“Wear something nice on the plane, and maybe someday we can come and visit you.”
“I will. I don’t like skirts, haven’t worn one in years, don’t want to wear one now. Besides, who knows how far I will have to ride, or walk or whatever, before I get there?”
Her mother sat down at the table, and started to stir her tea. She finally smiled a little. “Will you really be living in a castle?”
Mary nodded, sitting next to her. “Yes, that’s what they say. Tratzberg Castle, about 15 miles out of Innsbruck on the Inn River.”
Chapter 3 Fugger Are A Challenge
The Inn Valley, Tratzberg Castle the same day
Friedrich Stadelmeier strode across the courtyard of Schloss Tratzberg with his usual purpose; erect of posture, steady of gaze, confident in his command, and ever so slightly favoring his right knee, the result of a battle injury incurred twenty-five years ago. The retired Bavarian soldier was on his way to see his boss. His boss was one of the richest men in the world, and officially known as Georg Fugger, Count of Kirchberg and Weissenhorn. A small title for a very powerful man. Friedrich had worked for men with far longer titles. The nobility tended titles like precious flowers in a garden, with each new title acting as a badge in the accumulation of power, lands and prestige. Mostly prestige. There was a wise saying in the military world, where he had spent most of his career, which said: The longer the list of titles of a noble, the smaller the penis of said noble. It wasn’t true all the time, but for the most part it held up with a high degree of accuracy. In his experience. Which was substantial. The Count had only one title, which the family had effectively acquired more as a convenience and investment than anything else.
∞ ∞ ∞
Friedrich was in charge of security at Schloss Tratzberg, as well as occasionally responsible for other things that required physical intervention at the behest of the family in the area around Schwaz. Some of those things were completely legitimate and above board, some of them not so much. Those distinctions made little difference to the sturdy soldier, as he made his way up to the second floor working chambers of the Count.
But today in his capacity as director of security, he was concerned. Deeply. The Count was bringing an up-timer into the Schloss, on purpose, to act as a teacher, and to work closely with the family.
It was blindly obvious this person was a spy. There was no way around it. A spy. He had seen the file on the girl. She was young, certainly, but that mattered little. He had commanded and fought and killed soldiers barely out of their teens, those he killed were trying very hard to kill him at the time. Youth could be very deadly, as they had no concept of the permanence of death.
He communicated with other members of the family about this matter. Members of other security teams, in other locations. The consensus was universal. The girl was obviously a spy, and not to be trusted. All of his counterparts throughout the Fugger network felt this was the wrong move, and exposed the family unnecessarily to potential loss. The resistance to the up-timers was at times surprisingly vehement. He had registered his disapproval to the Count on numerous occasions, and he would continue to voice it. He had a job to do, and that was to protect the family and the family’s assets. It would not be compromised on his watch. There were times the nobility needed to be protected from their own folly, and this was one of those times, as far as he was concerned.
Friedrich reached the door of the Count’s chambers. He paused a moment, and checked his doublet, and made sure he had no dung on his boots. He knocked on the door and entered. He found the Count where he usually was, behind his work table surrounded by piles of paper and correspondence. His private secretary was not in the office today, having gone on ahead to Innsbruck. The Count and the Countess were both going to meetings there and were leaving in the morning. The offices were rather Spartan for a man in his position. While elegant, and well appointed, they did not bleed ostentatiousness like some personal offices Friedrich had seen in his career. There was the main table, and a series of work tables and bookcases behind the Count that housed ledgers and bound reports. His was a working office, not unlike a command center for a military campaign. It was designed for information and work, not to impress visitors. The Count didn’t care much about impressing people, he cared about money. The room was all about money.
“Come in, Friedrich. I see you got my note?” The Count was a small man, nearly bald on top with a band of still dark hair around the sides. He had a beak like nose and gold wire spectacles perched on the end of it. He had on a black doublet and pants, and a simple white shirt. The Count searched on his desk for a paper. “Where is my list for you, Friedrich? Ah yes, here it is.” He held up a small piece of paper that had only a couple of notes on it. “Don’t just stand there, sit down. I want to talk for a moment.”
Friedrich was immediately suspicious. He usually had short and business-like meetings with the Count, or even his secretary. Something was up… He pulled up one of the side chairs in front of the Count’s desk and sat down, his blade clunking awkwardly to his side. He squirmed and settled into the chair. It was lower to the ground that it should be.
“Are we prepared for Innsbruck, Friedrich?”
“Yes, Your Grace. We have the usual preparations. First sweep teams left today, and other teams will precede the carriage by one hour and fifteen minute intervals. There are six mounted with the carriage, along with the usual compliment of footmen. Baggage left today for the castle in Innsbruck. Attendants will be in the following carriage, and the sweep team will be trailing by five to ten minutes. We expect no issues, things have been quiet in the valley.”
“Very good.” He picked up a quill and made a line through one of the items on his list. “And the stonemason from Vienna? You will be meeting him tomorrow about the southwest corner?”
“Yes, Your Grace, but I would rather be with you in Innsbruck.”
“You are not needed there, we will be fine. My cousins are providing lodging and security, you would only be in the way and upset their people, double checking everything. This is supposed to be a friendly meeting, and I want some of them coming to the summer ball this year, and not hiding in Augsburg or Munich.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“So you will meet the stonemason on the questions I have about the strength of the foundation at that corner? Strength of the castle walls is your purview. It’s one of the things our security depends on. You have my list of questions?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The Count was very thorough. Maddeningly so, sometimes. Friedrich watched as he drew another line through his list.
“Very good. Now, the next thing I want to talk about is our up-time person.”
Friedrich cleared his throat. “Your Grace. I must once again protest this hiring. We are bringing a spy into the Castle. I cannot watch her around the clock, sir. Nor can our staff. We will try, but she cannot be trusted...”
The count held up his hand for silence. “Things move quickly, Friedrich. She is already hired. Contracts signed. Bank notes prepared. She will be here in two or three weeks, we will only be in Innsbruck for two or three days at most. I have put in a request for her to get here as soon as she can. She will be flying in, and the plane will land on the Achensee. Apparently the plane is booked a couple of weeks out. Details will be sent by our contacts in Grantville.”
“Your Grace, I have spoken with several of my counterparts across our network, and everyone, to the last man, feel this is a bad idea.” Friedrich knew he was pushing it a little with the Count, but if he was unable to convince him that he should not hire the girl, he would at least make enough noise to let the Count know that it was against his opinion. Friedrich didn’t often feel a need to cover his ass on anything, he was usually far too thorough. But he felt he needed to make this point.
“It’s decided, Friedrich. She is staying. She has a two year contract, for which I am paying a lot of money, Friedrich. And when a Fugger says it’s a lot of money, you know it’
s a lot of money. I have received criticism from other parts of the family for this, as I am sure you know.”
“Your Grace, you should listen to your counterparts. We don’t know anything...”
“I know you think I'm making the goat a gardener here, Friedrich. But….” The Count had a very high forehead, and his black eyebrows could elevate an astonishing amount. He was demonstrating that now. He started to read off a list, this time from memory. “First. She is Catholic, Second, she is well educated, likely has more education than anyone either you or I know. Third, and I know this is a concern of yours, she served in the military, but it seems many of the up-time women do after they finish their education. I am not concerned, nor is anyone who is familiar with the up-timers. Four, she comes with very high recommendations. The highest. There are other items. She is even quite pretty as I understand, nearly as tall as you, and is of Northern Italian ancestry. Moreover, I cannot bring in a steel expert. Or a mining expert. Or a finance expert. None of those skills are available at any price from an up-timer. And I must appease those in the family that are against any up-time contact. Some Fugger believe in demons quite truly. Friedrich, I have vetted her through every avenue I have at our disposal. You have seen the reports.”
“Your Grace…”
“We know she is a spy, Friedrich.” The Count sighed a little. “I would frankly be astounded if she didn’t report about us.”
“With all due respect, the servants in this Castle are the sons and daughters, the grandsons and daughters of the same families that took care of your wife’s family. Three or four generations of families have been in service here, stretching back to when the Emperor was resident here at Tratzberg, and they can be trusted to give their lives, if called to. This up-time girl is a break from tradition that is substantial.”
“I have made my decision, and I note your disagreement.” The Count leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses. He looked at Friedrich directly. And said nothing. Friedrich grew uncomfortable with the pause.
Friedrich cleared his throat. “Your Grace. May I be dismissed?”
The Count steepled his fingers. “No.”
“Your Grace?”
The count picked up another pile of paper, this one tied with orange ribbon. Friedrich felt a bit off balance, not certain what angle the Count was pursuing with this discussion. Friedrich had made his arguments, stated his objections for the record. He had been overruled. Typically the Count simply got on with it, once a decision was made. But this was different. The Count continued. “These are personnel files, Friedrich. Yours. You’ve been with the family for seventeen years now, and have always looked after our interests. I trust you, often times with my life, like my trip to Innsbruck tomorrow. I trust you with the lives of the other members of this family who reside here, and there are quite a few. More are coming to meet this up-timer to take classes from her, to learn from her. I understand the perceived risk from this girl. And there is a risk. If this girl were to be bribed, or coerced, she could do great damage to the family. If she has an agenda, to spy or to steal our intelligence, she could put our information at great risk. I understand your aversion to these things. However, none of these things will change your mission to protect the family.”
The Count put tremendous emphasis on the last part. Friedrich hesitated only a second, then replied with the only answer available to him. “Your Grace. I understand. It will not matter. I will protect the family, even though the up-timer is in our midst.” He swallowed, there was simply no other answer. “If this is the risk you must take, then I will work with it. It is not my place to question you.”
The Count took a moment, and looked into Friedrich’s eyes. The Count had dark brown eyes, almost to the point of black, and a piercing stare over his gold wire glasses. “And you are to be commended.” The Count suddenly stood and began to pace. “There is a shift occurring in politics, money, religion, everything. Everything that is important to us has been touched by this Ring of Fire event. And the key to everything is the up-timers. They will have massive influence for the next four hundred years. They have massive influence now. One of the things I must do, my top priority, is to make sure this family survives. Even if that means doing things in spite of itself.” He made his way to the window of his office, and gazed out into the courtyard through the four foot thick castle wall. He turned back to Friedrich. “You must be vigilant; you may try her honesty, and her faithfulness to our family.”
Friedrich had stood as the count started pacing, and now faced the Count. “Yes, Your Grace.”
The Count turned back from the window and looked at his security chief. “New times, new challenges.” He then nodded to Friedrich. “We are finished.” Friedrich tuned and bowed, and then he left.
As he walked down the hall to the stairs, he scratched the short white hair on his head. He kept it short because it was more comfortable in a hot helmet, and the hell with fashion. The Count was clearly taking heat from the family over the up-timer. For some reasons that the old soldier didn’t fathom, the Fugger had been late to the game, a trait not common in their history. Those who had adapted up-time methods of warfare and weaponry had been succeeding. Military tactics and strategy were changing. He was no longer an active soldier, but he kept in touch. Some of what he heard, things like napalm, ships that moved without sails, rifles that could fire a mile, and reconnaissance from the air were frightening and fascinating. Even Friedrich could tell that the Fugger were falling behind. He didn’t know what was happening in Augsburg and around the family with regard to up-timers, but someone had.
As he came into the courtyard of the castle, he saw the future. There were six young women, all of them countess of one sort or another. Most were single, a couple of them married, one already a widow. They saw him as a group and smiled. He had known many of them as children.
“Hello, Friedrich!” Sybilla Fugger hailed him. She was the most beautiful of the group, and the most prickly. Security for her was often a challenge, as she was impulsive and headstrong. Only his best and most patient men were assigned to her. Special handling for that one, all the time. He paused and bowed from the waist at the group of countesses.
“Countess Sybilla, Countess Maria Juliana.” He nodded the others. “Countesses.” As always, Maria Juliana had her young daughter with her, and seeing the fierce soldier, the toddler buried her head in her mother’s skirts. Maria Juliana’s hands immediately began to comfort the child. Friedrich knew he was scary looking, with his facial scars, his short white hair, piercing blue eyes, and soldierly demeanor. The scars were accumulated in honest soldiering, and he was not ashamed of them. But he knew he occasionally frightened small children. Which he thought an occasional advantage.
As he passed by the elegant group of girls, he thought of an up-timer in their midst. While he figured the up-time girl was going to be a spy, he felt a little bit sorry for her. That was a formidable group.
Chapter 4 Welcome To Tyrol
Over the alps, the next day
Mary had seen mountains before. She was from West Virginia. Of course she had seen mountains. But. Wow. There are mountains, and then there are Mountains. The Alps were, well, Mountains. Mary knew rugged country. But some of the terrain they were flying over was more rugged than she could have imagined. This was the regular flight to Venice, but the “Monster” as the plane was called, was making a special stop. For her. They were to land at an alpine lake, in a small valley between massive peaks of the Alps. She knew the plane wouldn’t normally make a stop like this. But her new employer had paid extra. A lot extra.
Technically she knew the official-fancy name of the airplane was the Jupiter 1, but everyone called it The Monster. Because that’s what it looked like. Some sort of Frankenstein thing, a massive biplane made of plywood, canvas, and four old engines from what she was told were Jeeps. Big in-line six cylinder engines with massive wooden propellers were mounted to the top of the bottom wing. She was told it was modeled af
ter a pre-WWI Russian design, and this one had a lot more horsepower than the original. The wingspan was impressive at nearly one hundred feet, and the whole thing gave the impression of a giant kite someone slapped together with engines, rather than an actual airplane.
And it was noisy. There was a tiny envelope with earplugs in the seatback pouch, along with a thin magazine that sold items branded with ‘Royal Dutch Airlines’ the owners of the planes. The engines had short exhaust stacks, and occasionally she could see fire blasting out of the ends. She had a tiny window at her seat, she was lucky. Some folks had no window at all. Talking was accomplished by shouting nearly at the top of your lungs, so there was little conversation, and what there was, was very short. The cabin was less than five feet tall, and everyone had to crouch in the aisle.
The vibration was significant too. Mary could feel the pilot playing with the throttles to ease the stress on the airframe. There were harmonics, frequencies of vibration and airflow where she could feel the airframe flex and amplify under her lightweight bentwood and wicker seat. Whoever was on the throttles had a constant job, making small adjustments to prevent excessive vibration. She was pretty sure that one of these days the aircraft was probably going to fold up and fall out of the sky. And while she understood that it was inspected regularly by up-time mechanics and their assistants, she also understood that ultimately the airplane was held together with glue made from horse hooves. And bailing wire. Literally, bailing wire. In the wing struts. As she looked out her tiny plastic window at the rugged landscape below, she figured that it would be months before they would ever find the theoretical wreckage in the rugged land below.
She kept her nose plastered to the little square of plastic, and watched the magnificence of the Alps roll by. The top speed of the craft was not even eighty miles per hour, so the world scrolled by slowly, and in detail. The plane was designed for low, slow, and to carry as much weight as possible. So it made gawking at the world a pleasure.
Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice Page 3