Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice

by Mark H. Huston

  “Tell me, do you know Diane Jackson? She is the Ambassadress in Basel?” He stood with his hands behind his back, and his head inclined, looking every bit like the respectable high-level diplomat that he was.

  Mary nodded. She had heard that Diane Jackson was getting shipped off to Basel to make some local noble happy with his own up-timer. “In fact, I do, Excellency.” She looked to the Countess and back to Bienner. “That is the correct address for you, I hope?” Her face was going to be very tired with all of the smiling she had to do today. The Countess nodded to her, looking highly pleased, so she continued. “My parents know the Jacksons, they didn’t live far from us. Diane Jackson is different from a lot of up-timers, she was originally from, umm, well I'm not sure what you call it now, but we used to call it Viet Nam. South East Asia. Like many Americans, she was from somewhere else. We all were, at least compared to down-time.”

  Bienner was nodding before she finished. “Yes, I've read as much as I can about the future history that you brought with you. It’s a pity that so little was given to us here in the present, there is frustratingly little detail in so much of what we find critical today.”

  Mary kept on smiling. “Yes, it’s frustrating, Excellency. I've some of the same frustrations, there is so much knowledge that is lost.” First impressions can be tricky, but she found herself liking Beinner. Everything about him just oozed competence and intelligence, his light green eyes were taking in everything he could about her, but in such a way that it was reserved, and not creepy or intrusive. She had not experienced this level of diplomat before, and it occurred to her that he was the real deal. She was impressed, she realized, and hoped she was making as good of a first impression on him as he was on her.

  The Chancellor nodded. “Oh, yes, quite frustrating.” He smiled and shrugged a little. “But man seldom gets to choose the time, place, or details of miracles, does he? Miracles are the purview of God, and men are left to futilely grasp at their meaning.” He peered into her eyes. “I wonder. Do you think of yourself as a miracle, Mary Russo von Uptime?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, Herr Doctor Beinner, I’m just a girl from West Virginia. Other folks can sort out the miracle thing. That’s way above my pay grade.”

  He tilted his head again, in that diplomatic way he had, easily taking her idiom in stride. “And yet, here you are. Miraculously.”

  “And yet, here I am.” She shrugged and smiled some more.

  He nodded sympathetically. “As for more mundane subjects, I understand you have been teaching mathematics to your students, and associates. You are a student of mathematics, I understand?”

  Mary’s first thought was that this guy really did his homework. Not that it was any great secret she found math, specifically algebra and calculus, very comfortable. She had read enough to know that a great many scholars of this time period, and a few very talented amateurs, had been working on advanced math principles that were all more than surpassed by her first semester of calculus. “Yes, I am.”

  “Quite accomplished, I understand?”

  “Well, it came easy to me, and was my favorite subject. My teachers all said so.”

  “I assume you have read the Crucibellus manuscripts that came out of Grantville?”

  “Oh, yes, Excellency. They were very well written. At least in English. My Latin isn't that strong. One of my teachers gave me a copy. Did you know they were compiled and edited for down-time consumption by a woman?” Mary enjoyed looking at down-timer’s faces when that little known fact was passed on. The summaries of advanced math had hit the down-time mathematicians like a thunderbolt. Several issues of the manuscripts were already published.

  The diplomat nodded, obviously not surprised by the authors sex. “Madame Modi has given salons in Paris, and they were attended by Fermat, and Descartes, and many others.”

  Mary felt her face light up. “I heard that she did some salons there, but I didn’t know Descartes and Fermat were there.” She thought for a moment. “Pascal? Was Pascal there? His children are in Grantville, you know, always blowing something up – the fire chief told me he thought for sure the boy was going to blow off his fingers before the summer was over. Oh my, I would have loved to have been at those salon. Some of those guys are my heroes, and what Madam Modi has done to preserve the works of mathematicians that lived after this time, so they weren’t lost, is awesome.” Mary realized she was talking too fast, and had begun to wave her hands around in the excitement of talking to someone about her favorite subject. She caught herself and felt her cheeks blush.

  Beinner folded his hands in front of him, amused. “It seems the information I had about you being enthusiastic for this subject is quite accurate.” He turned to the Countess, who was following their conversation while simultaneously speaking to her maid. The maid had approached while Beinner and Mary were talking. Beinner continued. “This is a most fearsome young lady, Countess. She is an intelligent miracle, wrapped in beauty.”

  The Countess beamed at Beinner while Mary could feel herself blushing. “She is very interesting to have here in the Schloss. We have done a great many things with her to enhance the family and our fortunes,” said the Countess.

  He nodded. “I am sure you have. And now I believe I will take my leave, ladies. There are groups of young men circling around,” he waved his hand in a circular motion, “looking for a chance to speak to, well, I'm sure it’s not me they wish to speak to.” He smiled again, and bowed to the Countess, then to Mary, who curtsied back to him. They watched him fade into the crowd.

  “What a fascinating man, Countess. It was a pleasure to meet him.”

  The Countess finished an aside with her maid, Cecile, sent her on her way, then turned to Mary. “I have known his Excellency for twenty-five years. He is a faithful servant to Tyrol and to its rulers. He is very close to the Regent, Claudia de Medici. I’ve spoken to him about acquiring up-timers for Tyrol to work with the Regent.” The Countess leaned into Mary and spoke to her quietly. “I have sent Cecile to have one of the men have a word with Franz and his ill-behaved cohort. I am puzzled by their behavior.” She brightened and stopped whispering. “But, young lady, you must not stay with me for the entire affair, balls are for beautiful young ladies and men, in their beautiful clothes, to dance to beautiful music. So go, dance. Find a young man and break his heart. Shoo!” The Countess turned towards a group of similarly aged women near her and began a new conversation, while motioning Mary away.

  Curtseys exchanged, she wandered towards the wall with windows which looked over the Inn valley below. Several young men approached, but she demurred. She didn’t want to dance just yet, she wanted to soak up the atmosphere of the room. And such atmosphere. The orchestra was playing. It was mostly strings, but some quiet brass instruments and a harpsichord in the mix. She oddly remembered her High School prom, before the Ring of Fire, with a DJ and a sound system that was so loud there was no way anyone could converse without shouting to each other. Here, the music was part of the burble of general noise, but not overpowering, slightly louder than the buzz of conversation. At this point, early in the evening, she thought that the orchestra might be waiting for the real party to start, playing the easy listening tunes for now. The ball was supposed to last until midnight, or at least that’s what her chambermaid had told her. The noise was mostly of conversation, mixed with laughter, and the rustle of rich fabric against the background of strings and a harpsichord.

  Of course, she checked out the other dresses the girls were wearing. She had sort of a handle on down-time fashions, and some of the girls had dresses that were nothing short of spectacular. The embroidery and detail on them fascinated her. She looked down at her own dress, in judgement. Not bad. Not bad at all, she thought. This is at least as good as some of the best, and better than a lot of others. She observed that some of the other girls looked quite young, several were her younger students, as well as girls she did not recognize. Some dresses were clearly not as fashionable as others
, and she again made comparisons to her own experiences. Some girls at her prom had dresses that were made by their mothers, some girls went all the way to Wheeling to shop for something that cost a couple of hundred dollars. Mary figured her dress was in the Wheeling category, at a minimum. Maybe further than that from Grantville. Way past Fairmont, for sure.

  It appeared this ball had invited guests from the surrounding towns, other local nobility, and higher-ranking members of the Fugger organization. The Chancellor was a surprise, and she supposed there were other government officials. Observing carefully, she decided that this was not necessarily only the ultra-rich, upper crust. But also included some of what she would consider more regular folks, although with some connection to the family.

  Mary had made her way to the wall with the windows, and moved into the same turret alcove she visited with Regina during her dance practice. She gazed out the window centered in the turret. The sun was setting behind the Alps across the valley. The tops of the mountains were in bright sunshine, their peaks casting long jagged shadows across the valley. Here and there between the shadow peaks lay gullies of sunshine, still bright with the intensity of day. She sighed at the beauty of the vista before her.

  “It’s beautiful at this hour, with the shadows across the Inn River.” Johann Franz had eased up behind her and was looking out the window over her shoulder.

  She nodded slowly, hypnotized by the vista. “Yes. Yes it is. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at it. It changes all the time. The light, the shadows, the colors. The shiny ribbon of the river. I write home about it all the time, about how amazing it is.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “It makes me feel small. And lucky.”

  “You should see it in the winter. The light does amazing things, and in spring when the fog and clouds come in, filling the valley, the peaks push up like islands in a white sea of foam, and it looks like another world.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Johann, and he continued to gaze out the window. “You sound like a poet, Johann.”

  He smiled wryly, still staring out the window. “Poets would do a much better job of it. I’m not a poet. But I can appreciate beauty when I see it. And this,” He gestured at the valley below them, “is beauty.”

  She nodded, looking closely at him for probably the first time since the mountain. She had thought of him as someone who was impossibly rigid, and inflexible. Count pissy-pants. She had kept her distance from him because of that, and if she was being honest with herself, for her treatment on the mountain when she first arrived. And her treatment of him, if she were more honest. She didn’t exactly feel bad about trying to shoot him, but it was certainly awkward to be sort-of friends with someone who you tried to put a couple of bullets into. His eyes, she noticed, were more than just brown. They had flecks of green and grey, and the light from the setting sun illuminated them to impossible depths. He was one of the few young men who were clean shaven, others tended to more flamboyant mustaches and long pointy goatees, which to her up-time eyes seemed somehow effeminate. She knew this wasn’t the case, some of those mustaches were worn by outright evil and very dangerous, highly competent men. But it was a remnant of her up-time brain she couldn’t shake.

  Mary made up her mind. The first person who tackled her in Tyrol should be the first one to dance with her. It made a certain amount of sense, she figured. She noticed he was looking into her eyes now, with an unusual expression. The orchestra started up with a new song, one she recognized. She raised an eyebrow. “So, are you going to ask me to dance, or do I have to ask you?”

  Instantly she saw the transformation in his face. He snapped to attention as if a Master Sergeant was in his face, and he was a new recruit. “I will ask you.” It sounded like count pissy-pants came back all of the sudden. He stepped back, and swept a very proper bow, a slightly awkward movement in the smaller space that involved a step forward and back, and then the bow. He spoke with a formal cadence. “Fraulein Russo von Uptime, would you do me the honor of joining me in this dance?”

  “Of course, Johann. I would be honored.” She still wasn’t certain about the von Uptime thing.

  He turned and extended his elbow to her, and she took it. Together they marched to the dance floor. Even the movement to the floor had a ritual. It was a popular reel, based on a local country dance, and they got in line as a couple, her left hand over his right, raised and clasped, and as a group they started to move with the music.

  Mary focused, and started her counting. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, turn two…

  “I spoke with those boys, Fraulein.”

  …three, four, step two, three, four… Johann continued to dance effortlessly and Mary kept counting, and focused on not looking at her feet. Chin up, head up, posture erect, three, four…Turn coming up, and … turn two three four…

  “Did you hear me Fraulein Russo? I said I spoke to those boys who were with Franz?”

  Step, two, step, four, one, two…

  “Mary?”

  She gritted her teeth, smiling, and stayed focused, eyes front. And kept counting. “I” two, three, four, “Can’t” two three, four, “Talk” two three four, turn, two three, four, “And” two three four, “Dance” two three four…

  She caught Johann grinning, and then watched him suppress his grin down to mischievous smile, as she shot him a look of desperation. “I see. I didn’t realize, they told me your lessons were going well.”

  She managed a quick nod, but kept smiling and didn’t miss a step. “…Yes…I… thought…so…too…” The dance progressed where they were walking side by side, and Mary kept counting. She vaguely noticed the other couples chatting away as they danced, smiling and being social. The dance reset for a moment, and they were back repeating the initial steps, which freed up enough brain power for Mary to say two words at a time. “…They didn’t…tell me…I had…to…freakin’ talk… at the…same time…” turn and point toe.

  “There is a lot of conversation that goes on during a dance. Most of our socializing happens on the dance floor.” He spun effortlessly and ended up across from her. “Many things are said during a dance that can only be said, well, during a dance.” He was grinning like a fool, as they turned into each other, right hands clasped and above their heads, drawing them closer. “Secrets are told,” they stepped back, and then towards each other again, “conspiracies are formed,” Mary continued to count as they came back together, “and trysts are arranged...”

  Two, three, four… “Keep your chin up girl,” she thought. Johann was still grinning. Finally the dance ended, after what felt to Mary like a full hour and a half. In reality it was less than five minutes from start to finish, but it felt much, much longer. There was a splash of applause, and everyone began to go back to the sides and the end of the room where they started from. Johann escorted her to the alcove formed by the turret, and she took a moment to sit down. She had been on her feet since the morning, and it felt good. She asked Johann to get some wine, and took a moment to look out the window once again. The sun had gone fully behind the mountains, and the Schloss was in shadow. The sky above remained a bright alpine blue.

  A man appeared next to her that she did not recognize. He cleared his throat, obviously wanting to talk. She stood again, and he bowed while she dipped a curtsey. He smiled at her warmly. “Fraulein Mary Russo, who I understand they are introducing as von Uptime now, my name is Ernst Hocholting.”

  “Herr Hocholting, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I fear you have the advantage of me. Are you associated with the Fugger family?” The man looked a lot like a diplomat to her, but not as fancy as Beinner, at least in her eyes. He was pleasant enough, and his cologne was an unusual floral scent she could not place. His accent was Bavarian, his doublet expensive, and he was quite tall and angular. He had a habit of tugging at his sleeves as he spoke. He also found her remark about the Fugger rather amusing.

  “Ha-ha, no. No Fraulein, I am not associated with the fami
ly. We are in similar lines of business, rivals on occasion. I am here as a, shall we say, buyer for a different concern, staying in Schwaz. Mining equipment, you see. The uncle, Hieronymus and I became acquainted, and he invited me to this wonderful ball.”

  Mary was half paying attention, looking subtly past his shoulder for Johann and her glass of wine. She smiled and nodded to the man. “Yes, I see. Mining equipment, Herr Hocholting?”

  “Oh, yes, all kinds. But for now I am very interested in pumps. Pumps are very important. You see, many old mines could no longer be worked because it was far too difficult and expensive t-”

  “—to keep then dewatered.” she finished the sentence for him. “And this is where you are going to try and get me to help with the application of up-time pump designs to open up an old mine and place it back into production.” He stopped tugging on his sleeves, slack jawed. She thought she saw a flash of real anger in his eyes for a moment, but it was replaced instantly by a bland and business-like mask as he closed his mouth. His reaction, and his instant suppression of it, made her alarm bell go off just a little bit. “I am sorry, Herr Hocholting, but I have almost weekly requests for this sort of thing since I arrived. I have made a commitment to the Fugger, and they take up all of my time. The best I could do is to recommend some consultants in Grantville, as well as a couple of specialty cheat sheets that have been put together on pumping.” Her wine, along with Johann, had finally arrived. “Thank you, Johann. Tell me, do you know Herr Hocholting?” She took a sip, even though she wanted to gulp it down. She was thirsty from the stress and the dancing. And from being constantly polite.