So be it. Eventually, security would become lax again. Mademann would simply wait. He had enough funds to remain comfortably ensconced in this inn for months. He wouldn't stand out, either. The Swedish capital was full of men from the Netherlands and the Germanies and northern France, brought there by Sweden's burgeoning industries and commerce. Quite a few of them were Huguenots.
Stockholm was a dull city, and hardly the place Mademann would have voluntary chosen to while away his time. But at least it wasn't Scotland.
On a Train Running Parallel to the Elbe
The train, again. Another full, frustrating, utterly unavoidable day on the train. A day on the train with very little news—only what boys, at the various stops, ran alongside the cars shouting through the windows.
Gretchen was breathing fire. She was in full avenging fury mode.
If she only knew whom to direct it at.
How was her grandmother? How was Annalise? What about the children?
Someone had killed Henry.
Nobody knew who had killed Henry. About the only thing the police had concluded, pretty much for certain, was that it hadn't been any of the people directly involved in the demonstration against the synagogue. There had obviously been some sort of connection, of course. The general opinion that was forming—Gretchen's also—was that the vicious act was the responsibility of one or another of the USE's many reactionary extremist groups, all of whom were anti-Semitic to one degree or another.
She wanted vengeance.
All the more so because she was feeling quite guilty that they hadn't come back right after the election the way they had promised, to take the children.
That had been her decision. There had just been so much that she still had to do.
Jeff sat next to her, watching her stew.
Grantville, March 1635
"A state funeral of some kind," Ed Piazza said. "No, I don't know exactly what the protocol will be. We've never had a precedent for anything like this. Not a USE-level state funeral. Neither Henry nor Enoch them held any office under Gustavus Adolphus. Never had. Never would have. Not really a province-level state funeral, either. Neither of them held any SoTF office. Never had. Never would have. But we have to give them some kind of public recognition."
He was pacing the floor.
"I've never organized anything like this."
"No help from me, either." Chad Jenkins shook his head. "If Simpson weren't still up north, he might have some ideas from when he was in the navy. Or Mrs. Simpson, perhaps? Just on general principles, that she knows how to pull off these ceremonial-type things?"
Preston Richards pulled his head up out of his hands.
"Ask Dan Frost if he can come down. Talk to Sylvester Francisco. We're going to have to do police funerals for the officers who went down. Both of them have been involved with those before. We could start with the protocol for that, maybe, and work something up."
That seemed like the best idea anyone had so far.
Preston nodded toward Ludwig Guenther. "We should lean on his advice, too. He does protocol stuff all the time—grew up with it. Between him and Dan, we can invent our own. A mix of what the up-timers and down-timers will expect. His steward can write it down, so we'll have it the next time we need it. Not that I want there to be a next time, God knows."
The count of Rudolstadt nodded deeply, indicating his willingness.
"Good idea," agreed Chad.
Inez then pointed out that Henry had been a Presbyterian and Enoch had been the Presbyterian minister. That didn't leave anyone to preach the funeral—either one of them. At least, not anyone obvious.
"So who's going to do the honors?"
Inez shook her head. "Charles Vandine and Gordon Partow are still in Geneva, being trained to succeed Enoch. We knew he wouldn't live forever. But they can't get back in time for the funeral. There's no Scots Presbyterian minister in Grantville. No other Calvinist minister of any persuasion, as far as I know, whether French, Dutch, Palatine, Swiss, Hungarian, or 'other.' "
"Who, then?"
Veronica stood up. "Elder Orval McIntire. Henry liked him. They were friends."
Inez concurred.
"At the church?"
"No. Even after the remodeling, there wouldn't be room for everyone who'll want to come. A lot of people will. There've been lines all day and nearly all night at the funeral home, for the viewing. And I don't want to be in the position of saying, 'you qualify to come inside, but you don't." Inez shook her head. "That's . . . invidious."
"Where, then?"
"At the fairgrounds, I guess. Outside, and hope it doesn't rain. If it does rain, the families will need to be inside. Mike and Becky are flying in. Ed and the rest of the SoTF officials—the department heads, Chad Jenkins, Ableidinger. The county board. The elders and deacons. Then let as many more people as possible inside. First come, first served. And borrow every umbrella in town for the rest of them."