1636 The Devil's Opera: Chapter Two

    Otto Gericke looked out the small diamond shaped panes in his office window at the sprawl of the exurb of Magdeburg, what some had taken to calling Greater Magdeburg. When Gustavus Adolphus had chosen Magdeburg to become the capitol of his new continental realm, what had been a city of perhaps half a square mile within its fortified walls had quickly mushroomed into a metropolis that, if it wasn’t in the same league as Paris or London as far as size, bid fair to grow into that league in the not-too-distant-future. And as the up-timers put it, it was Otto’s baby . . . or his headache, depending on which up-timer you talked to. He was mayor of Greater Magdeburg, appointed so by Gustavus Adolphus, who had then scurried off to war without giving him much more instruction than “Clean up this mess, and build me a capitol to be proud of.” Certainly there was no provision for a city council for Greater Magdeburg to share the work, or for an election of a replacement. Which meant that everything of any consequence, and most items of little consequence, ended up on Otto’s desk. He had started mentally labeling days as “baby” or “headache”, and when he had shared that thought with up-timers like Jere Haygood, all they had done was laugh.

    Looking at his clock, Otto decided that he’d best get back to work. He had just settled back into his chair when the door to his office opened and an elderly man was ushered in by his secretary.

    “Thank you, Albrecht,” Otto said. “See to it that we are not disturbed, if you would.” The secretary nodded and closed the door as he stepped out.

    Otto stepped around his desk and embraced the man in turn. “Papa Jacob. It is good to see you.” He smiled. “Even if you did catch me somewhat dishabille.” He indicated his jacket on the coat tree and his rolled up shirt sleeves.

    Jacob Alemann, Otto’s father-in-law, stumped over to a chair obviously prepared for him, sat down and lifted his foot onto the waiting stool. He leaned back with a sigh, holding his cane with loose fingers.

    “I see the gout still troubles you,” Otto commented as he walked to a sideboard and busied himself with a wine decanter. “Have you not read what the Grantville doctors are saying about gout?”

    “I have, and what is worse, my wife has. And I am, with reluctance, willing to moderate my eating, but I will not give up my daily regimen of wine. After all, it was Saint Paul who said, ‘Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake,’ and who am I to disregard the instruction of an apostle and saint?”

    Otto returned to offer a glass of wine to the older man. “With all due respect, Jacob, I somehow doubt that the good saint had in mind the quantities of wine that you drink.”

    Alemann chuckled, then took a sip of the wine. His eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he looked at the glass with respect. “Where did you get Hungarian wine around here?”

    The destruction of the war so far had caused devastation in much of the farmlands of the central Germanies. The wineries in particular had been hit hard. Not much had been produced for several years, and the quality of what had been bottled was noticeably lacking.

    “Wallenstein, actually,” Otto responded, settling into his chair behind the desk. He grinned at the frown that crossed his stepfather’s face. “He felt he owed Michael Stearns somewhat, so as a favor he shipped a small portion of the Bohemian royal wine cellars to Michael. Rebecca Abrabanel was kind enough to provide a small share of that to me. A small share of a small portion, to be sure, but I understand that the Bohemian wine cellars were, umm, significant, so there were more than a few bottles.” He chuckled as he swirled the wine in his own glass.

    “Indeed,” Alemann said, lifting his glass again. “Small recompense for the damage Wallenstein’s dog Pappenheim did to Magdeburg, but I suppose we should be thankful for small blessings, no matter the source.”

    Otto thought that was a remarkably temperate statement from one who had been in Magdeburg before the sack and resulting destruction done by Pappenheim’s troops several years before when he served under Tilly. Most survivors’ comments concerning the erstwhile Austrian army field commander began with the scatological and descended quickly to the infernal and blasphemous. The fact that Pappenheim was now firmly ensconced in Wallenstein’s court, and Wallenstein was now at least nominally allied with the USE and Gustavus Adolphus, had little effect on the depth of rancor that the survivors of the sack of Magdeburg had for him.

    “Enough of unpleasant topics,” Alemann declared. “Why did you ask to meet with me, Otto?”

    “Jacob, you are still a member of the Schöffenstuhl, correct?”

    Gericke was referring to the senior jurisprudence body for the Magdeburger Recht association, the group of cities in central Europe which had been granted laws and rights by their sovereigns that were drawn from the laws and charter of Magdeburg itself. It had been located in Magdeburg, and until the sack had functioned as what the Grantvillers would have called an appellate court for cases that their own courts could not address or whose decisions needed ratification.

    “Yah, you know that I am, but that means nothing now, Otto.” Alemann shook his head. “All of our files, all of our books, all of our documents were destroyed in the sack, except for a handful that I managed to snatch up in the face of the flames. Centuries of work, centuries of civilization, centuries of wisdom, now nothing but ash at Pappenheim’s hand.” From his expression, he would convert the soldier to a like condition if it were in his power. His mouth worked as if he desired to spit, but he refrained.

    “But you and some of your fellow jurists still live.” Otto leaned forward, his expression very intense. “Your names still carry weight. People still respect your wisdom, especially people in this part of the USE. Maybe not so much over in the west or by the Rhineland, but definitely in Saxony, Brandenburg, Thuringia-Franconia, and even into Bohemia, Poland, and the Ukraine.”

    “And if that is so?” Alemann shook his head again. “It is a dying reputation, Otto. What use is it to talk of it?”

    “Ah, Jacob. Perhaps the wine has affected more than your foot,” Otto said with a small smile. “Your position and authority as jurists has never been recalled or revoked. And Magdeburg the city needs you. I need you.”

    “Say on,” Alemann replied.

    “You want work to do. I can give you that work.”

    Otto watched his father-in-law rock back in his chair with a bit of a stunned look. He rallied quickly, however. “Oh, come now, Otto. We are in no position of authority.”

    “You may not now be, perhaps,” Otto conceded, “but you do occupy a position of undoubted moral authority. And I can give you proper legal standing.”

    “How will you accomplish that?” Alemann looked at Otto in some surprise.

    “Magdeburg is an imperial city in the USE, you know that. We are independent of the province of Magdeburg, yes?” Otto spoke incisively. “That means we should have an independent magistracy and judiciary as well. I’ve been making do, but we need the Schöffenstuhl to resume, to serve as the senior judiciary for the city, including as what the up-timers call an appellate court. Some of the matters that are coming before me and the other magistrates,” he shook his own head, “should be coming to you. So take on this work as the reconvened Schöffenstuhl, and I will then empanel you as part of the city governance. You will have good work to do, and it will take a fair amount of work off my shoulders.”

    “And paper out of your office, no doubt,” Alemann retorted, looking at the files stacked on various tables and cabinets.

    “A side benefit,” Otto waved a hand airily.

    “And you have this authority?”

    Alemann was sounding interested, Otto thought to himself. That was a good sign. He chuckled, then held up a hand as his father-in-law frowned at him.

    “I think you will find, Jacob, that within the boundaries of Magdeburg, Imperial Province and Free City of the United States of Europe, my authority is limited only by the will of the emperor himself. He never got around to giving the new city a charter or giving me a job description before his injury, other than ‘Clean up the mess and build me a capitol city I can be proud of.’ And until he or his heir or Parliament does . . .” Otto shrugged.

    Before Alemann could respond to that thought, there came an interruption. Albrecht opened the door from the outer office and stuck his head in.

    “Excuse me, Herr Gericke, but your step-father is here and wishes to see you.”

    “By all means, let him in, Albrecht.” Otto stood hurriedly and moved out from behind his desk just in time to embrace the man who almost charged past the secretary. “Papa Christoff, it is good to see you!”

    “And you as well, son.”

    Christoff Schultze was a lean man who was active beyond his years, as the thump he gave to Otto’s shoulder bore witness. He had married Otto’s mother after the death of her second husband, and had never treated Otto with anything other than care and consideration. Love may not have come into play between them, but certainly affection had, and it showed in their greetings.

    “Please, be seated.”

    Otto gestured to the other chair in front of his desk, and returned to the sideboard to quickly pour another glass of wine for his step-father.

    “Aah,” Schultze sighed after taking his first sip. “I do like a glass of good wine. I only wish I had time to properly savor this one”

    “Then I take it you are here on some official matter?” Otto asked.

    “Indeed,” Schultze replied. “Ludwig sent me.”

    That would be Fürst Ludwig von Anhalt-Cöthen, Otto thought to himself, Gustav Adolph’s appointed administrator for the archbishopric’s properties, owned by the Erzstift of Magdeburg, which in turn was now owned by Gustavus Adolphus.

    “And how is Fürst Ludwig these days?” Otto asked, wondering just what errand could have forced the good Fürst to send his chief lieutenant.

    Schultze’s response was very sober. “Concerned. Very concerned.”

    “And who isn’t?” Alemann responded dryly. “The news from Berlin is not good, and Chancellor Oxenstierna’s actions do little to inspire one to confidence.” Otto nodded in agreement.

    A darker tone entered Schultze’s voice. “Indeed. You know of Gustav Adolph’s condition.” Schultze was not asking a question — it was well-known that the emperor’s head injury received in battle with the Poles and the resulting wandering wits that Dr. Nichols called aphasia had for all intents and purposes rendered him non compos mentis. “I assume you also know of what Oxenstierna is attempting.”

    Both Otto and Alemann started to reply. Otto waved his hand at his father-in-law, who nodded and said, “Every child above the age of three in Magdeburg understands what the Swedish chancellor is attempting. He desires to roll back, make null, the many changes that Gustavus has made in the governance of the USE, or at least the ones that changed the social order and the religious tolerance — or should I say, lack of tolerance?”

    The older man looked over to Otto, who picked up the thread. “He and his allies have some kind of hold on Prime Minister Wettin, what the up-timers would call leverage, and between that and Oxenstierna’s position as chancellor of Sweden, they look to control the government of the USE. I believe they have misread the tenor of the times, but I am deathly afraid that we will all pay for their mistakes before they go down.”

    Schultze nodded. “Your judgment, Otto, is much the same as Fürst Ludwig’s. And his situation as administrator of the property formerly owned by the Archbishopric of Magdeburg is a bit complicated. On the one hand,” Schultze held out his left hand, “his authority comes from Gustav Adolph; he gave an oath to the king of Sweden before he became emperor, and therefore he might be considered to be under the chancellor’s authority as he acts as regent for Princess Kristina during her father’s incapacitation. On the other hand,” he held out his right hand, “he detests Oxenstierna, so he would dearly love to tell him to, ah, ‘take a flying leap’, as one of the Grantvillers described it. Even for a Swede, the chancellor is overbearingly arrogant. On yet another hand . . .” Otto smiled as he saw his stepfather struggle for a moment over which hand to hold up again, only to drop them both back into his lap, “Wilhelm Wettin, the prime minister, is his nephew. And although he loves his nephew and would ordinarily support him just on that cause, he is very much concerned that Wettin has made some ill-advised decisions in recent months. So he has a great desire to be very cautious as to what he does.”

    “I can see that,” murmured Otto, who nonetheless wished that the Fürst would be more direct. And his earlier feeling was proven correct — this was going to be a headache day. He propped his head on his hands, massaging his temples.

    “So, he is delaying responding to demands from the chancellor and his nephew, while he sent me hurrying from Halle to meet with you here. I had planned to ask Otto to bring you here, Jacob,” Schultze focused his gaze on Alemann, “so the coincidence of finding you here at the moment simply speeds my errand. Jacob, I need you to reconvene the Schöffenstuhl.”

    Otto burst out laughing as his father-in-law’s jaw dropped. A moment later a long finger was pointed in Otto’s direction.

    “You put him up to this, didn’t you? Confess it!”

    Still laughing, Otto raised both hands to the level of his shoulders. He finally choked back the hilarity enough to speak.

    “Before the throne of heaven and all its angels, Jacob, I did no such thing. I had no idea that Papa Christoff would even be here today.”

    He turned to his confused step-father.

    “You see, I just told Jacob I need him to bring the Schöffenstuhl back into being in the service of the city of Magdeburg.”

    Both of them started chuckling as Alemann directed a dark look first at one of them, then the other.

    “Oh, leave off, Jacob,” Schultze finally said, waving his empty hand in the air. “There is no collusion here.”

    “Well enough,” Alemann said, shifting his foot on its stool. “And if that be so, then what brings you here seeking the Schöffenstuhl?”

    “What the Fürst would ask of the Schöffenstuhl is an opinion, a judgment, as to whether under USE law, custom, and practice, the chancellor of Sweden can serve as regent for Gustav’s heir for the USE in the absence of a specific appointment by Gustav.”

    For the second time in less than an hour, Otto saw his father-in-law taken aback. He could see the objection in Alemann’s eyes, and spoke up before the older man could.

    “Authority,” Otto said. The eyes of both the other men shifted to him. “As we discussed, Jacob; you already possess the moral authority, and I will give you the legal standing and authority.”

    He could see the words really sink in this time. Alemann responded with a slow nod.

    “Such a judgment could have great effect, you know,” Schultze observed in a quiet tone.

    “And what if we were to rule in favor of the chancellor?” Alemann asked, no, demanded.

    Schultze shrugged. “Ludwig is willing to take that chance. And in truth, if you ruled that way, it would allow him to support family, which for a man of his lineage is always an important consideration.” He paused for a moment. “But I do not think that is the ruling he truly wants. As much as he finds many of the recent changes distasteful, Ludwig is fearful of what will result from Oxenstierna’s machinations.”

    “And why do you not send this request to the Reichskammergericht, or rather, the USE Supreme Court as it is called now?”

    “Time, Jacob,” Schultze responded. “We need an opinion soon, and if we send our request to Wetzlar, who knows how long it will take those ‘learned men’ to respond?” It was evident from the sarcasm in his voice that he did not have a high opinion of the Supreme Court.

    Otto thought about the matter for a moment, then looked to his father-in-law. “Jacob, do it. You know you want to.”

    Alemann snorted, then turned to Schultze. “Have it your way, Christoff. Let Fürst Ludwig have the petition and brief drawn up and sent to us. I will convene my fellows, and we will deliberate; perhaps even consult with someone like Master Thomas Price Riddle from Grantville, or Doctor Grotius at Jena. I will even endeavor to conduct the deliberations at a pace somewhat faster than deliberate.” He smiled at the joke.

    “And you, Otto,” Alemann looked back to his son-in-law, “if you would have us do this, then find us space. The rebuilt Rathaus in Old Magdeburg will not contain us. And it is most likely that those members serving on this year’s council will not allow us to use it anyway, once they hear of what we are doing, Brandenburg sympathizers that they mostly are.”

    There was a tinge of distaste in the way he said “Old Magdeburg.” The term was commonly used to refer to the half-a-square-mile within the fortifications that was the original city. Despite its near-total destruction in the course of the sack of Magdeburg by Tilly’s army, the still-official status of Old Magdeburg enabled its authorities to maintain a legal façade for their behavior. Obstreperous behavior, so far as both Alemann and Otto were concerned.

    Schultze pulled a folded document from an inside pocket of his coat. Otto began chuckling as the document was unfolded and seals dangled from the bottom of it. “Here,” Schultze said, “one petition and attached brief, duly executed and sealed by the petitioner.”

    “The Fürst anticipated me, I see,” Alemann said with a wry grin.

    All three men sobered quickly. “Yes, he did,” Schultze replied. “And his last words to me were ‘Tell them to hurry. The time when I will need this is fast approaching.’ Ludwig is not one to jump at shadows, you know. If he feels fear, then should we all.”

    With that thought Otto had to agree.