by Eric Flint
TO: ATWOOD COCHRAN
ADDR: LOOK IT UP
FROM: MARLA LINDER
DATE: 14 DEC 1635
MESSAGE:
DOES YOUR PORTABLE RECORDING RIG STILL WORK? STOP
IF SO, CAN YOU BRING TO MBURG FOR A ONE SONG GIG PROBABLY ON OR AROUND JAN 14 TO 16? STOP
WILL PAY EXPENSES AND GOING RATE FOR RECORDING OR IF TROMMLER BUYS IN YOU CAN TAKE ONE FIFTH OF DEAL STOP
RESPOND BY TELEGRAPH STOP
TELL MARCUS HI STOP
END
Chapter 14
Simon’s day turned out to be a good one. He ran messages for several merchants and delivered a package as well. At the end of the day, as he walked toward Frau Zenzi’s, he had three pfennigs in his pocket, and that was after spending the one Hans had given him for a piece of grilled sausage on a stick. That and the remaining roll from yesterday, despite it being a little the worse for wear, had given him more of a day’s meal than he could remember having since forever.
So he was in a good mood when he arrived at the bakery, whistling on his own as he claimed his broom and began sweeping.
“You seem happy,” Frau Zenzi said as he worked.
“Yah. I made a couple of new friends yesterday, and pulled in a couple of coins today.” Simon bent down to look under the edge of the counter to make sure he had swept it clean underneath.
“That is good,” Frau Zenzi replied.
Simon continued sweeping. His good mood made the time pass swiftly, and before he knew it he was done. After he put the broom back in storage, Frau Zenzi gave him a roll. He gave a florid bow in reply, then exited the bakery with her laughter ringing in his ears.
He looked around, but Hans was not in sight yet. There was still a bit of light coming over the roofs of the western houses, so he might be a bit early himself. He sat down on Frau Zenzi’s steps and bit into the roll. It was crusty and filled with flavor. Before he knew it, he was almost done. He was about to finish the last piece, when he realize he hadn’t seen Schatzi yet today.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, than Simon saw her, nosing her way down the street. He whistled and she looked his way, ears perked. “Schatzi,” he called, holding out the last scrap of the bread. As always, she approached him slowly, getting just close enough to grab the bread, then scooting back out of his reach to eat it. A few chomps and it was gone. She looked at him for a moment, then moved on her way, following her route, sniffing for the scraps of food that would keep her and her pups alive.
“What was that all about?”
Simon jumped. Hans was leaning against the front of the building next door, hands in pockets, watching him.
“She is the only creature I know who is worse off than I am. I always give her a scrap of my food when I see her.”
Hans straightened. “Do you think that makes her yours?”
“I used to dream that it did, but no. She is too afraid to trust anyone.”
“Hmmph. I know people like that, too.”
So did Simon, and he nodded in agreement.
“I am surprised the knackers haven’t caught up with her,” Hans said.
Simon’s gut twisted at that. He knew that the knackers were charged with clearing stray animals from the streets. “We do not see them around here very often. And Schatzi’s smart, very smart. She would get away from them.”
“That would not take very much smarts. One whiff of them and if she had any sense at all she would be running the other way as fast as she could.” They both shared a laugh over that. Simon remembered the odor that clung to the last knackers he’d seen. Working with dead carcasses did not produce the finest of perfumes.
Hans turned. “Well, come on.”
Simon hurried to catch up with him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ask.”
“What did you mean when you told Fraulein Ursula there would be a fight tonight?”
“A fist fight.”
Simon was confused. Hans knew he was going to be in a fist fight?
Hans looked over at him and laughed at his expression. “For money, boy. A fist fight for money. See, there are men in town who arrange these, and other men in town, especially the well-to-do ones, come and watch them. Bets are laid on who will win, and a lot of money can change hands because of one of these fights.”
“Ah.” Simon nodded. “I have heard about those, but never saw one.”
“Look, boy, Simon, you remember what it was like last night at the arm wrestling?”
Simon nodded vigorously.
“It will be like that, only louder and more excited. People really like this.”
“Oh.” Simon thought about it. “Do you do this often?”
“Every few weeks.”
“Do you win?”
Hans laughed. “Every time so far. And with you as my luck,” he reached over and tousled Simon’s hair, “I am sure to keep winning.”
Simon thought about that as they kept walking. He was Hans’ luck. Okay, as the Americans said. He would be the best luck he could be.
Chapter 15
Magdeburg Times-Journal
December 14, 1635
The office of Mayor Otto Gericke made the following announcement yesterday:
“At the request of Fürst Ludwig von Anhalt-Cöthen, the Schöffenstuhl of Magdeburg, capitol city of the USE, has reviewed the actions of Axel Oxenstierna, Chancellor of Sweden, in secluding the emperor, attempting to convene Parliament in Berlin, arresting Prime Minister Wettin, and attempting to assert authority over the government and citizens of the United States of Europe. The Schöffenstuhl has rendered their opinion, and it is being prepared for publication in full. In summary, the Schöffenstuhl today declared Chancellor Oxenstierna’s actions to be illegal and unconstitutional, and further set forward that no citizen or resident of the USE owes the chancellor any obedience or recognition beyond that of common courtesy.
It is our expectation that the USE Supreme Court in Wetzlar will issue a similar ruling when they conclude their deliberations on the issues.
The Times-Journal will bring you the full text of the judicial opinion as soon as it is made public.
Ed Piazza, President of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, lowered the paper and whistled. “Well, now, that’s certainly set the weasel among the chickens.”
Those assembled in Rebecca Stearns’ parlor all laughed. Gunther Achterhof’s laugh morphed into an almost snarl. One of the chief leaders of the Magdeburg Committee of Correspondence, his views on political maneuvering tended to be very direct. “More like set the wolf among the sheep. Nothing plainer can be said to place the truth out in plain view.”
“That is all to the good, isn’t it?” asked Helene Gundelfinger. She was the vice president of said state of Thuringia-Franconia.
Gunther shook his head. “Sheep are dumb. Stoo-piid,” he drew the syllables of the English word out.
Constantin Ableidinger, leader of the Ram movement in Franconia, grinned and responded, “Not all sheep, Gunther. Not all sheep.”
“Maybe not,” Gunther acknowledged sourly, “but too many. Just watch, this will make no difference to what is going to happen.”
“Maybe not,” Gunther’s words were echoed by Rebecca Stearns, “but it will possibly make a huge difference to Michael’s plans.” Her husband Michael Stearns was now serving as the commanding general of the Third Division of the USE army. No one knew quite for sure yet what his plans to deal with this crisis entailed, but they all had faith that he had them.
“And afterward,” Ableidinger rumbled. “As Michael has mentioned before, history is written by the winners. Being able to point to a judicial condemnation made before the fur—or rather, the lead—started flying can only strengthen us afterwards.”
“Mmm.” Gunther’s expression was still sour. “Maybe.”
Gunther Achterhof was not exactly a “glass is half full” kind of fellow.
* * *
Across town, behind the walls of
the old city, three men met in the council room of the Rathaus, home of the Regierender Rat, the official city council and governing body of Old Magdeburg. One of them had just finished reading the same article from the newspaper. Three glum faces stared at each other.
“Ach,” Georg Kühlewein huffed, “the chancellor will not believe we did not have a hand in this.”
“Lentke is behind this. You know he is,” said Johann Westvol, Kühlewein’s frequent and accustomed partner. “The others on the Schöffenstuhl would not have stirred if he had not rousted them out of their holes. I told you we should have brought him into this deal with us. If he stood to make the kind of money we are starting to gather, he would have kept his peace, but ‘No,’ you said, ‘We need all the money we can get for ourselves,’ you said. Now see where we are.”
“Well, if you had not cheated him on that saffron deal, he would not have been so ready to seize an opportunity to heave a beam into our spokes.” Kühlewein was getting red in the face and his voice was getting louder.
“Both of you just shut up.” Spoken in a cold tone by the third man in the room, that phrase froze both Kühlewein and Westvol in place. Their mouths clacked shut, but the glares they focused on the speaker should by rights have set his clothing to smoldering.
“Better,” Andreas Schardius said. “We do not have time for bickering and recriminations. Now, Georg, you’re the mayor this year, correct?”
Kühlewein nodded.
“Then keep everything quiet and everyone in line. Do not give Lentke or Gericke or the Schöffenstuhl any more reason to look in our direction.”
There was a mutinous look on Kühlewein’s face. He was not used to taking orders from anyone, much less someone who was not a member of the Rat. “But…”
“Do it.” The ice returned to Schardius’ voice. “Or I pull out of your little group, and take my money with me. Without me, you do not have a prayer of finishing the hospital wing on time, and you certainly will not skim off the money you expect to make on this deal.”
Now there was a look of panic in both the other men’s eyes. Westvol immediately acquiesced, nodding vigorously. Kühlewein was a bit slower in signaling affirmation, but he was no less firm when he did so.
“Good. And send a note to the chancellor and explain that you had nothing to do with the Schöffenstuhl’s verdict. You are correct; he will probably not believe you. But if you do not send the message, he will begin to wonder even more about you. And we do not want that, now do we?” He gave a thin smile as the two men nodded in unison.
Chapter 16
A T & L TELEGRAPH
BEGIN: GVL TO MBRG
TO: FRAU MARLA LINDER
ADDR: SYLWESTERHAUS MAGDEBURG
FROM: ATWOOD COCHRAN
DATE: 14 DEC 1635
MESSAGE:
RIG STILL WORKS STOP
BATTERIES STILL HOLD CHARGE WELL ENOUGH FOR ONE LONG SESSION OR TWO SHORT ONES STOP
CAN TAKE TIME OFF FROM SCHOOL FOR GOOD CAUSE STOP
IS THIS ONE? STOP
ATWOOD
END
Chapter 17
Gotthilf turned away from the shift sergeant’s desk and stepped over to where Byron was pouring a cup of coffee. “Sergeant Milich says Metzger works in Schardius’ warehouse most days. He also says Metzger beat the charge, and is out on the street. Metzger has been keeping a low profile ever since, except that he does fight in the bear pit pretty often.”
Byron sucked at the coffee, and made a face. “This stuff isn’t any better than my mother’s coffee, and that’s pretty bad. So when’s the next fight?”
Gotthilf smiled. “By coincidence, the sergeant says he may be fighting tonight.”
His partner gulped the rest of the coffee down, shuddered, and said, “It’s rumble time, then.”
Gotthilf shook his head at yet another strange American idiom, and followed his partner out the door.
* * *
Simon walked with Hans out of the city, even beyond the exurb of Greater Magdeburg. He was uncomfortable outside of his streets, especially as it was drawing to full dark. It didn’t take long, though, before they arrived where they were going.
“What is this?” Simon was mystified. All he saw was a big rectangular hole in the ground with timbers shoring up the sides and some bench seats around it.
“It’s the bear fighting pit.”
“Oh.” Simon had heard of it, too, but he’d never seen it before. Somehow he’d always imagined it would be larger and…grander. He became aware of an odor as they drew closer to it. “It stinks.”
“Yah. Lots of blood spilled in that pit, soaked into the ground.” Hans chuckled. “Some of it even men’s blood.”
“Dog fight two nights ago,” a stranger commented.
“Fresh blood, then,” Hans said. Simon made a face.
More and more people were arriving, all men as far as Simon could tell.
“Hello, Herr Metzger,” someone said from behind them. Simon turned with Hans to find two men: one tall and one short.
“Are you on the bill tonight?” asked the tall one. From his accent, he was an up-timer.
“On the bill?” Hans replied. Simon was confused as well.
“On the card. Are you fighting tonight?”
“Who’s asking?” Hans sounded brusque to Simon.
“Lieutenant Chieske of the Magdeburg Polizei, and my partner Sergeant Hoch.”
“Oh.” Hans seemed taken aback. “I am at that, Lieutenant Chieske.”
“Should be a good match, then,” said the short one, who was clearly a down-timer.
“Yah, Sergeant Hoch. I will give the people their money’s worth.”
The two men nodded to them and walked on. Hans watched their backs for a moment, spat and muttered something Simon couldn’t quite hear.
“Who are they, Hans?”
Hans looked at him with a sober expression on his face. “You know about the new Polizei?”
“Yah.” Simon nodded.
“Those two are part of it. In fact, they are mostly leading it, from what everyone on the street says. And they have got a lot of the street people and hard men nervous. They are sharp-eyed and, so far at least, incurably honest.”
“Why are they here tonight?”
“I don’t know. Probably heard about the fight and came to sniff around the edges like your Schatzi, looking for whatever they can find.”
Simon chuckled at the image conjured in his mind by Hans’ words.
A man approached whose pointed nose and receding chin reminded Simon of nothing of so much as a ferret. “Time to get ready,” he whined at Hans. Even his voice reminded Simon of a ferret.
“Right. Come on, lad.” Hans led the way over to the pit and climbed down a ladder. When he got to the bottom he looked up at Simon. “Come on, now.”
* * *
Byron saw someone he knew. “This way,” he threw over his shoulder to Gotthilf, who followed him through the crowd. “Todd! Todd Pierpoint!”
An up-timer near one end of the pit turned. “Hey, Byron. What’s up?”
“You just here for the fight?”
“Naw, I’ve got a stake in this.”
“How so?”
“Tobias,” Todd pointed to a weasely-looking down-timer who was walking with Hans Metzger toward the fighting pit, “he found a copy of Sports Illustrated that covered mostly boxing stories. Once he got someone to read it to him, he got ideas about starting a fight syndicate. Turns out there’s been some sort of bare knuckle fighting around these parts off and on for quite a while. Anyway, he started looking for someone to work with him on it. He got pointed my way, and here we are. I do some general training of fighters at Karickhoff’s gym, I referee, I put up some of the initial money, and I get half the profits.”
“Wow. From one-time county welterweight champion to 1635’s own Don King. In a few years I’ll get to say ‘I knew him when…’” Byron grinned and ducked as Todd swung a lazy roundhouse at him. “So,
you make much from the bets?”
Todd’s smile disappeared. “You being a cop, are you asking officially?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, for the record, I don’t bet on the fights. Conflict of interest, see?” Todd’s head swiveled to find his partner. “Tobias, now, he might. He’s never said anything to me about it.” He looked back to the two policemen. “I haven’t heard of anyone making book on these fights. So far as I know, it’s just man to man here at the pit.” He spat. “And I hope it stays that way.”
There was a moment of quiet, then Byron said, “What’s with the pit? I’d’ve thought you’d put a ring up.”
Todd sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how change-resistant some of these people can be. It took me weeks to get the fighters to understand why a raised ring would be good. They’re used to the pit; they like the pit.” He shook his head. “I finally got them to agree to use it if we built it. Now I’ve got to get the money together.” Todd chuckled. “And it may not be square when it gets built. Might be more of a rectangle, like the pit is. Change-resistant, like I said.”
“You got gloves and mouth protectors and everything going?”
“Working on gloves. The fighters we’ve got mostly don’t like the big up-time style boxing gloves. I’ve had someone make up some of the padded five-ounce martial arts style ones that leave the fingers free, and some of the fighters have started using them.”
“That include Hans Metzger?”
“Yep. And some of the guys have started using pieces of thick leather for mouth protectors, too. That works okay, but I’d rather have rubber. I keep hearing someone’s bringing rubber in from overseas, but I haven’t been able to chase it down yet. That would be better.”
Todd looked over Byron’s shoulder and waved.
“Gotta go, there’s my cue. Watch the fight—it could be good.”
* * *
Simon hadn’t dealt much with ladders in his short life; a one-handed man is at a bit of a disadvantage on one. Of course, a one-handed man is at a bit of a disadvantage everywhere, he thought to himself as he reached for the left pole. A couple of moments later he was standing on the floor of the pit, pleased with himself that he had managed to scramble down the ladder without knocking it over or falling off it.
