Indeed, London was aware that the Nachtmusik had haddifficulties in docking. She thought that some of the passengers had probablyalso noticed the slight bumpiness of the ship’s early morning maneuvers.
The group broke into delighted chatter about the legend they’djust heard.
London found herself impressed by Emil anew.
He’s quite a storyteller, she thought.
She asked Emil jokingly, “Has the devil actually snatched anyother souls off this bridge?”
“None that I know of,” Emil said.
“Well, after almost nine hundred years, I imagine the coast isclear,” London said to the group. “Come on, let’s head on over into Old Town.”
At the far end of the bridge, the group walked through an archunder a clock tower. As they continued along the street, several of thepassengers came to a sudden halt.
“Oh, my!” one exclaimed. “What’s that delicious smell?”
“The whole city smells like sausages!” another said.
London laughed. She knew that they were passing near one of themost historic restaurants in the world. But she considered it too soon afterbreakfast to stop there now—especially since beer was an outstanding part ofthe menu.
“It’s a famous sausage kitchen,” London told them. “We can comeback later for lunch.”
Several grumbling passengers broke away from the group and headedtoward the restaurant anyway. And as London expected, a few of the others brokeaway from the tour to go exploring on their own. It made for a smaller and moremanageable group for London and Emil to escort on into the city.
Their first destination was an ancient archway amid ruined wallsand towers. The ruins of massive stone were eerily embedded in the walls of abuilding that must have been built there many hundreds of years later.
London explained, “This is the Porta Praetoria, the gate of the northernwall of an ancient Roman camp called the Castra Regina, which means ‘fortressby the river Regen.’”
Emil added, “It was built in 179 A.D. by the Roman emperor MarcusAurelius. It is one of only two surviving Roman gates north of the Alps.”
Then they led their charges a short distance to St. Peter’s Cathedral,with its Gothic spires and its tall facade adorned with statues.
Before they entered, London smiled as she told the others, “I’mafraid the legend he told about this cathedral and the bridge can’t be entirelyaccurate. You see, construction on this church started in 1260—more than ahundred years after the completion of the Stone Bridge. So there couldn’t verywell have been a race to get them built.”
“And probably no deal with the devil, I suppose,” Emil addeddryly. “A pity.”
He turned abruptly and strode away.
London hurried after him. She had only intended to point out thatthe contradiction in dates that made the legend historically inaccurate—as manylegends were. But she had managed to annoy the historian again.
Apparently not noticing the tension, the tourists laughed andfollowed London and Emil into the nave with its arched, vaulted ceiling, itsbeautiful stained glass windows, and its countless carved images of St. Peter.Before they left the cathedral, they stopped to look at one of its most famousfeatures—a charming statue of a smiling angel gazing protectively down fromhigh on one of the pillars.
Their walking tour continued west through Regensburg’s narrow,weaving streets and frequent plazas to the Old Town Hall, a three-buildingcomplex of Baroque and Gothic architectural styles with a tall, ornate clocktower. Emil led the way into an enormous old meeting chamber withsevere-looking wooden benches and a high timbered ceiling.
Emil explained, “Between 1663 until 1806, this was the meetingplace for the Imperial Diet, a governing body of the Holy Roman Empire. CertainGerman phrases originated here. For example, am grünen tisch sitzen—‘tosit at the green table’—means to take part in important decisions.”
Putting his hand on the back of a bench, he addedwith a grin, “And on those extremely rare occasions when a Germanprocrastinates, we say he’s putting something on die langeBank—‘the long bench.’”
Emil and London then led the group down into the cellars belowthe Old Town Hall, where they stepped onto a gallery overlooking a torturechamber. A veritable factory of horrors, the room was cluttered with familiargrim devices like stocks and the rack, but also with stranger tools andmachines too frightening even to think about how they must have been used.
Emil explained, “It was here that heretics were forced to confessbefore they were sentenced to death. I don’t imagine many of them held out toolong before confessing to whatever heresies they were supposedly guilty of.”
It was a relief to climb out of the dank cellar and step into thecheerful, sunlit streets again. As the tour continued south, one of thetourists called out.
“Listen! Do you hear that?”
London stopped walking and listened. For a moment, she couldn’thear anything over the sound of traffic and chattering pedestrians.
But then she heard it too—the sound of music wafting through theair.
It certainly wasn’t the kind of music she’d have expected to hearin a historical town like Regensburg.
For a moment, London wondered whether she might be dreaming.
What is that music, exactly? she wondered, as she hurriedin that direction.
And why are we hearing it here?
CHAPTER SIX
The bright, cheerful, and rather rowdy music sounded oddly out ofplace here among the quaint, stately, antique buildings of Regensburg. Londonnoticed that several in the group were looking around with confusion on theirfaces. A few broke into laughter, apparently enjoying the contrast. Others,including Audrey Bolton, seemed less happy with the sounds.
But then, London thought, I’ve never seen Audrey lookhappy with anything.
Emil seemed to be the only person in the group who wasn’t at allstartled.
“Ah, I think I know what we are hearing,” Emil said with a smile.“Follow me.”
He led the way along a short, narrow street into a bustlingsquare called the Neupfarrplatz. A small ensemble performing thereincluded trumpets, trombones, a sousaphone, a clarinet, a banjo, and even awashboard being used as a percussion instrument. Other people gathered in thesquare seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the sounds those musicians were making.
“I believe we are hearing an American form of jazz called ‘Dixieland,’”Emil said, speaking above the boisterous music. “And the tune, if I am notmistaken, is ‘That’s a Plenty,’ and it was composed by Lew
