“Is something wrong?” asked Nicolas.
“We’re leaving,” Stanislav said. “Meet back at the house. Make sure you aren’t followed.”
He nodded toward the men at the table, who had stood as well. It seemed that, having been discovered, they saw little need for secrecy or pretense now.
“Secret police?” Wilhelm asked.
“Near enough,” Zoya said.
She grabbed Erzsebet by the hand and pulled her toward the back door of the cafe. Stanislav was right behind them, followed by Friedrich and the revolutionaries. But Von Steiersberg’s thugs were close behind them, moving through the crowd with all the slipperiness of eels, somehow weaving past clusters of patrons without stopping.
“Keep going,” Friedrich said, giving Stanislav and the others a push toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do to slow them.”
He turned and approached the men with a ready smile and his hand outstretched. He didn’t really expect them to fall for his pretense of good will, but at least it would confuse them.
“Gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “Klein didn’t say to expect you for another week.”
Friedrich hurried forward the last few steps and blocked the men as they passed the counter, hemming them in between it and a packed table. There was no way for them to go around except by backtracking, and their angry expressions told him that they knew as much. Go back, or go through.
“What?” one of the men demanded.
“Klein,” Friedrich repeated, grabbing the man’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “The advertisement in the newspaper. You are here about ostrich feathers, aren’t you?”
The man growled and tried to push his way past Friedrich, while his companion began working his way back the way they had come. Stanislav and the others had almost reached the door. Only a few more moments.…
“Oh, that’s not you then?” Friedrich asked innocently. “Dashed sorry. Here, let me get out of your way.”
He bobbed back and forth, feigning an effort to get out of the way, while firmly planting himself in front of the man each time. In a moment he would have to attend to the fellow’s companion, but this would do for now.
Of course, the man was no fool, and he did not play along with the game. As Friedrich continued to plant himself in the man’s path, the fellow grabbed Friedrich by his coat and flung him against the counter. For a moment, Friedrich was dumbfounded. It was rare that he ever encountered someone capable of bodily throwing him in any capacity, let alone with such force. But as the ruffian rushed toward the back door, Friedrich pulled himself to his senses and grabbed the man.
He was rewarded with a solid blow to the jaw that, once again, landed harder than he had expected. But this time Friedrich did not allow himself to be stunned by his enemy’s unexpected strength. Having allowed the other man to throw the first punch, Friedrich grabbed him by the collar and repaid him with a solid punch of his own.
The ruffian stumbled sideways from the blow, but Friedrich’s grip kept him on his feet. The man recovered quickly, though blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He grabbed for Friedrich’s throat, snarling and hissing, and Friedrich struck him two more times to lay him out.
For a moment there was silence around him as the patrons of the cafe stared at the remains of the altercation. Friedrich smiled awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair.
“I think he was drunk,” he explained. “Something about a…business. Good evening.”
Hoping that no one would remember him if the authorities investigated—which was unlikely anyway in that part of town—Friedrich bolted for the back door. There was no sign of the second man. He must have reached the alleyway already. Hopefully the others had made their escape.
But as Friedrich ran out the back door, he saw that it was not the case. The second ruffian was there, aiming a revolver at Stanislav, who stood a few paces away, shielding Erzsebet with his body. The others stood around him, no one moving lest they provoke the man to shoot.
Friedrich drew the Mauser pistol from inside his coat and leveled it at the attacker. He slowly approached, taking each step as quietly as he could. Though armed, he did not relish the thought of shooting a man, not after the fight in the cafe. A brawl might go uninvestigated; a man shot would immediately draw the police.
“Drop the pistol,” he said.
The ruffian tensed slightly and tilted his head.
“I said drop the—”
Friedrich did not quite understand how he failed to see the man turning in place, but suddenly the ruffian had reversed position and now stood with the revolver pointed at Friedrich. Startled, Friedrich blinked rapidly as his body tensed.
“What was that?” the ruffian asked. “Drop the…?”
And Friedrich knew that he was going to be shot. But while his mind hesitated with terror, some instinct of action seized him. Not quite understanding what his body was doing, Friedrich tilted sideways as his free hand snatched the ruffian’s hand. The revolver fired, narrowly missing Friedrich’s head and dazing him with the sound of its report.
The two of them struggled as the man fought to realign his aim and shoot properly and Friedrich fought to disarm him. Suddenly he saw Stanislav race to join him, grabbing the man from behind and pulling on his arm.
“Shoot him! Shoot him!” Stanislav cried.
But Friedrich’s senses were returning to him. Murder was the last thing they needed. Instead, he hefted the Mauser and struck the ruffian across the temple, laying him out cold.
There was a short silence as the man’s body tumbled to the pavement.
“Or you could do that,” Stanislav finally said.
“I thought it went rather well, considering,” Friedrich replied.
“The other one?”
“Knocked him out in the cafe.”
“What do we do with them?” Stanislav asked.
Friedrich was shocked at the question. “We leave them, obviously! What do you expect to do? Lock them in the basement? Kill them?”
“Well.…” Stanislav’s expression showed that he did not much like the idea, but he certainly entertained it.
“If we kill this man, then the police will be after us for murder. An altercation, a fistfight, that they may not care about.”
“What if they report back—”
“Report back what?” Friedrich demanded. “That they found you? They clearly expected to. Why else would they be in Prague in the first place?”
Stanislav nodded. He looked over his shoulder at Erzsebet, who was watching them with a mournful, resigned expression.
“You have to get out of Prague,” Friedrich said, walking back toward the others alongside Stanislav. “If Von Steiersberg tracked you here.…”
“It is only two men,” Stanislav insisted. He knelt and checked the man on the ground to be certain that he was unconscious.
“Two men will lead to more.”
Stanislav shook his head. “I’m not running. And I’m not making Erzsebet run either.”
“I don’t know what you expect to do,” Friedrich said.
Stanislav paused and put a hand on Friedrich’s shoulder. “Freddie, I appreciate your concern, but I have been forced into hiding more than once before. We will simply lie low for a while and have someone spread the word that we’ve left the city. They will look for us, they will find nothing, and they will move on.”
Friedrich sighed. “I wish I had your optimism, Stanislav.”
“I am a revolutionary, Freddie,” Stanislav reminded him, “and more than that, I am a Romantic. Optimism is what keeps us going.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Deeply concerned by the events of that night, Friedrich remained indoors for several days, avoiding the public in case the police were looking for him after the fistfight. Most of the others had the good sense to do likewis
e, though Ilya and Wilhelm insisted on leaving to get word from their socialist comrades. But Stanislav did not join them. He and Erzsebet knew better than to let themselves be seen while Von Steiersberg’s men were on their trail.
But as the week passed without incident, Friedrich began to doubt his earlier uncertainty, and he ventured back into the world. He avoided the one cafe, of course, but elsewhere there was no indication that the police were after him, nor did he notice anyone watching or following him. He knew that Stanislav’s friends had begun spreading the word that he and Erzsebet had left Prague—some stories said they had gone to Russia, others to France, and still other to Switzerland. Perhaps after the brawl, Von Steiersberg’s men assumed that the stories were true and that their quarry had fled immediately and had similarly given chase.
By the week’s end, he had come to believe that the danger was, after its brief appearance, finally gone. So he was surprised when, taking breakfast in the parlor on Friday morning, he heard a firm hand knock at the door.
“Who can that be?” Stanislav asked, looking up from his meal.
“I have no idea…” Friedrich answered.
He slowly stood and reached for his pistol, which he had worn on his person every day since the brawl at the coffee house. Across the room, Zoya suddenly looked up from the book she was reading and began fumbling about in her bag for her diary.
“Is today Friday?” she asked.
“I believe so, yes,” Friedrich replied.
Zoya sighed in relief. “It’s your lovely aunt come for her portrait. And right on schedule.”
“Oh.”
Pleased at the notion of seeing Aunt Ekaterine again—it had been two weeks since her last visit—Friedrich hurried into the front hall and opened the door. Though he opened it only a crack at first to verify the identity of the visitor, he was delighted to see Ekaterine’s pretty face and bright eyes smiling back at him from beneath the brim of a wide blue hat.
“Auntie!” Friedrich exclaimed, opening the door. As he did so, he saw his mother standing next to Ekaterine, eyeing the street with a displeased expression. “Mother?”
Varanus looked at Friedrich as he opened the door. She seemed pleased to seem him—relieved, even, as if she had doubted his safety.
“Hello Alis…Friedrich,” she said, stepping into the foyer and taking Friedrich’s hand in hers. She gave him another, more definite look and smiled. “You’re looking very well. Good. Are you sleeping more? Eating properly? Of course, you must be and I am very pleased about it.”
“Uh…thank you,” Friedrich said, absently feeling his cheeks blush at the compliment. Well, at least Mother was happy. “Come in, come in. We’re having breakfast.”
“We have already partaken,” Varanus replied, sounding dubious at the prospect of breaking bread with Friedrich’s friends.
“I am here to have my picture painted,” Ekaterine announced, entering the house in a happy flourish. She took Friedrich’s hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek, for which Varanus gave her a disapproving look.
“Yes, Zoya mentioned it,” Friedrich said. “She’s just through—”
“Is that my muse?” Zoya called from the parlor.
“It is!” Ekaterine called back. “And I am coming, my…painter?” She looked at Friedrich and Varanus and shrugged as she walked toward the parlor door and began removing her hat.
Varanus sighed. “She insisted on returning in time for her appointment. And, I suppose, it was time for the rest of us to leave the hinterland as well.”
“I did say that I could return on my own,” Ekaterine reminded her, pausing at the threshold.
“And allow you to travel on the train by yourself?” Varanus looked horrified. “Perish the thought.”
Ekaterine pulled herself up into a huff, brandishing her hat and hatpin like a shield and sword. “If some strange man had accosted me along the way,” she announced, “I would have punched him on the nose and thrown him out the window!”
“Yes, that is what concerned me,” Varanus said. “I’m not worried about you looking after yourself, Ekaterine, so much as what sort of damage you might do along the way.”
“I think it’s quite appropriate for ladies to defend themselves against unruly men,” Friedrich ventured, smiling at Ekaterine. He was sincere in the sentiment, but he did enjoy the way Ekaterine returned the smile when he said it.
Varanus shook her head and took Friedrich’s hand. “Of course it’s appropriate,” she said, her tone slightly annoyed. “Were it up to me, any man found taking liberties with a woman would be strung up like a hog and beaten soundly—unlike a hog, since pigs are really such nice animals and don’t deserve that sort of treatment.”
Friedrich chuckled at this, and Ekaterine openly giggled with delight.
“But,” Varanus continued, looking directly at Ekaterine, “I am led to believe that such things are against the law when undertaken by private persons, and we really should avoid upsetting the law while we’re abroad, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Ekaterine said, trying very hard to look serious. “And I haven’t beaten any strange and unruly man like a not-hog in months!” She winked at Friedrich. “Well, in weeks at any rate.”
Varanus shook her head. “Go and have you portrait painted.”
“Have fun, you two!” Ekaterine said, patting Friedrich’s hand and waving to Varanus as she vanished into the parlor.
“Fun,” Varanus murmured. Then she looked at Friedrich and smiled. “I am very glad that you are well, Alis.…” She caught herself again. “Friedrich. I am very glad that you are well Friedrich.”
“And I you, Mother,” Friedrich said. He embraced her and found himself strangely happy to see her again. It had almost become his instinct to worry about her safety after the events that had befallen them ten years ago. But she was well and he was happy for it.
Varanus paused for a moment. She seemed troubled, and Friedrich quickly took her hand.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Varanus paused, seeming to consider her words before she asked, “Friedrich, are you familiar with a Count Erdelyi?”
Friedrich frowned at the name. He knew it very well.
“Erzsebet’s father.”
“I was afraid of that.” Varanus’s brow furrowed for a moment, though only slightly. Despite her evident concern, the very muscles of her face seemed disinclined to display the sentiment that troubled her. “Friedrich.…”
“Yes?”
“Ekaterine and I were recently in Germany visiting a mutual friend. While we were there, I happened to overhear something that concerned me.”
“About Count Erdelyi?” Friedrich asked. He felt panic rising in his chest. Had his mother become involved with the Count? Was she in danger too?
Varanus seemed to sense his distress, and she quickly placed a hand on his cheek to calm him. “It is no cause for concern, I promise you,” she said, “but I overheard a conversation between him and a man named Von St—”
“Von Steiersberg,” Friedrich finished. He looked away, breathing heavily. His mother was in danger, whether she knew it or not!
Varanus looked troubled by the news, but she did not seem surprised. “I thought so,” she said. “Count Erdelyi and Count von Steiersberg know that your friends are in Prague, and they have sent men to find them.”
Friedrich was silent for a moment.
“Those men have found them, in fact,” he finally said.
“What?”
“There was an…an altercation a few days ago,” Friedrich explained. “Some of Von Steiersberg’s men found us at a coffee house and—”
Varanus’s eyes flashed with anger. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Friedrich answered quickly. He did not want to distress her. “There was a bit of a rough-up, but—”
“Did they hurt you?” Varanus asked, her tone more demanding than questioning.
“They tried,” Friedrich answered, “but I saw them off.”
Varanus inhaled and then exhaled slowly. She pressed Friedrich’s hand tightly between her own.
“Were you hurt?” she asked.
“No, not really,” Friedrich began.
“Were you hurt?” Varanus repeated more emphatically, looking into Friedrich’s eyes as she spoke.
Friedrich suddenly felt himself convulse with guilt at his own words. What a brute he was to cause her such distress. How dare he trouble her with such concerns!
“Not at all, Mother, I assure you,” he said.
Varanus looked visibly relieved at his words, but still she frowned. “You mustn’t become involved in this sort of thing,” she insisted.
“I wasn’t hurt,” Friedrich said.
“That is not the point,” Varanus answered. She sighed. “Well, it is the point, but still.… I do not want you getting yourself involved in all of this nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense, Mother,” Friedrich replied. “Erzsebet does not wish to marry Von Steiersberg. Her father tried to force her, so she left. What more is there to be said about it?”
Varanus glanced away, staring at a corner of the foyer. She looked displeased by the emptiness of the corner, which was odd but not worth commenting on.
“Not much, I suppose,” she acknowledged. “But still, these people you’ve involved yourself with, Friedrich.… I don’t want you getting hurt.…”
Friedrich smiled at her with as much comfort as he could muster.
“I am not hurt, Mother, I swear it. And I won’t be. And as soon as Von Steiersberg’s men have left the city, there will be no cause for concern at all, I promise you.”
Varanus exhaled slowly and nodded. “I…trust your judgment, Friedrich.” She sounded only half sincere.
Friedrich smiled and held Varanus’s hand tightly. “Are you certain you won’t join us for breakfast?” he asked.
A Sojourn in Bohemia Page 14
