Gotthilf followed Byron up the hall, down the stairs and out the main entrance of the building, grabbing their coats on the way. He caught up with his partner outside, waving for their driver to bring up the light horse-drawn cart they used for transportation.
“So what are we going to do?” Gotthilf asked as the cart pulled up.
“Dig some more,” Byron replied tersely. Gotthilf followed his partner onto the cart, and they left to begin digging.
* * *
The city of Magdeburg in the year 1635 was unique throughout Europe—throughout the world, actually. There was no place like it.
On the one hand, it was old. The city name originally meant “Mighty Fortress,” and historical records indicated that it was founded in the year 805 by none other than the Emperor Charlemagne. Histories of the Germanies, whether contemporary or from the up-time library in Grantville, mentioned the city often. It had many connections with Holy Roman Emperors over the years. It became the See of the Archbishop of Magdeburg in 968, and its first patent and charter was given in 1035. It was even one of the easternmost members of the Hanseatic League. And Martin Luther had spent time there, beginning in 1524, which perhaps explained the subsequent dogged Protestantism of the city.
On the other hand, Magdeburg was new. The city had been besieged by the army of the Holy Roman Empire from November 1630 until May 20, 1631. The siege culminated in the Sack of Magdeburg, in which over 20,000 residents were massacred. Over ninety percent of the city was destroyed by fire, and what little wasn’t burned was ransacked, looted, plundered, and pillaged. Magdeburg was devastated; prostrate.
Then came the Ring of Fire, with the arrival of Grantville, West Virginia, from the future. And everything changed.
Gustavus Adolphus, king of Sweden and champion of the Protestant cause, connected with the up-timers from Grantville, and set in motion a train of events that gave birth—or rebirth, if you prefer—to the modern Magdeburg of 1635.
Pre-Ring of Fire Magdeburg was small, by up-timer standards. The area within the city walls was about half a square mile. It was shaped something like a right triangle, with the long side of the triangle running parallel to the river Elbe, and the hypotenuse side running from northeast to southwest. The normal population of the city had been about 25,000 people. That boosted to nearly 35,000 during the siege, as everyone from the surrounding regions who had a contracted right for shelter and sanctuary moved into the city when the HRE army approached.
Magdeburg in 1635 was a very different creature. Gustavus Adolphus, now proclaimed emperor, had decreed that the city would be the capitol of what became the United States of Europe. Otto Gericke was appointed mayor of the city, and was given imperial instruction to make Magdeburg a capitol city of which the emperor could be proud. And things just kind of mushroomed from there.
Instigated by the up-timers, north of the city were the naval yards, where the iron-clad and timber-clad ships of the USE Navy had been constructed. There wouldn’t be any more ironclads in the foreseeable future, and the timberclad construction had slowed down considerably. But the yard was still working and its work force was still fully employed. The navy yard’s machine tools and facilities were being turned into the USE’s major weapons manufacturing center and were now working around the clock. In theory, that was to provide the army fighting the Poles with the weapons they needed. But nobody was oblivious to the fact that those same weapons could easily be used to defend Magdeburg itself, in the event the current crisis turned into an all-out civil war.
South of the city was the coal gas plant, surrounded by a constellation of factories that were powered by the plant’s output. All of these operations drew hungry unemployed and underemployed men from all over the Germanies. So, since early 1634, the city had become home to a horde of navy men, factory workers and skilled craftsmen. Inevitably, construction workers had followed to provide homes for the work force and facilities for the employers. All this gave Magdeburg a certain flavor, a “blue-collar” spirit, as some of the Grantvillers called it, which was certainly fostered by the Committees of Correspondence. It also made for interesting times.
But workers, and their families, need places to sleep, and food to eat, so rooming houses and bakeries and such began to grow up to the west of the old city. And it turned out that the big businesses along the river side needed smaller businesses to make things for them, so various workshops began to appear in the western districts.
By late 1635, Greater Magdeburg occupied several square miles along the riverside and to the west. No one had a good estimate as to how many people lived in the new city because of the constant influx of new residents, but the Committees of Correspondence had recently told the mayor that they thought it was approaching one hundred thousand. Germans, Swedes, Dutch, Poles, Hungarians, Bohemians, even the odd Austrian, Bavarian, or Romanian could be found in the city streets or swinging a hammer at the Navy yard.
A population of that size would naturally have a leavening of rough-edged men. Hard men, one might call them, who would be more inclined to follow the ways of Cain than of Abel. Mayor Gericke realized in late 1634 that the city watch of the old city was not able to deal with the influx of these men, so in early 1635 he requisitioned a couple of Grantvillers with police experience from the up-timer units contributed to the USE army to try to mold the city watch into something that could provide up-time style civic protection and police services to the whole city.
The city watch had never been held in high esteem, so there was a certain reservation on the part of many of the citizens and residents to take issues to them. The well-to-do patricians and burghers of Old Magdeburg could afford to utilize the courts. The workers of Greater Magdeburg couldn’t afford a lawyer, most times, so their recourses were three: take it to the Committees of Correspondence, if the matter was one that the CoC was interested in; handle it themselves or with the aid of their friends; or take it to the newly formed Polizei.
Such was Greater Magdeburg in December 1635: newly born, vibrant, alive, with a spirit like no other city in the world, and sometimes an edge to it that could leave you bleeding.
Such was the city Gotthilf thought of as his own. Such was the city that he and his partner watched over.
Chapter 4
Mary Simpson stood as her guests entered the room.
“Good morning, Senator Abrabanel, President Piazza.”
When Rebecca Abrabanel had asked to visit, Mary had suspected that the resulting conversations would involve politics to some extent. After all, given that Rebecca was the senator to the USE parliament from Magdeburg and that she was one of the leaders of the Fourth of July political party, it would be difficult to find something to discuss with her that didn’t involve politics in some manner. And seeing the senator accompanied by Ed Piazza, President of Thuringia-Franconia, up-timer, and also a leader of the Fourth of July party, simply confirmed her suspicions.
“Mary,” Ed said, holding out his hand. She grasped it, glad that he was a seasoned enough politician to know the difference between a firm grip and a crushing one, even—or especially—for someone as small as she was.
Ed released her hand, and she turned to Rebecca, who offered her hand in turn. “Ed, Rebecca, it’s good to see you,” Mary said as she shook hands with the other woman. “You know Lady Beth, of course.” Lady Beth Haygood, the up-timer who was head of the Duchess Elizabeth Sofie Secondary School for Girls in Magdeburg and also happened to be one of Mary’s lieutenants, stepped forward from where she stood before her chair for another round of handshakes.
“Please, be seated,” Mary said, motioning to the nearby chairs. They settled in as Mary motioned to Hilde, who was hovering nearby, to present the coffee tray. Mary poured the cups and handed them around, then settled back with her own, grateful that it was strong and hot enough to fight the chill from the outside weather. Like many people who were both short and slight, she seemed to suffer more from cold than larger folks. Thinking back to winters in
Pittsburgh, she shivered a bit, and took another sip.
“One of the reasons I like to come to your parlor,” Ed said with a smile. “You do serve a good cup of coffee.”
Lady Beth nodded in agreement.
“Thank you,” Mary said. “Don Francisco finally made connections for us with a supplier of the best beans, and Hilde has learned the best ways to roast and grind them, so I’ll admit to enjoying my own coffee.”
“Walcha’s Coffee House isn’t bad,” Lady Beth observed. “A lot of the teachers go there.”
The conversation continued on that line for a couple of minutes, until Mary brought it to a close after there was a brief lull. “To see both of the leading lights of the Fourth of July Party sitting in my parlor puts me in mind of the days when the Pittsburgh politicos would come around looking for a favor.” She smiled at them over her cup.
Rebecca set her cup down on a side table, and leaned forward a bit in her chair, expression becoming more intent.
“Mary, I want to thank you and Lady Beth for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice. And you are correct; we do have something important to ask of you.”
Mary took another sip of coffee to feel the warmth slide down her throat. She had had some contact with the senator in the past, of course. How could she not? Rebecca Abrabanel was not only a government figure in Magdeburg, but was also the wife of Michael Stearns, who’d been the prime minister of the USE during the time when Mary had become the leading social light of Magdeburg. They weren’t close friends, not by any standard, but there was a solid respect between the two women.
“Rebecca, if you and Ed need to bring something up with us, then, given the times, we’d best be available to you. So what’s up?”
Mary almost expected Ed Piazza to take the lead, since he was an up-timer and would be perfectly comfortable speaking to another up-timer. Her estimation of the senator went up when she continued as she had begun.
“We need your help,” the other woman began. “With everything that’s going on with Gustavus Adolphus and Oxenstierna, it’s pretty obvious that the chancellor is trying to draw what Ed calls the center of gravity from Magdeburg to Berlin.”
Ed continued, “It’s like this, Mary. If Oxenstierna gets everyone to start thinking that Berlin is the center of power and all things governmental…”
“Then he’s gone a long way toward becoming the de facto government,” Mary completed the thought, “regardless of the legalities involved.”
“Right.” Both Rebecca and Ed sat back in their seats.
“I’m neither a politician nor a political theorist,” Mary said, “so I’m not much help in the political arena.” Ed Piazza snorted at that, but Mary ignored him. “You must want something from me, though, or we wouldn’t be having this little chat.”
Rebecca resumed with, “Mike told me that you once said you wanted Magdeburg to glitter. Well, right now we want, or rather, we need you to make Magdeburg glitter like it never has before. We want every newspaper in the empire and all the surrounding countries to be filled with news about Magdeburg. We want Magdeburg to be so present and so prominent that Berlin seems like a country village beside it.”
Mary set her cup aside and steepled her fingers beneath her nose. After a moment, she looked up. “Unofficial propaganda, huh? By downplaying Berlin, you downplay the chancellor and his cronies.”
“Exactly!” Ed barked with a grin.
Mary frowned. “I can see that. But you realize I can’t be overtly political in this—in anything. I am the Admiral’s wife, after all.” They all heard the capital letter as she pronounced her husband’s title.
Admiral Simpson’s stand of neutrality in the chaos swirling in northern Germany was widely known. Everyone over the age of twelve had their opinions as to whether or not it was a wise or prudent position for him to have taken, but no one doubted that he meant what he said.
“Caesar’s wife,” Lady Beth inserted in support of her leader.
“Who must be without reproach, yes,” Rebecca said. “We are not asking for coordination and collusion. Simply that you do those things you would ordinarily do, but as prominently and loudly and, ah, ‘splashily’ as you can, if there is such a word.”
“There is now,” Mary replied with a smile. She sipped her coffee while she thought on everything that had been said, and much that hadn’t.
Naturally, she was tempted to ask for some funding. The arts always needed more money, and squeezing the powers-that-be for it was something Mary Simpson had done for so long—first in Pittsburgh, in another universe; now here in Magdeburg—that it was almost second nature to her.
But it would be a bad idea, in the long run. As much as she’d love to add an additional revenue stream to the Arts Council, she needed to maintain a public image of political neutrality. She could afford to let that image get strained, but not get broken outright.
No, this was something that would just have to be done for its own sake. When her cup was empty, she set it down on its saucer on the table before her and looked to her guests.
“No cooperation, no collusion, no conspiring. We will do what we think is best, and you will find out about it through normal channels.”
Rebecca looked at Ed. He nodded.
“Agreed.”
“Then I think we have an understanding,” Mary said. “Keep an eye on the papers.”
* * *
When her guests left, Mary accompanied them to the door. Just before the door closed behind them, she heard Ed Piazza exclaim, “Not political, hah!”
She was still smiling when she returned to Lady Beth in the parlor. Mary looked over at her friend and lieutenant as she refreshed their coffee. “What do you think?”
Lady Beth had a notepad open and was already reviewing notes. “Salons, concerts, recitals, parades, feast celebrations, we can do lots of things. There are at least a couple of news reporter types in town that we can probably work with for articles, maybe more.”
Mary nodded. “We need to commission some musical works from the local composers, but at least one of them needs to be based on King Arthur. The theme of the wounded king who would return to his people in their time of trouble would just absolutely resonate with most of the folks.”
Lady Beth frowned. “It might be better to use Barbarossa as the subject, since he was a German emperor and his legend has many of the same elements—especially the theme of the sleeping ruler who will someday return to save his nation.”
“It’s a possibility,” Mary said, “but… The problem is that I can’t see the legend serving well as the story for an opera. So Emperor Barbarossa is sleeping with his knights somewhere under—what mountain was it?”
“There are variations. Some say Kyffhäuser, in Thuringia; others say it’s Mount Untersberg in Bavaria.”
Mary shook her head. “How do you do an opera based on a bunch of sleeping men? And what’s probably still worse from a dramatic standpoint is that there would be no suitable female roles in such an opera. Well, I suppose…”
She made a face. Lady Beth laughed. “Yes, a bit difficult! The only woman anywhere in the Barbarossa legend is his wife Beatrice, who was insulted by the Milanese. And the emperor took his revenge by forcing the authorities of the city to eat figs coming out of the hind end of a donkey. How in the world would you stage that?—much less put it to song!”
Both women chuckled. Then Mary said: “No, best we stick with the Arthur legend.”
“Great idea,” Lady Beth said enthusiastically. She rubbed her hands together. “Get a couple of memorable songs out of it to put on the radio and send out the sheet music, and it could weld people together like nothing else. Only make it better than Camelot. I never could stand that show,” she muttered. “Julie Andrews—pfaugh!”
“And I know just the people to pull it off,” Mary said. “How soon can we get Amber Higham and Heinrich Schütz over here? What’s the use of having a theatre director and a great composer among your friends if y
ou don’t put them to use?”
Chapter 5
Magdeburg Times-Journal
December 4, 1635
There was a formal groundbreaking last week for the construction of the new surgical wing of the Magdeburg Memorial Hospital in Greater Magdeburg. Participating were Mayor Otto Gericke, Dr. James Nichols, Dr. Balthazar Abrabanel and Dr. Paul Schlegel. Also present were Georg Kühlewein and Johann Westvol, members of the City Council of Old Magdeburg, respectively Altbürgermeister and Bürgermeister of that august body. Masters Kühlewein and Johann Westvol are among the leaders of the syndicate that won the contract to design and build the new wing. It is to be hoped that the new wing will be completed with all dispatch, as our growing city needs to be able to offer the best medical care available.
Stephan Burckardt, private secretary to Master Georg Schmidt, merchant, leading member of Magdeburg society, and member of the Council—the Rat—of Old Magdeburg tapped on the open door.
“Yes?” Herr Schmidt didn’t look up from the contract he was reading. “What is it, Stephan?”
“The newspaper has arrived, master.”
Now the merchant lifted his gaze from the paper he was scanning and held out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Stephan steeled himself—the boss would not be happy about this—advanced far enough to hand Schmidt the paper, then retreated through the doorway as quickly as he could.
From his chair at his desk out of sight of the merchant, Stephan licked his lips and wiped his forehead. The air seemed to be getting thicker, much like a sultry afternoon right before a thunderstorm. Except that this was colder.
Stephan picked up his pen, put it down, and shuffled some papers, unable to focus. The quiet in the other room was ominous. He knew from experience that nothing good could come from this. It was times like this he wished he was back with the men in the room across the hall, simply making entries in ledger books all day long; not subject to Master Schmidt’s direct gaze all day, nor privy to so many of the master’s secrets.