Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XVI

"Maybe not. From the quick glance I got, the village's guns are all in the house these swine were using." Wilf grimaced. "I suppose we'll have to play nice and give them back."

That brought Rob's mind around again to the stallion snorting and pawing in front of them. "Wilf, I've got to put Deco down-before he turns on someone else."

"What? No, Rob, just wait. Once the horse is certain his torturer is well and truly dead, he'll calm down. No need to destroy such a magnificent warhorse. That bastard Schor taught him too well. And Schor knew it. That's why he sold Deco off. Now the horse has found his old master and taught him a lesson." Wilf's laugh was as satisfied as Reichard's had been earlier.

"Are we going to have any kind of legal hassles over killing these guys?" Rob asked. His head was still full of sounds and sights from the brief fight and his hands shook slightly. He carefully cleaned each part of his disassembled revolver. Beside him sat his rifle, ready and easily at hand.

Wilf had "played nice" and returned the villagers' guns to the villagers. But he had first separated powder and shot from the weapons and handed those over only after all the guns had been claimed. Rob fully understood the earlier warning about watching his back after that little exchange. The looks the villagers gave the Grantvillers made it clear that there would be no thanks. Wilf didn't think the villagers would openly attack them but everyone had weapons at hand just in case.

"I don't think so. Each of them were on the old Grantville 'Kill if found' list. I doubt that anyone from our present government will complain," Wilf replied as he patiently and thoroughly cleaned his rifle. "These black powder reloads work well save for the mess they leave."

"The ones who have to bury them might complain," Dieter joked. "The ground is still frozen." He was cleaning out several deep scratches and scrapes on the boy Rob had rescued. The boy's mother, Marta Altboters, sat holding him on her lap. Her bruised face was stolid but her blackened eyes darted from man to man.

Reichard sat to one side, his attention on the doorway and Rob's extra pump shotgun across his knees. "We've done the world a service this day by ridding it of those scum. Faw! Look at this place! I swear it looks like a pig was slaughtered in here."

"No, not a pig…" Marta sobbed softly. She looked around fearfully and clasped Mattias tightly.

"Come, now, Frau Altboters." Dieter smiled warmly at mother and child. "We'll not harm you. No need to hold your son so tight. He's been a good boy and not fussed or squirmed. I'm almost finished with him."

Wilf was looking at the young mother, an odd expression on his face. Reichard began to curse under his breath. Rob smiled at her, trying for "trust me" and fearing he looked instead like he was sneering. "None of us will harm you. You and your boy are safe with us. As safe as in your father's house." Her reaction surprised him.

"Safe as my father's house, eh! My father-" She spat into the fire. "-was the one who shoved me in here to keep you satisfied and away from the other women."

"Ah, that explains it. I thought he said something about sacrificing. He's made you the sacrifice. Your son, too, were we that sort of men." Wilf shook his head and frowned. "Whether you believe it or not we will not harm you or your son in any way, Frau. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I am Wilfram Jones, a reasonably respectable horse dealer from Grantville. The overly-large man concerned with the former tenants' housekeeping is Reichard Blucher. He is a partner of mine, as is Dieter Wiesskamp. Dieter acts as our surgeon as needed and is very good at it. Lastly, this young man is Robert Clark, horse breeder, trainer, and good friend. He has eyes and thoughts only for his betrothed back in Grantville."

"Aye, Rob's thoughts won't stray-he knows what his Lannie would do to him if they did!" Dieter jibed.

"Come on, Dieter!" Rob found himself blushing.

It might have been the blush or maybe the polite nods from each of the men that took the wild fright out of Marta's eyes. She looked down at her son and lightly fingered each bandage. Finally her head came up and she stared at the men. "What manner of men are you?"

"Not the likes of Schor and his gang," Wilf bit off. "You said something… I'm half-afraid of the answer… You said 'No, not a pig.'"

"A girl. About twelve or so. They brought her here a week ago. When they were done with her they had me take the body out."

Reichard spit out one last long and vehement curse. "Pigears liked them young. He died too fast. I should have ripped his balls off." Reichard eyed the woman. "They've been bashing you around, too, haven't they? Bastards!"

Marta nodded and sobbed out, "Yes. Father handed me over to them when the woman they brought with them disappeared."

"And your husband didn't object," Rob asked.

"How could he? He's been dead this last three years."

"The women disappeared as in 'under a convenient snowbank'?" Wilf asked. "Oh, woman, what kind of monster is your father to do such a thing?" His hand gently brushed her loose hair back, exposing a large, raw abrasion on her jaw. "These wounds need to be cleaned out or they will fester. Will you allow Dieter attend to them?"

She looked around at all of them then slowly nodded. Leaning down she whispered something to her son and he slid off her lap. Rob motioned the boy over. "Let's get something on you, Matthias, before you freeze." Rob reached into his pack and pulled out first a flannel shirt and then a tee shirt. Grinning he tossed the tee to Matthias. "Put this on." The boy smiled shyly back and pulled the tee-shirt over his head. The result brought smiles to other men as Matthias stood draped from neck to toes in the black shirt with gold lettering. "Here, wrap yourself up in this shirt and slide down inside my sleeping bag." Rob handed the flannel shirt to the boy.

Matthias wound the flannel shirt twice around himself and, with a few anxious looks at his mother, wiggled down into the sleeping bag. Seeing the boy settled down gave Rob a warm feeling and he turned back to cleaning his revolver. Wilf hummed to himself as he reassembled his rifle. With a final click he slipped the clip in place and carefully set the rifle aside. Rob looked up. He realized that the tension in the little house had lifted a bit.

"Frau Altboters, did von Schor or any of the others every talk about why they were here in Oberschwartzwald?" Wilf asked suddenly. "This village seems an unlikely place for them to spend any time."

"No, they didn't talk-they argued. Constantly. The one called Jacob was always complaining about staying here. The captain hit the one called Pigears over the head with a chunk of firewood once. He kept saying that they would stay until they had finished their job. Until the job was done they wouldn't get paid." Marta winced as Dieter swabbed out an abrasion.

"Ah, now that sounds like our late and unlamented acquaintances!" rumbled Reichard. "Money, or at least the chance for money, was all that mattered to that crew."

"Aye, but money for what? Who was paying? Mayhap we should have tried to keep old Jakob alive a bit longer," Wilf replied. "As is we have an answer to Major Stieff's puzzle. We know who and how many 'bandits' were causing trouble. However, I'm certain he'll want us to find the answer to this new puzzle."

Rob nodded. A thought struck him. "Frau, did you ever see or hear talk about their paymaster? How did he contact them?"

Marta Altboters sat silently for a few moments. Rob thought he saw fear cross her face. After a long look down at her sleeping son, she grasped Dieter's hand and pushed it away. "There was a man they spoke of. A man who met them outside of town, on the other side of the woodlot. When they came back from that meeting Schor had a satchel. He hid it behind the bed." There was a sly, defiant look on her face as she spoke the last. She looked around at all of them as if waiting for blows to fall.