Lay Brothers by David Neilson

Author:David Neilson [Neilson, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Amazon, Thriller
Publisher: Owlsgate Press
Published: 2016-12-05T23:00:00+00:00

18

BANDS OF RED CREPT OVER the spire of the Salvator Church. Waves of sparrows rippled in front of them like a curtain shaken by an invisible hand. They fell and rose in formation, without having to look.

Gusts of wind propelled me from the notary, where I picked up my papers again, to Johann Weishaupt’s. He was out, probably haunting the salesrooms for the libraries of the newly deceased. But Monika promised to give him the note which let him in on Adam Eckhardt’s ultimatum. I wanted to sign “Corsair Queen of Panama,” as usual, but restrained myself.

My shoes pinched as badly as the ones I’d dumped on my way to Pranger Lane. A man stepped outside, blocking my path, but my heart warmed when he breathed on his window to draw a heart, and a little blonde head darted on the other side of the glass.

Once Mirko’s dealt with, I told Luca, oblivious of his not being there, pressure on Detlef should bring you what you want. And I said to myself I was rushing because of Mirko’s deadline. Certainly not to see Luca all the sooner.

Eva shooed me in at the door. I stood open-mouthed. That was my trunk, under one of Luca’s pictures. Eva seemed to be telling me the Herr Baron was out. “If madame would care to wait…”

I dropped my papers in the trunk and closed the lid. “I have to talk to him.”

Speeches of this kind, her arched eyebrow told me, were not unknown in Luca’s hall. “He’s gone to the Residenz.”

“Will he be back soon?”

She shook her head. “They’re giving L’Olimpiade.”

“You mean he’s at the opera?” I’m tearing up and down to Haydthausen, the clock is ticking, and Luca’s at the theatre? And he brings my trunk from the Cattle Market without asking me? I tried not to screech. “I have to find him.”

Her eyes flicked up and down my schlender.

“What?”

“Not in that.” She pulled me upstairs and pushed open a pair of pine doors with carved surrounds. The curtains were closed and the light dim. Eva dug into the drawers, throwing bits of wardrobe onto the floor while I followed the trellises and pink roses on the Chinese silk wallpaper. Eva’s pile grew: a wide pannier, separate lace sleeves, and engageantes up to my armpits. Somewhere in there was a black robe de cour.

Its bodice felt stiff as bark. “Do I get a Moorish page for the train?”

Eva muttered through the comb in her teeth. “Sorry, it’s his night off.”

I glowered at the stays. “Those I can do without.”

She dug her fists into her ribs, snagging her lower lip with a tooth. “Just about.”

When she was done putting up my hair and puffing scent over me, she held open a sable bag.

I dropped in my pistol. “It’s for people who talk through the arias.”

Her eyes widened. I tightened the strings, and she led me out to the coach she’d ordered. The coachman was standing at the open door when Eva squeezed my arm.

“Something I need to ask you.

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