Vienna Blood

73

COUNT ZABORSZKY LOOKED ACROSS the low Turkish table at Otto Braun. He sucked the mouthpiece of his hookah and blew out a cloud of pungent smoke. The candle flickered in the draft created by his opiated exhalation.

“So,” he said. “The fool is dead?”

“Yes,” Braun replied. “It was reported in the late edition of the papers.”

The count's lips parted, and he showed his sharp teeth. Braun took it to be a smile.

“You Germans…”

Braun tutted. “He was Austrian. Born in Vienna.”

The count dismissed Braun's remark with a sneer and a languid gesture.

“…with your ridiculous code of honor.”

The sound of a squeaking mattress came from above. A repeated, querulous rhythm. The count's eyes flashed toward the ceiling. “Have you tried the new girl yet? The Galician?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“I don't have any money.” Braun spoke these words deliberately.

The count slid his hand into his pocket, took out a small leather purse, and tossed it onto the table. The younger man picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and put it into his pocket.

The squeaking stopped.

“How did you do it?” asked the count.

“It's easy… I used to do something very similar in my magic show at the Blue Danube Theatre. A little routine built around a wager in which I always won. A quick swap-it was nothing.”

“Yes. But how?”

Braun shook his head. “That would be telling.” Then, assuming a mock-dignified pose, he added, “No honorable magician would break the code.”

The count sucked gently on his hookah and allowed himself a gravelly dry laugh. “Very good, Braun. Very good.”

A door opened and closed upstairs. The sound of footsteps on the landing, and boots making unsteady progress down the stairs. A cavalryman appeared out of the darkness.

“Good evening,” said the count. “I wonder whether you would care to join us for a game of cards.”

The Uhlan's cap was perched at an acute angle. “I am duty bound to warn you-I have a formidable reputation.”

“I'm sure you do,” said the count. “Please…” He gestured toward the seat next to Braun. The magician produced a deck of cards, which he dropped next to the candle. “What shall it be?” he asked, throwing a wicked glance in the count's direction.

Part Four