Granted, the militia would make a far better force to maintain order than Felder’s mercenaries had been. But they’d be completely unreliable if it ever became necessary to crack down on the town’s gunmakers. Most of them were the town’s gunmakers.
Not to mention that over half of the city council consisted of master gunsmiths.
A return remembrance of that long-ago, overly-rich, eight-layer chocolate dessert attacked his stomach.
But all he said was: “All right. That’s how we’ll do it.”
January 27, 1633
Gretchen Richter came into Suhl five days later, early in the evening, through the middle of a snowstorm. Not quite a blizzard, but awfully close. When she marched into Anse’s headquarters-Felder’s old office-she looked like a walking snowball.
Insofar, at least, as a snowball could resemble a very large and good-looking bat, coldly furious at having been summoned from a much warmer clime.
“Where are they?” were the first words out of her mouth, as she started brushing the snow off of her heavy parka. She seemed entirely unconcerned with the mess she was leaving on the floor of Anse’s office.
Anse didn’t try to play dumb. “We’ve got two of them under guard, here in the stockade. We’re pretty sure the other four scampered back to their villages.”
“Two will be enough. Where is Blumroder’s shop?”
Anse cocked his head, eyeing her skeptically.
“Don’t be stupid, Herr Hatfield.” Gretchen edged aside, allowing Anse a view of the doorway. Jeff Higgins was standing there. Just behind him, Anse could see the dark figures of several other men. One of them was Jorg Hennel, the others he didn’t recognize.
“I brought my husband with me, as you can see. Surely you don’t think he would be a party to any illegal violence.”
The look Anse gave Jeff Higgins was almost as skeptical as the one he’d given Gretchen. There wasn’t much left of the shy geek Anse could vaguely remember from the days before the Ring of Fire. A lot of the fat had been lost, replaced by muscle-and Higgins was a big man. What was more important was that his mental attitudes had been largely transformed over the past twenty months. By reality, by combat-and, probably most of all, by being married to Gretchen.
It didn’t help any that Higgins was carrying a shotgun. It might very well be the same shotgun he’d used, not so long ago, to gun down a number of Croat cavalrymen in close-range fighting.
Suddenly, Jeff grinned. And if it wasn’t what you could call a shy grin, much less a geeky one, there wasn’t any menace in it, either.
“C’mon, Anse, lighten up,” he said. “Gretchen’s mission here is purely educational.”
Anse grunted. “Educational,” under the circumstances, was not entirely reassuring. Just a few days earlier, with the help of half a dozen Jaeger, Jochen Rau had “educated” the two soldiers who’d subjected Noelle Murphy to their leering attentions. Both of them had been so badly beaten they’d had to be taken out of Suhl on litters.
Fell down the stairs, Rau claimed.
Still . . .
“Okay,” he said. “As long as there’s no violence. I’ll have Corporal Rau release the two CoC prisoners. Then he can guide you to Blumroder’s shop.”
He rose to his feet. “No, hell with that. I’ll do it myself.”
* * *
By the time they arrived at Blumroder’s shop, night had fallen. Blumroder himself ushered them into the main room of his living quarters. His wife and children-two sons and a daughter, all of them in their late teens or early twenties-were present, along with all four of his apprentices and the two Jaeger he still kept around as guards.
Once Gretchen, Jeff, Anse and the three CoC members came into the room, it seemed as packed tight as a shipping crate. It didn’t help any that Gretchen forced the two CoC culprits-Hennel was the third one-to come to the center of the room.
She got right down to business. Turning to the two chastened CoC members, she pointed a finger at Blumroder.
“You will apologize to Herr Blumroder for trying to kill him.”
Apologies babbled forth like a bubbling brook.
Gretchen now faced Blumroder.
“You will accept the apology.”
She still looked like a half-frozen bat out of hell, and just as pissed. Blumroder didn’t babble, but he did nod his head. He didn’t even hesitate, for more than a second.
“That’s the end of it, then,” Gretchen pronounced. Turning back to the CoC miscreants, she jerked her head toward the door.
“Now, get out. Remember what I told you. From now on, you will listen to Jorg. And I’m leaving two other members of the CoC here also. One from Jena, one from Rudolstadt. Both are experienced, and good organizers. You will listen to them also.”
Hastily-eagerly-the two youngsters made for the door.
“Moment,” Gretchen growled. “You will also tell those other four idiots to come into Suhl and apologize personally to Herr Blumroder. If they don’t, I will come back. You do not want me to come back.”
They gave her a nervous nod, and vanished.
Gretchen swiveled to face Blumroder again. “I will leave now, Herr Blumroder. There will be no further misbehavior on the part of the CoC here.”
He nodded again. “I accept your reassurance.”
“Accept this also, then,” she said coldly. “Within a few months, we are likely to be at war again. Many of our soldiers will die. One of them might be my husband. Some of them are certain to be my comrades in the Committees. If it is discovered that their deaths were due to the enemy having weapons that should never have been sold to them, there will be consequences.”
Her icy gaze move away from Blumroder to fix on the two Jaeger. “Do not think you are the only ones who know how to shoot,” she told them. “Or gut a carcass. And the Thueringerwald is not that big. Never think so.”
The gaze came back to Blumroder. “You do not want me to return to Suhl, either.”
She straightened a little, jerked the labels of the parka to shed more snow on the floor, and was gone.
Her husband followed. At the threshhold, he paused, looked at Blumroder over his shoulder, and smiled cheerfully.
“You really don’t, Herr Blumroder. Trust me on this one.”
* * *
There was silence in the room, for a while, after the door was closed. Then Blumroder cleared his throat.
“Herr Hatfield, perhaps we should resume our interrupted conversation. The one concerning railroad work, and its prospects for Suhl.”
“What a good idea,” Anse said.
Bypass Surgery