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Chapter 5: Blood in Erfurt

Monday, August 7, 1634


On the following Monday, the Bibelgesellschaft again assembled at NESS’ office. Neustatter had assigned Team Three to this mission. He, Karl, Lukas, and Astrid were mounted while Phillip would join the Bibelgesellschaft in the wagon. For the Bibelgesellschaft, the mission was led by Doctor Johann Gerhard and included most of the same students as before, plus Johannes Musaeus. That made sense; he had graduated from the University of Erfurt and joined the Bibelgesellschaft at the University of Jena where he was starting a second master of arts degree.

“Guten Tag, Katharina, Barbara.”

“Gut tag, Astrid.”

Astrid smiled at the Amideutsch. “How are you?”

“Excited,” Katharina declared. “If a second university joins the Bibelgesellschaft . . . ”

Astrid tried to follow along. Barbara shot her an amused look, which Astrid thought was safe to return.

They pushed hard to reach Erfurt in two days. By now, Neustatter had very definite opinions at which inn they should stay.


Wednesday, August 9, 1634


The University of Erfurt theology faculty and the Bibelgesellschaft dove right into meetings the morning after they arrived. NESS stood watch outside most of the time. Just like at the University of Jena in June, there was a fancy dinner that night. Or maybe it was a banquet. NESS had not been to enough of either to know where the dividing line was.

On Thursday morning, they returned to business.

Astrid Schäubin was standing guard duty outside the University of Erfurt, out front with Neustatter. Freedom of religion is a good thing. But guaranteeing it is a little more exciting than civics class suggested it ought to be. She was thinking of the riot at the revival service that had taken place here in Erfurt in June.

“More students.” Neustatter identified the two young men approaching.

“An honor to meet you, Fräulein. I am Matthias von Spitzer. And this is my fellow student, Friedrich von Alvensleben.”

“Miss Astrid Schäubin of Neustatter’s European Security Services.”

“What is a security service?”

“We are private guards.”

Both von Spitzer and von Alvensleben frowned. “Why is your company guarding the university?” von Spitzer asked.

“We’re guarding the Bibelgesellschaft,” Astrid explained. “Erfurt is a little tense right now.”

Von Spitzer nodded. “The townspeople were celebrating the Congress of Copenhagen’s recognition that both the city and the hinterland are formally independent of the archbishop of Mainz. The city has been a Stadt since ’32, of course, but it is nice that the captain-general made it official.” He laughed harshly. “But there are unanticipated consequences.”

“Oh?” Astrid asked, even though she already knew what they were.

“The Catholics quickly realized that freedom of religion means no religious tests for public office. They lost no time nominating the archbishop’s former bailiff for the city council. A lot of the townspeople are not at all happy about that.”

“What do you think about it?” Astrid asked. She took a couple steps to her left, away from the door. The two students moved with her.

Von Spitzer didn’t miss a beat. “I think if we all get behind one experienced candidate, we could elect a good Lutheran. But the Committee of Correspondence insisted on running their own.”

“Who did you find who is willing to take on that challenge?” Astrid asked. She tried to project a very concerned tone.

“Actually, Friedrich’s uncle is willing to run.”

“Really? That is very civic-minded of him.” Astrid was sure there was a large dose of self-interest there, too, but did not see any reason to bring it up.

“He is going to make sure that the Catholics do not take over again,” von Alvensleben began.

Before he could say more, von Spitzer cut in. “There has been some pushing and shoving, of course, but nothing we cannot handle. Say, this Bibelgesellschaft, you will be backing von Alvensleben, of course?”

“None of them are from Erfurt,” Astrid answered. “Neither are any of us from Neustatter’s European Security Services.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she requested several questions later. “I need to get back to work.”

“Ja, she does.”

Von Spitzer turned and appeared to notice Neustatter for the first time. “Who are you?”

“Ich heisse Neustatter.”

“Dank,” Astrid told Neustatter once the two students were out of earshot.

Neustatter nodded once. “What did you learn about them?”

“Niederadel. Probably in the arts curriculum. Not serious political players in Thuringia. Just here in Erfurt.”

“Explain,” Neustatter directed.

“If they were Hochadel, we would have recognized their names. The theology students are mostly inside with the Bibelgesellschaft. Law students probably would have asked at least one question about security consultants, and they would have asked you. And law students probably wouldn’t have made so many assumptions about the uncle’s chances in the election. So they were probably arts. And they did not ask anything about Grantville or Thuringian politics. Their world revolves around their town.”

Neustatter nodded again. “Remember that your conclusions are only likely, not certain, and did not rule out medical students. But I agree with you. Anything else?”

“I think you had a good idea convincing the BGS to send Dr. Gerhard instead of Father Kircher or Brother Green.”

“I have heard about those scuffles von Spitzer mentioned. They sound more serious to me than he seems to think. Having Kircher around in clerical robes would just set Lutherans off. And Green would get in an argument.”

Without pointing, he said, “There is Phillip across the street. Let’s check the guards, Miss Schäubin.” Neustatter stretched, which Astrid knew was a signal to Phillip to stick around for a few minutes.

They left Phillip out loitering out front and generally blending in with the rest of Erfurt.

Karl Recker was supposed to be watching one of the building’s other entrances, and that’s exactly what he was doing. Karl carried a U.S. Waffenfabrik flintlock rifle, and it was at order arms—butt on the ground, right hand grasping the barrel just below the muzzle. Karl’s right arm was fully extended, holding the barrel at an angle pointed away from himself, and his left fist was on his hip. Most of the time, NESS was not into spit and polish, but Neustatter made an exception for standing static guard duty. Karl’s stance was flashy but not impractical. His rifle could be at port arms diagonally in front of him in two movements and aimed with only one more. And because nobody in Erfurt had gotten around to forbidding it, he had a bayonet fixed.

“Carry on, Herr Recker,” Neustatter said formally.

Neustatter and Astrid rounded the building to where Lukas Heidenfelder was supposed to be. Lukas was not guarding the back door. Astrid suspected that Neustatter wouldn’t have lost it if Lukas had merely been slouched against the building with weapon in hand, but he wasn’t even watching his area of responsibility. In fact, he was kissing a woman. He had one arm around her—the one holding his U.S. Waffenfabrik rifle.

Neustatter closed in at a lope and threw a right cross into the back of Heidenfelder’s neck. Lukas’ head bounced off the woman’s, somebody’s tongue got bitten, and Lukas whirled around. Neustatter grabbed his rifle with one hand and threw a couple quick jabs with the other.

The woman started screaming and flailing at Neustatter. Astrid darted past him with her left arm up to protect her head and her right hand firmly covering her holster. She shouldered the woman away.

Neustatter hauled Heidenfelder to his feet. “Lukas!” he roared. “What do you think you are doing? A passing student could have killed you with a penknife!”

Heidenfelder babbled.

Astrid glared at the woman. “Who are you?”

“Trudi Groenewold. You are in so much trouble when my pimp . . . ”

Neustatter’s laughter cut her off. Still holding Lukas up with one hand, he fished a card out of a shirt pocket with the other. “A pimp who has not been run out of town by the Committees? Really? Do you seriously expect me to believe that? Here, give this made-up person my card. Since we are telling lies, his equally imaginary second can use it to contact me.”

“So he is not . . . ” The woman closed her mouth, clambered to her feet, and started to run off.

“Look, I know you and Lukas have been seeing each other. Just stay away when he is on duty.” Neustatter turned to Astrid. “Miss Schäubin,” he directed in a perfectly calm voice, “make sure no one got past Heidenfelder. Then take the front and send Phillip back here.”

“Ja, sir.”

Astrid checked the inside of the building. The Bibelgesellschaft meeting was still going strong, and she could hear them discussing Jewish scholars. Apparently, they’d moved on to the Old Testament. She kept going. She encountered three students, two of whom tried to chat her up. She stepped outside, spotted Phillip, and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. He sauntered across the street and around the building.

Neustatter came around the other side of the building about fifteen minutes later.

“All clear, Miss Schäubin?”

“All clear, Neustatter.”

“Lukas is at the same door as Karl.”

Astrid nodded. In a guard position that was both flashy and uncomfortable, she suspected.

“I considered firing him. He considered quitting. He still may. He considered fighting me. That will not happen.”

Astrid sucked in her breath. “Neustatter, Lukas is angry much of the time. He might decide not to fight fair.”

“Of course he would not fight fair. First of all, I train all of you not to. Second, Lukas knows he wouldn’t win a fair fight with me. What he’s trying to decide right now is whether he can sneak up on me.”

Astrid didn’t think so, but she felt she had to warn her boss. “Neustatter, he does have a rifle. What if he just decides to take a shot at you?”

Neustatter grunted. “I have had to discipline Heidenfelder before. In Wallenstein’s army, a lot of men did things. The men from our village knew there were certain things they couldn’t do. Heidenfelder tested the limits a couple times.”

“What happened?”

“I disciplined him. The captain disciplined me. I blew the captain’s brains out at Alte Veste.”

“Herr Neustatter, you scare people.”

“Fräulein Schäubin, that way there are fewer I have to shoot.”

* * *

Astrid spent the next hour or so fairly angry with Lukas for complicating the assignment. Neustatter had circled the building a couple times, leaving her alone out front. Being the sole guard out front took some getting used to. Neustatter was back soon enough, though.

He had just returned from his second circuit when they both heard raised voices down the street.

“Stand ready,” Neustatter directed. “Our men are all in place, and the BGS meeting is still going.”

Whatever was going on down there seemed to have a crowd forming. After a few minutes, the crowd started moving their way.

“Miss Schäubin, send Phillip, Karl, and Lukas out here. Then you take position right outside the room where the BGS meeting is. You will have to watch your back.”

Astrid ran for Karl and Lukas’ door. After she’d sent all three of the others to Neustatter out front, she took position outside the lecture hall.

Not ten minutes later, the front door was wrenched open. Astrid could hear a ruckus outside. One man strode in, questioned a student near the door, and made straight for the lecture hall.

Astrid drew her pistol but kept it pointed down. “Who goes there?”

“Town watch. We are here to question the heretics.”

“Why?”

“For murder!”

Astrid swiftly considered and rejected several options. Neustatter would not want her to shoot the town watch. Besides, he was carrying only a cudgel and a short sword. Instead she stepped back.

“Sir, if you are referring to the Bibelgesellschaft, they’re inside. They have been inside all day. I am sure Dr. Gerhard and the Erfurt professors will confirm that, and I will stay right here.”

The watchman looked her way. “Fräulein, you and your pistol may stay between the heretics and me, but I cannot have you armed and behind me.”

“That is reasonable,” Astrid agreed and preceded him into the lecture hall.

“Doctors, please?” the watchman requested. “I am Watchman Meinhard, investigating a murder.”

The professors, the Bibelgesellschaft, and the Erfurt theology students all poured out of the room. Astrid fell in beside Katharina Meisnerin and Barbara Kellarmännin.

“What is happening?” Katharina asked.

“I do not know,” Astrid answered. She was concerned that the watchman had gotten past Neustatter. But once they stepped outside she almost laughed in relief.

The watchman had left his partner outside, uncomfortably parked between the mob on one hand and Neustatter, Karl Recker, and Lukas Heidenfelder on the other. As the theology faculty, students, and BGS crowded through the door, one of the good citizens of Erfurt took the opportunity to swing his quarterstaff at Neustatter’s head. Neustatter ducked the staff and delivered a side kick to the man’s midsection. As he doubled up, Neustatter quickly relieved him of the quarterstaff. A second Erfurter jumped in. Neustatter faked a swing at his head and used the other end of the quarterstaff to sweep his legs and dump him unceremoniously in the street.

Neustatter spun the quarterstaff with practiced ease as Karl and Lukas’ rifle butts came up. The good citizens of Erfurt backed off.

“What is going on here?” Watchman Meinhard demanded.

A dozen people started talking at once.

“Silence!”

That must be Johann Gerhard’s dean voice, Astrid surmised. It certainly worked.

“Watchman Meinhard?” the theology dean invited in a normal tone.

“These citizens found blood a couple alleys from here. They believe someone has been murdered by the heretics.”

“When did this murder take place?”

“Within a few hours,” a deep voice called from the crowd. “I walked through there this morning, and there was not any blood there then.”

“The Bibelgesellschaft has been inside since eight o’clock this morning,” Neustatter stated. “We have been watching the doors.”

“Clearly you and your men were in on it!”

“Nonsense,” Neustatter stated. “Who was killed, anyway?”

“You know! You did it!”

Neustatter planted one end of the quarterstaff in the dirt and spoke very slowly. “No, I do not know who was killed. If I did, I would not have asked. And I have not hurt anyone except these two fools in the dirt who decided it would be a good idea to attack a security consultant without being sure of the facts. Perhaps the town watch could identify the body before we move on to such minor considerations as motive.”

“There is no body,” a voice called out.

“Yeah, the heretics took it!” a nasal tone added.

“So, ah, what makes you think there has actually been a murder?” Neustatter asked as condescendingly as possible.

“There is blood all over the alley!” Several other people shouted contributions, too, but that was the gist of it.

Neustatter looked at the town watchmen. “Have you seen the alley?”

“Ah . . . just a glance. But we left Jost there.”

“Ja, take the heretics back to the scene of the crime.” That nasal voice from the crowd was getting really annoying.

“The heretics have been inside the classroom with us all day,” one of the Erfurt professors said. Astrid thought and finally dredged up a name—Niclas Zapf. Nicolaus Zapfius when he was writing.

“Yes, they have.”

“And who are you?” the watchman asked.

“I am Dr. Johann Gerhard, dean of the theology faculty at the University of Jena. And who, good sir, are you?”

“Uh, Watchman Heinkel.”

The crowd quieted down quite nicely, Astrid observed.

“It probably would be a good idea to view the scene,” Meinhard stated loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “Let’s go.”

“One moment, please,” Neustatter requested. He reached out a hand to one of the men he dropped. “Are you willing to let the watchmen sort this out?”

“As long as they make the right decision.” He accepted a hand up.

The other man didn’t. “I want your name!”

“Edgar Neustatter. Neustatter’s European Security Services. You are with the Committees, aren’t you?” When the man did not answer, Neustatter sighed loudly. “A quarterstaff is your weapon of choice. You jumped in ahead of the watch. Tell Dieter Strauss hello from me.”

“You know Strauss?”

“Of course I know the head of the Erfurt Committee of Correspondence. What kind of a security consultant would I be if I did not know the important people in cities I operate in? If I give you your quarterstaff back, do you think you could refrain from taking a swing at me?”

“He had better,” Meinhard warned.

The Committeeman nodded sullenly.

* * *

The townspeople and a good chunk of the university congregated at the mouth of the alley. “Jost, we brought everybody,” Meinhard told the watchman who had remained there.

“That is a lot of blood,” Dr. Zapfius acknowledged.

Astrid could not see any of it. She, Karl, and Lukas were sticking to Katharina and Barbara who were in the center of the group of BGS students staying on the edge of the crowd. Phillip was mingled into the crowd.

“It was that one!” a woman shrilled.

Astrid snapped around to see a woman pointing at Neustatter.

“I saw him! He was sneaking off!”

“When was this?” Neustatter shouted over the hubbub.

“Yesterday.”

The watchman who had stayed at the scene—Jost—poked at Neustatter with his cudgel “Where were you going?”

“Martial arts lesson,” Neustatter replied with a grin. “Do that again. I will demonstrate. It will be fun.”

Watchman Meinhard stepped in. “Knock it off, Jost. I am not sure what a martial arts is”—he repeated the English term—“but I saw him take Huber’s staff away from him and trip up Goren with it.”

“Why have you not arrested him?” Jost demanded.

“Because it was self-defense on Neustatter’s part and stupidity in the first degree on Huber’s part,” Meinhard answered. Huber glared at him.

Neustatter laughed. “You got that one from Dan Frost, didn’t you?”

“I did. You know Herr Frost?”

“He helped me set up my security company.”

Astrid noted that Neustatter seemed content to talk shop with the city watch in front of a hostile crowd.

“I see,” Meinhard said. “And these martial arts lessons?”

“Fighting styles from Japan and China that a few up-timers know. Sometimes it is nice to have a surprise.”

“So I see. Which up-timer teaches the lessons?”

“Gena Kroll.”

Seeing Meinhard’s blank look, Neustatter added, “Gordon Kroll’s daughter. Dennis Stull’s secretary. They all work for military procurement.”

“Oh, right. I’ve met Herr Kroll. His daughter . . . is she not more or less betrothed to Sergeant Hudson?”

Neustatter was grinning again. “Ja.”

“He and his friend Sergeant Allen do not like Germans. They call us Krauts when they have been drinking.”

“Gena is dating one of the no-Kraut men?” Katharina asked.

Meinhard looked her way. “Why does that surprise you? And who are you?”

“Katharina Meisnerin of the Bibelgesellschaft. Most of us know Gena from Grantville High School. She defended us Anabaptists once.”

Meinhard frowned. “Her betrothed may not let her do that anymore.”

Neustatter laughed again. “It is clear you do not know Gena very well. Besides, you are underestimating Eric Hudson.”

Meinhard blinked. “I never said his first name.”

“No, you did not. But I know him. It is true that he says he dislikes us Germans. But he tends to forget that once he knows you. He likes movies—the up-time moving pictures.”

Meinhard frowned. “Sergeant Hudson was transferred to Halle. He is courting Miss Krollin and watching movies in Grantville . . . ”

“And drinking at the 250 Club,” Neustatter added. “He is very efficient. There is a reason the army put him in charge of train schedules.”

Meinhard said, “We will need to verify all this, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Under close questioning,” the nasal voice added.

“That is not going to happen,” Neustatter answered. He didn’t bother to turn around.

“This is Erfurt,” another voice spat. “Not Grantville.”

“They will be tried by our laws!” someone else in the crowd shouted.

“Thuringian law is the same in Erfurt and Grantville,” Watchman Meinhard stated.

“They shot someone and carried him off!” came a shout from crowd. “They’re working for the Catholics! They must be punished!” There was a general chorus of agreement from the rest of the crowd.

Neustatter shucked off his coat and let it drop to the ground. His holster was very visible as he turned around.

A few of the more perceptive citizens of Erfurt—and everyone who’d ever see one of the Western movies in Grantville—started moving away, thinking about such things as lines of fire.

“Calm down, all of you!” Meinhard ordered.

“We can take them!” one Erfurter insisted.

Karl and Lukas exchanged incredulous looks.

“Do something!” Astrid heard Katharina hiss at her brother Georg.

“What do you want me to do?” Georg asked.

“I don’t know! Think of something!” Katharina was becoming frantic.

Georg started easing his way through the crowd toward the alley. He reached the empty space that had cleared when Neustatter dropped his coat.

Astrid decided that Katharina and Barbara would be safe enough for the moment. They were flanked by fellow students Horst Felke and Johannes Musaeus as well as having Karl and Lukas close by.

“Karl,” Astrid said, “watch the others. I will cover Georg.” She slipped through the crowd after him.

Meanwhile, Meinhard was telling his partner, “Heinkel, go to the base and ask if Sergeant Eric Hudson and Fräulein Gena Krollin would please accompany you back here. Be polite. Bring Herr Kroll and Herr Stull if they wish. The whole rest of the city is here—they may as well be.”

* * *

Georg reached the intersection and stood there looking into the alley. The crowd was becoming increasingly aggravated. He knelt down. Astrid sighed. That would make him even harder to protect.

Suddenly Georg straightened and carefully walked a little way down the alley. “Whatever happened, no one was shot,” he proclaimed.

Everyone in earshot turned to look at him.

“What?” Astrid demanded. “Of course someone was shot. There is blood everywhere.”

“Not shot,” Georg insisted. “Stabbed or cut. Perhaps bludgeoned. But not shot.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The blood, it is not right,” Georg said.

“Neustatter!” Astrid called. “There is something you will want to know.” She waved Georg forward. “Explain.”

“Whoever bled here, he or she was not shot,” Georg said.

“Speak up!” someone hollered.

Neustatter motioned to the watchmen. “Gentlemen, we will not all fit. Perhaps the two professors and then you could pick out a couple dependable men?”

Meinhard nodded. He pointed at two men. “Rudolf Schwartz. Klaus Huber. You witness for the crowd. And for the Committees.” Huber was the man with the quarterstaff.

Eight men crowding into an alley trying to avoid stepping in bloodstains was awkward at best. Once they were all at least close enough to hear, Neustatter said, “Say that again, Georg.”

“This is not blood from being shot,” Georg said again. “This is blood from a blade.” He pointed at a streak of blood on the wall, three or four yards from the end of the alley. “This is artery spray. It’s about one American foot from the ground. Not head or chest level. And then whoever it was collapsed right there.” He pointed at a section of wall where the pattern sloped down to the ground, ending in a pool of semi-dried blood. It was irregularly shaped, about three American feet by a foot and a half.

“Right,” Meinhard said. “Then he picked up the body and left these footprints here.” He pointed at a couple impressions that ended in a confused tangle with a smaller patch of blood at the edge of the alley where it met the street.

“What is the point of this?” Jost asked.

“Figuring out what happened,” Meinhard told him. “Someone stepped in blood and walked to the edge of the street. There’s no blood out in the street but there is this spot. As if someone who was bleeding stopped and stood here.”

“It would have happened while they were loading the body,” Jost said.

Georg pointed at it. “That is dripping. Uh, gravitational spatter, they call it. See how the drops here by the street are all round? And that”—he indicated a spray pattern—“is not gravitational. It’s from a new wound.” He squatted down to look closely. “There is also white stuff on the ground. I smell something, too.” He sniffed the ground. “I think it is horseradish.”

Jost opened his mouth to argue and then reconsidered. But Huber said it for him. “So the heretics stabbed him again and then put the body in a wagon.”

“That is not what happened,” Georg said. “Look at these blood drops.”

Watchman Meinhard frowned. “There are two blood trails. We are standing in one of them! Everyone, step back against the wall.” He pointed at the ground and traced the trail as everyone got out of the way. “One going into the alley and one coming back out?”

“Both blood trails are going in,” Georg corrected.

“You could not possibly know that unless you saw it happen,” Huber stated.

“It is very clear,” Georg countered. “The footprints come out to the street. But both blood trails are going back in.”

Meinhard took a close look. “Yes.”

“You cannot tell that . . . ” Jost began.

“Yes, you can. Blood drops from a moving person are not round. They are pointed, and they point in the direction of movement.”

“I do not believe that,” Huber said.

“Please, feel free to cut your finger and walk around,” Georg challenged.

“Why, you!”

“That is enough, Herr Huber,” Meinhard said without lifting his gaze from the ground. “Why do you know all this, Georg?”

“My sister Katharina keeps staying after school for Bibelgesellschaft work. I was bored waiting, so I took the forensics class.”

“Forensics?” Meinhard stumbled over the word.

“Crime scene investigation.”

“Ah. Herr Frost has told us a little about this. He said he will say more about it on his next circuit. I remember that he said the up-timers have a chemical that shows blood.”

“Ja,” Georg agreed. “Luminol. It is usually used to see where someone cleaned up blood. No need for it here.” Then a thought struck him, and he laughed. “But it would not work here anyway, Watchman Meinhard. You can smell the horseradish, right?”

“Ja.”

“Horseradish causes luminol to show a false positive,” Georg said. “If we had any to spray around, I think this whole end of the alley would turn blue.”

“Have you used this luminol before?”

“Nein. I have just seen pictures of it in a book. If there is any left at all, it is not enough to let students use it.”

Meinhard was quiet for a few moments. “Could someone have put the horseradish there on purpose so that luminol could not be used?”

Georg thought about that. “I believe Herr Frost would say that forensic countermeasures suggest careful planning. Given the amount of blood everywhere, I do not think this was carefully planned. Certainly no one tried to clean up the scene. I think the horseradish is just an accident.”

“Good point,” Meinhard agreed. He turned his attention back to the scene. “Steps in the blood, tracks it to the street, spills blood there, two people come back this way,” he mused. “Steps over here around the blood pool.”

“I did not see that one,” Georg admitted.

“It is just blood drops. There are no footprints.”

Georg cocked his head to one side. “Why not? If there are footprints going out, there should be footprints coming back.”

“This is hard ground,” Meinhard pointed out. “We are not leaving footprints either.”

Georg thought about that for a minute. Then he stamped on the ground. “Look—I can leave a footprint if I stomp. But why would anyone stomp after stepping in blood? I would scuff my shoes to scrape it off.”

“He did not scuff,” Meinhard observed. He pointed at a misshapen footprint. “Georg, he slipped!”

Georg understood at once. “He slipped in the blood and stumbled to the edge of the alley. Wait—then he stood around bleeding? Why was he bleeding?”

“He stabs the other guy . . . ” Meinhard began. “No, the other guy stabs him. No, that is not right, because they walk off together.”

“Do we know they left together?” Georg asked.

“There are the two blood trails,” the watchman pointed out. “They never cross.” He began again. “The first man walks through the alley and stabs someone. He slips in the blood. The victim injures him at the edge of the street. But the second man arrives. They kill the victim, and they load the body on a wagon, then walk back down the alley.”

“Why would they not just ride away on the wagon?” Georg asked. “Especially since the first man was wounded?”

“So, there is a third man driving the wagon . . . ” Meinhard shook his head. “No, that is far too complicated.” He looked at Jost. “Do you have a theory?”

“Not anymore,” Jost answered. “But yours has the big blood stain made before the one next to the street. But the one next to the street is dried, and the big one is still sticky. Does that not make the one by the street older?”

Astrid watched Georg and Meinhard exchange looks of consternation. Then they both practically dove at the blood stain by the street.

“Where did we go wrong?” Meinhard asked.

“I do not know,” Georg muttered.

They kept staring at the blood stain. At length, Georg observed, “It is not just dried. It is clotted.”

“Well, yes,” Meinhard agreed. “Blood clots.”

“The larger bloodstain is not clotted like this.” Georg sounded excited. “It is not older. This one is two different blood types!”

“What?”

“The first man and the second man were both wounded at the edge of the street. This is blood from both of them. It clotted because they are different blood types,” Georg pointed. “See the arterial spray there? It is not clotted because it is from only one of them.”

“Two men were injured here?”

“Since they were both hurt and left walking side by side, I do not think they could have carried a body,” Georg said slowly. “One of them is bleeding badly. He needs help, and soon.”

Meinhard slapped his forehead. “That is why they went back into the alley. The clinic is this way.”

Dr. Zapf spoke up. “The university medical faculty is the other way.”

Meinhard shook his head. “We have been seeing more and more sick and injured people being taken to the clinic. It is just a couple of nurses. They are not really doctors. But a lot of people do not care.

“Jost, we are going to follow the blood trail. Go back and tell everyone else that if they come, they have to stay back and they have to use a different alley. Georg, let us go find these two men.”

They followed the blood drops to the other end of the alley and out onto the next street.

“It is getting hard to see,” Georg noted.

Meinhard grunted. “Less blood, too.”

Halfway down the block they lost the trail.

“I do not see any more blood,” Georg said.

“Me, either.” Meinhard turned around. “Form a line.”

He put Schwartz, Huber, Neustatter, Johann Gerhard, and Niclas Zapf in a line across the street, and they started slowly moving forward. Jost hurried back to join them.

“Blood!” Dr. Gerhard called.

Several yards farther along Schwartz found another drop. After another twenty yards, they heard a hubbub as the crowd caught up to them.

Meinhard spoke up. “Jost, let us just check the clinic. If they are not there, we can come back with lanterns and look for the blood trail.”

They were almost to the base when they met Watchman Heinkel coming the other way with three up-timers in tow, two men and a woman. The younger man was wearing SoTF blue. That probably made him Eric Hudson, although Astrid did not recognize any of them.

Katharina did, though. “Guten Abend, Gena,” she called.

“Kat Meisnerin? Georg? Horst? What are you all doing here?”

“The Bibelgesellschaft came to Erfurt to meet with the university theology faculty. But people think that Herr Neustatter and his security service have killed someone.”

Gena gave an unladylike snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Gena. Sergeant Hudson. Herr Kroll,” Neustatter greeted them.

“What’s this about, officer?” Gordon Kroll asked.

Meinhard gave him the short version.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sergeant Hudson drawled. “You think Neustatter and one of his men would attack someone in an alley? And then hide the body? Seriously?” He laughed.

“Why is this funny?” Watchman Jost asked.

Eric Hudson jerked a thumb at Neustatter. “The idea of John Wayne here using a partner to ambush a guy.”

“But . . . why is it funny?” the watchman pressed.

“C’mon. Neustatter goes to the movies to watch John Wayne, Harrison Ford, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. He wouldn’t knife someone in an alley. He’d rather have a shootout at high noon than a backstabbing.”

Neustatter grinned.

“Plus, since you came and got us,” Hudson continued, “you already know that Gena’s been teaching him martial arts. Now if you had someone who’d been blown away on Main Street or had a broken neck, Neustatter’d be a suspect. But a stabbing? Uh-uh.”

“That is . . . an interesting insight,” Meinhard acknowledged. He glanced at Georg.

Georg shrugged. “Do not look at me. That is not forensics. I think they call that profiling.”

“Let us go check the clinic before it gets completely dark,” Meinhard directed.

* * *

Lorrie Gorrell was finishing up with a couple sick kids while Maurine Kroll tried to keep the day’s paperwork somewhat current. Someone banged on the door of the clinic. Maurine pushed back from the shelf pegged to the wall that served as a desk. Being on paperwork made her the receptionist, too. She opened the door to find her husband, daughter, and, well, probably not half of Erfurt standing there, but it seemed like it.

A quick glance didn’t reveal anyone obviously in need of medical care. “What’s going on, Gordon?” she asked. “Can I help you?”

“We hope so,” said a man wearing the armband of the city watch. “There is a lot of blood in an alley near the university. We believe there were two men injured, and the blood trail led in this general direction. One of them would have been bleeding badly.”

“Lorrie!”

The door to the examination room opened. Lorrie Gorrell ushered a woman and her two boys out. She was carrying the younger, who looked about six. The older was probably nine or ten.

“Keep giving them purified water and an aspirin morning, noon, and night,” she directed, then asked, “What’s going on, Maurine?”

“They’re looking for a couple injured men, one bleeding heavily,” Maurine told her. “They must mean Griesser and Unsinn.”

Lorrie nodded. “Hans Griesser and Gerhard Unsinn came in this afternoon. Griesser had a deep laceration to his right arm, and Unsinn had a broken nose. I stitched up Griesser and did what I could for Unsinn’s nose.”

“Did they say what happened?” Meinhard asked.

To his surprise, Watchman Jost laughed softly. “I can guess. I know Unsinn, by reputation at least. He is a klutz.”

“Yes,” Lorrie confirmed. “Hurrying to bring a knife to his master.”

Meinhard nodded. “I can see it. Not quite running, but moving fast. He slipped in the blood and stumbled forward just as . . . Griesser, you say? . . . came around the corner.” He paused. “Where did that puddle come from and where are Griesser and Unsinn now?”

“They both lost a lot of blood,” Lorrie said. “This isn’t Leahy or Magdeburg Memorial. We don’t give transfusions unless it’s really life or death. I can’t even give Sergeant Nagel’s kids as much aspirin as I’d like to. I stitched the men up and sent them to a tavern. At least they’ll get some fluids back in their systems that way.”

Maurine took a deep breath. “And I gave them some marijuana for the pain.”

Gordon Kroll blinked a couple times. “You prescribed beer and pot?” he asked his wife.

“Yes. I told them to come back tomorrow. If they need it, we’ll give them a pint of O negative and some chloram.”

Kroll winced. “Let me talk to Dennis Stull and some others. We’ve got to see about getting you more medical supplies, especially if you’re becoming the walk-in clinic for the city.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Meinhard cleared his throat. “Any idea which tavern they went to?”

“Probably The End of the Woad. It’s closest.”

“Thank you.”

Maurine exchanged glances with Lorrie.

“Go with them,” Lorrie said. “I’ll close up here.”

* * *

Outside, Meinhard gave a quick summary that caused most of the remaining onlookers to disperse. Potential murder had been interesting; a clumsy journeyman was not. That left just three watchmen, Georg, the two professors, Neustatter, Astrid, Schwartz, Huber, Gordon and Maurine Kroll, Gena, and Eric Hudson. They filed into The End of the Woad and filled the place up.

“May I help you?” the waitress asked.

“City watch,” Meinhard said. “Looking for Hans Griesser and Gerhard Unsinn.”

“Right over there.”

Griesser’s arm was bandaged, as was Unsinn’s nose. Both their shirts were bloodstained but they had cleaned themselves up.

Eric Hudson sniffed. “Must be our guys. That is definitely a doobie.”

Gena smacked him.

“Herr Griesser? Herr Unsinn?” Meinhard asked.

“Ja.”

Everyone crowded around them.

“I am Watchman Meinhard. Some citizens found a lot of blood in an alley, and they were afraid someone had been murdered.”

“Ha! Not quite murdered, although Unsinn here stabbed me when he fell.”

“Sorry,” Unsinn muttered.

Griesser laughed. “He fell face-first into my tray of horseradish, too. Busted his nose and spilled the horseradish everywhere. Sorry, Unsinn, but I have had enough beer and das weed that it is funny now.”

Unsinn had clearly had enough, too. He giggled. “I slipped in the blood.”

Meinhard nodded. “We know. But where did the blood come from?”

The waitress came over with a platter of fowl and a pungent sauce.

“Some fool butchered some chickens in the alley. I saw some feathers.”

Meinhard and Georg just looked at each other. Georg shook his head.

Neustatter clapped him on the shoulder. “This was good work, Georg. You could have a future in investigation.” He turned. “And Huber? You would not be on the CoC sanitation committee, would you?”

“Ja. I have got work to do. Fräulein Krollin, I would like to speak with you about quarterstaff lessons.”

She nodded.

“Neustatter, I will give you a decent fight next time.” The Committeeman left.

“That explains everything,” Meinhard said.

“Chicken with horseradish sauce?” Eric Hudson asked.

“Well, except that.”

“That is easy,” the waitress said over her shoulder as she passed by with a tray full of food. “The cook is determined to master the up-time turkey and dressing by the next kirmess. But he is not there yet.”

* * *

They started back toward the university building, and Phillip quickly found them. Neustatter stepped aside to talk to him.

“Karl and Lukas have all the members of the Bibelgesellschaft except for Doctor Gerhard and Georg Meisner outside the university building.”

“We have Gerhard and Meisner,” Neustatter murmured, “and a closed case. Rejoin them. We will catch up.”

Doctors Zapf and Gerhard decided that the textual criticism discussions could resume in the morning. They proposed to discuss the incident over dinner. It sounded as though the students did, too. It quickly became apparent that this was going to involve a tavern.

Neustatter and Astrid exchanged glances. It was hard to see in the dark, but Astrid thought his glance meant, “Ja, there is going to be theologizing while intoxicated, but the fräuleins do have to eat.” Astrid was not looking forward to it.

Katharina and Barbara ended up toward one end of a long table in a tavern that was a good bit larger than The End of the Woad. Astrid stationed herself against the wall behind the girls. Neustatter was doing the same toward the other end of the table, while Karl and Lukas were against the opposite wall. Phillip was sitting at another table, not wearing his halstuch and nursing a beer.

At first the conversation—the parts Astrid could hear, anyway—was largely Lutheran versus Catholic. She supposed it was not surprising that the Anabaptists were not speaking up more. But as the evening wore on, the Erfurt students started directing their questions to the two Bibelgesellschaft girls.

Katharina and Barbara proved adept at deflecting questions. Anything about Grantville or Grantville High School or the Bibelgesellschaft they answered readily enough, but they refused to get drawn into theological disputes. Once Astrid heard Katharina murmur to Barbara, “We really need Joseph and Marta for this part.”

Astrid leaned forward and kept her voice low. “Who are Joseph and Marta?”

“Members of the Bibelgesellschaft,” Katharina answered. “Brethren, like us.” She seemed to study Astrid for a few seconds. “Not everyone was allowed to come.”

She continued quickly and quietly. “Joseph and Marta’s parents are the strictest. They are fine people, but before coming to Grantville, the Engelsbergs faced more persecution than my family did. Barbara’s family faced the least amount. Georg and I had to persuade our parents to let us come, while Barbara simply asked.”

Astrid nodded. That made sense to her. She tried to imagine what she would allow her children to do, if she were to have any.

“Nona and Alicia aren’t allowed to come on these trips, either,” Katharina added. “They are up-timers.”

Astrid understood that, too. “Perhaps if there are more of these trips, Neustatter could speak with their parents.”

Barbara, who had not said anything up until now, shook her head. She was blonde like Astrid, while Katharina was a brunette. Both of them wore head coverings which were similar to what many down-time women wore. Their style was more than a few years out-of-date, but it was not as though Astrid’s own village had been on the cutting edge of fashion, as she had heard an up-time girl say at Grantville High School.

“That will not work.”

“Oh?” Astrid’s voice may have been a bit cool.

“They know Neustatter is an honorable man. They know that he got us to Jena in spite of what Pastor Holz wanted. Because we told them. But it does not matter.” Barbara explained, “He is an outsider. Not Brethren. None of you are. The same is true for Nona.”

“And the other? Alicia?”

“It will not work, but for a different reason. Alicia’s brother just got out of the National Guard. Alicia’s mother was really worried about him. Astrid, if Neustatter tells her he will protect Alicia, she will think Alicia would be in as much danger as Adam was.”

Astrid was annoyed that that made sense, too.


Friday, August 11, 1634


When the Erfurt theology faculty met with the Bibelgesellschaft the next day, Neustatter stationed Astrid inside the lecture hall itself.

At first, she thought the whole incident would make the University of Erfurt theology faculty hesitant to have anything to do with the Bibelgesellschaft, but then she realized she had underestimated Doctor Gerhard. He began talking to Doctor Zapf about textual criticism in terms of forensics applied to documents.

Then Zapf turned to the students. “Is what you are proposing more of this forensics?”

Astrid saw the glances: Horst to Katharina, Katharina to Johannes, Johannes back to Horst. She read that as Horst was going to answer first.

“That is part of it.” Horst’s manner was very respectful. “Investigative forensics can look at the paper, ink, handwriting . . . perhaps we could call correlating events mentioned in secular histories a kind of forensics.”

“And certainly, when we attempt to trace and classify variant readings, there are elements of forensics,” Katharina continued smoothly. “Knowing linguistic peculiarities of different regions certainly helps. But for questions like, does Paul actually write like this, or was someone else the human author of Hebrews? I am not sure forensics is quite the right word, although the mindset is quite similar.”

Doctor Zapf looked at Katharina with interest. “My understanding is that Anabap—Brethren tend to focus on the Gospels. It is interesting that you choose an epistle for your example.”

“We usually save the ending of the Gospel of Mark and the Pericope Adulterae in John 7:53 through 8:11 for when there are not other people around.” Katharina’s tone could not have been more demure, but her face held the hint of a smile. “Sometimes it becomes . . . loud.”

Doctor Zapf gave a great booming laugh. “We are inside. By all means, let us address those passages.”

When they finally took a break and went out for a meal, Neustatter fell in beside Astrid. “It went that poorly, eh?”

Astrid shook her head. “Nein. Katharina warned it would get loud. But it is the loud of people cheering for a baseball team and arguing with the other fans, not the anger of the religious wars. Do not ask me about the details, though.”

Neustatter smirked. “You could ask Miss Meisnerin about those on the ride home.”

Whatever Katharina and the others said was effective, though. On the following day, the University of Erfurt theology faculty joined the Bibelgesellschaft.

Astrid did not ask Katharina about the details on the ride back to Grantville. Katharina was a nice girl, but enthusiastic about her interests. Instead Astrid talked with her brother Georg about forensics.

“Would reloaded brass have the ejector marks from all the weapons that have fired that casing?”

Georg looked puzzled. “Reloaded brass?”

“We have enough rounds with up-time smokeless gunpowder for a couple serious firefights,” Astrid explained. “For practice, we fire rounds that have been reloaded with black powder.”

“Bring one of these rounds—or better, an empty cartridge, bitte. We can probably use one of the microscopes at the high school to check the toolmarks.”

“I will.”


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