by Eric Flint
"Tell Madame how this occurred."
"Does it matter now?"
"Speak."
"Madame knows of events in London?"
"On most days, Madame is uncertain of events in her own chambers."
"Charles Stuart ran amok, tossing accusations of treason with abandon. Father is dead, his estate confiscated. When the news got about, I was courted. I needed friends, so I consented. When a chancre appeared, I knew what it was." Adam had seen enough syphilis chancres. He had come to Paris to study medicine. "My 'friend' accused me of infecting him. It was quite a scene. He told the faculty at University, and they expelled me." His tone was a bit flat.
"You were had, child. The wicked man who sent word of your infection to Madame was one who sought revenge. He wishes to see that I suffer in my last days, but dared not attack one whose cousin is so close to Le Cardinal. Thus, he struck at you, while grief and need left you vulnerable. It would have been easy enough to find a desperate young man in need of medicine, willing to do such work. It was simple cruelty, well aimed."
"Name him. I will kill him." Adam's tone was still flat.
"You will not." As usual, Madame seemed quite certain of herself.
Adam stared sullenly.
"Obey me child. I have other purposes for you."
"Can I kill him and still fulfill these purposes?"
"He is Madame's privilege. Assassination has never been my way, but I have no time for more gracious means. He would soon have you killed, of course, since he will assume I have told you how you came by the syphilis. He will fear you will seek revenge. He will expect you. This is a matter for professionals, not revenge."
"Your privilege, Madame," Adam conceded.
Madame now studied him in a way he would have found ominous when younger, but now found pleasing. Whatever she planned for him, he would find it worthy.
"In the other drawer, you will find papers, some bound. Look first at the bound set."
Adam retrieved them. Next to them was another bottle of medicine, a year's supply at least, perhaps two, and a bag clearly filled with coin. He opened the bound volume.
"Sonnets: Bacon. Marlowe. de Vere. Others."
"Just so. You know them?"
"I do. The usual parlor amusements for those with the right training."
"And the rest?" Madame asked.
"More sonnets. Correspondence regarding business. I see little in them, Madame. More parlor amusements?"
"Another method is also present. Examine the last two pages."
He did. "An interesting variation… clever… it would be more compact. Certainly more laborious, but one could conceal more with it."
"Just so. Memorize the method, child, then toss those parts in the fire."
Adam needed but a moment, then the papers burned.
Madame continued. "It was a method Bacon shared with few. It will unlock all but the first three sonnets in that binding. Use the better known method for those, though you'll find little of interest in them. As you say, they are mere parlor amusements. I'm uncertain how many know the more difficult method. Some, I'm sure, but I would not know who. I am the last of my own acquaintance who I am certain can read those. "
"And what will I find in those, Madame?"
"Scandal."
"Scandal?"
"Scandal, and more, some of which will still be of fresh fifty years from now. Some date as far back as the reign of Elizabeth and concern Raleigh, Walsingham and others. Madame has added some work of more recent vintage, detailing some events in France. All the sonnets contain something in the simpler method. Most conceal something in the more difficult method. This is a lesson that will serve you well in life, child. Always keep some lesser coin where a thief can find it, but not too easily. Keep the better coin better hidden."
"True wisdom, Madame. And you wish me to…?"
"To keep them safe. They are historical documents. One day, scholars will drool over them, smearing the ink. Madame would not have them lost, or the method forgotten. Who could I trust other than my dear late Thomas' nephew? Will you undertake this, and see that they are not misused?"
"I would be honored. But I must remind Madame, I share her malady."
"You must pass them down, as they were passed to me, as I pass them to you. Add to them if you wish."
"I would be honored, but… yes, I will undertake it."
"Good. Now examine the other papers."
He did, and as he did, grew perplexed. "Travel papers. Who is John Smith?"
"You are. Madame has done many favors over the years, and knows where many bodies are buried, if you take my meaning."
The old bird looked quite predatory. He wondered how many stories he would find in her papers. Too few, he was sure. Bacon's methods were flexible, but not thrifty."Why would Madame wish me to go to Basel?"
"Read on, child."
"This man in Basel is to provide bank drafts and papers for me to travel to Grantville." He paused. "You mean for me to go to Grantville?"
"They have begun a medical school you know."
"Yes, it was all the talk among faculty and students."
"And why would I wish you to travel to Grantville, Adam?"
"To study medicine?" Light dawned. "Oh. Chloramphenicol."
"Unobtainable elsewhere. It is said to cure syphilis, not merely alleviate it. A student might have better access."
Adam considered. It was true. And he had no other prospects.
"The money is yours, whatever you choose. I have no heirs of my own. Take it, before the lawyers get it."
"I will do as you say. And I will see if I can find enough of this chloramphenicol for two."
"I may be no longer in need of it by then. In truth, it has become a rare day when I am so lucid. My concern now is for you, and for those papers. Take care of yourself, and them, and Madame will be well rewarded."
"Yes, Madame."
"Good. It is best you start soon. Tonight. Do not return to your rooms. Take up the coin and the medicine, then one last thing, before you go. Take down the sword above from the wall, please."
He did, looking closely. "It was Uncle's. He wore it on special occasions."
"It is a near match to the dirk your uncle gave you when you were twelve. The dirk was made for you. The sword is older."
"Uncle left it with you, Madame?"
"Yes. It was my father's. I gave it to Thomas. I wish you to have it now."
Adam bowed.
"We take care of our own, child. Never forget this. It is possible that you will find a new circle of friends in this Grantville. I cannot imagine a town of that importance without such prospects. Choose carefully. You now carry a great historical treasure, so give some thought to the future, and be watchful for opportunities."
"Yes, Madame."
"Go with God, Adam. Your uncle loved you, and so do I."
Madame received a kiss on the cheek, and the lad was gone.
***
A servant entered shortly after.
"Adam's visit was noticed, Andre?"
"By no one now living, Madame," Andre answered.
"Very good, Andre. Please gather up half of mother's silver from the basement. Take it to the Savoyard. Tell him the rest is his if the brings me the head of the Burgundian Stork before morning. Be certain he understands: Madame will only give the rest if she can see the head, and know its face. He must not mutilate the face."
"Yes, Madame. The Savoyard will be pleased." Andre looked pleased also. But then, he had always been fond of Adam.
For the first time in her long life, Madame would now be a killer. She rested more easily now, satisfied.
***
Adam left the house, looked at the sky, then started walking. With each step, he retreated deeper into himself.
A robot named Adam walked to Basel. Inside, a young man named Adam noted every house, every window, every cobblestone. He expected never to see them again.
***
The robot
named Adam had walked into Grantville. Inside, the young man named Adam resented every intrusion from the world outside.
He had read the words hidden in the archive of Madame, finding Bacon, Walsingham, Raleigh, Elizabeth, the Stuarts, the Valois, the Bourbon. It was beyond price. He wondered if it might be the only such archive outside the hands of monarchs.
Likely it was not, but being its custodian kept Adam alive. In that, as in all her efforts, Madame knew her business. He could not bear to think of such papers being lost or abused.
The robot now sat in a small examination room in Leahy Hospital awaiting a doctor. Safely inside, the young man watched with curiosity. How would the examination differ from those he knew? Would he be cured? Would he be tossed out? Fascinating questions.
The door opened and a man came in.
The man stared at Adam's sword hanging by the door, then at Adam. He looked at Adam's paperwork, and smiled oddly.
"Good morning, Adam Tyrrell. I am Doctor Balthazar Abrabanel." Mildly cheerful, English accent. There could only be one doctor by that name, with that accent. "I don't believe we've met, but would you be Thomas Tyrell's nephew?" Abrabanel pointed to Uncle Thomas' sword.
The robot was gone. The young man remained, naked. Abrabanel had served the court in England. He may have done intelligence work. Which factions, which sides had he been on over the years? What was he doing here? The voices of his elders flashed advice though his imagination.
From Father: Kick him in the stomach and run, boy!
From Uncle Thomas: Trip him up. Find the medicine. Then run.
From Madame: Offer him wine. Converse.
Then Adam got advice from himself: Father never would have known this man, so try Uncle's advice first. Then Madame's. Hold Father's in reserve.
"Madame Rossignol sent me," Adam said.
The smile left the doctor's face. Nothing took it's place. "Beg pardon?"
"Madame Rossignol."
"I don't understand."
"You knew her." It wasn't a question, and Adam emphasized the pronoun.
"I knew Henri Rossignol well enough, but long ago. He was close to your uncle. Why would Henri send you?" The doctor emphasized the pronoun and the name.
"Chloramphenicol."
"I'd heard he had syphilis. He was the last of that circle, since your uncle died."
"Not quite the last."
Abrabanel digested that, then passed over it. "I understand your uncle fell at Breitenfeld?"
"Yes. He preferred an honorable end to a demented one."
Abrabanel digested that, too. "More syphilis?"
Adam nodded.
"What can you tell me of Henri's condition?"
Adam rendered a description that would have gotten a fair mark from a professor.
"Have you been studying medicine?" Abrabanel asked.
"Two years in Paris."
"You know the prognosis?"
"She may already be dead."
"Perhaps. We might get the medicine to him while he still lives, but you must understand… At best, it would only stop the disease from causing further harm. The injuries already done would remain. From your description, he would not live much longer in any event."
"I suspected as much, sir."
"But you had to try anyway. I understand. In your place, I would do the same."
"There's more, Doctor."
"Yes?"
"I have it, too."
"Syphilis? What symptoms have you had?"
While the doctor examined Adam, Adam examined the doctor's instruments. They were marvelous up-time devices. He was intrigued to find he understood most of them. He made a mental note to try to learn more about their construction.
When it was done, Abrabanel said, "No signs of it just now, but the university doctors are good. You can put your clothes back on." There was still no expression on his face.
"You can cure this?"
The doctor nodded.
"I have coin. A legacy from Madame."
The doctor ignored that. "You've been taking mercury?"
"Yes."
"Stop. It's nearly as bad as the malady. Give it to me. We'll use chloramphenicol, but it's short just now. Sieges breed epidemics, so we sent much to Amsterdam. Emergencies only at the moment. In three weeks, perhaps four, we'll have more."
Adam deflated. He would live.
Uncle had walked into a block of pikes, and died. Adam had walked into Grantville, and would live. He considered that a moment, and decided it might be good to live. It would make it easier to preserve Madame's papers.
"Thank you. Should I apply to medical school elsewhere if I mean to continue my education?" Adam surprised himself. He hadn't known he would say that.
"We can speak of that later."
"I'll be grateful if you can just rid me of the syphilis." Yes, It felt good to live.
"Chloram will fix that, well enough. Do we need to discuss anything else at the moment?"
"No."
The doctor took a piece of paper and wrote. "Very well. This is my prescription until then. Where are you staying? "
"I'm at the Y."
"Your uncle was a very talented man, Adam Tyrrell. Henri more so. I will send word to you at the Y when we have the drug." As he left, the doctor looked at Adam's sword hanging by the wall. "Do keep it sheathed, lad."
Perhaps he meant the sword. Perhaps. There was no trace of humor in his voice.
Adam looked at the prescription. The top was typeset:
"From the desk of Balthazar Abrabanel, MD. Prescription:"
Below, handwritten:
"Essay a composition on the book And The Band Played On, by Randy Shilts, to be found in the Medical Reading Room, third floor, Leahy."
Curious title. Likely a morality lesson.
Adam returned to the front desk and asked where he might find the reading room.
***
Adam had an early lunch in the Leahy cafeteria before going to the reading room. where he presented his "prescription." The librarian seemed to find nothing odd about it. He received the book, and settled in a comfortable chair by a window. A laudably quiet up-time clock behind the librarian's desk showed the time just before noon.
He made many trips to the dictionary chained to the desk.
Much later, he stopped and closed his eyes. It was dark outside. He had not finished the book, and did not care to continue just now. He could see that this project was big. Four weeks might do. Maybe.
Early the next morning, he stopped at the stationer across from the downtown library. He bought a folder, filled it with paper and chose a partly used up-time pencil. He did not care to mix bottles of ink with priceless books.
He noted that the up-time lady ahead of him had brought in a handful of well used pencils with no erasers. She left with two fresh pencils with erasers, muttering angrily. He filed this away in his growing collection of anecdotes.
At Leahy, Adam started the book fresh, this time using the dictionary more carefully. He learned new words, and new uses for old words. He wrote down references to other publications. He marveled at the index in the back. He seldom spoke to anyone. Others politely left him to his work.
Inside the book's cover were notations and a pocket indicating that it had once been in the collection of the high school. Adam checked with the librarian, and learned that yes, that meant it had been freely available to any adolescent in town. The book did not look well used. He added this to his list of curiosities.
Had the University of Paris possessed this book, it would have been heavily restricted, solely for professional use. The entire faculty would have had apoplexy over the author's presentation of sodomites, but on no account would it have been discarded.
It was not a medical book, but a popular account of the AIDS epidemic, written by a journalist.
What was Abrabanel's purpose in assigning it to Adam? Surely the man knew what was in it. The parallels to syphilis were glaringly obvious. He wanted Adam to lear
n a practical lesson, to go with moral teachings. But the rest?
Whatever moral or professional lessons Abrabanel was offering, another thing was clear enough: the doctor needed help with this, whether he knew it or not. As a gay syphilitic, Adam had a certain perspective on this topic.
He learned that up-time attitudes toward sodomites had been evolving, amid great social contention. There was a Sodomite movement! Sodomites had attacked police outside an American tavern, and boasted of it!
Madame would never have approved. Uncle Thomas? A more interesting question, but he was no longer around to ask.
Adam added a problem to his notes: how to discretely research sexual topics.
He preferred handling leaches to that book.
***
Adam left a note for the doctor: How many cases were there in Grantville?
The answer: One known, now deceased. More were very unlikely. The note offered no further comment.
***
Adam did more reading at Leahy when he finished the Shilts book, then shifted to the other libraries. The Leahy reading room had been decorous. The SoTF State Library, though, was a mob scene. The wait for the encyclopedias, in particular, was lengthy.
Periodicals were easier to browse at leisure, and the collection included more than two decades of Time Magazine. Adam's notes from Shilts included some references from that publication.
Time was eclectic. Politics. War. Entertainment. Science. Medicine. Business. People. Even the very price on the cover suggested new lines of up-time research, as it increased over time. Amazingly, it was vastly cheaper if home delivered. Down-time, these magazines were treasure beyond even that carried by the Spanish Caribbean fleets. Up-time, they had been as disposable as an old man's apple core. He could write one hundred learned commentaries, and still only scratch the tip of this one collection of magazines.
Adam added to his growing list for future research. The Cold War. Republicans and Democrats. Punk rock. Disneyland. Oil sheiks. Gates, Wozniak and Jobs.
Most of the world, including Europe, seemed to have lost its aristocracy. The noble families were covered in the same pages as theater and music, rather than politics. It was a stunning world, but in the pages of the magazines, it seemed as ordinary as a woman beating a rug in Southwark.