1636： The Saxon Uprising ARC - By Eric Flint Page 0,137

in Archduchess Isabella. The old woman’s expression was even more skeptical than Miguel’s. “We’ve done quite well so far. Minor gains, all of them, yes. But they came with no real risk and they’re solid. Leave it be.”

The king had listened attentively, but that was simply to be courteous. He’d already made his decision the night before, while discussing the matter with his wife. Maria Anna was as bold an adviser as any he had—and even she had urged the path of caution.

“We’re all agreed, then,” he stated. “We’ll just wait to see what happens.”

Poznan, Poland

“The king is still adamant, and the Sejm even more so,” said Stanislaw Koniecpolski. The grand hetman shrugged massive shoulders. “They’ll have no talk of a peace settlement. There’s no point in raising the issue any longer.”

Lukasz Opalinski’s jaws were tight.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. As every day passed, it became clearer and clearer to him that his friend Jozef Wojtowicz had been right all along. If Stearns had the two divisions of the USE army out there in the siege lines around Poznan to add to his own, he would win this civil war easily. And everyone knew—well, perhaps not every szlachta voting in the Sejm, as pig-ignorant as so many of them were—that Stearns had been opposed to the war with Poland from the start.

It could be argued, of course, that Torstensson would stand in the way. But Lukasz didn’t think even Torstensson could keep his men under control, if Stearns summoned them. The Poles had quite good intelligence on what was happening in Torstensson’s army, from all the Polish civilians employed by that army. The USE troops were restive and getting more so by the day. They’d even presented a petition to Torstensson three days ago, urging him to march on Berlin and restore the rightful prime minister.

The only thing that really enabled Torstensson to keep them under control any longer was…

The Poles. The stance of King Wladyslaw IV and the Sejm of the commonwealth.

What had poor Poland done, to so offend the Almighty that he visited seven years of stupidity upon the nation? Followed by seven years of idiocy, another seven of imbecility, yet another seven of cretinism—all that coming after seven years of dull-wittedness, preceded by seven years of struggling to count toes, seven years…

He wondered what had happened to Jozef. Was he still in Dresden? If so, was he still alive? They had heard nothing from him in weeks, since the batteries in his radio died.

Chapter 42

Dresden, capitol of Saxony

As he had in his first interview with the woman, Jozef Wojtowicz was finding Gretchen Richter unsettling. You’d think eyes that were colored a sort of light brown would be warm by nature, but hers weren’t. Not, at least, when she was studying you while trying to squeeze out the truth.

The scariest thing about the whole situation was that she wasn’t even suspicious. She wasn’t trying to uncover duplicity or treachery or misdoings on Jozef’s part, she was just trying to ferret out the truth about his military skills. Jozef hated to think what the woman would be like if she was running an actual inquisition. She’d terrify Torquemada. Either that, or turn him green with envy.

“You still seem hesitant, Jozef,” she was saying. “I do not understand why.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of frustration, as if he’d been about to raise them high in despair but then managed to control himself.

“You just don’t understand.” He blew out a breath. “Yes, I have pretty much all of the separate skills of a hussar. To start with, I’m an excellent horseman. Better than a lot of hussars, actually. Then, I am quite good with a sword—a cavalry saber, at least. Not so much with a side sword and not at all with a rapier or a schiavona because those are—”

He waved his hand irritably. Richter’s face creased into a thin smile. “Because those are silly things useless in a battle. Good only for duels. And you’re not a duelist.”

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not.” A fairly good assassin, though, and I’m handy with any sort of dagger…

Seemed like an unwise thing to add, under the circumstances. “Contra-indicated” was the up-time term, according to Ted Szklenski, who was addicted to the damn things.

“I’m also a fair hand with a lance. Either the big ones favored by hussars or the lighter styles preferred by Tatars.”

“What about guns?”

A fairly good assassin, like I said. No, didn’t say. Any sane assassin would rather