The Grantville Gazette - Vol. 10 Part 15

"Gunther Schlosser?" Dolf asked.

"Is that who that mean-looking man is?" She pursed her lips. "Yes, it would have to be. There they are!"

She pointed at a group of several determined-looking men moving rapidly in their direction.

Papa ran over to them. "Heinrich has Carl trapped at the Golden Lion."

Gunther Schlosser narrowed his eyes. "If Carl doesn't come out of there in good health, your butcher's going to have to be careful about what meat he buys."

Dolf shivered at his cold words.

"We'll go in the back door," Jan Wagner announced.

The two watchmen were on the floor unconscious, blood streaming from their broken faces. Carl held his walking stick at the ready, on the other side of a table from Heinrich, watching the knives in his hands.

"That stick's a lot st.u.r.dier than it looks." Heinrich moved to Carl's right towards the end of the table.

"You're also a lot better with it than I ever would have imagined."

"It's almost the symbol of authority for Jena Committee watchmen. I practice with them when I'm in town."

"Yes, aUniversityofJena student. I don't know Latin so I couldn't tell exactly what you wrote. But I read my name and know who Joachim Thierbach is." Heinrich made a sudden move around the table and rushed at Carl.

The younger man thrust his staff towards Heinrich and then rounded the far end of the table. "I thought you'd be smarter than this, Heinrich. Haven't you ever heard that pigs get fat and hogs get butchered?

You weren't just dipping your bucket into the cash stream. You were diverting a good part of it. Did you think no one would notice?"

"Oh, two people did get too nosy." Heinrich sneered. He grabbed the end of the table, shoving it against the wall. He rounded the table again, now on the same side as Carl. He feinted with his left hand and then lunged with his right. Before Carl brought down his stick on that side, Heinrich had withdrawn again.

Carl took another step back.

"They disappeared before they told anyone. Just like you will. I waited so your disappearance would be about the same time as you said you were going to leave. It won't be noticed." Heinrich feinted with his right this time. When Carl didn't react, he lunged again with his right. Carl brought down his stick too late to hurt Heinrich. He moved to his right and tripped over one of the fallen watchmen, losing his balance.

He dropped to the floor, his stick falling away from him.

The older man immediately charged and Carl dove under the table. He knocked over three chairs as he rolled quickly to his feet on the other side. A moment later he moved to a different table so as not to be trapped again. As Heinrich came between the tables, Carl shoved the one in front of him at Heinrich, slamming it into his hip. A moment later, Heinrich freed himself and limped forward.

"Little more exercise than you're used to, isn't it, Heinie?" Carl taunted the older man. Both men had sweat running down their faces but Heinrich was also red-faced and puffing. "Don't forget, you're going to have to come up with an explanation of how the two guys on the floor over there got their faces ripped open.

"One more thing. You should be c.r.a.pping your pants right now. Gunther Schlosser rode into town today. Five will get you ten that the only reason he's not here right now is that he's questioning your other watchmen with Jan Wagner watching. You see, when Joachim didn't receive my letter, he probably sent Gunther to find out why. You really ought to riding out of town rather than chasing after me with knives."

"A little too late for that now," a deeper voice came from the backroom side of the bar. Jan Wagner was there with Gunther, two watchmen looking a little worse for the wear and Daniel Bauers.

Dolf watched the excitement from a distance, but was close enough to understand Carl's humor. You were going to have a bad day when Gunther Schlosser came to see you. Herr Schlosser was . . . scary.

While he watched the action with Gunther, Heinrich and Jan Wagner, he lost track of Carl and Papa.

When he next noticed them, they were standing together talking. Carl was giving Papa a double-handed handshake like Herr Oehlschlegel had yesterday. Then both of them turned to look at him with grim smiles. Dolf knew it meant trouble for him.May as well get it over with.

Head down, he trudged over to them. Heinrich had been taken away and men were checking out the tavern's cellar floor. Dolf lifted his head as a thought came to him. In all the excitement, Carl never received his fee for playing at the Golden Lion. He was about to mention it when Adam Oehlschlegel and his wife joined the small group.

"Herr Johantgens, we hear you're leaving today," Maria Prost began. "In the two days that you've mentioned us, it seems like the door bell was always ringing. Adam got several orders. So I, and Adam, decided that you should have the shirt anyway." Carl started to protest. "No, no, you deserve it."

Carl flushed. "Well, thank you. I'll think of you two every time I wear it."

Adam spoke up. "Herr Johantgens, if in your travels you come across our son, you can tell him who made this shirt."

Carl nodded with a slightly vacant stare and looked at the shirt he was holding. "Right. Adam Oehlschlegel. Parents made this shirt."

"No, not Oehlschlegel. He latinized his name. He calls himself Adam Olearius now."

"Olearius?" A line appeared between Carl's eyebrows. "Like Johann Olearius, the late pastor at St.

Mary's inHalle ? I never met him but I spent some time with his son when I was in Wittenburg."

"Pastor Olearius was a distant cousin of mine and sponsored Adam's application to theUniversity ofLeipzig 'sSchoolofTheology ."

Carl shook his head and then laughed. "I don't plan on heading north but if I ever meet your son, I'll be happy to tell him that I got a shirt from you." He gave a deep, mischievous grin. "And how his tough old sire almost got into a fist fight right in front of me."

"Papa? What were you and Carl talking about before Herr Oehlschlegel walked up to us?"

Papa c.o.c.ked his head and looked down at Dolf as they walked back to the village with Mama and Katya. "Nothing much. Carl really did appreciate your going for help. I agreed with him that a lad with your spirit and intelligence really ought to stay longer in school. Maybe even go on to Latin school."

"Latin school?" Latin school was where you went if you wanted to get into a university. Dolf suddenly realized that Carl might not have been joking when he talked about Dolf doing what Herr Oehlschlegel's son had done.

"Uh huh. Jan Wagner mentioned earlier that I should be proud to have a son like you, who's not afraid to write to Spartacus. Or to get help when someone's in trouble. I told him I was and always had been."

Papa laid his hand on Dolf's shoulder. "Not that I'm going to stop letting you know when you're in the wrong."

"Uh, Papa, did you go to school with Herr Wagner? I mean, when you were talking with him this afternoon, you acted like you were good friends."

Papa gave a warm chuckle and tousled Dolf's hair with work-thickened fingers. "Didn't your friend Carl mention that farmers could be members of a CoC?"

Papa was in the CoC?!!!

GRAND TOUR.

By Iver P. Cooper

My name is Mister Thomas Hobbes. If you are one of the Americans from the future, you know me as a political philosopher, the praised and reviled author ofLeviathan . If you are a fellow down-timer, in this Year of Our Lord 1633, then you probably don't know me yet at all. Unless you have read my translation ofThucydides .

I was, until recently, the governor of young William Cavendish, the Earl of Devonshire. That means that I watched over him during his travels abroad, and tutored him as needed. Just as I did for his father, some score of years before.

The rude name for governor is "bearleader." People fancy that our charges are so unruly that they are like dancing bears, whom we must lead on a leash. But William wasn't like that. Usually.

We leftEngland in the spring of 1632. Christian, the dowager countess of Devonshire, had been uncertain that her son would benefit from a grand tour ofEurope which began when he was not even fifteen. I a.s.sured her that "the only time of learning is from nine to sixteen; after that, Cupid begins to tyrannize."

Calais Spring, 1632 We crossed the Channel and made landfall inCalais . There, I had the luxury of a room to myself, and I decided to take advantage of it. No, not to enjoy the questionable charms of some scullery maid. I closed the door, and started singing: "Phyllis! Why should we delay?"

You don't know it? It's one of Edmund Waller's poems, set to music by Henry Lawes.

"Can we (which we never can) Stretch our lives beyond their span, Beauty like a shadow flies, And our youth before us dies.

Or, would youth and beauty stay, Love has wings, and will away."

It's my belief that singing is good for the lungs.

"Love has swifter wings than Time; Change in love to heaven doth climb.

G.o.ds, that never change their state, Vary oft their love and hate."

Someone was banging on the wall for some reason. I hoped he would go away.

Paris Mid-1632 Our next destination was the great city ofParis , of course. At the iron gates, the customs officials searched everything. Young men pled to serve as William's valet, and thrust their letters of reference through the windows of our carriage. Fortunately, we did not need their dubious services, as William had brought his own servants.

Geoffrey Watson was an under-butler, and also served as William's valet. He had some letters, so Lady Cavendish had given him charge of her library and study. Geoffrey was to make sure William did his lessons if I was off on other business. He was always polite to me. Sometimes I thought him a shade too polite.

Samuel Brown was our coachman, but he had spent more years riding the deck of a ship than the driver's seat of a coach. He had sailed theMediterranean with the Levant Company, and he was, what's your American term, "our muscle." Samuel certainly had plenty of those. He was quick to make friends wherever we traveled. Except that one could never be sure what he would say to a Catholic priest.

Then there was Patrick McDonnell. You may be surprised that we would have an Irishman among us.

Clearly, you are not aware that the Irish make excellent running footmen. Patrick was of a wiry build, and his calves were considered first-rate. Unfortunately, he had come into a growth spurt, and hence was no longer of a height with his fellows. Otherwise I am not sure that Her Ladyship would have parted with him. He could run ahead of our coach, or ride postilion, as needed.

While I could tutor William in the academic subjects, there were some he would learn better from others. Fencing, horsemanship, and dancing, to name a few. Hence, I enrolled him in a French academy.

It was held in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a French palace, the Louvre.

This gave me some leisure time, and leisure, as you know, is the mother of philosophy. I attended many soirees, and heard much praise of the ancient Greek and Roman philosophers. This did not surprise me, as intellectuals find it easier to reverence the dead than to applaud their living compet.i.tors.

Parisis a great city, which would achieve perfection if only one were to do away with the Parisians. If something foreign arrives inParis , they either think that they invented it or that it has always been there.

French cookery was forced upon us by necessity, as we had not thought to bring a British chef with us.

We were almost poisoned by what the French presume to call food. If only the French had some interest in the culinary arts a stay inFrance would be much more pleasant. Unfortunately, the French innkeepers are as pleased to see their dishes go untouched as their English counterparts are displeased if the food is disliked. The French don't hesitate to serve stale mackerel, or raddled eggs, or beef roast to a crisp.

At least the French wine is pa.s.sable.

TheRiviera , between Ma.r.s.eille andGenoa November, 1632 In November, 1632, we boarded a Provencalfelucca , which would take us from Ma.r.s.eille toGenoa .

We had suffered several delays on the road south fromParis , thanks to outbreaks of contagion and banditry, and had arrived too late in the season to obtain pa.s.sage on a larger vessel At least, too late to do so without enduring further delays.

We were only four days into our voyage when William twitched his nose and said, "I smell smoke, Mister Hobbes."

I wasn't especially worried, at that point. The sailors were well aware of the danger of fire at sea. There was no hubbub, yet, to alarm me. But it was still conceivable that William's nose was just keener than theirs.

"Coming from someplace on board?" I asked.

"No . . . I don't think so. Look, on the sh.o.r.e! There's a fire!"

Before we could say anything further, each of us was gripped, painfully, by a meaty and indelicate hand.

"Shut your mouths, both of you," the sailor behind us whispered urgently. "Barbarypirates raiding yonder village." He let go of our shoulders, and we turned to look at him. "Sound carries far too well over water.

If they hear us, snick. . . ." He drew his finger cross his throat. "Or if you are spared, the exciting life of a galley slave."

Poor William shuddered. He had turned fifteen only the month before, and had led a rather sheltered life in centralEngland . Still, he had recently been exposed to certain harsh realities. In Ma.r.s.eille, he and I had toured one of the French navy's war galleys-it was Ma.r.s.eille's princ.i.p.al tourist attraction. He had seen the conditions under which the galley slaves labored, little dreaming that he might be in danger of being forced into such a life himself.

Nonetheless, he was a n.o.bleman, a member ofBritain 's warrior aristocracy. "Can't we do something?"

I was pleased that he asked, although I would not encourage any reckless conduct.

Of course, the captain wouldn't consider any martial exploit. "This isn't a warship," he said. "Count yourself lucky it's night."

The sailor who had confronted us, and the other common seaman, were rowing now. Feluccas mostly travel under sail, but they carry oars for emergency use.

"Why don't you raise your sail?" William asked the captain. "You could take advantage of the land breeze to move you away from sh.o.r.e."

The captain shook his head. "The sail is white. If it were a moonless light, we might chance it, but we are better off moving slowly and remaining hard to see."

He smirked. "That reminds me. I have something better for you to do than ask questions. Get your servants on deck; I can use three more oarsmen. For that matter, you look healthy enough to pull an oar yourself." I protested his highhandedness, but William a.s.sured me that he had no objection, and I was thus quelled.

Genoa November, 1632 "Yourbolletino di sanita , signore."

I presented the health certificates I had received from the French authorities, hoping for fair treatment.

Hoping in vain. "La buona mancia per il signor ufficiale," the inspector suggested, holding out his hand.