Table of Contents

- In Memoriam

- Acknowledgments for the previous planned edition:

- Chapter 1: Krystalnacht on the Schwarza Express

- Chapter 2: The Class of ’35

- Chapter 3: Sunshine

- Chapter 4: Shooting Fish in a Barrel

- Chapter 5: The Case of the Unconventional Umlauts

- Chapter 6: The Reussian Front

- Cast List

Security Solutions

Bjorn Hasseler

Baen

Security Solutions

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Bjorn Hasseler

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

eISBN: 978-1-62579-960-9

Cover art by Ian Bristow

Cover concept by David Monath and Jeff Carrico

In Memoriam

Eric Flint passed away on July 17, 2022. He wrote 1632 as a stand-alone novel, and then continued the story and opened the new timeline to anyone who wanted to try to write a story. He didn’t have an endpoint in mind; it’s all story-driven.

He didn’t just let us write in the Ring of Fire universe; he let us co-write it. Each story contributes to the whole, characters interact with other authors’ plotlines, and sometimes they make their way into books, even mainline books. That’s an incredibly generous gift Eric gave all of us.

Acknowledgments for the previous planned edition:

Thank you to Eric Flint for creating the 1632 universe and making it a shared universe.

Thank you to Jim Baen and Toni Weisskopf, who have supported the 1632 community from the beginning and gave us a place on Baen’s Bar.

Thank you to Walt Boyes and Joy Ward, editors of Ring of Fire Press.

Thank you to Ian Bristow for the cover art, David Monath for the overall concept, and Jeff Carrico for the typography.

Thank you to the other 1632 authors and readers who have offered advice, suggestions, and corrections.

Additional Acknowledgments for this edition:

Thank you to Toni Weisskopf and Baen Books for acquiring the NESS books.

Thank you to everyone who asked if you could still get the books and who waited for them to come back.

Chapter 1: Krystalnacht on the Schwarza Express

Kimberly Heights Apartments

Tuesday, June 19, 1635

Astrid Schäubin puttered around her room, straightening everything. She tugged at the solid but inexpensive table beside her bed, trying to square it up. It creaked across the wooden floorboards.

“Astrid, are you still up?” Her brother Hjalmar leaned around the corner of the doorway.

“Obviously.”

“Why? We have to be up early.”

Astrid sighed. “I do not know.” She looked at her pack. “I have everything ready. Pistol, gun belt, neckerchief, hat, four days of clothes even though we should return Friday morning.”

“Is everything okay with Georg?”

Astrid smiled. “Georg is fine. We had a nice dinner Sunday.”

“Uh-huh.”

Now she was a little annoyed. “Hjalmar, when have you ever known Georg Meisner not to be a perfect gentleman?”

Hjalmar’s head bobbled in acknowledgment of her point. “So what is it then? Lukas getting shot?”

“Well, ja, sure. This is my third Saxon Run since those bandits tried to hijack the train. And Krystalnacht.”

“That is not anywhere near here,” her brother pointed out.

“I know. But I have a bad feeling.”

Hjalmar frowned. “So do not take chances and do not wander off.”

Astrid threw her pillow at him. “I said I had a bad feeling, not that I had forgotten everything you and Neustatter ever taught me.”

Hjalmar handed back the pillow he’d caught. “Maybe you noticed something you have not figured out yet. Sleep on it.”

“Maybe. Thanks, Hjalmar.”

Hjalmar went back to his and Ditmar’s room. Astrid tucked her .22 under her pillow, doused the lamp, and went to bed.

Schwarza Junction

Wednesday, June 20, 1635

Astrid hadn’t slept well. Nor had she been able to put her finger on what was bothering her about this mission. All her fellow NESS security consultants looked alert but comfortable.

“I am looking for Neustatter’s European Security Services!” a man in an SoTF blue uniform called out in Amideutsch. He had a cloth armband with the letters MP around his right sleeve.

“You found us,” Neustatter answered in the same language.

“Sergeant Johann Sandhagen, SoTF National Guard, military police.”

“Edgar Neustatter.” They shook hands. “Hjalmar Schaub here runs Team Two for me. Karl Recker, Otto Brenner, Jakob Bracht. Astrid Schäubin—she is Hjalmar’s sister—runs Team Three. Phillip Pfeffer. Wolfram Kuntz. Wolfram is our medic, certified field medic.”

Sandhagen shook hands all around. “Good to meet y’all. How many of these have you done? This is only my second one.”

“We are on a schedule with the other security contractors and mercenaries,” Neustatter told him. “Every seventh trip. This is NESS’ fourth Saxon Run and my third personally, not counting the attempted hijacking.”

Sandhagen nodded. “So y’all were on the train that was hit?”

“Ja. Astrid, Wolfram, Phillip, Lukas Heidenfelder, and I,” Neustatter confirmed. “Lukas is still in the hospital.”

“How is he?”

“He will pull through,” Neustatter said.

Astrid knew it was what the doctors said, but she was still worried.

“Good.”

Neustatter nodded his appreciation. “How do you want do this? A team in each railroad car?”

“Ja, gut. How did you train for this? You have done more of these than I have.”

“I watched Murder on the Orient Express last night.”

The MP looked shocked.

“Relax. I have also seen Breakheart Pass.”

* * *

Astrid listened to the clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails while she watched the left side as the train rolled north to Jena. The cars were about half-full, which she understood to be average for recent weekday runs—although it was still down a bit compared to before last month’s attack. So far the ride was uneventful. Which is not surprising, Astrid reminded herself. It’s always uneventful south of Jena.

But as the train slowed to a stop alongside the platform in Jena, Phillip called out from the back stairs, “Neustatter! Squad of men approaching the platform!”

Astrid quickly reached for her pistol. Neustatter’s was already out. But then her boss called out, “Their weapons are shouldered. And they have tickets.”

The approaching men sorted themselves into a file, and the first one swung aboard. He caught sight of Neustatter’s pistol right away. Astrid saw his hand tighten on his rifle sling, but he had the presence of mind not to make a sudden move.

“Who are you?”

“Neustatter’s European Security Services. Train guard on this run. And you?”

“The Yellow Circle Regiment.” Astrid noted the emblem on his coat.

“In civilian clothes?”

“We are specially trained to operate behind the lines.”

Astrid had to strain to hear Neustatter’s response, even from three feet away.

“No, you are not. Who are you?”

Equally quietly, the man replied, “CoCs. We are returning to Magdeburg.”

“Yellow Circle because you are defending the Jews.”

“Ja, preemptive attack.”

“What I said. Like Esther, ja?”

The CoC soldier cracked a smile. “We have ten rifles. Let us work together.”

Neustatter nodded and called forward. “Sergeant? Five in each car? I will show you where the Saxons tried to hijack the train when we get there.”

* * *

When the train pulled into Naumburg Station, most of the passengers disembarked. Some made a beeline for the restrooms, others for the food cart.

Neustatter indicated the food cart. “Sergeant Sandhagen, you should come with us. Good food, good information.”

When they got to the front of the line, Neustatter said, “Nine of the kosher sausages on buns, Herr Kraft.”

“Good to see you again, Neustatter. The Saxon cities east of the river caused some trouble earlier this week, but all is quiet today.” Kraft used some English idioms and word order, but retained der, die, and das and inflected the German nouns if not the occasional English one. He nodded toward a pair of men with green armbands. “We Saale Levies have two of the oversized squads we call heaps near Weissenfels, with a radio. They checked in this morning, as did Camps Terror and Devastation.”

“Good enough for me,” Neustatter declared.

Sergeant Sandhagen raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “This is an extremely well-informed sausage dealer.”

Astrid indicated the jars of pickles and relishes along the side of the food cart. “I have seen these in Grantville.”

Kraft smiled. “We hope to have more varieties after this year’s harvest. Safe run.”

“All aboard!”

* * *

The train picked up speed out of the station and clattered across the Unstrut River bridge. The engineer gave a long blast on the horn as they passed Camp Terror. Astrid saw SoTF National Guardsmen on the corner watchtowers waving. She watched the ridgeline to the left intently as the train negotiated the S-curve and headed north toward Eulau and the site of the attempted hijacking.

“Neustatter, it looks like the Saale Levies have almost finished the watchtower on the ridge, but the second floor is crooked.”

Neustatter crossed to her side of the train and studied it. He whistled. “It is turned forty-five-degrees from the walls of the first story to remove all the blind spots.”

The train sped past the site of the ambush and continued north with a steady clickety-clack. A couple passengers boarded at Weissenfels, and the train rumbled on toward Merseburg.

Neustatter crossed to Astrid’s side of the train again. “We are approaching Camp Devastation. Tell me what you see.”

The engineer honked the horn again, and the soldiers in the watchtowers waved. The steady clickety-clack on the rails continued as the train continued on toward Merseburg.

“They are alert,” Astrid observed, keeping her voice down as Neustatter had. “Those two new buildings look almost finished.”

“I have never seen anyone at work on them. Nor have Hjalmar nor Ditmar.”

“Yet progress is steady.”

“Makes you wonder who does the work, and when, does it not?” Neustatter asked.

Astrid mulled it over until Merseburg came into sight. No one sees the work being done. So they stop work when trains go by and get out of sight. No reason for von Hessler’s Saale Levies to do that. No reason for the SoTF National Guard—Oh!

“I figured it out, Neustatter.”

Neustatter nodded. Astrid figured half of that was approval for keeping her mouth shut about who it was.

The Weissenfels passengers disembarked at Merseburg, a couple other passengers boarded, and the train rumbled on toward Halle.

One of the CoC men came over. “I heard your men call this the Saxon Run,” he said. “Do you get off in Halle?”

“Nein,” Neustatter told him. “Trouble is less likely beyond Halle, but a determined opponent could still cause some. We ride all the way to Magdeburg.”

“As do we,” the CoC man said.

“I thought the CoCs were generally moving outward from Magdeburg,” Neustatter observed.

“We finished our assignment. They want us back in Magdeburg. We were not in time to make it to Güstrow, but if anything else like that happens . . . ”

Astrid managed not to cringe at the matter-of-fact way he said it. Krystalnacht had started a couple weeks ago. The Committees of Correspondence attacked anti-Semites and witch hunters—the sort of people responsible for the deaths of Mayor Dreeson, Enoch Wiley, Buster Beasley, and far too many police officers in Grantville. In Mecklenburg Province, the nobles had attacked the CoCs—but then CoC reinforcements shattered the nobles’ army at the Battle of Güstrow.

A couple passengers boarded at Schkopau, and a few minutes later, the train pulled into the station across the river from Halle. Most of the passengers disembarked; there was a half-hour stopover, and Halle’s station had restrooms.

“You and Wolfram first,” Neustatter told Astrid.

Wolfram was already back at the train when she returned—the line for the women’s restroom had been a bit slower.

“Miss Schäubin, you are in charge.” Neustatter informed her. “Hjalmar and I will see if Sergeant Hudson is on duty.”

“Understood, boss,” she replied.

A few minutes later, she saw Neustatter, Hjalmar, and two CoC men come out of the railroad station. Makes sense. They must want news, too.

“All aboard!”

The clickety-clack of the wheels increased as the train picked up speed.

* * *

The train pulled into Magdeburg Central at dusk.

“An uneventful journey,” Sergeant Sandhagen remarked.

“That is how we like them,” Neustatter agreed.

“We need to report in. Good working with you,” the CoC leader said. “You might have a drink at Green Horse Tavern and see if Frau Linder is singing. She is an up-timer, very popular with the Committees.”

Neustatter nodded his thanks.

“Safe journey.”

Neustatter nodded. “To you, as well.” He watched as the CoC men set out toward the walled part of the city.

“You are concerned,” Astrid observed. “Krystalnacht?”

“I do not doubt the anti-Semites and witch hunters had it coming. But such a large operation depends heavily on its small unit commanders . . . It is very easy for something to go wrong. People make mistakes, after all.” He sighed. “Shall we go find this Green Horse Tavern?”

Green Horse Tavern was crowded, but the NESS teams found a table in the back. They spent the next couple hours listening to Marla Linder and her fellow musicians play what they called Irish music.

When Marla finished singing “The Wind That Shakes the Barley,” Neustatter turned to Astrid. “It sounds like the Irish had a hard time of it in the up-time but persevered. I should have a researcher look into whether there is anything we can adopt for NESS.”

Astrid shook her head. “If so, you will find at least one John Wayne movie about it.”

Magdeburg

Thursday, June 21, 1635

The NESS teams slept late. It was mid-day before they all assembled and wandered about Magdeburg in search of food.

Astrid found herself checking her surroundings frequently.

“Nervous?” Hjalmar asked.

“The city feels different.”

“You are correct,” Neustatter said. “But tell me how you know. What do you see?”

Astrid watched people for a few minutes. “Many are glancing around. Some are hurrying with their heads down.”

“Exactly.”

A few minutes later, Hjalmar asked, “Are we going back to Green Horse Tavern, Neustatter? We have passed at least three places where we could eat.”

“You may eat anywhere you wish. I am going to Syborg’s Book Store,” Neustatter said. “There’s an inn with good food a couple blocks north of it.”

Hjalmar rolled his eyes.

Astrid just smiled. She wanted to see the inside of this bookstore. She’d heard about it from the men often enough.

Half an hour later, she was still smiling in amusement as Neustatter and Herr Syborg carried on an animated discussion of westerns in Amideutsch. Syborg had sent his son and the sales clerk off to lunch a while ago.

“You must see the latest from Haas and Seitz,” Matthias Syborg urged him. “The characters are masterfully done.”

“I agree Haas and Seitz write great characters,” Neustatter acknowledged, “but I do not think they get the geography right. The American West didn’t have villages every couple miles. Not in the up-time movies, anyway.”

Naturally that led into a discussion of those movies. Astrid half-listened to Syborg’s quick, chopped-off Amideutsch and Neustatter’s adopted drawl as she wandered around the bookstore. She felt crowded as she maneuvered around three other patrons. The whole shop would easily fit inside the Calvert High School library, so why did it seem to have so many books? Train your power of observation. The voice in her head sounded just like Neustatter. So she followed orders.

One shelf in each stack had a book open, propped up on a little wooden lectern, with a stack of the new magazines to either side. This meant fewer books per shelf, and it also meant the shelves had to be spaced further apart than at Calvert High, so there were fewer shelves per stack. And the bottom two shelves had literal stacks of books. She bent down to check. Yes, they were more copies of the titles on the upper shelves. Astrid looked around and realized the bookstore had no back room. The bottom two shelves were inventory storage. That meant nobody had to get down on the floor to read book titles. She counted the books on one shelf, the number of shelves in a stack, and the number of stacks in the store. No, there were not nearly as many books as it seemed.

Neustatter and the proprietor were still talking, so Astrid kept browsing. A lot of the non-fiction was reprints of up-time books, mostly technical subjects and histories. But some were newly written by down-timers. Most had Dewey numbers printed right on the spine.

The fiction was grouped by genre. Astrid skipped the romance. She’d get recommendations which would save her no end of frustration trying to figure out whether a given book was the up-time “in love” style, the down-time family alliance style, or a mix of clashing expectations. She’d found one of those quite good and a few bad enough she’d moved back to mysteries. She liked those where she had a reasonable chance of figuring out the culprit.

Astrid looked up when she heard the door open. A young woman maneuvered a teenage boy into the bookstore, then quickly pulled the door closed behind her. Astrid kept a book in front of her as if she were fascinated by how the dowager freifrau was narrowing down who could have killed the church sexton. But really, she was assessing the new arrivals. The young woman looked like she was in her mid-twenties, about her own age. She was expensively dressed and carried herself confidently. More confidently than I would expect of a burgher’s daughter. Probably of the adel. But she looks worried. The teenaged boy wore similarly fine clothes, a sword, and a stubborn expression.

“Welcome,” Syborg said. “May I help you find a book?”

“Nein,” the boy said.

“Ja, bitte,” the woman said at the same time.

“What kind of book are you looking for?”

Astrid watched her falter for a couple seconds and realized the woman hadn’t really come in for a book. But she recovered quickly and said, “An adventure.” With a nod toward the young man, even.

“What sort of adventure?” the proprietor asked. “Foreign lands? Science fiction?”

“Science fiction?” The woman pronounced it carefully. “What is that?”

“A genre popularized by the up-timers. The stories feature much technology, often in space.”

“Boring.” Whether it was the dismissive tone or the casual flip of his hand, Astrid was suddenly seized by an urge to smack him a new attitude.

“What about a western, then?”

“What is that?” The boy’s lip curled dismissively.

“They are set in North America, in the up-time.”

“Pfffffffttt. Stupid stories.”

“Do you even know what you are calling stupid?” Neustatter rumbled. He stepped up in front of the boy. “I study westerns carefully, the real thing and the stories. They help me understand the up-timers, and because of it my men and I make a better living as security consultants.”

“Ha! You are nothing but a mercenary! I am an imperial knight! Stand aside, or—”

“Or what?” Neustatter interrupted.

Astrid tossed the book on a random shelf, took three quick steps, and yanked the woman aside.

At the same time, the young man’s hand flashed to his sword. It was halfway out when Neustatter staggered him with a quick left jab to the chin. To his credit, he actually managed to finish drawing the sword while flailing wildly to recover his balance—and found himself staring down the barrel of the M1911 .45 that had streaked out of Neustatter’s holster.

“I think you need to study the Westerns, too.” Neustatter’s voice was calm. “You are good. If you can control your noble temper, you will be better.” Without turning his head, he asked, “Herr Syborg, do you have the novelization of Rio Bravo?”

The proprietor swallowed. “Ja, ja, I think so. Right over there.”

Astrid was closest. She passed a copy to Neustatter.

“Add it to my bill, bitte,” Neustatter told him. He handed the book to the young man. “For you.”

The woman—by now Astrid was assuming she was his older sister—curtseyed, thanked them graciously, and swept the boy out of the shop.

Neustatter grinned as he holstered his pistol. “I don’t know as I’ve seen someone elegantly hustle before.”

“Neustatter—” Astrid began.

Neustatter shrugged with both hands palm up. “He drew on me. And he got out of it with a punch in the mouth and a book. I think it went okay.”

Matthias Syborg burst into laughter and clapped Neustatter on the shoulder.

* * *

After she and Neustatter got some lunch, Astrid wandered around Magdeburg with the others for a bit. Then they returned to their rooms, and Astrid lay down for a nap. She wanted to be as well-rested as possible before she stayed up all night on the train. Around five, the NESS agents assembled for dinner in the inn’s main room before making their way to the train station. Sergeant Sandhagen was already there.

“How were the barracks?” Neustatter asked.

“Tense. New prime minister, Krystalnacht, upcoming war. Wars, maybe.”

“We noticed the same thing,” Neustatter stated. “What do we know about tonight’s train?”

“It is the regular overnight express to Schwarza Junction. Semi-express, actually, with stops at Halle, Naumburg Station, and Jena. Steam engine and three passenger cars.”

Neustatter’s question was immediate. “Three?”

“Two sleepers and a regular car. They added the third a couple hours ago. A lot of people want to go to Grantville.”

“It is a safe place.”

“They ought to consider why they will be safer in Grantville . . . but three men to each car. I will be in the second.”

As far as Astrid could tell, Neustatter didn’t even hesitate as he issued new orders. “Hjalmar, your team has the first car, but I need Karl in the second one.”

Astrid’s brother nodded. “You want me up front with the rifle and Jakob watching my back. Otto in the rear.”

“Ja. Karl, you are the rifleman in the second car. Sergeant Sandhagen is in charge. Phillip, you will be in the back of the car. I will be in the front of the third car. Wolfram, you have a rifle. Astrid, watch his back.”

One rifle in each car, Astrid noted. We will be stretched thin . . .

“I know we will be thin.” Neustatter seemed to read her thoughts. “Stay alert. And do not get comfortable on the stairs. The sleeping compartments block line of sight, so make sure you are up in the aisle frequently. Open the doors between cars if you need to pass a message.”

The NESS agents fanned out to their respective cars. Neustatter took his station at the front of the third car. Astrid started to follow Wolfram to the back, but Neustatter signaled her to wait.

“Miss Schäubin, please look into purchasing more long arms. I want at least one more with your team, two if we can. And one more with Hjalmar’s team.”

“I will see if NESS can afford what is available,” Astrid agreed. “Maybe SRGs.”

“What I would really like is a Winchester.”

“I think only the Hibernian Battalion can afford those.”

The train soon began filling up. Astrid noted some of those boarding were checking large amounts of baggage. When they boarded, she could see they were richly dressed. Adel or at least well-to-do, she thought. Are they that afraid? The Crown Loyalists won the election, and Krystalnacht has done very little in Magdeburg itself. No real reason to flee.

She noted in some cases servants were preparing compartments for nobles or burghers in the first two cars and then coming back to the third car themselves. To sleep sitting up. And they won’t be able to go help their masters while the train is moving. Smarter to buy the servants tickets for a second compartment.

“All aboard!”

Astrid checked her side of the train. “Two more!” she called out. “Running!”

She had just realized the first figure was a woman, running in full skirts when she caught sight of a whole group of figures.

“Neustatter! Pursuit! No polizei in sight!”

She heard Neustatter throw open the door to the next car as the train’s brakes released. The figure was within twenty yards now, and—it was the woman and the boy from Syborg’s Book Store!

Astrid stood on the bottom step with one hand outstretched and the other firmly around the hand rail. The woman caught her hand as the train began to move. She hurried up the stairs. The boy ignored Astrid’s hand. She grabbed him instead and hauled him aboard.

The sound of boots on the stairs behind her told her one of the pursuers had made it aboard. She turned to see two more pursuers leap aboard and quickly backed up the aisle. Everything was happening at once: the woman was pulling her brother up the aisle, passengers were turning around, one woman screamed, and the fourth and fifth pursuers were rapidly outpaced by the train. But most of Astrid’s attention was on the first one. He was reaching for a weapon. Threats. Her pistol was out and rising, left hand coming up to meet it . . .

“Freeze!” Neustatter barked.

The man froze mid-draw, so Astrid froze in a two-handed stance. She saw Wolfram, on the back left steps, had his rifle leveled at the other two, both of whom had rifles. Neustatter’s voice had come from the front right, so he’d have a line of fire over the heads of the seated passengers.

The second pursuer spoke in the clipped Amideutsch of Magdeburg.

“We arrest them in the name of the Committees of Correspondence.”

Astrid stared in shock. But Neustatter just snorted. “I did not realize the Committees have police powers.”

“It is best you step out of our way.”

“Nein, it is best you explain yourselves. Now.” Neustatter delivered the last word with a certain menace.

“If you interfere, we will report it to Gunther Achterhof.”

Definitely a threat, Astrid realized.

“Do not make me explain to Gunther why I had to put three of his men in the ground,” Neustatter responded.

So is that.

The first man’s hand tightened on whatever he had half-drawn.

“Uh-uh,” Astrid told him. “Let go of it. Or I will shoot you.” Clients—the train and passengers.

The second man held his left hand up. “Put it away, Gebhard.” He faced Neustatter. “Your guns are going to get heavy.”

Astrid took a couple steps backwards toward the front the car. She remembered two women seated together on the left side.

“Frauen, slide over, bitte,” she requested without turning her head. She knelt on the seat, resting her pistol on the back of the seat. “I can stay here a really long time. So explain yourselves.”

The second pursuer glanced upward and sighed. “Fine,” he snapped. “These are the children of Heinrich von Kardorff. He was a ritter in Westphalia.”

“We got him,” the first man said.

“They killed Father,” the boy said. His hand slid toward his sword.

“Don’t move,” Neustatter growled. “I’m Neustatter. My teams are train guards on this run. Kid, I assume you are now Ritter von Kardorff.”

“I am.”

“And I assume this is Frau von Kardorff, your sister.”

“Half-sister.”

“Ah, so you are mad at her, too,” Neustatter observed. “Westphalia explains your very proper Plattdeutsch. And over there we have Gebhard in front, the CoC team leader—what is your name?”

“Klaus Eggers. And that is Hans behind me.”

“What are you waiting for?” a man seated on the right side next to a window demanded. “Shoot them!”

“For being CoCs? That would be right unneighborly,” Neustatter drawled.

“Take care, old man!” Gebhard threatened. “You could be next.”

A man on the right side of the train stood up. “There are more of us than there are of you,” he said in Hochdeutsch.

“Sit down,” Neustatter told him.

“I will not be spoken—”

“I will speak to you any way I choose,” Neustatter told him.

Astrid couldn’t see him; he was toward the front of the car, and she was halfway back, facing the rear. She wasn’t about to look away from where she aimed her pistol.

“I am not going to listen to a peasant.”

“That is mighty big talk from a burgher in front of so many niederadel,” Neustatter observed. “They think the same of you as you think of peasants.”

Klaus laughed harshly. “The adel took their privileges under a supposed agreement to protect everyone else. But here is a burgher standing up to you while the adel remains seated.”

“But as the Constitution says, we are all citizens here,” Neustatter countered. “I know the Committees believe this. So tell me about von Kardorff and his children.”

Gebhard spat on the floor. “Von Kardorff was the worst kind of scum. Oppressing his villagers. Crooked deals, cheating on contracts, taking advantage of the young women . . . ”

“But that is not why we killed him,” Klaus interrupted. “Only two things put someone on the target lists: anti-Semitism and witch hunting. Von Kardorff was guilty of both.”

“Go on.”

“He was typical of the adel, living above his means, taking advantage of the labor of the villagers,” Klaus growled. “But it was still not enough money for him. He borrowed heavily from Jews, then made false accusations against them when they tried to collect.”

“Give me money or I will arrange an accident—a legal one,” Neustatter summarized.

“Ja, you understand.” Klaus was really getting warmed up now. “He used accusations of witchcraft the same way, to take advantage of the young women in the village. Sleep with him or be accused of witchcraft. Or mother or grandmother accused of witchcraft. He had four Jews and three women killed. That we know of.”

“Ritter von Kardorff, Miss von Kardorff, do you have anything to say?” Neustatter asked.

“What is ‘Miss’?” the woman demanded. “I wish to know if I am being insulted.”

“You should be more worried about being killed,” Gebhard stated.

“Shut up,” Astrid told him. “Frau von Kardorff, ‘miss’ is how up-timers address unmarried women. Neustatter calls me miss whenever I call him Herr.”

Frau von Kardorff laughed once. “He is no Herr. Even the burgher saw he is nothing but a . . . ”

“Citizen.” Astrid spoke loudly since she still wasn’t going to turn her head to address Frau von Kardorff.

“Bah!” Frau von Kardorff burst out. “What good is being a citizen when the city watch stood aside for the CoC? Is ‘citizen’ limited to them?”

“Normally there’s no reason for the polizei to stop the CoCs,” Astrid stated, still not facing her. “Again, we are all citizens. Which part of this do you not understand?”

“How dare you turn your back to me!”

“Frau von Kardorff!” Neustatter snapped. “Step back. If you strike Miss Schäubin, I will shoot you myself.”

“You will have to shoot me first!” the young ritter declared.

“Ja, I would,” Neustatter said. “Since my team are the ones keeping the CoC from killing you and your sister, maybe she should not be raising her hand against us.”

For a few seconds, Astrid heard nothing but the clickety-clack of the train on the tracks. Then Neustatter said, “Sehr gut.” Evidently Miss von Kardorff had enough self-control to stand down.

“Now, Miss von Kardorff, do you have anything to say about the CoCs’ charges?”

Astrid heard nothing for several seconds. She is either furious or ashamed.

“Our father was not a pleasant man.”

Hearing her very controlled tone, Astrid realized it was shame.

“I cannot speak to the particulars,” Miss von Kardorff stated, “beyond hearing him complain about the Jews.”

“An anti-Semite then,” Gebhard stated. “So let us shoot them.”

“Suppose first you explain how Ritter von Kardorff’s children are involved?” Neustatter requested.

“They are his children!” Gebhard blurted out.

“Ja, as I just said. But how are they involved?”

“If we do not kill them, they will rule over the village. The same things will keep happening.”

“Nein, they will not,” the boy stated.

“We are not going to take a chance,” Gebhard countered.

Astrid heard a train car door squeak open. She realized it was the door to the next car ahead. Someone had made the somewhat dangerous crossing between cars while the train was underway. Then she heard Karl’s voice.

“Where do you want me, Neustatter?”

“Middle of the aisle,” came Neustatter’s voice. Once Karl was evidently in position, Neustatter called, “Wolfram, order arms!”

“Clever,” Eggers allowed. “Hans, you cover the one at our backs while I cover the new one. And be alert when the train pulls into Halle. He will have more men in the first two cars.”

After the discussion continued for a while, Neustatter signaled Wolfram. His rifle came back up, and Karl crossed back to the second car. Klaus and Hans took the opportunity to rest their rifles, one at a time.

Astrid’s legs were starting to cramp by the time she heard Karl return.

“We are five minutes from Halle,” he announced. “Sergeant Sandhagen is aware of what is happening back here.”

Eggers turned his head and told Hans something, speaking too quietly for her to hear.

“The train will stop at Halle just long enough for passengers to disembark and board,” Neustatter reminded them all. “You will not have time to bring the local CoC to the station.”

“You will not have time to summon reinforcements, either,” Eggers countered.

“True,” Neustatter allowed.

Half-true, Astrid thought. She had already figured out why Karl had been gone so long. Of course, the CoC men didn’t know Karl had been assigned to the front of the second car, not to the back . . .

“Since we seem to have a stalemate, I suggest we all find more comfortable seating arrangements,” Neustatter suggested. “If we ask all the passengers to move to the right side, Ritter and Miss von Kardorff can sit in the front on the left. You men can sit in the back, and Miss Schäubin and I will sit in the middle.”

Astrid listened to the clickety-clack of the train as Eggers thought the proposal over for a full minute. “Okay, but we will take the front and put the reactionaries in the back.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Neustatter stated.

But it does, Astrid thought. Now they will be the ones facing backwards in their seats.

“Und we will lock the door to the next car,” Eggers added.

Ah, so he saw that part.

“Fine. I will keep Wolfram on the back stairs. Got to have a rear guard. Which side do you want him on?”

Clever, Neustatter. Clever. Astrid wasn’t sure if there even was a right answer.

“Left,” Eggers said after another minute. “Most of the stations are on the left.”

“What about us?” the burgher who had stood up earlier asked.

“I regret our conversation will probably keep most of you awake,” Neustatter answered. “But at least you will be out of the line of fire.”

Halle Station

Friday, June 22, 1635

It was after midnight when the southbound Schwarza Express was shunted off onto the second line and rolled into Halle Station. At the same time, the northbound Magdeburg Express pulled away from the station on the main line.

“Halle Station! Anyone disembarking?”

“You could all leave the train here,” the burgher suggested.

“Train guards,” Neustatter said. “We cannot leave.”

“I am not getting off the train,” Miss von Kardorff declared.

“Then we stay, too,” Eggers said.

Several passengers left the third car, including the vocal burgher. Two or three people looked like they intended to board but were quickly pulled aside by those leaving the train. Only one man boarded. He found a seat in the back. Neustatter just shook his head.

“I see no reason to involve the stationmaster,” Neustatter said. “If all the rest of you would please move to the right side of the car? And Wolfram, if you would step down and let the Committeemen pass?”

“Hans, you first,” Klaus directed. “And the reactionaries move down the aisle to the back.”

Hans left by the rear door and reentered at the front of the car. Klaus followed, and then Gebhard, so at least one of them was always in a position to cover the von Kardorffs.

“You suckered me!” Neustatter declared when he saw Gebhard had finally been able to draw his pistol while outside the train.

“Ja, I did,” Eggers acknowledged. He locked the door to the next car as the conductor’s cry of “All aboard!” rang out from somewhere forward. Just as he sat down looking satisfied, Sergeant Johann Sandhagen came up the car’s front steps. He held a lantern in each hand.

“I am not armed. But since we have crossed into Thuringia-Franconia, you are my problem. So I ought to be back here.”

“There is a soldier on the train!” It was the first thing Astrid had heard CoC Hans say.

“Ja,” Neustatter answered. “One military police liaison per train. Surely you knew this?”

Surely they did not, Astrid realized as the train started to move.

Sandhagen replaced the lantern hanging at the front of the car, slipped past the CoC men to replace the lantern in the back, and then found an empty seat in the middle on the left side. Neustatter dropped into the seat ahead of him and moved all the way across to the window, his pistol still up, momentarily in a one-handed grip. Astrid took the one behind the sergeant, grateful to finally be sitting down properly. She sat next to the aisle, gun hand casually resting on the back of Sandhagen’s seat.

She heard Wolfram tell the von Kardorffs, “Your turn to sit down. Two seats up from the back, bitte. I have recent experience with hand-to-hand fighting on a train, and I must insist on an empty seat between us.”

Dank schön, Wolfram. Just what I need to be thinking about—Lucas getting shot in the ambush last month. Especially when we roll right past the spot, in the dark, with a swordsman behind me . . . Oh! Astrid realized something.

“Did you speak with the stationmaster, sergeant?” Klaus Eggers demanded.

“Nein. If I wanted to force an end to this, I would have had him hold the train while I summoned help from the camp outside the town. But I did not.”

Astrid saw an expression cross Egger’s face. Evidently Neustatter did, too.

“You boys are not AWOL, are you? Those rifles are SRGs.” Neustatter’s voice was casual. He held up his left hand when Hans started. “Not my watch. I got out of soldiering. Mostly.”

“So we are back to Ritter von Kardorff’s children,” Klaus Eggers stated. He was speaking even more quickly.

Trying to lead us away from Neustatter’s question about being AWOL, Astrid figured.

“We cannot let them live,” Gebhard said.

“Why?” Neustatter asked. “Are they anti-Semites? Or witch hunters?”

“Probably.”

“Probably is not good enough. Everyone has heard of the Committees of Correspondence lists. Either they are on the list, or they are not. Show us,” Neustatter challenged.

Again there was a pause in the conversation, with the clickety-clack of the train the only noise.

One of the passengers finally broke the silence. “Obviously they are not on your list. Sergeant, I insist these men be arrested at the next stop! And these incompetent guards replaced!”

“Mein Herr, so far these guards have kept anyone from getting hurt,” Sandhagen pointed out.

“If you will not, I will! I know men in the new prime minister’s government!”

Klaus Eggers shifted to cover the man with his rifle. “You are niederadel!”

“Sure sounds like it,” Neustatter agreed. “Astrid, you have a better angle on him. Wolfram, you cover the von Kardorffs. I have Gebhard and Silent Hans.”

“Neustatter,” Eggers warned.

“What? I have one gun on you and your men instead of two. Stop complaining.”

“If you have contacts in Prime Minister Wettin’s government . . . ” Miss von Kardorff began.

Klaus Eggers interrupted her. “That will mean nothing in the SoTF.”

“Are you of the adel?” the boy demanded. “And you have been sitting here silent the entire time?”

“He does not want to get involved,” Klaus told him. “You are not worth it to him. It is how the adel is.”

“You would let them take us?” The boy’s voice rose.

“Of course he would! He is a coward like the rest of them!”

The newly-discovered noble reached for something.

“Freeze!” Neustatter barked. “Either drop it in the aisle or very slowly come over here and sit down next to Sergeant Sandhagen.”

“I will not!”

“Wolfram, cover the CoCs.” Neustatter lunged across the aisle and pistol-whipped the noble. With his left hand he stripped the dirk out of the noble’s hand while his right—pistol still in hand—snaked under the man’s arm and around the back of his neck. Neustatter hauled the man out into the aisle by brute force and deposited him next to Sandhagen.

“Astrid, shoot him in the back of the head if he tries anything. Wolfram, you have the von Kardorffs.”

“Impressive,” Eggers allowed.

“The rest of us all seem willing to talk,” Neustatter noted.

“I will . . . I will . . . You will hang for this!” The noble started to lunge to his feet, but Sergeant Sandhagen grabbed him by the bicep and shoulder and drove him back into the seat.

“Let us kill him, too,” Gebhard proposed.

He is driven, almost unhinged, Astrid thought. Why?

“Astrid?” Neustatter asked.

“Ja, boss?”

“We are in Saxon County now, are we not? If someone was killed on a train, who do you think would get to the murderer first, Colonel von Hessler or the Saxon Ghost?”

Astrid thought about it. “I say von Hessler.”

“Why?”

“He has the Levies spread out along the river. Which means they are right along the railroad, too. He would hear anything very quickly.”

“The Ghost finds out everything in Saxon County,” Neustatter countered.

Klaus gave them a very skeptical look.

Astrid rushed her next question a bit. “What do you think would happen?”

“Von Hessler would probably just shoot them,” Neustatter said. “The Ghost? Who knows? I heard he hanged Saxon officers last year.”

“He is not real,” Eggers stated.

“Sure he is. We met him last month—and the troop of dragoons that rides with him. Miss Schäubin? Five bucks on the Saxon Ghost.”

“Five bucks on Colonel von Hessler,” Astrid agreed.

“Neustatter.”

“What is it, Wolfram?”

“I saw a light when the train came around the bend. We are coming up on Schkopau.”

“I dank ihnen,” Sergeant Sandhagen said. Astrid smiled at the phrasing. One didn’t hear a formal thank you in Amideutsch often.

“This is the Saxon Run,” the sergeant continued. “Von Hessler and the Saxon Ghost are not the only ones out there. The SoTF thinks members of the Saxon adel were behind the attack on the train last month. So I need you to point your guns away from each other and cover the doors.”

“The sergeant is correct,” Neustatter stated. He got up and moved backward down the aisle, pistol pointed straight up. “Wolfram, keep the left. I have the right. Ritter von Kardorff, I am going to trust you to not draw your sword. Eggers, one of you can watch the nobles, but the other two need to cover the forward doors.”

“This is a trick!” Gebhard exclaimed.

“No trick,” Neustatter said. “We need to be on the alert all the way to Camburg.”

“I will watch the reactionaries,” Gebhard declared.

“Fine.”

“If it is a trick, Neustatter, you would be the decoy.” Klaus spoke slowly. “So I will watch the door on the right.”

“Fine.” Neustatter said it like he didn’t care.

He probably doesn’t, Astrid thought. Oh, yes. “Herr von Adel, remember I am right behind you,” she said aloud.

Facing outward toward a possible external threat put a damper on conversation as the Schwarza Express passed Merseburg, Camp Devastation, and Weissenfels. Sergeant Sandhagen got up and shuttered the lanterns.

After a few minutes, Astrid’s night vision came back. “Coming up on Eulau,” she observed. “Just beyond is where the train got attacked last month. Watch the ridgeline.”

“I see a torch!” Klaus called out.

“Von Hessler’s watchtower,” Neustatter told him.

“What is next?” Klaus asked.

“Camp Terror. It will be on the right. Then we cross the bridge over the Unstrut and stop at Naumburg Station.”

“What is this camp?” Ritter von Kardorff asked.

“It was a railroad construction camp,” Astrid heard Neustatter tell him. “Then the USE regiments built it up when they marched through in ’33. Now it has a garrison of SoTF National Guard and Saale Levies.”

“And the name?”

“A joke made by a Saxon soldier, but the Levies kept it.”

Miss von Kardorff suddenly recoiled from the window. “There is nothing out there!”

Astrid had felt the clickety-clack of the train change. “We are on the bridge, up over the river.”

“This is unnatural,” the woman declared.

The sound changed again.

“We are back on land,” Astrid offered, still not turning her head. She heard Miss von Kardorff sigh in relief.

“I see lights,” Klaus announced.

“Naumburg Station.”

A few of the passengers stirred as the train coasted up to the platform. Astrid heard one quietly question another. “Shall we find an inn here and finish the journey tomorrow, on a safe train?”

“Nein. This is Saxon County. It is no safer for us than this train.”

Astrid was pretty sure he was wrong, but saw no reason to butt into their conversation.

The conductor came up the steps. “We are going to add a fourth car here,” he announced. “Once it is hooked up, I will ask all of you passengers to move to it.” He leaned back out the door and waved.

The train was moving before anyone could protest. It rolled a little way from the station and stopped again.

“What is happening?” Gebhard demanded. “Neustatter, you planned this!”

“I have been right here with you, Gebhard. How would I have done it?”

Gebhard’s aim shifted from the von Kardorffs to Neustatter. “Who else could have?”

“A good question,” Klaus Eggers agreed. He turned away from the door. “How does this extra railroad car happen to be here?”

“It is for emergencies,” the conductor told him. “Camp Devastation was raided a year ago in the spring. There were no trains nearby to transport troops. Since then there is always an engine and an extra car either here or at Halle.”

As if to punctuate his words, another train rumbled. Then there was a heavy thud against the back of the car.

“They are hooking up the fourth car now.”

No kidding, Astrid thought.

“The engineer and I know what is going on back here,” the conductor informed them. “We are not stupid. You must work this out among yourselves, but we must move our passengers to safety.”

“This makes sense to me,” Sergeant Sandhagen declared.

Someone banged on the rear door. Neustatter unlocked and opened it.

A beefy man dressed in brown stood there. He had a green cloth tied around his upper right arm. “We are ready for your passengers,” he said.

“Who are you?” Klaus Eggers demanded.

“Ich heisse Peter Hofmann. I am a farmer in Kleinjena, a mile up the road. But I am in the Saale Levies, too.” He pointed at the green cloth around his arm and continued in the same almost-Hochdeutsch that wasn’t quite the same as the Grantville Amideutsch they’d heard from Heinz Kraft yesterday. “Colonel von Hessler ordered me to take five men and protect the train to Grantville, then come back in the morning. He said to stay out of whatever was going on, just keep the train safe from outside attack.”

“I do not believe you,” Gebhard stated.

“This is part . . . what do they call it? Krystalnacht, is it not? Not our problem,” Hofmann stated.

“Weak sisters,” Eggers snarled.

Hofmann matched him glare for glare. “There are no witch hunters in the Unstruttal. Since last fall, Jews live in our village—a minyan or something like that. I think it means ‘a whole bunch’ in Jewish. We do not mind if men from the Yellow Circle Regiment march through or ride the trains. More and more men and women work in shops and factories along the rivers. Most of them belong to unions. We are you.” He pointed right at Eggers. “War with Saxony is coming. Do not start anything right here on the border. Not unless you intend to stay and help finish it.”

Hofmann’s tirade silenced everyone.

“Guess I owe you five bucks, Astrid,” Neustatter spoke into the silence. “Well, Herr Eggers, I agree to Hofmann’s terms if you do.”

Astrid could practically see the man thinking.

“We are now behind schedule,” the conductor announced.

“We cannot have that.”

The conductor gave a firm nod. He’d evidently missed Eggers’ sarcasm. “Since it is all settled, I will move the passengers now.”

“Go ahead,” Eggers agreed.

The passengers quickly gathered up whatever they had brought with them and moved to the fourth car.

Gebhard pointed at the noble Astrid was still covering. “He stays.”

“Why?” Neustatter asked.

“Because he is one of them,” Gebhard stated.

“He was not going to help until you forced the issue. He appealed to Sergeant Sandhagen and was not going to defend the von Kardorffs. How does that set him against you?”

“He spoke against us!”

“I speak against you, too. Gebhard, you are a dummkopf. Free speech.”

Gebhard swore at Neustatter.

“And the horse you rode in on,” Neustatter returned.

“Silence!” Klaus Eggers ordered. “Get the noble out of here!”

“Your call,” Sergeant Sandhagen said. “Herr, this way.”

The noble shied away as he passed Neustatter.

“Now you come back here and sit down, Sergeant,” Eggers instructed. “I do not want you planning anything against us.”

“Fine.” Sandhagen looked at Hofmann. “Neustatter has another team in the first two cars. Try to work together if anything happens.”

Hofmann nodded. “Good luck.”

They shut and locked their respective doors as the train began to move.

As the clickety-clacks came closer and closer together, Gebhard said, “We cannot make an example of the reactionaries without witnesses.”

Neustatter glanced away from his door. “Do you seriously want to kidnap an audience?”

Eggers smacked Gebhard in the back of the head. “Nein.”

“Next item. You need to convince me the von Kardorffs are legitimate targets,” Neustatter stated.

“We told you. The father—”

“But they are not on your list, are they?” Neustatter’s tone was harsh. “What makes you think you can kill them?”

“We have to cut out the rot,” Gebhard answered. “Like father, like child.”

“You are just like them,” Astrid blurted out. “They know of one lazy villager—and treat us all like that. You know of one rapist and murderer and treat them all like that. But the Constitution forbids corruption of blood. I thought the Committees followed the Constitution.”

She had the satisfaction of watching Klaus’ mouth open and close a couple times. And Silent Hans flushed.

“They are . . . Not . . . On . . . Your . . . List,” Neustatter stated. “You are not allowed.”

“Do not presume to tell the Committees what we can and cannot do,” Eggers snapped. He turned away from his door as well. “We are past the camp and approaching Jena—the Committees’ territory. You have no one else you can call upon.”

“Do not be too sure,” Neustatter told him. “But since we are not in Jena yet, what do you have to say about Miss Schäubin’s point from the Constitution?”

“The anti-Semites and the witch hunters are not going to follow the Constitution, so neither are we,” Gebhard stated. Now weapons came up all around.

“Herr Eggers, it does not explain why you seek to kill people not on your list. Something else is going on here, and I want to know what,” Neustatter demanded. “Right now.”

Astrid noted Eggers and Gebhard exchanged looks while Silent Hans looked uncomfortable. Gebhard finally spoke up.

“One of the women von Kardorff had killed was the grandmother of a CoC member.”

“So this is private justice.”

“He is not on this mission. Someone has to see to it.”

“You are committed to this,” Neustatter observed. “Against orders. Why?”

“My grandfather was killed by the adel.”

“I see,” Neustatter said. “This CoC man whose grandmother von Kardorff killed—would he happen to be on the team going after the adel who killed your grandfather?”

Astrid saw Gebhard’s eyes widen and knew Neustatter had scored a hit.

“How do you know?” Gebhard blurted out.

“Because Sergeant Hudson made me sit through Strangers on a Train,” Neustatter said.

Astrid couldn’t help it. She started laughing.

“You find this funny?” Eggers demanded.

“That Neustatter figured it out from an up-time movie?” she asked. “Ja, I do.”

“So why are you permitting it, Klaus?” Neustatter asked. “Do you approve? No, I see you do not.” He paused and thought. “Does he have something on you? No. You are not a man to blackmail. Honorable . . . He saved your life, did he not? During Krystalnacht? Or before?”

For the second time, Astrid saw the CoC men’s eyes widen in surprise.

“First week of Krystalnacht.” Eggers’ voice was gruff. “A man not on our list shot at me after I let him go.”

“Ah. So Gebhard’s belief none of the adel can be trusted rings true. Dank schön, Herr Eggers. Now I understand.”

“We are going to take them off the train here in Jena,” Eggers stated as the train began to slow down. “Stand up!”

Astrid heard the young Ritter von Kardorff stand. Then she heard the hiss of a blade being drawn. Gebhard came down the aisle, pistol raised. She stepped in front of him.

“Gebhard!” Klaus warned.

“Stand aside!” a deep voice called out on the platform. “CoC!”

Gebhard smiled menacingly.

Another voice shouted. “National Guard! Herr Engineer, keep the train moving!”

The train began to roll.

Klaus Eggers glared at Neustatter, his rifle coming up again. “You cheated!”

“I and most of my men are National Guard,” Neustatter told him. “That includes Miss Schäubin’s brother. So if you shoot her, Gebhard, I am going to let Hjalmar kill you. Personal vengeance cuts both ways.”

“Gebhard, step back,” Eggers directed.

“Nein. It is time to end this.”

“Stop!” Von Kardorff tried to pass Astrid. She stepped in front of him. The boy half-sighed, half-growled in frustration. “Do you think I am so stupid I would take vengeance on my village for your crimes?”

“Of course it is what they think,” his sister spat out. “They do not think of us as people. Not one of them knows anything about us except what lands we own!”

Eggers began to argue, but she spoke over him. “What are our names?” she demanded.

“Von Kardorff.”

“Our names. Not our lands.”

After an awkward silence, Neustatter said, “It is clear they do not know your names.”

“Nor do you.”

“True. I have been too busy saving your life.”

She sniffed.

“Neustatter,” Eggers said, “you do understand we cannot let the boy rule over the village, do you not?”

“You could educate him instead of killing him,” Neustatter pointed out.

“Not much chance of that in a village.”

“Maybe the CoC should open a school.”

“I am not going to a school,” von Kardorff declared.

“Why not?” Astrid asked. “I take classes in Grantville. English, civics, finance.”

“The best education is in Grantville,” Neustatter agreed. “Herr Eggers, if you want him to rule the village well, those classes will be a good start.”

“I do not trust him or his sister. They will go back to the village.”

“Listen to you,” Miss von Kardorff interrupted. “The village. We are not of the hochadel. We own a village. We know everyone there.”

“And who does all the work administering it?” Gebhard asked.

“Herr Reimers oversaw most of it for Father,” von Kardorff stated.

“And will he oversee most of it for you?” Astrid asked.

“Of course.”

“Perfect,” Neustatter said. “You can attend school in Grantville and learn to rule well. Reimers can continue overseeing the village.”

“I told you we own a village,” Miss von Kardorff reminded everyone. “One small village. One hundred sixty-two tenants, only one hundred twenty-seven of them ours. We cannot afford to live in Grantville.”

Klaus Eggers laughed. “Get a job.”

“A job?” Astrid wished the young ritter hadn’t shouted from right behind her ear. He sounded outraged. “Most jobs are dishonorable.”

“So find an honorable one,” she told him.

“The only honorable occupation for a ritter is to be a soldier,” he stated.

“Or some other job where you carry a weapon,” Neustatter said slowly. “Kid, I got an idea. How about you come work for me while you are taking classes?”

“Nein!” Gebhard shouted.

“Neustatter, you are wahnsinnig,” Eggers told him.

“Why not?” Neustatter asked. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You have kept your cool as well as anyone could expect from a sixteen-year-old,” Neustatter told him.

“I will not leave my brother alone,” Miss Kardorff stated. “What would you do with me?”

“Do you intend to help your brother govern the village?” Neustatter asked.

“Yes, of course—until I marry.”

“Then you should take classes, too.”

“Will you give me a job, too? Hand me a sword?” The questions were definitely sarcastic.

“Miss Schäubin?”

Astrid was still looking at Gebhard. She rolled her eyes, because she knew what was coming. “Ja, Neustatter?”

“You handle NESS’ finances and are a security consultant. Do you want to train her?”

“Sure, why not? But, Neustatter, you can forget about buying any Winchesters if you are going to add two more staff. Maybe not even SRGs.”

“The Committees must have some guarantees,” Eggers began.

“Three more staff, Miss Schäubin,” Neustatter corrected.

“I am not working for you!” Gebhard declared.

“And I am not inclined to take you,” Neustatter agreed. “Besides, Gebhard, you are concerned about the villagers. Why not go there and help them? You promised your comrade you would make things right, did you not?”

Klaus Eggers laughed. “So why do you say three, Neustatter?” After the briefest of pauses, he said, “Nein! Not me!”

“Why not?” Neustatter asked. “The Committees seek assurances Ritter von Kardorff will learn to govern well. Who else would the CoCs send? Gebhard made a promise about the village. Hans . . . you plan to return to your volunteer regiment before the war starts, do you not?”

“Ja,” Hans confirmed. “I am going back. This had to be done, but our assignment is over, except for these two.”

“The Committees are strong in the cities and larger towns,” Neustatter pointed out. “Not so much in farming villages. Let Gebhard work with the village. Klaus, you can figure out what ritter and freiherren should learn from the up-timers. I could use another rifleman. You could use some contact with the Grantville Committee of Correspondence. You can keep an eye on von Kardorff here, and he can keep an eye on you.”

“I do not approve of this,” von Kardorff proclaimed.

“Nor do I,” Klaus Eggers concurred.

“So it is settled, then,” Neustatter stated.

“I think we need to discuss this further,” Eggers protested.

“It is dawn,” Neustatter stated. “We will arrive at Schwarza Junction in a few minutes. I think we need to have everything settled by then.”

“You will pay us enough to live in Grantville?” Miss von Kardorff asked.

“In an apartment building,” Astrid clarified. “Not a schloss.” She described the apartment she shared with her brother and her cousin.

“You must let my brother call it his grand tour,” she demanded.

Klaus sighed. “Fine. What do I care?”

“Klaus?” Gebhard asked.

“I think we should do it, Gebhard,” Klaus told him.

“You are a CoC team leader.”

“Neustatter has outmaneuvered me since we jumped on this train,” Klaus admitted. “Perhaps I should learn from him. And you could help Johann’s family.”

Gebhard finally stepped back. “I want regular contact with the Committees,” he said. “And with you, to make sure they do what they say.” He pointed at the von Kardorffs.

“Okay.”

Hans spoke up again. “You. Wolfram. Let us order arms.”

Weapons were slung, holstered, and sheathed while the clickety-clack on the rails lessened. Secure the area, Astrid thought, happy to mentally check off Neustatter’s third principle, even if it had taken all night to accomplish.

As the Schwarza Express pulled into the station, Astrid saw four Mounted Constables waiting on the platform. As they all filed out of the third car, one of the constables stepped forward, hand on his holster. “What’s the problem?” he asked in Amideutsch.

“No problem, Officer,” Neustatter said. “Just train guards going to breakfast after the overnight.”

“It’s a big group of train guards,” the constable stated.

Neustatter pointed at Hjalmar, Jakob, and Phillip disembarking from the first two cars. “Team Two.” Hofmann and his Levies poured out of the fourth car. “Some reinforcements from Colonel von Hessler, up in West Saxony.” Neustatter’s gesture took in his own group. “Team Three—and my new hires.” He pointed at Hans. “One soldier on leave.” At Gebhard. “And a CoC village liaison.”

“So no trouble?”

“No trouble. From Magdeburg, with love, you might say.”

Astrid wasn’t sure if the constable believed Neustatter or not, but he made no effort to stop them when Neustatter asked, “Breakfast in Grantville? I’m buying.”

As the group moved off the platform, Otto Brenner inserted himself next to Neustatter.

“Everything okay, boss?” he asked.

“Ja,” Neustatter told him. “Everything is fine.”

“He is one of yours?” Eggers demanded. “He sat right there from Halle to Naumburg Station, and we never had him covered!”

Gebhard looks a little pale, Astrid observed.

“Ja,” Neustatter said. He looked to Astrid’s brother. “Hjalmar, I assume you are the one who got off the train at Halle and arranged for Hofmann’s men and the extra car at Naumburg Station?”

“I just got a message to Sergeant Hudson,” Hjalmar said. “He set up the rest.”

“Ja, I definitely need to work for you,” Eggers told Neustatter, “and learn your tricks.”

Astrid knew Neustatter was grinning. But her brother’s embrace kept her from seeing it. She did hear what Neustatter said next.

“You need to get a message to the other CoC team and call off their private vengeance. And probably let your other two men know what happened—the ones who missed the train.”

“Ja.”

“All right,” Neustatter declared. “I need to know my employees’ names.”

“Ich heisse Friedrich,” the ritter said. “Just like Gebhard.”

“You may call me Miss von Kardorff,” his sister told Neustatter. “It would be improper of you to use my given name. I will be Miss von Kardorff, whom you encountered during Krystalnacht.”

“That is quite a long title,” Neustatter noted. “Longer than the whole village, as you describe it.”

“There are up-time women named Crystal,” Astrid offered. “If I am going to train you as a security consultant, you could use that name.”

“Lots of agents have code names,” Neustatter agreed. “Let us find a tram.”

Miss von Kardorff lagged behind the others. “A code name?” she asked Astrid.

“Ja.” Astrid explained.

“Very well. I will be Krystal von Kardorff for now.”

Astrid started to follow them toward the tram.

“Miss Schäubin?”

She turned. Neustatter still had his pistol out. He held it out, but pointed safely away.

“Holster it for me, please. I can still shoot. Just cannot let go.”

Astrid pried the weapon out of his fingers, checked the safety, and holstered it for him.

“The whole train ride is a long time to almost get shot,” she observed.

“Ja. A few hours at gunpoint gets tiring,” Neustatter allowed. “I do not want you to get hurt, but we take risks to protect others.”

“I know,” Astrid told him. “You are getting warm broth with breakfast, and you are going to hold onto it until your fingers uncramp.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Neustatter agreed.

Chapter 2: The Class of ’35

“You did what?” Ditmar sat straight up at Astrid’s desk in the NESS office and looked to Hjalmar and Astrid for confirmation. “And you let him?”

“Do not blame me,” Hjalmar told him. “I was in the first car.”

“It is not a bad idea.” Astrid’s words were mild. “Also, Neustatter thinks he is in charge.”

Even Ditmar laughed at that. “All right, all right. But, Neustatter, three new employees?”

“Four, I think,” Neustatter told him.

Even Astrid looked wide-eyed now. “Who is the fourth? Neither Gebhard nor Hans was interested.”

“One more would allow four teams of four,” Neustatter explained. “Und, nein, I am not just picking a number. You know we have the contract at the messe this summer.”

Ditmar nodded. “Ja. You already had the National Guard leave us out of almost two weeks of train guard.”

Neustatter shrugged as he walked over to his own desk. “When I accepted the contract, I had no way of knowing the idiot Saxons would try to hijack a train. During the messe, we need six guards during the day and eight guards at night. Und Lukas is hurt. Und someone needs to run the office.”

“Und you will be there, but you are not part of the eight or part of the six,” Ditmar finished. He turned the chair to face Neustatter while Hjalmar pulled a pair of chairs over from the Franklin stove for Astrid and himself.

“Exactly.”

Hjalmar sat down. “I suppose the big question is who gets added to each team. But first, who is the fourth man?”

“I would like Seidelman or Staudt,” Neustatter stated. “But that is not going to happen.”

“Who is Staudt?” Ditmar asked.

“He is ‘the grizzled man’ on Schlinck’s roster,” Astrid answered. “The one who argued with Sergeant Widtman and had more situational awareness than the rest. Hauptmann Bretagne passed us his name after we gave them the dossiers on Schlinck’s Company. One of Bretagne’s other teams remembered Staudt from a convoy they guarded together and said he is okay.”

“Ja, I can see how hiring either one of them away from Schlinck’s Company could be a problem,” Ditmar acknowledged.

“But there are also the men Astrid hired for Operation Schale,” Neustatter continued. “A couple of them asked about more work with us. We should find out of either of them is still interested.”

“Sis, how are we going to arm them?” Hjalmar asked.

“I was hoping we could get by with a pair of pistols.”

Neustatter leaned back in his chair. “Nein, that will not do. Klaus’ team leader and I need to talk with him. I am fairly sure the SRG he carries came from the CoCs. There were reports the CoCs got them from the Army’s armory. If so, it needs to go back.” He spread his hands. “I have no problem with buying one from Struve-Reardon—as long as we can afford it.”

“We can definitely forget the Winchesters,” Astrid said. “Und it might have to be a flintlock. Friedrich and Krystal both need pistols.”

“Ja,” Neustatter agreed, “und the other new man will need something.”

“Another long arm,” Ditmar urged.

“Two SRGs?” Neustatter asked.

Astrid sighed. “They are category B weapons. New-time-made, but . . . call them B minus.”

Neustatter laughed. “Oh, that is good!”

“But they are still expensive,” Astrid finished. “Ditmar, hand me the ledger in the top drawer and the calendar, bitte.”

Her cousin passed them over. Astrid checked the bottom line and upcoming assignments, then shook her head. “We do not have enough money yet. A couple more months of train guard, and we might.”

“One SRG and two pistols?” Neustatter asked.

“Ja. Maybe.” Astrid passed the ledger and the calendar back to Ditmar. “It is not just the men and the weapons. It is the . . . ”

“Logistics,” all three men said.

“Exactly. Neustatter, last time you hired four men, you also hired Agathe Traudermännin. Do we need another cook, housekeeper, or seamstress? Do the von Kardorffs expect servants?”

Neustatter snorted. “If they do, they can pay for them themselves. But I see what you mean. Much of it depends on where everyone lives.”

Astrid sighed. “If we need an additional apartment . . . ”

“Presumably the fourth man already lives somewhere. If not, we have had seven in an apartment before. Klaus can live with us.” Neustatter looked at each of the Schaubs. “What do you think about the von Kardorffs living with you? Feel free to say no, or to tell me after some days it will not work.”

The Schaubs exchanged glances.

“I think it could work,” Hjalmar offered.

“I am okay with it,” Ditmar agreed.

Astrid frowned. “I suppose it depends on whether Krystal is another Frau Sophia, does it not?”

“True,” Neustatter acknowledged. “You had to deal with the adel longer than we did.”

“Well, they do need a place to live,” Astrid stated. “Another apartment would probably cost more than two SRGs. We should ask the other men if they want to move, too.”

Neustatter stood. “What we are saying, then, is the new man will carry Lukas’ rifle until we find something else for him. Miss Schäubin, while you are in the office this week, figure out if it is worth sending a team to the gunmaking towns to buy pistols. Let’s get everyone together.”

Ditmar and Astrid stood, but Hjalmar remained seated. “Neustatter, you said four teams. Who is leading the fourth?”

“I will, for now,” Neustatter said, “but I have my eye on someone.”

“Otto,” Hjalmar said.

“Ja,” Ditmar agreed.

“Otto,” Astrid said.

“Right,” Neustatter said. “Do not tell him yet. Everyone else should be getting back from the restaurant soon. Let’s make sure all our agents meet each other and then get the new men—and woman—settled in.”

* * *

Astrid watched carefully as the new agents met Ditmar’s team. Then she listened carefully. There was a little muttering—from Stefan, which was not surprising, and from Jakob, which was. Friedrich and Krystal were avoiding Klaus, which was understandable.

After a few minutes, Neustatter called out, “Assignments!” Once everyone was quiet, he continued. “I think we need one more man, just so no one’s team is short. Ditmar and I will handle it. Astrid and Otto, take the petty cash and stop at the bank if you need more. Give Miss von Kardorff, Ritter von Kardorff, and Klaus the grand tour. Start at the clinic, then the apartments and the town house, and show them Grantville. Buy anything they need for the next few days. Hjalmar, arrange for three additional beds. Most of the rest of you have a Saxon Run on Monday, so work through what we learned on this one.”

* * *

After a doctor had pronounced them healthy, Astrid and Otto took the new agents to the apartments.

“This is Hjalmar and Ditmar’s room,” Astrid told Friedrich. “Hjalmar will have a bed moved in for you.”

“Those aren’t beds,” Friedrich stated.

“They are very basic frames with stuffed mattresses,” Astrid acknowledged, “but they are clean. Krystal, my room—our room, now—is over here.”

Krystal von Kardorff sniffed. “This is just a stack of peasant hovels.”

“I assure you, this is much nicer than the peasant hovel I lived in until two years ago,” Astrid told her.

“Where are the servants going to sleep?”

“Are you bringing servants?”

Krystal stared at her, and Astrid saw her expression was one of honest confusion. “Who cooks? Who cleans? Who prepares food?”

“Let us go over to the townhouse,” Astrid suggested. “Stefan and Wolfram and their families live there. Stefan’s wife Ursula does most of the cooking. Wolfram’s wife Anna sews. Phillip’s wife Agathe comes over to help. They do much of the cleaning, too, although Neustatter makes sure we do our share.”

“Surely he does not expect us to clean!”

Astrid mentally added the high school to their upcoming tour. It was a great example of adel and commoners working together. More or less, she reminded herself.

Aloud she said, “We all do our part. I help with the cooking sometimes. So do Ditmar and Hjalmar. We all clean up afterwards.”

Krystal and Friedrich were silent as they walked over to the townhouse. Klaus and Otto were talking quietly. Astrid knocked on the door.

Anna came to the door, holding Kristina, who was fussing.

“Anna Kräusin. Krystal von Kardorff, Ritter Friedrich von Kardorff, and Klaus Eggers of the Committees of Correspondence,” Astrid announced. “There was a standoff on the train. Neustatter hired both sides.”

Anna gave a mischievous smile. “Of course he did. Come in, come in. Agents?”

“All three,” Astrid confirmed.

“You will need uniforms,” Anna declared.

“Uniforms?” Krystal sounded suspicious. “You want me to wear that?” She pointed at Astrid’s skorts. “I will wear a proper dress.”

Anna’s face lit up. “Oh! You are going to be so much fun to sew for!”

Ursula and Agathe were in the kitchen area at the back of the single room of the ground floor.

“Krystal von Kardorff. Ursula Goschin and Agathe Traudermännin.”

“Guten Tag,” Ursula said.

“Guten Tag,” Krystal replied. She looked around the room. “You have babies!”

“Ja, Niklas and Margareta. They are almost nine months old.”

Astrid could hear both pride and more than a bit of a challenge in Ursula’s words.

“How does anything get done?” Krystal asked.

“We manage,” Agathe assured her.

Ursula glared.

But Astrid saw her small smile. Unless I miss my guess, there is another baby on the way.

“How many new agents?” Anna asked.

“Three so far,” Astrid told her, “and probably a fourth soon.”

“Did you remind Neustatter four more agents makes more work und more cooking und more cleaning?” Ursula demanded.

“I certainly did,” Astrid replied.

“Who are the others?”

“Miss Kardorff’s brother, Ritter von Kardorff. He is sixteen. Klaus Eggers is a member of the Committee of Correspondence and the leader of one of their Krystalnacht teams.”

“Hmmph. Well, if he is CoC, he can probably at least clean,” Ursula said.

Otto, Klaus, and Friedrich von Kardorff came over to the kitchen. Friedrich was introduced to each of the women. Astrid observed he was serious and attentive. It spoke well of him and suggested he’d had some good training.

She observed the same of Klaus, but he seemed to come from a similar village background, and the CoCs were nothing if not egalitarian. Astrid expected any friction between Klaus and NESS’ current agents would be tactical, not social.

After a few minutes, she spoke up. “Neustatter asked us to purchase anything you need. We can show you some of Grantville along the way. We should start with Calvert, er, Grantville High School.”

* * *

Astrid let Otto describe the battle at the high school. Both Friedrich and Klaus paid rapt attention. Krystal, however . . .

“This is a school?” she asked. “Surely it must be a university.”

Astrid pointed to the long wing of the building that extended toward Route 250. “That is now the State of Thuringia-Franconia Technical College. The two-story main building is Grantville High School. Over there is the separate auditorium building and then the athletic building.”

“And that?” Krystal pointed at the hill behind the high school.

“That is the Calvert Hill refugee housing. Many people live there when they first come to Grantville and then move out when they find a house or apartment. We lived there for a while. Some of it is now used for dormitories for students who live too far away to come to school each weekday morning and go home each weeknight.”

Krystal sniffed.

“Not all of us can afford to buy a schloss.” Astrid spoke mildly but was starting to get annoyed. She changed the subject. “We can buy lunch in the cafeteria and then talk to one of guidance counselors about placing Friedrich in a class. You, too, if you would like. There are adult education classes in the evenings.”

“I know how to read and write.”

“As do I,” Friedrich stated.

“I took the English class, then Citizenship and Library Research. I have also taken Math, Business, and Cooking,” Astrid told them. “Ja, I could read the Lutherbibel slowly and write a little, but we do not want to pay a researcher every time we need to look something up. Und accurate bookkeeping is very important.”

“Those are burghers’ skills,” Krystal stated. But from the way she said it, Astrid figured she might have just upgraded NESS from peasants to what the up-timers called middle class.

“Most of the windows are very large,” Friedrich observed, “but those are not. Those are the small panes we are used to.”

Astrid saw he was pointing at the cafeteria windows. She opened her mouth to answer, but Klaus beat her to it.

“That is where the Croats entered the school—und where Captain-General Gars entered it after them.” Once inside the front door, he turned to the left and quickly found the stairs to the second floor. “This is the staircase the Croats tried to force, is it not?”

“Ja,” Hjalmar answered.

“What do you mean?” Friedrich asked.

“When the Croats attacked Grantville, most of them came here to the high school,” Klaus stated. “The teachers moved as many students as possible upstairs and defended the stairs. Some students were in the gymnasium”—he pointed down the entrance corridor—“where Len Trout and Jeff Higgins made their stand.” His tone was that of an enthusiast examining the site of a legendary battle, like someone walking the Pelennor Fields or an up-timer at Normandy or Gettysburg.

The bell rang, and high school students poured into the hall from all directions, passing by the staircase.

“Do they know?” Klaus asked.

“It was almost three years ago,” Astrid said. “A few of these students were freshmen then and seniors now, so, ja, they know. But they are here every day during the school year. Komm, we need to get in line in the cafeteria.”

Some minutes later, Astrid was paying for five meals while the three new agents eyed their lunch with very dubious expressions. She and Krystal were on one side of the table. Otto, Klaus, and Friedrich were on the other side.

“What is this?” Krystal asked.

“Goulash, zucchini bread, and mixed vegetables.”

Friedrich poked at it with a spoon. “I think I see meat. What is the rest of it?”

“Noodles. Like spätzle but shaped differently. Tomato sauce.”

Friedrich and Krystal recoiled from the cafeteria table. Klaus, however, lifted a spoonful and examined it closely, then popped it in his mouth.

“This really is as good as the stories say!”

“Tomatoes are not poisonous,” Astrid explained. She saw the von Kardorffs’ expressions and added, “The up-timers have been eating them all their lives.”

Krystal looked very dubious.

“Astrid!”

Two girls approached, carrying their own trays.

“Fräuleins. Meet NESS’ new agents. Ritter Friedrich von Kardorff, Krystal von Kardorff, and Klaus Eggers. Katharina Meisnerin and Marta Engelsbergin.”

“Fräuleins?” Krystal asked quickly. “Of what house?”

“All girls are fräuleins here,” Marta answered.

Krystal von Kardorff sniffed.

Katharina looked to Otto. “Barbara is not here. We are taking extra Greek. She is at home, doing homework Herr Chief Richards gave her.”

Otto smiled. “Writing profiles, I think.”

“Ja.”

“You are all welcome to come to church with us on Sunday,” Katharina continued.

“It is a Lutheran church, ja?” Krystal asked.

“Mountain Top Baptist,” Katharina answered.

All three of the new agents looked startled.

Astrid spoke up. “You may have noticed Neustatter did not ask any of you what denomination you are.”

“Lutheran, I assure you,” Friedrich said.

Klaus’ response was only a split second later. “Lutheran.”

“Then you have something in common,” Astrid said. “Most of NESS’ agents are Lutheran, including Neustatter.”

She and Katharina exchanged glances.

“Congratulations, Astrid,” Katharina said. “Georg told me you are a team leader now.”

“Dank. Are the other fräuleins in school this summer?”

“Nein. Nona found a summer job. Alicia and Amalia talked their parents into visiting each other during the summer. They are spending a month with Amalia’s family and then a month with Alicia’s family. They say Alicia will learn German and Amalia English faster this way than in class.”

Astrid noticed Friedrich was paying close attention to Katharina and Marta. That was no surprise; they were a year older than he, reasonably attractive, and old Grantville hands. Nor was it surprising Krystal’s face held a stern expression. Astrid didn’t need Barbara’s expertise to figure out why.

* * *

They got Friedrich enrolled in night classes and then set off toward Grantville. She remembered walking this way two years ago when she first came to Grantville.

“Stay to the right,” she warned the new agents. “Grantville’s cars and trucks are very fast.”

The first one they saw was a blue pickup coming toward them. Everyone got off the road and watched it until it disappeared.

Where a road led off to the right, Astrid drew them aside. “This is Deborah Road. I do not mean to take you there now. But I do want you to see the stop sign here.” She pointed. “This instructs cars and trucks coming this way to stop until no traffic is coming on Route 250.”

As they walked toward Grantville, Astrid pointed out houses she had mistaken for schlösser. “Und that is a garage. It is where they store the cars and trucks, but often garages are rented out for people to live in now. Grantville is not as crowded as it once was, but many more people live here than did before it came to our time.

“On the other side of the road is Leahy Medical Center. Wolfram works here, und the only one of our men you have not met yet is a patient here. Lukas was wounded in the attack on the train in May.”

She led them down the driveway to Leahy. The nurse at the front desk pursed her lips but summoned an orderly to take them to Lukas’ room. The orderly stopped them in the hall and entered Lukas’ room. He emerged a few seconds later and reported, “He is awake. Do not tire him out, bitte.”

“Astrid! Otto!” Lukas exclaimed. He was sitting up in bed, braced with pillows. The bedsheet over his legs was covered with playing cards. “Do not listen to him. Wolfram brought these, but I am getting bored of Solitaire. But who are these?”

“New NESS agents,” Astrid told him. “Klaus Eggers. His Committees of Correspondence team was chasing Ritter von Kardorff and Krystal von Kardorff. There was a standoff on the train. Neustatter hired them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Otto confirmed. “You should have seen the faces of the Mounted Constables who were waiting on the Schwarza platform.”

Lukas laughed, then stopped abruptly. “I have not laughed in a while. It still hurts. Do not get shot.”

“How are you doing?” Astrid asked.

“Better. Pastor Green came by. We had a good talk.”

“Good.”

“I have a couple things I need to take care of,” Lukas said. “I will tell you about them later. It would take too long now.”

Astrid nodded, although she had no idea what Lukas was talking about. If it would take too long to explain, either Lukas was tired or he didn’t want to explain in front of the new agents.

“We should let you get some sleep.”

“All right. Tell Wolfram to get me out of here soon.”

“We will.”

* * *

“How did he get shot?” Friedrich asked as they walked back up the driveway to Route 250.

“We were guarding clients on the train,” Astrid explained. “Some members of the Saxon adel put retainers aboard the train. They attempted to hijack it. Lukas had a rifle, so they knew he was armed. The man across the aisle shot him.”

“What happened then?”

“I shot him. Then I think Wolfram knocked him out. Neustatter shot the one at the front of the car. More retainers cut down a tree so it fell across the railroad tracks, and they were firing from behind it. We joined forces with the Saxon Ghost to defeat them.”

Astrid paused to work out how to say it. “Neustatter says sometimes you can do everything right, and someone still gets shot. Wolfram was able to keep Lukas alive until the train got us to Military Medical Service medics outside Halle.”

She looked back at the parking lot where they’d spent days guarding the riot investigation and where she’d been promoted.

“We have more stops to make,” she said.

The next stretch of road was longer and took them past the Downs neighborhood, the Trolley Street area from which NESS had watched the Ring of Fire Day parade a few weeks earlier. Once they’d crossed the bridge over Buffalo Creek, Astrid turned right, into a parking lot.

Friedrich gazed at the large arches outside. “What is this?”

Klaus made a beeline for the door.

“Freedom Arches,” Astrid answered.

“We will wait here,” Krystal stated.

“He may be a while,” Astrid pointed out. “But while we are waiting . . . If you come over here behind Freedom Arches, you can just see Blackshire Elementary School. It has kindergarten through fourth grade. Across Route 250 from Freedom Arches is Rainbow Plaza. Marcantonio’s Pizza is over there. The spaghetti and the pizza are both very good. They are the best things to make with tomato sauce.”

Klaus rejoined them. He looked pleased. “The Grantville CoC will follow up on the messages we sent this morning. They have welcomed me.”

Krystal sniffed.

“Gut,” Astrid said. “The Grantville CoC are good people, sober and level-headed.” She smiled. “Besides, they have fries. Those are fried potato slices cooked in oil. Or baked.”

She stopped and studied their expressions. “Okay, you can work your way up to tomatoes and potatoes. Let’s go on.”

They walked through Grantville, seeing downtown, the library, and several churches. Along the way, they bought changes of clothing, stopped at the drug store, and ended up at Garrett’s Super Market.

All three came to a stop not far inside the front door.

“Is this the market for the entire city?” Krystal asked.

“Nein. Three grocery stores existed before the Ring of Fire,” Astrid replied. “There are others, now, too, plus the outdoor farmer’s markets during the summer and early fall.”

Astrid pulled a shopping cart from the end of the row, and they wandered through the aisles.

“This cannot all be from here,” Krystal declared. “Anyone can see there is not room within the Ring of Fire to grow this much—especially not if the other two markets are like this. The food must be expensive.”

Klaus began examining shelves. “It is not. Well, more so than in my village, I suspect, but these vegetables would cost a bit more in Magdeburg.”

“What is that?” Friedrich asked when Astrid consulted her list.

“A list of food we need. Ursula handed it to me.” Astrid stopped at the grain counter.

“May I help you?” the clerk asked.

“Ja.” Astrid shucked off the pack she was wearing and pulled out a small grain bag. “Five pounds of rye, bitte.”

The clerk put her bag on one side of a balance, then put an identical bag and a five-pound weight on the other side. He used a scoop to fill Astrid’s bag with rye until the scales balanced. Then he pulled the bag’s drawstring tight and passed it over the counter to her.

“Here you go.”

“Dank.”

Astrid carefully placed the bag in the bottom of the shopping cart. The drawstring worked out fairly well, but you still couldn’t tip the bag over. Next, she turned down the bread aisle.

“You just bought rye,” Krystal pointed out.

“Ja, because Ursula knows it is cheaper to buy the ingredients and make your own bread. But Garrett’s has rugbrød.” Seeing looks of incomprehension, she explained. “It is a Danish bread. Sourdough with rye. My mother used to make it.”

Astrid added two loaves and turned the cart toward the meat counter. There she bought additional chicken and beef.

“That is a lot of meat,” Friedrich observed.

“The up-timers eat a lot of meat, especially beef. It is in many of the dishes Ursula has added to what she already knew. Und now there are sixteen agents, five adult family, and six children.”

Astrid smiled like a kid about to cause trouble. “I hear there are two ways to go about grocery shopping. Some people decide what they are going to make every meal for a week or even two. Then they buy just the ingredients for those meals. Others buy all the ingredients they think they might need and then assemble them on the spur of the moment. Some get very worked up about whether ‘menuing’ or ‘skortsing’ is the proper way of cooking.”

“What is ‘skortsing’?” Krystal asked.

Astrid gestured at her split skirts. “It is flying by the seat of your skorts, as the up-timers sort of say.”

Friedrich gave her a cockeyed look. “So which is right?”

Astrid lowered her voice. “Almost everyone is really somewhere in the middle. But do not say so in front of them. It just upsets them.”

Krystal started laughing.

“What?” her brother demanded.

“I have heard the village women back in our village having this argument,” she got out. “Oh, they think I do not hear them, but I do. Und you say up-timers are the same way?”

“Ja, just like us.”

* * *

By the end of the day, everyone had clothes, personal necessities, and food. All of NESS gathered for dinner in the Kirchenbauers and Kuntzes’ townhouse. Ursula had prepared several meat pies of mixed beef and sausage.

“This is really good,” Stefan told her.

“Have some vegetables,” she told their son Johann.

He eyed them with a dubious look. Astrid thought she understood why. “Mixed vegetables” to an up-timer meant three or more mixed together in certain proportions. To Ursula, “mixed vegetables” meant whatever needed to be eaten now thrown together.

“Think of it as hot salad,” she suggested. At Johann’s frown, she added, “Salad is just cold mixed vegetables.”

“I do not eat fancy stuff like you do on your dates.”

“Salad is not fancy. It is all things we grow in our section of the Kimberly Heights garden.”

“What about the spaghetti?”

Astrid smiled. She’d really come to like Italian food. “All right, spaghetti is new to us, but it is something an up-time family might make for dinner every week or two.”

“What is dates?” Miss von Kardorff asked.

Astrid hesitated just long enough that Johann volunteered an answer. “It is when she walks out with Georg Meisner.”

“Is he a security agent, too?”

“Nein, he is a forensics investigator for the polizei.” Astrid briefly explained what that meant.

Miss von Kardorff smiled. “It feels good to talk about something like this. There is so much new to us in Grantville.” The smile disappeared. “Und it is so closed in. I do not like the cliffs.”

Astrid nodded. She appreciated Miss von Kardorff was willing to trust her with the information.

“I felt like that, too, at first. After a while, I stopped noticing.” It was Astrid’s turn to smile. “The first day we came to Grantville, I got so turned around. We were escorting salt wagons to the slaughterhouses south of the Ring of Fire. I thought we had gone up over the Ring Wall on the south, but we actually went west to Schwarzburg, then went around the Ring of Fire. I remember the road being so dark at night. I didn’t figure it out for days—und it did not help to talk to an up-timer about it, because the Ring of Fire spun them around. It is a little thing compared to a new time and a new place, but sometimes when you talk to them, they still think of Route 250 as a north/south road. It was, up-time, I suppose, but the part of it in the Ring of Fire is more east/west now.”

“How did you find your way around?”

“The men had been here for about six months before they came and got us,” Astrid explained. “They knew their way around fairly well. Und we have maps at the office. Of course, Neustatter will tell you ‘the map is not the territory.’”

Saturday, June 23, 1635

On Saturday morning, Neustatter stayed behind to help with the breakfast dishes. He waited until Ursula had gone upstairs.

“Anna, would you come over to the office with Astrid, bitte?”

Anna looked vaguely alarmed.

“Oh, there is nothing wrong, und I am not going to ask you to be the secretary.”

The two women exchanged glances. “Ja, he does that,” Astrid reminded Anna.

Anna’s eyes narrowed. “Nein, if there were a problem, you would have asked Wolfram to come, too. If it were uniforms for the new agents, you would ask me here. It must be something you do not want to say here.”

“Maybe I should make you an agent,” Neustatter said. “You are correct. I just want your advice.”

“Well, this sounds mysterious.”

* * *

Anna collected Kristina, now nine months old, and they went to the office.

Along the way, Anna looked to Astrid.

“I have no idea,” she told her friend. “It may be something from yesterday. I was with the new agents all day.”

When they arrived, Astrid unlocked the NESS office. Once the four of them were inside, Neustatter waved the women to chairs around the Franklin stove. They had no reason to light a fire in late June, but it was still a good place to sit. Evidently Neustatter thought this was going to take a while.

He began abruptly. “I asked Ditmar and Hjalmar to show the new agents the local area. Kimberly Heights and Porter Avenue. The Riverfront Park Loop. The Hauns’ Troll Bridge. Their place. Deborah Street and the back ways into the high school complex.” He took a breath. “They need to know their way around, of course, but I wanted to get rid of everyone for a little while.

“Yesterday, Ditmar and I interviewed Peter Johann Drehmann and Ernst Reisner.”

“Two of the men I hired for Operation Schale,” Astrid stated. “Both asked about working for NESS again.”

“Ja. Ernst has found steady work with the highway department. He is skilled driving the different tractors and other equipment. So, while he has nothing against us, he has a steady job that pays well and understandably does not want to give it up.”

Astrid and Anna both nodded. That only made sense.

“Peter Johann Drehmann has been working a series of jobs. Not quite day labor, but as what up-timers call a temp. He has been hiring on as a worker for a specific project, then moves on to the next one. He said he is still interested in NESS because sometimes weeks go by between projects, even in Grantville. He fills in with day labor, the way we understand it.

“He has a family. His wife could use work, too, and can help Ursula, Anna, and Agathe with cooking and cleaning. They have four children. Fourteen, ten, seven, and five.”

“Oh, Johann, Willi, and Elisabetha will like that!” Anna exclaimed.

Astrid was more restrained. “You say it like there is something wrong, Neustatter. What is the problem?”

“The fourteen-year-old’s name is Regina.” Neustatter shook his head. “I mean nothing against the girl, but do you remember Maria Ramcke’s sister Dorothea?”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Ja, I do.”

“I liked Dorothea!” Anna objected.

Neustatter sighed. “Anna, you were on good terms with almost everyone in the village. You never saw Dorothea as a threat.”

Kristina squirmed, and Anna switched the baby to her other shoulder. “Dorothea was never a threat. Wolfram simply was not interested in her.”

Astrid thought back several years to before Dorothea had married a prosperous farmer from a nearby village, then spoke slowly. “I was young, but I do not remember Dorothea doing anything to encourage the young men.”

“I do not, either,” Neustatter agreed. “She simply . . . existed, and it was enough.”

Astrid pursed her lips. “Are you saying this Regina is like this?”

“Ja, but what do I know? I want you women’s opinion.”

“You did not bring Ursula or Agathe,” Anna pointed out.

Neustatter gave her a lopsided grin. “I suspect I already know Ursula’s opinion. Und Agathe we hired alongside Phillip. It is a similar situation. I think she would be inclined to extend the same to someone else.”

“Und you do not want to create tension between Ursula and Agathe,” Astrid finished. “Wise. But if you hire Drehmann, the girl will eventually be around NESS, and Ursula will say what she thinks.”

Anna’s face was unusually serious. “Astrid is right, Neustatter. We are friends, but Ursula is . . . ”

“Let us use the up-timer expression old-school.” Neustatter’s tone was almost grave. “I would prefer the men not notice the girl, but if they do, I do not want the women to blame her for it.”

“Neustatter,” Astrid said, “this is one of those psychology things. We need to ask Barbara Kellarmännin.”

“Why don’t you and Otto go find out if she will take a private case?”

* * *

“Of course I will come,” Barbara Kellarmännin assured them.

“Barbara!” her mother exclaimed.

“Mother, they are just asking me to people-watch. Person-watch. One specific person.”

“How dangerous is this?”

Astrid thought it over. “I estimate the worst-case scenario is Neustatter yelling at someone. Not at Barbara, of course,” she hastened to add.

A few minutes later, they were riding back down the mountain. Otto and Barbara carried on an animated conversation all the way back to NESS. Astrid stayed out of it and tried not to be too disappointed she hadn’t had time enough to call on Georg Meisner.

* * *

When they arrived back at the NESS office, they unsaddled the three horses and put them in the day stable at one end of the building. All of NESS’ agents were present. Ditmar and Hjalmar were running their teams through an exercise in the parking lot while Klaus, Friedrich, and Krystal watched. Stefan and Ursula’s son Johann and Phillip and Agathe’s children Willi and Elisabetha were playing nearby under Anna’s watchful eye. Phillip himself was casually leaning against the building. Astrid suspected Neustatter had stationed him there to watch for the Drehmanns. She, Otto, and Barbara went inside.

Barbara greeted the man seated at the far desk. “Neustatter.”

“Miss Kellarmännin.”

“I understand you have some concerns about the daughter of a prospective agent?”

“Ja.”

“Tell me nothing, bitte.”

Neustatter cocked his head to one side. “Not ‘tell me everything’?”

“Nein. I would rather not know until later what everyone else thinks.”

“Your call.”

They settled into chairs. It wasn’t long before the door opened and Phillip stepped in. “Family of six coming out Route 250. The man matches your description of Drehmann.”

“I would like to see them approach.” Barbara stood and headed for the door.

Neustatter followed suit. “Otto, I expect a few of us will talk to Drehmann inside. Sit in with us, bitte.”

Astrid followed her boss out the door. She recognized Peter Johann Drehmann at once; she’d hired him for Operation Schale eight months before. His wife was attractive. She was carrying a girl who looked about five years old. An elementary school-aged boy and girl followed their parents, and the older girl brought up the rear.

Astrid immediately saw why Neustatter was concerned. Regina was gorgeous. The kerchief she wore accented her long hair instead of hiding it. The dark ringlets surrounding her face reminded Astrid of a crown. She was surprised to see the girl wore a heavy button-down shirt which wasn’t all that different from a NESS uniform, along with down-time-made jeans and sturdy boots. Astrid watched her face light up as she took in the office building with its wooden sidewalk and hitching bar out front. One of the horses in the day stable whinnied, and the girl’s head snapped around.

“Locked on target, the up-timers say,” Neustatter murmured.

“Oh . . . her . . . ” Barbara’s voice was equally quiet.

“Problem?” Neustatter asked.

“Nein. I have seen her at school. I think it was the day the eighth graders came over from the middle school.”

Neustatter advanced to meet Drehmann and his wife. “Hans Peter. Frau Stengerin.”

She laughed. “I understand why everyone is Herr and Frau, but it is still funny. Especially after cleaning two or three houses a day.”

Astrid couldn’t help smiling in response.

Neustatter introduced them. “Astrid Schäubin, our secretary and Team Three leader. Peter Johann Drehmann, Maria Stengerin, and their children.”

The children recognized their cue and lined up.

“Regina, Peter, Cecilia, and Theobald.”

Astrid nodded politely to them, while thinking about those names.

“‘I will introduce you to the rest of our agents,” Neustatter said.

Within minutes, the Drehmanns’ Cecilia and Theobald were playing with Johann Kirchenbauer and Willi and Elisabetha Pfeffer. Peter was older enough that he was watching the NESS agents with rapt attention. Regina had wandered off toward the stable.

After a few minutes, Astrid stepped back on the wooden walkway in front of the office to observe how her team was reacting to the Drehmann girl. Well enough. Of course, Wolfram and Phillip were both married. Astrid turned her attention to the other teams. Some of the men were sneaking looks, which was hardly surprising. Friedrich was the most obvious about it. Since he was just a couple years older than the girl, Astrid hadn’t expected anything else.

Barbara drifted up alongside her. “You are watching your men instead of her.”

Astrid smiled briefly. “Ja.”

“I like that. A lot of girls blame a pretty younger girl for getting all the attention instead of trying to help her deal with it. Up-timers and down-timers both.”

Astrid shifted uncomfortably.

“She reminds me of Judy Wendell or Denise Beasley,” Barbara went on. “Beautiful but not caring about it.”

“Hmm. Dank.” Astrid maneuvered toward the stable where Regina was edging closer to the horses. “Do you know how to be safe around them?” she called.

Regina turned, a startled expression on her face. “Oh, ja,” she answered. At Astrid’s nod, she held out her hand. A minute later, she was best friends with the mare Astrid had ridden up to the Brethren settlement.

“You are good with horses,” Astrid said. “Like Anna.”

“I love horses.” Regina looked around. “This place is straight out of the Wild West. May I work here? I will have to find a job soon.”

“Neustatter will insist you go to school,” Astrid said.

“Really?” Regina tipped her head in Friedrich’s direction. “What about him?”

“Him, too. Everyone takes the citizenship class. I take other classes.”

“My parents said I will probably have to drop out as soon as I can. Or apprentice.”

“What do you want to do?” Astrid asked.

“I want to ride.”

Astrid studied Regina for a minute. “Can you ride? For real?”

“Ja. I’m good.”

Astrid turned and cupped her hands. “Neustatter! We are going riding!”

It took a few minutes, because Astrid watched Regina saddle her horse. She did so expertly, and Astrid was satisfied she knew what she was doing. Then Astrid began saddling one of the other horses.

“Do you mind one more?”

Astrid and Regina both turned to see Barbara.

“Of course not,” Regina said.

A few minutes later, they were riding down Route 250. It wasn’t far at all to the Ring Wall. They rode up a hill and into the “eastern lobe.” The area had voted to join West Virginia County and was about the same size as the Ring of Fire itself.

On the way to and from the Anabaptist settlement, the mare had tested Astrid a few times. She tried again now. Astrid opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Regina was already demonstrating to the horse who was actually in charge. That settled, she gave the mare her head, and the horse accelerated to a steady canter.

“Should we go after her?” Barbara shouted to Astrid.

“Nein! The horse is doing exactly what Regina lets her!” Astrid shouted back. “She’s good!”

“Maybe you should hire her!”

Astrid started to laugh. Then she stopped. Why not? Someone had to exercise the horses. She’d have to check and see if NESS could afford to hire Regina part-time.

* * *

Astrid signaled Neustatter when NESS broke for lunch.

“Miss Schäubin, Miss Kellarmännin, and I will catch up!” Neustatter called to the others.

Ditmar waved a hand in acknowledgment as everyone else headed for the townhouse.

Neustatter led Astrid and Barbara to the chairs in front of the Franklin stove and waited for them to sit down. Then he looked at Barbara.

“Regina is not a problem,” the young profiler stated. “She is not disruptive, and she does not try to draw attention. It just happens.”

Neustatter nodded. “Other people—men—being around her could be a problem. Und she is only fourteen. I think we can assume she will draw even more attention when she is eighteen.”

Barbara nodded in turn. “Ja.”

“If her parents leave her in school, und she is not around NESS much . . . ” Neustatter mused. “But Peter Johann was talking about how she may need to get a job.”

“She should stay in school,” Barbara said.

“She is a very good rider,” Astrid put in. “The horses need to be exercised, ja? Suppose we hire her part-time.”

“Can we afford to? I thought hiring Peter Johann and his wife was going to use up just about all of our cashflow.”

“It is,” Astrid agree. “So it would be just a half-salary, nothing else. Und not a big one.” She sat up straighter. “Nein, a quarter salary because Mestermann should pay the other half.”

“Mestermann will make her muck out the stalls like any other employee.”

“She likes the Old West, Neustatter.”

“Really?” A smile spread across Neustatter’s face.

“You do not even care she is a girl anymore,” Barbara observed. “Much less a pretty one. She is a fellow conspirator.”

“Find out if she can shoot already.”

* * *

They left the office, walked a very short distance toward Grantville, and turned left on Porter Avenue. As far as Astrid was concerned, Porter Avenue was the place within the Ring of Fire that summed up the differences between up-time and down-time society. It looked like somebody had dropped a village, and all the parts had scattered across the landscape.

Porter Avenue looked like it had been paved a long time ago, and the road was wide enough for one up-time car at a time. Trees lined the left side, while a grass-covered hill rose on the right. It was straight for a ways, with four houses along it. At the first intersection, all rhyme and reason departed. On the east was a driveway. The house it led to was right next to two houses on Sunkist Lane. Sunkist Lane was a similar side road off Route 250, but east of the NESS office. The driveway off Porter and the driveway off Sunkist “connected” by the simple expedient of someone driving cars or trucks across the grass between them.

On the right of the Porter Avenue intersection, a road angled back at what the math teachers called an obtuse angle. It immediately split into two parallel roads, and a trailer home sat in the grassy strip between them. The one on the right was called Limestone Road, and it led to a single house mere feet from the left branch—which was still called Porter Avenue. There were four more houses and trailers along this section of Porter, with the last next door to the last house on Freeman Street—but those two roads didn’t connect at all. Freeman Street started directly across the road from the high school driveway, so it had an actual stoplight. Then it turned ninety degrees left—east—and continued along for several houses before not connecting to Porter Avenue.

Neustatter, Astrid, and Barbara took the left branch and then turned left again onto what had been a long driveway up until a year ago. Sommersburg and Carstairs Construction had arranged for an extension of this stretch of road. Astrid didn’t know if they had purchased the land or just a right-of-way or if they were paying rent. But it now continued west and connected to Kimberly Heights, forming a continuous street two blocks south of Route 250. Freeman Street formed the first “block” although it didn’t connect to the rest of the neighborhood.

Sommersburg and Carstairs Construction had leveled the top of the heights. The wood from the trees had gone right back into the new apartment buildings and townhouses. They’d built retaining walls where necessary and promptly replanted seedlings, so there would be trees again in a few years.

“I have not been in this area before,” Barbara remarked. “What was the building with all the metal and wires?” Barbara asked.

“Some sort of electrical station, I think,” Neustatter answered.

“What is beyond it?”

Astrid had studied the map and walked the ground. “The intersection on the other side of the electrical station is Small Street, which is accurate enough. It has one or two houses on each side. Then there is a driveway to the left with a single house. It has no name but is almost as long as Small Street. Porter Avenue—yes, it is still Porter Avenue even though the part we turned onto is also Porter Avenue—makes an S-curve through the woods. There are three houses on the right with a shared driveway. Then Porter Avenue curves down a hill and meets East Run Road at East Run Church. I have heard before the Ring of Fire the last stretch could be crossed only with a four-wheel drive or a dirt bike, but it has been improved since.”

“East Run Church,” Neustatter mused. “It was in your Operation Schale report. One of the squads found a couple who were sneaking off into the woods.”

“I have heard of East Run Church, too.” Barbara thought for a minute. “I know! Mattheus Beimler did his senior project on the churches of Grantville. He had pictures or sketches of each church building in town as well as the Lutheran church buildings outside the Ring of Fire, along with a description of each denomination. He put in all the other church buildings within the Ring of Fire.”

“What kind of churches are they?” Astrid asked.

“Different kinds, but he found almost all of them were abandoned or semi-abandoned when the Ring of Fire happened. Many were used for refugee housing soon after the Ring of Fire.” She shuddered. “Ask Marta sometime.”

The three of them were late to lunch. Most of the children and mothers were at the table, while many of the agents stood, plate in one hand. Amid sausage rolls, sauerkraut, and mixed vegetables (Astrid overheard Johann telling the younger Drehmann children about “hot salad”), Neustatter circulated around the room, quietly speaking with the men. At his nod, Astrid checked with her team members.

“What do you think of Drehmann, Phillip?”

Phillip’s specialty was being the “invisible man.” He’d learned from Otto.

“I had a chance to stand back and watch a bit,” he said. “Drehmann seems like good people. I think he is right where I was a year ago, but he has been doing individual construction projects rather than farming.” Phillip smiled. “Willi and Elisabetha like the kids. Ours are like little up-timers, you know. It will be good to have someone around with older children. Maybe we can learn from them.”

Astrid hadn’t considered that angle. “Maria?”

“I think she will fit in. Is Neustatter going to hire her to help Agathe, Ursula, and Anna?”

“Ja. What about Regina?”

“The older girl?” Philip shrugged at her nod. “If I were Drehmann, I would not mind having a bunch of agents around to scare off the boys.”

“Dank.”

Wolfram’s assessment was much the same. “Anna likes Maria.”

Astrid felt compelled to say it. “Anna likes everyone.”

Wolfram grinned. “Ja, she does, but she thinks Maria will be fun to be around.”

“Dank.” Although a first impression, it was a pretty good endorsement, Astrid reflected.

She approached the von Kardorffs.

“How was training?”

“Different from a rittersakademie,” Friedrich answered at once. “I was not expecting the men to bring their families.”

But his sister had a knowing look in her eye. “I have seen the gemeinde do this in our village when someone visits. But I do not remember anyone moving to our village. That is what this man Drehmann is doing, is it not? Joining NESS.”

Astrid gave Krystal points for the acronym and for figuring out what Neustatter was up to. She should have anticipated it. While Krystal was brand new to NESS, she had been prepared to help her brother administer a village. Or just as likely, to help a future husband administer his village.

“Ja.”

“Aber dieses Mädchen,” Krystal muttered. That girl, though . . .

Astrid murmured something noncommittal. Age and authority are concerned. Young and friendly are not. She thought back to what Barbara had said earlier about young, attractive women getting blamed for, well, being young and attractive. And there was the part in the Smaller Catechism about explaining everything in the kindest way. . . . I think Anna and Barbara are right.

She caught Neustatter’s eye and gave him the V sign.

He acknowledged it with a sharp nod. “Listen up.”

Everyone gave him their attention at once.

“In case anyone missed it, NESS is hiring the class of ’35.” Several people chuckled. “You know we do not hire just agents. Just like the army, we need support personnel, too. So I am extending an offer . . . Peter Johann . . . Maria . . . Regina.”

The girl’s head jerked up.

“I can offer you only a quarter share for now, for two reasons. First, because you cannot do a full day’s work while you are in school. Second, because Astrid thinks she can get Herr Mestermann at the livery stable to put up a quarter share of his own, because what we’d like you to do is make sure our horses are exercised and taken care of.”

The girl’s eyes shone, and Astrid figured Neustatter had just made a friend for life.

“NESS does not do basic training like the Army and the National Guard,” Neustatter stated. “We do what the up-timers call on-the-job training. The rest of us need the practice, too, so we train in the teams we use on assignments.

“Our last Saxon Run before the messe is Monday, returning Wednesday. Teams One and Two are guarding the train, but Klaus needs to return an SRG, and he and the von Kardorffs need to pick up whatever personal items they left in Magdeburg. I will come along and make it an even dozen.

“The new agents are going to need firearms. Klaus, we will see if we can get you another SRG in Magdeburg. If the Committees of Correspondence assign you the same one, it is fine with me. I just want to make sure if that serial number needs to be somewhere, it gets there. Wolfram, are you scheduled for any hearts and minds visits to those villages on the road to Suhl?”

Wolfram looked surprised. “Ja, I was hoping to get out there one more time before the messe. Anna and I—and Kristina—along with a couple experienced nurses and some of the new nursing students.”

“Exzellent! Can you take Phillip along and continue on to one of the gunmaking cities to buy a pair of pistols? Some of us will go out to the range this afternoon. By the end of the day, I hope to be able to tell you which models.”

“Ja.”

“Astrid, this leaves you running the office and helping the Drehmanns get settled in. Und check on Lukas.”

Astrid nodded. While she wanted to be in the field since she was now a team leader, Phillip could handle the Suhl mission just fine, and he would be a lot less conspicuous than she would be. And with Anna in the field with Wolfram, she suspected Regina might need a friend in the townhouse.

Sunday, June 24, 1635

Astrid slept in. When she got up, Krystal was already dressed.

“Are you not going to church?”

“I am going to the German service at First Baptist. It is after noon.”

Krystal frowned in disapproval. “Why?”

“Some theological questions came up in connection to a case back in March. So Team Two and Neustatter and I went to the Schwertler Anabaptist service and then to First Baptist. Otto and I have continued to go there.”

“Because you are walking out with that boy. Anabaptists are anarchists. Everyone knows it.”

“An anarchist would not work for the polizei. Georg is a forensics technician.”

“Hmmph.”

Krystal, Friedrich, Hjalmar, and Ditmar left a few minutes later. Astrid wondered if she should ask the Bibelgesellschaft girls to talk to Krystal, or if it would just make matters worse. She showered and dressed and went back to her room to brush her hair. She met Otto outside, and they set out for downtown Grantville.

Georg brought her home before dinner.

“Where have you been?” Krystal blurted out.

Astrid was amused by the role reversal. As the senior agent—and probably Krystal’s team leader—it was her place to ask. However, since she was in charge, amusement wasn’t the right approach to take.

Her reply was cool. “Church. Dr. Green preached on John 8, Jesus is the light of the world. What did Pastor Kastenmayer preach on?”

“The Gospel reading, of course.”

“Then Georg and I went to Marcantonio’s Pizza. We had lasagna.”

Monday, June 25, 1635

Astrid and Peter Johann Drehmann saw the others off, then opened the office.

“Have you used a telephone before?” Astrid asked.

“Ja.”

“If we have any trouble with Schlinck’s Company, call the polizei, the townhouse, and Bretagne’s Company, in that order.”

“Why would I call instead of you?”

“You have Lukas’ caplock, and I have a revolver.”

Peter Johann nodded slowly. Neustatter had briefed the new agents on NESS’ good relations with Bretagne’s Company and their history with Schlinck’s Company.

“I have not seen Sergeant Wolfe or his squad around in a while,” Astrid said, “but I am sure Hauptmann Bretagne would send someone. Lead a couple squads himself, probably.”

When the door opened mid-afternoon, both agents reached for their weapons.

But the person who came through the door had nothing to do with either mercenary company. The woman was pretty-but-aging, definitely a down-timer, and heavily made up. Astrid’s first thought was the woman was—at best—a tavern server. But she seemed somehow familiar.

“Ich heisse Gertrude Groenewold. I am looking for Lukas Heidenfelder.”

“Erfurt. You are from Erfurt.”

“Close. I worked in Erfurt. You are the girl who was with Lukas and his guys there. He has not died yet, has he?”

She looks truly concerned, Astrid thought. “He is in the hospital, recovering well. Why?”

“I just heard. A few days ago, I mean. I came as soon as I could. I want to see him.”

Astrid considered the possibility this was a trap. While it would be easy to establish most of NESS was on a mission—either by learning the train guard schedule or by staking out the office—such knowledge would make a ruse unnecessary. Still . . .

“Peter Johann, grab your rifle. We are closing the office. I will take . . . ”

“Trudi Groenewold.”

“I will take Frau Groenewold to Leahy,” Astrid continued. “Cover us until we pass the wooded area along Route 250, and then drop back to the townhouse.”

Peter Johann did not ask questions, which she really appreciated since she was making this up as she went.

They reached Leahy Medical Center without incident, and the receptionist summoned an orderly to take them to Lukas’ room. Lukas was awake and playing Solitaire, with some of the cards precariously balanced on his legs.

“Lukas!”

“Trudi?” He looked a little dumbfounded, Astrid noted. “You came! I was not expecting you to . . . ”

“Shh.” Trudi surveyed him. “You do not look shot.”

Lukas tapped his chest, but very gingerly. “I assure you, I got shot. No infection, though, and the doctors say I will recover.”

Trudi’s whole body stiffened. “You are not dying?”

“Sure hope not.”

“Then we need to talk.”

Astrid wasn’t sure what was going on, but she could recognize a cue. “I should get back to the office. Lukas, have someone call me there, okay?”

“Ja.”

* * *

Astrid retrieved Peter Johann from the townhouse and reopened the office. She didn’t say anything to him about Trudi. Partly, she didn’t want to explain that one of their agents visited a prostitute. The rest of it was wondering why this particular prostitute had come to see Lukas. It suggested more than just a . . . business arrangement.

Business was slow today, and the regular school year was over. Astrid had not enrolled in any adult education classes for the summer because she knew how busy NESS was likely to be. By the time she and Peter Johann returned to the townhouse for lunch, she was bored.

Regina was busy preparing lunch under the watchful eyes of Maria and Ursula. Agathe, with some “help” from seven-year-old Cecilia Drehmännin and five-year-olds Elisabetha Pfefferin and Theobald Drehmann, was watching Greta and Claus, who were crawling around and occasionally venturing into standing up. The three older boys had apparently made themselves scarce.

Everyone appeared for lunch, however. Astrid reminded herself they really needed a couple more tables. If they could be stored upright against a wall, all the better. Maybe she could get Karl to work with Arne Helgerson on it.

Johann Kirchenbauer looked up from his lunch and asked, “May Peter come to baseball practice with us?”

Astrid saw some looks of consternation and realized the question was more properly, could any of the children go to baseball practice? Could any of the adults be spared?

“I think not.” Maria spoke quietly. She rose to begin cleaning up.

Astrid caught Agathe’s eye and nodded toward Maria. She tried to convey, “You should tell her they will be able to afford it.”

Ursula sniffed. “We need to clean up.” She sent Regina a meaningful look.

“Nein. Not you,” Astrid told the girl. “You have a job, ja? Und we need to talk to Herr Mestermann about you having more of a job.”

Regina flashed a grateful smile. Astrid sensed she was going to hear about this later, certainly from Ursula and maybe from Maria. Well, too bad. She was in charge of NESS until Neustatter returned, and NESS had made Regina a job offer.

In the end, Astrid, Peter Johann and Maria, Regina, and the three older boys set out, leaving Anna, Ursula, and Agathe with three toddlers and three kids. They stopped at the livery stable first.

No one was at the front desk, but Astrid could hear someone in the office. She started toward it to knock on the door when one of the stable hands stuck his head in the back door.

“Herr Mestermann is out in the ring,” he said. “His daughter is in there.”

“Dank,” Astrid said. “I think we should see her.”

Someone called “Komm herein” as soon as she knocked. Astrid pushed the door open and saw a down-time woman about her own age seated at a table with a ledger and other papers spread across the surface. Astrid smiled in recognition of someone else who kept the books.

“How can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I heiss Astrid Schäubin from Neustatter’s European Security Services—”

The other woman was already rising. “I bin Hippolyta Mestermann. NESS co-owns a couple pools of horses.”

“Ja. This is Regina Drehmännin.”

Hippolyta was already smiling. Astrid figured she knew what was coming.

“You look like a horsewoman,” Hippolyta told Regina.

“Ja. I want to work with horses.”

“It is a lot of work. Mucking stalls, feeding them . . . ” She gestured at her table. “Huge amounts of paperwork.”

“I understand,” Regina said.

Hippolyta gazed at her for a minute. “All right. Let us go find my father. He tests new stable hands himself.” The look she then gave Astrid conveyed, “And we will negotiate the terms.”

A few minutes later, Astrid found herself telling Hippolyta about NESS.

“It sounds like you will be using the horses less and the trains more,” Hippolyta observed.

“For the next few months, I think,” Astrid agreed. “If the invasion of Saxony goes well, the railroad line may no longer need train guards.” She shrugged. “We will still ride horses for many missions to the east or west.”

“We see the same thing,” Hippolyta agreed. “Trains when traveling north, horses east, west, and south. Once the railroad reaches Bamberg, though, we will lose the southern traffic. At least the two-way traffic. One-way riders do pass through, but we do not rent them horses from any of the groups. If we want a particular horse back, we have to send someone else to go get it.” She smiled. “I suspect Regina would enjoy it—except I would never send a girl so young out on her own.”

“I think Neustatter needs to teach her how to shoot,” Astrid murmured.

Just then, Herr Mestermann stepped in. “I left her mucking a stall.” He exchanged looks with his daughter. “She is excited now, but we have to see if it lasts.”

“I will have to see if we can afford another stable hand,” Hippolyta cautioned.

“What about one-quarter of a stable hand?” Astrid asked. “NESS will pay a quarter. She will be in school the other half of the time.”

“We can probably do it,” Hippolyta declared. “If she works out.”

“Give her two weeks,” Herr Mestermann said.

“Her parents are out front,” Astrid said.

Hippolyta raised an eyebrow. “You approached us instead of the parents?”

“NESS is hiring the Drehmanns. Peter Johann as an agent, Maria to cook and clean, and Regina to help take care of our horses. Two and a quarter shares—not apprenticing. NESS’ responsibility.”

“The parents will want to talk to us,” Herr Mestermann pointed out.

“Of course,” Astrid agreed.

Peter Johann, Maria, Herr Mestermann, and Hippolyta had a long conversation. It started out front and ended alongside the ring. Astrid stayed out of it, but listened to the parts about safety. She understood there were lots of ways to get injured or killed around horses—kicked, thrown, stepped on, squashed against something—but she was mostly concerned with a pretty girl being isolated in the stables.

She definitely wanted Neustatter to teach Regina how to shoot. But she didn’t know how NESS could afford another weapon, and she wasn’t sure about a fourteen-year-old wearing iron. And she had a sinking feeling part of the solution was martial arts, and she was most likely to be Regina’s sparring partner.

Herr Mestermann provided another part of the solution. “I will keep an eye on her this afternoon.”

Peter Johann’s U.S. Waffenfabrik rifle probably didn’t hurt, either. He seemed willing enough to let Regina work for the afternoon, but Maria seemed uneasy.

“We should go to the ball field,” Astrid prompted.

“Ja,” Johann chimed in. “We don’t want to be late.”

As soon as they arrived at the baseball diamond and saw kids running around in uniforms, carrying bats, balls, and gloves, Maria murmured, “We cannot afford this.”

“But Peter has to play,” Willi Pfeffer insisted.

“Ja,” Johann agreed. “Und it is not expensive.”

“Boys,” Astrid warned.

“It is expensive for us,” Maria told her.

“The children share the equipment,” Astrid pointed out. “All they really need is a shirt. If you had the cloth, Anna and Agathe could make the shirt.”

“Truly?”

The boys persuaded their coach that Peter could practice with the NESS Agents and if he picked up the game quickly enough, play the second season of the summer with them.

Two down, Astrid thought. That leaves just Trudi.

Once baseball practice was over, they retraced their steps. Regina was reluctant to leave Mestermann’s livery stable, but they got everyone back to the townhouse. Astrid headed back out, first to the office, and then to Leahy.

“Trudi found a room to rent,” Lukas explained. “She said she will come see me in the morning.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Not refugee housing?”

“Nein. She said she did not want to be a burden.”

Thursday, June 28, 1635

Teams One and Two, Neustatter, and the new agents who’d had business in Magdeburg returned Wednesday evening. NESS had a late dinner. Neustatter gave them the next day off, but met with the team leaders in the morning. Neustatter and Astrid were at their desks, while Ditmar and Hjalmar pulled chairs over.

After they updated one another on the last three days, Neustatter asked, “When do we expect Wolfram, Anna, Kristina, and Phillip to return?”

“Today, I hope,” Astrid answered.

“Gut. Our contract with the tech fair begins tonight. They will be setting up booths today, so they’ll need eight guards tonight and then six during the day tomorrow. Twelve-hour shifts through Sunday, July 8. We will take Monday off, and then Teams One and Two have a Saxon Run on Tuesday, July 10.”

“It beats not having enough work,” Ditmar observed. “Teams One and Two at night?”

“Ja,” Neustatter said. “Astrid, I want Otto and Phillip on during the days as plainclothesmen. They get Wolfram, because a medic is more likely to be needed when lots of people are there during the day. Also Friedrich, Krystal, and Peter Johann. Hjalmar, I am putting Klaus on your team. Astrid, if Wolfram and Phillip have not returned yet, you and I will fill in. Und I may put us there anyway if having three new agents there means we need more than six during the day.”

Astrid nodded but felt she ought to bring something up. “Do you want to switch up the shifts?”

“Nein,” Neustatter replied. “We do not have enough agents to make a third shift. It will work best if we stick to the same pattern for all ten days.”

“All right,” Astrid agreed.

“Now, tell me about Lukas and . . . Trudi?”

* * *

The phone rang just as Astrid was about to eat lunch.

“Neustatter’s European Security Services. Astrid Schäubin speaking.”

“Astrid, it is Wolfram. Anna, Kristina, Phillip, and I are back. We are at Leahy.”

“Gut. How was the mission?”

“We brought two patients in for a doctor to see. We bought what Neustatter wanted. I checked on Lukas. There’s a woman here, Trudi. The doctors are willing to send him home if I monitor him like I did Ditmar and Hans. She can help, but she needs a place.”

“One moment, Wolfram.” Astrid covered the receiver. “Neustatter, it is Wolfram. They are back, and the hospital is willing to release Lukas if Wolfram and Trudi take care of him.”

“Let me talk to Wolfram, bitte.”

Astrid listened to Neustatter’s side of the conversation.

“I would want to get out of the hospital, too . . . I see . . . Okay . . . Ja, someone needs to stay with Lukas . . . Nein, we should have Lukas with us. If Trudi is going to help . . . We do not have anyone else . . . What if I moved to Otto and Karl’s room? And we put Trudi with Lukas? . . . Okay. We will do it.”

Neustatter shot Astrid a look somewhere between warning and apology. “Trudi is offering to help Lukas. It is . . . not the best, but . . . ”

Astrid nodded. “As long as I do not have to explain it to Ursula.”

Neustatter grimaced.

Chapter 3: Sunshine

Grantville

May 1635

Susan Diana Moritz was moping. She was curled up on her bed with the floral-pattern bedspread pulled up over her for warmth. It was May, and May in down-time Germany was chilly if you weren’t doing anything. Up-time, her parents had kept the house at sixty-eight degrees. Thanks to her sister Marie’s annoying habit of monitoring the temperature along with the rest of the weather, she knew it was more like sixty-five inside. Which was cold, blast it.

Not that she didn’t run outside in much cooler temperatures. But staying warm was not a problem when she was running. She sighed, well aware her nickname Sunshine wasn’t for her personality. Another month or so, and I can lie outside in the sun. Time to work on my beach body, she thought sarcastically. Not that anyone will notice anyway, other than down-timers and old fogies who’ll just have a cow I’m wearing a swimsuit.

She’d been doing a lot of moping lately, ever since Gary Rose had fallen for a down-time girl. Gary was going to be her ticket out of Grantville, to . . . Magdeburg, maybe? But from what she’d heard, Magdeburg might be worse than Grantville. Now there’s a depressing thought. Ugh.

This summer would be her last one off from school. Senior year would start in August, and then she’d be looking for a job. Double ugh. I suppose I should probably look for a summer job. She thought for a minute. They still have lifeguards at the community pool.

Somebody pounded on her door. “Sunshine! Dinner’s ready!”

She sighed again and sat up.

Dinner turned out to be chicken, which was a plus. Sunshine had tried being a vegetarian, but it was really hard to do down-time and stay healthy. She’d successfully drawn the line at mutton and rabbit—she wasn’t eating lambs or bunnies. The mixed vegetables reminded her gardening season was about to begin. It was almost time to start her tomatoes in indoor trays. Then she had better see about a lifeguard job before she ended up picking peas and beans all summer.

Her father spoke up. “Sunshine, have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after graduation?”

Sunshine suppressed a sigh. “Get a job, I suppose. I was thinking, maybe I could apply for one of the lifeguard jobs at the pool this summer.”

Her parents exchanged glances. “Not a bad idea,” Ted Moritz allowed. “But there’s not much opportunity for advancement.”

Sunshine frowned. “I guess if I stayed at it, I might be able to get a year-round job with the city.”

“There’s a chance,” her father admitted. “Just not a very good one. It’s more likely you’d end up having to find something permanent after you graduate from high school, and you’d be starting over with no seniority.”

Sunshine studied her father suspiciously. “You have something in mind already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure do. I need a project manager. Scheduling meetings, staying on top of projects, making sure our suppliers deliver what we order on time and to the right job, and generally keeping the workers supplied.”

Sunshine’s face fell. “Secretary?”

“Project manager. You don’t even need to get your PMP certification like you would up-time.”

“Thanks, Dad, but . . . ”

“But you’d really rather lifeguard?”

She nodded.

“Well, look into it and find out the details. The pool’s only open Memorial Day to Labor Day, anyw—” He broke off and shook his head. “I keep doing that. What holidays do we use to mark summer again?”

“Ring of Fire Day to the first weekend in September,” Sunshine replied.

“Thanks. They must have a bunch of lifeguards. If your schedule fit around working for Happy Acres . . . ”

“Two jobs?” Sunshine didn’t quite whine.

“’Fraid so, Sunshine. If pool season is three, three and a half months, it’s not long enough to have a good in with the city. And even if it were, who knows what they’d have you doing the other nine months each year?”

“So instead of a swimsuit, I get a hardhat.”

“I said both,” her father reminded her.

Sunshine frowned.

“Now, honey . . . ” Her mother entered the conversation.

This isn’t fair, Sunshine thought. But all I have to do is sit here and pout, and Mom will start to cave. Because I’m her favorite. She remembered her mother’s fights with her older sister Marie. Marie had gotten what she wanted and was now a USE Air Force pilot. Everybody was expecting a war this summer, and Marie could end up flying dangerous missions. I hope she’ll be okay, Sunshine thought. At least she’s doing what she wants to. I wish I could. But . . . what do I want to do?

Sunshine tuned back in as her mother was subtly making concessions. She took a glance at her father, and saw Mom was pissing him off. It’s not like I have a plan. I can always quit if it sucks. And I kinda have been being a spoiled brat.

“All right, I’ll do it,” she said.

Her father looked surprised, and her mother astonished. Their expressions annoyed her.

“I’ll check with the park office about lifeguarding hours tomorrow,” Sunshine continued. “And I’ll make an appointment with Mr. Laforrest to set up my senior year schedule. I’m not taking umpteen languages or music classes, so I probably have some free periods. Maybe I can get all my classes in the morning and go to work after lunch. Unless you think it would be better to take another one of the business courses?”

She gave her father points for an admirable recovery as he managed to say “See what Mr. Laforrest thinks” without either choking or spraying his drink.

* * *

Pelton Barnes stood on the concrete a few feet from the Grantville community swimming pool with his hands on his hips as he watched two men tinker with the pump.

“I’ll be honest, Miss Moritz,” he told Sunshine. “Normally we would have filled all the lifeguard positions by now. But we’ve been struggling to catch up ever since the Cunninghams were arrested. And it’s been hard to find lifeguards.”

“Really?”

“Just about all the guys and some of the girls join the military right after graduation. Not quite as many this year, but those who don’t usually have jobs or university lined up. It’s really hard to hang on to anybody past his senior year.”

“Well, I’m a junior now,” Sunshine reminded him. She refrained from pointing out she was one grade behind his daughter Millicent. It had been true since she started kindergarten.

“And it’s not nearly as glamorous a job as everybody thinks,” Mr. Barnes continued. “The lifeguards are responsible for the pH of the water. Some down-time kids are making pH paper, so it’s easy to test now. The lifeguards also have to coordinate with the water treatment department—Myles Halvorsen over there will show them what he’s done with the pump so they don’t have to call him over here every time it makes a funny noise. Communicate with the police, of course, because things do happen here in the park. At least one lifeguard has to sit in on the park board meetings and the Fourth of July committee and the district fair meetings. It’s a lot of balls to juggle. It doesn’t pay particularly well, and, well, it’s a dead-end job.”

“It kinda sounds like a project manager, Mr. Barnes,” Sunshine observed. “It’s what my dad wants me to do at his company.”

“Not sure I want to train you for just one summer.”

“Please give me a chance, Mr. Barnes.”

He seemed to consider her carefully. Almost a minute went by before Mr. Barnes said, “All right, I’ll give you a chance. Go get changed and I’ll have Hawker give you the pool test.” He indicated the younger man working on the pump. “Um, you’ll have to use the women’s restroom over at the community center. We don’t have the locker rooms open yet.”

“No need,” Sunshine said. “I wore my suit.” She unzipped her light jacket and draped it across a deck chair, then peeled off her tank top. After kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of her jeans.

“You . . . it’s not . . . you can’t lifeguard in that,” Pelton Barnes sputtered.

“Why not?” Sunshine was wearing a dark blue two-piece. The racing top was cut like a sports bra and showed . . . practically nothing, to her way of thinking.

“Up-time women’s swimsuits are bad enough. But a bikini?”

“Mr. Barnes, I was thirteen when the Ring of Fire happened. I’m seventeen. Neither one of my one-piece suits from back then fits.”

“But . . . ”

Sunshine had the good sense not to ask what kind of swimsuit his daughter wore. Instead, she waited him out. Mr. Barnes turned and hollered, “Hawker!

The younger man at the pump popped up like a prairie dog. “Mr. Barnes?”

Barnes waved him over. “Hawker, Sunshine Moritz. Applying for lifeguard. Sunshine, Hawker Baldwin. He’s head lifeguard this year.”

Sunshine saw Hawker’s eyes widen when Pelton Barnes told him she was applying to be a lifeguard. And he was still staring at her. It was nice to be appreciated as long as he didn’t get creepy about it. And he wasn’t so bad himself.

“Are you planning to lifeguard in that?” he asked.

“I could wear my white one instead,” she replied as sweetly as she could. She gestured. “It’s a triangle cut and ties . . . ”

Mr. Barnes coughed, and Hawker quickly said, “No, this one will be fine.”

Sunshine smiled just enough to let them know she considered his answer a matter of official record. And then she changed the subject.

“So, what do I have to do for the swimming test?”

Hawker gave her an evil grin. “I’ll go get a few things.” He turned and headed into the supply room.

He was back in a few minutes with an armful of weights. Not discs for barbells, but plastic-coated objects Sunshine presumed were designed not to scratch the bottom of the pool. Nevertheless, Hawker jumped in with the first one and swam it down to the bottom.

“We have to be very careful of the pool itself,” Mr. Barnes told her as they watched Hawker surface and grab a second weight. “Kinda hard to get next-day repairs. It can be done, but if you break it, don’t plan on getting paid.”

Sunshine nodded. He doesn’t need to lay it on quite so thick.

After Hawker had put all six weights on the bottom, he popped up in front of her.

“Can you swim with your eyes open?”

“Yeah,” Sunshine answered. “When I go home tonight, the chlorine will bother me, but tomorrow I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been swimming in pools every summer.”

“Sure have.”

“Well, jump in.”

Sunshine ran a hand over her hair to make sure her French braid was firmly in place. Since it was too shallow to dive at this end, she jumped in instead, inhaled, and flipped over.

The first weight wasn’t far away. She carefully picked it up and swam to the surface. Whatever it was made of, it was heavy. Placing it gently on the edge of the pool was harder than bringing it up.

The next weight was dead center in the pool. It took longer to swim it over to the side. The third one was bigger and awkward. After setting it down, Sunshine took a couple extra breaths before submerging again.

This called for a bit of strategy. She was getting tired, so she went for the weight all the way in the deep end. Oh, and it’s heavier. The rat. Sunshine pushed off the bottom. She broke the surface a short way from the end of the pool. Trying to conserve energy, she held onto it with one hand and sidestroked.

Once the third weight was poolside, she repeated the process until all six were up.

Hawker nodded. “Good job so far.”

“Going to get the dummy?” Pelton Barnes asked.

Hawker Baldwin started toward the supply room and then looked back at Mr. Barnes. “Nah, I’m going to use the smart one,” he called—and toppled into the pool.

“Oh, crap,” Sunshine muttered.

Naturally, Hawker dropped like a rock. In the deep end. She began a fast crawl stroke to where he’d gone down. Once there, she flipped over and dove.

If you grab me, I’m going to punch you . . .

She reached Hawker and was trying to figure out how to take hold of him when Hawker grabbed her.

She punched him.

Aw, crap, there goes this job. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She grabbed Hawker and kicked for the surface. Hawker weighed a ton! This was so much worse than retrieving the weights! She ran out of air. Two more kicks, and their heads burst out of the water. She gulped air and sidestroked them to the edge of the pool. Hawker grasped the edge, so she let go of him.

“Nice,” Hawker told her. “Try to come in from behind if you can and—nice hit.”

“Right,” she managed.

“And you need to work on your endurance.”

Sunshine wanted to curl up and die.

“Hey—it’s May. Your endurance sucks. My endurance sucks. Everybody’s is bad at the beginning of the season. Well, except Matt Tisdel’s, of course, wherever he is now. We all have to swim laps off-duty. Y’know, between committee meetings and maintenance. Still want the job?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, now that you’ve rescued me, get me out of the pool.”

There’s no way I can drag him over the edge, Sunshine realized. Not now.

“All right. I’m going to take you over to the ladder, and we’ll get out there.”

And they did.

“Are you CPR qualified?”

Hawker’s question startled Sunshine.

He’s going to collapse, Sunshine realized as she heard herself say, “Yes.”

Sure enough, Hawker slumped to the concrete deck.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?” Sunshine checked for breathing.

“Not breathing,” Hawker informed her.

Crap. Tilt head, clear airway, five compressions—don’t break his ribs even though he deserves it. It’s just practice. Two breaths. Five compressions, two breaths.

Hawker faked a cough.

Sunshine sat back.

“Good job. Remember you can do the compressions to the tune of ‘Staying Alive.’”

“Or to ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’” Sunshine shot back. “How many times do you plan to pull the rescue breathing stunt? I’m just curious.”

“Just needed to confirm you know what you’re doing,” Hawker told her.

Sunshine thought about it. Yeah, that’s reasonable, she decided.

* * *

Sunshine let the screen door slam behind her. “Mom! Dad! I got the job!”

Karen Moritz stepped out of the kitchen. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s why I’m soaking wet.”

“Well, after you change, come tell me about it while you help with dinner. After planning meals at school all day, you’d think I could get something on the table at a reasonable hour . . . ”

Sunshine hurried upstairs to her room and pulled dry clothes from her dresser. Then she ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower. She hadn’t been kidding Hawker about the chlorine. She searched for a medicine dropper to flush her eyes. I’ll use Mom’s turkey baster if I have to.

She walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later.

“You needed a shower right now?” her mother asked.

“Chlorine,” Sunshine reminded her. “Also, hot water. It was a cold walk home.”

“It’s May,” her mother pointed out.

“Yeah. The Little Ice Age sucks, but it should stop freezing any night now. Last day of class is Thursday, May 24, and the pool opens the next day, on Ring of Fire Day.”

“So soon?” her mom asked.

Sunshine grabbed a brush and began scrubbing the potatoes. “I’ve got two and a half weeks to get into shape.”

“You’re in shape,” her mother insisted.

“In most ways, yeah. But I need to build up my swimming endurance in case I have to rescue somebody. Hawker said he wants us to head off trouble before anybody needs rescuing, but every couple of weeks you have to help somebody no matter how careful you are.”

Sunshine continued helping make dinner, happy her mother had dropped it. But she was the easier parent to satisfy. Her father would give her a hard time about it, so she began marshaling her arguments while she made the salad.

* * *

Ted Moritz soon arrived home, and a little while later they were all seated for dinner—chicken again. At least it wasn’t dried out.

Mom got the ball rolling. “Sunshine has news.”

“I got the lifeguard job, Dad!”

“Oh? What hours?”

“Hawker Baldwin—he’s the head lifeguard—is getting all of us together Saturday. One of the reasons is to work out the schedule. What hours should I ask for?”

“I really could use you in the office during the day.”

“I’ll ask for evenings and weekends,” Sunshine offered, “but I think the guys coming back from last year get first pick.”

“Hawker Baldwin. Didn’t he start out in your class and then lose a year?”

“Yeah. He lifeguarded last year, and he’ll be around next summer, too. Mr. Barnes said it’s hard to hold on to lifeguards. He’s probably pretty happy he’ll have Hawker three summers in a row.”

“Who are the other lifeguards?”

Here it comes. “Acton Burchard and Colby Andersen are the other two who are back from last year. Billy Lee Stull, Jack Sims, Aaron Hoffmann, and Elias Ramsenthaler are new this year.”

“All guys?”

Sunshine decided not to dignify that with an answer.

“I’m not sure I like this. In fact, I’m sure I don’t like this. Why are you the only girl?”

“Because no other girls applied this year.” Duh. “Mr. Barnes said the city got a late start on hiring because the Cunninghams got arrested, and then Mayor Dreeson got shot. In the meantime, lots of kids found other jobs.”

“So tell me about these boys?”

Sunshine sighed. “Dad, you know who most of them are. Hawker. Colby Andersen wants to be a drummer. He’s kind of a doofus, but he’s okay. Acton Burchard is, you know, Acton. Billy Lee Stull and Jack Sims are both good guys. And two down-timers—Aaron Hoffmann and Elias Ramsenthaler.”

“How many of them are going to ask you out?”

“I have no idea,” Sunshine told him in an exasperated tone. “If I could predict the future, I would’ve made sure we went to Morgantown instead of sticking around Grantville for the Ring of Fire.”

“Ouch.”

It did derail her father for a couple minutes, but then he came to the point. “They’re guys. They’re going to be looking at you in your swimsuit. Wait, what swimsuit are you wearing?”

“My blue one.”

“No, you’re not. It’s bad enough you wear it to tan outside, but . . . ”

“And if my one-piece from the summer after sixth grade even remotely fit, we could argue about it.” Sunshine congratulated herself on coolly tossing that into the conversation.

“We’ll see about getting you a new suit,” her father stated.

“It has to be stretchy and not absorb water,” she reminded him. If anybody gets around to reinventing Lycra, they won’t be able to keep up with demand.

“Maybe Bartolli’s or Grantville Sporting Goods,” Ted Moritz mused.

“C’mon, Dad, don’t you think we girls checked? They sold out of swimsuits in ’31.”

“Maybe they overlooked some . . . ”

Sunshine sighed. “I’m already on Karen Reading’s list to call if something shows up.”

Saturday, May 12, 1635

Sunshine arrived at the pool early on Saturday. Hawker was already in his swim trunks, leaning over the edge of the pool, dipping something in the water. Checking the pH, she surmised.

“Hey, Sunshine!”

“Hey yourself, Hawker.”

“Go get changed. We’ll be in the water first thing.”

As Sunshine changed into her swimsuit, it dawned on her she could end up cleaning the women’s locker room all summer. Aw, crap. No wonder they hired a girl. Wait a minute, they didn’t have any girl lifeguards last year. . . . Sunshine thought it through. Yeah, she was going to end up cleaning this place a lot, but she’d definitely hold out for all the lifeguards on duty cooperating on all the cleaning once the pool closed for the night.

She looked around. Showers, restrooms, sinks, mirrors, hand dryers. She pressed the silver button, and the first dryer roared to life. Sunshine was somewhat impressed it still worked. She didn’t see any cleaning supplies. They must be locked up somewhere.

Mirrors. She stepped in front of the mirror over the middle sink and examined herself. She’d heard down-time girls say they could see her ribs, but it wasn’t quite true. Bottom of her ribcage when she stretched, sure. She was thinner than most up-timers. I’d better be. I work hard to look good in a bikini. She ran, used the weight room at school, and watched what she ate.

And I’d better get back outside, Sunshine told herself. She stepped out of the locker room and saw a couple more of the lifeguards had arrived.

“Jack! Billy Lee!”

“Hey, Sunshine!” Billy Lee called.

“You’re lifeguarding?” Jack asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

The gate swung open, and a couple down-timers came through.

“Guys,” Hawker said. “Er, guys and Sunshine . . . ”

Sunshine waved a hand. “Guys is fine.”

Hawker gestured toward the dark-haired down-timer. “Elias Ramsenthaler . . . ”

He was about Sunshine’s own height, and she thought of him as yet another example of a hard-working, rule-following, oh-so-serious down-timer. But the other boy could have been designed as his opposite: blond, wavy hair, taller than Sunshine, with a mischievous grin.

“ . . . and Aaron Hoffmann. Jack Sims, Billy Lee Stull, and Sunshine Moritz.”

Hoffmann’s got a killer smile, Sunshine thought to herself. She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

He kissed her hand. Sunshine wasn’t sure whether to be amused or to flirt back. Probably not a good idea on my first day, she decided. So she just winked at him.

Ramsenthaler settled for a business-like nod. Typical.

Acton Burchard and Colby Andersen showed up a couple minutes later. Acton immediately discarded his shirt and shoes. He’s ripped, Sunshine observed. But the fading bruises from last week’s fight with Wulff Thiessen reminded her of two things: Acton is a jerk, and he’s not actually the toughest guy around.

“All right,” Hawker announced. “We’ve got a lot to do. I hope nobody’s expecting to sit around all summer and work on a tan.”

“Aw, c’mon, Hawk,” Acton protested. “I know there’s a lot more to lifeguarding. I saw every episode up to the Ring of Fire.”

All the up-timers laughed.

“Line up at the deep end,” Hawker directed. “Five laps crawl, two laps breaststroke, two laps sidestroke, two laps backstroke. I don’t care about your speed as much as your endurance. Work on your turns, because it’s a convenient way to get going in the other direction. But this isn’t for Olympic gold.” Then he had to explain the Olympics to Elias and Aaron.

“Everyone set? One, two, three, go!”

Sunshine dove in, swam underwater as far as she could, and came up into a crawl stroke. She breathed to her right, so she saw Aaron. She stayed with him all the way down, made her turn, and saw Acton was already a good bit ahead of her. She made the turn in the deep end and found she was still with Aaron. But on the return leg, she was further behind Acton.

Acton drew further ahead on each lap. Sunshine’s sidestroke was pretty good, so she managed not to lose any more ground on those laps. But on the backstroke Acton lapped her. He got out of the pool while she had to go down and back again.

Sunshine flushed and tried to speed up. She was pretty sure the guys were going to wonder why she was taking so long. Finally, her hand hit the edge of the pool and she looked around in surprise. Huh. I beat Elias and must have been right behind Aaron.

“All right,” Hawker called. “Good warm-up. Partner up. Acton and Aaron, Colby and Elias, Jack and Billy Lee. One of you swims while the other watches form and gives advice. Then switch.”

The head lifeguard had picked her as a partner. It might mean he thinks I’m the weakest swimmer. On the other hand, there’s more than one way to watch my form. She tried to concentrate on swimming correctly and listened for Hawker’s shouted advice during her backstroke.

“Pick something to track! You’re veering all over the pool!”

When it came time to pick shifts, her earlier prediction proved correct.

“We’ll pick by seniority,” Hawker said. “One shift at a time.”

And soon Sunshine had a collection of mornings and afternoons. Dad is not going to be happy.

“We’re going to break for lunch,” Hawker announced. “If you don’t like some of your shifts, feel free to trade around. Just remember trades are subject to my approval.”

Maybe I can fix my schedule, Sunshine realized. She kicked back with a sandwich and an alleged soft drink and waited.

Colby came over and sat down next to her. “Hey, Sunshine. I’ve really got to get rid of this Sunday evening shift. I’ll trade you for Tuesday afternoons.”

She smiled at him. “Done.”

“Wanna work together on a shift?” Colby asked next.

“Sure. When?”

“What about Wednesday afternoons?”

“I’ll see if I can,” she agreed. It was even a good idea, since she already had Wednesday mornings. Sunshine checked the master schedule and saw Billy was scheduled with her on Monday mornings. She also saw Elias had Monday afternoons.

“Hey, Elias. I’ll trade you my Monday morning for your Wednesday afternoon,” she offered. “You can work all day Monday, and I can work all day Wednesday.”

“I appreciate it. Danke.”

Now she had Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings, and Wednesday morning and afternoon. I can work for Dad four days a week. Or five, if he insists on Saturdays. Yuck. He should be reasonably okay with this. But am I okay with it? All day Wednesday with Hawker, and then Colby and Aaron coming in for the swimming lessons shift, Sunday night with Jack, Monday night with Billy, and Thursday night with Jack. Not bad. Billy, though . . .

Sunshine had nothing against Billy Lee Stull. But there didn’t seem to be the slightest amount of interest on his part, and every up-time girl in Grantville knew if a Stull didn’t fall hard for you, there was no point in trying to make it happen. Monday night was Jack and Aaron. She already had two shifts with Jack. I want a shift with Aaron, she decided.

She wandered over to Jack. “Jack, would you like Tuesday night instead of Monday night?”

“Yeah, it would help me out,” Jack agreed.

“I thought it might.”

Various other negotiations wrapped up, and Hawker examined the schedule while everyone finished lunch.

“All right,” he announced. “Changes approved. If you need to get your parents or your other employers to sign off on this, do it as soon as possible. Everyone done eating? Let’s get back in the pool.”

* * *

Sunshine dragged into the kitchen.

“Honey, you look beat,” her mother observed.

“I am beat,” she agreed. “Hawker swam us into the ground.”

“What shifts did you get?” her father asked.

“A mix. Sunday, Monday, and Thursday evenings, and all day Wednesdays.”

He frowned. “That’s a lot of hours. How are you going to have time to work for me?”

“It’s twenty hours a week. I can work for you Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and I suppose on Saturday. Except for Fourth of July week and fair week—we all have to work double shifts those weeks.”

She sensed her father was smirking into his beard, but all he said was, “It sounds doable. Did you come up with that on your way home?”

“No. We talked shifts over lunch, and I figured it out on like my thirtieth lap in the pool.”

“Honey, you’re not supposed to swim right after you eat!” her mother exclaimed.

“Yeah, I thought so, too, but it turns out it’s not true.”

“Are you ready to discuss some project management?” her father asked.

“On the twenty-ninth, like we agreed,” Sunshine protested. “I need to study for finals.”

Friday, May 18, 1635

“Five minutes!”

Sunshine Moritz looked over her English 11 final. She hadn’t left any questions blank, and she’d learned over the years not to second-guess her answers at the very end. She slid out of her seat, handed in her exam, and made a beeline for the buses.

Billy Lee Stull was already on the bus that went down Buffalo Street. Jack Sims hurried aboard five minutes later.

“You kept writing ’til the very end, didn’t you?” Sunshine asked him.

“Sure did.” Jack exhaled. “The hard one’s done.”

Sunshine gave him a sideways look. “We have chemistry on Monday.”

Jack grinned. “Like I said, the hard one’s done.”

“You’re weird. Chem’s hard. I can’t keep it all straight.”

“Do you want to study after we’re done at the pool tonight?” Jack asked. “I can show you how to keep it organized.”

Sunshine considered. From some guys—most guys—it would be a pick-up line. But she thought Jack meant just what he’d said, help with chemistry. And if it was a pick-up line, well, Jack Sims was going places in life. He might be a borderline nerd, but he was kinda cute.

“Sure,” she answered. “Thanks.”

The bus slowed as it approached the entrance to the fairgrounds. Sunshine was already on her feet and leaned back against the momentum as it stopped. She, Jack, and Billy Lee passed the ticket booth, turned left, and crossed the pedestrian bridge over Buffalo Creek. From there, the pool was just across the parking lot.

“I have been looking forward to this all day,” Sunshine declared. She kicked off her shoes and quickly took off her blouse and pants.

“We have locker rooms—” Billy Lee started to say. “You wore your swimsuit to school?”

Sunshine smiled. “Always wanted to, and it’s finals week.”

“You’re going to have to wait for us,” Jack cautioned. “Nobody goes in alone.”

Sunshine sighed and stared at the water longingly. Well, I suppose I can sit in the sun for a couple minutes. She looked around and decided on the lifeguard chair halfway down the length of the pool. She climbed up the rungs, sat back, and discovered she could see almost the entire pool from the deep end on her left to the kiddie pool separated from the shallow end by a narrow ledge to the deep end on her right. She had to turn to see the diving well that joined the deep end at a right angle.

“Glad to see somebody eager to be in the chair,” came Hawker’s voice.

Sunshine jerked upright and scrambled down. “Sorry,” she said.

“Hey, not a problem,” Hawker said. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time up there.”

Hawker made them swim until they were all exhausted. Well, Sunshine amended, he and Acton look like they could keep going, but the rest of us are done.

“Hit the showers,” Hawker told them. “See you all back here in the morning.”

“Where do you want to study?” Jack asked Sunshine. “Somewhere with food?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“How’s Castalanni’s sound?”

“Cool.”

Sunshine headed into the women’s locker room and congratulated herself on having remembered to put a complete set of dry clothes in her backpack. As she showered, she tried to decide if she wanted this to be a date. She decided since Jack was willing to help her, she’d buy the pizza.

* * *

“And where have you been, young lady?” her father asked. Her parents were seated in living room chairs, watching TV.

Sunshine pulled the front door closed behind her. “Lifeguard training and then Castalanni’s.”

“Oh? With whom?”

“Jack Sims.”

“You’re supposed to ask permission for dates,” her father rumbled.

“It wasn’t a date. We were studying.”

“Really? Studying what?”

“Chemistry.” Crap! He’s going to take that the wrong way.

“Chemistry, is it?”

“Da-a-ad. Moles and ideal gas laws and stupid electron orbitals.” She watched her parents exchange glances. “Jack called the chem test ‘the easy one’ and insists if I can remember twelve formulas and seven procedures and guess B every time I’m stuck, I can get at least an 80.” She sighed. “Chem on Monday, then two more exams, and I’m done for the year. Lifeguard through the holiday weekend, and then I can start at your office a week from Tuesday.”

Her parents exchanged another look. “Who are you and what have you done with Sunshine?” her mother asked.

Friday, May 25, 1635

The alarm clock buzzed insistently, and Sunshine groaned. It was 7 a.m. on her first day of summer vacation. Why can’t alarm clocks be on the list of up-time things that break and can’t be replaced? Nevertheless, she rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe, and stumbled toward the bathroom. A hot shower woke her up. Sunshine returned to her bedroom and dressed, pulling shorts and a top on over her swimsuit. She shoved another full set of clothes, her other swimsuit, and a towel in her backpack.

Sunshine preferred a minimal (but healthy) breakfast, but her mother was making omelets, sausage, and hash browns. She sighed and started inhaling it. I am going to feel sick, but Hawker warned us sometimes lunch doesn’t happen on schedule. If I miss breakfast and lunch, I’ll die.

Her brother Thad clumped downstairs. “Sunshine, what are you doing up already? It’s summer vacation.”

“I have to go to work.” Saying it for the first time felt weird.

“You’ll miss the Ring of Fire Day parade!”

Sunshine nodded. “Yeah. Most of it.”

Grantville had arrived down-time on May 25, 1631. It was close to Memorial Day—in 1637 the two would coincide—and like Memorial Day, it wasn’t so much celebrated as observed. The marching band and a few military units from the National Guard would start at the high school, march down Route 250 to Market Street, pause at the square for a couple speeches and a prayer, and proceed down Buffalo Street to the fairgrounds.

“But I’ll see the parade end at the fairgrounds, and then we’ll open the pool.”

“Awesome!” Thad declared. “I can’t wait!”

* * *

Mr. Barnes came by as the lifeguards finished their last-minute preparations. He inspected everything, and then asked Hawker, “Ready to open the season?”

“Yes, sir,” Hawker assured him.

“pH good?”

“Right on seven point four.”

“All right. You may officially open the pool once the parade is over.”

“Gather ’round!” Hawker called. “Colby, you’re in the chair at the far end. Billy Lee, you’ve got the chair on the side. Acton, made sure there’s not a mob of people trying to push their way in. Elias, help with that and then take the kiddie pool.”

The rest of them made their way to the memorial near the playground. The flagpole stood behind a wooden rail, flanked by a couple benches.

“Jack, I need you on the other side of Buffalo Creek. When the color guard draws even with the flagpole, you signal Aaron on this side. Aaron, when you see Jack wave, you turn around and signal me, and Sunshine and I raise the flag from half-staff to full-staff. Then Sunshine and I run back to the pool ahead of everybody else.”

“Do Aaron and I run back then, too?” Jack asked.

“Nope. You each patrol your side of Buffalo Creek. People aren’t supposed to swim in it, and they aren’t our responsibility if they do, but I’m not having anybody drown on the first day of summer with eight lifeguards a hundred yards away.”

Jack nodded. “So, if we see anybody who looks like they’re going in, we send them to the pool.”

“Exactly. One of you come check in with us every so often. We’ll switch off.”

Jack crossed the foot bridge, and just a few minutes later Sunshine could see the lights of the police car leading the parade. A couple more minutes, and Hawker said, “There’s Aaron’s signal.”

He untied the line, and he and Sunshine ran the flag up to the top of the pole. Hawker tied the rope off, and they ran back to the pool.

A couple dozen people, mostly kids, were already lined up at the gate.

“These are the Sloan boys at the head of the line,” Hawker told Sunshine. “Jake, Tommy, Billy, and Hank. All down-timers Mr. Sloan more or less adopted. Jake’s responsible for our pH paper.”

“Had to,” Jake stated. “Swimming pools are the cathedrals of up-time technology. They’ve got pumps, electricity, tile, all the trades. We have to take care of them.”

Sunshine’s eyes widened. “These guys are intense,” she whispered to Hawker.

Hawker nodded as he worked his way down the line, learning the kids’ names. Of necessity, they’d adopted a broad definition of swimwear. If it was close-fitting enough not to get sucked into anything, not so heavy it would drag the wearer straight to the bottom, and didn’t turn see-through in water, it was swimwear.

Hawker pointed at Acton, who swung the gate open.

“Slow down!” Hawker barked as a couple kids charged through. “Sunshine, it’s okay to be stern for the first ten minutes. Then things should stay under control as the pool fills up.”

Sunshine decided that made a lot of sense and began shepherding kids toward locker rooms. “Yours is right over there . . . ”

Two boys who had shown up in their swim trunks jumped into the water. Sunshine glanced their way, saw Colby was watching them, and reached out to slow a kid down. “No running. No crashing.”

The kid laughed.

I can do this.

Ten minutes later they had thirty people in the pool, swimming, having a good time, and being loud—and everything was under control. Sunshine even got to yell at her brother Thad for attempting a cannonball.

* * *

As the afternoon progressed, Hawker sent them off for lunch two at a time. Acton and Elias were in the lifeguard chairs.

“Hey, you two! Stop horsing around!” Acton barked at a couple kids.

Naturally, everybody turned to see what was going on. One woman in the kiddie pool glanced over just as her son pulled on her arm, dragging her a step to her left. At the same time, her daughter scooted to the right, just out of her reach—and then promptly tripped and dunked herself.

The little girl came up a second later, crying for all she was worth. Sunshine was already four steps along the ledge between the kiddie pool and the main pool. She squatted down and slipped into the water—the kiddie pool was far too shallow to jump into. She reached the girl just ahead of her mother and lifted her up onto the ledge, where she promptly got an earful of toddler in fully outraged mode.

“Shh.” Sunshine soothed her. “You’re fine. Just a little surprise.”

The mother embraced the girl. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated. It took two or three minutes before the girl settled down to an occasional sniffle.

“We should go.” The girl’s mother was clearly mortified.

“Don’t worry about what everyone thinks. They don’t matter. It’s more important your daughter not get scared of the water. What’s your name, honey?”

The girl ducked her head.

“Grete,” her mother answered.

“Do you want to get back in, Grete?”

“Nein! Nein! Nein!”

“I can show you how to do this.” Sunshine crouched down and blew bubbles in the water. She did it twice more, and then Grete started to giggle.

“Do you want to try?”

“Ja, ja, ja!”

A couple minutes later, Sunshine gave Grete a hug and then stepped away. The three-year-old went back to making motorboat noises in the water.

“Nice job on the first rescue of the season.”

Sunshine jumped. She hadn’t realized Hawker was behind her. She turned and said, “She rescued herself by standing back up. All I did was help make her feel better about it.”

Hawker smiled. “Hopefully it’s as exciting as today gets. And since you’re so good with the kiddie pool, you can have it next.”

“Oh, thank you.” Sunshine made sure to respond with enough sarcasm. But not too much.

Hawker just grinned at her sarcasm, and Sunshine spent an uneventful rotation standing next to the kiddie pool until Aaron took her place.

“Let’s go get food,” Hawker said. “Then it’s our turn to walk Buffalo Creek.”

They bought lunch from a vendor in the farmers’ market, and then Hawker gave Sunshine the playground side of the creek while he took the fairgrounds side. She figured he’d given her the easier assignment on purpose but didn’t really mind. She strolled along Buffalo Creek to the end of the park and back. Nobody was trying to swim in the creek, although she ran across a group of boys who looked like they were contemplating it and sent them over to the pool.

Saturday, May 26, 1635

“The sunshine sure is hot today,” Acton remarked, leaning against the base of the lifeguard chair at the side of the pool. It was about the third time he’d mentioned it.

Up in the chair, Sunshine studiously ignored him.

“Don’t you think so, Aaron?” Acton asked the lifeguard standing beside him.

“Ja.” Hoffmann wiped his brow theatrically.

Sunshine kept watching the pool.

“I can take over now,” Acton offered.

“I’m good,” Sunshine told him.

“Du bist schön,” Aaron agreed.

You are beautiful. Sunshine blushed. “I meant I will complete my shift. You two, get out of here.” She stood and blew her whistle, then waved a child back who had been stepping over the edge of the slope into the deep end.

“What did I do wrong?” she heard Aaron ask Acton. She came very close to climbing down from the lifeguard chair to give him an answer.

This sucks. This job is supposed to be fun! It’s a good thing nobody in the pool is doing anything dumb because I’d probably scream at them.

Sometime later, a voice made her jump.

“Sorry, Sunshine. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Hawker said. “It’s past shift change. Why are you still up there?”

She checked the clock mounted on the fence on the far side of the pool and was surprised to see it was four in the afternoon. “I told Acton I’d finish my shift, not take his, too.”

“Oh? Would you care to fill me in?” Hawker requested.

“Not really.”

“Uh-huh.”

She could see Hawker wasn’t pleased, but she didn’t want to run to the boss just because two of the guys were being jerks. But within a few minutes, she could tell Hawker was mad.

Oh, crap. Today just keeps getting better and better.

Acton and Aaron sauntered in a few minutes later.

“All right, Sunshine, you’re off duty now,” Hawker stated. “Acton, take the chair. Aaron, are you just hanging out?”

“Ja.”

“Excuse us, please. I need to go over some stuff with Acton.”

Sunshine headed for the women’s locker room. She’d planned to swim a few laps when she got off, but right now she just wanted to get out of here. She stepped into the shower.

“Sunshine!” came Aaron’s voice.

She was the only one in the locker room so she hollered back. “What?”

“May I talk to you?”

“No! I’m in the shower!”

Sunshine stood still and listened for a few seconds. No one was entering, so she resumed showering. And then she heard someone singing.

She had to listen carefully to make out the words. And then she groaned. Yep, it was definitely the parody “Up-Time Girl.” She rolled her eyes. The song had been funny for a couple weeks back in ’32 but had since worn out its welcome, in her opinion. She thought he had a nice voice, though.

. . . until he started singing “You Are My Sunshine.”

“I’m going to kill him.” She slammed the water off and grabbed her towel. “Just as soon as I get dressed.”

By the time she’d dried her hair and dressed, Aaron had started in on “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.” Sunshine looked around the women’s locker room, hoping she’d somehow been overlooking a back door for the last two weeks. Eventually, she sighed and walked out the door.

“If you start singing ‘I Wish They All Could Be West Virginia Girls’ I will push you into the deep end,” Sunshine announced as she strode right past Aaron.

He hurried to catch up. Sunshine didn’t slow down and didn’t acknowledge him until she’d passed through the gate. Once they were out on Poolside Drive, she gave him a sideways glance. “Did you come up with all those on your own? Or did you have help?”

Aaron looked worried. “I had some help,” he admitted.

“Acton?”

“Ja.”

“Is he helping you try to pick me up? Or is he sabotaging you?”

Aaron looked confused. Sunshine took pity on him. “Aaron, do you know Acton’s nickname? It’s ‘Action.’” She waited, saw confusion, and explained.

“So, Acton wants to ‘pick you up,’ and you want a boyfriend, but not him?”

“He may be a stud, but he’s a jerk.”

Aaron thought about it. “Would you like another song?” he asked.

“No!”

“What about dinner?”

Sunshine let him talk her into Castalanni’s.

Tuesday, May 29, 1635

Sunshine’s alarm went off, and she struggled out of bed. She didn’t want to, but she figured she ought to show her father she was responsible. After showering, she dressed nicely and hurried downstairs to breakfast.

“Whoa,” was her brother Thad’s contribution. “Why are you dressed up?”

“I’m going to work.”

“Yeah, right over at Dad’s office. Big deal.”

“Actually, it is,” their father said. “It’s important to look professional. Linda Jane will show you the system, Sunshine.”

A couple hours later, Sunshine had had just about enough of Linda Jane. She’d known her father’s office manager for years, and Linda Jane had always seemed like a nice lady before. But she had very particular ways she wanted the office run. Sunshine hoped some of those ways would start to make sense soon, because right now they seemed completely arbitrary.

She didn’t care much about quantities of boards and nails but organizing all the materials to make an actual house was sort of interesting. Bringing all the pieces out to Happy Acres Farm was a waste of time, though—unless it was for a house at Happy Acres itself, of course.

“Sunshine! File that. Don’t just stand around reading it,” Linda Jane ordered.

Sunshine looked up. “Oh.”

She started to stuff the invoice into the proper folder and then realized what had caught her attention.

“What folder do I use if the invoice has supplies for two different jobs on it?” she asked.

“Ohhhh,” Linda Jane moaned. “They didn’t do it again, did they?”

“It looks like it to me,” Sunshine said. “This is eight times the standard allotment for a house, and . . . ”

“We’re building four up in the Anabaptist settlement and four more in the big development east of the Ring,” Linda Jane told her.

“I’m pretty sure the nail factory put them all together. Do you want me to make a copy?”

“Copier died back in ’32.”

“No, by hand.”

“You can’t do it that way. I’ll call the nail factory and tell them to resend the paperwork.” Linda Jane picked up the phone. She had a lengthy conversation.

“I’ll send someone right over.” Linda Jane slammed down the phone and looked over at Sunshine. “Go pick it up.”

“It’ll take me an hour,” Sunshine protested.

“Don’t they teach driving anymore?”

“No, not unless they know you’ll need it.” Sunshine was surprised she’d asked.

“Well, then, walk. And hurry up!”

Holy cow, Sunshine thought as she left the office. I never realized Linda Jane is crazy!

Half an hour later, Sunshine pulled open the door at the nail factory. Nobody was behind the counter, but Joey Kinney was refilling bins of nails.

“Hey, Joey.”

“Hi, Sunshine.”

Joey was slow, and Sunshine wasn’t sure he was going to understand what she wanted.

Here goes . . .

“Joey, my dad is building houses in two different places, and this receipt is for all the nails for both. Can I get two receipts instead, one for each site?”

“Why?” Joey asked. “It’s all nails.”

She gave it another try. “But half of ’em are for houses up on one of the mountains, and the other half are for houses on the Rudolstadt road.”

“So tear it in half,” Joey told her.

Sunshine giggled. Then she cracked up completely. “That’s great, Joey,” she managed.

Someone else finally came out of the back.

“May I help you?”

Sunshine explained all over again.

“I told her to tear it in half,” Joey said.

The woman cocked her head. “He’s right, you know.”

“I know he is,” Sunshine agreed. “Still?”

“Oh, all right . . . ”

When she got back to the Happy Acres office, Linda Jane’s first comment was, “Took you long enough.”

Yep, this job is going to be just wonderful.

Fortunately, tomorrow was Wednesday, which meant she’d be lifeguarding.

Wednesday, June 6, 1635

Sunshine arrived at the pool at 9 AM to find Hawker already there, kicked back in one of the poolside chairs.

“Morning, Sunshine!” he called.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard that one before,” she retorted.

Hawker grinned. “How’s the other job?”

“It can be interesting, but my dad’s office manager has her own wacky system, and, well, she’s nuts. How about you?”

“I’m taking some EMT classes, doing some ride-alongs with the Rescue Squad.”

Sunshine looked at him with interest. “Is that what you’re going to do after high school?”

“Yeah, maybe get my nursing license. What?” Hawker asked with a smile.

“Oh, um, well . . . ”

“Just say it, Sunshine.”

“I’m surprised you want more school.”

“’Cause I was such a stellar student before the Ring of Fire, you mean?” Hawker was still smiling. “If you told me back in 2000 I’d be taking two languages besides English and thinking about college, I’d’ve said you were nuts. Now, it just seems practical. Speaking of which, why don’t you check the pH this morning?”

“I have to change.”

“Have you stopped wearing your swimsuit under your clothes?”

“No, but . . . I don’t want you to watch me undress.” It sounded lame, even to her.

Now Hawker had only half a grin. “Well, the locker room is right over there, but somehow this has never been an issue before.”

Sunshine flushed and hurried off. Hawker was right; she didn’t have to do anything put take off her blouse and shorts and toss them in her bag. But she stalled for a few minutes before exiting.

Hawker was still kicked back in a chair. “The pH,” he prompted.

“You didn’t start already?” Sunshine asked.

“Nope. It’s all you.”

She froze. “That’s not fair.”

“Jack checked the pH Sunday night. Aaron checked it Monday. Last Wednesday afternoon, Colby checked it. Sunshine, I don’t see your signature anywhere. So, go check the pH.”

Oh, crap. I hope I can remember how.

Sunshine got the paper, checked, and of course it was a bit off. She had to haul out the chemicals. Then she drew a blank when trying to remember how to calculate how much to use.

This is just like one of those stupid chemistry prob— This is one of those stupid chemistry problems. What did Jack say to do? I did what he said and got an 85 . . . .

A couple minutes later, blushing furiously, Sunshine had figured out how much to use. She put the chemicals in and looked over at Hawker.

“Good. How did you figure it out? One of Jack’s formulas?”

“Are you stalking me?” Sunshine demanded.

“Not . . . exactly,” Hawker answered. “I have noticed you tend to bat your eyes, and most of the rest of the guys do stuff for you. Asking Jack for help in chemistry is smart. But you have to be able to do all of your job here.”

Sunshine felt herself flush again.

“I’d like to convince you to lifeguard again next summer,” Hawker continued. “So, the other not-so-fun part of the job is those committee meetings. There’s one next Tuesday night.”

“You guys have seniority.”

“I have a first aid class. Acton won’t take it seriously. Colby will be drumming. And you . . . are a businesswoman.”

“I’m a gofer, Hawker.”

“There’s an item on the agenda about putting some sort of structure in Buffalo Creek, right over there. Gofer what they’re up to.”

Wednesday, June 13, 1635

Hawker was already at the pool when Sunshine arrived the following Wednesday. He was fiddling with the pump. Sunshine checked the pH of the pool and found it was right on.

“pH is good,” she said.

“Excellent,” he said. “This needed a little fine-tuning. Just about done.”

“Do you want to hear about the Fourth of July committee meeting now? Or wait until you can concentrate?”

Hawker looked up in surprise. “Wait until I can concentrate?”

“At Happy Acres, I can’t tell Dad or Linda Jane anything if they’re working on something else. They forget and then claim I never told them.”

“That’s, uh, considerate of you,” Hawker said.

“Heh, as opposed to my usual teenaged self?”

“Well, to be honest . . . ”

“This being an adult thing sucks,” Sunshine declared. “I kinda liked being a spoiled brat.”

Hawker laughed. “Yeah, me, too. I used to really hate school. But after the Ring of Fire, everybody else was doing his part, so I figured I had to grow up.”

“I couldn’t wait to get out of Grantville—and now it’s the center of civilization!” Sunshine grumbled.

Hawker laughed again. “I gotta say, Aaron sure seems to have pegged you with that song ‘Up-Time Girl.’”

Summer groaned. “You heard about that? You’re definitely stalking me.”

“Sunshine, everybody heard about it.”

Sunshine rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t just one song, either.”

“A whole concert, the way I heard it.”

“Until I could get him to shut up.”

Hawker studied her for a minute. “Ah, Sunshine, you know it wasn’t strictly Aaron’s idea, right?”

“Of course not. Acton put him up to it. Aaron told me.”

“I sense you and Acton don’t exactly get along.”

Sunshine made a face. “Action is used to girls falling at his feet.”

“And you’re used to guys doing whatever you want,” Hawker observed.

“Well, yeah,” Sunshine admitted. “I’m just not such a jerk about it.”

Hawker grinned.

As long as I’m being honest . . .  “And I’m not used to guys being immune to it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m immune.” Hawker’s grin was still in place. “I’ll just make you do your job anyway.”

“Nice to know,” Sunshine observed.

Hawker stood up. “There, the pump’s all set. And you’ve checked the pH. Tell me about the Fourth of July committee meeting.”

“Most of it was pretty normal,” Sunshine began. “Expect large crowds. Could we have extra lifeguards and everybody on duty for the canoe race? I told them you’d already put it on the schedule.” She flashed him a smile. “And then the structure in Buffalo Creek turns out to be three fountains, right over there.” She pointed toward the fairgrounds. “They’ll be controlled by some computer/organ thingamajig. The canoe race people were worried about the canoes crashing into it, so the fountain people are going to put up a wooden barrier—so the canoes can crash into it instead.”

Hawker frowned. “I’m no expert, but won’t that increase the current? We should take a close look before the race.”

“Laps?” Sunshine asked.

Hawker’s eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I’m trying to work on this responsibility stuff.”

“Cool. Then we’ll put Colby and Aaron in the chairs when they get here, and you can help me teach swim lessons.”

Sunday, June 17, 1635

Sunshine hurried down Buffalo Street toward the swimming pool. As she crossed the footbridge, she noticed pipes and scaffolding rising out of the creek. The fountain people must have begun work on their project over the weekend. She looked away. The way buildings in Grantville backed right up to the river was bad enough, but at least they were on land. Structures that came up out of the water were downright creepy.

The clock hanging on the fence said 4:50, so she’d made it on time. Sunshine kicked off her shoes and then took off her top and shorts. After stuffing everything in her bag, she tossed it under the high lifeguard chair.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, Hawker.”

“It’s been a good afternoon. Quite a few kids, and they’re loud, but they’ve been safe. I think I blew my whistle only twice.”

“Oh, good.”

“Please check in with Jack and send him over here,” Hawker requested.

“Sure thing.” Sunshine took a few steps over to the kiddie pool. Five kids at the moment, three moms. Or maybe two moms and an older sister.

“Jack.”

“Sunshine.” Jack didn’t turn his head. “The crowd is a bit light today. Those two little boys are eager beavers. Keep an eye on them.”

“Got it,” she assured him.

“Switch at seven?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

A couple of the kids were watching her, and Sunshine waved to them as she took Jack’s chair. She flashed a smile at Hawker when he left fifteen minutes later.

Three of the little kids were having a ball. The other two were more tentative. One of them, a dark-haired little boy, looked a little green around the gills. Sunshine kept an eye on the shallow end of the main pool, too. Everything was under control there, although Hawker was right about these swimmers being loud.

She glanced back at the kiddie pool just as the dark-haired kid burst into tears. Sunshine ran over. She couldn’t see anything wrong, but she started to lift him out of the water anyway. As she did, he threw up. All over her and into the water, naturally.

Oh, gross! Yuck! Sunshine set him down beside the pool. His mother reached them a couple seconds later.

“Has he been sick?” she asked.

“Nein, but I should take him to the doctor right away.”

Sunshine agreed. She turned to check the rest of the kiddie pool and saw the other moms and kids had left the water.

She hurried over to them. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to drain the kiddie pool and clean it. I don’t know if we’ll be able to reopen it today, but you’re welcome to play in the shallow end of the main pool.”

One family did; the other decided they were done for the day. Sunshine hurried to the supply room, passing Jack on the way. He was still watching the pool, but was out of his chair, edging her way.

Sunshine gestured at herself in disgust. “I’ll go get the pool closed signs, and then I’m going to shower. Then I’ll start draining the kiddie pool.”

She set out the plastic warning signs and then hurried for the shower. She just had to get the puke off herself. Sunshine stripped off her swimsuit and dashed into the shower. She washed twice, just to make sure she’d removed every last trace of it. Then she wrapped her towel around herself and examined her swimsuit. Ugh. This is going in the wash tonight.

Then her face brightened. Guess I’ll just have to wear the other one.

Sunshine came out of locker room in her white bikini. Unlike her stretchy blue racing suit, this one had ties. When she’d been thirteen, she’d tied it with big loops. Now she was seventeen, and the loops were a lot smaller.

She grabbed the procedure binder from the supply room and opened it to the draining the pool checklist. Plastic folding Slippery When Wet signs up—check . . .

The water level was dropping when she heard a whistle. Sunshine looked up. Jack was waving her over.

“What’s up?” she asked him.

“It’s seven o’clock. You want to take over here?”

“I’ve got the kiddie pool half-drained,” she said. “I was going to try to clean it and refill it tonight. Then Billy Lee and Elias will just need to adjust the pH in the morning. They can probably have it open an hour after the main pool.”

“Good plan.” Jack smiled. “I’ll follow it. It’s your turn in the chair.”

Sunshine looked at him. “Thanks, Jack.” She sincerely meant it.

“You deserve it,” he told her.

Sunshine wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she gratefully took the main pool. She glanced at Jack’s progress from time to time but kept her attention on the swimmers. She never saw anyone watching her.

Monday, June 18, 1635

“You’re dressed up,” Aaron commented as Sunshine entered the pool area.

She noted the kiddie pool was back in service before looking down at her blouse and skorts. “I have to dress up for work. Which is silly, because once I figured out the hooks and hinges and door knobs for the new houses in the Anabaptist settlement got delivered to the other new houses on the Rudolstadt road—again—I spent half my day moving construction supplies from one construction site to the other. I’m going to go get changed.”

She came out wearing the white bikini a few minutes later and headed straight for the pool log. Ah, good. Billy and Elias had reopened the kiddie pool just before 10 AM.

After a while, she realized she heard loud voices. Sunshine looked up and saw Colby and Elias squared off with a couple men, both down-timers by their clothing. She headed toward them.

“Slut!” one of the down-timers shouted.

“Shut your mouth,” Colby told him.

“And get out of here,” Elias added.

“We will not tolerate this—!”

“Yes, you will,” Elias stated as Aaron approached to make it three against two.

“Shove off. And don’t come back to the pool,” Colby ordered.

The two men exchanged glances and backed off.

“Sorry, Sunshine. They don’t like your swimsuit,” Elias said.

“We do, of course,” Aaron added.

She gave him a good-natured shove.

“Thanks, guys. I mean it,” she told them.

Wednesday, June 20, 1635

“What’s this I hear about you wearing a scandalous swimsuit on duty?” Hawker asked her by way of greeting.

“Oh, come on,” Sunshine protested. “A kid barfed on me Sunday night. I had to go change. When I got home, I had to soak my suit overnight to get it out. So I wore my white bikini Monday. Washed the blue one and . . . ” She pulled off her polo shirt. “Voilà! All not-scandalous today.”

Something in Hawker’s expression suggested to her he really wouldn’t have minded if she’d had to wear the white one today, too. I should arrange that, she thought.

But then Hawker shook his head. “Not scandalous to us up-timers, you mean.”

Sunshine got serious. “Or to many down-timers. We were talking about it Monday, and Elias said in his village, there’s a women’s day in the bathhouse and a men’s day—and nobody wears anything. And you know how straitlaced Elias is.”

“Well, what his village has is more of a communal bathtub than a swimming pool,” Hawker pointed out. “Anyway, those two guys went and complained to Tino Nobili and eventually found their way to Mr. Barnes. He was fit to be tied at first, but I explained what happened and calmed him down.”

“Thanks, Hawk.”

“You’re fine,” he concluded.

Sunshine couldn’t help it. She smirked.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“So I’m not fine?” Sunshine faked a pout but couldn’t hold it. “Sorry, I can’t help giving you a hard time.”

“I’ll let it slide because you did such a good job cleaning the pool. Jack wouldn’t have taken over if you’d tried to con him into it, either.”

Sunshine gave him her best smile and spent the next hour feeling very good about her job. A number of kids came in, but no littles, so she was in the chair on the side of the pool.

“Slut!”

Hawker jumped down from the lifeguard’s chair at the far end of the pool and headed for the office. “Stay in the chair. I’m calling the cops.”

Sunshine glanced toward the parking lot. Yep, the same two men were just outside the fence. One of them looked around and pushed the gate open.

Hawker came out of the office and intercepted the men near the shallow end, leading off with “What’s your problem?”

Both men started shouting. Sunshine could hear only a few words: “indecent” and “intolerable” among them.

“Listen,” Hawker said loudly. “It’s not your decision.”

Sunshine kept watching the pool, but she could hear them arguing. When she heard, “What’s going on here?” she snuck a glance and saw police officers arriving.

The swimmers all clustered to the edge of the pool to watch. Sunshine kept a close eye on them, counting heads and making sure nobody dropped out of sight. When they gave it up and went back to swimming, she snuck another glance and saw the two men were leaving. And the two cops and Hawker were headed toward her.

“Hey, Sunshine, I’ll take the chair for a minute.”

Oh great. One lecture on modesty, coming up. But she climbed down.

“Sergeant Gunther Wiener, Miss. I have a few questions.”

Five, in fact. Sunshine was surprised the cop not only didn’t say anything about her swimsuit but seemed to ignore it entirely.

“So you had never seen these two before yesterday?” he finished.

“That’s right.”

“Danke. We have told them to stay away from you.”

“Thanks.”

“But have someone walk you home, okay?”

“Okay,” Sunshine agreed.

“And you’re not getting the chair back,” Hawker told her, “because at least half of the swim lesson kids ‘want to be in the pretty girl’s class.’”

Sunshine smiled. She was starting to get the hang of teaching swimming, too.

Thursday, June 21, 1635

Sunshine filled out the pool logbook and returned all the kickboards to the supply room while Jack straightened the chairs and tables and began hosing down the deck. Then they tackled the locker rooms, cleaning toilets, sinks, showers, and mirrors and mopping the floor. Experience had taught all the lifeguards it was much faster to team up to clean one locker room and then the other, rather than each lifeguard cleaning one alone. Sunshine thought it had something to do having a common goal and being able to talk to her co-worker. I bet I can find things like this to speed up at Happy Acres, too, she thought. She still hated cleaning, but the sooner they were done, the sooner she could go home and crash. Summer vacation really wasn’t what it was cracked up to be when she was working sixty-hour weeks between her two jobs.

When she and Jack had finished the end-of-day cleaning, Sunshine grabbed her bag from under the lifeguard chair. As she picked it up, something slid off onto the deck. She reached for it. Someone had lost a necklace. It was shiny and gaudy. Gold—maybe electroplated, Sunshine thought. Certainly not 24-karat.

“Jack! Toss me the keys, please! I’ll put this in lost and found.”

After relocking the supply room, Sunshine took her bag into the women’s locker room, toweled off, and put on dry clothes. She reached for her compact to check her appearance, then frowned when she didn’t find anything in the pocket of her bag. She emptied the bag’s contents onto one of the locker room benches. She still didn’t find it.

“Sunshine! Are you ready?” came Jack’s voice.

She crammed everything back into her bag and hurried out of the locker room. “Sorry, Jack. I couldn’t find my compact.” She took a quick look around the lifeguard chair, and then she and Jack left.

Sunshine tried not to worry about her compact. She hoped she’d simply forgotten to toss it in her bag this morning, and it would be on her end table or in the bathroom. So, she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings. Still, as they cut through the fairgrounds and turned left on Buffalo Street, she glanced over her shoulder a couple times.

“What are you looking at?” Jack asked.

“Probably nothing,” Sunshine told him. “Just frustrated over the compact and feeling jumpy.”

Jack stopped and looked around. He didn’t see much in the dark, just the outlines of houses and trees. “I don’t see anything.”

“Like I said, I’m just jumpy,” Sunshine stated. “Thanks for walking me home, though.”

Once she got home, Sunshine searched her room and the bathroom and failed to find her compact. In a bad mood, she fell into bed later than she had intended. She needed all the sleep she could get to survive her Friday and Saturday shifts at Happy Acres.

Sunday, June 24, 1635

Sunshine arrived at the pool early Sunday afternoon to get some laps in before she went on duty at five. She saw Hawker and Jack standing together at the lifeguard chair.

“What’s up, guys?”

Hawker turned to her with a very serious look. “This was under the lifeguard chair.” He dropped it into her hand.

“It’s a fancy ring. I think it might be real silver.”

“There’s a note, too.” Hawker handed it over.

I will be seeing you soon, she read.

“Seriously, guys? Which one of you wrote this? It’s creepy.”

“It wasn’t either of us,” Hawker told her. “I don’t think it was any of the lifeguards.”

Sunshine gave him a skeptical look.

“Let’s check the logbook,” Hawker suggested. “Jack, you have the pool.”

Hawker pulled the logbook off the shelf in the storage room and opened it to the current page. “Check the handwriting against everyone’s maintenance items.”

Sunshine grinned. “Look at you, being all detective-y.” She held the note alongside the logbook. “All right, it’s not you or Jack. Oh, it’s not Aaron.” She flipped back a page. “Not Elias . . . or Billy . . . or Colby . . . or Acton. Okay, you’re right. It wasn’t one of you guys.”

“Sounds like you have a secret admirer,” Hawker told her.

“Oh, crap,” Sunshine muttered. “That necklace I found last shift? Is it still in lost and found?”

Hawker stepped into the storage room and checked. “Gold, kind of overdone?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s still there.”

“I found it on my gym bag Thursday night when we closed.”

“I’m not sure I like this,” Hawker stated.

“Me, neither,” Sunshine agreed. “I’m going to get changed.”

When she came out of the locker room, Hawker was talking to a girl who was obviously a down-timer. She wore a plain off-white blouse, an ankle-length green skirt, and a matching vest. Her blonde hair was covered by a black bonnet.

“Sunshine!” Hawker called.

Now what? she wondered. But she walked over.

“Sunshine Moritz, Barbara Kellarmännin.”

They shook hands.

“I think I’ve seen you around school,” Sunshine stated. “Are you Amish or something?”

“Sunshine!” Hawker exclaimed.

“Brethren,” the girl explained. “We are hoping to avoid the Amish schism in this timeline. Most people call us Anabaptists. It is why I am here—to ask if we may baptize people in the swimming pool.”

Sunshine just blinked. “You want to do what?” she managed.

“Baptize Brethren.”

“And sistern,” Hawker added. “That’s where you come in.”

“Uhhh . . . I’m Catholic,” Sunshine protested. “We sprinkle. Besides, isn’t having a lifeguard sort of cheating?”

The girl—Barbara—laughed. “An excellent point! We just want to use the pool for a few minutes.”

“There has to be a lifeguard in the chair if anyone is in the pool,” Hawker explained.

Sunshine laughed. “Sure, Hawker. I’ll just sit up there in a bikini in case one of the ladies slips. Everybody will be calling me names instead of just those two guys last week.”

“What do you mean?” Barbara sounded genuinely curious.

“Oh, it’s been taken care of,” Hawker assured her. “A couple guys were giving Sunshine a hard time about her swimsuit. The police told them to leave.”

“Do you think they’re the ones leaving me presents?” Sunshine wondered aloud.

“Leaving you presents?” Barbara repeated.

“Oh, it’s probably nothing.”

“Nein, I would hear about this, bitte.” The Anabaptist girl’s voice was suddenly quite firm.

Sunshine gave her a sharp look. “Why?”

“Because someone scandalized by your clothing should not be sending you presents,” Barbara stated. “It does not fit.”

“Doesn’t fit what?” Now Sunshine was curious, too.

“The profile.” Barbara obviously realized the word didn’t mean anything to Sunshine. “People act in certain ways. Giving presents to people who offend you is not one of those ways.”

“That’s . . . ah . . . ” Sunshine couldn’t think of a way to be ask diplomatically and decided to just blurt it out. “How do you know?”

Barbara looked uncomfortable. “I have been studying criminal behavior.”

Sunshine’s eyebrows rose. “You’re . . . what, a detective?”

“Nein, a profiler.”

Sunshine stifled a smart remark about “Amish, P.I.” because Barbara really did seem concerned. “Well, there were a couple guys who were offended by my bikini,” she explained. “Well, my other one. It’s . . . less.”

It was Barbara’s turn to raise her eyebrows. Sunshine awarded her points for not saying anything and continued.

“Thursday night I found a necklace on my bag. Today there was a ring along with this note.”

Barbara stepped closer to read over Sunshine’s shoulder. Then she looked Sunshine straight in the eye. “You have a stalker.”

“I checked the handwriting,” Hawker put in. “It does not match any of the lifeguards.”

“Good job with the forensics,” Barbara told him. “I will tell Georg and Martin they have competition.”

“Forensics?” Sunshine asked.

“Physical evidence,” Barbara explained. “Different than profiling, different than detective work. Only Sherlock Holmes did all three, and he isn’t real. You should go to the polizei.”

“I don’t want to bother them—” Sunshine began.

“Go,” Barbara urged. She looked at Hawker. “At least do not let her walk home alone.”

“I’ll talk to Jack,” Hawker promised. “Ah, the baptisms . . . I’ll check with Mr. Barnes, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say if we let you baptize people, we have to let everybody.”

Barbara shrugged, conveying, “Of course.”

“When do you want to do this?”

* * *

Sunshine and Jack locked the pool gate a few minutes after 9 p.m. Sunshine didn’t live far from the pool as the crow flew, but the way Buffalo Creek twisted around made the roads quite a bit longer. On her way to the pool—in daylight—she often took the back entrance from the Happy Acres development to the new Len Trout Road to Summit Road, which approached the pool from the south. But most of it wasn’t lit at night, so she went home across the footbridge to the fairgrounds, then left on Buffalo Street out to the bridge into Happy Acres from the north.

Sunshine chattered away until Jack glanced over his shoulder, and she realized it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. “What is it?”

“Don’t look behind us, but we’re being followed,” Jack told her.

“Seriously?” Sunshine waved a hand to their right. “You just happen to bring it up at were passing Beatty Cemetery?”

“Nope. I’m telling you because now I’m sure someone is following us.”

She took a quick look. “He’s got a hat and cloak on. I can’t see his face. I can’t tell if it’s one of the guys who was hassling me. But Barbara said it wouldn’t be.”

“Say what?”

Sunshine explained quickly.

“Sunshine, I don’t know if I can take him.” Jack sounded worried.

That scared Sunshine. “We can run. Or jump in the creek and swim across.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking you up on it some other time,” Jack stated. “But swimming Buffalo Creek at night might be pushing our luck.” He took Sunshine’s hand, and they ran.

Sunshine wasn’t sure if she really heard footsteps behind them or just imagined them. She was pretty sure she’d never run faster. They cut left across the bridge and dashed through Happy Acres to the Moritz’s farmhouse and in the front door.

Ted Moritz looked up from his newspaper. “Sunshine. Jack Sims. What’s the rush?”

“Someone followed us!”

Sunshine’s father got the short version and went for his gun. He and Jack made a quick search and came up empty. When they returned, Ted Moritz wanted the long version.

After Sunshine finished, he said, “I don’t want you lifeguarding anymore.”

“I’m not going to let those bozos win!” Sunshine insisted.

Jack interrupted the ensuing argument with, “They know your schedule.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those guys showed up Monday and Wednesday. Somebody left you jewelry Thursday and today. But they weren’t there yesterday. At least, I didn’t see them, and Billy Lee didn’t mention anyone hanging around.”

“How do they know Sunshine’s schedule?” Ted Moritz demanded.

“The schedule is posted. Anybody can read it. Maybe they sent a kid in to see when Sunshine’s shifts are. But how doesn’t matter as much—”

“I’m not letting Sunshine work—”

Normally-polite Jack talked right over her father. “What if you pick Sunshine up after work tomorrow, Mr. Moritz?”

Monday, June 25, 1635

Sunshine spent the rest of the evening worrying about whether her father would really make her quit lifeguarding. She worried about it some more as she got ready the next morning, finally getting distracted as she experimented with tying her hair back with a bright red ribbon. It wasn’t her preferred style, but she was testing a few looks to see if any of them caused other Happy Acres employees to treat her with a bit more respect.

Once she stepped into the Happy Acres office, the confusion of a brand-new project took over. The contract was for half a dozen big, fancy houses—mansions, really—in Castle Hills up north of the Ring of Fire. It wasn’t a design Happy Acres had built before, and as the day wore on, it became clear the supply specifications were off across the board. The piles of excess wood alone showed the project estimates had been thrown together and not double-checked.

“Send it back,” Linda Jane ordered.

“No!” Sunshine was aghast. “With the limited supply of construction-grade wood all along the Golden Corridor, if we sent it back, we’ll never see it again. The lumber yard will sell it by the end of the day. We’ll need it soon enough for some other project.”

Linda Jane appealed to the boss—and lost. “Get it under cover and under guard,” Ted Moritz directed.

The estimates were high for wood, but low for nails, fittings, glass, and pretty much everything else. By Saturday afternoon, Sunshine had made or organized several supplemental trips for parts and was writing new supply specs.

On one of her trips, she paused for a few minutes to watch construction of one of the Happy Acres houses. The frame had already been erected. One whole side was assembled on the ground. Workmen lifted the side of the house into position. She hoped none of them lost his grip. But then carpenters swarmed over the frame, nailing and pegging it into place.

Finally, her father said, “Good work today, Sunshine. C’mon, I’ll drop you off at the pool.”

Sunshine breathed a sigh of relief.

When they pulled up outside the pool enclosure, Ted Moritz said, “If you see anyone or anything even a little bit off, call the police and call me. I’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Okay, Dad.”

When Sunshine came out of the women’s locker room, she tossed her bag under the lifeguard chair as usual. This time she had a lock on the two zipper pulls, and the key was on a chain around her neck. She saw Colby and Elias seemed to be in no hurry to go home.

“Take the chair,” Aaron offered. “I’ll watch the kiddie pool.”

Sunshine looked at all of them suspiciously, but then accepted as graciously as she could. Elias and Colby finally took off. Then she realized Aaron had positioned himself a couple steps further back than the lifeguard at the kiddie pool normally stood. It just happened to put him in front of the gate and in a position to watch her.

After an hour, she climbed down from the chair and waved him over. They met near the corner of the main pool and stood looking past each other, watching their water.

“You’re watching me,” Sunshine accused.

“Hawker told me to,” Aaron told her. “I do not mind.”

The twinkle in his eye annoyed her. “You’d better not be my stalker.”

“I am not. I prefer the direct approach.”

True enough, Sunshine reflected. You’re bad at it, but you do seem to prefer it. She gave him a sharp look. “You’re sure?”

“May I take you to dinner?”

She smiled in spite of herself and went back to the chair.

Sunshine had just checked the clock—8:03 p.m.—when there was a yelp from the far side of the pool. She spotted a kickboard, but not the kid who’d been hanging onto it five seconds ago. She made sure the water below her was clear, blew her whistle, and jumped straight from the chair.

Sunshine crossed the pool with a fast lifeguard’s crawl stroke that kept her head above water the whole time. She saw arms flail, and the kid got his head above water before she got to him. Nevertheless, she wrapped an arm around him and towed him to the edge of the pool.

“Are you okay?”

“Ja.”

“Did you swallow any water?”

“Nein. I just let go of the kickboard.”

“It happens. Hold onto the edge.” Sunshine retrieved the kickboard and handed it to him. “Ready to try again? I’ll stay close.”

A few minutes later, the boy was splashing around again.

Sunshine swam back across the pool. Aaron met her at the edge.

“Kid lost his grip on the kickboard and dunked himself,” she reported.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah.”

The rest of shift passed without incident. But after Sunshine had showered and dressed, she couldn’t find her hair ribbon. She sighed and dumped her bag. It wasn’t there.

“But I locked my gym bag!” she protested out loud.

At least her dad was picking her up. She’d better not tell him about this.

Wednesday, June 27, 1635

Sunshine was just finishing breakfast Wednesday morning when there was a knock at the door. Her dad answered the door and didn’t seem surprised to see Hawker Baldwin. Aw, crap, Sunshine realized. They’ve been talking.

“Hey, Hawk. Let me guess—you’re my ride.”

“Yep.”

Hawker waited until they were in his dad’s truck. “I talked to Aaron yesterday. He said your hair ribbon disappeared.”

“Yeah.”

“No chance you misplaced it?”

“I took it off in the locker room and tossed it in my gym bag. At least, I thought I did.”

When they arrived at the pool, he took her bag from her and examined the cheap padlock.

“Hawker . . . ” she began.

He pointed with his other hand. “See? Scratches. Somebody picked this lock. Let’s start locking your gym bag in the supply room during your shift.”

“I want to kick this guy’s butt!” Sunshine declared.

“Do you mean it?”

Sunshine realized it was a serious question.

“Yeah, I do.”

Sunshine distracted herself with teaching swim lessons. Wednesday passed with nothing being taken from or added to her bag.

“I’ll drive you home,” Hawker told her. “Slight detour to the Rescue Squad first.”

In fact, the Rescue Squad was in the opposite direction, but Sunshine didn’t think anything of it until Hawker came back out with two walkie-talkies. “They let me borrow these for a couple days. I’ll leave one with you and Jack and give the other to your dad. Jack can walk you home tomorrow, and your dad can come pick you up if anything happens.”

“Hawker . . . ”

“I’ve had enough of this guy stalking one of my lifeguards.”

Thursday, June 28, 1635

By the end of the Happy Acres workday, Sunshine was looking forward to the pool. Her father insisted on giving her a ride. The pool was crowded—people were already starting to arrive in town for what the lifeguards had dubbed Summer Chaos, Part One. Other people called it Fourth of July week, the Tech Fair, or the Messe. It depended on whom you talked to.

It all meant a lot of new people in the pool who didn’t quite know what they were doing. Sunshine blew her whistle several times and extended a kickboard to one man old enough to know better than to step over the line into the deep end and water over his head. By closing time, she was a bit frazzled.

After they had cleaned everything, Sunshine retrieved her gym bag from the supply room, and Jack grabbed the radio.

When she came out of the locker room, Sunshine realized Jack had been standing guard outside the door.

Jack spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Mr. Moritz, we’re leaving now.”

“You guys are definitely overdoing it,” she declared. Sunshine wasn’t sure if she was annoyed, amused, or grateful—probably all of them.

They locked up and cut across the parking lot toward the footbridge, passed the fairgrounds ticket booth on their right, and turned left on Buffalo Street. Normally, Sunshine wouldn’t think anything of it, but the recent events made her unhappy with the trees and the rocky hillside on the right side of the road and the fairgrounds’ chain link fence on the left. At least there were streetlights.

Jack glanced back over his shoulder a couple times. Under the circumstances, Sunshine wasn’t going to razz him about it. She was feeling jumpy herself.

Walnut Avenue. Chestnut. Linden. Beatty Cemetery was coming up on the right, up and over the hillside that ran right down to the road and then down some more to Buffalo Creek off to their left.

Jack checked behind them and immediately keyed the walkie-talkie. “Sunshine and I are passing Beatty Cemetery. Somebody’s behind us.”

“On the way,” came Ted Moritz’s voice.

Jack grabbed Sunshine’s hand, and they started walking fast. Sunshine glanced over her shoulder, spotted an indistinct shape, and felt a surge of panic.

“Run!” she cried.

She and Jack took off, running down the left shoulder of the road, around the big curve Buffalo Street made as it followed the loop of Buffalo Creek. Sunshine heard a yelp behind them. She risked a glance back and thought she saw more than one figure back there.

Bright lights illuminated them, and Ted Moritz squealed to a halt in his pickup. “Get in!”

Jack pushed her into the truck and slammed the door behind her. He swung himself over the side into the back. Ted Moritz made a quick three-point turn, and a couple minutes later they were at Happy Acres.

“Someone followed you again?” Sunshine’s father demanded. “That’s it. No more lifeguarding.”

“Da-a-ad!”

“It’s putting you in danger, honey.”

“But, Dad—”

Sunshine was still wheedling her father when they heard another vehicle pull up outside. There was a knock at the door.

Ted Moritz grabbed his gun before answering it.

“Hawker!”

“Hey. Mr. Moritz, Sunshine. I finished a ride-along with the Rescue Squad and drove by the pool to see if I could give Sunshine and Jack a lift.”

“Did you now?” Ted Moritz asked.

“Any problems?” Hawker asked.

They filled him in.

“I’m going to talk to Chief Richards in the morning,” Ted Moritz stated. “This is going to end.”

“Good,” Hawker said.

“And Sunshine’s done.”

Sunshine’s face fell. If he was telling Hawker—her boss—then he was serious.

“I understand, Mr. Moritz, but the police might catch this guy. Sunshine’s next shift isn’t until Saturday afternoon, and we’ll have four lifeguards on duty at a time all next week. We can definitely arrange for rides home.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Sunshine knew her father’s probably-no-but-definitely-not-if-you-keep-pushing tone.

Hawker seemed to recognize it, too. “If you have a few minutes tomorrow, please give me a call so I can make any adjustments to the schedule.”

“Thanks, Jack. Hawker.” Sunshine gave them both a hug.

After they left, Ted Moritz said, “I don’t think you need to express any more gratitude than that, young lady. Understood?”

Sunshine rolled her eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

“And tomorrow, go see Karen Reading and order a new swimsuit.”

“But—!”

“I mean it, young lady. New swimsuit if you want to keep lifeguarding.”

Friday, June 29, 1635

Sunshine couldn’t avoid it. Her father had even let her off work a couple hours early. She went into town to Grantville Fabrics and Textiles.

“And we can add a little skirt . . . ”

Sunshine rolled her eyes. “It’s a swimsuit, Mrs. Reading, not a dress. I have to be able to rescue people.”

“Maybe a cap sleeve?”

Sunshine sighed and started negotiating.

* * *

Sunshine left Grantville Fabrics and Textiles with another sigh. Unfortunately, Karen Reading had some fabric that would probably work. Sunshine hoped it would prove impractical, but she had a sinking feeling Mrs. Reading really was good enough to pull this off. Well—

“Sunshine Moritz!”

She looked around and spotted a police officer hurrying toward her, looking rather harassed.

“Officer . . . ” She wasn’t sure she could say his name with a straight face.

“Sergeant Gunther Wiener, ma’am. I have a few questions for you.”

“About the guy who keeping following me, taking my stuff, and leaving me things? He followed me last night!”

“Ja. Are you aware a man was knocked unconscious last night along Buffalo Street?”

“No, I wasn’t.” But all at once it came together. A third walkie-talkie . . .

“Assault is a very serious crime,” Sergeant Wiener continued.

Sunshine thought his statement was close to being a blatant lie, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t follow the police beat in the newspapers, but her parents did—and complained about serious bar fights resulting in only a couple weeks on a work crew.

“Do you know who ambushed him and left him unconscious in the grass?”

“No.” Well, yes, I’m sure I know, but no.

“This man stated he would file charges. He claims the lifeguards beat him up.”

Inspiration struck. “If he’s the one who was stalking me, I want to file charges, too.”

“This had better never happen again.” Sergeant Wiener sounded very gruff.

“I want to file charges, too,” Sunshine repeated.

“Well, you cannot. Because now we cannot find the man.”

“Oh? That sounds fishy.”

Sergeant Wiener shook a finger at her. “Lifeguards are not police officers. And don’t just leave them by the road. Make an anonymous call or something.”

Somehow Sunshine managed to keep a straight face.

10 a.m., Saturday, June 30, 1635

Sunshine’s first shift of Summer Chaos, Part One didn’t start until one in the afternoon, but she intended to arrive early enough to swim and relax. She still wasn’t sure if her father was going to let her keep lifeguarding. If not, she was going to go out with style.

As Sunshine passed through the gate, she saw Aaron watching the kiddie pool and Acton in the lifeguard chair at the far end. Then she spotted Jack next to the chair at the side of the pool and Hawker over by the diving well. She made her way to the side chair and set her backpack down by the other lifeguards’. Sunshine pulled off her top and shorts, revealing her white bikini. After securing her pack with a quality lock, she made her way to the deep end and waited for a lane to clear. She might have stood at the edge of the pool a little longer than was necessary before diving in. She swam the length of the pool, made her turn, and swam back in the return lane, straighter and much faster than she had back in May. She was fairly sure the guys would be watching.

After ten laps, Sunshine climbed out of the pool, toweled off, picked up her bag, and walked out the gate. She found a spot in the park in direct line of sight of the pool, spread out her towel, and lay down to work on her tan. After a few minutes, she wasn’t asleep but was pleasantly zoned.

A sudden scream startled her. Sunshine sat up, scanning the park but seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She heard another scream and realized it had come from the fairgrounds. Sunshine grabbed her lifeguard whistle and ran to the edge of Buffalo Creek.

Two men were in the water amid collapsed pipes and barriers from the fountain project. One section had pulled away from its supports and fallen flat into the water. Another had sliced straight to the bottom and was just barely poking out of Buffalo Creek.

“Hilfe!” a woman on the opposite bank yelled.

Help, Sunshine realized.

“Pieter is trapped!”

Sunshine turned toward the pool, waving both arms and blowing a long blast on her whistle. Then she jumped into Buffalo Creek and swam toward the collapsed structure.

“Who’s trapped?” she called. “Just one person?”

“Ja! He is under the board!”

Sunshine eyed the big, mostly submerged section of boards tangled in some pipes.

“Tell the other lifeguards I went down after him!” Sunshine flipped over and dove.

Buffalo Creek was murky—some of the debris must have stirred up sediment. Sunshine found a pipe and followed it down. Intact, nobody there. She worked her way right, found another pipe, and followed it up. Body.

The man flailed helplessly. Sunshine saw the board had pinned him against an intact section of pipe. She tried to move it and couldn’t. She swam to the man, breathed into his mouth, and surfaced.

“Found him!”

One of the other two men had scrambled out of the water, but the second one was flailing around. Sunshine grabbed him and towed him the short distance to the riverbank. Then she took a deep breath and flipped over.

She could wiggle the board but the bottom wouldn’t move. She swam along it. Ugh. One of the pipes had broken off. The bent stub had caught the corner of the board. She swam back up to the man, gave him another breath, and surfaced.

“Air hose?” she shouted. “Really thin pipe?”

“We do not have any!” the woman on the bank called back.

Sunshine dove again. This time the man tried to grab her. She recognized his panic and pushed away. She made a second approach, holding up a hand. He—the woman had called him Pieter—had the presence of mind not to grab her this time. But when he froze, he slipped a bit lower against the pipework. Sunshine gave him another breath and surfaced.

She heard splashes and looked. Hawker, Aaron, and Jack were swimming her way.

“What happened?”

“It collapsed. One guy trapped on the bottom. Need you guys to lift the board out of the water. I gotta give him more air.” Sunshine dropped below the surface.

How was it attached? She swam to a still-standing board and saw the big bolts. It was just like the side of a house! They could raise it . . . if they had a way to control it from above.

“I need thin ropes!” she hollered.

The woman on shore threw her a rope.

Sunshine shook her head. “Too thick!”

She threw a second one. It looked like it might work. Sunshine grabbed it and submerged, breathed air into Pieter’s mouth.

The stupid bolts are still in! Sunshine reached underneath. The nut was gone, so she pushed the bolt out. The rope threaded through—just barely. Lucky.

She popped to the surface. Hawker had a second rope in one hand and gave her the okay sign with the other. She dove to give Pieter another breath. Hawk’s smart—he’ll figure out what I’m up to.

Sunshine made another dive. By then, Hawker had the other rope tied. A crowd had gathered on shore. Some of them held the other end of the ropes, with Hawker, Jack, and Aaron ready to lift. And the Rescue Squad had arrived.

“Can you guys lift the board when they pull?” Sunshine asked. “I’ll get Pieter.”

“Got it!”

“Ja!”

Sunshine dove, gave Pieter a breath, and surfaced. “Now!” she shouted. She saw Jack and Aaron guiding the board while Hawker pushed it upward. Then she gulped air and dove.

By now, there was a lot of sediment. She swam to where she could see Pieter’s legs. The board shifted. She put an arm across his chest and kicked. Nothing happened. She kicked again. Still nothing. Sunshine popped to the surface.

“Stop! Guys! You can’t just pull back on the ropes. You have to lift it up off Pieter first. I’ll hit it when he’s clear, and then you holler at them to pull.” She hyperventilated. “Lift!”

Sunshine skimmed down along the board. It moved slowly. As soon as it was off Pieter’s legs, she gave it three hard whacks, grabbed him, and propelled them both to the surface.

Once Pieter was clear, Jack and Aaron flipped the board over, and the men on the ropes easily pulled it in. The paramedics lowered a stretcher to Hawker. He slid it underneath Pieter, who was coughing up water.

Once they had the stretcher on solid ground, one of the other men looked down at Pieter. “How are you still breathing, Pieter?” he demanded.

“Jakob, she kissed me air under the water.”

The woman looked at Jakob. “See, I told you oxygen is real.”

Sunshine couldn’t help it. She started giggling.

Pieter managed to throw his arms around Sunshine and kiss her.

“Ich danke Ihnen.”

“I dank dir if you’re going to kiss me like that,” Sunshine murmured.

“We’d better get back to the pool,” Jack said. After a round of thank yous, he and Aaron hurried across the footbridge.

One of the paramedics happened to look up right then and saw who was approaching. “A priest?” he asked. “Ah, c’mon, guys, have a little faith. She saved your buddy.”

“Magister Kircher is the head of our project,” the woman explained. “I forgot I sent Martin to find him right after the accident.”

“Father Kircher!” Sunshine exclaimed. Mom and Dad are going to stroke out if they find out I ran into the parish priest while I was wearing this bikini.

“Is anyone hurt?” Kircher asked.

“Pieter was trapped underwater.” The woman pointed at Sunshine. “She saved him.”

“We want to take him in to Leahy and check him out, Father,” one of the paramedics added, “but I think he’ll be okay.”

“Please do.” Kircher’s eyes twinkled as he bent over the stretcher. “Pieter, I may have to concede our discussion of how God is sovereign to accomplish His will—even to rescue you by the hand of this young lady.”

Sunshine shifted uncomfortably. “And Hawker. Aaron and Jack, too—they had to get back to the pool.”

The medics loaded Pieter into the ambulance. The other woman insisted Jakob—the other man Sunshine had towed to shore—go with him.

Then she turned to Sunshine. “Thank you. I do not even know your name.”

“Miss Sunshine Moritz,” Father Kircher introduced her. “And Frau Josyntjie Boekhorst.”

Josyntjie held out her hand, and they shook.

“Danke. Pieter, Jakob, and Reinhard went out on the catwalk to paint over the graffiti when one section shifted and fell . . . ”

“The nuts came loose,” Sunshine put in. “The bolts were still in the board, though. I’m afraid I dropped them in the creek.” After a few weeks working for Happy Acres, she genuinely regretted losing quality bolts.

Father Kircher frowned. “Frau Boekhorst, we will need Father Nick for the accident investigation. And we will need to make repairs. With safety lines.”

“There were no nuts on the other side, either,” Hawker stated. “Just bolts.”

Frau Boekhorst’s eyes widened. “Magister, this was no accident! We put nuts on all those bolts. We were careful.”

A blond man at her side spoke up, his expression as grim as his words. “Whoever put the graffiti there knew you would paint over it, and he removed the nuts on purpose. Pieter and the others stepped well past the last bolts, and the board flipped. This was not just vandalism—it was meant to injure or kill.”

Sunshine shuddered. Someone is a sick puppy. And this man—who had a rifle slung over his shoulder—looked like he meant to go take care of whomever it was.

Kircher looked at him for a moment. Sunshine could practically see the wheels turning. “You’ll tell Neustatter, of course. Make sure Georg Meisner knows as well,” the priest directed.

The man nodded, murmured something to Frau Boekhorst, and departed.

“While Pieter and Jakob are gone, I will help with the repairs,” Frau Boekhorst stated. “I am lighter than the men . . . ” She looked to Sunshine and gestured at her heavy skorts. “They will not allow me in the water in these.”

Sunshine frowned. “Neither would I. You’d go straight to the bottom. You need a swimsuit.”

“Ah, like, um . . . ” she faltered.

“Like mine, only more?” Sunshine suggested with a grin. “I know just the person to see. She really wants to make the kind of swimsuit you want.”

Hawker spoke up. “We’re both on duty at the pool this afternoon, so we’d better go. If you are going in Buffalo Creek at all, please let me know first. I’ve got extra lifeguards on duty all week. I can send one over.”

“Thank you,” Athanasius Kircher told him. “And thank you, Sunshine.”

* * *

“Are we walking or swimming?” Sunshine asked.

“Well, we’re already wet . . . ”

After they were back on the Hough Park side of the creek, Hawker said, “By the way . . . nice swimsuit. You kinda remind me of that Bond girl coming out of the water.”

Sunshine blushed with pleasure.

“And great rescue,” Hawker told her in a serious tone. “You saved his life.”

Sunshine didn’t know what to say.

“You should have just enough time to shower and change before your shift.”

2:30 p.m.

Later, a young man dressed in expensive-looking down-time clothes passed through the gate. Sunshine noted his boots, hat complete with an actual feather, a pistol, and . . .

“Nice sword,” she told him. “Are you supposed to be a knight?”

He drew himself up. “I am indeed a ritter,” he answered in Hochdeutsch. “Ritter Friedrich von Kardorff.”

“I’m Sunshine Moritz. Are you the kind of knight who rescues damsels in distress?” She batted her eyes at him before giving him a glare. “Or the kind oppressing the villagers?”

“The first. I am on assignment for Neustatter’s European Security Services.” He looked her up and down. “I can rescue nymphs, too.”

“Cool.” Sunshine smiled and looked up at him. “But don’t fall in the pool in that get-up, or I’ll be the one rescuing you.”

He was obviously taken aback but rallied. “Have any of you . . . lifeguards seen anything unusual yesterday or today?”

“Like someone sabotaging the fountains?” Sunshine asked. “No.”

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 4/3πr^3. 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 r^3. 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.”

Chapter 5: The Case of the Unconventional Umlauts

State of Thuringia-Franconia/Saxony Border

Wednesday, August 1, 1635

“Why are we freezing our butts in the mud on the Reussian front?” Stefan Kirchenbauer had complaining down to a fine art.

“Stefan, it is summer. The ground will dry out from last night’s rain in a few hours,” Ditmar Schaub began.

“Und it is not really the Reussian front.” Hjalmar pointed southeast. “Most of Reuss is over that way.”

“But you do not know why we are on the Reussian Front, either.” Stefan’s tone was triumphant.

“We are here because Colonel Stieff thinks it’s a good idea,” Edgar Neustatter reminded him. “He did not say why, but you know what sort of mission Colonel Stieff hands out. He obviously expects something to happen.”

“Nein,” Stefan disagreed. “Saxony will not attack.”

Grantville

Monday, July 16, 1635, Two Weeks Earlier

The door to the lab opened, and Sergeant Gunther Wiener stepped inside and closed the door. Georg Meisner looked up from the fingerprint card he was scrutinizing.

“Georg, Chief Richards wants you to take your kit over to the Moose Lodge.”

Georg looked up. “Oh? Has there been a burglary?”

“Nein. He said to sit down at the third table and wait.”

“Wait? For him?”

“All he said was, ‘Tell him to do it.’”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Georg Meisner was sitting at the third table in the Moose Lodge. His crime scene kit was on the table in front of him. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone besides a receptionist just inside the front door.

A door in the back of the room swung open, and a dark-haired man of medium height crossed the room with a confident stride.

“Georg Meisner?”

“Ja.”

“You may refer to me as Leutnant Johann Schmidt.”

Georg felt his eyes widen. “I have heard that name before. But I heard he was blond.”

The man smiled and dropped into a chair across from Georg. Georg slid his kit further down the table so he could see Schmidt.

Schmidt came straight to the point. “The border between Reuss County and Saxony is far from a straight line. In one place, Saxony is only a few miles from Grantville.” He looked at Georg sharply.

Georg nodded.

“Twice recently—that I know of—SoTF National Guard patrols have been found far out of position. An investigation uncovered written orders in both cases, as well as written orders in a third case which a captain chose to disregard on the grounds they were in error. Fortunately for his career, he was correct.

“I trust you understand war with Saxony is imminent?”

“Ja, of course,” Georg agreed.

“Someone is moving our forces out of position. If I show up to investigate, they will stop. If MPs do anything unusual, they will stop. I would like you to investigate the theft of some horses.”

Georg shook his head. “What?”

“You will discover the horses, well-fed, in a village south of the Kamsdorf mines where an associate of mine has placed them. The thief himself will never be found.”

“I understand,” Georg responded. “He is another Johann Schmidt, is he not?”

“You catch on fast. In the course of your investigation, you will examine all of the movement orders for the border area and attempt to discover who issued the false orders.”

Georg thought. “Were the orders issued in the name of actual officers?”

“Yes. We have investigated. Colonel Blackwell and General Schmidt agree with our findings. These officers themselves are not behind this plot.”

“This is good to know,” Georg told Schmidt. “But . . . ”

“But you want to look for yourself. I respect that. Chief Richards has offered to have you driven to Camp Saale tomorrow morning and stay for a few days. Colonel Blackwell can arrange for anything you need.”

“And you were never here,” Georg muttered.

“I knew we picked the right person for the job. Wait five minutes before you leave.”

Leutnant Johann Schmidt left through the back. Georg counted to a hundred three times before lugging his kit back to the police station.

Camp Saale

Tuesday, July 17, 1635

Late the next morning, Georg found himself seated at a table in Camp Saale’s records office. It wasn’t much more than a cramped room with a row of file cabinets against one wall and a single table. A couple of them were of up-time manufacture, but most were down-time-made. Two clerks were at his disposal. He’d begun his investigation by requesting he not be told which orders were forgeries. Next, he’d found out from Colonel Blackwell these clerks hadn’t had access to the orders until after the units had been discovered to be out of position.

To his surprise, most of the pages were typed.

“Ja,” one of the clerks responded. “Orders are typed when possible. Sometimes it is not, but many orders are planned out days or even weeks beforehand.”

Huh. Georg opened his kit and took out writing paper, a quill pen, and an inkwell. His own notes would have to stay here, but perhaps he could discern some patterns. Over the next few hours, he wrote out lists of characteristics of each order. Colonel Blackwell came in toward the end of the day.

“Making progress?” he asked.

Georg gave him credit for not wincing when he saw the stacks of papers. “Each stack is still in order.”

Blackwell waved it away. “My clerks can refile everything once you’ve finished. But what have you found?”

“I have some ideas,” Georg said. “But for one of them, I need to consult someone in Grantville.”

“Who?” The colonel sounded interested.

“My sister.”

“What?”

“I will not tell her why I want to know, but I found an interesting feature in a few of these orders. I think she might be able to explain it,” Georg stated.

“If anyone asks, remember you are trying to find some horses,” Blackwell reminded him.

“Ja.”

* * *

A police car dropped Georg off at home, well after dark. He tried to enter quietly but had no experience at coming home late. His father came downstairs as Georg shut the door.

“Georg!”

“Ja.”

“I thought you were going to be away for a few days.”

“I did, too, Father, but I found a clue I hope Katharina can explain to me.”

“Why? What does Katharina have to do with this?” Johann Meisner demanded.

“Nothing. But she’s been studying Hebrew.”

“Oh, well, if it is Hebrew, she might not mind getting up—and getting cold.”

Georg winced. His sister really liked staying warm. But he went upstairs and knocked on her door anyway.

“Mmmmph.” At least it was what Georg thought he heard. He knocked again.

“Try not to wake up the Schmuckers,” his father requested.

The Schmuckers were the latest new arrivals among the Brethren to stay with the Meisners.

“Kat, the police need help with languages.”

A few seconds later, Georg heard feet hitting the floor. Then Kat’s door swung open. She emerged with a blanket wrapped around her nightgown.

“Will I need my notes?” she asked.

“I just need you to look at something,” Georg assured her. He led the way downstairs, turned on the lights, sat down at the kitchen table, and wrote out a couple sentences making sure he put umlauts below the letters instead of above them.

“What does this look like to you?” he asked.

“Like someone does not know the difference between an umlaut and a tsere,” Katharina answered.

“A . . . what?”

“A Hebrew letter. Well, a vowel point. What the up-timers call a long E.” Katharina shook her head. “Their language is broken.”

Georg didn’t bother to ask whether she meant English or Hebrew. Maybe both.

“Would someone who knew Hebrew write like this?” Georg asked.

“No. Someone who uses Hebrew every day probably would not bother with vowel points,” his sister told him. “Scholars, though . . . ”

“What about someone typing?” Georg asked, as an idea began to form.

Camp Saale

Wednesday, July 18, 1635

A police Cherokee took Georg to Camp Saale early the next morning. A couple units on their morning run passed him as he made his way to Colonel Blackwell’s office. Scott Blackwell was standing outside. Georg saw him return salutes as various soldiers passed by.

Blackwell was watching him approach, too. “You look uncomfortable. Did you find something out?”

“No. I mean, I did. But what makes me uncomfortable is all of this.” Georg waved a hand at Camp Saale in general.

Colonel Blackwell raised his eyebrows.

“I am Brethren.” Seeing Blackwell didn’t understand, Georg added. “Anabaptist. Almost all surviving Anabaptists are pacifists. Or were until the Croat Raid.”

“Really?” Blackwell seemed surprised, but shrugged it off. “Let’s go to the records room, and you can tell me what you found.”

Georg noted Blackwell had soldiers standing guard outside the building.

“I want those horses back,” Blackwell stated.

Once inside, Georg went straight to the smallest stack of papers. “I do not know if you can answer this question,” he began. “Or even if you may answer it. Were these reports sent by one of Nasi’s people?”

Blackwell’s eyes widened. “What makes you ask?”

“These umlauts below their letters.” Georg showed the colonel what he meant. “I thought they looked Hebrew, and my sister says they are Hebrew vowel points.”

Blackwell rifled through the stack. “These are legitimate. I know . . . Never mind the details. A friend of Nasi may have provided a typewriter on short notice . . . Is that enough?”

“Ja. Dank. I will treat those as genuine reports and orders,” Georg assured him. “It’s a feature of the typewriter—built in by an artisan who had keys left over from a Hebrew typewriter, I think.”

“So your idea didn’t pan out?”

Georg blinked at the English idiom. “Ja. Now I can see the rest more clearly.” He realized Blackwell was waiting. “I need a few more hours, I think.”

Blackwell excused himself and left him to it.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, Georg had found most of what he was looking for. He sent one of the clerks to find the colonel. Blackwell arrived in short order.

“Colonel.” Georg gestured toward two orders he’d set aside. “Are these two of the false orders?”

“They are indeed,” Scott Blackwell told him. “How did you know?”

Georg glanced sideways.

“Oh. Right. You two look like you need a coffee break,” the colonel told the clerks.

After they had left, Georg said, “Dank. I know you trust them, but I think you do not want many people to know this.” He took a deep breath. “I have looked through a lot more records than just the border patrol orders, trying to find the missing horses.”

Blackwell nodded.

“It was helpful. I’ve found differences between how your soldiers write orders.”

“Like how each radio operator’s Morse is unique?” Colonel Blackwell asked. “I can’t tell, but the radio operators always know who is sending from the other end.”

Georg nodded in agreement. “They call it their ‘fist.’ There is no way to record the fist in the typed order, but it is something like what I mean. The typed messages aren’t all the same.”

“You mean like the lowercase Os and Es on this one are mostly filled in?” Blackwell asked. He shrugged at Georg’s surprise. “I got it from a detective show I saw on television back up-time. But it seems very subjective.”

“I could match them under a microscope,” Georg told him, “but I suspect the false orders were written on the same typewriter as the real ones. But it does not matter—I know how to tell which orders were changed. See how the umlauts in this message are correct?” He handed Blackwell a page from one of the stacks of genuine orders.

“Yes, of course. Some down-timers are very insistent about them, so I have told my radio operators to send them properly.”

Georg picked up another page, from the second stack. “This clerk omitted the umlauts.”

“It’s not the clerk. It’s the radio operator. The radio operators copy down what they receive on a message sheet. The clerks are supposed to type them up exactly, including any mistakes. If a message is confusing or misleading, we want to document that.”

“Why not have the radio operators type the messages themselves?” Georg asked. “Would it not be faster?”

“Yes, it would. But they claim the typewriters make so much noise they cannot hear the dots and dashes,” Colonel Blackwell explained. “So they scribble the message in pencil as it comes through. A runner takes the messages downstairs to the clerks. One clerk types a message, another checks it. Then a runner takes one copy to the recipient, and a second copy goes in the files.”

“Dank, Colonel. This is very helpful. So the clerk omitted the umlauts because the radio operator did.”

“Right.” Blackwell stabbed the message form with an index finger. “Here are his initials. James Ritchie. One of the Scots. I’ve told him . . . ” Blackwell sighed. “I’ll chew him out again.”

“I would rather you did not, Colonel,” Georg said. “At least not until this is over.”

Georg handed over an order from the third stack. “This one uses an e after the vowel instead. It is a fairly common practice. Some teachers do not approve,” he added in a dry tone.

Scott Blackwell cracked a smile. “They sound like a couple of my officers.”

“Then there is this fourth stack with the umlauts below the letters. The radio operator would have sent these with proper umlauts, and one of the typewriters has the wrong key. But this message contradicts those, and . . . ” Georg picked up one of the two orders he’d set aside and handed it to Blackwell.

“Colons?” the colonel demanded. “COLONS used in place of umlauts!”

“ . . . is the false information,” Georg concluded. “As for colons used for umlauts, I have seen it at Grantville High.” He indicated the other order. “And this is the only other order I have found with colons following the letters which should have umlauts, so it is the second false order. I have not found the third. Do you know which one it is?”

“I do.” Blackwell surveyed the table with a dubious expression. “Do you have any idea what you did with the orders from the second half of June in the Schleiz sector?”

They had to call the clerks back in, and it still took the better part of an hour, but they found it.

“Colons,” Blackwell confirmed.

Georg waited until Blackwell dismissed the clerks again. “It seems to me the orders with colons instead of umlauts would not have been sent by radio. A colon is an extra character to send. An extra E after a vowel is just one dot, but whatever the Morse code for a colon is, it must be longer.”

Colonel Blackwell was nodding before Georg finished explaining. “You’re right. Radio operators will do anything they can to make messages shorter. It’s why Ritchie leaves out umlauts altogether. No radio operator is going to add a colon.”

“Then someone is either typing out these false orders here, or he is bringing a pre-typed message form in with him.”

“Someone has compromised one of our radio operators or clerks.” Blackwell’s voice was grim. “I think we can eliminate anyone sneaking in. He would have to compromise at least two sentries, and he could not count on there not being other radio operators or clerks present.”

“I agree. I will check the false orders for fingerprints, although at this point I doubt I will find any. I do not suppose any clerks or radio operators have recently quit or left the National Guard?”

“No.”

“Maybe there will be a fingerprint.”

* * *

A sentry saluted before opening the door of the communications tower for Colonel Blackwell. Georg followed him inside and up the stairs, bringing the crime scene kit with him. In the room at the top of the tower, four operators were seated in front of radios, while two more sentries watched the door. Only the sentries acknowledged Blackwell. Georg assumed the operators’ communications protocol took precedence over officers.

“I need to leave one man on duty,” Blackwell told him.

“Is one of them Ritchie?” Georg asked.

Blackwell gestured toward a sandy-haired man in the far corner.

“Keep him,” Georg suggested. “I already know how he types.”

“Listen up,” Colonel Blackwell commanded. “Everyone except Ritchie, take a walk.”

After three of the radio operators trooped down the stairs, he nodded to the two sentries and tapped his holster. “You, too. I’ll take guard.”

“Jawohl, Herr Oberst.”

Georg circled the room. Each operator had a radio, a notepad, and several pencils. At each station, a number of sheets had been torn from the pad and stacked to one side. Colonel Blackwell checked the loose sheets at the three now-unoccupied radios and then turned them over.

“How often are these radios cleaned?” Georg tried to make the question casual.

“They get wiped down with a damp cloth and a weak bleach solution daily.” At Georg’s raised eyebrow, Blackwell shrugged. “Last year, the radio operators passed around the winter crud for what seemed like forever. Somebody got hold of Dr. Phil’s Ethereal Essence of Common Salt and cleaned the whole tower. Sergeant swears it made it go away. So he makes them wipe their equipment at the end of their shifts.”

Georg smiled and opened his case. He took out a jar of white powder, a brush, and a roll of tape. He started at the far end, and a while later, he had fingerprints transferred to an index card.

Georg moved on to the next radio. It was painstaking work, and he smiled to himself as he imagined the radio operators enjoying an extra-long break. At last, he straightened.

“This clerk has loop fingerprints. The one on the end has arches on a couple fingers.”

George turned to the third radio, the one next to Ritchie. After bending over it for a while, he straightened and stretched.

“Does this man not touch his machine?”

Ritchie gave a sharp laugh. “Not if he can help it. He is a neat freak.”

“Und I need to check yours, too,” Georg told him. “What is your rank?”

“Corporal, sir.”

“I need just a few minutes, Corporal Ritchie.”

“And you don’t need to tell the others what he was doing,” Colonel Blackwell added.

Georg and Blackwell went downstairs to the records room. Blackwell sent the radio operators and the sentries back to their posts.

“Now what?” Blackwell asked.

“Now I fingerprint the typewriters.” Again he started on the far side of the room. “Ah, here is the one with the tsere key.”

Georg examined the key with interest, then he dusted the typewriter for fingerprints. Then the next, and the next, and the next.

“Does each clerk use the same typewriter?” he asked.

“Yeah. They don’t have to, but they tend to.”

After a couple minutes, Georg’s head came up from the typewriter in the left corner of the room. “Who sits here?”

“Müffling. Why?”

“I’ve got a whorl here.” A few minutes later, he added, “I have a lot of whorls here. At least three different ones.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whorls are less common than loops but more common than arches.” Georg spoke in an absent-minded tone. “Now a whorl partially obliterated by a chemical burn cannot be too common.”

Georg stepped back from the typewriter. “How long has this clerk been here?”

The colonel frowned. “I don’t know. I was stationed in Würzburg from ’32 to ’34. As best I can remember, Müffling was here when I moved up here. Why?”

Georg took a deep breath. “I think I have seen these fingerprints before. In the apartment of a Saxon agent. Who took classes at the high school and may have picked up the colon-for-umlaut there.”

“I think we should bring them all back in,” Blackwell said.

“Unless you want to leave him in place and just tell Leutnant Schmidt,” Georg suggested. “Someone might spot the Saxon agent behind this.”

Blackwell considered it for about two seconds. “Then let’s not leave any clues ourselves.”

They hurriedly swept up all the fingerprint powder they could.

A short while later, Blackwell sent one of the outside sentries to find the clerks.

He returned a little while later with two radio operators, two clerks, and the two upstairs sentries in tow. “At the mess hall, sir,” he told the colonel.

Each radio operator nodded as he filed past Colonel Blackwell and went upstairs. Downstairs, Georg watched the clerks take the second and fourth seats. He and Blackwell exchanged glances.

Blackwell raised his voice. “I thought you had something on those horse thieves, too, Georg. It’s too bad it didn’t pan out. We’ll have to try something else.”

Blackwell turned toward the row of typewriters. “Men, do any of you remember messages about a couple dozen horses being brought in from Swabia?”

“No, sir!” they chorused. One added, “I would remember, sir. It is not ordinary.”

“It is unusual,” Blackwell allowed. “Where is Private Müffling? I should ask him, too. Just to be thorough.”

Georg studied physical evidence, not people. Moreover, he was about as far from the military culture as it was possible for a young man to be in Grantville. But even he could tell the two radio operators had just gotten tense. Each was half-turned in his chair, and as close to a position of attention as it was possible to be in such an awkward posture.

“I am not going to rip his head off,” Blackwell promised. “I didn’t give you a return time. But I would appreciate it if he turned up soon. Sooner we close this out, sooner I can send Georg on his way.”

Georg had to hand it to Blackwell for his casual approach.

“We do not know where he went, Colonel Blackwell,” the clerk in the middle said. “We went to the mess hall . . . ”

Blackwell nodded. “Naturally. Carry on, men. If you see Müffling before I do, send him over to my office with anything he might remember about some horses from Swabia.”

“Yes, sir!”

Blackwell gestured toward the door and ushered Georg out. Once they were outside, and the door was shut, his demeanor changed completely.

“Soldier,” he ordered one of the sentries, “do you know where the officer of the day’s office is? Near the main gate?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tell him I want Camp Saale locked down—but do it quietly and then come to my office. I want Sergeant Reinhart there, too.”

A couple hours later, Georg was led to another of the buildings erected as a barracks in the fall of 1633. Now it was offices and meeting rooms. Colonel Blackwell arrived a few minutes later, having taken a different route. A third man stepped into the room. He was short and stocky with a fair amount of gray hair.

He asked one question. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Colonel Blackwell answered. “One of the MPs at the gate remembers seeing Müffling. He had no reason to stop him. Soldiers go into Saalfeld for one thing or another all the time.”

“Start from the beginning, if you would, sir.”

“You know about the forged orders,” Blackwell began.

“Yes, sir.”

“Georg Meisner here saw something we should have seen right away. In the forged orders, the umlauts were written as colons after the vowel. He says he’s seen that before, at Grantville High. He thinks he has also seen Müffling’s fingerprints in an apartment in Grantville.

“Someone should be here with Müffling’s file in a few minutes,” Colonel Blackwell continued. “I want to see if we can list the dates when he could have been in Grantville.”

“Tell me about this apartment, bitte,” the third man requested.

“It was rented by Tobias Sprunck,” Georg began.

The man muttered something under his breath. Aloud, he said, “I am familiar with the case.”

“Sir, there were four spots on a table in the second bedroom, the one Sprunck had converted to a laboratory.” Then he remembered something Barbara Kellarmännin had said. “Or a trophy room.”

Both officers shrugged.

“Four small circles, arranged in a rectangle, spots with no dust on an otherwise dusty table.”

The third man muttered something again. “A typewriter. You think Sprunck wrote those orders himself and gave them to Müffling.”

“Ja, sir, I do.”

The other officer looked at Blackwell. “I think he’s right.”

Blackwell nodded. “If Georg is right—and I think he is—Saxony is going to want to do something when the war starts. Or maybe right before. When they move someone out of position, I need someone else ready and waiting.”

“I think I know just the unit,” the other man said.

Chapter 6: The Reussian Front

State of Thuringia-Franconia/Saxony Border

Wednesday, August 1, 1635

“Why are we here?” Stefan repeated.

Otto looked up from where he was slouched against a tree. “Metaphysically?”

He drew a round of laughter, and Neustatter reflected on how far they had come. Just three years ago, none of his men would have joked about metaphysics.

“Nein. Why are we on the Reussian front? For that matter, why is this even called the Reussian front? We are still in West Virginia County.”

“It is a pun on the Russian front in the up-time World War II,” Neustatter answered. “But to answer your question: umlauts.”

“Umlauts?”

“Ja, umlauts. Now we are out here, I can tell you what is in our sealed orders. Somebody’s been feeding false orders into the patrol system.”

Everyone but Neustatter reached for a weapon without waiting to hear more.

“The National Guard knew someone was moving patrols and brought in Georg Meisner. It’s why we changed directions once we were a couple miles away from Camp Saale.

“So that’s why we are here.” Neustatter smiled. “Operationally.”

State of Thuringia-Franconia/Saxony Border

Friday, August 3, 1635

“This is annoying,” Stefan complained. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Birkig is right over there.”

“It is?” Jakob asked.

“Birkig would offer us some soft beds,” Stefan continued.

“They might,” Neustatter agreed. “But we cannot have four of us here and four asleep in Birkig. So we will use our bedrolls and stand watch.”

“If Lukas were healed, we could have three teams,” Stefan went on. “Two here, one in Birkig.”

Neustatter just laughed. “We could, of course, bring the other half of NESS out here—except the eight of us being on Reserve duty is normal enough. All of NESS disappearing would be noteworthy.”

“Astrid has her hands full leading the train guard,” Hjalmar pointed out. “Plus training the new agents and handling all the new business we got during messe week. Somebody has to handle the missions for the paying clients.”

That produced a round of soft laughs.

“All right,” Neustatter said. “Four shifts, but I want a patrol out while Ditmar and Hjalmar are cooking dinner.”

“I will go,” Otto said.

“And me.” Jakob was very light on his feet in the woods.

Dinner was dried and salted meat, a small loaf of bread, and packets of peas and beans. Karl had already dug a firepit, piling a berm of dirt on the west side to cut down the chances of anyone seeing the flames. Each man dropped his rations off with the cooks. Ditmar fried the meat while Hjalmar cut each loaf in half and hollowed out the halves. The beans and peas went into the pan once the meat was already cooking. Then Ditmar dumped strips of meat and the vegetables into the bread bowls, and Hjalmar pressed the bread he’d hollowed out back into place.

“Just about ready,” Ditmar said, “although I’d wait for Stefan and Wolfram to return with full canteens. It is bound to be salty.”

“We should have Ursula figure out what to make with these rations,” Karl suggested. “Or Astrid.”

“Astrid’s solution would involve pasta and tomato sauce,” Hjalmar predicted.

“We have not had much tomato sauce,” Karl protested.

“No, we haven’t. Astrid and Georg Meisner have been going out for pizza or spaghetti just about every Sunday,” Hjalmar said.

“What have you two been taking your young ladies out for?” Neustatter asked.

“Good German food,” Ditmar answered.

Neustatter smiled. “Speaking of which . . . let’s eat this food and then let the campfire die down.”

* * *

Late in the second guard shift, Stefan had just flipped the quarter-hourglass when Ditmar’s hand slowly drifted up.

“I höre etwas.” He softly announced he heard something, not whispering but making sure to drop the CH and blending his S into a Z so the sound wouldn’t carry quite so well.

“Seven turns.” Stefan reported the time in the same manner.

The SoTF National Guard had given Neustatter a list of sunrise and sunset times for the local area for more days than their mission was scheduled to last. Ditmar figured they must have an astronomer from the University of Jena on the National Guard payroll. He also figured there was a certain amount of error, but the times ought to be accurate to within a few minutes. Those times had allowed Neustatter to set the night sentry duty shifts at two and a quarter hours, a greater level of precision than they’d had before. Sunset had been about 7:30 p.m., so seven turns on the second shift made it . . .

“Twenty-three thirty. Whatever it is, is getting closer.”

“Could be an animal,” Stefan pointed out.

“Or someone with orders to cross the border about midnight.”

Ditmar listened again, then reached out and shook Neustatter’s shoulder. Neustatter opened his eyes at once.

“Movement to the east. Maybe man, maybe animal,” Ditmar reported.

Neustatter nodded. He listened for a moment, then reached for his gun belt, shook Karl.

“We may have someone out there,” he murmured.

Karl nodded and reached out to tap Otto. Within a couple minutes, all eight of them were awake and armed.

“Rifles here. Pistols, come with me.”

Ditmar acknowledged with a slow nod. He had a .22 rifle, and Hjalmar, Karl, and Stefan had U.S. Waffenfabrik rifles. It made sense for them to get into defensive positions while Neustatter, Wolfram, Otto, and Jakob came in on the flank with their pistols.

Soon the noise he’d heard resolved itself into people moving through woods at night. Either this was a few people with no idea what they were doing, or it was a larger group with some skill. Since they had eight NESS agents present, Ditmar was hoping for the first alternative.

“Hold your fire.” Ditmar spoke quietly. “Wait to see what Neustatter does.”

“You know he is going to do something,” Stefan agreed.

* * *

Neustatter lay behind a couple trees, waiting for the swishing sounds to come closer. It reminded him of Flieden. He’d found a couple sticks about a foot long and almost an inch thick, as well as a rock about as big as his fist.

Definitely more than one person. Probably not just two or three, either. Neustatter glanced to his right, gauging whether they would need to pull back to avoid being walked into.

Then he saw the first man. He was just a dim shape, pushing low branches out of his way. The man did not appear to have a weapon in his hands. He moved slowly and seemed to have something slung on his back.

Neustatter thought he saw another figure, but he was screened by trees. The first figure continued to approach, not blundering so much as just doggedly pushing forward. Whoever this was, he wasn’t examining his surroundings much at all. Neustatter turned to his left and signaled Wolfram to stay in place. Wolfram nodded, turned, and passed it on.

Now Neustatter could distinguish the second figure, and he could tell there were more behind this one. He supposed single file might make sense in the dark—if the men were staying close together.

The first man was sort of looking around, but Neustatter saw no indication the man had seen him. He continued to swish through leaves and step on branches. He was not a woodsman, but far enough out ahead he might be attempting to scout for the others.

The next two were even less competent in the woods, Neustatter decided. They were slow and clumsy. Then he saw the third person was wearing a dress . . . skirt . . . whatever. Neustatter studied the two of them as they trudged past.

After a moment, two more shapes shuffled into view. Neustatter watched them through the trees. They weren’t on the same course as the others. This pair was veering north—away from Neustatter and NESS’ other pistoleers rather than behind them.

He waited. He would have had one more, a competent rear guard, someone who could move through the forest. Sure enough, a sixth shape flitted between the trees. Neustatter heard an occasional scuff, but this man seemed to be at least a competent woodsman. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he appeared to be carrying a weapon.

Neustatter had to act before the point man literally walked into Ditmar’s riflemen. He did not want the sixth man loose in the woods. As soon as the sixth man passed, Neustatter looked to his right—east—and decided this was the last one. Then he looked left and signaled Wolfram, who passed it on.

Neustatter was already up and moving. He closed in on the rear guard. When the man started to turn, Neustatter whipped one of the sticks off to the right. The man turned in that direction. Neustatter charged.

The rear guard whirled around. His arm came up. Neustatter dove. He heard the crack of the rifle as he rolled. Then he was back up and running.

The man reversed the rifle, preparing to club him with it.

Neustatter threw the rock at his head.

The man was good. He got mostly out of the way. He was, however, off-balance when Neustatter charged the last few yards and tackled him.

The man went down flat on his back. Neustatter fell on top of him. The man kept his grip on the clubbed rifle and drew his arm back to strike. Wolfram bellyflopped on him and pinned the rifle in place.

“Roll him.” Neustatter was going to—

“Lauf! Lauf!” The man started shouting as soon as Wolfram rolled off him.

Neustatter punched him in the mouth. “Wolfram, hang on to him! I’ll be back!”

He could already hear the rest of the party running. In all directions, no doubt. Neustatter picked the sounds moving away from his pistoleers. He heard a man’s voice tell someone to keep running.

Sure enough, he soon found one of the men standing his ground, fists balled up. Neustatter squared off. One of the few features of up-time movies he disagreed with was the hero’s need to engage in an unarmed fight with the bad guy when he had a perfectly good weapon. No, in his mind one of the greatest scenes was Indiana Jones shooting the swordsman. But there was something about this group . . .

Neustatter snapped a quick sidekick, right shin catching the man’s left leg below the hip. The man shifted away. Neustatter sidekicked him again. He didn’t quite succeed in deadlegging him. But the man shifted all his weight to his right leg.

Neustatter took three quick steps, grabbing his right shoulder as he stepped past him. He brought his right leg back sharply and took the other man’s leg out from under him. The man fell hard.

Neustatter continued on in search of the other person he heard thrashing through the trees further north. He ran with his left arm up, shielding his face from low-hanging branches, right arm pointing his pistol down and away. It took a few minutes before he spotted a caped figure.

“Stopp!” he shouted. “Stopp!”

The figure kept going. Neustatter paced him. If he ran any faster, he risked running into a tree before he could spot it in the dark.

Somewhere up ahead, a sudden yelp told them it had just happened to his quarry. Neustatter ran up and saw it wasn’t a cape. It was a dress. The woman scrambled to her feet. He caught her by the arm. She whirled around, flailing with her other hand.

Neustatter brought the .45 down sharply across her wrist. “Stop it! Come with me. I am taking you back to the other five.”

The woman refused to move.

“I am not going to hurt you. But if you do not cooperate, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.”

The woman looked terrified but complied.

It took longer than Neustatter expected to find their way back. He heard the others before he saw them.

“Martin!”

Neustatter called “Katie!” and quickened his pace. When he reached the others, he asked, “Ditmar, why are you shouting?”

“We have a problem.”

Neustatter counted. “I brought one. Wolfram has the rear guard. The rest of you have the other four.”

“That is not the problem.”

Neustatter handed the woman off to Hjalmar, then he and Ditmar stepped aside.

Ditmar spoke quickly. “They are terrified.”

“I noticed.”

“Four men, two women. No field craft I saw.”

“Last man has experience,” Neustatter said. “A soldier, I think. Took his shot and then clubbed his rifle.”

“Who are they? Why are they in the forest at night?”

“On the route supposed to be open to anyone coming from Saxony,” Neustatter pointed out. “If this were a movie, they would be a team of spies.”

“They could . . . ” Ditmar trailed off. “Ja, maybe. Why now?”

“Don’t know yet.” Neustatter shucked off his pack, opened it, and pulled something out. Standing with his back to the prisoners, he spoke into the walkie-talkie.

“Mary, Hans.”

“Hans, Mary.”

“Mary, we found your mittens but you need a heavier coat. Over.”

“I will bring you a coat. Just a minute. Over.”

“Hans out.”

“What was that all about?” Ditmar asked.

“Colonel Stieff set up some plans, depending on what we ran into. More National Guard will be here in an hour.”

“What are we going to do until then?”

“Post two guards closer to the border. Otto and Jakob. Separate the prisoners into pairs. You and Stefan take the point man and rear guard. Hjalmar and Karl take the two men who were in the middle.”

“You and Wolfram guard the women? You usually take the hard assignment, Neustatter.”

“I think I might be. Did you notice both women are blonde?”

Ditmar muttered something vicious under his breath.

Camp Saale

Saturday, August 4, 1635

Within an hour, an actual truck showed up and dropped off an entire platoon of SoTF National Guardsmen. Neustatter, his men and the six prisoners took their places in the truck. In another hour, they were at Camp Saale, in a nondescript building built as a barracks, back when Camp Saale had trained the influx of volunteers in the winter of 1633–1634. The prisoners were in pairs, in three separate rooms, each guarded by a pair of Military Police. Neustatter and his men were in a fourth room.

The door opened. Three men and a woman filed in.

“Attention!”

The eight of them came to their feet. Neustatter saluted, since he was in command of the group.

An older, white-haired man with captain’s bars on his uniform returned the salute. Neustatter’s eyes flitted from him to a younger, blond-haired man who looked like he’d stepped straight off a recruiting poster, then to an average-looking man who seemed to share Otto’s gift of being unmemorable, and finally to a young woman who propelled herself along on crutches. The first three wore SoTF blue, while she wore USE gray.

“Leutnant Schmidt, Leutnant Schmidt, Leutnant Schmidt, and Leutnant Schmidt.”

“Seats, men,” the captain directed.

He began speaking as soon as everyone was seated. “This is indeed at the Leutnant Schmidt level. But if more people come across the Saxon border, this could go to Brigadier General Schmidt level.”

Neustatter nodded. So this was as important as he thought.

“What have the prisoners said?”

“Nothing,” Neustatter answered. “No names, ranks, or serial numbers. Nothing but an occasional reminder from the point man or the rear guard to keep their mouths shut. The other two men I have not figured out, but it’s plain the two women are terrified.”

He watched the four lieutenants. The older man had a grim expression. The younger men were stone-faced. The woman was angry. Neustatter suspected her anger ran to a cold, effective fury.

No one said anything for a long minute. Neustatter broke the silence.

“Why don’t I lay out what we know?” At the oldest lieutenant’s nod, he continued.

“The vandalism on the east side of the Ring of Fire in the autumn of 1634 can be traced to a short, cloaked down-timer. The attack on the Hauns’ Troll Bridge in November 1634 was instigated by a short, cloaked down-timer. There are descriptions of such a man in the bar where members of Schlinck’s Company met servants of a certain niederadel family before the Schlinck’s Company attacked NESS, Bretagne’s Company, and the Grantville Police Department in January 1635. A short man with a hat pulled down inside Schlinck’s headquarters made an effort to hide his identity when Bretagne surrounded the building. A short, cloaked down-timer stalked the lifeguard Sunshine Moritz in June 1635. This man was Tobias Sprunck. A warrant has been issued for him for the abduction of Casimir Wesner. We believe him to be the man who attempted to undermine a stock Wesner had placed on the market in 1634. It funded a corporation to grow up-time crops in Kleinjena, Saxon County—which used to belong to Saxony.”

Neustatter paused to control his anger. “Sprunck is a rapist. He preys on young, blonde women, and if there is a way to stay just inside the law—like visiting prostitutes—he will use it.

“He altered National Guard orders. I do not know all the details, but Georg Meisner handled the forensics, and it involved umlauts. Then my men and I were sent to the border instead of to the Adler Pfeffer exercise. We were watching an area where Sprunck had falsified orders to create a gap. So when the two women among the infiltrators are blonde, I have to wonder.”

“What do you recommend, Neustatter?” the female Lieutenant Schmidt asked.

“You need to talk to them.” Neustatter considered. “Or if you will not be talking to them yourself, get Barbara Kellarmännin.”

“Ja!” Otto’s agreement was enthusiastic.

“Depending on what they say, you might want to ask Trudi Groenewold to talk to them. Or Maria.”

“I do not know who those people are,” the female lieutenant told him. “But . . . ” She looked to the others.

The blond one spoke first. “Sprunck tried to cripple the Norwegian Resistance. I want him dead. Or at least in prison and talking. I say send for Meisner and Kellarmännin. I do not know the others, either.”

The nondescript one just nodded.

“I agree,” the older man said. “Shall I have Leutnant Moser sent to wake your very efficient Miss Schäubin and have her collect the others?”

“Maybe not,” Hjalmar offered. “My sister is dating Meisner.”

The gray-haired man’s eyes twinkled. “I see. Well, I will have someone else sent.”

Kimberly Heights Apartments

Astrid Schäubin awoke to someone banging on the apartment door. She’d been sound asleep, having just finished an overnight Saxon Run from Magdeburg to Grantville early Friday morning, less than twenty-four hours ago. It took her a moment to remember her brother Hjalmar and her cousin Ditmar were away on a National Guard assignment. Astrid reached for her pistol.

Whoever it was just kept knocking. Since no one was trying to break down the door, and the von Kardorffs were still asleep, Astrid quickly dressed. Taking the pistol in one hand, she left her room and crossed the short distance to the front door. She threw the bolt with her left hand, then turned the knob and pulled the door open as she stepped back.

An SoTF National Guardsman stood there.

“Astrid Schäubin?”

“Ja. Komm bitte rein.”

The National Guardsman stepped inside, and Astrid saw his sergeant’s stripes. “What is it, Sergeant . . . ?”

“Stenger, ma’am. Neustatter’s patrol captured some people crossing the border from Saxony. Four men and two women. He says you need to bring Georg Meisner and Barbara Kellarmännin to Camp Saale because both the women are blonde. I do not know why that matters, ma’am, but Leutnant Neustatter said you would understand.”

Astrid felt a rush of adrenaline. “I do understand. Does Neustatter want me to bring anyone else?”

“He did not say.”

Astrid decided that was a no. “Please have a seat, Sergeant Stenger. I will be right back.”

Astrid took five minutes to go prepare for the day and to write a note for the von Kardorffs. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get any more sleep. In fact, she expected she’d still be at Camp Saale at dawn, so their first stop was at the Kirchenbauers and Kuntzes’ townhouse, where she left another note wedged next to the doorknob.

N had a job for me. A

Whoever showed up at the NESS office first would find the door locked, and within a few minutes, someone would walk over to the townhouse to ask Anna and Ursula for the spare key and find her note.

Next, she directed Sergeant Stenger to turn off Route 250 onto Deborah Road, proceed through Lower and Upper Deborah, and out onto Mods Run Road. They were in the sort of car up-timers referred to as a four-door. Astrid had also heard this kind called a sedan, which sounded French to her. Perhaps the up-time French built cars like this? She decided it wasn’t important enough to write down for later research. Besides, the way Sergeant Stenger was driving, she didn’t want to open an ink bottle.

“Georg and Barbara live up on one of the mountains,” she said.

“Do not worry, Miss Schäubin. I have driven the hills in the dark before.”

Interesting. “What unit are you in, Sergeant?”

“Headquarters, ma’am. Operations staff, under Colonel Stieff.”

“Ah.” That did explain it. Neustatter had told Astrid Colonel Stieff assigned National Guard missions—especially the more sensitive National Guard missions. It made sense he’d have people like Sergeant Stenger on staff.

Stenger handled the car with skill. He slowed down as Astrid directed him up the hill to the Brethren settlement.

“Left here,” she directed. “The third house on the left.”

When Stenger pulled to a stop, Astrid hopped out. She knocked on the door for a while before it opened.

“Herr Meisner, there is a development in the case Georg was working on. Sergeant Stenger and I are to take him and Barbara Kellarmännin to investigate further.”

Herr Meisner looked very suspicious.

“I do not know what this is all about, young lady—”

“Which case, Astrid?” came Georg’s voice from behind him.

“Sprunck.”

“Do you need Katharina?”

“Nein. Barbara.”

“Where is this case?” Herr Meisner asked.

“Right now, at Camp Saale. Neustatter sent for us.”

“That makes sense, Father,” Georg said.

“Is it safe?”

Astrid hoped she wasn’t stretching the truth. “I think the dangerous part has already happened.”

Herr Meisner knew Astrid. She’d been over for dinner. And Georg was a young man. At the Kellarmanns’, she had none of those advantages. Herr and Frau Kellarmann might be the most easygoing of the Brethren parents, but it didn’t mean they were going to let their eighteen-year-old daughter leave in the middle of the night without some very pointed questions.

“Georg Meisner, do you know what this is all about?”

“It is a case we have both worked on,” Georg answered.

“How dangerous is this?”

“Sergeant Stenger is driving us to Camp Saale,” Astrid replied. “It is a case Barbara has worked on before.”

“It is close to the Saxon border,” Herr Kellarmann pointed out. “Many people say there will be war soon.”

Sergeant Stenger had gotten out of the car and approached the door. “Camp Saale is close to the border, sir, but every recruit who comes through Camp Saale trains on how to defend the border. Neustatter and his people have made it a specialty. Your daughter will be quite safe there.”

“What about Herr Chief Richards?”

“I suspect your daughter will be briefing him tomorrow, sir.”

“Father . . . ” came Barbara’s voice.

“Be careful, Barbara.”

“I will.”

“That is what I am here for,” Astrid told Herr Kellarmann.

The four of them drove off. Sergeant Stenger wound his way down the hill and kept his speed down until they were back on Route 250. Then he sped into Grantville at thirty miles per hour. They made a fast stop at the police station to pick up Georg’s forensics kit.

Then they were speeding east on 250 at forty-five miles per hour. Astrid noticed Barbara was clutching the handhold on the car door. The high school, Kimberly Heights, and the NESS office flashed past, and then they passed the Ring Wall. Sergeant Stenger had to slow down as he navigated Schwarza. It took just a few minutes to reach Saalfeld and then Camp Saale immediately south of the town.

The gates were shut. Camp Saale didn’t have traditional city gates. These were heavy wooden gates, but little taller than the car itself. A soldier left one of the guard booths outside the walls.

“The gate is closed for the night.”

“Sergeant Stenger, bringing NESS, forensics, and profiling on Colonel Stieff’s orders.” Stenger handed over his orders.

The soldier called the sergeant of the guard over. He read the orders, and the gates were opened about thirty seconds later.

Sergeant Stenger parked the car in a small lot with half a dozen other vehicles, then led them to the same conference room Astrid had been in once before.

“I’ll get Neustatter and . . . some others.” Stenger disappeared down the hallway.

The conference room door opened a couple minutes later, and a young woman wearing a gray USE uniform entered. She was using crutches. Neustatter followed her.

“Seats, please.”

Neustatter pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down. Neustatter scooted the chair in a bit, then took a seat on the other side of the table. Astrid, Barbara, and Georg sat to his right.

“Welcome to Camp Saale. I am Leutnant Schmidt.”

Astrid smiled in greeting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Georg nod knowingly.

“Guten Abend,” Barbara said.

“Guten Abend, Fräulein Kellarmännin, Herr Meisner. I apologize for getting you out of bed in the middle of the night. Something has come up, and we need your help.” Lieutenant Schmidt paused long enough for both Georg and Barbara to nod.

“What I am about to say next is classified.” The word stuck out in Lieutenant Schmidt’s Amideutsch. “It means you cannot tell anyone about it. Can you handle that?”

Georg nodded. Barbara took a few seconds before nodding.

“Some people believe in oaths to keep secrets. Up-timers believed in their classified system. I do not consider either very useful.”

“Why not?” Astrid asked.

“It just increases the tension. Keep your mouths shut. Do not talk to each other about it unless you have to—and not in public! People can always hear more than you think they can.”

Schmidt cleared her throat. “Three times troop deployment orders were altered to keep certain parts of the Saxon border unwatched. Forensics—Georg—figured out how we could tell who was doing it. Then he found fingerprints, and they match Tobias Sprunck.”

Barbara inhaled sharply. “Is he under arrest?”

“Nein. His man got away. Sprunck himself . . . ” She shrugged. “We do not know if he was ever at Camp Saale himself.”

“I need to see any reports of rapes, including statutory rape, in the Saalfeld area, bitte,” Barbara requested. “Are there any brothels in the area? I need to interview them.”

Lieutenant Schmidt blinked. “Why?”

“Because if Tobias Sprunck was here, he will have pursued young, blonde women. He will have given them small gifts and taken shiny or flashy objects from them.”

Lieutenant Schmidt leaned forward. “A group of six people crossed the border from Saxony earlier tonight. Two of them are blonde women. None of them are talking.”

“What are the charges?” Barbara asked.

“We have not charged them yet. We could charge them with espionage in wartime. They could be hanged.”

“What if being spies is not their idea?”

“They did not have to agree to it.”

“They may not have had a choice.”

Lieutenant Schmidt shrugged. “It is not our problem.”

Barbara slid her chair back and stood. “Do you want my help or not?”

Schmidt bristled. “We can order—”

“Nein. You can’t.”

Schmidt’s eyes widened as Neustatter interrupted an officer with more time-in-grade. “Lieutenant Neustatter—”

“You do not know what you are dealing with. She does. How do you want to handle the interrogation, Miss Kellarmännin?”

Barbara stood there for a moment, then sat back down. She was looking in Lieutenant Schmidt’s direction, but Neustatter suspected she wasn’t seeing the USE officer at all. A long moment passed.

“A rock.”

“What?”

Barbara pulled a paperback from her pack. “It is something Herr Douglas says in his book. Tell me about the four men, bitte.”

“Not the women?” Schmidt asked.

“Not yet. The group has a . . . what is the English? A manner? A character of its own?”

“A group dynamic?” Schmidt asked.

Barbara lapsed into the Grantville High School dialect of Amideutsch. “Yap! Dank. A group dynamic.”

“The first man moved through the woods without much skill,” Neustatter recalled. “But he was leading and kept moving. Next were a man and a woman. Then another man and woman. She is the one who ran. The man tried to slow me down so she could get away. The last man handled his weapon well. He had the most experience. Maybe a soldier. He is okay at sneaking through the woods, but it is not his specialty.”

“Dank. Interesting.”

“Do you think he is a man of honor?”

“Could be.”

Barbara turned to her right. “Georg, fingerprint him, bitte.”

“Okay,” Georg Meisner agreed. “Do you think his fingerprints will match some we already have?”

“Nein, but I suppose you should check. I just want him to think we think he is a common criminal.”

“Oh.”

“Neustatter, you should question him,” Barbara continued. “Then do the same with the man in front. Do not confront him. Find out if they have eaten. Send for food and small beer. Get them talking. Do their families know what they are doing? Ask about their families. Wives and sisters in particular. What do they look like?”

Barbara seemed to gain confidence as she talked. “Then talk to the second couple. Astrid, you need to be the other officer in the room, bitte. Wear your blue NESS coat. Talk to the woman. Leutnant Schmidt, I apologize, but you should not be in the room. Because you are a brunette. The first thing we want to find out is whether they are husband and wife. Or perhaps lovers.”

“I can see how it would be useful to know,” Schmidt acknowledged. “But first?”

“We need to know why these six people are here. Ja, we want to find out if they are fleeing Saxony or if they have come here as spies or as . . . people who break things . . . ”

“Saboteurs,” Schmidt supplied.

“Yap. Dank. But first, why these people?”

* * *

Ditmar and Karl brought the man who had been on rear guard into a darkened conference room. One person was seated in the shadows on the far side of the table.

“Take a seat,” Neustatter’s voice directed.

The man studied the shape in the darkness for a moment, then pulled out the only chair on his side of the table and sat down. Ditmar exchanged nods with Neustatter and left the room, while Karl circled around the table to an object on Neustatter’s right. He slid the shutter of a lantern halfway open, and the prisoner squinted and turned his head away from the beam of light aimed at his face.

Karl stationed himself against the wall at one end of the room. He wasn’t close enough to loom over the man, but he would intercept him before the man could get to Neustatter . . .

. . . which wouldn’t be necessary. Neustatter was in full SoTF dress uniform now: a dark blue coat of a slightly different cut than NESS’ with shoulder straps straight from the up-time Union Army and trousers of fustian dyed the lighter blue of woad. A pair of leather riding gloves was tucked under his right shoulder strap, and one of the new helmets sat off to his left on the table. Outlandish as the uniform might be, it still screamed “professional soldier.”

“Guten Abend,” Neustatter began. “May I have your name, bitte?”

The man remained silent.

“The up-time tradition is soldiers may give their name, rank, and serial number,” Neustatter continued, “while remaining silent on other matters. You are a soldier, ja?” After the man did not reply, Neustatter went on. “It is easy to see. You had some skill in the forest, and you handled your weapon well. My men said you told the others not to talk to us. All this suggests you are in command.”

Neustatter paused to see if the man would say anything. But he stared straight back at him without saying anything. Neustatter asked a few more questions without receiving a response. He nodded to Karl, who stepped forward.

“Stand up.”

The man’s face finally held an expression. Curiosity, Neustatter thought. Karl ushered him to the door and knocked. Ditmar opened the door, and the two of them took the man back to the room he’d been held in. They were back in a few minutes with the man who had been first in line.

After he had been seated and the lantern half-opened, Neustatter opened the same way.

“Guten Abend. May I have your name, bitte?”

This man also remained silent.

“The up-time tradition is soldiers may give their name, rank, and serial number while remaining silent on other matters. You have a sense of competence. Sneaking through the forest is not something you do often.” Neustatter waggled a hand. “Maybe a soldier, but if so, one used to the old-style units. Perhaps something else altogether. It makes me wonder—why are you here?”

The man said nothing.

“This seems late. Desperate. Anyone can see what is coming. Why send spies to Grantville now? Last year or the year before? Sure.”

Still nothing.

Neustatter nodded to Karl, who ushered the man from the room. He and Ditmar and Astrid returned with the first couple. Meanwhile Neustatter had added a second chair to each side of the table. After seating the couple on one side of the table, Astrid circled it and sat down to Neustatter’s left. Then Neustatter half-opened the lantern.

Both looked away from the lantern, and the woman raised her left hand to shield her eyes. Neustatter waited a few moments.

“May we have your names, bitte?”

The man and woman exchanged glances.

Astrid cocked her head to one side. “Are you . . . together?”

Neither answered.

“Should we send you off to separate prisoner of war camps, or would you like to be kept together?”

She glanced at the man, who made a calming gesture with one hand.

“Do you have a preference?” Astrid pressed.

The woman seemed to have regained her composure, though, and no answers were forthcoming. Neustatter nodded to Karl.

A few minutes later, they had the other couple in the room.

“May we have your names, bitte?”

This man and woman remained silent, too, although this woman was already fidgeting.

Astrid followed with the same question as before. “Are you . . . together?”

Neustatter saw the other man’s face tighten just a bit. He hoped Miss Schäubin had seen the woman’s reaction, if there had been one.

Further questions got them nowhere. Neustatter signaled Karl.

Once all the prisoners had been returned to their respective rooms, Neustatter, Astrid, Georg, Barbara, and the USE Lieutenant Schmidt gathered in the room they’d used for the interrogations.

Neustatter summarized. “They refused to answer questions. I think they are scared.”

“Terrified,” Miss Schäubin stated.

“Did any of them protest? Proclaim their innocence?” Lieutenant Schmidt asked.

“Nein.”

“Strange,” Schmidt mused. “We would not believe them, but why not try?”

“We need at least one of them to talk with us,” Barbara Kellarmännin said.

“We can tell one of them another has confessed—” Schmidt began.

“Nein.”

“The authorities are not required to tell the truth at this stage of an investigation,” Schmidt explained. “At hearings, at trial, ja. In interrogation, nein.”

Neustatter jumped in before Miss Kellarmännin could. “Of course, once any of them realize they were lied to, we would get no more information at all.”

“Nein,” Lieutenant Schmidt argued. “At least one of them will turn state’s evidence to avoid being hanged as a spy.”

“What if that approach just gets you six dead spies and no answers?” Barbara asked.

Schmidt shrugged.

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “You want their targets, ja?”

“Without knowing their goals, it would be difficult to stop a second group that came a different way,” Neustatter pointed out.

“The war will be over by then,” Schmidt countered.

“Unless the mastermind is—or becomes—a mercenary.” Neustatter said. “We need to know where they were going.”

“We need someone to break.” Schmidt’s words were blunt, but none of the rest of them could disagree.

“We need someone to trust us.” Barbara Kellarmännin spoke quietly. “We need to find their rock, and we need to deal with it. Neustatter, may Otto join us?”

“Why?”

“Because I think I know what is coming, and I want to pray about it first.”

Lieutenant Schmidt rolled her eyes, then stopped as she saw Neustatter didn’t look surprised.

“Can’t see as how it’d hurt.” He got up and returned with Otto. Lieutenant Schmidt’s expression conveyed she didn’t understand why Otto Brenner was necessary for this part. Neustatter was pretty sure he knew.

“Otto!”

“Miss Kellarmännin.”

Barbara smiled at his formality, the first time she’d done so since arriving. “Will you pray with us before Astrid and I question the women?”

“Ja.”

Georg began. “Lord God, You know all things. Please reveal why these people have come . . . .”

Next, Barbara prayed briefly. Then Astrid. After Neustatter, Otto, and Schmidt declined to say anything aloud, Georg Meisner concluded.

After the amen, Barbara looked up. “Leutnant, do you have a file for this case? It need not be complete—just something we can have in front of us.”

“Und paper, ink, and a quill, bitte,” Astrid added.

“And food and drink, bitte.” Barbara repeated her earlier advice. “Nothing fancy. Cheese toast and small beer will work.”

Once everything was in place, Lieutenant Schmidt addressed Barbara. “You should be in uniform.”

“Herr Chief Richards has not told me to wear a uniform,” Barbara answered.

“The other Leutnants Schmidt and I will not be in the room because we do not want to draw the Saxons’ attention to us. If you are not in uniform, they will assume you are with Intelligence.”

“I can introduce myself as a profiler from the Grantville Police Department.”

“Nein! That is the very last thing you ought to say!” Schmidt threw Neustatter a rather desperate look.

“It is important not to draw attention to Leutnant Schmidt’s people or even to what your do, Miss Kellarmännin,” Neustatter said. “The simplest thing to do would be for you to wear a uniform.”

“But I am not in the National Guard. It would be a lie.” Then Barbara took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. “This is like AF, is it not? Herr Miller told me about Midway Island radioing it was short of fresh water when it was not. Before the Battle of Midway.”

“Ja, it is like AF,” Lieutenant Schmidt answered. “I do not need you to say you are in the National Guard. I need you to look like you are in the National Guard.”

“Where are we going to find her a uniform?” Neustatter asked.

“You can wear one of mine,” Schmidt offered. “We are about the same size. So, a correction: I need you to look like you are in the USE Army.”

Barbara looked stubborn.

“Fine. I can swear you in for the day.”

Barbara, Georg, Astrid, and Neustatter all said it together. “Brethren don’t swear oaths.”

Lieutenant Schmidt leaned over and bonked her head on the tabletop. Twice. Then she looked up at them. “Is there going to be a problem with guns, too?” She saw the nods. Thrice.

Then her head came up again, and she focused on Neustatter. “You know up-timer movies. Explain Sergeant York to her, bitte.”

At the end of Neustatter’s explanation, Barbara appeared unconvinced.

Astrid spoke up. “I’m wearing. Neustatter, you and Ditmar and Karl will be ready to burst in, right? So we are prepared.”

“How do we know someone will take orders without an oath?” Schmidt asked.

“Have you seen Spartacus’ pamphlet on why oaths are part of the old order and out of place in the new timeline?” Georg asked. “He argues they are an artifact of a system that valued order above justice.”

“Without order, all is chaos,” Schmidt shot back. “Neustatter?”

“I do not philosophize about chaos,” Neustatter answered. “I just use it.”

Schmidt let that pass without comment and touched the crutches leaning against her chair with one hand. “I will . . . affirm Miss Kellarmännin into my service, the USE Army, for the day. Unlike the SoTF National Guard, which is very committed to the idea that everyone goes to basic training, the USE Army makes exceptions for certain technical experts.”

* * *

A little while later, Astrid took Neustatter’s usual place at the center of one side of the table. Barbara, duly affirmed into the USE Army and wearing one of Lieutenant Schmidt’s gray uniforms, sat to her right, behind the lantern.

Neustatter and Ditmar escorted the woman Neustatter had captured into the room.

“Sit down, bitte,” Astrid began.

The woman’s eyes flitted back and forth but she sat readily enough.

Astrid stifled a grin as she looked over at Neustatter. “That will be all, Leutnant.”

As soon as he closed the door, Barbara threw the shutter on the lantern open and moved it further down the table to where to would provide illumination rather than a blinding glare. Then she went to the opposite end of the table and uncovered the cheese toast and small beer. After sliding the tray to the center of the table, she resumed her seat.

The woman eyed the food and drink.

“Go ahead,” Astrid told her.

The woman made no movement.

Barbara sighed. She stood and turned her back on the table, then reached behind her and found a piece of the cheese toast.

“Do you agree this is a random sample?” she asked.

“Ja,” the woman admitted.

Barbara sat back down and took a bite. “Then I think we can agree it is not poisoned, and you can go ahead and eat.”

The woman gave her a hint of a smile. Then she took a piece of cheese toast and all but inhaled it.

“Allow me to point out we are on a military base, and if the USE or the SoTF wanted to make you disappear, it would not be hard.” Astrid gave the woman a thin smile.

“Nein,” the woman blurted out.

“Nein, it would not be hard? Nein, it would? Nein, please do not make you disappear?”

The woman did not answer.

“Come. Help us, bitte. Why will you not talk?” Astrid waited. “It is possible the State of Thuringia-Franconia will execute you as spies. If you can give a reason not to do so . . . ”

At least a full minute passed. Then Barbara spoke up.

“Who are you protecting?” The woman’s mouth dropped open, and Barbara pressed on. “Family? Children? Nein. The man who stayed behind to delay Neustatter while you ran?” Barbara nodded knowingly. “He is important to you. Und you are blushing, so I think the two of you are not married. Another reason I think you do not have children. A sister? Younger than you. Just as blonde. Between fifteen and twenty years of age—and in danger.”

Astrid felt her own eyes go wide. From the woman’s shocked expression, at least a good portion of Barbara’s conclusions were correct.

“Is your sister shorter than you? Slender? Someone has threatened her, ja? But not just threatened. He would have given her small presents. Jewelry perhaps? Some shiny up-time item?”

“How do you know this?” The woman sounded like she was somewhere between awestruck and terrified—which seemed reasonable to Astrid. She felt the same. Well, nein, she wasn’t terrified. She was angry.

“Are you willing to talk with us now? Not to the SoTF National Guard or the USE Army. But with us women.”

“I cannot.” The woman’s voice broke as she choked back a sob.

“Dying to protect your sister will not work,” Barbara declared. “Let me tell you what else I know. The man who contacted you is a down-timer. He is short, and he speaks good Saxon German. You may not have seen his face because his hat was pulled low, and he wore a cloak. There may have been other women in similar circumstances but he left them alone because they are brunettes.”

The woman gasped. “How do you know these things?” Her eyes narrowed. “You must have already caught him!”

“Nein. We almost caught him in June.”

“Then how do you know all this?”

Despite her obvious distress, the woman had a lovely voice. Astrid could imagine her singing somewhere. She made a snap decision to ignore Lieutenant Schmidt’s instructions. “Barbara is a profiler. She studies the behavior of criminals.”

“Did you grow up in a village or a town?” Barbara’s voice was gentle.

“A town,” the woman answered.

Barbara smiled. “Think back to your town. Do you remember anyone who had very definite opinions about how children ought to be raised?

The woman actually giggled. “Ja.”

“Was this person older, crotchety, sure the younger generations are doing it wrong?”

“Ja.”

“This is a simplified version of what I look for,” Barbara explained. “People who have similar experiences and similar motivations do things in similar ways. The up-timers studied their most dangerous criminals and found it was true of them. It is the key to stopping them.”

Astrid saw the woman’s interest fade as if a light had gone out.

“You do not believe he can be stopped.” Astrid shrugged. “It is not hard to read you, Frau. May I know what to call you other than just Frau?”

“I am no Frau.”

“You will be if you stay here in the SoTF.” Barbara sounded a bit absent-minded, as if she were concentrating on something else. “What we need is information—anything else you know about him, where he is now . . . where your sister is.”

“If I betray him, he will . . . hurt my sister!”

“I think you mean ‘rape.’” Barbara’s hard tone surprised Astrid. “He has taken your sister to compel you to spy for him, ja? You think if you are executed after being caught, he might let her go free. This is why you will not talk with us.”

“Ja! It is! You must let us go or execute us quickly!” The woman surged to her feet.

“Siddown.” Astrid was on her feet, too, with her hand already on the butt of her pistol.

Barbara remained seated. She spoke calmly as the other two women faced off. “It is not in the SoTF’s interest—or the USE’s—to execute you. Sprunck will prey on more women and coerce others to come and spy for him.”

“It is true,” Astrid added. “This is his fourth or fifth operation against Grantville, depending on how you count them.” She waited a beat. “That we know of.”

“You cannot get caught,” Barbara began.

“But I am already caught!” the woman wailed.

“Sprunck does not know.”

Astrid let Barbara’s statement hang in the air for a few moments, then she said, “I assume Sprunck told you if you are a successful spy for him, your sister will be safe.”

The woman gave her a short, quick nod.

“Then it is what you must do—except the SoTF will tell you what you must spy. What are your instructions?”

* * *

An hour later, Lieutenant Schmidt, Neustatter, Astrid, Barbara, and Georg conferred.

“You flipped her,” the female Lieutenant Schmidt acknowledged.

“Maybe.” The white-haired Lieutenant Schmidt who had promoted Neustatter entered the room. “She may have said what she needed to get the two of you to leave her alone.” He smiled. “I might have done the same. No offense.”

Astrid smiled back.

“So what are we going to do?” the female Schmidt asked.

“Let them go to the places Sprunck sent them to but report what we”—Astrid’s hand circled, indicating the whole group—“want them to.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Neustatter drawled, “but they could give Saxony accurate information, and it wouldn’t make any difference. So Saxony steals some manufacturing processes. Torstensson is going to go through them long before they can build any factories.”

“You are not wrong,” the older Schmidt told him. “While it goes against the grain, the right thing to do is follow the Stearns Plan.”

“The right thing to do is to help these people,” Barbara stated. “All of our ‘right things’ align.”

“Now you just need to convince the other five,” Schmidt pointed out. “None of this will work if even one of them holds out.”

“Or pulls a triple cross.” The older Schmidt’s words were grim. “All it would take is a code word they are under duress.”

Neustatter’s tone was equally grave. “We need to know where Sprunck is. If we take him out . . . ”

The older lieutenant—the one wearing captain’s bars on his shoulders—shook his head. “Miss Schäubin, you said Anna said they set out from Zwickau.”

“Ja.”

“We cannot attack Zwickau. Not until Torstensson moves. And before you ask, we cannot infiltrate Zwickau, either. Would Sprunck have left someone there to watch?”

“Ja, he would have,” Barbara answered. “He is a careful planner until things begin to go wrong. If you were seen, even thought to be from the SoTF, whoever he left could signal him. Sprunck could harm his hostages.”

“It frustrates me, too, Miss Kellarmännin. But I sense it is not the only reason you are frowning so mightily.”

“Hostages.” Barbara sounded almost absent-minded again. “This is a new piece. He is escalating . . . I have questions for the other woman. Then I would like to speak with the man who tried to protect Anna.”

“And now you are the one frowning mightily, Miss Schäubin,” the older Schmidt observed.

“Ja. Many women are named Anna, including Wolfram’s wife. The thought of someone doing this to our Anna . . . But this one is someone’s Anna, isn’t she?”

“It is why I want to talk to the man who was with her,” Barbara said.

* * *

An hour later, Astrid felt sick. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to race to the restroom to throw up or punch the wall. The other woman—Elisabetha—had stopped crying for the moment. Barbara was comforting her. She led the woman back to the room where they were holding her, after sending Ditmar on ahead to remove the man who’d been with her.

Barbara reentered the conference room. Schmidt, Schmidt, and Neustatter had already gathered.

“I left her with a couple female MPs.” She spoke softly and looked not far from tears herself. Then her demeanor changed. Her eyes flashed. “I want Sprunck. Alive, if possible.”

“Why?” the older Lieutenant Schmidt asked. “We would certainly execute him.”

“You may kill him when I am done with him.” Barbara didn’t quite snap at the officer. “He is a very dangerous sexual predator. It is very important Herr Chief Richards or I interrogate him and find out why he is this way, so we can prevent it from happening in other people.”

“Can you prevent it?”

“I need to know more about Sprunck’s background before I can give an answer, but according to the up-time sources . . . maybe. Sometimes.” She remembered something. “Chemnitz! He told people in Grantville he was from Chemnitz.”

Barbara threw up her hands. “Of course they started from Zwickau. Chemnitz to Zwickau to the border. If his story is true—and the fact his German matches the Lutherbibel argues for it—then the reason he feels inadequate may be right there in Chemnitz.”

“Inadequate?” the female Schmidt prompted.

Astrid saw Barbara was looking at her rather than at Schmidt.

“This part bothered you the most, I think.” Barbara’s voice was quiet again. “Sprunck seemed genuinely concerned she enjoyed it.”

“It is why I wonder if it was rape at all,” Schmidt said. “Elisabetha reported no violence.”

“Tobias Sprunck is a power reassurance rapist,” Barbara stated. “Not as physically violent as an anger retaliatory rapist, but consider the psychological torture. He will have planned it carefully ahead of time, too. Und consider what the profiler Herr Douglas wrote up-time. He was talking about serial killers, but I think it applies to serial rapists, too. It is not something completely outside their control, because he never once saw one commit the offense in front of a police officer.”

Astrid almost smiled when she saw Lieutenant Schmidt cock her head to one side.

“Are you saying deep down he knows it is wrong, but he is lying to himself by asking if she enjoyed it?”

“Ja. Maybe,” Barbara answered.

“It is dangerous for a spy to lie to himself about anything,” Schmidt mused. “So, Miss Kellarmännin . . . How can we use this against him?”

Barbara thought for a couple minutes before answering. “He feels inadequate. He wants reassurance. He wants to succeed. His operation in Grantville was shut down. It took a while to put it all together, but he was stalking Sunshine Moritz instead of supervising his operation, which is when his henchmen decided kidnapping Casimir Wesner was a good idea. Casimir’s friends brought in NESS. Sprunck fled before NESS became involved, but he will have obtained the newspapers and read about their attack on D’Ambrosi’s house . . . .

“This will look like revenge to him, because he was behind at least some of the vandalism on the east side of the Ring of Fire and the attack on the Hauns’ bridge. Und that attack was him taking revenge against Arne Helgerson for rescuing a girl he had set his sights on.”

“Und he was in Schlinck’s headquarters when Hauptmann Bretagne surrounded it,” Astrid put in.

“He does seem to be something of a nemesis for NESS,” the older Schmidt agreed.

“But he does not know Georg figured out his scheme with the fake orders,” Neustatter pointed out. “Nor does he know—yet—NESS intercepted his team.”

“Here is how we do it,” Barbara declared. “We make sure he thinks he has won. We have his team send information.”

The elder Schmidt continued the train of thought. “Track his lines of communication. Follow them right back to him.”

“He is deep in enemy territory,” the female lieutenant Schmidt reminded them all.

“For now. Give General Torstensson some time.”

“I would like to talk to the man who was with Anna next,” Barbara spoke up.

“Do you want Neustatter and Recker to handle it?” Schmidt asked.

“Nein. No offense, Neustatter, but he would try to keep up his image with you. Astrid and I are not after vital military information. We are just so concerned about Anna.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Are we going to play dumb blondes?”

“Nein. We are going to explain how we can save his girlfriend’s life.”

As the others filed out, the elder Schmidt muttered to Neustatter, “Und I thought we Schmidts were the twistiest people around.”

* * *

Ditmar and Karl brought the man in and sat him down. Astrid gave them an absentminded nod. She forced herself to not examine the security arrangements, whether they might be within his reach, how long it might take him to circle the table . . . except she kept her right hand in her lap.

Astrid pushed a mug of small beer across the table with her left hand and gestured toward the platter, refilled with cheese toast.

“Please have something to eat and drink. We are not here for any military secrets,” she began. “We are just worried about Anna. We do not want anything to happen to her.”

Astrid hadn’t missed how his mug had stalled halfway to his mouth when she spoke Anna’s name—and she was absolutely sure Barbara hadn’t missed it, either.

“We, ah, we need your help. Anna does not look like a spy. Why is she here?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Und the two of you do not look like soldiers.”

“We are not. Not really,” Astrid replied.

“Those look like uniforms to me. You had those other two bring me in here, so you have some influence. What are you?”

Barbara leaned forward. “We are the people who might—might—be able to save Anna’s sister from the man who made you come here.”

The man froze. “I have said nothing about how we got here.”

“But we know,” Barbara told him. “You told Anna to run and tried to stop . . . the man who captured both of you. You wanted to protect Anna. She blushed when I mentioned you. Tell me about yourself, bitte, and why you are on this mission. Und I will try to help you. Und Anna.”

She let him think for a moment. “I need to know everything you know about the man who sent you in order to have a chance at stopping him. Tell me, bitte. Start with how you and Anna met.”

The man stared at her. Then he glanced over to Astrid before settling his gaze on Barbara again. “We met in Werdau.”

Barbara waited.

“After church.” He shrugged. “She has a nice voice. Und it was obvious at once she truly cared for her younger sister. It is just the two of them, and they were in service to a good family in Werdau.”

Barbara smiled. “You find that attractive.”

“Ja.” His tone conveyed, who wouldn’t? “Our employers allowed us to court. I was perhaps a couple years away from making my own household and being able to marry.” He sighed. “It is all gone now.”

Barbara kept silent for a few moments out of respect.. Then she asked, “What is her name? Anna’s sister?”

“I do not suppose it matters now,” he muttered. “Magdalena.”

“Surname?” Barbara’s voice was sharper now.

“Kaufmännin.”

Barbara turned to Astrid. “Can your people get her out?” she demanded.

Astrid returned a thin smile. “I will consult my field commander. But in the meantime, we need you to keep telling us about Anna. How did this man . . . choose . . . her? Und you?”

He put his head in his hands. Barbara couldn’t hear what he muttered.

“Again, bitte?”

The man threw up his arms in frustration. “I do not know! Neither does Anna! We could not figure it out.”

“We will figure it out together,” Barbara told him. “Close your eyes. Let us go to where you worked. Tell me about the building.”

The man stared at her. “What? What sort of deviltry is this?”

Barbara spoke quietly. “It is not deviltry. Nor is it witchcraft. I want your eyewitness testimony, and this will help you remember better. I am not going to tell you what to say. I want to hear what you saw and heard and felt and smelled. Close your eyes, bitte.

“Think of a typical day. What happens?”

“I get up, dress, eat a roll, maybe a bit of cheese.”

“Where are you?”

“In my master’s house. We go to work.”

“What do you hear?”

“The snip of scissors. Master giving directions. The rattle of pins.”

“No pincushions?” Barbara asked.

“Nein. Master’s grandfather did not approve of them.” The man smiled in spite of the situation. “His wife nagged him about it every time one of the apprentices spilled the box of pins.”

“Do you see any sign of the man who sent you as a spy?”

“Nein. Never there. Not until the note came.”

“Tell me about the note, bitte.”

“A serving girl from one of the taverns brought it. Master called me to the door. He gave me a disapproving look. I broke the seal and read. It said Anna needed my assistance and I should come to the tavern after the day’s work was done. Master did not approve but said since I had accompanied the girl to church and walked out with her afterwards, I ought to go. He demanded to know if there was anything between us. I told him nothing had happened between us. We talked in terms of when we might afford to marry. Years. It is true Anna thought perhaps as little as two years, but . . . ” He shrugged. “It does not matter now.”

“On your way to the tavern, what is the weather like?”

“Sunny. Still cool, but getting warmer.”

“What month is it?”

“May.”

“When you walk into the tavern, what do you notice first?”

“It is empty. It is the dinner hour but almost no one is there. Anna is seated at a table against the wall. There is a man across the table from her but I cannot see his face.”

“Why not?”

“He is wearing a hat pulled down low.”

“Who else is there?”

“Hans, I think, but he is in the kitchen. Neither of the serving girls is there. There is another man on the opposite side of the room.”

“What is he doing?”

“He is looking at me. Then he nods to the man at the table with Anna.”

Barbara nodded. She had a good idea where this was going but did not want to lead the witness.

“He tells me to sit down next to Anna. I do. I greet Anna and pull my chair around so I can see the man across the room. But when the man across the table speaks, I do not know where the man across the room goes.

“The man says he summoned us because something has happened to Anna’s sister Magdalena. I remember exactly what he said. ‘Girl, your sister is very beautiful. She is quite safe. I require something of you before you may see her.’

“I jump up—or at least I try to, but the second man is behind me and pushes me back down onto the bench. The first man ignores me. He says to Anna, ‘I am sure your sister wants the same thing I do. But if both of you—you and the boy—do as I command, I will forbear. If you do not follow my orders . . . Needless to say, if you tell anyone . . . We have people everywhere.’ Then he says, ‘I would make sure she enjoyed it, of course.’ The way he says it, I think he believes it himself.

“Anna is crying. She squeezes my hand and begs me to do what he says to protect Magdalena. I will not forget his face. He has no expression at all, but all the same, I can tell he is laughing at us on the inside.”

Barbara interrupted in a soft voice. “What does he look like?”

“It is hard to see. Most of the candles are not lit, only a couple on the table behind him. He has dark eyes, and there is something not right in them. A narrow face, strong nose. Dark beard, dark hair—about the same length as mine. He is small. He wears his hat and cloak even in the tavern. I cannot see more.”

“How does his voice sound?”

“Unsettling. There is no emotion in it.”

Barbara nodded. “Smells?”

“Hans is cooking food. Lamb, I think. And turnips.” He frowned. “There is something. The candle on our table is not lit. He pulls it out of the candlestick. The candlesticks are just a short cup with a spiral strip of copper to hold the candle upright. Master Friedrich’s apprentices and junior journeymen make them out of scrap. This man pulls the candle out. Then he pockets the candlestick and walks out.

“The second man speaks from behind us. ‘You will eat dinner here. You will not go outside until you have finished eating. I will be watching. If you disobey . . . ’

“He yells for Hans, and then I think he leaves. Hans brings us dinner. I do not taste it at all. Anna . . . Magdalena . . . ”

“Danke,” Barbara told him. “You have told me a great deal—including confirming this man was indeed Tobias Sprunck.”

The man looked confused. “Who? What? How did I do that?”

“You described characteristics we already know about him. The candlestick, for instance. Was it shiny?”

“How did you know?” he demanded. “Ja, Hans makes the serving girls polish the copper. He does not want it to tarnish. In the long run, it always does, of course.”

Barbara smiled. “People have habits, ja?”

His eyes narrowed. “You said you know this man.”

“Not personally. But I know people who met him.”

The man stared at her for some time before he spoke again. “Can you save Magdalena?”

“I mean to try,” Barbara told him. “But I cannot tell the future. I can observe people and assume they will act consistently with who they have become. Like a man who rises early every day—he may not have to wake as early on Sunday, but I expect he does.”

“My parents,” the man groaned.

“Tobias Sprunck will remain consistent with who he has become over the course of his life.” Barbara sat up straighter. “We need him to think you and Anna and the others are still working for him. Shall we talk about those details?”

He nodded.

“First, what shall I call you?”

“Klaus.”

“Pleased to meet you, Klaus. My name is Barbara. This is Astrid, and she is going to tell you about what you and Anna can do.”

Barbara hoped Astrid didn’t mind. She had an impression Astrid was more comfortable with the cloak-and-dagger aspects. She couldn’t possibly be less comfortable with those details than Barbara was.

“To protect Magdalena, Klaus, you and Anna must spy for Sprunck. The SoTF is okay with this.” Astrid Schäubin leaned forward. “He sent you to steal technological processes, ja?”

Klaus started.

“Sprunck could not reasonably expect you to send military intelligence,” Astrid pointed out. “I presume Saxony has noticed the very large army massing outside Halle? As opposed to here at Camp Saale?”

“Ja, und the capture of every town along the Saale River,” Klaus agreed.

“Nor has he sent you here to steal superweapons,” Astrid continued. “He is smart. Ruthless and twisted, but smart. He was in Grantville for nearly two years. He knows there are no superweapons. There was a time when Saxony could have bought SRGs on the open market instead of raiding a fort for them.” She smiled thinly. “Ja, we know all of it. What kind of spying remains?”

“High-value, low-volume goods,” Barbara answered for him. “Plans, processes, valuable objects.”

“Ja,” Klaus acknowledged.

“What is your priority? Where are you supposed to seek work?”

“At a machine shop.”

Astrid smiled. “I recommend Marcantonio’s.”

Klaus looked suspicious. “Why?”

“It is easier for people who want to remain unnoticed in Grantville to find work there. If you sought a job at Davis’, the manager—Herr Worley—would notice Anna the first time she met you there.”

Klaus froze. “You know this already? H—” He broke off. Barbara could practically see the wheels turning, as the up-timers said. “This has happened before, ja? This man—Sprunck?”

“Ja und nein,” Astrid replied. “Let us say if you wish to remain unwatched, Marcantonio’s is a better job opportunity. Sprunck is not behind every event in Grantville.”

Astrid watched Klaus’ expression. She thought she and Barbara had just gone further up in his estimation.

It concerned her. They knew a lot. Doing something about it was going to be a lot harder.

Aloud, she said, “I think you and Anna should talk. We will talk to the rest of your team.” She forced a smile. “Is there anything you would like to tell us about them?”

Klaus’ response was immediate. “I will not tell you anything that might harm Anna or Magdalena.”

“How about how to persuade them to help you? And why each of them might be on this team?”

Klaus started to nod. “Ja. Here is what I know . . . ”

* * *

Sometime close to dawn, Hjalmar and Otto took Klaus to another room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Barbara slumped forward and put her head on the table.

“Tired?” Astrid asked.

“Ja, but tired is the least of it.” Barbara was silent for a couple minutes. “I tried not to make promises I may not be able to keep. So much could go wrong. I so hope I do not get anyone killed.”

Astrid got up and put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. “You are doing fine. The three we’ve talked to believe you.”

“But what if I make a mistake?” Barbara whispered.

“Neustatter told me once you can do everything right and still lose.”

Barbara looked up. “It makes sense. We can do what we can do. If God wills Magdalena is rescued and Sprunck is stopped . . . I am beginning to sound like too many theological debates in the high school cafeteria.”

Astrid laughed. “I do not understand how that works. But we will do what we can.”

Barbara pushed her chair back and stood up. “We need to update the others.”

* * *

Once two Lieutenants Schmidt, Neustatter, Georg, and Otto had gathered around the table, Astrid brought them up to date.

The female lieutenant turned to the older Lieutenant Schmidt, the one with captain’s bars on his shoulder straps. “Can we keep Miss Kellarmännin?”

Barbara looked horror-stricken.

The older officer’s words were dry as dust. “I suspect we will have to settle for employing her as an occasional consultant.”

“We still have to talk with three of them,” Barbara cautioned.

Georg spoke up. “I fingerprinted the two men Neustatter described as first and last in the column. Und I swabbed their hands for GSR.”

“That sounded Amideutsch, but I have no idea what you said at the end,” the older lieutenant remarked.

“Gunshot residue.”

“Well, ja. The rear guard shot at me,” Neustatter said.

“All I can do is show he fired a black-powder weapon,” Georg said. “I know this. You know this. He does not know this. I did not question him at all. In fact, I told him we did not need him to talk at all. We would let the forensic evidence talk for him.”

“AF is short of fresh water,” Barbara said.

“If you were going to send a team into a country . . . It does not matter for this purpose whether Saxony is a foreign country or a rebellious province. Would you not take certain precautions like telling the commander of your team what the Grantville Polizei could do?”

“A very good question, Georg,” Neustatter told him. “So he trusts the team leader, at least enough to put him in charge, but he does not value him. Not enough to tell him what he is walking into.”

“Correct,” Barbara agreed. “Remember, Sprunck’s type does not confront strong men.”

“He maneuvers them.”

“Ja.”

“Something has been bothering me,” Lieutenant Schmidt said. “Why all this effort for a team he is all but throwing away? There is such a small chance they will succeed in time to affect the war. But Sprunck laid the groundwork months ago.”

Everyone exchanged glances and frowns. Then Barbara said, “He is careful and meticulous until his plan is interrupted. When he has to improvise, he is not as skilled.”

“The forged order was found only some days ago,” Georg pointed out.

“But the plan was already in motion,” the female lieutenant pointed out. “He has planned to infiltrate someone all along. Frankly, I am surprised it was not a raiding party. The SoTF National Guard would hunt them down, of course, but they could cause panic out of proportion to their effectiveness.”

“If we can see it, cannot Sprunck as well? Astrid asked.

“Ja,” Barbara answered. “So why are there not raiders?”

“The easiest answer is someone higher up the chain of command did not approve the idea,” the elder Schmidt said. “But this explanation is dangerously convenient.”

Neustatter turned to Barbara. “How smart is Sprunck? Could this be a diversion?”

“What do you mean?”

“A kind of triple cross. He suborns a radio operator and uses false orders to create a weak point. Our attention is drawn to it while the blow falls elsewhere. Is he smart enough to infiltrate real raiders somewhere else?”

“This all seems . . . ” Barbara trailed off. “How long ago were the orders altered?”

“The first, in May,” Schmidt answered.

“Before he fled Grantville,” Barbara mused. “The same month he took Magdalena and began blackmailing Anna and Klaus. The false orders opened the way for him.”

“Are you sure?” the elder Schmidt demanded.

“He feels inadequate. This is his best revenge against men he dares not confront directly,” Barbara explained.

“So is this a diversion or not?” the female Lieutenant Schmidt demanded.

Barbara shrugged. “I think creating one or more diversions would give Sprunck a further sense of power. These false orders—I do not know the details, but could there be more of them?”

“I think I had better talk to Colonel Blackwell,” Georg spoke up.

“The border out past Birkig is where Saxony is closest to Grantville and where we captured this team,” Neustatter said. “If it is a diversion, then any actual attack would cross the border further away. I say Reuss County—either the northern section around Gera to reach the railroad or the southern section because they could cross near Zwickau and work their way across the long projection of Reuss.”

The elder lieutenant’s eyes seemed to unfocus as he thought. “Or Saxe-Altenburg. Maybe cut the railroad line between Rudolstadt and Jena.”

“Saxon adel did send their men to attack our train in May,” Neustatter pointed out. “I suspected the attempted hijacking had semi-official blessing. At least it seems unlikely to me they would have disobeyed an order not to do it.”

“It led to the capture of all the Saale River towns,” Schmidt added. “I will make sure our commanders know about the possibility. They may want to reinforce the train guards at least as far as Halle. I suppose if I were in the Saxons’ shoes and feeling desperate, I might consider how two raiding groups coming from the projections of Saxony north and south of Gera and Altenburg might converge on Jena.”

“That is . . . suicidal,” the other Schmidt argued. “Sir.”

“If they knocked out the railroad junction, even for a few days, it might be worth it,” the older officer stated. “Hitting the railroad between Rudolstadt and Jena would be an inconvenience. Stopping supplies from Erfurt from reaching the USE Army outside Halle would have military significance. It would not stop Torstensson, mind you. But . . . ”

“Is it logical to assume Saxony would do the . . . I am not sure of the word,” Barbara said. “Tactical? Strategic? Or would they think in terms of our morale?”

“You are the profiler.”

“But I know very little about how John George thinks,” Barbara protested.

The lieutenant’s eyes widened. “We are misusing you, Miss Kellarmännin! To answer one of your questions, where to cross the border might be a tactical or an operational decision. The choice between a military target and a morale target is a strategic decision. But perhaps we should not have you focused just on Sprunck. Not if there are things you could tell us about John George if only we supplied you with the information.”

“I am sure the USE has people—” Barbara broke off when she saw Lieutenant Schmidt shaking his head.

“The captain general, for instance, is quite good at reading people,” he stated. “But it is not the same thing you do. I think perhaps you should teach others.”

“Chief Richards is the real expert,” Barbara insisted.

“Of course.”

Barbara suspected she hadn’t won the argument. But she did not have time for that now. “We still have three men to interview before anyone notices they have not arrived in Grantville.”

“Do you think Sprunck still has people in Grantville?” the older Schmidt asked.

Barbara thought it through. “I do not think so. But we did not know he still had Müffling. We cannot afford to be wrong, so we must assume he does.”

Schmidt beamed. “We will make a spook of you yet, Miss Kellarmännin. Und your point about running out of time is well-taken. Neustatter, take another run at the team leader. Find out what he is doing to protect the women under his command.”

Barbara nodded in approval.

“Take someone with you,” Schmidt added.

“Otto,” Barbara says. “He notices things.”

Astrid smothered a smile. He did, and one of the things Otto noticed was Barbara.

The next thing Barbara said wiped the smile off her face. “We need to talk to the man who was with Elisabetha.”

Neustatter spoke up. “You need a bigger gun, Miss Schäubin.”

“I have my .22.”

“I got a feeling about this guy. I have a very specific weapon in mind.”

“And I have some information in mind,” Schmidt added.

* * *

A few minutes later, Astrid was even less happy.

“If this is about the woman, just release her to me. I will make sure she stays out of trouble.”

“I think the part where you were caught behind enemy lines in time of war may have slipped your mind.” Barbara’s words could not have been dryer.

“I am unaware of such things.”

Astrid leaned forward. “That is not even remotely believable. You crossed the border between Saxony and the SoTF at midnight.”

“I have relatives in the Ernestine Saxonies.”

“Und yet you entered West Virginia County.” Astrid gave him a sardonic smile she’d learned from watching Neustatter.

“Saxony will prevail. I would not expect—”

“What?” Astrid demanded. “You would not expect”—she indicated Barbara and herself with a wave of her hand—“us to know von Arnim’s army is facing Torstensson’s USE Army? To know von Arnim cannot even retake the Saale River towns without uncovering Leipzig? To know Saxony has no hope of projecting force through the Ranis salient and almost as little chance of defending it? To know Reuss County and Saxe-Altenburg County could carry out a pincer attack on it with their own forces? Und to know if the State of Thuringia-Franconia sent a single regiment to help, it could march the length of the salient without breaking formation?”

She leaned back in her chair. “What else do you not expect us to know?”

Then Barbara leaned forward. “To know some members of your team were compelled to come on this desperate mission? There is simply no way you walked through the forest at night with five other people you happened to meet along the way. You were paired with Elisabetha. Why?”

“We met earlier in the day.”

“That is your answer?” Barbara dipped her head down to her left and watched him with her right eye. “This woman whom you profess not to know accepted you as her chaperone instead of walking with Justina?”

“Anna.”

The man froze the instant the correct name slipped out.

Barbara smiled. “Ja, Anna. Tell me about Anna, bitte.”

He shrugged, raised palms coming up. “What is to know? She is Klaus’.”

Barbara pounced. “Whose is Elisabetha?”

She watched a dark expression—anger?—cross his face and twisted the knife. “She is an attractive woman. Any of a number of National Guardsmen would be happy to court her—”

“She is mine!” The man shot up out of his chair. “But if I cannot have her—!”

He lunged across the table. Astrid was already on her feet, right hand cross-drawing a cap-and-ball revolver from a holster on her left side. In one fluid motion, she smashed the barrel against his temple.

The man howled and fell across the table. But then he got first one hand and then the other on the weapon.

Astrid immediately let go. The man reared up, fumbled the revolver around, and aimed it at her. Her sardonic grin was back as her right hand came back up, this time with her .22 from the holster on her right hip.

He pulled the trigger.

Absolutely nothing happened.

“Do you think I would bring a loaded weapon within arm’s reach of you?” she demanded. “This one is loaded, and it’s the one I killed a Saxon agent with not long ago.”

He spun the cylinder, pulled the trigger again.

“You can try all five. It is still going to be empty.” She waited a beat. “Siddown.”

He bolted for the door. He threw it open, took two steps, and then flew back into the room, sprawling on the floor.

“Dumbass,” came Neustatter’s voice.

Neustatter stepped into the room and grabbed an arm. He bent the man’s wrist behind his back and pointed his own hand up. Although the man couldn’t even see the gesture, the pressure it caused on his own wrist brought him involuntarily to his feet. Neustatter walked him across the room and deposited him back in the chair.

“Dank, Leutnant,” Astrid said.

Neustatter took a step back. But just one. He stood there looming behind the man.

Barbara leaned forward again. “Stay right there, bitte, Leutnant. This reminds me of how Sprunck’s man positioned himself behind Anna and Klaus. You say Elisabetha is yours. She is not, of course, but I wonder about the sort of man who would say so.”

Astrid saw the man squirm.

“But I do not wonder very much.” Barbara continued in a cold voice. “I know what you are like. You regard women as property, and the two of us”—her wave again took in herself and Astrid—“conducting the interrogation offends you. You profess not to know Elisabetha. Then you imply the two of us do not understand the situation on the interprovincial border. Finally, you claim Elisabetha is yours. Oh, ja, then you lunged at us, and when my associate pistol-whipped you, you fled when you realized you had seized an empty weapon.”

“You have a real problem with women. Is that how you came to Tobias Sprunck’s attention?”

The man swore a blue streak. Neustatter applied a forearm to the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“Answer the lady’s question,” Neustatter rumbled.

He spun around. “She is no Frau! She is—”

“Think real careful about your next word,” Neustatter suggested.

“Whore.”

Neustatter’s right cross knocked him clean out of the chair.

“Or it could have been your complete lack of self-control,” Barbara offered.

Neustatter poked him with a boot. “He’s out cold.”

Astrid glanced at Barbara. She was worried what the violence and the accumulated stress of interrogations might be doing to the young Brethren woman.

“I suspect I may be a mess later today,” Barbara murmured.

“Am I that obvious?” Astrid asked.

A brief smile came to Barbara’s face. “Honestly? Ja. But that one . . . another profile.”

* * *

Otto entered the room last and pulled the door shut behind him. He took a seat to the left of Neustatter.

“The men are sleeping in shifts. It’s been full day out there for a while.”

“Dank, Otto,” Neustatter said. “I think most of the rest will be up to the Leutnants Schmidt.”

“Oh, I think we might want to keep you in the loop, Leutnant Neustatter,” the oldest Schmidt said.

There were three of them at the table now: the oldest one who wore captain’s bars, the woman, and the nondescript one. As Barbara continued to study him, she thought perhaps he might be Slavic. Maybe. He was as non-descript as Otto. Otto, of course, had many layers, if you paid attention. But the average Hans and Maria were not going to notice either one of them in a crowd.

“After all, you did get Hauptmann Rummler talking,” Schmidt continued.

Neustatter gave him a lopsided smile. “It was not hard once I told him what Miss Kellarmännin had found out. I believe he suspected Sprunck—although he does not appear to know him by that name—had blackmailed the rest of the team into this mission. I think he did not want to know. But now he does.” Neustatter nodded approvingly in Barbara’s direction. She was seated two chairs away on the other side of Astrid.

“I do not think Hauptmann Rummler will help us against Saxony,” Schmidt stated. “The others may need to report he and Sprunck’s henchman found an opening with one of the gunmakers they are going to exploit. In the meantime, it’s become necessary for the others to pool what they’ve learned and send it to Sprunck. I do think Rummler will give us the conduit.”

Neustatter nodded.

“I would like to simply debrief the team,” Schmidt continued. He smiled as he saw Barbara was already shaking her head. “Miss Kellarmännin, why not?”

“We do not know we have all of Sprunck’s agents. If we miss even one who can send a report, we put Magdalena in even more danger. They will need to actually work at spying.”

Schmidt nodded. “It will be arranged. Neustatter, I think Miss Kellarmännin is correct. Sprunck—or other Saxons—have plans to send in more spies. Or saboteurs. I think we are going to need you on the Reussian Front for a while longer.”

Sunday, August 5, 1635

“So why are we back on the Reussian Front?” Stefan asked the question as their horses plodded along the road north. “Is it umlauts again?”

“Nein,” Neustatter answered. “It is profiling this time, not forensics. Miss Kellarmännin and Colonel Stieff’s people have a good idea of where Sprunck may send saboteurs. Not the Birkig sector because Sprunck’s man will have learned of Adler Pfeffer. Not the Schleiz sector, because it was his route home. Sprunck wants a flashy disruption of the USE’s war effort, so he will send someone to hit a train. Miss Kellarmännin says he wants to humiliate men in authority, so it will not be subtle sabotage, like missing spikes. Nor will it be hijackers on the train, because Sprunck will not copy someone else. He will send someone to destroy the tracks.”

“How?”

“An explosion. We think.”

“Flashy,” Ditmar agreed.

“But where?”

“Not where he has to go up against the best,” Otto stated. “Not right next to Grantville, not right by Jena where there are lots of MPs. Not in Saxon County, either. That leaves north of Jena or south of Jena. North would cut railroad shipment of supplies from Erfurt, while south would sever Grantville from the rest of the railroad. Barbara says he will go south.”

“Because Sprunck is a show-off?” Stefan asked. “Seems kind of thin.”

“Und Casimir Wesner works, in part, for Duke Phillip of Saxe-Altenburg,” Neustatter added.

“Oh. This is Saxe-Altenburg,” Stefan acknowledged. “Not Reuss at all. But it is a long front for the eight of us.”

“Und we are almost to Kahla. It is big enough to have taverns and blonde barmaids who are Sprunck’s preferred target.” Neustatter shrugged. “We are playing the odds, and they are not good. But we have a profiler, a forensics investigator, and the eight of us, who are not listed as being on active duty this week.”

“We are getting paid, are we not?”

“Oh, we are getting paid. It is just the books say we are on duty next week. Someone has been altering orders, and that is a game two can play.”

“Neustatter!” Hjalmar exclaimed. “Sprunck is going to hit the Monday train to Magdeburg!”

“How do you know?”

“Because Astrid is in command of the train guard—und he knows she sent Bretagne to surround Schlinck’s headquarters.”

Neustatter touched his heels to his horse. So did the others.

* * *

Neustatter reined in at the city gate. A member of the watch approached.

“National Guard?” He looked them over. “You are not MPs. What are you doing?”

“We are supposed to find a horse thief,” Neustatter replied. “I know, I know. General Torstensson is about to enter Saxony, which is right over there”—he pointed southeast—“and we are chasing down a mere thief. He’s short, always wears a hat and a cloak, dark beard, thin face, has an eye for the ladies, especially young blonde ones.”

“Well, this might be your lucky day,” the watchman said. “I saw someone like that . . . oh, must be some months back. He had another man with him who returned yesterday. Come to think of it, he said he would stay at The Red Duck. One of the barmaids is blonde. Johanna. Maybe Hans and I should come with you.”

Neustatter cocked his head in consideration. “Ja, sure. We could use the help.”

Minutes later, the NESS agents rode up to The Red Duck.

“Hjalmar, Otto, watch the horses. And maybe the windows,” Neustatter directed. “Stefan, Jakob, back door.”

Ditmar and Karl entered first, both crossing the common room toward the door at the back. Each held his rifle in one hand, not quite at the low ready, but still able to snap up into a firing position in an instant. Neustatter came in with the two watchmen once they were about halfway there.

Nobody bolted from the common room, although they did draw plenty of attention.

“Wilhelm!” one of the watch called. “We are looking for someone.”

The tavern keeper appeared. He kept wiping his hands on his apron. “I had nothing to do with it!”

Neustatter laughed. “Nothing to do with what?”

“None of it!”

All trace of laughter left Neustatter’s voice. “None of what?”

Wilhelm looked frightened. Very frightened.

Neustatter scanned the room and spotted the serving girl trying to look unobtrusive in one corner. She was blonde.

“Are you Johanna?”

She cringed.

“I am looking for someone, and I think you may have seen him.” Neustatter rattled off the description of Tobias Sprunck.

Johanna paled.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Johanna’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

“Breathe,” Neustatter told her. “Take a breath and tell me when you last saw him.”

“Months ago, mein Herr!”

“He had another man with him, did he not?”

Johanna nodded.

“Have you seen the other man since then?”

Her eyes cut toward a door. The one to the guest rooms, Neustatter suspected.

“Is he up there now?”

Another nod.

“Which room?”

“The second one.”

“Wolfram, stay here.” Neustatter motioned to Ditmar and Karl.

The three of them and the watchman hurried up the stairs. In minutes, they were back. Neustatter and the watchman crossed the room to where Wilhelm and Johanna stood.

“He is not in. Do you know where he went?”

They both shook their heads.

“Has he ever mentioned the railroad?”

“Nein,” Wilhelm answered.

“Nein—but the other man did,” Johanna said.

“He paid far too much attention to Johanna,” Wilhelm growled.

“Did he give you anything?”

Her mouth flew open. “Ja, he did. Just a small thing.”

“But it draws the eye. Shiny, ja?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Wilhelm demanded. “It is a copper candlestick. But, him? He was always so meek around the watch.”

“Ja,” Neustatter agreed. “I know he is, I know why, and I know where he acquired the candlestick. Johanna, this is very important. What did he say about the railroad?”

“Th-there is a place north of Kahla where a log wall holds up the railroad. He said it is a very pretty place, and he wanted to walk out with me there, but he said railroads are always a little dangerous.”

“I put a stop to it as soon as I heard about it,” Wilhelm rumbled.

“Where is this spot?” Neustatter asked.

“It has to be the Forellenbach,” the innkeeper replied. “There’s a log retaining wall and a bridge. I am in more danger of tripping down the stairs than anything happening there.”

Neustatter’s words were grim. “Not if he has explosives. How far is the Forellenbach?”

“An hour’s walk, maybe a bit more.”

“Three miles. Danke.” Neustatter turned to the watchman. “Station men to detain him if he returns, bitte. I need you to go with two of my men to the railroad station.”

“It is not a railroad station, just a hut where Old Heinrich lives. If someone wants to ride, he puts a metal flag out.”

“Does he have a telegraph?”

“Ja, but he does not use it much.”

“I will send two of my men with you. They will have a message for him to send.”

Neustatter continued giving orders. “Ditmar, round up everyone and borrow a couple lanterns. We need to get to the bridge.” He turned back to Johanna. “Danke, Fräulein. You may have saved a lot of lives tonight. But if you ever see this man Tobias Sprunck again, tell the watch. Have them call Camp Saale. Do not go anywhere with him.”

Neustatter turned and left The Red Duck. “Hjalmar! Otto! Ride for the railroad station. The watch is going to wake Old Heinrich. See that he telegraphs. I want the overnight from Magdeburg held at Jena until the track is inspected from Jena to Schwarza Junction, and I do not want the Monday morning semi-express to leave Schwarza Junction. Make sure Miss Schäubin is informed.”

Minutes later, Neustatter, Ditmar, Karl, Wolfram, Stefan, and Jakob were riding north.

Railroad line north of Kahla

Monday, August 6, 1635

Sometime after midnight, four NESS agents cautiously worked their way toward the bridge. Neustatter had left Ditmar and Wolfram with the horses. Someone had to stay, and he figured it ought to be their medic and their best rifleman. He, Stefan, Karl, and Jakob could handle anything close-in.

“I have not seen anyone,” Jakob reported.

“Neither have I,” Neustatter agreed. “I am going to check under the bridge. If someone is watching, this will start the fight.”

He moved off the railbed toward the Saale River. In places, it sloped away almost immediately. He passed two spots where the slope had been stiffened with logs to prevent erosion.

Neustatter spotted the bridge up ahead. It was only a few yards long; the Forellenbach was tiny. But someone must have been anticipating bigger and heavier trains, for it was made of stone and concrete. Neustatter climbed back up to the tracks.

“Karl, Jakob, off to the left. Stefan, on the right with me. If anything starts, use the railbed for cover.”

Neustatter descended the short slope and eased up to the bridge. It wasn’t high enough to stand upright underneath. Summer had dried up the Forellenbach to not much more than a trickle, but the ground below the bridge was not truly dry. Neustatter crouched down and picked his way around the worst of the mud.

He checked the base of the bridge. He crawled up under each end where it met the banks. Nothing. He checked for loose earth. There wasn’t any.

A whistle caught his attention. Neustatter scrambled out from underneath the bridge.

“Horses,” Stefan told him.

Neustatter listened.

“Two, do you think?”

“Ja, two or three.”

“There.” Stefan pointed. Right about where Ditmar and Wolfram should be, a lantern was waving up and down.

“Ja or gut,” Neustatter surmised.

A couple minutes later, they heard a faint “Martin!”

“Katie!” Neustatter called back.

Ditmar appeared moments later. “Neustatter, Hjalmar and Otto and the watch are here. Pull everyone back.”

“Oh?” Neustatter gestured for Stefan to follow Ditmar and then located Karl and Jakob.

Once everyone had assembled, Hjalmar spoke.

“Old Heinrich sent the telegraph messages, and both Grantville and Jena acknowledged. Sergeant Hudson wants to know what is going on.”

“Don’t we all,” Neustatter muttered. “The bridge has not been mined or wired.”

“I know. It is the wrong place. There is a second log wall a mile north of here.”

“How far was this man going to walk out with Johanna?” wondered the watchman.

“As far as it took to get her alone.” Neustatter shook his head. “What do we know about the place where this other wall is?”

“Old Heinrich said you can see it from Olknitz. That’s a village on the other side of the river.”

“Oh.” Neustatter shook his head. “Makes sense. Miss Kellarmännin said Sprunck wants to show he is smarter than the men he feels inadequate to. Given a choice, he would not direct his man to mine a bridge where no one could see the train derail.” Neustatter stopped, lost in thought for a few moments. “The cleverest way to blow up a bridge is not with the biggest explosion. It is to derail the train with the smallest explosion. It is how Sprunck thinks—we think.”

Jakob shook his head. “If you say so.”

Neustatter turned to the watchman. “Do you know where this other log wall is?”

“Not exactly, but I know where Olknitz is. The river makes a gentle curve to the right. A bit further on, there is a sharp curve to the left, almost a corner.”

“The railroad cuts the corner there, ja?” Neustatter asked. “It will be before the railroad turns away from the river.”

An hour and a half later, seven of them were crouched on the west side of the railbed. Otto and Stefan had the horses, a good quarter mile back.

“That is surely a person,” the watchman stated. “Und I think he is shoveling.”

“Ja,” Neustatter agreed. “We need to close in. He would see us coming.”

“He is not watching the river,” Ditmar said. “I can get behind him.”

“How?” Stefan asked.

“Swim.”

“We can all splash around in a pond, but the Saale is a lot bigger. It has a current. Did you suddenly learn how to swim?” Stefan asked.

Neustatter pursed his lips. Laughing would alert the men digging by the tracks. “Your young lady.”

Ditmar frowned. “Has Friedrich been talking?”

“Nein,” Neustatter said. “But I did notice Miss Boekhorst was wearing a swimsuit at the Fourth of July concert.”

“You and everyone else,” Ditmar grumbled.

“No worse than many a Grantville dress,” Jakob said.

“Fashion later,” Neustatter directed. “Since we did not bring any lifeguards—Ditmar, can you take him down?”

“Ja.”

“Stefan, Hjalmar, long-range cover. Karl, Jakob, and I will rush in after Ditmar tackles him. Otto, Wolfram, you come in next, and keep your eyes open for anyone else out here.”

* * *

Ditmar removed his boots and shirt and cautiously waded into the Saale River. The August night was warm. He’d heard the up-time lifeguards say the hottest days of the year were barely warm enough to swim in anything other than a heated pool, but the water felt fine to him. He was more worried about splashes alerting the Sprunck’s man. The crawl stroke was out. He pushed off the bottom in what was more or less breaststroke. His technique was sloppy, but Ditmar was not concerned with disqualification in one of the up-timers’ races. He glided through the water, and the saboteur at the railroad tracks showed no awareness of his presence.

Ditmar got far enough from shore to pick up a bit of a current. It was minor, but the pool hadn’t had one, and he found it took more effort to maneuver back toward shore than he’d expected. He suspected any of the lifeguards could have done so quite easily, but swimming—as opposed to splash-around-and-don’t-drown—was new to him. Which was a sorry state of affairs for someone who was part Danish and might have Viking ancestors.

But he was approaching shore now. Ditmar tried to stand and hit bottom. He waded the rest of the way, slowly coming up out of the water. The saboteur was intent on his work at the far end of the log wall. Ditmar stepped onto the river bank and cautiously made his way up the grassy part of the slope.

Five yards. Still no sign the saboteur knew he was there. The rest was gravel. Ditmar decided he’d go left if the man spun around. Four yards. A pebble skittered. Ditmar charged.

The man jumped up, spinning to his right. Ditmar took his third step and dove.

His right shoulder slammed into the man’s chest just below his right arm. He fell backward. Ditmar landed atop him. The man swung something in his left hand. Ditmar blocked, forearm to forearm. He got a knee on the man’s right bicep, swung a left hook at his head.

The saboteur swung the metal tool in his left hand again. Ditmar made the same clumsy block. The man tried to throw him off. Ditmar grabbed the man’s collar with his left hand. He punched him in the face with his right.

The man kept trying to scoot to his left and almost broke free. He hit Ditmar in the upper arm a couple times with the metal tool. Ditmar punched him in the face again.

Ditmar heard steps. Neustatter dove onto the man, both hands going for the weapon in his left hand.

Ditmar went for the only target left and dropped a punch into the man’s gut. He heard a whoof of breath. Then Karl and Jakob piled in. Seconds later, they had the saboteur’s arms and legs pinned to the ground.

“Stopp!” Neustatter ordered. “You are captured.”

Ditmar looked at his boss. Neustatter normally didn’t state the obvious.

“Green leaves.” Neustatter pointed at the branch woven into the man’s cloak. “Saxon Army, ja?”

The man said nothing.

“Here is how this works. By wearing that branch, you are claiming to be part of an army, so this act of sabotage we will get to in a few minutes is a legitimate act of war. Stupid, and likely to anger many in the USE, but legal. In return, you give us your name, rank, and serial number if John George has gotten around to those.”

The man looked back at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“The next thing we do is figure out what you have done here and save the train,” Neustatter continued. “Will you tell us?”

The man said nothing.

“I need a lantern over here,” Neustatter said. “Not too close. We do not know what sort of sabotage this is. Yet.”

Stefan held up a lantern several feet away. Light fell across the tracks. Neustatter squatted down to look at what the Saxon had been doing.

“Digging . . . wires . . . and something on the tracks themselves.” Neustatter looked up. “Karl?”

Karl dropped down on his knees beside Neustatter.

“Get back, Neustatter.” Karl pointed toward south toward Kahla. “The rest of you, a hundred yards over there, inland of the railroad. Do not touch the rails.”

Neustatter scooted backward, down over the edge of the slope. Karl did the same.

“What do you see, Karl?”

“The crudest electrical bomb ever. This U-shaped piece of sheet metal is mounted on tight hinges. The hinges are on those two boards on either side of the track. The train will knock the sheet metal flat—break it over the track, I expect. Do you see the wire on the ground?”

“Ja.”

“He was going to tie the end of the wire to the metal flange on one side of the sheet metal. Und see where the other wire goes? Right to the track itself. As soon as the flange comes down, the circuit is closed. Electricity flows through the wire. I am confident we will find a blasting cap and probably dynamite.”

“I read something like this in a Western,” Neustatter said. “He will have buried enough explosives under the tracks to blow out one end of the log wall holding up the slope and separate the tracks. The engine might make it across, but the first passenger car would be caught in the blast and derail.”

“Was he going to bomb the southbound?” Karl asked. “The Sunday overnight would get here before Astrid’s northbound.”

“Let’s ask.” Neustatter stood and called out. “Bring him over here!”

Everyone closed in.

“Kneel and cross your ankles,” Neustatter instructed. “The rest of you, back off again.”

Neustatter let about ten minutes pass.

“Did you intend to bomb the southbound or the northbound?”

The man said nothing.

“You may try to get up now.”

The Saxon attempted to get to his feet.

“But your legs are numb,” Neustatter went on. “Is this bomb armed? What if I attach this wire here? Then if the metal drop—”

Legs asleep or not, the man managed to throw himself bodily aside.

“There’s our answer.” Neustatter undid the wire. “I believe you are correct, Karl. We need to disassemble the bomb.”

“Should we wait for the Mounted Constabulary or the MPs?” Karl asked.

“Nein. Oh, I know Georg Meisner will give us grief for disturbing a crime scene, but we want to make sure no one can set off the bomb.”

“Eight of us, armed,” Karl pointed out.

“Who is to say Sprunck will not come with fifty?” Neustatter shrugged. “I do not believe it, but why take the chance? Besides, we will not destroy the forensic evidence. Someone may be able to trace which lot of dynamite.”

“Could be Saxon.”

Neustatter looked at their prisoner. “Nein, it is not. Sprunck will have had it stolen because he wants to humiliate the SoTF and the USE. Maybe from Grantville, maybe from Erfurt. But this metal switch—you brought it from Saxony, did you not? If I asked smiths in Chemnitz, would one of them admit he made it? After Torstensson conquers the province, I mean. I would not arrest him. Not unless he knew he was building something to attack civilians.”

“The train carries military supplies,” the man spat out.

“Ah, the Lusitania defense.”

“What are you talking about, Neustatter?” Karl asked.

“World War I, up-time. A German submarine sank an American passenger ship before the United States was in the war. The Germans claimed it was carrying weapons.”

“Why do you know this?”

Neustatter shrugged. “After Miss Kellarmännin was talking about Midway, I figured I ought to see if there is any up-time history we can use.”

“I do not remember you taking a class.”

“I did not. I did not want unending discussion of what lead to each war. Just how they fought it.” Neustatter looked straight at the captured Saxon. “Technology, production, and logistics matter. A lot. But it comes down to leadership and initiative. That is why Saxony is going to lose.”

The man glared at him.

“Are there any traps on the bomb?”

“Nein.”

“Gut. Let’s sit down and talk about why you are here. Operationally.”

Karl brushed dirt away and followed the wires. Soon he reached the dynamite under the track and behind the logs. He began passing a stick at a time to Jakob, who passed it to Stefan, and on down the line. Ditmar made small stacks on the other side of the tracks.

Once the bomb was disassembled, the watchman, Hjalmar, and Otto rode back to Old Heinrich’s station. They returned near dawn.

“The railroad is sending one of the pickup truck engines. It will be pulling one flatbed car with dirt to fill in the hole and a work crew. Once the hole is filled, it will go to Jena and lead the overnight back to Schwarza Junction. Then Astrid’s train will leave for Magdeburg.”

Neustatter nodded. “We will stick around until they pass, then take this man to Camp Saale.” He addressed the prisoner. “The SoTF National Guard is not trying to be in this war, but Sprunck insists. The histories are going to note while the USE conquered the rebellious provinces of Saxony and Brandenburg, the SoTF National Guard captured a single prisoner on the Reussian Front.”

His men all knew there were six more, of course, but there was no reason to tell this Saxon.

When the pickup engine arrived, a railroad crew jumped off the flatbed.

“Leutnant Edgar Neustatter, SoTF National Guard.”

“Johann Huschke, foreman for the GRS Railroad Company. Show me what you found, bitte.”

Neustatter led him to the log retaining wall and showed him the metal switch, the dynamite, and the hole under the tracks. The man’s eyes widened.

Then he jerked his head up in anger and started for the Saxon prisoner.

“Stopp,” Neustatter told him. “He is in uniform. A train with military supplies is a legitimate target. But the man who sent him . . . he is the one we want.”

The railroad man blew out an angry breath.

“I have two teams on this morning’s northbound to Magdeburg,” Neustatter told him. “I have every reason to want the railroad safe.”

Another breath. “Then let us get to work.”

* * *

It was after 7 a.m. before the railroad foreman pronounced the tracks safe.

“We will continue to Jena,” he told Neustatter, “and check the track carefully as we go. We should be there at 7:45. Sergeant Hudson authorized the overnight to do twenty miles per hour from Jena to Schwarza Junction. Then he will release the morning semi-express from Grantville to Magdeburg.”

“Dank. I appreciate knowing the details. The morning train should be here, what, about 10:30?”

“About then, ja.”

“We’ll wait. Once they are safely past here, we will ride down to Camp Saale with the prisoner.”

“Up to you. Dank. You saved this train, too.”

“Safe trip.”

* * *

The southbound overnight passed them shortly after 8:00, train guards waving as it rumbled by.

“I think . . . ” Karl trailed off and began moving his hands.

“What is it, Karl?” Hjalmar asked.

“I am thinking about the bomb circuit. Did you see the ironwork on the front of the engine?”

“Ja,” Hjalmar answered.

“A cowcatcher,” Neustatter put in. When everyone looked at him, he explained. “If cattle get on the tracks, it is supposed to deflect them so the train does not wreck.”

“Ja,” Karl agreed. “Too short to trigger a bomb, though. It would go off under the engine, I think. It needs a longer pole with a small sheet of metal across the end, to trigger the explosion in front of the train. I suspect the engine would still go off the tracks.”

“But less damage to the passenger cars,” Neustatter mused. “Math.”

“Ja.”

“Will the pole not droop and catch in the ties?” Stefan asked.

“Und then there would be a wreck,” Karl finished. “It needs to be thin, so it can break away without harming the train. . . . A lance! That is how they are built, ja? With a weak point?”

“Easier to get a wooden lance than a metal pole,” Stefan pointed out.

“Good idea.”

“All right. When we get back, Karl and Stefan, you go see the railroad people about this. The rest of us will be at Camp Saale with the prisoner. If we get a chance to get into Grantville, we ride to Mestermann’s Livery Stable and change horses.” One side of his mouth quirked. “Before Miss Drehmann has words with us.”

* * *

Neustatter had been flipping the fifteen-minute glass since dawn, and it was just about 10:30 a.m. when they heard the northbound approaching. The train coasted to a stop short of the bridge, and four guards in blue NESS coats jumped down.

Astrid came forward on the left side of the train, stopped to speak with the engineer, and then continued on. She halted in front of Neustatter and saluted.

Neustatter returned the salute. “One saboteur, one bomb with electrical trigger, consistent with what Miss Kellarmännin told us.”

“None of the other National Guard patrols have reported any incidents,” Astrid told him. “Sergeant Hudson has been on the radio, and he is a little upset with Saxony for disrupting his schedule. He said he owes you one.”

Neustatter nodded. “I very much want to find Tobias Sprunck.”

“So do I.”

“I do not think it will take the USE Army long to defeat Saxony,” Neustatter said. “Depending on how it happens, we may be able to slip into Chemnitz.”

“We will be back Wednesday evening, and then we are northbound again on Sunday morning. I would like to come with you, if it works out. But the war may start by then.”

Neustatter nodded. “If you stop in Halle, tell the troops good hunting. If we are not here when you return, check with the Schmidts. Und do not attack Saxony by yourself, Miss Schäubin. We will go rescue Magdalena together.”

Cast List

Baldwin, Hawker – head lifeguard at the Grantville pool

Blackwell, Scott – State of Thuringia-Franconia National Guard colonel

Boekhorst, Josyntjie – sent to Grantville when the Spanish invaded the Netherlands, part of the aqualator/fountain project, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

Bracht, Jakob – Catholic, a NUS Army recruit looking for another chance, carries lockpicks, NESS agent from July 1634 on Team Two

Bretagne, Giulio – captain of Bretagne’s Company, one of the seven mercenary outfits in the Grantville area, runs a well-trained and well-supplied organization

Brenner, Otto – born 1603, Lutheran, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, NESS agent on Team Two – his specialty is being the invisible man

D’Ambrosi, Giovanni – representative of Duchy of Castro in the Italies, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

Deibert, Johan “Hans” – Lutheran, a member of his village’s militia, came to Grantville early on and fought against the Croat raid, NESS agent since July 1634 on Team One

Dobbs, Nona – up-timer, a Grantville High School student, a member of the Bibelgesellschaft, see “Add, Subtract, Multiply, Divide,” Ring of Fire IV and “Remember Plymouth,” 1637: The Coast of Chaos

Drehmann, Cecilia – seven-year-old daughter of Peter Johann Drehmann and Maria Stengerin

Drehmann, Peter Johann – one of the men Astrid hired to be a decoy in Operation Schale, Catholic

Drehmann, Peter – ten-year-old son of Peter Johann Drehmann and Maria Stengerin

Drehmann, Regina – fourteen-year-old daughter of Peter Johann Drehmann and Maria Stengerin, very attractive but totally focused on horses

Drehmann, Theobald – five-year-old son of Peter Johann Drehmann and Maria Stengerin

Eggers, Klaus – a CoC team leader during Krystalnacht

Engelsbergin, Marta – a Grantville High School student, Brethren (i.e., Anabaptist), member of the Bibelgesellschaft, focused on church history

Ennis, Carrie Leigh – James and Leigh Ann’s daughter, born in 1633

Ennis, Leigh Ann Haun – married to James Marvin Ennis, daughter of Fred & Julia Haun, mother of Julia, James Frederic, and Carrie; record keeper/scheduler for her mother-in-law, manages a strip of commercial property for her parents

Ennis, James Frederic – James and Leigh Ann’s son, born in 1999

Ennis, James Marvin – married to Leigh Ann Haun, USE Army Engineering Corps

Ennis, Julia – James and Leigh Ann’s daughter, born in 1996

Gebhard, Friedrich – CoC member, part of a Krystalnacht team

Goschin, Ursula – Lutheran (committed Flacian), married to Stefan Kirchenbauer, mother of Johann, a very good cook with definite opinions on childrearing

Green, Albert “Al” – an up-timer, pastor of First Baptist Church in Grantville, member of the Bibelgesellschaft

Groenewold, Gertrude “Trudi” – a prostitute who was working in Erfurt

Grooms, Lane – State of Thuringia-Franconia National Guard colonel

Hans – CoC member, part of a Krystalnacht team

Haun, Frederic – an up-timer, married to Julia Gunderson, owns land east of Grantville High School on both sides of Buffalo Creek

Haun, Julia Gunderson – an up-timer, married to Frederic Haun, from Minnesota, mother of Johnny F. (Hearts & Minds team in 1634: The Ram Rebellion), Walter, and Leigh Ann Ennis

Heidenfelder, Lukas – born 1602, Lutheran, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, NESS agent, recovering from being shot during an attempted train hijacking

Helgerson, Arne – a Norwegian woodcarver and carpenter

Hofmann, Peter – a farmer in Kleinjena and one of the Saale Levies, see “Occupied Saxony,” Grantville Gazette 55 and “The Saale Levies,” Grantville Gazette 56

Hudson, Eric Glen – up-timer, graduated from Calvert High School in 1631, NUS Army assigned to military procurement in Erfurt, then SoTF National Guard stationed in Halle as a railroad scheduler, member of the dinner-and-a-movie club (“Breaking News,” Jay Robison, Grantville Gazette 5), and occasional 250 Club patron (“The Baptist Basement Bar and Grill,” Terry Howard, Grantville Gazette 32), married to Gena Kroll

Kaufmännin, Anna – Magdalena’s sister, being courted by Klaus, from Saxony

Kaufmännin, Magdalena – Anna’s sister, teenager

Kellarmännin, Barbara – a Grantville High School student, Brethren (i.e., Anabaptist), a member of the Bibelgesellschaft, quiet and observant, see “The Observer,” Grantville Gazette 78 and “Clique, Clique, Boom,” Grantville Gazette 82, training to become the first down-time criminal profiler

Kirchenbauer, Johann – son of Stefan Kirchenbauer and Ursula Goschin, born not long before the Battle of Dessau Bridge in 1626, delighted to be in Grantville

Kirchenbauer, Margareta “Greta” – daughter of Stefan Kirchenbauer and Ursula Goschin, twin of Niklas, born August 24, 1634

Kirchenbauer, Niklas “Claus” – son of Stefan Kirchenbauer and Ursula Goschin, twin of Margareta, born August 24, 1634

Kirchenbauer, Stefan – born 1593, Lutheran, married to Ursula, father of Johann, Margareta, and Niklas, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, NESS agent on Team One, the pessimist

Kircher, Athanasius – historical down-timer, Catholic, Jesuit, priest assigned to Grantville, omni-disciplinary scientist: Paula Findlen’s up-time biography of him (2004) is titled Athanasius Kircher: The Last Man Who Knew Everything, member of the Bibelgesellschaft and part of the aqualator/fountain project

Klaus – courting Anna Kaufmännin

Kraft, Heinrich “Heinz” – married to Helene Olbrichtin, a farmer in Kleinjena, Saxon County introducing up-time foods and crops, see “Occupied Saxony,” Grantville Gazette 55 and “The Saale Levies,” Grantville Gazette 56

Kräusin, Anna – married to Wolfram Kuntz, not long before the Battle of Dessau Bridge, Lutheran, several years older than Astrid, a skilled seamstress

Kuntz, Kristina – daughter of Anna Kräusin and Wolfram Kuntz, born September 20, 1634

Kuntz, Wolfram – born 1594, married to Anna Kräusin, Lutheran, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, took care of the sick and wounded, NESS agent on Team Two, field medic as of May 1635

Meisner, Georg – Grantville High School student, Brethren (i.e., Anabaptist), member of the Bibelgesellschaft, took the forensics course while his sister stayed late to read Al Green’s books, one of the first CSIs down-time, dating Astrid Schäubin

Meisnerin, Katharina – Grantville High School student, Brethren (i.e., Anabaptist), member of the Bibelgesellschaft, within it the leading advocate of the Majority (Byzantine) text of the New Testament

Mestermann, Hippolyta – daughter of Johann, bookkeeper for the livery stable, came up with the idea of selling shares in a pool of horses to frequent renters

Mestermann, Johann – owner of the livery stable across the road from the high school; NESS owns shares in various pools of horses there, also appears in David Carrico’s The Private Casefiles of Archie Gottesfreund

Moritz, Karen – Sunshine’s mother

Moritz, Susan Diana “Sunshine” – up-timer completing her junior year of high school, was focused on finding a way out of Grantville, applies to be a lifeguard

Moritz, Ted – Sunshine’s father, runs Happy Acres Construction

Moritz, Thad - Sunshine’s brother

Moser, Eberhard – a lieutenant in the SoTF National Guard assigning mercenaries/contractors to supply convoys

Neustatter, Edgar – born 1604, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, Lutheran, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge (1626) as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, leader of Neustatter’s European Security Services

Pfeffer, Elisabetha – daughter of Phillip Pfeffer and Agathe Traudermännin, about four years old

Pfeffer, Phillip – married to Agathe Traudermännin, father of Wilhelm and Elisabetha, Lutheran (Philippist—named for Melanchthon), has lived in Grantville since mid-1632 doing day labor, NESS agent from July 1634 on Team Three

Pfeffer, Wilhelm – son of Phillip Pfeffer and Agathe Traudermännin, roughly the same age as Johann Kirchenbauer

Recker, Karl – born 1600, Lutheran, formerly a blacksmith’s apprentice in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, NESS agent on Team Two

Rice, Alicia – up-timer, a Grantville High School student, Methodist, a member of the Bibelgesellschaft, see “Clique, Clique, Boom,” Grantville Gazette 82 and “Remember Plymouth,” 1637: The Coast of Chaos

Richards, Melanie Burroughs – an up-timer, a special education teacher who became a child protection officer in the summer of 1634, married to Preston

Richards, Preston “Press” – an up-timer, Grantville Police chief from March 1634 on, married to Melanie

Rowland, Mimi – an up-timer, one of the Grantville Police Department dispatchers

Schaub, Ditmar – born 1604, Hjalmar and Astrid’s cousin, Lutheran, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, leader of NESS Team One

Schaub, Hjalmar – born 1608, Astrid’s brother and Ditmar’s cousin, Lutheran, farmed in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, fought at the Battle of Dessau Bridge as part of the village militia, captured and incorporated into Wallenstein’s army, leader of NESS Team Two

Schäubin, Astrid – born 1612, Hjalmar’s sister and Ditmar’s cousin, Lutheran, one of Herr Augustus and Frau Sophia’s maids in a village in Holstein-Gottorp, NESS secretary, field agent as of June 1634, Team Three leader as of May 1635, dating Georg Meisner

Schlinck – captain of Schlinck’s Company, one of the seven mercenary companies in the Grantville area, big on brute force

Schmidt, Lieutenant – a persona used by several intelligence personnel in the SoTF National Guard and the USE Army; some of them might even be lieutenants. They include:

∼a short, stocky, gray-haired man who wears captain’s insignia, see Missions of Security

∼a blond young man, see Security Threats

∼a dark-haired, average-looking man, perhaps Slavic, see Michael Lockwood’s “A Puritan Voice”

∼a woman in USE Army uniform with a lame foot, see Security Threats

Seidelman, Gottlieb – a NUS Army recruit, went into the Reserves and is taking classes to go into law or perhaps police work, considered an intellectual in the ranks, later hired by Schlinck’s Company where he works as a guard overseeing prisoners on the tannery contract

Sprunck, Tobias – a Saxon from Chemnitz who came to Grantville in the fall of 1633, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

Stieff, Hermann Peter – State of Thuringia-Franconia National Guard colonel, handles Reserve component reconnaissance missions, see “Duty Calls” and “Horse Thieves,” in Karen Bergstralh’s The Horsewoman

Stengerin, Maria – married to Peter Johann Drehmann, mother of Regina, Peter, Cecilia, and Theobald, Catholic

Stoltz, Horst – Grantville Police Department sergeant

Stroh, Richart – Lutheran (Philippist), a big, unyielding man, NESS agent from July 1634 on Team One

Syborg, Matthias – proprietor of Syborg’s Book Store in the Magdeburg exurb, carries the latest science fiction, horror, mystery, etc.; see David Carrico’s Letters From Gronow

Traudermännin, Agathe – married to Phillip Pfeffer, mother of Wilhelm and Elisabetha, Lutheran, works for NESS as a cook

Václav – a Praemonstratensian monk assigned to the order’s brewing operation in Grantville, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

von Hessler, Hans Heinrich the Younger – colonel of the Saale Levies, see “Occupied Saxony,” Grantville Gazette 55 and “The Saale Levies,” Grantville Gazette 56

von Kardorff, Friedrich – a ritter from Westphalia, half-brother of Krystal, sixteen years old as of July 1635

von Kardorff, first name not disclosed – half-sister of Friedrich, of the niederadel in Westphalia, adopts the name Krystal

Weiner, Gunther – Grantville Police Department sergeant

Wesner, Casimir – a library researcher in Grantville on behalf of Saxe-Altenburg and the von Hessler family, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

Wolfe, Hans – a sergeant in Bretagne’s Company

Woodruff, Mathew – historical English down-timer, in the Original Timeline in Connecticut by 1640 but in the New Timeline came to Grantville in the fall of 1633, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84 and Michael Lockwood’s “A Puritan Voice,” Parts 7–9 in Grantville Gazette 92–94

Želivský, Eva – Hussite from Bohemia, an ancestor was a wagon line commander under Jan “Zizka” Trocnova, see “The Researchers Spiritual and Temporal,” Grantville Gazette 84

Table of Contents

In Memoriam

Acknowledgments for the previous planned edition:

Chapter 1: Krystalnacht on the Schwarza Express

Chapter 2: The Class of ’35

Chapter 3: Sunshine

Chapter 4: Shooting Fish in a Barrel

Chapter 5: The Case of the Unconventional Umlauts

Chapter 6: The Reussian Front

Cast List