A spot of bother

Siege operations about Randstadt had reached the third parallel and the batteries had been positioned amid blasts of musketry from the defenses. Mary Amadeus worked as hard as any to site the guns, and she felt pride in the fact they had become operational again within an hour.

The summons to General Rauppen-Schlepper’s pavilion reached her as she came off the line. Repeated salvos from the artillery had rendered her somewhat deaf, and the aide had to repeat himself twice before she understood. She made her way to the pavilion, sited in the headquarters area a safe distance beyond cannon range. Sweeping the tricorn from her head, she checked her hair still stayed neatly in its ponytail then nodded to the aide. He opened the tent fly and she followed him inside.

The General sat at his desk reading a dispatch. Mary saluted as he looked up. “Lieutenant Amadeus reporting, sir.”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.” Rauppen-Schlepper’s time-worn features remained set in a neutral expression, and she wondered why he didn’t greet her with his normal affability. He reached for his pipe and made a show of inspecting it, knocking out the dottle and refilling it with his favorite blend from a tooled leather pouch. The aide stepped forward with a taper. Rauppen-Schlepper took it and lit the pipe. He nodded to the aide. “Leave us, Wilhelm, but stay within call.” The aide saluted and departed, leaving Mary and the General alone.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there is.” He opened a drawer and extracted two packets of papers, tied with a blue ribbon. He dropped one on the desk in front of her. “Do you recognize the writing?”

She stooped to examine them and blinked. “It looks like my hand, sir.”

“It looks like yours?”

“Yes, but what..?” She sought for words. “I’ve not written to anyone to this extent. I can’t afford the stationary on my salary. To whom are they addressed?”

“Young Philip, heir to the throne.” He dropped the second packet before her. “These are his replies.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know anything about these. Philip and I have never exchanged letters beyond official reports to do with the battery.”

Rauppen-Schlepper pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked weary. “They came into my possession through some anonymous agency. That in itself is bad enough but the content...” He tapped the letters with a stubby finger. “The contents, my dear lieutenant, are explosive!”

“May I read them, sir?”

“Please do.”

Mary picked up the packet, untied the ribbon and read the first letter. Her heart began to pound and her face burned with embarrassment. “They... they’re nothing I would’ve penned, sir!”

“I should hope not!”

“This... this is explicit!” She gestured helplessly to the letters. “I don’t know anything like a tiny fraction of the things herein described.”

Rauppen-Schlepper’s face grew grim. “It gets worse, Lieutenant. The last two letters speak of the possibility of elopement.”

“Elopement!”

“Yes.” His bushy eyebrows came together and he stared at her. “You know full well Professor Knappenburger’s correspondence states our law forbids Morganatic marriages to the future head of state. Such correspondence as lies before you is treason. Graf Philip will not be punished beyond the family’s censure, but for a commoner such as you... The sentence, should you be found guilty, is death.”

Men of Letters

The capital of Saxe-Bearstein was not unknown to Paul Ehrgeiziger, but it had been several years since he’d visited the city. However it didn’t take long to locate the university, and the college porter guided him to the Great Hall.

Paul had chosen his moment well, for the midday meal at High Table had finished some little time before. The faculty were in the process of dispersing about their afternoon schedule, and the porter approached the Chancellor with a bow. “Baron Ehrgeiziger to see you sir.” 

The Chancellor, a full-fleshed man with a sumptuous full-bottomed wig squinted at the porter then Paul through a pince-nez. Paul and he exchanged bows. “Welcome to our university, dear baron,” the Chancellor said. He looked rather vague. “Forgive me, but I was not aware you were due to call upon me..?”

“You must forgive my not making a proper appointment, sir. I had occasion to be in your fine city and took the opportunity to visit you. I had a friend here, Professor Knappenburger.”

The Chancellor looked grave. “A bad business, dear baron, A bad business indeed.”

Paul nodded. “I am indeed aware of my poor friend’s untimely demise. I am also aware that his servant decamped with some of his possessions.”

“Ah, yes. His fellow Pietro seemed trustworthy and few here had anything bad to say of him – up to the time he vanished.” He scowled. “It reflected poorly on the rest of the servants.”

“I’m sure it did, and without foundation for blame. Would you describe this Pietro, and say from whence he came?”

The Chancellor rubbed his chin, dewlaps wobbling. “Of average height, dark, swarthy, somewhat of a gypsyish look.” He touched the left side of his neck. “He had a white puckered scare just visible here. I saw it once when he had his collar undone on a hot day. As for his origin, I believe he claimed to come from Padua.”

“I see.” Paul nodded. Just as I thought! “Well, sir, this man is known to me by reputation. He’s a rapscallion of the first water by the name of Bartolomeo Gundaker. He’s wanted in several states for espionage, theft – and murder.”

The Chancellor looked pale. Paul took him by the elbow and drew him aside, out of earshot of others of the faculty bustling nearby. “Naturally I can trust your discretion. A matter of great weight hangs upon Professor Knappenburger’s last works, dear Chancellor. It concerns a young lady’s fortune and future happiness.”

The Chancellor frowned and nodded. “Do go on.”

“Professor Knappenburger sent a document to this young woman, which we are sure was forged. I detected the hand of the wretched Gundaker in the work.”

The Chancellor’s flaccid features turned red. “Such infamy!”

“Indeed. I seek to rectify the damage inflicted upon the good lady, but to do so requires your assistance.”

“Name it, sir, and if it’s within our powers it shall be done. I wish to remove any stain that may besmirch our good name.” He shuddered. "To think we harbored such a reptile in our bosom!"

“I must view any and all documents remaining from Professor Knappenburger’s papers.”

The Chancellor looked troubled. “I would be happy to oblige, dear baron, but before I can allow you to view these papers I would require some means to verify your identity.”

Paul produced his warrant from the Margravate security bureau, along with a covering letter from Ursula. “I need not point out the young lady’s name must not be spoken of in connection with this matter.”

The Chancellor examined the letter. “Just so. These seem to be in order. If you’ll accompany me, we shall go to the late Professor’s chambers directly. I had them locked and sealed after his death, but it seems he has little in the way of family. It’s proving hard to locate a person who can claim his effects, and frankly, the university could use his chambers...”

“The next stop on my itinerary brings me close to Hetzenberg. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

The Chancellor led the way into the faculty chambers of residence and up a flight of stairs. Once they reached the late professor’s door on the top landing he wheezed to such an extent Paul feared he would expire on the spot. The Chancellor mopped his brow with a lace kerchief and grimaced. “I’m not accustomed to such exertion these days, alas.”

Paul bowed. “Pray take your time, sir.”

Eventually the Chancellor produced a set of keys and tried them in the lock. “I keep them with me at all times. Security, you know. Ah, here we are.”

He let them into the chamber. 

Paul looked around at the comfortable disorder that to his mind went hand-in-glove with academics and sighed inwardly. “I can see this will take some time...”

In the siege lines, Randstadt

‘Sister? Sister!’

Mary Amadeus paused in her work and looked around. Nobody in the siege lines had ever called her by her old title. A man stood hesitating at the entrance to the gun park, a smile on his face as he looked at her. He held his hat in both hands and made a presentable figure in well-made traveling clothes.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked, walking over and then stopped in surprise. ‘Bruno!’

The former misérable broke into a grin as she recognized him. ‘I look rather different these days, sister!’

‘I should say you do!’ Mary said, walking over to shake hands. ‘But then, so do I. How are you?’

‘Well settled-in, thanks,’ he replied. ‘The archbishop gave me a place as a general handyman on one of his estates and my wife works in the scullery. It pays a decent wage and we’re treated well.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

Bruno bobbed his head. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Grafin Ursula.’

‘It’s the least we could do. I trust your family is well?’

‘All well.’ Bruno ducked quickly as the main siege battery let fly a deafening salvo. Mary hid a smile. She had long grown accustomed to the noise, albeit a trifle deaf. Bruno looked keenly at the distant shape of Randstadt’s ramparts. Dust from pulverized stone hung in the air as the salvo struck home. ‘I never thought I’d get so close to my old home again,’ he said. ‘Our hut used to be just over there.’

‘Any regrets?’ Mary asked.

He scowled and shook his head. ‘No. It was a horrible life.’ Glaring at the town he went on, ‘you can burn it all to the ground as far as I’m concerned!’

‘I don’t think we’ll go that far,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Come to my quarters and take a sup of wine.’

She led him to her tent. Her servant had turned back the fly to allow the interior to air in the warm April day, and bedding hung over a line nearby. The woman hurried to fetch a bottle of wine and goblets as Mary invited Bruno to sit with her at the camp table set up outside. ‘Not that I’m displeased to see you, old friend,’ she said as the servant poured the wine, ‘but I’m curious as to why you’re here.’

Bruno waited until the servant went about other business before leaning close. ‘We’ve all been reading about the siege and battles and so on,’ he said. ‘Last week I remembered something which might be useful. My wife and I talked it over and decided you should be told. ‘

‘You came instead of sending a letter?’ Mary asked. ‘It’s a long way from the archbishop’s estates.’
Bruno looked around. The camp bustled with activity but none paid them any attention. ‘We thought it too sensitive,’ he said, leaning close.

‘Now I’m really curious!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What have you to share?’

Bruno gestured toward the distant gun line. ‘There’s a way into the town from outside. A way few know of.’ He leaned closer. ‘A secret way.’

‘A secret way.’ Mary gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean a secret passage?’

‘Not a man-made one, sister.’ Bruno sat back. ‘They’re more in the nature of caves under the town. They run back from the river bluffs.’

‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘How do you know of them?’

Bruno sipped his wine. ‘Two years ago I worked on the docks. A pal of mine fell into the river and got swept away. He couldn’t swim. I can only dog paddle a bit but I grabbed a keg and jumped in after him. I soon caught him but we were carried downstream about a quarter mile beyond the walls. Somehow I managed to push against the flow and guide us to the bank. It’s rocky there, with plenty of hand and footholds. I got us ashore and made sure my pal was safe, then looked around.’
     ‘There’s an overhang. I couldn’t see any way up from the river, but I could see a small cave opening screened by bushes a few feet above where we perched. I doubt it can be seen at all from the river unless a boat gets up close to the bank. My pal seemed half-dead and wasn’t able to move with the fright he’d gotten, so I climbed up and took a closer look at the cave.’ He shrugged and looked grim for a moment. ‘There seemed no hurry to send a boat after us from the docks. After all, we were just a couple of laborers.’
     ‘The opening was big enough for me to wriggle through and so I did. After a few yards I found a place big enough to stand in.’ He struck the ground with his boot heel. ‘There’s a whole series of tunnels and caves under this soil.’

Mary felt her pulse quicken as possibilities flowed through her mind. ‘You explored them?’

‘I explored a few later. Not at that time. My pal needed help and I wanted to be with him when the rescue boat arrived and took us back to town. I told no one but my wife of my find. It took a few days but I went back in secret with rope and a lantern. Those caves run for quite a way. One heads toward the town and under the walls.’

‘You know this for sure?’

‘Yes.’ Bruno grinned, his teeth brown and jagged. ‘I found a disused well shaft sunk into a small water-filled cave. It took some doing but I climbed up to the top. It’s covered with planks and rubble, but I saw enough through the gaps to make out a familiar neighborhood.’

Mary thought for a moment then stood. ‘Bruno, you need to come with me. The general should hear this!’

In Seinfeld

Bartolomeo Gundaker threaded his way through the crowds packing the market square. Although a war raged it occurred many miles away and the battle lines were currently stable. The good folk of Seinfeld went about their everyday business in the bright sunshine with little apparent concern for powers and politics. Nor should they, Gundaker thought. What concern is it of theirs what their betters do? Smells, of goods and humanity in their wide variety assaulted his nose and he tried not to show his distaste as he walked. He passed from the square into a narrow side road, feeling relief at escaping the press even though he regretted having to leave the sunlight. This damn country is never warm enough!

A hundred yards along the narrow way divided, the V shaped peninsula formed by the two lanes occupied by a tall half-timbered building in the local style. Bartolomeo used his field craft to ensure he’d not been followed then ducked into the doorway and pulled the bell handle. Almost instantly his ring was answered by a servant, who showed him up a set of wooden stairs to a small chamber overlooking the lane down which he’d come.

A handsome woman of middling years and plain but finely-wrought clothing sat there by the window, peacefully engaged in embroidery. Two large mastiffs lay on the plain floorboards, their black eyes fixed firmly on him. Their noses twitched as they took in his scent. The musty scent of the dogs made Bartolomeo’s nose also twitch in irritation but he had no recourse but to endure the reek. He knew better than to annoy the woman who awaited him. She didn’t speak as he entered, merely raising her head from her sewing to look Bartolomeo in the eye. Her eyebrow rose in interrogation.

“The Professore is dead,” Bartolomeo began without preamble. “I had the opportunity to substitute a forged letter for one written by him in reply to an inquiry by the Grafin Ursula. She sought to discover the validity of any marriage prospects between her friend and the heir to the Hetzenberg throne. It appeared a good means to sow discord in your enemy’s hierarchy. I forged the reply to the negative before killing the professore by cunning poison.”

The woman studied her embroidery. From where he stood by the door it appeared to Bartolomeo to be some kind of sampler. After a moment she nodded, and a fine hand gestured for him to continue. “From all I have learned the Graf Phillip is quite devoted to Fraulein Mary Amadeus. I intend to enter the Hetzenberg siege lines disguised as a visiting military observer and gain the confidence of the Graf. When opportunity presents itself I shall place forged correspondence of a most intimate nature in the quarters of both the Graf and Fraulein Amadeus. An anonymous tip-off to the Grand Duke will uncover this reprehensible communication, resulting in a crisis between father and son.”

The woman laid her embroidery in her lap and gazed out the window for several minutes. Bartolomeo waited in silence, very much aware the huge dogs’ eyes had not left him for an instant.

“It is a good plan, Herr Gundaker,” the woman said eventually. For the first time she met his eyes and he fought the impulse to step back, so cold and calculating were they. She gestured to a satchel which lay upon a stool a few feet to his right. “Your payment is in there. The rest you shall receive one discord has been sown in the enemy’s command. That is all.”

Bartolomeo bowed, and sidestepped to pick up the satchel. The dogs followed his movements. One growled; the sound seemed to rise from the basement. Bartolomeo swallowed and carefully stepped back to the doorway, the satchel making a nice heavy weight in his hand. “Farewell, lady. Until next time.”

The woman nodded, her attention focusing on the embroidery once more. Bartolomeo backed out of the room and found the servant waiting silently to escort him from the premises. He exited by the same door he’d come in by, and walked back to the market place.

*
The Dowager Margrafin watched him go from her window. Her servant entered the room. “Prepare for my departure to Schwebende Mühe, Walter,” she said. “We shall be leaving within the hour.”

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