Page 33 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

A fter a restless night on a rather uncomfortable mattress, Sunday morning finally arrived.

Melody rose and dressed, wearing the clothes she was using for her disguise.

Bearing in mind Mary’s warning about her hair, she scraped it back into a tight and rather unflattering bun.

She tied the apron around her waist and took some pins, placing them in a neat line on her cuff.

Mary had already given her a few threaded needles, and she took two and put them through the material of her bodice, then neatly wound the thread around them.

Melody peered into the small, cracked, and rather dirty mirror and decided she looked the part.

Mary had suggested that she carry a bag and put some clothes in it so she wouldn’t have to find costumes to carry around as she pretended to be busy.

Now, Melody emptied her carpetbag, took a chemise and a petticoat, folded them, and put them back in.

Then she made her way down to the kitchen to see what was for breakfast.

The previous evening, Alessandro had been rather vague about whose house it was and how he gained access.

Whoever owned it seemed to keep it stocked with enough and suitable food for very last-minute stays.

There was tea, sugar, some hard biscuits, and flour.

Mustafa was sent out to see if he could find any shops still open to buy at least some eggs, bread, and milk.

He returned with enough of all three, plus some cheese .

They had assembled a modest yet sufficient evening meal of bread and cheese.

This meal included some mediocre wine that Rat had discovered in the pantry.

Melody didn’t know how to cook and was unsure if Rat did.

She was certain Alessandro had never prepared a meal for himself.

Perhaps Mustafa would know how to use the remaining supplies to make something for them to eat.

As Melody descended and made her way to the rather dark and dreary kitchen, delightful aromas wafted down the corridor.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Alessandro standing at the stove, tending to something frying in a pan.

He looked up as she entered and must have noticed the shock on her face.

“I’ve learned a few things over the years.

It seemed practical to know how to cook at least a few basic dishes for myself. ”

As he said this, Alessandro slid whatever was in the pan onto a plate.

“Eggy bread,” Melody said as her stomach gurgled hungrily.

“There’s tea in the pot.” As Alessandro said this, Rat entered the kitchen with Mustafa at his side.

“I think Mustafa should go to the theatre as soon as possible and monitor the situation. We have no idea if the crates are already there or are being moved this morning.” Rat remembered from his own childhood helping Bear and Rat in their thief-taking work that young children were usually overlooked.

Alessandro agreed and suggested that Mustafa eat quickly, then make his way to the theatre.

The boy grinned; he was happy to be of service and proud to be entrusted with such an important task.

They sat and ate breakfast, which was surprisingly tasty.

No one spoke much as they ate, each absorbed in thoughts of the day ahead.

Mustafa finished his breakfast and then headed out to the Stadsschouwburg.

“I don’t want you to do anything other than observe,” Alessandro reminded the boy. “We’ll find you when we arrive and you can report on what you’ve seen.” With that, Mustafa was gone.

The group would have preferred to start investigating at the Stadsschouwburg Theatre early in the morning. However, Alessandro advised that he’d made some discreet enquiries, and the crew wouldn’t begin to arrive to set up until just after lunch .

“I think the earliest we can plan to get there is perhaps one o’clock,” he suggested.

“One? That doesn’t leave us much time,” Melody complained.

“If we arrive too early, it will seem suspicious,” Rat pointed out. Melody knew he was right, but even so, sitting around doing nothing all morning felt wrong.

As painful as the wait was, eventually it was time to leave. Everyone ensured they had their guns, lockpicks, and, in Rat’s case, his pocket torch. He also carried a knife.

Just before they left the house, Alessandro reminded them, “Our primary goal is to locate the bomb or its parts, then alert Sir Alan so he can inform the Dutch authorities. Let us not worry too much about politics in this matter and indeed hope that a British attempt to prevent this assassination will speak for itself in the end.”

Rat wasn’t convinced that this couldn’t also be viewed differently: that the British had organised an elaborate hoax to come in at the last minute and save the day. However, he didn’t voice this concern; such matters weren’t in his remit.

They took the tram to the Stadsschouwburg theatre. They decided they shouldn’t be seen together, so Rat and Alessandro stood at the back of the tram, while Melody sat up front.

After exiting the tram, Rat and Alessandro walked ahead while Melody dawdled a little to put some space between them.

She clutched her carpetbag tightly against her chest, nervous about what lay before them.

The plan was dangerous but necessary: infiltrate the theatre pretending to be backstage staff, locate the planted explosive, and prevent an international incident.

She knew that Rat and Alessandro believed there was another crucial element to this plan: to prove once and for all that Germany was responsible for the bomb.

No one had any idea how they were going to achieve this.

There was already enough commotion in and around the theatre that it was trivial for Melody to slip in through the stage door. She found a secluded spot in one of the many corridors in which to stash her carpetbag, put her gun and lockpicks in her dress pocket, and then pick up the folded clothes.

Meanwhile. Rat and Alessandro approached from the alley side of the theatre. Dressed in dark, soot-smeared trousers and jackets, they blended in effortlessly among the crew as they filtered in to prepare for the evening’s opera.

They stopped outside the theatre and looked around for Mustafa.

As they looked, Alessandro said casually, “I have one of my journalists coming later. He’ll have a pocket camera with him and I’m hoping he can capture whatever happens here today.

Whatever we can and can’t persuade the Dutch authorities of, we have the power of the press behind us. ”

“What is this man going to do? Trail behind us all afternoon?” Rat asked sceptically. Alessandro shrugged.

At that moment, Mustafa appeared beside them. The boy had approached so quietly that neither man realised he was there until he cleared his throat to draw their attention.

“Good lad,” Alessandro said softly. “Anything to report?”

“I saw crates taken in twenty minutes ago. I cannot be sure they were the ones Sidi Matthew described, but they came separately from everything else and were taken in by three men who then left immediately after.”

“Excellent work.” Alessandro wondered whether there was any point in asking the boy to stay or if he had already done everything they needed him to.

Finally, he handed him some coins, told him to find something to eat, and then to come back and keep watch for anything suspicious.

“Come and find us inside if necessary.” Mustafa nodded and then slipped away as silently as he had come.

“You’re making the assumption that he’ll be able to get into the theatre to find us,” Rat pointed out.

“He’s a resourceful lad. He’ll manage.” Again, Rat thought about himself at that age and had to admit Alessandro was right.

Alessandro led the way through the stage door, where they encountered a rather flustered man holding a list clipped to a piece of wood, who asked them a question in Dutch.

Alessandro replied in very broken Dutch that was much worse than his usual command of the language, then said something in German.

It didn’t seem as if the man with the list spoke German or cared to question them further. Instead, he waved them through. Alessandro said something in his broken Dutch, and Rat grunted and nodded as they slipped into the shadows.

Backstage, people were coming and going in all directions.

Rat could hear shouting in Dutch and German as the visiting and local crews hurried about with props and tools.

It was hard to believe that a polished performance would emerge from this chaos in less than eight hours.

However, Rat assumed this wasn’t much different from what it took to stage any theatrical performance, and that both crews must be used to working under these conditions.

Backstage at the Stadsschouwburg was filled with dust and shadow in the early afternoon, hours before the house would open its doors to the evening’s audience.

The gas lamps had not yet been lit, and the air was cool with the scent of sawdust, varnish, and old clothes.

The stage stood empty, the curtain drawn, while a handful of workers moved with the quiet efficiency of those accustomed to the lull before the storm.

Rat and Alessandro entered through the rear entrance into the backstage labyrinth.

No one paid them more than a passing glance.

There were set builders, lighting riggers, and a harried man pushing a cart filled with props who shouted at them as they crossed his path.

Rat noticed a pile of rope with some tools sitting nearby and signalled to Alessandro.

They moved towards the pile. Then, Rat grabbed the rope, and Alessandro took a couple of the tools.

“Where should we start?” Rat whispered.

“Well, if the crates the lad saw were the ones you opened, then they were brought in recently. That’s good news. I cannot imagine they’ve been unpacked and a bomb already assembled in such a short time.”

Rat nodded; this made sense. However, it didn’t answer the question of how they were to locate the crates.

“Why don’t we make a tour of the theatre and do some reconnaissance to begin with,” he suggested.

“It occurred to me that the aim might be to have this explosion be quite localised. After all, there will be German citizens in the cast and crew. Surely their government will want to ensure their safety.”

“Perhaps,” Alessandro responded in an unconvinced tone.

“Or perhaps not. I recognise this is a rather cynical view of what countries might do to serve their national interests. However, as we experienced in Morocco, elements within the British are willing to kill and imprison their own to push forward a foreign policy. Is there any reason to think that Germany would behave differently?”

Despite his scepticism, Rat’s words did make Alessandro consider where it might be most sensible to place a bomb. “I think a tour is a good idea; I want to see where the Royal Family would be seated. I assume there’s a royal box.”