Grantville Gazette 38 gg-38

by Коллектив Авторов

Betsy put a finger on her nose and pointed to de Largo. "No time to waste. I'll find . . . Albert. " She broke off to make a face. "You and Denis find Mondemoiseau de Bergerac. Once we get them to name us their seconds, let's all meet back at Mirari's shop to go over the rules of engagement."

  "Just be careful around Albert," Denis said. "This is likely to give him the wrong idea about you."

  "I'll burn that bridge when I get there," Betsy muttered as she set off in the direction of Albert's family home.

  ****

  By the time that Betsy led Albert into Mirari's chocolate shop, Denis, Mirari, de Bergerac and de Largo already had seats around Mirari's personal table. The four of them had large pots of chocolate and steaming mugs set out before them. Denis thought that Albert looked, to borrow an uptime phrase, "as low as a snake's belly." No doubt Betsy had told him exactly what she thought of his behavior. As two of them sat at the table, Mondemoiseau de Bergerac scowled at Albert. Albert ducked his head and pretended to find fascination in the wood grain of the table.

  "Since I'm more familiar with the rules of engagement, Albert agreed that I will act as his second in this duel," Betsy said. When Albert failed to acknowledge her, Betsy turned and slapped his shoulder.

  "Ja," Albert mumbled. "My second. "

  "Cyrano has agreed that I will act as his second," de Largo confirmed, winking at Betsy in the process. "I suggest that we decide on the details at once. It is after all a matter of honor."

  Mirari joined in without waiting for Cyrano to agree. "And Denis and I will observe to make sure that everything goes well."

  "I will give no quarter, sir," said Cyrano looking directly at Albert. "Understand that I will slowly flay every inch of skin from you, then I will run my sword through first your knees, then your elbows; if I am feeling merciful, I will let you keep your manhood before I finish you. Or I might not."

  "If you're going to kill him anyway, why would he care about preserving his . . ." Betsy trailed off speculatively. Then she shook her head in dismissal. "Never mind."

  To say that Albert's face went from pale to fish-belly white was an apt description. Betsy appeared to relish this reaction in her unwanted suitor. Denis winced in sympathy for Albert.

  "Let's begin," Betsy said. "There are decisions to be made."

  Cyrano looked at her in consternation. He appeared more than a bit uncertain on how to react to a woman standing as second in a duel, especially one in which he had seemingly had a working relationship only hours before.

  "We can, of course, avoid this duel all together if Herr Haleman will simply apologize to Mondemoiseau de Bergerac for insulting his person," said Mirari.

  Albert sank deeper into his chair, refusing to look up at the others seated around the table.

  "Stubborn ass," Betsy mumbled.

  "We need to choose a field of honor. The authorities do tend to frown over dueling, so we'll probably have to take this little dust-up out into the countryside where we stand less of a chance of being caught," Mirari said after bestowing her own frown of disapproval on Albert. "I know several farmers who would be willing to loan us an empty pasture for the purposes of this duel. No fields, though. It won't do to trample their crops."

  "Maybe a barn at night," Betsy suggested. "That would be plenty private."

  "Not roomy enough," de Largo put in.

  "But it would be dramatic!" Betsy leaned over the table. "If someone knocks over an oil lamp, it could burn the barn right down." The others stared at her. Finally, Betsy crossed her arms. "Poo. You're no fun."

  "The best time for a duel is morning," de Largo continued as if Betsy hadn't spoken. "We can get it over with and the survivor can buy the rest of us breakfast."

  Betsy nodded at that. "What weapons? If I understand the rules correctly the challenged party is allowed the choice of weapons. At least that's how it always is in the movies."

  "I am most proficient in the sword," de Bergerac said.

  "But Albert is inept at it," Betsy replied. Albert glared at her with an expression of betrayal on his face. "Well, you are!" she added.

  "Pistols," Denis suggested. "They're a great equalizer. And both men should have only one shot. If both miss, then everyone must forget this whole mess." Albert nodded at that, looking slightly more hopeful. De Largo lifted a single eyebrow as he looked at Betsy, a signal that Denis took to mean that they should pay attention to what he said next. "And I should remind each duelist that if either fails to participate in the duel for whatever reason, the seconds must take over."

  "Agreed!" Betsy said quickly.

  "Wait! What?" Albert looked up in consternation. "I don't want Betsy to take my place!"

  "You should have thought of that before you insulted Mondemoiseau de Bergerac," Betsy said in sing-song. "The two of you will stand back to back. Then we'll count off and at ten paces, you'll turn and fire!"

  "Five paces," de Bergerac said. "His insult to me was intolerable!"

  "I changed my mind!" Albert beat on the table to get their attention. When everyone broke off to look at him, he repeated. "I changed my mind. I don't want Betsy involved in this barbarism! Will Mondemoiseau de Bergerac's accept my formal apology?"

  Cyrano de Bergerac stood and leaned over the table looking at Albert. "If you will allow me to strike you once across the back with my cane, I will consider my honor satisfied."

  Albert glanced once at Betsy and then nodded. "Let's step outside to finish this, then."

  The two men stood. Betsy made to follow, but Denis grasped her arm to stop her. "Leave Albert some pride. I'll go along to make sure everything goes as planned."

  Betsy watched as the three of them exited Mirari's shop through the back way. Then she nodded. "I think I've let Albert's affections get out of hand. Maybe this will make him understand that I am not in love with him."

  "It would be kinder to let him down hard," Mirari said. "He doesn't seem to understand being let down easy. Or perhaps he just chooses not to see that you have no interest in him. And being strung along is proving hazardous to his health."

  Betsy nodded. She looked up when the door opened. It wasn't Cyrano or de Largo, just Denis. For a panicked moment she was afraid that Cyrano had gone ahead and killed Albert.

  "He's all right," Denis said. "I sent him off with some friends of mine who happened to be passing. I told them to take him somewhere and let him soothe his hurt pride in some ale."

  "Men," smiled Mirari. "They think alcohol is a universal cure for everything."

  "If he comes back I suppose that I could tell him that I won't marry such an impetuous man as he has proven himself to be."

  "That might do it," Denis said. "One impetuous person in a marriage is enough."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Betsy folded her arms and scowled at her friend.

  "You could just tell him that you're engaged to Denis," Mirari put in.

  "That's all I need," Denis said. "Pistols at ten paces with Albert."

  "This sounds like something that Cyrano would put in one of his plays," Betsy said and then paused. "Speaking of him, where is Cyrano?"

  "A good question, Madimoselle," a new voice chimed in.

  The three occupants of the table turned as a new person approached the table. His dress was similar to that of Cyrano's. Once he had their attention, the man bowed. "I am the boy's tutor. Abel de Cyrano, lord of Mauvieres and Bergerac placed the boy in my care. But he managed to escape my watchful eye in Badenburg. I've managed to follow him here."

  "You just missed him," Denis said. He and left with Monsieur de Largo. De Largo said he had something that he needed to talk to Cyrano about and, in fact, had been looking for him for several weeks. I had the impression that they were going to be heading out of town, rather quickly."

  The stranger's eyes grew wide. "De Largo." He clapped his hand to his sword. "Please excuse me." With that, he turned and ran from the room.

  "What was that about?" Betsy asked.

  Mirari shook her head and smile
d. "You do know that Charles de Largo is not his real name?" she asked.

  "Well, then, who is he?" asked Denis, glancing back toward the door as if expecting either of the two men to make a dramatic entrance.

  "Charles D'Artagnan," she said.

  "D'Artagnan," said Betsy. "You mean as in D'Artagnan and The Three Musketeers?"

  Mirari reached across the table and picked up a pitcher of hot chocolate and refilled her glass. "I've known a few musketeers. I suppose Charles knows some, but I don't know."

  Betsy just shook her head; she had images of Michael York and Chris O'Donnell running through her head.

  "Oh, by the way," said Denis, fishing in his pocket. "Cyrano asked me to give you a note."

  "I wonder if it's a love poem," Mirari speculated. "He seemed quite taken with you, Betsy."

  Betsy ignored her friend as she scanned the brief note.

  My dear Betsy,

  Regretfully, I must cut my visit to Grantville, and our association short. A situation in France has developed that I must deal with. Unfortunately, this means that I must put aside my work on Our Miss Brooks. I realize now that I do not yet have the skill to write in the way that the story demands. However, I have heard of another up-time story that I think I that I may adapt. It is about a lunatic red-haired woman who repeatedly falls into trouble. I believe I have enough material to adapt this into a series of comedies. I shall call it I Love Betsy.

  Betsy crumpled the note in her hand and growled.

  "Bad news?" Mirari asked.

  "When I see that boy again," Betsy said between clenched teeth, "he's got a lot of 'splainin' to do."

  Paper Mate

  Kerryn Offord

  February 1633, Saalfeld

  Veronika Vorkeuffer stuffed the envelope containing her latest assignment into the post box and smiled as she heard it hit the bottom with a satisfying thud.

  "Still wasting your time trying to 'improve yourself,' I see," an unpleasant voice said from over her shoulder. "It's not going to help you catch an up-timer. They aren't interested in girls like you."

  Veronika turned to face the man whose marriage proposal she'd recently turned down. "I'm not interested in marrying an up-timer," she said truthfully.

  Nikolaus Rorer snorted his disbelief and walked off. Veronika waited for him to enter the Saalfeld council office building before she headed for the reception and typing pool in the same building.

  She was greeted by her co-worker, who'd obviously seen the encounter. "What did the creep say that upset you?" Catrin Schmoller asked.

  "He accused me of wanting to marry an up-timer."

  "Which you of course immediately denied. After all, why would any self-respecting woman want to marry an up-timer? I mean, what do they have to offer a girl, other than a lifestyle to die for?"

  Veronika had to grin at her friend's mock outrage. "I don't think all up-timers are rich. Haven't you noticed how many of their wives seem to hold down jobs? I don't want to go out to work; I want to be a stay-at-home wife and mother."

  "If you married Nikolaus you'd be a stay-at-home wife and mother."

  "Nikolaus doesn't want a stay-at-home wife. He wants a stay-at-home slave. I should never have mentioned I ever worked as a housemaid." Veronika shuddered at the memory of her years of drudgery. "There is no way I'm going to return to that kind of life."

  "You'll be lucky to find someone able to afford for you not to go out to work, and can afford someone to help around the house."

  Veronika dropped her head and sighed in resignation. "I know, but I can dream, can't I? Meanwhile, I'll concentrate on gaining my GED and a better job."

  Schwarza Gewerbegebiet

  Gottfried Spengler stopped at the turnoff to Merkel's mill, looked at the distant mill, and sighed heavily.

  The man he'd been chatting with all the way from their rooms at the single men's accommodations looked at him with concern. "Why the big sigh?" Friedrich Stisser asked.

  "Working for Heinrich isn't turning out as well as I'd hoped."

  "What's your problem? I thought you were in charge of everything?"

  "I am, but I don't have the authority a master in his own mill would have, and Heinrich insists on being consulted about any changes."

  "Well, consult with him and then do what you want. He needs you more than you need him."

  "Unfortunately, that's no longer the case. There are too many journeyman papermakers out there just waiting for the opportunity to run a mill, so I have to waste time explaining the benefits of anything I want to try to someone who doesn't know anything about making paper."

  "That's what you get when you allow just anyone to own a craft shop. At least Heinrich Roentgen is a master brick-maker."

  "It's the fault of the up-timers and their lack of understanding about guilds. They see them as completely bad."

  "Whereas they are really only slightly bad?"

  "Okay, I admit it, I have criticized the guild. But at least under the guild system, the people running the business actually have to have worked in the industry. Now we're starting to be run by the accountants, and you know what the up-timers say about that."

  "Nothing good," Friedrich said. "What is it you want to do that Merkel objects to?"

  "I want to try making paper using wood, but Merkel thinks it's too risky."

  "Can you make paper out of wood?"

  "The up-timers did, and they made a lot of it."

  "What do you call a lot?" Friedrich asked.

  "One factory up-time could make more paper in a single minute than I currently make in a week. In a single day, one up-time factory could make more paper than all of England imports in a year."

  "It's much the same story in brick-making. Some of the up-time kilns could make up to a hundred and fifty thousand bricks a day."

  The two men stared at each other. "We have a long way to go to catch up," Gottfried said. If Merkel isn't interested in letting you make paper from wood, what about going out on your own? Can you afford a mill of your own?"

  "My savings are enough for a regular mill, but I'll need to borrow if I want to take advantage of the advances in papermaking technology. However, the big problem is finding a source of wood. Everything local already has someone's name on it, and while I could move to somewhere where there is spare wood, I need access to people with the technical knowledge to help me with the chemistry."

  "You are a bit stuck. If I hear of someone local with some spare wood, I'll let you know. How much do you need?"

  "If I could get a couple of dozen trees a week, I could match what I'm making at Merkel's."

  "Fifteen reams a day?"

  "Of good quality writing paper," Gottfried said.

  "What's so special about good quality writing paper?"

  "It sells for a hundred dollars a ream. Paper for newspapers sells for only fifty dollars a ream, but you do get twice as much newsprint per ton."

  "Hang on, half the price for twice as much paper? Surely that makes for the same income?" Friedrich asked.

  "Same income, but the costs are higher. You are, after all, making twice as much paper."

  "Well, I wish you luck."

  Gottfried snorted. "I'll need it."

  ****

  Gottfried arrived at the usual tavern after work and fell into a chair. "Merkel's gone too far this time."

  "What's he done?" Friedrich asked.

  "He brought in an up-timer consultant to Taylorize the operation."

  "What is Taylorize?" the man on the other side of Friedrich asked.

  "Oh, sorry. Gottfried, this is Caspar. He started work at the brick works today," Friedrich said.

  Gottfried reached out and shook the man's hand. "Pleased to meet you. It's an up-time term, Herr O’Keefe says the idea is to take a complex task, such as making paper, and break it down into a series of simpler tasks. It means that you can make paper with people who haven't served an apprenticeship."

  "So Merkel won't need to employ you any longer?" Frie
drich asked.

  "No, he'll still have to employ me, or someone like me, to set everything up and make sure everything runs smoothly. The real saving is he can replace the skilled workforce with a cheaper, unskilled workforce and still keep production levels up."

  "How much do the unskilled workers earn?" Caspar asked.

  "About twenty dollars a day," Gottfried said.

  "That's more than I earned as a charcoal burner."

  "Is that why you left charcoal burning to work for the brick works?" Gottfried asked.

  Caspar shook his head. "I've been forced out of the woods my family has worked for over a hundred years by the new coke. We used to supply the forges of Kamsdorf, but no more. Everyone uses coke now."

  Gottfried stared at the man. He'd never thought of charcoal making as being a desirable job, but here was someone who sounded like he missed it. "Surely you're earning better money at the brick works?"

  "Better money," Caspar admitted, "but I miss the hills."

  "Can't you sell the wood for something else?"

  Caspar shook his head. "We only had the right to use coppice wood for charcoal. As soon as we stop making charcoal the rights revert back to the owners."

  "Who are the owners of the rights?" Gottfried asked.

  "The city of Saalfeld owns the land my family works."

  Saalfeld

  Veronika checked the latest tax invoice she'd just finished typing. It seemed correct, so she inserted another invoice and typed a second copy. Every form had to be typed out three times-one copy for the customer, one copy for the office, and one copy just because someone seemed to think they needed a third copy. It made for a very boring existence, only relieved by the occasional call to the reception desk. She let her mind drift for a moment, dreaming of how much better things would be when she gained her GED.

  "Excuse me!"

  She looked up to see a man waiting at the desk. "One moment," she called as she hastily finished the invoice she was working on before hurrying over to serve him.

  "How can I help you?"

  "I would like to talk to someone about taking up the coppice rights to some woods that I believe have become available," Gottfried Spengler said.