Day One
Suhl, Tuesday, September 12, 1634
Marshal Archie Mitchell watched his deputy, Dieter Issler, enter his office. He’d dispatched a messenger earlier that morning to deliver a note asking him to report to the marshal’s office.
The walk from the stables to the courthouse was through a light morning rain. Dieter’s oilcloth duster and waxed leather hat shed the falling raindrops. His task that morning had been to check the horses, his, Archie’s, and those of the district’s other two deputy marshals, stabled at the constabulary barracks. The messenger had found him there.
Archie had a small office in the rear of the Suhl District Courthouse; one that he shared with the court’s chief bailiff, Karl Wagner. He waited until his deputy had hung his dripping coat and his hat on a peg, and was seated, before telling Dieter why he’d been called.
“I’ve a job for you, Dieter, a fugitive warrant,” he said, extending the warrant to his deputy, “for Guenter Bettin, wanted for theft, assault, and murder. He escaped from custody in Meiningen where he was being held pending pickup by the bailiff’s wagon. They said he’s gone into the ’Wald.”
Dieter read the warrant, a simply written document and not filled with legalese that Archie had said was the case in up-time warrants. “Umm, I’ll need some help. Can I hire a tracker to go with me?” Dieter asked.
“One, if you can find one—standard rates. Any more is out of your pocket. Take Kurt with you and give him some on-the-job training.” Kurt Moesch, along with Dieter Feitel, or Two as Archie called him, was one of the two probationary deputy marshals recently assigned to the 1st District Court in Suhl.
Dieter was the senior deputy. In fact, Dieter’s was badge number four, making him the most senior deputy marshal in the entire service, not that there were all that many deputies yet. Kurt Moesch was from Erfurt and had some knowledge of the Thuringenwald. Feitel…Two, from Vienna, was not a woodsman and knew nothing of the ’Wald.
“Two has court duty for the next two weeks,” Archie explained. “Else I’d send both with you for some field experience and training.”
Dieter nodded, rose, and had turned toward the door when Archie spoke one last time. “If he wasn’t charged with murder, I’d let the locals handle this, but murder is a capital crime and that comes under our jurisdiction.”
Dieter nodded. “We’ll get him or it won’t be for lack of trying.”
* * *
To find a tracker, I need to go where there are some. Maybe a Jäger. Ruben should know where I can find one; people who would go with us. Ruben Blumroder was the leader of the Suhl association of gunsmiths. He was also Suhl’s representative to the SoTF legislature.
Dieter was approaching Ruben Blumroder’s gun shop when he remembered Ruben wasn’t there. He was in Bamberg for the legislative session. But Pat’s here. Pat Johnson’s U.S. WaffenFabrik was a few doors from Ruben’s shop. And maybe my rifle is ready. Dieter, like all the deputies and constables, had been issued a standard SRG rifle. Since then, the SoTF was converting SRG rifles from flintlock to caplock. Deputies and the local constabulary troopers would be the first ones to receive the upgrades.
Standard SRGs were flintlocks and had a forty-inch barrel. Carbine versions, to be issued to the marshals service and mounted constabulary, not only included the caplock action but came with a shortened barrel of twenty-two inches. Dieter and the deputies had been practicing with one of the first conversions, learning the modified manual-of-arms for the converted SRGs.
Dieter stood inside the doorway of the U.S. WaffenFabrik. The September morning shower had tapered off to a light mist by the time he arrived at Pat’s shop.
Pat Johnson sat behind a desk writing in an account book. He looked up, and when he noticed Dieter standing in the doorway, motioned for him to enter. “Come in out of the weather, Dieter. What can I do for you?” he asked, rising to shake Dieter’s hand.
“Do you know who the local Jäger leader is? I need a Jäger for a job.”
Pat thought for a moment. “I think that would be Konrad Heimbrecht.”
“Where can I find him?”
“This time of day…try the market. He brings in game that his hunters have bagged. If he isn’t there, someone should know where he can be found.”
“Danke, Pat. I need a tracker for a job.”
“He should know of one, Dieter. By the way, you do know some Jäger are a bit…eccentric.”
“So I’ve heard. I think I can work with one.”
“Good.”
Dieter turned to leave, but before he’d taken a step, Pat called after him. “Uh, Dieter, what kind of job is this?”
Dieter hesitated, but, as Archie was wont to say, it isn’t a secret. “I have to find a man. I’ve a fugitive warrant for him and he’s supposed to have gone into the ’Wald.”
“What kind of long-arm do you have?”
“The usual, an SRG—unless you have my carbine ready?”
Pat chuckled. He was one of several gunsmiths in Suhl who had a contract for SRG conversions. Converting them to caplock and shortening the barrel, making them carbines. Pat’s contract was to convert the local SRGs, including those issued to the constabulary and marshals service.
“It’s ready. I’m delivering the constabulary carbines to Captain Gruber this afternoon. You can take yours now.”
“Danke, Pat. Kurt is coming with me. Keep his here; I’ll send him along to pick it up.”
Pat nodded. “I just sent a messenger to Captain Gruber and Karl Wagner. I’ll keep Kurt’s.” He hesitated. “Are you familiar with this rifle? Enough to take it into the field?”
“I’ve been practicing with one of the initial conversions and so has Kurt. The new SRGs aren’t all that different from the flintlocks. They’re still muzzle loaders.”
* * *
Dieter found Konrad Heimbrecht in the city market. Dieter introduced himself and presented his problem. “I need a tracker who’s also a good rifle shot, but being a good tracker is more important. Do you know someone who would go? I think the job will take a week to ten days. He’d be temporarily deputized while on the job.”
Heimbrecht had been hanging a gutted deer carcass when Dieter arrived at the market. He walked over to a tub of water next to the stand, washed his hands and arms, and then motioned Dieter to sit with him at a small table nearby. “Hmm. I know of one who fits those requirements, especially the tracking part. But, I have to tell you, he isn’t the friendliest person to come down the mountain.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He has a cot on the other side of that mountain at the edge of a mining hamlet,” he said, pointing to a high, rocky ridge north of Suhl. “It’s about a five, six-mile ride. He’ll need a horse if he goes.”
“A horse isn’t a problem.” The marshals service owned several horses for official uses. Each deputy had a horse for their official use and several horses remained that could be used for other purposes.
“He’ll make demands.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever you plan to pay him won’t be enough. Be ready to haggle.”
“I’m from Vienna. I can haggle.” Dieter grinned. Either way, he told himself, he was going to have that tracker riding with him on this search.
“Good, you’ll have to. Be sure to tell him I sent you.”