“She is the only creature I know who is worse off than I am. I always give her a scrap of my food when I see her.”

Hans straightened. “Do you think that makes her yours?”

“I used to dream that it did, but no. She is too afraid to trust anyone.”

“Hmmph. I know people like that, too.”

So did Simon, and he nodded in agreement.

“I am surprised the knackers haven’t caught up with her,” Hans said.

Simon’s gut twisted at that. He knew that the knackers were charged with clearing stray animals from the streets. “We do not see them around here very often. And Schatzi’s smart, very smart. She would get away from them.”

“That would not take very much smarts. One whiff of them and if she had any sense at all she would be running the other way as fast as she could.” They both shared a laugh over that. Simon remembered the odor that clung to the last knackers he’d seen. Working with dead carcasses did not produce the finest of perfumes.

Hans turned. “Well, come on.”

Simon hurried to catch up with him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask.”

“What did you mean when you told Fraulein Ursula there would be a fight tonight?”

“A fist fight.”

Simon was confused. Hans knew he was going to be in a fist fight?

Hans looked over at him and laughed at his expression. “For money, boy. A fist fight for money. See, there are men in town who arrange these, and other men in town, especially the well-to-do ones, come and watch them. Bets are laid on who will win, and a lot of money can change hands because of one of these fights.”

“Ah.” Simon nodded. “I have heard about those, but never saw one.”

“Look, boy, Simon, you remember what it was like last night at the arm wrestling?”

Simon nodded vigorously.

“It will be like that, only louder and more excited. People really like this.”

“Oh.” Simon thought about it. “Do you do this often?”

“Every few weeks.”

“Do you win?”

Hans laughed. “Every time so far. And with you as my luck,” he reached over and tousled Simon’s hair, “I am sure to keep winning.”

Simon thought about that as they kept walking. He was Hans’ luck. Okay, as the Americans said. He would be the best luck he could be.

Chapter 15

Magdeburg Times-Journal

December 14, 1635

The office of Mayor Otto Gericke made the following announcement yesterday:

“At the request of Fürst Ludwig von Anhalt-Cöthen, the Schöffenstuhl of Magdeburg, capitol city of the USE, has reviewed the actions of Axel Oxenstierna, Chancellor of Sweden, in secluding the emperor, attempting to convene Parliament in Berlin, arresting Prime Minister Wettin, and attempting to assert authority over the government and citizens of the United States of Europe. The Schöffenstuhl has rendered their opinion, and it is being prepared for publication in full. In summary, the Schöffenstuhl today declared Chancellor Oxenstierna’s actions to be illegal and unconstitutional, and further set forward that no citizen or resident of the USE owes the chancellor any obedience or recognition beyond that of common courtesy.

It is our expectation that the USE Supreme Court in Wetzlar will issue a similar ruling when they conclude their deliberations on the issues.

The Times-Journal will bring you the full text of the judicial opinion as soon as it is made public.

Ed Piazza, President of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, lowered the paper and whistled. “Well, now, that’s certainly set the weasel among the chickens.”

Those assembled in Rebecca Stearns’ parlor all laughed. Gunther Achterhof’s laugh morphed into an almost snarl. One of the chief leaders of the Magdeburg Committee of Correspondence, his views on political maneuvering tended to be very direct. “More like set the wolf among the sheep. Nothing plainer can be said to place the truth out in plain view.”