1636 The Devil's Opera (Ring of Fire) (16 page)

Ursula turned from accepting Herman’s farewell, craned her head and looked around.

“What are you looking for?” Hans asked.

“Something…yes, over there.” She pointed and led the way, stopping in front of a trestle with pairs of shoes on it. The woman who was there was tall and stooped, with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. She didn’t look healthy to Simon, and after she gave a rheumy cough he edged away from the table.

“You need shoes, mistress?” the woman asked.

“For the boy,” Ursula replied. Her gaze wandered over the table of secondhand footwear and finally lit on a pair of half-boots. “Hans,” she said, putting her hand out to touch them, “measure these against Simon’s foot.”

The bundle of clothes got passed to Ursula while Hans picked a boot up, stepped around behind Simon and pulled his foot up to measure against the sole of the boot. Simon had to wave his arm wildly to maintain his balance while this was going on. He sighed with relief and shoved his foot back into its clog when Hans let go.

“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.

“Good day, Lieutenant Chieske, Sergeant Hoch.” Hans’ voice sounded pleasant to Simon’s ear, although the firmness of the grip on his thigh told him that Hans was not especially pleased by this encounter.

“And a good day to you as well, fraulein
…
” That was the down-timer sergeant. Simon startled to bristle again, only to feel Hans’ fingers clamp almost to the bone on his thigh.

“Metzger,” Hans growled. “My sister, Ursula Metzgerinin.”

Lieutenant Chieske nodded politely to her, but Sergeant Hoch stepped forward, gently lifted her hand where it lay on the table, and bowed over it, almost but not quite drawing it to his lips. “A pleasure, fraulein.” He straightened with a pleasant smile on his face.

Simon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping as Hans bore down on his leg. He’d have bruises in the morning, that was certain.

The sergeant stepped back, and Simon gave a sigh of relief as Hans released his leg.

“Just so you’ll know, Herr Metzger,” the lieutenant said, “we’re looking into some odd events that have occurred near the river in the last couple of months.”

Hans grunted.

“If you happen to think of anything unusual you’ve seen or heard, you might let us know.”

Hans grunted again. Simon saw the lieutenant’s mouth twitch a bit.

“Well, we’ve got to get back to work. Enjoy the rest of the day Herr Metzger, fraulein, Simon.” The sergeant started when his partner tapped him on the shoulder. They both nodded, then turned away. Simon looked to see Hans following their departure with a hard-set mouth and narrowed eyes.

“A nice man, that Sergeant Hoch,” Ursula said with a bit of a smile. “The other one was a bit brusque, though.”

Hans grunted. Simon looked to him, then said to Ursula, “He is an up-timer. They are all a bit odd; some more than others.”

“Ah. An up-timer. I see.” Ursula looked toward the door. “Do you know, I think that is the first up-timer I have met?”

“And please God, it will be the last,” Hans muttered. “They are nothing but trouble.”

Simon had no reply to the last statement.

The whole encounter had cast a pall over the afternoon. They soon arose to return to their rooms.

* * *

“What was that all about?” Byron asked, disturbing Gotthilf’s thoughts.

“What was what all about?”

“You made a big deal over Fraulein Metzger back there,” the up-timer pointed out. “You don’t normally do that. So what was it all about?”

“Two things,” Gotthilf answered distractedly. “First, it occurred to me that leaving her with a positive memory of us might be to our advantage. And second, I think I’ve met her before, or at least seen her…but I cannot remember where or when.”

He staggered a bit when he was unexpectedly clapped on the shoulder by his partner. “Ah, you’ll remember it sooner or later,” Byron said. “You always do.”

Gotthilf hoped so. This was like having an itch in the middle of his back—he couldn’t reach it.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a fog for Simon. He knew they had to have returned home, because he woke in his usual place the next morning. He knew he had to have changed clothes, because he was wearing some of the new clothing. He knew that he had to have gone to Frau Zenzi’s and swept, because a loaf of her bread was on the table. But all he could remember was the sheer joy of having new-to-him clothes. And shoes. Especially the shoes.

Chapter 21

“Good morning, Frau Simpson,” the man waiting in her parlor said as Mary Simpson entered the room. She made a lightning assessment with a single glance, a skill that had served her well since early in her days in Pittsburgh. The man was of middling height, middling years, middling size, dressed well but not with ostentation.

“Good morning, Herr Schardius,” Mary responded. She waved to a chair opposite the small settee she preferred for her seat. “Please, sit with me. Coffee will be here in a moment.” She could hear Hilde coming down the hall with the tray.

Hilde entered the room and set the silver coffee service on the low table in the center of the seats. Then, after looking to Mary for direction, retreated to a corner.

Mary leaned forward, poured the coffee, and offered a cup to her visitor. “What can I do for you, Master Schardius?”

“Perhaps it is more what I can do for you, Frau Simpson.” He took a sip from his cup, smiled, and leaned back in his chair. “I understand from some of my friends and associates that you, or rather, the Royal and Imperial Arts Council, intend to produce a new opera soon.”

“As it happens, your friends and associates are correct; we will be staging a new opera entitled
Arthur Rex
.” Mary set her own cup down and steepled her fingers below her chin. “
Kappellmeister
Schütz is writing it even now. He says he will be done soon, so we are preparing for the production.”

“Good.” Schardius looked into his cup for a moment. “I am here to offer to underwrite a portion of the production. I appreciate great music. I spent some time in Venice a few years ago, you see, where I was able to hear Monteverdi’s works in the Cathedral, and occasionally at some noble’s house. I even managed to hear the first performance of
Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda
.”

Mary was impressed despite herself. “I envy you that, Master Schardius.”

He shrugged. “It was good, and it certainly instilled in me a hunger to hear music of that scale. It is a hunger that, until recently, has mostly gone unfed.” Mary raised her eyebrows, and Schardius nodded. “Yes, the music that has been presented during the last two years by your band of musicians from and through Grantville—that has fed the hunger, yet at the same time heightened it. I have seen almost every performance, great and small, and I want more, both in amount and in kind. So here I am, willing to pay for what will feed my insatiable appetite.” Another shrug. “Business has been good, this year.”

“And what do you want for your support, Master Schardius?”

His eyebrows rose for a moment, and his head tilted a bit, as if he were considering her seriously for the first time. After a moment, his expression evened itself out again, but for the sharp glitter in his eyes.

“As I said,” Schardius replied, “I am hungry and thirsty for great music, so I would expect to be allowed to observe rehearsals.”

“I think not,” Mary said. “The director would never stand for it.”

“Twenty percent,” Schardius offered.

Mary shook her head.

“Twenty-five.”

“No.”

“Thirty percent,” Schardius said, and a hard tone had entered his voice for the first time.

God,
Mary thought,
he’s serious about this. And I can’t afford to lose that much revenue. Surely Amber will understand that.

“You will not sit on the stage or in the wings,” Mary said as gracefully as she could. “Only in the audience seats or one of the boxes.”

“Agreed.”

“And you will not interfere with the director, or her instructions to the cast.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing so. I simply wish the pleasure of observing. I think we are witnessing a new moment in the arts.”

Mary could hardly quarrel with that, since she thought the same herself. No one in Europe, not even in Italy, has ever seen the sort of opera—
grand opera
, it was rightly called—that was about to be performed in Magdeburg.

“Very good, Master Schardius, we will accept your generous offer.” She stood and held her hand out.

He came to his feet, and took her hand in his. “Have your man of business send an accounting of what is needed to my office at the Schardius corn factorage and warehouse. I will send the money as soon as I can after I look it over.”

“Thank you.” Mary thought that he might be a bit surprised when it turned out that her “man of business” was Lady Beth Haygood.

“And with that, I must return to my office. Today promises to be a busy one for me, but I did want to speak with you today.” Schardius turned away, then turned back. “Oh, will Frau Linder be one of the singers in the opera?”

“Well, casting has not been done yet,” she said, “but I would be very surprised if she isn’t.”

“Splendid!” Schardius said. “I have been told she’s a marvelous singer. I look forward to hearing her.”

Mary smiled in return. She had long experience with patrons of the arts. Even the most hard-bitten businessmen and financiers could turn into fanboys when presented with attractive female performers. Occasionally that could become a bit of a problem, but it was usually harmless enough. And there was no denying that such enthusiasms tended to open wallets still wider.