The most irritating part of it was that Meissner had not been a soldier and had spent some time making that clear. So why was he arguing the point? Based on what self-professed lack of expertise?
Gretchen Richter came into the shop. “I was told there is a problem,” she said, as soon as she came in. “What is it?”
Eric sketched the problem. Very briefly. We want a lot of small sleds not a few big ones and this assho—Herr Meissner here—seems unhappy with the order.
Gretchen pointed to Krenz with a thumb. “Do as he says, Herr Meissner. Please do exactly as he says. Or many little Herr Meissners will replace one big one.”
And off she went. Alexander the Great had nothing on Gretchen Richter when it came to cutting Gordian knots.
“I don’t know,” said Minnie dubiously. She walked around to the other side of the roller that the wagonmaker had designed. It was rather ingenious, admittedly. Three barrels in a line on one axle with two others following on a second axle, offset in order to flatten the ridges that would be produced between the first three barrels. The whole thing was held together by a very sturdy frame—which even came with platforms on which more weight could be placed in the form of bags full of rocks.
Yes, very ingenious, assuming it didn’t fall apart under the strain. But it probably wouldn’t. Herr Kienzle seemed to know what he was doing. The problem that remained was…
Denise had spotted it too. “That’s going to take a big team of horses to pull around. Oxen would be better.”
Kienzle inclined his head. It was the sort of nod an august and dignified guildsman would bestow upon two ignorant, prattling, but well-meaning young girls.
“Oh, yes. No question about it. The draft animals will help compress the snow also, of course.”
Denise was looking exasperated. Minnie figured she better speak up quickly. The capabilities of Denise Beasley when it came to the aggravate-the-hell-out-of-pompous-middle-aged-men department were extraordinary. One might even say, astronomical.
“The problem, Herr Kienzle, is that finding such draft animals—on any notice, much less short notice—is likely to be difficult.”
“We’re in a city under siege,” Denise growled, “you—”
“Difficult, as I said,” Minnie rode over her.
The wagonmaker shrugged. “Yes, no doubt. You’ll just have to do your best. My job is done.”
Minnie sighed. There’d be no way to hold back Denise now.
By mid-afternoon, they’d drawn a blank in their negotiations with the city’s stables. Unfortunately, stable-keepers were also middle-aged men and for some peculiar reason Minnie couldn’t figure out, they all seemed to be afflicted with pompous-male-middleageditis. Denise aggravated all of them. By late afternoon, they’d almost given up.
Then they were approached by a couple of young hostlers from the second stable they’d visited. The lads, definitely short of middle-age and not pompous at all, offered to provide the girls with draft horses behind their employer’s back. They said that he was a lazy man who paid little attention to his business and left the details to his employees.
When Denise inquired as to the price, the lads spurned money and offered a more gallant alternative form of payment.
Had Denise been in a good mood, she would have handled the matter casually. She was truly superb in the brush-off-boys-with-delusions-of-grandeur department. Since she wasn’t in a good mood—quite the opposite—she fell back instead to threatening to pistol-whip the dirty rotten bastards if they weren’t out of her sight in five seconds. She was accomplished in that department also.
As was Minnie herself, for that matter. Before Denise had finished the first sentence, Minnie already had her pistol in hand. So did Denise, of course.
At that point, the day began improving. One of the lads raced off but his partner proved surprisingly stout and adaptable.
“Look, it was worth a try,” he said, smiling and raising his hands in a pacific gesture. “No offense meant. If you’d rather pay us with money, so be it. What’s your offer?”
By sundown, they had everything in place. All negotiations had been successfully concluded and all arrangements made. The only hitch was that Minnie had to unruffle Herr Kienzle’s feathers first, which were still ruffled as only Denise could ruffle feathers. She made Denise wait outside the shop until she took care of that problem.
“Okay, I finally got him settled down,” she said when she came out. “He’ll have the roller ready as soon as we tell him the hostlers are on the way.”
Denise scowled. “You did tell him the hostlers were as young as we are, right? We don’t need that fat sorry swell-headed son-of-a-bitch to go all Yesyourmajesty on them when they show up.”