Grantville Gazette, Volume 65

by Bjorn Hasseler

  "Surely you haven't been taken in by his absurd protestation of innocence!"

  "Not without corroboration, no. In my position I expect to be lied to."

  Dirk looked at him. Did his bland expression and posture convey a studied insult?

  Van Loo went on, "And there are wider implications to be looked into. The drum and the whistle you brought in are Irish, at least in form. You didn't notice that, and you a captain of customs? It certainly riveted my attention. If Archduchess Isabella's Irish followers have their noses into hidden doings hereabouts, I would very much like to be informed. I have written to the capital for what light they may be able to shed on that aspect." Van Loo rose. "Now, I have other business to attend to. Kindly attend to yours. I believe you still have unfinished business with an enterprising crew of smugglers?"

  Dirk smacked the chair arm one more time with his closed fist. "You dawdle. I shall be making a report to higher authority, and it will no doubt be forwarded higher yet."

  Van Loo harrumphed. "As you will." And pointed to the door.

  Words were already forming in Dirk's head.

  Coudenberg Palace, Brussels

  Several days later

  Adriano Navarro glanced with pride for just a moment at the fine new silver-mounted mechanical pencil cradled in his right hand—the latest and most refined of its kind from Essen. Much more satisfactory than the old sort of pencil. He slid the letter from the Rotterdam harbormaster sideways in the clipboard he held in his other hand, so he could make some marginal notes as he walked. Clipboards were such a great convenience, why had no-one devised them before the Americans were thrust so unwillingly into the world?

  The surroundings were elegant enough. Even this far from the formal audience chamber and the grand entrance hall, there were touches of gilt on the wall sconces and the benches where visitors awaited their appointments with the staff. He paid them no mind. With a few minutes free, he had the thought of stepping outside to enjoy the sight of the gardens before the day got hot, while he finished putting down his thoughts. He had nearly reached the door, navigating by peripheral vision, when a voice came from over his shoulder.

  "Señor Navarro, a moment, please. His Majesty's private secretary sends these to you, and asks that you take care of the matter. Quietly, if at all possible."

  Adriano put on a cordial expression and turned around to look old Gonzalo Mendez full in the face. There were those among Their Majesties' courtiers who gave even the most senior clerks no more attention than pieces of furniture obstructing their passage. Not Adriano. He knew full well that little of importance happened in the court without their knowledge—and the knowledge of those who treated them with just the proper degree of recognition.

  Adriano looked doubtfully at the ribbon-tied packet of papers the man took from under an elbow and thrust into his hands. Slipping the top sheet out and unfolding it, he scanned quickly through the body. He looked back up with raised eyebrows. "This, Gonzalo? Public turmoil in Maastricht and accusations of witchcraft? Quietly?"

  Gonzalo favored him with the merest hint of a bow. "I have heard His Majesty speak highly of you. No doubt he has utter confidence in your ability to manage this…what did his secretary call it?…this unfortunate perturbation of the public tranquility."

  Adriano let a sardonic tone creep into his voice. "There is a lesson, my friend, for this knotty tangle, apparently, is my reward for earning the king's confidence. How delightful!"

  The clerk grinned back. "The lesson, I should think, is that by untangling such knots you keep your admirable place at court." He stepped back and cast a meaningful eye up and down the Italian silk and Flemish lace of Adriano's apparel. "By the way you dress, you seem to prosper by it."

  "It satisfies me. Well. This is not something to be managed at a distance. I must go myself, and by the look of this, I must go today. You know the proper clerk to make the travel arrangements?"

  "I shall see it is done, Señor Navarro. For yourself only, I assume?"

  "For myself, a pair of level-headed soldiers who will quiet any trouble and not stir up any of their own, and a certain corporal I have in mind who has a fine way with people. When he deftly turns wandering visitors away from a part of the palace they should not enter and helpfully gives them directions to where they want to go, they scarcely realize they were stopped by a man ready to bloody his sword. I take leave of you now, for if I am to have such paragons, I must go pay my respects to the Captain of the Guard."

  Maastricht

  Adriano left Corporal Loosvelt in charge of settling the party into their lodging and went straightaway to call on the local prosecutor. Van Loo shook his hand and gestured him to a reasonably comfortable chair. A glass of wine would have been nice, or even small beer, but after all, he had not sent notice ahead. On to the matters at hand, then. "So, Mijnheer van Loo, I understand there have been further developments since your inquiry and Mijnheer van der Valk's report reached us?"

  "Yes, Señor Navarro. Van der Meulen's wife Grietje Osterhoudt declares she will throw him over, legally or not. And it wasn't the revelation of his mere presence at the affair that made her boil over with such force, it was his, shall we say, prominent position in the thing. She is most intolerant of adultery, that woman, and she has a fine command of invective. I was altogether impressed. His claim to her of being away negotiating business on that particular night has entirely unraveled—for this year and the previous three."

  "Mmm. She seems not to have known of it, then."

  "No, she thought he was only out drinking somewhere. But the Gronsveld villagers apparently did know. They showed little excitement when word went around. A few have visited him in jail, and shown an attitude of sympathy."

  "Implying that it's well-known among them, and likely nothing new. I note your skepticism of the captain's dark accusations, but it would be best to know the full meaning of what he found."

  Van Loo tapped his fingers on his cane. "Well, there, we might have a small bit of luck. Van der Meulen's grandmother in Gronsveld is sometimes not altogether in touch with the world's affairs, shall we say, but she likes to talk, she likes sympathetic company, and she likes good drink. And one of my men saw a sly expression cross her face when she heard what her grandson had been doing. There is a part-time watchman who has a cart business, and his work sometimes takes him there. He's quite the story-teller, even sober. I think she might find him pleasant company for an afternoon."

  Adriano chuckled. "Ah. That would be a fascinating conversation to listen to, but I suppose a Spanish courtier would not be the sort of audience to encourage her to speak of these matters. Still, if good drink might loosen her tongue, perhaps the bottle of French brandy I have in my baggage would be worth the sacrifice. With a change of clothes, Corporal Loosvelt can go in my place and help keep the conversation going. He can gossip with the best of them, when duty demands. With a little luck, they can bring us her tales of what happens on Midsummer's Eve."

  "Good, good, they can set off in the morning. And what of the Irish?"

  "A most interesting question, Mijnheer van Loo, to be sure. Her Highness the Archduchess knows nothing of any Irish troops coming to Maastricht, even in passing. She was puzzled when I asked. I have sent an inquiry to their commanders, but heard nothing yet. I shall inform you when I do, never fear. And now, if you don't mind, I would like to meet your talented lens grinder."

  Gronsveld

  Bright and early

  Isak Haeften pulled up his cart just outside the village until the old woman was out of doors and could see them coming. Meanwhile, he and Anthonij Loosvelt passed the time talking about Boskoop; if the corporal was going to play the part of a relative from Haeften's home town, it would help to know something about the place. Away in the fields, a soft breeze stirred the ripening crops.

  As soon as the cart came abreast of her cottage, she called out a greeting. It was the most natural thing in the world to halt the horse again and slip on the nosebag. I
t was a fine sunny day to dally around the doorstep by her kitchen garden and fall into a pleasant chat. By good fortune, none of the neighbors were close enough to caution the old woman against talking of private matters in front of a stranger.

  She looked well enough, aside from a slight stoop and not very many teeth.

  "And who is this, Isak?"

  "My third cousin Anthonij, Grandmother. We were home for a short visit, just in time for Midsummer Festival. It was wonderful. We had a maypole for the children, just like the English do. But they have theirs earlier, you know."

  "Maypoles and things, eh? Oh, yes, we have things for the children too, but that's not all. Oh, no. Why, I remember, when I was a young girl and first betrothed, we had this dance we did." A quick smile passed across her face. "But that was not for the children to see. No, they wouldn't have understood." There was a happy lilt in her aged voice.

  The conversation was wandering already, but that was all to the good. Loosvelt pasted a bright smile on his face. "A dance? What sort, Grandmother?"

  Her face and posture changed, as if in her mind she was back in those days. "Well, we . . ."

  The conversation wandered some more. After a while she brought them inside to share a little small beer she had. They shared a little brandy. It came back to the dance again. All the while, Isak listened politely and made cheerful noises from time to time. What she was saying mostly agreed with what the two prisoners had protested to van Loo. Finally, he decided to risk probing a little. "It sounds like a very charming old village custom. Jan Marten says it has come down from before the Romans came."

  She sat up straight and made a sharp gesture in front of her face, like brushing away a fly. "Pfff! From before the Romans, he says? Oh, the things somebody has been filling his head with! No, no, my great-grandmother was there when it all began. She was young then, and her friend Agnes was the cause of it all. A young fellow was after her, you see, and she wasn't taking him seriously as a suitor. But she had this romantic streak, a head all full of fairy tales and such. So he took bits of the fantastic Carnival costumes, and old legends and things he said he read in a book in Leuven, and whatever else he could find that sounded mysterious, and maybe a little schnapps? Yes, yes, a little schnapps, for certain. Nothing as good as this, I'm sure."

  She held out her cup for another finger of brandy. Loosvelt poured for her.

  "Oh, thank you." She sipped. "And so he arranged everything, and decorated the cavern, and invited a few friends to make it a celebration of Midsummer's Eve. There was music and dance under the old wall painting. Maybe it meant something once, I don't know. And she danced it with him. And came home happy and betrothed. They married in late summer. It's said they needed to. And ever since, whoever's being betrothed that year, we have the Midsummer's Eve dance. Even more fun, since the time that Irish tinker lost everything he had in a dice game. I remember that year, so long ago. Such fun we had! He played for us, and we feasted him. And the music has been better ever since."

  Oho! And that's the other mystery solved! But Isak knew better than to interrupt with more questions, he just smiled and kept listening until she took a pause.

  "Oh, that all sounds like such a happy custom, Grandmother. And if nobody is betrothed when the night comes?"

  "Well, then, sometimes a new married couple."

  "And if there isn't one?"

  She cackled and winked. "Someone always finds a way to have the dance. As you said, it's a happy custom. And what do they do in Boskoop?"

  Maastricht

  Early evening

  The chamber was a bit crowded with the four of them in there. Corporal Loosvelt found it easiest to lean back against the closed door.

  Haeften spread his hands wide, in an almost Gallic shrug. "Mijnheer van Loo, Señor Navarro, there is much less here than meets the eye. A long time ago somebody found a clever way to get a girl naked."

  By the time Loosvelt and Haeften got done explaining, van Loo was tapping away on the top of his cane, looking more and more thoughtful. Adriano sent him an inquiring lift of an eyebrow.

  "The difficulty, Señor Navarro, is that they have broken no laws, or at least none we don't wink at in the inns and brothels. Yet with the great disorder van der Valk has stirred up among the rabble in his efforts to raise a clamor for a witchcraft trial, I hate to imagine what would likely happen if I simply turned them loose. It would be heresy by any standard, even the standards of Jews and Turks, if they actually thought they were invoking some pagan deity. But all they were doing was carrying on a salacious mockery of imagined ancient revels. It amounted to no more than Carnival, carried to an extreme. Though even if it were otherwise, if I understand the king's policy of religious toleration—"

  "Ah, that was only meant to keep the peace between Catholics, Lutherans, and Calvinists, so the realm could be strong. And in any case, his policy is tolerance, not outright protection of anything and everything. The expense would be unmanageable. So would the political consequences."

  "Mmmph. And so we come back to the simple matter of restoring the peace. The city could hardly afford to protect them indefinitely."

  Adriano settled himself further back into his chair and laced his fingers together across his belt. "So, we, too, must think creatively. My instructions were to deal with the matter quietly, above all. It occurs to me that if they somehow found themselves in the United States, it would put an instant end to any concern over spurious cries of witchcraft."

  Van Loo looked startled. "You refer to last year's rampages against their witch hunters? True, if any still live, they must cower under their beds from the fury of the mob."

  "Precisely. So, perhaps a mysterious escape and a swift flight to parts unknown might be the quietest manner of bringing this contrived turmoil to an end. Someone at the jail might perhaps be a little inattentive tonight or be bothered by some sort of distraction, hmm?"

  Van Loo cocked his head. "Such things do happen, after all. But what of their goods and settling matters between van der Meulen and his wife and son? I suppose they could manage the shop without him, but . . ."

  "Details. But details are important, of course. Shall we set about deciding who does what? And then you might direct me to that inn where they have the radio. I will have some things to set in motion elsewhere."

  The van der Meulen house

  Midnight

  It took a good deal of knocking on the shop door to rouse the lens grinder's wife. When Grietje Osterhoudt finally opened the door, she erupted with monumental fury at the sight of her husband. Adriano cut through the diatribe with his best palace-trained voice of command. "Enough, madam. There is business to settle now."

  The word "business" might have gone a long way toward interrupting the torrent of words. No doubt his aristocratic dress and posture contributed to catching her attention, not to mention van Loo and Haeften right behind him each holding a lantern. As for his military contingent, he'd detailed them to make certain the serving girl had no difficulty collecting her possessions and outstanding wages from the inn.

  "Now kindly allow us to step inside, so that it all doesn't have to be discussed in the street."

  "What—"

  They slipped in past her. Haeften quietly closed the door.

  "Now, to business. It has been decided that you will have the dissolution you demand. And Mijnheer van der Meulen will be leaving. Before dawn. You and your son are to have the shop, and your husband is to have his personal possessions, for which we've brought a cart to carry them away to the river landing, where a barge already awaits. And all the money there is in the house. He will need it for traveling expenses."

  "What? All the money? But—"

  "If you need money for immediate expenses, sell something. You have a just complaint against your husband, but that doesn't extend to leaving him penniless until he can find work in a foreign land. And if you have anything else to negotiate, do it in the next hour, for you are not likely to see him again. At least,
not unless you travel abroad."

  Jan Marten half-raised one hand. "Grietje, I'm sorry, I—"

  "Sorry? Sorry? I don't care how sorry you are, I could put up with you telling me you were away on business when you were really out drinking somewhere, but now I find out you were about to plunge yourself into that whore while I—and how long has that been going on? If you're going to pack up and go, just do it." She turned her back.

  Jan Marten started up the stairs, with Haeften behind him carrying an armload of sacks.

  ****

  Departure went quietly enough to satisfy anyone. Haeften drove the cart to a landing outside the town, by a roundabout route well clear of the more disreputable drinking places. Adriano bade a cordial farewell to him and the prosecutor, and turned to board the barge.

  The trip of a hundred miles or so down the Maas to Willemstad might have been a pleasure excursion in other circumstances. The weather was certainly fine. But Adriano's charges were in no frame of mind to appreciate it. He was happy enough to see it come to an end.

  It was close to mid-day and near the end of flood tide when they tied up to the Danish coaster Ebeltoft in midstream. The anchor was already hove short and the topsails were draped loose in their buntlines, ready to let fall. Someone looked down over the rail. "Hello. You are?"

  "Adriano Navarro, of Their Majesties' staff."

  "Good. We are ready for you. I am the mate, Knud Bang." He made a hand signal to someone on deck, and more heads appeared. The boatswain and a couple of the hands were brisk enough hoisting Jan Marten's baggage aboard on a line dropped from a yardarm. They didn't even need the line for Lucia's; she had her clothes and back wages and little else.