Grantville Gazette, Volume X Page 37

  Anya didn't dispute that, but she didn't believe it either. To Anya happiness was not having people tell her what to do. Maybe being able to tell others what to do. It was the unattainable, being boss, not servant. Russian village life was noble life writ small. There were differences but clan was very important. The status of your family within the village was all important.

  Grantville

  "Well, the problem is that it's not like we could repossess it." Dori Ann Grooms hesitated a moment and Vladimir saw the blush rise. "I'm sorry. That really wasn't the best way to put it, Herr Yaroslavich. What I mean was that your collateral is simply too far away for the Bank of Grantville to accept it as surety for a loan. It's not like it was in the old . . . ah, new . . . back up-time. We couldn't send a lawyer to dispossess anyone who was living in this village, could we?"

  Vladimir nodded. He'd thought that might be the answer, but it had been worth a try. He needed more money, cash on hand. Most of his family's wealth was tied up in land. Much of the rest was tied up in the Dacha research center. "Do you have any suggestions, then?"

  Dori Ann shook her head. "Edgar said you might have better luck with the Abrabanel Bank. Seems like they've got agents everywhere."

  * * *

  Cousin Rafael's secretary ushered the Russian prince into the office, close the door and left, while Don Francisco Nasi sat in a corner and grinned.

  "Ah . . ." Vladimir was clearly unprepared to discover that Don Francisco would be sitting in on his conference with the distant cousin who headed their bank in Grantville.

  Don Francisco waved him down. "I'm not here to interfere in your business with Cousin Rafael, Prince Vladimir." He smiled at the look on Vlad's face. "Yes, I am quite aware what knaiz means."

  "Then you do understand that I will not . . ."

  "Betray your people? Please. Do I look like a fool?" Francisco waved away the whole idea. "All that is going on here is that when I learned of your appointment with Rafael, I decided to take the opportunity for a semi-private meeting. But I am more then willing to wait my turn. Please go on with your banking."

  Then for a while Francisco mostly watched as Vladimir and Rafael discussed banking matters. Oh, he put in a comment here and there. "Vladimir's Dacha has already produced half a dozen products that are being licensed to various groups in Muscovy. Are you sure, cousin, that speculative venture is the right description?" Which got Francisco a dirty look from his cousin. And a curious one from Vladimir.

  Then some time later. "Paper rubles with the printing in the hands of the Duma. No disrespect intended, Vladimir, but the czar's cabinet isn't exactly known for its restraint."

  "A lot if that was simply not being aware of the consequences. Printing gobs of money would not benefit the great houses."

  "If they realize that and if they care." Rafael said. "Printing gobs of money as you put it may not be good for the economy but in the short run it can be very good for the printers. Even if they show restraint, determining the amount of money needed to run the economy with out causing hyper-inflation is no easy task. Not even with computers. I can't avoid the conclusion that accepting payment in the czar's paper would be a speculative investment. I really have to insist on New US Dollars."

  So it went for about two hours. Francisco mostly watched the exchange, and kept Rafael from skinning the Russian prince too badly. Vladimir wasn't as good at this as he apparently thought he was. But, finally, agreement was reached and Vladimir was provided with a letter of credit.

  At which point, by prior arrangement, Rafael excused himself and it was Francisco's turn. "The reason I invited myself to your meeting was that I wanted talk to you about where you think the CPE and Russia are headed."

  At first Vladimir demurred, pointing out that mostly his mission had to do with information that was mostly free for the asking, from the National Library and the Research Center.

  Nasi grinned. "That is true enough, but incomplete. Yes, your shop is getting most of its information from the research center, but you are also involved in what the up-timers call 'industrial espionage.' For instance, the sewing machine that went to Moscow with Bernie Zeppi was accompanied by rather copious notes on how it was made and what machines would be needed to make more."

  Vladimir smiled. "The twins were more than happy to explain how it was done. It isn't like I broke into their factory in the middle of the night and stole the designs."

  "And Fedor Ivanovich Trotsky, whose last name has such unfortunate connotations? Is he also staying within the bounds of law?" Nasi laughed at Vladimir's expression. Trading Boris for Fedor Ivanovich had not been a good deal. "Never mind. He is not very good and we aren't that worried about him. The largest danger he represents is that he will report rumor as fact. But please consider my offer. There are things I won't tell you, but I won't lie to you unless absolutely necessary. All I ask from you is the same courtesy."

  * * *

  "Vlad." Brandy waved the letter. "What precisely is a clan?"

  "Huh?"

  "Your sister is talking about clans. I'm not sure what she means." She handed him the letter and waited impatiently as he read it.

  "Clan seems a fairly good word." He pursed his lips like he wasn't quite sure. "I think I would say family connections, but I am not sure. From what I understand your government frowns on what you call nepotism, right?"

  Brandy nodded, wondering where this was going.

  "Muscovy is different. Nepotism is an institution of government."

  Brandy giggled, thinking he must be exaggerating to make his point. But Vlad was looking serious, even concerned. "You don't mean literally?"

  Vlad nodded, looking a little shamefaced. "Yes. If a person whose extended family is of lower rank is placed over a person whose family is more highly ranked . . ." Vladimir hesitated. Brandy had seen it before, both in Vlad and other down-timers. She had even done it herself, trying to explain things like the Goth style of dress. It wasn't just that the concept was missing, it was that there were half a dozen interrelated concepts that were all a bit different from the down-time concept.

  "A person's rank in Muscovy is determined by three things," Vlad finally continued. "His personal rank in the bureaucracy, his family's rank and his inherited rank. However, they are all at least somewhat mixed together. My family is small but descended from independent princes. Because it is small and doesn't have a lot of connections to other great families, it's fairly weak. In my case, that is somewhat counter-balanced by the fact that I am the prince. But a cousin of mine, if I had one, would be of significantly lower rank than a cousin of Ivan Borisovich Cherkasskii, because the Cherkasskii family has connections by marriage to many other great families. Also, because the Cherkasskii family has served in the government of Muscovy for many generations and counts several boyars among it ancestors.

  "So, say my cousin and Ivan Borisovich's cousin both get jobs in the bureaus. My cousin, through talent or luck, advances more quickly. So my cousin is placed as section chief over a section in which Ivan Borisovich's cousin serves."

  "Makes sense."

  But Vald was shaking his head. "Because the Cherkasskii clan is higher ranked than the Yaroslav clan, it would be against the law for my cousin to be placed in authority over Ivan Borisovich's. He could have higher personal rank, but still could not be put above Ivan Borisovich's cousin in the same chain of command."

  "Like, say, he's a prince?" Brandy tilted her head to the side.

  "Yes." Prince Vladimir got a bit red in the face. "But not just that. It's the rank of the family as much as that of the individual. The family's situation must be considered first. Before individual wants."

  * * *

  Vladimir had just opened the packet from Moscow when someone used the door knocker. He looked at the clock he had purchased and stifled a curse. Time passed so quickly. Brandy Bates and her mother, Donna, had agreed to come to dinner tonight. It would be a quiet dinner, just the three of them.

  One of the letter
s in the packet caught his eye. Surely it must be important. As all of them were—to their originators, at any rate. Vladimir was beginning to dread the packets, in truth. There was yet another over-large stack of letters in this packet. Vlad knew they would contain more requests, demands, and commands, depending on who the writer was. And probably half of the questions would have already been answered.

  The turnaround time for communications was over two months. The message packets came every week or so. Often he got requests for clarification of some point, did the research and sent an answer. Then a week or two later he got another message saying "never mind, we figured it out." They had obviously figured out the problem before he ever got the request. Sometimes their solutions matched the answer he had sent and sometimes not.

  Sometimes the solutions were better than the answer he had sent. That meant opportunities Vlad could take advantage of here in Grantville. There were, as of his last report, something like a hundred of the brightest minds in Muscovy living in his dacha a few miles outside of Moscow. This wasn't anywhere near the number of bright minds that were in Grantville by now, but still constituted a fairly robust R&D facility. Sometimes they came up with solutions that the up-timers wouldn't because the up-timers knew "it didn't work that way."

  Vladimir averaged sending one message packet a week back to Moscow. Usually it would include the most recently copied up-timer books and what answers he had been able to get for the lists of questions that came in every packet.

  His major-domo announced Brandy and Donna moments after he broke open the impressive looking letter. As they were shown in, he read the first paragraph. "Will you look at this!" Vladimir stood and stomped around the room. "Just look at it!" The letter had the imperial seals as well as those of the Russian Orthodox church. It was from Filaret, the patriarch of the church. Who also happened to be the father of the czar.

  "Well, I could." Brandy giggled. "But it wouldn't do much good, you know. I can't read your language, remember. Suppose you just tell me what it says."

  Vlad stopped his pacing and looked startled for a moment. "Ah . . . yes. I forget. You've learned so much about me and my country that I feel you must know the language by now. Silly of me, I suppose. Come ladies, come. Sit down, please. Will you have a glass of wine?"

  Brandy smiled. "I do the same thing. It always surprises me when you need a word translated these days. Anyway, what does that very impressive looking letter say? It must be important, considering all the seals and ribbons. And yes, please. After this day, I could use a glass. I could use several for that matter. It's really been a day."

  Donna Bates was enjoying the conversation. Brandy and Vlad's relationship had been developing nicely over the past few months. True, there had been hopes of a relationship with Henning Drugen. Henning was a good man, very responsible. The problem was that he wouldn't release any responsibility to Brandy. He made the decisions and expected Brandy to comply with them. That relationship just hadn't worked out. Henning and his sister, Justine, had moved to a home in Forest Grove a few months back.

  But Vlad, well, Vlad was different. He and Brandy discussed things and came to mutual agreements. Donna had high hopes for this one. Vlad was basically the Muscovy ambassador these days, as well as a pretty good researcher.

  "Tell me, Donna Ivanovna, was the government in your America as impossible to please as mine is?" Vlad's face was still a bit flushed with irritation. "The patriarch, of all people, sends me a request to have the entire library sent to Moscow. Impossible, totally impossible. Have they no idea of the size of such a project? Have they any idea of the expense?

  "Oh, and you will love this part." Vladimir waved the paper again. "At the same time, I am to prevent the sale of up-timer books to other nations. Especially Poland and nations ruled by the Habsburgs. And I am to especially prevent the books from falling into the hands of the Roman church. Let me read you this. It is impossible."

  "To Knaiz Vladimir Petrovich Yaroslavichov

  It is most necessary that the knowledge of the up-timers be limited to those of the true faith or at the very least provided to those of us of the orthodox church first. This must happen before it becomes available to those influenced by Rome. You must acquire the library, especially the National Library, mentioned in your dispatches and send it to the Church as soon as possible.

  You are to be congratulated on sending so many books so rapidly. As you know, I am an expert on books and the time it takes to make copies. It is clear that you are somehow acquiring originals of the books you have sent because so many could not have been copied so quickly.

  The spiritual tracts and philosophical knowledge gained by the up-timers must especially be sent to the church first. This is so that they may be reviewed before they are released. We wish to avoid partial understanding and crisis of faith among the followers of the true faith.

  Further, it is essential that advances in techniques, new techniques and the knowledge of science be limited to nations that share in our beliefs. Some Protestant nations, particularly Sweden, may be allowed this knowledge but it must be kept from Poland and the Habsburg beast. Especially, knowledge of medicines and healing must be controlled, lest the unscrupulous Roman clergy use it to bolster faith in their misinterpretation of God's word.

  "Can you believe it?" Vlad asked. "Can you believe it?"

  Donna very nearly snorted wine up her nose. Vladimir was still stalking around the room and waving his arms in the air. It was clear the man was under a little too much stress lately. And this letter from the czar's father certainly hadn't helped. Still, watching Vlad stomp around was entertaining. "You really need to calm down a little bit. You're going to give yourself a stroke. Come on. Sit down and relax a bit. After all, as they say: the czar is very far away."

  Vladimir slumped into a chair and poured his own glass of wine. "Every week I send a report. And every week I get more and more impossible requests. And I have no doubt that there are at least half a dozen more in this packet alone." A piece of paper fell out of it.

  "Well, if it isn't going to violate national security or something, why don't you pull them out and read them to us?" Donna suggested. "That way you can blow off steam before you try to answer them. Unless you're afraid of the servants or something like that."

  "Not my servants," Vlad asserted. "Well, not most of them. I hired local help, except for a few. Grigorii Ensheevich and Vasily, they are both from my lands and Grigorii Ensheevich almost raised me. Vasily grew up with me. Was educated with me, for that matter. I'm safe with them." Vlad didn't mention the rest of the Bureau personnel, but dug into the packet of letters and grinned mischievously. "Oh, you're going to enjoy this, Brandy. Here. You have a letter from Berna." Vlad handed Brandy a letter, one that was not decked out in ribbons and seals. After she took it, he picked up another missive. He was glad to see it had fewer ribbons and seals.

  "Oh, no." Brandy stared at the letter like it might be a snake. "Two months ago it was 'send me a sewing machine.' Last month it was 'send me a generator.' And we've done it, every time. What do you suppose Bernie wants now? I'm almost afraid to read it." Brandy glared at the letter, suspicion all over her face.

  Donna stifled another snort at the look she wore. "Come on, Brandy. At least it will be in English. Read it to us."

  "Okay, Mom." Brandy gingerly opened the letter. "I'll read it. But hang on to your hat. There's just no telling, there really isn't"

  "Hey, girl"

  "You know," Brandy muttered, "he could use my name, just to freaking be polite." She continued,

  "Well, if Dad really wants the old car out of the way how about we do this? I'm sending you an authorization to take money out of my savings account. Will you give Dad some money for me? Tell him it's a storage fee, or something. Anything to keep him from getting rid of the car. Then, if you could have Vlad get someone to pull the engine out of it for me, I'd really appreciate it. I'm enclosing a bill of sale from me to you, just in case.

  The bo
dy doesn't really matter that much, I don't guess. But I want the engine and the transmission. I want them bad. Actually, I'd like to have all of it, but there's no way to ship it, not in one piece, probably. Ask Vlad, will you? I'd take it all if I could get it.

  I've asked Natasha to ask Boris (I love that . . . Boris and Natasha, the Russian spies.) to authorize paying for the transport back here. If worse comes to worse, we'll tear the whole thing apart and try to build our own version. God, I miss the car, I really do.

  Thanks, Bernie

  "Oh, Lord." Donna couldn't repress the giggle. "Bernie wants his car. In Russia. In the year 1633. That makes a lot of sense."

  Brandy, Vladimir and Donna laughed. "I can't imagine what he'll do with it." Brandy shook her head. "What do you think, Vladimir? Should you send Bernie his car?"

  Vladimir slumped farther into his chair. "I told you there would be more impossible demands, didn't I?"

  Brandy grinned. "The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer. What did you get in that letter?"