London smiled. At last, Audrey seemed to have found somethingentertaining.
After they viewed the frescoes on the other side of the building,Emil led them back into a nearby street. He shuddered with disgust, but made nocomment as they passed by another peculiar musical ensemble. Several womenstanding along a table were lifting up little bells and ringing them, managingto produce a semblance of the old Dixieland tune “When the Saints Go MarchingIn.”
They soon approached a narrow little house squeezed between twoother residences.
“This is where E.T.A. Hoffmann himself lived with his wifebetween 1809 and 1813,” Emil explained. “Let’s have a look inside.”
He led the group up to the second floor, where Hoffmann’sapartment had been turned into a little museum. They continued on into a littleroom with a clavichord and a small writing desk looking out through a window ina cramped gable-shaped alcove.
As Emil began to speak to the group, London moved closer toLetitia, who had been known to take small “souvenirs” from places like this.Letitia pretended not to notice, but she clasped her hands together as shelistened.
“Hoffmann’s years here weren’t happy ones,” Emil explained inhushed, reverent tones. “But then, little about his short life was happy. Heand his wife lived hand-to-mouth during most of their years together, and hespent much of his life working as a lawyer and bureaucrat, scraping together aliving in such cities as Berlin, Warsaw, Dresden, and Leipzig without everquite finding a true home.”
Emil peered out the alcove window.
“Here in Bamberg, he gave private music lessons and worked as astagehand, theater manager, and music critic.”
Touching the writing table, Emil added, “Sitting right here, healso wrote his first successful literary work—Ritter Gluck, asupernatural story about a man who believes himself to be possessed by along-dead composer. It was then that he began to call himself E.T.A. Hoffmann,replacing his middle name ‘Theodor’ with ‘Amadeus,’ in honor of the composerWolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”
Emil fell silent for a moment, clearly soaking in the history ofthis room.
Finally he said, “Despite the squalor of his life, Hoffmann trulylived a life immersed in poetry, ‘where the sacred harmony of all things isrevealed,’ as he put it.”
London smiled at Emil’s display of cultural reverence.
This is the Emil I like, she thought.
As London and Emil led the group back outside back across the Inselstadt,they encountered more costumed revelers, including a soldier-shaped nutcracker,dolls, toys, and mice—all characters from the Hoffmann story that became thebasis for Tchaikovsky’s ballet The Nutcracker.
The group soon came to the edge of a broad paved square where asplendid fountain stood adorned with five statues.
Taking her turn at lecturing, London explained, “This is theMaximilian Fountain, built in 1880. The statue on the pedestal in the middle isof King Maximilian I of Bavaria. The four statues around the fountain are ofSt. Heinrich II, his wife Kunigunde, King Konrad III, and Bishop Otto vonBanberg …”
London’s voice faded as she realized she was losing the group’sattention.
And small wonder, she thought.
Maximilian Square was clearly the center of the city’s festivebustling activity. Stalls and booths with food and beer were set up all aroundthe perimeter, and the middle of the square was filled with tables, chairs, andumbrellas. A curtained makeshift stage stood at the far end of the square. Aband was playing nearby, and perhaps hundreds of people were dancing, drinking,eating, and celebrating.
London chuckled and said, “Well, I guess the tour ends here.Enjoy the party.”
The group broke up to join the festivities. London turned to lookfor Emil, but found that he suddenly wasn’t there.
Where did he go off to? she wondered.
Before she could go looking for him, she heard a woman’s shrieknearby.
“How dare you, sir!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
London whirled around to see an unexpected confrontation. A veryangry-looking Audrey Bolton was standing face to face with a middle-aged man ina three-piece pinstriped suit. The man was holding a nearly empty beer mug inhis hand, and he was laughing in the woman’s face.
The front of Audrey’s dress was drenched with beer.
“Schau dir das an!” roared the man. “Ein großes nassesHuhn!”
Audrey looked all around frantically. When her eyes fastened onLondon, she cried in a voice fierce with anger, “What did he just say?”
London knew the answer to her question.
“Look at this!” the man had said. “A big wet chicken!”
But she really didn’t want to translate for Audrey.
As she approached the conflicting pair, London noticed that noneof the bystanders looked amused by the man’s proclamations. Apparently theirsympathy was with Audrey.
“American, are you?” the man said to Audrey in accented English. “Isthis your first taste of Bavarian lager? How do you like it?”
“This isn’t funny,” Audrey snapped back.
“My dear, you should learn to watch where you’re going.”
“I was watching where I was going!” Audrey shrieked. “Youstumbled and bumped right into me!”
Several bystanders murmured their agreement with Audrey. Eventhough London had no doubt that the drenched woman was telling the truth, shewanted to defuse the situation before things got a lot worse.
London took Audrey by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s go backto the ship and get you dried off.”
The man was still laughing heartily.
“You Americans can’t hold your beer!” he bellowed.
London turned and stared directly at him with disbelief. The manwas wearing a monocle and had a waxed mustache. In other circumstances, shemight take him to be a sophisticated gentleman. She thought he certainly shouldknow better than to behave like a boorish drunk.
Wherever she traveled, London made a strict point of notquarreling with locals. But Audrey she was clearly not at fault here. And thewoman’s enjoyment and well-being were London’s primary responsibility at themoment. She decided that she actually had a professional responsibility not tolet this incident go.
She spoke to the man in German, telling him, “I think you shouldapologize to the lady.”
The man let out a noisy scoff.
“Apologize?” he said. “For her inexcusable clumsiness? I hardlythink so.”
London felt her face redden.
Stay cool, she told herself.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was lose her temper.She felt frustrations that had built up over recent days—discovering murders,accusations of guilt, the constant pressures of keeping passengers happy. Sheknew that those frustrations were in danger
