He set the book on the table in his chamber, right next to the bottle he'd brought from the palace in Beç—a thing of beauty to hold the German king's wine.
He reached for the bottle and took a swallow of its contents.
Murad’s birthday had passed just a few weeks earlier. He was now twenty-four years old.
…dead at age 29…
He stared at the bottle for a time. Then, took another swallow.
Five years.
Chapter 60
Brzeg, thirty miles southeast of Breslau
The Lady Protector of Lower Silesia—a title Gretchen Richter still found ridiculous—was seated at the table in Brzeg’s largest tavern where she’d been holding court. That was an expression no one would dare use to her face, knowing how much she’d detest it—but which, of course, also proved the point. Whether she liked it or not, approved of it or not, Gretchen Richter was now the ruler of Lower Silesia.
No one doubted that, certainly not the thousands of mercenaries who’d formerly been in the employ of Heinrich Holk and were now fleeing the province. Lovrenc Bravnicar’s cavalry had been pursuing them to the border—bits of them; pieces of them; they were no longer an organized army—but there’d been very little actual fighting.
Gretchen stared up at Rebecca Abrabanel, who’d just entered the tavern and placed a message on the table in front of her.
“I didn’t realize you had a radio,” she said. Gretchen’s tone was at least half-accusatory.
“I am the Secretary of State of the United States of Europe on official business. Of course I have a radio with me. I have had it all along. The Belle is a small plane but it’s not that small.”
Gretchen now looked at the woman standing a few feet behind Rebecca, in the uniform of the USE Air Force. That look was also rather accusatory.
Lieutenant Laura Goss shrugged, without unclasping her hands behind her. “It fits easily in the back. It’s one of the came-through-the-Ring up-time models, you know. Nothing clunky about it. And there’s no point glaring at me like that. I’m just the chauffeur.”
Gretchen looked back down at the message. Then, back up at the Air Force officer. Her gaze was still on the accusatory side.
“And how did you land here anyway?” she demanded. “We haven’t built an airstrip.”
Goss issued a derisive little snort. “Airstrip! Do you think the very first Belle”—she made a jerking motion with her head toward the tavern entrance—“which is the one out there, by the way—took off and landed from an airstrip? Jesse Wood made that first flight and dozens after it from a flat meadow. This part of Poland’s got plenty of flat meadows, including one right out of town. I practically taxied down the main street, such as it is. Would have, maybe, if it weren’t for that half-baked wall they’ve got in the way.”
Technically, Brzeg was a walled town. Those walls didn’t provide much protection against anyone except a band of outlaws, but there was a gate barring the road into the town.
Gretchen now transferred the still-half-accusatory look to Eric Krenz. Who, for his part, shrugged in a manner that was every bit as insouciant as the Air Force lieutenant’s had been.
“Don’t glare at me either, Gretchen,” he said. “I’m still a captain in the USE army. You think I’m going to tell my own secretary of state I’m not opening a gate for her?”
“You are not a captain in the USE army,” Gretchen said. She rapped a knuckle on the radio message. “Not any longer. You’ve been promoted to major.”
Krenz did not look pleased by the news. “It’s just as they say! No good deed goes unpunished.”
To most people, a promotion meant additional recognition and prestige. To Krenz, it meant additional work and responsibility.
“She’s right, though,” said Tata, who’d been standing next to Gretchen at the table. She straightened up from reading the message. “It also says you’re still in command of the troops detached from the Third Division and it says a company from von Arnim’s army—excuse me, von Arnim’s former army—is being sent here from Leipzig and will be under your command as well.”
Eric looked gloomier still. “Marvelous.”
Tata went back to reading through the message, which, for a radio message, was unusually long. “The really big news, though…” She shook her head. “I hadn’t expected that.”
“Me either,” said Gretchen, almost hissing the words.
* * *
Lukasz Opalinski had been standing against a far wall, doing his best to seem invisible, which was not easy for a man as big as he was. He’d never seen Star Wars—never even heard of it, in fact—but his posture and countenance exuded one of the famous lines of dialogue from the movie.
This isn’t the Polish hussar you’re looking for.
Lukasz hadn’t spoken to Jozef in several days. What radio message had he sent to Stanislaw Koniecpolski? What in the name of Jesus—Poles, with their tradition of religious freedom, took blasphemy a lot less seriously than most Christians did—were they doing here?
Now, he cleared his throat. “If I might ask, what does the message say?”
Tata glanced at him. “The gist of it—”
Gretchen interrupted her, taking over the summary. “It says I’m confirmed as the so-called ‘Lady Protector of Lower Silesia’—which is still an absurd title!—and that the United States of Europe is declaring Lower Silesia a protectorate under its jurisdiction.”
Lukasz had feared as much. He and Jozef had just helped the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth’s sworn enemy to conquer one of the PLC’s own provinces.
This is what the Americans would call friendly fire. To which they would no doubt add, on steroids. Lukasz still didn’t know exactly what steroids were, but he grasped the essense of the expression.
He found himself whistling soundlessly. Would he still whistle so, before they kicked the stool out from under him and the rope seized his neck?
* * *
“Now that I have seen to the proper establishment of authority in our nation’s new province,” said Rebecca, “I must leave. Prime Minister Piazza has instructed me to go to Linz.”
Gretchen’s gaze now became fully accusatory. “Where your husband—and mine, whom I have not seen since he presented me with this”—here she gave her expanding belly a little slap—“are now stationed.”
“Indeed.” Rebecca smiled. “I shall give Colonel Higgins your regards.”
“I want to see him.”
“I will tell him that.”
“There is no justice.”
“Of course there is.” Rebecca leaned over and tapped the radio message with her forefinger. “Are you not yourself the one dispensing justice, here in Lower Silesia?”
And with that, she departed the tavern.
* * *
Shortly afterward, the situation deteriorated. Gretchen Richter was never one to let fury/indignation/resentment/despondency get in the way of her duty.
The town authorities of Brzeg had remained silent throughout Rebecca’s visit, but now they came forward and began flooding Gretchen with pleas, protests and demands. Their own German dialect was not so different from the Amideutsch that Rebecca and Gretchen had been speaking that they hadn’t been able to understand the exchange.
The heart of it, certainly—which was that Gretchen was their new mistress. And they wanted assurances from her concerning…
Practically everything, it seemed.
Guild practices and customs must be maintained.
Only Lutheran churches could be allowed on the streets.
Jews must be expelled, if any of the Christ-killing dogs had the nerve to show up in Brzeg.
No peasants had any citizenship rights in the town.
They got no farther before the explosion.
Lady Protector of Lower Silesia, indeed. It was understandable if the assembled notables of Brzeg—or Brieg, as they insisted on calling it—soon found that title indistinguishable from She-Devil From Below.
> Within a quarter of an hour, Gretchen had issued her decrees and sent Tata with a squad of soldiers to the town’s printer to have them produced and plastered all over town.
She did spare the guild masters. For the moment. All others fell to the ax.
Complete separation of church and state now exists in Lower Silesia. No churches have any special authority or privileges.
Jews are welcome to enter Brzeg either on business or personal affairs. Hostility toward such persons exhibited in any public manner will be punished.
At that point, two more squads of soldiers were sent forth. One to erect a pillory in the town square. The other to purchase—for a reasonable price; gouging would be dealt with severely—a sturdy horsewhip.
The gate to the town is to be kept open at all times. Day or night, seven days a week. Free entry and exit is granted to all citizens of Lower Silesia—and every inhabitant of the province is now a citizen.
In the event of a military emergency, all citizens of Lower Silesia have the right to seek shelter in the nearest walled city. Authorities attempting to exclude such persons will be harshly punished.
At this point, yet another squad of soldiers was sent forth to find and purchase—for a reasonable price; gouging would be dealt with severely—some rope of suitable length and diameter.
Gretchen refrained from ordering the erection of an actual gallows. But she did assure the assembled notables—all of whom were now clustered as far away from her as they could get—that an experienced carpenter would be assigned to design one. And there were plenty of experienced carpenters in the ranks of the USE army, so she didn’t care in the least if the town’s carpenters were inclined to cooperate or not.
Until that point, Lukasz was rather enjoying the situation. No Pole objects to seeing haughty German patricians put firmly in their place.
Alas, Gretchen went further. She now turned toward him and issued a new set of commands:
“I’m sick of this. These are the worst ones I’ve encountered yet, but all of these Silesian town councils disgust me. I want you and Jozef to put a priority on organizing a farmers’ militia—a big militia; well-armed and well-trained. At least two thousand men. Three or four would be better.”
Lukasz tried to think of a way out.
“Most of them won’t know any German,” he protested. “We’ll wind up with a military force that can’t speak the national language.”
“I’m glad you brought that up. I see we need a new decree.”
Henceforth, the official languages of Lower Silesia are German and Polish. All official proclamations and instructions will be issued in both languages or, in areas where only German or Polish is widely spoken, in whichever language predominates.
Military units are not exempt from this decree.
“That should do it,” she said.
Breslau (Wroclaw), Lower Silesia
Formerly Poland, now claimed by the USE
When Jozef Wojtowicz got the radio message from Brzeg—Gretchen had a radio also, of course—he threw up his hands.
“The woman is insane! Now she wants me and Lukasz to organize a Polish farmers’ militia. A big one—she’s talking about thousands of men!”
Christin George cocked her head. “I was under the impression she’d already told you to do that.”
Jozef shrugged irritably. “Yes, yes—but I didn’t take it all that seriously. Now Lukasz tells me she really wants it done. Read it yourself!”
He handed her the radio message, which Christin read quickly. She didn’t have her daughter’s aptitude with languages, but by now she was quite familiar with written Amideutsch—although the spelling could sometimes throw her off. No language or dialect of the time was consistently spelled; certainly not one as new as Amideutsch.
Finished, she tossed it back on the table. “You’d better hop to it, then.” Adding, with a grin: “But I think we’ve got time for a quickie.”
Linz, capital-in-exile of Austria-Hungary
When he saw the man waiting for him at the entrance to his rooms in the palace, Mike Stearns came to an abrupt halt.
“Francisco. When do you arrive? I didn’t even know you were coming.”
“Early this morning. Just an hour ago,” said Nasi. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming—and it’s my hope the news still hasn’t spread. Not a great hope, though, since Eddie flew me down. Airplanes are still rare enough in Linz that the arrival of one always draws some attention.”
He nodded at the door. “Please, Michael, may we enter? I’d like to keep my visit as little-known as possible, until we’ve decided on a course of action.”
“Course of—?” Mike shook his head. “Sure, come on in.” He stepped forward, opened the door and passed through.
“Foolish of me,” said Nasi, chuckling softly, as he followed Mike into the room. “I didn’t think to see if it was already unlocked.”
Mike pulled up a chair for him and sat on the edge of his bed. The room was small, containing nothing more than a single bed, a small writing table and chair, a clothes trunk and an armoire that was well-made and ornately carved but not spacious. It was just big enough to hold his spare uniforms.
“I saw no point in locking it,” Mike explained. “I’ve got nothing in here worth stealing—not, at least, for anyone who could get through the guards out front—and the locks in this day and age are crappy anyway.”
“You didn’t bring one of your up-time padlocks?”
Mike shook his head again. “You wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t something really important, Francisco. So what is it?”
Nasi set his valise on the floor and sat down. “I have news, Michael. Good news—very good, in fact—but there are major security problems posed.”
He went on to explain.
* * *
After he was done, Mike pursed his lips. “’Major security problems’ is putting it mildly. I presume you didn’t tell Denise or Eddie.”
“No, of course not.”
“Anyone?”
“Just you.”
“Nor even the radio operator?”
“He doesn’t know the code Minnie and I used.”
Mike ran fingers through his hair. “All right, so we can still keep it to the bare minimum. That would be Ferdinand and Gustav Adolf, the way I see it. Well, Rebecca too. We can’t cut the USE’s government completely out of the loop and she’d kill me when she found out.”
Nasi smiled. “I trust Rebecca. Anyone else?”
Bells began ringing outside. Mike’s head came up.
“Okay, the wedding’s about to start and I’m supposed to be there.” He rose to his feet. “You want to wait here or come with me?”
“I’ll wait here. If I appear at the wedding, there will be questions.”
Mike pointed to the desk, which was designed with a lift top. “I’ve got a few books in there, if you need something to read.”
“Sadly, I already have reading material.” Nasi reached into his valise and pulled out a rather thick folder.
“What’s that? And why ‘sadly’?”
“In here are the relevant documents concerning my three prospective brides. I had a thorough investigation done, so it’s fairly voluminous. And ‘sadly,’ because I’ve spent too much time with you Americans. I’m afraid I’ve been infected with your sentimentality when it comes to marriage.”
Mike grinned. “True love and all that.”
“Exactly so.”
Mike turned and placed his hand on the doorknob. Then, paused, as he listened to the church bells.
“And two more,” he said.
Chapter 61
Linz, capital-in-exile of Austria-Hungary
Noelle never remembered much about the wedding, except for the huge crowds that seemed to surround them wherever she and Janos went. They were huge, too, it wasn’t just her imagination. Later, after she had time to process everything, she understood the reason that was so. It would be nice to think she and her new hus
band were wildly popular, but the actual explanation was both more prosaic and a lot more cold-blooded.
Austria-Hungary had had its back to the wall, until the USE showed up and played the critical role in beating back the Turks in what was being called the Battle of Steyregg. And while Gustav Adolf had been in overall command of rhe allied forces, every one of the most visible features of that victory—the ten-inch naval rifles on the spit, the Third Division; most of all, the huge airship that had driven off the Ottoman fleet of airships—all of them were associated with Americans.
And, now, one of Austria-Hungary’s most prominent noblemen and a close friend and advisor of Emperor Ferdinand III was marrying an American. One who, it was said, was close to the USE’s new prime minister, Ed Piazza—and just to put the icing on the cake, both the prime minister and the bride were themselves Catholics.
The simmering dispute over the nature of the marriage had vanished. Noelle knew from Janos that Ferdinand had been prepared to rule that their marriage would not be morganatic, and he’d stare down the nobility who objected. But, in the event, that proved unnecessary. Just as he had said he would, the moment the treaty was signed between the Empire of Austria-Hungary and the Kingdom of Bohemia, Wallenstein had ennobled Noelle as the new Countess of Homonna—with all of the lands down to the smallest pond and patch that her new husband’s family had once owned.
Whatever anyone thought of that arrangement—which, to uncharitable souls, could seem as if an upstart king had given a made-up title to an upstart commoner—they were keeping their mouths shut. The debate over the class status of Americans would continue, with the existing set-up pleasing no one but still being something they could all tolerate for the moment.
The Austrian nobility wouldn’t have to lock horns with the emperor. That could be a dicey proposition, especially given that the attitude of their Hungarian counterparts was uncertain. On the one hand, Hungarian aristocrats could be just as haughty as Austrian ones; on the other hand, it was one of their own whose marriage was being fiddled with.
For their part, the Americans could let the issue slide for a while longer—“kick the can down the road,” in their own idiom. Almost of them disliked aristocratic pretensions and a lot of them purely detested them. Among that number, ironically, was the very man so many people called “the Prince of Germany.” But, if pressed, Mike Stearns would insist that the title was merely a whim—a jest, almost. Did any American think that Elvis Presley had really been “the King,” after all?