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theater poet?” the heavy officer asked. I nodded. He put the lantern on my basin cabinet and quickly moved toward me. He grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around. Pain shot through my right elbow as he pulled both of my arms back. His partner pulled a length of cord from his uniform pocket, and together they bound my hands behind my back.
    â€œYou are under arrest,” the heavy officer said. He clutched my arm and dragged me to the door. My legs shook violently and my bladder began to fail me. I feared my heart would explode from its pounding.
    â€œUnder arrest? That’s not possible! For what?” My voice squeaked. The heavy officer pushed me forward as the other closed the door. They flanked my sides and each took one of my arms. I winced in pain as they pulled me down the hall toward the stairs.
    â€œI demand to know what this is all about!” I cried. “You can’t do this! Under arrest? For what crime?”
    We stopped at the top of the stairwell. The tall officer leaned into my face and smiled. My stomach heaved as his foul breath washed over me. I bit my lip to avoid crying out as he squeezed my arm tightly. He laughed and spat the words into my face.
    â€œFor murder.”

 
    Four
    I stumbled several times as I was pushed down the stairs and into the street. The Graben was dark and deserted. The street lamps had been extinguished hours before; no lights shone from the windows of the apartment buildings. The only sound was the whimpering of a prostitute in an alcove nearby. The wind bit through my thin shirt. I shivered as the officers dragged me to a waiting carriage.
    â€œMy cloak—” I said hoarsely.
    â€œShut up and get in,” the heavy officer said. He opened the door of the carriage and shoved me inside. Pain shot through my shoulder as I fell onto the floor. The carriage sagged as he climbed in after me. He pulled me up and pushed me onto the hard seat. His companion followed and slammed the door. The carriage rolled down the dark street.
    â€œI demand to know what this is about!” I said. My voice shook. “Who is it you think I murdered?” Neither officer answered. I turned my head and looked out the window. The streets were dark, but I knew this route well. We were headed toward the Hofburg Palace.
    I hunched my shoulders in an effort to stay warm. A few minutes later we reached the Michaelerplatz. The carriage veered to the right, drove past the theater, and headed around the corner toward the labyrinth of buildings occupied by the empire’s ministerial offices. The carriage entered a courtyard and stopped. The taller officer opened the door and climbed out. His partner pushed me after him. I fell out of the carriage, crying out as my right knee hit a jagged stone on the ground.
    â€œCome on,” the taller officer snarled. My eyes filled with tears as he grabbed me by my injured shoulder and pulled me up. I took a deep breath, willing myself to keep control in front of these brutes. Rows of darkened windows stared blankly from the tall buildings that framed the small courtyard. It was empty of carriages and horses, and lit by a single lamp that flickered next to an austere doorway. I did not recognize the place. I had never had any reason to come to this side of the Hofburg.
    The two men dragged me through the door and up a set of stairs. My shoulder throbbed with pain every time they lifted me onto another step. The knee of my breeches felt wet where I had hit the stone.
    We climbed another set of stairs. The officers stopped at the head of a long hallway lined with silent, closed doors. Candles in sconces on the barren walls created sporadic pools of light on the corridor floor; the rest of the lengthy passage lay in darkness. I shivered, this time from fear instead of cold. My imagination ran wild. I could easily disappear into one of these dark rooms, never to see daylight again.
    â€œWhich one?” the taller officer asked his