Grantville Gazette-Volume XIII Read online

  Nick waited until the visitors were a block away. "Jim, aren't you wondering who the eventual buyer of this car is? For all you know, it could be someone who wants to destroy everything you stand for."

  "And you're the one who says not to worry, Father." Jim sounded strangely smug. "I've just helped ensure tomorrow."

  "What?"

  "Think! What's the first thing that Father Larry—oops, Cardinal Mazzare—does when he has a spare moment?"

  "He fixes cars."

  "Yep. He fixes cars. And airplanes take a lot more maintenance than cars do," Jim said.

  "So? Someone could still try to destroy Grantville."

  "They can try."

  "By all accounts, those Croats came too close."

  "To make the airplane work well, they'll have to develop a whole support system. They'll need technicians, and measuring instruments, and eventually, they'll need materials."

  "So you're just helping to develop someone else's economy," Nick replied.

  "There's no "just helping" about it. Lolly's driven home to me that the only way we'll get what we want for things like medical supplies is for everyone to be growing and changing. Everyone. Everywhere. Any year now."

  Nick nodded. He knew just how close a call the twins had had. The night when he'd christened the early babies at Leahy Medical Center was still etched in his brain. "So by selling the car, you're removing worries from tomorrow?"

  "There've been other interested buyers. They just didn't sound like they were able to follow through. Those two, though? Wherever they go, they'll help build the world my children need."

  Jim turned around, and clapped Nick on the shoulder. "C'mon into the house, Father Nick. If I know Lolly, she's put together a basket of food for the rectory for tomorrow. Worry not."

  * * *

  Turn, Turn, Turn

  Written by Virginia DeMarce

  July 1634

  Father Nicholas Smithson, S.J., cleared his throat for the third time. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the wall of St. Mary's rectory. After a pause, he cleared his throat for the fourth time.

  With obvious reluctance, Father Athanasius Kircher, S.J., lifted his head from looking at the top sheet in a large pile of papers. "Yes, Nick?"

  "I know you've been saving this evening for catching up on letters from your correspondence circle. I wouldn't interrupt if . . . ."

  ". . . it weren't important."

  "Right." Nick moved over toward Kircher's desk. "Henry Gage is in town."

  "This is important why?" Kircher, naturally, did not have the familiarity with England that a native son of the island did.

  "He's from an old English Catholic family with strong ties in the Spanish Netherlands. His grandmother's family were merchants at Liege; his wife's mother is Flemish. Through his mother, he's a grandson of the late Sir Thomas Copley, the exile who was knighted in France and made a baron by Philip II of Spain, much to the displeasure of the late queen. He went back to England for a while in 1627, but returned in 1630. He's been commanding an English regiment in the Spanish service, under Don Fernando, now."

  "Is it bad that he is in Grantville?"

  "Normally, I'd be delighted to see him. His Aunt Helen, Copley's daughter, was the mother of the two Stanihursts. Given that we really need more English-speaking priests here at St. Mary's, I'd normally recommend that you approach him about trying to interest either Peter or William. They're both in their thirties, so they'll have the energy to keep up with the pace of things here. But they entered the order in their teens, so they're seasoned. It would make a nice balance."

  "What is not normal?"

  "Henry didn't drop by to catch up on old times. We had scarcely blown the foam off our beers when he asked to purchase a copy of that old report I did on spark plugs."

  "You did say that he's an army officer." Kircher pursed his lips. "Is he working for Don Fernando? The cardinal-infante withheld his troops from active participation against the USE this spring, under various pretexts, some colorable and some . . ."

  "Not so plausible. Yes. There's a truce, but not a treaty." Nick moved back and leaned against the wall again. "And then there's the man he's traveling with. An English engineer. He's describing himself as 'Master of Fortifications to the Prince of Orange.'"

  "Is he?"

  "He's definitely been working in the Netherlands for Frederik Hendrik. That much is true. He was born in London and the family is armigerous, I think. Or, at least, he's claiming connection to a gentry family. So there's no obvious reason for him to be working with Gage other than that, perhaps, someone has paid him a great deal of money."

  "Or perhaps the rumors that Don Fernando and the stadhalter have come to some detente are true."

  "Possibly more interesting is a book that Ms. Mailey loaned on deposit to the state library." Nick reached into the pocket of his soutane and read out, "History of the Pequot War: The Contemporary Accounts of Mason, Underhill, Vincent and Gardener. Reprinted from the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society. With additional notes and an Introduction by Charles Orr, Librarian of Case Library." He paused. "1980. Reprint of the 1897 edition, published by Helman-Taylor Co., Cleveland. One of the relations in it, described as 'among the most reliable' by the editor, was written by Henry Gage's traveling companion. Gardiner seems to have trained under Thomas Fairfax—the old man."

  "Puritan, then?"

  "If it pays, probably. In the world in which he wrote his 'Narrative,' he worked for Lord Saye and Sele's company. He's married to a Dutch woman from Woerden. They went to New England next year, and eventually managed to get a manorial grant for an entire island off the coast of New Amsterdam. Which, by then, was New York, I believe. Or soon would be."

  "Talk to them." Kircher turned back to his reading, unwilling to give up one of his rare chances to maintain his scientific interests.

  Nick turned to leave the room.

  Kircher's voice followed him. "Talk to them long enough that you find out who else they are talking to. And sell them a copy of the spark plug report. It's old news and the parish can use the money."

  * * *

  "Engines," Lion Gardiner said. "All the information about engines that you can provide. Especially airplane engines. Not that anyone involved with aviation wants to talk to us about engines."

  Shelby Carpenter cocked her head. "Jesse the Mighty Colonel Wood damned well won't, nor any of his people. The Kitts won't either. And little as I like the Kellys, especially Madam Kay who treats me like the dirt under her feet, they won't." She twirled her stein around in the puddle of water that had condensed under it on the table. "But I think I've met someone who will."

  * * *

  "What exactly did I do up-time? I was a mechanical engineer, that's what. With a bachelor's degree. Over twenty years of experience. I worked for GE in Baltimore, Maryland, that's what I did. And if I hadn't let my wife talk me into coming to her aunt and uncle's damned wedding anniversary party, that's where I still would be. Not here, slaving in a back room for Dave Marcantonio, because we were caught here with hardly a cent to our names and nothing but the clothes on our backs and I damned well wasn't going to take charity from her family. Marina didn't want to, either. None of the others who are doing aviation now could pay a living wage, at first, so we went with Marcantonio, who could—me as an engineer and Marina as a drafter. And that's where we're still stuck, working for wages while people around us are making fortunes, like those damned Sewing Circle kids."

  He slammed a piece of paper on the table. "Look at the job description. That's the job I was applying for when the Ring of Fire happened."

  Lion Gardiner craned his neck and saw magic words.

  . . . responsible for the design, development and test of aircraft engines or engine components. They are accountable to ensure that the product meets performance criteria, weight, and fit and function specifications . . .

  "Why haven't you begun your own firm, as others have d
one?" he asked.

  "For the same reason I likely wouldn't have gotten the promotion," Peter Barclay admitted a little ruefully. "People skills. It was that 'good interpersonal and leadership skills highly desirable' line in the job descriptions that always shafted me. How the hell am I going to go out and schmooze the money guys to raise capital? But all the rest of it, I could have done. And done it well. Since when do you need to talk nice to components? Design them, test them, and be done with it. Now, what do you want to know about aircraft engines and how much will you pay me for it?"

  * * *

  "Therefore," Henry Gage wrote, "I respectfully suggest that you modify your hopes to some degree. I believe that it would be possible to obtain, not only an exemplar of one of the engines in question, but also, if a sufficient financial inducement were to be offered, at least one trained engineer and several technicians. It is true that the great majority of the inhabitants of this Grantville are most zealous supporters of their Michael Stearns and through him of the Protestant Swede. However, they are human. Additionally, this Barclay is Catholic. Although this will probably be of little matter to him, since Grantville is a far less hostile world for Catholics than is England. To the best of my knowledge, he has not even noticed that I am of the same faith as himself, whereas Gardiner is not."

  Grantville, August 1634

  Kircher looked at the pile of money on his table. Nick Smithson had dropped it into a small clearing produced by pushing a few stacks of paper closer together. "That's better than I was expecting we would do."

  "Gage and Gardiner are definitely collecting technological information. I sold them several old reports and wrote three new ones, as well. Nor am I the only one. The Grantville Research Institute has done well by their visit." Nick resumed his favorite position against the wall. "But they are not collecting the material for Don Fernando."

  "For whom, then?" Kircher raised his eyebrows.

  "Their contact is Istvan Janoszi. He has been in Grantville, or at least back and forth between Grantville and Prague, for a year or so, now. I thought perhaps Wallenstein?"

  "Very unlikely. Wallenstein has plenty of contacts here already. What is Janoszi like? I don't believe I've met him."

  "A middle-aged man. Calvinist." Nick grinned. "That's probably why you haven't met him. He goes to the Reverend Wiley's church when he's in town. He serves as a man of business for Count Pal Nadasdy, who up until how has resisted all of the emperor's . . . incentives . . . for his return to the mother church."

  "Austria, then?"

  Kircher meditated a few minutes. "Nadasdy's children are still young, but he has a nephew, his sister's orphan—a Catholic, to boot, and therefore welcome at the imperial court—who is only a year or so younger than the emperor's son. The two have been companions, so he may be closer to the king of Hungary than he is to Ferdinand II. And the younger Ferdinand speaks for the peace party in Austria in this world, just as he did in the other."

  "An arc across the Germanies, then? Fernando in the Netherlands providing access to resources for the voices of reason in Austria?" Nick nodded. "The emperor isn't well. Don Fernando and his advisers have to be thinking about what will happen when Ferdinand II dies. Or, if they aren't, they should be. But why technology? And would private citizens have the kind of money that Gage and Gardiner have been spending?"

  "The younger Ferdinand will need some sort of a counterweight against his father's zealots. Technology would give it to him, in a way. A demonstration that he has the resources to defend Austria and Hungary, both in the Balkans and against Gustav. . . He has to be looking around, especially since he is spending the summer inspecting fortifications on the Turkish frontier. And, yes. Nadasdy is a magnate. He can afford to spend a lot of money. If he is drawing on his nephew's resources as well, he can afford to spend more than just 'a lot.'"

  "And the man who brought that technology to him . . . a patriot, obviously, displaying zeal for the welfare of Austria . . . A Catholic friend . . . with a Protestant uncle who assisted . . . an argument for toleration . . ." Nick frowned. "I'm not sure where this is going."

  Kircher stood up. "We cannot solve all the continent's problems in one evening, my friend. Yet, occasionally, we do solve one. Gage did write to his young cousins. One of them was interested. And Father Mazzare . . ." Kircher smiled. "Cardinal Mazzare, I should say, has written from Rome that the Father-General is looking favorably upon our request to have William Stanihurst assigned here. So, even aside from the money they paid for your research, St. Mary's, like the Grantville Research Institute, has done well from Gage's visit. Let us give thanks for God's providential ways."

  * * *

  THE END

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