No Smoke Without Friar!

'And you're sure, good friar, that you haven't seen the Emperor anywhere?' These words are being uttered by a worried looking guard captain. With him is a platoon of equally concerned looking soldiers. The captain stands on the threshold of the main entrance to Schrote cathedral. In front of him is Friar Knowledge, Bishop Baldwin's record keeper.

'No, captain. I can say, categorically, that I have never seen Emperor George. Ever' says Friar Knowledge emphatically. 'Ever, ever'.
'But you were seen with him last night', replies the officer.
'No', says the Friar, 'you are mistaken - that was probably someone else'.
'Another Emperor George?' says the captain, suspiciously.

'What Friar Knowledge means to say', says Bishop Baldwin, arriving hurriedly through the main cathedral door, 'is that he did indeed see the Emperor yesterday evening, but that it was around seven, and His Imperial Highness said that he was going for a long walk'.
'Oh yes', says the friar, nodding vigorously, 'yes. That was absolutely the gist of what I was getting at'.
The captain looks at the Friar, frowning. 'Getting at when you said that you had absolutely never seen him?'
The friar nods. 'Oh yes - I think that that was clear'.
'Yes but ...' starts the soldier.

'No, no - Friar Knowledge has urgent things to do - those protestant kneecaps won't just beat themselves, you know. Off you go, brother, and I shall myself answer the captain's questions'.
The friar exits, leaving the captain with the Bishop. 'So', says Baldwin conversationally, 'you've lost the Emperor then?'
'He's gone! Disappeared!' gulps the officer. 
Baldwin nods slowly. 'Well, that's got to be worrying for an officer of the Imperial Guard. I mean, Imperial Guarding 101 would certainly focus on the importance when guarding an emperor that he shouldn't be allowed to disappear mysteriously. I should think that one of the first items on an imperial guard's performance review would be the extent to which mysterious disappearings of tthe emperor had or hadn't been allowed to happen'.

The captain nods vigorously. 'It is most alarming!'

The bishop shrugs. 'Well, he went for a long walk: and Schrote is very small - he could literally be anywhere. Have you tried Denmark?'

The captain mops his brow. 'It is even worse then you think, good bishop! See - on the horizon! Smoke rises from the border - there's dirty work afoot! The colonel has sent messages calling for reinforcements!'

'Well', says the bishop placatingly, 'I'm sure that things will turn out fine in the end'.

'I just can't help thinking', continues the captain, 'that the Emperor's disappearance might be linked to the problems at the border - perhaps the Emperor has been abducted, and the smoke that we can see is caused by a force of enemy marauders come to carry him off!'

'Fie and tush', says the bishop. 'That is very unlikely - it would be a terrible plan!'

'Yes, yes!' says the captain, consoling himself. 'Yes! Only morons would think that such an enterprise could succeed!'

The bishop sighs. 'My thoughts exactly - anyway, off you go: I've got lots to do. If the Emperor doesn't make his coronation, I suppose the orchestra will still want paying; and I'll have to work out what to do with the all of those sausage rolls'.

Chastise the Cleric!

The following day, Fecklenburg and the prince are again in the vicinity of Schrote. Fecklenburg points. 'Well, sire, it is time. See, our troops are beginning their march to the frontier'.

'Hmmm. Is there anyone in command?' asks Rupprecht slowly. 'I think that there should be someone in command. Probably. It's usual'.

'Indeed sire - the Nabstrian officer of jager, a Colonel Zeigler, will command the combined force'.

Rupprecht scowls. 'But that means that Nabstria will take most of the glory!'
'But also, my lord, if it goes wrong, most of the blame'.
'Ah, yes - sometimes I remember why I have you as my chancellor'.

'You are too kind, my prince'.

'Probably. Anyway, shouldn't I meet this Zeigler - shake his hand perhaps?'  
'Shake his hand? No sir - he’s a light infantry officer: you can’t be sure where it’s been. More to the point, you are, of course, supposed to be completely in the dark regarding this enterprise. So it is best if we limit your contact with the advancing troops'.

'But you've dragged me out here on another damnably cold morning, Fecklenburg. I think that I should go and see the troops once they're in position. So that they could give me a loud "huzzah!". It would inspire them, perhaps? Maybe I could give them a speech?'

Fecklenburg pauses before continuing carefully.

'Talk to the troops, sir? Are you sure? And by that I mean really, really sure?'

Rupprecht nods. 'Yes: I think that it would be a wise move'.
'Define "wise", sir. Are you using it in the meaning of "sagacious", "sapient", or "perspicacious"?'
'I don't know: am I?'
'Because it sounds to me that by the word "wise", you actually mean "injudicious" or "imprudent". Which I think that learned men would define as being "unwise"'.
'So you think that I shouldn't do it?'
'Sir, you are my prince, and a lowly man such as I would not deign to instruct you. So I should say that you should certainly do it: but that by "it", I mean that you should definitely not talk to them'.
Rupprecht tries to work this through, but then gives up. 'We should definitely give Emperor George a good shouting at once we catch him', he says instead.

'When we receive him, we shall certainly do that, my lord'

'Unless, of course, Fecklenburg, he has an accident', says the prince, wiggling his fingers in the air.

'I think that those are asterisks, sir' replies the chamberlain. 'But anyway - soon, no doubt, we shall receive a message from the bishop indicating where the supine emperor has been sequestered, and then we shall have him'.

'We've put him in some soup?' says Rupprecht, seemingly both intrigued and impressed. 'The bishop certainly has style, I'll give him that'. The prince pauses, and then continues. 'And there's no way that the bishop could mess things up?'

'Oh no', replies Fecklenburg. 'No - his task is perfectly simple: only an idiot could make a mistake. No - I'm certain that, for once, we will avoid making an extended stay booking at the Hotel Cockup'.

Pummel the Priest!

'See here, my lord!' cries Fecklenburg theatrically. 'See here, the litany of calumnies, aspersions, and villification within this pamphlet that are laid against you!'

'Well', says Rupprecht nodding. 'I don't know what those words mean, but it sounds bad'.

'Indeed, my prince! For within these pages the bishop has accused you of being a fat, sluggardly glutton!'

Rupprecht nods. 'Hurtful words though they are, Fecklenburg - I have to say he's probably got me on those'. 

'And, sire, he is most critical of your sojourn as Bishop of Schrote'.

Rupprecht looks annoyed. 'What! I made a splendid Catholic bishop - what is he complaining about?'

'Well, my lord, you're a Protestant'.

'Protestant, Catholic -  it's really all the same'.

'Not everyone would agree, sire. There was, after all, that Thirty Years War thing'. 

Rupprecht frowns. 'Bishop Baldwin must have a lot of time on his hands - that pamphlet is quite thick'.

'No, no, my lord', says the chamberlain. 'He didn't actually write the pamphlet - I had it written'.

The prince's eyes bulge and he goes red; he looks, ironically given the general tone of things, like a chicken being choked. 'Fool!', he cries. 'Treacherous dog! How dare you write such things - even the things that are probably broadly true! I shall have you executed!' He pauses. 'Right after you fetch me another pie!'

'No, no, no, no, no, no, my dear prince!' squeaks Fecklenburg hurriedly. 'What I mean is that I have taken up the services of the noted propagandist Oskar Siber, and had this attack upon you manufactured as the excuse for our intervention!'

A candle, albeit quite a small one, evidently lights in the attic of Rupprecht's mind. 'Oh! Oh, I seeeeeee. But how will people believe that these insults have indeed come from the bishop?'

'See, sire - Siber has forged Baldwin's name and seal here; and also, just for good measure, added his age and postal address'.

Rupprecht reflects on all of this. 'Are the Nabstrians in as well?'

'Yes, my lord - they want Nottelbad and Bahnsee-Kassell back. And also Rotenburg will help'.

'Really? Don't they own a chunk of my princedom?'

'Only the bits that you don't like. It would seem that Landgrave Choldwig is nervous'.

'So he should be, given how little he wears when he's near his terrapins'.

'No sir - it would seem that Emperor George has been making overtures towards the Kurlandians?'

'Why is he playing them music?'

'I mean diplomatic overtures, my lord. It would seem that he has floated the idea of some kind of accomodation with them'.

'He wants to share a house?'

'No ... a diplomatic accomodation.  Fenwick-Gelenderland and Kurland together would pose a terrible threat to Rotenburg's borders'. 

'Good work, Fecklenburg!' Rupprecht nods, seemingly genuinely impressed. 'But, won't I still be held responsible for the invasion?'

The chamberlain shakes his head. 'No, no, my lord - the troops will spontaneously cross into Schrote to punish the bishop. You, my lord, will have been guilty of nothing but saying in anger, and who could blame you given Bishop Baldwin's flagrant provocations, "who will rid me of this turbulent priest'. You surely cannot be blamed if hot-headed officers and men hear this call and take it upon themselves to act!'

Rupprecht considers this. 'Hmmm, fair enough. Although, "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest" - that doesn't really sound like something that I would say'.

Fecklenburg considers this. 'Sire, that is probably true. On reflection, perhaps the word "turbulent" isn't something that normally features in your vocabulary. It's probably too long',

'And also I don't know what it means'.

'Yes, sire, there is also that. Well, perhaps ...' he takes up a quill, 'perhaps the word "terrible"?'

'Or', says the prince,enthusiastically, "pimply"'.

'Or " terrible"'.

'"Pimply " it is. And of course "pimply priest" has ...ah ... it has ... uh'.

'It is alliterative?'

'Who knows, Fecklenburg, but the words certainly start with the same letter'.

'So, "Who will rid me of this pimply priest"'.

'Yes, Fecklenburg. Although, is "rid" also the sort of word that I would use?'

Fecklenburg sighs, and readies his quill. 'So, my lord - what would you say was a more likely outburst from you?'

xXx

'So', says the chamberlain, after some time '"Can't anyone just stick some rhubarb up that pimply priest's jacksy" it is. I'll have the news printed directly sir, and then distributed throughout the land'.

'Excellent', says Rupprecht happily. 'I feel splendidly about this'.

Fecklenburg bows. 'As, no doubt, will the purveyors of rhubarb'.

Punish the Bishop!!

Gelderland - somewhere near the border with Schrote. Prince Rupprecht sits unhappily on a chair amidst a forest in the brisk afternoon air. His chamberlain, Leopold von Fecklenburg, has dragged him here for a purpose that the prince does not seem altogether pleased about.

'Fecklenburg, why am I here?'

'In a philosophical sense, my lord?'
'No, in a freezing my arse off sense'.
'Well, I thought that you would like to see the preparations, sire'.
'The preparations to freeze my arse off?'
'No my lord. It's the preparations to seize Emperor George!'
'Whilst his arse is frozen?'
'No, my lord. Our plan has no freezing of arses involved!'
'And yet ...', says Rupprecht, gesturing to his backside which, in all probability, is indeed quite cold.

'No, my lord - you remember; you surely must remember, the conversation in which I explained how we had bribed and blackmailed the bishop to drug Emperor George when he arrives for his coronation; then hide him, and hand him over when our troops arrive in Schrote'.
'No ... no ... I'm not getting anything', says the prince, with a face like a goblin in a water closet trying to pass another goblin. 'No'.
'You were eating the very large pork pie ...'
'Oh yes ... yes ... it all comes back to me'.
'The details?'
'Yes, yes', he says, waving an admonishing finger. 'I'm not stupid. There was pastry, and a delicious filling ...'
'No, sire, the plan, not the pie'.
'Hmm, in case I don't wholly recollect the details, refresh my memory!'

'So, Emperor George is arriving three days before the coronation; on the first evening the bishop will administer a sleeping draught. Then, the sleeping emperor will be hidden and moved in secret to a secure location. In the mean time, a force of Bachscuttel and Nabstrian troops will enter the bishopric, burning and looting on the way; go to the appointed rendezvous; find and retrieve the emperor, and then bring him back as our prisoner'.

'Will we torture him, perhaps?' asks the prince, his morale improving.

'No, my lord - but perhaps he might have an "accident"?'

'Why? Is he very clumsy?'

'No, my lord - I mean that he might have an accident'.

'Yes - you've said; but why? And why do you keep making sort of quote signs with your fingers?'

'It's ... I ... Let's not worry about all of that, sire. We'll capture George, and then we can consider what to do'.

'Unless he falls over and has an accident', says Rupprecht, waggling his fingers.

'I think those are pound signs, my lord', says Fecklenburg.

'Anyway', says Rupprecht frowning. 'Why would we have troops inside Schrote burning and looting? I can't help thnking that doing that sort of thing probably needs some kind of reason. Probably'.

'Yes, sire - you'll be punishing the bishop!'

'I don't doubt it, chamberlain; as long as I can avoid that woman ... you know ... that ...'

'Your wife, sir ...'

'Yes; but we'll still need an excuse to invade'.

'No sir, I mean that you will be chastising the villainous bishop because of the terrible insults that he has levied against you!'

'What insults?'

'Well, my lord', says the chamberlain pulling out a pamphlet, 'see here ...' 

Southwest Schrote!

Even a fool knows that the worst region of Schrote is actually the southwest, which combines all the least desirable aspects of the other three regions of Schrote, with the addition of larger biting insects. As any of those who have looked at this region, or even inhaled downwind of it, could tell you, the most obvious geographic features of southwest Schrote are its marshes. Upon first encountering them, the early inhabitants of Schrote named one the Eastern Marsh, and the other the West Marsh. That they quickly began to tire of the great quantities of boggy grassland that were now their home is evident by the names of the other marshes; the Frikken Marsh and the Sodden Marsh. As might be expected, the marshes themselves are difficult to traverse, and should certainly be avoided by wagons or coaches unless the owners have remarkable strength and a well-developed sense of humour.

The hamlet of Boghoff, population 100 (happiness zero), is the largest settlement in this region. It stands in the drier meadows to the south, and on the road between Gelderland and Hanau-Brancau. It became the largest settlement after the previous settlement to claim that dubious title, Flossen, was abandoned by its inhabitants. The inhabitants of Flossen, widely considered to be some of the wisest folk in Schrote, abandoned the village and headed to Magdeburg in 1630, having convinced themselves, after much research, that trends showed that it was likely to become the safest city in Europe, and one that would witness a major boom in property. After the arrival of Wallenstein's Imperial army in 1631, of course, the city did boom: or rather, it went boom, as the jolly Imperials blew up the livestock, ravished the houses, and ransacked the womenfolk. Still, the Flossen-folk remained convinced that, on balance, they had made the right decision: whilst the massacre was indeed a traumatic experience, at least in Magdeburg one's shoes stayed dry. 

Access to the area is by a series of tracks. One runs southwest from Schrote. A second is a spur from the Boghoff/Hanau road. Access can also be had from the Bautzen-Wiffel road. The tracks generally are passable for horses and travellers on foot, though wagons and such can sometimes find things more sticky. Between Schrote and Redderblau Hill, the terrain is reasonable going. In the area between the marshes, however,  the terrain is often quite difficult, except where crossed by a track.

There are two farms in this area, Kottenrot and Schottinder Farms. The farmers in question make their living from shearing sheep and hunting frogs; or possibly hunting sheep and shearing frogs - it's not always easy to tell.

Other features of the area include the Vill Barrow. This is an ancient tomb for one of the kings of Schrote. Legend has it that, this being Schrote, the king in question buried himself alive to escape the boredom. One can also visit the Zingenring, a place reputedly dedicated to the sacrifice of young virgins; victims that in practice tended to be callow Divinity students from the universities. Redderblau Hill is the highest point in the bishopric, and contains a tower from which one can see much of Schrote - although, on reflection, that probably isn't that great a recommendation. The Kleine Tinkel, or Little Tinkel, is actually barely a stream. It's source is Flossen Lake, which laps, or perhaps dry heaves, on the shores of Flossen village itself.