a time from the speeches and the waving banners. Just to go, as a family, and admire the Washington monument or the Lincoln Memorial or the Smithsonian.
Magdeburg had no such things, except the palace of a still-alien emperor and . . . the U.S. Navy yard.
Not yet.
Mike was standing next to Mary, while Spartacus took a turn at the microphone. He leaned over and spoke softly into her ear.
"You know any good architects?"
"No. But . . . just two days ago, the landgravine—Amalie, I mean, Hesse-Kassel's wife—was telling me—"
"Never mind the details. Find a good one, Mary. We need a great big monument right smack in the middle of this square. Something like . . . I dunno, maybe—"
"Nelson's column? In Trafalgar Square?"
"Sounds good to me. I saw a picture of it once, on a postcard. And then get a good sculptor to do a bronze statue of Hans Richter for the top of it. A big statue."
Mary's smile had some actual life in it now. Mike himself was grinning widely, as he had been all day. Professional expressions, the both of them. But still heartfelt.
"Yup," said Mike. "Can't have a Hans Richter Square without a Hans Richter monument."
Mary's eyes widened. "I think they already named it Vasa Square. I know for sure the biggest avenue is named Gustavstrasse."
"Not by tomorrow. Day after at the latest. Gustav can keep the street. I'm not greedy. Gustavstrasse it is. But the square doesn't belong to him. Not anymore."
Mary's eyes widened still further. "Do you really think you can take it from him?"
"Me? Hell, no. But Hans Richter can. You watch."