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

sitting in a chair with a candle on a nearby table.
    “Oh!” Simon heard the surprise in her voice. “You have someone with you.”
    “Ursula, meet my young friend Simon…I never did learn your other name, boy.”
    Simon felt a laugh coming up his throat, which he hurried to turn into a cough. “Bayer.”
    “Ah,” Ursula said, “you are from Bavaria.”
    “Yes. I mean no.” Simon was flustered now. “I was born here in Magdeburg. My father came from Bavaria, I think.”
    “Well, it is good to meet you, Herr Bayer. Please excuse my appearance.” The young woman was sitting in a robe, yellow hair plaited into a thick braid that hung before her shoulder. Simon was stunned by how beautiful she looked in the soft candlelight.
    Hans dropped his hand from Simon’s shoulder, ducked his head and shuffled closer to his sister. “I…uh…I forgot how late it was, and I wasn’t thinking. Sorry, Uschi.”
    Ursula gave a warm smile up to her brother. “I know. It’s all right.” She lifted her hand. “Help me up, please.”
    Hans took her small hand with one of his and placed the other under her elbow. Simon watched as he gently lifted her from the chair. She came to her feet, then she…sagged. Simon almost jumped forward, afraid that she was falling. But then he could see that she was standing on her feet, she just wasn’t straight. Her right shoulder was dropped, which meant that her hip probably was as well.
    Ursula reached to the table where the candle was and picked up a cane that was hooked over the edge of the table. With that in hand, she lurched into motion. Step by laborious step she made her way to a door in one wall. She leaned on the cane as she reached to open the door, then pivoted slowly to look back at her brother and his guest.
    “Good night, Hans, Herr Bayer.”
    “Good night, Uschi,” Hans said. Simon’s tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He could say nothing.
    Hans sighed after her door closed and sat down in a chair across from Ursula’s. He waved Simon to a nearby stool.
    “It happened during the sack of the city,” Hans began. “We were trying to get out, get away from Pappenheim’s troops. I was able to force our way through the crowds, able to hold on to her and keep her with me. She was only fifteen, and so small, so delicate.” There was a pensive expression on Hans’ face in the candlelight. “I thought I could keep her safe, keep her protected. But there came a surge of the crowd and her hand was torn from mine. I turned and looked for her, I called for her, I started pushing against the flow trying to get back to where I lost her. Then I heard her scream.”
    The big man clasped his hands together, hard. “She had fallen, and before she could get back up some fool on a horse had ridden right over her. Her left leg was cut up, but her right…the knee was crushed, and the bones were broken in two other places.”
    Simon heard Hans swallow, hard.
    “I almost went for him. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, before or since, but him I wanted dead. Still do, for that matter. If I ever see his face, he’s a dead man. But she screamed again, and I turned to her. I picked her up and carried her, out of the city and away to one of the villages. I didn’t care where we went, so long as Ursula could find help.”
    Simon could see that scene in his mind; Hans cradling Ursula and walking as far as he had to go.
    “It was months before she healed and could walk again. The leg didn’t heal straight, and it’s shorter than the other. You’ve seen what she’s like.”
    Hans stared ahead, rocking his clasped hands. Simon said nothing, just waited.
    “She’s a saint, Simon. I know her leg hurts, but she hardly ever complains. And she never blames me, even though it’s my fault she got hurt. She’s a saint,” he repeated. “She hardly ever gets out, because of the leg. It hurts her to walk, and she doesn’t like people staring at her, but she does what she has to do.