Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice

by Mark H. Huston

  Mary suppressed an eye roll. She didn’t need his permission to continue, no matter what the pompous accountant said. She smiled and gritted her teeth. “So at the time of the revolution, a lot of these thoughts were already in place, and had been tried on a small scale, but nobody had attempted to build a country off of them. And the Americans did just that.”

  “Mary.” It was the count, raising a finger in question. “These Rights of Man. Are they codified, written down in some manner?”

  She wrinkled her brow, thinking. “I don’t think there is one document that I have that puts it all together. Our Constitution is one of them, there are others. Freedom of Press, Speech, Religion are the big ones. One of the CoC people had an old United Nations document was pretty good, although I don’t think that was an actual law.”

  “United Nations?” the count asked.

  “It was a world forum, where each country received a vote. They really didn’t have much power, but it was a place where at least countries would talk to each other. It was in New York.”

  “So these rights of man, they became more like common law, then? Understood by all, but not necessarily written down.” The count grasped the concept on the first try. Mary nodded in agreement, impressed.

  Franz finally spoke up. “It sounds like the speech by - what was his name?” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember, and Mary noticed the servants looking at him, uncertain if he were calling one of them or trying to snap something from memory. “Giovanni Pico something – something - della Mirandola? That’s it. Oration on the Dignity of Man. Free will, and free will allows a man to plot his own course.”

  Mary nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never heard of him, but that sounds right.”

  “I don’t remember if they just jailed him as a heretic, or they burned him for it. Anyone remember? Burn? Jail?” There were head shakes and shrugs around the table. Sybilla looked like she was barely suppressing boredom. Mary could feel the color drain out her face ever so slightly. Franz rolled on, expounding. “Jail, then. Yes, I think that was it. There was a professor who liked him when I was at school. Talked about him constantly. I thought him a bit foolish.” He grinned at the table for approval, and received a smile from Sybilla.

  Lightfine rejoined the conversation. “Mary, as an analyst, I have been looking at the numbers on this one, and the numbers don’t make a lot of sense. And it certainly does not support the argument that this new form of government is good for the common man.”

  Mary smiled. A mathematical argument is one she knew she could win with this guy. That was firm ground, a lot more so than philosophy. She found herself grinning a little. “Do tell, Herr Lightfine.”

  “I base my discussion on the history of your United States, from a history book I purchased for the family during my time in Grantville, and from extensive research in the library.” He began to tick points off on his fingers. “I looked at the amount of time that you have been at peace, and the amount of time you have been at war with other similar governments that were led by their mobs of people, ongoing conflicts with the native peoples in North America, as well as the natural conflicts with more proper forms of government such as we have today. Factoring in your own second revolution over slavery, you were at war more often than you were at peace. In fact, your wars were more violent, more deadly, and more horrible than anything in the preceding two thousand years. The amount of destruction was staggering. They make the sack of Magdeburg look like a skirmish. The book I read was very vague on the reason for many of the wars, as it turns out you have won most of them, and history is always written by the winners. While it was downplayed, it seems that your country was as every bit as imperialistic as any prince, particularly in the early 19th century. But I am a student of numbers, like you, Mary. I developed a time line with the wars. Assigned ratings for severity. They were constant and very bloody. Each following another, following another. My conclusion? I do not see this form of government by the mob as a good thing. It is a dangerous and highly destructive thing.”

  Mary could feel the people at the table turn to her, and it grew very quiet. “Herr Lightfine, there is more to the story than just the wars. There always is.”

  He smiled at her, the sort of smile that oozed smugness. “The numbers don’t lie. The correct form of government, monarchy, properly supported by the rule of the best families, is thousands of years old. This form of mob rule is only 250 years old at best, at least according to the future history. Time so short that it is an incomplete experiment. And during that short span of time, more than half of it was at war. Nearly two-thirds, in fact. Awful war, particularly the larger ones during the twentieth century, all of those wars between mob ruled countries. The death and destruction were, quite frankly, beyond my comprehension. Terrible. If this is the path the coming of Grantville shows us, it is difficult for me to say to the Fugger family, ‘embrace this path, it is the way of the future.’ No. My advice has been, based on my analysis, to fight this sinkhole every step of the way. Your arrival here is a divine warning.” He sat back, crossed his legs, pushed his hair back, and tossed his napkin onto his plate, point made.

  Mary turned his arguments over in her head. She had never really thought about how much war there was through the history of her country, never really graphed it out. She would need to do some research to counter his analysis. But. A war is one thing, but the reason for a war was something else entirely. But this pompous ass’s numbers really didn’t matter. She knew what was right, and what was wrong. And this guy was wrong. She began to get angry. She knew that wasn’t good, but anger has its own agenda sometimes.

  “Herr Lightfine. Count.” She nodded to each of them. “I am going to be blunt, about how strongly down-timers feel about this. Very blunt. There are two ways you can go. You can go with the flow and try to survive, or you can fight it and be wiped out.” She felt the room go cold. Mary wasn’t sure if it was the temperature, or the intake of quiet breath from everyone present. She tried to swallow, found her mouth very dry, and took a sip of wine. She gazed briefly at the delicate wine glass, and the fine hand-engraved pattern of grapes and vines, in order to avoid looking at the room. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and she could feel the blood rushing in her ears. She forced herself to be outwardly calm, and wondered if there was something else she should say. The pause was finally broken by the count.

  “That is rather bold.” The Count’s eyebrows were once again demonstrating their expressiveness. “You're so sure?” His question was quiet, but serious. She looked up from studying her wine glass. Every head in the room was turned towards her, including for the first time, the servants hovering in the background. They normally looked straight ahead unless there was a task to attend to.

  Well, Mary. You’ve done it now. She carefully put the glass back, noticed a crumb on her bodice, and brushed it away. She decided to meet the gaze of these ultra-rich down-timers as best as she could, looked up, and took a breath. “It’s already happening. Even if you wipe us out, every last up-timer, enough information has gotten around about how to make a revolution. The revolution. The mature ideas, the techniques, and the technology are set free into the world, and they cannot be put back. People will make their own governments, their own parliaments, and make their own decisions about the future of their nations and their own lives.” The room was once again quiet, as members of the richest family in the world processed her blunt words. Mary watched as the servants exchanged quiet glances. She hoped they couldn’t tell how frightened she was, and her mind raced as she envisioned herself getting shipped home in disgrace for pissing off the richest family in the world.

  A thoughtful silence descended on the room, as three hundred years of Hapsburg genealogy peered down on them from the walls.

  The next statement that came out of the silence was unexpected. “Is that the sort of advice you gave Maria Cecilia before she ran off, Mary?” It was Sybilla, sitting across the table from her, smiling while her words cut
like a scalpel. “She told me that she asked you before she ran away, what would an up-timer do, and your answer was the reason she ran off with that peasant boy.” She changed her voice to one that was childlike, mimicking Maria Cecilia. “It’s what an up-timer would do, Aunt Sybilla. Run away with the poor boy. Mary told me so.”

  Mary felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Truth be told, she did feel guilty about misreading that conversation. She caught Johann’s surprised, hurt, and confused look from across the table. She realized she must look like a deer in the headlights of a car on Route 250 back home. A very guilty looking deer. She swallowed.

  The count leaned forward, and the table turned to him. “I had not heard this, Sybilla.” Both eyebrows went up onto his forehead.

  Sybilla shrugged while examining her fingernails. “Well, I took it to be my responsibility to talk to the girl, I didn’t know what horrors she might have been put through as a result of this sort of bad advice. I wanted to make sure the terrible guidance she had been given by the teacher,” she nodded ever so slightly to Mary, “did not continue to be so unconventional and contrary. Care must be taken around impressionable younger children with this radical up-timer nonsense.”

  Heads swiveled back towards Mary.

  Mary took a deep breath. “Well, Sybilla. In fact, she did ask me about a book. Some kind of fictional romance novel she was reading, an up-time book. A reprint of one, anyway. One of the ones they print in Bamburg.” She looked around the table at the mixture of shocked and curious expressions. The Count and the Countess expressions were neutral but showed concern. “These kinds of books, and they brought back a lot of them in the Ring of fire, if you have not read them, are typically about a boy from the wrong side of the tracks – a poor area of town, who falls in love with the princess, or some other high-ranking girl, who is supposed to marry a prince, with an arranged marriage. A fictional romance. Usually the way the up-time books play out, the girl always goes with the poor but honest boy in the end.”

  “Good heavens Mary, that is preposterous! They sell these books?” The Count huffed in disbelief. “Up-time books say this? Most curious. Most impractical. Where did she get this book, Mary? From you?”

  “No, Your Grace.” Mary shook her head. “I don’t know where she got it. But they are very popular in some circles. However, I did tell Johann about speaking to her about the book.” She looked at Johann, remembering he was angry when they spoke, but she didn’t understand why at the time. “I didn’t know she was missing when we talked, or what had made her leave.” She finished that sentence with a quick glance at Sybilla, who smirked every so subtly back.

  There was an awkward silence. Mary wasn’t sure the of the cause, it didn’t feel like it was for her, but she was so stressed she wasn’t sure. She realized that several of the girls, Regina included, were looking at the Countess. Who looked uncomfortable. The Countess Maria Anna cleared her throat. “Well, it seems to have turned out for the best, the girl is back home safe and sound, thanks to Johann and Leonhard.” There were nods all around. The Countess picked up her wine glass and took a sip.

  “Just a moment.” The Count re-asserted himself into the conversation. “Do we know where she got this book? Should we ban them? Are there more of them? Seems like something we should not have the children reading.”

  There was another brief, awkward pause.

  Sybilla laughed. “Why uncle, don’t you know who has these books here in the schloss? Nearly fifty titles, as I understand it.”

  The countess paled slightly and gave Sybilla a withering look. The count looked at his wife. He was not one to miss subtle social cues.

  “Oh.” The Count said.

  The Countess sat very straight in her chair, hands neatly folded in front of her, napkin held just so. “They were a gift from my daughter, Marie Elisabeth. They are quite popular.”

  “I see,” said the Count. “Was this book Maria Cecilia had one of yours, Maria Anna?”

  “No.” The Countess smiled a very small smile at Sybilla that sent a shudder down Mary’s spine. “I don’t know where she got it. Do you Sybilla?”

  “I have no idea, Countess. No idea at all.” Sybilla returned the Countess’ gaze coolly, while Mary breathed a sigh of relief.

  There was some more inconsequential conversation for a few minutes, and a bottle of dark sweet wine was brought out and served in tiny glasses. Mary sniffed it, and it smelled potent and fruity. Regina leaned over to her. “An after-dinner wine, from Spain, it’s quite expensive. The Count is very fond of it. It’s made for sipping.” Mary, once again, nodded her thanks to the woman. Mary knew she would be lost without her guidance. She thought the evening was just about over, but it turned out that Sybilla had one more question for Mary.

  “Do you think your people are still alive, in the future?” Sybilla asked, with that edge to her voice that was designed to cut. “I can’t see how they can be. Alive, that is.” She looked at her small wine glass with and air of detachment, then at Mary, eyebrow raised.

  Mary started to answer Sybilla but had to give herself a moment to get her emotions under control. She was luckier than many, her close family had come through the Ring of Fire with her. She knew there were others who were worse off, who had lost people. But lots of folks she loved were left behind. The pain triggered by Sybilla’s cutting question washed over her, catching her off guard. She wasn’t sure if it was the stress, the anger, or the loneliness that snuck up on her, but she had to brush back the tears which welled up. When she looked up at Sybilla, who had a pleased expression, she noticed Franz was smiling at Sybilla, and Johann and Leonhard were looking concerned. She picked up her napkin and dried her eyes. At least there wasn’t mascara to run. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Some of the emotions are a little raw, even now.” She gathered herself for a moment. Even though it seemed to hit her hard tonight, it was a question she had answered before. It was one of the things that up-timers were often asked. Composed, she answered. “We have no idea if everyone is still there, in that future. We like to think so. Some say yes, our original world is there. Others say no, that universe ceased to exist when we were sent back. Erased as if it never existed.” She shrugged slightly. “No way to prove it one way or another. We know there is no way to get back; that much we are certain of. It will melt your brain if you think about it too much. I’m not sure what the right word is in German. Paradox?”

  The Count chimed in “Paradoxum, in Latin I believe. Unsolvable dilemma, with no answers.” He abruptly stood, signaling an end to the dinner, his wine glass empty. “Which offers the perfect ending to this evening. We have more than one paradox to think about, I think. This has been a most informative dinner. We will have more of these discussions.” He turned to Mary specifically and gave a little bow. “I am very happy you are here. In spite of the rough start, I think we have chosen wisely.” He straightened and turned to the room. “This dinner has gone on far longer than it should, and I have an early day tomorrow.” He extended his arm to the Countess, which she accepted as she rose. “Good evening to you all.”

  Mary took her cue from Regina, as they all rose and bowed slightly to the Count and the Countess as they tuned and left. As if on cue, servants scurried about, clearing plates and serving dishes. Mary was left almost in shock. She was half expecting to be sent back to Grantville in disgrace, instead the count had seemingly complimented her. As people began to leave the room, she watched Sybilla and Franz leave together, and Sybilla gave her a look that was on the edge of hostile. Mary was confused by her look, as she was confused by the cruelty of Sybilla’s only questions. The girl had not liked her since she set foot in Schloss Tratzberg, but Mary could think of no solid reason why.

  Johann approached her, handsome but still the stick straight Bavarian count. “That was remarkable in its directness, Fraulein Russo. With Herr Lightfine. I was not aware you were such a proponent of revolutionary fervor.”

  Mary was standing behind her chair as th
e servants continued to bustle around the table, clearing plates and utensils. She faced Johann and smiled. “Quite honestly, I've never thought of myself as a revolutionary. I rather surprised myself with that.”

  “We also know, that despite what Sybilla said about the unpleasantness with Maria Cecilia, that you could not have known her intentions.”

  “Thank you, Johann. I've been questioning my conversation with her ever since I found out. I'm grateful you brought her back.”

  He straightened his back even further, which was seemingly impossible. Bowed in thanks. He looked nervous about something, and Mary had no idea what it could be.

  “The Count seemed pleased with the evening,” Johann added after a brief pause.

  “Yes. Yes it did appear that way.” She still felt a little overwhelmed, and shook her head slightly. Between the pressure of the evening, Sybilla, the wine, and the count actually being pleased, she was emotionally off balance, and reeling from the abrupt and positive ending of the dinner after it headed off into potentially dangerous territory at the end.

  He hesitated for a moment. “Fraulein Russo?”

  “Yes?” She very quickly went down the mental list of things she was working on, and none of them particularly involved Johann. What did he want now?

  “May I escort you back to your quarters?”

  Mary could feel the surprise on her face, and then struggled to suppress it. Why would he want to do that? “It’s a very short walk, Johann, I'm pretty sure I can make it by myself.”

  He seemed taken aback. “Err, well. Yes. Of course.” He bowed rather stiffly. “Good evening to you, Fraulein Russo.”

  “And to you, Johann Franz.”

  It wasn’t until she was in bed later that evening, that it occurred to her that Johann Franz was actually maybe trying to possibly be nice to her.

  Chapter 15 A New Dress

  Mary tried to get to the town of Schwaz at least every two weeks. And today was the day. It offered her the best way to communicate with Raphael DeFrancesco, her local contact, and it gave her some time away from the Schloss.