Her eyes snapped open. She realized she was alone, in a deserted gallery, and the two rude young men must have followed her. One stood directly in front of her. They were brothers, both fair skinned, and the older one, the one talking, was a ginger. His brother was slightly behind him, leering at her. She didn’t think it was a dangerous situation, just stupid boys being mean. She squared herself up to them, using all of her height. “You boys need to run along and go back to the party before you get into trouble,” she said with as much authority as she could muster, peering down her nose at them. “Run along.”
She turned to go, and the younger leering one leapt in front of her, barring her way. “Step aside.” She said, as she put her hands on her hips and glared. They were beginning to get on her nerves, and she wanted to get away from these little assholes, and go to bed. They were not going to spoil her good mood. She went to walk around him, and he again got in front of her. She went to the other side, and he countered. “Look, you little shithead. I’ve had just about enough of you tonight…”
The bigger one grabbed her from behind, clamped his hand over her mouth and picked her up off of the ground in one motion. Her arms were pinned to her sides. Mary managed a surprised mmmmph and began to kick back with her heels, hoping to grind them into the big one’s shins. She looked into the younger ones eyes, and he was still leering, only now with a wild look that frightened her even more. They backed down a side corridor, with Mary thrashing and kicking, but the big one held her fast, his hand over her mouth. The corridor was dark, and led to a series of rooms that were used for storage. As they backed into the door of one of the dark rooms, she kicked the door frame and felt her slipper fly off her foot.
She kept kicking, and focused on getting one of her arms free. The big one was strong and wiry and held her fast.
“She’s fightin’ a lot, Julius” said the young one as he picked up her slipper from the hallway. “I didn’t think she was supposed’t?”
“Whores will fight ya. Even fancy up-time ones.”
Mary had been pushing her face back and forth, hair falling into her face, to try and scream, and the boy had tightened his grip, and was now cutting off her airflow, his hand over her nose and her mouth. She was running out of air, her vision had bright sparkles around the edges. She could taste his hand pressed to her face, and it was bitter with wine and sweat. She bit down. Hard. And kept biting, all the way through the meat of one of his fingers, and she felt the blood flow warmly onto her face. He let go and she tried to inhale, to scream to attract attention. She inhaled blood and hair from her face, and she gagged and hacked, unable to get her breath. She felt a blow to her head from behind that staggered her, still unable to breathe, as the big one clouted her across the back of the head.
“Bitch. She bit me, fuck!”
She could feel herself falling forward in the dark room. Her hands in front of her, she managed to half fall against a chair and catch her balance. Still trying to breathe, she grasped the chair to steady herself. It was a heavy formal dining chair, moved out of the hall and into storage for the party. If it was back up-time, it was the sort of thing that would have been in a museum. Gasping for breath, she did the only thing she could think of before she passed out, and picked it up and swung it in the tight quarters with all of her panicked strength. She felt it connect awkwardly with other furniture, and then in the same roundhouse swing, with something softer that went thunk. The chair was heavy enough that the momentum carried her forward, back towards the boys. She stumbled, and dropped the chair, and finally started to take a breath.
She was the sort of girl who thought that she would never have to scream for help. She always thought she could handle whatever would come her way. Always thought those girls, in those movies back up-time, were stupid to get themselves in that sort of a position, and then have to scream like some sort of little girl to get their boyfriend to bail them out. That all oddly flitted through her brain as the oxygen began to return to her bloodstream, and she greedily filled her lungs in preparation to scream as loud and as long as she possibly could.
Before she could make a sound, the smaller leering brother was standing in front of her, and grabbed her around the throat with one hand. He began to squeeze. All she could manage was an “urk.” This move, however, gave her options, and since her hands were free, and she had air in her lungs, she quickly grabbed one of his fingers, she couldn’t tell which one, and pulled it away. She heard a loud snapping noise, and could feel the vibration in her neck as his finger fractured. It sort of felt like a pea pod snapping. She peeled the finger back as far as it would go, and kept pulling.
The leering brother screamed like a little girl, high pitched, and very, very loudly. He took a step back, cradling his hand, looking incredulously at his finger pointing entirely in the wrong direction. He faced her, angry, surprised, his eyes bulging with disbelief, and no longer leering. With one smooth motion, she picked up her skirt and snap-kicked him in the balls as hard as she could. It was a very solid hit. The downside was that he stopped screaming, and simply fell to the floor, curled up in a surprisingly small quivering ball.
Mary quickly looked for the big one, wondering where he was, surprised he hadn’t attacked. She didn’t see any movement and made for the door, which was a few feet away and slightly ajar, dim light streaming through. As she was about to reach it, it banged open, and the tall silhouette of Johann Franz filled the doorway. His eyes went to her face and got very round. She realized there must be quite a bit of blood from the big one’s finger, and she wiped her hand across her mouth. It was slippery, and she could taste a metallic flavor that made her want to spit, except her mouth was so dry there was no way she could. She saw his eyes go to the little one on the floor, curled up and moaning, his finger all but forgotten. Then he looked past her, at the chair lying on the floor. Mary turned to follow his gaze to see another figure sprawled out across a couple of more chairs. That was the big one, unmoving, bleeding from his forehead and his hand.
Johan’s eyes went back to Mary. Then to the little brother on the floor, whimpering. Then to the bigger one sprawled awkwardly across two dining room chairs. Then back to the chair, which Mary noticed had a broken leg. Back to Mary. There was a pause. “I was afraid someone needed assistance, Fraulein Russo. But you seem to have it well under control.” He handed her a handkerchief from the sleeve of his very nice doublet, blinking.
“Thank you, Johann.” Her voice sounded far away, as if she was hearing someone else talk from down a long empty hallway. “Johann?”
He looked at her, and she watched as his expression moved quickly from his initial shocked incredulousness, to brief surprise as he looked in her eyes, and then to compassion. Concern. The compassion surprised her, and she smiled, just a little. The compassion in his eyes made her feel safe.
They looked at each other for a moment. Mary felt herself sway slightly. “I really think I need to sit down, Johann. Before I fall down.”
Johann caught her as her legs gave out, and eased her out onto the gallery where there was fresh air. She was aware of other people converging around her, jumbled concern and queries, and Johann growling at people to give her air. Someone brought a chair, and she sat down. Sitting felt good. More candles appeared in the gallery, brightening it up appreciably. A swish of gowns, and doublets of servants swirled around her. A goblet of white wine appeared in her hands, and she took a mouthful, swished it around in her mouth, and spit it out onto the floor. Everything tasted of blood. In the dim light, she couldn’t tell the exact color as she looked at the splash on the floor. She used the handkerchief from Johann to wipe her face, her chin and her chest. She tried to dab the blood from her bodice, upset that the dress was now ruined. She started to cry about that, which one part of her brain thought was very odd, considering what she had just been through.
She fought for clarity, forced herself to focus. Fought the tears about the stupid, lovely dress. Holding the wine, she noticed her hand
s were relatively steady, and she found strength in that. She drained the goblet, and someone took it from her. She was surrounded by faces, and in the center was Johann, looking at her with concern and sympathy. She anchored there.
The Count appeared in front of her, kneeling on the same level as Johann, and he looked furious. His face softened when he looked at Mary, but the anger in his eyes was clear. “I've got to stop pissing this guy off,” Mary thought. The Count and Johann had a terse exchange that Mary didn’t follow clearly, they were speaking very quietly. Or maybe her hearing was off from the smaller brother screaming. He was quite loud. Or it was the blood rushing in her ears.
In the next moment, the Count was gone, Johann was gone, and Regina and the Countess were there, along with Maria Juliana, the mother of the little girl who would always stand at the back of the classroom. They pulled her to her feet, and to her surprise, she found her knees were functioning as they should. She was whisked away, and guided back to her chamber.
The group of women burst into the room where Maria, her chambermaid, was sitting in a side chair, dozing. Maria leapt out of her chair, and took a look at Mary. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes got very big. The Countess began giving orders and they had her stripped out of her dress, her face washed, and Mary tucked into bed before she could protest. They made faces at her old gym shorts and baggy t-shirt she usually slept in. The crowd withdrew, and Mary was left with the Countess, Maria her chambermaid, Maria Juliana, and the Countess’s servant. The servant whispered into the Countess’s ear and she nodded. The servant withdrew from the room.
“Could I get something to drink, please?” Mary asked her chambermaid. The mountain spring water was quite safe here, Mary had been drinking it since she arrived. It felt good, but she still couldn’t get the taste of blood, sweat and wine out of her mouth. She swished the tepid water around in her mouth, and having nowhere else to put it, simply swallowed. She drained the cup and returned it to a Maria, who looked deeply concerned. The countess approached the bed, and waved Maria away. She took a station in the far corner of the room.
Mary tried to decide how she felt. Part of her was proud of fighting off the two boys - no, she couldn’t call them that. They weren’t boys. They were men, doing things, or at least trying to do things, that men did. So, no. Not boys. Men. Bad men. She knew she got lucky, at least with the big one. The smaller one was just a really bad fighter, and very young. She guessed fourteen or fifteen was all. That made her sad.
She was also pissed off. Pissed that she allowed herself to get into that situation, upset that the count was angry, and upset that the end of a wonderful magical evening had ended up with her covered in blood, and party guests upset. She was worried what the Count would say about her beating up the two men.
“Oh, shit!” Her stomach clenched.
The Countess took her hand as she sat on the edge of the bed looking concerned. “What is it?” she asked.
“I didn’t kill the big one, did I? The one I hit with a chair? The Count looked really upset, and after almost shooting Johann Franz on the mountain, I think if I killed someone he would probably fire me for sure.”
The Countess looked amused. “No. You didn’t kill him. Knocked him senseless, but he is very much alive.”
Mary felt relieved, but a small part of her wasn’t.
The Countess continued to hold her hand. “Tell me what happened, Mary” She looked at Mary’s lower body, and then back to her eyes. “They didn’t…”
Mary shook her head. “No. There was no doubt that was their intention, the bastards.” She continued to shake her head. “…Bastards…”
The Countess nodded sympathetically. “I need to ask you, what you did to lead them on, to invite or entice them to these actions--”
“--What!” Mary snatched her hands back and sat up fully, blood boiling. “I-I did nothing to lead them on, nothing! They were being little shits to me all night, from the moment I entered the ball. I've never seen them before.” Mary leapt to a kneeling position and faced the Countess, who looked back in utter astonishment. “You Fugger were the ones who planned my every move tonight, from the dance to the dress to the lessons, to this von Uptime crap you introduced me with. And you are asking me what I did to lead on a couple of horny assholes from whatever Podunk town those two came from?” She threw the covers off and stormed out of bed, past the still seated Countess, and began pacing around the room. “Look, Countess, I don’t know all of the subtleties of Tyrolean society, and whatever your quaint courting and mating and fucking rituals are here, but where I’m from, you don’t drag women into dark hallways because they might smile at you, or because of what they are wearing, or because you told the little assholes to piss off!” She stopped pacing and turned to face the Countess, who was now standing next to the bed. “I did nothing to encourage them. Nothing. And I resent even being asked the question.” Mary paused for a moment, breathing hard. Her chambermaid looked terrified, and the Countess had the same look on her face that she had when Mary first met her. A stone mask, with her lips pursed together.
Mary took two steps to reach the door, and opened it, making a decision. She turned to the three girls in the room. “Please leave. All of you.” Mary noticed the Countess’s chambermaid outside the door, smoothing her skirts across the hallway.
The Countess was standing very straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. She nodded, head slightly turned to the side. “Very well. We will speak in the morning.” She glided out the door. Maria caught Mary’s eye, and Mary nodded for her to go too. Maria hesitated, but left with the encouragement of Mary’s angry raised eyebrow. That left Maria Juliana standing quietly in the corner.
“So, what do you want?” It looked as if Maria Juliana was going to crumple under Mary’s gaze. But she stood up straight and looked back at Mary.
“I want to tell you that it was not your fault.”
“I already know that.” It felt good to say that out loud.
Maria Juliana flinched a little. “It was nothing you did.”
“I know that too. What are you trying to say?”
“I overheard. Someone told them you were a prostitute, and all up-timers were prostitutes. A man came through town earlier this summer. There were very d-detailed pictures. From magazines, they said, boys could look at them for a pfennig or two. Many did.”
Mary was getting one hell of a headache. She missed aspirin. “You're saying that because some asshole came through town with some old Playboy magazines that these shitheads thought that it was okay to try and assault me?”
“No. I-I mean yes, that was part of it. But no. There is more.” Maria Juliana was obviously timid, and struggling to speak, trying to find the courage.
Mary bit off a retort as she rubbed her forehead. “Maria Juliana, please tell me what you mean.”
“I've heard talk, stories. Some of the girls were talking, mostly one of them, to some of the boys. That up-timers are all prostitutes, because of the way you dress, the way you act, and that they should treat you like one, because that’s how you are. How you like to be treated.”
“Who said these things, Maria Juliana? Who told you this?”
“Sybilla.”
Mary was quiet for a moment, seething. She resolved not to lash out at Maria Juliana. The girl was obviously trying to tell her what was going on. She took a breath and nodded. “I see.”
Mary closed the door, and sank heavily in the side chair next to her bed. She was reeling. “Why? Just for sport? What did I ever do to her?” There was a pause, as Mary rubbed her face with her hands, trying to make sense of it all. Maria stood motionless, looking at the closed door. “Please tell me why she would say such things, Maria Juliana. Please.”
Maria Juliana looked directly at Mary. The emotions flowing through the girl’s face and body were substantial. Sad, angry, accusatory, bitter, sorry, but mostly sad. Her hands flitted from her face to brush back an errant curl, to her bodice, to her skirt, and back
again, and then back to her skirt. The girl was an emotional wreck, and Mary realized she wasn’t the only person in the room barely holding it together. Mary’s “Please” hung in the air.
After a moment, she saw Maria Juliana find her balance, and speak. It was not anything that Mary expected. “You killed her brother.”
“What!?”
“Her brother was killed. At Alte Veste. He died leading a cavalry charge.”
Mary knew that she had never killed anyone before. She was glad of that. The closest times she had come had been in the last four months. On the mountain when she arrived, and less than a half hour ago. She thought desperately. But that battle… “Alta Veste is nowhere near Grantville. Nowhere. And I didn’t kill him. We - up-timers, were at that battle, the modified mining trucks broke their lines. I was still in school. I did not kill her brother. I swear.”
Maria Juliana was very still. “Nevertheless, she holds you responsible.”
“Well I’m not.” It felt good to say that out loud too. She wasn’t responsible, it was this screwed up world of princes and counts…
“I know,” said Maria Juliana quietly. “I don’t hold you responsible.”
“I- Thank you. But why are you telling me this? How do you fit in?”
She was very still. “Her brother was my husband.” A single tear rolled down her face.
“And that pretty little girl?”
“She is our daughter.”
Chapter 19 You wanna what?
July 9, 1634
The castle was remarkably quiet, and Mary was pleased with the time off. Everyone had run off to Munich after the ball, to attend the wedding of Maximilian and Maria Anna. It left the castle empty. So she was free to wander the hallways at her leisure, chatting at the staff, or simply sitting and watching the mountains. It felt great to do nothing for a while, or at least a comparative nothing. She even slept late a couple of days.
Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice Page 20