Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice

by Mark H. Huston

  The boy froze, and looked at her closely. “Mary?”

  Mary nodded. “Ja!”

  The boy looked at her chest, then her pants. His eyes got very big. “Fraulein?”

  Mary smiled and nodded. “Ja!”

  The boy ran away. Fast. Dashing up to the house, he jabbered to his mother, again too fast for Mary to catch it, and the mother quickly rounded everyone up, hustled them inside, and slammed the door. She heard the bar drop across the inside with a solid clunk.

  The dog barked.

  Mary looked down at her clothes.

  Here, in the middle of nowhere Tyrol, they had probably, maybe, heard of an up-timer by now, but had no idea what one looked like or dressed like. Or sounded like. For all she knew they had been told they had fangs and horns with a tail. The boy probably thought she was another boy, she figured. She was a bit on the tall and skinny side, and the jeans were not exactly skin tight — she did have some hips, for heaven’s sake — but she hadn’t worn a dress in years. Not a lot of call for them in the Wurzburg, or high school for that matter. She sighed, pulled her hair into a tighter pony-tail, and headed off for the tree line and down the mountain.

  The sunny mountain meadow was quickly replaced by the cooler stand of pine trees as she moved towards the valley. It actually smelled a little like home. The trees also gave her a feeling of claustrophobia, and she felt the forest closing in on her. It made her uneasy. And the Twilight Zone encounter with the Tyrolean family, she had to admit, it unnerved her a little. She again paused, dropped her small suitcase and backpack, and strapped on her .32 automatic. Better safe than sorry. Her dad had given it to her as a gift when she joined the army. She didn’t shoot it as often as she should, and it was a pain to clean, especially with the downtime powders. It was clean now, and loaded with her best remaining uptime ammunition; she felt a lot more comfortable with it on her hip. She started down the mountain again, backpack on and small bag in hand.

  There are sounds that Mary learned in the army, even the short time she was in, such as the sounds of troops that were on foot, or mounted, that became almost second nature. The sound of mounted troops was as distinctive to her ears as pop music used to be. It sounded a bit like overloaded armloads of kitchen pans. So when she heard the distinctive tink, clank, and heavy horse foot falls making their way through the trees, she knew what was coming. A small group —it was hard to tell exactly how many—of mounted, armed, and armored men. They were making their way at a brisk but steady pace up the mountain. She paused and listened. The dense trees kept the path hidden for all but a few yards in from of her. She had some time, but not a lot, to decide what to do. She decided on hiding. Quickly and with as light a step as she could, she jumped off the path to her left, and found cover where she could watch who passed by. She hid behind a tree twenty feet off the trail. She figured the soldiers coming up the path were either good guys or bad guys. If they were bad guys, then the best she could do is hide and let them go by. If they were good guys, the worst that would happen is she showed up at the castle front gate without an escort, and said she missed them on the trail. No harm, no foul.

  She peered through the trees and waited. The first rider was obviously two things: a soldier, and in charge. To Mary’s eye, he fairly screamed grizzled down-timer soldier. The way he rode, the way he looked at the trail, eyes moving constantly, situationally aware, it all added up. The man was tall, lean, and had bright blue eyes, some impressive facial scars, short cropped grey hair, and a pair of giant wheel lock pistols hanging from the saddle cavalry style. The two riding behind him could be cousins or brothers, and were quite handsome. Their armor was a little better, newer, and not as battle worn. There were another four men behind them, obviously grunts, with mismatched weapons, odd bits of armor, but with solid, well cared for, mounts. They trailed a couple of spare mounts behind them. There wasn’t a lot of extra gear, these guys were not out on a long patrol, or crossing the mountains. They were local. Of the spare mounts, one was empty and one was saddled.

  Mary stayed hidden. She thought briefly that the group was probably her welcoming committee, and if there were only the second riders, the polished handsome ones, she might have announced her presence. But the first rider looked so fierce, so unhappy, she stayed hidden. He was a scary looking guy, whose mood looked like it would only be improved by killing someone this afternoon. She elected to let them pass.

  She waited a few minutes after they passed before leaving her hiding place and returning to the trail. She listened closely, but all she heard was the wind, and her heart rate coming back to normal. You're overreacting, Mary, she told herself.

  She continued down into the valley, now more aware and keeping a sharper lookout. As she headed downhill, she came to a clearing, another alpine meadow where the trees had been felled for pasture. She was lower into the valley, but there were still no dwellings or signs of life. Carefully scanning the trees around the open meadow, she stepped into the clearing and began to cross. It was about a quarter mile to the opposite tree line, so feeling rather conspicuous in the open, she quickened her pace. About halfway across, she heard the horses coming in behind her. And they were moving quickly. She increased her speed to a trot, and looked behind across the meadow. The horses broke out of the tree line behind her at a trot, the tall officer in the lead, leaning forward in his saddle in perfect harmony with the horse. He saw her instantly.

  Mary dropped her bag and began to sprint for the tree line. She was only a few yards away.

  Her first thought was the air was a lot thinner than it was back home, because she was gasping for breath after only a few strides.

  The second thought was that horses are really, really fast when they want to be, because they were flying across that meadow. She put her head down and ran. She knew she had to make the tree line to have a chance. Even with the advantage of the little .32, she needed cover. She was dead meat in the meadow.

  She thought she was going to be hit from behind at any second, as she could feel the rumble of the horses’ hooves striking the earth, and hear the harsh breathing of the animals and the clank of kit and armor on the men. Suddenly she was in the trees, off the path, and heading blindly into the alpine forest. Branches whipped by her face, slapping and stinging. The trees deadened the sounds behind her. Adrenaline pumping, she forced herself to slow down, and move quietly. She remembered she had her backpack, and she quietly slipped out of it and put it beneath a tree. She continued to move. She heard curses, and heard the commander barking orders to dismount. She continued to move through the trees, heart racing and lungs burning. She wanted to gasp, but forced herself to breathe shallowly and quietly. There was the sound of more equipment clanking, and the horses panting. Some questions, and a harsh answer from the commander. She ran for a few more yards, and paused again. She allowed herself a moment to get herself under control, gasping for breath, and then began to creep away, as quietly as she could.

  Mary moved as quickly and quietly as she could, stopping to listen every few yards for pursuit. She could hear nothing, only the breeze in the tops of the trees. She took out the compact .32 automatic and checked it, then replaced it in the holster. She really didn’t want to die today, nor did she want to kill anyone. But if it came down to it, there would be no problem, she decided. None at all. She began to move again, quietly. There was a game path, and she took it. It was small, but it wound through the trees. There was a thick carpet of pine needles that cushioned her feet. She still heard no pursuit. Her nerves began to settle, slightly. She couldn’t allow herself to panic just yet, but it was starting to creep into the edges of her thought. She pushed that panic to the back of her mind.

  She came across another path. This one also a game trail. She decided to follow it up the hill, with the thought that pursuit would assume she would go downhill, towards the village. Mary crept along, placing each foot as carefully as she could. The forest was eerily quiet, even the breeze in the treetops had subsided. The su
n was lower in the sky, and she realized she had lost all sense of time.

  She was surprised to find the trail ended in a hollow. Shit. A dead end. Mary turned around, backtracking the way she had come. She heard a twig snap, somewhere behind her. Her heart began to race again. She froze, listening. Slowly she pulled out the pistol, and quietly snapped off the safety. By holding it in both hands, she stopped shaking. She raised the pistol, looking down the trail in front of her. The trail was empty.

  She heard a noise behind her.

  She whirled around, tracking with the pistol, tension on the trigger.

  There was nothing but the silence of the forest. Pine trees. Dappled sunshine and shadow. Mary realized she had been holding her breath. She inhaled, and dropped her arms, then exhaled, trying to shake the tension from her neck. She went to put the gun back in the holster, and started to turn around.

  In the trail in front of her stood the fierce looking soldier, pointing a massive wheel lock pistol at her. His icy blue eyes were unblinking.

  She barely had time to register him standing there, barely enough time to think about putting the .32 back into firing position, when something tackled her from her blind side. She tried to turn the gun, firing twice wildly as she was driven to the ground, so hard that the wind was knocked out of her, and she saw stars. Her hand hurt. Everything hurt.

  “Hold him!”

  “Is anyone hit?”

  “No!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We are good!”

  “What kind of pistol is that? Did it fire twice?”

  Mary opened her eyes. She was on her back, looking up at a circle of men. She tried to struggle but could not move, she was held fast by two of the men.

  “You really flattened him, Johann, that was good. He never saw you.”

  “Enough!” Someone bellowed. Mary figured that was the tall fierce soldier, getting control. “Let me see him.” A couple of the faces above her moved to the side, and the pale blue eyes looked at her. He leaned closer, favoring his knee. “Who are you? What have you done with the girl from the airplane?”

  Mary took a breath and tried to speak. Her ribs throbbed.

  “Answer me!” The soldier with the pale blue eyes looked deadly.

  Mary choked back tears of anger and frustration.

  “I am the girl from the plane, you son of a bitch!”

  Chapter 5 And you are...?

  The tall soldier looked pissed. Really pissed. The upside, Mary figured, was there was no weapon in his hands. He had holstered the giant wheel lock pistol. The down side, she was lying on her back, and pinned to the ground by a group of men who had chased her into the woods. The tall soldier put his hands on his hips, and sighed. “Well.” He sighed again. Then he looked at the other men. Then back to Mary. “Scheisse.” He crossed his arms, still standing over her. The rest of the men all were looking at him. “Your name?”

  “Mary. Mary Russo.” Now everyone was looking at the tall soldier with wide eyes. One of the younger men, in the fancy armor, bent down and peered at her. The tall soldier barked, “Let her go. Help her up.” He turned and walked away, cursing under his breath. A couple of men helped Mary to her feet. It was painful. Her right hand was sore, her weapon was missing, her ribs ached, but nothing seemed to be broken, or seriously injured. There was a moment of awkward silence.

  Mary stood there. The more she stood there, the angrier she got. She was sore, frightened, half deaf in one ear from the pistol shots, still out of breath, and pissed off. She could feel the blood rushing in her ears. Mary really wanted to punch someone, or scream, or both. She forced herself to unclench her fists and planted herself next to a tree, as the group of men stood around her looking surprised and anxious. She was radiating anger, and they physically backed away, like she was the center of a fire that glowed too brightly. One of the younger men, in nice armor, in fact, the very man that tackled her, approached. Mary glared at him as he came up to her. She judged him to be clueless.

  “I am Count Johann Franz Fugger, Fraulein Russo.”

  Mary had had enough. Her damn of emotion broke. “I don’t care if you’re the King of France, you little prick. You tried to kill me!”

  She could see this Count Johann stiffen. “We were trying very hard not to kill you!”

  “Didn’t look that way to me.”

  Clearly the down-timer Count wasn’t used to getting talked to in this fashion. “I assure you that if we had wanted to kill you, it would have taken us much less time to do so. You should be grateful—”

  “I should be grateful!? You are too kind.” Mary hoped the sarcasm would translate. From the look on Count Johann’s face, it did.

  Johann swallowed and then continued, it looked like he was trying to be reasonable, but Mary really wasn’t in a reasonable mood. “Perhaps if you would dress, not so much like some barbarian male, and more like a woman, then you wouldn’t be pursued across the mountainside? If you dress like a man, then you can be expected to be treated like one.”

  Mary stood tall, even though it hurt a little. “Well, maybe, if people around here spoke some sort of a dialect I could understand, then you wouldn’t be chasing me through the trees!”

  Johann’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps your language skills should be better.”

  “My language is fine. You’re just lucky I’m not a better shot.”

  Johann stood taller. “You may not speak to me in such a manner. You should show more deference, be more polite. I am a Count of Kirchberg and a senior member of the family.”

  Mary took a step towards him, and they were eye to eye. “If you want people to be polite, don’t try and kill them!”

  Johann didn’t back down, and it looked like he was starting to get mad. Which made Mary quite happy. “I told you, we-we were not trying to kill you, we merely wanted to question you---”

  “Well, it sure didn’t look that way to me!” she shouted. Things were going downhill, but she was starting to feel a little better.

  Finally the rest of the group began to react, and the other guy in the fancy armor stepped between them with the fierce soldier standing at his shoulder. “Perhaps we should all get down off of the mountain before nightfall? Right Johann? We can sort this out from the comfort of the castle.” The other man smiled and nodded, making hand motions like he was trying to calm a horse, hoping for rational thought with raised eyebrows. “Everyone will be anxious for us. Nobody was expecting the airplane today; it wasn’t supposed to come for another two weeks. The Count is at Innsbruck meeting with my father and his other brothers. We should get back.”

  Johann looked at the other man, who Mary assumed was a brother or cousin. Same stocky build, dark hair, both had the same shape of eyes, with Johann somewhat better looking than the other one. Johann looked peeved to be interrupted, but Mary saw him glance quickly to the tall soldier, who nodded once. “Very well.” Johann sniffed. “Friedrich , give the orders, let’s get back home.”

  The tall soldier, who was apparently named Friedrich, barked out several orders to the other men, and they all began to make their way back to the main trail, where the horses were tethered. One of the servants, at least Mary assumed that’s who they were, held a horse for her, and she mounted. Her bag and backpack appeared, carried by one of the other servants. Seeing her baggage, she realized she didn’t have her .32. It got lost in all the excitement. In a panic, she checked her holster at her side. “Hey! Where’s my weapon? Who picked it up?”

  Friedrich turned in his saddle to peer at her, and held up the little automatic with his fingertips as if it were a tiny fish, and was waving it around. “I will keep this for the time being. We don’t want any more accidents on the way down the mountain, now do we?”

  “But—”

  “This is not open for discussion. You nearly shot Johann today; I do not want anyone injured by some irresponsible female who looks like a boy, tramps through the woods like a drunken cow, and fortunately can’t shoot.” />
  The men chuckled to themselves, and Mary felt herself blushing in anger. But in truth she had come ‘this close’ to shooting someone. She wondered if there would be criminal charges, or if there were any legal ramifications. Shit. She clamped her mouth shut, figuring this was one of those times where it might be better to listen than to talk. Before she got in any more trouble. Johann rode his horse next to her on the trail, looking at her with contempt. She glared back. A glare wasn’t an admission of guilt, she figured. The rest of the ride was made in silence.

  It was fully dark when they finally reached the castle. Mary could see a few windows illuminated through the trees as they approached, candle light faintly glowing through the branches of the pine trees that surrounded the castle. In the darkness it was difficult to get her bearings, but the place still looked big. They came in the back way, into some stables outside the main castle building. Stablehands took the horses, and the men dismounted and began handing off their armor to other servants. Mary was ignored by the servants, and dismounted herself, away from the group. Grooms appeared and took her horse. It was like she was invisible. She looked around, and found nobody willing to make eye contact or stand with her. Eventually she observed the source of the tension, and her isolation in the stable.

  A woman stood in the doorway. Mary always had trouble telling how old down-time women were. She always guessed them older than they turned out to be. But this woman looked to be in her early twenties, maybe a little older than Mary. But she looked angry, and she was staring at Mary, hands on her hips. The glare was enough to chase everyone away. The woman was quite beautiful, and commanded the clean brick stable with a glowering presence. The servants around her were all cautious and highly deferential. The woman tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder.

  Another group of servants appeared, headed up by a tall, gangly, and really ugly man. He had a lumpy nose, oversized features, and knobby elbows that flapped out like a duck. That man immediately bowed to the woman who was staring at Mary. He bowed and flapped his elbows in supplication, absorbing the ire of the beautiful woman, which was now divided between Mary and him.