by Eric Flint
Ulrik nodded toward the table. The Leubecker Zeitung was only the latest newspaper and journal and broadsheet stacked on it. The pile was so big it threatened to spill off entirely. If it did, it would cover a good portion of the floor.
"I have been following the news closely, Kristina, as you know. Why did the chancellor of Sweden send away the American Moor Nichols? Everyone knows he's the best doctor in the world. So why is he no longer at your father's bedside in Berlin?"
Kristina looked uncertain. "I…?I don't know, Ulrik. But maybe Uncle Axel has a reason."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure he does. In fact, I'm sure I know what he would say to me right now if he were in this room and I asked him the question directly. He'd say that he sent Dr. Nichols away because the doctor himself said there was not much more he could do, now that he'd saved the king from the infection in his body. And so-being as he is such an important physician-it would really be best if he returned to Magdeburg, since everyone knows Magdeburg is becoming the great center of medicine in the Germanies. It might even have surpassed Grantville and Jena, by now."
"Well…?doesn't that makes sense? It sounds like it does."
"In and of itself, yes. But it simply raises the next question, which is-"
Caroline interrupted. There was real anger in her voice.
"Which is why the hell didn't James Nichols take your father back to Magdeburg with him? So what if there's not much more that can be done for him? 'Not much' isn't the same thing as 'nothing,' and whatever can be done for your daddy can be done a lot better in Magdeburg than it can in Berlin."
So. Platzer had come to the same dark conclusion as Ulrik had. Axel Oxenstierna would not kill his own king. But he was willing to risk letting him die, wasn't he?
Still, Kristina soldiered on. Ulrik was very proud of her.
"But…?maybe the travel would be too hard on Papa."
Ulrik shook his head. "I'm sure that's what the chancellor would say. But it's simply not true."
Baldur finally gave up the softball act. "To put it mildly!" he said, in a caustic tone. It sounded so much more like him, too, it really did.
He'd been leaning against a nearby wall. Now, he levered himself away from it with a little heave of his shoulders and took two steps toward Kristina. "They hauled your father in a horse-litter across western Poland and Brandenburg-which is to say, along cow trails-for five and a half days, didn't they? And he survived, didn't he? Don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise, girl. King or not, emperor or not, your Papa is as tough as men come."
Kristina looked pleased, as well she might. Baldur Norddahl passed out praise the way a miser passes out coins to the needy.
The Norwegian shook his head. "It's all crap. You've ridden in a plane."
"Yes, it's wonderful!"
Baldur smiled. "Probably not so wonderful if you're badly injured. Still, if the pilot is being careful, the ride won't be any rougher than a trip in a horse-litter."
He raised a finger. "But with one great difference! It took Stearns almost six days to get your Papa to Berlin. How long would it take to fly him from Berlin to Magdeburg?"
The princess frowned. "Well, I've flown from Luebeck to Magdeburg. And that's even farther, isn't it?"
"A lot farther," Ulrik said. "Berlin is less than a hundred miles from Magdeburg. The truth is, Kristina, there are several ways your father could be brought to Magdeburg, where he'd be able to get the best medical care available in the world. An airplane would be the fastest, but it's not actually the one I'd propose. Speed isn't critical any longer."
"Barge," said Baldur. "The Havel river runs right by Berlin. It's navigable-for a shallow barge, but it doesn't need to have much of a draft for this purpose-and it will take you down to the Elbe. The Havel enters the Elbe near Werben. Then you'd transfer him onto one of the newer and bigger powered barges and bring him up the Elbe to the Magdeburg."
"It's a roundabout route," said Ulrik. "Still, it can't be more than three hundred miles all told. Three hundred miles on river barges which could be prepared beforehand for the trip would take far less time than the trip your father already took to Berlin. And be far more comfortable and easier on him."
"I'd rather be on a well-made river barge," added Baldur, "than be stuck in Berlin."
Kristina's jaws got tight. "I'm getting mad now."
"As well you should," Ulrik said.
"So what should we do?" she asked. "We can't stay here. Uncle Axel's word is law here. It really is. I never liked Stockholm anyway. Should we go to Copenhagen?"
Caroline Platzer looked alarmed, until she saw that Ulrik was already shaking his head.
"No. That would be a very bad mistake. I think it's essential that you and I stay together and-"
"Oh, yes!" Kristina exclaimed. "You have to stay with me, Ulrik! You have to!"
Her hands were gripping his as tightly as they could, now. Her eyes were wider than ever, her face as pale as he'd ever seen it.
"You have to!"
He drew her near and gently kissed her forehead. "You are my betrothed, Kristina," he said softly. "And I am not a man who takes my vows lightly. I will not leave you. I swear that on my honor, here before God."
She released his hands and threw her arms around him, clutching him tightly. "Good. That's very, very, very good. It would be so hard for me, without you."
After perhaps a minute, she relaxed her hug and stepped back a foot or so.
"But why not go to Copenhagen?"
"Because if we both go-and we would have to, since we've agreed to stay together-it would look as if I'd coerced you. And was trying to take advantage of the crisis to advance the interests of Denmark."
"Oh." She thought about that for a moment and then nodded. "That makes sense."
Caroline spoke up. "We probably don't have much time left, do we?"
Ulrik glanced at the pile of newspapers. "Not much, no. Uncle Ax-Oxenstierna is summoning all of them to Berlin. Well, Wettin is, officially. But I'm sure the chancellor is really the driving force now."
Ulrik had met Wilhelm Wettin and spent several hours in his company. He liked the man. But like him or not, the prime minister of the USE had recklessly plunged into the depths. Ulrik did not think those waters would suit him much. But into them he'd gone, nevertheless.
"Summoning all of who?" Caroline asked, frowning.
"Who do you think? Most of the major figures in the Crown Loyalist Party, to start with. But this goes beyond narrow politics. Important disgruntled noblemen, of course. Wealthy and resentful burghers. If a man has influence and wishes profoundly that the Ring of Fire had never happened, he's probably on his way to Berlin by now. He certainly got an invitation."
Caroline stared at him. She was now quite wide-eyed herself.
"You're guessing," she said abruptly.
"To a considerable degree, yes." He flicked a dismissive forefinger across the stack of newspapers. "Most of these are fairly wretched, and the ones that aren't come irregularly. So, yes, a lot of this is guesswork on my part." He flashed a little smile. "But on this subject I'm a very well educated guesser, you know."
"Well…?yeah, I guess that's true."
"So we have some time still, you think?" That came from Baldur. It was about as far removed from an idle question as could be imagined. Ulrik could practically hear the blades being sharpened, the pistols loaded…
The outrageous lies and subterfuges, of course.
"Yes, but not all that much. The chancellor-nor the prime minister, certainly-won't take any drastic public steps or measures until they have their own people organized." He snorted disdainfully. "As much as you can organize such a sullen pack of dogs. I swear, they make even Danish noblemen look like paragons of civic virtue. But once they feel they have the wind at their back, then-yes. If we're still here in Stockholm, they'll simply have us arrested if we haven't obeyed Oxenstierna and come to Berlin already."
"You too?" asked Kristina. "Won't that make your father very angry
?"
"Probably. But…" Ulrik sighed. "I am very fond of my father in most ways. But he's simply not a king you can depend on in a crisis."
"So where do we go?" asked Caroline.
"I should think it was obvious. We go straight to the heart of power. We go to Magdeburg." His voice began to rise, as the anger finally seeped through. "Let the chancellor try to dictate who rules and who does not, when the rightful heir to the land, the empire and the union had placed herself in the bosom of her people. Let him try."
Kristina clapped her hands. "Oh, yes! People like me there!"
"Yes, they do. Soon, girl, they will like you even more."
Caroline Platzer finally realized the full scope of what was about to unfold.
"Prince," she said, her tone one of pleading. "She's still only a child…"
"I'm almost nine!" Kristina stamped her foot. "In a month. Month and a half. Well, almost two. Still, nine years old isn't a child anymore."
She looked up at her husband-to-be, who was almost three times her age. "Is it, Ulrik?"
He gave her a shoulder a little squeeze. "For most people, yes. Nine years old is still a child. But you're of the house of Vasa and I'm of the house of Oldenburg, We grow up much faster."
Kristina gave Caroline a triumphant look. "See?"
Caroline wasn't looking at the princess, though. She was still looking at Ulrik.
"I didn't…?I hadn't…"
He cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
She swallowed. Then took a breath and squared her shoulders, as if she were a soldier reporting for duty. "I never understood-never realized-I didn't think…"
She took a second breath. Her shoulders relaxed a little.
"I guess I just didn't think you were this…?bold."
"Oh, most certainly!" exclaimed Baldur. He clapped Ulrik on the shoulder. "In the olden days he'd have gone a-viking. Every summer! And I'd have followed him, too."
The humor went away, then. Norddahl's eyes were normally a light blue, but now they looked almost gray. Not the warm gray of ash, but the gray of arctic seas.
"Every summer, I'd have followed him," he said quietly. "Each and every one. There are not so many princes in the world-not real ones-that you can afford to let go of the one you find."
"That's very…?medieval, Baldur," said Kristina. Very, very approvingly.
Kassel, capital of Hesse-Kassel
Amalie Elizabeth von Hanau-Munzenberg had access to many more newspapers than Ulrik did. Better ones, too.
But she'd let slip her lifelong habit of reading newspapers, these past weeks. She was a widow now, no longer a wife. And she'd found that the change had affected her far more powerfully than she would have believed, before her husband was killed on the banks of the Warta.
Her marriage to Wilhelm V had been one of political convenience and family advancement, originally, as were most marriages among their class of people. Neither at the beginning nor at any time since could you say they were romantically involved, in the way the up-timers used the phrase.
Still, they'd been married for years. She'd borne him a son, who would someday become William VI. She could hear him now playing in a nearby room, with all the energy and enthusiasm of a healthy six-year-old boy. He was a smart boy too, it was already obvious.
For years, the last face she'd seen most days before she slept was her husband's. And his was usually the first face she saw in the morning. Except for servants, of course, but they didn't count.
She'd almost always been glad to see the face, too. Many wives in her class dreaded opening their eyes in the morning. But she never had. Wilhelm's worst flaws had simply been irritating, nothing worse than that. If he wasn't always the cleverest and shrewdest of men, he was certainly no dullard, either. Generally good-natured, often of good cheer…
She missed him. She really missed him. There was still an ache inside.
Finally, though, just a few days ago, she'd started to resume her normal activities.
It hadn't taken her long to start feeling another ache inside. A hollowness in her stomach, this one, not a hollowness in her heart.
She got the Hamburg newspapers and journals regularly. Also all the most important ones from Magdeburg, Hannover, Mainz, Nurnberg-Grantville, of course.
The pattern was clear in all of them, if you knew what to look for.
The Swedish chancellor fixed in Berlin, like a barnacle on a piling. Why? Berlin was a wretched place. Miserable to live in, and a political backwater.
The badly injured king kept there, jealously guarded, the great up-time Moorish doctor dismissed. Why? Once the weather cleared, Gustav Adolf could have easily been moved to the capital. Or Grantville or Jena, for that matter-wherever the medical care would be the best for his condition.
General Lennart Torstensson and the bulk of the USE army, ordered to besiege Koniecpolski in Poznan.
For God's sake, why? Amelie Elizabeth was no soldier herself, but as you'd expect from a very capable landgravine of Hesse-Kassel, she understood a great deal about military affairs. Torstensson had no chance of taking Poznan, not as badly as the war had gone so far. So why keep his army in winter siege lines which would be very hard on the troops? It would be much more sensible to retreat and winter over in Gorzow and Zielona Gora.
Only one explanation made sense. The Swedish chancellor Oxenstierna-Wilhelm Wettin, formally, but Wilhelm on his own was not this ruthless-was keeping the unreliable USE soldiery as far away as possible. And he was deliberately bleeding them.
The strategy was cunning, in a reptilian way. But didn't the chancellor understand how reckless it was? Did he really think an army would just quietly starve to death?
The USE's Third Division, under Stearns, had been sent even farther away. To southern Bohemia, if the newspaper accounts were to be believed. To do what? Help Wallenstein defend himself against the Austrians?
Again, why? The last time Austria attacked Wallenstein-just a little over two years ago, at the second battle of the White Mountain-they'd been defeated. Was it likely they would try again? Not impossible, of course, but also not at all likely. So why weaken the USE army by drawing off a third of its forces?
Then, there was the evidence she'd spent all of yesterday and half of today piecing together. This took much more time, because there was no summary to be found anywhere, in any one newspaper or journal. Just small accounts scattered across many of them-most of them, actually-of what seemed to be casual movements. This markgraf going to visit his first cousin; this freiherr off to purchase some land; this burgermeister off to do this; that reichsritter off to do that.
She didn't believe it for a minute. She knew many of these people. The markgraf in question only had three first cousins. One had drowned as a young man during his wanderjahr in a drunken stupor, one had married an Italian viscount and was living somewhere in Tuscany, and the third had been filing lawsuits against the markgraf for at least fifteen years.
The freiherr? Going off to buy land? With what? Just six months ago, he'd tried to borrow money from Hesse-Kassel. They'd refused the loan, of course. The man was notorious for not repaying his creditors.
The burgermeister? Oh, that explanation was particularly grotesque. He was supposedly-
"Ah!" Angrily, the landgravine swept all the newspapers off her desk.
And the final piece of the puzzle-and to her mind, the most damning. Why had she not received an invitation to this so-obvious conclave?
The answer was just as obvious. She called for a servant.
"Paper and ink. Then pick this up. Not now. After I'm finished with the paper and ink which you still haven't fetched for me."
The servant girl raced off. Amalie Elizabeth forced herself to calm down a bit. There was no purpose in being harsh to servants simply because they were there. Doing so just made them more impervious to discipline when it was needed.
As soon as the servant returned, she began to write.
It was almost certainly a futile exer
cise, but she had to make the attempt.
Wilhelm, my old and dear friend. I implore you once again-
Chapter 43
Berlin, Capital of Brandenburg
Axel Oxenstierna laid a gentle hand on Gustav Adolf's shoulder. "Be well, my old friend. You need worry about nothing. Just heal. Come back to us."
The king had seemed to be dozing. Thankfully. He'd had one of his sudden furies two hours early. They came for no reason, they left for no reason, and left everyone exhausted, including the king himself.
Gustav Adolf's eyes opened suddenly. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition there.
But if it had been there, it passed. He just seemed puzzled now. His eyes drifted away from Oxenstierna and came to rest on his bodyguard. That was Erling Ljungberg, who had replaced Anders Jonsson. For a moment, again, there seemed to be recognition in the king's eyes.
It would not be surprising. Ljungberg's facial features did not resemble those of Jonsson's very closely, but otherwise they were much alike. Both very big men, both blond, both utterly ferocious in battle. They even shared the same love of American pistols. In fact, the pistol holstered at Ljungberg's waist was the very one that had been in Jonsson's hand when he died.
If Gustav Adolf did recognize him, though, it would be hard to know for sure. His speech was still…?very odd. Axel would have thought he was outright mad, except for what the Moor had explained. This might still pass away, if all went well.
"Birches? Is that folded?" the king asked. "Just move the sand under the hymns."
Axel stroked his hair. "Rest, king. Rest."
He turned away, headed for the door. It was time to attend to the king's business.
"Make sure he comes to no harm," he said to Ljungberg, then had to restrain a little laugh when he saw the man's disgusted look. Giving such instructions to such a bodyguard was quite pointless, after all. You might as well instruct the sea to be wet.
One of the palace's servants was quick to open the door. Very quick. It had not taken Sweden's chancellor long at all to make clear to the servants of Brandenburg-the servants of former Brandenburg-that if they wished to keep their sinecures they'd have to understand that the old sleepy ways of Berlin were coming to an end. Soon enough, this would be the new capital city of the United States of Europe.