Read Online 1636 The Devil's Opera (Ring of Fire) by Eric Flint - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Flint
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beer.”
Hans frowned, but Veit held up his hand. “I keep some here for some of the doxies that come round in the mornings. He can have some of that, and I won’t charge for it.” The tavern keeper found a small mug on the back table and filled it from a keg sitting on the end of the table. “Here you are, lad.”
Simon took the mug from the counter and looked up at Hans.
“Right. This way.”
Again Simon followed close behind the bulk of the larger man through the press of bodies that seemed in the dim light to be clad in shades of gray. Hans pushed his way through without seeming to give a thought to those he was jostling. Following in Hans’ wake, Simon heard mutters as he went by the men, but no one’s voice was loud enough to catch Hans’ attention. After what he had just seen at the counter, Simon was not surprised. People here apparently knew Hans—knew enough to keep on his good side, anyway.
Hans arrived at a table and kicked a bench out from underneath it. “Come on, boy, sit down.” Hans himself dropped to the bench and carefully set his bottle on the table. “Barnabas, everyone, this is Simon. He is a small lad with a big name, and he is my luck. Stopped me from getting set upon by a couple of bully boys from over west of the Big Ditch. I recognized them.”
Barnabas, a thin man with a narrow face, looked horrified. “Why, that…that is unheard of. They are supposed to keep to their side of the moat, and we keep to ours. That’s the way it has always been…or at least since the sack.”
Hans was busy scraping the wax from around the stopper and neck of his bottle of spirits. He didn’t look up as he responded. “Maybe so, but just maybe someone over there is just a bit upset that I beat their man in the fights last week. Ah!” He got the stopper out and immediately took a big swig of the gin. He smacked his lips, smiled, and looked over at Simon. “Drink up, boy, even if it is small beer.”
Simon took a sip from his mug. It was as bad as he expected from this place, but he swallowed it anyway. It was wet, and he was thirsty.
“Hans,” Barnabas spoke up. “This is my cousin Karl, from Hannover.” He pointed to a man who would make two of Barnabas. “I think I have told you about him before.”
Simon studied Karl. From what he could tell, even in the dim light, the Hannoverian didn’t really fit in here in the Chain. His beard was a neatly trimmed goatee with prominent mustaches. He wore a fine hat. His clothes, what Simon could see of them, were clean. No, not at all the appearance of the normal patron of this tavern.
“Sure,” Hans said. “I remember you mentioning him. Good to meet you, Karl.” He held his hand out across the table. Karl took it with a toothy grin. Simon could see their hands tense on each other. Karl’s grin disappeared and his jaw set. There was a long moment of silence, then the clinch broke.
“So you are the famous Hans Metzger.” Barnabas’ cousin’s speech was accented. His voice was nasal and harsh. It made Simon want to hunch his shoulders up around his ears.
Hans set the blue bottle back on the table with a clack . “There might be a few people have heard my name, aye, but I would not say I was famous.”
“Oh, but to hear Barnabas say it, you are one of the most renowned men in all Magdeburg.”
“Friend Karl, if you know your cousin at all, you know that he is liable to say most anything once he has had a mug or two of ale.” A bit of the hard note had crept back into Hans’ voice. Simon hunched down a little. He wasn’t sure what was going on here and now, but he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.
“Barnabas would have it that you are a very Samson.” Karl’s tone was more than a bit pugnacious by this point. Simon didn’t understand why. “That you are renowned for your strength.”
Hans took another gulp from his bottle. “Barnabas drinks too much. And I didn’t know that he’d been to church enough to even know
Hans frowned, but Veit held up his hand. “I keep some here for some of the doxies that come round in the mornings. He can have some of that, and I won’t charge for it.” The tavern keeper found a small mug on the back table and filled it from a keg sitting on the end of the table. “Here you are, lad.”
Simon took the mug from the counter and looked up at Hans.
“Right. This way.”
Again Simon followed close behind the bulk of the larger man through the press of bodies that seemed in the dim light to be clad in shades of gray. Hans pushed his way through without seeming to give a thought to those he was jostling. Following in Hans’ wake, Simon heard mutters as he went by the men, but no one’s voice was loud enough to catch Hans’ attention. After what he had just seen at the counter, Simon was not surprised. People here apparently knew Hans—knew enough to keep on his good side, anyway.
Hans arrived at a table and kicked a bench out from underneath it. “Come on, boy, sit down.” Hans himself dropped to the bench and carefully set his bottle on the table. “Barnabas, everyone, this is Simon. He is a small lad with a big name, and he is my luck. Stopped me from getting set upon by a couple of bully boys from over west of the Big Ditch. I recognized them.”
Barnabas, a thin man with a narrow face, looked horrified. “Why, that…that is unheard of. They are supposed to keep to their side of the moat, and we keep to ours. That’s the way it has always been…or at least since the sack.”
Hans was busy scraping the wax from around the stopper and neck of his bottle of spirits. He didn’t look up as he responded. “Maybe so, but just maybe someone over there is just a bit upset that I beat their man in the fights last week. Ah!” He got the stopper out and immediately took a big swig of the gin. He smacked his lips, smiled, and looked over at Simon. “Drink up, boy, even if it is small beer.”
Simon took a sip from his mug. It was as bad as he expected from this place, but he swallowed it anyway. It was wet, and he was thirsty.
“Hans,” Barnabas spoke up. “This is my cousin Karl, from Hannover.” He pointed to a man who would make two of Barnabas. “I think I have told you about him before.”
Simon studied Karl. From what he could tell, even in the dim light, the Hannoverian didn’t really fit in here in the Chain. His beard was a neatly trimmed goatee with prominent mustaches. He wore a fine hat. His clothes, what Simon could see of them, were clean. No, not at all the appearance of the normal patron of this tavern.
“Sure,” Hans said. “I remember you mentioning him. Good to meet you, Karl.” He held his hand out across the table. Karl took it with a toothy grin. Simon could see their hands tense on each other. Karl’s grin disappeared and his jaw set. There was a long moment of silence, then the clinch broke.
“So you are the famous Hans Metzger.” Barnabas’ cousin’s speech was accented. His voice was nasal and harsh. It made Simon want to hunch his shoulders up around his ears.
Hans set the blue bottle back on the table with a clack . “There might be a few people have heard my name, aye, but I would not say I was famous.”
“Oh, but to hear Barnabas say it, you are one of the most renowned men in all Magdeburg.”
“Friend Karl, if you know your cousin at all, you know that he is liable to say most anything once he has had a mug or two of ale.” A bit of the hard note had crept back into Hans’ voice. Simon hunched down a little. He wasn’t sure what was going on here and now, but he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.
“Barnabas would have it that you are a very Samson.” Karl’s tone was more than a bit pugnacious by this point. Simon didn’t understand why. “That you are renowned for your strength.”
Hans took another gulp from his bottle. “Barnabas drinks too much. And I didn’t know that he’d been to church enough to even know
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