1636： The Saxon Uprising ARC - By Eric Flint Page 0,163

gotten much of the field cleared.

“We need a damn farmer,” Denise groused.

The next best thing arrived—the two hostlers, with more draft horses hooked up to the roller sledge. After a short negotiation, they agreed to do the work as well. Fortunately for all concerned, the stable-master had taken the day off in order to join the city’s festivities.

With capable hands now guiding the work, the field was cleared by mid-afternoon. By sundown, Denise and Minnie were back at the townhouse.

They found Noelle in the kitchen, sitting at the table and listening to the radio. With Nasi’s purse to draw on, they could afford their own. It was purely a receiver, though, with no transmitting capability.

“Hey, Noelle, it’s done!” Denise said cheerfully. “We even have time to get to the radio station for the evening window. Eddie could be here by tomorrow.”

Noelle stared at them. Then, back at the radio. Somebody was jabbering something about Berlin.

“What’s up?” asked Minnie. “Anything important?”

Noelle stared at them. Then, back at the radio. They were still jabbering something about Berlin.

“Well,” she said. “Yes.”

Chapter 52

A tavern on the outskirts of Berlin

Axel Oxenstierna frowned. There was some sort of racket coming from just outside the village inn where he’d set up his temporary command post. It sounded like the movement of a large body of troops. A battalion, at least.

Why would a battalion be moving here? True enough, he’d been ordering a lot of troop movements. Pulling an army of twenty thousand men out of their barracks and into marching order wasn’t something you did in a couple of hours. But no large body of troops should be assembling here.

He caught the eye of one of his aides and nodded toward the front entrance. “Go see what’s happening out there.”

The aide headed toward the door, but before he got there it burst open. Erling Ljundberg came in, followed by three of his Scots and—

Oxenstierna froze. “Your Majesty…”

Gustav Adolf pushed past Ljundberg and stepped forward two paces. His face, always pale, was almost as white as a sheet.

Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand was the seventh person through the door. He almost had to fight his way past the gaggle of Scots. Oversized Scots.

He was now very anxious. This was moving too quickly. Gustav Adolf was not following the plan they’d agreed on and Erik was sure he knew the reason why. The king had a ferocious temper. He didn’t lose it that often, but when he did the results tended to be volcanic.

To get past the Scots he had to move around to the right. When he got past the last Scot, he could see his cousin’s face in profile. The instant he saw that ghostly visage, he knew they were in trouble.

The king started with “You—” The next several words were utterly foul. They were blasphemous, too, which really frightened Erik. The king of Sweden was a devout Lutheran and almost never lapsed into blasphemy. Profanity, yes. This day and age was not the least bit Victorian. But pious men took the third commandment seriously.

The chancellor raised his hand, half in protest and half simply as an unconscious shielding gesture. His own face was extremely pale.

Gustav Adolf moved on to accusations that had some content, but they were still laced with profanity and blasphemy.

“—knew perfectly fucking well I never would have allowed—you God-damned bastard! My own daughter had to hide from you! Were you going to see her murdered too, you stinking son-of-a-bitch? This was fucking treason, simple as that—and don’t think I won’t find out what really happened with that God-damned asshole in Bavaria! You think—”

It was all spinning out of control. They’d discussed this at length and had agreed that the best way to handle it was a stiff but dignified order to arrest the chancellor. Instead, the king’s fury—

And then Erik’s worst fears materialized. Gustav Adolf’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor.

The American doctor Nichols had warned him this might happen, months ago. He’d also described the possible symptoms.

“There are half a dozen types of what we call generalized seizures,” he said. “The one that’s best known because it’s the most dramatic is the so-called ‘grand mal’ seizure. Well, you probably don’t use the French term yet. It’s a major convulsion which usually starts with the patient losing consciousness and collapsing. That’s followed by what we call the ‘tonic’ phase, where there’s a stiffening of the body that lasts for up to a minute. Then the ‘clonic’ phase starts, which lasts another