Point of the Knife (Patrick Pierce #3)

By William Scott

On the trail of an escaped assassin, Patrick Pierce delves into England’s high society of the 1920’s. Danger lurks amid the elaborate dinner parties and weekend shoots as he and his team try to track down their prey.

Meanwhile Pierce’s friend Wilhelm Schell finds himself amidst the religious wars of Germany’s past as he joins the hunt for the renegades that escaped. But as death and destruction begin to surround him, he’s forced to confront the misdeeds of his past.

Both will have to face their demons in order to return to Ravenwood Manor, which has come under threat from an unexpected force in their absence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Scott
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991927876

William Scott

William Scott is a part time author who was born and raised outside of Ottawa, Canada. A graduate of Carleton University and former member of the Royal Canadian Navy, he continues to work and live in Canada's National Capital Region.

Book preview

Point of the Knife

By William Scott

Published by Gouldhof at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 William Scott

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

1630. The cold grip of death and sickness hung on the German countryside like the thick fog that enshrouded the quiet road along the Elbe River. Years of religious conflict, war, famine, and plague had ravaged the otherwise pleasant countryside. Roving bands of mercenaries and soldiers from the conquering Holy Roman Empire made any form of recovery almost impossible for the inhabitants.

This dark fact was reinforced as two cloaked and hooded horsemen rode through the ashes of what had once been a picturesque little village along the river. Invaded, pillaged, and burnt down a year ago, no one had either survived or was willing to return to rebuild. Like many other villages that dotted the German states, this one was a skeleton of its former self, inhabited only by the ghosts of the victims.

Despite this fact both riders remained vigilant as they descended from their mounts and led their horses to the river for a drink. There were few safe havens for travellers and danger could be lurking anywhere. With the fighting generally over, unpaid soldiers or desperate peasants littered the landscape like foraging ants.

How long to Magdeburg? the shorter rider asked after taking a long swig from a wine skin.

Another day my Lord, his companion replied dutifully.

Well then I suppose we shouldn’t linger, not that I planned to, he shivered under his long cloak, observing the remnants of the village.

They walked their horses back through the village to regain the road, unwilling to risk hurting the beasts on the uneven bank of the river. They needed to reach the safety of Magdeburg to regroup and rest, and the prospect of doing it on foot was daunting.

Before they could remount by the edge of the village, a slumped figure walked out onto the road and halted in the middle. Curious more than scared, both men simply stared at him and waited for something to happen. Although the man remained motionless, soft footfalls and a sniffle almost rang out in the dead quiet of the fog drenched road.

They’re behind us aren’t they? the shorter man whispered to his compatriot.

Yes my Lord, I believe they are, he replied evenly. Should we fight them off or just scare them?

Let’s wait and see what they want first, the master decided with a casual air. Both men released their reins and let their horses wander away. Beneath their long cloaks they felt for the familiar handles of their weapons.

Spare some coin for poor refugees sir? the slumped figure croaked while leaning heavily on his long walking stick. The hood of his ripped and dirty cloak hid his features from the men.

I’m afraid his Lordship must regretfully decline, the larger horseman rebuked politely as he looked around. There were four young men with scraggily beards holding clubs behind them. Their mud stained leather jerkins signalled their probable occupation as dishevelled mercenaries rather than poor refugees.

That just won’t do, the slumped figure sneered as he straightened up and dropped his dirty cloak. The old cripple immediately transformed into a young and athletic bandit, his walking stick doubling as a strong staff. We need to eat, same as you.

If I thought you would use my coin for food, then I would gladly part with it, the noble finally spoke up, his voice smooth and musical. However I know soldiers when I see them and I’m sure you’ll just use the money for drink and women.

And what of it? challenged one of the men behind him.

Well that’s what I intend to use it for, he replied happily. I’m a jealous man and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stand watching you with any wenches that ought to be mine.

Don’t worry about that, the leader laughed instantly. You’ll be too dead to be jealous. Lads!

At the call of their leader the four men started to slowly approach the horsemen, banging their clubs menacingly. But their smiles instantly evaporated when the horsemen let their own cloaks drop to the ground.

Instead of a pansy nobleman and his tall but equally cowardly servant, the bandits were staring at two imposing and dangerous looking men. They both wore long military looking red leather jackets, with dark belts criss-crossing their muscular torsos. Their belts were jammed with an impressive array of pistols, knives, and swords. The taller man even had a whip.

Don’t just stand there! the leader yelled at his men who had frozen in place ten feet from the horsemen. As they hesitated, both men in red slowly pulled out a pistol and rapier in each hand. But like all desperate and stupid men, they trusted in their numerical advantage and charged with clubs raised.

Two loud shots exploded simultaneously, sending the horses running and filling the gap between the men with a thick cloud of smoke. Two of the bandits fell immediately; the remainder continued the charge, ignoring their fallen comrades. With loud grunts they swung their heavy clubs at the horsemen, but stumbled in shock when they only hit air.

With trained precision the noble and his servant easily avoided the clumsy strikes of the bandits and quickly dispatched them as they stumbled forward. Their swords stabbed with lightning speed and the bandits were dead as they hit the ground.

Shoving the spent pistols into their belts and removing new loaded ones, the two men descended on the bandit leader. In shock from watching his men so easily dealt with, the leader’s feet were planted to the rutted road. With eyes wide from fear, he stared at the dangerous men in red as they walked up to him. Unable to speak he simply dropped his staff and held out his hands.

Open your shirt, the noble demanded simply, eyeing the leader with curiosity.

What?

Do as his Lordship says or I’ll do it for you, the servant repeated angrily. But I’ll do it with my sword and I’m liable to cut more than cloth.

With fumbling fingers the leader unbuttoned his leather jerkin and then ripped open his cotton shirt from the neck down to his belly button. Stepping forward, the servant grabbed the shirt and opened it further, inspecting the bandit’s chest. Branded over of his heart was a crucifix.

My Lord, the servant announced, shoving the bandit over so the noble could see the brand. The noble had mounted his horse and looked down, his face turning deadly serious. Where is the Cardinal?

I don’t understand, which cardinal?

The man who did that to you, the noble repeated slowly, pointing to the burnt flesh. Where is he?

I don’t know, he replied defiantly, immediately changing from a victim to a martyr before their eyes.

Tell me! the noble demanded, motioning to his servant. The large man pulled his sword up to the bandit’s ear so close it drew a trickle of blood. When no response came, the servant smoothly removed the ear with his razor sharp blade. This elicited a howl of pain from the bandit, but no answers.

Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you leave as you are now.

Hail Mary full of Grace… the bandit began mumbling, quietly at first but it soon turned loud and rhythmic. Working himself into a trance, the bandit’s eyes glazed over as he stared into nothing.

Just like the others, the noble mumbled to himself with disappointment before nodding to his servant. With lethal efficiency the large man lowered his blade from the bandit’s head and thrust it through his back, piercing the heart and killing him instantly.

I’ll check the others my Lord, he stated after pulling the body to the side of the road and heaving it into the ditch. The other four bodies were still crumpled together in a heap and he methodically began inspecting their chests as well. Seemingly satisfied he similarly moved all of the bodies to the ditch as well. It wasn’t out of a need to hide them; dead bodies were a familiar scene in these parts. It was just in his nature to clean up after himself.

And? the noble asked as his servant mounted beside him to continue their journey down the road.

They were not branded.

Hmmm, well that’s not surprising, he thought aloud. They were pretty poor specimens and it’s unlikely the Cardinal would have recruited them.

The rush and gurgling of the misty river they rode along filled the silence between them as they continued their journey. However it also made it harder for them to hear any potential threats. The bandits from the burnt out village were not the first desperate and violent men to cross their path and both knew they wouldn’t be the last.

Luckily the road remained safe as the day progressed, with only a handful of carts and people travelling. The villages they passed through were also safer and generally unscathed from any obvious violence; one even had a small market where they were able to buy a few provisions.

By dusk the pair of horsemen had made their way to a small market town; sore, dirty, and exhausted. There was no sign up and it was too dark to read the map, but neither of them really cared where they were. They found a fairly reputable looking tavern across from a burnt down Lutheran church and handed their mounts to a young stable boy. The servant made sure the boy saw his ample purse as he handed over a few coins, hoping this would entice the lad to refrain from selling them by morning.

Now this is more like it, the noble exhaled happily as they walked into the boisterous, smoky, and drink filled tavern. The town was large enough that the appearance of two strange faces didn’t bring everyone to silence. However the fearsome sight of the weapon laden men made everyone give them a wide berth as they approached the bar.

Your best room landlord, the servant requested after the barman acknowledged them.

They’re all the same, he replied warily, eyeing them closely.

Well then the one which has seen the least amount of deaths, the noble retorted with a bored drawl as he watched a pair of wenches walk by with large beer steins.

Very good sirs, that will be number 6, he answered immediately, exchanging the key for some shiny coins.

Can you handle the bags? I’ve got something to attend to, the noble informed his servant as he sidled up beside a young woman walking past.

Very good my Lord.

*

The tavern quickly filled to capacity as the night progressed, with sweating bodies pressed against each other along benches and the bar. The smoke from the fireplaces and the tobacco created a foggy haze along the rafters and the copious amounts of alcohol created a similar haze within the patrons’ minds. A collection of musicians fought for prominence against the boisterous voices of the room, ultimately creating a constant thrum of noise.

A few of the wealthier patrons had a slightly more private spot in an alcove, their seats were no different than any others but the increased space was worth the expense. There were only three men at the long table in the alcove, each enjoying themselves immensely with at least one woman beside them.

Cutting through the crowd a sombre man clad in black walked up to the alcove, his hands clenched together. His clothing was plain but well maintained and his beard was trimmed but not fanciful. He looked like a clergyman.

I’m afraid I have no more coin for beggars tonight, offered the handsome man sitting in the middle of the bench with a woman on each arm. He grabbed each in turn as he continued. You see these poor ones have received all of my charity tonight.

I’m no beggar! Which one of you gentlemen is the Count Von Richstofen? he challenged with a disapproving look at all three rich men.

I think they are, came the drunken response from the handsome man as he pointed to the other two men in the alcove.

You sir are a drunken womanizing lout!

What’s your point? the man replied as he took a gulp of wine and then kissed the girl on his left.

This is my point your Grace! he yelled, struggling to pull out a pistol from under his jacket. Your days on this earth are at an end!

I’m sorry, who are you again? the Count asked with calm confusion as he set his glass down and tried to concentrate on the other man’s face, completely ignoring the pistol. I don’t think I caught your name.

That’s because I didn’t give it! he shouted back, almost shaking with anger and frustration. The sight of the weapon was supposed to instil fear in the nobleman, but instead he hardly seemed to notice.

I hate to offer advice or tell you what to do, but this is clearly your first armed challenge, the Count carried on, seemingly still a little drunk and oblivious to any danger. Generally you announce yourself and then the wrong you believe committed against you. You then allow the accused to apologise.

I have no time for this foolishness!

That’s fine, I wasn’t going to apologise anyway, he smiled, then prompted one of the women to refill his glass. The girls were nervous, but the simple act seemed to calm both of them. So that brings us to the challenge. I’m assuming you wish to challenge me to a duel?

Ha! You’d like that wouldn’t you, the angry man spat. You sir have no honour and don’t deserve such an honourable end. I’ll kill you where you sit.

Well I’m a stickler for formality, so I must insist on being armed, he decided after finishing yet another glass of wine. He then shifted to one side as if to pull his own pistol out, prompting the man in black to loudly cock his pistol and shake it towards the seated noble.

By this time everyone in the tavern had quieted down and was watching the standoff. A few of the more grizzled men at the bar were making bets on who would be killed, the odds were very much against the unarmed and seated man. At first everyone cringed as the Count pulled his hand from under the table, expecting a shot to go off. But instead a cry of laughter erupted as his empty hand rose above the table, his thumb and finger pointing like a gun.

What is this madness! the clergyman exploded. I have no problem killing a drunk, no matter what his lineage is.

I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve forced my hand, the Count rambled before dropping his wine glass and making a gun out his other hand and also pointing it towards his challenger. You’re now outgunned; I suggest you walk out of here. There’d be no shame in it.

More laughter rang out in the tavern infuriating the man in black further. His shaking hand was now becoming worse, tired from holding the heavy pistol for so long. With everyone watching he knew he couldn’t leave, the Count had to be shot.

I’ll give you to the count of three to drop that pistol and walk out, the Count advised him, a glint of humour in his eye. One!

What?! the challenger yelled in confusion, staring at the fingers pointed at him. His pistol was by now lowered, the weight too much to bear for the extended standoff.

Two!

Hahaha! he started laughing at the idiocy of it all, finally raising his pistol once more. I’ll let you play your games, then you die. I’m not going anywhere while you still draw breath.

Three! A smile crept across the face of the man dressed in black as the ineffective countdown was completed. But his humour was short lived as the Count seemed to carefully aim a finger pistol at his chest and then give him a wink, pretending to shoot.

Bang! the Count yelled and immediately his challenger cried out and fell to the floor with a loud thump, his pistol still firmly in his grasp. A collective gasp filled the tavern as everyone stared in astonishment. The man dressed in black was dead, his lifeless eyes wide in shock.

A murmuring started within the crowd with the words; magic, witchcraft, and devil being the most widely used. But these theories were quickly dismissed as the Count’s large and dangerous servant walked out of the shadows behind his master. Everyone had been concentrating on the man’s face and the Count’s ridiculous finger pistols, that they didn’t see the small dagger that had been thrown and was now imbedded in the dead man’s heart.

The large man stepped over his victim and pulled out the dagger, wiping the blood off on the victim’s black clothes before putting it in a small scabbard on his belt. He then yanked the pistol out of the dead man’s hands, made it safe, and shoved into his own belt.

Get him out of here, he ordered gruffly to a couple of the tavern boys who were staring at him with a combination of admiration and fear. Without a word they ran over and each grabbed an arm, quickly pulling the body out into the back.

With the disappearance of the body, everyone resumed their previous activities and the tavern slowly returned to its previous smoky, sweating, and loud state.

That was a little close my Lord, the servant observed as he sat on the bench across from his master.

I knew you were behind me ready to take him, the Count replied casually. If you weren’t, I would have actually pulled out a pistol and shot him myself. What a bore interrupting my evening like that.

Well we can’t have that, he sighed, a long suffering look upon his face. But this instantly changed as he noticed the woman on the Count’s left arm eyeing him intently.

Check out the body for the mark on his chest and then we’ll make a night of it when you return, the Count offered graciously, seeing the looks traded between his servant and the woman by his side.

The Count didn’t even watch his servant leave, immediately turning his attention back to the girls. They were both young and what they lacked in beauty they more than made up for with eagerness. More wine was delivered along with a few steins of ale and the whole confrontation was completely forgotten.

No mark my Lord, the large servant reported as he sat back down on the bench and grabbed one of the beer steins. And nothing else on his body except a few coins. I gave them to the lads in payment for disposing of the body.

Yes of course, the Count replied, waving the issue of money aside. Who the devil was he and why was he after Von Richstofen?

Aren’t you Von Richstofen your Grace? one of the girls asked in confusion from the question.

Of course, he retorted quickly. Why don’t you girls head up to number 6 and we’ll join you shortly. And take the wine with you.

They both smiled broadly and headed towards the stairs energetically with the wine in hand.

He could have been one of the Cardinal’s men, the servant observed after downing a full stein in a few big gulps.

Maybe, the Count shrugged before drinking from his own glass.

He could also be one of the numerous people you’ve pissed off since arriving.

That sounds like a much more viable solution, he smiled while raising his glass. Cheers!

You don’t sound too worried.

We’ve both seen too much to get worked up over some angry villagers, he leaned back against a beam behind him. I mean, was that pistol even properly loaded?

Intrigued by the question the servant pulled it out and gave it a brief inspection, eventually putting it back in his belt.

You’d have been dead if he had the courage to pull the trigger.

Wolfric, you and I should have been dead long ago, he countered with another inebriated shrug. So let’s have some fun, cause some mayhem, and if we’re lucky make it back to Ravenwood Manor alive to do it all again later.

I can’t argue with that Lord Schell, Wolfric grinned, raising another stein. He drank it down with a few quick gulps and slammed it back down on the table. Let’s see where those wenches got to. It seems like centuries since I ravaged a blonde Saxon woman.

Well that’s what we’re here for! Schell toasted once more and they both stood up on rubbery legs, the floor seemingly moving beneath them. The stairs proved just as perilous as they climbed towards their room. Both were more than willing to ignore the real reason for their presence in early modern Germany.

Lord Wilhelm Schell, Wolfric, and two others were members of the secret Black Tower Hunt Club. Its ranks were filled with some of the most dangerous individuals in history, gathered together using mysterious portals within their headquarters in Ravenwood Manor. Until recently the portals had been used by the members to hunt the scum of the earth throughout history. But that wasn’t enough for some of the members, the lure of controlling the power of the portals too strong to remain loyal. After a failed coup Doctor John Cleaver, the second in command, and his confederates escaped through various portals.

Cleaver’s replacement at the Manor, Lord Tiberius, was not a man to forgive and forget. Instead he sent those few trustworthy members to hunt down the renegades scattered throughout time. Schell and his men had been sent after Diego de la Gena, an actual Catholic Cardinal from the Spanish Inquisition with a taste for torture. But so far their hunt had been unsuccessful. Partly due to the Cardinal’s head start and cunning, but also due to Schell’s lackadaisical approach.

I wonder how the others are doing? Wolfric thought aloud at the top of the staircase while he waited for Schell to finish the climb. In order to cover more ground Schell and his team had split up. They should have reached Magdeburg today.

Then they’re probably doing the same as us but in a much nicer place, the bastards! he laughed and accepted Wolfric’s outstretched hand. Together they walked the few steps to their room and lumbered through the door.

Good evening your Grace! exclaimed three sets of soft and eager voices. I hope you don’t mind, but Ingrid wanted to join us.

I don’t mind at all, Schell smiled as he walked towards them. In fact I must insist that she stay.

Chapter 2

One of the bed’s legs was broken, so a confused jumble of bodies had slid down to the foot of the bed during the night. Empty bottles lined the floor, surrounded by various pieces of clothing.

Rise and shine your Grace, Wolfric announced after depositing a tray of food in an empty space at the head of the bed. He then walked over to a side table and started pouring some water from a clay jug.

Water, Schell muttered quietly as his head poked out from beneath a slim female leg. Prepared for the demand, Wolfric handed the cup over with a knowing smile.

You look like you’re touring with Mötley Crüe, Wolfric observed as he took a seat in the corner of the room and bit loudly into an apple.

That must mean I’m doing something right, Schell retorted after draining his glass and disentangling himself from the three naked women in the bed. Jostled from their slumber they slowly awakened, dressed and then left the room silently but with bright smiles and heavier coin purses. You’re up early as usual I see, apparently none the worse for wear.

You know me my Lord, I can’t sleep past sunrise, Wolfric shrugged, leaning his chair back on two legs against the wall. Why I used to rape and pillage villages all night long and have to be ready to sail back home at first light.

Vikings… he mumbled in reply, rolling over to the tray of food. It was a collection of bread, cheese, and some fruit, nothing fancy but appreciated nonetheless. You know I was thinking something in one of my more lucid moments last night.

Wolfric merely raised an eyebrow with a mixture of curiosity and doubt.

How did that lunatic know Count Von Richstofen was at this tavern? Schell asked after swallowing a mouthful of food. I mean we didn’t even know we were going to stop in this town until we arrived. I don’t even know which town we’re in.

That is a good question my Lord,

How very insightful of you, Schell allowed sarcastically when he didn’t continue.

I’m not here to be insightful, Wolfric replied casually as he finished his apple. I’m here to track, hunt down, and kill people.

Fair enough, but if an idea pops into your head don’t be afraid to voice it, Schell replied as he poured himself another glass of water. There was something very suspicious about his presence here last night and it’s been gnawing at me all night.

That was probably one of the girls.

Probably, Schell smiled from what little he could remember, the worries of the mysterious man in black quickly evaporating. Magdeburg should prove even better tonight.

I’m not so sure, Wolfric cautioned. The Cardinal is sure to have his spies in the city.

Of course he will, I’m counting on that, Schell replied as he finally stood up and stretched. I’m tired of chasing him around. We’ll let him come to us now.

Wolfric merely nodded and began helping his master collect the clothes that were strewn about the room. Finished with this task he collected their bags, ensuring all of their weapons and equipment were still there. Satisfied he stood and waited while Schell finished dressing, finally helping him into his long dark red jacket.

Well let’s see if the stable boy sold our horses, the fake Count wondered as they walked out of the room and then down the stairs to the main floor of the tavern. Having already paid for their room, they simply walked out without bothering the owner at the front counter.

The pair were greeted by yet another dreary and dismal day, the fog still thick on the ground despite it being mid-morning. The few busy townspeople they passed on their way to the stable gave them respectful but jealous nods at their obvious late rising and idle lifestyle. Schell was pretty sure that the exploits of the standoff from the previous night had also circulated through the town, giving them even more notoriety.

Luckily their horses were still at the stables and even looked as if they’d been decently groomed and fed. Never shy to reward good service, Schell handed the two stable boys a handful of his cheaper coins. There was a better chance they’d keep this reward and use it wisely, instead of immediately spending the larger gold coins he carried.

They draped their long riding cloaks over their shoulders after they mounted their horses, trying to keep the damp chill of the morning from seeping down to their bones. The cloaks also did a decent job of disguising them as ordinary travellers, albeit slightly wealthy ones.

Again they took up the road that ran south along the Elbe, the river coming and going into view as they rode. Rolling pastures, fields and forests filled the landscape, seemingly peaceful despite the holy war that was raging.

As the morning slowly meandered into afternoon, the countryside began to make Schell feel at home. There was something intrinsically Germanic about the land, something that he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t even try and voice this feeling to his companion. The ancient Nordic warrior looked upon most landscapes with the cold eye of a conqueror.

He couldn’t even put it down to seeing familiar sights. Despite growing up in the nearby Prussian state, everything was very much new to him. He’d even travelled to Magdeburg in his youth, but was sure the town they’d arrive in later that evening would not resemble the one he remembered.

Wilhelm Schell had been born to a wealthy aristocratic family in 1910, at the family estate outside of Berlin. Despite the disastrous end to the First World War for Germany, his family prospered as other noble houses fell around them. This fact, along with a natural gift for languages, led to his employment in the Foreign Service after graduating University. His decadent lifestyle continued as he enjoyed posts in all the great capitals of Europe; Paris, Vienna, Rome, and even London.

But despite his soft and genteel persona, Schell was also a cunning survivor with a firm grasp of reality. Therefore he was not shocked when a swastika laden cloud of darkness descended on his country. His liberal and socialist co-workers railed against the new party and its policies, but Schell held his tongue and saved himself in the process. He joined the Nazi Party and then the SS of his own accord before they took power, thereby ingratiating himself with the old guard and appearing more devout. In truth Schell had little opinion of the Nazi’s one way or another. He just knew that they would hold the power in Germany and he wanted to be on the winning side.

In less than ten years Schell went from being a minor diplomat in the Foreign Service to being a Colonel in the Foreign Intelligence branch of the SS, directly under Heinrich Himmler. He’d served as Himmler’s aide early in his career and found that his successes were magnified by this association.

However by 1942 only the most devout or fanatic of Nazis believed that total victory was still possible. Setbacks in Africa and Russia made everyone else realize that the pinnacle had been reached. It was also at this time that Schell first discovered the truth about the plight of the Jews. He knew that they’d been declared non-citizens and forced from their homes, their possessions taken away. But since he was in foreign intelligence and a British specialist, he’d tried to ignore it all. But with promotions came access to new information and even the self-interested survivor could no longer ignore the images of the death camps.

Using his many contacts within German held territory and neutral states, he began systematically helping some Jews escape the Third Reich. They were covered as spies and infiltrators, many even giving the Nazi salute to unsuspecting officers as they departed on their fake missions to freedom. He funnelled them to Sweden, Spain, and Switzerland in small groups in order to avoid unwanted attention. He even managed to have a famous Jewish scientist who’d been in hiding for years parachuted into England by the Luftwaffe.

Although he truly felt repulsed by the genocide taking place in the camps and throughout Germany, Wilhelm Schell was no saint and readily admitted to himself that he had ulterior motives. Based on the extent of the atrocities, he knew that the Allies would be seeking retribution when they won, making the Treaty of Versailles seem like a picnic by comparison. So he wanted to ensure that when he was judged, he’d be able to call upon a list of Jews that owed their survival to him.

The only problem was that he would also have to survive the war and he had made enemies. The power he wielded as Himmler’s ally made him enemies throughout the labyrinthine Third Reich and SS bureaucracy. So he had felt an icy chill run down his spine when he’d found a plain white letter waiting for him at the German Embassy in Lisbon on one of his visits. He wasn’t in Portugal for a formal mission, merely tired of being in Berlin and the incessant bombing raids.

That meant that the trip was unplanned with only a handful of people aware of his destination. His thoughts immediately turned to the Gestapo and the possibility of a piano wire wrapped around his neck. Or something much worse. But he also knew that the Gestapo were theatrical and enjoyed swooping in on their unknowing prey.

The letter itself was plain white with an elegant black scrawl indicating the recipient; SS Oberfuhrer Schell. The inside was just as mysterious, with his name on a card and a date and address on the back. His first instinct was to throw it away and pretend he never received it. But his curiosity eventually got the better of him and he decided to keep the meeting. Luck was shining on him that day, since instead of the Gestapo waiting for him at the ocean front villa there were two men from Ravenwood Manor with an offer he couldn’t believe.

Schell still found it amazing and incomprehensible to travel through time, so much so that he tried to ignore the impact of it all lest his brain explode. The idea that his ancestors were living in the newly built family castle less than a week’s travel away made his skin tingle. But he wasn’t foolish enough to visit them. He didn’t really understand what effect such an act would have on his future, but he wasn’t willing to test it out.

Instead he spotted a decent looking coach house up ahead and signalled to Wolfric that it would be their destination. His backside was sore, his stomach grumbling, but more importantly he was thirsty.

We’ll only have time for a quick stop if we wish to reach Magdeburg before nightfall my Lord, Wolfric advised after glancing at his map.

Yes, yes, of course, Schell waved the advice aside.

But when a serving girl emerged with a bucket of water as they tied up their horses, Wolfric immediately knew it wouldn’t be as quick a stop as he planned. She was a classic rosy cheeked and solid country girl, with a loose fitting top and a friendly smile. He hoped there were comfortable seats, because he imagined they’d be there for some time.

*

Is it too much to ask to be able to have a drink without getting a pistol pulled on me every time? Schell wondered aloud four hours later and a few kilometers down the road from the coach house.

To be fair sir, the landlord caught you with his daughter in the pantry, Wolfric countered.

He didn’t need to pull a pistol out, surely.

My Lord, you had his daughter bent over a large ham… he continued, easily playing the devil’s advocate.

Yes I did, Schell recalled fondly, the memory of the pistol and threats quickly replaced.

As predicted, the short stop for food and rest had turned into a drunken riot, with their schedule completely ruined. Dusk was fast approaching and they were still hours from Magdeburg and the comfort of a decent bed.

The only stroke of luck was that after a week’s worth of gloomy dark weather, the clouds were finally thinning out. Within an hour of slowly riding along the treacherous dark road, a bright moon emerged complete with a blanket of stars. With their way much more visible, the horsemen quickened their pace. Their riding skills were sufficient to exploit