by Eric Flint
They were seated at a large round table. Which meant that William could see all of them at one time. His rescuer, Gabrielle, had the classic Mediterranean look: brown eyes, olive skin, and coffee brown hair. Her tennis partner, Heather, had matching hair and eyes, but pale skin. Millicent, Kelsey and Vicky were blondes, and Judy was a redhead. Auburn, not coppery. Height-wise, Millicent was tiny, and Vicky taller than the two guys present, John and Derrick. Geoffrey had been offered a seat, but declined. But he was happily munching on a slice of pizza at a small table nearby.
Gabrielle nudged Heather. Heather said nothing.
"So, William, what did you think of our game of tennis?" asked Gabrielle.
"It was interesting to see how it differed from real tennis."
Vicky challenged this statement. "So what do we play, 'pretend' tennis?"
Gabrielle wasn't amused. "Oh, give him a break, Vicky."
William put his hand over his heart, turned to Vicky, and inclined his head. "Forgive my poor choice of words, mademoiselle." The girls tittered. "I suppose we can call it 'royal tennis.'
"Imagine putting half a cloister inside a high-walled building. A cloister's a garden, surrounded on all four sides by a roofed gallery.
"There is a cord strung between two poles, to separate the two teams. The players have rackets, with which they hit the ball, back and forth, across the line.
"The players make the game less predictable by serving the ball so that it bounces at least once on the penthouse to their left—"
"Wait. What penthouse?" asked Millicent.
"That's the sloped roof of the gallery."
"Monks with Penthouses, huh? What about Playboys?" said John.
"Shut up, idiot." Gabrielle looked at her friends. "Has anyone ever noticed that 'brother' is just one letter away from 'bother'?"
Heather nodded. "I always thought that the Russians were clever, because their word for 'brother' is brat." Derrick saluted her, and then converted the movement into a quick grab for her slice of pizza.
"Owww!" Heather had slapped Derrick's hand away. He held it up, bent at the wrist, and acted as if it had been maimed for life.
"Do I need to operate, Derrick?" said his other sister, Kelsey. She was in EMT training. "I recommend decapitation; then you won't notice the pain."
William grinned. His own brother, Charles, had been twelve when William left England. Such an endearing age. Decapitation, defenestration, and drowning had all appealed to William at one time or another.
"If, after the served ball comes down, it's volleyed back, or it bounces in a marked area on the receiver's side, it's a good serve. From then on, you can strike the ball so it bounces off a wall, to try to trick your opponent. You can try to hit a winning opening in the galleries. And if the ball bounces twice on the server's side, or in the receiver's forecourt, or it lands in one of the other openings, it sets up a chase."
"What's that?"
"If a second bounce is anywhere on the server's side of the net, or in the front part of the receiver's side, a chase is marked at that position. Then, before the game ends, we play off the chase. We switch sides, and the new server, to win the point, either has to cause the ball to take its second bounce closer to the far wall than the mark, or get the ball into a winning opening."
"I guess that means you want to get distance on your shots."
"That's right. Otherwise, your opponent will just let the ball bounce a second time, close to the net, and then win an easy chase."
Vicky groaned. "I've heard enough about tennis. Anyone who wants to continue to talking about it—" She mimed swinging a tennis racket, two-handed. Her imaginary ball sailed out the window of the pizza parlor "—can go outside."
They told William about the twentieth century, the Ring of Fire, and the Croat raid. William spoke about his travels. The highlights, so far as the Americans were concerned, were that he had met Galileo and walked across the Alps.
William also described his home, Chatsworth Hall. Even though he was the earl of Devonshire, his estates were actually mostly in Derbyshire. Chatsworth lay between the Derbyshire River and the moors, and it was a Tudor dwelling in the grand style: square turrets at the corners, a gateway (complete with a portcullis), a great hall worthy of the name, and an inner garden. It had already achieved some notoriety, he noted, as the elegant prison of Mary, Queen of Scots.
"Sounds a bit like Pemberley," Heather said. "Wait, let me find it." She rummaged in the infamous magic bag of holding for a moment, and emerged triumphantly with a well-thumbed copy of Pride and Prejudice.
"This is from a novel written in 1813 by Jane Austen. Hold on a moment." She skimmed it rapidly.
"Aha! Listen to this: 'the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills—and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance.' And Pemberley was in Derbyshire!"
"Your 'Pemberley' does sound quite a bit like Chatsworth," William said.
"So that means—" Heather's eyes widened "—you're Darcy."
"Who's Darcy?"
"Uh, never mind." Heather fidgeted. "My Aunt Gayle's in England, now. She's with Miss Mailey, and Tom and Rita Simpson, and the rest of our embassy to King Charles."
"I hope to have the honor of meeting her and her colleagues, when I return to London. This Tom Simpson is the head of your delegation?"
Judy Wendell shook her head. "No, the official head is Rita Simpson, Mike's sister. Because Mike's President, and down-timers think he's some kind of king."
"And who, then, is the real head?"
"That would be Melissa Mailey."
William didn't comment. Vicky took issue with his silence. "You don't think a woman can handle the job?"
William held up his hands. "Please. It is only thirty years since the death of Queen Elizabeth. And if you ever met my lady mother . . ." He rolled his eyes.
"Sounds like my mother," said Millicent. "Always bossing me around."
"Where are you staying, William?" asked Heather.
"At the Higgins Hotel."
"Good for you," said Judy. "It shows you have excellent taste."
"Judy is at the Higgins, too." said Vicky.
William looked at Judy. "I thought you were a native of Grantville."
"I am," Judy said, "but my parents are working in Magdeburg, for the government. I stayed here since I wanted to finish high school. Delia Higgins is looking after me, so . . . the hotel is my home away from home."
John caught William's eye. "If I had known you could afford a room there, I would have made you pay for the whole pizza." Heather elbowed him.
"Do you know about our movies?" asked Judy.
"Movies? Some sort of race?" The up-timers laughed, and told him that movies were a form of entertainment, a bit like a play, but recorded and then looked at later, like a painting or a book. William wasn't sure he quite understood, but admitted he would like to see one.
Judy smiled. "We're all going to the Friday night movie at the Higgins Hotel. You should join us. Since you're a guest, you can get in for free."
"Yes, please do that, William," said Heather.
William was at the library, doing some research of his own.
"Hah!" The librarian shushed him.
William strode over to Hobbes' table. "Look at this. It says here that in 1638, Athanasius Kircher had himself lowered into the crater of Vesuvius. That's what I wanted to do, only you wouldn't let me. I could have done something that would have made me famous, like Kircher."
"It could also have made you dead, like poor Francis Bacon." Hobbes was referring to the infamous experiment in which Bacon, his mentor, had sought to prove that a chicken stuffed with snow would not decompose, and had instead contracted a fatal bronchitis.
Clearly, there was not
a meeting of the minds here. William changed the subject. "There is a 'movie' being shown at the Higgins Hotel tonight. Are you going?"
"No, Lord Devonshire. I found out that one of the residents has a copy of an up-time book of great interest to me. But he is leaving town tomorrow, so I must either see him tonight, or wait several weeks until he returns.
"Enjoy this movie you speak of. Make sure you bring one of the servants with you; it would be beneath your dignity to go unattended."
William had somehow neglected to mention to Hobbes that he was meeting some young ladies at the Higgins Hotel movie theater. The hotel was brand-new, and only part of it was in operation.
The operational half was a mid-rise, which held shops, the hotel lobby, the restaurant, a lounge, and the movie theater. There was also a conference center, with both conference rooms and hospitality suites.
You passed through the lobby to enter the rectangular inner courtyard, which led to "the tower." This would be a "high-rise." Right now, it was still under construction. And the courtyard wouldn't be landscaped until the tower was done.
Still, the conference center was in business. Not only did people meet there, the hospitality suites were rented out at outrageous prices to visitors, like William, who wanted to make an impression. Once the tower was in operation, guests would stay there, instead.
The hotel also made money off the restaurant and the movie theater. The latter was equipped with a VCR and a large projection TV; the hotel charged admission and split the profits with the TV owner. Movie admission was free to hotel guests, but they had to sign in, so they could be accounted for.
Judy's informal guardian in loco parentis, Delia Higgins, owned the hotel. That meant Judy could see a movie pretty much whenever she wanted, which was usually at least once a week. Her fellow Barbie Consortium members often came, too. There weren't a lot of entertainment choices, after dark.
Vicky was the first to arrive. She sat next to Judy. Then Heather showed up.
Judy, who was watching the crowd, was the first to spot her. What she saw was so astounding, her brain had trouble processing what her eyes were telling her. "Heather's wearing a dress."
Vicky turned her head so quickly, it was amazing she didn't suffer whiplash. "You're right! She always wears pants. What's going on?"
"I think William is what's going on."
"Uh-huh. This will be an interesting evening."
It was. When William arrived, which was while Heather was off in the powder room, he sat down next to Judy. Heather came back, gave Judy a suspicious look, then hurriedly took a seat on William's other side. Gabrielle arrived, and sat next to Heather, and Millicent flanked Vicky. William looked like a sultan having a night out with his harem.
Judy squirmed a bit. She liked William, but she wasn't interested in William. Not like Heather. Who Judy was probably going to be hearing from, before the night was over.
It was obvious what Heather saw in William. He could pass, in the right clothing, for a rock-and-roll idol. He was reasonably well educated, for a seventeenth-century nobleman. He was athletic.
But, hey, what kind of long-term relationship could they have? The men of his class didn't marry for love; their marriages were more like corporate mergers.
Heather was usually practical. What was wrong with her?
Oh, that. Judy hoped not.
Sybill Johnson was very apologetic.
"I am sorry, Mister Hobbes. TJ isn't feeling well, you can't come in."
"Can you fetch me the book? It's Hibbert's Cavaliers and Roundheads. I'll take good care of it."
"His library is a mess, I don't know how he finds anything."
"Perhaps . . . you could just ask him, and then find it yourself?"
"I'm so sorry, but he's sleeping, and I'm not going to wake him up. But I'll ask him tomorrow, and you can pick up the book tomorrow night." She shut the door.
Hobbes decided he might as well see what a movie was like.
It wasn't easy spotting William in the darkened room. Hobbes hunched over so as not to block the view, and shuffled along until he found his charge. There he was.
Girls to the left of him. Girls to the right of him. A coincidence? Hobbes wasn't a big believer in coincidences.
William had obviously enjoyed more of a social life in Grantville than he had been letting on.
Hobbes decided that it was high time to get William away from his female admirers. Even if that meant forsaking the Grantville Public Library for a while.
As soon as the lights were turned on, Hobbes walked over. "Ladies, I am Mister Thomas Hobbes, Lord Devonshire's governor. Do you mind if I speak privately with him for a moment?"
Hobbes pulled William into a corner, then looked back. Sure enough, several of the girls were watching them. That confirmed Hobbes' suspicions. "Lord Devonshire, you remember how anxious you were to see Magdeburg? Now that it is an imperial city?"
"Yes . . . But I'm learning a lot here."
"I am sure you are. But you are destined for a political life, and that means you need to go where the emperor is. Magdeburg."
"I suppose a little visit might be nice."
"Actually, Lord Devonshire, I thought we might spend a month or so there."
William bit his lip.
Hobbes decided to sweeten the deal. "We'll see the Swedish Army at drill, and the Navy yard building new ships, and much else of interest. And Halle's on the way; we can play at the tennis court there."
William nodded, slowly. "That sounds good. When do we leave?"
"Next Friday. I need a few days to complete my research here." Hobbes didn't mention that his research would now include background checks on the girls sitting next to William.
"So, are you going to introduce me to these young ladies?"
After all the moviegoers had gone home, or to their hotel rooms, William went to the hotel lobby to use the telephone. He called Judy.
"William? What's up?"
"There's been a change of plans. Mister Hobbes says we're going to Madgeburg. Next Friday."
"That's pretty sudden."
"Yeah."
There was a long silence.
"Y'know, my parents are living in Madgeburg now. That's why I'm staying with Delia. She's a friend of the family. Mom and Dad usually come back once a month to visit me, but it might be fun to go see them instead.
"I could ask them if we could travel up with you and Mister Hobbes. If that's okay."
"That would be great! Uh, who's 'we'?"
"My girlfriends. I'm sure Heather would like to go; she's never been to Magdeburg. Perhaps some of our brothers. And I suppose we'd have to hire guards, or our parents would have conniptions."
William took a quick look across the lobby. No sign of his tutor. "Mister Hobbes told me that there's a real tennis court in Halle. That's on the way to Magdeburg. I could teach you all how to play."
"It's a date. I mean, that sounds like fun."
* * *
Judy called Heather. "William's going to Magdeburg. For at least a month."
Heather started wailing.
"Take it easy. I have it all worked out," Judy said. "We'll travel along, let him show us his royal tennis in Halle, maybe do some sightseeing together in Magdeburg. It'll give you a chance to make more of an impression on him, and of course I'll get to see my folks."
"Thanks, Judy. Wait, you aren't interested in him yourself, are you?"
"Honestly, Heather, I have no ambition to be the 'Mistress of Pemberley.' Do you know how often I have to shoo off worthless young noblemen who hear that I'm rich?"
"But William isn't worthless."
Judy thought it just as well that Heather couldn't see her expression at the moment. "That's not what I meant."
"And I think he likes you."
"What do you want me to do, Heather? Walk around with a paper bag over my head? Come along, talk to him, play some tennis, and see how it goes."
"Okay. But what will our parents say? We can't
go without adult supervision, that's for sure."
"Hmm. Mister Hobbes is going, he's perfect. If he can get William safely across France, Italy and the Alps, he can get us from Grantville to Magdeburg.
"And we can say it's like a social studies field trip, going with this great political philosopher."
