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Part II: The Marshal goes to Suhl

Early March, 1634

Judge Riddle sat behind his office desk. Harley Thomas, Dieter Issler, and Max Huffman were present, seated in well-padded side chairs. Archie Mitchell, however, was late.

Harley, Max and Archie had been discharged from the army just three hours before. An hour after that, with their families watching, Judge Riddle swore Max, Harley, and Archie in as new SoTF marshals, with Dieter sworn as a deputy marshal.

The day was bright with a light southern breeze that brought a warming hint of spring. Sunshine and its warmth, a welcome break to the cold of winter, had melted the season’s last snow. Vina Thomas and Greta Issler had arraigned to have the ceremony on the Thomases’ front lawn, followed by a small reception. They prepared a selection of light pastries, accompanied by a punch made from apple cider and ice cream. Frank Jackson provided some unknown punch ingredient of approximately 100 proof.

The new officers were now in Judge Riddle’s office. Everyone was present except Archie Mitchell.

Judge Riddle was about to ask Harley if he knew where Archie was when footsteps sounded in the hallway—footsteps that included the tinkle of jingle-bob spurs. The door opened and Archie Mitchell stepped into the office.

“Good God Almighty!” Judge Riddle exclaimed. “What the hell is that?”

Archie walked into the room and said, “Sorry I’m late.” He wore Tony Lama boots with spurs, dark brown canvas pants, and a white shirt with an accompanying black string tie. Over the shirt was a five-button leather vest and on his head was a light gray Stetson hat. Around his waist was a wide leather belt and holster. On the right was a holster containing a Colt single-action .45 caliber revolver. A second Colt pistol, in a cross-draw configuration, rode on his left-front side. The pistol belt contained twenty-four large, fat cartridges in leather loops. Archie carried an oilskin coat called a duster over one arm and a cane in his other hand.

Judge Riddle glanced at Max and Harley. Max’s face was turning red and his shoulders were shaking. Harley was not as constrained and was openly laughing—loudly.

Archie stepped up to the desk. “Since you’ve made me a marshal, I thought I’d wear my marshal’s uniform.”

Max spoke up, “That’s Archie’s SASS costume. He was a member of the Single Action Shooting Society up-time. They dressed up like that.”

Riddle looked at Archie, his face turning red in anger. “Be very glad I’m not in court. If I were, you’d be looking at five days for contempt.” The judge was not sure if he was being mocked or not. “If I didn’t need you—” He clamped his lips. “I’ll overlook this…this time.”

Archie’s look of surprise and hurt finally convinced Judge Riddle that Archie’s intent was innocent. Well, maybe not innocent, but at least not contemptible.

“Sit down, Archie and don’t try my patience.”

Archie sat.

After a moment to collect his thoughts, Judge Riddle said, “I have your badges here. I asked Morris Roth to design and make them. My initial thought was to make them from some silver dollars I had collected, but Morris convinced me that would only attract thieves. Morris got together with Ollie Reardon and made these. Ollie had some stainless steel and brass stock left over from some job. Morris designed these badges. I had in mind something like the Texas Ranger badge, a five-pointed star inside a circle. Morris had other ideas. He likes six-pointed stars,” he said with a slight grin.

“Dieter, come here,” said the Judge. “This is your badge. As a deputy, your badge is entirely stainless steel. Morris stamped your name, today’s date, and the serial number on the back. Your badge is number four.” Dieter stepped up, and Judge Riddle pinned the badge on his shirt.

“Max, Harley, and you, Archie, stand up,” he said again. “The Marshal’s badge, like Dieter’s, is made of stainless steel. The difference is that the points of the star are brass, leaving the center as polished stainless steel. You are all equals as marshals, so we assigned the serial numbers in alphabetical order. Max, you have serial number one, Archie, you’re number two and Harley is number three. Wear them in good health.”

He pinned the badges to the three new marshals and motioned them to sit down. “After much discussion with the other judges, Mike, Rebecca, and Frank, we decided, initially, to assign each of you marshals to some specific tasks as we build the larger service. Max, Doc Nichols doesn’t want you to do much fieldwork for a while. Since you were a first sergeant in the U.S. Army, we believe you would be ideal as the executive officer of the marshals service.”

Turning to Harley Thomas, he said, “Harley, we thought the best place for you would be the marshal-in-charge of training since you did most of the tactical training for the old Marion County Sheriff…among other duties yet to be assigned. You’ll be in the field, too. Since you hurt your knee again, you’re on medical leave until Doc Adams clears you for full duty.”

Judge Riddle paused for a moment, looking at Archie and shaking his head slightly. “Archie, we had thought that you would be the best for the marshal-in-charge of Field Operations, of the district courts. I’m having some second thoughts after seeing you in that outfit, but the decision has been made. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Uhhh, yes…I mean no,” Archie stammered, “I won’t.” Perhaps dressing up wasn’t such a good idea.

“By the way, how’s the leg?”

“Well, mostly, it’s healed. Doc Nichols is being pessimistic, but he said it will get better if I continue with the PT.” Archie had been wounded in the leg the previous spring and the wound had gotten infected, laying him up for months. The infection had caused some permanent muscle damage to his thigh and hip, hence the cane. He no longer needed it to walk, but he’d become attached to the cane. It was made of hickory, with an alloy, molded ball on one end and a steel cap on the other. It could be handy, he had decided—a knob-knocker, his grandfather would have called it.

Nodding to Archie, Riddle agreed, “That’s what Doc Nichols told me; you’ve been released for duty.”

Judge Riddle continued, “Max, for the time being, I want you to set up an office down the hall. Your first task will be to build a Table of Organization and Equipment. All of us will be involved in that. Another first task will be recruitment.”

Turning to Harley and Archie, he said, “Harley…don’t go hurting that knee again! I know he deserved it, but next time, get someone else to kick that son of a bitch in the ass.”

Judge Riddle paused and looked at Dieter. “You are the only deputy marshal available, at the moment, to take cases. Fortunately for us, everything’s quiet at the moment.”

Riddle looked at the quartet again before he continued. “Archie, I would like you and Dieter to go to Suhl and find a suitable place for a court. Suhl has been a thorn in our side since last year, so we think the first court should be there—establishing a presence of law and order, so to speak.

“The court system is still being designed; how many courts, how many judges, their area of responsibility, all that. The current plan is each court will have a presiding judge who’s in charge and two or three associate judges to help and take cases. You’ll need to keep that in mind when you look for a courthouse. We’re planning on placing a troop of mounted constabulary in Suhl as well, but that’s not your concern once they’re in place. They’ll use the USE garrison barracks. It’s been turned over to us. Check it out when you get there. Hire some people to clean it up and make any needed repairs. See if there is a site nearby for the court.”

“How many constables will be in the troop?”

“Here is a copy of the proposed Table of Organization. It’s still subject to change. Officially, it will be the 1st Mounted Constabulary Troop when it’s all said and done.”

Archie read the document. A headquarters platoon with one captain, a first sergeant, a line sergeant, plus a saddler, farrier, blacksmith, medical orderly and seven privates. The remaining two line platoons each contained forty-three men with a lieutenant, two squad sergeants, two corporals, a trumpeter/radio operator, a medical orderly and thirty-six trooper constables.

“The troop will be larger than those that follow. It’ll have to cover most of northern Thuringia, and Franconia. Some headquarters folks, like the blacksmith, farrier, and saddler, may be local people hired to fill just those functions,” Riddle continued. “I would like you to spend some time with my son, Martin. He will go over everything with you and answer any questions you may have.” Clearing his throat, Judge Riddle asked, “Do you think you could leave Monday for Suhl? That will give you nearly a week to get ready for the trip. A bailiff will arrive to take over the admin for the court in May.”

“Yes, sir,” Archie replied. “Monday will be fine. Dieter?”

“That is fine with me, too.”

“Well, that’s it, everyone. Any questions? If not, then we’re adjourned.”

Suhl, Early April 1634

The sky was overcast as Dieter rode up to Archie’s home trailing a packhorse. In front of the house was a light wagon with a horse already hitched and another horse tied to the rear. In the back of the wagon was a worn and cracked saddle, saddle bags and two of Archie’s old footlockers. Marjorie Mitchell was standing on their porch, giving Archie a kiss and hug. They had been married over forty years and weren’t used to being apart.

It was time to leave. “Bye, Marj. See you in a month?”

“’Bout that, I think. Be careful, Arch.”

Archie nodded and carefully stepped down his front steps, using his cane to support his weakened leg. He used his cane in one hand and carried his lever-action Winchester rifle in his other.

“Where did you get this wagon, Archie? I’ve not seen one like it before,” Dieter asked.

“I had it built in Saalfeld last year. It’s called a buckboard. The wainwright built it from some pictures I had. A hundred years ago, Grantville time, these wagons were as common as automobiles were in the twentieth century.”

“It doesn’t appear too sturdy.”

“It’s not designed to carry heavy freight, just people and stuff like a small pickup truck. Plus, I can haul more stuff than using a packhorse. Doc Nichols suggested that I not ride a horse yet.”

“What are you doing with that old saddle?”

“That was my grandfather’s. He used to be a cowboy in Oklahoma before he married my grandmother. I’ve heard about a saddle maker in Suhl, and I’m going to have him make me a new one based on this design. I did some horse swapping last week and got a couple of good sturdy riding horses. This is mine,” Archie said, pointing to the horse tied to the back of the wagon. “Marjorie’s old saddle fits her roan, but mine, the pinto here, needs a new saddle. My old saddle doesn’t fit.”

* * *

Dieter wasn’t too familiar with horses or saddles. He just rode whatever was available. Archie’s new horse was a mottled white and brown, a pinto, he had called it.

Archie had owned several horses before the Ring of Fire, but Dieter’d not thought much about it. Now that he’d seen the wagon, he could see how useful it could be. Maybe he should talk to Greta about a wagon and some horses? He was well paid as a deputy marshal. Perhaps they should invest some of that money?

“Dieter, why don’t you put your gear in the back of the buckboard and tie your packhorse to it. It’s forty-five miles, a two-day trip to Suhl. That’ll free your hands if it becomes necessary.”

Dieter did so. The packhorse was to be his spare. Both of them had been assigned to him with his transfer to Suhl. Everything he and Archie needed for the trip, and until their wives arrived, was now carried in the wagon. He frankly stared at the footlockers and bags that Archie had loaded in the wagon.

Archie, seeing Dieter’s expression, said, “One of those footlockers is full of ammo .45 Colt for my Winchester ’73 and my revolvers, and .45ACP for my two Colt Commanders.”

“I brought .45ACP and 12-gauge double-aught, too.”

“Good, I’ve some 12-gauge; a mixture of double-aught and slugs. Ammo weighs a lot. That’s why I want to take the buckboard—plus I can haul enough fodder for all our horses. Grazing won’t be very good this time of year. Help me get this tarp over the bed and we’ll be off.”

Archie made sure the waterproof tarp covering the wagon bed would drain rainwater off the wagon bed before he climbed into the wagon. A thick pad covered the seat to provide more comfort than hard wood. The steel leaf springs under the seat helped soften the ride, but Archie wasn’t going to complain. Marjorie made the pad using an old foam rubber camp mattress.

Once seated, he pushed the lever-action rifle against the front mudguard into a clip designed for that purpose next to his Winchester Model 1897 pump shotgun. “Let’s get going.” He released the brake and snapped the reins. As the wagon started off down the street, Dieter kicked his horse’s flanks and caught up with the wagon to ride alongside.

* * *

Marjorie watched Archie and Dieter leave, moving down the street toward Highway 250 and the road that would eventually take them to Suhl. She stood on the porch, watching, until the two turned the corner down the block and passed out of sight.

She gave a sigh and turned to Greta, who had been watching, too. “We have a lot of work to do to move two households to Suhl. Time to get busy.”

Late April 1634

Archie and Dieter arrived in Suhl in midafternoon. The sky had gotten darker and threatened rain. They’d been rained upon several times during the trip. Both wore their oilskin dusters and waterproofed hats to help shed the light rain. The caravan of wagons they had joined continued on into Franconia, leaving them at the gate.

After passing through the East Gate, Dieter and Archie separated. Dieter rode on to the inn where they would stay while Archie drove the wagon toward the saddler’s shop.

Archie guided the buckboard through the streets toward the shop of Johann Zeitts. By prior agreement, he would leave the pinto with Zeitts to allow him to make the saddle that would fit the horse. The new saddle would cost about the equivalent of forty up-time dollars, he guessed, and the old cowboy saddle. We’ll haggle some. Archie suspected Johann would get the better side of the deal with a template for a new style saddle. I wonder if I could get a new saddle for Marjorie if I traded that old McClellan cavalry saddle?

Johann Zeitts’ shop was on the southern side of town. He had started life as a cobbler. In fact, his son, Hans, still worked as a cobbler in a corner of the shop. Johann had become a saddlemaker by accident. One of the leading members of the Suhl council wanted a new saddle, and Johann made a bid. Zeitts made saddles using techniques learned as a cobbler. His technique, using small brass nails and hand stitching, was new. Several competitors in the area were copying his methods, but Zeitts was more skilled. His business had grown, and he was able to acquire a combination shop and home for his wife, married elder son, Hans, and a younger son, Christian.

The wagon pull up in front of the shop and Hans walked out to welcomed the marshal.

“My father isn’t present at the moment,” he said. “Please follow me. We have a stable in back.” Hans led Archie with the wagon and horses through the gate into the fenced-in area behind the shop where a small stable was located. The stable had room for several horses, three already present.

Hans waited while Archie watered his two horses. “Your wagon and horses will be safe here while you meet with my father,” he said. “My younger brother, Christian, normally takes care of the horses and the stable, but he’s shoeing one at the moment. He’s a farrier and journeyman blacksmith,” Han explained.

Johann arrived after they finished with the horses. The elder Zeitts entered the front of the shop at the same moment Archie entered from the back, followed by Hans carrying an old saddle.

“Wie Gehts, mein Herr! Guten Tag. I’m Marshal Archie Mitchell from Grantville.”

“Welcome, welcome, Herr Marshal Mitchell. I see you have arrived safely.”

Why would I have not arrived safely? There’s been no outlaws anywhere near here. The comment surprised him. He thought Suhl was mostly peaceful after the late unpleasantness with the gunsmiths and the CoC the previous year.

He dismissed the comment and followed Zeitts into the main workroom, where Hans placed the old saddle on a wooded trestle that could be adjusted to meet the size of different horses. Johann lifted the stirrups, examined the leather fenders, skirt, cantle, and seat.

“Hmmm,” he muttered and flipped the saddle upside down on a nearby table to see the saddle’s wooden tree, visible through holes in the rotten leather. He rubbed his chin and hummed again.

“Ja! Now I see the differences. It is like some Spanish designs.”

“True,” Archie agreed. “The design evolved from saddles used by Mexican vaqueros up-time and they had Spanish ancestors. It is a working design to allow a horseman to ride comfortably all day.”

“Do you want any embellishments? Any silver?”

“No!” Archie chuckled. “I’m not rich. I just want a good working saddle…well, maybe a bit of leather tooling and embossing if it isn’t too expensive.”

“Very well.” Johann seemed a bit disappointed.

“When could you give me an estimate for cost and delivery?”

“Oh, yes, uh, tomorrow? Noon?”

“Noon, it is. I’ll be here. I’ve other business in Suhl, but I’ll make a point of being here at noon or as close to it as I can.”

“Would you be available for dinner tonight, Herr Mitchell?” Zeitts asked. “Our quarters are above the shop and I would like you to meet my wife and family.”

“Thank you! I would be grateful, Herr Zeitts, but I’m not alone. Deputy Marshal Issler is with me.”

“Bring him, too. We would like to have both of you. Besides, it does me honor to host the new marshal and his deputy.”

* * *

Archie drove his buckboard back into town to the Boar’s Head Inn, where Dieter waited. The State of Thuringia-Franconia had a contract with the innkeeper to house them, their horses, and gear until permanent quarters could be found. Noelle Murphy had arranged it before she left Suhl. The innkeeper, Otto Hersch, was being exceedingly helpful. He wanted them to remain at the inn as long as he could keep them. The SoTF was paying half again his current rate. More coins in his pocket.

Noelle had asked for a ground floor room explaining to the innkeeper the nature of Archie’s injury. When Archie arrived, the innkeeper led him and Dieter to the rear to an area of the inn where three rooms awaited them.

It’s a suite! Archie thought when he entered. The front room contained a desk, chairs, a table that could be used for conferences, a sideboard that appeared to be well stocked, and floor to waist-high cabinets. The innkeeper had built a strong room in a small, windowless closet-like room for storage of their guns and ammo. It would also keep secure the coins that had been given to him for the purchase of the new SoTF courthouse, and other associated incidentals. Off the central room were two others made up as individual bedrooms. A door on one side of the central room led to the inn’s bath, jakes, laundry, and an exit to the inn’s stables in the rear. Noelle Murphy made an excellent choice when she chose this inn. He was surprised the innkeeper was so accommodating.

Otto Hersch appeared and asked for permission to take Archie’s buckboard and horses to the rear stable. “My stableboy will feed and groom your horses, Herr Marshal Mitchell. They will be in the stalls next to Herr Deputy Marshal Issler’s horses.”

“Danke, Mein Herr. I appreciate your courtesy.”

The innkeeper left.

“Nice place, Dieter,” Harley said.

“Ja. He bowed to me when I arrived.” Dieter chuckled. “I almost thought he was going to add a Von und Su to my name. I think he’s glad to see us.”

“I got the same impression from Johann Zeitts. It makes me curious. Everyone is glad to see us…wonder why.”

“Perhaps I should wander around and listen to gossip? No one would think twice about me…at least for the next day or so until I become known.”

“Start tomorrow…and dress like you live here.” Dieter was dressed much like Archie: an oilskin duster, Western-style boots, pants, shirt, leather vest and a copy of Archie’s Stetson hat—Archie’s unofficial idea of a marshal’s uniform. “Tonight, we have dinner invitations with Johann Zeitts and his family.”

* * *

Dusk was falling when Archie and Dieter arrived at the Zeitts’ shop and home. Darkness came early this time of year. Johann Zeitts welcomed them and introduced his wife, Elizabeth, his son Hans and his wife, Lena, and the saddlemaker’s younger son, Christian. Hans’ and Lena’s two small children were already in bed.

Johann and Elizabeth’s ages were betrayed by their white hair, but both appeared to be quite fit. Hans and Lena were in their late twenties. Christian was several years younger.

Christian had the shoulders and grip of a blacksmith. Hans was slighter than his brother, although his hand was as calloused as that of the elder and younger Zeitts, Archie noticed.

“Welcome to our home,” said Elizabeth. “We are very happy you accepted our invitation. Follow us, please.”

She led them upstairs to the family area, a larger room than he’d expected, given the size of the building. Johann and Elizabeth had separate rooms for themselves. Christian had his room, and so did Hans and Lena. The rest of the upper floor was a common area for the entire family.

Dinner went well. Elizabeth and Lena had prepared a leg of roasted mutton, with bread pudding for dessert. They were finishing dinner when, from the stables outside, they heard a scream from a horse. Everyone headed downstairs, led by Hans and Christian, who grabbed a lantern before leaving the shop. Hans saw two men in the stables standing next to one horse. One man held a knife.

Christian outran his older brother and yelled at the two intruders. One ran out of the stable into the darkness. The other, the one with the knife, was slower. Christian threw the lantern at him and it hit with an audible clonk! The man stumbled, dropped to his knees, and fell.

Dieter arrived next and rolled the man over. The lantern was heavy brass and the bloody dent in the man’s temple caused by the lantern was clearly visible.

Christian ignored the other running man who had disappeared in the darkness. He ran into the stable to check the horses.

“He was trying to hamstring the horses!” he called, pointing to a slash on the leg of one of Zeitts’ horses. Christian soothed the shivering horse and inspected the wound. “It’s a deep cut, but I don’t think any tendons are cut. May need stitches. I’ll see in the morning when the light is better.”

Dieter checked the other horses. “The rest appear to be all right. I don’t see any wounds.”

Archie and Johann were the last to arrive. Hans picked up the lantern, relit it, and held it close to the face of the body. He, like Christian, who was vomiting next to the stable after seeing the damage to the intruder’s skull, appeared to be shocked.

“Christian clearly did not intend to kill him,” Archie said to Johann, “just stop him from hurting the horses.”

“Danke,” the elder Zeitts said. “Will the watch believe that?”

“With a SoTF marshal and deputy marshal as witnesses? Yes,” Archie assured him. “You know him?”

“No,” replied Johann, looking at the body.

“Nor I,” added Hans.

Christian, wiped his mouth, spit, and looked closely at the body. “He’s one of Achen’s men. I’ve seen him around.”

“Who is Achen?” Dieter asked.

“He’s…well…I…” Christian hesitated to say more.

“Friedrich Achen,” Johann began, “is…uh…a…he calls himself a businessman. He has what he calls ‘a private security firm.’ You pay him a fee and he guards your home and business.”

“If you don’t, things happen,” Christian explained.

“His men came around wanting me to sign up for their protection,” Johann said. “I refused. That is what the watch is supposed to do.”

“Except the watch is seldom seen after dark,” said Hans.

“It isn’t seen much during the day, either,” Christian added.

Archie nodded. The old protection racket. He hadn’t expected to see it here, in this time, but there was no reason it shouldn’t have occurred to someone.

“Did you report it?” Dieter asked.

“No. Why? It isn’t illegal,” Johann replied.

“It is if it includes intimidation and extortion.”

“What do we do with the body until the watch comes?” Archie asked.

“Leave him there,” Christian said. “The watch will show up, eventually.”

“Okay,” Archie agreed. “Be sure it’s reported in the morning if they don’t come tonight.”

* * *

Dieter Issler rose early the next morning. The sky was gray just before dawn. He dressed as a down-timer, hiding his pistol inside his knee-length coat. His wide-brimmed hat would not draw attention. His boots were of up-time design, but many USE and National Guard veterans wore similar boots. They’d not draw attention.

He left the inn and headed toward the river-side gate, not the one they had passed through yesterday. He was curious if it was manned at this time of the morning. Some cities in the SoTF had become complacent and failed to keep their gates guarded. As he walked, he kept an eye out for anyone about to dump their night-soil. He didn’t want to get splashed.

* * *

Archie, having finished an early breakfast, had one of his Colt Commander pistols disassembled on a large cloth on the table when the innkeeper announced a visitor. “Herr Marshal, Bürgermeister Feld would like to see you.”

“Send him in,” Archie said, rising to greet the Bürgermeister.

“Guten Tag, Herr Marshal.”

“And to you, too, Herr Bürgermeister. I’m glad to see you. I had planned to see you later this morning, but now will do,” Archie said. “Please sit. Excuse the mess. I like to clean my weapons after they’ve gotten wet. It rained often on our way here.”

Feld glanced at the pieces of the pistol, a collection of small, finely machined pieces of a Model 1911 pistol, laid out neatly on the thick cloth. “Ruben Blumroder would like to get his hands on that.”

“Ruben Blumroder?”

“He is the…guildmaster…no, that’s not correct, there is no guild here. He’s the informal leader of Suhl’s gunsmiths and our representative to the new SoTF legislature. Ruben is quite influential.”

“I wouldn’t object if he wanted to examine it. The pistol is easy to copy, the springs aside. It’s the ammunition that is difficult. How did you know I was here?”

“Word gets around. The militia guard on the gate sent word that you had arrived. Fräulein Murphy said you were coming, but we didn’t know when.”

“Well, it isn’t any secret. My deputy and I are here to secure a site for the new SoTF District Court.”

“Court?”

Feld appeared to be surprised, Archie noted. “Yes. It will provide justice and legal services for the district—administer SoTF law. The judges will report to Judge Riddle, the chief justice of the SoTF Supreme Court.” Archie removed a wax-sealed envelope with Judge Riddle’s official court seal, from his saddle bag on the floor. “I have a letter for you and for the city council.”

Feld took the envelope and read that it was addressed to him and to the Suhl council. He weighed it in his hand and appeared to be impressed. The envelope was heavy paper.

Feld looked up to see Archie watching him. “Should I open it now?” he asked hesitantly.

“If you wish…as soon as you sign this receipt,” Archie replied, extending a form letter and pen to Feld.

Feld looked at the receipt as if it were a serpent. After a silent moment, he reached for it and signed with Archie’s pen.

“Thank you, Herr Bürgermeister,” Archie said, slipping the receipt into his saddlebag. “I’ve already given you an overview of its contents,” Archie said, nodding toward the envelope in Feld’s hand.

“I suppose our…difficulty last year is why the court is being established here.”

“I wouldn’t know. There are difficulties in Franconia and I assume the mounted constabulary will be sending many patrols there.”

“They won’t stay here?” Feld said with alarm.

“Some will always be here, the headquarters and support troops, but most of the troopers will patrol the main roads and areas away from the larger cities.”

“We don’t have many watchmen. The militia guards the gates and the city wall.”

“That reminds me. I noticed the militia on my arrival. Who is the Wachtmeister? There was an incident last night. A man tried to hamstring some horses and was killed during the commission of the crime.”

“Crime! Uh, we don’t have much crime. Herr Heinrich Buch, one of our council members, oversees the watch and represents them, among others, in the council.”

“How many watchmen do you have?”

“I’m not sure of the actual number. Herr Buch is the de facto Wachtmeister. I think they’re thirty-five or forty.”

“That’s all?”

“Well. the militia protects the city. The gunsmiths take care of their part of Suhl, and the rest of Suhl is quiet. There have been no complaints, and the cost…is…expensive.”

“Suhl looks to be prosperous. You shouldn’t have any difficulty raising the funds to add more.”

“There are…concerns.”

Archie watched the Bürgermeister sitting across from him. The situation wasn’t new. Cities always seemed to shortchange their safety, whether external or internal, especially when there was no danger on the horizon. “Neither the SoTF Court, the marshals service, nor the mounted constabulary are responsible for running Suhl. You are. It’s up to you and the council.”

“Yes, yes, we know. We didn’t know about the court coming. All we knew was the rumor about the mounted constabulary. We thought…”

Archie said nothing. He now understood why he and Dieter were being welcomed so enthusiastically. “My deputy and I work for the court, and answer to them. Suhl is your responsibility. I would suggest you and the city council review your needs. I believe you have some. That said, to whom should I report the incident?”

“Oh! Well, Herr Buch, I suppose. We rarely have anything untoward reported.”

“Very well. I’ll pay him a visit. By the way, would you suggest someone I could see about what is available for a courthouse? The constabulary will use the former USE barracks.”

Feld seemed startled at that last piece of information. “I’ll check with the council. One of them should know. I’ll ask them to see you.”

“Good, good. I appreciate your help.”

Feld glanced at Archie, looked down at the envelope still in his hand, and nodded. “I’ll present this to the council,” he said, rising. “Guten Tag, Herr Marshal.”

“Guten Tag, Herr Bürgermeister.”

* * *

Dieter found the river-side gate manned by a very young militiaman, an apprentice of a local gunsmith, he discovered. The youngster had a blue cloth tied around his sleeve, and he was watching a farmer pass through the gate in an ox-drawn cart. The gate-guard was unarmed as far as Dieter could see. He was just standing at the side of the gate, watching people come and go.

After a brief conversation, Dieter discovered the name of the inn favored by the journeymen and master gunsmiths, Das Matchlock. Useful information if we want to meet with them.

He watched the early morning traffic while continuing to surreptitiously interrogating the gate-guard. A journeyman gunsmith arrived to check on the guard and, when finding nothing unusual, left to check another guard.

As least the guards are organized. I’ll check the cavalry barracks next. Without doubt, the barracks would need minor repairs; being unused over the winter.

* * *

After Feld left, it was time for Archie to visit Johann Zeitts. He shifted in his chair, groaning lightly. The hard wooden chair in their quarter’s central room made his hip ache. He hadn’t slept well the previous night; the bed was a simple pallet on a wooden frame. His sixtieth birthday was coming up, and he seemed to feel every one of those years.

God, I miss the twentieth century. Marjorie was bringing some of their furniture when she and Greta came to Suhl. He hoped she could bring his recliner. Hard beds made him restless and cost him sleep. Sleeping on the ground these last couple of travelling days, hadn’t helped, either. It seemed, more and more often, the only time he could sleep well was in his recliner.

The innkeeper’s wife cleaned up the remnants of breakfast and swept the floor, and the hallway leading to the stable. Archie made a mental note to tip her for her care and efforts.

Archie reassembled the Colt Commander, inserted a loaded magazine, chambered a round, and set the safety before slipping it into his shoulder-holster. The other Colt Commander was already on his belt. Rising from the table, he picked up his hat and walked through the inn’s common room and out the front door. Archie hadn’t taken but a few steps out of the inn before he saw a familiar face.

“Hi, Archie. How are ya?” Anse Hatfield asked. “I heard you were in town so I came over to visit.”

“Anse! Good to see you. It’s been, what, a year or more since we last met?”

“Yeah, ’bout that. It’s good to see a familiar up-time face.”

“I was just going out. I have an appointment.”

“That’s okay, I’ll come along if that’s all right? We can talk along the way.”

* * *

Dieter approached the former USE barracks and was surprised to see several workers on the site. They appeared to be tearing down the palisade walls. He walked up to the one who seemed to be in charge. “What’s going on?” Dieter asked.

“None of your business,” the man said.

“I’m Deputy Marshal Issler,” Dieter said exposing his badge. “That is SoTF property and soon to be the barracks of the mounted constabulary troop that will arrive shortly. That makes it my business.”

“Don’t know anything about that. I was told to tear down the walls, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“That’s none of your business, either. Now go or we’ll make you go.”

Dieter saw he was outnumbered by six to one. He’d better pass this to Archie. “I’ll be back. I strongly suggest you have your boss here when I return.”

* * *

“…Noelle Murphy left a few days ago,” Anse Hatfield said. “I’ve been recalled, and I’ll be leaving in a few days to rejoin the army with my folks. There won’t many up-timers here after that, just Pat Johnson, the Reardons, Gary and Gaylynn, and maybe one or two others.”

“Marjorie is coming in a few weeks along with Dieter’s wife, Greta. I don’t think there will be any more up-timers coming here after she arrives.”

“I plan on coming back,” Anse said. “I like it here…and I’ve found someone.”

“Oh? Local lady?”

“Well, yes, and no. She’s a down-timer, but not from here, originally.”

They reached the street that would lead to the Zeitts’ saddlery. Archie glanced at his friend walking next to him. “You just didn’t come to see me because we’re old friends, Anse. What’s on your mind?”

“There’s a problem here, a gang,” he said, looking down to side-step some manure in the street. “I thought I had a handle on it, but now I’m leaving, my detachment and the other army folks, too.” Anse looked back up. “I wanted to fill you in and ask if you’d look into it.”

“A gang that’s running a protection and extortion racket?”

“Yeah, among other things.”

“I’ve heard. I met some of them last night. They were trying to cripple a horse, and I understand they were Achen’s men. Who is this Achen?”

“I don’t know too much. I’ve heard that he’s the new son-in-law of one of the city councilmen. They don’t try much in my part of town, but they work the rest of Suhl and outside the gates. The watch never seems to be around when something happens. When they finally show up, they do little. They catch no one and things just seem to get worse. It’s getting so that it’s not safe on the streets after dark.”

They turned onto an uphill street. Archie leaned on his cane more often; the pain in his leg had increased. “I thought the Jaegers were helping to take care of things?”

“Only in our part of town and most of them are gone.”

“That’s twice you’ve said, my part of town. What do you mean?”

“Where the gunsmiths are, their shops and homes. After the, ah, incident last year, they’ve kept the peace in their area. The city council is supposed to handle the rest of town. They don’t. They think the militia is enough…you can’t keep the peace by manning the walls and gates with unarmed boys.”

“And the watch?”

“They seem more interested in patrolling the ‘better’ parts of town. The homes and businesses of the council members and the like.”

“I met Bürgermeister Feld this morning. He said they only have thirty-five to forty watchmen for the whole town.”

“I know. It’s one problem Suhl has. Saves them money, don’ cha know. I’m surprised the council hasn’t called for help. I’ve heard rumors they are deadlocked on that. They need about seventy-five to a hundred men if they are to have good day and night patrols,” Anse said. “They think the militia will fill in for their lack of watchmen. The militia has to provide their own weapons, and most militia members work for the gunsmiths and their families.”

“Where have I heard this before?”

“Yeah. Almost like old times.”

“Dieter Issler is my deputy—do you know him?”

“No…don’t think I do.”

“He’s out scouting the town, getting a feel of the place. Before you leave, I’d appreciate it if you’d have a talk with Pat and Gary, ask them to keep their ears open, and give us a holler if they hear anything we should know.”

“I can do that. I’m glad Pat and Gary aren’t in the army,” Anse said, slowing to match Archie’s pace. “I don’t really want to go but I don’t have a choice.”

“They kicked me, Max Huffman and Harley Thomas, out and made us marshals. Frankly, I’m glad I’m not in anymore.”

They were approaching the saddlery. “I better get back,” Anse said. “I’ll drop by again before I leave.”

“Thanks, Anse, I appreciate it.”

* * *

Ruben Blumroder looked up from his workbench when Anse Hatfield walked through the door. “Did you meet him?”

“Yep. I think ol’ Arch will do. He asked me about Achen before I brought it up. He’s already put out feelers gathering information.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Archie’s hard to describe. He’s a SoTF marshal now. Up-time, he’d been a deputy sheriff, an army vet—up-time, not just here—plus, he’s a combat vet, too.”

“What’s he like?”

“Well, like many up-timers, Archie has some…eccentricities. He has always been a cowboy fan. Have you heard about Westerns?”

“Ja, but I don’t think I understand.”

“Westerns are stories about the American West in the nineteenth century—the American Frontier. Archie lives it. Up-time he was a member of a group that had action shooting matches using old-style weapons—revolvers, rifles, usually lever-action, double-barreled shotguns, weapons that were common in the nineteenth century. They had shooting matches, some even shooting from horseback, and they dressed up in costumes like those from the Old West. Archie lives it. He even dresses like it.”

“Is he crazy?”

“No. Absolutely not. But, when we arrived here in the middle of what we called the Thirty Years war, it was a shock. People reacted differently. Some did well, some did not. The Ring of Fire affected everyone in some form or another. Living as a real Old West Marshal is Archie’s way of coping—but don’t doubt his competency. That would be a mistake. His, uh, eccentricity aside, he’s a tough lawman.”

“Good! That makes me feel better, we need someone like that.”

“I think Archie will do.”

“I have a meeting tonight with some of the other craftmasters. I’ll tell them about our new marshal.”

* * *

“Guten Tag, Herr Zeitts,” Archie said as he entered Zeitts’ workshop.

“Guten Tag, Herr Marshal.”

“Well, what do you think?” Archie said, pointing to the disassembled saddle on Zeitts’ workbench.

“I can do it,” Zeitts affirmed.

When the haggling was over, Zeitts and Archie had an agreement. Zeitts would finish the saddle in two weeks unless there was an unforeseen circumstance to delay delivery.

Archie and Johann Zeitts were shaking hands on the deal when Christian Zeitts entered the workshop with the help of his brother. He was badly beaten, with one blackened eye almost closed.

“What happened?” Johann asked, rushing to Christian’s side.

“Achen’s men caught him outside. They were looking for their man who didn’t come home last night. It was their two on Christian until I arrived.”

“Where are they?” Archie asked, referring to Achen’s men. “Are they still around?”

“They ran up the street. I don’t know where. Don’t go after them,” Han said, “they outnumber you.”

“I think I can handle them,” Archie said, leaving the shop. Outside, he surveyed the scene. Zeitts’ shop was next to the city’s wall. A ring road ran parallel to the wall, with homes and shops lining the cobblestoned street. Several people were out walking along the street, but none appeared to watching Zeitts’ shop.

“They ran that way,” Hans said, pointing to the left. The street ended several hundred yards away where it met another that led to the eastern gate.

“Danke. Tell your father I’ll look into this.” With that, he stepped into the street and proceeded in search of Christian’s assailants.

The buildings on the left side of the street abutted the city wall, but did not touch it. There was a ten-yard separation between the wall and the buildings. This gap provided space for wall maintenance and easy access in time of need. The right side of the street was like that of the left, with narrow alleys appearing from time to time giving access to another alley to the rear.

I need a map. This place is a maze. You could hide an army in these alleys and no one would know.

Archie reached the intersection, seeing no one or anything suspicious. He had stopped a few passersby asking if they had seen two men running down the street and no one had…or at least would not admit that they had. That was the problem with a gang. They intimidated people. Individually, people like Zeitts’ family were at the gang’s mercy. If they united, the gang would be ineffective and would soon be removed or would leave for easier pickings.

Leaning on his cane, Archie headed back to the Boar’s Head Inn. He’d not had any lunch, and he was getting hungry.

After a late lunch, he visited Ruben Blumroder. He seemed to be the actual leader of Suhl. Maybe Blumroder would have more information.

* * *

Achen’s two men watched the marshal walk past the alley where they had hidden themselves. Their boss would not be pleased with their failure to extract information from the younger Zeitts.

Friedrich Achen sat in a corner of the taproom in Der Bulle und Bär, his favorite inn, when his two men entered. They walked over to his table and sat.

“What did you find?” he asked.

“Nothing. We were interrupted. Zeitts’ brother and some neighbors came before we had the younger one softened up. The new marshal was there, too, so we left.”

“Conrad’s dead,” Achen said. “One of the Zeitts, maybe the marshal, killed him.”

“How did you know?”

“Feld told my father-in-law who told me. Also, the other marshal, the deputy, was nosing around the barracks. He told the men to stop working. They refused, but the deputy said he would be back, with the marshal, to stop them.”

“Shall we be there, too? Together we would have enough to take both of them.”

Achen thought the suggestion over. “Do so. Keep watch. When the workers refuse, join them and overwhelm the marshals. Don’t let either get away.”

“You want them dead?”

“No, not yet. I need to know why they’re here.”

“Your father-in-law doesn’t know?”

“He says not. I’m not sure I believe him.”

“We’ll find out. The marshal doesn’t look all that strong. He uses a cane.”

“Go. Wait for them as long as it takes.”

* * *

After following the directions garnered from several people, Archie arrived at Ruben Blumroder’s shop, on the same street as Pat Johnson’s U.S. WaffenFabrik. A shot echoed from the rear of the shop. Instead of entering the shop’s front, Archie walked down the adjacent alley to the rear, where he found Blumroder and a couple of men testing long arms.

Archie stood watching them load the long guns with patched balls. Rifles, he assumed. The target, a wooden board attached to a large square post, was filled with bullet-holes.

Bam! one man fired the rifle, which produced a cloud of white smoke. The rifle produced significant recoil.

“Guten Tag!” Archie called, as another shooter stepped forward to the line.

Ruben Blumroder, at least that is whom Archie assumed the older man was, appeared startled when Archie called. He turned his head swiftly and gave Archie a quick inspection. The older man stepped away to walk toward his visitor. The other two ignored Archie’s interruption.

“Herr Marshal Mitchell, I presume?”

“The same. I assume you are Herr Ruben Blumroder?”

“The same,” he said with a grin. “I was going to visit you when I had some time. Herr Hatfield told me you arrived yesterday. And here you are. What is the occasion for your visit?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your work, but I would like to talk with you about Suhl. I understand you will be the city’s representative to the SoTF legislature.”

“Ja, that’s so. The craftmasters and their people elected me. We outvoted our opponents.”

“The craftmasters were able to control fifty percent of the votes?”

“Not alone…but with some other allies, we did.”

“Politics?”

“Politics,” he confirmed. “Come, let us go inside. I have some cider in a cooler that I’ve been thinking about all day.”

Archie chuckled and followed Blumroder into the rear of his shop. Inside the door, he let his eyes become accustomed to the gloom of the unlit room. The sole light source was the open door and two windows facing the alley. To one side of the room were three rifling machines next to a small forge used to make small metal pieces that would eventually become parts of the rifle’s lock.

Blumroder walked down the aisle, stopped at a table where rifles and long arms were assembled. He picked up a rifle and handed it to Archie. “This is a copy, as best we can determine, of your Kentucky rifle. It’s .50 caliber. Pat Johnson had a…magazine?…catalog?…that had an exploded view of this rifle. We created our molds from that and refined the final product to be this rifle.”

To Archie, it appeared to be very much like a flintlock Kentucky rifle he had once fired. The smooth honey-colored wooden stock, forearm and ramrod were expertly finished and varnished with fine checkering at the grip behind the trigger and at two points along the sides of the forearm. The brass side-plates and patch-box were polished to a mirror-sheen that brought out details of an engraved hunting scene. Archie hefted the rifle and found it to be perfectly balanced. “A fine piece of work,” he told Blumroder.

“Danke. It is intended as a gift for the landgrave of Hesse-Kassel. A working rifle, not some pretty piece that will never be fired. I can’t say who ordered it, but the commission was very welcome.”

“I repeat, a very fine piece of work.”

“A man who knows his weapons, I see.”

“Of necessity. A reliable, accurate firearm can mean life or death. A man can be known by his weapons. I’m used to mine.”

“If I may ask…”

Archie chuckled. “I’ve nothing fancy. He pulled his duster aside to reveal a Colt Commander in a belt holster, then pulled the other side of the duster open to reveal a second Colt Commander in a shoulder holster.

“Ah, yes, the Colt Model 1911A1. Anse Hatfield carries one.”

“Almost, this is the Commander version,” he said pointing to his two pistols. “The 1911 has a five-inch barrel, the Commander a four and one-half inch barrel. It’s not much shorter but it can make a difference if you have to draw quickly.”

Blumroder walked into the shop where he had an office—a side room from a larger space where his apprentices and journeymen worked small pieces of metal to insure they fit exactly into molds. This was the current method of standardizing parts. It worked well enough and helped keep parts interchangeable, more or less. Using molds wasn’t as precise as using a milling machine but would do until those tools became available.

After they had seated, Blumroder asked, “What can I do for you, Marshal?”

“I came mainly to introduce myself. Anse Hatfield, whom I’ve known for years, paid me a visit this morning. He mentioned you were one of the city leaders. I’ve found it’s best to know the PTBs.”

“Excuse me, Herr Marshal, PTBs?”

“Powers That Be. Folks like Herr Feld—and you. I keep forgetting few here know all our language foibles.”

Blumroder chuckled. “I’m not in the same category as Herr Feld. I’m just a local craftmaster.”

“Who effectively controls at least a third of the city.”

“Um, uh, well, yes.”

“And is the recently elected member to the new SoTF legislature.”

“True, as well.”

“I think that qualifies you as being one of the PTBs, don’t you, Herr Blumroder?”

“Anse said you were different, Herr Marshal.”

“Just call me Archie, if you would.”

“Very well…Archie, and please call me Ruben.”

“Thank you, Ruben.”

“Now, what can I do for you, Archie?”

“Information, really. Anse alluded to some troubles here in Suhl—different from last year. A gang, he said.”

“Yes, Friedrich Achen. He arrived a year ago and married the daughter of Heinrich Buch, one of the city council members. No one seems to know from where he came. He has, as Anse has said, no visible means of support. Achen hangs out at the Der Bulle und Bär, one of our more disreputable inns. He has a gang that extorts money from the shopkeepers, selling protection. The watch—the city council—has done little to curtail Achen’s activities. It’s not our, the militia’s, responsibility, either. Achen knows better than to bother us.”

“Your militia?”

“The city’s militia. However, we, the gunsmiths and the remaining jaegers, are the largest contingent of the militia. The Jaegers answer to us…me…for the moment. Patrolling is not a responsibility I—we—want. It’s been thrust upon us. We ensure our people are safe. That’s all we can do.”

“I see. It’s not my responsibility, either. But, like you said, sometimes it’s thrust upon us.”

“Have you met the council yet?”

“I met with Herr Feld this morning. He arrived on my doorstep bright and early. I had some documents for him—for the council and gave them to him. The SoTF will establish a district court here in Suhl. I’m here to find a suitable building for the court. The SoTF will also station a troop of the mounted constabulary here in the USE barracks.”

“I suspect the documents may disappear if he doesn’t like their contents.”

“I don’t think so. He signed a receipt…and I have copies.”

“I see Herr Feld’s reputation has gone before him.”

“Don’t know about that. It just a standard precaution.”

“I wouldn’t wait to meet the council, Archie. I’ve been told there are workmen dismantling the barracks. If you don’t lay claim, there may be no barracks, shortly.”

Archie sat silent for a moment. “Danke, Ruben. I’ll get on that.”

“I have a meeting tonight with other gunsmiths and craft masters. If you don’t mind, I’ll tell them about the new court and the mounted constabulary.”

“Feel free. It’s no secret.”

“Thank you for coming, Archie, but if you don’t mind, I have some apprentices to oversee. Some need to be constantly supervised.”

Archie chuckled. “I understand, Ruben. That is true even up-time. Guten Tag.”

“Guten Tag, Archie.”

* * *

Dieter arrived at the Boar’s Head Inn in time to see Archie enter before him. “Archie!” he called. “We’ve a problem.”

Archie turned at the entrance to their rooms and asked, “The barracks?”

“Ja. It’s being torn down.”

“I know. Ruben Blumroder told me. He’s the head of Suhl’s gunsmiths and would be the guild meister if there was one.”

“I told them to stop, but they refused and there were six of them to my one.”

“Get your gear. Let’s pay them a visit.”

Dieter disappeared into his room to reappear a few minutes later dressed much like Archie—boots, canvas pants, white shirt and badge, leather vest, gunbelt, shotgun on a sling, and covering all, his duster. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

They arrived at the barracks a half hour later. “There they are. That one,” Dieter said, pointing to a man in a leather coat watching the others, “is the leader.” To one side were two other men leaning against a partially dismantled palisade wall.

Archie walked up to the man in the leather coat. “Are you the boss of these men?”

“I’m their overseer. So what?”

“Then I’m ordering you to stop work and leave—immediately.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do now. That’s SoTF property, and it’s my responsibility. I have my authority here,” he said, exposing his badge.

The man turned and yelled to the other workers, “Get them!” and drew a large knife from under his coat.

Archie stepped back, shifted his grip on his cane and swung, knocking the knife from the overseer’s hand. He slid his hand down the shaft to the other end of the cane, and on the backstroke hit the overseer’s forearm with the cane’s alloy head breaking both lower arm bones. The overseer shrieked at the sudden surge of pain.

Archie heard a click behind him. Dieter had switched off the safety of his shotgun that had been unseen under his duster. He had it leveled at the rest of the workmen. From the corner of his vision, Archie saw the two leaners running toward him. He turned and punched one in the stomach with the steel foot of his cane. That one bent double from the punch, blocking the path of the other, and fell to the ground in a huddle. By the time the last attacker stepped around the first, the cane’s alloy head was swinging toward the attacker’s jaw. It hit with a crunch, and both attackers were out of action and on the ground.

The fight was over. Two men on the ground. One standing clutching a broken arm and five others with hands up, eying the muzzle of Dieter’s shotgun. Archie was panting and wheezing. I’m outta shape.

“Do you know if Suhl has a jail, Dieter?” he asked between pants.

“No.”

“I don’t either. Let’s tie their hands and march ’em to Ruben Blumroder’s place. I think he’ll have a place to put them, or tell us where’s the jail.”

Archie only had one pair of steel handcuffs. Instead of handcuffs, he and Dieter carried rawhide thongs. Between the two of them, they had enough to restrain the six men still standing.

“Archie, I think this one is dead.”

Turning to Dieter and then looking at the man on the ground, he said, “Well, crap.”

Archie checked the two on the ground. The first one, the one he’d punched with the steel foot of his cane, was dead. He opened the man’s shirt to reveal a purple splotch covering most of his stomach. The cane must have ruptured some internal organ, and the man had hemorrhaged to death. Checking the second man, Archie found him dead, too. The alloy head of the cane had impacted the hinge of his jaw, caving in the side of his skull. Hit him too hard. I need to practice with this cane more often.

“Dieter, take the boss man’s coat and cover these two. We’ll send someone for ’em later.”

* * *

Anse Hatfield was standing in the doorway of Ruben Blumroder’s shop when he saw Archie and Dieter approaching with their prisoners. “Ruben!” he yelled. The urgency in Hatfield’s voice brought Blumroder to the front of the shop.

“Archie’s been busy,” Anse said. “Told you so.”

“Ruben, do you have somewhere to stash these folks?” Arched asked when they reached the doorway.

“I could find a place, a storeroom I suppose.”

“Neither Dieter nor I know if Suhl has a jail. I assume there is one?”

“Yes, below the council chambers in the Rathaus. I don’t think it’s been used much, not since last year.”

“I don’t think that jail would be the best place just now. Can you keep these people out of sight for a while? Week, maybe, until the mobile constabulary arrives.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Dieter, go with them and get our cuffs back. I think we’re going to need them.”

Blumroder spoke briefly with one of his journeymen. He and a couple of apprentices armed themselves with pistols and marched the six down the street.

Archie sighed. “There are two dead men at the barracks, Ruben. I hate to ask, but could you send someone to get them?”

“What happened?”

“They were waiting for us. The one with the broken arm was the crew boss of the ones tearing down the barracks. He refused to stop work and drew a knife on me. I have a sneaking suspicion the two deaders may have been a couple of Achen’s men. While Dieter and I were taking care of the workmen, those two joined the fight. They rushed me and I got careless. I hit them too hard with my cane.”

Ruben eyebrows rose. “You killed them with a cane?”

“Unintentionally. I hit one too hard in the head with this,” he said raising the cane to reveal the round alloy knob, “and punched the other too hard with this,” pointing to the steel capped foot of the cane. “They got too close to me. I had to use what I had; I was rushed.”

Ruben nodded. “I understand.”

“Does Suhl really have a watch? I’ve been here two days, and I have seen none yet.”

“They do, but I don’t know their patrol schedules. They don’t come here because we take care of ourselves. The council has not asked the militia for help. Truthfully, I haven’t paid much attention. The watch rarely comes around here.”

“I’m thinking it, the watch, should be rebuilt from scratch with a professional Wachtmeister who can properly train, organize and lead the watchmen. The only ones I’ve seen on watch are your militiamen at the gates.”

“There are some on the walls, too.”

“Guess I didn’t look hard enough.” He paused, a thought occurred. “While I’m here, I need someone to help me survey the barracks and see how much damage has been done. I’ll need to hire some workmen to fix it up, repair any damages, and ready the place for the constabulary troop.”

“I’ll speak with some of the other craft masters. It’s about time for our weekly meeting. I’ll ask them to send you a man or two—tomorrow?”

“Danke, that’ll do. Tell them we’re staying at the Boar’s Head Inn. If I’m not there, Dieter Issler, my deputy, will. Feld will arrange a meeting for me with the council sometime tomorrow.”

* * *

A messenger from Bürgermeister Feld arrived early the next morning. The council would meet with him in a couple of hours. Archie sent a messenger to Anse Hatfield and asked him to come to the meeting. Anse knew, at least by reputation, many of the council members.

Archie would have preferred Ruben Blumroder there, too. But that would appear to be too much political favoritism, Ruben being a SoTF official. If he needed a local representative, it would not surprise them for Archie to have Anse standing next to them. These folks understood family ties. As up-timers, they viewed Archie and Anse to be kith, if not kin.

Ruben had been good to his word. A master carpenter arrived early. He and Archie discussed the issue with the barracks. “Herr Heinrich Buch owns the barracks property,” the carpenter said. “I heard he bought it from the council. He said he planned to build a warehouse on the site. It is prime property.”

“I’m going to find out about that. It wasn’t the council’s property to sell. It belonged to the USE, and they transferred ownership to the SoTF.”

“I only know what I’ve been told.”

“Is that going to be a problem with you? Herr Buch claiming it?”

“Nein. You said you would pay for the survey. It’s guilders in my pocket either way.”

“How long will you need for the survey? A day? Less?”

“Not a day. A couple of hours at least.”

“Could you finish this afternoon?”

“Ja.”

“You’ve met my deputy, Dieter Issler?”

“Ja, when I arrived.”

“I have a meeting later this morning. Dieter will go with you and keep anyone off your back in case someone objects.”

The carpenter left. Archie glanced at his watch. Time to meet Anse at the Rathaus.

Archie was limping when he arrived at the Rathaus. He’d been more active than usual and had not been in a fight since he’d been wounded the previous year. Age was creeping up upon him.

Anse Hatfield was waiting when Archie walked up to the Rathaus entrance. “Hurtin’, Archie?”

“Some.”

“Feelin’ mean and ornery?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ll need it with these folks.”

The Rathaus was a three-story building, the tallest in Suhl, Anse said. Its ground floor was an open space used for large meetings, weddings, and festivals. In a room on the next floor above ground-level, was the city council. Offices for city officials, bureaucrats, and departments, were on the top floor.

Archie’s leg hurt more after climbing the stairs. If he needed to be feeling mean and ornery, he was ready when he and Anse walked into the council room. Herr Feld sat at the head of the table. Six other councilmen sat along both sides leaving Archie and Anse to sit at the end, opposite of Feld.

“Welcome Herr Marshal, and you, too, Herr Hatfield,” Feld said. Without giving Archie the opportunity to respond, he introduced the other six members of the council. Heinrich Buch sat to Feld’s right, Archie noticed. Each councilman nodded as he was introduced.

“We are here at your request, Herr Marshal,” Feld said.

“I appreciate you acting so swiftly,” Archie said. Turning to the rest of the councilmen, he began. “I am SoTF Marshal Archie Mitchell. I assume you have read the documents I gave Herr Feld?” he paused, and turned to Feld. “Has the entire council read them?”

“No, I’ve not had time to make copies. A couple of the councilmen have read them but not all.”

“By chance, I have a copy with me. I’ll read it to the council,” which he proceeded to do.

Several councilmen interrupted as he read, asking to clarify one point or another. When Archie came to the part about renovating the barracks, Councilman Heinrich Buch interrupted. “That’s my property!”

“No, it isn’t. It is owned by the government of the State of Thuringia and Franconia. The USE transferred ownership to the SoTF.

“Noelle Murphy transferred ownership to the city council. I bought it from the council!”

“Noelle Murphy didn’t have that authority,” Anse replied. “She was very aware of the limits of her authority. As far as she knew, the barracks belonged to the USE. No one knew the USE had transferred it to the SoTF until Marshal Mitchell arrived.”

“I have the document here. Right here! It’s proof that she did, whether she had the authority or not. You can’t take back what she has done.”

“May I see that document?” Archie asked.

“No! It is my only proof.”

“It is a transfer of ownership to Suhl, not you Heinrich,” Feld said. “Give it to him.”

Grudgingly, Buch gave the document to the councilman sitting next to him. It was passed, councilman to councilman until it reached Anse Hatfield.

Anse glanced at the document and looked up. “It’s a forgery.”

“What!” exclaimed Heinrich Buch, jumping to his feet and turning over his chair in his excitement.

“Look at it, Archie,” Anse said. “Look at the signature.”

“What about it?” Archie asked.

“Look at it. Is it written by someone who is right-handed or left-handed?”

Archie looked down at the document again. “Right-handed. Why?”

“Noelle Murphy is left-handed. I carried messages for her whenever I went back to Grantville. Whoever wrote this was right-handed.”

“You’re a liar!” Buch shouted.

“If I am, it can be refuted in a few days. I can send a radio message for samples of Noelle Murphy’s signature. They can get here by courier in a couple of days.”

“They’ll be fakes! You just want to steal my property.”

“Now why would we want to do that?” Anse asked. “How could we, when no one outside Suhl even knew you claimed the barracks?”

Buch stood white-faced, trembling. Abruptly, he sat, and muttered something to Feld who said, “We await your proof, Herr Hatfield.”

“In the meantime,” Archie said, “I’m having the barracks surveyed to determine what is needed for its full restoration. No work will be done until the council has proof the transfer of the barracks to Suhl was fraudulent. I also warn you now that the court of the State of Thuringia and Franconia will be very interested how this all happened.”

* * *

“…that was the end of the meeting,” Archie told Dieter as he and Dieter sat at the table in their quarters. “I’m very glad Anse was there. Otherwise we’d be in a mess, a big lawsuit probably. Just the thing to kick off the new court. So? How was your afternoon with the carpenter?”

“Interesting. A stonemason joined us at the barracks. Apparently, the USE had built a stone armory for their munitions and a stone outbuilding that could easily be converted to be a jail, guardhouse, whatever you call it. It had strong, fitted stone walls and floors, and iron-studded doors. A little dark, no windows, but the stonemason said he could be added those if we wanted.”

“I think we’ll have to do that. If we make that the holding prison for the court, the prisoners will need access to light and air.”

“He’s coming by here tomorrow. I can tell him then. He and the master carpenter will draw up some estimates for us, cost, time, and materials, for the renovation.”

“Good. Now, we have to find a courthouse.”

“I think I found one.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Right next to the barracks. You remember that stone building right next to the place where the wall had been torn down?”

“Vaguely.”

“It’s part of the barracks, quarters for the cavalry officers and their headquarters. They didn’t like the spaces in the barracks proper so they included that building when they appropriated the property for the barracks. I was told Buch had owned it before it was seized by the USE.”

“That explains much,” Archie said.

“Yes, it does. I didn’t go in it today, but I think we should give it a look over as soon as we can,” Dieter said.

“I agree. Tomorrow?”

“Let’s see, the carpenter and stonemason are coming in the morning. We could go with them. I don’t remember any other appointments, do you?” Dieter asked.

A knock on their door interrupted their conversation. The innkeeper entered. “Herr Marshal, this message just arrived for you.”

“Danke. I appreciate your promptness.”

The innkeeper left to return to the taproom in the inn’s front. Archie tried to read the message, but it was handwritten, and poorly at that. “Can you read this, Dieter?”

“Well. Uh, it’s from Heinrich Buch. I think he is offering an apology, and would like to meet you tonight at…” he glanced at his watch, a gift from Greta, “at around nine this evening, if I’m reading this right. His handwriting is terrible!”

“Huh! I wonder what he wants? After the meeting today, I wouldn’t think he’d want to meet for hugs and kisses.”

“What?” Archie’s witticisms continued to surprise Dieter.

“Never mind. Ask Herr Hersch to send a messenger to Buch and tell him I’ll be there. Remind me, we need to budget for messenger service.”

“I’ll do that. Is it alright if I don’t go with you? One of my horses has cast a shoe. I’d like to take it to Christian Zeitts and get it shod.”

“Go ahead. I don’t think Buch is going to try anything, not now that all has been exposed.”

* * *

Dusk came early that evening. A storm line had passed over Suhl earlier in the evening with a light, intermittent rain. Friedrich Achen, and three of his men, hid in the shadows, watching the old man walk down the alley. He used a cane, leaning on it from time to time, and wore a wide-brimmed hat with a long coat of some heavy cloth that shed the rain like feathers off a waterfowl. He was softly singing to himself.

Compared to the watchers, the old man was richly dressed, easy prey for those in need. A short run, a shove, some blows, sift his pockets, and take his purse and that coat. A knife would be the finish. They were four to his one. It would be easy.

“Go,” Achen said softly. The others slipped past him to stalk their quarry.

* * *

Archie thought he heard someone behind him. His leg ached with every step, but his destination, a cabinet shop, was only a dozen yards ahead; a few more steps in the alley and across the cobblestoned street to the storefront two doorways down.

Something splashed behind him. A foot had stepped into a puddle; too loud to be an animal. The sound caused him to pause and turn to look back behind him, back down the alley where he had walked a few moments before.

The overcast from the earlier rain shower was leaving. Light from the three-quarter moon suddenly filled the alleyway. A shadow flitted in the alley, crossing from one side to the other.

Ambush. Archie opened his duster to provide free access to his pistols before glancing over his shoulder to the street, estimating the distance to his stalkers. Could he reach the shop before the shadows reached him? No, he decided. No one was around to help, and it was too far to reach shelter in the shop. His chances were better here, to stand and wait, facing those who approached. He dropped his cane, turned to face the alley, and drew his Colt Commander.

Moonlight filled the alley again. Three men were running toward him, not over twenty yards away. Two of them had knives in their hands; the other a bludgeon or some sort of metal shod truncheon. Their intent was obvious.

Archie brought up his pistol and aligned its sights on the nearest attacker and fired. The report was loud, sharp, and distinctly different from the boom of a down-time weapon. The sound echoed off the nearby buildings. He shifted his aim and fired again…and again.

The last attacker staggered, tripped, and fell only a few feet away, his knife skittering across the cobblestones to slide to a stop against Archie’s boots. Archie remained slightly crouched, his pistol sights sweeping from side to side, searching for any further threats. There were none, and he heard nothing other than the ringing in his ears from the reports of his pistol.

Archie stepped forward, ready for any movement, and checked the bodies. Young men, out for an evening’s fun, mayhem and profit. Or…mercenaries, perhaps? He looked closer; they were not as young as he thought, and were well muscled and well fed. No, they were not ordinary cutpurses. He kicked the knives and bludgeons away from the bodies in case one was shamming.

He scanned the surrounding buildings. Some were dark, abandoned, not uncommon in this part of Suhl. No faces peered from windows, no lights appeared in darkened rooms, no sound of someone running to investigating the shots in the night. Curious. And where is the watch?

Archie looked again at the bodies. They had sought a victim and had found something else. He replaced the half-empty magazine with a fresh one and holstered the pistol. Next, he stooped to pick up his cane, and the scattered, fired brass. Grunting softly, he straightened and placed the spent brass in his coat pocket. With cane in hand, he continued toward his destination, where Heinrich Buch was waiting. Someone there can fetch the watch. As he walked, he resumed singing “St. James Infirmary,” alert for others who might wish to interrupt his walk. Archie did not notice his leg no longer ached.

* * *

Friedrich Achen watched silently from the shadows. He cursed, stepped further into the darkness, and slipped quietly away.

* * *

Archie entered Buch’s shop. The smell of burned powder still lingered on his duster and clothes.

Heinrich Buch approached from the rear of the cabinetry shop. “Herr Marshal.”

“Herr Buch. I think you have a mess out front. There are three dead bodies.”

“I heard.” He sighed, motioned for Archie to follow him into the rear of the shop, where a table and chairs waited. Buch sat without offering Archie a seat. “I need to confess,” he said, looking down at the floor.

Archie stepped forward and sat in a chair across from Buch. “Luring me here to be killed?”

“No! No, I…I didn’t know what was planned. My son-in-law told me to invite you here. He…uh…he forced me.”

“How?”

“My daughter. She’s six months with child. Achen beats her. I—I’m afraid he’ll kill her.”

“Isn’t that frowned upon?”

“Yes. No. The church won’t interfere. It’s not against the law if it’s just a beating. There’s no one.”

“I know how that can be. I’ve seen it often enough. Back up-time, if something like this occurred, a man gathered his friends and family, and fixed the problem; puts the son of a bitch in the hospital. No one talks, nothing can be proved.”

“I don’t have anyone that I could trust to not talk. This whole scheme with the barracks is his idea. He told me to build a warehouse and storefront at the barracks. When finished, I could sell it and the building next to it for three times what it cost me.”

“And what did it cost you to buy the barracks?”

The price Buch gave was astonishingly low. “Who pushed this through the council? You?”

“Feld. He gets a percentage of the profit when the buildings are sold.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Now, where can I find your son-in-law?”

“He’s usually at Der Bulle und Bär this time of night. He lives, sometimes, here with my daughter. They have rooms upstairs, but most of the time he’s there.”

“Will he be there tomorrow?”

“He should be.”

“Don’t warn him I’m coming.”

“No—no, I won’t.”

“I think Suhl needs a new councilman and Bürgermeister, don’t you?”

Buch didn’t speak, just nodded and hung his head. He’d be lucky to get off with some jail time and a heavy fine. He and Feld both. The SoTF was said to be hard on public corruption.

* * *

Archie wished he hadn’t given Dieter time off to get his horse shod. He wasn’t up to bracing Achen in his own territory this time of night, and he didn’t know how many men Achen had. Six of them were now pushing up daisies, but Achen could have more. Tomorrow would do. Then, he and Dieter would scout Der Bulle und Bär. If Achen was there, they would arrest him…one way or another.

He headed back to the Boar’s Head Inn, feeling fine. An adrenaline rush had made his aches and pains slip away.

When Archie walked through the Boar’s Head Inn doorway, instead of heading back to his rooms, he walked over to a table in the corner and sat. Normally, he drank little, but every once in a while, he liked a beer. “Ein bier, mein Herr,” he called to Hersch, the innkeeper. In minutes, the beer arrived in a large foaming mug. Otto Hersch brewed it himself.

When the Ring of Fire had occurred, the up-time supplies of beer were the first item to disappear. Archie didn’t like the current brews. However, in the time since the Ring of Fire, he was becoming accustomed to down-time offerings, especially Hersch’s brew.

* * *

Archie slept late the next morning. He left Dieter a note on his bedroom door the previous evening to postpone the follow-up with the carpenter and stonemason. He and Dieter would have law business in the morning.

A visit to the jakes, a bath, and he felt ready. From their makeshift armory, Archie retrieved his Winchester Model 1897 shotgun and dumped a handful of double-aught shells in his side coat pocket. Next, he reached into his ammo box and loaded the shotgun’s magazine with five more shells of double-aught buck. The Winchester shotgun was once known as a trench gun. It had a twenty-inch barrel, and, at one time, a bayonet lug, but Archie had never had a bayonet for the shotgun. He was well off without it. All a bayonet did, in close quarters, was get in the way.

Dieter stood, waiting. He, too, had his double-barreled shotgun, loaded and ready, and his Colt 1911 on his belt. The two walked out through the front of the Boar’s Head Inn, Archie in front, with Dieter following. Otto Hersch did a double-look as they passed. They were armed and appeared ready for business.

Der Bulle und Bär, nestled against the city’s northern wall, was in a section of Suhl that Archie had not yet visited. He and Dieter walked up to the entrance. Dieter opened the door and stepped aside to let Archie enter first.

Archie walked in and stood at one side. Dieter followed and stepped to the other side. Neither was silhouetted against the open doorway.

Schlick-schlock. Achen looked up at the strange sound that interrupted his conversation with his last two men.

“Friedrich Achen,” Archie said. “You are under arrest for fraud, extortion, assault on a SoTF marshal, and murder. Place your hands on your head and stand up!”

Achen looked into three shotgun barrels; the double-barrels in Dieter’s hands and the one in Archie’s. Both marshals stood covering the inn’s common room, their six-pointed badges visible in the inn’s dimness.

No one moved. Then, Achen, face turning pale, slowly raised his hands, put them on his head and rose. The other two sitting at his table didn’t move, scarcely breathing.

“Step forward and turn around.”

Achen did so.

“I’m using my good steel handcuffs on you, Achen. The rest of you—don’t interfere. Stay where you are and don’t move until we’re gone. Don’t follow us either. We can take you all out if necessary.”

The room remained silent. No one appeared to doubt his word. Archie and Dieter backed out of the room pulling Achen with them. Dieter kept watch on their rear as they headed for Ruben Blumroder’s shop.

“We REALLY need a jail, Dieter,” Archie said, as they neared the gun shop. “This is just getting repetitive.”

Suhl, Mid-May 1634

A mounted constabulary trooper dismounted outside the entrance of the Boar’s Head Inn. The inn’s stableboy took the horse’s reins and led it to the stables in back for watering while the trooper went inside the inn. “Where may I find Herr Marshal Mitchell?” he asked Otto Hersch, standing inside near the front door.

“He’s in back. Wait. I’ll get him,” the innkeeper replied, and disappeared into the rear of the inn to reappear a few minutes later with the marshal.

“I’m Marshal Mitchell,” Archie told the trooper.

“Sir, the 1st Mounted Constabulary Troop, with Frau Mitchell and Frau Issler, should arrive in two hours. Captain Gruber sent me ahead to tell you.”

“That’s wonderful news, Trooper.” Archie walked back to the rear doorway, “Dieter!” he shouted. “They’re here. Want to ride out to greet them?”

“Yes!” Dieter replied, unseen from their rooms.

Archie returned to the trooper and said, “Have a beer on me while we saddle our horses. We’ll ride back with you.”

“Danke, Herr Marshal.” No trooper ever refused a free beer. By the time he had finished his beer and walked out the front entrance, Archie and Dieter appeared around the rear corner of the inn on horseback with the stableboy leading the trooper’s horse. The stableboy had fed and given it a quick combing.

“Lead off,” Archie said after the trooper mounted his horse.

The three riders trotted down the road from Suhl that ran along the river until they found the troop and several accompanying wagons rolling toward them. Archie saw Marjorie sitting on one wagon, next to a trooper, driving it. Greta sat on another one. Both heavily loaded wagons were covered by waterproof tarps.

“I think Marjorie and Greta brought everything but the kitchen sink,” Archie said to Dieter as they approached the troop. He identified himself and greeted the officer in the lead before riding down the column to Marjorie’s wagon. Dieter rode on the next wagon and Greta.

“Hi, Marj, I’ve missed you,” Archie said.

“Arch, I missed you, too…I’m glad to be here. You’re looking good.”

“Feel good, too. I was really whupped when I first got here. Dieter and I had some troubles, but that’s all cleared up.”

“I see you have a new saddle.”

“Yeah, I made a good deal. Where’re our horses?”

“Mine and the gelding are in the string back behind the wagons with the constabulary’s spare horses. I rode most of the time, but too much made my rear hurt. I’m not up for long rides on horseback anymore.”

“I hear ya. Dieter and I found a nice house in town. It needed a bit of work, but it’s two stories and big enough for all of us with room to spare, and it’s close to some new friends of mine, Johann Zeitts and his family. I think you’ll like them.”

“I brought your recliner and our bed. I had to disassemble them to get everything in the wagon but I knew you’d want them.”

“Thank you. I really miss that recliner. The beds here are okay, but my leg starts hurting in the middle of the night.”

Captain Gruber rode up next to Archie and introduced himself. “Is the barracks ready, Marshal?”

“Almost. The workmen should finish up today—just minor stuff. The trooper’s barracks, beds and bedding, plus the stables, were finished first. I left two tall trees standing for the radio antenna according to the instructions I received. The army unit took their radio when they were recalled a few weeks ago.”

“Good. I brought a permanent radio with me and two radio operators. They’ll work for the court. Did you find a blacksmith, farrier and saddler?”

“Yes, I did. Johann Zeitts and his son, Christian. I have them under contract to give you twenty hours each, each week. Johann Zeitts is a saddler. He made this saddle I’m sitting on. His son, Christian, is a journeyman blacksmith and farrier. I don’t think you’d need them more than twenty hours a week.”

“No, that should be sufficient. I brought one hundred and twenty horses. They were all shod before we left.”

“Before I forget, I made one commitment for you.”

“Oh?”

“There’s been a shakeup in the Suhl city council. The city watch was pretty much useless. They’ve not been competently led and lacked training. The militia has been manning the gates and walls, but that’s all. The new city council has asked Bamberg for some suitable Wachtmeister candidates. I told the council that you would provide a half squad of troopers to help train the watch and patrol the city until a new Wachtmeister takes over or for two months, whichever occurs first.”

“Hmmm. I think I can do that. We’ll always have the headquarters squad posted here. Some of them can do double-duty for a while.”

“I’m glad you agree. The city council put me in a spot, and I hate to make commitments for other people. My deputy and I have been helping to improve the watch’s overall capability, and some on-the-job-training with a few promising watchmen. We’ve been making random patrols throughout the city with them, but we’re just two, and when the court is established, we’ll have our own work to do.”

“I must start sending out mounted patrols as soon as I can, but we’ll need some time to get everything set up and rest the horses and men before we start. I think we can work something out.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You are very welcome, Herr Marshal.” Gruber kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and rode up to the head of the column. Archie stayed, riding next to the wagon and Marjorie.

They travelled silently for a time, he on horseback, and she on the wagon seat next to the wagon driver. Archie broke the silence. “I really missed you, Marj. I don’t like living alone.”

“What? No dancing girls in that inn?”

Archie laughed. “No, no dancing girls. I hope you like the place Dieter and I found. The building was a bakery at one time and that’s what caught Dieter’s eye. I had some walls added to divide it into two apartments, one for us and the other for Dieter and Greta.”

“It sounds good, Arch…Arch, I’m ready to go home.”

“Me, too, Marj, me too.”

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