"Augsburg manufacture," Johann Buxtorf answered. "The very best we could get outside of the Netherlands. It cost the university a pretty penny, too, so don't drop it if you get excited, Leopold. Or you pay for the replacement."
"And you were right, Wettstein. Your Riehen militia are with them."
"Not all of the Riehen militia, I hope. I hope very sincerely. Most of the Riehen militia should still be watching the boundary stones, ready to signal if Duke Bernhard's troops start to move. I do love those up-time police whistles. Such a simple technology, once one has thought of it. Such a delightfully piercing sound, much louder than most fifes. But the dot-dot-dash light signals that we used last night are nice, too. It would have been much more difficult for me to keep my men informed and instructed five years ago, without them. Words are so much more flexible than just a set of codes."
He turned around and looked at Buxtorf. "Are the students in place?"
"Yes, on either side of the bridge." Buxtorf smiled. "I must say, they appear to be happily astonished by their discovery that I am a subversive. Or at least, they are happily astonished by their mistaken belief that I am a subversive. I would certainly not consider myself one."
Cavriani raised one eyebrow.
"I am sure that I am a conservative," Buxtorf said firmly. "I am quite positive that I am a conservative. I believe that the proposed action of the city council in holding the archduchess hostage would be profoundly unsettling to the status quo. There must be far less disruptive ways to go about achieving the goal of Swiss independence. So. Truly, Leopold, the Lord himself taught us to pray, 'Lead us not into temptation.' I am merely preventing the city council from succumbing to the temptation to do something outrageous, by assisting in the removal of the source of temptation from the city."
"Undoubtedly, the members of the city council will be very impressed with that bit of sophistry," Cavriani commented.
"I cleared it with the pastors," Buxtorf answered.
"Not the same batch of people at all." Cavriani raised the telescope again. "Here they come."
"Don Fernando and his party?"
"The students. Behind the city guard at the bridge, causing a disturbance to pull them back and away. Don Fernando's party is still some distance. Wettstein, take a look. You are more familiar with the landmarks and terrain over there than I am."
"About a quarter-mile; no more than that. And riding fast."
"Any sign of Duke Bernhard's people?"
"None."
They stood, sharing the telescope amicably, until Wettstein said, "They're through."
"Put the telescope back in the case and return it to the room where it belongs, then," Buxtorf said. "We have to get downstairs. The Basel militia seems to be getting rather irritated with the students. Luckily, I thought to ask for any students who had close relatives among the city militia officers to volunteer to stand in the front ranks. That may keep them from ordering to shoot before we get there, but I would not count on it. And there is still the 'honor guard' around the embassy to be dealt with."
"I'll go that way," Wettstein said. "I am a member of the city council. If you see either of the mayors, Buxtorf, tell them they are needed at the USE embassy. You two handle the problems around the bridge."
"What is going on?" Diane Jackson asked. She was sitting in a chair in the reception room. In the middle of the reception room, far from any windows, somewhat to her chagrin.
"A lot of yelling," the down-time corporal who was looking out answered. "A pretty well-disciplined good-sized company of cavalry."
Gordon left Diane's side and went for a look. "Some guy wearing a mortarboard hat, looking like he's about to graduate or something, arguing with some other guy who is wearing a great big ceremonial chain around his neck. I wish Cavriani was here. He might have a better idea of who's who."
"The Basel city guards who have been standing around this building are moving away. The guy with the ceremonial chain waved them off. The cavalry is moving towards the front."
"Whose cavalry," Lee Swiger asked pragmatically. "The ones we're expecting, or Bernhard's?"
"Mostly down-timers. I don't recognize the banners, but then I wouldn't," Gordon answered. "Corporal, do you recognize the banners?"
"Not the fancy one in front. Never seen it before. But the next one after that is General Horn's personal ensign. The general is not with them, though. I have seen him before; I would recognize him."
"If Duke Bernhard had managed to take Horn's banner, we would have heard about it. Even cooped up here."
"One of them has a foghorn. He's trying to say something to us. Damned walls are so thick, I can't hear a word."
"Open up the window," Diane ordered.
The corporal, paying no attention to the weapons trained it from front and back, opened the window.
"Swiger, open up the fucking door!" the man holding the foghorn shouted.
"That's Burt Threlkeld. These are our guys."
"Open up the door," Diane said. She got out of her chair, holstering her gun.
Don Fernando was right at the head of the incoming company. Impulsive again, his advisers would have moaned to themselves, if they had been there to observe. Once inside, however, he stood back.
"Prepared for battle, were you?" Burt asked, as he looked around. The reception room was bristling with various implements of mayhem.
"More or less," Lee Swiger admitted. "Just in case we had any trouble. I doubt we could have stood Bernhard off for very long, if he broke through the walls, but we thought that we could probably discourage the Basel city militia."
"Where are the damsels in distress?"
"Various spots. We made the archduchess stay upstairs with Mary Simpson. They both have guns, but Tony has orders to keep them away from the windows, like we did with Diane here. Ronnie is back in the kitchen. Except that there were two of us and one of Diane, but there's one of Tony and two of them, so at least one of them was probably looking out. Mrs. Simpson, if you want my guess; the other girl is used to having heavy security around her."
Diane turned. "Corporal, take someone back to get Mrs. Dreeson. Then go up and tell the other ladies they can come down."
Jack Whitney followed the corporal, who motioned at a door and then started up a set of back stairs. He looked into the embassy kitchen. Ronnie Dreeson was sitting on a three-legged stool next to a double-barreled shotgun the size of a small cannon, which was pointed at a ground-level window. The window was covered with iron bars, but they looked a little rusty and shaky. She looked quite prepared to shoot anyone who tried to pull them loose and come in through it.
He stopped a minute. He had helped Dan Frost with quite a lot of the firearms training in Grantville. He was a veteran of Ronnie's epic refusal to carry a gun. She was no better a markswoman than Rebecca Stearns, so they had given her a small shotgun. She had taken it home, cleaned it just as she had been taught, oiled it, and locked it away unloaded, first in Jeff's gun cabinet in the trailer and then, presumably, after she got married, in Henry's gun cabinet, where it probably still was unless someone else in the Dreeson household was using it at present.
Why was she willing to carry a gun now? he decided to ask.
"I am not carrying it," she answered logically. "The barrel is resting on a sawhorse. The stock is resting on the table where the cook chops vegetables. Those heavy candlesticks hold it in place very well. I do not have to carry it at all-just take off the safety and pull the trigger if someone comes. I do not mind shooting people with a gun if I need to. But carry one all the time? No, I will not. It weighs many pounds. It does not fit in my tote bag. If I try to carry it on my back, with a strap, it keeps knocking down the bun." She motioned at her hair.