Chapter 18
Archie
Augsburg
I stepped out the door of the Brass Kestrel Inn on the fourth day of our stay to find the sun shining and the wind still, which gave some warmth to the air. A broad smile appeared on my face, I confess it. The unseasonably cool rain had lingered for three days, and not wanting to deal with it I had huddled in the inn, keeping myself dry and moderately warm but for those moments early and late when I went to the stable to check on the boys.
Moderately warm I said and moderately warm I meant. Master Tobias, for all that he was a good man, was also an innkeeper, and like most of that ilk he was a bit penurious with the firewood. I was glad of a heavy wool sweater beneath my buff coat at night even when sitting near the fireplace.
This morning the sunlight and the still air was like a balm. I opened my coat, pushed my hat to the back of my head, and stood looking up at it with closed eyes for I know not how long just welcoming the gift of it all. There are times when God’s creation seems to be more beautiful than others, you see, and this was one of them.
So after that bit of sunning, I shook myself much like an old ram waking from his rest and proceeded on my way to the stable, where I found Otto waiting for me. “Am I that predictable, then?” I asked.
He gave a rusty chuckle and pointed at where the shadow of the outer door frame rested on the front of a stall. “I’d not go so far as to say that, Master Gottesfreund,” he said, “but the previous mornings you appeared within a minute or so of the shadow reaching that knothole.” The shadow line that appeared to be perfectly dividing the knothole at that very moment. “And here you are again.” His chuckle sounded again. “You might call it predictable. Myself, I’d say you’re a man of even habits.”
I laughed. “A man of even habits, is it? I like the sound of that. You give me more grace than I am due.”
“Nein,” Otto replied. “I can only say what I see.”
I shook my head, then walked over to Maus’ stall. “And how’s the lad today?”
“Right well, Master Gottesfreund.” Otto moved over to stand beside me with his arms atop the stall door. “Right well. I’d like to give him at least one more day of rest, maybe two, but you could travel today if he was on a lead rein and not carrying a load.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “He’ll probably get his two days. I think I’ll wait for the roads to dry up a bit before I leave. Not fond of mud, am I, after fourteen years in the fields of France.”
“I can see that.” Otto nodded. “I can see that.” He looked down for a moment. When his head raised again his face had a most sober expression on it. “Master Gottesfreund, I can tell you be a good man from the way you treat your horses. I’ll make bold enough to say this to you: you be careful. There are those in Augsburg who may not wish you well.”
The man was serious, I decided. “I cannot say that that would be a surprise to me, friend Otto. I am, after all, a former soldier who has been shot at more than a few times. Shot at and missed, I might add.” I waved the truncated fingers of my left hand at him. “This was due to a sword, and the fool swinging it had the very luck of the devil to catch me as he did. His luck was shorter-lived than he was, as it chanced, as my pistol bullet put an end to the two of them alike.” I offered him a grin, but his face did not change. “That said, I find it a bit odd that I have only been in Augsburg for four days, all of which were spent in Master Tobias’ fine inn, yet now you tell me that somehow the fine folk of Augsburg have taken a dislike of me…me, whom they’ve never met.” I let my smile fade and showed him something of the trooper I used to be on my own face. He bore it well before he replied.
“Ah, Master Gottesfreund, you misunderstand me. I said they were in Augsburg, not that they were of Augsburg.”
I thought through those words, and again, before I responded. “Ah, I think I understand the truth you would serve to me, but can you speak somewhat plainer? It is an old soldier I am, after all.”
Otto’s mouth quirked a bit at my last words. “As you will, Master Gottesfreund. I should let it be known to you that while my father was a good Lutheran, and raised me to follow in the true faith, his brother, my uncle Georg, married a Catholic girl and took her faith in the doing of it, so that we have kinfolk in the Catholic ranks in the city, for all that we are somewhat embarrassed to speak of it. My cousin, him as used to be called Young Georg to be kept separate from his father, but now is just Georg as his father died a few years back, is the stableman over at the Crossed Keys Inn, the best of the Catholic inns in Augsburg. He tells me that two men arrived yesterday to stay at that inn, who began asking after a man with your name, wanting to know if he was in Augsburg, and where, and what his business is here?”
All the humor drained from me like the flushing of one of the new-fangled toilets the up-timers had brought back from the future. This was serious.
I pursed my lips and nodded my head. “Well,” I said, “I did have some wondering as to when these folk would show up, and how many of them there might be if they did. At least I now know.” And that was the biggest load of manure I had spread since my days in the French taverns with Colonel Farquhar’s troopers. But I had learned long ago that when you’re alone and in strange territory, it’s best if you sound confident, unsurprised, and in control.
Coming in to Augsburg and going to a Catholic inn to start their questioning almost certainly made them agents of the church. And while I had not been expecting such as them at that moment, after a moment’s thought I wasn’t surprised, either, so maybe my load of manure wasn’t all that great after all.
“So, Otto,” I said briskly, “would it be that these redoubtable fellows seeking after me might belong to a certain brotherhood of very educated men?”
The corners of Otto’s mouth turned down in that way that happens when people are trying to suppress a smile. But the wrinkles around his eyes gave it away as them moved in the other direction. “Ah, Master Gottesfreund, I couldn’t say of my own knowledge, but Georg, he did say that they looked like the sort of fellows who felt their chamber pots didn’t stink in the morning.”
I chuckled. “I believe that may answer my question.” I thought for a moment. “If, I say, if I wanted a message to be passed to those fellows, could your cousin Georg be doing that? If I put a bit of silver with it, I mean?”
Otto’s smile broke free. “Ja, Master Gottesfreund. For a pfennig or two, Georg would come at your beck and call and thank you for the privilege of licking your boots clean with his own tongue.”
The harshness of that statement caused me to give Otto a hard glance. “It sounds like Georg is not your favorite person, it does.”
“I said he was my cousin, Master Gottesfreund,” Otto’s smile broadened a little bit. “I did not say I like him.”
A laugh broke from my lips at that, and not a short one. It trailed off into a chuckle before I said, “That is God’s truth, you did not say you like him. But he’s kin, so you have to deal with him, eh?”
“I see you know the way of the world, Master Gottesfreund.”
“Someday I may tell you of my cousin Jacob. He might could make Georg look good.”
“Surely not!” A look of horror crossed his face as I turned and walked away.
***
My chuckle had faded away by the time I sat down at a table in the inn’s common room. It was the middle of the morning, and the only other patron was the old man who seemed to be an almost permanent piece of furniture or statuary, albeit a somewhat ugly one.
Master Tobias was behind the counter, and he held a mug up as he titled his head in question. I gave him the nod, and in a few moments a mug of beer sat before me on the table. I jerked my thumb at the other man. “Who is the old one in the corner?”
Tobias leaned forward. “My wife’s uncle. He comes in every morning, gets one mug of beer, and sits until the noon bells ring, then goes home. He says it helps the inn look busier, and it gets him away from his wife while she’s cleaning.”
I nodded after taking a sip. “That makes some sense, I’d say.”
Tobias shook his head. “Aunt Marta has been dead for five years.”
“Ah. One of those.”
“Ja.”
“My condolences to all involved.”
Tobias went back behind the counter. I settled in to do some serious thinking, forearms on the table, weight on my elbows, hat placed on the tabletop on the other side of my mug.
Why would the Jesuits be looking for me? And how would they know to look for me in Augsburg? This was the first time I had ever been this far south. It made no sense.
As the level in my mug dropped, the level in my thoughts rose. Jesuits had no reason to know me from Adam. Less, really. The only connection there could be would be the manuscript, which was ridiculous. Master Titus and I had not talked to anyone about it—or at least, I’d not blabbed my mouth to anyone about it, and the good master was even closer mouthed than an Aberdeen graveyard statue. So how would anyone think that I…
Weesht, and ochone, and other such Scottish utterings. This wasn’t about my own self. This was about Master Titus. He did have some slight reputation, after all, as a collector of unusual books, especially for someone who wasn’t attached to a university. And didn’t the university folks in Jena know him, then? I had seen more visitations by learned folk in the last four years than I had fingers and toes on my own feet and hands, even including the two that had been shortened. And hadn’t Heinrich told me his own self that there had been a surplusage of clergy in Jena in the last few weeks, especially from the south? And didn’t those university fellows just like to talk, then? Mark me, never trust a man who likes the sound of his own voice, not with anything, but most especially with anything that should be held private and confidential. Such a man has no keeping of anything under the rose.
And if ever there was a man who those men from the south would suspect of being involved somehow with the theft of the manuscript, that would be Master Titus. Lutheran, free-thinker, and not only richer than Midas but possibly rich enough to make the Pope nervous. And who would be well-known in Jena as Master Titus’ companion, agent, and general fixer of problems of all sorts? Why, that would be none other than Caitrion MacDonald’s eldest son, rascal and rogue that he is, one Archibald Gottesfreund—in a word, my own self—a man I had until a few minutes ago considered to be an experienced man of the world and well-nigh as shrewd as they come. At this very moment, I’d not recommend this fellow to sire mules, given how stupid he obviously was. He would throw stupid colts, he would, dragging the breed down.
My face burned with the heat of embarrassment. The sole consolation available to me was that if I had not considered the possibility that someone might be watching and following one or both of us, neither had Master Titus. And it wouldn’t take a close follower. Just a man or two in the right place at the right time could apply common sense and guess where I was bound next. A man on the walls at Bayreuth, for example, would almost certainly guess from my exit from the city that I would end up at Augsburg.
Enough with the how and why. What should I do next, besides pray that God should give me a mind equal to at least that of a large squirrel. It would be too much to hope to match an apprentice night-soil man.
My mug was empty. I waved it in the air to catch Tobias’ eye. He retrieved it, refilled it, returned it to the table, and I resumed considering what artifices of strategy I might ploy or deploy.
It was obvious I needed to leave Augsburg very soon—later today, if possible, but certainly no later than tomorrow morning. I needed to have a word or three with Otto—who struck me as both a wise and a practical man— about what options might be available to me. But I also needed to do something to throw the Jesuits off the hunt, if I could. But what? Killing them was not just wrong, but very bad for my future prospects. Likewise, I didn’t dare do them serious damage. Even Lutheran clergy would most likely frown at such actions, and to be known for such would limit my usefulness for Master Titus in the future.
A thought occurred to me—a wonderful, sneaky thought, fully worthy of my MacDonald kindred. A glorious thought, it was. I could feel my eyes light up and the corners of my mouth curl in sneaky delight.
Draining the remnants of my second mug of beer in a single gulp, I pushed to my feet and crossed to the counter. “Tobias,” I said quietly, beckoning him to approach. He did so, and leaned closer with his eyebrows raised. “Tobias, good host,” I rubbed my palm across my bristly jowl, “I feel a need for a shave. Is there a good barber in all of Augsburg, and can he come here to shave me?”
“Certainly. I’ll send a runner to him now.”
He started to turn from the counter, but I grasped his arm and held him close. “And a second, even more important question: is there a good pawn shop nearby?”
His eyebrows, which had started to lower, resumed their elevation. “Of course there is. Augsburg opened the first pawnshop in the Germanies in 1591. There are several to choose from, but the closest one is Heinrich Dopslauf’s. Go out the door, turn left, go past the corner and halfway to the next corner there is an alley on the other side of the street. His is the shop facing the street on the north side of the alley. You’ll see sign with the three-lobed symbol above the door. Tell Arndt I sent you.”
“Arndt? I thought you said it was Heinrich’s shop.”
“Heinrich’s dead. Arndt is his son, but he kept his father’s name on the shop, for some reason. Go do your business. I’ll send for Moses the barber.”
“Do. I’ll return soon.”
And out the door I went and briskly down the street, turning the corner as Tobias had instructed and making my way to the shop with the tri-lobed sign above the door. I entered, looking up in startlement as a bell rang above my head. Looking around, there were several large items set on tables or occupying shelves in cases around the room.
An older merchant dressed in good but sober clothing stepped through curtains hanging in a doorway at the back of the front room. “May I be of some assistance? Do you need a small loan?” His voice was low and cultured, far better than my own.
“Yes, and no,” I responded. “If you are Arndt, Master Tobias Graumann sent me. I am of the hope that you may have certain items for sale or for acquisition with the owner’s permission.”
He eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then lifted as he nodded. “I do have certain items, yes. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Do know what an English Punch is?”
His lips curled up slightly. “I do. Is that what you are seeking?”
“Yes. I find I left mine at home, and that lack leaves me underprepared for a situation I must address soon.”
The lips curled up a bit more. “I see. If you will step over here, please.”
He led the way across the room to a large cabinet with multiple drawers in it. He took a small key out of a pocket and unlocked it, then pulled a wide but shallow drawer out from the middle of the cabinet. Set out in the drawer were a number of small items of the sorts devoted to mayhem, including several of the exact item I was looking for.
“All of these are for sale. The owners have either defaulted on their loans or are otherwise no longer able to contest a sale.” From somewhere—maybe out of a sleeve, for all I know—he produced a stylus and touched items in turn. “Solid lead, cast iron, brass, and perhaps my favorite, bronze. Please, make your selection.”
I looked at them, following his stylus. Each had the four loops in a curve made to slide over fingers, each had an additional weight below the curve to nestle in the palm of the hand.
“The English Punch—so discreet,” Arndt murmured, “yet so devastating in the hands of one who knows how to use it.”
“Pure lead is too soft,” I said. “It should be alloyed with tin to stiffen it. Cast iron will rust. Brass is best. Did you say this is bronze?”
“Indeed,” Arndt said. “Note the loops are a bit wider and thicker on the outside edge to give more support to the fingers and more impact surface. That pair was taken in from a company of mercenaries marching to Prague. A Hibernian fellow was on the wrong side in a bar fight some time ago, and ended up being buried in a pauper’s grave here in Augsburg. His fellows sold his equipage, and some of it made its way here. This is the last of it.”
“An Irisher, eh?” I picked them up and slid them over my fingers. They fit well, which was a relief, given that my hands are a bit larger than most men’s—not in length or breadth, mind you, but in thickness. My cousin Rory would from time to time remark on the fact that being slapped by one of my hands was rather like being kissed by a large smoked ham swung by a headsman. They also nestled well in my palms, as if they had been designed and cast for me.
“Yes. They are large enough to be almost worthy of the old Roman name caestus.”
“Maybe so,” I said flexing my fingers. “But I rather like the Grantville name for them—brass knuckles.” He did smile at that, but it faded away when I said, “How much?”
With that, the bargaining began. For all that his dress said quiet wealth, and for all that his speech and tone were polished and bespoke a place of worth and culture, Arndt would have held his own against Jena fishwives, aye, and likely would have bested most of them at least two times out of three. In the end, he pocketed more of my silver than I wished, but I walked away with my pockets weighted with the best brass knuckles I’d ever seen.
Returning to the inn, I found a wizened little old man waiting.
“Master Gottesfreund,” Tobias said, “this is Moses Rauch, the best barber in Augsburg. Fortunately, he was able to come when I sent a message to him. Moses, this is your customer.”
When Moses smiled, it was evident he had not much more than six teeth in his mouth, and they weren’t exactly white. He bowed, and bowed again. “Please, master, take your coat off and be seated. This won’t take long, no, it won’t.” A moment later I was coatless and seated in a chair with the barber draping a large cloth over my chest.
“Master Tobias, I need that hot water, please.” A moment later, there was a bowl of steaming water on the counter. He took a small wide-mouthed pottery jar out of his bag and placed it in the bowl. “We’ll wait for the heat to soften the grease a bit.” He saw my narrowed eyes and rushed to explain. “Some barbers use soap to shave, master. I use goose grease, infused with a bit of lavender scent. It shaves very well, leaves the skin smooth and soft, and smells rather nice afterward. Trust me, it will be the best shave you’ve ever had.”
A quarter-hour later by the church bells, he was wiping my face with a hot towel. “There, master, all done.” He held a hand mirror up so I could see my face. It looked good, and when I ran a hand along my jaw, it felt good. He swept the cloth away, and I climbed to my feet.
“How much?”
“Five pfennigs, master.” He looked me in the eye when he said that. I shrugged, dug the coins out of my pocket, and paid him, with a bit extra for good measure. He rolled up his kit in its bag, and bustled out the door with a wave behind to Tobias.
I shrugged back into my buff coat, and leaned over the bar to Tobias. When he bent close, I said, “I know we talked about my staying a week, but with the presence of people looking for me when they have no reason to, with Otto’s aid I’ll be leaving tonight or early in the morning, but I’ll leave my horse Maus here for Otto to continue to tend and heal. Here are twenty guilders to see to his keep. If I’m not back in thirty days, send a message to Master Titus Wulff in Jena. He will redeem him. And I may need another favor in the near future. If I appear betimes unexpected, do not be surprised.” I slid the stack of coins across the counter, and Tobias made them disappear with speed and silence. He gave a solemn nod, I put my hat back on my head, and headed out the door.
It was a short journey, I admit. “Otto!” I called out as I entered the stable.
“Here, Master Gottesfreund.” He stepped out of Cortana’s stall.
“Otto, my friend, I need a bit of help.”
“In what way, Master Gottesfreund?”
“Would you think that your cousin Georg would take a message to the strangers at his inn who are looking for me? Especially if it meant those two might come into harm’s way because of it? Nothing fatal, mind you.”
“Knowing Georg as I do,” Otto said with a smirk, “I suspect that will depend entirely on how much coin will cross his palm.”
“Oh, a few guilders,” I said lightly. “Perhaps as many as ten.”
Otto snorted. “For five guilders, Georg would sell his mother and wife as a matched set and throw in his first-born son to sweeten the deal.”
“That good?” I murmured. “Well, let us proceed to sweeten the man’s life. Will you be my messenger? I’ll pay you the same.”
“For this, I would do it for the joy of knowing what was coming to him,” Otto said, his face breaking into a grin.
I pulled a small purse with ten guilders in it out of my pocket. “Here’s ten—five for you and five for him. Give him one when you meet him, he gets the second after delivering the message, and the last three after the meeting.”
“What’s the message, then?”
“He’s to say to them that someone as is willing to tell them much about me will meet them near the southwest corner of the Dom Maria after the ninth bell tonight. If the last two nights are any measure, it will be full dark then, right?”
“Ja.” Otto pulled a guilder out of the purse and stuck it in a pocket, then tucked the purse itself inside his jacket. “Meet the sneaking Judas at the southwest corner of the Dom after the ninth bell.” His grin broadened as he headed out the door of the stable.
I watched him walk out of the stable yard and around the corner of the inn. Once he was out of sight, I closed the door to the stable. It was but the work of a few minutes to retrieve my bag from my room, so it wasn’t long before I was saddling Cortana. I was just strapping my bag to the breech ring of my saddle when Otto returned, chuckling as he came through the door.
“Done?” I asked.
“Ja, indeed.” Otto placed a hand to his chest and half-bowed. “Done and done. He asked no questions, simply took the silver and was off like a hound after a rabbit. I expect he’s given them the word by now.”
“Good, good.” I rubbed my hands together. “Now, Otto, if you will, when you hear the ninth bell start tonight, tighten the cinches of this saddle and put the bridle on Cortana. I doubt not I’ll be along not long thereafter, anxious to leave town. And speaking of leaving, I expect you, knowledgeable horse-master that you are, to know just which gate I would best be able to leave your fine city by with a minimum of bother and ceremony?”
“Ach, nothing is easier. The north gate, ask for Justus, tell him I sent you, and offer him two of those big silvers. It will be like you were never here.”
“Only two?”
“The tariff to exit is low. The tariff to enter is much higher.” His grin reappeared.
“Smuggling is that profitable?”
Otto’s face turned sober. “I wouldn’t know, Master Gottesfreund, being a lawful sort of man myself. But I know a man who knows a man, you might say.” He lifted a hand and rubbed the thumb and fingertips together.
“I always admire a man who knows what’s what,” I said. “North, eh? Will friend Justus keep silent about my passing?”
Otto shook his head, lips pursed. “The exit tariff is low. To buy silence might take more than you carry.”
“Then north it is.”
At Otto’s quizzical look, I smiled, and after a moment he pointed a long boney finger at me and said, “You are an evil man, Master Gottesfreund.”
“You flatter me,” I said. “Now, one last question—do you have an old cloak and hat I can borrow tonight?”