by Laura Lebow
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop me. “And even if the messages are from the killer, it is a leap to believe that Father Krause is the murderer.”
“But I told you, the paper is sold only in one shop in the city, and is ordered for just two customers,” I said, my voice shaking with anger.
“Yes, that may be true, but the murderer could be any number of people—your friend Strasser, or someone who works with him at the Oriental Academy, or someone who knows Father Krause. He could even be the bookseller, or someone who stole the paper from the bookshop.”
“I’m convinced it is the priest,” I snapped. “The person writing these notes is well-read and educated, like Krause.” I clenched my teeth. How could I convince this dolt to listen to me?
Troger shook his head. “You need to bring me more proof before I can lock up Krause,” he said.
“What more proof can I give you? My dead body? I tell you, I am the next victim!”
His lip curled as he gazed at me.
“I’m tired of dealing with you, Troger,” I shouted. “Let me talk to Pergen, right now! He’ll agree with me, I am sure. You must arrest Krause.”
Troger smiled. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Signor Poet. The count is upstairs in Prince Kaunitz’s office. The troubles in the Netherlands have reached a crisis point. He’s left me in charge of this case. So you’ll have to do more to convince me.”
I slumped in my seat. “I don’t know what else I can do,” I said.
He gave a tight, sardonic smile. “Let us play out your theory, signore. You say that these notes are from the killer? He accuses you of one of the deadly sins? Which one?”
“Sloth,” I said. “Wasting my energies on meaningless activities.”
Troger raised a brow. “So our man is not an opera fan, then?” He laughed aloud at his joke.
I glared at him.
“He sends each victim two notes, you believe?”
I nodded. “Yes. But Benda and I have learned that the general and Baron Hennen also received a third note, which arrived right before their murders. Each man left his house late at night, to keep an appointment. The others must have received similar messages. We just weren’t able to find witnesses.”
Troger sat silently, staring at the messages on his desk.
“So according to your theory, you should be getting a third message sometime soon?”
I nodded. “Yes, the timeline I’ve been able to work out with the others suggests that it could come at any moment.”
Troger turned his head and stared out the window. My heart sank as I realized what he must be thinking. He turned back to me.
“If your theory is correct, our course of action is clear,” he said.
“No—”
“If you are indeed summoned to an appointment, you must keep it,” he said.
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. “I won’t be your bait again, Troger. I barely survived the last time you and Pergen used me as a pawn.”
Troger smiled again. “But you must, Da Ponte,” he said softly. “Don’t you see? The killer has chosen you. If you fail to keep the appointment, it is unlikely he will move on to someone else. He has accused you, and he will judge you. You cannot escape him. At least if you answer his summons, we can have men there to catch him. Do you want to spend the rest of your days on earth looking over your shoulder, never knowing when you will feel his dagger at your neck?”
My heart sank. What Troger said made sense. I could not avoid an encounter with the killer. Perhaps I had been on a journey toward our meeting from the first moment I determined to seek justice for Alois’s death.
Troger tried to smile at me, but managed only a grimace. “This is our chance to catch him in the act, Da Ponte,” he said. “You’ll be doing the emperor a great service, and you’ll avenge the death of your friend.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Notify me as soon as you receive the next message,” he instructed. “I’ll send men to the meeting place. They are well trained. The killer will never know they are there waiting for him. And just in case you are correct and it is indeed Krause, I’ll assign a man to follow him.”
* * *
I stumbled down the stairs to the Hofburg courtyard, my stomach churning with worry. I could not bear the thought that my life was in the hands of that churl Troger, who had always treated me with contempt and scorn. Could I trust him to protect me? I stopped in the lobby of the building and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Troger might have little respect for me, I assured myself, but in the end he was responsible for my safety. Count Pergen had promised that I would come to no harm. If anything happened to me, Troger would answer to Pergen for it, and perhaps even the emperor. I could only hope that I would still be alive to witness his punishment.
The sun shone brightly in the courtyard, which was full of soldiers and bureaucrats milling about. As I started toward the main gate, which would take me to the theater and the solace of work, a blur of dark green appeared at the corner of my eye. I glanced over to the other side of the yard. The young dark-haired man who had been following me lounged against the wall, staring at me with mocking eyes.
I pulled my cloak tightly around me to melt the ice that ran down my spine, and hurried as fast as I could to the theater door.
* * *
I was relieved to see no third message waiting on my desk when I entered my office. I shed my cloak, hung it in the cupboard, and sat down. I pulled a libretto from my editing pile and took out the first page, hoping that work would calm my jangling nerves. But try as I might, the words swam before my eyes, and after a half hour of effort I gave up, gathered up the pages, tied them together, and returned them to the pile. I laid my head down on the desk and closed my eyes.
“Lorenzo!” Casanova’s voice boomed at my door.
I lifted my head. “Come in, Giacomo,” I said.
“Were you sleeping?” he asked as he entered.
“Just thinking,” I said.
“What is happening?” He peered at me. “What is it, my friend? Your face is ashen. Are you ill?”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s the killer. He’s coming for me, Giacomo. I am to be his next victim.”
“What! What are you talking about? Have you received the Dante passages?”
I nodded. “Yes, two of them.”
“Were they on the same paper, with that watermark?”
“Yes, they were the same. They are from him, I am sure. He’s accused me of sloth.”
“We must find the distributor of that paper,” Casanova exclaimed. “It’s our only hope of catching him.”
“I’ve found the source of the paper,” I said. I explained about Sophie’s suspicions of Strasser, and my finding the paper in his room, then told him about my visit to the Hungarian bookshop.
“Krause! I don’t think I’ve ever met him. A priest, committing these crimes!” He shook his head.
“He is a quiet man, a scholar, very friendly. If you met him, you would never believe he harbored such evil urges in his heart.”
“What will you do next?”
“I’ve just been to see Troger. I’m to act as bait for a trap. When the third message comes, telling me the place of assignation, I am to alert Troger. He’ll send men to wait there. They’ll catch the killer before he harms me.”
We sat silently for a moment.
“You don’t seem too confident of that,” Casanova said softly.
“Chances are I’m just letting my imagination run wild,” I said. “But nothing in my dealings with Troger has led me to believe I can trust him with my life.”
“Don’t go,” Casanova said.
“I must. If I fail to answer his summons, the murderer won’t let me go. He’ll come after me.”
“Let me help you, then. I have a pistol. Let me go with you to the meeting place. I’ll shoot him as soon as he appears.”
I smiled at my friend’s earnestness. “He
will likely hide himself until I come, to make sure I am alone,” I said.
“Then I will go beforehand, and stay hidden in the shadows. When he accosts you, I’ll be there, listening. When he attacks you, I’ll reveal myself and shoot him.”
“Are you a good shot?” I asked.
“I’ve used my pistol many times to extract myself from unsavory circumstances,” Casanova said. “And as you say, the police will also be there. If I shoot and miss, at least I’ll startle him enough to stop him from harming you. Troger’s men can take it from there.”
I had to admit Casanova’s plan reassured me. If Troger let me down, at least I would have a chance against the killer. “All right,” I said. “Thank you, Giacomo.”
“Signor Da Ponte?” The theater porter stuck his head in the open door. “A message was just delivered for you.”
My stomach lurched. My hands began to shake.
Casanova took the small packet, and then closed the door behind the porter. He looked down at the message and then at me. “Shall I open it?” he asked.
“Yes.” My voice was a croak.
He broke the seal on the missive, unfolded the page, and read it aloud. “Da Ponte, you seek me, so find me. Tonight at one, in the Neuer Market, by the fountain. Bring this message with you.”
* * *
I buried my face in my hands. Casanova came around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “It will be all right, my friend,” he said. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I raised my head. “I must send a message to Troger,” I said.
“Tell me what to say. I’ll write it for you, and send a boy to bring it to him,” Casanova said.
I quickly dictated the details of the killer’s summons. Casanova wrote it all down, and then presented it for my signature. My hands still shook as I signed my name.
“I’ll deliver this myself, on my way out,” he said. He squeezed my shoulder. “Do not worry, Lorenzo. I will be at the Neuer Market by a quarter to one. Troger’s men will be there. You will be protected.”
I stood and embraced him.
After he left, I closed the door, sat back in my chair, and stared at the killer’s missive. Despite Troger’s arguments to the contrary, I was convinced that Krause had murdered the five victims. I struggled to remember my most recent encounters with the engaging priest. Had he said anything to me that was a harbinger of his indictment of me for the deadly sin of sloth? I could think of nothing. I had been a bystander that day in the cathedral as he and Alois had engaged in friendly banter about church philosophy, and I remembered nothing from Alois’s memorial service that indicated that Krause had judged me and found me wanting. Something niggled at the back of my mind. What about when—no, but—
There was a knock. I opened the door to a young boy, who handed me a message with the Ministry of Police’s seal. I dug in my pocket, gave a coin to the boy, returned to my desk, and tore open the message. Troger reported that he would station men in the Neuer Market before one tonight, and that he had assigned two men to trail Maximilian Krause. I slumped in my chair in relief. As long as Krause adhered to his usual practice and accosted me at the designated time and place, I would be safe. If he deviated from his evil ritual, however, only God could help me.
Thirty-three
I left my lodgings a little past midnight, taking a small lantern I had borrowed from my landlady to light my way through the dark city. I walked slowly across the bridge that spanned the Vienna River, crossed the deserted pathway that ringed the city, and made my way onto the bridge that crossed the glacis. Everything was silent; my own footsteps were all I could hear. In front of me, no lights rose from inside the walls of the slumbering city. The Stuben gate had been closed hours before, its great wooden doors protecting the citizens of the capital from enemies without the walls, but not from the terrors that concealed themselves within the bastions.
When I rang the bell to gain entry, the sound echoed around the gate. I waited a few minutes, but no guard came to answer. I frowned. I did not usually go about late at night, but everyone in Vienna knew that a full complement of guards were stationed at each gate to the city throughout the night. I rang the bell again and waited. Again there was no answer. My mind began to entertain possibilities. If I were unable to enter the city and meet Krause at the appointed hour, perhaps Troger’s men would arrest him and he would confess everything, saving me from the confrontation. I should just turn around and return to my lodgings, and wait until I received word from Troger that the killer had been caught.
I had just convinced myself to go home when the wooden doors creaked open and a guard looked out.
“Who’s there?” the guard called. “You there, what do you want? It is past curfew. No one may be admitted to the city.”
“I am Lorenzo Da Ponte,” I said. “The theater poet. I am on an important errand for the minister of police, Count Pergen.”
“Stay there, sir,” he said. “Let me see if your name is on the list.” He retreated into the gatehouse and closed the doors.
I considered an alternative scenario should I not arrive at Krause’s meeting place on time. What if the deranged priest hid himself, and when I did not arrive by one, watched as the police came out from the shadows? Would he be so angered that he came to my lodgings to butcher me?
The wooden doors scraped open once more and the guard beckoned to me. “Come in, sir,” he said. “There is a message here from Inspector Troger of the ministry telling us to allow you passage.”
I walked through the doors.
“You are lucky I wasn’t making rounds along the bastions, sir,” the guard said. “I’m alone here tonight.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I was under the impression that there were several guards at each gate at this hour.”
“That’s right, sir,” he said. “There were four of us here when curfew began. But just an hour ago the others were summoned into the city. Apparently there is some disturbance going on near the Am Hof. Someone reported a break-in at the basement of the fire station where some of the smaller arms destined for the troops are stored. The constable who came by told us that it might be some Turkish sympathizers trying to steal the weapons. The constabulary was trying to get enough men to search the city between the Am Hof and the canal.”
I nodded.
“Go about your business for the minister, sir,” the man said. “But be careful if you are headed in that direction.”
“I’m going to the Neuer Market,” I said.
“Then you should have no trouble, sir. As far as I know, that area is quiet tonight.”
He bade me good night. I drew my cloak around me and walked into the dark city.
Thirty-four
I turned down the Suningerstrasse, straining to hear any noise behind me, but all was quiet. I passed the spot where I had tussled with Teuber. A few steps later I was at the corner of the Grünangergasse, where Krause had bought the paper on which he wrote his sinister messages. My heart pounded as I walked by the Church of the Teutonic Order. My destination was a few blocks away. I wondered if Casanova had already arrived and secreted himself in the shadows.
The Stephansdom loomed on my right as I skirted the edge of the Stephansplatz and turned down the Kärntnerstrasse. The broad market street was empty, the vendors’ carts shuttered, the shops bolted against the evils of the night. My knees shook as I made my way down the street, my ears straining to hear if anyone else was about. Perhaps Krause was nearby, on his way to our assignation from the cathedral. He could be standing in any of the dark entryways, watching me go by. I shook my head. No, that was nonsense. Urbanek had told me that Krause lived in the Judenplatz. He would be approaching the Neuer Market from the opposite direction.
I walked two blocks down the street. As I was about to turn right into the side street that led into the Neuer Market, my ears perked. Were those footsteps sounding behind me? A stab of fear shot through me. Was it Krause? Did he guess that he
was walking into a trap? Had he decided to confront me here? I quickened my pace, hurrying toward the Neuer Market, where Troger’s men and Casanova waited to protect me. The footsteps sounded behind me again, louder this time, my pursuer picking up his pace to match mine. I reached the entrance to the Neuer Market. Stopping to catch my breath, I strained to hear any sound behind me. Everything was quiet. I took a deep breath to calm myself. Just as I turned into the market square, the candle in my lantern went dark.
* * *
The marketplace was lit by a sliver of moon. Vendors’ carts lay scattered along the long expanse, empty and abandoned. Directly opposite me, at the other end of the plaza, Prince Schwarzenberg’s city palace sat dark. The windows of the smaller palaces that lined the plaza stared blindly down at me. The buildings were unoccupied, their owners having decamped to their country estates either to stamp out uprisings like Benda, or to situate themselves in a place of safety should the emperor’s military mission fail and the Turks descend upon Vienna. The Mehlgrube was closed up, its dwindling crowd of patrons having left for home hours before. Across from it, the Capuchin Church was closed and still. Between the two buildings stood the fountain where Krause had instructed me to await him.
I walked down to the other end of the marketplace, staying at the center of the plaza, so as to avoid any sudden grabbing of my cloak by the killer lurking in an entryway to a building. My eyes darted back and forth, peering through the gloom for a sign of Troger’s men or Casanova, but they were well hidden, for I saw nothing.
My legs were shaking violently by the time I reached the fountain. I climbed the short set of steps that surrounded the basin and looked around me. What was that movement, there, under the portico of the Mehlgrube? A cloak moving? I squinted into the dark, but saw no other motion.
The large basin had been drained before winter and had not yet been refilled. Patches of mud and damp leaves were strewn over its stone interior. I sat on the edge and waited. It was too dark to examine my watch, but I was certain that it was near one o’clock. I took a deep breath, trying to dampen my fear so that I would be prepared for Krause when he arrived. I sat in the silence, occasionally peering at the tenebrous buildings around me.
