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The Outskirts of Vienna, Austria-Hungry
June 1914
“Johann Schrader, you are under arrest for the murder of Lady Ludstein.”
Johann blinked his eyes in disbelief, struggling to see the face of the policeman in the dark shadows of the night.
“I don't understand. There must be some sort of mistake.”
The policeman, tall and robust, stepped nearer, clapping handcuffs around his wrist.
“You are Johann Schrader?”
“Yes, but I didn't do it,” he stammered, struggling to make eye contact with the policeman towering above him.
“You've been identified, Mr. Schrader. I'm afraid it's up to the judge now to decide your fate.”
***
“KATRINE?” FRITZ ASKED, hearing the sound of the door creak open. The cottage was filled with darkness, offering no cheerful glow of sanctuary from the impending black of the surrounding forest. Katrine was reminded of the stories she had heard as a child of forests such as these written by the Grimm brothers.
“Yes, Fritz,” she said, ducking through the low door erected by some cottager shorter than either of them.
“Were you followed?” he asked, worriedly.
She shook her head no and then, realizing he could not see her, struck a match and lit the lantern beside the door, as she said,
“No, but—”
“Katrine! What are you doing? Put out that lantern!”
“No, Fritz. We're safe now. That's what I'm trying to tell you.”
His face bore the fret of a man hounded by nightmares in day, destined for insomnia by night.
“What do you mean?”
“I... arranged things.”
“Arranged things?” His left eyebrow arched, puzzled by her words.
“My father arranged my future, attempted to I should say, and I made the most of the arrangement,” she said, her lips remaining even as she spoke, betraying no hint of emotion.
“Johann?” Fritz said, his eyebrows darting together, meeting in the meridian of his forehead, before a slow smile spread over his face.
“Johann,” he repeated, the choice sounding perfectly logical on his tongue, “so, that so called fiancé of yours has some purpose after all.”
***
“JOHANN SCHRADER, YOU are hereby sentenced to death for the poisoning of Lady Ludstein.”
The words punched Frederick hard in the stomach, leaving him gasping for air.
“No,” he said, barely audible, his voice miniaturized by the weight of the news.
The crowds in the courtroom erupted into multiple conversations.
“Good. Serves him right for the terrible crime against Lady Ludstein,” a man said, to another half his junior.
“He has a guilty face,” another said. Frederick pushed his way through the crowd, determined to reach Johann.
“Johann!” he called across two men. He turned to face Frederick.
“Come along,” the guard said, trying to move Johann out of the courtroom.
“Please! Let me speak to my brother,” Frederick said, in desperation. His eyes filled with fright and the guard took pity on the not-still-a-boy, not-quite-a-man before him.
The guard nodded, but remained at Johann's side as Frederick stepped closer. Johann, dressed impeccably, looked at Frederick with a leveled gaze. For a man condemned he seemed calm, almost serene.
“Johann!” Frederick said, bearing all the frustration, outrage, and fear that his brother lacked.
“Frederick, do not fear for me. I am an innocent man. Men have condemned me, but God will not.” The guards on either side of Johann exchanged glances over each other's heads. He didn't seem to be a ruthless criminal, but how could anyone tell in this modern age?
“But Johann, we must find who did this!” Frederick said, grabbing his brother's arm, “Why are you giving in?”
“Frederick, little brother, there is nothing that can be done. I have given my testimony. I have assured them of my standing. You have spoken on my behalf. It wasn't enough. Their anonymous witness holds more sway for whatever reason.”
“I did not testify well enough! I did this to you. I failed you,” Frederick said, his dark eyes clouding in self-acceptance of guilt.
Johann shook his head.
“No, you are my loyal brother. That means you cannot fail me.”
A third guard, a thick mustache twitching impatiently below his protruding nose, stepped forward,
“Let's go. Move the prisoner along.”
Their order issued, the guards began to walk, forcing Johann with them.
“Johann! Don't leave me,” Frederick pleaded, feeling like the small child who had unsuccessfully admonished his fever-stricken parents to remain with him.
“I am always with you, Frederick,” Johann said over his shoulder, as the guards escorted him from the room.
Johann disappeared through the doors and, despite Frederick's pleas, he was not permitted to follow. A loneliness cloaked in grave injustice inhabited his being, as he was left utterly alone. He stayed unmoving until the crowds thinned and the last remnants scattered. As he turned to leave, two women, wearing aprons and armed with brooms entered the room and began sweeping away the courthouse dust and airing the undigested morsels of the case.
Frederick's footsteps slowed at their words.
“With a witness like that, no wonder he was convicted,” the older of the two, with a bun of coiled blond braid pinned to the top of her head, said.
“Imagine your own fiancée accusing you in the crime,” the younger said, stopping to lean against the broom for a moment. Frederick's stomach churned.
Katrine? Had she been the witness? He strained his ears, lingering at the doorway.
“Shh, someone might hear,” the first warned, “We weren't supposed to hear that or know that she came to see him. We can't tell anyone what we heard.”
Heeding the warning, she turned the conversation to a new topic.
“Did you see the gentleman standing by the door? Wasn't he the most handsome man you ever—”
Frederick turned from the door, accepting that he would hear nothing further of use. His thoughts whirled.
I have to speak with the judge. I have to find out what happened.
***
` “ENTER,” THE JUDGE called, through the closed door. Frederick pushed it open and was absorbed into the judge's chambers.
“Excuse me, sir but I need to speak with you,” Frederick said, to the man before him.
“Yes, what is it?” He was not unkind, just busy.
“My name is Frederick Schrader.” The judge's eyebrows rose at the name.
“And my brother—”
“Is the man I've sentenced,” the judge continued for him.
“Yes, only he didn't do it.”
“Young man,” he said, sitting back in his chair and then rocking forward, “It is an unhappy side effect that in my administration of justice and ensuring the laws are upheld and the people protected, that family members of violent criminals become unfortunate hostages to the turmoil of the situation.”
“But, sir,” Frederick said, crossing the room to stand before the mighty, polished oak desk now.
“There has been some mistake. I have heard that Katrine Windger has testified. How can this be? She is my brother's fiancée. Surely she would not condemn him. She has been tricked, set up.”
The judge snapped to attention at the mention of Katrine. He sat forward, studying Frederick carefully.
“How do you know about that? No one is supposed to know. She is an anonymous witness to protect her delicate place in society.”
“I overheard someone say it,” Frederick said.
A look of worry creased the judge's face.
“Young man, that anyone knows the identity of Miss Windger is of serious concern. You must repeat this to no one.”
“I won't sir, but my concern rests in my brother's conviction.”
“Yes,” the judge said, “it is difficult for the families, but you must understand that Miss Windger's testimony closed the case. If Mr. Schrader— err, your brother, was condemned by his own fiancée, his guilt was proven certain. If a stranger had identified him, it's possible a mistake could have been made but Miss Windger, distraught as she was, coming to bravely speak the truth sealed his fate. Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Schrader but there is nothing that can be done. The truth has prevailed, as unfortunate as you find it.”
“Sir, I must repeat,” Frederick said, his face stoic, “Johann is innocent. Surely you do not wish to send a guilty man to his death?”
Frederick's fist clenched as he spoke, harnessing all his anger into his tightened fingers.
“Mr. Schrader, my mind is made up, the decision is set. I am confident, but in the unlikely chance that I am somehow miraculously wrong, your brother still has a chance to stand before another judge, one who makes no mistakes.”
The words spoken, Frederick departed.
A heaviness, more unbearable than Frederick could have ever imagined, became his only companion in those dark days following Johann's execution. Being a man of means had never been a source of contention before, but now Frederick found himself longing for a trade to immerse his sorrow in. He had wandered across the countryside, restless, arriving in Vienna. Frederick sat outside on the street, sipping coffee and wishing for something stronger. He pulled his hat over his eyes, shielding them not only from the sun but also the people on the street who bustled by him, oblivious to the pain he bore. He opened the newspaper left behind by some previous customer and scanned the articles, reading the words but too distracted to comprehend their meanings. His mind wandered to his memories of Johann. They had fought as children on so many occasions. Frederick had tagged along, not welcomed by Johann.
“Frederick, stop following me,” Johann would say, exasperated by Frederick's persistence.
“But Johann, it isn't fair. I want to go with you,” Frederick would protest, his childhood heart breaking at his brother's reluctance to include him.
Johann Schrader— he read in the newspaper. His heart thudded, threatening to beat so quickly that it would cease. Horrified, he read the account of Lady Ludstein's kidnapping and the subsequent discovery of her body. The doctors attributed her death to poisoning.
Frederick stopped mid-sentence. He could read no farther. Two women, seated at the table nearby, showed no scruples in continuing to read the article and quoted large portions of it to each other.
“It says here that an anonymous witness confirmed Mr. Schrader's identity.”
“Well, I heard that his fiancée, Miss Windger, disappeared taking along a mere stable boy.”
“It's really quite scandalous, isn't it?” the first said, her voice bearing far too much amusement for so austere a conversation.
“You haven't heard the best part yet,” the other said tantalizingly.
“Oh?”
“This stable boy was an employee of Lady Ludstein, until quite recently when he left, angered that his family starved when there was not enough money to buy adequate food.”
“You don't say? Well, that is the most scandalous thing I've heard all week,” she said the words, savoring the information.
“Where did they run off to?” the other said.
“Well, Katrine Windger is half English. Her mother's from some tiny hamlet outside of London. I'd say there is a good chance they ran off there together, since Mr. Windger was certain to arrange another marriage for her if she had remained here.”
“And how did you find out all this delicious gossip?”
“My maid's sister works for the Windger house. She knows how I delight in such stories and is always most agreeable to indulge me. She's the—”
Her words were drowned out by the sudden commotion in the street.
“— he's been shot.”
Frederick stood to hear the words more clearly.
“Franz Ferdinand has been shot!”