Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice

by Mark H. Huston

  “Yes…”

  “Oh my!”

  “Raphael?”

  He paced some more and again ran his hands through his hair. “I’m thinking. So he proposed as if it were an up-time proposal? There was nobody else there? Just him?”

  “Yes. He asked, then he started demanding, which given my mood at the time was about the last thing he should have done.”

  “Did he say anything about his family?” His pacing and arm waving was getting her worried.

  “I think he said they wouldn’t approve, but I was getting angry at the time, so my memory is a little fuzzy…”

  He snapped his fingers. “I see. He must not have asked his family, or brought in the teams that would do the legwork on this kind of an arrangement.”

  “Teams?” Mary felt her face go pale.

  “Si. Lawyers, family members, investigators, whole teams of people to put together this kind of a deal. Think of it as diplomacy like a treaty, or a purchase of a large piece of land. There are a lot of details involved in a high-level marriage. Were there any witnesses? Who else was there?”

  Mary blinked in astonishment. “Nobody that I saw. In the castle it’s hard to know if you are alone or not, there seems to be a servant around no matter what you're doing, or they are lurking just outside the door or, I assume, behind a tapestry. But no one I could tell was a witness. And what do you mean a high-level marriage? I mean Johann is a count, but me, I’m just Mary Russo from Grantville. They were throwing this von Up-Time thing around at the ball, which I thought was crap. Near as I can tell, the Fugger were elevating my status to make themselves look better.”

  “Mary.” Raphael stopped his pacing and arm waving, and looked directly at Mary. “You're so young sometimes, and if I may be so blunt, stupidly naive.”

  “Now, just a second, Raphael…”

  “Hear me out.” He held up his hands in defense. “You're an up-timer. Skilled in many things. A mathematician that’s on par with the greatest of our time.”

  Mary shook her head. “No, I didn’t create the math, I merely studied it- to think that I am on their level is just ego. To create it from nothing, that’s true genius, Raphael.”

  It was his turn to disagree. “You can speak to any of them as an equal. It’s what you know, what you do. Also, your knowledge of chemistry surpasses the most educated alchemists of the day.”

  “I’m not that strong in chemistry, there are a lot of people who are better, the math part was always easy for me to get, I mean you can read a textbook…”

  He took a step closer to her, adamant. “But without the background you have, your up-time background, you can read one of these textbooks until you die of old age, and never understand it. Never understand the underlying math, the chemical families, relationships, none of it. You're one of the top chemists in the world, Mary Russo. Do you understand that?”

  Mary laughed at him. These things were pleasant enough to hear, but to think she was on any kind of a level ground with people like Descartes, or Pascal… “That sounds nice, but that isn’t me. I’m just a small-time girl from up-time, Raphael. I’m not some super scientist. These people are giants.”

  Raphael shook his head, frustrated. He paused, thinking. “Mary,” he said, obviously trying a different approach. “Let me ask you something. When you look at my world, which to me is the modern world, what you call the world of the down-timers, how do you look at it?”

  The question caught her off guard. “I don’t understand.”

  “How do you view it? What do you relate it to? How do you look at someone, say like me, or Father Huntsha to understand us? To place us?”

  His dark eyes flashed at her with an intelligence that she found deeper than expected. She knew he was smart, but at this moment he was fairly bristling with intensity and insight. “I- I don’t know exactly.” Mary shrugged, trying to understand his question. “I guess that I first meet you, then talk to you, try and see what kind of a person you are, what you are like, how you treat others, who you associate with, what you do for a living, but mostly if you are a decent human being. Your religion, too, I guess. If I’m being honest, I look if you are rich or poor, that sort of thing.” She quirked her head. “Is that what you mean?”

  He advanced on her again, impassioned, but not threatening. “But you judge by your standards; standards and prejudices that were formed back up-time, in your village, in your democracy, in your institutions. This is something that is talked about in the community of down-time spies, at least as much as we talk about anything. It’s impossible for people who live today, down-timers you call us, to predict the actions and motivations of an up-timer, because they have a set of standards that are impossible for anyone born down-time to really understand. Down-timers are bewildered by the decisions made by up-timers. They make no sense. They are based on things that we simply don’t understand, and there is no way we could understand or experience them. You have a background unfathomable to anyone born in this time. Combine that with the knowledge of technical things, and it’s no wonder you are looked at as wizards and witches. You simultaneously baffle and frighten the rest of the world. Why do you not see this?”

  Mary could feel her brow furrow. “Raphael we are just people, same as you and everyone else in this town.” People were people, that’s what her mother always said.

  “Arrgh! Mary! You don’t understand! ” He started to pace again. “By the standards - the perceptions - of downtime, you are nobility, by all practical measures of the term. The use of ‘von Uptime’ was accurate.” He turned to her and started counting on his hand, starting with his thumb. “You are a princess, or at the least a countess. An alchemist, a mathematician, a professor, a revolutionary.” He stopped counting and pointed at her, unmoving and still for a moment. “You are all of these things. You're not ‘just’ Mary Russo from Grantville. You're far more than that, far more than you realize. And you need to realize it Mary, must realize it, because the world around you believes it. The people in my world believe it, see it, sense it in what you say, how you move, how you speak, how you treat servants, how you address the Fugger, what you are capable of doing…” he looked at her, now almost whispering. “My world sees it, believes it. We down-timers can’t help but make our judgements based on our world, our experiences.”

  Mary tried to process what she was hearing. Tried to understand it at the depth that her friend was trying to make her see. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Raphael. I just don’t know…”

  He sat on the bench and sighed. “I don’t know how to convince you. You can’t simply be Mary Russo from Grantville. This world will not allow it, will not perceive you to be anything other than what it perceives you to be. And now, standing before me, in this clothing, in this place, in this time, you are - if not quite the upper nobility, then something quite close to it. And there is little you can do to change it. It’s what my eyes see, it’s what my heart sees, it’s what my world sees, indeed it’s the only thing I can see.”

  She sat next to him. “But that’s not who I am. I can’t be nobility, I can’t be a damn Disney princess, I’m just a girl from freakin’ West Virginia who is okay at math and chemistry. Maybe wanted to be a teacher. I'm not any kind of nobility by any stretch of the imagination. And from what I've seen of nobility and kings, I sure as shit don’t want any part of that crowd.” She thought a moment. “I don’t think I've said this out loud before, but it’s really clear to me right now. I believe in democracy, in the rights of the individual, the rights of man not to be ruled, but to be part of the decisions that affect them. I believe in these things. God knows I've learned that much!”

  He smiled at her. “Good for you. But none of that matters, Mary. None of it. What matters is how the world is going to perceive you. You are beautiful. You are brilliant. You are special, to the point of being a woman who has been touched by the miracle of the Ring of Fire, a divine act, certainly. Through the down-time eyes, we see nobility. Even royalty,
because you have been touched by God himself. Because in this world, royalty and God have been closely tied together for centuries, and getting here as a result of a bona fide miracle puts you in the same category as emperors, popes, and kings, with their power divinely endowed by God himself.” She started to protest, but he held up his hands. “It does not matter what you think about God and Royalty tied together. It’s what others think. You are special!”

  Mary sighed, and adjusted her skirts on the bench. “Raphael, everyone is special. Leopold, you, and Father Huntsha. We are individuals, and each one of us has been touched by God in a way, to be here in this time.” Mary knew she was deflecting a little.

  He took her hands in his. “Maybe back up-time you had the luxury of thinking everyone was special, a unique individual, and maybe it’s true. But in these times, such as they are, with the world at war around us, we don’t all have the luxury of special. Only some.”

  She squeezed his hands, which were very warm, and broke his gentle grip. “I hear what you're saying, but I don’t feel it. I don’t. I just don’t know.”

  “Those are your prejudices, your perceptions that prevent you from seeing the truth.”

  “Truth?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging.

  He smiled, a sheepish grin. “Okay, my truth, this time’s truth.” He grew serious again. “But it’s real, Mary. It will be real whether you want it to be or not.”

  She rose, and began to pace. She wanted to move away from the discomfort. “What about Johann?” She turned and faced him.

  “I think he was trying to propose to you in an up-time manner. I suspect he genuinely loves you, or at least believes he does, and I also suspect that he did not ask for permissions from his family. And it would be multiple permissions, not just a single permission. You should probably not mention this proposal to anyone in the Schloss when the family returns. If servants were listening in, and they probably were, the family will find out soon enough. He may have just done this on his own.”

  Later, after saying her goodbyes to Father Huntsha and to Raphael, she headed back to the Schloss. Raphael had given her much to think about, and as she trudged up the hill, she paid little attention to her surroundings. As a result, when she arrived at the entrance to the Schloss, she was astounded at the level of activity. There were two horses standing at the gate, frothy with sweat and quivering from exhaustion. Grooms scrambled to toss blankets over them and walked them to cool them down. A pair of muddy carriages were parked haphazardly, unattended and looking like they were recently unpacked. Servants were coming and going, and two men walked by carrying bundles of pikes that were stored in the castle, usually on display in one of the family halls. Clearly something was going on. Mary hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so she sought out Maria, the cook, who was busy giving orders to the staff, and scrambling in the kitchen to accommodate something she had apparently not planned for at all.

  She smiled at the cook. “Any of those biscuits and goat cheese, Maria?”

  “Ach! No, Mary, all of my biscuits are gone, everyone came in and devoured them. There is a little cheese.” She pointed to one of the cupboards. “In there, in the jar.”

  “Thanks Maria. What’s going on? Things seem a little chaotic!”

  The heavyset woman looked around and rolled her eyes. “Ach. Yes. Some of them came running home, a week early, and I am not ready. And I don’t like it when I'm not ready. I've been told to get ready for a great many people.”

  Mary found the cheese and a small knife, along with a bit of stale bread. Her stomach growled as she spread the cheese. “So everyone came back from Munich finally?”

  “Some have come back, some are still held there. I don’t know. It’s very confusing. You should speak with someone upstairs.” She inclined her head to the upper levels of the Schloss.

  May wasn’t sure she heard correctly. “Held there?”

  “Something about the daughter of the Emperor running away with an up-timer and Maximilian going mad. The wedding fell apart, and the up-timers escaped.” She shrugged and shook her head, clearly frustrated with the affairs of those above her, and their cavalier way with her kitchen schedules. As Mary worked out her next question, a workman with a large sack of grain over his shoulder came into the kitchen. “About time you got here,” Maria bellowed. “I ordered those this morning! Put it down over there. Elizabeth, come. I have grinding for you to do. Now!” She left, looking for Elizabeth, one of the kitchen helpers.

  As Mary watched the cook storm off in search of her helper, she smiled at the delivery man who stood awkwardly by the pantry. Still hungry, she scooped out some more cheese from the ceramic jar and spread it on the bread, wolfing it down. Standing at a back table eating, she processed the information she got from the cook. Why would up-timers be in Munich for the wedding? And how in the world had they managed to screw it up? And why? She knew, now in a very real way, how complex those sorts of weddings are. She was focused on getting the last of the goat cheese from the ceramic container, when she heard someone call out.

  “There she is. Get her!”

  Mary looked up, mouth full of bread and cheese, and another bite halfway to her mouth. In the kitchen doorway stood a badly disheveled Sybilla, with two footmen. They awkwardly wore ill fitting helmets and breastplates, with swords at their sides. Sybilla was muddy, worn, and looked like she had just completed a long hard journey. Her face was red from a combination of anger and too much alpine sunshine. A slightly less put-together Hofer stood next to her. Mary put down her cheese and quickly swallowed what was in her mouth.

  The two footmen looked at each other. Mary recognized them from her trips into to Schwaz. They looked embarrassed as they glanced at each other. Hofer looked nervous.

  Mary looked directly at Sybilla, who had a wild look in her eyes. She took a moment to dust off her bodice. “What is the meaning of this, Sybilla?”

  “Don’t let her speak! She is a demon, she will bewitch you!”

  Mary looked at the guards, who looked confused and awkward in their ill fitting armor. They still hadn’t moved. Hofer’s eyes glanced back and forth, as if he were looking for a way out. Only Sybilla was focused on Mary. The kitchen staff fell silent. Mary shifted her weight slightly, feeling the heavy weight of the .38 in the pocket of her skirt bump against her thigh. It was hard to pull out quickly, but feeling it there gave her a bit of confidence. “You know I’m no demon, Sybilla. I'm a girl, just like you-”

  “-Up-timers are demons!” she spit out the phrase. “You are here to destroy us, just like Maximilian was destroyed by you, just like Countess Polyxena was destroyed by you, and just like Regina will be destroyed by you.”

  Mary felt her stomach clench. “What is happening to Regina, and who is Countess Poly…?” Mary stumbled on the unfamiliar name.

  “Polyxena,” Sybilla hissed at her. “She was a good friend of Regina’s, part of Maria Anna’s court. Regina went to see her the day before the up-time demons absconded with Maria Anna. Countess Polyxena has been executed for aiding them. Regina will be too. Because of up-timers! Because of you!”

  Mary had to steady herself against the table. “Regina?!”

  Chapter 21 It Must be Demons

  Schloss Tratzberg

  Mary paced across her room and back again, for what felt like the hundredth time. After the confrontation with an irrational Sybilla, Mary agreed to retire to her quarters until her ‘demonic’ status could be sorted out. Father Anaverdi, who was the Fugger confessor and resident priest for the Schloss Tratzberg chapel, had assured Sybilla that, after close observation of Mary in the previous weeks, with her heartfelt confessions, and adherence to the sacraments, she was most obviously not a demon. “Simply impossible,” the little old man had said.

  This was not sufficient for Sybilla, and she insisted that Father Huntsha be sent for from the village to get his opinion. She also sent messages to the presiding bishop asking him to come and rid the house of the demon. Mary had observed Hofe
r during this request, and she was not at all sure he had sent the messages. The plan was, as far as Mary could tell, to humor Sybilla until someone who could outrank her showed up. And so Mary continued to pace in her room.

  Stadelmeier, the Count and the Countess were still in Munich, trapped. Maximilian had, as near as Mary could tell from the fragmented reports, apparently lost his shit when Maria Anna disappeared just before the wedding. Nobody knew where she was, or what had happened to her. She left, along with some of her staff, and an old nun that everyone apparently knew. Along with Mary Simpson and the down-time woman who had married the mayor of Grantville after the Ring of Fire. What they were doing there and where they had come from, nobody could tell. The whole thing was very strange. And since nobody could explain what happened, and up-timers were involved, and it was an attack on the seat of Catholicism in Bavaria, the only logical explanation was, of course, demons. Of course.

  Mary had sensed the staff, even Hofer, were not on board with Sybilla’s nonsense. The girl was irrational. But everyone kowtowed to Sybilla, like she was some sort of a queen. Well, she is a countess, Mary thought wryly. But she made life singularly unpleasant for everyone around her when she did not get her way.

  The imprisonment of Regina, simply because she had visited this Countess Polyxena before the wedding, was deeply unsettling for Sybilla. It was also unsettling for Mary, too. Of all the people at the Schloss, Regina was her friend. One of her few friends.

  Her chambermaid returned, knocking lightly before entering. “I've brought you some dinner, mistress. A little wine, some cheese, a bit of chicken. The cook put it aside for you.”

  Mary smiled as Maria took the tray to a small table that doubled as a writing desk. It was where she often ate her meals, usually while writing a letter or reading. “Thank you, Maria. And thank the cook for me when you see her. I've barely eaten all day, and I’m famished.” She sat at her desk and pulled off the cloth. It smelled good, and her mouth watered as she tucked into her dinner. “So, what did you learn? Are the Count and Countess coming back?”