1635:The Dreeson Incident (assiti shards)

by Eric Flint

  "Then get on up here with the drums. We're stepping out."

  The Frankfurt municipal drum corps was good. They caught on to Jeffie's rhythm in no time.

  Soubise and Sandrart, watching the preparations, made particular note of the three companies of orange uniforms at the rear of the procession.

  "Pour encourager les autres, I presume," the brother of the duke of Rohan remarked.

  Nathan Prickett felt obliged to march with one of the militia companies, seeing as how he'd provided the arms for most of them. On the other hand, since he wasn't actually a member of the militia, he didn't feel obliged to march in the front rank. So he more or less hung around in the third rank. Close enough to "show the flag," not close enough to get hurt-well, not likely-in case the would-be pogromists in the taverns decided to fight back.

  Some of them did fight, in fact, including the ones in the tavern that Nathan's company marched against. But it was a pretty lame sort of thing. You might almost call it desultory, except there was nothing desultory about the man dying in the doorway of the tavern. He'd been the first one shot, as he came rushing out with an old musket, and it took a while before he stopped howling in agony. He'd been shot three times, all the wounds coming low down in his hips and abdomen. One of the militiamen might have shot him again just to put him out of his misery, but the other anti-Semites in the tavern had chosen to pour out of a side door and that had distracted the company.

  The first three of them got shot dead, too, but they were killed almost instantly.

  The rest surrendered. One of them, it seemed, had piled up a few too many grudges over the years. The militia company just plain refused to accept his surrender and shot him about half a dozen times. The others got off with nothing worse than a fair-to-middling beating with gun butts before they were marched down to the city's jail. Well, what passed for a jail. Back up-time, the SPCA would have screamed bloody murder if you'd stuffed rats in that hole.

  After checking around later-Henry Dreeson had a really good eye for these things and so did Sandrart, oddly enough-Nathan concluded that the experience of his militia company was about standard. Middle of the road experience, anyway. Some company had a tougher fight, but some didn't run into any opposition at all. Their targets just ran off.

  "Maybe we ought to hold off on the popular revolution for a little while," the chief theorist of the Frankfurt CoC said the next day. "Pay a little more attention to some of the stuff that Spartacus is publishing. Maybe we can work out a modus vivendi with the council. After all, if Gretchen Richter's own grandmother marched with members of the city council… not against them."

  The others nodded, including the chairman.

  There was no way for them know why Veronica had marched. Or that Gretchen hadn't known anything about the plan, much less approved her grandmother's participation in the activity.

  It was impressive, Soubise wrote to his brother. I have been, to some extent, surprised by the effectiveness of the Grantville mayor during this political tour. It was, after all, no more than a provincial town before the Ring of Fire. Not even a provincial capital. Nonetheless, he, in cooperation with Constantin Ableidinger, has proven to be effective in encouraging the successful integration of the former Franconian territories into the SoTF.

  His wife, of course…

  After that paragraph, he stopped to think again.

  De Ron has not managed to gather any additional information in regard to what Locquifier may be planning. I still have hopes that continued observation of the men staying at the inn Zum Weissen Schwan will provide us with information as to where Ducos has gone to ground.

  Dear Ruben, Nathan Prickett wrote to Blumroder in Suhl.

  I expect you'll already have heard about all the excitement last night before this letter gets to you, so I'll stick to what's important. The new guns that the firm provided to the militia performed really well. I was real pleased with the results. Even though it was damp and toward the end of the evening it started to drizzle, there were hardly any misfires.

  Two of the militia lieutenants lost their jobs over it, but since we've been working through the city council and the captain, that shouldn't affect sales.

  He figured that it wasn't worth wasting postage on a letter to Don Francisco. He was bound to hear all about it from a lot of other people. But someone else was sure going to expect a personal report from Johnny-on-the spot. He picked up another piece of paper.

  Dear Chandra.

  Erfurt

  Simon Jones spread the various newspapers out on the table, sorting them by date. "I've got to say," he commented, "that it seems to have played really well in Copenhagen."

  It certainly had.

  Any reporter worth his wages could see the drama of a Danish woman, a Danish commoner, showing the way to the patricians of an imperial city; more, showing the way to the up-timers; to the officials of the United States of Europe, even. Jason Waters was worth his wages, and more.

  Headlines, and then more headlines.

  It didn't quite salve the pride of Denmark for having been forced into a second Union of Kalmar. But it sure helped.

  Christian IV would present a medal to Dagmar Nilsdotter, wife of Sergeant Helmuth Hartke of the State of Thuringia-Franconia's own Fulda Barracks Regiment.

  More headlines.

  The same regiment that had, a short while before, heroically rescued Wesley Jenkins, the State of Thuringia-Franconia's civilian administrator of Buchenland, and his wife, his down-timer wife, from durance vile. (No need to mention that the jailers had already fled, leaving them nothing to do but unlock the door. Picayune details remained picayune details).

  Even more headlines.

  Christian IV would award the medal as soon as Dagmar could travel to Copenhagen, that was. She was expecting a baby in November.

  The heroine was not a virago, not a masculinized Amazon, but an honest Lutheran wife and mother.

  Gustavus Adolphus, not to be outdone or upstaged, would award a medal as soon as Dagmar Nilsdotter could travel to Magdeburg.

  Christian IV announced that he would travel to Barracktown bei Fulda and present the medal in person as soon as the mother-to-be had recovered from the travails of childbirth.

  Gustavus Adolphus, very busy but always alert to a good PR opportunity, announced that Princess Kristina would travel to Barracktown bei Fulda and present the medal in person.

  Christian IV announced that he and his future daughter-in-law would fly to Fulda together and present the medals simultaneously.

  Derek Utt and Wes Jenkins, after contemplating the topography of the immediate region, sent off a brief radio message that said, in essence, "not unless they intend to parachute out of the damned plane, they won't." To the distress of the politicians, the pilots agreed with their assessment.

  Erfurt, then. Christian IV and Kristina would fly to Erfurt and proceed the rest of the way in a motorized vehicle.

  That was where things stood at the moment the latest of the papers had gone to press. The reporter's breathless prose ended with: "Stand by for further announcements."

  Ron Stone nodded his head. "Ain't radio communication grand?"

  Chapter 17

  Frankfurt am Main

  Guillaume Locquifier pinched the candle out and lay on his pallet, thinking.

  They should have taken out the Stone brothers when they had the chance. Lackeys or not. Everything that had gone wrong in Rome had been the fault of those… He couldn't think of a suitable epithet. The sons of Tom Stone were in a category beyond epithets, whatever Michel said regarding their insignificance.

  The woman Veronica. The security surrounding her in Frankfurt had not been tight, except during the march itself. That had only been an artifact of the security surrounding the important civic officials.

  In one way, though, Antoine was perfectly correct. She was only important because of her relatives. There was no reason on earth for Richelieu to order her assassination. No reason for anyone to
order her assassination.

  Except, perhaps, her own family. If the reports that Gui and Fortunat had given about her general temperament, as they had observed it on the barge from Mainz to Frankfurt, were correct, then it would seem quite possible that almost any near relative might wish to see the end of her. But that would be personal, not political.

  Symbolism. Antoine wanted symbolism. When Antoine wanted it, Michel ordered it.

  Richelieu, once, had sent the Croats against Grantville.

  An assassination in Grantville itself? Everyone would blame that on Richelieu at once. Which would be… very satisfactory.

  Symbolism.

  Piazza perhaps? He was their president. The same office that Stearns had previously held, which would be a clear symbolic link.

  Or a down-timer? Ableidinger when he was in Grantville. He came, occasionally, to consult with Piazza.

  Or…

  He fell asleep.

  "It is clear to me now."

  The other four men looked at Locquifier.

  "It came to me in a dream a few days ago. The riot against the Jews. The riot here in Frankfurt that did not happen. That is something we can do."

  "Here in Frankfurt?" Deneau looked puzzled.

  "We have a guest." Locquifier opened the door and beckoned to de Ron, who showed another man in. "I would like to introduce Vincenz Weitz. He has a proposal for us."

  Brillard knew the man. By reputation, at least. Weitz was a teamster. He spent most of his time going back and forth from Frankfurt into the little jigsaw puzzle that Nils Brahe had turned into the Province of the Upper Rhine the previous summer, hauling wine. He and a half-dozen or so like-minded friends had been prominent among the anti-Semitic mutterers after the explosion at the Sachsenhausen redoubt. Not from Frankfurt, most of them-other haulers of heavy freight. A useful occupation. They were men who were regularly on the move from place to place. It did not attract any special attention from city authorities when the came or when they left.

  At Locquifier's invitation, Weitz began talking. He was arguing that it would be a major propaganda coup if they could destroy the synagogue in Grantville, thus demonstrating that the up-timers were either unable (too weak) or unwilling (thus hypocritical) to maintain in practice, right in the center of their power, the religious freedom that they advocated putting into the proposed constitution for the entire United States of Europe.

  "This will destabilize Richelieu how?" Brillard asked.

  Locquifier smiled. "By angering Stearns so much that he drops his opposition to the more punitive aspects of the treaty that Gustavus Adolphus intends to impose on the French."

  Brillard blinked. That was… really quite good.

  Ancelin nodded. "Such an attack would enable us to take propaganda advantage of the entire controversy going on between the Fourth of July Party and the Crown Loyalists on the topic of the level of religious toleration and the issue of a state church."

  Ouvrard jumped up. "He is right. Everyone has heard of the Grantville's synagogue. Of their anarchist 'freedom of religion.' We must destroy that synagogue. Wipe out the ghetto that exists like a worm in the heart of their little radish."

  Brillard stifled a smile. Clearly, Robert had not forgotten an unfortunate event that had marked the previous evening's supper. It was rare for de Ron to serve bad produce. He bought through a local grocery wholesaler name Peter Appel. Yesterday night, however… After Robert's experience, the rest of them had used their knives to cut their radishes in half before eating them. Which had proven to be a prudent precaution. Clearly, a field somewhere had an infestation of worms. Which was not immediately relevant, other than to the production of bad metaphors and similes, perhaps.

  "They don't have a ghetto," Ancelin said. "The synagogue is right out on an open street in the heart of the town. Close to the meeting of two bridges, which is the closest thing they have to a decent market square. I've seen it marked on my map of the Croat Raid."

  Weitz spoke up again. "So much the better. We will show that the up-timers cannot even protect their own pet Jews. They have built no palisade for them, leaving them open to random attacks."

  "Their lack of city walls was not precisely a problem during the Croat Raid," Ancelin pointed out.

  Brilliard leaned back, chewing on his upper lip. Neither Ducos nor Delerue had anything against the Israelites. Nor did he, himself. Clearly, God, for some incomprehensible reason, did not want the Jews to become Christian. If He wanted them to, they would scarcely have an option, no matter how stubborn and hard-hearted they might be. God was, after all, omnipotent.

  Still, Weitz was right about one basic fact. There was a synagogue in Grantville. That might work as a starting point.

  "There are five of us," Deneau said. "Five. One, two, three, four, five. I've organized riots and demonstrations before. How can our small group possibly attack two major targets at the same time, Weitz? At least, with any hope of success. We could, I suppose, lie down in front of the buildings and offer ourselves to be arrested on a matter of principle."

  "The attack will succeed this time. I will plan better than the Croat leader did. We will…" Weitz paused.

  "We?"

  "I have allies. Aschmann, from Hesse; Meininger, from Schleusingen; Heft from Bamberg; others. All of whom have their own ties. You will only need to provide a distraction somewhere else. Draw their police forces away from the synagogue. Only then will my men advance."

  Once Weitz had left, Ouvrard frowned. "I still don't like it. There are so few of us."

  "We can give ourselves time to bring in some of our other men from La Rochelle," Ancelin said.

  "So we write to Chalifour. Who will he send? Not Marin Girard-in her last letter, Jeanne said he had gone out of town with Etienne Lorion. Olivier won't part with Piquet or Marchant. Who does that leave? Leon Boucher. Georges Turpin, perhaps. Why would we want them?" Deneau threw his hands up in the air. "Even if he sent Plante and Baudin also-so we have nine men instead of five. How much does that help?"

  "Jeanne shouldn't be writing about whether they are in town or out. It's none of her business," Ouvrard griped.

  "How can she keep from knowing? They sleep in her attic. They eat in her kitchen. When Chalifour doesn't have jobs for them, they work in her brother's knife-grinding shop."

  "Even if she knows, she doesn't have to tell you about it."

  "I'm her husband."

  Locquifier stood up. "We can hire others for the distraction. They don't need to know what is going on. Ordinary street thugs. Mauger has an informant in place in Grantville. He can organize that."

  "Not the school. The Croats failed in their attack on the school, because…" Ancelin started to unroll his map. He truly loved his map of the Croat Raid on Grantville. He spent hours studying it.

  "We must not let Mauger's man in Grantville know about the synagogue." Locquifier shook his head. "That would make it necessary for us to let him, whoever he is, know too much about our overall goals and purposes. We will use hired thugs for only one. Only for the distraction, but Mauger's man must not know that it is a distraction. He must think it is all we are planning. Fortunat and Vincenz must take direct responsibility for the synagogue."

  "Is it a good idea to keep Mauger's agent so far out of the loop?" Ancelin asked.

  "We must," Locquifier said. "It is policy."

  Mathurin Brillard leaned against the wall, remembering Delerue's "Do not let your right hand know what your left hand is doing." It was pretty hard to argue with that one. Although given the complexity of what Guillaume was now planning, the "wheels within wheels" of Ezekiel 1: 15-17 might be more appropriate.

  Ouvrard looked over Ancelin's shoulder. "What should we tell him to target, then, if not the school? "

  "There are three schools." Ancelin pointed. "But the building they call the 'middle school' is very near the synagogue, so it would not be of any use at all. The police could easily see from one to the other and move to the second disturbance."<
br />
  Not any of the schools. For one thing, somewhere during the discussion, they had decided on March 4. A Sunday. In the morning. The schools would be empty.

  Ancelin studied the map for a few minutes more. "The hospital. The one with the famous Moorish surgeon. It's far enough away. Since the other attack is to be on the synagogue, it is all to the good that they permit Balthazar Abrabanel to practice there, since he is Jewish. And the father of Stearns' wife." He moved his finger. "Perhaps we can actually do them enough damage to please Michel."

  "Laurent Mauger must know nothing of what we plan. We must use him as a courier only. I emphasize this as strongly as I can." Locquifier tapped on the table.

  "Are you sure we can rely on him? That he won't open our instructions?" Ouvrard was a congenital pessimist.

  "The only sure things are death and taxes. So far, though, there haven't been any leaks from the letters we have sent to Michel through his firm." Deneau looked at Robert. "Just have de Ron flatter him a little. Congratulate him on his prudence and forethought in having someone in place."

  "Do we know who his local informant is? If we're planning to use the man to organize a demonstration, not just as a source of information, maybe we should find out more about him. After all, he isn't one of ours."

  "No, I don't think so, Robert. We can't control every single detail. As long as we strictly limit what information we send via Mauger, it should be safe enough." Locquifier paused in his finger tapping. "All he needs to know is that he is to find a pretext and, on the specified date, carry out a demonstration against the Leahy Medical Center."

  "True. Not one word to him about the synagogue. That, we will manage ourselves."

  "There should be some pamphlets," Locquifier said. "Something disseminating a sense of growing discontent. So the demonstration at the hospital will not come as a complete surprise, totally disconnected from the 'will of the people' of which the up-timers claim to be so fond."

  Laurent Mauger had begun to wonder whether or not keeping an informant in place in Grantville, full time on the ground, was worth the expense, since the real center of political action in the USE had moved to Magdeburg. Now, however, he was reassured. De Ron said that his employer was pleased. That Mauger was to make sure he had an agent in place there, and to prepare that person to conduct an important propaganda blitz.