Conrad Starguard - The Crosstime Enginee Part 3

"Freeze-dried. Yes, most of it. Some candy, but it'll keep too." "Ali, yes. I meant to ask you.

What was that incredible confection you distributed last night?"

"It's called chocolate."

"Marvelous stuff. If you can make more, your fortune is made without recourse to being a copyist."

What an incredible thought! Conrad Schwartz, the capitalist confectioner! Maltreating the women and children slaving away in my chocolate factory! But still, one must eat. Chocolate is what? Mostly milk, sugar, and cocoa beans, isn't it? But cocoa beans came from South America. Or was it Indonesia? I would have to look it up.

No, I would not look it up, because I could not look it up, because I was in the thirteenth century, and a good library here consisted of a Bible, two prayer books, and a copy of Aristotle.

"No, Father. It's impossible. It needs a kind of bean that does not grow around here."

"A pity. Well, keep the rest of it; you may someday have to impress a princely patron. For today's dinner I suggest that we finish off my supplies of cheese and sausage and keep yours for an emergency." With that, he pulled out the remains of his sausage, which might have weighed a kilo.

He was about to cut it in half but reconsidered and divided it in proportion to our heights, giving me the larger piece. Half an hour later he did the same with his cheese. He refused to stop for lunch, and we ate on the march.

Again I felt queasy about the unsanitary food, but I was living in the thirteenth century and would have to get used to it. He slapped his now-empty pouch. "The last of my Hungarian food."

"Then what do you keep in the other pack, Father? Spare underwear?" That was the first time I heard his laugh, a good sound. "Ali, Conrad, I know that you have an exalted opinion of my abilities as a traveler, and I confess that I take an improper pride in them myself. But no, I would not carry anything superfluous over the High Tatras, let alone the Alps!" "No, this is my gift to my new abbot. I have in here a copy of Euclid, a complete Aristotle, and Ptolemy in Latin, my own translation into Polish of de Bivar's Poem of the Cid, and letters. There are fully three dozen letters, one of them from His Holiness, Pope Gregory IX himself!" "So, you see that there can be no faltering along the way." "You mean you have nothing at all but your ca.s.sock? It might take us weeks to walk to Cracow!"

"You worry overmuch about material things. We shall ride to Cracow and be there in five days, and we shall be well fed along the way. I can smell it." I could smell nothing at all but more snow coming. I kept silent. At perhaps two in the afternoon we heard the boat. A high-pitched voice was singing through the bushes: Despite the recent rain and snow, The river is still far too low! This tub to Cracow will not go.

Let's plant the grain and watch it grow! "How's that, brother boatman? It scans well, don't you think?" "I think that if we don't get this boat off these rocks, we'll be iced in by morning and spend the winter here! My only pleasure will be in seeing you starve to death right next to me. Now pull on that rope, you foppish twit!" "What? Starve while sitting on a hundred sacks of grain? That would take more ingenuity than a poet could muster. Let's see ..."

"While starving on a mound of rye, I saw a maiden floating by.

She said..."

"Shut your G.o.dd.a.m.n trap and pull!"

"'h.e.l.lo, friends," Father Ignacy shouted.

"Who goes there?"

"A good Christian priest and a good Christian knight, come to a.s.sist you!" As we forced our way through the brush toward the river, I whispered, "What do you mean calling me a knight? We don't even have knighthood!" "And you are doubtless better off without it. But you are an officer in your military, aren't you? And a king's man besides? Knighthood would seem to be the equivalent."

"We don't have kings! There's an elected body that-"

"An excellent system. Oh, yes, don't mention the future to these men. It might frighten them. If they ask, tell them that you're Spanish." "With blond hair?"

"Why not? Many Spaniards have blond hair. Or better yet, tell them you are English. You could easily pa.s.s for an Englishman." Before I could reply, we broke through the brush and were on a rocky beach. In the middle of the river, a boat was securely wedged between two large rocks. The boat was about eight meters long and three meters wide and was pointed at both ends. A brightly garbed slender youth, wet to the waist, was clambering on board. Another man, in a wet gray tunic, was standing at the stern and looking at us. He held a longbow in his left hand and had an arrow fitted. There was something odd about the way he held it.

"Put away your weapon, boatman! We mean you help, not harm!" Father Ignacy held his book pouch above his head and waded into the water. I unslung my pack and belt, held them high, and followed. That water was cold! I would have been prepared to swear in a court of law that it was below - 10'C, if there had been any courts. My legs were numb before we got to the -boat, Father Ignacy put his pouches aboard and clambered on after them. I did the same. "Good afternoon, good boatman. I am Father Ignacy Sierpinski, and this knight is Sir Conrad Stargard."

"Good afternoon, good father and good sir knight. I am Tadaos Kolpinski, and I am at your service."

"A pleasure, Tadaos Kolpinski. We are bound for Cracow. What is your destination?"

"The same as yours, Father. Down the Dunajec and up the Vistula. Always ready to take on paying pa.s.sengers, that's my motto, sirs." He ignored the poet. "Well, you must understand our means are limited." Father Ignacy sat on a sack of grain. "Sir Conrad, I believe we were talking about Saint Augustine. Now, in The City of G.o.d-" "But Father," Tadaos said, "you understand that we are having this difficulty-" "And you feel that we should work for you, to help you out of it.

This is acceptable to us, and there is only a slight matter of agreement on our wages." "Ah, Father, I am a benevolent man, and if you will both a.s.sist me on our way to Cracow, I will feed you as well as I feed myself and depend only on your generosity for my remuneration."

"But surely it is written that a workman deserves his wages, and we are hardworking men, but poor. Yet we can get to Cracow on foot without the burden of hauling your grain. Shall we say food and six silver pennies per day per man?"

Tadaos gagged. "Please understand, Father, that I too am a poor man and that I have a wife and five poor children to feed. Surely you would not want to take food from their mouths with winter coming on. But perhaps one penny." The bargaining went on for better than twenty minutes, with the boat hung up on the rocks and all of us sitting down. I could see that it would be difficult to get the rational principles of socialism across to these people and, further, that if I wanted to survive, I had a lot to learn. In the meantime, I set my mind to the technical problem of freeing the boat.

Eventually they settled on the wages of food and three pennies a day. Much later, I discovered that this was an excellent wage for an experienced boatman, which I wasn't but which Father Ignacy was. He turned to me and said, "Now then, Sir Conrad, have you solved our problem?"

"No, but I know what to try. Do you have a block and tackle? No? Then the first thing to try is brute force. We all get into the water and try to pull it off the rocks."

This is what Tadaos had in mind, so there were no objections except from the poet. It was mutually agreed that his opinions didn't count, so we all went over the side. The poet-with a.s.sistance-went head first. I mean, Father Ignacy was already in the water when the kid, who was standing between the boatman and me, began to make some rhymed objection. The boatman looked at me, and I nodded. We picked up the poet and threw him in.

It was freezing. We tried lifting from the front, but the boat wouldn't budge. We tried pulling from the back, but no go. We rocked. We jerked, but it was no good. Stuck.

Shivering, we climbed back aboard.

"Well, that didn't work," I said to Tadaos. "How much rope do you have aboard?

And do you have any grease?"

"I have some cooking lard and maybe a gross of yards of good rope."

"Okay. Give me the lard and tie this rope to the back of the boat."

"The stern."

Yachtsmen are the same everywhere. They've got to have their own idiot language. "The stem.

I'll be back soon." I had picked out a rounded vertical rock perhaps fifty meters upstream of the boat. I went over the side and waded toward it. d.a.m.n, but the water was cold! Small bits of ice were floating in it! The rock was just what I wanted-rounded on the upstream side and slightly concave. I greased the surface liberally and pulled the rope around it. Then I greased about ten meters of the rope, from the rock toward the boat, keeping the rope taut.

The boatman jumped into the water and shouted, "Okay, here we go, you men!"

"What are you doing?" I yelled. "Get back into the boat!"

"What do you mean? We have to pull ourselves off!"

"Yes, but the place to pull from is inside the boat."

"That's stupid, sir knight! We'll add our weight to the boat and make it harder to pull!"

"True, but our weight is small compared to the weight of the boat and the grain. And if we're inside the boat, we double our leverage. Be reasonable. Do it my way."

"Okay! We try it your way, just to show how dumb you are!"

I handed the rope up to Father Ignacy, and we struggled aboard.

"What do you think we'll do when this doesn't work?" the boatman asked.

"If this fails, we unload the boat one sack at a time and carry it to the sh.o.r.e.

Then we try this again, and if it works, we load the boat back up again."

"That would take days! We'd lose half of the grain by dropping it in the water!"

"I know. So we try this first. Line up, you men. Pull!" The boat moved, a centimeter at first, then two,. then ten. Once off the rocks, it moved easily. After ten meters, the boatman belayed the line around the sternpost and ran up to the bow. "She's not taking in any water!" Soon, the line cast off and hauled in, we were on our way.

I soon noticed that along with the normal oarlocks on the sides, the boat had additional locks on the bow and stem. Their function was explained when Tadaos set an oar in each. He took the stem oar and put Father Ignacy on the bow. They used these to paddle the boat sideways in order to avoid obstructions in the river. Once he was sure that all was well, the boatman motioned me over to him. "The good father knows his job well, and as for you, sir knight, that was as fine a piece of boatmanship as I have ever seen. I hope you'll accept my apologies for the rudeness I showed to your knightship." "No problem. We were all under stress. Your apologies are accepted, sir boatman."

"Well, hardly that, Sir Conrad, but I have had my share. Why, there was this girl from Sandomierz, a blonde she was, that ... but that's not what I want to talk about. I want to find out why you think that we pulled twice as hard standing in the boat as we did standing on the bottom."

"I wish I had a pencil and paper."

"Huh?"

"Some way to draw pictures for you. It wasn't that we pulled twice as hard; we didn't. Look at it from the point .of view of the boat. We were pulling the rope, right? So at the same time we were pushing on the boat with our feet. Right?"

"Okay."

"Also, the rope went around the rock and came back and pulled on the boat, right?"

"So, we pushed it and pulled it at the same time. We got twice as much for nothing!"

"No, we didn't. When we pulled that rope for one of your yards, the rope pulled the boat only one half a yard. We got more force but less distance." "So we broke even."

"Less than that. We lost some power rubbing the rope against the rock. It would have been better if we could have had a wheel on the rock." "Like a pulley, you mean?"

Now, how in h.e.l.l can an apparently intelligent man know about rope and pulleys and not about mechanical advantage? "Yes, like a pulley. Would you mind if I got out of these clothes? I'm freezing."

"Do what you will, Sir Conrad." Water was running off his clothes onto the floorboards and freezing there.

I couldn't do anything to help his wet clothes, but it would have been stupid for me to be uncomfortable with no gain for the others. I went to my pack and dug out my tennis shoes, light trousers, spare socks, and underwear. I changed quickly and stretched my wet things out on the grain bags. Actually, most of my things were wet.

I took stock of my gear. A pair of lightweight 7 X 25 mm binoculars. A Swiss army knife. A small hatchet. A good Buck single-bladed jackknife in a leather belt pouch. A canteen. A dented cooking kit. A compa.s.s. A few days' food. A sleeping bag. A ripped knapsack. A sewing kit. A first-aid kit. A stub of a candle. A few coins that might be worth something. Some paper money that probably wasn't. A smashed flashlight that I pitched over the side. With these few things, my total worldly possessions, I was to face the brutal thirteenth century.

I laid all of it out to dry.

At the bottom of the pack, I found the idiot seeds. That incredible redhead! It seemed like years ago rather than only forty-eight hours.

Chapter Four

The river grew increasingly interesting as the afternoon wore on, and I was glad that we had our experienced men at the helm, fighting our way past rocks and rapids.

I crawled under my still-damp sleeping bag and watched the scenery, which was pretty spectacular. The River Dunajec cuts through the Pieniny Mountains, and it was one gorgeous vista after another, with white marble cliffs thrusting up through the pine forest and sudden meadows with sheep grazing. A castle clung high up on the slopes of a three-peaked mountain. I fumbled for my binoculars.

"That's Pieniny Castle," the boatman shouted. Pieniny Castle! I had toured its ruins once. Now, "dunce caps" topped the towers and the drawbridge was intact. It was here-will be here?-that King Boleslaw the Bashful took refuge after he lost the Battle of Chmielnik to Batu Khan, and Poland was left open to the Mongol invaders. That was-will be-in the spring of 1241, nine and a half years from now.

"What is that thing you're holding in front of your face?" Tadaos asked.

"Binoculars. They make things look close. Here, take a look."

"Later, Sir Conrad. I've got my hands full."

And he did, steering that overladen boat through rapids and eddies. I was dreading my turn at those oars.

It was dusk when he finally said, "That's the worst of it. It'll be clear sailing until tomorrow afternoon. Good Father, give your oar to the poet. Sir Conrad, come take mine. Just keep her toward the middle and you'll have no problems."

It was dark half an hour later when we slid quietly past the castle town of Sacz. It was lightless, and we saw no people.

I was back into my heavy clothes, dried now to mere dampness but the kid at the bow was still shivering. He had been silent since his dunking, and I felt sorry for him. I supposed that I was just prejudiced. I had never met a goliard poet before, but I knew the type. He was exactly the same as the Lost Generation and the hoboes and the beatniks and the hippies and-what was the current group?-punkers, I think. Every decade or so, they all adopt a stranger slang, put on a different uniform, and say that I am a conformist and that they are doing something wondrous and new!

Groups who change their names every ten years do it for a good reason. People have discovered that they are b.u.ms, and they need new camouflage. Now, I'm Slavic and proud of it. "Slav" comes from an old root meaning "glorious," but during the first millennium, Western Europeans enslaved so many of us that the word "slav" came to mean "slave" in their languages, which is about as derogatory as you can get. A people without a strong sense of self-worth, like the American Blacks, would have repeatedly changed their own name trying to erase the smudge, but of course we didn't.

Try to get a Jew to call himself something different. Same thing.

Still, it probably wasn't the kid's fault that he was worthless. So when we were relieved to eat our supper oatmeal and beer, but a lot of it-I sat down next to him.

"Look, kid, I'm sorry about throwing you into the river. It's just that there are times when you should not argue."

"That's okay, Sir Conrad. One gets used to insults following the muse."

"Yes ... well. Look, are those the only clothes you have?" "You see upon me all of my worldly possessions." He wore cheap red trousers and a thin yellow jacket with decorative b.u.t.tons and worn-through elbows. He had a raggedy shirt that once might have been white. He had the tops of boots-the soles were almost completely gone-and a cap with a bent swan feather. He was as short as my other companions, but while they were thick, solid men, he was as skinny as a schoolgirl. He would have been an amusing sight if he had not been freezing to death.

"Well, maybe I can loan you something." I dug out my spare underwear and socks.

Shirt and trousers. Tennis shoes and poncho.

"You'll probably swim in these, but they'll help keep you warm." "I thank you, Sir Conrad. But don't talk of swimming, as I have done enough of that this year."

My clothes were a dozen sizes too big for him. He was awestruck by the elastic and zippers, and the b.u.t.tonholes confused him.

I was boggled. His jackets had b.u.t.tons all over, but he had never seen a b.u.t.tonhole. How could you have b.u.t.tons with no b.u.t.tonholes? Was I really in the thirteenth century, or was I living a wacky dream?

My tennis shoes fit him perfectly. Did everybody back here have big feet? When I had him dressed, he didn't look like a clown anymore. He looked like a war orphan.

We went back to our oars, and Tadaos said quietly to me, "Sir Conrad, you are too good for this world."

"Oh, he's just a kid."

"A kid who will rob you, given the chance."

"We'll see. How long is my watch?"