The Saxon Uprising(137)

“Yeah, I told him. At this point, I don’t think he cares. Not once he started figuring out what that roller was going to cost him given that you’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t getting the back half of the money on account of the agreement was ‘satisfactorily built’ and we didn’t think it was even though a judge would probably rule in his favor but the only operating judge right now is Gretchen and most of these guildsmen are leery of dealing with her.”

“Gee, wonder why?”

“Gretchen would probably rule in his favor too, you know? We were maybe a little vague about exactly what we needed.”

“Well, maybe. He’s still a fat sorry swell-headed son-of-a-bitch.”

Denise’s skills in the forgive-and-forget department, on the other hand, were minimal. One might even say, microscopic.

Noelle had just finished her report when she heard Denise and Minnie clumping up the steps to the front entrance. She’d been using a quill pen and down-time ink, since she’d seen no reason to hurry her writing and the few up-time pens she still had left were things she was now saving for special purposes. So she had to wait a bit for the ink on the last sheet to finish drying before she stacked it with the rest of the pages.

There were twenty-three pages all told, hand-written. Francisco had asked for a full report; a full report he’d be getting. It would have to be sent by courier, for sure. The cost of sending that long a message by radio didn’t bear thinking about, not even for someone with Nasi’s wealth. The cost was a moot point, in any event. There was no way the CoC people running the radio operation would have allowed that much time to be monopolized for a private transmission.

While she waited for the page to dry, she rose from the writing desk, stretched her arms and began walking about. She’d been sitting nonstop for the last three hours and was feeling stiff.

She heard a screech from outside. Denise’s voice, clearly enough, although no words could be made out. It had just sounded like a screech of fury.

Now alarmed, Noelle raced to the stairwell, stopping only long enough to draw her own pistol out of the drawer of the side table where she kept it.

The screech came again. Noelle hurried down the stairs and threw open the door, pistol in hand and ready to fire.

Not quite. She still had the safety on but this time she’d remembered it was on and was ready to flick it off. There’d be no repeat of…well, any number of embarrassing moments on the firing range. Noelle’s capabilities in the Annie Oakley department were risible. One might even say, the laughing stock of the continent.

But there was nothing. No danger she could see, although she couldn’t see far. It was evening and there was a very heavy overcast.

Minnie was standing right by the entrance, looking up at the sky with a frustrated expression on her face. Denise had moved back into the street and was also staring up at the sky. She had her palm out-stretched.

“What’s the matter?” Noelle asked.

“Look at this shit!” Denise screeched.

“It’s starting to snow,” Minnie said glumly. “Now we’ll have to wait at least another day. Maybe two or three.”





Chapter 45


The Saxon plain, near Dresden

Mike was tempted to order a night attack, but yielded to the advice of his advisers. All of whom were against the idea.

“Even in daylight, fighting will be hard enough, sir,” said Anthony Leebrick. His expression made clear that he’d have liked to add: And it’s a really bad idea to begin with.

“No way to control the troops,” added Colonel Duerr gruffly.

Mike chewed on the problem, trying to sort out how much of the advice he was getting came from his staff’s unhappiness with the whole idea of launching an attack in the middle of a snowstorm. They’d been almost aghast at the notion when he first raised it, although by now they’d reconciled themselves to the inevitable. Their commanding general usually took their advice, but not always—and there was nothing indecisive about him. If, after listening to their objections, he said he was still going to do something, then it was going to be done.

Christopher Long, the third of Mike’s regular trio of staff officers, was marginally less pessimistic than his two fellows. He was usually the more aggressively-inclined of the three. But even Long was dubious about fighting in a storm. He said nothing now, but his expression made it clear that he fully agreed with Leebrick and Duerr on the subject of launching a night attack.

In the end, Mike decided that his own instincts were probably not reliable in this situation and he’d do better to listen to his staff. His eagerness to start fighting was likely to be his emotional reaction to days of tension and anxiety. As a boxer, his biggest weakness had been a tendency to start swinging too quickly, too furiously, more as way of settling his nerves than anything else.