1636 The Devil's Opera: Chapter Twenty

PART II

January, 1636

    A new pattern had settled in Simon’s life. He arose each morning with Hans. They would share with Ursula whatever food was in the rooms, and then Hans would leave for his work at the grain factorage. True to his word, he had asked about work for Simon, but as with so many others there was no opportunity for a one-handed youth.

    Simon would sweep the floor and clean up after their eating, wiping the plates off and stacking them in the little cupboard that stood in the corner. Then he would settle on his stool at Ursula’s feet. She would pick up her worn Bible and read to him for a little while. Always it was something interesting, but Simon best liked the stories of the heroes from the Old Testament: King David, Joshua, the stories of the judges. Then they would talk about what she had read, wondering why the hero had done certain things and not done others, describing what they thought the characters in the stories looked like, sometimes laughing together over something silly one of them had said.

    Ursula would always end the reading time by closing her Bible and putting it away, then picking up her current embroidery project. That would be the signal to Simon to go out and find what work he could.

    It was a Tuesday morning after the first of the year when Ursula all of a sudden noticed something that had always been in front of her.

    “Simon, are those the only clothes you have?”

    He ducked his head, feeling a sense of shame.

    “Well, we cannot have that. Hans . . .” she turned to her brother, “Hans, Simon needs clothes. His shirt is almost cobwebby thin, his pants are tight and torn and much too short, his jacket does not fit around him. Tell your crew boss today that you have to take me to market tomorrow.”

    Simon discovered that although Ursula was normally the most agreeable of souls, when she chose to exert her will it was like encountering granite. It astonished him to see Hans, Stark Hans himself, nod his head and say, “Yes, Ursula,” as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world for her to issue commands.

    And on Wednesday, the world ordered itself to Ursula’s intent. After they had eaten, she retired for a moment to her bedroom, then returned with a large bonnet on her head and a coat worn over her dress. She stood lopsided and held her arms up in what was almost an imperious manner. Hans said nothing as he stepped up to her. There was a swirl of movement, then she was in his arms, one arm across his shoulders, the other holding her cane.

    “Come along, Simon,” she directed.

    Simon started when Hans nodded at the door and stepped forward to open it. Hans moved through the doorway sideways, being most careful not to bump Ursula into the doorframe. When he started down the stairs, Simon came behind, closing the door with a loud thump. He clattered down the stairs, wooden shoes banging on the treads, and caught up with them at the bottom.

    “Where to, Uschi?” Hans asked.

    “Frau Anna’s first. After that, we will see.”

    So Hans took off down the street, Simon following close behind. Before long, he was marveling at his friend’s strength. He had seen men pick other people up before, but never for very long, and never when walking down the street, block after block. “Stark Hans, nothing,” he muttered. “He should be called Eisen Hans.” And indeed Hans seemed made of iron. There was no droop to his shoulders, no sagging of his arms. He carried Ursula as if she was only the weight of a feather.

    “What did you say, Simon?” Hans called over his shoulder.

    “Nothing.”

    Otto Gericke’s rules for markets in Greater Magdeburg were considered liberal by the conservative Bürgermeisters of Old Magdeburg. Due to the size of the population, markets were allowed three days a week, and were allowed in more than one location, such that after a while the various vendors started grouping together.

    It wasn’t long today before Ursula and her entourage arrived in the area of town favored by the sellers of second-hand clothing. It was one of Simon’s favorite parts of town. People there would talk to him freely, and sometimes send him on errands.

    Hans walked up to one particular cart and gently set Ursula’s feet to the ground in front of it. His sister straightened herself as best she could, adjusted her coat, and faced the proprietress.

    “Frau Anna,” with a nod.

    “Fräulein Ursula,” came the response from what had to be the oldest woman Simon had ever seen. Under her scarf her hair was pure white, the skin of her broad face sagged in a very tapestry of wrinkles, and there did not appear to be a tooth in her head. But she stood straight and her alert eyes gleamed from their nests of wrinkles like those of a cuckoo. She also had a hearty chuckle, which sounded at the next moment.

    “It’s not that I’m not glad to see you, Liebling, but I wonder what has brought you to old Anna on this blustery day?” Simon had some trouble understanding her. Her words lisped without teeth in her mouth to shape them.

    “Simon,” Ursula beckoned with her free hand. He stepped around Hans to where she could lay her hand on his shoulder. “The boy needs clothes. Two shirts, two pants, two hose, a jacket that fits, and a coat.”

    Frau Anna looked Simon up and down. He straightened under her examination. “A scamp of a lad, I imagine he is.” She chuckled again, reached out a wrinkled hand and patted his cheek. He bore the soft touch without flinching, he was proud to note. “Well enough, let me see what I have.”

    The old woman turned to her cart. Simon detected no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the piles of clothes on the cart, but Anna’s hands dove into the piles like otters into a river, surfacing every now and then to drape a bundle of cloth over the cart handles. One last time they appeared, and she began handing garments to Ursula.

    “Simon,” Ursula said again and pulled him around in front of her. He stood, bewildered, as she held shirts up against his back and shoulders and pants up against his waist, bending to see where they fell to. The two women muttered to each other, and Anna dove back into the cart to pull out yet another shirt. Ursula examined it with care, then nodded her approval.

    Anna had a jacket for him as well, but when it came to a coat anywhere close to his size, she had nothing that a man would wear. “Sorry, Liebling, but I sold the last one I had not an hour before you came. But you might go down the way to old Herman’s cart. He had some the last time I saw him. Just look them over good.”

    The old woman smiled, and just for a moment Simon got a glimpse of what she must have been like as a girl. That surprised him. He’d never thought before that old people had to have been his age upon a time.

    “So how much?” Ursula asked. This commenced the bargaining over his new clothes. Simon listened, awe-struck, as the two women chaffered back and forth, eventually arriving at a sum that almost made him choke. It didn’t seem to bother Hans, though, when Ursula waved at him. He stepped up, pulled a handful of money from his pocket, and counted a paper bill and a pfennig and bits of broken coins until Frau Anna was satisfied.

    Frau Anna folded the clothes together, then tied the bundle with a bit of twine. She held it out to Simon. It took him a moment to realize that he was supposed to take it; he had never had a package of his own to carry.

    Ursula said her farewells, then turned and limped down the street, Hans at her side. Simon followed behind, as usual, and noticed as he did so that Hans was very careful not to actually grab Ursula or hold her while she was walking but still managed to be close enough to provide instant support if she needed it.

    Their progress was slow, but others would make way for them. Simon suspected this had more to do with Hans glowering at people than it did people giving way out of courtesy for Ursula’s infirmity. He knew that if Hans had glowered at him, he would certainly have moved out of the way.

    Ursula walked with her head held high, moving with an odd grace, despite her limp. They passed one vendor after another, from cart to ramshackle booth to oilskin laid on the ground. Several of the vendors would speak to Hans or his sister. A few nodded to Simon as well.

    They stopped in front of another cart. Simon assumed this must be old Herman’s.

    “Fräulein Metzger,” a man stepped up and gave a short bow. “Herr Metzger.” Hans nodded in return. Simon was ignored for the moment, which was just fine with him.

    Old Herman did not look so old, at least not when he was compared with Frau Anna. His bushy beard and the hair that stuck out like a fringe from under his small hat were iron gray rather than snow white. His face wasn’t as cross-hatched with wrinkles as the old woman’s was; instead it bore deep furrows and seams. When his mouth opened, there were teeth present; not a lot, mind you, but still teeth peeped out from behind his lips. He was of middling height and of solid build despite his age.

    “A coat,” Herman said after Ursula had made known the object of their quest. He peered at Simon and beckoned him to come closer. “Hmm, yes, a coat for this lad. Have I seen you around here, boy?”

    “Maybe,” Simon muttered.

    “Ah, well, with my memory I would not remember from one day to the next.” Herman nodded several times with vigor, then started. “A coat. Yes, indeed, a coat.” He turned and began rummaging through the piles on his cart. “No, not that one . . . nor that one, either . . . tch, definitely not that one . . .” Simon smiled as the old man kept up a running commentary. “Hmm . . . this one?” Herman held it up and stared at it, then tossed it back in the cart. “No. Keep looking.”

    After a few more minutes of searching accompanied by monologue, Herman pulled an item out of the bottom of the pile. “Aha! You just thought you would escape me.” He shook it out, and it took form as a faded green coat of a size to perhaps fit Simon.

    Ursula took the coat and examined it, checking the material and the seams. It passed her grudging judgment, so she held it out to Simon. “Here, try this on. Let’s see how it fits.”

    Hans reached over and took the bundle of clothes from Simon, leaving him free to try the coat on. It took a few moments to get into it, for sliding his right arm down the sleeve was a bit of a challenge, but with help from Hans to hold the front of the coat open he managed. He turned and faced Ursula.

    “Mm-hmm.” She touched a finger to her lips as she studied him, and reached out to adjust the lapels on the front of the coat so it would hang straight. A definite nod. “I think it will do. It is a bit large, but that leaves room for growing. Not a bad thing with a boy, I am told.” She turned to Herman. “How much?”

    Again the bargaining, again the back and forth, again ending in Hans pulling money from his pocket and counting it out. Simon’s head was beginning to spin. How much money they had spent, just on him! He had never dreamed of that happening. He smoothed his hand down the front of the coat, feeling the warmth it gave him.

    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 second-hand 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 the boy. 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, Fräulein . . .” 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, Fräulein.” 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, Fräulein, 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 Fräulein 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.