With no place to go, Martin answered. "Meusser would break through any roof he tried to walk, but if he caught me it would mean the cells."
Hennel chuckled. "The cells at night and working for the city collecting offal during the day. After you were branded. You do remember they brand thieves on the forehead? No one likes thieves. Now, here's the real question. What will my fellow Committee members do when they catch you? You know that you made your escape over Gary Reardon's roof? He is protected by the Committee of Correspondence."
Martin was surprised. He hadn't known Reardon lived in this part of town. "Turn me over to the watch?" he asked hopefully. He knew he was caught. Hennel hadn't touched him, but he was caught.
Hennel laughed. "Yes, they would turn you over to the watch . . . after they dropped you off the roof." Hennel made a whistling sound followed with a slap to his knee. "Splat. Two broken legs, you'd have to crawl the rest of your life."
Hennel got to his feet. "It's cold. Follow me, or leave town. Your choice, but your nights creeping roofs in Suhl are done. Only one warning is given, this is yours."
Hennel moved off, over the peak of the roof away from Martin's planned route. Martin took a moment to think. If an old man like Hennel has caught me, I must be past it. Maybe I should look for another line of work. He moved to follow the Committee man.
Two roofs to the west he caught up to Hennel. "Where are we going?"
"To church. Careful here," was the brief answer as Hennel swung down to catch the edge of a protruding window. Then, using the exposed wooden corner beams, he climbed down to the street where he waited for Martin. He has to be joking. Church? Where are the handholds?
When Martin finally succeeded in joining him in the dark street, Hennel led the way to the side door of a small church. "In you go, Young Meurer. Drop your cup in the poor box. If it's silver, it will feed the poor for a week."
Martin was stunned. The man was serious. A church? Putting the cup in the poor box?
Hennel marked his hesitation. "You're not a good enough thief to put it back. And you can't start a new life with stolen property. Of course, you could go out the front door and head for the city gate. It will be open in an hour."
Martin shook his head. Hennel was crazy. But he walked into the church and found the poor box. He thought about running but ended up leaving the cup. His curiosity was aroused. What was Hennel going to do?
When he exited through the side door, he found Hennel sitting on the steps. The man nodded. "Martin, join me in a late supper, my treat. We'll talk about your future."
****
After a quick meal in a nearby tavern, Martin was even more curious. Hennel had refused to talk about anything besides the food.
Finally they were standing outside and Hennel appeared lost in watching the sun rise over the city gate in the distance. "Herr Hennel?" It never hurt to be polite. "What do I do now?"
Hennel pointed as he answered. "There is the north gate. You could be out and on your way to some other city. Not many opportunities for creepers in villages. Or you could ask yourself why you want to become a thief?"
"Because I'm poor and the rich have what I want. And I'm too healthy to be a successful beggar," Marin answered.
"Yet I found you stealing from a poor man. That tanner was just a journeyman; I would bet that cup was his prize possession. So you were making his life worse. And a pewter cup wouldn't bring enough to pay for the meal you just ate."
Martin thought. "The rich have better latches on their shutters, Herr Hennel. They're harder to steal from." He couldn't tell Hennel that the tanner was his third try tonight.
Hennel laughed. "And better locks on their doors, and bars on their windows and dogs! Don't forget the dogs."
Martin realized that Hennel knew what he was talking about. The man had to have been a thief some time in his life; from his clothing a successful thief. Was he a man to watch and copy?
"Herr Hennel . . ."
The older man waved his hand. "Jorg, call me Jorg. I'm not a gentleman you can impress and trick with your manners."
"Jorg, what did you mean when you said my future? I am not going to leave Suhl; I was born here and have never gone out of the city. If you won't let me be a thief, what is this future? This new life?"
Jorg smiled, the first real smile Martin had seen on his face. "Ah, Martin, that is the question."
Jorg reached into his belt pouch. When his hand emerged it held two coins and a pamphlet. "Here is something I want you to read, and enough to live on for two days. I expect to see you here on Friday morning and we'll talk." He walked off and Martin looked at the title of the pamphlet. Common Sense by Thomas Paine.
****
Sunrise Friday morning found Martin pacing in front of the tavern. Where was Jorg? Had he forgotten? Was it all an elaborate joke? Martin was tempted by the unattended handcart resting in the street across from the tavern. Its owner had just gone in the tavern carrying two hams. There had to be more hams in the cart. A quick snatch and he would have breakfast. Jorg had been clear, no more stealing from the poor. Does a butcher count as poor? Besides, there were too many people in the street. No, I am no longer a thief.
Reading Jorg's pamphlet hadn't answered his question about his future. In fact it had raised more questions. What was this "Natural Liberty"? The man who wrote it had to be mad? All Englishmen were mad. But the descriptions of kings and nobles rang true. Why had Jorg given it to him?
He was lost in contemplation when Jorg tapped him on the shoulder. "You're early. Come with me."
When he turned, Jorg was already walking down the street. Walking and waving his arm. Soon three young men came out of the shadows. When the three greeted Jorg, Martin was glad he had not indulged himself by lifting a ham.
Jorg was soon passing out strips of paper and stacks of pamphlets.
"Here you go. Five Common Sense and ten of the new ones from Jena. You're working the landing, unloading barges.
"Friedrich, head over to the bolt factory. They're looking for a sweeper, full time. Tell Herr Reardon I sent you. Here are twenty of the new pamphlets; get them to the machinists.
"Gunter, I found you an all day one, loading hides for Josef Boyer, the butcher and unloading the hides at Schwengfeld's tannery. Take twenty of the new pamphlets to pass out in the street. I'm sorry I couldn't find you anything cleaner."
Martin realized that Jorg had found work for these men and was sending them out to spread Committee of Correspondence pamphlets. And taking their reports.
"Casper Amberger raised the wages of his journeymen. Do you think the other gun makers will follow?"
"Your friend Hatfield is hiring more Jaegers, and is looking for two more men for driver training. Think you could put in a good word for Henrich Bohl?"
"Bauer, the printer, has printed thirty-five copies of that book; the one written by the Frenchman, Arouet. The one you had us read."
Soon the three men were gone, only to be replaced by four more. The same scene was repeated five more times as men came and went.
Finally the men stopped coming. Jorg waved Martin over. "That's a good start to the morning. Let's go have breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us."
"Jorg, I read that pamphlet and I have some questions."
"No more politics until after we eat; definitely none at our meal."