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Chapter 2: The Spring Rush

Friday, March 24, 1634


NESS had better food, clothing, and shelter than they’d had in the village. Anna and Ursula had medical care at Leahy. The men had the weapons they needed. In late March, they finally got to the last item on NESS’ list: horses.

Astrid had been over the books several times, and NESS simply could not afford to own horses. But Neustatter and Karl went over to the livery stable anyway to see what they could learn. They found the manager working with a horse in the paddock beside the stables. His rangy, well-muscled appearance suggested this was his regular practice.

He handed the reins to an assistant and shook hands with Neustatter and Karl.

“Johann Mestermann.”

“Edgar Neustatter.”

“Karl Recker.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I run Neustatter’s European Security Services. We escort wagons, guard buildings, that sort of thing. We need horses for some of our missions.”

“Horses are expensive.” Herr Mestermann smiled. “Of course, you already know that. How often do you need to ride?”

“Usually it is a week or two at a time. Sometimes it is that long again until the next mission. Other times, it is only a couple days.”

“So, you would not actually need your own horses all that often.” The manager quoted a number. “That is how much it costs me to care for one horse for one month. The average, you understand. Plus, there is the initial purchase price.”

“Eight times that is out of the question,” Neustatter agreed. “Even four times that.”

“You are not the only business in this position,” the manager went on. “You could simply rent horses from us.” He held up a hand. “You will, of course, object that when you need horses, you absolutely must have them, and what if I am out? So we have other options.”

“I think I want my secretary to hear this,” Neustatter told him. “Karl, go get Astrid, bitte. You can run the office for a while, ja?”

“Ja.”

Astrid soon arrived, and the livery stable manager showed them into his office. The walls were rough wood and bare other than a few sketches of horses in inexpensive wooden frames. Astrid noted that he had the same model desk as she and Neustatter did.

Mestermann summarized their situation. “Lots of people want horses, Miss Schäubin. There simply are not enough for everyone who wants one—or who wants eight. But NESS will not be riding every day, so why not split the cost with someone who needs to ride on the days you do not?”

“You mean rent horses from you,” she said.

“Sort of. I am thinking of a timeshare. A group of people buy a horse, and each has shares according to how much money he puts in. Then each signs up for the days he wants that horse. NESS would be able to sign up for certain days and add others later.”

“It sounds like a library of horses.” Astrid observed the drawings hanging on the office walls and wondered if those were some of Mestermann’s horses.

The manager’s face lit up. “I had not thought of it like that, but, yes, it is.”

“What if other . . . owners? . . . wanted the horses on the same days?” Astrid asked. “What happens?”

“If one party has bought in at a higher level, that party gets the horse that day. If they are at the same level, first to request gets the horse that day,” he explained.

“So, this places the customer in a group with a better chance of getting that particular horse,” Astrid observed. She looked at the drawings again, wondering this time if they represented the timeshare groups.

“Yes, of getting that particular horse—that chestnut whose drawing you are looking at is one of them, although most of the rest are simply my favorites over the years. It might be a horse you have accustomed to gunfire, for instance. And on some days, it might be your only opportunity to get a horse at all. Once all the regular horses are rented for a given day, you could still get a timeshare horse—if you have bought in.”

“What if someone already has the timeshare horse? Would we get one of the other timeshare horses?”

“You could get another horse in that same pool,” the manager explained, “but not one from a pool you do not belong to.”

Neustatter raised an eyebrow.

“No offense, Herr Mestermann, but I would like a second opinion about this concept,” Astrid said.

The manager smiled. “None taken. My too-smart daughter thought of timeshare horses as a project in Herr Christopher Onofrio’s business class in the tech school.”

“May we see her project?”

Herr Mestermann was only too happy to brag about his daughter. He pulled the professional-looking report from a desk drawer and handed it to Astrid.

She started flipping through it. Frau Mestermann had charted the number of horse rentals per day for 1632 and most of 1633, indicating the days when the stable had rented all its horses. She had then designed a timeshare for a group of four horses for one steady client, two frequent clients, and two occasional clients. Astrid could see that the arrangement would have worked out. The clients’ higher costs were balanced by the fact that they would have been able to rent horses on more of the days they had wanted to. It looked solid, so Astrid nodded to Neustatter. She would still ask Herr Onofrio, of course.


Wednesday, March 29, 1634


Late in the evening of March 29, someone banged on NESS’ apartment door.

Neustatter opened the door with his left hand. His right was at his holster.

“I am looking for Neustatter’s European Security Services,” announced an earnest young man in a National Guard uniform.

“I bin Neustatter.”

The soldier spoke in quick Amideutsch. “The railroad reached Halle today. They beat their schedule by two days. We received the radio message a couple hours ago. The first supply trains are leaving in the morning. They need guards. You did not answer your phone.”

“The phone is in the office, not here. How many guards?”

“All of you. The seven, eight, and nine o’clock trains are covered. We need you at ten.”

Neustatter nodded to Ditmar, who stepped past the messenger to go tell Stefan and Wolfram next door.

“Danke. We will be there.”

“MPs and a supply sergeant will meet you at Schwarza Junction and assign you National Guard weapons. Be there by nine.”

“Danke.”

“It is an express to Halle. That means it is not stopping, so bring food if you want lunch. You can stay over in Halle and catch a train back in the morning.”

After the messenger excused himself, and Ditmar, Wolfram, and Stefan came in, Neustatter whistled.

“Trains on the hour. This is the big push. Circle up. I will make this quick.”

“This would be a good time for the League of Ostend to try to disrupt the supply line,” Ditmar pointed out.

“Ja, it would,” Neustatter said. “If they know about it. Even if they do not—yet—seeing trains passing every hour ought to tip off any spies out there.”

“If they do not already know, it will take them time to report, receive instructions, and act,” Hjalmar stated.

“That is true, but if they do know, they might know all the details. So take your NESS weapons, too.” Neustatter patted his holster. “Our pistols hold more rounds than most rifles and shotguns. That could be a nasty surprise for someone.”

* * *

The 10:00 express reached Halle without incident. At Halle, the cargo was transferred to boat to be taken the rest of the way to Magdeburg. The men came home the following day—and left again the next. They were so busy for the next couple weeks, guarding trains north to Halle and coming back the next day, that Neustatter missed the dinner-and-a-movie gathering.

Astrid remembered how long it had taken them to get from Halle to Grantville that first time, and here her brother was eating breakfast in the Ring of Fire and dinner in Halle.

The men discussed the news at length when it was announced that Admiral Simpson’s fleet had sailed from Magdeburg. It was heading down the Elbe, of course. Not long after, aircraft were reported over Hamburg, and then Simpson’s fleet attacked the city. They apparently crushed the defenses quickly; the next news they heard stated that General Torstensson had an army outside the city—a USE army, not a Swedish one—and that the Captain-General had sent Prime Minister Stearns to take charge of Hamburg.

* * *

As the war heated up, the nature of NESS’ missions changed. It was interesting to see which of the warehouses they had guarded during the winter emptied first. The NESS agents assumed those were military goods. It took no more than two weeks to ship the stockpiles north by train and boat.

But as true spring replaced the muddy season, civilian assignments started to come in. Other businesses had stockpiled goods in the winter months, too. They understood that priority military goods were going out first, but they wanted to deliver their products as soon as possible. So right after the two weeks of military shipments, there was a burst of civilian deliveries. Most of these used smaller guard forces. Some companies did not even use guards from Grantville to Jena or along the Thuringian Backbone. NESS got hired for a long-distance mission guarding an industrial shipment to Kassel. Neustatter left with Hjalmar’s team on April 14. Ditmar’s team stayed in Grantville and worked a couple shorter missions.

* * *

During this time, Neustatter and Astrid had talked to Herr Christopher Onofrio at the tech school.

“Oh, right, right. The horse timeshare project. I don’t give A pluses easily, but Hippolyta did a great job. As I understand it, her father hasn’t made more than a few minor adjustments to her proposal.”

“Then you are convinced this will work out? That if we buy in, we will have horses when we need them?” Neustatter asked.

“Look, it probably won’t be perfect. But just renting horses from the stables isn’t perfect, either, is it?” Onofrio pointed out. “Some days, they’re all out.”

Astrid nodded. It was true enough. “Our chief concern is what happens when the timeshares are already signed for on the days we need horses.”

Onofrio nodded. “You get first choice of the regular rentals. There is a formula—in fact, it’s an excellent piece of logical programming in a computer spreadsheet. The bottom line is that if conditions in 1634 are similar to 1633, you will get horses ninety-five percent of the times you want them.”

“What is a spreadsheet?”

By the time Astrid understood Herr Onofrio’s answer, she thought if she could do something like that, even though she would most likely have to use paper, they could forecast when NESS could afford to buy an additional weapon and when they should save up money.

“Danke, Herr Onofrio,” she said. “Once I have learned more math, I will see about taking a business class.”

“Good idea.”

“Danke,” Neustatter added.

After dinner that night, Neustatter called everyone together and explained what they had learned.

“We will have to care for the horses,” Stefan pointed out.

“I will help with that.”

They all turned to Anna. It was the first time she had spoken in the discussion, and she met everyone’s gaze.

“I like horses. I always have.”

“Me, too,” Johann piped up.

“You may both help,” Neustatter stated. “We will not be making you do all the work. Especially not Anna.”

Astrid had to agree with Anna. She was not going to mind occasionally being around horses, either.

The next day, Neustatter, Anna and Wolfram, Stefan and Johann, Karl, and Astrid walked over to the stables. Neustatter signed the agreement, and NESS became part owner of four horses.

The up-timers had a few horses, of excellent stock. They were breeding them with the best down-time horses they could obtain. Two of the horses in NESS’ pool were Oldenburg/quarter horse crosses, both mares—fillies, properly, since they were not yet three years old. The third was a Dutch warmblood colt. His characteristics were apparently not ideal for breeding, which is why he hadn’t been sold to one of the adel. But he was calm for a male—so far at least—and suited to being ridden by non-experts. The fourth was a horse found after the Croat Raid. The Grantvillers had nursed it back to health, although it was not considered fit for strenuous cavalry service. But it could carry a rider just fine and was accustomed to gunfire.

So, when Neustatter, Hjalmar, Otto, and Karl left for Kassel, they did so mounted. Neustatter had his cavalry.


Tuesday, April 18, 1634


Four days later, Astrid was sitting in the NESS office wondering if anyone was ever going to come through the door when someone did just that. It was the same National Guardsman who had come to their apartment the day the railroad reached Halle. He had dark hair and was of medium height, although he seemed taller because he carried himself professionally. Astrid saw now that he wore a lieutenant’s insignia, a single silver bar.

She greeted him in Amideutsch. “Gut tag, Leutnant.”

“Moser, ma’am.” His eyes flicked toward the nameplate on the desk and back to her. “Uh, Miss Schäubin.”

“What can we do for you?”

“I have an assignment for Neustatter. Is he nearby?”

“Nein. He and my brother’s team are on an assignment to Kassel.”

“This is another assignment to Schleusingen, but it is not until July. Und it is a convoy from there to Erfurt.”

That seemed odd to Astrid. It was no secret that tempers were running hot in Franconia, and Neustatter and the men thought that their frequent trips to the three gunmaking towns were meant to keep the available supply low.

“If you do not mind my saying so, Leutnant Moser, that lets four months of new weapons pile up there.”

“Funny you should mention that.” A look passed over Moser’s face, either disapproval or exasperation. “The gunmakers told us that their April and May production is already spoken for.”

“I see.” Astrid waited a couple seconds, but Moser did not add anything else. “I will put it on the schedule and let Neustatter know as soon as he returns.”

“Danke. Gut tag, Miss Schäubin.” Lieutenant Moser smiled and was gone.


Friday, April 21, 1634


Ditmar and Astrid were in the office when a short, light-haired man came in. He held out a NESS business card.

“Is Herr Neustatter here?”

“Nein, he is out on an assignment,” Astrid answered. “May I help you?”

“I met him at the movies some time ago. I understand he takes detective cases, ja? My name is Casimir Wesner, and I need a background check on someone.”

Astrid rose from her chair behind the desk and indicated the chairs arranged around the Franklin stove. “Please have a seat.”

Once Herr Wesner and Ditmar were seated, Wesner explained what he needed.

Ditmar looked at him in bemusement. “You want us to do a background check on a village farmer and his wife?”

“Ja.”

“Why? Everyone in a village already knows each other. Probably still have grudges left over from childhood antics.”

“They have already convinced the gemeinde to grow up-time crops. The background check is for the adel who are investing in the project.”

“Surely the lehen holder can give the adel a character reference.”

“They want a character reference from Grantville,” Casimir told him.

Ditmar shrugged. “Okay. What are their names?”

“Heinrich Kraft and Helene Olbrichtin. They claim to have trained under a master gardener.”

“That should be easy enough to verify,” Ditmar told him.

After Casimir left, Ditmar looked over at Astrid.

“You heard?” At her nod, he asked, “Who are the master gardeners?”

“I will find out.”


Monday, April 24, 1634


On Monday morning, Ditmar was out on that mission when a tentative knock sounded at the door. Astrid looked up in time to see the door slowly swing inward. The man who paused to look at the outside of building before he tentatively stepped inside was an up-timer, and he appeared to be middle-aged. Astrid did not think she had ever seen him before. Nor did she have any idea at the time how important this meeting would prove.

“May I help you?”

He studied her for a moment and seemed wary. Astrid wondered if any of that were disapproval, and if so, whether it was because she had gotten the image of up-time secretary wrong—or because she had gotten it right. Having a female secretary was part of the image, as was the long, wavy blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders in an up-time style.

He glanced at her nameplate and spoke politely. “Miss Schäubin, I am looking into hiring an armed escort to Jena.”

“Jena is not very far, and it is not a dangerous ride,” she observed. “Our services can be expensive.”

“Oh, I agree. If it were just me, I would tag along with a larger party. But there are a number of teenagers. We wish to meet with the theology faculty at the University of Jena.” His German was good, although Astrid was not familiar with his dialect.

She frowned. “Still, up-time teenagers . . . ”

“I’m not explaining this well,” Green stated ruefully. “My name is Al Green. I am . . . ”

“The Baptist pastor in Grantville.” Astrid smiled because that told her a great deal.

Al Green blinked. “You’re very well informed.”

She shrugged, trying to pull off up-time casual. “We try to be.”

Pastor Green gave her a very sharp look.

“As an employee of NESS, I am supposed to know who the leading citizens of Grantville are,” Astrid told him.

Pastor Green objected. “I’m hardly a leading citizen.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “You are the pastor of an up-time church. This makes you important. NESS thinks so, anyway.”

Green cocked his head. “Ness? That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“Neustatter’s European Security Services.”

Green laughed. “Oh, that’s good. Not just an acronym, but making it sound like a famous federal agent. Herr Neustatter sounds like a shrewd man.”

Astrid nodded. “You are taking teenagers to Jena?”

Pastor Green came back to the subject at hand. “Yes. A group of students at the high school wish to catalogue Bible manuscripts. They are all down-timers—some Anabaptist, some Catholic, and some Lutheran. We need to talk to the theology faculty at the University of Jena and see if they can smooth the way for us.”

“Ah! I see why you require an escort. The Lutheran students may riot as they did last April. As soon as they discover some of your students are Anabaptists and Catholics, there will be trouble.”

“Exactly.”

She gave him her best earnest-but-innocent expression. “Surely the town watch . . . ”

Pastor Green wasn’t having any of it. “The town watch would be hard-pressed to maintain order. And it would be a bad example for a religious quarrel within the State of Thuringia-Franconia to require intervention.”

“How long will you and your students be in Jena?”

“I don’t know. This trip will not take place until summer. I just want to be prepared and to make sure that there will be guards available.”

Astrid nodded, all business. “Of course. If you put a deposit down now, we can reserve a number of guards for you. I will make sure that Herr Neustatter knows that a steady team leader will be needed. He is away this week, but I will have him call you when he gets back.”

“Thank you.” Pastor Green paid the deposit and left.


Tuesday, April 25, 1634


Ditmar investigated Heinrich Kraft and Helene Olbrichtin. Within a few days, he had an appointment with a Staci Ann Beckworth.

“Heinz and Helene?” she asked. “Sweet kids and good gardeners. Heinz worked at the Freedom Arches during the winter.”

“They are of good moral character?” Ditmar knew that was important to a village gemeinde, and he figured it would matter to adel, too.

Staci Ann laughed. “They’re just what you’d expect in down-time German farmers. Serious, hard-working. I think the most exciting thing they ever did was sneak off to the swimming hole together—after they got married. What’s this all about, anyway?”

“They are apparently involved in a new venture to grow up-time plants, and the adel want to know if they can trust them before they invest.”

“Absolutely. Those adel can write to Arnold. He’s the head of the Grantville Grange, you know.”


Thursday, April 27, 1634


Astrid Schäubin looked up from her paperwork when she heard footsteps on the front porch of the building. The steps paused. He—it sounded like a man—was probably reading the sign that read “Neustatter’s European Security Services” and then the hand-painted decal below it that read “Member of the Grantville Chamber of Commerce.” The porch creaked again, and the door opened.

The man gave the Franklin stove along the back wall a quick glance as he stepped into the room. It was lit against the cool spring day. After a moment, he turned toward the desk. He was older, lean, and still fit. Everything about him—haircut, posture, clothing—showed he was an up-timer. Besides, Astrid recognized him.

“How can I help you, sir?” Astrid asked in accented English.

“Ah, Miss Schäubin, I am looking into hiring an armed escort to Naumburg.”

Since this seemed to be a replay of her conversation with Al Green, Astrid gave him the same answer. “Naumburg is not very far, and it is not a dangerous ride. Our services can be expensive.”

“Oh, I agree,” the man assured her. “If I wanted to go to Naumburg myself, I wouldn’t think anything of it. But I need some goods delivered unobtrusively. They absolutely must get through in time for planting.”

Miss Schäubin frowned slightly. “Are you planting crops in Naumburg?”

“I’m not explaining this well,” he stated ruefully. “My name is Willie Ray Hudson. I am . . . ”

“A consultant to the Grange who just turned down appointment as Secretary of Agriculture,” she supplied with a smile.

Willie Ray blinked. “You’re very well-informed.”

She shrugged. “You are one of the leading citizens of Grantville, and before you claim otherwise, I will point out that you were nominated to the Emergency Committee by Mike Stearns himself.”

Willie Ray laughed. “All right, all right.”

“So you have something that needs to be delivered to Naumburg in time for planting? Seeds?”

Hudson came back to the subject at hand. “Yes. There are some people doing some good work. But they cannot be seen to be associating too closely with us.”

“Naumburg is in Saxony.”

“Yes. The people who need the seeds are in the area that Gustav transferred to us from Saxony. Supposedly temporarily. Kinda without asking. All of electoral Saxony west of the Saale, so that the USE controls the whole length of the railroad.” Willie Ray grinned. “As you’ve just demonstrated, I’m a little too recognizable. The delivery needs to take place without being noticed.”

Astrid’s face brightened. “Ah! I see why you want us. Make the delivery but blend in.” She tried her best earnest-but-innocent expression again. “Of course, the USE and Saxony are currently at peace. Perhaps you could simply publicize it as a gift . . . ”

Willie Ray shook his head. “John George wants his land back, and there are people who are loyal to him. As far as Gustav is concerned, John George turned his back on him after the Ostend War started. Things are tense. And if anyone supports us too publicly, John George’s supporters have ways of making life difficult for them.”

Astrid nodded, all business. “Of course. If you put a deposit down now, we can reserve a number of guards for you. I will make sure that Neustatter knows a full team will be needed. He is on an assignment today, but I will have him call you when he gets back.”

“Thank you.” Hudson paid the deposit and returned to Grantville.


Friday, April 28, 1634


Astrid Schäubin listened to the riders outside and knew without looking out the window that Edgar Neustatter, Karl Recker, Otto Brenner, and her brother had returned from their assignment. The horses were being led around to the day stable for feeding and grooming. It would be a while before anyone came in. They would probably bring lunch inside—unless there had been trouble on the road, in which case they’d be cleaning weapons first.

Astrid went back to the books. Assuming the just-finished job had gone well, Neustatter’s European Security Services should have enough money to buy another up-time weapon. It wasn’t so much the actual purchase price but the perpetual expenditure of ammunition. Up-time ammo was expensive—more so if you were shooting from the saddle and couldn’t recover your brass. Then you didn’t get your deposit back.

Edgar Neustatter came in first, taking off his up-time fedora as he came through the door.

“Good morning, Herr Neustatter,” Astrid greeted him with a hint of mischief.

“Good morning, Fräulein Schäubin.” That was Neustatter’s regular response to any sort of title, even herr. She knew it was deliberate, too, because Neustatter made a point of always referring to her as “Miss Schäubin” in front of clients.

“Did the assignment go well?” she asked.

“Ja, no problems at all. Just like assignments are supposed to be. Are there any new jobs?”

“Only three.”

“Three is good. What are they?”

“The Strategic Resources Board has more shipments that need to be escorted from Schleusingen to Erfurt. They do not want the escort to be actual troops. They want us for the July shipment. Pastor Green has a Bible society of young men and women from the high school who are going to Jena to confer with the university professors in June. They include Catholics and Anabaptists. Willie Ray Hudson has seed to be delivered near Naumburg before spring planting.”

“Very good. I have an assignment to add,” Neustatter said. “Herr Schrödinger will be traveling to Magdeburg again in a few weeks. This time he is taking his family along. This makes it difficult for us,” he mused. Neustatter sat down at his desk and thought for a moment. “Do we ride to Halle or take the train and then rent horses?”

“Renting horses would increase our expenses, and you would also have to buy train tickets,” Astrid offered.

“I could pass the expenses on to our clients,” Neustatter said. “But I would really prefer not to. It is very helpful to have the client know we will not add costs for one thing and another.”

Astrid frowned. “The up-time detective agencies you had me read about charged a set fee plus expenses.”

“Yes,” Neustatter agreed. “They did. But other up-timers, what they called defense contractors, often overcharged. In some ways, our firm is closer to a defense contractor since we actually know very little about being detectives. It is a fine image for clients, but we must not confuse image with reality.”

Astrid suggested an alternative. “Meeting the client in Halle is the least expensive option, but that does no good if something happens before they reach Halle.”

“No one has hit a train so far.” He shook a finger like a schoolteacher. “Tell me why that reasoning is flawed.”

Astrid frowned. “It is unprofessional to trust the railroad people to protect our clients. You always say, ‘Stay with the client.’”

“Very good. But that is why it looks bad. That is not why it is a Really Bad Idea.”

Astrid flashed a quick smile as she recognized the capital letters. A “Really Bad Idea” was Neustatter’s polite way of saying a disorganized, dangerous mess. There were many American expressions for that sort of thing, few of which either Neustatter or her brother Hjalmar would share with her.

“People say the train is well-defended,” Astrid said slowly. “But they do not really know, do they? Because no one has ever attacked a train.”

Neustatter agreed. “Eventually some bandits will be smart enough—or stupid enough—to realize that.”

Astrid thought that over. Neustatter said such things with the assurance of a prophet all the time. He usually turned out to be right, too.

“You could have some men on the train while a couple of others lead all the horses to Halle.”

“A good idea,” Neustatter said. “It gives us the most options. However, it ties up all of us when Herr Schrödinger is paying only four of us. I think we will take the train and hire horses later if we need them.”

Neustatter broke off as the back door opened and Astrid’s brother Hjalmar came in. He had food with him. Astrid rose to hug him.

“Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be back.” Her brother glanced at Neustatter who shook his head. “Astrid, why don’t you go with Neustatter for lunch? I will answer the door and the telephone.”

Astrid gave them both a very sharp expression.

“I have no romantic intentions,” Neustatter assured her.

Astrid nodded slowly. She had figured that out already. Neustatter was a very focused man, all business. This was an admirable quality, and in Astrid’s opinion he would make a fine husband for some woman—for some other woman. If he were interested in her, Neustatter would have brought his considerable focus to bear. Subtle, the man was not. That was fine with her. It made him an easy boss to work for, once she had gotten past his often-gruff manner. As far as romance, Astrid secretly liked the American ideal. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that, but . . . 

Hjalmar was grinning. She gave him her best sisterly glare.

As they waited for the tram, Astrid asked, “Where are we going? Cora’s? You have sent me there to meet with prospective clients.” The Thuringen Gardens was not only out of their everyday price range but also noisy. She had already figured out that Neustatter’s purpose behind lunch was privacy, including from the rest of his employees, but he didn’t say anything else until the tram pulled up. Once they were seated and the tram was in motion, Neustatter adjusted his fedora and looked at her.

“Anyone out of the ordinary at Cora’s draws attention,” Neustatter pointed out. “If a prospective client is not interested enough to come out to the office, then they are not ready to discuss destinations and times. So Cora’s is safe enough for that type of meeting. Plus, the busybodies there know who you are and where you work, so it is free advertising.” He watched Astrid digest that information.

When the tram pulled up in front of the hotel, Neustatter offered Astrid a hand down, and they went inside. Astrid looked around curiously. “What is this place?” she asked. The tables were almost empty, but quite a few people were crowded together in front of some blackboards, all talking at once.

“Table for two?” a waitress asked. Neustatter nodded, and she seated them.

“What is everyone doing?” Astrid asked.

“The stock market is open,” the waitress answered.

“May we observe?” Neustatter asked.

“Yes, but do not buy unless you have the money with you.”

“Indeed?” Neustatter asked. “We will just watch from the table, I think. What is today’s special?”

“Amideutsch stew, red cabbage, and small beer.”

“My favorite kind,” Astrid said.

“What is in Amideutsch stew?” Neustatter asked.

“A little mutton, a little beef, spätzle, onions, carrots, celery, and some seasonings.”

“How is that Amideutsch?” Neustatter asked.

“German stew has mutton. American stew would have beef and potatoes,” the waitress told him. “Amideutsch has both.”

“Dank.”

After Neustatter had watched the stock market for a few minutes, he took out his pad of paper and added a note to his ongoing list. Astrid gave him an inquiring look, and he slid the notebook over. It read:

45. Do stock people need security consultants?

“Good question,” Astrid acknowledged.

“Miss Schäubin, how many kinds of stew are there?” Neustatter asked.

“Everyone makes it a little differently. There must be hundreds of variations.”

“There are seven mercenary companies in and around Grantville. All different. We chose to be security consultants, and we use the up-timers’ Wild West and detective images. I think it is time to add something else. A female agent.”

After a moment, Astrid realized that her boss was quite pleased with himself for leaving her speechless. “You want me to be a soldier?” she finally asked.

“A security consultant,” Neustatter corrected. “Or a defense contractor, if you prefer.” He paused. “You may join the army if you wish, but I would rather you continued working for me.”

“Am I not a good enough secretary?” Astrid asked, dreading the answer.

“Miss Schäubin, you are a fine secretary. I want you to be able to act as a security consultant for two reasons. First, one of the assignments you obtained for us is escorting students to Jena. Some of them are young ladies. I would like a security consultant who is able to accompany them to whatever quarters they might find. And one who can talk to them.”

“This sounds like what the up-timers call a liaison officer,” Astrid noted.

“Liaison.” Neustatter spat the word out. All of the military contractors got regular visits from liaison officers in the SoTF National Guard. Some of the other outfits were definitely mercenaries and had typical mercenary attitudes toward requisitioning everything that wasn’t nailed down. Periodic crackdowns made for a lot of extra paperwork—mostly for Astrid. “No, I want you to be a security consultant who can stay with the female principals and convince them to follow orders should something happen.”

She considered that. “What do I have to do?”

“You can already ride. You need to learn how to shoot.”

“Have you talked to Hjalmar about this?”

“About learning to shoot? Yes. He is in favor of it and offered to teach you himself. But I thought you might want to attend the free classes at the police station.”

Astrid wasn’t having any of that. “No, about me being a security consultant.”

“He is not entirely in favor of it,” Neustatter said very dryly.

“I did not think so,” Astrid said.

“Hjalmar understands why we need at least one woman security consultant. He would simply prefer that it not be you.”

Astrid smiled. “That sounds like Hjalmar.”

“It is time to hire more men,” Neustatter said. “We will still be the smallest of the seven companies, but I want to be able to take two jobs at once. If things go well, someday add an office in Jena or perhaps even Magdeburg.”

Astrid blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized that Neustatter was planning that far ahead. She took a minute to frame her words. “Hjalmar told me that you survived in Wallenstein’s army by keeping the men from the village as isolated as possible from everyone else.”

Neustatter nodded. “We knew many of the other men in our tercio. But they were associates, not friends. The men of the village stuck together. But now we need more men, and obviously we cannot get them from the village. Here in Grantville, unlike in Wallenstein’s army, there are men we can trust. And it will be good practice for Hjalmar and Ditmar as team leaders to do some background checks. It would be easier if you were a security consultant first. If you are one before they are hired, it will be harder for the new men to complain.”

“Who is going to be the secretary?”

“You are, much of the time,” Neustatter answered. “I will hire someone for when you are on an assignment. You will be training her. Or him. Maybe Anna.”

Astrid gave a firm nod. Her standards of organization were considerably higher than those of any of Neustatter’s men.

“You do not have to give me an answer now,” Neustatter said. “You and Hjalmar talk it over tonight. Let me know what you think.”

“Okay.”

* * *

After dinner that night, Hjalmar asked Astrid to go get something from their room. She was still looking for the book when her brother came in.

Astrid looked up from where she was a running her hand underneath the edge of his bed. “I do not think your English book is here, Hjalmar.”

“Nein, it is not.” Hjalmar tossed her the book.

“You left it in the living room?”

“Nein. I wanted to talk to you about something without telling everyone else.”

“Oh?” Astrid wondered what her brother wanted.

“Today, when Neustatter said he had no romantic intentions . . . What would you think about that?”

Astrid wasn’t quite sure what Hjalmar was trying to ask. “What do you mean?”

“You and Neustatter.”

Astrid frowned. “I read mysteries, Hjalmar. I know not to date the boss. You do not need to remind me.”

“That is not what I mean.” Hjalmar paused. “People do get married, Astrid. What about you and Neustatter?”

Astrid started to laugh, then she stopped and looked at Hjalmar.

“Are you serious?” She studied him and realized he was. “Nein. Just because Neustatter and I work well together does not mean we should get married. He is looking for a female agent, not one more person to protect in the field.”

Hjalmar gave her his own steady look. “He said he had no romantic interest in you.”

“I was there.”

“Nein. Earlier. The two of us talked on the ride home. I asked Neustatter if making you an agent was his approach to courting you.”

Astrid cocked her head and thought about it. “Nein. I think Neustatter would ask a woman directly. Not hint around. He would not be oafish about it, but he would not be subtle, either.”

Hjalmar gave her a wry look. “You are probably right.”

“What did Neustatter say about me?” Astrid sighed. “If you talked about this . . . ”

“All right,” Hjalmar conceded. “Neustatter likes that you keep track of everything. Where everyone is, how much money NESS has, what we need more of. That is a good quality in a wi—”

Astrid interrupted her brother. “It is the same thing you and Ditmar do, is it not? That is why you are team leaders. You do what you know Neustatter wants done, but you take action if you need to.”

“Hmm. I did not think about it like that,” Hjalmar said. “Initiative, the National Guard calls it.”

“I am not saying I should be a team leader like you. I usually keep track of things rather than people.” Astrid smiled. “I have heard you and Ditmar and Neustatter got in trouble in the army—Wallenstein’s army—for too much of this initiative.”

Hjalmar laughed. “Ja. Us for initiative. Lukas for . . . drinking. The others usually got overlooked. Especially Otto. And I have heard that you were the unruliest of the girls working for Frau Sophia, always trying something without asking.”

“Not always. Once in a while,” Astrid protested. She smiled again. “But see—those are qualities Neustatter wants in an agent, not in a wife. Neustatter needs a wife who challenges him. Not one who is unruly, but one who has . . . ” She circled with her hand several times, looking for the word.

“You mean a woman with a great deal of confidence.”

“Ja.”

“An up-timer?” Hjalmar asked.

Astrid shrugged.

Her brother smirked. “Adel?”

Astrid laughed. “I do not know how a family of the adel would allow it.” Then she thought of something. “Maybe you are right, Hjalmar. In the mystery books, the boss does not date the secretary. Or if they do, they later believe it to be a mistake. But the detective often pursues the heiress. I think that is the closest the up-timers had to adel.”

“Who does the secretary marry?” Hjalmar wanted to know.

“A nice guy.”


Monday, May 1, 1634


Astrid was at her desk at eight on Monday. Some of the men were milling about. Neustatter came in five minutes later. He flipped through some paperwork and then looked up at his men. “Hjalmar, your team is on the range this morning. Ditmar, you have the desk.”

“Ja, sir,” Hjalmar answered. “Karl, Otto, Astrid.”

They got up and started toward the door.

“Miss Schäubin.” Neustatter pulled the ninth halstuch from his desk and tossed it to her. She caught it and tied it around her neck.

Astrid thought it was very neatly done. It was apparent from Karl’s expression that he had absolutely no idea what was going on, but Karl didn’t question Neustatter’s orders. He was just as easy-going as the up-timers—which was probably a good thing in a man who had once been made a blacksmith’s apprentice because of his build. On the other hand, there was a reason he was not a team leader.

As soon as they were outside, Otto Brenner did ask questions. “Hjalmar, why is Astrid coming with us?”

“Because Astrid is part of our team now,” Hjalmar explained.

Otto stopped and looked back and forth between Hjalmar and Astrid. “Why?”

Hjalmar explained. “Astrid is going to go with us on some assignments. Sometimes we escort women. Astrid can be in their quarters. And sometimes we need more than eight men.”

“Okay.”

Hjalmar looked over at his sister and shrugged. Apparently, Otto was fine with it, too.

Astrid smiled back. She had been nervous about the men’s reaction.

* * *

Hjalmar’s team returned to the office after range practice and lunch. They entered to find that Neustatter and Ditmar had their heads together at the desk working on upcoming assignments. Ditmar’s team was sitting around the Franklin stove.

“Good shoot?” Neustatter asked.

“Good shoot,” Hjalmar confirmed.

Otto began stacking his brass on the desk. Astrid stepped up next and put her brass in a single line.

“Why is Astrid on a team?” Stefan Kirchenbauer demanded.

Stefan liked to complain, Astrid reflected. It was annoying.

“Because we have an upcoming assignment where some of the principals are women,” Neustatter answered. “And you are not going to be close coverage in their quarters.”

“Of course not.” He switched objections. “Why does Hjalmar get a bigger team?”

“Because he is going to keep an eye on his sister anyway. I will put Wolfram with your team.”

“But we have been soldiering together for years.”

“I am going to hire more men soon,” Neustatter stated. His tone left no doubt that he was telling them, not asking them. “Anyone I hire will be someone we did not soldier with. You all know Astrid.”

“We could go back to the village.”

“No, Stefan, we cannot. Not unless we want a battle.”

“We can take them,” Lukas Heidenfelder stated.

Neustatter had a remarkably repressive tone. “No, Lukas. We are not going to go fight people we have known all our lives and get them and maybe some of us killed.”

“But . . . ”

“Lukas. Shut. Up.” That was the end of it.

Neustatter stood up. “The next time Herr Schrödinger goes to Magdeburg, Hjalmar’s team and I will take the assignment. Ditmar, you will be in charge here. Lukas and Stefan, you have security. Wolfram, you have class.”

“Why does Wolfram not have to work?” Stefan complained.

Wolfram Kuntz grinned. “If you think I am not working, you may sit in on my classes.”

Neustatter continued. “Lukas and Stefan, keep an eye on the houses and the office and get to the range at least once. Stefan, you are welcome to take up medicine after that.

“Now, the assignment is to escort Herr Schrödinger to Magdeburg. He is taking his family by train to Halle and then taking a barge the rest of the way. They plan to remain in Magdeburg for several days. Astrid and I are close cover. Hjalmar is the lookout. Otto is the invisible man. Karl, I have not decided your role yet. Take your regular weapons and three days of food. We will buy more in Magdeburg.

“Ditmar, I will telegraph you if we run into any trouble. Make sure there is someone here to receive an emergency message and check for messages at the AT&L office every day.

“Questions?”

“How do we know an emergency message will get delivered?” Stefan asked.

Astrid smothered a smile. He was definitely their resident cynic.

“Because I make sure to take the telegraph offices things from Grantville. Newspapers, gossip, small items. In our line of work, it pays to have friends.”

“How do you know you will reach Magdeburg?” Stefan pressed. “There is a war on.”

Neustatter picked a newspaper up off the desk and held it out. “The same newspapers. The navy’s battle group shot its way past Hamburg, and Prime Minister Stearns has taken command of the city. General Torstensson has some of his forces there and the rest in Magdeburg. If the papers are right—and I think they are—Torstensson will be the one pushing the attack. The League of Ostend will not be coming for Magdeburg. They are still trying to take Lübeck. We will be safe enough in Magdeburg.

“Now, Ditmar and Hjalmar, I have an assignment for you.”


Friday, May 12, 1634


The train coasted up to the platform at Naumburg Station.

“Naumburg! Train leaves for Weissenfels in thirty minutes! You have time to disembark if you want to. Naumburg Station has restrooms and a food cart. Keep your ticket stubs with you and show them to me to get back aboard.”

Neustatter, Ditmar Schaub, Stefan Kirchenbauer, and Otto Brenner filed off behind several other passengers. They moved to the back of the train where a porter was handing down baggage marked for Naumburg. Neustatter caught the first bag and passed it to Stefan. In just a few minutes they had a small pile of bags at the end of the platform.

“Now what?” Stefan asked.

“Now I go buy lunch,” Neustatter said.

He looked at the menu posted on the side of the food cart while he studied the three men running the cart. One of them was a typical German farmer. He looked fit, well-fed but not fat. Clearly his village was doing more than merely surviving. The second was a young man who resembled him—probably his son, perhaps a nephew. Some might have passed over the third man as just another villager who ran a food cart, but Neustatter noted how he carried himself with confidence.

Neustatter addressed the leader. “Sausage, onions, and sauerkraut on a bun. Fifty-seven of them.” But he handed over money for only four.

The man handed him four sausage buns. “After the train pulls out, I will come get you,” he said quietly.

Neustatter took the food back to his men. After making sure they were out of earshot of anyone else, he said, “He will talk to us after the train pulls out.”

While they ate, they watched the food cart do a brisk business.

“There are more people buying food than arrived on the train,” Neustatter pointed out quietly. “Some of them crossed the river from Naumburg and are going back into town with their lunches.”

“It seems odd that he does not take the food cart into the town,” Ditmar remarked.

The train pulled out on schedule. The men at the food cart took care of a few more customers, and then the one in charge clapped the other on the back.

“You take it from here, Peder,” he said loudly. “Stay for a couple of hours, then check with the station master and find out if there are any locals coming through. If not, come on home. I will see you there.”

Then he harnessed one of the horses tied up beside the station to a plain farm wagon sitting near the tracks. As the wagon rolled slowly by, he called to Neustatter, “Are you men waiting for someone?”

Neustatter called back, “We were headed to Freyburg but the man who was to meet us has not arrived.”

“My village is partway to Freyburg. I will give you a ride for a couple of coins. Perhaps you will meet your man along the way.”

“Danke.”

Neustatter and his men piled the bags into the wagon and then climbed in themselves. Neustatter sat on the front bench beside the man from the food cart. Once they were out of sight of Naumburg, the man said, “I presume you are Neustatter?”

“I am,” Neustatter confirmed.

“Heinrich Kraft. Call me Heinz. Thank you for bringing the seeds.”

“This seems like a lot of trouble just to deliver seed for planting.”

“I do not think Duke John George would like what I am planting,” Kraft stated.

“More than just food,” Neustatter said.

“This area was pillaged in ’31. Many of us fled. My wife and I ended up in Grantville. Our village has always provided food for Naumburg, but in Grantville we learned how to grow more vegetables. We came back here last spring. At first the up-time vegetables were just something extra. We convinced the gemeinde to grow more of them this year. When Gustav Adolf put this side of the Saale under Thuringian jurisdiction last fall, Naumburg refused to let us cross the river and enter the town anymore. Naumburg is still in Saxony. We are not. So now we have the food cart at the train station every day. Even the market is held at the station Tuesdays and Saturdays.”

Neustatter decided to trust Kraft. “My men and I were drafted into an army. We surrendered to the up-timers at Alte Veste. Well, to Germans who had joined them. When we got home, it did not work out. We are security consultants in Grantville now.”

“They have that effect on people,” Kraft observed. “The code you were given? To order fifty-seven? Up-time, a very large company made that many food products and sold them across the up-timers’ country. If villages here work together and grow more food than we need, we can sell it. Spread the new foods across the Germanies. Maybe use the railroad. Not be held down by the towns.”

Neustatter nodded. “Freedom to control your own affairs.”


Friday, May 26, 1634


Herr Schrödinger’s party disembarked from the Grantville-Schwarza Junction local. Herr Schrödinger and Neustatter already had tickets to Halle in hand. The train was waiting at the platform. The engine was a converted pickup truck with a natural gas tank in the truck bed. It had three cars behind it—two of the short, stubby passenger cars and a boxcar.

“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.

“Miss Schäubin, what can you tell me about the other passengers?” Neustatter asked quietly.

Astrid watched the line ahead of them. She was nervous about her first mission and wanted to answer Neustatter’s questions correctly. Two finely dressed men wearing swords were first aboard the lead car with a pair of less ostentatious but still well-dressed men behind them.

“Two ritter with servants,” Astrid whispered back.

“Ja, and the shorter servant has a concealed dagger,” her boss added. “They’ve taken the front seats on both sides with the servants behind them.”

Astrid eyed the next bunch. Two of them were also finely dressed, but not in the same style. The three younger men with them wore robes.

“Bürgermeister and assistant clerks, I think,” Astrid surmised.

“Ja.”

Astrid saw that the next group was similar but wearing less-expensive fabrics.

“Two masters with their apprentices?” she guessed.

“Possible,” Neustatter allowed. “But they look soft. Merchants, I think.”

Astrid was annoyed with herself. Yes, now that Neustatter had pointed it out, she could see that they were probably merchants rather than craft masters.

Then, as pre-arranged, Karl Recker boarded the first car and made his way to the back seat.

“And now we know those ritter will be useless for anything other than a frontal assault,” Neustatter pronounced. “Man’s got a rifle slung over his shoulder, and they just let him take a seat at their backs.” The security consultant’s disgust was obvious.

The conductor waved the rest of the passengers to the second car. First aboard were a pair of men, one old and the other in his late teens or early twenties. He was dressed almost as finely as the ritter.

“A tutor and his student?” Astrid ventured.

“I think so.”

Astrid was glad to have gotten one right after her earlier mistake.

Herr Schrödinger’s group boarded next. Otto was first aboard and swung into the front left seat across the aisle from the tutor. Astrid saw Neustatter tense and realized why when she reached the top of the three stairs—four men were already seated in the back of the car. The two in the back left were soldiers—one in USE gray and the other in SoTF blue. Halfway back on that side was an older man in up-timer clothes. He was seated sideways with one leg stretched out across the seat. The fourth man was seated between him and the soldiers. Astrid was pretty sure that one was what the up-time detective novels would describe as “a seedy-looking character.” His rather wild hair and worn clothes contrasted with how he had a cloak neatly folded up in his lap with his hands tucked inside the folds as if it were a muff.

Unfortunately, she had no choice but to sit across the aisle from him. Neustatter had dropped into the seat ahead of the up-timer, and Herr and Frau Schrödinger took the seat behind the tutor and his student. Their two sons sat behind their parents and ahead of Astrid. Hjalmar was the last passenger aboard and sat behind Astrid, across the aisle from the soldiers.

“Look me up in Halle,” the unkempt man told her.

Astrid studiously ignored that. Not only did she find him personally repellent, but his position across the aisle from her made him a potential threat. He could have anything hidden in that cloak. Astrid assumed he was carrying at least a knife. Fortunately, Hjalmar was right behind her.

The conductor swung himself aboard, pulled the door shut, and the train pulled out at 8:00 a.m. sharp.

* * *

Astrid marveled at how little time it had taken the train to reach Jena. It was not long after noon, and they were already north of the university town. She understood that the up-timers considered this slow. The stops seemed to be as much of a limiting factor as the actual speed of the train. If the railroad could lay enough track and cut out all the stops—what the up-timers called an “express”—they would be able to reach anywhere in the USE in two or three days.

Astrid sniffed in amusement. Well, if she could see that, so could anyone else. It was possible that one of the Ostender powers would strike at the Grantville-Halle line—although with the USE Army marching north, that did not seem very likely. She saw nothing out the window but open ground and occasional small stands of pine. She glanced over at Neustatter and nodded.

Neustatter returned the nod. His side of the train was clear, too. Astrid turned her attention back inside the train. She didn’t particularly like the situation, but it hadn’t changed much. The train had picked up a couple of passengers in Rudolstadt but they had disembarked in Jena. She went back to scanning outside and hoped that her month of training was enough to allow her to see everything she needed to.

The unkempt man leaned toward her. “How about . . . ”

Astrid flinched away. The older man suddenly caught him by the collar and tossed him back against his seat. “Leave the lady alone,” he growled.

Neustatter whirled around, and Hjalmar lunged up out of his seat. But each of the soldiers already had the man by a shoulder. Astrid flushed. She should not need five men to come to her aid.

“Easy now,” the older man said. He tugged his overcoat aside, and Astrid glimpsed the six-pointed star pinned to the jacket underneath.

So did Neustatter. “Shouldn’t you have cuffs on him, Officer?” he asked.

The older man pulled the unkempt man’s cloak away. Astrid and Neustatter saw that his hands were indeed handcuffed together. “Sorry, there’s no way to cuff him to the seat.”

Neustatter nodded.

“Oh, and it’s marshal,” the man added. “Harley Thomas.” He and Neustatter shook hands.

Their client’s two children were staring at him. “What’s a marshal?” one of them asked his father. That was nine-year-old Franz.

The master craftsman shrugged. “I am not sure, son.”

Franz turned around. “Miss Schäubin, what is a marshal?”

“Do you know, girl?” the unkempt man hissed at her.

Astrid turned to face him. “Yes. A marshal is like a city watchman, except he works for the Supreme Court of Thuringia-Franconia.”

“Stinking city watch. Stinking courts.” The man spat in the aisle.

Harley Thomas ignored it. “You’re pretty well-informed for a governess.”

Astrid ran her fingers across her vest, momentarily disarranging it so that Thomas could see the strap of her shoulder holster.

Thomas’ eyes may have widened ever so slightly, but that was it. His prisoner seemed to miss it completely.

“A watchman?” their client’s other son, seven-year-old Josef, piped up. “You do not look like a watchman.”

“The only uniform a marshal has is his badge and his gun,” Harley Thomas stated. “I don’t work for a city. I work for the State of Thuringia-Franconia. Chief Justice Riddle assigns me and the other marshals a list of criminals to bring in. Some of them ran out on their bail. Others are fugitives. The other marshals and I find them and take them to the city or county where they broke the law.”

That led to more questions. Marshal Thomas seemed to spend a lot of time staring at his prisoner while he explained “bail” and “fugitive.” “No,” he answered a follow-up question, “we do not beat or torture suspects. If I catch any town watch doing that, I’ll be arresting them.”

Astrid noted that the tutor up front whipped around so fast his neck would probably regret it later. His student was rubbernecking, too.

“How do you know where to find the bad men?” Josef asked.

Marshal Thomas looked relieved by the question. “Well,” he answered, “part of what I am is a detective.”

“What is a detective?”

“Franz, Josef, stop bothering Herr Marshal Thomas,” the children’s mother directed.

Harley Thomas smiled. “It’s no bother, ma’am. A detective figures out what happened. Look at your fingers. See the little patterns there? Do you know every person’s are different? Now, have you ever touched a window or a glass and left it smudged?”

“Many times,” their mother confirmed.

“If I sprinkle powder on the fingerprints, then I can lift them up with tape and take them with me,” Marshal Thomas explained. “And then someone can check them against our files and match them to the person who left them.”

“Wow!”

“Detectives can do the same with other things, too. Now, are your names really Franz and Josef?” Having been assured by the children that they were indeed, the marshal said, “There are books about two up-time detectives with your names. Well, they have American names—Frank and Joe—but they’re the same as Franz and Josef. Their last name is Hardy. A lot of us up-timers read Hardy Boys books when we were your age or so. I assume there are some in the school library.”

Astrid mostly hid a smile at Franz and Josef’s rapt attention. They were kneeling on the seats, facing Marshal Thomas. Their mother was frowning and likely to reprimand them at some point.

But that wasn’t Astrid’s concern. She noted that the prisoner seated between Thomas and the soldiers looked distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps he is wondering where he left his fingerprints, she mused. Neustatter was also paying attention. She assumed Otto and Hjalmar were, too, but didn’t want to point them out by looking at them.

Harley Thomas looked over at Astrid. “There’s another series of up-time detective books about a girl detective named Nancy Drew. There should be some somewhere in Grantville.”

“Dank,” Astrid responded. She was surprised that the marshal had passed that along.

The man across the aisle from her wasn’t having any of it. “So you think you could be a watchman, do you?”

Astrid ignored his sarcasm.

“I said, so you think you could be a watchman?” the man hissed. He reached out and grabbed at her hair in spite of the cuffs.

Astrid jerked away from him. Should I go for my gun?

Hjalmar, the USE soldier, and Marshal Thomas all hit the prisoner at the same time. Neustatter was a split second later, only because he’d started from further away.

“Slow learner, this one,” the soldier commented.

“Sure is,” the marshal agreed, looking down to where the man had fallen into the aisle. He left him there until they pulled into the station at Bad Kösen.

Astrid sighed. She had had to be rescued again.

* * *

“Naumburg Station!” the conductor shouted. “Train leaves in thirty minutes! Keep your ticket stubs if you want to reboard!”

Neustatter turned from the window and said, “Herr Schrödinger, there is a food cart at this station. Marshal, Sergeants, it is good food.”

Since the platform also had restrooms, everyone aboard disembarked. While they were eating, Astrid knew she needed to talk to Neustatter.

“I am sorry I screwed up, Neustatter.”

“You did not screw up, Miss Schäubin,” he told her.

“The master craftsmen who are really merchants. Not drawing my gun on the prisoner.”

“The first takes practice. And it is good that you did not draw on the prisoner. I believe he still thinks you are the children’s governess.”

“But . . . ”

“You are doing fine, Miss Schäubin,” Neustatter told her.

The restroom door opened. The prisoner stepped out and lunged back against the door, slamming it against Marshal Thomas. Then he dashed across the platform.

Neustatter saw it from ten yards away. “Karl!” he shouted.

Karl Recker looked up and stuck his foot out as the prisoner ran by. The man tripped, fell off the platform, and faceplanted.

Thomas limped over. “Dank.”

“Bitte schön.”

Neustatter and Karl helped Thomas haul the prisoner back up onto the platform. His nose was bleeding.

“Thanks,” Harley Thomas said. “You’re one of Neustatter’s, too, eh? I owe you guys one.” He winced. “Slammed it into my bad knee, too.”

“I am curious. Where are you taking this prisoner, anyway?” Neustatter asked.

“Magdeburg. We picked him up in Grantville for breaking and entering. While he was doing his time on a road crew, we got a wanted notice from Magdeburg. More breaking and entering up there.”

“Is that worth trying to escape?”

“I would like to keep all my fingers, danke,” the prisoner spat.

“They don’t cut off fingers anymore,” the marshal told him.

“Legally abolishing that is the only way they can get extraditions from Justice Riddle. Nope, if found guilty you’ll probably get assigned to a night soil detail.”

That seemed to upset the prisoner even more. “But . . . but the status . . . ”

“Well, then you should probably stop taking other people’s stuff.”

* * *

Herr Schrödinger’s party left the train at Halle. After collecting a bundle from the baggage, Neustatter motioned to Astrid, and they entered the station.

“What are we doing?”

“Meeting someone,” Neustatter answered. “The schedulers’ office is over here.” He held the door for her.

The cramped room had a sturdy table against one wall with several pieces of equipment on it. One piece was chattering away. One of the three men in the room was transcribing the message. The second—this one in uniform—was reading over his shoulder.

“Tell the northbound he’s cleared to Teutschenthal. Then tell Jena to hold that southbound local until we hear back from the track crew.” He looked up and saw them. “Neustatter!”

“Sergeant Hudson.” Neustatter handed over a bundle. “Grantville newspapers and some liquor from Tip’s. And the movie schedule.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“This is Astrid Schäubin, first of my new agents.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. So, Neustatter, what movies have you seen lately?”

“The Hunt for Red October and Maverick. Both at the high school.”

“Popular, but quality,” Eric Glen Hudson admitted. “Now if I could just get you to watch Citizen Kane.”

Neustatter shuddered. Astrid sensed this was some sort of running joke between the two men.

“Ha. When are you coming back through?”

“Next Friday.”

“See you Friday. Who knows? The war might be over by then.”

* * *

Herr Schrödinger’s cargo got delivered to the Navy Yard even before he and his family took a room in what had to be the nicest inn in Magdeburg. That said certain things about the nature of cargo NESS had been guarding, although the guarding had taken little effort on either the train or on the riverboat they’d boarded in Halle.

The Neustadt Gasthaus had flush toilets, hot water, and electricity. NESS got to stay there, too, although Astrid spent most of her time following Frau Schrödinger around Magdeburg, usually with Franz and Josef in tow.

One day Neustatter and Karl accompanied Herr Schrödinger to a meeting. Frau Schrödinger and the children were shopping. Hjalmar was looking like an obvious bodyguard. Neither Otto nor Astrid were wearing halstücher. Astrid was supposed to look like a governess, and gawking at the many newly built and opened shops in Magdeburg wasn’t hard at all. Otto meandered around, seemingly unconnected to the party. He and Hjalmar were using signs to convey information without being seen talking with each other.

Frau Schrödinger was looking through a market. Astrid was scanning the crowded streets. People were talking about the Baltic War—that seemed to be the name everyone had settled on. The War of the League of Ostend was running a distant second, at any rate. By the time they had reached Magdeburg, the USE Navy had defeated the Ostender fleet in Luebeck Bay, and the USE Army had defeated the French army at Ahrensbök. Prime Minister Stearns had even taken a timberclad to rescue? . . . pick up? . . . the embassy that had been imprisoned in the Tower of London. At almost the same time, the situation in Franconia erupted. The newspapers were calling that the Ram Rebellion.

Church bells started ringing—and not on their regular schedule. It did not take more than a couple days in Magdeburg to learn their regular patterns.

“Back to the inn,” Hjalmar snapped.

“But—”

Astrid cut Frau Schrödinger off. “We do not know what the bells mean. If it is an emergency, that is where Herr Schrödinger and Neustatter will look for us.”

Frau Schrödinger considered that and took Josef by the hand. Astrid took Franz, and they started toward the inn. Everyone else had similar ideas, and the streets were full. They had gone only a couple blocks when they heard someone shouting news on the next street corner. Astrid saw Hjalmar give Otto a sign.

Otto wormed his way through the crowd, stayed just long enough to get the news, and hurried back to the rest of them.

“What news?” Hjalmar called when he got close.

“Peace!” Otto shouted. “A peace conference in Copenhagen!”

Hjalmar’s “Dank!” blended in with murmurs of “Danke Gott!” from the crowd around them. People were starting to cheer.

“Hjalmar, I think we can go back to the market,” Astrid suggested.

“Ja,” he agreed.

They returned to Grantville with no incidents. Astrid barely had time to reflect how much shorter this trip took than their first journey from Magdeburg to Grantville, just over a year ago.


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Framed