A smithy in Wulfsfelde directed him, with careful obliqueness, toward a forester who knew every deer track between there and Lübeck.That forester, after giving Jonathan food, a night’s shelter and dark, rich beer, revealed which routes the French patrols favored and, even more importantly, those they avoided due to difficult terrain.
Taking note of it all, Jonathan added layers of intelligence to his maps, transforming them from mere drawings into tactical advantages.
He avoided inns where possible, sleeping rough or in barns when a farmer could be persuaded to look the other way for a few coins.The memory of Friedrich inspecting the von Ostenfelds’ stable remained distinct.That had been far too close, although he had no reason to think the man was anything but a British sympathizer.
In fact, he had every reason to believe Lise’s betrothed was as firmly against Emperor Bonaparte as anyone, what with both his brother and his friend in the KGL.But Jonathan had no proof either way.
Regardless, he couldn’t afford such risks now, not when he carried maps detailing relatively safe routes that French forces would pay dearly to obtain.The list of nations still willing to oppose Bonaparte could be counted on one hand.Britain was the strongest.Sweden still bristled.Russia wavered.And the rest of Europe waited, silent and bruised, to see who would dare rise next.
From Jonathan’s Eutin guest room at the bailiff’s home, someone had already stolen one of his earlier sketches.That theft gnawed at him.Had it reached French hands?Did they know he’d surveyed the approaches to Travemünde?The uncertainty was maddening, but Jonathan could only press forward, completing what remained of his assignment.
Soon, God willing and his luck holding, he would board an unassuming little vessel and get himself home.The only thing he would regret leaving behind was his heart.
“Romantic fool,” he said aloud, causing his horse’s ears to twitch.
Working his way east to Bad Schwartau, he was close enough to Lübeck to smell the salt air when the wind turned.The old Hanseatic city rose in the distance, its church spires visible across the flat landscape.Somewhere within those walls waited his next contact, a merchant whose hatred of French occupation outweighed any risk that came with assisting an Englishman.
Jonathan spent two days surveying the approaches to Lübeck from the north and west, noting which roads French patrols used most heavily.The occupation forces were thorough but predictable.They favored the main routes, leaving secondary paths less watched.It was precisely the sort of intelligence that would allow British agents and sympathetic merchants to move goods and information despite the blockade.
On the third day, he made his way into Lübeck itself, entering through the Burgtor gate among a group of farmers bringing produce to market.His worn clothing and travel-stained appearance drew no particular notice.Although knowing his horses would, at the very least, turn heads, he’d left them tethered on the outskirts of town, hiding his panniers in thick brambles.He had a destination in mind, a very important one.
The merchant, Herr Gottfried Neumann, operated a shipping concern on the Trave River.His offices occupied a narrow building near the warehouses, its facade decorated with carved figures that had weathered centuries of Baltic storms.Jonathan entered to the heavy aroma of sweet pipe tobacco —American leaf,he guessed — combined with the less pleasant smell of the river dampness, trapped in the wooden walls and plank flooring.
Someone was already there, meeting with the merchant and his clerk, so Jonathan waited until the other man left.
“I seek information about transport costs for royal cargo,” he said in his passable German.It was the agreed-upon introduction.Yet the merchant narrowed his eyes and took Jonathan’s measure for a long moment.
Neumann was a compact man with shrewd eyes and hands stained by ink.Obviously, he liked to keep his ledgers himself.After an interminable pause, he indicated the door behind him with a jerk of his head, turned, and sauntered toward it.Without speaking, the clerk raised the counter on well-oiled, dark brass hinges, watching as Jonathan passed by, following the merchant into a small office.
Closing the door behind him, he waited.There was a cluttered desk and one chair, but neither of them sat.
“You’ve come from Eutin?”Neumann asked in Low German, his tone conversational.He did not address Jonathan as a lord, nor did he know him to be one.
“I’ve worked in that region, yes.”
“French are active there, and now here, as well.Looking for an Englishman, they say.”The merchant’s gaze was steady, assessing.
Jonathan met it without flinching.“The French are looking for Englishmen everywhere.It has become their favorite pastime.”
A thin smile crossed Neumann’s face.“Indeed.Well, perhaps you have something for me?”
They concluded their business quickly.Jonathan’s maps and notes came out of their tin protective case and disappeared into a false-backed ledger that Neumann handled with practiced ease.In exchange, Jonathan received updated intelligence about French troop movements and a warning.
“They know an English surveyor has been working the inland routes,” Neumann said quietly.“Someone sold information about a map, I believe, that was found in Eutin.They’re coordinating patrols now, trying to catch you.”
Jonathan’s jaw tensed.Then his stolen sketch had reached French hands after all.“How long do I have?”
“Who can say?But it is a good thing you delivered these now.I doubt you will be free to wander much longer.You should think about going home.”
It was the longest few words the man had spoken, and Jonathan took note.He had no desire to be executed.But the merchant wasn’t finished.
“They’re offering a bounty, and I’m told it is substantial.Enough to make even cautious men reckless.”
Jonathan nodded.Not only those already aligned with France, but people who were neutral might be swayed by the bounty.Any man he met from now on, even the silent clerk he had just passed, might think the money worth more than continuing to assist the British.
“They’re stopping at every home, big and small,” Neumann told him, “looking for anyone with the right instruments and a pack horse.I could put you on a boat right here, right now.”He gestured toward the Trave flowing mere yards from the building.“On one of my vessels, you could be at the port of Travemünde by nightfall.”
The coastal town commanded the river’s entrance to the Baltic, making it crucial for any smuggling operation.But Jonathan had already mapped it at the start of his journey.He didn’t intend to double back or waste time somewhere that gave him no new information.But he would have to be more careful.Anyone who had noticed Jonathan’s presence, his gelding and mare, and his surveying tools could connect those details to French inquiries.
