by Eric Flint
"Do you think he can be bribed to accept the authenticity of the artifacts?"
"No. Too much of his own prestige is now invested in challenging them. But we may be able to persuade him to take you off the hook. He is interested in the soffioni south of Volterra, I have heard. I will make sure that he knows how much we can help or hurt him in that regard."
* * *
Andrea Cioli addressed the assembly. "I put it to this court that the nobleman Curzio Inghirami has been the innocent victim of a vile deception, practiced by another. A person of his tender age could not, of course, have been expected to recognize the artifacts as fraudulent, and because he was himself beyond reproach, those who considered the artifacts later did not given them as thorough an examination as they would have had they come by a different channel. None, then, is to blame, but the true forger."
"And can you put a name to this forger?" Ferdinand asked.
The councilor turned to Lewis. "Lewis Bartolli. Are you presently aware of any evidence which would suggest that the forger was one other than the vile and despicable Michel Ducos?" The question had been most carefully worded.
Lewis fought to keep a straight face. "No."
Cioli turned to the grand duke. "As I am sure you are aware, Michel Ducos was the mastermind of the plot to assassinate the Holy Father. And I have been informed that his agents planted false documents in attempt to implicate others in the plot.
"Thus, forgery is a technique which the infamous Ducos had used before." Cioli shook his head sorrowfully. "We can only wonder how he intended to exploit these faux Etruscan artifacts. No doubt, we would have eventually found a capsule which contained, in Latin, some subversive utterance, once he had convinced the populace that the writer was a true prophet. Be that as it may, his plot has now been foiled."
Next month they'll be blaming Ducos for stillborn calves and sour milk, Lewis thought.
Niccolo Cavriani whispered to Lewis. "I know that you would rather have denounced Curzio as a forger, but don't forget what we are getting out of this. The Inghirami family has agreed to supply the labor and materials for the Larderello operation. In return for letting Curzio off the hook."
The grand duke, in the meantime, was whispering to Cioli. At last, Cioli called the audience to order.
"Thank you for your report," Ferdinand said. "These are my decisions.
"Signore Curzio Inghirami, I regret any embarrassment which these revelations may have caused you. Be assured that as a scion of the family Inghirami, you remain in my affections. I believe that your affection for history is so great that you acted imprudently in the matter of the dissemination of these inscriptions. Perhaps a course of study at one of our great Tuscan universities would remedy the lacunae in your knowledge which led to this outcome.
"Signore Inghiramo Inghirami, it is not for me to intervene between a father and his son, but it is clear that your Curzio was misled because he did not have the knowledge of Latin, or of history, which one of his calling should acquire. May I ask that you permit him to study those subjects at the University of Florence? If so, I will permit him to list me as his patron.
"Dottore Lewis Philip Bartolli, I have heard that according to your history books, my brother Leopold and I started a famous scientific society in 1657. Having witnessed first the great experiments of our own beloved Galileo Galilei, and now your own rational investigations into the truth of this Etruscan mystery, I have decided that there is no reason to wait more than two decades to establish the Accademia del Cimento. Galileo, of course, will be its first member.
"The word 'cimento,' as you know, means 'experiment.' My cimentisti will disdain the sterile attempt of the Aristotelians to deduce everything; they will insist on the experimental proof of each hypothesis. I would like to invite you to join their ranks."
Me? A member of the same scientific society as Galileo? thought Lewis. "Your Grace, as you know, I am in Tuscany for a particular purpose."
"Indeed. But since that purpose requires scientific investigations, I do not see a conflict."
"Also, I must answer to my superiors as to where I am stationed. I don't know how long I can remain in Tuscany." Lewis carefully avoided any references to his superiors being in the military. Ferdinand knew, but it was not for public release. "However, provided that they have no objection, and that you have no problem with my being a non-resident member, then, of course . . . with the utmost thanks . . . I accept!
Historical Note
There really was a Curzio Inghirami, and in November 1634, he "discovered" Etruscan artifacts, which he called "scariths," which were definitely fake and almost certainly fabricated by him. His big mistake was that he had his Etruscan write on rag paper rather than on linen cloth—a mistake which "my" Curzio avoids thanks to his research in Grantville. For the history of Curzio's scariths, read Ingrid D. Rowland, The Scarith of Scornello: A Tale of Renaissance Forgery (U. Chicago Press: 2004). Note that my chronology differs, thanks to the "butterfly effect" of the Ring of Fire, from the historical one.
Wings on the Mountain
by Terry Howard
The regulars left the table nearest the fire when the strangers came in. At the base of the Matterhorn summer nights are chilly, so a fire is welcome starting in the late afternoon. Strangers paid much higher prices for everything and the whole village, not just the innkeeper, profited. Everyone made strangers welcome.
The four outlanders were barely seated before a jack of beer was set in front of each of them. "There is soup tonight," the innkeeper said, "and clean linen for pallets in the loft. I am sorry but the village has only one sleeping room for travelers and it has already been let.
"Tomorrow would you prefer beef, pork, or fowl?" The village would enjoy what the travelers paid for but did not eat. It was hoped they would want beef.
The guests were taken aback. "You presume we are staying."
"Good sirs, the trail does not lead through the village. When you leave you will go back the way you came. You are not passing through."
A man who, by his dress, did not fit in spoke from the darker back of the room. When he quit paying for meat the village quit making room for him by the fire. "Until Grantville came to the Germanies, only those born here ever came. Most who leave never return. You came to climb the mountain. You will not leave until you have tried."
The four men were clearly astonished.
"Did you think you were the first to try?" the man asked. "Sir Edward Whympel, will, would have been, the first to climb this mountain. If he can do it in 1865, you can do it now and be remembered forever."
A very disappointed traveler asked, "Then we are too late?"
"Too late to be the first to try. You could be the first to succeed."
"Who else has tried?" one outlander demanded.
"Who remembers those who only tried? I can get you the names of the others still in town if you wish."
This caught the attention of the adventurers. One asked, "Other climbers are in town?"
"They have already tried? We must talk to them," demanded another who was clearly noble from his voice. He would have his way. No one would tell him no.
The man in the dark shook his head, "The priest will not allow it."
"What does the priest have to say about it?"
"Raising the dead takes a witch, and the priest will see any known witch burned. None will raise the dead for you, no matter how much you pay."
"How many have tried?"
"They say the first ones came early last year. We were the fourth group, you are the fifth. There are four men in the church yard and three more on the mountain. Others have gone back down the pass. I decided to wait for another group and try again. I'll be happy to tell you everything I know, and act as a guide, as long as I can join you in your climb."
The innkeeper asked, "Would you gentlemen like bread and soup now or later? I can add cheese and some pickles. We will do better tomorrow."
Pocket Money
by John and Patti Friend
Kloee glared at Emery, as Dakota held up a dried cob. "So this is the big deal you found to get us some extra money?" Kloee and her kin were meeting in Papaw Murray's barn because it was the one place they could go without some adult looking over their shoulders. Kin in this case meant her brother Emery, her sister Dakota, little brother Zackie, and sort-of-cousins Freddie Bates, Franz Meyers-Bates, Wilhelm Engling-Bates, called WB, and Sybella Doebling-Bates, who everyone just called Sybie. Some up-timer, some down-timer, but all family.
"You know that me and Emery go with Papaw Murray when he goes out," Dakota said proudly. "Well, Papaw's friends, the Knapps, kind of pick up something for him. And that got me an idea how to make some money." A conspiratorial look appeared on Dakota's face. When no one asked her what the Knapps bought for her grandfather, she blurted, "Tobacco! Papaw smokes when he ain't home and Granny Murray can't catch him."
Kloee laughed. "Like Granny Murray don't know everything Papaw does. Papaw ain't half as smart as he thinks."
"So what does a dried-up, broken corncob have to do with anything?" Franz asked.
"Well, how do you think Papaw smokes his tobacco?" Dakota responded sharply. "Ain't you heard anyone complain about no paper fit to roll cigarettes or how expensive pipes are?"
Freddie tugged at the skull-and-cross-bone earring he wore. "Sure," he mumbled. "I hear that sorta thing from Frau Meyers. She has bugged Papa about finding a way to make paper for cigarettes."
"Okay, Dakota, go ahead and tell us how a no-good, broken corncob's going to make us some spending money," Kloee ordered. She was rewarded with an icy stare from Dakota.
"Well, Papaw says that down-timer pipes is too expensive and he just holla's out an ol' corncob and a elderberry twig and makes his own pipe. Don't cost nothin' to make and lasts awhile."
"I don't think we can make money that way," said Sybie.
"Sure we can," WB interjected. "Papa says that there are lots of people smoking tobacco 'cause the English, French, Dutch, and Spanish is all growing and selling it right now and ain't a lot a people saying it ain't good for you."
"I don't know," Kloee said. "How we going to sell them if we do make them? I don't know no one that smokes and I sure ain't gonna stand on a corner in Grantville and sell them." Becoming a street vendor would be very undignified and spoil her image in school. After all, she was fourteen now and had an image to maintain. She wasn't like Dakota, who kept her hair cropped short and dressed like a boy. Besides, selling pipes at school would be a quick way to get expelled. That wasn't happening, either. She could just see her friends buying corncob pipes and smoking. How gross would that be?
"We make them and my grandmother can sell them," Franz said proudly.
"Sure; and the Hun will take all the money and save it for us, too," Freddie added scornfully. Frau Meyers showed each of them the money she put into their own accounts every month—accounts they couldn't touch. She even put half their allowances into the bank for them. Mama Margaretha thinking it was a great idea and Papa not wanting to go against Frau Meyers on the matter of banking didn't help, either.
"Don't call my grandmother 'the Hun,'" Franz snapped. His peevishness drew snickers from WB and Sybie.
"I don't want old Frau Meyers managing my money or anything else," Dakota spoke up. "I don't care if she is Franz's granny, she's a nasty old woman."
"We need something we can make and sell ourselves so we can buy some things we want." Kloee commented in order to head off a battle between Franz, Freddie, and Dakota and because she could think of a bunch of things she wanted that no one would buy for her or give her the money for right now. It seemed she would have to make the money to buy them herself.
Her comment had been too little too late. The meeting broke down when everyone started yelling and arguing. Freddie and Franz were near blows over comments about Frau Meyers. Sybie and Dakota were arguing about the way a girl should act at school—nothing to do with money at all. WB was just sitting off to the side, looking irritated and ready to leave.
"Enough!" Kloee yelled. "Let's just get back to the stupid pipes." If the bickering kept up, Granny Murray would be out here, giving all of them grief.
"Good. I'm tired of this squabbling," WB said. "Go ahead, Dakota."
Kloee's sister smiled at the fourteen-year-old boy. Dakota had a nice smile and it wasn't lost on WB.
"Okay, this is how this works," Dakota began. "You have to have a good corncob to start with. Just any old cob ain't gonna do."
"Papaw says it needs to be from something like the corn Granny Murray and Auntie Phyllis grow, not from some of that big fancy stuff that everyone else likes to raise. Anyways, the corn has to be barely ripe, not full yet. You gotta get the corn off the cob, dry the cob good, and then holler it out like this." For the purpose of demonstration, Dakota broke out her pocket knife and started removing the pithy inside portion of the half cob.
"Papaw told Emery that all the soft stuff had to come out. Course, you can't get all the soft stuff out; that's why someone's gonna hafta smoke each pipe a couple of times to burn it out."
Kloee felt herself turn green. She and Cherie had tried a cigarette and both had become violently sick, possibly because the cigarette was yellow with age and had come from an old pack one of the other girls had found; but whatever the cause, her experience had convinced her that smoking wasn't cool.
"I can do that," Freddie volunteered.
Trust Freddie Bates to do something gross, Kloee thought. Of course, Freddie was almost sixteen and no one was going give him any crap about smoking.
Dakota held up a piece of wire and a thin branch from an elderberry bush. "This is the part that's tricky. You have to get the wire really hot and push it into the stem. The branch has to be the right size with enough of a soft inside for the wire to burn out.
"You can burn yourself real good if you pick up the hot wire. Emery sure did when he made his own pipe. Just wait 'til Papaw or Mama Melodie catch him with it."
Kloee didn't think that would take long for Emery to get caught.
". . . the stem down so it fits tight in the hole in the cob," Dakota was saying. "Papaw says you don't want smoke leakin' 'cause the pipe won't draw right if the stem don't fit tight."
The meeting's discipline broke down again when everyone pushed forward to see the finished pipe Dakota had put together earlier. Maybe her sister wasn't so dumb after all, thought Kloee. Dakota had put the presentation together as neatly as a science demonstration at school.
As much Kloee hated to say it, Dakota might have something with her pipe. It sure wouldn't cost anything to make and there were six of them to do the work in their free time. The only problem was how to sell them.
The answer kept coming back to Frau Meyers; and Freddie was right, Frau Meyers wasn't a good person to get involved with. Maybe she could get Helene away from her job and boyfriend long enough to talk to her grandmother and fix it so Frau Meyers didn't mess them up.
"We have to get the cobs pretty quick," Dakota said. "If we wait much longer, the corn will be too ripe and the cobs won't be any good. "
Acquiring the corn would be another job for her, Kloee realized. They would have to have Granny Murray's or Auntie Phyllis' permission to harvest some of the corn early. She would have to negotiate some sort of work trade with them. After all, the corn not only fed everyone, it was also one of their major cash crops. She was the only one who would be able to work this out. Maybe she could catch Helene Monday after school. She could talk to Granny Murray today. Tomorrow wouldn't be a good time. After church, Granny Murray would be all religious and set in her ways worse than normal, making her down on anything dealing with tobacco.
The discussion went on for another hour before Granny Murray called them in to lunch. They wouldn't see each other tomorrow. Everyone would be at their churches.
* * *
Kloee helped Granny Murray wash the dishes from lunch. The other members of the infant Murray-Bates
Pipe Company, except for Freddie, had taken off to play "What Time Is It, Mr. Fox." Freddie had taken off to help Uncle JJ work on his water wheel. One of these days, the thing would work the way he wanted it to. He had another car generator he wanted to hook to it. The old one had burned out for some reason.
"Grandma Murray, can I ask a big favor of you?" Kloee began.
Doreen Murray smiled. "So that's why you volunteered to help me clean up after your sister and friends."
Kloee wanted to protest her innocence but knew better than to fib to Granny Murray. Granny had no tolerance for fibbing. "Grandma Murray, we want to make money besides our chore money and we have a way. We need help from you and Auntie Phyllis, though. We want to make corncob pipes and need permission to harvest some of your corn."