"Grantville Gazette .Volume XXIII" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

Rachel's Plaint
David Carrico

Magdeburg

Late March 1635

It was early afternoon in the office of Paulus Bunemann. The door was closed, as the good Herr Bunemann was expecting no visitors. The merchant was, in fact, indulging in a post-prandial nap.

Despite Herr Bunemann's expectations, however, there was a visitor, one who walked on silent feet to where the merchant slept on the sofa which was across from the large desk. The visitor looked down at the slack face of the sleeping merchant, then leaned forward and placed hands around his neck. Bunemann's eyes flew open. A gurgle made its way from his lips, and his own hands strained and pulled at those of the visitor.

Unfortunately for the merchant, the visitor was stronger. The fingers sunk tighter into Bunemann's neck. Bunemann's complexion darkened, his eyes seemed to swell, and his feet drummed on the sofa for a moment. Then he sagged, his head lolled and his hands fell away.

The visitor retained his grip for some time, but at length released it. He straightened, staring down at the corpse for a long moment, then turned and made his way to the only door into the office. He gently tested the lock to ensure that it was still engaged.

Moments later, the corpse was alone in the room.

Byron Chieske and Gotthilf Hoch walked out the front of the building that was serving as the police and City Watch station.

"Do you know where this office is?" Byron asked.

"Yes."

"Close enough to walk?"

Gotthilf looked up at the gray sky that was beginning to drop water on them. "Not in the rain."

"Right." Byron stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly, waving at one of the horse-drawn cabs.

The cab driver pulled up in front of them. "Where to, Herren?"

"Herr Bunemann's warehouse, down by the river." Gotthilf slammed the door of the carriage.

The driver shook his reins and clucked to his horse. The cab lurched into motion.

"The captain's got to light a fire under the city council," Byron muttered. "I'm getting tired of having to hire a cab every time I want to go someplace. I know they had to spring for the fire equipment, but that was last year."

"We finally got the typewriter," Gotthilf reminded him.

"One. A typewriter, when we need three. And don't get me started, or I'll be ranting about a morgue again." The rest of the ride took place in silence.

"Bunemann's warehouse," the cabbie called. Byron and Gotthilf dismounted from the carriage into the rain.

"Pay the man," Byron said. Gotthilf dug into a coat pocket and counted out enough of the new copper pennies to pay the fare.

"Thank you, sir," the cabbie said with a tug at his hat. Gotthilf heard him cluck to his horse as he hurried to the warehouse to get out of the rain.

"Georg." Gotthilf nodded to the City Watch man standing outside the warehouse door. "Any problems?"

"None outside of a dead body inside." They both chuckled, and Gotthilf opened the door. Inside he stepped up beside Byron, who was talking to a tall, stooped man whose face was almost ashen. Gotthilf couldn't tell if that was because of the circumstances or if it was the normal complexion for the fellow.

"Gotthilf, this is Gerhard Lutterodt, the chief accountant for Herr Bunemann's business." Byron waved a hand in Gotthilf's direction. "Gotthilf Hoch, my partner."

"Good day," Lutterodt muttered. Gotthilf simply nodded.

"So," Byron resumed the interrupted conversation, "you were telling me that Herr Bunemann often closed his door in the afternoon with instructions he was not to be bothered."

"Perhaps twice or thrice a week." The accountant nodded. "Usually after a large lunch with much wine."

"He was taking a nap?" Gotthilf guessed.

Lutterodt shrugged.

"Was it usual that he would lock the door?"

"Yes."

"And how long would the door remain locked."

Lutterodt shrugged again. "At least an hour, sometimes two."

Gotthilf looked around while the conversation was going on. The space wasn't very large. There were two tall tables with stools, one of them obviously belonging to Herr Lutterodt. The other stool was occupied by a younger man, who appeared to be intent on copying something into a ledger book… except that Gotthilf had seen that his pen hadn't moved for some time. There was an open door behind the young man that opened to a small room with shelves and cabinets in it.

"Gotthilf?"

He switched his attention back to Byron. "Yes?"

"Any questions for Herr Lutterodt before we start going over the crime scene?"

Gotthilf thought for a moment. "Was Herr Bunemann a successful merchant?"

Lutterodt gave a thin smile. "Rather."

"So he had enemies?"

"Not in the battlefield sense. Competitors, certainly."

"Anyone he was afraid of?"

"Afraid? No." Lutterodt was definite. "He was concerned about the Praegorius family from Hamburg sending a factor here, but the man hasn't even arrived yet."

"Anyone he hated?"

Lutterodt frowned. "I do not know if hate is the right word, but Master Paulus would have nothing to do with Andreas Schardius. The man took advantage of him in one of his earliest deals. Ever since then the master would neither accept nor make proposals involving Master Schardius."

"Is this Schardius person dishonest?"

"Master Paulus would say that he made a dog's hind leg look straight in comparison."

Gotthilf underlined that name in his notebook.

"Do you know of anyone that would have gone to the length of killing him?"

Lutterodt all of a sudden yanked a kerchief from his left pocket and coughed heavily into it, almost a paroxysm. Afterward, he took a shuddering deep breath while shoving the kerchief back into its pocket. Gotthilf thought he saw spots on it.

"I doubt that there are many who will mourn his passing." Lutterodt's voice was hoarse at first, evening out as he spoke. "But likewise I doubt that any of the other corn factors despised him enough to try and murder him. Besides, as we told the first watchman, there was no one in the room when we broke in. I do not see how he could have been murdered."

"That's the door you broke?" Byron pointed to a door at the back of the room.

"Yes."

They moved in that direction. Byron fingered a splintered place on the door frame. "Why did you decide to break in?"

"I needed the master's signature on a contract, and it had been over two hours since he had gone in to the office. I tapped on the door, but there was no answer."

"Did you break in then?"

"No, next I rapped hard. After there was no answer, I pounded as hard as I could."

"And still no answer." Byron was pulling on his chin, a sign that Gotthilf recognized that meant the up-timer was thinking hard.

"Aye. I waited a few more minutes, not wanting to needlessly anger the master by destroying the doorway, but finally I sent Johan," Lutterodt gestured to the other accountant, "to bring one of the warehousemen with a pry bar."

"Is that the bar?" Gotthilf pointed to a length of metal lying next to the wall.

"Yes."

Byron picked it up and compared the end of the bar to the marks on the door frame. They matched. He handed it to Gotthilf. "Tag it." Gotthilf pulled a piece of heavy paper on a string loop out of one of his pockets, and a pencil out of another. He wrote "Bunemann" followed by the date on the tag, then looped it around the bar and tucked it under his arm.

The up-timer reached out and pushed the sprung door open, revealing a surprisingly large room dimly lit by two small windows set up high in the wall across from the door.

Gotthilf followed Byron into the office. The corpse was obvious, lying on a sofa across from the desk. One arm was folded up on the chest, the other trailed to the floor.

Byron stopped them just inside the door. "When you first broke in, Herr Lutterodt, did anything in the room seem strange?"

"Other than the body?"

"Other than the body." Byron's tone was dry.

"No, but I didn't take time to look."

"Take time now," Byron instructed. "Take all the time you need."

Gotthilf watched Lutterodt as he surveyed the room. The accountant, hands in pockets, made a slow turn as he scanned everything, even stepping forward to look over the desk and its chair. He turned again to face the detectives.

"I cannot swear that everything is as it was before he locked the door, but everything that I know should be here is present, and I see nothing that should not be here."

Byron turned to the door. "I assume this is the master's key in the lock."

"It must be. He never gave me a key to this door."

"Are there any others?"

"The master told me once that his wife has one, but I have never seen it."

Byron took the key from the lock, knelt and tried to pass the key on its ring under the door. The space was too narrow for the bulk of the key, not to mention the ring with the other keys on it. "Well, that didn't work. Not that it would prove anything or help us any if it did." He stood again and handed the keys to his partner. "Tag them." Gotthilf did so, and handed them back to Byron.

The up-timer now moved to the sofa and touched the face of Herr Bunemann's corpse, then lifted the trailing arm and set it on the sofa. "Hmm. Rigor mortis is already setting in. That would match death sometime after noon. Did you close his eyes, Herr Lutterodt?"

"Yes."

In Gotthilf's eyes, Herr Bunemann was not a prepossessing man. His frame was small; he wasn't much taller than Gotthilf, which made him short. At least Gotthilf was stocky, but the merchant by comparison was rather slender. His hands were small, short-fingered, and looked soft. His face was reasonably handsome, with regular features and no pock marks or other scars, but his hair was thin and receding, which left him looking like a dyspeptic school master. All in all, Gotthilf was reasonably glad he hadn't been on familiar terms with the man.

Gotthilf turned to Lutterodt, who was hovering behind them. "You said earlier Herr Bunemann had a wife?"

"Yes. He was married to Frau Sarah Diebes."

"Did they have children?"

"No."

Gotthilf pulled out his notebook again and made more notes. "Are there any legitimate kin that should be notified?"

"No. The master had a younger brother, Karl, who died when Tilly's soldiers sacked the city. He was not married. Their father was an only child. There may be some distant cousins somewhere, but I do not know who they would be."

Lutterodt pulled his kerchief out for another coughing spell. When it subsided, Gotthilf murmured, "Just a few more questions. Has Frau Sarah Diebes been notified of her husband's death?"

"I believe so." Lutterodt's voice was weak and shaky. "The City Watch said they would notify her." He stopped and took a heavy breath. "I am surprised she is not here already."

"And did the master have any illegitimate kin?"

Lutterodt grimaced. "Yes." He began coughing again.

"Children?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me who they were?"

Lutterodt grimaced again. "No. I simply knew he had them. He made no great secret about it."

Byron had been crouched over the body this entire time, shining the beam of a small pocket flashlight on the neck and turning the head this way and that against the increasing stiffness of the advancing rigor. He flicked the light off and straightened. Gotthilf turned and raised his eyebrows.

"No doubt about it," Byron spread his hands. "He was strangled. And since there's no way that you can strangle yourself, we seem to have a murder."

The room seemed to darken at that pronouncement.

Byron looked to Gotthilf. "We've got to examine the body and see if there is anything else about it that might be important."

"Right." Gotthilf nodded, anticipating the next question.

"So, where do we do it?"

"There's that back room at the police house."

"I guess that's better than nothing." Byron muttered something. All Gotthilf could catch was "… city council…" He decided not to ask Byron to repeat it. "Okay," the up-timer said, "your drawing is better than mine, so you make a sketch of the body in the room while I get us some wheels."

Gotthilf turned to a fresh page in his notebook and began sketching as Byron left the room. He heard the outer door shut.

It didn't take long to make the drawing of the body and its placement. Gotthilf was actually pretty competent at sketching. He took a little bit of pride in that, smiling as he thought of how poor Byron was at it. On the other hand, he definitely sympathized with Byron's opinion of the city council; he wished they'd quit delaying and arguing and get the photography gear they had been promising the fledgling police department. It would be so much better than these drawings at showing exactly how things stood in a crime scene.

He turned to a fresh page, anticipating the next need, and began making a sketch of the room as a whole. Good progress had been made with it when the outer door opened again. Byron entered the room a moment later, followed by Georg the patrolman.

"How's it coming?"

Gotthilf flipped back and showed him the drawing of the body.

"Good. Well, I've got a cab, and the cabbie had a spare horse blanket, so we can wrap him up and get him out of here." Georg shook the blanket out on the floor, then he and Byron lifted the body and set it down on the blanket. A few moments later, the corpse was swaddled and not visible. Gotthilf watched as the two men bent. "Hup!" Byron exclaimed as they lifted the dead weight. Gotthilf returned to his sketching as Georg led the way out of the office, walking backward and looking over his shoulder.

A few minutes later Byron came back in. "Well, that's done. Georg's on his way to the police house with the body. He'll get somebody to help him carry it in, then he'll come back here."

Gotthilf finished the sketch of the room, closed his notebook and put it back into his pocket. "Well, I think we have an appointment with a corpse," he remarked.

"So we do," Byron agreed. "So we do, after we ask a few more questions."

They exited the office, and Byron turned and pulled the office door closed. Testing it, he found that it still latched well, so he took the merchant's keys from his pocked and locked it. "Keep everyone out of that room until we say otherwise." Lutterodt nodded just as the outside door opened. Framed in the doorway was a woman with a sodden cloak thrown over a green dress.

"Frau Diebes," Lutterodt exclaimed, stepping forward to take her arm and lead her in. "You did not have to come. You should have sent Philip." He nodded to the large man who followed her in, blanket draped over his shoulder.

"Is it true, Gerhard? Is Paulus really dead?"

Frau Sarah Diebes verheiratet -no, it was verwitwet, now, Gotthilf thought-Bunemann was by anyone's estimation a plain woman. She was short, no taller than her husband, with mousy brown hair and uneven complexion, which was not improved by the reddened eyes and nose that gave evidence to weeping.

"Yes, ma'am," Byron interjected, "he's dead."

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. "And who are you?" Gotthilf tightened his lips to keep from smiling.

"Lieutenant Byron Chieske, of the Magdeburg police, ma'am. My partner, Gotthilf Hoch." Byron pointed to Gotthilf. "We were sent to look into the circumstances of the death of such a prominent man as your husband."

Frau Diebes brow furrowed. "Circumstances?"

"Yes, ma'am." Gotthilf replied. "It seems Herr Bunemann was murdered."

Her face paled to the extent that the redness seemed like streaks of scarlet. She wavered on her feet, clutching at Lutterodt's arm to remain standing. "Murdered?" she asked in a small voice. Gotthilf nodded in confirmation.

There was silence for a long moment. No one moved until Frau Diebes spoke.

"I trust that it is now your concern to find who did this." Her voice was firm; she was not asking a question.

"Yes, ma'am," Gotthilf answered.

"Good. I want to know what you learn." She swallowed. "Now, may I take my husband home?"

"Ah, I'm afraid that won't be possible," Byron said. "The body has been sent to the police house for an examination to determine exactly what killed him."

"Don't you know what killed him?" Frau Diebes' voice grew stronger, and her pale face began to redden.

"We think we know, ma'am, but we need to be sure."

"Is this indignity necessary?"

"We have instructions from Magistrate Otto Gericke," Gotthilf interjected, "to do a most thorough investigation."

"Oh." The news that the most prominent magistrate in Magdeburg was already involved in the situation set Frau Diebes back a bit. "Then when can we receive him?"

The two detectives looked at each other. "Unless we find something unusual," Byron responded after a long moment, "perhaps around noon tomorrow."

"Good. I will expect a message accordingly."

Byron nodded. "We will want a chance to speak with you as well, ma'am. Would it be all right if we come by tomorrow morning?"

Frau Diebes drew herself to her full height, such as it was. "I will look for you tomorrow, Lieutenant Chieske, Herr Hoch." In a moment, she was in her carriage and Philip was shaking the horse's reins.

Byron closed the door. "Okay, back to business. What happened today?"

"The usual routine," Lutterodt replied. "I arrived an hour after daybreak, opened the office and opened the warehouse as soon as the men started arriving a few minutes later. Johan came in about then as well."

"When did Master Bunemann arrive?"

"Perhaps a half hour after that."

"What did he do?"

"Went to his office and began working. He read and signed three contracts and dictated five letters to Johan. The contracts were sent out by messenger before noon."

"Anything unusual about the contracts?" Gotthilf asked.

"No, they were standard buy/sell agreements. He was spreading the risk of investing in this year's grain crop. 'Who knows what the Emperor's campaigns will bring our way?'" Lutterodt's voice took on a thin nasal whine; he was apparently imitating the deceased merchant.

"So a corn factor buys and sells grain?" Byron asked. Both Gotthilf and Lutterodt stared at him. Byron spread his hands. "Hey, I'm an up-timer, remember? I'm used to buying my cereal in a box in a store."

Lutterodt gave a sardonic twitch to his mouth. "Yes, a corn factor buys and sells grain. You could say he buys and sells life itself. The Germanies, all of Europe, lives on bread-wheat for the wealthy, barley and rye for those who can't afford the wheat. Grain is literally the stuff of life. The Roman emperors knew that; they had a fleet of ships dedicated to bringing grain from Egypt to Rome to keep the people quiet. And they had riots over bread if the supplies dropped or the prices climbed too high. It is not an idle analogy when our Savior said 'I am the bread of life.'"

Gotthilf smiled a bit. Of course a corn factor's establishment would know that verse from Scripture."

Byron took a new tack. "Do you keep any money on the premises?"

Lutterodt said, "The master sometimes keeps… kept a few pfennigs, maybe a groschen or two in his desk."

"Are they still there?"

The accountant's eyebrows went up. "I didn't think to look."

Byron unlocked the office and they all trooped in and witnessed as Lutterodt pulled open the desk drawer and counted the few coins. "Three pfennigs."

"Hardly enough to bother with, and since it's still here, obviously robbery was not a motive for the killing." Byron led them back to the outer office, locking the door again.

"Okay." Byron nodded. "So what did Herr Bunemann do at noon?"

"He took a meal with several of his business connections." Lutterodt looked to his assistant. "Did he say where he ate, Johan?"

"Not to me."

"Did he say who he was with?" Byron asked.

Lutterodt looked to Johan, who shook his head. "No."

"Who would he usually lunch with?"

Lutterodt and Johan between them named half a dozen names. Gotthilf jotted them down.

"How long was he gone?"

"An hour, maybe a bit more."

Byron was pulling at his chin again, Gotthilf noted.

"And was this a common pattern?"

"Oh, yes. More days than not, he would dine with his acquaintances, then return complaining of having overeaten or drunk too much." Gotthilf made note of that. It agreed with what the accountant had said earlier.

"And that's when he'd close the door to his office for an hour or so."

Lutterodt shrugged. "Usually."

"So today's events follow his normal routine?" Byron's voice had a note of resignation.

Lutterodt held up his hand and gave an almost Gallic shrug. "The master was comforted by routine. He disliked change."

"Yeah, well, his routine's been changed… permanently." Byron nodded to Gotthilf to take over.

"Did anyone enter Herr Bunemann's office between the time he locked the door and you had to have it pried open?"

"No."

"Did anyone attempt to open the door?"

"No."

Gotthilf noticed Lutterodt looked a bit put out by the questions. He continued. "Do you remember anything unusual happening at all, any time in the last few weeks?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Gotthilf saw Johan open his mouth, only to close it again when Lutterodt said, "No." He looked to Byron and saw from his narrowed eyes that his partner had caught that motion as well. He nodded toward the warehouse.

Byron straightened. "Herr Lutterodt, come show me the warehouse side of this space. I want to see the back side of the office." Lutterodt shrugged again, then led him to the side door that opened into the warehouse space.

Gotthilf turned to Johan. "Johan, is it?" The youth nodded. "And what is your surname?"

"Dauth, sir."

The pencil made jottings in the notebook again. "Johan Dauth. Good. Now, Johan, did you like Master Bunemann?"

Johan squirmed. "It's not for the likes of me to like or dislike someone like the master. He was mostly a fair man, and treated us okay."

Gotthilf nodded, and made notes. "Good. Now, I noticed you were about to say something about something unusual happening?"

More squirming. "I… don't know as I should."

"Johan." Gotthilf made his voice take on a stern note, smiling inside at the thought of being stern with anyone. "This is a murder investigation. Magistrate Gericke himself wants the truth found. Anything you know must be told to us."

"Well," the youth hesitated, then finally blurted, "it was about two weeks ago. It was late in the day when the master's wife came in. She nodded to me and walked on into the master's office, closing the door behind her. Gerhard left right after she came in. He was having one of his bad days."

"And what is Gerhard's problem?"

"Consumption."

Gotthilf's stomach lurched. Suddenly he was glad he had not made physical contact with the man. "Continue."

"She stayed for maybe half an hour. I was in the document room," he pointed to the open door with the cabinets in view, "when she came out. I didn't see her, but I heard her last words to him."

"Which were?"

Johan hesitated until Gotthilf frowned at him, then spilled in a rush, "'Paulus, if you bring that bastard child into my house, so help me, I'll kill you for it.' But she couldn't have done it! She hasn't been here for days."

Gotthilf shaped a soft whistle as his pencil flew over the page of his notebook. He looked up to see the youth almost quivering. "It's all right, Johan. You've done nothing wrong. But say nothing of this to anyone else until we tell you you can."

Johan gave a convulsive nod, and turned back to the papers on his desk.

Gotthilf looked around, just taking in the general atmosphere of the accountants' work area: papers pinned together lying on the desks, folders lying on top of the cabinets in the document room, spools of different colored ribbons for use as tapes in place on the desks and in the document room. He turned as Byron and Gerhard Lutterodt came back in from the warehouse side.

"Well, certainly no one could have gotten into Master Bunemann's office from out there." The note of resignation was higher in Byron's voice now. "How new is this building, anyway?"

"The original building was burned in 1631 by Tilly's army," Lutterodt said. "Very little was left of it. The master had this built to replace it."

Byron glanced at Gotthilf, who gave him a nod in return. Byron pulled up his sleeve cuff and looked at his watch. "Almost five. How much longer would you ordinarily work, guys?"

"The master usually let us go while there was still daylight in the skies."

"Then call it a day right now, if you will. We'll be back tomorrow morning, and we'll want you here then."

"What do we tell the warehousemen? They will want to know who will take over the business. Who will pay them?"

Gotthilf shook his head. "That's up to Frau Diebes."

Lutterodt returned to the warehouse while Johan tidied things up and closed the document room. Gotthilf picked up the tagged pry bar before Johan could lock it away with everything else.

The door to the warehouse opened again, and Lutterodt rejoined them. "The men are gone and the warehouse is closed and locked, but they were grumbling as they left. Someone needs to have answers for them tomorrow."

"Talk to the widow," Gotthilf said again.

Moments later, they were all out in the rain and Lutterodt was locking the front door. "Who else has a key to this door?" Gotthilf asked.

"Frau Sarah," came the reply.

"All right then, we'll see you in the morning." Byron waved at the others as they left.

Gotthilf turned to the watchman, who had made it back from his errand to the police house. "Go home, Georg."

"With pleasure, sir." Georg touched the rim of his hat, and left no time in striding down the street.

Byron and Gotthilf weren't far behind him. A horse came clip-clopping up as they walked, heads down. "Need a cab?"

Gotthilf looked up to see the same cabbie that had brought them here smiling at them. "By all means." They scrambled into the carriage which might be somewhat damp but was infinitely preferable to the heavy rain.

Byron muttered something.

"Hmm?" Gotthilf raised his eyebrows.

"I said, you do realize this case has changed, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

Byron sighed. "At first we thought we just had a dead man in his office. Then we thought we had a dead man in a locked office. But now

… now we have a murdered man in a locked office."

"So?"

"So, there looks to be only one door into this room, right?"

"Right."

"If the door was locked from the inside," Byron continued, "if Herr Lutterodt and his assistant don't have keys to the door, and if they didn't see anyone enter or leave the room, how was the murder committed?"

Gotthilf started to answer, then stopped as he realized the implications of what Byron had said. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. We've got a real life locked room puzzle in front of us."

Gotthilf raised his eyebrows again. "Locked room puzzle?"

"Oh, yeah. We've talked about all the different kinds of books people used to be able to get in the up-time, right?"

"Yes."

Byron slumped down a little in the carriage seat. "One of the different kinds of books was called mysteries, and most of them dealt with stories about murders."

Gotthilf made a face. "Go on."

"No, really, these were really popular. People would read and re-read their favorite books, and even get together and have conventions… um, maybe conclaves would be a better word for you. .. about these books."

Up-timers were weird, Gotthilf reminded himself.

"Anyway, there was one whole type of these stories that was dedicated to murders that couldn't have happened. Murders that happened in impossible circumstances. The most popular variation was the locked room mystery, where a man was murdered in a locked room that no one has a key to and no one could get into or out of. Yet he was murdered."

"Sounds like what we're dealing with. But it's not really possible, right?"

"Right. The up-time writers would always have a way for it to seem like the victim had been killed when he was alone, but there was always a way for someone to have somehow gotten to the victim without anyone else being aware of it. A couple of writers actually developed lists of the ways it could be done."

"Well?"

"Huh?"

"What are the ways?" Gotthilf said, an impatient tone in his voice.

"Oh, I don't remember them all," Byron said, "although I did have a criminal justice teacher who made a list of them. It may be with all those papers I had Jonni send me. If this gets too weird, I'll go dig it out."

"But what do you remember?"

"Okay: one was that a man could have been injured someplace else, but the injuries weren't immediately fatal and he could have gotten to the room and locked the door before dropping dead. Another was that there was another entrance to the room, hidden or otherwise, which hadn't been accounted for."

"Any more?"

"Umm, that the victim was alone in the room, but that the murderer somehow set up circumstances so that he was still killed. That one usually involved poison."

"Hmm. Whether we need it for this or not, find that paper," Gotthilf said. "I want to read the whole list."

There was no further conversation. They each thought their own thoughts about their puzzle until they arrived back at the police house.

"Well," Gotthilf said as they walked in the door. "Your kindness to the widow means our day isn't done."

"Aw, you didn't have anything else to do tonight, partner." Byron grinned and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. "Come on."

Gotthilf followed his partner to the back room of the police house. They found the body laid out on a long table. Someone had already gathered three lanterns in the room and lit them.

"Come help me," Byron called out. In the light, Herr Bunemann's corpse seemed even smaller than Gotthilf had remembered it. They spent the next few minutes removing the clothing from the corpse, subjecting it to what would have been gross indignities if there was still life in it.

"What a struggle," Byron said as the culottes were removed, the last of the clothing. They gave the clothing a quick examination, finding nothing more than a couple of coins in one pocket, but nothing else. They left the coins with the clothing.

"Nothing," Byron pronounced at last. "Nothing unusual, nothing remarkable, no clues shouting out the name of the murderer. These tell us nothing more than that Herr Paulus was a sloppy eater. From the stains, it looks like he got more of his lunch on the outside than he did on the inside."

Gotthilf began rolling the clothing into a bundle. "Well, given how he died, I didn't expect to find anything." Shirt, vest, jacket, culottes, stockings, shoes; it seemed a small list to represent the end of a life.

"I didn't either," Byron replied, "but I had just a bit of hope that maybe something would be here. Oh, well, back to what we do know." He pulled the chin up and flicked his flashlight on. "These are the strangulation marks. Had to be a man. Look at how big the hands were." He laid his own hands over the marks for comparison. "That's unusual, too. Crime studies back in the up-time indicated that men don't normally strangle men. They usually use a weapon.

"Strong hands, too. Look at… hmm, I didn't notice that earlier." Byron lifted his hands and bent down to look at the right side of the neck. "Our man must have had a deformity-look at this, Gotthilf."

Gotthilf stepped closer and bent down to see what Byron was pointing at. He laid his own hand against the mark for comparison. "I see what you mean."

Byron's eyes gleamed. "A solid clue, at last. Can you sketch that?"

Gotthilf spent the next couple of minutes sketching the neck and its marks, all the while listening to Byron mutter about cameras and morgues and medical examiners and the city council. When he was done, they took the lights and examined the body closely, rolling it from one side to another as needed. At the conclusion, Gotthilf closed his notebook and put it back into his pocket, for nothing further notable had been found.

"Well, we could pack him in ice and keep him a while longer, I guess, but I see no need to. I'm no medical examiner, but that's as good a search as I know how to do. For this case, I think we're safe in saying that the obvious injuries are the cause of death."

Gotthilf looked down at the naked corpse. "There is no dignity in death."

"Only as much as we give it," Byron replied. "Let's get a messenger off to the grieving widow. Maybe they can pick the body up later tonight or first thing in the morning. And go put that pry bar on your desk."

The next morning

Otto Gericke was waiting on them when they arrived at the police house early the next morning. They followed him into Captain Reilly's office without even taking off their coats. He turned to face them. "Well?"

"Yes, Herr Bunemann was murdered," Byron began. "Strangled, in fact. Yes, it looks like it happened in a locked room that couldn't be entered. So we've got the beginnings of a good mystery here."

"Any problems with solving it?" Bill was tapping a pencil on his desk.

"We're not far enough into it to know for sure, but it's not open and shut at this point. We'll get it, Captain."

"Any suspects yet?"

Byron looked at Gotthilf, who shook his head. "Nothing very solid. According to Bunemann's accountant, Lutterodt, the man had commercial rivals, but he didn't think anyone hated Bunemann enough to do something like this. Besides, that doesn't feel right to me."

"Feel right?" Gericke questioned.

"Yes, sir," Byron replied. "If it was a business deal that caused this, I would have expected Herr Bunemann to have been shot or stabbed in the street or have his head bashed in in an alleyway somewhere. Something fast and impersonal, hire someone to do it and run. No, this was a crime of passion and premeditation. Someone has been very offended by Herr Bunemann. Someone felt strongly about this. Someone was staring into Bunemann's eyes as he died. Someone went to the trouble of staging this whole thing, of setting up the mystery of the locked room. I don't see that being a business acquaintance."

Gericke shook his head. "Go ahead with your investigation, Lieutenant. But please, bring me an answer as swiftly as you can. As I told you yesterday, Bunemann was an important man in town."

"Get at it, boys," Bill said.

"Send another watchman back to the office," Byron said as they ducked out of the office. They were back on the street in a moment. At least it wasn't raining today. They hadn't walked very far when their cabbie from yesterday pulled alongside them. "Ride, Herren?" Gotthilf shook his head at the cabbie's grin as they got in. "Where to?"

"Bunemann House."

The cabbie flicked the reins, and they were off.

A young woman opened the door to Bunemann's house when they knocked. "Yes?"

"Lieutenant Chieske and Gotthilf Hoch, to see Frau Diebes," Gotthilf said.

"Bring them in, Anna," they heard the object of their visit call from farther in the house.

"This way, please." Anna stood back out of the way until they passed, then closed the door and led them into what could only be called a parlor. It was a large room, surprisingly airy and cheery-except for the platform with a dead body on it. Master Paulus had been laid out in his own home, blanket laid over him and pulled up to his chin, leaving his face clear.

Frau Diebes, dressed in black, sat in an upholstered chair, primly, feet together on the floor and hands clasped in her lap. "Good morning, Lieutenant Chieske, Herr Hoch."

"Good morning, Frau Diebes," Gotthilf replied with a nod, echoed by Byron. The widow wasn't wearing black because of up-time custom. The black clothing was likely the best that she owned. He'd heard his mother complain often enough that black dyes were so expensive. "We are sorry to intrude on your grief, but if we are to provide answers to Magistrate Gericke and to you as well, we must first ask some questions."

"As you will, but please be about your business quickly. I have much to do this day."

Byron took the lead again. "Do you know of anyone who hated your husband enough to kill him?"

Frau Diebes shook her head. "No. He seldom talked of his work, so I know nothing of the people he did business with."

"What of the people who work for him?"

"I only know of Gerhard and Johan, and I don't see why either of them would have wanted to do this thing. Paulus was good to them." Gotthilf nodded slightly. That agreed with what Johan had said. Frau Diebes continued, "I know nothing of the men in the warehouse, but I think they had all worked for Paulus for some time."

"Your husband had no close kin?"

"No. His brother and father are dead. I think there may be a cousin or two down toward Leipzig. Herr Koppe would know. Paulus' attorney. He's to come by later today and we are to discuss the business. Part of the business is mine by the marriage contract, because of the money I brought to the marriage, and I have a dower interest in the rest."

Gotthilf pursed his lips and nodded his head in respect. Frau Diebes' thinking seemed to be very clear.

"Do you know the terms of your husband's will?"

"Not exactly. I know he left bequests to his workers, Anna…" She waved a hand at the maid standing to the side. "… a few acquaintances, and… others."

"Others?"

Frau Diebes looked away for a moment, then looked back with a glint in her eye. She pointed to a painting hanging at the far end of the room. "That is our wedding portrait, painted eleven years ago. I was twenty-six, Paulus was twenty-eight. There was no love in the match. Paulus had a reputation as being one who would chase anything in a skirt, but he was never less than respectful to me. He married me for two reasons, neither of which had anything to do with beauty I did not possess: First, I brought gold from my father, and Paulus needed gold just then; and second, to produce an heir. I'm not certain to this day which was more important to him, but he did desire an heir. He attended to his marital duties with vigor and… duty."

She looked down at her hands. "Perhaps if we'd had a child, it could have provided a bond, a foundation on which love could have been built. But after several years, it became increasingly clear there would be no child. And because of his past we both knew who was at fault. So he returned to his mistresses."

Frau Diebes raised her head and stared at the blanket shrouded body. "He would still come to me betimes. The intervening nights I would spend on my knees, beseeching God to give me a child, a son."

Gotthilf remembered a homily from a recent Sunday. "'Give me children, lest I perish,'" he murmured.

The widow's head swiveled to look at him, mild surprise on her face. "Yes. The words of Rachel. Oh, I know them well, the stories of Rachel, and Rebecca, and my namesake Sarah, and even Samuel's mother Hannah. How could I not? God intervened in their lives, but never in mine." The last sentence was uttered in a bitter whisper.

After a moment of silence, she continued in a normal voice, "But before long he stopped coming to me, spending his evenings instead with his whores. He gave me respect, but none of his love, none of his passion."

"And were there illegitimate children produced from his times with his mistresses?" Gotthilf tried to be delicate.

"Oh, please, use the old words. They fit so much better. Yes, both before and after the marriage, his whores gave him bastard children. He gave them gifts, you know: twenty groschen for a daughter, fifty groschen the one time a son was born. He told me about that one, celebrating. That was some time ago. But ever since then, I knew he was thinking. And finally he confronted me one night with a proposal: that we would take into this house that bastard son, adopt it into the family, so that he could have an heir of his body to take over the business when the time came."

"Was that when you went to his office and threatened to kill him?" Gotthilf asked.

Frau Diebes looked at him with eyebrows raised, then smiled for a moment. "You must have gotten that from Johan. He is such an honest boy. Yes, I told Paulus to his face that I would kill him if he brought that boy into this house. I may not have given him children, but I am his wife, and this is my house. As my namesake would not tolerate Ishmael, I would not abide that scandal in my own home."

"Would you have killed him?" Byron asked.

Her jaw set. "I would have tried."

"Did you kill him?"

She held up her small hands. "Do these look like the hands that left the marks on his neck? Oh, yes, I saw them last night as his body was bathed."

"You could have hired it done."

"No, Lieutenant, I did not kill my husband. The fact that I do not

… did not love Paulus does not mean that I hated him."

Gotthilf spoke up again. "Who will take over the business now? Herr Lutterodt?"

Frau Diebes sighed. "No. He grows daily weaker from the consumption." Gotthilf heard a sniff, and he looked over to see the maid Anna wiping tears from her face. "He is her father," the widow explained. "But I will probably have to rely on Herr Koppe to find a man to manage the business now."

Byron looked to Gotthilf, who shrugged. "Thank you, Frau Diebes. That's all the questions we have for now. One last thing-could we also borrow your set of keys to the warehouse?"

"Certainly." Frau Sarah stood, skirts rustling. "Anna will bring them." The two women left through the door under the wedding portrait.

Gotthilf walked closer to examine the painting. Herr Bunemann had obviously not been aging well-eleven years ago he had been a reasonably handsome man. Frau Sarah, on the other hand; well, the truth was as she had said-even on her wedding day she was not a beauty.

"So why is he laid out like this?" Byron asked. "I expected to find him on a bed or in a coffin."

"For the visitation," Gotthilf replied.

"Visitation?"

"For friends and family and acquaintances to come by and view the body and pay respects to the widow."

"Oh." Byron was silent for a moment. "I guess that makes sense. I mean, there are no funeral parlors here and now. But how long will they leave him here? He's already starting to smell some."

Gotthilf agreed. That sweetish odor of decaying flesh had touched his nose also. "I suspect that depends on how long it will take to get a coffin made and arrangements made to bury him. At least two days, maybe three."

"Yuck. Good thing the weather's cool, otherwise he'd be getting pretty high by then."

Gotthilf had to think about that statement, but after a moment he thought he understood what Byron meant.

"Besides," Byron continued, "if he's supposed to look pretty for the visitation, why don't they have him dressed up in his fanciest clothes? That's what we'd do in Grantville."

"The sumptuary laws."

"And what, pray tell, are the sumptuary laws?" Byron's eyebrows were elevated.

"Laws that decree who can wear what kind of clothing, including one that the dead are to be buried in nothing more than a shift."

"Why? Who cares how many clothes a body is wearing when it goes into the ground?"

"The paper makers care. They are in constant need of rags to use in making paper. They managed to get the emperor to make a law that it was illegal for bodies to be buried in clothes so that the clothes of the dead might come to them."

"Sheesh." Byron laughed. "Now I've heard everything."

"It's true, nonetheless," Gotthilf said. "Of course, I also understand that there is more than one lawsuit in the courts now, trying to have the laws annulled or otherwise declared invalid. That may take a while." He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Even if the lawsuits do succeed, people may still get buried naked."

"Why?" Byron sounded very puzzled.

"Remember who I said caused the law to be made in the first place?"

"The papermakers."

"Right. Well, the papermakers do not care where the rags come from."

Byron thought about that for a moment, then his jaw dropped.

"You mean people would dig up dead bodies just to…"

"Steal the clothes off their backs. Yes, they would. It would be easier than digging up the dead bodies to sell to the anatomists, and that's been going on for a hundred years or more. Cloth is a lot easier to carry and hide than a body."

"That's just sick," Byron muttered.

"Welcome to the seventeenth century, my friend."

A noise distracted them, and Gotthilf looked around. Anna was standing in the doorway under the wedding portrait with a ring of keys in one hand. Something started fluttering at the edge of his mind, but it went away when Anna dropped the keys with a clatter. She stooped to pick them up, and averted her eyes from the body as she held out her burden.

"Thank you, Fraulein Anna," Gotthilf said as he took them from her. She bobbed a curtsey. Gotthilf slid the keys into his coat pocket. He noticed Byron was still looking at the portrait. He thought to himself that it was sad when a maid was prettier than the mistress. For that matter, it was sad when the husband was better looking than the wife in such a picture.

"Do you need anything else, Herren?"

"No, Fraulein Anna. We are ready to leave now." Gotthilf nodded to her.

"Come with me, please." She led them to the front door, opened it and stepped aside.

The two detectives moved into the sunlight, and the door closed behind them. They walked down the steps and out to the road. Byron looked around. "Where's that cabbie when you need him?" Indeed, the street was almost empty of wheeled vehicles. They started walking in the direction of the warehouse.

"So, we have evidence of a sort," Gotthilf said, "and we've interviewed the widow. What do we do next?"

"First we go hunt down the people in that list of names we got from Lutterodt and Dauth. We need to know who he had lunch with, and what happened. After that, back to the warehouse," Byron replied. "I'm going to go look at the hands of everyone who works there, and you're going to go into the office and try to figure out how the good Master Paulus Bunemann was murdered when the door to his office was locked and no one went in or out."

"Oh, thanks for giving me the hard part."

Byron grinned. "That's why I'm the lieutenant."

The warehouses of the other corn factors were also along the river, so they were able to walk down the river road from one to another. One by one they interviewed the men that Herr Bunemann's accountants had mentioned. The responses varied from smarmy to coldly polite, but they did at length identify two men who had had lunch with Herr Bunemann the previous day. Their stories matched in that they were the only ones who had dined with the victim, and that he was alive and well, if a bit tipsy, when they left him after the meal.

"So much for that," Byron said as they walked down the street.

"Did you expect to find something out?" Gotthilf was curious.

"No, not really. Hoped, maybe, but I didn't expect any more than what we got. They had lunch, he got half-drunk, and they all went back to their offices. Strangulation is just not something you can set up ahead of time. Now, if he had been poisoned, they'd be the number one suspects, let me tell you. But not for this."

"So now what?" Gotthilf asked.

Byron put his hands in his pockets. "Now I think we need to make a call on Master Andreas Schardius."

It didn't take long to find the warehouse of Master Schardius. The layout of the building was similar to Master Bunemann's, with an office on the street side. There were four men at work in the front office when they entered the building, indicating that Master Schardius was perhaps more affluent than Master Bunemann. When they announced who they were, one of the men went through another door, then reappeared a moment later to beckon them.

They entered another office, surprisingly small. "Good morning, Herren." The man behind the desk stood. He was of middling height and build, with brown hair brushed back from his forehead and a neatly trimmed beard. His hands were large, Gotthilf noted.

"Master Schardius?" Byron asked.

"I am. And who are you, if you please?"

Byron introduced himself and Gotthilf, then continued with, "By order of Magistrate Gericke, we are investigating the murder of Master Paulus Bunemann."

Schardius waved at chairs, and said, "Please, be seated." He resumed his own seat. "I had heard that Master Bunemann was dead. I will send my condolences to his widow. I had not heard," the merchant frowned, "that it was murder. Do you know who did it?"

"That's what we're investigating. We'd like to ask you a few questions, please."

"By all means," the merchant responded. "I have nothing to hide." He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

Gotthilf pulled out his notebook and pencil. Byron pursed his lips for a moment, then began.

"We've been told that Master Bunemann disliked you. Was the feeling mutual?"

Schardius chuckled. "No, Lieutenant, it was not. Not long after Bunemann began making contracts under his father, he accepted a proposal from me. It did not work out the way he thought it should, and he accused me of fraud and theft. It was nothing of the sort. Everything I did was in accordance with the provisions and terms of the contract. It was not my fault if he was not as cognizant of the full possibilities of those provisions and terms as I was."

"So you took advantage of him?"

The smile left the merchant's face and he leaned forward. "Be careful of what you say, Lieutenant. I do not tolerate slander or libel." He leaned back again. "No, I did not 'take advantage of him,' or whatever simile you want to use for cheat. His own father recognized that I was within the letter of the contract, or he would have taken me to court. If anything, I helped Master Paulus gain an education in the only school that counts-the school of experience."

Gotthilf made more notes.

"I… see," Byron said. "But you bear… bore… Master Bunemann no ill will?"

"No more so than any of my competitors. If anything, I admired him somewhat. He learned his lessons well. After his father's death, he took their firm and built their business until he was second in Magdeburg in terms of contracts and amount of grain factored."

"Who is first?"

Schardius smiled again. "Why, that would be me. Our family has been the largest corn factor for Magdeburg for three generations, now."

Byron steepled his fingers in front of his chest. "So you had no reason to want the man dead?"

The merchant's smile disappeared again. "Lieutenant, let me be very plain. I did not hate Bunemann. He was a competitor, yes, but I did not hate him. And trust me, if I did want him murdered, it would not have happened in his own office. He would have simply disappeared and been found floating in the river a day or two later with nothing to point to me."

"So you won't mind telling me where you were yesterday afternoon?"

Schardius made an exasperated noise. "Right here in this chair. The men out front will confirm that."

Byron lowered his hands. "Very well. We will ask them on the way out. Thank you for your time, Master Schardius."

All three men stood. Gotthilf put his notebook back in his pocket. "You've hurt your hand in the past, haven't you, Master Schardius?" Byron asked.

The merchant held up his left hand and bent his fingers into a fist. All except the ring finger obeyed him. "This? This is a memento from early in my career, the result of leaving my hand between a barge and the pier it was homing in on. Crushed the finger and left it useless. I sometimes wish I had let the doctor amputate it as he wanted to. It does nothing but get in the way."

They did stop and ask the office men if the merchant had been in his office the previous afternoon. They confirmed his statement.

Outside the building, they began walking toward the Bunemann warehouse.

"So," Byron said, "Master Schardius has a deformed left hand. That means he could be our killer. He also has an alibi, which means he probably isn't our killer." They walked on a few steps. "What did you think of our esteemed merchant?"

Gotthilf snorted. "I would not want to buy a used carriage from the man."

Byron chuckled. "I think I agree with you, partner."

Georg was posted back on the front door to the warehouse office. They nodded to him and went on in.

"Lieutenant Chieske, Herr Hoch." Lutterodt greeted them, echoed by Johan Dauth. They returned the greetings.

"Herr Lutterodt," Byron said, "come introduce me to the head man in the warehouse. I need to talk to the men, and I might as well begin with him."

The accountant pushed off from his desk almost in slow motion, gathered himself and walked toward the warehouse door. Midway a coughing spell hit him, and he stopped, one hand on the wall to support himself, the other holding his ever-present kerchief. After it passed, he straightened and led the way out.

Gotthilf looked to Johan. "Bad day?"

"Bad day," Johan nodded.

Gotthilf pulled Frau Diebes' keys from his pocket, walked to the office door and tried the keys until one of them opened the lock. He looked up to see Johan staring at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he placed a finger against his lips, went into the office and shut the door.

It was brighter in the room today compared to yesterday, because of the sunlight flooding through the small windows. The room still couldn't be considered well-lit, however. Surely there was some kind of light… ah, there it was.

On the desk stood an oil lamp. Gotthilf looked around the desktop and found the expected box of the new-style matches. He lifted the chimney, rolled the wick up in the frame, struck a match and in a moment had light. Replacing the chimney, he lifted the lamp by its handle and looked around.

Right. He was supposed to figure out how someone entered and left this room without the two men sitting out front noticing it. Okay, first things first. The windows: could someone come and go through them?

Gotthilf walked over to the window frames and stretched his arm up. He could put his fingers on the sill, but he couldn't touch the window. A taller man could, but looking at the size of the windows and how near they were to the ceiling, he didn't see how even a taller man could get out that way without something to stand on, which there wasn't. And if a chair or something had been moved to provide that, it would still be here. And if it was possible for someone to come into the room and move the chair back after the killer left, then the killer could have come and gone by that way and not bothered with the windows. Right. Windows were out.

Holes. Any holes in the ceiling? Gotthilf lifted the lamp up and spent quite some time walking back and forth, looking at the ceiling in between the beams. There was no evidence of holes or panels that he could see. After a lengthy examination, ceiling access was provisionally crossed off the list. He still might have to come back with a ladder and look at it closely if nothing else was found.

Gotthilf looked around. Walls. Any secret openings in the walls? And how would he find them if there were? With a sigh, he started at the corner nearest the desk and began a process of tapping on the walls, listening for a change in sound.

When he was almost half-way around the room there came a knock at the door. "Gotthilf?" Byron's voice was muffled by the thickness of the door.

"The door's not locked," Gotthilf called out.

Byron entered the room. "How are you doing?"

"Close the door," Gotthilf responded. Byron did so. "Did you find anything among the warehouse men?"

"Having talked to one and all and inspected several sets of very grimy hands, I can say with assurance that none of them have a deformity or damage that would have caused the mark we saw on Bunemann's neck. Now, what have you unearthed?"

"I looked for other ways into and out of this locked room." Gotthilf pointed to the floor by the wall. "There is no way anyone could go out those windows without leaving evidence that they did so; a chair, a table, a stool, something."

Byron looked at the empty floor, and nodded. "Agreed."

"So, I gave the ceiling a visual inspection. Without going over every square inch with a magnifying lens, from down here I see no evidence of a hole, a trap door or a secret panel of any kind."

Byron looked around, pursed his lips, and nodded again. "Also agreed."

"So now I'm looking for secret doors in the walls."

"Any luck?"

"No. I'm starting to get both bored and depressed."

"So where did you start?"

Gotthilf pointed. "At that corner, and I've worked around to here."

Byron nodded. "I'll start there and work the other way. We'll meet somewhere in the middle."

And some time later, they indeed met somewhere in the middle with tender finger tips and knuckles. What they did not have, however, was evidence of a hidden door.

"Okay," Byron muttered, "now I'm getting frustrated. Bunemann was alive until after lunch. He locked the door. Someone strangled him, but according to the front office men no one entered or left the office by the locked door. We have no reason to doubt them, so… how did the murderer get in? There has to be another way into this room. It's against all the rules of mysteries for there not to be another way in."

Gotthilf rolled his eyes. Crazy up-timer books. " We just have to find it. And I still want to see that list when this is over."

"Yeah, yeah." Byron waved his hand as he frowned at the offending walls that would not give up their secrets.

Gotthilf looked around. Had they checked every bit of the wall? A light dawned in his mind. No, in point of fact, they hadn't. "Byron."

"Hmm?"

"Did you check the walls behind the furniture?"

A sheepish look came over his partner. "No."

"Neither did I. Let's try again."

"I don't see any reason to," Byron said. "If it blocks the wall, it would block a door."

More time passed. Gotthilf checked behind two tables, a wine rack and a wardrobe before he came to a heavy coat rack. He shifted the coat rack out into the room and tapped on the wall behind it. It sounded solid, but something didn't feel right. He lifted the lamp up and looked at the wall. There were two hooks mounted on the paneling of the wall, but they weren't quite level with each other. He reached up and grasped the left hook. It was solid, well anchored, didn't move.

The right hook, on the other hand, moved as soon as he touched it. It seemed to slide down a bit. What really caught Gotthilf's attention, however, was the click that sounded from inside the wall. He pushed on the wall; nothing budged.

"Byron."

"What?"

"Come look at this."

With his partner watching over his shoulder he went back to the right hook and pulled on it. It swiveled at the top away from the wall, the click sounded again, and the wall moved toward him a fraction of an inch.

Gotthilf pulled on the hook, and the wall became a narrow and short door. He stuck his head through the opening, and saw what appeared to be a narrow hallway with doors at each end. It must be part of the warehouse area, he thought. Byron squeezed beside him. "Okay, I know where we are. That door goes to the warehouse, and the other one goes outside. I wondered why the inside door to the warehouse was there, and now I know."

They ducked back into the office. Byron slapped Gotthilf on the shoulder. "You were right."

Filled with warmth, Gotthilf lifted the lamp high and examined the door and its frame. It didn't take long to see that it was well made. The hinges in particular were hidden with artifice and cunning. He ran his hand along the top of the opening, stopping when he felt something brush his fingers. In the lamplight he saw what looked to be hairs waving by the edge of the opening. With care he reached up and grasped them, pulling them down and holding them before his face.

They weren't hairs. They were threads, fibers from cloth, all of the same dark color. He held them close to the lamp, and discovered they were green. He knew that color.

Gotthilf stood and looked at the very slight rough spot they had been caught on, and pondered. After a moment, a smile began to grow on his face as he understood what their presence meant.

Gotthilf pushed the secret door closed with his foot, hearing the snick as the latch caught, then moved out to the desk in the office. He set the lamp down and pulled one of the waxed paper envelopes that he always carried now out of his pocket. Moments later, the fibers were carefully captured and preserved.

Byron's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "So, what is it that's got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?"

"A what? Never mind." Gotthilf waved the thought away. He held the waxed paper envelope between the fingers of both hands. "I have the second piece of real evidence in this crazy case."

"Nice work," Byron said. Gotthilf felt a surge of warmth at the compliment from his partner. "But what do you think they mean?"

Gotthilf unveiled his suppositions. "I think they are how the door was opened from the other side."

Byron took them in without comments, spent some obvious time chewing on them, and at length said, "I can buy that. I can see how that would work. And no one would probably ever have known about it if the door had just latched tightly the last time it was used."

"Probably not," Gotthilf agreed.

"So," Byron declared, "we're pretty certain we know how it was done. Do you know who our killer with the deformed left hand is, though? No one we've looked at matches the hand prints."

Gotthilf shook his head. Left hand, left hand. Hadn't they seen every left hand of everyone involved in the case?

Something seemed to strike Byron. He stood up straight and his eyes widened. Gotthilf noticed the change in posture. "What?"

"I think I know who did it. Even more importantly, I think I know why"

"Who?" Gotthilf was anxious. He hadn't been able to figure it out.

"Mmm, you should be able to see it. The pieces of the puzzle are all there."

Gotthilf felt a bit of resentment. "I do not see it."

"Think about it," Byron replied. "Meanwhile, I've got to figure out how to bring the killer in."

"What about confronting him with the evidence?" Gotthilf asked.

Byron sighed. "Yeah, I'm thinking about that. If Gericke wants this thing wrapped up quickly, that may be the fastest way. Okay, let's do it. Set it up for tomorrow, here, in this room."

"Right."

The next day

They arrived early, just as Gerhard Lutterodt was unlocking the front door to the office space. Georg was already there, and they exchanged nods. Once the door was open, they followed the accountant in. Johan appeared just as the door was swinging to.

"Herr Lutterodt," Byron called out as Gotthilf headed over to unlock the door to the inner office.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We'll be having a meeting here this morning with Magistrate Gericke and Frau Diebes to discuss what our investigation has determined. We will need some of your time and Johan's as well."

"Very good. We are certainly available."

And soon the other meeting attenders began to trickle in. Master Gericke showed up first, soon followed by a burly man of middle years who turned out to be Master Jacob Koppe, the dead merchant's attorney. The two obviously knew each other and at once fell into conversation. After a few minutes, Master Schardius appeared and was shown into the inner office.

They were still waiting for Frau Diebes. Byron drifted over to Gotthilf. "Just like a woman; always late."

"Do you say that about your wife?" Gotthilf grinned

"Not in her hearing." Byron looked around with guilt on his face. "Did you tell her to bring the maid?"

"No." Gotthilf shrugged. "You didn't tell me to."

At that moment, Frau Diebes' carriage arrived in front of the warehouse. Her man Philip set the brake, then dismounted to open the door and help his mistress out of the carriage. No maid followed her.

"Okay," Byron muttered, "that's not good. I need the maid. You head out and get her while I take the good Frau in and keep the others occupied."

"Right." Gotthilf was out of the office and through the front door so fast that Georg barely had time to move out of the way.

He hit the street. "Cab!" The driver looked up; it was the same man that had driven them around several times in this case.

"Good morning, sir. Where to?"

"Bunemann house. Schnell! " Gotthilf jumped in and slammed the door.

Gotthilf jumped out of the cab before it stopped rolling. "Wait," he shouted. He ran for the front door and pounded on it as if a horde of demons was after him.

The door opened and Anna the maid appeared. "Herr Hoch?" She sounded surprised. "Frau Diebes is not here."

"I know that," Gotthilf said. "I'm here to see you." Now the surprise showed on the maid's face, and a touch of wariness as well. "We need you at the meeting your mistress has gone to."

"Me? Why?"

"Don't ask questions, and come with me."

The cab made the trip back to the warehouse even faster. Gotthilf again dismounted from the cab before it stopped rolling and threw a pfennig to the driver. Georg got out of his way again as he almost dragged the maid through the outer door. He did manage to slow down so that they entered the inner office at a walking pace. He held up his thumb and found the maid a chair behind her mistress. Byron nodded and looked around at everyone.

"I believe we're ready to make our report now. We promised Magistrate Gericke and Frau Diebes that they would know the results of our investigation as soon as possible.

"The facts of what happened begin in a straightforward fashion. Two days ago, Master Paulus Bunemann returned after lunch, having perhaps drunk more than he should have. He entered this room alone, closed and locked the door. He lay down on that sofa…" He pointed to the object in question. "… to take a nap. A few hours later, concerned about the welfare of the master, Herr Lutterodt had the door forced open, whereupon they discovered Master Bunemann dead. Do I have that correct, Herr Lutterodt?"

"Yes." Lutterodt coughed slightly.

The magistrate was seated behind the merchant's desk, and the others were in various chairs around the room. Gotthilf watched as Byron paced around.

"It was at that point that my partner and I were called in. And we discovered a puzzle. Master Bunemann was apparently alone in the room, yet he had been strangled, so he couldn't have been alone in the room. Our whole investigation has dealt with the problem of how someone else could have entered a locked room. We believe we now know how it was done, and we intend to demonstrate."

Gotthilf walked over and laid down on the sofa.

"My partner represents the sleeping Master Bunemann," Byron said as he walked toward the door, "and I shall represent the murderer. Please wait and watch patiently." He closed the door behind him.

Gotthilf kept his eyes open and his head turned slightly so that he could see at least part of the room. The magistrate was sitting without an expression with his hands clasped together on the desk. Frau Diebes was pale and motionless. Master Koppe was frowning and tapping a finger on the arm of his chair. He couldn't see the others very well, but they seemed to be still.

It seemed like a long time but couldn't have been more than a minute when the secret door opened and Byron stepped through. He said nothing, just walked with silent tread over to the sofa and leaned over and placed his hands around Gotthilf's neck. Gotthilf gurgled and let one arm slip over the side of the sofa. Byron straightened and retraced his steps, just as silently as he had come. The door closed behind him.

"What…" Master Koppe began.

Magistrate Gericke held up a hand. "Wait and see."

A few moments later the main door opened and Byron stepped through. Gotthilf rolled and sat up on the sofa. "And that was how it was done," the up-timer announced.

"I take it that is a hidden door?" Gericke asked.

"Yes, and it took some very good work on the part of Gotthilf to find it."

"I can believe that," Master Gericke said. "So this is how you believe it was done. Do you likewise know who did it?"

"We know from the marks on his neck that Master Bunemann was strangled. We know from the size and severity of the marks that the killer was most likely a man. We also know that the killer had a deformed ring finger on his left hand."

Heads turned to look at Master Schardius. His face turned a little red, but his voice was even when he replied, "A not uncommon injury. There are probably tens, if not hundreds, of men in Magdeburg about which that can be said."

"True enough, Master Schardius, true enough." Byron started pacing again. "So we had to find some other information to help us determine who the killer might be." He stopped. "Fraulein Lutterodt…"

She straightened in shock. "Ye… yes?"

"Had Master Bunemann been making advances to you?"

This time everyone in the room jumped in shock, especially Frau Diebes. The maid paled, and for a moment Gotthilf thought she would faint. She was made of stronger stuff than that, though, and gathered herself enough to give a convulsive nod. "Yes."

Lutterodt lurched to his feet, only to come to a complete halt at the sight of Byron's. 45 automatic pointed at his nose.

The tableau lasted for several heartbeats. The magistrate's mouth was pursed, the lawyer's eyebrows were raised in surprise; Frau Diebes' hand covered her open mouth and her eyes were wide. The picture broke when Johan tried to scoot his chair farther away from his fellow accountant.

Lutterodt began coughing-deep, rasping, barking coughs-and collapsed back into his chair. He fumbled the blood-spattered kerchief from his pocket and held it in front of his mouth as the paroxysms shook his frame. This time it didn't hide the left hand, and Gotthilf could clearly see the ring finger missing its final joint.

At length the coughing died down and Lutterodt sat slumped, eyes staring at nothing, fighting for breath. When his breathing had finally calmed, he raised his head.

"Herr Lutterodt, did you kill Master Paulus Bunemann?" Byron asked in the stillness.

"Yes, I killed him."

"Will you tell us why?"

The accountant's mouth twisted. "It is what you think, and it isn't." He straightened in his chair.

"I married late. I had Johan's position then, under Master Marcus, Master Paulus' father. I had a cousin, younger than me, who was a maid for Frau Esther, Master Marcus' wife. Nineteen years ago, it was, when Master Paulus forced himself on her and she wound up carrying his baby. When she told him, he laughed, and told her that she should be proud to be the mother of his child."

Frau Diebes' face twisted as Lutterodt continued his story.

"Ursula was not from an important family and had only a few pfennigs to her name. She had no hope of help from the law, where it would be her word against the word of the son of one of the wealthier families of the city."

Master Koppe's mouth pursed, as if he tasted something sour.

"Ursula came to me for help and advice. I was always fond of her, and it didn't take long for me to convince her to marry me. Three months later, Anna was born." Everyone reacted to that bit of information. Lutterodt's smile was most bitter. "Indeed, she is a legitimate child, born in wedlock. Ursula and I raised her until Ursula died five years ago, then I carried on alone. She is my daughter," Lutterodt leaned forward, eyes blazing and a drop of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, "but she is of his blood and bone. I can be some protection while alive, but I am failing fast, and I could see what would occur after I am gone."

Gotthilf nodded. Much now became clearer.

Lutterodt's head turned toward him. "Yes, Herr Hoch, now you see. It is what you think, and it isn't. If Master Paulus were to succeed in his advances, not only would he be ravishing my daughter, but he would be committing incest as well. God knows his heart must have been black with the sins he had committed, but I would not let him drag my daughter down with him. I would not let him taint her with the sin of the daughters of Lot." He slumped back in the chair, and his voice dwindled to a hoarse murmur. "And so I killed him."

"Anna is Paulus' child?" Frau Diebes was bewildered. "I don't believe it. This was happening in my own house? With my maid?"

"Have her stand under your wedding portrait and compare her face to your husband's," Byron said. "The likeness is strong."

"And what will become of my daughter?" Lutterodt murmured

Frau Diebes lowered her hand. "She will be safe with me, Gerhard. Have no fears of that."

The accountant straightened enough to make a seated bow to her.

"Two questions," Byron said. "How did you get into this office, and how did you find out about the secret door?"

"I knew that Frau Sarah had a copy of the key," Lutterodt responded, "so I had Anna make an impression of it in wax and had another key made. And the master would sometimes have women to his office. I saw one of them leaving by that side door one day, and knew that meant there had to be another way into his office. I poked and pulled and pushed on things until I found it."

Lutterodt looked over to Frau Diebes again. "Johan knows everything there is to know about the business. I have been preparing him. I do not have much time left." He shifted his gaze to the magistrate. "Indeed, the hangman's noose might be a mercy."

Master Gericke's mouth tightened. "Thank you, Lieutenant Chieske, Herr Hoch. You have done what I asked for. Now I must discuss this with Frau Diebes and Master Koppe to determine what should be done. Please take Herr Lutterodt to the police house." He transferred his gaze to Johan. "Herr Dauth, please resume your place in the outer office. And you, Master Schardius, may go or stay as you please."

"With your leave, I will stay," the merchant replied. "I may have words for Master Koppe when you are done."

Byron and Gotthilf stepped to Lutterodt's chair, each took an arm and lifted him to his feet. "Let's go, you." Johan led the way out of the inner office, and Gotthilf closed the door behind them.

Lutterodt pulled back as they passed the desks. "Wait," he said in a hoarse voice. They stopped for a moment. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and gave them to Johan. "You must open and lock up now." That prompted Gotthilf's memory. He dug in his own pockets and produced a set of keys. Byron produced yet another set of keys and tossed them to Gotthilf. Lutterodt gave no resistance as Byron led him from the office.

Gotthilf returned to the inner office. All four faces turned to him when he entered. "Frau Diebes, your keys," and Gotthilf returned them to her. Then he turned to the attorney. "And Herr Koppe, the keys of Master Bunemann." He handed him the keys Byron had passed him, then bowed to Magistrate Gericke and closed the door behind him.

"Come along, Georg," Gotthilf said as he stepped outside. "Back to the police house. We're done here."

"It's about time," Georg replied as he followed. "A fellow could get flat feet from all this standing around."

Gotthilf looked around for what he was beginning to think of as "the cab," but it wasn't in sight. They handcuffed Lutterodt's hands in front of him so he could cover his mouth when he coughed. It was a long walk back to the police house at Lutterodt's slow pace, but at last they arrived. Georg took the prisoner over at that point while they went to report to the captain.

"So the butler didn't do it this time," Reilly said after they finished the report. Gotthilf rolled his eyes. Some other crazy Americanism he had to figure out.

"Nope. It was the accountant all the way. We could see evidence the strangler had a malformed left hand, and he's missing the last joint of his left ring finger. He did a good job of hiding it with his kerchief, though. So that was the first thing. The second was when Gotthilf found the fibers on the door frame that turned out to match the color and consistency of one of the ribbons they were using to tie together documents and folders. He'd used it to loop over the hook and hang out in the hallway. All he had to do was pull on it and it would open the door. But the last was when I noticed how much Anna looked like a younger Paulus Bunemann. If it hadn't been for the wedding portrait, we might still be scratching our heads."

"Well, good job, both of you. And speaking of that," Bill tugged open a drawer and pulled out a couple of wallets, which he tossed to the other men. "These are the new badges for the City of Magdeburg Police department. Cool, huh?" Gotthilf opened the wallet to see a lion's face cast in brass staring at him, with Magdeburg Polizei and the word Sergeant and a number embossed at the bottom.

Byron's hand came in to view and pulled the folder around where he could see it. "Sergeant, hey? That's great!" Gotthilf was staggered by the slap on his back that Byron delivered.

"Now, since you two are my best detectives, go out there and detect something for me." Bill waved his hands in dismissal.

Outside the building, they turned in unison in the direction of The Green Horse.

"Need a ride?" It was "their" cabbie. They looked at each other, then climbed in.

A few minutes later they climbed out again. This time Byron paid the cabbie. "Are you by some chance trying to become our personal driver?" The cabbie grinned and nodded. "Okay, that's cool. Come by the station first thing tomorrow, and let's talk to the captain about it."

The cabbie grinned again, threw something like a salute to them, then clucked to his horse and drove off. The lieutenant and his newly-minted sergeant walked into the tavern, collected their ales and moved to their favorite table.

"Well, that's one crime solved and one bad guy caught," Byron said after he sampled the ale.

"And we didn't have to shoot anyone," Gotthilf replied.

"Amen to that."

Gotthilf turned to his partner with an expectant glance.

Byron sighed. "Okay, now what?"

"What's a Cheshire cat?"

Northwest Passage, Part Two

Written by Herbert and William Sakalaucks

The last patron had left the inn and Anna was in the kitchen, washing the last of the pots. Luke and Mette sat in front of the fireplace in the dining area staring at the flames. Luke's shirt was open and Mette was playfully tickling his gray hairs.

"Mette, how can I concentrate if you keep distracting me?"

"You need some distractions. Your problem with Bundgaard is wearing you down. You need to relax. If you don't, you might not make it to the wedding." Mette joked about it, but her concern was evident. "You've been so worried with the food problem, we still haven't figured out how to tell the children we're getting married. If we don't tell them soon, we may have the first surprise wedding in history."

"I know!" Luke looked chagrined. "I just want to make sure that we do it the right way. Your late husband was a good father to them and I don't want that memory to be an obstacle. I've never had children and, quite frankly, it scares me more than a nor'easter. I'm afraid I'll disappoint them."

"Nonsense. You're wonderful with them and they love you! I'm sure if you just relax it will come to you." Mette kissed him and then went to check on Anna.

With the expedition's departure date rapidly approaching, Luke was overwhelmed with critical issues and just didn't seem to find a moment to solve the announcement problem. During the following week, small shipments of supplies continued to arrive, but no foodstuffs were included in the loads. Mette worked with Luke to review the supply lists. She discovered that he had overlooked many of the small, domestic items that the housewives would need. She pointed out that not only were these items needed, but they might also be good trading items with the natives. She asked Luke to come along with her went she went to buy them. It would give him a needed break and they could discuss the upcoming wedding without interruptions.

After the eighth stop, Luke wasn't sure how good an idea going shopping had been. He was in a daze and his feet hurt. As Mette dickered with a clerk for needles and pins, he started to daydream. Eventually his thoughts led to the one question still outstanding about the wedding, how to tell the children. As he stood there and pondered, the answer came. "Mette! I know how to tell the children!" Mette and the clerk looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

"Just what do the children have to do with pins?" As soon as she said it, Mette realized what Luke was talking about. "Men! Can't you ever concentrate on what's at hand?" Mette finished the dickering and paid for the sewing supplies. When she got Luke outside, she asked, "All right, what's the plan?" Luke explained as they continued walking home. By the time he had finished, Mette nodded agreement. "I just hope it works."

Luke reached over and took Mette in his arms, "I couldn't have done this without you. I can run a ship, but trying to handle children is something I have no skill with."

"You'll do fine, Luke. You just need a little more experience."

A child's shout caught their attention. "And speaking of experience, here's a chance for you to get some." The children came running up to greet them.

"Did you get us anything?" cried the smaller McDermott children.

"Not today, little ones. Now be good and go with the captain into the family room and maybe he will tell you a story. I'll have supper there soon."

Little Ilsa hugged Luke's leg. "Can you tell us the story of the bear? I missed it when you told it last time."

"All right, but first everyone get ready for dinner. If you do it quickly, I should have time. After supper, your mother may have another story to tell you.

The children scattered to get the table ready for dinner. When they were finished, they gathered in a circle around Luke and he recited the story of his ship's encounter with the polar bear. The children were entranced until the final scene, when, on cue, Svend let out a bear roar. All the children squealed and laughed. Shortly afterward, Anna came in with the dinner meal, followed by Mette with flagons for herself and Luke.

Ilsa and Sean clapped when Mette sat down in the "story" chair after dinner. The two little ones climbed in with her. The others settled down around Luke.

"And now, my story. It's very short and I'm not sure how it will end, but you can help finish it. There once was a widow with five children."

"Just like us, Momma?"

"Yes Ilsa, just like us." Mette continued, "She loved her children, but had been lonely for a long time. One day, a foreign prince stopped, seeking shelter. He was there on a quest to visit the king, but it took a long time to get in to see His Majesty. He was a good prince and treated the whole family well. Eventually, his great quest would lead him to seek an assistant to help with the journey." Svend looked from his mother to Luke, as he realized where the story was leading. He smiled, but Luke motioned for him to hold his thoughts. "The prince was lonely and he came to love the family. One day, he asked the widow to marry him. The lady sat her family down after supper that night and told them a story to see how they felt about having a new father. The end."

Luke rose and stepped over behind Mette. He took her hand in his and continued, "Children, your mother is the lady in the story. I've asked to pay court to her, but before we decided, we wanted to see how you felt first."

Luke was suddenly buried in a mob of happily crying children, hugging him. A smothered, "I think they approve," sounded from the bottom of the pile.

Luke and Mette planned for a small wedding but their friends decided otherwise. Time became a precious commodity. Two days before the wedding, Luke and Mette agreed that Mette would remain in Copenhagen until the resupply fleet sailed the following spring. That would give her time to sell the inn and for Luke to get a solid house built. They left unsaid the other reason for delay, the chance for famine the first winter. Luke was worried that the land near the planned site for the fort might not be productive enough. If none of the farmers chose to accompany the miners south or the crops failed, the first winter would be tough.

The day of the wedding arrived, bright and clear. Crews from the three ships, the stockholders, the settlers, and all of Mette's friends filled the nave of For Frue Kirk, the Lutheran cathedral, to overflowing. After a brief ceremony, everyone returned to the inn to celebrate; even the local watch stopped by to join the celebration. However, when John Barrow showed up later in the evening, Luke knew something was amiss. "John, I know you love a good party, but you told me you would be tied up all night loading the latest shipment of gunpowder. What's happened?" Luke had never seen John look so angry.

"We better go someplace quiet, sir. You're not going to like the news I just got." Luke motioned for John to follow him out the back door.

When they got outside, Luke said. "We should be able to talk here without being interrupted. Spit it out! What's happened?"

"That bastard Bundgaard has sold all our food! With the hoarding that's started from all the war rumors; on top of all the refugees already in town, Bundgaard says he won't be able to supply us with food until June. No extra cost, but we have to wait!"

Luke slammed his fist against the doorpost. "Damn! Mette said we shouldn't trust that scoundrel. I'll need to meet with our backers in the morning to decide what we can do. In the meantime, I want you to sniff around and see what really happened to our food. This could seriously jeopardize the entire expedition."

Trying to maintain calm expressions, they returned to the party. Luke walked over to Mette to join the circle of her friends. He did notice John leave the party with the sergeant of the watch.

John stepped up nose to nose with the heavier of the two toughs at Bundgaard's office. "My captain is here to see Fister Bundgaard."

The guard glanced back at the door. "He's not available."

Bundgaard gave lie to the statement as he stuck his head out to call for a clerk. When he spotted Captain Foxe, he immediately put on a hang dog expression. "Captain Foxe, I assume you're here about your food stores. You have my apology. I've been forced to extend the delivery date. What with the war and such, prices and demand have gone up so much I would be foolish to deliver them now. I should have sufficient excess by June."

Luke was furious. He stepped forward but John caught him before he got to the guards. Luke shouted, "We have a contract and you've been paid! We have to have the food now!"

From behind the safety of his guards Bundgaard replied. "Captain, I would hate to have to call on the authorities. You will get your supplies, when I say so! Until then, don't come back here! Now get out!" The guards reached for their weapons.

John gently pulled Luke around and whispered in his ear." Not now, Captain. This plays right into his hand. We'll find a better way."

As they turned to leave, the guards laughed and jeered. John glared at them and muttered, "You haven't heard the last of this! We'll get even."

Bundgaard laughed. Sailors never learn. They're all naive and so easy to gull!

He entered his office and closed the door. A short, overweight, but well-dressed visitor stepped out from behind it. Giscard de Villereal had been waiting for Captain Foxe to leave. He had just finished negotiating with Bundgaard for supplies for the French fleet blockading Luebeck. They had also discussed France's concern with the Hudson's Bay Company. Luke's arrival had interrupted the discussion.

"I congratulate you, Monsieur! A secure source of food for the French fleet and this annoying enterprise foiled in one act. If they can't sail until summer, they will surely fail. I will deposit the funds in your account today, as agreed. The minister was right in recommending you to us."

After he checked to make sure that Captain Foxe was gone, Bundgaard escorted his visitor to the door. Villereal winced as if his shoulder hurt, but after rubbing it, continued out the door. Visions of future commissions brought a smile to Bundgaard's face. He watched his visitor disappear down the street.

Later that evening after transferring the promised funds, Villereal walked back to the house where he lived alone. As he walked, the pain in his shoulder returned. This time, it seemed to spread down his arm. Suddenly, his chest felt like someone was sitting on it. Gasping for breath, Villareal looked around for help. The street was dark; even the moonlight seemed to be failing. He landed face-first on the sidewalk.

The next morning, a partially clad body was found in the snow by the city watch. All items of worth and identification were gone, but there was no sign of violence. When no one claimed the body in three days, it was buried in the potter's field outside the city.

Bundgaard didn't mind this at all. Pure chance had delivered him an opportunity to sell those supplies three times.

"You were right Mette. Bundgaard is nothing but a thief! The whole expedition is in trouble," John said.

Mette looked to Luke, who just nodded.

Just then a cabin boy from the Wilhelm entered the tavern and stepped over to Luke. "Captain de Puyter's compliments, sir. I was sent to tell you that the Kristina and the Hamburg have been sighted. They should be docking with the tide." He twisted his cap in his hands. "Is there any message I should take back?"

"Yes. Please inform Captain de Puyter to expect messages for himself and Captains Johannson and Rheinwald for a meeting here tomorrow evening. He's to deliver the messages to the other captains when they dock."

The arrival of the two ships helped Luke reach a decision. "Mette, I'll be up in our rooms. Would you send Svend up to help me prepare the messages?" Then he looked at John. "John, I've seen that look before. Usually about the time some sailor learns a hard lesson in seamanship. What are you planning?"

"With the captain's permission," John said, "I would like to bring an outsider to the meeting tomorrow."

"John, I've trusted my life and my ship to your judgment too many times to count. If you feel it's necessary, then by all means, bring your guest." When John didn't volunteer any more, Luke asked, "Do you want to at least give me a hint what it's about?"

"I need to talk to someone tonight about our problem. I think we may be able to use our problem to solve one of his. If it doesn't work out, then you can't be implicated."

Karl walked over and threw his cape over the back of the chair across from his friend. "I'm not surprised to see you, John. I hear our mutual 'friend' is up to his old tricks." John motioned to the barmaid for a beer for Karl and nodded. Karl sat down and took a long drink before continuing. "You're not the first ship he's played tricks on. You're just his biggest scam. His cousin, the minister, gets a cut from all his thefts. The minister has the local magistrate bought off so no one can touch them. The word is that he still has your food but plans to sell it to a new buyer for a higher price. It's all stored in his warehouse down by the docks. I wish I could help, but my commander has threatened my job if I interfere with Bundgaard again. If I had an alternative, I'd give up this job in a minute."

John smiled broadly. "Maybe I have an answer that can help us both. My captain is meeting with our backers tomorrow night and I'd like you to come with me." John set down his stein and fixed Karl with a stare. "Are you serious about taking a new job? We've been looking for a commander for our guard force. I'm confidant Captain Foxe would be interested in your skills."

Karl stared at the fire for a few minutes. This was exactly what his wife had already told him, Try something new and turn the house over to Johann. The chance to tweak his commander's nose was very appealing, too. "My wife has already said she was interested in going. I just wasn't interested in farming. What you've proposed changes everything. I will be there tomorrow night."

The following day was a flurry of activity. The captains of the Kristina and Hamburg reported that when they unloaded their cargos for the forces besieging Luebeck, rumors were running rampant. The most prominent ones indicated that a naval relief force, commanded by Admiral Simpson, was expected once the weather moderated. The French were confident they would repel the force, but there were the fantastic claims about the strength of Simpson's new style ships. If they were to be believed, the combined fleet could be annihilated and Copenhagen would be next. The time to depart was getting short.

Word arrived on a French merchant ship that there were serious political problems in England. Charles was gravely ill, the Queen was dead and Wentworth was in the Tower. No one seemed to know where these events would lead. Sir Thomas was a very close associate of Wentworth and he seemed troubled by the possibilities.

All the news wasn't bad. With the new plans to reopen settlements in Newfoundland, two fishing ship captains had contacted Sir Thomas to base a fishing port there. They would sell their catch to the colonies and ship the excess back to Denmark. If the current food problems with Bundgaard could be solved, resupply would no longer be a problem.

Karl arrived early, and John escorted him to the back room where Luke planned to meet with the others. "Captain, this is the man I spoke to you about, Karl Andersen. He's a sergeant in the local city watch and a former captain in a mercenary company. He's interested in the guard force commander's position. I told him he had to talk to you about it. For what it's worth, my sources highly recommend him."

Luke motioned for Karl and John to sit down. "You've come at an opportune time, Mr. Andersen. We plan to leave soon, if some current supply problems can be solved. We were looking for a good man to handle our guard force. Initially, there will be fifteen men permanently assigned to keep the peace among the settlers and act as a main defense in case of attack. There are also four trained gunners to serve the cannons that will be landed. All able bodied men will be trained by the commander to serve as a militia. We have forty arquebuses for weapons. We don't expect any trouble with the local natives. Captain James had a local Cree tribal member return with him on his last voyage. He will act as an interpreter and the native has assured us his tribe will welcome us."

Karl was pleased with what he heard. This job wasn't much different from combining his current work with his previous duties in the mercenary company. When they reached an agreement, Karl and Luke shook hands. "Pending approval of our backers this evening, welcome aboard, Commander Andersen." Luke turned to John, "I'm still a little mystified about your request last night, John. I know we were running short on time to find a good guard commander, but that didn't call for all the mysterious comments."

"Now that Karl is on board with us, we can go over that part. Tell him about the warehouse, Karl."

Karl checked to make sure they couldn't be overheard by any patrons in the tavern. He then laid out all the information for Luke about Bundgaard's operations. He finished by saying, "Just as I told John, Bundgaard still has all of your food supplies stored in his dockside warehouse, but he is planning to sell them to someone else. Just how badly do you need those supplies?"

"If we don't get those supplies before April, the expedition will not sail and a lot of people will go broke! We have to have those supplies, now. That's what the meeting tonight's about. We need to find some way to solve this crisis."

John leaned forward. "Karl and I have a plan we think will get you those supplies. It may mean roughing up some of Bundgaard's men. I know personally, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to wipe those smiles off of his guards' faces. Our ships are already docked close to the warehouse. If we can wait until we have a moonless night and Karl is on patrol in that area, we should be able to, ah… liberate the supplies."

"That warehouse normally has only two night watchmen," Karl said. "I can make sure we don't patrol that area when the time comes. If anything should happen, I can come to check it out, but I don't want my men involved. They'll still have to live and work here and my conscience could not allow them to be hurt because of my actions."

"We should have enough men," Luke said. "With the sailors and miners, we can move all the supplies quickly. But let's keep it quiet until the time, just us and the men coming tonight will know. Too many with the details too soon could let the plan reach the wrong ears."

Mette's knock on the door announced the arrival of the rest of the attendees. "We'll settle this immediately." Luke introduced Karl as the new commander and then laid out the problem with the food stuffs and the proposed solution.

There was unanimous support for Karl and the plan.

Saul turned to Reuben, "Brother, I think we may want to plan a long business trip to somewhere else, shortly. It may be too hot here for us." He turned to Sir Thomas with a grin. "I guess that leaves it up to you to hold the bag."

"If the rumors I've heard about conditions in England are true, I may be joining Captain Foxe. If I'm not welcome in Copenhagen, I may be returned to England to see what the Tower looks like from the inside. Wentworth was my patron. I have enough enemies that my position is in peril. If Christian wants a scapegoat, I may be a convenient sacrifice."

Luke wasn't surprised by Sir Thomas' statement. "We can always use someone with your talents. We said to that man from Grantville that we would help those fleeing injustice."

Sir Thomas winced. "I just never imagined I might be the first!"

Luke tried to settle his fears. "If it comes up, I'm sure we can handle it. But first, we have to settle accounts with Bundgaard."

"Agreed!"

"The new moon is in ten days. Do we have all of our people and supplies ready?" Luke looked at the Abrabanels and Bamberg for the answer.

"Right now, we have one hundred and sixty seven settlers and soldiers. Karl and his wife add two more. We'll collect our head bonus when we move them on the ships. That timing could be tricky if Christian holds off payment. We probably should load them this week to make sure we get paid." Bamberg added, "Outside of food, the supplies are ready. Your suggestion to take on extra livestock and passengers when you stop for wood and water at the Orkneys will give you an extra month's food."

After the meeting broke up, Luke took Bamberg aside. "Adolphus, you aren't officially part of the company, so you should be all right. I have a favor to ask. It would be better if Mette and the children waited to come with our resupply ships in the spring. Can you watch over them and help her settle her affairs? She means so much to me, if anything untoward should happen, I could never forgive myself."

"You needn't worry, Captain. I've known Mette for a long time. I'll make sure she shows up safe and sound."

"Thank you!" Bamberg extended his hand to shake, but Luke grasped it with both hands, like a drowning man would grasp a rope. "A friend like you is hard to find."

Eight days later, a warship arrived from England. Immediately after docking, two sets of messengers disembarked. The first headed directly to Rosenborg Castle to present the new ambassador's credentials. The second set was an officer and two men who asked at the dockside for directions, then strode off toward the house of Sir Thomas Roe. When they arrived, the officer pounded on the door with the hilt of his sword. Michael, the doorman, cracked the door to see who it was.

"I am here, by order of King Charles. Is Sir Thomas Roe in residence?"

Michael realized the worst had happened and stalled for time. "Sir Thomas is not here at the present. He's not expected back from his trip until late tomorrow night." Michael didn't bat an eyelash at the lie. Sir Thomas had actually just stepped out for his morning walk and would return within the hour.

"Very well, I shall return then. Please give him these documents when he returns." He handed over a sealed packet, turned and left abruptly. The two soldiers lingered behind, down the street from the house.

Agnes came out timidly from the library. "I heard what he said. Is Uncle in trouble?"

"I fear so, child. You know the pastry shop where he stops on his walk. Put on a cape and fetch him back quickly. He needs to see this right away. Make sure he comes in the back way, in case the two soldiers are still there." He held up the packet so that she could see the wax seal with the King's stamp on it.

Her eyes went wide, but she did as she was told. Five minutes later, Agnes reached the pastry shop where Uncle Thomas was chatting with the owner and eating one of his favorite kringles. Agnes paused to catch her breath and then entered the shop. "Uncle, Michael sent me to let you know that your expected visitor from England has arrived."

Sir Thomas successfully fought the urge to flinch. Agnes had thoughtfully phrased the message so that Inge, the gossipy pastry cook, wouldn't have anything to pass on to someone who might ask later. "I'll be right along, Agnes. Why don't you pick out a pastry? A brisk run deserves a reward."

"Thank you, Uncle." Once they left the shop, Agnes whispered. "Michael suggested that you might want to use the rear entrance. Two soldiers were left to watch the front door. He told the officer you weren't expected back until tomorrow night." She stopped and looked up at her uncle. "The soldiers scared me, Uncle. Are we going to be all right?"

"I hope so, Agnes, but we won't be staying in Denmark. What do you think about a long sea voyage?" The smile that lit up her face told Sir Thomas a lot.

Michael handed Sir Thomas the packet. Matilda, the cook, stood by with clenched hands. Sir Thomas broke the seal and quickly read the summons. "What we've feared has happened. I've been summoned home to be questioned. With Wentworth gone, England isn't safe for me. I will not return, but will travel with the expedition. You are both welcome to accompany Agnes and me."

Matilda answered immediately. "If Agnes is going, then I go, too. She's like a daughter to me and I won't leave her. Someone needs to make sure you're both fed well."

Michael paused before answering. He hung his head, "I've met a lady, sir, and we were planning to get married. Her parents need her. I'm sorry, but I need to stay. I'll help to cover your departure if needed."

"Very well. I'll leave funds for you with Factor Bamberg to close up the house and store what we can't take with us. He'll also have a pension for you." Sir Thomas reached for the door. "I need to see Captain Foxe and let him know what's happened. Start packing. I'll be back late this evening with help to finish."

When Sir Thomas arrived at the Kobenhavn, he was met by John Barrow. "The captain is at the warehouse going over the plan with the miners, Sir Thomas. Can I help you?"

"It appears my niece and I will be joining your voyage. Do you have someone that can help load us tonight? We will need to do it discreetly. There may be watchers who want to interfere."

"Captain Foxe said this might happen. I'll have a wagon and five of the miners at your back door after sunset. We've kept a cabin for you on the Hamburg." He paused, and then grinned. "I'll send two sailors to distract any watchers."

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow."

"Think nothing of it. It will be good practice for the bigger job tomorrow night.

"Now remember, no knives! The guards must not be killed. There should only be two of them. We'll surprise them and swamp them with numbers. We need to be able to come back here, so we take only what we paid for, nothing else!" Luke looked around to make sure there was no misunderstanding.

At a knock on the front door, everyone went quiet. Adolphus went to see who it was, then opened the door and motioned the visitor in. "It's one of your crewmen, Luke."

The man made his way through the crowd to the captain. "Mr. Barrow sent me to tell you, Captain, that Sir Thomas will be sailing with the expedition and that if you could spare them; he needs five strong men and a wagon to help load their belongings. He said there is some urgency and a need for men who can work quietly."

Luke turned to Steinbrecher. "We're done here. Would you choose five of your men you can depend on to work quietly and send them, with one of the wagons, to the ship?"

"Certainly, sir." He motioned to a group standing nearby. "Hermann, you and your brother Augustus, Hans Kleindorf, Johan Becker and Wilhelm Amtmann, come over here. The captain has a job for you. Hermann, you're in charge. Your brother will drive the wagon. Go with this sailor and follow whatever instructions Mr. Barrow gives you when you arrive at the ship."

Everything went smoothly at Sir Thomas' house. The soldiers had left as soon as the sun went down and the temperature started to drop. The miners arrived with the wagon a short time later. Sir Thomas and Agnes were safely aboard the Hamburg before six bells. Svend helped with the unloading at the ship. He offered suggestions for what might be useful day to day and what could be stored in the hold. He was ecstatic that Agnes would be sailing with them.

It was a bittersweet night for Luke and Mette. When they married, they knew the parting would come quickly. They spent their time storing up memories for the months of separation that were coming.

Just after supper, Svend donned a shabby set of clothes and an old boat cape and wandered down by Bundgaard's warehouse. He settled into a protected opening between two shops, a half block down from the warehouse; just like a street urchin trying to find a place to spend the night. His job was to watch the warehouse and warn the advance party if there were more than the usual two guards and play decoy for the raid.

Shortly after sunset, five sailors from the Henriette Marie came carousing down the darkened street past the warehouse. The two warehouse guards were stationed in front by the main doors, with a warming fire for heat and light. As they passed the fire, one sailor got boisterous. "We sail in the morning! I intend to spend this whole bonus tonight, drinking and wenching!" He shook a full money pouch and then a half empty bottle to emphasize the point. Fifty feet later, as they passed Svend, Svend signaled that no extra guards had been spotted. He waited a second and then darted out. He grabbed the sailor's pouch and ran back toward the guards. The victim yelled and then the five took off after Svend yelling, "Stop that thief!"

Svend appeared to trip on a cobblestone right in front of the warehouse guards and spilled the coins. The guards had only laughed when the sailor was robbed, but the sight of the coins spurred them to action. They pounced on Svend, just as the sailors caught up. They shoved Svend toward the sailors and scrambled for the few gold coins that glistened in the firelight. Two solid "thumps" and the warehouse was secured. The sailors picked Svend up, and congratulated him. "Nice piece of acting, sir. You nearly had us believing it." They picked up the rest of the coins, gave Svend a better cape to wear, and sent him off to bring in the rest of the raiding party.

While Svend was gone, they proceeded to truss up the two guards and gag them. They relieved the guards of the door keys and dragged them inside so they were out of sight. Two sailors stayed out front to assume the guard's station in case someone wandered by. Ten minutes later, the rattle of four wagons could be heard approaching the warehouse. A silent group of men appeared at the rear of the building at just about the same time. Torches were lit and the loading of the supplies began.

At a tavern six blocks away a farewell celebration was in progress. All of the district watch that was on duty was there to bid Karl farewell. He had resigned from the watch and would sail in the morning.

"To Karl Andersen, the best sergeant in the whole watch!" Gunnar, the new watch sergeant raised the toast, "I just wish I could have seen the commander's face when you told him you resigned."

"Oh, he was happy. No more complaints from Fister Bundgaard. I'll be glad to never have to deal with that bastard again. He's your problem now, Gunnar!" Gunnar looked like he couldn't decide whether Bundgaard or the commander was the bastard. Karl laughed and downed the last of his drink. He thought, Captain Foxe, I just hope you appreciate the hangover I'll have in the morning and that the seas aren't too rough when we sail. Two hours of drinking to go yet!

At the warehouse, the supply loading was nearly complete. John checked off the items as they were set in the wagons. When the last keg of flour was loaded, the two thugs were tossed in behind. John leaned over and whispered to them. "Cheer up. We have plans for you boys yet." The trip to the docks took only minutes. After the wagons were emptied for the third time that night and the supplies stored on board, John called for any empty barrels and crates on the Kobenhavn to be loaded into the wagons and covered with tarps. He then reported to Luke, "All secure, Captain. We're ready for the last phase. I'll head to the tavern. The wagons can start in five minutes." The sounds of the Henriette Marie, the Wilhelm and the Hamburg as they cast off in the darkness could be heard. "I hope your subterfuge with the ships works, sir."

"I do too, John. I hope the two fishing boats and the Kristina get back in time to rejoin us before we sail. In the confusion of sailing, people should only see the four ships they expect to see. If this masquerade works, we may throw suspicion elsewhere. If anyone tries to search us for missing supplies in the morning, our departing ships will be in the clear. We'll all rendezvous at Stromness Harbor in the Orkneys "

John headed down the gangplank to the dock. The two guards were now seated in the last wagon with three sailors as guards. Knives were out, but hidden. "You boys thought it was funny when Bundgaard threw us out." John had recognized the two from his visit to Bundgaard's office. "You're both in a lot of trouble for stealing Fister Bundgaard's supplies." The two started to protest, but a sharp prick with a knife silenced them. "We've left evidence and witnesses that you planned this theft. If you cooperate, you'll live and even profit for the experience. Otherwise…" John gestured with his knife, leaving the threat unsaid. "All you have to do is sit up here and drive a few blocks. When we reach a certain point, you will be met by some men with horses and money, who will escort you out of the city. And you'll be far away by sunup, if you know what's good for you." John's appearance from a lifetime of bar fights in foreign parts accentuated his threat. As he strode away, he called back over his shoulder, "I told you we'd get even."

Ten minutes later, John entered the tavern where Karl was partying. When he spotted John, Karl took his cue to start preparations to leave. When the group left the tavern and their eyes had adjusted to the dark, they had to wait for four canvas covered, loaded wagons to pass. Karl pointed to the last wagon, "Aren't those Bundgaard's toughs? I wonder what they're doing moving stuff this late at night?"

"Maybe someone needed a delivery before sailing early in the morning?" Jens suggested.

Karl watched the last wagon disappear around the corner. "But they aren't heading toward the docks. Gunnar, you may need to watch them. Moving goods this late at night… maybe Bundgaard is up to something no good. Those two look like a couple of thieves"

"I'd chase them down now, Karl, but I don't think my legs would be up to it." Gunnar was only standing upright because of Jens' support. "I'll check around tomorrow, when we report for duty."

John came out behind the group after they left. Karl started to stagger so John gave him a supportive shoulder to lean on. Karl said, "You know, Magda is going to kill me for getting this drunk." He staggered a little, but kept walking. John chuckled softly as they trekked back to the ship.

The next morning, an irate merchant reported a major robbery to the watch commander, only to find out that the commander was already aware of the circumstances. An off-duty watch sergeant had seen two of the merchant's guards with a group of loaded wagons heading further into the city the previous night. The commander concluded that the guards stole the goods. The culprits were never found. Since he had already been paid twice for the goods, Bundgaard let the matter drop.

At the home of the former English ambassador, the officer tasked to escort Sir Thomas Roe to England arrived to an empty residence, with only some carters loading furniture for storage. No one knew where the ambassador had gone. The officer returned to his ship empty handed.

Down at the harbor, four ships weighed anchor and set sail for the new world. Only a small group was at the docks to see them off. A mother and her children stood there until the ships were out of sight. She would see her new husband and son again in the spring.