What I am writing now

Below is an extract from the beginning of my new Historical novel, working title:

Black Danube. A Leo Katz  Crime Thriller

 

Set in Vienna 1899 it follows the story of Leo Katz, a crime photographer, as he tries to solve the mysterious murders of several Jewish dissidents, and help clear the name of a young woman falsely accused of the gruesome killing of her fiancé.

 

Chapter One

 

I stood on the platform of the Kaiser Franz Josef Railway station in bare feet. I had no luggage or hat. People ambled past taking side-long looks, shaking their heads as if to say, ‘Ah, another penniless immigrant. Vienna is going to the dogs.’

 

The top two buttons on my dark brown waistcoat popped open. I clutched at my chest, hunched my shoulders, fastened them back up, and pulled my gaberdine tight to hide my defective attire. A high-pitched whistle blew and a cloud of light grey smoke surrounded me. The sound of metal wheels scraping along the track screeched so loud I thought I would never hear again. Gradually, the noise faded. I wiped away the mist left by the steam train from my face and tried to focus. But my eyes were fuzzy as though I had indulged in an excess of alcohol.

 

I loosened my stiff shirt collar to let in some air and scuttled to the exit. Once outside I halted in front of the grand pillared entrance. Not daring to move, in case I loosened more buttons on my tight garments, I observed the washed out faces of men and women walking along the street. They stared ahead not looking at anything or anyone. I blinked rapidly. They shimmered and faded becoming nothing more than ghost-like figures floating above the raised wooden pavements.

 

A swirling wind blew the phantoms away. It caught at my coat tails, whipping them up and down so fast I almost took to the air. I held onto them until the gusts decreased. I glanced down the steps. At the bottom lay my black shoes, heels broken, soles ripped off halfway, gaped open like the mouths of  dying fish.

 

I stumbled down the stairs and crouched by my broken footwear. Rain pelted my neck and shoulders. I raised my head, and through the rippling water that slid down my lashes, saw gigantic eyes appear in every window of the massive grey station that loomed over me.

 

Standing quickly, I ran across the road, tripping over the newly installed tram lines, stepping into deep puddles that splashed my trousers with blood-red water. I tore at the stained fabric with my elongated fingernails and ripped the garment from my legs, revealing white bloomers that flapped in the wind like an injured bird trying to take off. Horrified, I tried to cover the girlish underwear with my hands, but my fingers turned into dumplings and melted.

 

‘Kazab!’  Yelled an old flower seller dressed in a voluminous white high-necked blouse and billowing black skirt. Her face was so wrinkled it caught the water that fell in the deep crevices of her cheeks. She grasped a bunch of dead roses, held them before me and shouted louder than before, ‘Kazab!’ I put my hands over my ears but her cry of, ‘Kazab!’ was deafening. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground. ‘Kazab!’  She screeched the word over and over. It pounded my head like rocks being thrown. ‘Kazab! Kazab!’

 

They say the truth hurts, and it does, for I am indeed a liar.

‘Herr Katz.’

 

The images dispersed, I opened my eyes to darkness and heard my name called again. Fully awake, I threw back the bedclothes and checked for moistness on the sheet. All dry. My pads worked well.

 

‘Herr Katz? Are you awake.’ Rapid knocks on the door, an unfamiliar voice. Odd. ‘Sir, please, you are needed. Herr Rosenbloom sent me to fetch you. Come quick. There’s been a horrible murder.’

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Vienna, Hohe Brücke, 1894

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