Grantville Gazette 37 gg-37

by Коллектив Авторов

  "You see, sir," Estil said, as he screwed together the two halves of his pool cue. It was in his suitcase. Everything he owned was in the suitcase. A good pool cue, like his own tux, was something Estil insisted on having. "About a hundred years from now people will stop using clubs completely. This is a cue stick."

  The count interrupted. "You mean like using the queue of the mace when the ball is too close to the bank?"

  "Queue?" Estil asked.

  "Ah, at last! An American who is willing to admit he does not know everything. I was beginning to think such did not exist. Queue is French for tail. It is what we call the small end of the mace."

  "Oh, that makes sense. You see, I can get a lot more control out of a cue stick than you can out of a mace."

  "Young man, I am quite good at billiards. Would you care to place a wager on a game? I should, in fairness, tell you I have only lost one game in the last year."

  "How much do you want to lose?" Estil asked.

  "How much can you afford?" came the reply.

  "Everything you were planning on paying me!"

  "Agreed."

  "Set them up."

  Lady Luck smiled on Estil as she had never smiled on him before.

  "So, whose idea was it to hold a cocktail party?"

  "Marie's," the count told Estil, "She saw a cocktail party in a movie at the Higgins Hotel on our honeymoon. I took my first and my second wife on a trip to Rome. I offered to take Marie to Rome, too. She said she'd rather see Grantville. To tell you the truth, at my age I didn't want to make the journey to Rome, anyway. Grantville was new and exciting for both of us."

  Estil's first turn was the longest run in his life. Near the end of the game he was looking at a nearly impossible shot. He called it and asked, "Double or nothing?"

  The count nodded.

  Estil made the shot and made it look easy.

  "Heinrich!" The count bellowed. "Somebody, find the chief steward immediately."

  When the man arrived, out of breath, the count was screwing Estil's stick back together. "Of course, it only needs to be in two pieces for traveling," Estil was saying.

  "Ah, Heinrich, take Herr Congden to the wood turner first thing tomorrow and have a dozen queue sticks made up."

  The clacking of billiard balls lingered into the darkest hours of the night before the count was ready to call an end to the lesson. At dawn, after only three hours of sleep, Heinrich was shaking Estil awake.

  "Leave me alone."

  "But, Herr Congden, the count said we were to go to the wood turner first thing this morning."

  "Fine, come back while it is still morning at, say, eleven thirty."

  "Eleven thirty would not be the first thing in the morning. The count will want to see the new sticks after he breakfasts."

  In the coach on the way back to the town house after taking the first turned and waxed stick to a harness shop to be tipped, with arrangements for eleven more to follow, Estil told Heinrich, "I will never, ever bet against the count on a game of pool again. After one night, he is as good as I am and I've been shooting pool for years. With some practice he will be the next national champion."

  In the early afternoon, right after breakfast, the count was back in the billiards room getting a feel for his new cue stick. "Ah, Herr Congden, how much shall we wager today?"

  "One dollar per game is my limit."

  "But last night you were willing to risk it all?"

  "Last night I had never seen you shoot pool. I asked you how much you were willing to lose. Well, I am willing to lose one dollar. So one dollar is all I am going to bet, because just as sure as the felt is flat, I am going to lose."

  "You are not being fair. I deserve a chance to win it back."

  "Sir, when I put my winnings in my suitcase, everything I have in the world will be in that one bag. Is it fair you were born rich and I wasn't? You are a count, I am a bartender."

  "Yes, I often forget you American's are peasants. You just don't act like peasants are supposed to. Well, what are you going to do with the money you won?"

  "I don't even know how much it is. I was never told what the gig paid. There is only one thing I've wanted for years now, and I doubt I won enough to cover it."

  "Oh? And what is that?" the count asked in a friendly way as he leaned over the table to take a shot.

  This is when Estil made his first big mistake. "A pool hall of my own, with a cocktail bar." Estil said starting with what he knew the count was interested in. "Now, stop and chalk the tip. You slipped on the last stroke. Then, when you shoot the next shot, cue it low so you get back spin. You want to come back out to set up the shot after that."

  The old man had a soft touch and excellent control.

  "Good. Now, what's your next shot after this one?"

  "I want to come back down the table," the count said, pointing at the far end of the table.

  "That will work," Estil said.

  "Your own pool hall? You will need an estate house to have a pool hall."

  "Naw. You would need someplace in a big town, say, Magdeburg. You would want at least three tables. Six would be better."

  "Three?" But you can only play on one at a time."

  "Oh, the tables are for the customers."

  "You would put billiards in a common inn?"

  "Of course not! It would be a most uncommon inn. First it would be members only, or by invitation. And the membership would be limited to gentlemen. You would have a wine cellar the envy of all Europe and a superlative kitchen. You would want a half-dozen permanent chess tables for long running games and extra boards for short play. It would be a quiet place where gentlemen could gather and socialize without planning or hosting an event. There would be half-a-dozen rooms available for those nights a man stayed late and didn't want to make the trip home, or planned overnight stays for men who do not keep a residence in Magdeburg and are in town alone without any family in tow for a night or two."

  "These rooms for overnight guests, would you be staffing them?"

  "Yes, but if you mean would we be providing female companionship, then the answer is no. I don't care to run a whorehouse. If a gentleman has need of such, then he can go elsewhere. The club would be a place of civilized companionship between gentlemen. There are times the ladies are just a distraction-not that I don't fully appreciate being distracted, mind you-but everything in its place, after all. The Lord created Eve to be a distraction and look where that got us. No, the staff would all be male."

  The count chuckled. "Well said, young man." With the rising prominence of the lower house of the legislature, and with Gustav pandering to the masses, the idea of a club for cultured gentlemen-limited to such by the very stiff fees it would take to keep such an establishment running-appealed to the count.

  ****

  The party was a smashing success. The waltz was watched closely and invitations like "why don't you plan on coming a few days early to my next party so you can teach a few of us," were widely offered to Estil and to the young dancers, who were suddenly very popular people. Several more people asked Estil where their staff could reach him in the future.

  The night of the party, when the count was not trying to sample every new drink on the menu or waltzing with his young wife, he could be found in the billiard room demonstrating the use of a pool cue. Anytime he was in the billiard room, he was talking about a capital city gentleman's club. Estil was asked repeated question about what the club would entail. Everyone who asked a question assumed Estil would oversee its founding and running. One person did ask outright if he was willing to do so.

  Estil smiled and said, "Sure, why not." He had, after all, hit the lottery in a big way.

  Along about dawn, when the last of the guests were on their way home or put to bed and the old count was out for the count, a teenaged girl slipped into Estil's bedroom and bed. Estil had been concentrating on his dream all night long. He found himself quite ready for a distraction.

  This was Estil's sec
ond big mistake.

  ****

  On the third of January 1635, Estil stepped out of a gold-trimmed coach in front of the building used by the State Department in Magdeburg. He stopped in the office with the words Community Relations painted on the door to pick up the wardrobe he had been forced to leave there.

  "Estil, thank you for the invitation to the party. My wife was very impressed. Do you think you could teach us to waltz?"

  "Victor, I could, I guess, but when and where? I'm heading back to Grantville now that the party is over."

  "Oh? Why? You'll just have to turn around and come back."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We've got you scheduled to consult for a party on January twenty-third and they want you there as soon as you can make it. Then there's two more in late February. They're only a week apart, but they're both here in town so you can manage both. We have four requests in March and you'll only be able to do one of them so we haven't decided yet-"

  "You what? You scheduled me? How dare you?"

  "We were going to wait until you got here. But someone from Grantville stopped by to ask how things went. This was just after the first request arrived. He told us to go ahead and schedule you. He said to tell you Ken, whoever he is, figured out he doesn't need bar help, so you need a job."

  "You can just take a flying leap at the moon. I don't care if I need a job or not. I'm going home."

  "I was told to tell you that Ken has rented out your trailer while you were gone."

  "Damn! That ain't fair. Now I'm going to have to find another place to stay."

  "Oh, we've got you booked into a boarding house the navy is using. I was told to tell you that if you objected, to get used to it."

  Estil put his suitcase down, closed his eyes and pushed his eyebrows together so hard Victor was sure it had to hurt. "So I was hoping you could get the wife and me into the waltz classes you will be teaching here in town in February."

  Estil let his breath out slowly and so loudly it was practically a groan. "Yes, Victor. If I can get you into a dance class, then I will."

  "That would be great. My wife will be so happy." The bright young man was practically beaming.

  "So, where do I go next? When do I leave? Is there time to get my clothes laundered?"

  "Someone has opened up a Grantville dry cleaning shop here in town, so getting your clothes cleaned and pressed is a snap." Victor was on top of all of the latest buzz words. "They've made arrangements with a livery stable to have a coach ready for you. So, when is now-or at least as soon as we can get your clothes back from the dry cleaners. It's expensive, but don't worry. The office will pick up the tab. Let me get a page in here and get your clothes off to the dry cleaners and then I'll take you to lunch."

  ****

  Before leaving town Estil stopped at the Abrabanel Bank office. He didn't like carrying a bag of gold around. The pay had been generous even before he bet it all and then went double or nothing.

  ****

  In February, Count and Countess von Leiningen-Westerburg were still residing in their newly-finished Magdeburg residence in order to attend both of the waltz parties. She had been distant and he had been cold to Estil at the first party. Estil shrugged it off almost without noticing. He really was quite busy before, during and after the party.

  But it was not possible to shrug off the six armed men who interrupted one of the several waltz classes Estil was conducting in the week between the two parties.

  "Estil Congden, you will come with us."

  "I'd rather not," Estil said.

  Two of the six grabbed Estil and preceded to frog march him toward the door.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Victor demanded.

  "It is a private matter," the head of the party said very curtly. "It is none of your concern."

  "Mister Congden's services are contracted through our office at the State Department. So it clearly is my concern! He does not wish to accompany you. I demand you release him immediately."

  Without a word, one of the men, who did not have Estil in hand and was not holding a door open or being addressed by a young bureaucrat who was showing more spunk than good sense, expertly clipped the bright young man on the back of the head, dropping him onto the floor. He would wake up with a headache to shame any self respecting hangover.

  Estil was hustled out of the ballroom, out of the house, without his overcoat, and into a coach while Victor's wife got blood all over her dress and filled the ballroom with loud tears.

  It wasn't long before the horse stopped in a coach yard. The armed men pulled a reluctant Estil out of the coach to usher him into a kitchen, through the butler's pantry, a dining room and finally into a sitting room where a decrepit old man waited in a massive chair before a roaring fire.

  Estil had to look twice to recognize Count von Leiningen-Westerburg. The man looked as if he had aged twenty years in the last two months.

  "Leave us," the count said.

  "But, sir, is it safe?"

  The old man snorted a laugh. "What is he going to do? Kill me? Get out!"

  When they were alone the old man stared at the younger man for what seemed like an eternity. "When you were a guest in my house, did you sleep alone?"

  "Well . . . that is . . ."

  The old man slammed his palm down on the arm of the chair with what seemed like a thunderclap and roared with a voice which made the plaster thankful it was new. "Don't lie to me, young man! I happen to know for a fact, after the second night under my roof, you did not sleep alone. Some nights you would start with one and finish with another."

  "Sir, they came willingly."

  "That is not the point!"

  "And the point is?" Estil asked.

  The count almost seemed to crumble. "My wife is expecting."

  "Congrat . . . and you think it's . . . but she would never . . . if you were home she slept with you and when you weren't home, a maid slept in your bed with her."

  "Except for the night of the party," the count said in a quiet voice. "I danced like a man half my age and drank like a man half that. I fell asleep and slept the sleep of the damned. My wife was there when I went to bed and when I woke up. I have no idea where she was in between. You had guests in the night. Did you sleep with my wife?"

  "Have you asked her?"

  "No. I have not and I will not. She would say she did not, whether she did or not. Did!" Slam. "You!" Slam. "Sleep!" Slam. "With my wife?"

  Estil grew very calm. He was quite sure the count would detect any lie, no matter how slight, so he knew he had to absolutely believe what he said next. His father once told him, "Son, whether it is right or whether it is wrong does not matter as long as you believed what you are saying is true. It does not have to be true; you just have to believe it is. Just remember, the human capacity to believe the unbelievable is almost bottomless."

  It was time to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as it needed to be under the current circumstances. Estil made hard eye contact with the count and solemnly said, "I did n-"

  Estil stopped in mid-word. He found himself looking down the bore of a new, expensive, beautifully crafted, petite, break action, single shot pistol which could chamber either a .45 or a .410 shell.

  Estil found himself thinking, Can't I get anything right? He's the jealous husband of a young wife but I'm the one who's supposed to be sixty-five.

  As he watched, the count slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

  "It can't be mine. I can't have kids. It's true. When I was a child I got sick and my balls swelled up to the size of your fist. I'm infertile," Estil shouted.

  The count hesitated.

  "It's true. It can't be mine. It's possible I slept with your wife. I don't know that I did. But I don't know that I didn't, either. Whether I did or I didn't doesn't matter. The child is not mine!"

  The old man eased off of the trigger. He looked at Estil with a penetrating glare that could teach ice a thing or two about be
ing cold. "I want to believe you. If it is not yours, then it is mine, as unlikely as that seems. I must have managed while I was drunk and I do not clearly remember. I thought it was a dream.

  "I want to believe you." The gun wavered. "I think I do. But I will always have my doubts. Let us say I do believe you. Still, I never want to lay eyes on you again. I will attend no party you are advising. And, while the gentleman's club is still a good idea, you will have nothing to do with it!

  "Attend me," the count called out.

  The door opened and the men who had been waiting outside came into the room.

  "Throw this vagabond into the street!"

  As they grabbed Estil, the old man said, "I don't care what did or didn't happen. If I ever lay eyes on you again, you're a dead man."

  ****

  Before the police were finished asking questions at the dance class, Estil was back for his overcoat.

  "No it wasn't a kidnapping. It was just a misunderstanding."

  Victor would be several days recovering his wits. When he was finally clearheaded, Estil was long gone. When he knew who was suspected of the kidnapping and assault, he did not press charges. Doing so would not have been a good career move.

  A year later . . .

  Cesare Bartoli, dressed to the nines in a well-made, high-quality set of clothes cut out of the finest cloth, in the new style called lefferto, plopped himself into a bar stool and asked his bartender and co-owner, "How's business?"

  The Cafe Americain was one of the newest taverns in Venice. First, the name sounded exotic and second, they served a variety of strange and unusual drinks such as the upper class were beginning to drink these days, not that any upper class clients ever came into the bar.

  "Not bad," Estil replied, flicking an imaginary speck of lint off the sleeve of his white dinner jacket. It was a good thing that Cesare spoke German, since Estil was still having trouble learning Italian.

  "Not bad?" Cesare snorted. "The man says, 'not bad.' I've seen this month's receipts. Estil, we're past the opening rush and through the slump. My man,we are over the top. I've got to admit I had my doubts about the idea of opening a high-end bar. And, if you hadn't come up with half the money, I never would have gone for the idea. It was just too strange.