FREE STORIES 2012(70)

“I see their point,” allowed Quinn, “but still, it’s peculiar.”

Schoenfeld shrugged. “Perhaps not, particularly given how much the people fear any contact with the abbey. So, what they don’t see doesn’t stir up their anger or fear. That’s not even one of our town’s wagons out there: that came from the abbey. And the soldiers come with it, to drive it back and forth.”

Quinn rubbed his chin meditatively, glanced at Thomas. “Because no one from town wants to get anywhere near the abbey, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Thomas. Yes, it’s odd how distant and socially isolated the garrison is and yet how well-heeled its individual soldiers seem to be.

“And look who’s here to lend a hand.”

Thomas looked up, followed Quinn’s eyes out the window: Hanss Lay had arrived, conferring with the victualers who were loading the wagon. North smiled. “I wasn’t aware Burgermeisters made a special point of counting out the beans and bacon for their garrisons. Perhaps a few questions are in order—”

But Schoenfeld was shaking his head. “Nein, alles ist Ordnung—it is correct that he does this. He is also the Stadtrechner.”

“The what?”

“You would say . . . cashier? No, more like your word ‘purser.’”

“So,” said Larry with a mirthless smile. “Hanss Lay handles Biberach’s accounts payable.”

“Well, of course he does,” agreed Thomas with a similar smile.

Schoenfeld looked from one to the other again. “What are you saying? What do you suspect?”

Larry leaned his chin in his hand and looked out the window. “Why speculate when we might see for ourselves?”

The soldiers at the bar tossed back the last of their schnapps, and, leaving more coin than was strictly necessary, strode outside. Thomas suddenly rediscovered his taste for the Grüner Baum’s fine beer as he turned to watch the end of the loading.

As the last space in the wagon’s bed was filled—with improbably choice foods, drink, and some outright frippery—an assistant appeared beside Burgermeister Lay bearing a weighty box from which the ends of loaves and corked bottles protruded.

Quinn grinned. “That’s a mighty heavy meal, he’s carrying there.”

Thomas nodded. “Evidently Prum’s men are used to a very, very rich diet.”

The soldiers appeared, exchanging curt nods with Lay, but no words. Thomas cheated the shutters open a little wider, strained to catch any conversation that might arise.

None did. The soldiers walked around the wagon slowly, inspecting its contents. When they were done, they stood at the front, expectantly.

Lay and his assistant approached. The Burgermeister nodded crisply at the box the smaller man was carrying. “Speiserest,” Lay almost spat at the soldiers.

One of whom nodded, and jerked his head at the wagon’s seat.

“‘Leftovers?’” translated Schoenfeld quizzically.

As the box hit the seat, Thomas clearly heard the faint jingle of coins. Many, many coins.

“Leftovers,” confirmed Thomas. “Or, to be more precise, it is what is left over from Captain Prum’s steady depletion of your treasury.”





***





It took a few moments of whispered explanations to make matters clear to the initially bewildered, and then outraged, Schoenfeld. “So you believe that Prum and his men kidnapped all three girls?”

Quinn nodded. “Let’s add it up. Lay just sent a secret payment to a handful of men who are holed up in a fort-like building that no one goes near. His daughter is one of the three missing. The other two are also children of the highest ranking men in your Rat. And with Lay as the Stadtrechner, they could manage this all from the top without anyone under them being any wiser.”

“But eventually it would come out. And why would Prum not simply extort the families themselves?”

Thomas shrugged. “Probably because Prum’s a right greedy bastard. He knows the real money in this town is not in the hands of any one of its citizens: it’s in the hands of the Rat. The taxes and tariffs. Besides, this way, he can shift from extorting cash to goods however and whenever he likes. He’s a clever parasite: he can feed from a number of sources, for as long as this lasts.”

“But then why would he pressure the Rat to reverse its decision about the aerodrome? It means less income for the town, and Prum must have anticipated that it would bring an inquiry from Grantville.”

Quinn frowned. “Well, to start with, an inquiry is a whole lot less troublesome than having us set up business on your doorstep. As long as traffic through Biberach is moderate and overwhelmingly local, Prum can probably control the situation. But if Biberach became a more dynamic hub of commerce, that would change: more people would be trying to make deals, ask questions.