Grantville Gazette, Volume X Read online

  "Drop the gun." Byron's voice was like the chill of a blizzard. Gotthilf could almost feel snow in the air. Belatedly, he brought his own pistol to bear on the man standing against the far wall. "No one else needs to get hurt."

  The man's laugh was high-pitched, almost manic. "And what will you do with me if I do? What would be my fate?"

  "Lubbold Vogler, we arrest you on the charges of theft, attempted theft, aiding and abetting theft, receiving stolen property, contributing to the delinquency of a child, and murder." Gotthilf marveled at how matter of fact Byron's voice sounded.

  "Ah, all very impressive, although I'm not sure those are all crimes under Magdeburg law. Still, the last could be troublesome." The other—Vogler, since he didn't reject the name—gave a slight bow over the pocket pistol that was a twin to the one Gotthilf held. A wisp of smoke curled up from the barrel, but Gotthilf could see that the hammer was cocked again.

  Watching the man's eyes, Gotthilf was very uneasy. He couldn't read Vogler's thoughts, but he knew they were racing, because the eyes were shifting frequently, like a wild animal looking for a way out of a trap.

  Byron took a slow step to his left. Gotthilf took a step to the right.

  "Drop the gun, Vogler." Byron's voice was even and cold.

  "I think . . . not!"

  Boom!

  Almost everyone in the room flinched at the loud report of Byron's pistol, a sound that left more than one set of ears ringing. Uncle, however, did not flinch.

  Uncle—Gotthilf decided he preferred to think of him like that—jerked against the wall behind him, down which he slid until he sat slumped against the wall, legs outstretched and head lolling like nothing so much as a rag doll tossed haphazardly across the room. But rag dolls don't have pistols fall from their lax hands, and rag dolls don't have crimson blood flowing from holes in their chests and don't leave large bloody smears on walls.

  Byron gestured toward the large boy in the back of the room who was trying to sneak out. Gotthilf pointed his pistol in that general direction and the boy froze, trying to emulate a statue. Meanwhile, Byron slid Uncle's pistol away from the corpse with the toe of his shoe.

  There was a sound in the door. Gotthilf glimpsed Captain Reilly out of the corner of his eye.

  "All over," Byron said. "Have someone take the big one into custody. He looks to be about the same age as the mule, so he may be an accomplice as well. The little ones are all pretty much victims, I think. They should be held together until someone can make arrangements for them."

  The next few minutes were bustling, as watchmen and up-timers came in and collected the children. Gotthilf put his pistol away after the largest was tied and hauled out.

  Burgomeister Gericke walked in after the flurry of activity was over. "So, you killed him, Lieutenant Chieske."

  "Yes, sir," Byron responded.

  "I would have preferred him alive, Lieutenant."

  "So would I, sir. But he had already killed a child and was trying to shoot me. I had no choice."

  Gericke's eyes turned and bored into Gotthilf's. "Do you agree with the Lieutenant's assessment, Watchman Hoch?"

  Gotthilf swallowed, stiffened, and stuttered, "Ye . . . Yes, Herr Magistrate. It happened as Lieutenant Chieske described it."

  The burgomeister's eyes shifted again. "Do you have any contrary comment, Captain Reilly?"

  "No, sir. From what we could hear outside, it sounded like it went down the way they describe it."

  Gericke paused for a moment, sighed, and nodded. "I agree. The death of the child is ruled a felonious murder on the part of Lubbold Vogler, committed for reasons unknown. The death of Lubbold Vogler is ruled justified self-defense on the part of Lieutenant Byron Chieske after said Vogler attempted to kill him." He looked older, for some reason.

  The two up-timer officers relaxed from their stiff positions, with almost identical expressions of relief crossing their faces. The burgomeister shook all their hands, including Gotthilf's, then left the death house.

  "Well, your first case solved," Bill Reilly started to comment, when a sound arose from behind them. They turned to see the body of the girl moving.

  * * *

  Willi roused slowly, head aching from the second knock of the day. He tried to move, but someone was lying on top of him. He heard people talking, but it was all blurry to him. "Get off," he whispered, but the person didn't move. He pulled his hands out and started pushing. With some difficulty, he managed to free himself enough to sit up.

  The other person's head was on his lap now. He put his hand on it, feeling it, looking with his fingers to see if it was someone he knew. The face was small, thin, with a bump in the nose; a familiar face, it was.

  "Erna." He reached down and shook her shoulder.

  "Erna." She rolled limply and his hand slipped, to land in something warm and sticky.

  "Erna!" He brought his fingers to his nose. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. What had happened? His thoughts were reeling.

  Steps sounded in the room. He felt Erna lifted off him, while other hands picked him up.

  "Willi?"

  "Byron?" Willi was confused. The last thing he remembered, he was home. How did Byron get here? "What happened to Erna?"

  "Willi . . ." He felt the man shake his head. "Willi, Erna is dead."

  The cold bubble in his chest burst, filling him with shock and grief. The screams followed.

  * * *

  Night had fallen some time ago. Gotthilf felt himself sagging where he stood, watching the final discussions between Captain Reilly, Lieutenant Chieske, Burgomeister Gericke, Frau Zenzi and her husband, and the senior pastor of Magdeburg.

  An amazing number of things had occurred in relatively short order. Not long after the burgomeister left, wagons had appeared: one for the corpses and one for the children found cowering in the house. The two larger children, Fritz and Möritz, classified as thugs from the testimony of the smaller ones, were tied up and made to march behind the wagons. The captain and the burgomeister intended to question them some more. They wanted to get to the bottom of Vogler's faginy scheme, in the hopes that this was the only one.

  Willi, once he was worn out from the screaming, would have nothing to do with the wagon. He kept breaking out in sobs for Erna. Byron was the only one the boy would talk to, so Byron carried him all the way back. He was sleeping now, rolled up in a blanket in the back of the children's wagon.

  The conference broke up. The burgomeister and pastor walked off together. Byron stopped at the children's wagon for a moment with Frau Zenzi. Willi sat up rubbing his eyes, listening to the words from the grown-ups. He began crying again, quietly, a child's sobbing.

  Captain Reilly came to Gotthilf. "Big day, huh?"

  Gotthilf nodded.

  "I'll be honest with you. I never expected to find anything like this, especially since we're just getting started. The burgomeister and I were talking about it; it just doesn't make sense for this guy to have a gun. That's several weeks' income to a petty crook. Doesn't make sense. There's something going on, here. We need to keep digging." He placed his hand on Gotthilf's shoulder. "This will be big news, you know. You and Lieutenant Chieske should get commendations of some sort for this."

  Willi finally nodded and Frau Zenzi folded him in her arms. Gotthilf watched as she nodded to Byron over the boy's head. Byron stepped back, looked around with weariness evident in every motion, then started down the street.

  Gotthilf nodded again as he watched Byron. "Where is the lieutenant going?"

  Reilly looked at Byron's receding back. "I suspect he's going to get a drink somewhere." He returned his gaze to Gotthilf. "You're his partner. Go with him. It's always hard on a cop when he shoots someone, and he needs you to be with him on this just as much as he has the last few days. If he doesn't want to talk, don't try to make conversation. Just sit with him." The captain gave Gotthilf a small push on the shoulder. "Go on. We'll talk to you tomorrow."<
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  Gotthilf received a sidelong glance from Byron acknowledging his presence when he fell into place beside the up-timer, but no words were said. The statue was back, Gotthilf decided.

  Weary himself, Gotthilf trudged alongside until Byron turned in at a tavern. He looked up to see they were entering the Green Horse. That was all right with him. A stool pulled up to a horse watering trough would have satisfied him at this point.

  Byron walked up to the bar. "Ale. Two. Large." He spun a coin on the bar top, received the two steins and walked over to an empty table in a dark corner, where he sat with his back to the wall. Gotthilf sat with him and applied himself to his stein.

  They were on the third refill when Byron began talking. He began by pulling his pistol out and laying it on the table.

  "There it is. The M1911A1 .45 automatic. Like most pistols, designed for one thing and one thing only: to kill people. It does a good job.

  "I was supposed to join the Sheriff's reserve. I was going to order a Glock, but then the Ring of Fire happened. So, here I am with Jonni's Grandad's old .45 that he brought back from World War II. It still works great. But I sure didn't expect to have it use it for real so soon."

  Byron's face was getting red, Gotthilf noticed.

  "I had the drop on him. All he had to do was put the gun down. That's all he had to do. He'd have stayed alive for a while, anyway. All he could see was his way."

  "The man murdered a child, Byron," Gotthilf responded. His voice was quiet. "And all but in front of a magistrate. He would have been hanged within the next day." Byron shook his head. "Put the gun away, Byron." Gotthilf pushed it with a finger. "Put it up before someone notices."

  "Right."

  It was the fourth refill before Byron spoke again.

  "I failed, Gotthilf. I screwed up royally. Gonna turn in my badge and go back to shipping supplies."

  "You didn't fail, Byron."

  "Two people are dead because of my mistakes. I failed."

  "You did nothing wrong. Vogler killed the girl, then committed suicide by trying to kill you. You did the best you could."

  "Then why's that girl dead? Huh? You want to explain that to me?" Byron was genuinely angry, Gotthilf saw. A hot anger, this was, unlike the cold anger he had seen a couple of days ago.

  "Sometimes evil wins, Byron."

  "You're barely old enough to grow a beard." Byron's voice was thick with sarcasm. "What do you know about evil?"

  Gotthilf felt anger of his own rise within him. "Four years ago Tilly's soldiers destroyed this city . . . my city . . . my home. My house and the houses of thousands of others were burned to ashes. Bodies were everywhere. Don't talk to me about evil—I've seen the results first hand. I know about the evil men can do. And sometimes evil wins. But what was it you said to me—that protecting my city from theft and murder and rape, not by soldiers but by those who were just stronger and more vicious was a goal worthy of a man?"

  Taken aback, Byron nodded.

  "So, we lost this battle. Does that mean we stop fighting the war?"

  Byron looked at Gotthilf, and after a moment gave another firm nod. "You'll do, Gotthilf. You'll do. And you're right."

  Toward the bottom of that stein, Byron said, "None so blind as those who will not see. Vogler just didn't see, is all."

  "Is that from the Bible, too?" Gotthilf thought it sounded scriptural.

  "Nope. But according to my friend Lenny Washaw, it was written by a Bible scholar; guy by the name of Matthew Henry, I think. But it's true enough, man—it's true enough."

  "Yes." Gotthilf just agreed with Byron.

  Byron turned and faced Gotthilf. For all the ale he had been drinking, he appeared to be stone cold sober.

  "This is why we do the job, man. This is why we will go back out on the streets tomorrow—to make sure that something like this—Does. Not. Happen. Again. Not on my watch."

  "Not on our watch." Sometime during the day, when he wasn't paying attention, something had changed. Gotthilf now understood why Byron was so serious about their work. It surprised him a little, but he did understand it. And after watching a girl's life ebb away because of the greed and anger of one evil man—not even an enemy, but a resident of Magdeburg—he agreed.

  Byron was turning his stein in circles on the table. After a few moments, he looked over at Gotthilf with a sly grin. "So, you going to tell me what Gotthilf means?"

  Gotthilf had to think for a moment as to what the English would be. "Means God's Help."

  "Does it now?" Byron laughed. "Well, that's probably appropriate, my friend. I suspect we'll need a lot of that help in the future—partner."

  Gotthilf returned a smile of his own as he warmed inside. "I agree—partner."

  The Prepared Mind

  By Kim Mackey

  "Chance favors the prepared mind."

  —Louis Pasteur

  Grantville, May 1632

  When Amy Kubiak walked into the biology classroom, Lori Fleming had her head on her desk. Amy smiled. Pete Farmer had been a good biology teacher when Amy had had him in high school. But now that she was working to become a teacher herself, she knew that she would have had trouble if Pete was her colleague. He had been so patronizing to his female students, unlike Greg Ferrara. Lori, on the other hand, wasn't patronizing at all, and her experience in the USDA helped her make her biology lessons more connected to reality, unlike Pete's mania for microbiology.

  "Lori, you okay?"

  Lori raised her head slowly. "I'm fine. Just another long meeting last night with the Ag group. I swear, men say that women are the gossipers, but you get J.D. and Gordon and Willie Ray together . . ."

  Amy laughed. "I was wondering why Alexandra was looking so bushed. When did the meeting finally break up?"

  "Midnight. Again." Lori grimaced. "But at least I have tonight free. Once we get Tony's little job done."

  Amy grimaced herself. "Nice how we got 'volunteered' for it. Ever notice when cleaning work needs to get done that Tony always seems to find other things he has to do?"

  Lori got up from her desk and stretched. "I noticed. I just wish he was less of a bureaucrat and more of a leader. He may be head of the science department, but that doesn't mean he can't, or shouldn't, get his hands dirty along with the rest of us."

  "Speaking of hands, he better start keeping them to himself in the future. I like teaching, especially chemistry, but now that I've got other options . . ."

  Lori tilted her head quizzically. "Other options?"

  Amy nodded. "My roommate, Nicki Jo, has been hired by Colette Modi to get the ball rolling on a chemical company that will be set up in Essen. She's cutting back to half-time at the methanol plant so she can spend more time with the chem team doing research. She said if I ever need work, she could use me in a heartbeat. And now that the Modis are flush with cash from Louis de Geer, it would pay pretty well."

  Amy paused and smiled at Lori. "We're procrastinating, aren't we?"

  Lori laughed. "Yeah, we might as well bite the bullet and get it done. Onward!"

  Together the two women left the classroom and headed down the hall.

  * * *

  "Oh God!"

  Amy laughed as she pulled on her latex gloves. "That bad?"

  Lori looked into the open door of the science department's refrigerator and shuddered. "Worse than bad. Horrid. Smelly. And there are . . . things growing on the walls!"

  Amy looked around the corner of the refrigerator door and shook her head. "Want me to go get some sulfuric acid? Or a flame thrower?"

  "No, I think the hot water and bleach will do. But this looks like it's going to take awhile. You still up for it? It's my responsibility, according to Tony."

  "Yeah, well, too bad he didn't tell you that last fall. Or that it was stuffed with Pete Farmer's bacteria and fungi supplies. You could have used them."

  Lori shook her head. "Probably not. This first year I was just happy to stay a chapter ahead of the kids in the textbook. I was too scared t
o try any labs beyond some basics with plants and animals. Not to mention I had no time outside of school to think about labs what with all the extra work helping with the agricultural stuff."

  She sighed. "Well, let's get started. If we find anything we want, we can put it in the cooler to stay fresh."

  It was fifteen minutes later when they found the paper bag labeled "Kwik-Stiks."

  "Kwik-Stiks?" Amy asked, opening the bag. "What are Kwik-Stiks?"