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Chapter 4: Shooting Fish in a Barrel


Meanwhile, on the other side of Buffalo Creek . . . 

11 p.m., Thursday, June 28, 1635


The squad car radio crackled. “All units, shots fired at the fairgrounds. Car Two, Car Three, Patrol Five, Patrol Six, respond.”

Sergeant Horst Stoltz pushed the accelerator down as his new partner Gregor Vorkeuffer responded. “Car Three, responding to the fairgrounds.”

When Car Three reached the scene, the first thing Sergeant Stoltz noticed was the man at the gate waving them down. He cranked down his window, and the man gave a fast report in Amideutsch.

“I’m Ditmar Schaub, NESS team leader. Your Officer Mittelsdorf is at the north end of the long livestock exhibit hall. The shots came from over there. I have two men with him, two at the refugee housing, and three at the stone building in Hough Park.”

Dank, Schaub.”

Stoltz drove around a hairpin turn and up the hill to the livestock exhibit building. He and Vorkeuffer piled out. A dozen onlookers were already milling around despite the late hour. Officer Mittelsdorf was attempting to herd them.

“Is anyone hurt, Mittelsdorf?”

Nein. People heard shots, but I have found no sign anyone was hit.”

“Three shots!” one of the onlookers stated.

“No, four!”

“Five!”

Stoltz sighed and reached for his notebook. “Vorkeuffer, you and Mittelsdorf take a look around. Stay together and spiral outward.”


Brethren (Anabaptist) Settlement

6:30 a.m., Friday, June 29, 1635


Georg Meisner did not like early mornings. But the tram stopped downhill from the Brethren Settlement at 7:15 each morning and didn’t come around again until 8:30. So he quickly showered and dressed before hurrying downstairs to breakfast.

His parents and sister were already up. Katharina was nibbling a bun while she studied a book.

Georg peered over her shoulder. “Hebrew?”

“I should know some before I show up at the university.”

“Katharina, can you not attend a university here?” Their mother had asked the question without turning away from the stove.

“Mother, only one university has an acceptable theology program and admits women to it—the University of Prague.”

“It is dangerous.”

“Marta and I have the map Neustatter drew for us. It has two routes back to Grantville. One is north to Dresden and west to the railroad in Altenburg County. The other is west from Prague to Hof, then north to Grantville. And he said the coming war with Saxony will be over by the end of senior year.”

Georg dropped into a chair and reached for a bun of his own.

Someone beat on the door, and all the Meisners jumped. Georg hurried over and opened it to find a police officer standing there.

“The chief has a case for you, Georg. He sent me up here to get you.”

“All right.”

“You need breakfast, Georg. Officer . . . ?” Frau Meisnerin pulled two sausages off the metal tray over the fire.

“Harris, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am. The chief wants us on this right away.”

Georg picked up a knife and slit the bun down the center, took the sausage from his mother, and dropped it inside. “Please.” He handed it to the officer and made a second one for himself.

“Father, Mother, Katharina, I will see you tonight.” Georg hurried out the door.

Officer Harris briefed him on the way to the police station.

“So no injuries, but a lot of exhibitors think someone is trying to steal their new products,” Georg summarized.

Ja.”

“I will sign in, grab my kit, and be right back,” Georg said.

“Do you not have the van?”

“Martin Dörrenfelde will need it. He needs to photograph those B-and-Es on the north side.”

“If they are even B-and-Es,” Harris returned. “Only trinkets are missing. They might have been misplaced.”


The Fairgrounds

6:45 a.m.


Officer Harris and Georg Meisner arrived at the fairgrounds as vendors were beginning to set up their booths for the day. The livestock exhibit halls—roofed shelters, really—were up on a hill. Down below on the field was the refugee housing and the show ring. These days it sometimes held cattle driven from Hungary. Restrooms and a row of concession stands built for the district fairs stood not far from the entrance to the fairgrounds.

Georg could pick out the original ten concession stands, built up-time by students at the Vo Tech Center. Those still bore gaudy paint schemes. Since the Ring of Fire, the Vo Tech students had added more. The gap between the sixth and seventh stands was currently filled with rows of barrels. The second barrel from the far end of the first row was stove in. Georg leaned in close to examine it. One stave was snapped, and three staves over something was embedded. It appeared to be a musket ball.

“What is in the barrel?” Georg asked.

“Salted herring.”

“I see. So why is someone shooting fish in a barrel?”

Harris just shook his head.

Georg pointed at the barrel. “Please radio for Martin Dörrenfelde to stop here on his way to those B-and-Es. We need pictures of the barrel before I pry the ball out.”

He stepped back, looked around for a while, and pointed at the livestock exhibit hall. “Those shots had to come from the building or right next to it.”

He picked up his kit and approached the building. “Aha!” Georg pointed at the green-painted boards. There were two holes, several yards apart. “Bullet holes.”

Officer Harris consulted his notebook. “The witnesses heard anywhere from three to seven shots. There are a few dozen people living in the refugee housing. A few are recent arrivals and not sure they trust the police yet. The rest are here for the messe and could not find anywhere else to stay. Both told us as little as possible. Neustatter’s guys all said five or six shots, but they only heard it. They didn’t see it.”

Georg nodded. “If they had, they would have joined in. I bet they all came running. Nein—Ditmar Schaub would have come on the run with Team One after telling his cousin Hjalmar to hold Team Two back in case it was a diversion.”

“How did you know that?” Harris demanded.

“I’m courting Hjalmar’s sister Astrid. Her Team Three has the day shift.”

“I see.”

“Officer Harris, do you have any witnesses near the bridge?”

“No, just witnesses who were in the refugee housing who heard shots but say they saw nothing. No one on Maple Avenue saw anything, either, but they were not looking.”

Dank. I will look over there. Show Martin both shooting scenes, bitte.”

Georg slowly walked south toward Buffalo Creek, weaving back and forth to cover a swath of ground. Two hours later he had mud on his coveralls from climbing around on the banks of Buffalo Creek, but he hadn’t found anything he could connect to the shooting. He headed back to the scene, where Officer Harris told him Martin Dörrenfelde had already come and gone—but had left him the forensics van.

Someone else had arrived, too—Herr Martin Brück, who operated the concession stand nearest those barrels. Georg asked the usual questions.

“Is there anyone who has a reason to shoot at your booth?”

Nein. I sell food. I expect to do well this week, but”—he gestured at the row of concession stands—“so will everyone else.”

“You will do well selling salted herring?”

“Only a couple of the barrels are herring. But yes, I put the herring on the hardtack cracker. And you can pair it with a white wine from Winzerla.”

Officer Harris gave him an extremely dubious look. “Just make sure you stick your little finger out and your nose in the air.”

“I need the bullet in the barrel,” Georg told Brück.

Brück nodded. He pried the lid off, and then Georg started moving salted herring to an empty barrel. It took a while to get down to the level at which the bullet had entered.

After a thorough search, Georg held up a fish with a bullet in it.

“I will need the broken staves, too,” he said. He transferred the rest of the herring and removed the staves with tools from his kit.

“That was skillful work.”

“My father is a cooper,” Georg explained. “I want him to take a look at these.”

Next, he removed the bullets lodged in the livestock exhibit hall. He checked inside. There were quite a few animal cages full of chickens and rabbits—and the inside of the building smelled like it. None of the animals had been hit. In fact, no rounds appeared to have penetrated into the building at all, which either said good things about the building’s construction or bad things about the shooter’s gunpowder. Since the upper sides of the building were open, additional shots could have gone clear through without hitting anything.

He noticed something on the floor. Or rather, he stepped in it.

“I have trace.”

“You have a lot more than a trace,” Vorkeuffer cracked. “Phew! What is it?”

Georg bent down and peered at the floor. “Rabbit pellets, I think.”

A boy burst into the exhibit hall. He was in tears. “My rabbits are gone!”

“The plot thickens,” Georg stated.

“More likely, the stew thickens,” Vorkeuffer muttered.

“Where are your rabbits supposed to be?” Georg asked.

“Right there!” the boy wailed. He pointed at a pair of empty cages.

Georg pulled out his notebook. “When did you last see them?”


Grantville Coopery

11 a.m.


Georg drove the forensics van to the bustling coopery. His mother was not pleased at all he had learned to drive, but he couldn’t justify the time walking would take away from investigations. So far the Brethren in the Ring of Fire were fine with the use of motor vehicles in the line of duty.

The coopery added more machines every year, and it was close to achieving what the up-timers called assembly line production. Georg made his way across the floor.

“Father!”

Johann Meisner looked up in surprise. “Georg! What are you doing here?”

“I need your opinion, Father.” He held out the staves. “What do you think?”

“I think this is junk.” His father held the broken staves up next to one of his own. They were noticeably thinner. He sniffed. “Salted fish?”

Georg grinned. “Ja. Herring.”

It was interesting Herr Brück’s supplier used cheap barrels. But it probably had nothing to do with the case.


Grantville Police Station

12 p.m.


Back at the police station, Georg confirmed what he already suspected. The bullets in the barrel had been round balls before they were flattened by impact. And they were small. He weighed each on the scale from the high school chemistry lab. The density of musket balls varied, so a range of densities divided by mass gave him a range of volumes. Volume was 4/3πr3. If this case ended up going to trial, he’d need to get some computer time to solve the cube root, but for now it was easy enough to solve for r3. He estimated a number for the radius and found it was too big, so he kept making calculations until he found something close, and then doubled it to get the caliber. It was small enough that Georg could rule out actual musket balls. They’d been fired from a pistol—probably a .32, maybe a .36.

Georg took the firearms guide off the shelf. Several .32 and .36 caliber pistol models were in production, in Grantville, Magdeburg, Nürnberg, and Suhl, Schleusingen, and Schmalkalden. Many of them were five-shot models, and a few held even more, but there were some two-shot derringers. Two rounds in the barrel of herring—had someone fired a derringer? The idea of carrying a loaded weapon in one’s pocket struck Georg as insanely dangerous, but he admitted to himself it might just be his Brethren background talking.

The two bullets he’d pried out of the exhibit hall were bigger, and from the groove still partially visible in the smashed lead they were bullets rather than balls. He weighed them, looked up the formula, and did the math. They probably came from a .44 or a .45. Several models existed in those calibers, too, produced in the same cities. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of individual weapons existed. This was a dead end for now, although if the investigation turned up a .44 or .45, Georg would try matching lands and grooves. He headed for the chief’s office to report his progress.

Chief Richards was just finishing a radio conversation.

“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either. We’re missing some pieces. Drive up to the Brethren settlement and tell Barbara Kellarmännin I’d like her to consult on this one.”

“Will do, Chief.”

“Come on in, Georg,” Richards called. “What have you got?”

Georg summarized the case so far. “I think two people shot at each other, but . . . ” He broke off his report as Chief Richards’ office door swung open.

Officer Ned Harris entered, holding a torn bundle of canvas.

“Chief, we’ve got a problem,” Harris announced. “Sorry, Georg.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you know how you can’t swing a dead cat in Grantville without hitting a spy?”

“Yep. What’s in the bundle, Ned?” Chief Richards sounded impatient.

“A dead cat, Chief. And you better call Nasi’s people, because it hit a spy.”

“You’re putting me on. I just got rid of the last of the Friday night drunks, a complainant walked out of here and disappeared before anyone realized he might be a stalker, and there’s already a lack of public bathrooms causing visitors for Fourth of July week to pee where they shouldn’t.” Richards glared at him. “I don’t have time for games.”

“Cross my heart, Chief. Emil and I were walking the perimeter up at the fairgrounds, and this dude comes running out of the strip of woods between the far end of Maple and Chestnut Avenues like somebody was after him. He was knocking people over, so Emil grabbed him while I checked out the woods. And this is what I found.”

“And there’s a dead cat in there?” Chief Richards asked in a bemused tone.

“Yep.”

“How does that make him a spy? Somebody hit me with a dead cat, I might run, too.”

“He had this in his purse.” Officer Harris handed over a note, now encased in an up-time plastic sheet protector, the kind punched for a three-ring binder.

“Huh.” Chief Richards studied it for a couple minutes and passed it to Georg. “Yeah, that’s suspicious.”

Georg saw the note consisted entirely of symbols.

Richards addressed him. “And you’ve got a pair of missing rabbits and at least four shots fired? Two of them into a barrel of fish, no less. This is too weird not to be related.”

“Is the cat some sort of revenge thing for the rabbits?” Harris wondered.

“I do not think so,” Georg ventured. “Fritz was upset—but heartbroken, not enraged.”

The chief pointed at Harris. “Ned, call Les Blocker and tell him I need him in here stat.”

Officer Harris’ eyes widened. “You’re really going to order a cat-topsy?”

“Absolutely. Harming animals is in the McDonald Triad. It’s an indicator of sociopathy. If the cat was killed, I’ll be handing Barbara Kellarmännin two cases instead of one.” Richards paused and thought. “After you call Les, both of you go back to the fairgrounds. Ned, show Georg where this guy came out of the woods. And have a patrol car bring him to the station.”


The Fairgrounds

3 p.m.


The fairgrounds were crowded by mid-afternoon, but Georg was off on his own, crawling around nature for the second time today. This time he was in the woods, which at least were dry enough for footprints. He would probably end up making a plaster cast of an especially clear one he’d found. But what was this? Rabbit pellets here, too? If I could prove it’s the same rabbit . . . Why not just find the rabbits? It would make Fritz happy. I’m going to be out here anyway, casting this footprint . . . 

He returned to the fairgrounds, borrowed a bucket, bought some peas, and retrieved one of the rabbits’ empty cages. He was on his way back to the woods when someone called his name.

It took him a moment to locate Astrid Schäubin as she maneuvered through the crowds toward him. She was wearing a tan blouse and long skorts, with Neustatter’s European Security Services’ trademark yellow neckerchief. And her usual .22 revolver.

“Are you working the shooting?” she asked.

Ja, I am going to try to catch a pair of rabbits.”

“Rabbits?”

Georg told her what he could.

“Who is going to be watching your back while you do this?” Astrid asked. “Let me go find Neustatter and tell him where I’ll be.”

As they made their way to the woods, a gaggle of children pressed past them. “Look!” one boy shouted, pointing toward the National Guard display. “They’re loading the cannon!”

Georg put the peas in the cage and topped off the water dish from the bucket of water. He set the cage a short distance away and poured the rest of the bucket of water into the plaster mix.

“I keep being surprised by how long it takes to do forensics,” Astrid whispered sometime later.

Georg checked the plaster cast. “Even up-timers cannot do this any faster. But yes, we are literally watching plaster dry.”

A while later, Astrid whispered, “Georg, stay still. There is a rabbit at the edge of the clearing.”

Georg spent the next several minutes not moving. He did, however, get to stare at Astrid. She was wearing her hair in the style his sister had told him was called “American braid.” He liked it. Astrid, on the other hand, had a clear view of the cage.

“The rabbit is going inside.”

Gut. There is a fallen branch behind you. Can you get close enough to swing the door closed?

Astrid grasped the stick and eased toward the cage. Four yards . . . three . . . two . . . She reached out with the stick and flipped the door of the cage shut, then dove for the cage to lock the catch. The rabbit tried to bolt but then huddled at the far end.

“Great job!” Georg told her. “Let’s take him back to Fritz.”

After returning the rabbit, they saw Officer Ned Harris. He had a radio, so Georg brought both him and Chief Richards up to date.

“We got the doe.”

“You got the other shooter?” Harris asked.

“No, the rabbit.”

“Oh. I thought . . . John Doe, you know.”

Nein, bitte. I had enough Johann Does in the autopsy riot case. The female rabbit is the doe. We will have to call the perp something else.”

“All right, you comedians,” Richards said over the radio. “What can you prove?”

“Chief,” Georg said, “I think I know how to prove this is the same man who was in livestock exhibit hall.” He explained.

“No, Georg,” Chief Richards responded. “You are not going to run rabbit turds through the mass spectrometer. The radiation source is too decayed. Not even Dörrenfelde can still get reliable readings from it anymore.”


The Fairgrounds

6 p.m.


“What do you have?” Astrid asked.

“The man in the woods, who might be one of the shooters but did not have a gun on him,” Georg stated. “One of two missing rabbits. A dead cat. Two bullets in a barrel of fish.”

“What about the other shooter?”

Georg shrugged.

“Astrid! Georg!”

Astrid recognized her brother’s voice and looked around. Hjalmar and their cousin Ditmar were hurrying across the fairgrounds toward her and Georg. And then two women stopped them. Astrid watched their body language and realized they were asking for help.

“Come on, Georg.”

As she drew closer, she noted the women were down-timers, both blonde, one a couple inches taller than the other. The shorter one was addressing Hjalmar and had his full attention.

“Please help us. A man is missing.”

Astrid reached Hjalmar’s side.

“My sister Astrid. She is also a NESS team leader. And Georg Meisner. He is a forensic scientist for the Grantville Police. Astrid, Georg, Frau Eva Želivský and Frau Josyntjie Boekhorst. Their friend . . . ”

Astrid watched the two women give her brother the same hard look.

“ . . . associate . . . ” Hjalmar tried.

“Classmate. We attend the classes at the high school,” stated Frau Boekhorst, the taller of the two. Her fluent Amideutsch had a Dutch accent. “His name is Casimir Wesner.”

“Herr Wesner?” Astrid exclaimed. “How long has he been missing?”

“Since last night,” Frau Želivský answered. “How do you know him?”

“He hired us,” Ditmar answered. He turned back to Frau Boekhorst. “I remember you. You and a tall man were following Herr Wesner. How do you know he is missing?”

“He . . . went to do something and did not come back. Here, at the fairgrounds. We came to you because we recognized your NESS neckerchiefs,” Miss Boekhorst explained. “And you say you heard shots last night!”

Georg spoke up. “There were shots. I recovered the bullets. And I have found no blood. So, your . . . classmate . . . was probably not shot.”

Georg notices it, too, Astrid thought. Two women very concerned about a man who is supposedly no more than an acquaintance. “Hjalmar, find Neustatter right now and tell him Casimir Wesner is missing. And Team Three should not go home yet.”

Her brother didn’t ask any questions. He made a small bow—in Miss Želivský’s direction, Astrid thought—and hurried off.

Hjalmar returned with Neustatter in a few minutes.

The tall, broad-shouldered security contractor nodded to the two women. “Miss Želivský, Miss Boekhorst. Casimir is missing? What happened?”

“He came here last night,” Josyntjie began.

The shorter woman nudged her companion. “Tell them,” she hissed. Her accent sounded eastern European.

“I think his disappearance may be related to the sabotage of the water organ,” the Dutch woman said.

“Sabotage?” Georg asked. “What happened?”

“Someone poured something into one of the holding tanks. Father Kircher found it when he came to make adjustments this afternoon.”

“Show me, bitte,” Georg requested.

Josyntjie led them across the fairgrounds to a small grassy area between a livestock ring and Buffalo Creek. Sets of portable bleachers had been turned to face the creek. A sort of tent—what the up-timers called a rain fly—had been erected over a pair of . . . organs? This rain fly had side flaps, which were rolled up and tied off. Off to each side were what appeared to be water tanks and pumps. Pipes connected the tanks, the pumps, the creek, and . . . one of the organs? Other pipes stood upright in the creek. Some of those supported a wooden catwalk, and the whole area was screened off from the rest of Buffalo Creek by a thin wooden wall which had been tagged with graffiti.

“What is this?” Ditmar asked.

“It is a computer,” Josyntjie answered.

“No, I have seen computers at the high school. They look nothing like this.”

“This is an aqualator,” Josyntjie explained. “It does not run on electricity like most up-time computers, but on water.”

Father Athanasius Kircher came around from behind the organ, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Good evening, Frau Boekhorst. And NESS. This is a surprise.”

“Magister Kircher, Frau Boekhorst and Frau Želivský are missing a classmate. I am investigating a shooting. And we hear you may have a case of vandalism,” Georg summarized.

Kircher frowned. “True, although I was not going to bother the police department with it. You seem to have your hands full this week.”

“Casimir was coming here to the fairgrounds,” Frau Želivský stated.

“Why?” Georg asked.

Astrid noted Frau Boekhorst and Frau Želivský waited a bit too long to answer.

“Was he armed?” Georg pressed.

“Of course. Everyone in Grantville is armed,” Miss Želivský stated.

“What weapon do you carry?” Georg asked.

Astrid noted her brother and cousin were both frowning at Georg.

“It is a fair question,” she stated. “It would help Georg to be able to rule people out. Two fingers.” She specified she was about to draw her own pistol for display purposes only. “See, I carry a .22 revolver.”

“We were not here last night,” Frau Boekhorst stated.

Athanasius Kircher spoke again. “Frau Boekhorst was here working on the aqualator for a few hours in the afternoon but left before dinner. I left about seven o’clock, in time for the evening service.”

“So your . . . aqualator was sabotaged between 7 p.m. last night and now,” Georg stated. “What does it do?”

“We found it early this afternoon,” Kircher clarified. “Someone dumped wine in one of the water tanks. Cheap wine, vinegary.”

Georg frowned. “What would that do?”

“It would spray wine instead of water.” Frau Boekhorst told him.

“Spray?”

Athanasius Kircher explained with enthusiasm. “This particular aqualator regulates the flow of water through these pipes and creates fountains of water on command. It is inspired by the fountains at an up-time hotel called the Bellagio in a place called Las Vegas—but on a much smaller scale, of course.”

Hjalmar frowned. “So the water goes up in the air—except it is wine, instead.”

Kircher pointed at a sign laying on the ground. “Sponsored by St. Mary’s Catholic Church.” It had a muddy footprint on it. “Someone kicked over the sign, so it is possible the saboteur does not like Catholicism.”

“I wish you had called us right away,” Georg said.

Kircher shrugged. “It did not seem serious.” He smiled. “Besides, if someone is seeking to discredit the Church, turning our water into wine is a strange way to accomplish it. It seems to me this is not the work of a ‘criminal mastermind.’”

Ditmar and Georg both laughed.

Frau Boekhorst smiled at him. “I agree. He poured wine in only one tank. We will have to disconnect, empty, and clean it. Perhaps flush the system, because if the wine has sediment in it, it could clog the pipes. But very little real damage was done. Those boards will have to be painted over, of course.”

“Do you have enough time before . . . When will the fountains be turned on?” Ditmar asked.

“Wednesday, July 4.”

“You could leave the wine in place and dye the water in one of the other tanks blue,” Neustatter suggested. “The up-timers will like it.”

“We want to . . . ” Frau Boekhorst pointed at Athanasius Kircher. “ . . . but he is holding out for proper liturgical colors.”

Astrid giggled. Neustatter just laughed out loud.

“I really do need to know if you are armed,” Georg said. “I have the bullets fired last night.”

Astrid noted her brother and cousin both shifted, as though they resented Georg’s request while at the same time knowing it was quite reasonable. They like these women, she realized. Something to tease them about . . . One of the reasons Neustatter made them team leaders is because they are good judges of character.

“I carry a dirk.” Eva Želivský held it out on the palm of her hand.

“I am unarmed,” Frau Boekhorst stated.

“Do you know if Casimir Wesner was armed?” Georg asked.

Frau Boekhorst and Frau Želivský exchanged looks.

“Yes,” Frau Boekhorst stated.

“But it was a small gun,” Frau Želivský added. She held her hands no more than five inches apart.

“How many bullets?”

“Two, I think.”

Neustatter nodded. “Now, why did Casimir come to the fairgrounds last night?”

The women exchanged glances again.

“We overheard something,” Frau Boekhorst stated. “One of our former classmates seemed to be doing something, ah, shady.”

“An interesting word choice,” Kircher observed.

“We have seen a number of up-time movies,” Frau Boekhorst stated. “Casimir came here to check things out.”

“What kind of movies?” Astrid already had a pretty good idea.

“Casimir likes mysteries,” Neustatter stated. “Only got him to try westerns when I told him Leigh Brackett wrote the screenplay for Rio Bravo.”

“Not to interrupt,” Hjalmar said, “but a monk is hurrying our way, and he looks upset. He is wearing white, so not one of yours, Magister Kircher.”

Astrid didn’t miss how Hjalmar stepped in front of Frau Želivský or how Ditmar stepped in front of Frau Boekhorst. So she stepped in front of Georg.

“It is Brother Václav,” Frau Boekhorst told them.

“Why is he wearing a white habit?” Hjalmar asked.

“He is a Premonstratensian monk.”

“Another classmate?”

Ja,” Frau Boekhorst answered. “He makes beer.”

Ditmar frowned.

“Our work overlaps. Pure water. Piping, for the stronger alcohols he is learning to make.” She waved her hand at the aqualator. “Brother Václav introduced me to Magister Kircher.”

The monk hurried up and paused to catch his breath. “No one at Herr Wesner’s boardinghouse has seen him since yesterday.”

“I want to know everything Casimir was up to,” Neustatter stated in a no-nonsense voice.

This time there was a three-way exchange of glances between Frau Boekhorst, Frau Želivský, and Brother Václav.

That seemed to select Frau Boekhorst as their spokeswoman. “You know many library patrons and researchers are spies, ja? After a while, most seem to realize not only does the government know this, but they even encourage it. The library staff, or even researchers with ties to the SoTF government, seem to go, ah, above and beyond, to spread certain information as widely as possible. Most of us old Grantville hands understand Michael Stearns and President Piazza want it this way. But there are some who continue to hoard information and sneak about . . . ”

Hjalmar looked at the other woman. “I saw you there once, Frau Želivský. You were in the library reading a book about . . . something mechanical. Engines, I think.”

She shrugged. “It looked interesting at the time.”

Astrid figured she could believe as much of that as she wanted to.

Neustatter looked at each of the others. “Do you have anything to add?”

Brother Václav met his gaze. “We believe two other library researchers, Sprunck and D’Ambrosi, are engaged in illegal activities. But . . . we tend to see Sprunck and D’Ambrosi behind everything because they have wronged us before. It is possible whatever has happened to Casimir has nothing to do with them.”

“Possible,” Georg admitted. “But he was coming here, gunshots were exchanged here, the aqualator was sabotaged, rabbits were stolen, and a man was hit with a dead cat over there.”

“A dead cat? Have the polizei questioned this man?”


Grantville Police Station

8 p.m.


Once Ditmar and Hjalmar’s teams relieved the day team guarding the technology fair exhibits, Neustatter, Astrid, Georg, and Casimir’s classmates went to the police station. It was busy. Chief Richards himself was out front, talking to a man who looked like he was of the adel. The man was already red in the face and turned redder as Richards held up a hand.

“Excuse me, sir.” He turned his head and hollered, “Mimi! Get Car Two to back up the officers responding to the bar fight. And Car Three to the other bar fight.” He glanced over everyone trying to enter. “Georg, COD on the cat was natural causes.”

Dank, Herr Chief. We may have information about the man who was brought in . . . ” Georg began.

“Five minutes,” Richards promised. The man in front of him turned even redder. “Maybe twenty.”

It was a full hour before a messenger retrieved them from Cora’s.

“Herr Chief Richards has room for three of you, plus Georg.”

A few minutes later, Neustatter, Frau Boekhorst, and Brother Václav were watching through a window while Chief Richards interrogated the man who had been hit with the dead cat. Georg was in the interrogation room, too, sitting off to one side.

* * *

Chief Richards laid the page of symbols on the table in front of him.

“So, spy, what is your name?”

“Friedrich. Friedrich Bühler. But I am not a spy.”

The chief favored him with an evil smile. “All right, Herr Bühler, what happened last night? You have a knot the size of an egg on your forehead. Who hit you?”

Bühler looked confused.

“Now I know you were up to no good, but I want to know about the other guy, too. Who hit you?”

“It must have been Wesner.” Bühler sounded uncertain.

“But you are not sure?”

“I thought he was behind me.”

“After you exchanged shots at the livestock exhibit hall?”

Bühler started but said nothing.

“You were inside the exhibit hall,” Georg stated. “You stepped in rabbit droppings when you took two rabbits. Then outside you and Wesner shot at each other. Your shots hit the building, and you ran off into the woods.”

Bühler’s mouth hung open.

“Who are you working for?” Chief Richards asked.

He said nothing.

“Who else was there with you?”

Still nothing.

Richards’ mouth quirked. “Bühler? Who is the coded message for?”

“Did you pour wine in the water tank and paint the wooden panels over the creek?”

Bühler’s eyes widened. “Nein! That was Hermann!”

Georg pounced. “Do you both work for Sprunck and D’Ambrosi?”


10 p.m.


Chief Richards and Georg stepped out of the interrogation room.

“Georg, those were good questions.” Richards turned to Neustatter, Frau Boekhorst, and Brother Václav. “Let me point out we do not know if anything has happened to Herr Casimir Wesner or not. As soon as it gets light, we will start a search.”

“We can help,” Frau Boekhorst volunteered.

“Us, too,” Neustatter agreed. “As many as I can without breaking our contract with the tech fair.”

“Thank you. As Georg points out, we do not have much of a case against Bühler.”

“He shot at Casimir!” Frau Boekhorst exclaimed.

“The evidence cannot show who shot first,” Georg explained. “Surely Bühler’s attorney will convince him to plead self-defense. Without Herr Wesner, there is little we can do. Well, I believe we can make a solid case for petty theft, rabbit.”

“We will interrogate him again,” Richards promised. “Georg surprised him. I think we can get more out of him over time.” He cleared his throat. “I know you are concerned for Herr Wesner, but we have nothing further to go on. Go home, get some sleep. Be back here at seven a.m. to join the search parties. And don’t do anything rash.”

Neustatter’s innocent look was not any better than Bühler’s.


NESS Office

6:30 a.m., Saturday, June 30, 1635


Astrid watched the group gather in the NESS offices. Frau Boekhorst and Frau Želivský shared a room nearby. She and Neustatter had walked them home last night. Brother Václav entered with a down-timer in workman’s clothes. He was tall, about Neustatter’s height.

“Are you also a classmate of Casimir Wesner?” she asked.

“Yes. I am Mathew Woodruff,” he answered in English.

“Where were you yesterday?”

“Looking for Casimir. I checked his boardinghouse, the library, the stock exchange.”

“Are there more of you?”

Nein,” Miss Boekhorst answered. “The five of us work together when we have common interests.”

“Good. We can use everyone.” Neustatter surveyed his own people. “I do mean everyone. Our contract is for six guards during the day. Otto, you will lead that team today. Wolfram, Phillip, Miss von Kardorff, Friedrich, and Peter Johann. I wish we had someone to run the office.” He smiled. “Wolfram, Peter Johann, please go get Anna and Regina.”

Astrid blinked. Neustatter wasn’t kidding.

“Otto, you four can get started. Wolfram and Peter Johann will catch up.”

When Wolfram, Anna, Peter Johann, and Regina arrived, Neustatter said, “Dank dir for coming. Could the two of you run the office today, bitte?”

Anna looked uncertain. Wolfram stepped close and put his arm around her.

“All you need to do is talk to anyone who comes in and answer the phone,” Neustatter explained. “And if the men coming off duty come here, tell them to go home and sleep. All six of them.”

While Astrid showed them how the telephone worked, Neustatter spoke with Casimir Wesner’s classmates.

Afterward, she told Neustatter, “I did not hear everything. Do you want me with Brother Václav or with Mathew Woodruff?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You told Anna six men were coming back here, which means you think Hjalmar and Ditmar will not leave while Miss Želivský and Miss Boekhorst are nearby. So there are four of us who can investigate and four of Herr Wesner’s classmates. You will match us up. So, Václav or Woodruff?”

“Are you okay with Woodruff?”

Ja. He looks like he might be useful in a fight.”

Astrid looked the group over as they clustered up at the tram stop at the bottom of the slope to the high school. Miss Želivský and Miss Boekhorst will want to do actual searching, she thought, and Hjalmar and Ditmar are already at the fairgrounds. Neustatter will want to be close to the fairgrounds and the police station, too.

“What do I call you, Mister Woodruff?”

“Ha! I’m a farmer, miss. Or I was. Just Mathew.”

“I am Astrid. Or Miss Schäubin, when Neustatter is giving me orders.” She turned to her boss. “Neustatter, do you want Mathew and I to start at the State Library?”

Ja. Anyone who is downtown, when you hear the bells each hour, try to meet up outside the Exchange. Anyone at the fairgrounds, check in with Otto at the tech fair before you wander off.”


Grantville High School


Neither Casimir Wesner nor Sprunck nor D’Ambrosi were at the State Library—which was no great surprise. While Mathew Woodruff asked around to find out if any of the three had been seen, Astrid attempted to obtain Sprunck and D’Ambrosi’s home addresses.

“I am sorry, Miss Schäubin, but I cannot release that information,” the research librarian on duty told her. “You would not want me to release your home address, would you?”

“What if the police request it?” she parried. “I could call.”

“I need an actual subpoena.”

Astrid called the Grantville Police Department. After a long conversation, she hung up and turned to Mathew Woodruff, who had rejoined her during the call.

“The Grantville Police do not think they have enough evidence to convince the judge to issue a subpoena. We will have to find Sprunck and D’Ambrosi’s addresses some other way.”

“Are their addresses all you want? Finding them is easy,” Woodruff told her.

“Easy? The library will not give them to us.”

“The librarians will not give them to us,” Woodruff agreed. He led her to a bulletin board in the hallway outside the State Library.

“Researchers post their cards here so people can contact them with requests.” After a couple minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for. “Tobias Sprunck.”

Neither of them recognized the street address, but the State Library had a map of Grantville. It took a little while to search the map. The address turned out to be on the west side of town.

“Let us go find the others,” Woodruff declared.

They had almost an hour’s walk, so Astrid asked, “So tell me, Mathew, how do you fit in with the others?”

Woodruff said, “The five of us began the adult education classes at the same time. English, Civics, and Library Research. When we found something of interest to one of the others, we passed it on.”

“English, Civics, and Library Research,” Astrid repeated. “I have heard that combination called the espionage certificate.”

“I have heard the same,” Woodruff agreed.

“So are you a good spy or a bad spy?”

“With Stearns and Piazza’s open book policy, one hardly needs spies.”

Astrid upgraded her estimate of Woodruff. He knew she knew, and he was still unruffled.

“I am attempting the economics class.” He smiled mischievously. “Many fewer spies, which is a shame, because then they would understand the open book policy is perhaps the deadliest of all up-time weapons.”

“You should talk to Neustatter,” Astrid told him. “He makes the same claim for their movies. But the suspects—Sprunck and D’Ambrosi—were they in the same classes? Do they grasp this?”

“They enrolled in the same classes we did,” Woodruff explained, “except Sprunck was in Beginner English, I was in Advanced English, and the rest were in Intermediate English.”

“You are English,” Astrid noted. “But how did the others know the language?”

“Miss Boekhorst’s family works with dikes and hydraulics in the Low Countries. They deal with English merchants. Casimir worked for a bank in Altenburg. They had transactions for various military units. Václav and Miss Želivský are both from Bohemia. There have been enough English and Scottish mercenaries there, too.

“But, no, neither Sprunck nor D’Ambrosi has taken the economics class.”


Outside the Exchange

11 a.m.


Astrid and Mathew hadn’t been at the Exchange long before Neustatter and Václav arrived.

“The State Library will not give out researchers’ addresses, but Mathew knew where researchers post their cards. Sprunck’s address was on his card.”

Astrid watched Neustatter’s face. She knew he wanted to go straight to Sprunck’s address.

“Is Sprunck a violent man?” her boss asked.

Brother Václav seemed to consider his answer with care. “I believe he is ruthless and immoral. I have not seen him be violent, but it would not surprise me.”

“I suppose we ought to go to the police.” Neustatter sounded as though he regretted saying it.


Grantville Police Station


Chief Preston Richards sighed and reached for the stack of messages on his desk. The paperwork piled up, and it was going to get worse until the Fourth of July, the technology fair, and the rest of the messe were past. But back in ’32, the report of a cavalry sighting had gone unread the day before the Croat Raid. The chances of anything like it happening were low, but when you got right down to it, he simply couldn’t rule out John George of Saxony being that stupid.

He skimmed last night’s arrests. Flip. Tino Nobili wanted more officers downtown this week. Well, Press did, too, but he didn’t have any more, even with the MPs who’d been reassigned to the Grantville PD after the Dreeson Incident. His men and women had to sleep sometime. Flip. Last night’s arrests. He skimmed the list. About what he’d expected, although he was disappointed by one or two of the names. He thought he’d convinced them he, their families, and everybody else was tired of their drunk-and-disorderlies. Flip. Barbara Kellarmännin had a profile for him.

Richards hit a button on the intercom on his desk. “Mimi? Is Barbara Kellarmännin out there?”

“Yeah, Chief, she’s been sitting here all morning, watching people and taking notes. It’s creepy.”

“She’s practicing, Mimi. Please send her in.”

* * *

Barbara concluded with, “I think it would be arrogant for me to say, Sunshine’s stalker is this type.”

“But which types are you looking at?” Chief Richards pressed.

Barbara sighed. “I could be wrong.”

“That’s okay. Look, any screw-ups are on us. We’re the ones who had a man walk in, filed an assault complaint against the lifeguards, and then walk right back out without so much as giving us his name. Believe me, I’ve already had a talk with our front desk staff. They were busy, doing fourteen things at once. He stepped outside for some air and never came back. Which tells me he was up to no good. So, let’s hear the possibilities.”

“There are two,” Barbara told him. “One is 133 mixed sexual homicide. It fits, as long as we assume this was his first attempt. The other is 313.03.02 power reassurance rapist, adolescent.”

“Huh. Do you have the manual with you?” At her nod, he asked, “Mind if I take a look?”

She handed him the book, and Richards read the descriptions of each.

“I have an idea.”

“What is it?” the chief asked.

“If he has stalked other girls, then he would have taken items from them, too,” Barbara stated.

“Agreed.”

“You said there are no other reports of stalkers. He may be new to Grantville. Or he may stalk those who would not come to the police.”

Richards cocked his head. “Now that is an interesting thought. What sort of people do you have in mind?”

“Herr Chief Richards, are there . . . brothels . . . in Grantville?”

“Yes.” Richards sounded positive. “I could shut them down, but it would start a game of whack-a-mole and suck up a lot of resources I need elsewhere. Uh, whack-a-mole is a game . . . ”

Barbara was nodding.

“So there’s an understanding. One whiff of girls under 18, and I’ll raid the place with the whole department. If a girl wants to walk away, no contract will stand up in court.” His face darkened. “And no, you are not going to go question a brothel! Your parents would have my head.”

Barbara handed him a page. “I wrote down some questions. Some of your officers . . . ”

Chief Richards shook his head. “I’m not sure I can afford to take any officers off patrol.” Hearing the front door open and people trooping into the station, he stuck his head out of the office. “It’s Neustatter. He and his guys are helping with another case—”

“I know Neustatter.”

The chief and his rookie profiler exchanged glances.

“Neustatter! Step in here, please.”

“All right, good work,” Richards told them after Mathew Woodruff gave him Sprunck’s address. “We’ll check it out. It’s going to take me a while to reassign coverage to free up some officers.”

“We’ve got four NESS and four of Casimir’s friends,” Neustatter pointed out.

“No. Neustatter, we don’t know if this Sprunck has Wesner or not. If he does, we’re looking at a hostage situation. Let me call the Mounted Constabulary and the SoTF Marshals to see who they have near town. In the meantime, Barbara is investigating another case. Not to put too fine a point on it, but she needs to question some folks in a brothel. I’m not going to let her walk in there alone. But they won’t want to talk with police officers present. If you’re willing to provide bodyguards, I’ll make sure you’re on the perimeter when we go into Sprunck’s place.”

Neustatter glanced at the others.

“I will go to Casimir’s rooms,” Václav volunteered, “in case he has returned—although I do not believe I will find him there. But his neighbors in the boardinghouse may prove helpful.”

“I will check the Exchange on the hours,” Woodruff said. “I can question shopkeepers downtown and describe Casimir.”


Grantville’s north side

12:30 p.m.


“I do not expect any violence,” Neustatter stated. “But if I am wrong, Fräulein, run. Miss Schäubin, run with her and provide close security.”

“I will,” Barbara Kellarmännin agreed. “Does one knock on the door?”

Neustatter nodded to Astrid, who knocked and pulled the door open. He stepped inside, right hand close to his holster.

“Afternoon, Ma’am. Miss Kellarmännin here is investigating a stalker. It might be this person has been bothering people here. Might she have a few minutes of y’all’s time?”

The woman sitting at a small table gave him a hard look. “Time is money.”

Ja. We very politely did not bring the polizei so as not to take up much of your time. Just a few questions, bitte, so we can be gone long before any, ah, guests arrive.”

Astrid had to admire Neustatter’s approach.

The woman crossed her arms and sighed. “I am not pleased.” She rose and left the room. Astrid could hear her hollering. Within a few minutes, several women began filing into the room, almost filling it.

Neustatter nodded to Barbara.

Guten Morgen. I am a profiler. I study criminal behavior. Stopp! At this time, in my official capacity, your activities are not of interest to me.”

A couple of the women who had bolted for the door cautiously returned.

“I will describe a particular man. Tell me if this sounds like anyone you know, bitte.

“He is a down-timer, no taller than five feet four inches American system. He wears a cloak and hat. He is older than 30 but younger than 50. He is careful—very careful. He plans to the smallest detail, but if he is surprised or angry, he might forget his planning and act impulsively. He will not challenge another man unless he is surprised or angry. He works in the shadows.

“He is awkward around women, very bad at conversation. He would not know how to sweet talk you. But he leaves little presents. Jewelry. He takes things, too. These items might not be expensive but would remind him of you.”

Barbara watched them all, especially a blonde young woman who seemed little older than Barbara herself. The girl’s eyes were wide as saucers.

“You know whom I mean, do you not? Fräulein . . . ”

One of the older woman laughed harshly. “She is not a fräulein.” She went on to describe what she was.

“Enough!” Barbara snapped. “What is your name?”

The girl ducked her head. “Maria.”

“What is this man’s name?”

“Tobias. Tobias Sprunck.”

Sprunck? Astrid knew her eyes were just as big as Maria’s had been.

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No!” Maria shouted.

“We . . . ” Neustatter began, but Barbara cut him off with an upraised hand.

“Why do you not know?” Her voice was quiet. “It sounds like you do not want to know.”

“We work here, Fräulein. We do not go home with the men. Well, sometimes. But never with him.”

“Why not?”

Several of the women muttered, but Astrid couldn’t hear what they said.

“Go on. Tell her, girl,” one of the others urged Maria.

“There is something wrong with him,” Maria said. “He is not right inside. You are correct when you say he does not know how to talk to us. He brings little presents. We think he steals things. And afterwards, he always asks if we enjoyed it.”

Astrid heard Barbara mutter something that sounded like “power reassurance” but didn’t know what it meant.

Barbara was scanning the others. “Do you agree?”

The older woman who had spoken up before shook her head. “Sprunck never asks for me.”

Barbara nodded to the woman beside her.

Ja.

And to the next.

“He never asks for me, either.”

“He wants only blondes,” Barbara realized. Astrid watched her entire body tense. “Young blondes, am I correct?”

A chorus of ja answered her.

Neustatter tossed in a question. “Is Sprunck often in the company of another man named Giovanni D’Ambrosi?”

Barbara turned to stare at him. But several of the women giggled, and Barbara’s head snapped back around.

“What is funny?” she asked.

“Giovanni,” one of them said. “We do not mind seeing him at all. Do we, Maria?”

Barbara could have sworn the girl blushed.

“What is Giovanni like?” she asked.

“The opposite,” Maria answered. “Giovanni is nothing but sweet talk. He is adel, so he says, and has the fancy house and the servants to prove it. He calls it his embassy.”

“We call it ‘going to Italy,’” one of the other women said.

“Where is it?”

Neustatter took out his pad and copied down the answer.

“D’Ambrosi and Sprunck know each other?” Barbara asked.

Ja. Maybe friends, maybe business partners,” Maria answered again.

“Maria is quite taken with Giovanni,” one of the other women told them. “Sprunck is a good German from Chemnitz, but no, she must have the Italian.”

“Easy for a brunette like you to say,” one of the other blondes retorted.

Danke,” Barbara told them. “Especially you, Maria.” Astrid watched her pause. Then the Brethren girl blurted out, “Why do you stay here?”

The other women laughed.

But Maria didn’t. “I do not know how to do anything else.”

“The school?” Barbara prompted.

“No one wants a prostitute in their classes.”

“That can change.”

Astrid saw Barbara was looking at Neustatter. She could practically hear her boss’ eyes roll.

“I cannot hire everyone,” he protested.

“There must be something,” Barbara muttered. She raised her voice to a normal tone. “Danke.

Some of the women were muttering, too. But Maria looked wistful, in Astrid’s opinion.


12:55 p.m.


Once they were outside, Neustatter hurried them down the block and around a corner. He stopped and looked Barbara in the eye.

“Casimir Wesner is missing. His classmates—fellow spies, I should say—think Sprunck and maybe D’Ambrosi have something to do with it. Why are you after Sprunck?”

“Someone was stalking Sunshine Moritz, one of the lifeguards at the swimming pool. She is also young and blonde. Now I am sure Sprunck is the one who followed her, left items, and took others.”

“And possibly took Casimir,” Neustatter added. “Well, we know where he lives.”

“We need to tell Herr Chief Richards.”

Astrid was sure Neustatter was rolling his eyes again.


1:25 p.m.


Nevertheless, Neustatter led them back to the police station.

“We need to see Chief Richards,” Neustatter told the woman at the front desk. “Miss Kellarmännin has new information on both our cases.”

“The chief’ll be right back. There’s a problem at the State Library.”

“I was just there!” Astrid exclaimed. “It was quiet.”

“Just a couple of the adel trying to throw their weight around.” The dispatcher continued in an unruffled tone. “And a scaffolding collapsed at the fairgrounds and a couple people got hurt, so Chief Richards might swing by there before he comes back here.”

“Scaffolding?” Astrid asked. “The scaffolding in Buffalo Creek?”

“Yeah.”

Neustatter turned. “Miss Kellarmännin, stay here and wait for Chief Richards. Miss Schäubin, take Church Street to Kircher’s aqualator and make sure they are okay. Exchange information with Otto on the way.”

Astrid nodded. Neustatter wanted her to use the back way rather than go past the road Sprunck’s apartment was on. “Where will you be?”

“I will check to see if anyone is waiting at the Exchange and catch up to you.”


Hough Park

2:00 p.m.


Ja. The scaffolding in the creek collapsed,” Otto reported. “Lifeguards from the swimming pool saved a couple people. Ditmar and the Dutch girl got there right after it happened. He sent Hjalmar over here to tell me.”

Astrid frowned. “Sounds suspicious. The project was sabotaged yesterday, and it collapses today? Where is Hjalmar now?”

“He said he was going to meet the rest of you at the Exchange.”

Gut. Neustatter will find him there.”

Astrid continued on to the aqualator site. She found Frau Boekhorst and Ditmar there. And Georg. He looked up from examining some large boards long enough to give her a wave and a brief smile.

“Ditmar, Frau Boekhorst, do the polizei need you?” she asked.

“No,” Father Athanasius Kircher answered for them. “We cannot do anything until Georg is finished. There is no need for the rest of you to wait on pins and needles.

“Let’s meet up with Otto’s team,” Astrid suggested. “Neustatter told me to, so I know he will check for us there.”

Ditmar looked to Frau Boekhorst, who sighed and allowed him to talk her into it.

Within a few minutes, Astrid, Ditmar, and Otto were exchanging information.

“Neustatter!” Phillip Pfeffer called out.

Astrid looked up to see Neustatter and her brother Hjalmar hurrying toward them, along with Frau Želivský, Brother Václav, and Mathew Woodruff. Even at a distance, they looked grim.

Gut. Everyone is here,” Neustatter said by way of greeting as NESS agents gathered around him. “Team leaders and Casimir’s associates, bitte. What happened here?”

Frau Boekhorst explained the scaffolding had collapsed and lifeguards had rescued a man trapped underwater.

“Whoever did this almost has to be connected to Sprunck and D’Ambrosi,” Neustatter declared.

“Maybe the lifeguards saw something,” Ritter Friedrich suggested.

“It is possible,” Neustatter allowed. “Go ask, then come back here and report to Otto.”

The boy’s face lit up.

“Neustatter!” Krystal von Kardorff protested. “He just wants to see that girl.”

Neustatter raised an eyebrow but continued. “Otto, you and your team have to stay here. We do have a contract. So go patrol,” he told them. “Otto will update you later.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Neustatter pointed to Brother Václav. Astrid noticed the monk was wearing workman’s gloves.

He held out a torn piece of paper. “I checked Casimir’s boardinghouse again. This was delivered, addressed to Casimir Wesner’s associates. It is a ransom note. The kidnappers demand one hundred thousand USE dollars by tomorrow.”

Neustatter frowned. “The letters are not cut from a newspaper like they should be. Who handwrites a ransom note? Look at the backwards slant and those O’s. Anything else written by this man will be easy for the police to identify.”

He looked at each of Wesner’s classmates in turn. “Do you or Wesner or his patrons have this much money?”

“No,” Frau Boekhorst answered. “Oh, there was probably that much money wrapped up in the stock IPO Herr Wesner set up. But most of it belonged to the adel, not us.”

“The police are busy,” Neustatter stated. “Since Herr Woodruff found out where Sprunck lives, I think we should check it out.”

“Neustatter . . . ” Astrid began.

Neustatter held up a hand. “If the kidnappers are holding him there, I will send someone to go get the police. But now we know for sure someone kidnapped Casimir, so we must check.”


Franklin Manor

3:30 p.m.


An hour later, Neustatter and Astrid crept closer to the apartment buildings off Franklin Street Sprunck lived in. The long, narrow buildings were two stories tall. Instead of opening off a central hallway on each floor, every apartment had two floors and its own exterior doors. One was at ground level, and the one on the other side opened off the second floor, which put it right at the level of the parking lot on the steep slope behind the buildings.

Neustatter found Sprunck’s apartment number and tested the second-floor door. It was locked. He pulled something from his back pocket and slid it into the lock. After a couple minutes of fiddling, he swung the door open and slipped inside. Astrid paused and listened. She could just make out her brother’s voice on the other side of the building, asking directions to the fairgrounds to distract the neighbors. She followed Neustatter inside, making sure to close the door gently.

Neustatter was standing there in the middle of a sitting room, listening. After a couple minutes he made a zero with his thumb and forefinger, indicating he thought the apartment was unoccupied.

Astrid nodded in agreement.

Nevertheless, Neustatter pointed at Astrid and motioned with two fingers of his left hand toward his eyes, then pointed left and at the stairs. His meaning was plain enough; she was to watch the stairs and the door to the left while he cleared the room to the right.

Neustatter cleared right and left, then they made their way downstairs. The lower floor was one big room. A kitchen area, a dining area, and a sitting area were apparent, but there were no walls between them. There was a small bathroom in one corner, and Neustatter cleared it.

Neustatter holstered his .45. “What do you see, Miss Schäubin?”

Her answer was immediate. “No women live here. There is no decoration at all. The central room upstairs is unused, as is the sitting area over there. The kitchen is clean and organized. I suspect Tobias Sprunck does not eat at home very often.”

“It fits with what I saw in the bedrooms upstairs. One really is a bedroom. The other appears to be his laboratory.”

They searched the lower floor.

“There is nothing here, Neustatter,” Astrid stated. “This is a lot of room for one man, and he uses very little of it.”

“It is. Sprunck must have money and desire privacy. Let us search upstairs.”

Astrid assessed the bedroom. It was neater than she expected. Sprunck seemed to collect knickknacks, particularly colorful ones. She’d once heard an up-timer refer to that tendency as “bright shiny object syndrome.” Up-timers had some strange ideas. But after she saw a pocket calculator, a stapler, a four-color pen, an up-time woman’s compact, and a couple handfuls of change, she decided perhaps they had a point.

She stepped back to get an impression of the whole room. Framed sketches on the walls drew her attention—they seemed out of place for a spy. She crossed the room and studied each sketch up close. Each was of a different light-haired woman. They were quality work—but disturbing. Every single one of the women looked scared. And one of them looked like one of the women from the brothel.

She spotted another framed sketch lying on a side table and frowned. It is framed, so why is it not hanging on the wall? Astrid picked it up and recognized Maria at once. That’s creepy. And it is heavy. She turned the picture over. It had a wooden backing. Why bother? Oh—I think this slides . . . She fumbled—gloves were awkward—but managed to slip the backing out of the frame. It was two thin pieces of wood . . . with folded pages between them.

She flicked them open and saw rows of letters and symbols. The key to the coded message Bühler carried!

Neustatter stuck his head in. “I searched the laboratory. I am no scientist or mechanic, but seems to me to be a little of this, a little of that. There is no single purpose. I cannot tell if any of the equipment is hot.”

Astrid showed him the sketch and the papers.

“Nice work.” Neustatter peered closer. “I think it is the same backwards slant the ransom note was written in.”

Astrid used his lockpick to flip to the second page. She gasped. “Neustatter! There’s a symbol for D’Ambrosi! And another for Bühler.”

“And a bunch of other words.” Neustatter already had his pad out and was copying those symbols.

Astrid spoke slowly. “I think I remember this sun and this box and shield from the note that Bühler had on him.”

Neustatter stopped writing and looked at the key. “It means ‘D’Ambrosi house.’ I bet they have Casimir over there. Quickly, put everything back as you found it.”

“What if there is more behind the other sketches?” Astrid asked.

Neustatter grabbed the nearest one from the wall. It, too, had a wooden backing. He slid it free of the frame. There were indeed pages inside.

Astrid saw Neustatter make a face. “What is it?”

Neustatter’s words were clipped. “More sketches of women. With no clothes.”

He reassembled everything and hung the sketch back on the wall. “We know where D’Ambrosi lives. It’s not far from here.”

As they locked Sprunck’s door, Astrid murmured, “Neustatter, I seem to do entirely too much breaking and entering.”

Nein, just enough.”

A few minutes later, they met up with Hjalmar, Ditmar, and Casimir’s classmates.

“I was about to bring the cavalry,” Hjalmar stated.

“Astrid found the key to the message Bühler carried,” Neustatter stated. “I think the writing matches the ransom note, which means Sprunck’s group kidnapped Casimir, stalked the up-time girl, sabotaged the scaffolding, and stole the rabbits. Everyone is working the same case. And we are running out of time. We need to storm that house. Come—we will talk as we walk.”

“Neustatter?” Astrid pulled him aside. “I think Chief Richards will want the police to do it.”

“We do not have time for that.” Neustatter held up a hand. “No, I am serious. Everything we just learned at Sprunck’s will not count. The police will have to discover it for themselves.”

“But—”

“Yes, Georg could do it. But could you and I guide him into discovering everything in time?”

“Oh.” Astrid grimaced. Nein, Georg would certainly realize we were trying to direct him. She had one last concern. “The women?”

“Keep it between us. Once we rescue Casimir, the polizei will search Sprunck’s apartment. Georg will have all the time he needs to find it, and Miss Kellarmännin will know what it means. And they will not have gotten it from us, so it will be admissible. Or perhaps admissible anyway, but carry more weight.”

As soon as they set out, Ditmar asked, “Storm it how, Neustatter? I have been out that way. With all the new construction, there is very little cover, other than the houses themselves. Und there are civilians everywhere, especially this week. We have to go in hard and fast, and if they are keeping any sort of watch, they will open fire before we can get close.”

“True,” Neustatter acknowledged. “If we come in from the back . . . ”

“We will still need a distraction in front,” Ditmar pointed out. “Like Hjalmar and I did at Sprunck’s apartment.”

“What if we just walk by?” Miss Boekhorst suggested. “Then run to the door?”

Neustatter shook his head. “If they have powerful enough rifles, they could shoot us right through the walls. We need actual cover to get close. And if we stay too far back, they will realize the group in front is a distraction.”

Miss Želivský’s eye lit up. She looked at Miss Boekhorst. “The tank!”

“What tank?” Hjalmar asked. “The water tanks at the fairgrounds?”

“A tank,” she repeated. “Well, an APC.”

“They are with the army, are they not?”

“The new one we have been building. We were going to unveil it in the Fourth of July parade.”

“You build APCs?” Neustatter demanded.

“We are trying,” she said. “Die Böhmen und Thüringen Dampfpanzer Gesellschaft. The Bohemian and Thuringian Steam Tank Organization. It is a joint venture. We will announce an IPO at the end of the parade.”

“Who knows you build APCs?”

“It uses steam so there are pipes. I trade information about pipes with Josyntjie and Václav.”

“Does Casimir have anything to do with it? Could Sprunck and Giovanni kidnapped him because he knows about APCs?”

“Neustatter, he knows my company is trying to build an APC. So what? Other companies are trying to build them, too. I do not think Casimir knows much about how they work, but he did give us suggestions about financing and how to set up the IPO.”

“Does any dollar amount connected to the company or the IPO match the ransom demand?” Neustatter pressed.

Nein, not that I know of.”

“Then I have only one more question,” Neustatter said. “Does it work?”


4:30 p.m.


Neustatter turned left, into the fairgrounds. He passed the ticket booth and the first food booth before turning left again, taking the foot bridge across Buffalo Creek.

Mathew Woodruff spoke up. “Neustatter, I always had the impression D’Ambrosi lived further out than this.”

Neustatter nodded to the tall Englishman. “He does—in the new village called Happy Acres. We need a staging area, what up-timers call an objective rally point.”

“Neustatter . . . ” Ditmar Schaub began.

“Just like Reserves,” Neustatter assured him. “We need a place for everyone to meet up and go over the plan before we divide back up into our teams.”

“Why here?”

“Because the swimming pool has a telephone, and since we can tell the girl lifeguard who her stalker is and that we are going to go take care of him, I figure she will let us make a call.”


Grantville Swimming Pool

4:35 p.m.


Neustatter swung the gate open and entered the pool area, with Astrid, Ditmar, Miss Boekhorst, Mathew Woodruff, and Brother Václav following.

“Hey! You can’t go swimming like that!” The sudden yell brought them up short. A muscular young man clad in swimming trunks with a whistle on a lanyard around his neck stepped in front of Neustatter.

An up-timer, Astrid thought, but it was becoming harder to tell as more and more down-timers living in West Virginia County acquired a certain sense of . . . self-confidence. Neustatter, who had never lacked one, stared back at a young man whose posture was more arrogant than his experience was likely to warrant. Look at me, not so many years older and with my own share of . . . self-confidence, Astrid told herself.

“We do not want to swim,” Neustatter stated. “Who is in charge here?”

The fit young man turned his head and hollered, “Hawker!”

Astrid spotted another young man, also wearing swimming trunks, already approaching. He was less bulky, wirier. And he seemed to have an air of authority about him.

Neustatter seemed to think so, too. “Are you the commanding officer?”

He laughed. “Never heard it put that way, but yes.” He held out a hand. “Hawker Baldwin.”

“Edgar Neustatter.” They shook.

“That’s lieutenant, if you’re going to use rank,” the other lifeguard cracked.

“Sir,” Neustatter added.

Hawker waved it away. “An up-time reference. I have eight men including myself. Uh, seven men and one woman.”

Neustatter smiled. “I started Neustatter’s European Security Services with eight men and one woman. But I understand she has a stalker?”

Astrid watched Hawker Baldwin’s expression darken.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I accompanied Miss Barbara Kellarmännin on an assignment today. We know who the stalker is, and we are going to go get him . . . for additional reasons. May I use your telephone?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s right over here.” Hawker turned to the other lifeguard. “Acton, take the chair. Sunshine and I might be a while.”

While Neustatter was on the phone, Hawker stepped away and returned with the female lifeguard. Astrid could tell the blonde girl was in excellent physical shape because she wasn’t wearing very much. Astrid decided she would prefer something a little more . . . well, quite a lot more.

Astrid did a double-take when Miss Boekhorst greeted the girl with, “Fräulein Moritz.”

She smiled. “Frau Boekhorst. And it’s just Sunshine. No one else fell in, did they?”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

While Miss Boekhorst brought Sunshine up to date, Astrid observed her cousin Ditmar was paying at least as much attention to Miss Boekhorst as he was to Sunshine. Interesting. Meanwhile, Woodruff and Brother Václav were talking with Hawker Baldwin.

Neustatter returned.

“Can I assume you called the police?” Hawker asked him.

“I will call them in a few more minutes,” Neustatter promised. “We need everyone in the right place, in the right order.”

“Neustatter,” Miss Boekhorst asked, “who did you call?”

“Teams One and Two.” Neustatter looked pleased with himself. “They will make good time on Sycamore Avenue. D’Ambrosi’s so-called embassy is at Number Eleven, Happy Acres, so Miss Želivský and Team One will go in the front way and keep D’Ambrosi and Sprunck distracted while Teams Two and Three use Len Trout Drive to come in the back. Team Two and I will breach the house and free Casimir.”

“You can’t blow up a Happy Acres hou—!” Sunshine bit off the protest mid-word. “Did you say the stalker is in Happy Acres?” she demanded.

Ja, we believe so,” Neustatter told her. “He was not in his own apartment, so he may be at D’Ambrosi’s, along with Casimir Wesner, who has been kidnapped.”

Sunshine stared at him, open-mouthed and clearly horrified. “Happy Acres is my dad’s development,” she managed. “It’s on our farm. There’s no way to sneak up on a house until it gets dark.” She flushed. “I mean, if I kidnapped someone, I’d have henchmen watching from the hideout, not being complete idiots like on TV.”

“Sunshine—” Hawker began.

“She is correct,” Neustatter stated. “Where is Number Eleven Happy Acres?”

“It backs up against Buffalo Creek. Not right opposite Buffalo Street, but a little further along the bend in the creek.”

Neustatter grimaced. “Just the roads in, then. We can try to sneak along the tree line, but . . . ”

“Unless you cross Buffalo Creek,” Sunshine pointed out.

“We can ford a stream, but Buffalo Creek—”

“I can do it.”

“Sunshine—” Hawker began.

“C’mon, Hawker, how is this different from our rescue this afternoon?”

You and I can swim across Buffalo Creek,” Hawker allowed. “But with a rope.”

“Hawker!”

“Sunshine, have you swum that stretch of Buffalo Creek before? Since the Ring of Fire, I mean.”

“Only jumped in to cool off,” she admitted.

“Both of us, with rope,” Hawker insisted.

“That will work,” Neustatter agreed. “Because once you are across, you can tie the rope to a tree, and we can slide across.”

“Neustatter—” It was Astrid’s turn to protest the plan.

“We tie ropes around our waists and hook onto the main rope,” Neustatter explained. “Then pull ourselves along.”

“If you had carabiners, it might work,” Hawker allowed.

Neustatter just smiled.

“I do not know what that is,” Astrid admitted, “but if those are the little metal loops with the hinged opening, Neustatter had Karl make several and makes us carry them in our saddlebags.”

Neustatter shrugged. “After the Fire Department had to rescue a woman partway up the Ring Wall last year, it seemed prudent we be able to climb if needed.”

“I think we should call the police now,” Hawker stated.

“Sprunck and D’Ambrosi will panic even faster if they see polizei than if they see us,” Neustatter pointed out. “And if they panic, they might kill Casimir. We can rescue him if you can get us across Buffalo Creek.”

Hawker sighed. “Fine—if you’ve got the rope and carabiners. For whatever reason, I hung onto the walkie-talkies.”

“Did you now?” Neustatter grinned. “Miss Moritz, tell me about the layout of these Happy Acres houses, bitte.


Buffalo Creek

6:00 p.m.


As the carillon bells tolled six times, Sunshine Moritz and Hawker Baldwin slipped into the water. They struck out across Buffalo Creek in the lifeguards’ crawl stroke, heads above water. Each trailed a rope. Hjalmar and Karl watched the coils, making sure the rope played out evenly. The near ends were already tied around a couple trees.

Neustatter whirled and pointed at Brother Václav. “Go to the police station. Tell Chief Richards, Georg, and Miss Kellarmännin everything.”

The Premonstratensian monk was unhappy at being sent away from the action, but he had agreed he was the logical choice.

A steam engine rumbled on Buffalo Street, and Neustatter’s walkie-talkie crackled.

“Team One, in the APC,” came Ditmar’s voice.

“Team Two, east bank,” Neustatter replied.

“Team Three. We have the back road closed,” Astrid reported.

“Who is this? Get off the fire department channel!” a fourth voice ordered.

“Sorry, meine herren. I need your channel. Tell Herr Chief Matheny I’m good for beers later.”

Neustatter ignored the response and watched the lifeguards. They had started upstream of where they meant to reach shore. The current carried them downstream. Although Buffalo Creek was wider here than in the park, the drift amounted to only a few feet.

Sunshine touched right where she’d said she would and scrambled partway up the bank. She stopped, and Neustatter saw her head turn from side to side. Hawker pulled himself up next to her, and they went over the top together. Seconds later, they untied the ropes from around their waists, pulled them taut, and secured them around a pair of trees. Neustatter waited until both of them flashed the up-time okay sign, then he clipped a carabiner to the rope wound around his waist and legs. Next, he clipped it around one of the ropes now spanning Buffalo Creek.

Neustatter grabbed the rope with both gloves, slipped below it, and swung first one leg, then the other, over the top. Then he started pulling himself along, hand over hand. He looked back to see Hjalmar handling the process more awkwardly—because he had a rifle slung across his chest.

Neustatter kept going. He felt the rope shake as Jakob swung on. He couldn’t see him, but he could see Karl click onto Hjalmar’s rope.

“Almost. You’re doing fine.”

Neustatter tipped his head back and saw Hawker standing on the bank, about seven yards away. He continued to pull himself along.

“Okay, you’re there,” came Hawker’s voice. “Let me get the carabiner.”

Once it was released from the rope, Neustatter let go with his legs and dropped to the ground.

“Nice climb,” Hawker told him.

“Nice swim,” Neustatter returned.

Hjalmar made it across. Sunshine and Neustatter got him unhooked from the line. He nodded his thanks, unslung his rifle, and dropped to the grass.

“Still no one at the back windows,” he reported.

Neustatter turned his attention back to the first rope. Jakob’s speed shinnying across made him wonder whether the man had done something like this before—which was good, because Jakob was the key to the whole operation.

Richart, on the other hand, was struggling. He was the third and final man on the first rope. He’d gotten hooked up okay but was struggling to pull himself along.

Neustatter studied him and spotted why. “Richart!” he hissed. “Use your legs. Don’t just grab the rope with them.”

He spared the second rope no more than a glance. Karl Recker’s sheer bulk might have hindered him a bit, but his powerful blacksmith’s arms more than made up for it.

Richart paused halfway across.

“Come on, you got this!” Hawker called. “Slide your feet up and push.”

It wasn’t how Neustatter would describe it, but the lifeguard’s advice seemed to help.

Static crackled, and from somewhere on Neustatter’s belt came the words, “The APC is crossing the bridge.”

Neustatter pulled the walkie-talkie free. “Two. West bank.”

“Three. In position.”

Neustatter’s other hand came down on Jakob’s shoulder, and he pointed with the walkie-talkie. Jakob sprinted to the back door of #11 Happy Acres while Hjalmar and Karl covered the windows with their rifles.

“We will get your last man,” Hawker whispered.

Neustatter nodded his thanks and dashed after Jakob.


Car Three

6:09 p.m.


Officer Blake Haggerty had been assigned Car Three today and was pretty happy about it. Instead of keeping an eye on the crowds in Grantville, he was out in “the county.” He was north of Sundremda with intentions of swinging past Castle Hills and the developments on the Rudolstadt road before easing past just enough pedestrians to grab dinner at the Freedom Arches. He’d eat leaning against his vehicle so he didn’t spill anything inside. He had to turn the vehicle over to Stoltz and Vorkeuffer for the overnight shift.

The squad car radio crackled. “All units, report of an APC in the town square turning onto Buffalo Street. Car Two, Car Three, all downtown patrols respond.”

Haggerty rolled his eyes. The Army was probably just checking out the July 4 parade route.

“Dispatch, Patrol Six. I have the APC in sight. That is not a coal truck.”

“10-9, Patrol Six.”

“I say again, it is not one of the Army’s coal trucks.”

“Car Two, Car Three, 10-39 Grantville.”

Haggerty sprayed gravel as he made a quick three-point turn.


Police Station

6:11 p.m.


Having parked his vehicle and hit the restroom, Chief Preston Richards sank into the chair behind his desk at what he hoped was the end of a long day. He reached for the stack of paperwork. The stack was getting taller, but at least there weren’t any reports of unidentified horsemen. And Melanie had gotten off shift on time so she could pick up the kids. They both knew this was going to be a tough week, but he hoped to get home while dinner was still warm and play with the kids for a while.

Jill McConnell stuck her head into his office.

“Press, there’s a report of an APC headed west on Buffalo. Mimi said to tell you right away.”

Chief Richards looked up from his stack of papers. “Call Camp Saale and ask what they’re doing.”

Jill was back in less than two minutes.

“It’s not a coal truck, and Camp Saale says it’s not theirs.”

Press froze for an instant. “Get the nearest officers over to the National Guard artillery battery at the fairgrounds! Then get Lane Grooms on the phone!”

Jill jumped back out of his way. By the time he finished speaking, Press was two steps from the office door and moving fast.

He collided with Brother Václav in the hallway.

“Herr Chief! We think we know where they have Casimir!”


Len Trout Road

6:13 p.m.


Astrid Schäubin’s horse was as impatient as she was. The horse just had to turn halfway around. She tweaked the reins in her left hand. The mare had just decided that meant she could try to circle in the other direction when the walkie-talkie in Astrid’s right hand crackled.

“Team One. APC approaching Number Eleven.”

“Two, door is open. Entering.”

Astrid spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Three approaching.”

She, Wolfram, and Phillip nudged their horses forward. A shot rang out, then another, and another. A full-fledged gunfight broke out at the front of #11.


#11 Happy Acres

6:14 p.m.


Jakob was a lot faster with lockpicks than Neustatter was. He turned the knob and swung the door open. It didn’t squeak at all.

Neustatter eased into the kitchen. It was just as Miss Moritz had described. He made his way past a serving table far too ornate for this sort of kitchen to double doors on the left-side wall. They should open to the dining room. He listened and heard nothing. Neustatter pointed at the doors and slid by them. He wanted the door straight ahead, in the left corner of the far wall. It should open into the first-floor hallway.

Behind him, Richart slipped into the dining room. Hjalmar took position at the double doors between the two rooms.

“Richart says it’s clear!” he hissed at Neustatter.

Neustatter waved Karl forward. “Hjalmar, on your count we open both doors.”

Hjalmar relayed that. Then: “One . . . two . . . three.”

Neustatter pulled the door to the hallway open. At the same time, three feet ahead, a door on the left side of the hallway opened. Richart’s shotgun barrel poked out, aimed down the hallway.

“They will have Casimir upstairs,” Neustatter murmured. He waved Jakob forward and handed him his walkie-talkie.

“Jakob, stay here and talk to the others. Richart, you and I will go up the back stairs. Hjalmar, Karl, keep anyone in the front rooms pinned down, but don’t take risks.”

Neustatter stepped to the left and edged several feet along the wall to the next door. Another well-built, quiet door swung open. He and Richart were halfway up the stairs when they heard what must be the APC out in front of the house.

The first shot rang out seconds later. The tremendous crashing sound told Neustatter it had been fired from inside, and the tinkling of glass indicated the shooter hadn’t bothered opening the window first.

Neustatter charged up the stairs, pulled open the door at the top, and swung around to his left as a flurry of shots echoed up the stairs. He saw the banister above the front stairs, a door on each side of the hallway, and the window at its far end. A short, slender man barreled out of the door on the right, pistol in hand. He was already turning toward the window.

“Drop it!” Neustatter barked.

The man swung around, bringing the pistol up. Neustatter fired twice at the center of mass. Hit both times, the man dropped. At the same time, another man, this one much burlier, charged out of the same room. Neustatter saw his pistol coming around as he brought his own on target.

A deafening crash threw the man into the wall. Richart stepped past Neustatter and pumped his sixteen-gauge shotgun. Neustatter, ears ringing, turned toward the back bedroom.


6:16 p.m.


Team Three’s horses galloped the couple hundred yards to the back door of #11. Astrid swung down and ran to the back door with Wolfram and Phillip right behind her. She peered around the jamb, eyes and pistol tracking together. The kitchen was empty. Astrid hadn’t needed Sunshine’s description of the first floor of a Happy Acres house; Happy Acres had built the houses in the Anabaptist settlement, and Astrid had visited Georg Meisner’s family a few times now. She went straight through the kitchen to the hallway door. Phillip was covering her, and Wolfram was at the back door. Somebody needed to watch their backs, and she didn’t want to risk their medic.

She spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Three. In the dining room.”

“This is Jakob, in the hall—”

Shots rang out inside the house. Pistols, Astrid realized. Then an exchange of fire. Heavier weapons. Ditmar’s team outside. She threw the hallway door open. Jakob was emptying his cap-and-ball revolver into the doorway of the front right room while Hjalmar and Karl sped down the other side of the hallway. They reached the doors. Hjalmar went right. Karl went left. Two rifles thundered, and then all was quiet inside.

“Clear!” Her brother’s shout seemed distant.

“Clear!” So did Karl’s.

“One, this is Three. Cease fire!” It was probably unnecessary, but NESS agents were all over the house, and she didn’t want Ditmar’s team to hit one of their own.

She slipped into the hall just in time for a tremendous boom from overhead to make her wince.

Astrid had needed Sunshine’s information about the second floor. According to the lifeguard, the front stairs were out in the open, and the second-floor hallway had a protective banister above them. But the back stairs had a door at the top which swung inward toward the stairs. It hadn’t made any sense to Astrid until she realized the Meisners’ house was backwards. Their kitchen door faced the road, while their “back” door opened to a beautiful view from the top of the mountain.

The upstairs hallway was supposed to have five doors: a master bedroom and bathroom on one side with the door for the back stairs between them and two more bedrooms on the other side.

Astrid started up the stairs two at a time but slowed when she heard no more gunfire. The door at the top was open, and she noted a bullet had splintered the door jamb high up.

“Neustatter!”

“Here!”

Astrid’s ears were still ringing, but she thought the shout came from the back bedroom. She dashed down the hallway and peeked around the corner.

Neustatter had a man at gunpoint who matched the description of Giovanni D’Ambrosi. Beyond him, a man was slumped over, tied to a chair—Casimir Wesner.

Even though D’Ambrosi was shouting something, she still had to concentrate before she could make it out.

“This is outrageous! An act of war, Signore! Against the Duchy of Castro!”

Neustatter’s finger tightened on the trigger of his .45.

“I have diplomatic immunity!”

Nein, Neustatter!” Astrid shouted. “You cannot shoot him! It is not like the movie!”

“Kneel!” Neustatter ordered.

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! I surrender!”

“Kneel!” Neustatter growled.

D’Ambrosi knelt.

“Hands on your head! Cross your ankles!”

Astrid almost laughed at the confused look on D’Ambrosi’s face.

“Put. Your. Hands. On. Your. Head.” Neustatter spoke with slow menace.

D’Ambrosi complied.

“Now. Put one ankle over the other.”

This time D’Ambrosi figured it out.

Neustatter lunged forward, grabbed D’Ambrosi by the shoulder while holding his pistol well clear, and yanked the man forward. D’Ambrosi fell flat on his face.

“Cover him, Miss Schäubin.”

“Got him.” Astrid leveled her .22 at his head.

Neustatter hurried over to Wesner and started untying him from the chair.

Astrid keyed the walkie-talkie. “Medic! Medic!” Before she could let up on the key, something small and furry shot past her feet. “Rabbit!”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Wolfram went straight to Wesner and felt for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” Wolfram announced at once. He examined the man. “I do not see anything life-threatening, but we need to get him to Leahy so they can check for internal injuries.”

Astrid’s brother Hjalmar came in. “Neustatter, I think we got them all.” He, too, was speaking louder than usual and jerked a thumb at the two lifeguards entering behind him. “These two came in.”

“To help you move him,” Sunshine said. She was dripping water on the floor. But given the number of bullet holes the house had just acquired, Astrid didn’t think anyone was going to make a big deal over having to mop the floor.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Hawker added.

“Ah, Neustatter?” Astrid didn’t take her eyes off D’Ambrosi. “I’m not hearing very well, but I think those are sirens. The police are probably going to be upset.”

“Right,” Neustatter acknowledged. “Okay. Carry Casimir downstairs. We will take him to Leahy in the APC. I will bring the prisoner downstairs. Everyone else, outside. Pistols holstered, long arms at parade rest. Make a flashy formation.”


Car Three

6:17 p.m.


Dispatch had said 10-39, so Blake Haggerty blew past the power plant at fifty miles an hour, the fastest he’d driven since the Ring of Fire, with lights flashing and siren blaring. He skidded a little where Buffalo Street curved to the left and then braked to make the turn to Happy Acres. Car Three shot across the bridge and rolled up on a firefight.

“10-32!” Haggerty radioed. “10-33! 10-34! All of ’em!” Man with a gun. Emergency. Riot. That’s a friggin’ tank!

The vehicle was long, boxy, and looked vaguely like the offspring of a railroad engine and a shipping container. It had a steam engine in front—the twin smokestacks gave it away—and the engineer’s compartment in the middle stuck out above and to both sides of the steam engine, giving the engineer a view of what lay ahead. The smokestacks were thin and canted diagonally outward, presumably also for visibility forward.

It had no turret, for which Haggerty was profoundly grateful, but the shipping container-like back end pretty much had to be a troop compartment. Tank or APC—Officer Haggerty didn’t care about the technical difference at the moment. Metal sloped sides with loopholes meant shooters inside, and he doubted very much anything he carried could penetrate.

Nevertheless, he reached for the riot shotgun, chambered a round, and pushed the driver’s door open. Officer Haggerty took position behind the front of his vehicle, figuring the engine block was the only thing likely to stop gunfire.

Haggerty spotted a couple people running toward the scene. Both were carrying long arms, and they paused behind a house. He spotted a few doors and windows open, too, and figured the residents were ready to open fire.

Then he realized the firefight was over.

A hatch opened, and a couple infantryman hopped out and cautiously approached the house. The front door opened, and two men eased one end of an improvised stretcher out. A couple more brought up the other end.

Haggerty shouted, “Freeze! Drop your weapons!”

The infantrymen rather casually holstered pistols or slung rifles and assembled in—there was no other word for it—formation. Except for one rifleman who poked a rifle barrel out of the loopholes of the armored vehicle. Crap!

Then a hatch on the side of the tank popped open, and a pretty blonde-haired woman stuck her head out. “Casimir!” she cried.

Haggerty heard sirens and decided to wait for backup. Within a minute, the chief’s vehicle skidded to a stop, and a pickup trundled up towing a . . . cannon? Well, good. Somebody’s thinking.

Chief Richards, a monk, and two civilians piled out of the police SUV. Haggerty recognized one of them as Meisner, one of the new forensics guys. He had no idea who the girl was or why the chief had brought a monk. What was important for the moment was two more cops and several blue-coated National Guardsmen were piling out the back of the pickup.

The National Guard officer who’d been riding shotgun in the pickup demanded, “What is going on here?”

Two men manhandled a third out the front door. His hands were bound behind him. A man and a woman followed, both holding pistols on the struggling man.

“This is an outrage! An act of war!” he sputtered. “You have declared war on the Duchy of Castro! A gross violation of—”

“Who?” the officer demanded. His tone of voice suggested he’d never heard of the place.

“The Duchy of Castro! Ruled by the Duke of Parma! An ally of—”

Ja, ja. A Spanish puppet.” The officer literally waved it away and turned his attention elsewhere. “Neustatter?”

The man with the drawn pistol holstered it, stepped forward, and saluted.

“Colonel Stieff! Congratulations on the promotion, sir!”

“Just tell me what happened, Neustatter.” Stieff didn’t quite growl.

“This man D’Ambrosi and his Saxon partner Sprunck kidnapped this man, a USE citizen”—Neustatter pointed at Casimir on the improvised stretcher—“and held him here in what D’Ambrosi calls his embassy. Sir, we need the APC to take him to Leahy.”

Chief Richards stepped in. “Are there any continuing threats?”

“No, Chief.”

“Does anyone else need medical attention?”

“Just Casimir Wesner.”

“Where’d this thing come from?” Richards demanded.

The woman in the hatch shouted down to him. “Die Böhmen und Thüringen Dampfpanzer Gesellschaft.”

Neustatter whistled something.

“Shut up, Neustatter. I can tell it’s a war wagon. I do not need the friggin’ theme song.” Chief Richards rocked back a little and addressed the woman standing up in the hatch. “Huh. I knew you had a secret project. Wasn’t expecting . . . this. All right, get him in the back. Blake, make sure all the shooters are out of that thing, then turn your siren on and escort them to Leahy. Neustatter, send your medic and . . . Hawker Baldwin, you’re qualified. No, I think I’d rather you tell me why you and Sunshine Moritz look like you went for a swim in the middle of Neustatter’s firefight.”

Another pickup truck skidded to a stop. The door flew open, and the driver ran toward the house.

“Unless I miss my guess,” Richards continued, “so does your dad.”

“Aw, crap,” Sunshine muttered.

“What’s going on here?!” Ted Moritz demanded. “Sunshine! Why are you—”

Chief Richards held up a hand. “We were just getting to that.” He glared at Neustatter. “Let’s start out with why you assaulted a house without calling the police first.”

“My embassy, I remind you!” D’Ambrosi shouted.

“Chief, your officers cannot enter an embassy without permission.” Neustatter gestured toward his NESS agents, all of whom were now in a loose formation of three ranks. “We are National Guard Reservists, and since D’Ambrosi had already committed an act of war by kidnapping . . . ”

Richards held up a hand. “Half your men are Reservists, Neustatter.”

“Which is why Brother Václav called Colonel Stieff before he found you,” Neustatter continued.

Richards’ eyes narrowed. “Neustatter, you could have told both Colonel Stieff and the police a lot sooner.”

“Someone had to get in without being seen in order to avoid a standoff,” Neustatter explained. “And this way you both have plausible deniability, Chief Richards.”

“Hrrmmphh.” Richards strode to his SUV and reached in the window for the radio. “Dispatch, Car One. Situation resolved. Tell Mayor Carstairs and Colonel Grooms they do not need to sound the raid siren. I say again, do not sound the raid siren. Repeat that back. Over.”

Once he was satisfied dispatch had it correct, Richards walked back over and glared at Neustatter. He held his thumb and forefinger almost together. “You came this close to sending all of Grantville to battle stations.” He put his hands on his hips. “Let me see if I have this straight. Saxony—and some city in Italy I’ve never heard of—were running an espionage ring in Grantville. One of their agents was a perv and a stalker. So, NESS decided to be the National Guard and assault an embassy.” His eyes fell on the girl in the white bikini. “Sunshine Moritz, what are you doing here? I thought one of my officers already told you lifeguards to stop trying to be cops.”

“Hawker and I swam across Buffalo Creek with ropes so NESS could slide across and sneak in the back door. The APC was just a distraction.”

“Naturally.” Richards rolled his eyes and looked back at Neustatter. “And once you were inside . . . ”

“It was just like shooting fish in a barrel,” Neustatter agreed.

* * *

“Walk you home?” Hawker asked Sunshine.

“Hm?”

“I asked if I could walk you home.”

“It’s right over there.” She started to point, then shook her head. “Sure. Please. Thanks.”

“You okay?” Hawker asked.

“Yeah. Now that it’s all over, I’m kinda weirded out,” Sunshine confessed. “Have I told you how much buildings in the water creep me out?”

Hawker seemed to be looking at her carefully, as if she were a patient. “No, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it before.”

“Well, they do. And broken buildings in the water? Definitely icky.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Because we pretty much have to tell your parents about it,” Hawker continued. “You’re a hero. Heroine.”

Sunshine finally smiled. “I am not an illegal drug.”

“Fine. Heroeen. Whatever.”

A while later, Sunshine was dressed in dry clothes and seated on the living room couch with her mother, while her father and Hawker occupied armchairs. They were all drinking chicory coffee, which normally Sunshine wouldn’t touch.

“I want to tell you about a rescue Sunshine made this afternoon,” Hawker began. “A man trapped underwater in Buffalo Creek . . . ”

“I’m not sure I’m picturing this correctly,” Ted Moritz mused sometime later. “The whole wooden barrier collapsed?”

“No,” Sunshine answered. “A couple sections came away from the metal framework. At least one of the metal pipes was bent, and another sheared off.” An idea struck. “Do you have the pad you use for sketching the house designs?”

“Uh . . . yeah.” Her dad retrieved it from his desk and handed it to her.

Sunshine looked at his drawings of the new Castle Hills design and flipped the page. She started sketching what she remembered of the scaffolding around the fountains in Buffalo Creek. Her father watched over her shoulder as the boards in the water took shape.

“We attached the ropes here and here.”

“Your idea?”

“Well, it’s sort of like flipping the wall up to a Happy Acres house.”

“Huh. Oh, terrible angle,” Ted Moritz mused. “No leverage from above—that’s why you had to lift the wall off him first, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Sunshine was pleased her dad could figure it out from her drawing, which wasn’t all that good.

“Yeah, we had to make sure the wall rotated the right way,” Hawker put in.

“Y’know, it’s something we don’t have when we put the outside wall of a house in place,” Sunshine pointed out. “I know you have a couple men drop two-by-fours in as triangular braces to keep the side frames from tipping over before they’re attached. But those could still slip under enough pressure. We ought to tie ropes to the side frame, pass them over the roof, and secure them to something solid with a come-along, so the wall can’t fall on the workers before they can nail and peg it in place.”

“Huh.” Her father stopped for a moment, then rubbed his jaw. “That . . . is a really good idea.” He grew still again, then said, “I know you’ve been calling Fourth of July week Chaos Week, but if you’re off a couple hours on Monday, I think you’d better explain this new safety measure to the work crews.”

Sunshine frowned. “They won’t listen to me.”

“They will after I tell them you just pulled a guy out from under a collapsed wall. Underwater.” Ted Moritz was silent again for almost a minute. Then he said, “I suppose, seeing how everything worked out, you’d better keep lifeguarding, Sunshine.”

“Thanks, Dad!” She gave him a big hug.

Her father shook a finger at her. “New swimsuit, young lady.”

Sunshine sighed. “Karen’s already working on it.”

“And at work, start figuring out how much it’s going to cost to fix Number Eleven.”


Sunday, July 1, 1635


Astrid was awake. She wasn’t rested, but at least she’d slept Friday night, unlike Hjalmar and Ditmar who’d collapsed into bed after they’d been awake thirty hours straight. Teams One and Two hadn’t been up as long as their team leaders, but they’d still be asleep. Otto’s daytime team was already back on duty. Astrid vaguely recalled awakening when Krystal and Friedrich had left the apartment.

On the one hand, Astrid felt like she ought to check in with Neustatter, the day team, the polizei, and maybe even some of the other people who’d been involved. On the other hand, since she didn’t have to be anywhere, she ought to go to church. Where she would see Georg. She padded out into the apartment’s central room and spotted a note slipped under the apartment door.

Miss Schäubin,

I am going to the police station and to Hough Park. You have the day off. It is up to you if you stay home, catch up, or go to church. Wear iron if you go out.

Neustatter

8 a.m.

She was up. She ought to at least go over to the townhouse for a few minutes. She showered and dressed and hurried over.

Ursula made her eat some breakfast, and then Anna kicked her out.

“Ursula and I are not taking three infants to church on our own,” she stated. “We knew it before this assignment started. So, get. Go meet Georg.”

“I should catch up with Neustatter.”

Anna gave her a skeptical look. “Neustatter left an hour ago. If he needed you, he would have knocked on your door instead of sliding a note under it. Shoo!”

Dank, Anna.” Astrid set out for First Baptist.

After the English service, Barbara Kellarmännin pulled Astrid aside.

“What did you think?” Barbara asked.

Astrid shrugged. “It seemed fine to me.”

“‘The truth will set you free.’” Barbara quoted.

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “How do Baptists say it? ‘That verse really spoke to you’?”

Yap. I was thinking about someone who is not free. Not really.”

“Maria.”

Barbara nodded.

“You want to get her out.”

Yap.”

“Is she willing to leave?” Astrid wondered. “Getting her out of the building would be easy. Not without danger, but a simple mission. The hard part is what she does next.”

“The ‘go and sin no more’ part from a couple weeks ago,” Barbara agreed. “What if it takes her a little time?”

“You are very kind-hearted, Barbara. Whether this could be successful . . . You are the profiler. What do you expect to happen?”

Barbara dropped into a now-empty pew and spoke very quietly. “This is the problem. I need to talk to Maria at length in order to form an idea. I do not think I can do it while she is still . . . there.”

“Neustatter said something while we were there,” Astrid recalled. “‘I cannot hire everyone,’ I believe it was.”

“NESS does not need to hire her,” Barbara pointed out. “But you already have the woman Trudi. How are you handling that?”

“We are not,” Astrid told her. “Not yet.”

“If everyone is meeting at Hough Park on the Fourth of July, you need to have a plan by then,” Barbara pointed out. “Trudi and Maria are not identical, but if we can help one, we might be able to help the other.”

Astrid extended a hand to Barbara and pulled her to her feet. “I suppose we should find Frau Green.”

“This sounds like a complicated situation, girls,” Claudette Green said. “Why don’t I come by the high school tomorrow, say about ten? We can find a room and talk about it without being rushed or having to speak in whispers.”

Dank dir.”

As soon as Claudette Green moved away, Georg approached Barbara and Astrid.

Gut morgen, Georg.”

Gut morgen, Astrid. How are you?”

Georg looked concerned. Astrid found it touching. “Tired, but good. How are you?”

“The same. I have to process the scenes. But I am allowed to have lunch first. Would you mind Castalanni’s instead of Marcantonio’s today? It’s closer. Und, Barbara, would you like to join us?”

Barbara fumbled for an answer.

“Come on,” Astrid urged.

* * *

Astrid realized what Claudette Green meant about a place where they didn’t have to keep their voices down. At Castalanni Brothers, they certainly did. The restaurant was full and loud enough that she didn’t think there was much chance. That wasn’t the same thing as no chance, however.

“Between the services, Barbara and I were talking about whether we might be able to help two women. Let’s call them A and B,” she suggested. “A is older.”

Georg raised an eyebrow. “Is this about a current case?”

Ja, but all we want to talk about is . . . ” Astrid thought about how to say it without bringing up the case. “Different employment for them.”

“I cannot see how anyone would object to that,” Georg said. “Since B is younger, I can guess. A could be any of a number . . . ”

“Erfurt. Heard someone was injured and came to say goodbye. But he is recovering well.”

“Oh.” Georg made water patterns with his drinking glass. “That does seem . . . Well, it does not have anything to do with B except for both . . . ”

Yap,” Barbara agreed.

“We can get B out,” Astrid stated. “The rest of it . . . ”

“There is more to it,” Barbara said. “Convince B to leave, then get her out. Find a place for her to live where she will be safe, and a job so she does not go back to it. Someone to mentor her. School.”

“I hope Frau Green can help,” Astrid said. “Let’s go back to the first one, convince her to leave. How do we do it? I expect the others there will attempt to persuade her to stay.”

“She needs friends,” Barbara stated. “How will things work for A around NESS?”

“Ursula and Krystal will have a problem with it.” Astrid’s answer was so prompt Barbara’s lips twitched. “We just hired, and one of the families has a teenage daughter, and Ursula is already . . . well, you know.”

Und you truly do not have a job for her.”

“What skills does she have?”

Barbara grimaced. “Und this is where I started. As far as where she could stay, I do not believe my parents would agree, not without more information.”

“Let’s hope Frau Green has an idea tomorrow,” Astrid said.

“We will pray about it,” Barbara said. “For an opportunity.”

Their pizza arrived. “Sorry about the wait,” their server told them. “We are short-staffed, even though it is summer.”

Astrid and Barbara looked at each other.

“This is very good,” Barbara said a few minutes later.

Georg smiled. “We keep telling people.”

After lunch, Georg walked to the police station to collect his forensics equipment and then caught a ride to Sprunck’s apartment. Astrid and Barbara walked over to Hough Park. Astrid satisfied herself the team was doing fine. Barbara exchanged a few words with Otto, and then the two women went home.

* * *

“You are home early, Astrid,” Ursula observed.

Ja, Georg had a crime scene to process.”

The Kirchenbauer and Kuntz townhouse was the center of NESS’ social activity. Astrid could go back to the Schaubs’ apartment and read, but Sunday was her be-with-people day. She helped prepare dinner and enjoyed being around Anna and Ursula.

Late in the afternoon, they heard a knock at the door. Astrid opened it to find Georg standing there.

Komm herein.”

Georg stepped inside.

“Are you done already?” Astrid asked.

Nein. I handed the scene over to Officer Richards. Melanie Richards. Astrid, could we talk outside?”

Ja.”

Once outside, Georg said, “I started to process Sprunck’s apartment. I found drawings of women, maybe girls. Undressed. She will try to determine if any of them are underage. It is not something I should process.”

Astrid nodded.

Georg looked grim. “You may want to consider B a victim.”

Astrid winced. At the same time, however . . .  “What we talked about at lunch.”

Ja,” Georg said. “It looks different from this angle.”

Dank dir for telling me before I meet with Frau Green.”

“Of course.”

“Will you stay for dinner, bitte?”

“I would like to, but a Sunday case . . . My parents will be concerned. I should get home.”

Astrid nodded. “See you later.”

Georg smiled. “See you later.”


Monday, July 2, 1635


Barbara Kellarmännin reported to the polizei station at 8 a.m. The Monday morning chaos was about three times worse than usual. Nevertheless, within fifteen minutes, Chief Richards turned things over to a couple sergeants.

“Mel! Barbara!”

Chief Richards’ office door blocked most of the noise.

“Mel, I think we should start with you telling Barbara what you found yesterday.”

“Georg Meisner processed Sprunck’s apartment,” Melanie began. “There are some interesting findings, including fingerprints. But he also found one of the framed pictures had been taken off the wall and was lying on a table. Naturally, he wondered why. He slid the picture out of the frame found other pictures behind it. Nudes. He called the station, and I got sent over.

“They’re . . . not as bad as some things up-time. At the same time, it’s some of the sickest stuff I’ve seen. They look scared. Whoever did the drawings is a pretty good artist. Barbara, do I understand correctly you and Neustatter questioned a brothel?”

Ja.”

“I suspect they are the girls in these pictures.”

“It fits the profile,” Barbara stated. “The man we are looking for will avoid breaking the law when he can, and when he cannot, he will take the option with the least amount of danger for himself.”

“We need to interview them,” Melanie said. “Press, can you find one or two other female officers?”

“Sure.”

“Are the women still in danger?” Melanie asked.

“I do not think so,” Barbara answered. “Not anymore. The man we are looking for—”

“The unsub,” Chief Richards interjected. “Unknown subject.”

“I believe he has probably left Grantville,” Barbara stated. “He is cautious, except when he becomes fixated on a young blonde.”

“Which means you are walking into a certain amount of danger yourself,” Melanie Richards pointed out.

“Not while I am with you.”

“I think she’s right, Mel,” Chief Richards said, “but just in case, don’t leave her alone. Keep an officer on her at all times.”

His wife nodded.

“Astrid and I would like Maria to leave the brothel for good,” Barbara stated. “We understand many steps are necessary. We have a meeting with Frau Green.”

“Claudette is pretty resourceful and a good counselor,” Press Richards stated. He glanced at his wife. “Someone else might be able to help, too.”

Barbara wondered who that might be.

“Press and I do not want to have to look too closely. But if Claudette doesn’t say she has someone in mind, I will give you a name,” Melanie stated.

Barbara felt a need to tell them the rest. “There is a second woman, who has come here from Erfurt. We would like to help her, too. Yesterday, I noticed Castalanni Brothers is looking for more servers.”

“I can’t say there’s a labor shortage, but there are jobs out there if they want them,” Chief Richards stated. “But like Mel said, the rest of it might not be as hard as you thought. Still hard for the girl, I suspect. It’s gotta be more’n a bit of an adjustment.”

Dank.”

* * *

“So, a lot of things have to happen,” Claudette Green concluded.

Astrid gestured toward the third woman in the empty classroom. “Barbara thought of most of those. NESS can get her out, which is step two. But I do not know how to do step one.”

“I know how,” Barbara stated. “Officer Melanie Richards and a couple other women polizei and I will go to the place this afternoon. Additional information has been found.” She looked at Claudette Green. “I understand there is someone who can help her after she leaves.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow.

“It sure seems to me like there’s more going on here,” Claudette Green said. “Not sure why the cloak and dagger.”

Astrid and Barbara exchanged glances.

“Well, I’m sure Press has his reasons,” Claudette went on. “And yes, there is someone who can help.”

* * *

Barbara set out for the polizei station while Astrid took a tram to Hough Park. She soon spotted Phillip Pfeffer near the 2nd Street entrance.

“’Morgen, Phillip.”

Phillip glanced at the shadow of a nearby pole. “Nachmittag, I think.”

“Sorry,” Astrid said. “I have been catching up on some details from Saturday.”

“Better you than me,” Phillip told her. “I mean it, Astrid. You haven’t missed anything here. We give directions more than anything else.” He pointed. “Last I knew, Friedrich was at the Poolside Drive entrance with Wolfram not too far away. But Otto may have moved them by now. Miss von Kardorff was over by the footbridge. Und I think Peter Johann was near the concession booths. Neustatter’s here, too, but he did not give us any orders.”

Dank. If you see Neustatter, tell him the polizei are following up on something from Saturday, bitte.”

“I will.”

Astrid made her way around the tech fair. Hough Park was crowded, and the vehicles on display were in the parking lot at the swimming pool. She found Krystal easily enough.

“Miss von Kardorff.”

“Miss Schäubin. Or is it only Neustatter who calls you that?”

“Neustatter started it,” Astrid replied. “When the men came back to the village, he called me Fräulein, and I told him not to.”

Krystal’s expression was grave. “You were right to do so.”

Astrid let it pass. Krystal would encounter the Bibelgesellschaft girls sooner or later, and their theological explanation might carry more weight than a political one Krystal might identify with the CoC’s point of view.

“Have you seen Neustatter?”

Ja. He talked to every company here, then he went to the refugee housing. I do not know why.”

“Ha! I do. Some of these products on display are expensive,” Astrid explained. “If a company ships those products, they may want guards along. The refugee housing . . . Did Neustatter mention someone named Fritz?”

Krystal von Kardorff blinked. “I think he did. Who is he?”

“He is a boy who raises rabbits.”

Astrid gave Miss von Kardorff a polite nod and let her think about it. She crossed the foot bridge, passed the concession booths, and turned left toward the refugee housing. The aqualator team was working on the pipes in Buffalo Creek, and it looked like they’d already replaced some of them. She also noticed the lifeguard watching from the opposite bank of Buffalo Creek.

Neustatter was indeed at the refugee housing, talking to a well-muscled down-timer in workman’s clothes. She decided to see how close she could get before Neustatter spotted her.

Alas, not very close. She was still halfway between the restrooms and the refugee housing when Neustatter first waved, then beckoned her over.

“This is Miss Schäubin, my Team Three leader. Astrid, Herr Hans Karst, although he likes to be called Herr about as much as I do. He is Fritz’s father.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Did Fritz get his rabbits back?” she asked.

Ja,” Karst said. “A young man named Georg Meisner appeared Friday night with one of them and on Saturday night with the other. He is not a city watchman, but works for them. I do not understand.”

“Georg investigates crime scenes to find out what happened,” Astrid explained.

Karst shook his head. “I do not understand. But it is good he found Fritz’s rabbits because just hours after the rabbits disappeared, I found an old stray cat Fritz had been feeding dead. I could not bear to tell him another pet was gone, so I threw it in the woods.”

Neustatter laughed, then raised a hand. “I am not laughing at you, Fritz, or the cat. When you threw the bundle, you hit one of the men who stole the rabbits.”

“What?!”

“It helped solve the case. You should tell Fritz that.” Neustatter paused. “And bury the cat properly. Tell Fritz what happened.”

Karst looked down at his feet. “I guess you are right.”

Neustatter looked at Astrid. “With a proper ceremony.” He looked back to Karst. “How is tomorrow evening at seven?”

* * *

After they took their leave from Karst, Astrid updated Neustatter the conversations she’d had with Barbara, Claudette Green, and Chief Richards.

After considering the plan, her boss asked, “Do you mean to extract just Maria? Or all of them, one by one?”

“I did not consider bringing all of them out,” Astrid confessed, “but you are right. Once Maria is out, we could go back for the others, one at a time.”

Neustatter looked very serious. “Miss Schäubin, I know Chief Richards said the unofficial rules are no pimp, no underage girls, and anyone can leave if she wants to. I don’t think it’s that simple. If the older woman thinks she is in charge, or if you convince enough of them to leave the rest cannot afford the rent, someone is going to get upset. Be careful.”

“I will.”

“If there’s trouble, remember NESS, the National Guard, and most of the polizei officers are over here—not at the polizei station. If the officers have one of the Cherokees, fine, but if you are on foot, come here.”

Ja, sir.”

* * *

Barbara Kellarmännin knocked on the door while Astrid stood back a step, copying Melanie Richards’ stance with one hand on her holstered pistol.

The door swung open, and one of the blonde girls looked out. She tried to slam the door but Melanie’s police baton got there first.

“Barbara, stand aside!” Astrid barked.

This was just like getting in Martha and Christoph’s apartment back in January. So she did the same thing. As Barbara jumped out of the way, Astrid lowered her shoulder and put it into the door.

Astrid was not a big woman, but she all but launched the five foot nothing, hundred and ten-pound girl who was trying to keep them out. Astrid’s momentum carried her inside.

Melanie Richards was right on her heels. “Now settle down. We just want to interview Maria. As a witness. She is not in any trouble.”

Barbara followed them inside. “Giovanni is under arrest, and Sprunck has fled. You do not need to fear him.”

The girl blinked. “Truly?”

“Did you hear about the gunfight at Happy Acres Saturday night?” Astrid asked. “Maybe heard the gunfire?”

The girl shook her head.

By now a couple other women peered down at them from the balcony at the top of the stairs.

“We just want to talk to Maria and confirm something we heard,” Officer Richards said.

They heard the back door slam open, followed by “Freeze! Polizei!”

Melanie Richards gave the girl in front of her the side-eye. “Do you seriously think we wouldn’t cover the back door?”

A few moments later, the runner came down the short hallway from the kitchen, with Officer Erika Fleischer right behind her.

“So where were you headed in such a hurry?” Melanie Richards asked. “I would like to remind all of you we aren’t here to arrest you. We just have some additional questions. Just need to talk to Maria.”

The blonde and the runner exchanged glances. “Kunigunde said . . . ”

“Shh!”

“Ladies,” Melanie Richards said. “Where is Maria?”

Und where is Kunigunde?” Barbara added.

“Maria is upstairs,” the runner said. “Kunigunde is out buying food.”

Danke. See, not so hard.” Officer Richards looked up at the two girls on the balcony. “Go get Maria, bitte.”

As Maria shuffled down the stairs, more girls gathered on the balcony at the top of the stairs.

Gut tag, Maria.” Barbara greeted her in Amideutsch as though nothing were out of the ordinary. “We need some help with the case we asked about on Saturday. Could you come with us, to help us out?”

Maria looked scared.

“You are in no trouble at all. We need your help.”

“How long will it take?” She asked the question in such a soft voice Astrid had to strain to hear her. “Kunigunde will be upset if I am not back in time . . . ”

“Soonest started, soonest done,” Barbara told her.

“Go answer their questions,” the blonde who’d been at the front door told Maria. “Get it over with.”

Nein,” one of the other countered. “We have instructions . . . ”

Maria looked up, seemed to study Barbara, and eventually nodded her head. Astrid stepped outside ahead of her. The street was clear.

As they crossed Monroe Street, a man ran up to them. “There is a fight in The Flying Pig,” he blurted out. Then he ran off.

“Erika, you two check it out,” Melanie Richards directed.

“Will do. Wish I’d brought Pluto along,” Erika Fleischer muttered. She and the other officer hurried toward The Flying Pig.

Astrid glanced at Melanie Richards. “Convenient.”

“So’s the crowd at the intersection with Buffalo Street.” Officer Richards pointed ahead of them.

“This way!”

Astrid led them west on Monroe Street at a brisk pace. They turned left on Jefferson, which should put them on Buffalo west of the crowd. Jefferson Street was weird. It turned ninety degrees west to avoid a pair of houses, then turned ninety degrees south to hit Buffalo.

As Astrid turned the second corner, she saw the crowd spilling up Jefferson. She heard a shout as one man stumbled forward.

Polizei? We are lost.”

“And intoxicated.” Melanie pointed down a driveway. “I’ll take care of them. Go that way. Any trouble, tell them Melanie Burroughs said it would be okay.”

Astrid understood at once. Use Officer Richards’ maiden name because the homeowners were friends of her family rather than making it a matter of police business.

“We will meet you at the tech fair.” Astrid racked her memory for a landmark. “No, by the APC at the fairgrounds.”

“By the APC,” Melanie Richards confirmed. “Dispatch, Patrol Seven. 10-10 Flying Pig. 10-56 Buffalo and Jefferson. 10-78.”

“Come on, fräuleins,” Astrid urged Barbara and Maria.

“I’m not a fr—” Maria began.

“Later,” Barbara told her.

They hurried down the driveway and across a lawn. Astrid jumped down from a two-foot retaining wall and reached out a hand to steady each of the others. They crossed Buffalo Street, and took the Hough Street Bridge.

Astrid looked back. “Three more people crossing the lawn. Let’s go.”

“What is this all about?” Barbara asked. But she also took Maria’s hand, and they ran.

Astrid looked behind them as they turned right on 2nd Street. “They crossed the bridge. They are following us.”

Maria looked back. “That is Kunigunde.”

“Let’s go,” Astrid directed.

They hurried to Hough Park. Astrid spotted Friedrich not far from the entrance.

“Friedrich!”

“Astrid.”

“Come with us. People are following Maria.”

“We can stop them at the gate.”

Nein. Two of us, three of them. Everyone meet up at the APC. Have you seen Neustatter or Otto?”

“Not for a while.”

Hough Field was as full of people as Astrid had ever seen it. Straight rows of booths and tables covered the area. Heavier displays were in the parking lot by the swimming pool. The steam APC was at the fairgrounds. It couldn’t handle the turn from Hough Street onto Poolside Drive.

Astrid motioned for Friedrich to take the lead as they tried to maneuver through the crowds. Friedrich was adel, a teenager, and focused. He didn’t think twice about bumping into people as he cleared a path. Astrid took rear guard. One of the men following them wore a lopsided hat, and she was able to glimpse him closing in.

Between looks over her shoulder, Astrid heard Barbara asking Maria if she was all right.

Nein. I am scared.”

Astrid looked back again and saw the squashed hat, another man, and a woman. They were gaining ground.

But then Friedrich broke into the open at Poolside Drive.

“The APC!” Astrid ordered. They ran across the footbridge toward the vehicle in the fairgrounds.

“Frau Želivský!” she called.

“Miss Schäubin.” The Bohemian girl waved in greeting.

“Hide them inside, bitte,” Astrid requested. “Connected to Casimir’s case.”

Eva Želivský yanked a hatch open. “Come with me, girls.”

Astrid turned and drew her .22, keeping it down at her side. Friedrich looked startled, then drew his .40 cap-and-ball revolver.

Krystal von Kardorff reached them just ahead of the three pursuers.

The woman pursuer was the older woman they’d spoken to at the brothel on Saturday, Astrid realized. She was closest to the APC, with the two men to her left, Astrid’s right.

“Kunigunde?” Astrid asked.

“We have come for Maria. We will take her home.”

One of the men reached for a weapon.

“No.” Astrid’s pistol came up. “If you draw, I will blow you away.”

The other man immediately clawed for a weapon. Friedrich took aim.

The crowds scattered away from them.

Kunigunde pushed forward, and a knife flicked out. Krystal von Kardorff seized her brother’s scabbard with one hand and drew his sword with the other. She poked Kunigunde in the base of the throat.

“Drop. The. Knife. Bitch.”

The knife disappeared into Kunigunde’s clothing. She batted the blade out of her way and took a step forward.

Krystal punched her with the handguard. Kunigunde’s head flew back, blood spattered, and she fell on her butt.

Seconds later, a police officer stepped up behind the man facing Astrid and put a gun to his head. Neustatter stopped about six feet to the side of the other with a drawn .45.

“Take your hand off your weapon. Kneel. Cross your ankles.”

Suddenly there were a lot of polizei and NESS agents. They handcuffed Kunigunde and the two men.

“Dispatch. Patrol Eight. 10-95, three suspects,” one officer radioed.

“Officer Melanie Richards responded to a drunk crowd on Buffalo Street,” Astrid told the officer. “Two other female officers responded to a fight at The Flying Pig.”

“We heard, over the radio. Fight’s over. It stopped the moment they stepped inside.”

“Did it now?” Neustatter asked.

“Yeah, sure is suspicious,” the officer confirmed. “And Patrol One and Nine backed up Officer Richards. They had to get a wagon to take the drunks in.”

Krystal von Kardorff stood there, eyes fixed on the sword in her hand. Abruptly, she looked up at Neustatter.

“I want one.”

Neustatter actually blinked. “I’ll, uh, see what I can do.”

Astrid noted the smile on Krystal’s face.

A couple minutes later, Neustatter murmured, “I knew hiring her was a really good idea.”

Astrid grinned as she remembered how her books and Neustatter’s movies would put it. “Because the dame is trouble?”

“Isn’t she, though?”

Then Chief Richards arrived. “Neustatter?” he demanded. “Didn’t we just talk about stuff like this two days ago?”

Neustatter held up both hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Hmmpff.” Richards turned toward Kunigunde. “I distinctly remember a conversation in which you swore anybody who lived in the house could walk away at any time. So what just happened?”

Kunigunde gave him a mulish expression and said nothing. Chief Richards gestured at a couple officers, who led her away.

“Herr Chief?” Neustatter asked.

“What is it, Neustatter?”

“What if we go up Franklin and quietly surround the brothel to scare off customers while these ladies talk to them?”

“We couldn’t fit all the girls in the patrol cars even if we could get them through the . . . ” Chief Richards broke off, staring at the APC. “Nah, too wide. Never make it up Franklin Street. Even if it could, it’s too long to take any of the corners to get back out.” He said to Miss Želivský, “Thank you for not trying to take it down Poolside Drive.

“All right, Neustatter. I can’t strip the fairgrounds of officers.”

“Our contract is for six agents during the day. By the time I could get Teams One and Two here, it will be almost time for them to take over here for the night. What if we surround the house now? Move this team up between eight and nine.”

Chief Richards considered.

“Let us talk with Maria first.”

Both men turned and saw Barbara standing in the hatch of the steam tank.

“No one will leave town tonight,” Barbara continued. She climbed down from the armored steam wagon, then beckoned Maria to follow. “They will wait for Kunigunde to return, ja?”

Ja.”

“All right,” Chief Richards allowed. “I can spare . . . three officers. Should be enough to discourage any . . . visitors.”


Tuesday, July 3, 1635


Astrid jerked awake at the pounding on the apartment door. She threw on clothes, grabbed her pistol, and unlocked the door.

Morgen.” Neustatter was standing there.

“What time is it, Neustatter?”

“Six.”

By eight, Astrid was at the polizei station. She’d taken the tram, and for what NESS was spending on tram and bus fare this week, they might as well just buy telephones or alarm clocks.

Mimi Rowland was disgustingly chipper. “Chief Richards is up to his eyeballs in situations this morning, but Melanie is in the interrogation room. Said to send you straight back.”

Dank, Mimi.”

* * *

“Good morning, Astrid.”

Gut morgen, Officer Richards.”

“Barbara said you’d show up this morning.”

“We did not even talk about it.” Then Astrid sighed. “She says I am easy to read.”

She saw Melanie struggle to keep a straight face.

“Barbara, on the other hand, can be subtle.” The officer picked up handwritten notes. “Barbara and I talked to Maria for a while last night. There was a point where I had a female officer take Barbara home, because . . . well, because. I’ll see you and Barbara receive all information about Tobias Sprunck. And D’Ambrosi, for that matter.”

“You do not need to protect me, Officer Richards,” Astrid told her.

Melanie Richards gave her a level look. “I think I do. Remember, I heard the rest of it.”

Astrid accepted the pages and read them through. She’d leave the precise meaning of word like “sociopath” to Barbara, but the report made clear Tobias Sprunck was an evil, insidious man.

She handed the notes back to Melanie. “Where is Maria?”

“She’s in our version of witness protection,” Officer Richards answered. “Do you know what that means?”

“I have read about it in mystery stories. Someone is given a new name and a place to live far away from whatever happened.”

Melanie nodded. “It would be difficult. It could be done, I suppose, but Press and I don’t think sending someone away from Grantville to protect them makes any sense. We can protect her better here, and depriving her of Grantville’s opportunities would make it harder to get a better job. So if you see her around town, can you and Neustatter keep your mouths shut about her background?”

Astrid shrugged. “Ja. We have nothing against her. I will admit I have some doubts as to whether she can change.”

“She’ll need help. What did Claudette say?”

“She knows someone who can help.”

“Good. I’m not going to go into details.”

“Hmm.” Astrid thought about it. “Perhaps there is someone else who can be helped.”

She told Melanie about Trudi Groenewold, starting with the incident in Erfurt. “Und she came to Grantville because she heard Lukas had gotten shot. She said she came to say goodbye. She thought he must be dying.”

“That’s . . . actually kinda hopeful,” Melanie pointed out. “I somehow doubt she’d do it for just any john. Something’s there, so she has motivation. And we”—she rolled her wrist, indicating the police station—“do not need her taking up the trade here when we’re going to be shutting down a brothel. So, let’s make the offer. By which I mean you. You can introduce her to Claudette Green, and she’ll know whom to contact.”

* * *

Astrid spent most of the rest of the day running around. She met up with Neustatter at the office. Anna sat at her desk, and she looked tired. Regina had pulled a chair up to the other side of the desk and looked a bit bored.

“Anna, you look tired,” Neustatter told her.

“I am, but not as tired as Astrid looks. Und you should look tired, too, Neustatter. It is not fair you do not.”

Regina giggled.

Neustatter just gave them a lopsided smile. “I’m fine. But you have been in the office for two days, and if we do not come up with a plan, you will end up here all week. Now, Lukas was bugging me this morning . . . ”

“Neustatter!” Astrid exclaimed. “Lukas just got out of the hospital.”

Neustatter shrugged. “He says he is tired of sitting around the apartment. Is there any reason he and Trudi could not sit here instead?”

“Can he walk this far?” Anna asked.

“I think we could find a wheelchair. Then you could be at home, Anna.”

“And me?” Regina asked. “The stable?”

“Let’s talk to your parents first.”


Tuesday, July 3, 1635


On Tuesday morning, Astrid set out with the day team. She guarded the tech fair for much of the day and carried messages for Neustatter for the rest of it. The day felt full, but normal.


Wednesday, July 4, 1635

6:00 p.m.


The concession stands, booths, and food carts all had lines. Astrid stood in a couple, each time carrying items over to where NESS had spread several blankets on the ground south of the big picnic pavilions on the east side of Buffalo Creek. The older kids sampled each piece of playground equipment under Agathe’s supervision.

Hjalmar opened his pack and took out more food, all wrapped with care. “How many people are you expecting, Astrid?”

“NESS, in two shifts. Some of the Bibelgesellschaft. Casimir Wesner’s group. Lifeguards. Maybe some others.”

Hjalmar’s backpack, like those of the other men on the night shift, contained what food wouldn’t spoil in a few hours of the July evening. Astrid heard from passersby today’s temperature was 72 degrees Fahrenheit. It felt hot, although up-timers were only willing to grant “decently warm.” So they’d decided to buy meat from the food booths rather than carry it from the townhouse and leave it in the heat all day. They’d also purchase drinks. They had no way to keep milk cold, and anything water-based was too heavy to carry in the quantities they’d need. Besides, Brother Václav had said he’d provide the beer.

Ditmar steered Lukas’ wheelchair into position.

“I do not need to stay in this thing all night,” Lukas declared.

“No one says you do.” Trudi patted his hand.

Astrid did not consider herself much of an authority on relationships, but that looked like “couple” to her. She’d have to ask Barbara to observe.

By seven o’clock—they could just hear the middle school bells many visitors assumed were in a church’s tower—a wide cross-section of people had gathered. Astrid found herself pressed into the role of hostess.

“I assure you, Ursula, Agathe, Maria, and Anna prepared the food,” she said again. “I am not a cook.”

“Oh, not true, Sauerbraten,” came a voice.

Startled, Astrid spun around to see several men from Bretagne’s Company, led by the captain himself.

“Miss Schäubin.” Giulio Bretagne swept off his feathered hat and bowed. Astrid curtseyed, as ridiculous as it made her feel.

“Hauptmann Bretagne. Sergeant Wolfe.”

Neustatter approached. “Hauptmann Bretagne.”

“Neustatter!”

The two men shook hands, and Astrid slipped out of the conversation as it turned to shop talk. She glanced around and spotted Leigh Ann Ennis’ kids among the other children. Arne Helgerson was telling all of them a story. When it was done, he stood. “A moment, boys and girls.”

Arne approached Astrid, motioning with his eyes for her to step out of earshot of others.

“There is something you should know. Frau Julia passed around a drawing of a man she called Sprunck. I recognize him. We had words last fall. He was threatening a serving girl. I happened upon it by chance.”

Dank, Arne. We wondered why he hired men to break down the bridge. Revenge. It fits what we know of his character.”

“If I see him again . . . ”

“Call the polizei, us, the Resistance, the lifeguards. Just about anyone.”

“I am not sure what I have to do with all of this.”

“You are a good and decent man, Arne, which is enough to anger someone like Sprunck, I think.”

“I hope you find him.”

Arne went back to storytelling, and Astrid surveyed the crowd. Her brother and Miss Želivský were standing a little apart from the others. That was interesting. Barbara and Sunshine appeared deep in conversation. The Anabaptist profiler wore her usual long sleeves, long skirt, and bonnet, while the lifeguard wore her blue two-piece swimsuit. Astrid laughed as a wandering Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza photographer asked for a picture.

Mathew Woodruff approached, pushing another wheelchair through the crowd.

“Casimir!” Neustatter waved.

Miss Želivský and Brother Václav hurried over to Casimir Wesner.

“They let me out of Leahy this afternoon, but I had to promise to take it easy.”

Woodruff steered him over to Neustatter.

“Neustatter!” Wesner exclaimed. “Danke. My associates told me what you did. I do not remember any of it.”

Neustatter surveyed the banker. He had two black eyes, what looked to be a broken nose, and his ribs were taped up. “I am not surprised. You took a bad beating.”

“This is a crowd.”

“I have a team guarding the tech fair,” Neustatter told him. “These two teams will relieve them at eight. Which reminds me . . . 

“Miss Schäubin!”

Astrid hurried over.

“Since the team leaders seem to be occupied, form up Teams One and Two.”

Ja, sir!”

A couple minutes later, she had Teams One and Two in a column of twos. Ditmar and Hjalmar slotted into place. Astrid fell in at the rear.

“Forward march!”

Neustatter marched them to and across the swimming pool parking lot. They located Klaus first.

“Detail, halt!”

Ten agents took a final step with their left feet and then stamped right feet even with left. It made just enough noise to draw attention from some passersby.

“Agent Recker, post!”

Astrid wasn’t sure what Neustatter was doing, but Karl sidestepped from the second rank to get clear of the formation, stamped, and marched forward. He cornered and halted in front of Klaus with another stamp.

Klaus had long since gone to attention. Karl presented arms, and Klaus followed.

Report!” Neustatter ordered.

“All quiet!” Klaus stated.

“You are relieved,” Karl returned.

“I stand relieved.”

Karl stepped left, and Klaus copied the movement.

“About face!”

Both men brought right feet back at an angle, pivoted, and stamped again. Klaus fell into formation beside Astrid.

Astrid thought both men handled the improvised changing of the guard very well.

They located Wolfram next. Jakob relieved him with the same sequence. One of Team Two’s two-man ranks was now gone. Wolfram took the open spot on the left, and Astrid stepped forward, forming a Team Three rank.

NESS continued to circle the tech fair. Neustatter gave more commands when posting or relieving the new agents. Those from the village or who’d been with NESS for a year seemed to pick up his intentions by instinct. At the end, NESS had almost the same formation, but with Astrid’s Team Three in front and the new Team Four in back. Otto had ended up in the team leader’s position, and Astrid had no idea how. There’d been no spoken order, but somehow Neustatter had made it happen. They marched back to the picnic.

“Detail, halt!” Neustatter ordered. “Well done. Fall out!”

The formation dissolved as the day shift headed for food and family. Astrid watched Sergeant Wolfe intercept Otto.

“I did not know NESS trained drill and ceremony.”

“We do not,” Otto told him.

“Surely that was rehearsed.”

Nein. At least not by the day team. We just knew Neustatter would want us to show off, but not too much. Half of us serve in the National Guard, so it was not hard to adapt.”

Astrid watched Hans Wolfe choke down a word. Whether it was on her account or the children’s, she didn’t know. The sergeant settled on, “Impressive, Brenner. Very impressive.”

Dank.”

They parted, and Astrid noted Otto sought out Barbara. She put guard duty and drill out of her mind and joined the group of Bibelgesellschaft students and their families.

“Astrid.”

“Georg.”

Guten Abend, Astrid,” Georg and Katharina’s mother said.

Guten Abend, Frau Meisnerin.”

“I did not realize so many of Neustatter’s men had wives and children,” she said.

“Just four. Stephan und Ursula und Wolfram und Anna from our village. Phillip und Agathe from last year’s class. Peter Johann und Maria from this year’s class. The other children are our lehenlady’s, Leigh Ann Ennis. Her husband is in the USE Army.”

“Who are the other soldiers?” Katharina asked.

“Bretagne’s Company. They are one of the other outfits in West Virginia County. We work with them sometimes.”

“You have more women agents,” Katharina observed.

“Just one. Krystal von Kardorff.”

Adel?”

Ja.”

“Just one? Your brother is talking with a woman, and I see a very pretty up-timer over there.”

Barbara grinned. “Hjalmar met Miss Želivský during a case. Und Regina will be a freshman at Calvert—Grantville High this fall. She is the daughter of Peter Johann and Maria, right over there. Down-timer, but as attached to the up-time Old West as Neustatter.”

Katharina looked at her friend. “How do you know this? Does it have something to do with why Marta and I have not been able to find you for several days?”

Astrid jumped in when she saw both Barbara and Katharina’s parents were paying attention. “Barbara has been busy profiling. It is . . . complicated.”

Barbara’s mother’s eyes narrowed. “Does complicated mean dangerous?”

Astrid saw her eyes cut toward where Sunshine Moritz had been. She knew Or scandalous? was the unspoken addition to the question and thought fast. She wasn’t about to say, Ja, Friedrich and I pulled guns on a couple goons hired by a madame who may have been in league with a spy who is also a serial rapist.

“It was complicated enough I do not know everything about the case,” she answered. “It is up to Herr Chief Richards which parts can be made public.”

“Hmm.”

Alas, Barbara’s parents were nobody’s fools. Astrid was pretty sure they could both tell everything she’d said was true, but incomplete. So she nodded in same direction Barbara’s mother had looked.

“That lifeguard—Sunshine—did the dangerous things. She rescued a man trapped right over there in Buffalo Creek, then she swam the creek with a rope so Neustatter’s team could cross to rescue Herr Wesner.”

“Oh!” Barbara exclaimed. “I talked to her about using the pool for baptisms. She said it is okay as long as all the other denominations can do so, too.”

Most of the Brethren laughed at the idea of other denominations wanting to baptize by immersion in a swimming pool.

Just as Astrid was exhaling in relief, she spotted someone else approaching. Maria waved to her, but made a beeline to Barbara.

Danke.” The girl knelt to hug Barbara. She gave Trudi a quick wave, and then was gone.

Barbara’s parents looked like they expected an explanation.

“Barbara helps people.” Astrid chose her words with care.

Herr Kellarmann gestured toward Trudi. “How does she know your agent’s wife?”

Astrid shrugged and did not correct his assumption. “I worked a different part of the case.”

She was shading the truth a bit. She didn’t know, but Astrid could connect the dots, as the saying went. Still, no one had told her.

Barbara’s parents looked impressed. Her father sipped a beer, lost in thought. Then he looked up. “What is this? It is a better beer than I am used to.”

Astrid waved to catch Brother Václav’s attention. When the Praemonstratensian monk noticed, he came right over.

“Herr Kellarmann, Brother Václav.”

The Catholic monk and the Anabaptist seized each other up. A couple minutes later, they were talking about the beer.

“What is this one?”

Prager Sommergeschenck. Prague Summer Gift.”

“Interesting. It is light and crisp, but almost a small beer, ja?”

Ja,” Brother Václav confirmed. “What the up-timers call low ABV, alcohol by volume. Brother Ondrej said it would be popular here.” The monk shook his head. “I do not know how he knows. He just does.”

Barbara cocked her head. “Does he study people?”

“You have no idea.”

Astrid tried to keep a straight face. She had to look off in another direction, which happened to be toward the swimming pool. Then there was no stifling a grin when she spotted two women.

* * *

“I am not sure I should be seen in public in this,” Frau Boekhorst stated as she and Sunshine walked from the women’s locker room across the parking lot and over the footbridge toward the fountains.

“You look great, Josyntjie,” Sunshine told her. “You’re ready to go in the water if you have to fix the fountains, and I’m ready to rescue anybody who falls in. So let’s go have fun.”

Karen Reading had outdone herself with swimsuits for both of them. They were a heavier down-time cloth than Sunshine would have preferred. Josyntjie’s emerald-green one-piece ended in shorts with a little skirt over top of them, which Sunshine thought excessive and cheerleadery. It had a shallow scoop neck and frilly cap sleeves—ridiculous concessions, in Sunshine’s opinion.

Sunshine had held out for the proper color for lifeguards—red. And she’d insisted on a two-piece, not that anyone could tell. The shorts were cut tighter than men’s swimming trunks, and the halter top had thin straps and a V-neck Sunshine thought reasonable, even if it had caused her father to blanch. Her new swimsuit had cost her a pretty good chunk of what she was making at the pool this month, but it was worth every penny to keep lifeguarding.

Sunshine recognized someone. “Here comes the scary-looking guy with the rifle who was with you when the scaffolding collapsed.”

“His name is Ditmar Schaub.”

“I think he likes your swimsuit,” Sunshine observed.

“I believe all those other young men coming this way have their eyes on you,” Josyntjie returned.

“Yeah,” Sunshine agreed. “Hi, guys!”

Hawker, Aaron, Jack, and Ritter Friedrich had all asked her to the concert and fireworks. Sunshine was flattered, but she wasn’t ready to choose. She’d suggested they all be on standby in case they had to pull one of the fountain crew—or anyone else—out of Buffalo Creek. Besides, over the last few days she’d been thinking more about lifeguarding and construction safety than about boys. The Rescue Squad wanted to cross-train with the lifeguards. Sunshine shuddered at the thought of having to rescue someone from Buffalo Creek downtown, where buildings stood at the water’s edge on both sides. She didn’t know—yes, she did. She’d do it. The guys were all welcome to watch the concert and the fireworks—and her—and she’d watch her water.

* * *

Astrid looked away before she drew anyone else’s attention to Frau Boekhorst and Sunshine. She turned in place and saw Lukas and Casimir comparing notes from their respective wheelchairs.

“What happened to you?” Wesner asked.

“Got shot. Saxon agent,” Lukas told him. “You?”

“Surprisingly similar. But beaten rather than shot.”

Neustatter headed their way.

“We knew Sprunck was trouble, but not this level of trouble,” Wesner declared. “I have been interviewed by the polizei and by a Leutnant Schmidt of the National Guard. Everyone has asked me questions without answering all of mine.”

Neustatter laughed. “Is it not amusing how all of them are leutnants, and they are all named Schmidt?”

He was about to say more when a voice came over the loudspeakers positioned around the field.

“Welcome to the water concert featuring St. Mary’s organist Linda Bartolli and aqualist Athanasius Kircher!”

The organ began a hymn, and a jet of water shot up from the end of one of the pipes in Buffalo Creek. At the end of the next line, water shot up from a different pipe over on the left. Then after the third line, from a pipe on the right. At the end of the verse, all three sprayed upward together.

The next song was a march. As the organ crashed out notes, water sprayed into the air, and the first fireworks exploded over Buffalo Creek.

“Ooh! Ahh!”


Sunday, July 8, 1635


Four days later, when the bells tolled 7 p.m., Neustatter circled Hough Park, gathering the day shift.

“The vendors have taken home what little they did not sell.” He waved a hand. “The rest of this is breaking down booths and tables. We have finished our mission. Let’s go home. Dinner is at the townhouse, and you are all off tomorrow.

“Teams One and Two are train guards on Tuesday. We will do some training while they are gone.”


Monday, July 9, 1635


Trudi Groenewold pushed Lukas Heidenfelder’s wheelchair down Kimberly Heights. Astrid walked alongside. They had to stick to roads and so veered left, turned right, and then turned almost all the way around to the left on the web of little roads which all claimed to be parts of Porter Avenue. At the end of the driveway-like straight stretch, they turned right on Route 250. From there they would already see NESS’ office.

Trudi steered Lukas to a ramp at one end of the wooden walkway outside the offices.

Astrid fumbled with the key, then succeeded in unlocking the door.

“You look more tired than I do, mädchen,” Lukas said.

Astrid frowned. “I should not. I have not been standing twelve-hour guard shifts every day like the rest of them.”

Nein, you helped Neustatter with a couple other missions and went all over Grantville making things happen. Standing guard is one kind of tired, but what you did is a different kind.”

Astrid blinked. “That is . . . insightful, Lukas.”

He laughed. “I promise not to make a habit of it.”

Astrid held the door open as Trudi wheeled Lukas inside.

“It is good the building has ramps and wide doors,” Trudi remarked. “Did you anticipate men would be hurt?”

Astrid shook her head. “Oh, I am sure Neustatter knew it could happen, but the ramps and doorways are because of up-time law. Public buildings had to be handicapped accessible.”

“Sometimes I think the up-timers had far more laws than we do. Other times I think they had none at all.”

“Different laws,” Astrid agreed.

“Speaking of law . . . ” Trudi spun the wheelchair around in front of Neustatter’s desk so Lukas was facing the door. “Why did you tell the pastor about me?”

Astrid pulled her own chair back from her desk and sat down. “Because you need a new line of work.”

“Spare me the lecture about morals.”

Astrid shrugged. “That is part of it. The other part is I do not want a prostitute working for NESS. It is bad for business, und it might cause some to think all the women at NESS are prostitutes. Have you met Krystal von Kardorff?”

Nein, und I have no use for adel.” Trudi crossed her arms and stood there, glaring at Astrid.

“Ursula will have worse to say than Krystal,” Astrid stated.

Lukas groaned. “Ja, always.”

Und third,” Astrid continued, “we were already helping someone leave. I assume anyone who could help her could help you.”

To Astrid’s surprise, the glare died away.

“Maybe.” Trudi now looked curious. “From what she said, the girl left a brothel. The madam permitted this?”

Astrid grinned. “She came after us and pulled a knife. Miss von Kardorff pulled a sword.”

She thought Trudi almost laughed. But the woman managed a frown. “A woman of the adel would have no idea how to fight.”

“None at all,” Astrid agreed. “She punched the madam in the nose with the hand guard. Knocked her down.”

This time, Trudi laughed out loud.

“All right, then. I will at least hear you out.”

“You need a new job. Someone is always hiring in Grantville. I know Castalanni Brothers is looking for waitresses. How well do you read and write?”

“I read some. I write a little.”

“Adult education classes,” Astrid said. “Then English, citizenship, and maybe library research. Or citizenship, English, and maybe library research.”

“Why?”

Astrid spun away from them in her chair and tugged open the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled out several folders, opened one, and held up the pages inside.

“These are case files. If you are working in the office, you need to be able to at least read these. Better if you can write them, too.”

She put those folders away and pulled the next drawer open. This one was stuffed almost full. Astrid extracted a couple folders.

“These are files on individual people.”

Trudi frowned. “Is this what you do? Write things down?”

Ja, I started as the secretary. Neustatter made me Team Three leader, so I am not in the office all the time now. I think we are going to need someone here.”

“You sound like Frau Green. Not the details, but reading, writing, honest work. For now, taking care of Lukas.”

Astrid figured it was about as much as she could expect for the moment.

“If you want to pull a chair over here, I will show you what I do.”

Lukas raised a hand. “A question, first, mädchen.” Then he sat there for a minute.

Hesitation was very unlike Lukas, Astrid reflected. “What is it?”

“Something Pastor Green said. How God uses events in our lives.”

“Okay. Right. I have heard pastors say that before.”

“How does it work?”

Astrid blinked. “I have no idea. But I think I know who would. I can ask next time I see them.”

Bitte.”

Astrid noted even Trudi was giving Lukas an odd look. Since Lukas appeared to be done, she pulled out the day’s paperwork.


Wednesday, July 11, 1635


Astrid awoke with a start. Halfway up and already twisting to her right, she started to reach under her pillow. Stopp! Nightmare.

She twisted back with care, lest she pull a muscle. Two years ago, she wouldn’t have thought of it in those terms. Regardless of terminology, it would hurt. She eased herself back down onto the stuffed mattress.

Stupid nightmare. She’d been trying to shoot the Saxon who’d shot Lukas, and everything had gone wrong with her revolver—including things that couldn’t actually go wrong with revolvers.

Astrid wondered what time it was. She’d been so exhausted by the tech fair mission—and searching for Wesner, tossing Sprunck’s apartment, confronting the brothel, and raiding Happy Acres—she’d been sleeping like an up-timer. Right now she had no idea if this were first sleep or second sleep.

Krystal solved her dilemma by waking up a few minutes later.

“Astrid? So you are awake.”

“Only by accident.”

“What are you going to do with the hour?”

Astrid did not feel like socializing. “Read? I think I have a couple library books around here somewhere.” She rolled out of bed. It didn’t take her long to locate them. As soon as she did, she got back under the covers. Now that she didn’t have to put up with being cold, well, she didn’t. She’d stay warm in bed and read part of a mystery.

Krystal let her get away with it without any more questions.

During second sleep, though, Astrid’s reading material backfired. This time not only wouldn’t the revolver fire, but the dream also included furtive, threatening shadowy men and a damsel in distress who looked a lot like her.

Astrid sat up sometime before dawn and shook her head. She didn’t need a psychologist to figure out the dream was her mind reminding her to be careful. Nor was it very hard to work out the dream-revolver was misfiring because she didn’t want to shoot people. On the other hand, if the bad guys didn’t want to get shot, they should leave NESS alone.

She managed to drop back off to sleep. But all in all, it was not a restful night.

Nor was the next night.


Friday, July 13, 1635


Neustatter kicked back and swiveled his chair. Astrid kept working. A few minutes passed.

“Miss Schäubin, you are off your game.”

Astrid sat up straight. “I am almost done with the paperwork, Neustatter.” She admitted to herself it had come out sounding cross.

“Miss Schäubin, I like you are soldiering through, even though something bothers you. I simply want to know what it is.”

Astrid thought about replying, “Nothing.” But while not in Barbara’s league, Neustatter was observant. She kicked back from the desk in annoyance.

“Nightmares.”

Neustatter nodded. “Reasonable.”

“What?” Astrid demanded.

“It is a common reaction after a person’s first battle. Do you want to talk about it?”

Nein.”

“You do not have to talk to me. Maybe Hjalmar. Maybe a pastor. Maybe one of the Fräuleins.”

“Neustatter, you are even scarier when you are being perceptive.”

“I suspect most people have not noticed.”

“But you have.”

“I am supposed to. I notice Lukas is . . . I once heard an up-timer call something ‘a spiritual crisis.’ I think that might be the correct term for what Lukas is feeling.”

“It is.” Astrid confirmed it without stopping to think.

“He wants to talk to me about as much as you do. So, Astrid, whatever you have arranged for Lukas, make use of it yourself. That is all I ask.”

Ja, I could talk to Barbara, Astrid told herself.


Sunday, July 15, 1635


Or talk to Georg, dummkopf, Astrid told herself on Sunday morning. She decided it could wait until lunch.

But Barbara found her first.

“Hi, Astrid!” Barbara’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “There is someone here we are not supposed to recognize.”

“Got it.”

“How are you doing?”

Astrid didn’t know what she did. Perhaps it was a fleeting expression on her face.

“Stressed?”

Barbara’s voice was kind, Astrid thought. But she wondered if the Anabaptist girl would be able to understand how she felt.

Ja.”

“The week before last?”

Ja, und all the way back to the train ambush in May.”

Barbara pulled her into a pew and continued in the same soft voice. “No one will pay attention to us. I know Lukas was . . . hurt. What else happened?”

“They ambushed the train from inside and out. Lukas was hit, Wolfram tackled the man, and I shot him, and Neustatter shot the man at the front of the car all in a few seconds. Then there was a longer gunfight with men who cut down a tree across the train tracks. The guard riding shotgun in the engine was killed. We were starting to win when the Saxon Ghost and his men appeared and finished off the ambushers.”

Barbara blinked. “It sounds more like a battle.”

“A skirmish. No more than ten or fifteen on each side. Not like the Croat Raid or Alte Veste or even Flieden.”

“You were in the middle of it.” Barbara made it a statement rather than a question.

Ja. I hit two men. Perhaps three, but Neustatter says people tend to overestimate.”

Astrid noticed Barbara didn’t recoil. She did shake her head, as if to clear it.

“I have no experience with this.” The Anabaptist girl gave her a shrewd look. “I would cry. You . . . nein. You would get upset another way. Alone. Too busy during the days to think much about it. At night. Do you have trouble sleeping?”

Ja, und nightmares.”

“Of course.”

“You figured it out very quickly,” Astrid said.

“Well, I have seen you in action, ja? You cannot seem weak in front of the men, so you do not deal with it then.”

“You are becoming a little scary at this,” Astrid told Barbara.

“Sometimes, it is scary. What I have to think about, I mean.”

“Nightmares?”

“Not yet.”

“Come see me.” Astrid made it sound like a whimsical turning of the tables.

But the way Barbara nodded, it wasn’t.

* * *

Georg found them soon enough. He seemed a bit distracted. Astrid decided to ask him why after the service.

Pastor Green preached on John 9, the whole chapter. Jesus healed the man born blind, and some people had a problem with it. Astrid hadn’t thought about how the healing the blind man chapter followed the light of the world chapter. She’d missed last week’s sermon on “I Am.” She hoped one of the Bibelgesellschaft girls had recorded it.

Once she and Georg were on their way to Marcantonio’s, Astrid began to relax.

Then Georg said, “Astrid, I have been waiting until no one else was close by. We missed one of Sprunck’s men.”

“What?”

“I lifted what I think are Sprunck’s fingerprints. I found the same fingerprints over at Number 11, Happy Acres. They do not match D’Ambrosi, and we have not found any of D’Ambrosi’s fingerprints in Sprunck’s apartment. They do not match Friedrich Bühler or the dead man, either.”

“Someone got away.”

Georg shrugged. “Maybe. Someone was touching some of Sprunck’s equipment. It might have been a colleague. It might have been a prostitute. We cannot think of any way to know for sure. But the fingerprints have whorl patterns, and one of them is partially obscured. I think it may be a burn. Und I think it is a chemical burn, not fire. My theory is this person was assisting Sprunck as he experimented and tried to build things.” Georg held up both hands. “Chief Richards says we have evidence, but it does not take us anywhere.”

Bummer.” Astrid had heard the up-time word, and it seemed to fit.

“We found something else, though—some of Sprunck’s notes. We think he took any important papers with him, but the notes are useful. Chief Richards told me to check the handwriting against other handwriting samples, and I think I found a match. It’s the false orders on the library security guards’ clipboard.”

Astrid stopped walking. “Those orders were revenge from Schlinck’s Company. What would Sprunck . . . Oh! Narrow face, hat pulled down low, a thief. Georg, Sprunck was one of the men in Schlinck’s headquarters!”

Georg stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Astrid explained.

“What did he look like?” Georg asked.

“Short, narrow face, dark beard, strong nose . . . ”

“That is how Casimir Wesner and his classmates describe Sprunck. I will speak with Herr Chief Richards tomorrow.” Georg was silent for a moment. “He struck at you by forging those orders. Astrid, you were in danger.”

Nein. I was in danger when I confronted Schlinck’s men. The orders were a petty attempt at revenge. Barbara says Sprunck does not confront strong people.”

Nein. She said Sprunck does not confront strong men. He preys on blonde women. We should ask Barbara how he views you.”

Astrid took his hand. “We should get to Marcantonio’s.” She smiled and changed the subject. “Someone we were not supposed to recognize was in church this afternoon. Your investigation helped her.”

Dank.” Georg changed the subject. “How have you been, Astrid?”

She sighed. “I have had nightmares about . . . the attack on the train.”

Georg took her hand and squeezed it. “Me, too.”


Thursday, July 19, 1635


Although she had the day off before the mission tomorrow, Astrid stopped by NESS in the afternoon and set a bundle down on her desk. Neustatter, Hjalmar, and Ditmar were seated in the back near the Franklin stove, although it was warm enough the fire wasn’t lit.

She tossed her brother a newspaper. “Newspapers for you. A book from the Bibelgesellschaft for Lukas. I hope it will answer some of his questions about how God uses events in a person’s life.” She handed it to Neustatter and put a second book aside.

“Is yours about dealing with stress?” Neustatter asked.

Ja.” She hoped it helped with the nightmares from the train ambush. Krystalnacht hadn’t helped.

“Are you ready for the Saxon Run tomorrow?”

Ja.” This would be her fourth Saxon Run since the bandits attacked the train.

“Do not stay out too late. You will be in command of the third car.”

“Are you and Georg going to the range today?” Ditmar asked.

Hjalmar glared at his cousin.

“It is okay, Hjalmar. I can shoot targets all day long,” Astrid stated. “Paper or otherwise. But I do not want black powder in my hair.”

“You got your hair cut,” her brother observed. “You look like an up-timer.”

Ja,” Astrid agreed. Her hair was in waves that hung forward over both shoulders as well as behind. She turned in place. “It is styled, not cut, und just as long as before. I like it.”

Neustatter handed her a package. “This came for you.”

Astrid opened the accompanying note.

Fräulein Schäubin,

I and everyone else on the train that day are in your debt. This time Nancy is following in your footsteps. I finished the other one I was writing, too. Enjoy the books.

Your servant,

Wilhelm Reuber

Astrid unwrapped the package and held up more books. “The Mystery of the Train Robbery: A Nancy Drew Mystery. And Guardians of Germany: The Saxon Ghost.”

Neustatter laughed.

“Why are there two of that one?” Hjalmar asked.

“Wilhelm probably expects us to find the Saxon Ghost and give him his own copy.”


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