Mort Au Tyran (EN)

Prologue

The moon cast its silvery light through the elongated window. It mingled with the flickering glow of a candle that Franz Vogt had set up a good hour ago. The increasing spring warmth during the day quickly made him forget that it was still early March and that darkness was falling faster than he could see.

And this cold at night. The young man rubbed his hands to warm them. Soon he would have to wear gloves when writing, it was the same every time. He only held the pen for half an hour before he felt as if frost had covered the back of his hand and was penetrating his bones. Unusual for someone in his early twenties, he thought.

Piano music drifted from the parlor. Ludwig was playing again. Haydn perhaps, or Bach. It certainly sounded sad. Franz rubbed his temples with two fingers, then rested his head on his hand. If only his brother would play something nice, he wouldn't have such a grudge against this instrument. When he got the chance, he would scold Rudi for not taking Ludwig with him this evening.

To the watering hole, the town, wherever. Anything was better than this incessant jingling. But no, the brothers' mutual friend hadn't been in touch all week. Franz had to admit that the feeling was mutual. But a print shop didn't run itself, and since they were alone, there was even more to do.

He nervously slid back and forth on the stool. The sheets were not yet finished. Not all the ones Robert had asked for. The printing process was taking forever, after all, he refused to make it an official order. Out of caution, Ludwig had assured him.

Out of greed, Franz had suspected. Where there was no official order, there was no official invoice, and Robert didn't seem as if he intended to compensate him at all.

"The reward is freedom - my ass," he grumbled and dipped his pen back into the inkwell. "The rewards are sleepless nights and a stressed brother, nothing else."

Ten o'clock at night is really not a good time for such thoughts, Franz reminded himself. He was always grumpy at this time. Especially when it was dark and cold and he would rather sleep than write miserably long bills. Not to Robert, of course.

Ludwig's piano playing stopped. Perhaps he had finally gone to bed. Enviable. Franz hummed to himself until he realized that it was the melody that had just been playing through the house. He screwed up his face, stopped. Wrote on. The night would be long.

A loud banging on his door interrupted him. Before he could let out an annoyed "Yes, please?", Ludwig was already standing in his study. His blond hair was disheveled, as if he had been standing in the wind. Otherwise, he looked exactly as Franz had left him at the dinner table: light brown vest with a white shirt, dark pants. Father's ring on his right hand.

"Come on, quick!" His facial expression, on the other hand, had nothing in common with the normally dreamy look and the always friendly impression he usually made. Ludwig was trembling, his nostrils quivering. Franz didn't know whether it was from cold or excitement, but he was guessing the latter. It wasn't that cold in his room after all.

"What's wrong? I thought you were going to bed." He yawned. "I would if I were you, anyway." The younger man shook his head. "I would. But they're out there."

Now Franz was also starting to worry. Ludwig still spoke in riddles to him, but these riddles sounded worrying. "Who?"

"The Schraders from across the street. Pastor Staps. The French!" Ludwig shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Come on, now!"

Without another word, Franz jumped up and followed him across the hall. His bad mood from earlier had turned into nausea at the mere thought of what his brother was describing. "Are you sure?" he asked, following him. "I know what I saw," Ludwig huffed half-heartedly. "They're all here! And they're banging down our door."

Franz raised his eyebrows. "You mean they're banging on our door?"

"I mean what I say. They're banging down our door."

He opened a side entrance that led directly out of the apartment and not through the print shop. Cold night air hit them, mixed with the smell of rain and smoke.

The storm had passed hours ago, but the brothers immediately saw the flaming torches as they turned the corner and stood in front of the main entrance to the print shop.

A small crowd of about fifteen or twenty people had formed on the street. Most of them seemed just as surprised as they were.

"Good evening," Franz called out, inwardly annoyed that he hadn't taken a coat with him. "Can I help you?"

Two tall men, each with a torch in their hand, turned around. "You're the owner?" one of them asked. He wore a bushy, gray moustache and a remarkably high headdress. "We are His Majesty's soldiers and have orders to close this print shop here." Franz followed his gaze to the door. Two other soldiers had tampered with the door and were boarding it up.

He watched in disbelief for a moment before the realization of what was happening filtered through to him. "That's not right. The print shop is our livelihood!" It took all of Franz's self-control to stay calm. His voice quivered with rising anger.

"There have been complaints from the public about illegal activities in your store. You're lucky the complaint didn't result in an arrest warrant." "An arrest warrant?" Ludwig's eyes widened. He stared helplessly at his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "I swear to you, Franz, I didn't know anything about it. We..."

...deny any accusations," he interrupted him. "That's absurd. To hell with it, stop hammering!" The soldiers were not impressed and didn't give him a second glance.

"What I wanted to say, monsieur. My brother and I are honest people. We only recently inherited the print shop from our father."

"Then I'm all the more sorry for your father that he probably chose the wrong heirs." The man turned away and walked back to the door, which was still boarded up. Symbolically, Franz assumed. Practically speaking, these boards were of no use at all.

He looked at the crowd, who were standing at a safe distance from the scene. All eyes were directed towards the main entrance, which was almost completely boarded up. Only one returned his gaze.

The priest's face was blank and expressionless. As it always was when Franz crossed his path, which was rarely the case outside of Sunday mass. Unlike most of the others, he didn't look in the least as if he had been roused from sleep by the noise. His dark hair was neatly combed and there were no creases or folds in his black cassock.

A brief movement of his head, an inconspicuous nod, but Franz understood immediately. He clenched his hands into fists. "That bastard," he growled quietly.

"What are we supposed to do now?" muttered Ludwig. "Our print shop..." Franz heard him swallow. The priest had turned away again.

"Come on," he said. "We're going in."

"We can't just go to bed and pretend nothing happened!"

It broke Franz's heart to see the seventeen-year-old's world crumble before his eyes. "Yes, we can," he replied. "We have to. Let's go now."

The brothers now re-entered the hallway through the back entrance they had come through. They were greeted by darkness and his eyes needed a second to adjust to the light. Franz blinked a few times until the outlines of the room became clearer and he could make out the way to his study.

"What are you doing?" Ludwig asked out of the blackness. Normally, Franz couldn't stand it when he questioned his every move, but under these circumstances it was forgivable. "'Thinking", he replied. "You should go to bed." "Now?" His voice sounded incredulous, but Franz couldn't for the life of him think of an alternative that would have made anything better about their situation.

"I can't just go to sleep now." "You'll need energy, believe me." Franz stopped in the doorway to his office, his back to Ludwig. He sighed."Every body needs that."

Without waiting for a reaction, he locked the door behind him and dropped onto his stool. There was no point in continuing with the prints.But Franz would have preferred nothing more at that moment, which is why he removed the finished page he had been working on from its attachment and continued as if nothing had happened.