That required a moment to clarify the term. Brow-ning. Never mind what it is. Eddie knows.
Third-”
She eyed the cook, wondering if there’d be an argument. “I want you to pretend that he’s a new servant in the kitchens. He needs to be here all the time, from now on.”
There was no argument. The cook simply nodded. “No one will ask.”
She left. After a minute or so, Noelle followed her into the corridor. Then, headed for Judith Neideckerin’s chambers.
When she arrived, she found von Bimbach’s mistress staring bleakly out of the window.
“He has had my mother imprisoned also,” she said, after glancing over her shoulder to see who had entered. Still staring out the window, she added: “Tell the ram to send me an icepick. I’ll drive it into the bastard’s ear tonight.”
Noelle shook her head. “No. We have to let this unfold for a bit.”
Angrily, Neideckerin spun around. “What if he hurts my mother?”
Noelle took a deep breath. “He won’t do that right away. We have time to organize. And your plan with an icepick won’t work, anyhow. He probably won’t come to see you-he’s not that stupid-and if he does, he’ll search you for weapons first.”
Still angry, Neideckerin’s eyes swept her chambers. “There’s somewhere I could hide it. Must be.”
“He’ll have soldiers search your quarters. If he comes at all. Which he most likely won’t.”
After a few seconds, Judith’s shoulders slumped. “Please, Noelle. She’s my mother.”
Wishing she felt as much confidence as she was projecting in her tone of voice, Noelle said: “I’ll take care of it.”
Wuerzburg, August 1634
“So most of it is under control,” said Scott Blackwell. “Since Mitwitz burned, more than half of the imperial knights and petty lords have caved in and formally withdrawn their support for the petition. A number of them have come into Bamberg or Wuerzburg for the sake of the military protection we give them, even though that sort of amounts to house arrest. Well, call it ‘city arrest.’ Most of the rest are sulking on their own lands. Under siege by the ram’s men. Usually by far more of the ram’s men than their own lands could possibly account for, but I’ve avoided examining that too closely. Only six more burn-outs, and those of lords who promised something and then reneged.”
He came to the end of his notes. “The real problems that I still have, from a military standpoint, are the ones who have retreated into other lands they hold that are outside our jurisdiction. Those lands that are surrounded by Ansbach, Nuernberg, or Bayreuth. I can’t chase them down there, myself, and I can’t let the ram’s people get rambunctious either. Too much danger of offending some of Gustavus Adolphus’ important allies.”
His report finished, Scott closed the notebook and looked up.
“Hearts and Minds?” Steve Salatto asked.
“Self-government in Franconia is proceeding normally,” said Johnnie F. “That is, things are messy, disorganized, imperfect, and squabbly. Tithe compensation committees are disputing with water rights committees, neither of which have much in common with the weights and measures people, none of whom can seem to get a firm answer out of Magdeburg, because the parliament up there is passing things without appropriating the funds to implement them. Lord, how I hate unfunded mandates.”
He bestowed a cheerful grin on everyone at the table. “All of which is just fine with me. I prefer any amount of mess and imperfection to a slick authoritarian regime any day.”
“Does anyone have an update on what’s happening at the Fulda end of things? I’m afraid that we’ve pretty much been leaving Wes Jenkins to his own devices.” Steve Salatto was moving through the morning’s agenda fairly briskly.
Weckherlin looked up from his note-taking, annoyed that young Samuel Ebert, whom he had left in his place at the desk in the outer office, was interrupting the meeting.
“My apologies, but he says that it is very important.” Ebert came around the table and handed a note to Salatto.
“Who is Constantin Ableidinger?” Steve asked, after scanning it.
“I am not familiar with the name, Herr Salatto,” Weckherlin answered.
Ebert opened his mouth, looked at Maydene Utt, then closed it again. The senior auditors were not particularly happy that their juniors had been drafted for other jobs in the administration during this summer’s crisis-particularly not after the Krausold debacle. Ebert, Heubel, and Fischer spent a lot of their time keeping their mouths closed and trying to look inconspicuous.
“Why does he want to see me?”
“Since I don’t know who he is, I don’t have the slightest idea.” Weckherlin again.
Ebert opened his mouth. “Excuse me, Herr Salatto. But I believe that Herr Haun may know him. And Herr Blackwell.”
Steve looked at them. Both shook their heads. “I’ve heard the name,” Johnnie F. said, “but I’ve never met him.”
“Put him off.” Steve waved Ebert out of the room.
He didn’t move. Looked at Herr Haun and Herr Blackwell. “Sirs, forgive me. He gave me this to show you.”
Scott reached out his hand. Ebert was handing him a well-read copy of Common Sense.
“Well, I will be goddamned.” He passed it over to Johnnie F. “Remember him, now? He told us we’d likely meet again, if he wasn’t unlucky.”
Johnnie F. stared down at the book in his hands. “Him? He’s Ableidinger?”
“Come on, Scott, what’s going on?” Steve was becoming impatient.
“You’ve got Big Bad Brillo himself standing in your outer office. And now we’ve finally put a name to him. Not just that ‘Helmut’ alias, or whatever you’d call it. What in hell is he doing here? Did he just walk in?”
“Yes sir,” Ebert said. “Like anyone else with business in the palace.”
Steve was looking at young Ebert. “How come you thought that Johnnie F. and Scott would know him?”
“Well, they’ve been up there. To where he has his headquarters now, on the Coburg border, since they decided Frankenwinheim wasn’t safe enough. Several times. I just assumed that they would. And Herr Hawker in Bamberg has the Hearts and Minds team’s printing done by Frau Else Kronacher. I know that from checking the invoices.”
“You’ve known his name all along?”
“Not his name, no, Herr Salatto. But I recognized him certainly, when he walked in. No one who has ever heard the ram speak is likely to forget him. I’ve heard him. So have Fischer and Heubel.”
Ebert paused. “Herr Krausold did, too. Before, ah… We’re, well, we’re down-timers, you know. People don’t notice us, the way they do you. And we’re young, the three of us. Like most of the people who go to his speeches. They don’t turn anyone away.”
Anita raised her eyebrows. “Frau Kronacher?”
“The woman who is called ‘the ewe.’” From Ebert’s tone of voice, it was clear he assumed that everyone knew that. “She prints all the pamphlets coming out of Bamberg.”
Everyone was staring at him. Nervously, the young German intern looked to Johnnie F. for support.
“But-Herr Haun. Surely you knew this? You visit her shop every time you’re in Bamberg.”
All stares shifted to Johnnie F. He cleared his throat.