Up-Time Pride and Down-Time Prejudice

by Mark H. Huston

  Her new chambermaid eased her head into the door. Sybilla did not know her name. It was a wise move on the chambermaid’s part, if somewhat rude. The girl didn’t know if she was going to be a target for some bit of bric-a-brac, so caution was appropriate, if not precisely proper. Seeing it was safe, as there were no more projectiles in Sybilla’s hands, she entered, carrying a broom and a pan for sweeping up broken pieces. What surprised Sybilla was who was with her.

  “Hofer. I did not expect you this afternoon.”

  He bowed deferentially, as was his skill. She gestured for him to continue.

  “I was making sure everything was to your satisfaction, Countess. Things seemed a little out of order,” he glanced to the wall where the glass and ceramic carnage was lying on the floor, “and if any further assistance was required by your maid.” The girl was scampering to clean up the wood floor as quickly as she could. Without a mop, she was using her apron to sponge up the water from the floor among the flowers and glass.

  Sybilla tilted her head towards the debris. “I’m sure she can clean it up. I will need a new vase and a new basin and pitcher, along with fresh flowers, this room smells since the indoor plumbing was installed, and I do not like it.”

  The large nose on the thin, ugly man quivered as he sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything untoward, Countess, but I will endeavor to have fresh flowers and some scented candles brought in right away.”

  “People should not keep their smelly business indoors. It isn’t civilized to live with your functions so close to where you sleep. If people don’t know how to use chamber pots properly, I don’t know what the world is coming to, do you Franz?”

  Franz shrugged. “It was odd at first, but I rather like it. I think it will be much better once the snow flies.”

  “I think it improper. Sitting on the same seat as others to do your business. I prefer my chamber pot, and the maid to take it away. It’s mine, not some communal station. Up-time plumbing is like a livestock operation or something. Ghastly.”

  Hofer bowed slightly in agreement and said nothing. Sybilla looked at him, then considered for a moment while the maid continued to scramble to pick up the broken glassware.

  “Hofer?”

  Another bow, this one with a question mark at the end of it.

  “What do you think of our up-timer, our little school teacher?”

  Hofer’s expression tightened, ever so slightly. She noticed he swallowed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Curious. He didn’t want to answer her.

  “I am not sure what you mean, Countess. What do I think of her?”

  “Surely you have an opinion, Hofer. You dealt with her on the installation of all of these indoor privies and the water tubes everywhere.” She gestured to the hallway dismissively. “She has dealt with you and your staff almost daily. She’s had a ridiculous amount of security around her ever since she wandered off and got into trouble at the power plant. What do you think of her, Hofer?” She used her eyebrows and her hands on her hips to tell him she meant business.

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he considered how to answer her. That too was curious. “It seems she has adjusted to life here at the schloss quite well, after a rather rocky start. Most importantly the Count is happy with her performance. And if the count is happy, then I am happy, mistress.”

  “You are ever the diplomat, Hofer.”

  “Thank you, mistress.” Another appropriate bow. Sybilla expected the man had a bow for every possible occasion or answer that was needed. It was impressive. But he really didn’t answer her question. She allowed minor irritation to edge into her voice. “What does the staff think of her?” Sybilla noticed the maid had stopped cleaning and was now staring at Hofer. Sybilla knew what that little action meant, too. People are ridiculously transparent.

  Hofer cleared his throat. “Countess, I believe that the staff are happy if the Count is happy, and so far, in spite of some initial problems when Fraulein Russo first arrived, he has given me no indication that my staff and the interactions we have with Fraulein Russo have been other than what he desires.”

  Sybilla looked at Hofer, who offered her a cool, pleasant, neutral, and subtly belligerent look in return. He wasn’t going to answer her question, she knew that. He was too smart, too well established, too experienced to give her any answer other than what the Count may want. It was no matter to her. She already knew what the staff thought about Mary Russo. The soldiers and footmen thought her a goddess, some kind of Valkyrie warrior, Hieronymus thought her like Galen for her help with his strange little boy who was discovered to have a talent for adding columns of numbers like it was a magic trick, her maids thought Mary was a Saint for the way she treated them, as equals of all things, using their names to address them, and thanking them for doing their damn jobs. It went on, the list of people she had corrupted. Trufer thought her as clever as Archimedes, and the children, the little ones, thought of her as so much more than a teacher. They thought of her as a guide, a beacon of thought, a new way of living and thinking.

  Poisonous.

  And Johann. Ah, Johann. He thinks he loves her. Proposed to her. Idiot. She had the sense to reject him. His judgement also corrupted by her spell. She had to be stopped. Had to be. Why was it she was nearly the only one who could see it? Why did these things always fall to her?

  All of this flew by in a moment, in Sybilla’s mind this kind of thinking happened quickly, an instinctual process that became whole perception in a single moment. She was about to dismiss Hofer when she heard a stifled cry of pain from the maid. Hofer went to the woman, bleeding profusely from cut on her hand. He took out a cloth from his doublet sleeve and wrapped it tightly, the red soaking through and around the wrap. The woman was dripping blood on the floor.

  “Mind the rug, Hofer. Blood stains are hard to get out.” Sybilla was not one of those girls who were faint at the sight of blood.

  Hofer reacted to Sybilla for just a moment, while he held the maid’s bleeding hand. Something flashed in his eyes, but only for the briefest of moments, then there was nothing.

  “Of course, Mistress.” He managed to bow just the right way while still holding pressure on the maid’s wound.

  “And send someone to finish cleaning up. With the flowers and candles.”

  “Of course, Mistress.” He bowed on his way out of the room, the bleeding girl in tow, her face white with pain and embarrassment. As she should be.

  The door closed, and she turned to Franz. “Who was the man, the one who supposedly sent the people to take our up-timer? Grossembrot? Was that it?”

  Franz looked at her, surprised. “How did you hear that?”

  “I have my sources.” She smiled innocently at him.

  “That’s who Stadelmeier and the Count thought it was, based on the men who were killed. But there is no proof of their involvement. How do you know that name?”

  “I’ve heard it mentioned, is all. We used to do business with them. The Count did, when he was still in charge of the trading company. They had a falling out with Grossembrot, before we were born, something about money, of course. They lost.” She shrugged and walked over to the wall to look at the pile of broken glass and pottery. “She bled a lot over here.”

  “Sybilla, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you? Those two idiots you had me talk into attacking Mary failed miserably. And you were supposed to put in a word for them to the Count.”

  “I did; he wasn’t listening to me. He was quite angry.”

  “You should try again. I don’t want to have their antics come back onto me. I have my reputation to uphold as well. I put in a word with Stadelmeier.”

  “I will talk to the Count again, you have my word, Franz.”

  “Very good, thank you. They are good boys.” Franz did one of his reflexive military small bows for emphasis.

  There was a bit of a pause while Sybilla made her way to her desk. She didn’t think they were very good boys. Useful and stupid
. Crude. Not good. Men had very different standards than she did, to call them good. It was one of the things she always found useful. “Did you hear the news from Basel?”

  Franz brightened up, eager to change the subject away from things that made him uncomfortable. “You mean with Maria Anna, our runaway princess, meeting the Spanish Phillip, who is calling himself the ‘King in the Netherlands’, whatever that means, in Basel after walking there, and flying out in an up-timer airplane all the way back to Amsterdam? Of course, I have heard.”

  “And the rest? Maximilian’s brother, his wife, his children?”

  His mood dampened. “Rather a high number of casualties there.”

  “And the thing that ties it all together, the thing that was involved in everything, was what, Franz?”

  He actually had to think for a moment, but Sybilla was willing to wait for him. “Up-timers?”

  “Up-timers.” She nodded in encouragement and agreement. “Their fingers are in everything. Everything disruptive, everything tragic, everything evil. Something must be done. To defeat them, to expose them, and to most assuredly stop this infatuation that Johann has with Mary.”

  “I see, Sybilla. But those idiot brothers from Jenbach were sloppy. Stupid. I implore you once again. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Of course not.” She smiled, one of her best warm smiles. “Don’t be silly. Have you ever known me to do anything stupid, Franz? Inspired; certainly. Devious; on occasion. Creative; always.” She tossed her hair back to emphasize the point. “But stupid? Never.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “So, Mary, tell me the truth. Are you okay?” Raphael was speaking quietly as he gestured to the stonework above a stained-glass window in the Schwaz church. They had to speak subtly, as Mary’s security team was still not comfortable with Raphael un-chaperoned. She insisted she was safe with Raphael, but Wilhelm Waltz, the man who had taken Jacob Bertran’s position, was a nervous and very through individual, who desired absolute assurances in all manner of what he perceived as risky things. Which made Wilhelm a certified pain in the ass. Simply crossing the street was a process that involved men in the street, with someone crossing in front of, next to her, and then behind her. She was getting very good at not rolling her eyes.

  As a result, one of the team, a very young man with a bad complexion by the name of Matthias Spotl, who was no more than fourteen, was tagging along, ten feet behind them. Two more men were stationed in the narthex by the entry doors. Two more were elsewhere in the church, along with Wilhelm, who was presumably on the fancy copper roof checking for snipers.

  Mary looked at the stonework. She could pick out the new grout and masonry patches easily, once Raphael showed her what to look for. She pointed at them. “I’m not bad, Raphael. Hanging in there, in up-timer speak. I have good days and bad days, but the good ones are more often now.” She stopped, and pointed to a detail of the window, tilting her head in a mock question. “It helps to be busy, and the power plant and the mine keep me that way.”

  He pointed up at the window, gesturing at the joints between the window frame and the stone. “We don’t have a lot of time to talk today. Grantville wants to pull you out of here. They said it was too dangerous for you, and Bavaria is still politically coming apart. Things are very messy to the north of us.”

  Mary poked at the stonework with her finger. “I’m not leaving, Raphael. Not going to happen.”

  Raphael smiled at her, his face apparently agreeing with everything she said, his head bobbing in the affirmative. “It isn’t a direct order, but the word from those in Grantville is that’s what they want, and they feel it’s the safest course of action.”

  At Raphael’s invitation, they began to walk towards the organ bellows, their inspection of windows and grout apparently completed. Mary pointed to the pipes for the organ, waving her hand to the ceiling in what she hoped was her best misdirection. “I am making a difference here, Raphael. Especially with the younger kids. Every time I’m able to teach them something, even if it’s simple algebra, it becomes a statement about up-time. About the world as it can be, what it can become. Not as it is. And these kids are the next generation of arguably the most influential family in Europe. They will be the officers and generals of the financial army that will unleash fullblown capitalism. Shepherd the industrial age into the world. I mean, the Fugger practically invented capitalism for the modern era in the original time line anyway; they already convinced the Church to change fifteen hundred years of doctrine over usury. Can you imagine what they will do with the tools from up-time? They’re going to infest the world with a rate of change that mankind has never known. And they need guidance other than those of doctrinal religion, and Plato, and fucking Machiavelli. And that’s why I need to stay.”

  Raphael looked hurt. “I studied Machiavelli. He was a very famous Italian prince. From Florence, like me.” He made a small bow as they walked, hand over his heart.

  “Well, then. You will recognize this statement. ‘Never was anything great achieved without danger’.”

  “But-”

  Mary turned and waved at the young Matthias Spotl, their security escort. He waved back, slightly bewildered. “And have you seen this security? Sheesh. I can barely go to the bathroom by myself without someone crawling up my a—err, rump. So. I will be fine, Raphael. I enjoy the work. I enjoy what I’m doing, and I think I’m making a difference. I feel safe. At least safe enough.”

  They reached the small room for the workings of the pipe organ and paused. Raphael stood in the doorway and faced her. “You have changed, Mary.”

  “It’s been a busy summer.”

  “I will miss you,” he said softly.

  “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, Raphael. I’m staying. Besides, the money is too good. My mom stopped working, and we have a maid now, too.”

  He turned and ducked into the organ chamber, and she followed. It had a new bellows assembly fitted to the bottom, and the entire mechanism gleamed in the dim light of the oil lamp. Mary had a fleeting moment of regret that they weren’t able to fit a modern blower to the organ mechanism; but there was no way to practically power it, the blower would have been too complex to build, and she just didn’t have the time to develop something from scratch.

  He gestured to the organ machinery. “But I am done here, Mary. Done with my work on the Church. It’s time for me to move on.”

  Mary’s heart fell. “Move on? Raphael, you are my contact. You’re the only one I can talk to here! You can’t leave!”

  “It’s time. I'm going to Augsburg, to work on a Fugger project there. They want me right away. I need to leave soon so I can get across the pass before it becomes too difficult. That’s why I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “This is sudden.”

  “I thought I was going to stay the winter here. It’s very beautiful, but cold. The Fugger...” He turned to her, his posture apologetic. “I’m sorry I must leave you, but they are my primary business. You were secondary.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “We must say good bye.” Raphael looked up at her, his eyes sad and disappointed, a bit like a pouting little boy. Mary knew it was an act, but it was reflexive on his part, and she didn’t hold it against him. It was just Raphael. She shook her head with a small smile.

  She turned and looked out the door for the young guard, and he was staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. In the small room, she sighed, then reached over and embraced the handsome Florentine. “Well then, goodbye my friend. I shall miss you greatly.”

  “I am certain we will meet again, Mary.” He embraced her back, and then quite unexpectedly planted kisses, one on each cheek. “This is how my people say goodbye.”

  Mary smiled at the kisses. She had seen that sort of thing in the movies before, but never in a million years thought that a handsome Italian would ever do it to her. It was sweet. And awkward in the small space. “That’s nice Raphael.” She raised an eyebrow. “But
take your hand off my butt.”

  “Ah, Mary. It’s-a reflex, I kiss a pretty girl…” He rolled his eyes with a twinkle, and did one of his Raphael shrugs, hair tossed back, palms out, helpless and endearing.

  She shook her head, and they both laughed until the pimply-faced guard came to check on them.

  Chapter 28 Détente for Christmas

  December 6, 1634

  "I

  swear, Johann, I almost shot him.” Mary made a gun with her finger and pressed it between her eyes. “Right in the forehead.” It was late in the evening, and Mary and a group of Christmas revelers were making their way back to the castle after a torchlight parade in Schwaz.

  “Well, it’s an ample forehead. Although it’s a mask.” Johann gestured around his head, suggesting a large mask as they walked across the bridge over the Inn river.

  “What in the hell is that thing called again?” Mary asked.

  “Krampus.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “We have Saint Nicholas of course, but in Tyrol, he has an evil helper. For the good boys and girls, Saint Nicholas brings candy and gifts, but Krampus, he addresses the bad boys and girls. He whips them and then puts them into that basket on his back, then takes them to his lair and eats them.”

  “Holy crap, Johann. Merry freakin’ Christmas. The thing looks like a demon, like the devil himself. Horns, big red eyes, snorting and chasing kids around. And that tongue. Sheesh. He even caught a couple of kids and his helper stuffed them in the basket he had. I believe they thought they were going to be eaten, the way they were screaming their lungs out.” She turned to him and give him a withering look. “And having him sneak up on me was NOT funny, Johann. I really did almost shoot him. At least I thought about it.”

  “Well, for me and everyone else at the parade, it was very funny. You screamed quite loudly. And you didn’t pull your gun out. Which I think is a good step, don’t you?” He nodded to her shoulder holster, worn under her cloak.