Free 1636 The Devil's Opera (Ring of Fire) by Eric Flint Page A

And to his eyes, she did appear to be wilting.
    “As you wish. I will try to keep the discussion quiet in here.” He squelched all the other things that rushed into his mind to say. It had been an eventful day; if she desired time alone, he would give it to her.
    Marla kissed his cheek, then crossed through their friends, smiling and speaking to them as she did. They all watched her leave the room, then turned as one to look at Franz, uniform sober expressions on nine faces: Rudolf and his brother Josef, Thomas, Hermann Katzberg, Isaac Fremdling, Paul Georg Seiler, and Matthaüs, Marcus and Johann Amsel. Friends old and new, all close, all part of the nucleus of musicians committed to the future of music envisioned by Marla and Franz. All now looking at him with the same unspoken question on their faces.
    “Yes, Marla is doing better,” Franz responded. “No, she is obviously not back to her normal from before the miscarriage. Frau Mary and Frau Lady Beth both tell me that she’s doing well, but that it might be some time before she is fully recovered.”
    He withheld from them Mary’s final statement on the matter to him: “And Marla may never fully regain her joy, Franz. To lose her firstborn like that, with no warning, is devastating. It can’t help but change her. We’ll just have to hope that it doesn’t change her for the worse.” Which was now his daily prayer.
    * * *
    Outside the Chain there was a bite of cold in the air. Simon pulled his jacket close around him with his left hand, checking to see that his bread was still tucked away.
    The moon was shining full, and in the light Simon could see Hans look over at him. “So, your other arm is crippled?”
    “Doesn’t work at all,” Simon said in a monotone.
    “Did you hurt it as a younker, or something?”
    “Born with it, I guess.” Simon swallowed hard. “Been that way as long as I can remember.”
    They walked a few steps in silence, then Hans spat to one side. “Tough.”
    “Yah.”
    They walked a few more steps.
    “Family?”
    “No.”
    “Tough.” Hans shook his head.
    “Yah.” The taste of ashes was back in Simon’s mouth.
    “Got a place?”
    “Found a nook behind a chimney over in the new town. Stays warm there.”
    Hans shook his head again. “Not tonight. You’re my luck; you’ll come home with me. Meet my sister.”
    Simon still wasn’t sure what kind of man this Hans Metzger was. He shook his head in return. “You don’t have to do that.”
    A large hand landed on the boy’s shoulder again. “I owe you, boy. You’re my luck.” The hand moved on to muss his hair. “Least I can do is give you a warm dry place to sleep tonight and food in the morning.”
    Simon felt the lump of bread in his jacket. Food in the morning would mean the bread could feed him later. And he could probably run away if he had to. He knew the ins and outs of the alleys and streets and ruins better than anyone. “All right.”
    “Good. Down this way.”
    Hans turned down a cross street. Before long they exited the old city, crossed the Big Ditch and were in a slightly more reputable neighborhood than the depths where the Chain was sited. Simon was tired. His feet were beginning to drag. It had been a long day for him, so he was very glad when Hans turned into an alley between two buildings.
    “Come on, boy.” Simon followed Hans’ broad back up a flight of narrow wooden stairs. They arrived at the top, and he waited while Hans fumbled with a key in a lock. After a few moments, Simon heard his friend sigh in satisfaction and push the door open.
    “Hans? Is that you?”
    Simon’s ears perked up at the sound of the voice from inside the rooms. It was a clear bell-like soprano that seemed to tease his ears, so unlike the voices of the vegetable sellers and barmaids that he saw on the streets.
    “And who else would it be, Ursula?” Hans reached back and drew the boy into the room with him, then closed the door. Simon could make out a figure