Grantville Gazette Volume 24

by Eric Flint

  "Cardinal Richelieu," he said, and then spat. " Il est un diable. He did say that I only need make the petites choses to save my woman and my girl."

  "Just little things," I repeated. "Like telling that Franconian jager where to shoot?"

  " Je ne sai pas who did shoot on the insulators. I just send a letter expliquant les insulators."

  Scott Hilton had kept his silence, but now he spoke. "You almost killed Franz Schneider!"

  "I not want to make bad to anyone," he said, with a sigh, letting his head drop. " Tout est perdu, " he added, and then exploded out the door.

  As I turned to follow, Rick was on the floor holding his gut where Charles had butted him. Jurgen disappeared down the steps at the end of the hall as I passed Rick. I joined in the chase, and the next minute was crazy. Charles Martel may have been a small man, but he was fast.

  As I came out into the hall where the new steam engines were being built, Martel was halfway up a ladder to an overhead walkway. A siren sounded as Jurgen started up the ladder. "Attention, achtung, stop, halt." It was Scott's voice coming through a speaking machine so it was louder than life.

  I started for the ladder, but Jurgen was already there, so I stopped. Martel would have to come down somewhere if he was to get out of the building. It seemed that the best thing to do was to follow him from below.

  The catwalk along the top of the hall rang as Martel ran, and then he started across the bridge that spanned the hall to hold up the crane. There was a little cabin on the bridge right above the hook, and before Jurgen was halfway to the bridge, Martel was in the cabin and the bridge was moving. It did not move quickly, but it moved toward Jurgen fast enough that Jurgen retreated to the safety of the ladder as the bridge came at him. At the same time, the cabin and the great hook moved away from the catwalk and the hook began to drop.

  A woman's voice rang out through the speaking machine. "Someone kill the six-hundred-volt power," she said. The moving crane drifted to a stop, with the hook swinging ponderously below it, coming close to the spinning flywheel of the new engine with each swing. Jurgen warily climbed back onto the catwalk and began edging toward the crane as Scott and Rick came out beside me.

  "That was close," Scott said, as we stood watching the crane.

  "What?" I asked.

  "If he'd kept going, lowering the hook and coming this way, he could have hit Unit 6. If he'd hooked the flywheel while it was running, he could have wrecked the crane and the engine. Good thing Nissa noticed the threat and killed the motor generator set."

  "How'd he know how to work the crane?" Rick asked, as Jurgen stepped onto the catwalk that led along the beam toward the crane cabin.

  "We do a lot of cross training," Scott said. "We don't want to be stuck with just one person who can…"

  He fell silent as Martel bolted from the little cabin above the hook, making for the opposite end of the bridge from Jurgen. There was no catwalk at that end, just a narrow ledge along the south wall of the building. As Martel walked along the ledge, he was sharply outlined against the windows behind him.

  "He'll not get down from there easily," I said.

  Scott scanned the wall. "See that loop of chain at the east end? It works the windows, he could shinny down." He ran for the bottom of the chain just as Martel began pulling up on it.

  The chain rose up out of reach just before Scott got there. As Martel pulled the chain, it turned a wheel at the top. The wheel turned a shaft that pulled the tops of the windows inward while their bottoms opened out. I didn't understand what was happening at first, but Martel was letting the chain out the window behind him.

  " Va au diable, vous tous! " Martel called, as he began backing out the window.

  I turned to run for the outside door, but that was at the west end of the hall, and Martel was escaping to the east. Rick and I made it to the door together, and he beat me around the corner of the building to the south. A row of great wooden boxes separated the plant from the Buffalo Creek, with clouds of fog rising from three of them accompanied by a sound like a waterfall. I came around the corner of the building just in time to see Martel jump to the ground and flee toward the creek between two of the boxes.

  Scott Hilton came around the east corner of the plant running toward us, and as we met, Jurgen's head appeared in the open window above. The three of us on the ground followed Martel between the great boxes, but when we arrived at the creek, it wasn't obvious which way to go. The creek was shallow, Martel could have crossed it, but he could just as easily have gone upstream or down.

  We split up, but there were too many places to hide and it was already getting dark in the shade of the ring wall, although the sky was still bright. We never did find Martel, even after we went back inside and organized every man the plant could spare for a search. I learned that the giant boxes were cooling towers, even though they weren't towers. I learned that the coal pile had a faint sulfur smell when you walked around it, and I learned that the fence around the power plant was over a mile long. Officially, the fence had only three gates, the main gate, the railroad gate at the east end, and the old railroad gate at the west end, by the refugee camp, but there were also gaps in the fence where the creek flowed through.

  My guess is that Martel got away after dark and fled the Ring of Fire. How he got out of the plant, we may never know. The gates were all locked or guarded, but he could have waded out along the creek, and the railroad gate was opened every time the railroad brought in another load of coal from the mine.

  ***

  When I got back to the police station, Chief Frost was still there, and he was furious. He knew what had happened, Scott had telephoned from the plant. "Damn it, Sergeant Leslie, you should have just slapped the cuffs on him and brought him in. No need to try for a parlor scene like in an Agatha Christie story. And you should never have let Jurgen go climbing around on that gantry crane! He could have fallen. Leave that kind of monkey business to the folks at the plant."

  He paused. "One more thing. Scott Hilton said Martel had been working on making poppet valves for those new steam engines. He said the threads on the inside of the nuts that hold the valve heads to the valve stems were almost drilled out, so the nuts would be likely to pop off inside the engine."

  The next morning, I got to see Martel's Bible. The police got a warrant to search Martel's lodgings, and they found very little aside from an Olivetan Bible and a Master padlock. A French Calvinist would treasure that Bible, but it wasn't a Bible a man would want to carry on a long trip, nor was it a Bible a tradesman would be likely to own. The Bible showed signs of ample use, with many passages underlined. Chief Frost guessed that the underlined words and passages might be part of a code, but I've seen serious students of the Bible mark bits of the text like that. We may never know the truth about that book.

  Colonel MacKay showed up while I was looking at the Bible. He started in on me as soon as he saw me, but Chief Frost stopped him. "Colonel, I already chewed him out. You're not saying anything I didn't already say, and I've had a good night's sleep since then. I think we did pretty well, considering. It sounds like this Martel fellow admitted what he did. I doubt he'll come back. The question is, are there other saboteurs in among us? There was that derailment last month, was it an accident? And what do we do if someone like Martel is working at the coal mine?"

  ***

  Art Director Note: The steam engine pictured in the title bar is from a photograph by Douglas W. Jones. I took the liberty of adding a bit more alcohol flame to it, for dramatic effect. My thanks to Doug for all the time and effort he put into getting me the right shot. – Garrett

  A Job Well Done

  Written by Kerryn Offord

  July 1634, Magdeburg

  Katherine Franzius surveyed the contents of her wardrobe. What to wear to work today? It hadn't been a problem when she first started work at Magdeburg Concrete two years ago. Back then she'd made do with a single dark blue skirt and jacket, and choice of two linen blouses for wo
rk-the standard uniform of typewriter operators. However, it wouldn't do for the executive assistant to the head of operations to be mistaken for a lowly typewriter operator. She now wore clothes that properly portrayed her importance and standing within the company. She spared a glance for the several inches of empty wardrobe. Maybe it was time ask Ronald about granting her a dress allowance again. It must be all of two months since she last asked, and clothes that projected the required image were expensive.

  She finally settled on a white cotton blouse with a narrow lace ruff and a slate-blue calf-length linen skirt topped with a fitted doublet-style linen jacket in the best black Lothlorien Farbenwerke could produce. She adjusted the lace ruff so that it showed above the jacket collar and twirled around a couple of times, looking in the mirror to admire how the skirt swirled around her silk-stocking clad legs. Happy with her choice, she hunted for a particularly nice silver-buckled belt and matching handbag she'd bought just the previous week and examined the finished product in the mirror. That brought a happy nod from the image.

  Next she opened her shoe cupboard. The last few days had been particularly hot, so she wanted something open. But she also had to walk to work, that meant the light sandals wouldn't do. There really wasn't anything suitable, which meant she needed to go shopping for shoes again. That brought another smile. Katherine enjoyed shopping. It was one of the fruits of her climb to executive assistant that made it all worthwhile. When she first started work at Magdeburg Concrete she'd barely earned enough to pay the rent on a single room apartment, let alone a shopping spree. However, her position had grown with the company. Within weeks of starting she'd found herself assigned as secretary to Ronald Chapman, probably the single greatest piece of luck to ever fall her way. With Ronald heavily in demand outside the office for his knowledge of how the concrete machines worked, she'd often been left in sole charge of the office. She'd flourished on the responsibility, actively seeking more and more of it until now she was more than a secretary; she was Ronald's executive assistant, his trusted confidant and advisor, and one of the highest paid employees at Magdeburg Concrete. Ronald happily left her in charge whenever he could escape the office.

  Katherine settled for a pair of low-heeled black pumps with a narrow strap. Her hair, in its businesslike chignon, needed something more than just hairpins to hold it, so she dug through her hats, scarves and gloves drawer for a crocheted white snood and pinned it on over her hair. She examined herself critically. The white lace netting contrasted attractively with her almost black hair. Now all she needed was a little jewelry and she'd be dressed. She unlocked her jewelry drawer and ran her fingers over the various compartments. Yes, the small silver wristwatch today, and a similar sized silver bracelet for the right wrist for balance. No rings for work, but a pair of simple pearl earrings would be okay. Katherine checked that she had money for breakfast and lunch before slipping her purse into her handbag and then picked through the contents of the bowl on her bedside table for a few office-day essentials. She added a couple of handkerchiefs from the top drawer, wound her watch and checked it against the more reliable bedside clock. She'd been awake less than an hour and she was already ready to leave for work.

  ***

  Ronald Chapman rolled out of his bed and staggered over to the jug and bowl on a table by the window. Splashing cold water over his face helped him wake up. He shaved as best he could with his clockwork shaver. A blade shave would have been better, but he wasn't game to try it with cold water, especially in his present condition.

  He was doing up his boot laces when his eyes fell on a scrunched up ball of paper, the letter from his landlord he'd found tacked to his door when he stumbled home at two in the morning. That had been the perfect end to the perfect day. The number two kiln had been working perfectly all year and then, right in the middle of a major order, and a week before it was scheduled to be taken offline for preventative maintenance, it decided to fail. It'd taken Ronald and his team less than an hour to locate the problem-uneven wear on a bearing because of a poor casting-and another ten to fix it. He smoothed the letter out and read it again. Yep, it still said that the owner wanted to turn the apartment building into condos, and unless he wanted to buy his apartment he wasn't going to have a home come September. He'd have to get Katherine to find him a new apartment.

  Arendsee, Altmark, north of Magdeburg

  Christine Niemand was the first of her family to waken. She slipped out from under the thin blanket that was their only covering and quickly washed and dressed before waking her brother and sister.

  While they washed and dressed, she got breakfast ready. She lifted the heavy stone off the lid of the cooking pot and divided the cold remains of last night's eel stew into three bowls, putting the empty pot to one side to be washed later. Then she turned to another old pot and removed the heavy stone and lid from it. It held the remains of an almost stale loaf of bread. She cut off chunks for each of them and placed them on the table before putting the remaining bread back into the pot and covering it. She'd learned the hard way that the extra weight of a stone was necessary to stop the rats getting into the food.

  She looked up after saying the prayer for their meal to find her brother Claus looking at her. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

  "Pastor Heyl thinks I could earn a scholarship to the Latin school in Stendal if I could get extra tutoring before the tests."

  Christine reached out and hugged her brother. If he could earn a scholarship that would be one less drain on her meager purse. Unfortunately they both knew there was no way she could afford to pay for the extra tutoring.

  "Pastor Heyl is sweet on you, Chrissy. If you were to marry him. .." Claus fell silent.

  Christine couldn't meet her brother's eyes. She tried to remember that he didn't mean to be selfish. She tried to remember that earning a scholarship to the Latin school was his best chance of helping them better their situation. The alternative was a life of poverty, and at seventeen that wasn't a pleasant future to look forward to. "I'll find the money somehow, Claus. Now eat your breakfast."

  After breakfast Christine sent Ilsa and Claus off to school with an eel pie wrapped in a square of cloth for lunch before tidying the cottage and washing the dishes. Then she walked over to her friend Margarethe's cottage where she poured out her problems while they carded wool together.

  "How are you going to afford the extra tutoring for Claus?" Margarethe asked.

  Christine paused in her carding. "I don't know."

  "Pastor Heyl is sweet on you," Margarethe suggested.

  "Not you too, Margarethe. Claus has already suggested I marry the pastor, but he's so old. Why, he must be at least forty."

  "That's not so very old."

  "Maybe not to you, but if I have to marry, I'd rather it be to someone with a little life in him. Not some dried up old stick like the pastor."

  Margarethe sighed heavily. "What about Fritz Winkler? He's been sniffing about since your father died."

  Christine shuddered. There was something about Fritz and the way he looked at her that scared and revolted her. "No. Anybody would be better than him, even Pastor Heyl."

  "Anybody?" Margarethe asked.

  Christine looked at her friend suspiciously.

  "I was tearing out a few pages to help start the fire this morning when one of the advertisements caught my eye." Margarethe reached for a much mutilated catalog and passed it over.

  Christine looked at the advertisement. "Wives of Distinction?"

  "Yes. You should get your name on their books. You never know, you might find yourself a rich husband."

  Christine snorted. "That's not going to happen."

  "Yes, well, maybe expecting a rich husband might be a bit much, but surely someone better than Fritz Winkler or the pastor. What do you have to lose?"

  Christine sighed. She didn't really have anything to lose and she could gain a future for herself and her brother and sister. "Very well, I'll write a letter."

&
nbsp; Magdeburg

  The first thing Katherine did after sitting down at her desk at Magdeburg Concrete was to reach for the contents of her out-basket. An executive assistant shouldn't have to check her out-basket at the start of every day, but her boss often worked long after she'd left for the day and when his in-basket ran empty he often started on hers, dumping anything he finished into her out-basket. From where, if she didn't intervene, it could be filed without her ever seeing the documents. At least this morning she didn't expect to find any surprises. The gate guard had told her that the cement kiln Ronald had been called away to work on early yesterday afternoon hadn't been fixed until nearly two in the morning. He should have been too tired to come into the office after that. She let her mind wander, imagining a world where Ronald left her in-basket alone.

  She glanced down at her wristwatch. Was that the time? With Ronald having worked so late he'd need his morning caffeine fix more than ever today. She rushed into the small kitchenette off her office and started preparing the coffee.

  ***

  Ronald waved to the guard as he walked through the gates of Magdeburg Concrete and walked to the company cafeteria where breakfast was being served.

  It was a cheap and simple meal of hot mush and a thick slice of bread spread with dripping. All washed down with a mug of small beer. The company firmly believed that offering a good meal to start the day kept the accident and absenteeism rates down. Ronald paid for his meal and hunted for a seat.

  Even though he was the sole up-timer in the cafeteria, and one of the bosses, everyone ignored him. He'd been using the cafeteria since it was first started and now the workers were used to him eating with them. They left him alone and got on with their meals and conversations, leaving Ronald to eat in peace.