Authors: P. J. Brackston
“Open up! In the name of King Julian!”
“Well,
really!
” Gretel scrambled to her feet, tightening the cord of her housecoat about her belly. “Not again! What now? After all Uber General Ferdinand von rely-upon-me Ferdinand's promises and assertions that I would be left alone . . . ! Am I never to find peace in my own home?” She strode through the hallway, spitting into the spittoon without breaking her stride, and wrenched open the front door. “What is the meaning of this?”
she demanded. “I'll have you know this is the third door I have taken possession of in as many weeks, and if I have to purchase another, your master will be footing the bill. Who are you, and what do you want? Speak, man!”
The caller took a step back. Gretel noticed that he was not, as she had expected, a soldier, but a herald. With trembling hands he unfurled a scroll and held it high as he read in a clear but slightly tremulous voice:
“Their Majesties King Julian and Queen Beatrix Findleberg of Bavaria do hereby summon you to attend the Summer Schloss on the occasion of the birthday of Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte for a celebratory ball. Dress formal. Carriages at midnight.” He lowered the scroll, rolled it up again, and handed it to her. “Further details are herein,” he told her.
Gretel stared at him, mouth agape. She became aware some sort of response was required.
“Well, that is . . . splendid,” she managed at last. “I will of course be most honored to attend.”
He nodded, risking a small smile, and took a note out of his jerkin pocket. “I was also asked to give you this, fraulein.”
She took it from him and opened the fine cream vellum, the quality of which was not lost on her. In a flowing hand was written:
I should esteem it a great honor if you would agree to attend as my personal guest . . .” It continued in a flattering vein for some half a page, and was signed with a flourish: “Ferdinand.
“Well,” said Gretel again. She narrowed her eyes at the young herald.
“Any reply, fraulein?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but . . . not just yet, I think. Tell the general I will respond . . . shortly.”
The herald masked his surprise well, bowed low, and left. A smile of supreme smugness lit up Gretel's face. She turned on her heel, swinging the door shut as she did so. She had not gone two paces before a new hammering started up.
“Hell's teeth!”
She pulled open the door and a stringy man in a ridiculous hat fell through it. Gretel frowned down at him as he lay panting at her feet.
“Who are you, and why are you lying on my good Turkish Kilm gasping like a trout on a riverbank?”
“Forgive me,” he panted, struggling to pull himself to his elbows, dragging himself farther into the hallway, his eyes darting nervously, peering past Gretel as if to check he had not been followed. “Are you Fraulein Gretel?
That
Gretel, of Gesternstadt?”
“That is what it says on the sign outside, yes.”
“Thank heavens! I have traveled many leagues to find you, for I believe only you can help me in my terrible situation.”
“I'm sorry, I have just two days since completed an arduous case, I cannot possibly undertake . . .”
“Oh, say you will help me! I implore you. It is a matter of great danger, and great urgency, I confess, but be assured, my patron is blessed with enormous wealth and is willing to pay whatever it takes to retrieve what has been taken from him.”
“Whatever it takes?”
The wreck of a man nodded as vigorously as his state of near collapse would allow. Gretel straightened up and took a steadying breath. After a second's thought, she yelled toward the kitchen.
“Hans! Hurry along with that luncheon, and be liberal with the weisswurst. This is no time for half measures.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I
don't think I would have undertaken this series without being inspired by Rebecca Tope, who opened my eyes to the joys of plotting crime, and who has supported and encouraged me since my first faltering attempts at writing.
Once Upon a Crime
was born of a love of comic novels, of history, and most important, of the fairy tales I devoured as a child. Now I read my son and daughter stories written centuries ago featuring trolls, and giants, and magical animals, and fantasy castles, and enchanted forests, but why should children have all the fun? I wanted to create some fairy tales for adults to enjoy. I hope to write many more
books following the adventures of Gretel (yes,
that
Gretel), Private Detective of Gesternstadt.
And last but definitely not least, my thanks go to my agent, Kate Hordern, for taking Gretel out into the world with such evangelical zeal.
ONCE UPON A CRIME
Pegasus Books LLC
80 Broad Street, 5th Floor
New York, NY 10004
Copyright © 2015 by P. J. Brackston
First Pegasus Books cloth edition July 2015
Interior design by Maria Fernandez
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:
ISBN: 978-1-60598-812-2
ISBN: 978-1-605-98813-9 (e-book)
Distributed by W. W. Norton & Company