A smile flicked across Noelle's face. "There's an image for you."
The smile was gone almost as soon as it came. "This is the first time I've heard the name `Helmut,' but `the Ram' is all over those reports. Something's coming to the surface here in Franconia—something big—but it's still mostly invisible. Whoever this `Helmut' is, I think he's one shrewd cookie."
Johnnie F. thought about it. "A little on the whimsical side, too, it would appear. But don't kid yourself." He made a little nodding gesture with his head, indicating the square in front of them. "Take a look. Take a close, careful look."
Noelle did so. After about a minute she said, "This town's under martial law, isn't it? Not ours."
"Not . . . quite." Johnnie F. studied several of the men who were sitting at a small table outside the entrance to the town hall's Ratskeller. To all outward appearances, they were simply workmen enjoying a lunch. But the beers in front of them were only being sipped, and there was too much keen observation in the way they kept an eye on the square.
"Not quite," he repeated. "Not `martial law' so much as civil law. But it's a very hard hand, and it's very much in control. That's become obvious to me over the last week. And the city council's essentially disappeared. The official one, I mean."
Again, he gestured with his head. This time, toward the town hall. "There are still men meeting in there. Every evening, in fact. But none of them are on the council."
"Who are they?"
"Most of them, from what I've been able to find out, are from the guilds." He grinned. "Not a single member of the printers' guild, which I'll explain to you later. A lot of men from guilds with ties to the rural areas—fishers, boatmen, carters. More from the craft guilds than you would normally expect to see on the inner council; fewer merchants, but some. The real difference is that they aren't all masters. It includes some journeymen who never could afford to start their own shops. And a few members of the old Protestant patrician families who were thrown out in the 1620s. Vasold, Dittmayer. Steiner, I think. Getting some of their own back, even if they have to support a revolution to do it."
"In a word, it's authoritative."
"Very. Don't kid yourself, Noelle. For all practical purposes, Bamberg is already under the control of this `Ram' we keep hearing about. Even if we ordered out the small Swedish garrison we have in Bamberg, I think we'd get flattened. Worse than Suhl, if we were dumb enough to do what Horton did instead of Anse."
"But they're taking pains—considerable pains—to avoid clashing with us."
"Yes. I think it's more than that, in fact. I think they're using us as their figurehead. Well, not that, exactly. Brillo is their figurehead. We're sorta their fig leaf. Official cover, so to speak."
Noelle was now studying the men sitting at the table. They returned her gaze. Not in an unfriendly way, just . . .
Impassively. As if they were simply waiting.
"Winter's coming," she said abruptly. "The Ram will use those slow months to keep building support. It'll all come to the surface in the spring and summer of next year."
"You think?"
"Yes. Is this what you wanted to show me?"
"Part of it. But we're going somewhere else."
A few minutes later, they entered a street that seemed to be Bamberg's "Printers' Row."
"Where are we going?"
"I want to introduce you to somebody. One of the printshop owners. Frau Else Kronacher."
Noelle raised an eyebrow. "A woman? Heading up a printshop?"
Johnnie F. grinned. "She's having a battle royal with the guild. As you can imagine. Although that seems to have settled down, this past week. As you can also imagine."
Both of Noelle's eyebrows were up, now.
"Oh, yeah," said Johnnie F. "I'm not sure yet, but I think she's real close to the `Ram.' Helmut himself, unless I miss my guess."
They'd reached the entrance to one of the shops. Johnnie F. turned to face Noelle squarely, his face very solemn.
Johnnie F. was never solemn.
Noelle rolled her eyes. "Let me guess."
"Yup. Your mission, should you decide to accept it . . ."
"Cut it out, Johnnie!"
"Mindrot comes in lots of flavors. I loved that show. Should you decide to accept it . . ."
Chapter 3: "The natives are restless"
Würzburg, Early October, 1633