As soon as you enter the busy tavern you are met with lively chatter. You exhale, trying to reign your ever rising tension in. If this goes wrong, even attending this meeting can bring you in a potentially deadly predicament. The Austrian government is not known to be kind to those they suspect of sympathizing with French Revolutionaries. You square your shoulders; you have thought about the risks and are willing to take them – your shaking hands be dammed.
Your view wanders through the packed room. This is certainly not the finest inn the town has to offer but also not the shabbiest. You spot a group of men sitting together in the far-right corner, seven of them altogether. No, you were told to meet with only two others. On the other side there sits a couple with three young children – a fourth on its way by the looks of the women. You try to further scan your surroundings, as inconspicuous as possible, when someone calls your name. Startled, you turn around. On the table behind you sits Martin Müller, you know him from Church, with his mates. He raises a hand in greeting, and you reciprocate the gesture.
Don’t lose your nerves!
Suddenly you spot them, two men, both still in their twenties, sitting alone on a table, partially obscured by the bar. You walk over to them, deliberately slow, and take a seat. Both men look up at you and the older one gives you a skeptical look. “We were waiting for a friend to join us”, he informs you.
“So was I”, you explain before adding “the fire burns so merrily these days.”
An expression of recognition passes over the younger man’s feature after hearing the agreed upon code, and he zealously declares “They say the firewood is imported from Prussia!”
You simply nod and allow your glance to wander from one man to the other – you just found your co-conspirators in this endeavor!
“I am Francis, Francis Kinloch Huger”, the younger man introduces himself and shakes your hand. You already admire and dread his passion in equal terms. Huger’s father had lodged the Marquis de La Fayette when he first came to America. The son is now a student of medicine in Vienna.
“And my name is Justus Erich Bollmann. Pleased to make you acquaintance”, the older, sterner, man introduces himself but does not offer you his hand. You nod again. You know Doctor Bollmann by reputation since he has already served as a messenger for the Marquis’ clandestine notes. You know that he is trustworthy – but now is the time to introduce yourself and show Huger and Bollmann that you are just as trustworthy and dependable as they are!
I am Georg Oltmanns, a lawyer in training with some connections to the local officials! (If you choose this option, I might surprise you with a part in Plattdüütsch ;-))
