The Time Roads

Over the next few days, he had made his plans. He decided he would meet with Groer, extract whatever information he could, and sow his own carefully chosen clues for those who would surely question Groer afterward. Following Lord Ó Cadhla’s instructions, he had posted a coded message to the standard address. The message stated that Groer would find further details in the church of Sankt Barbara off the Postgasse, in the usual location. The building lay tucked behind a larger Dominican cathedral and several small temples of various faiths—a place ideally suited to such business.

Groer hurried down the church steps. Ó Deághaidh waited another moment, then followed. Taking a parallel street to the next intersection, he intercepted Groer as he rounded the corner, pushed the other man against the wall, and shoved a gun to his ribs.

“Mensch, was ist—”

“Silence,” Ó Deághaidh said in German. “I’m the man who wrote to you, Herr Groer. But I’ve received some chancy news, a

nd I would like your reassurance that we can speak in true privacy. Nod if you agree.”

The man jerked his head down and up.

“Very good,” Ó Deághaidh said. “You understand I am nervous. I might be forced to act hastily if I find myself compromised. For example, if you had a friend watching you—”

“None, but—”

“Hush. Speak only when I tell you. So, there is no friend. Anything else I should hear?” When Groer hesitated, he added, “If you have anything to tell me, other than no, you may speak.”

Groer shook his head. He was sweating, and his dirty blond hair was matted over his brow.

“Good. We shall walk together as good friends do.” Ó Deághaidh entwined his left arm around Groer’s and drew him close. He thrust his right hand with the gun through his pocket and toward Groer’s stomach. “Do not cry out; do not attempt to escape me,” he said softly. “Remember, I’ve had a desperate few days. I will gladly shoot you and never mind what comes next.”

They crossed a boulevard and entered a patchwork of lanes. Ó Deághaidh steered Groer through several turnings into a small courtyard, empty except for a pair of dogs quarreling over some bones. Opposite stood the wineshop Lord Ó Cadhla had named as a safe rendezvous. Ó Deághaidh knew he took a risk using it, but there were certain advantages in appearing careless.

A man in a grubby apron came from behind the counter, as they entered. “Naja, was wollt ihr?”

“Ein Zimmer. Und ein Krug Rotwein,” Ó Deághaidh said gruffly.

The man’s eyes narrowed at the mention of a room, but he only shrugged. “Also, gut. Zehn Schilling, bitte.”

Ó Deághaidh nudged Groer. “Come, my friend. You promised to pay this time.”

With a show of reluctance, Groer handed over a ten-schilling note. The man peered at it and grunted. “Upstairs. Second door on the right. I’ll send a girl with your wine.”

The room upstairs turned out to be little more than a closet with a couple of stools and a stained mattress flung in one corner. There was no table, but a plank bolted to the wall served the same purpose. Ó Deághaidh and Groer were hardly inside before a black-eyed girl appeared with a jug of red wine and two glasses of doubtful cleanliness. “You want company?” she said, without much enthusiasm.

“Not yet,” Ó Deághaidh said.

She scowled. “What’s the matter? You only like boys? Or just each other?”

Ó Deághaidh met her gaze steadily until she flushed. “No. We don’t like each other. Come back in half an hour, and we’ll talk about whether we like you.”

The door closed with a bang. Ó Deághaidh shoved Groer toward the stools. “Sit,” he said in Éireann. “You and I must talk.”

Groer dropped onto his seat. “You are taking too many chances,” he whispered in German.

Ó Deághaidh hooked the second stool closer and sat, keeping his gun trained on his companion. He filled both glasses and pushed one toward Groer. “What chances? Speaking in Éireann? Or coming here with you, when this is a known meeting place for agents?”

“Do not—” Groer swallowed. “Do not talk about those matters out loud. That man downstairs—he knows nothing about why I come here from time to time. When I do, I stay below and talk with friends, associates, while we drink.”

“Never upstairs?” Ó Cadhla had assured him it was not unusual.

“I used to,” Groer said. “But I suspect that girl listens.”

Ó Deághaidh nodded. “Very well. We talk quietly and drink our wine. That should not make anyone suspicious.”

Groer shrugged but he clearly was unhappy. He gulped down some wine and grimaced at its taste. “What is wrong?” he said in Éireann. “You asked for a meeting in the usual way. And I had word from the right people to expect you.” He paused and his lips twitched. “It was you, wasn’t it? The one attacked outside the train station? I read about the affair in the newspapers.”

Ó Deághaidh made a throwaway gesture. “If you know that, then you know why I’m taking extra precautions.”