The Furies Read Online Free PDF

the Royal College of Surgeons in London in August: a study of methods for reducing infection after surgery for bullet wounds. He had already presented the work at a meeting in Vienna, and there had been a great deal of interest from surgeons as far afield as America and England. Having already spent some time in London and New York, Gabriel was hoping the research would help him find a good job once his time in the army was over. ‘Well I hope you’re not too busy, Peter,’ he said.
    Flieger shrugged. ‘I don’t mind being busy. And as it’s St Vitus Day, there’s always the possibility of a stabbing,’ he said with a grin, briefly side-slipping a lone pedestrian coming the other way, before stepping back into stride beside Gabriel. ‘Anyway, why are you in uniform on your day off?’
    â€˜I’m going to the hospital to finish writing up the results of my latest experiments,’ Gabriel explained, ‘and I need to catch up on the latest research from America.’ He pulled the journal out and showed Flieger the front cover before tucking it back under his arm. ‘But first, I’m breakfasting at Schiller’s.’
    â€˜So you’re not going to watch the royal couple as they drive past?’
    â€˜No…well…’ Gabriel paused, and then gave an enigmatic smile. ‘Actually, I met them both last night.’
    Flieger’s eyes blinked rapidly behind the lenses of his spectacles. ‘What? You
met
them?’
    Gabriel smiled. ‘Yes. The chief was meant to represent the garrison hospital at a royal banquet at the Hotel Bosna in Illidza last night. But his wife was unwell, so he deputed me to go at the last minute.’
    â€˜You attended the royal banquet?
    Gabriel nodded.
    â€˜You mean you actually met the Archduke?’
    Gabriel nodded again and then smiled at the look of astonishment on his friend’s face. But the real truth of the matter was that his introduction to the Archduke had been curt, almost to the point of rudeness. The chief – Dr Rudolph Fischer, chief surgeon for the 16 th Corp of the 6 th Army – had forewarned Gabriel that Franz Ferdinand was a stiffly unfriendly individual, unlikely to pay much attention to a mere regimental surgeon, and that had indeed turned out to be the case. But the remainder of Gabriel’s evening had been most interesting, largely because he had sat between General Potiorek’s adjutant, Colonel Merizzi, and Colonel Harrach, one of the Archduke’s personal advisors. They were both entertaining conversationalists, and all three men had drunk a considerable amount of the local Blatina wines as they had talked.
    His tongue loosened by alcohol, Colonel Harrach had even spoken of his fears about the following day’s tour: that the visit clashed with St Vitus Day – an important Serbian national holiday – which might provoke violent protests from Serb nationalists. Harrach was also concerned that General Potiorek had placed very little security along the route: only one hundred and twenty gendarmes and no military presence of any kind. Colonel Merizzi, however, had vigorously defended Potiorek’s handling of the occasion and Gabriel had found it all most revealing, offset only by the throbbing in his head this morning, a reminder of his unusual lapse in temperance.
    â€˜Yes, I was introduced to the Archduke, albeit briefly. He has quite a commanding presence.’
    â€˜The duchess looked beautiful?’
    â€˜She did indeed, Peter – stunning.’
    â€˜It must have been magnificent,’ Flieger said, a note of envy in his voice. ‘And I suppose General Potiorek must be a very happy man.’
    Ah yes, Gabriel thought sourly: General Oskar Potiorek. With his close-cropped grey hair, thin moustache and intimidating dark eyes, the normally solemn-looking governor of Bosnia had appeared unusually cheerful the previous evening. He had been dressed