1636 The Devil's Opera (Ring of Fire) (59 page)

“Shut up!” he barked, gratified to see faces go pale and voices go silent. “Nobody moves, nobody says anything!”

Despite his orders, one person did move. Marla Linder stepped forward until she was at the front of the crowd, shielding those behind her.

“What do you want, Schardius?” she demanded fiercely.

His thinking crystalized, snapped into sharp focus.

“You.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, possibly shock. But if anything, her expression grew fiercer still. “I don’t think so!”

“You will come with me, or I start shooting,” Schardius snarled. He grabbed one nearby young woman, barely more than a girl, pulled her in front of his body and stuck the pistol in her ear. “Shall I start with this one?”

“Wait!” Marla said. Schardius exulted to hear a note of uncertainty in her voice. He said nothing, only cocked the hammer of the pistol.

The young woman was trembling, and a smell of urine suddenly filled the air.

“All right,” Marla conceded. “Just don’t hurt Sophie, and let them go.”

* * *

Byron and Gotthilf pushed their way through the crowd on the portico and made their way through the doors into the foyer of the opera hall. They stopped inside the doorway, craning their heads as they tried to look over the crowd. Being taller, Byron was more successful at that than his partner. After a minute or so, he said, “There!” and pointed toward a group of people near one of the main doors into the auditorium.

They both held their badges up and began making their way toward the spot where Amber was. “Clear the way! Make a hole, people!” Byron shouted.

“Official
Polizei
business!” Gotthilf called out.

Between them, the crowd in front of them thinned out and they made their way to Amber, who was starting to move to one side with everyone else. Byron grabbed her by the elbow.

“It’s you we need to see, Amber. We’ve got a security issue we need your help with. Where can we talk?”

Byron’s urgency clearly registered on Amber. “This way,” she said, and led them through a door guarded by ushers. “This is one of the hallways leading to the lowest level of boxes.”

They walked down the hall until they were past the last of the box entrances. At the very end of the hall, Amber turned in front of a door and faced them. “This is as private as we can get at the moment. What is this all about?”

“Has Andreas Schardius made advances to Marla or any of the other women in the production?” Byron asked harshly.

* * *

There was a sudden explosion of shrieking women from the Women’s Dressing Room. “He came through the wall.” “He’s got a gun!” As the others tried to get them to calm down, Friedrich caught a glimpse of what looked like Frau Marla, dressed very oddly, going through the door through which he and the others had entered the backstage area from the basement. She was followed by someone in a dark cloak which swirled just enough to show something glinting in the hand directly behind her back. The cloak swirled back, but Friedrich saw the cloaked figure’s shoulder make a sharp movement which was followed by Frau Marla jerking almost as if she were reacting to a jab.

Friedrich’s thoughts raced for just a moment, then he turned from his friends and moved with stealth to another door to the basement. The door was in a shadowed nook, so he could open it without a betraying blaze of light warning whoever was below. He had to wait for a lull in the conversations and other noise, but after a moment or two one happened and he slipped through the door.

Closing the door with care, Friedrich eased down the stairs, listening to steps receding across the floor of the basement area. When he got to the bottom of the stairs he stepped to the shadows and followed, moving on his toes for speed and quietness.

* * *

“Stop here,” Schardius said as the entered a pool of light under a single fixture. “Turn around.” He studied Marla’s face; the heightened color, the widened pupils, her deep breaths.

“Why are you doing this?” he heard her ask. He said nothing, simply caressed her cheek, and let his fingers trail down her neck and across the skin revealed by the scoop neck of her garment—her oh-so-revealing garment.

Marla flinched at the first touch, then stood ramrod stiff as he poked the gun barrel into her stomach.

“Why?” Schardius finally replied. “Because I have wanted you for twenty years, my dear.”

“What are you talking about?” Marla demanded. “Twenty years ago I was three years old, and I for sure wasn’t anywhere you were!”

“
La Cecchina
,” the man said. “The songbird of Florence. That was you twenty years ago. I was never able to have her, but now you are here, and you I shall have.”

* * *

Friedrich slunk to a pillar and peered around its edge carefully. Frau Marla and her abductor stood in a pool of light. He could see clearly now that the man was holding a pistol in his right hand while his left was touching her face. And enough of the abductor’s face was in view that Friedrich could identify the man: Andreas Schardius. That rocked him back a bit.

“You’re crazy!” Marla exclaimed.

Friedrich pursed his lips and shook his head. That was perhaps not the wisest thing that Frau Marla could have said. Truthful, without a doubt, but definitely imprudent in this situation. He pondered what to do. Running back upstairs to get help would leave Frau Marla with no immediate succor, and who knew what the madman would do?

But what could he do down here alone, against a madman with a pistol? He pressed himself against the pillar, and thought rapidly. Meanwhile, the conversation continued on the other side of the pillar.

“I suggest you keep a civil and contrite tongue in your head, woman.” That was said in a level and calm tone that nonetheless caused the hair on Friedrich’s neck to stand on end. He didn’t know about Frau Marla, but Schardius was definitely putting some fear into him.

“I’m a married woman,” Marla said. “I’m not beautiful. I’m big and clumsy. Why do you want me? I’ll never be an ornament for your house, or your arm, or a court. Why are you doing this?”

“Your voice,” Schardius said, finally exhibiting some passion. “I want your voice.”

Friedrich looked around the pillar again in time to see Schardius first stroke Marla’s neck and throat, then wrap her hair in his fist and pull her head to his for a brutal kiss.

Marla placed her hands against Schardius’ chest and pushed with all her might. After a moment, she broke free, leaving more than a little of her hair in the madman’s grasp. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth. It came away bloody, from where the “kiss” had broken the skin of her lips against her own teeth.

“You’re a madman,” Marla hissed. “You’re not a man; you’re an animal, a crazy insane thing!”

Schardius backhanded her with his left hand. Marla staggered a step, and Friedrich winced. At least Schardius hadn’t used the pistol to hit her.

“Another word and you are dead,” Schardius said as he straightened his arm with the pistol aimed directly at Frau Marla’s head.

* * *

Amber blinked. “I’ve been worried about that, but Marla says he hasn’t approached her.”

“Byron thinks Herr Schardius is stalking Frau Linder,” Gotthilf said.

“He had a stalker’s file in a hidden drawer in his office desk,” Byron explained. “And we found this outside his office building.” He held up the glove.

Now it was Amber who turned pale. She obviously recognized the glove as well as Byron had. It was distinctive, Gotthilf admitted. Amber was made of strong stuff, though, and carried on by asking, “What do we do?”

“Is Schardius here yet?” Byron’s tone shifted from harsh to gunmetal hard.

“I haven’t seen him, but I wouldn’t necessarily see him tonight. He’s supposed to be in the audience, not backstage.”

“Is Marla here?”

“Yes, she came in early. She’s already backstage.”

“We need to be there
now
!” Byron’s head started swiveling, looking for doors.

Amber turned, pulled a key-ring from her pocket and opened the door she was standing in front of. “Come on.”

They passed through the door, and she locked it behind them. Gotthilf looked around. All he could see were wires and cables, curtains and panels, and people scurrying around.

“This way,” Amber motioned to them. “She was in the dressing room when I left her about half an hour ago over on stage right.” She snorted at their confusion. “The other side of the stage. Now come on.”

Amber led them across the stage behind the main curtain, into a loud crowd of actors and stage hands. It took some time to get everyone to settle down and get a coherent story out of the shaken women who had been in the dressing room.

“You’re sure it was Herr Schardius?” Byron at length demanded.

Universal agreement from all the women, loud, and in some cases obscene.

“Where’s Marla?” was his next question.

It didn’t take long to determine that she wasn’t in the crowd. Someone ran back to the dressing room. Gotthilf could see both Byron and Amber becoming more and more unhappy that Marla was not to be found.

“Now what?” Byron demanded. “Where else do we look?”

“I don’t…” Amber began.

* * *

Desperate, Friedrich grasped the only idea that had come to him. He took a firm grip on his walking stick and twisted a metal collar that circled the shaft of the stick just below the handle, then thrust a hand into a pocket, pulled out a big USE fifty cent piece, and tossed it off to his right. It struck a wall and fell to the floor, where it clattered around for a bit.

Schardius reacted to the noise by swinging the pistol that direction. Friedrich drew the narrow-bladed sword from the stick that was its sheath and flowed around the pillar with it raised. He slashed the sword down on Schardius’ wrist.

Schardius cried out and the pistol fired. Friedrich interposed between himself between Schardius and Marla, sword raised and ready to slash or stab as needed.

* * *

They all heard the muffled sound. Most looked around curiously, but Byron and Gotthilf both jerked.

“That was a shot!” Byron hissed to Amber. “From below us. Basement?”

Amber didn’t say anything, but hurried over to a door near the back of the wall and flung it open. Byron and Gotthilf drew their weapons and started down the stairs into the dimly lit basement. Byron wasted no time, but hurried down as quickly as he could. Gotthilf followed at a slower pace.

* * *

“You…you…” Spittle was running from Schardius’ mouth, as he wrapped his left hand around his right wrist and started to lift the pistol again. Friedrich prepared himself to lunge.

At that moment, the door to the stairs banged open, and feet thundered on the stairs.

“Marla!” a man called out urgently. “Marla!”

“Down here, Byron!” Marla called back from behind Friedrich. He didn’t take his eyes from Schardius, whose own eyes where shifting right and left. As the feet hit the basement floor, Schardius darted into the hallway opening through which Friedrich and the others had come not many minutes before.

Friedrich lowered his sword and spared a quick glance for Frau Marla.

“Are you all right?”

“I am now,” she said, standing up straight and relaxing her hands from the claws they had formed.

* * *

“Marla!” Byron called out. “Marla!”

“Down here, Byron!” they heard the answer.

At that, Gotthilf hurried down to follow his partner to the pool of light where Marla was standing, alongside a man with a sword.

“You, drop the sword,” Byron barked, zeroing his automatic at the bridge of the man’s nose.

“Byron, don’t!” Marla said. “He’s a friend—he was protecting me!”

It took a moment, then Byron lowered the pistol.

“Okay. It was Schardius, then?”

“Yes.” Marla sounded a bit shaken, and Gotthilf didn’t blame her. “He went that way.” She pointed to an opening.

“It’s a hall that will bring you out in the foyer again,” the man added.

“Great. You stay here. We’ll be back.”

* * *

Amber shut the door behind the two policemen, and turned to face the crowd of actors and stage hands. “All of you, just shut up and get back to your places. Now!”

Such was the force of her personality and the habit of obedience that most of them did so.

Amber beckoned to Frau Frontilia. “Is Franz Sylwester backstage?”

“I think so,” the stage manager replied.

“Send him here.”

* * *

Schardius made his way down the hall. He still had his little flashlight, but he didn’t think he could crank it up and hold his gun with his wrist cut, so he trusted to his memory. From his recent excursions in the basement, he knew the hallway had no obstacles before he reached the stairs. Once he made it to the foyer, he was well on his way to freedom.

* * *

“Franz!” Marla shouted. She flew to her husband’s arms, and he enfolded her in a hug so tight and strong that Friedrich almost expected to see them merge into a single body.

Frau Amber Higham appeared at Friedrich’s side. She was cursing bitterly and with great fury, a mixture of American, German, and it sounded like Spanish. She wasn’t repeating herself, which impressed him. She also rattled off some curses he had never heard before, which also impressed him. Those he made mental note of.

She finally had to stop and draw a breath. She panted for a few seconds, then took a deep sigh and seemed to settle down. She turned to Marla and held out her hands.

“Marla, I have to apologize. I thought Schardius was just a typical producer looking for some thrills. It almost killed me when Byron said he was a stalker type, and he was fixated on you.”

“No one knew, Amber,” Marla replied, detaching herself from her husband and taking the other woman’s hands. “No one could have guessed. I thought he was just a creep; just a watcher.”

“Instead he abducts you,” Frau Amber said, enfolding the younger woman in another embrace.

“I will bear witness to that,” Friedrich spoke up, “assuming they capture him. Plus assault, battery, and threats to kill Frau Marla. The man,” he concluded in a very dry tone of voice as he handed his coat to Frau Marla to hide her oh-so-worse-than-nude attire, “is not sane.”