by Eric Flint
"I am told you have an excellent speaking voice, Your Majesty," Jabe said to Gustavus. "With this device, the microphone, you won't need to speak so loudly. In fact, if you speak too loudly, you may accidentally damage the equipment."
Gustavus understood, and they were ready to tape. The Emperor of the United States of Europe may not have grown up with television, but his magnetic personality and larger-than-life presence made him a natural in front of a camera. Svetlana had always been proud of her king, but for the first time in her life she understood why so many were willing to follow Gustav II Adolph Vasa even to their deaths.
When the emperor concluded his remarks, about a half-hour later, Jabe smiled.
"Nailed it on the first take, Your Majesty."
Gustavus' pale blue eyes twinkled. "That means, I trust, that I did well, Sergeant?"
Answering that question led to an explanation of what "take" meant, which in turn led to a brief explanation of the editing process. "Most people get nervous on camera, Your Majesty. They just seize up or make a lot of mistakes. You were very relaxed and natural. It's always possible to do things over and get them right, but for something like this I think it's best if you can get it right the first time. Which you did, Your Majesty."
Jabe was breaking down the tripod and stowing the little equipment he'd had to bring with him. Gustavus walked over and picked up the small camera, examining it closely. In the emperor's outsized hands, it almost fit in one palm.
"It does not seem such a fearsome thing to me, Sergeant. Far less fearsome, in truth, than Axel Oxenstierna."
Grantville, Late winter, 1634
Prudentia sipped her coffee, looking around at the Sternbock Coffee House. There was all manner of graffiti on the whitewashed wall; the cafe's proprietor, a distant Nasi cousin named Theophilus Mendes, encouraged writing on his walls. Someone had told him about an eatery in the up-time city of Chicago that did the same thing, and Theophilus liked the idea. It had helped cement the Sternbock's reputation as the main artists' cafe in Grantville.
With her sat a Bohemian named Karel Novotny and Tino Nobili's oldest son, Burton. Burton was there at Prudentia's request; she did not meet strange men alone, even in public.
Novotny had braved muddy roads to make an exploratory trip to Grantville from Prague on behalf of Morris Roth. Prudentia knew of the Cavriani family, who were professional "middlemen." Novotny was cast from the same mold. He seemed friendly enough, but there was something about him that was slightly off-putting. She was glad Burton was there with her. Prudentia handed him the various sketches she'd made for the frontispieces.
The Bohemian examined the sketches critically. "Excellent work, Signora Gentileschi—or is it Stiattesi?"
Prudentia was a little surprised. Most people didn't know her father's family name unless she told them. Her estimation of Novotny's abilities went up for finding out that little detail, even as she felt a little uncomfortable.
"My mother is officially the head of my household, Signor Novotny; so I go by Gentileschi. And thank you for your kind compliment. You may keep the sketches to take back to Don Morris; they're copies."
The Bohemian handed Prudentia a draft for USE$3,000, half the agreed-upon price for the work. "Per your agreement with Don Morris. I will be returning this summer for the completed work, at which time you will receive the balance of the commission."
"Very good," said Prudentia. She tucked the bank draft into the pocket of her dress. "Thank you, Signor Novotny."
Novotny, however, wasn't finished. "Don Morris has spoken well of your work. Apparently, he commissioned you previously, before he moved to Prague?"
"Well, it was a very small commission. I designed a logo for his personal seal."
"Be that as it may, Don Morris instructed me to extend an offer to you."
"I'd be happy to work for him again."
"Not to work," said Novotny. "To come to Prague. He wants to you to be an artist in residence at the Women's College of his new university."
* * *
Even as she walked to the bank to deposit her draft, Prudentia had to keep replaying what Karel Novotny had just told her over and over in her head, just to make sure she hadn't imagined it. It was a tremendous opportunity. And yet . . .
If this offer had come to her just a few weeks ago, before Jabe left for Luebeck, she would have turned it down flat—unless Jabe agreed to come to Prague with her after his military commitment was fulfilled. She couldn't imagine not having Jabe at her side, for this or anything else.
Now, though, she was sure that Jabe wouldn't ask for her hand. Ever since his departure for Luebeck, Prudentia had become increasingly certain that Svetlana Anderovna would replace her in his affections. She didn't like to think about it; the last few weeks she'd thrown herself into her art as she never had before. At least when she was painting or sketching, her mind was occupied with other things, better things. Besides, on a blank canvas or sheet of paper, she could make the world into whatever she wanted.
In her dark state of mind, Prudentia saw Morris Roth's offer not as a career opportunity but as a way out. If she were in Prague, Prudentia thought, she would not have to see Jabe and Svetlana together. She would have to get her mother's approval, but she didn't think Artemisia would object. It would take a little time for her to write to Rome and get word back, but Signor Novotny had told her she didn't need to decide until this summer, when he came back from Bohemia for the completed frontispieces. There was no reason, however, that she couldn't tell Jabe of her plans when he got back from Luebeck.
On the Road, Late winter, 1634
In spite of all the dangers, the trip to Luebeck had been exhilarating to Jabe. He truly felt that he had done something that would lift people's spirits. Not to mention the fact that he had gotten to meet, even talk with, the emperor himself!
He was in Luebeck for a week all told, and Gustavus had invited him to dinner—something Jabe knew was a tremendous honor for someone of his rank. Gustavus, as he usually was about up-time technology, was curious about video. Jabe was happy enough to share what he knew, though he pointed out that he was hardly the most knowledgeable up-timer when it came to film and television.
Jabe mentioned to the emperor in passing about his oral history. To his great surprise, on the morning of his departure from Luebeck, a young boy delivered a sheaf of papers to him. Written in German in a strong, sure hand were the reflections of Emperor Gustav II Adolph Vasa about the Ring of Fire; in his case, his thoughts when he first heard about Grantville's arrival and his memories of his first meeting with Rebecca Stearns, Ed Piazza and especially Julie Sims. This alone would make sure that Jabe's book, when it was finished, would move at least a few copies.
The weather on the trip back to Grantville was dismal. It rained almost constantly, and keeping the gunpowder dry was a challenge. The plan was to reach Magdeburg and then take a boat to Halle. From there they would take the train to Grantville. The day he, Sveta and Dietrich thought they might arrive in Magdeburg, there was a particularly torrential downpour, and no one seemed eager to push on. They found an inn and decided to spend the night there.
The inn was an old manor house. The petty nobles who'd lived there had fled the war years ago, leaving their stewards behind. As a result, Jabe found, the rooms here were much nicer than in most inns. He had a room with a fireplace and didn't waste any time getting a roaring fire going. He put the soaked clothes he was wearing in front of the fire, along with the damp clothes that had been in his pack.
To pass the time as his clothes dried, he piled blankets on himself and decided to work on a story to accompany the emperor's taped address. The main thrust of the article would be to highlight the bravery of the soldiers in Luebeck as they endured life under siege, though Jabe had to spin things more than a little. He found out that, since they had antibiotics in Luebeck, the biggest enemy was boredom.
He was interrupted by a knock on his door. "Um . . . come in?" Jabe shifted the blankets
to make sure he was covered. The door opened and Svetlana walked in, wearing only a very thin shift.
* * *
Svetlana noticed that Jabe was in much better spirits now than he'd been in on the trip to Luebeck. Part of it, she knew, was the writing he'd gotten from Emperor Gustav. That would be enough to lift anyone out of melancholia. But there was more to it, she was sure. It was as if some great weight had been lifted off him.
After watching Jabe with the emperor, Sveta was more determined than ever to have him as a husband. He embodied the qualities she had come to cherish about these up-timers every bit as much as Lady Julie Mackay. Jabe, shy as he was, had acted with confidence when he interacted with the emperor. He was properly respectful and obedient to protocol at all times, but there was something he had that the Swedes surrounding Gustavus lacked. An indefinable sense of self-worth that told Jabe McDougal that, while the emperor was his leader, elder and monarch—and therefore deserving of great respect—Gustavus was not an inherently better human being than he was. Svetlana, who'd fought against feelings of inferiority all her life, loved that.
She looked at herself in the full-length mirror that stood near the fireplace in her room. It didn't match the rest of the furniture, being in rather shabby condition. Probably a purchase from Grantville, she thought. She returned her attention to the reflection staring back at her. She was lean and muscular, skinny by down-time standards, but Svetlana knew she seemed to fit the standard of beauty many up-time men had.
Perhaps, Svetlana thought, she could bind Jabe to her with her body. If it had been anyone but Jabe, she would have thought it not worth the risk. Svetlana was not a virgin, though she was not greatly experienced, and knew what could happen if a man got a woman with child and then didn't marry her. Jabe, though, was far too honorable to abandon her if that happened. He'd probably stay with her even if she didn't get pregnant.
Most of Svetlana's clothes were drying in front of the fire, but she found a shift that was dry enough. Making sure the hallway was clear, she went to Jabe's room and knocked on the door.
* * *
"Sveta, what are you doing? Is anything wrong?" Jabe asked. He was more than a little flustered. The shift she was wearing did little to conceal her trim body.
"Nothing's wrong," she said, as she walked over to the bed. She sat down, facing him.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea. I mean, I'm your superior; there's probably rules against—"
She shut him up with a scorching kiss, and at first Jabe couldn't help but respond. He liked Svetlana, and no one could deny she looked good. With a supreme effort of will he broke away.
"This isn't right."
"Why not?"
"It just isn't, that's all."
Svetlana looked at him with those blue, blue eyes of hers. "Please don't send me away. Please?" She took off her shift.
Jabe swallowed hard twice. A thought from some reptilian part of his brain surfaced: Why not? Prudentia wouldn't have to know. He forced the thought away. It wasn't that he was a prude about sex or even that he had a religious reason for waiting until marriage. But Jabe didn't want to remember his first time with shame and regret, which he surely would if things went any further with Svetlana right now.
"Sveta, put your clothes on. Please."
"But why? If it was Prudentia, not me, you wouldn't be holding yourself back!"
"No," said Jabe truthfully, "I probably wouldn't be."
"I would be a good wife for you."
"But you're not the one for me, Sveta. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."
"Why her and not me? We have so much more in common."
"I don't know. I don't know if I can put it into words. Prudentia just makes me feel . . . well, she makes me feel like I can do things I wouldn't have thought I was able to do. It's like she fills in a part of me that I need."
"And I don't." The note of finality in Sveta's voice didn't really need a response. She knew what his answer would have to be. She put her shift back on.
"Look, Sveta, we don't have to tell anyone else about this, okay?"
She said nothing, only nodded.
Grantville, Late winter, 1634
Prudentia felt numb inside. She kept trying to tell herself she was happy. Between what she herself knew of Morris Roth and the events in Bohemia over the last few months and what Karel Novotny had told her of the new University of Prague, every instinct she had told her that accepting his offer would be career-making. And yet . . .
And yet she was utterly miserable. She hadn't eaten well in days; Tino and Vivian Nobili were worried and were after her to see the doctor. They were concerned that she was sick. They were right—she was sick, though not in the way they perhaps thought. It was worse today; Jabe was due back and would arrive on the train from Halle at any time. Prudentia was sure that he would come to the Nobilis' to tell her that his courtship was ending. She'd already decided that before that could happen, she would tell him she would be leaving for Prague by the end of the summer.
Just as she thought he would, Jabe showed up, looking rumpled and travel-weary. He smiled when she opened the door.
"I'm so glad to see you, Prudentia."
"I'm leaving," she blurted out, with no preamble. "I'm going to Prague this summer."
Jabe's jaw sagged. He dropped his pack in shock.
Seeing Jabe's reaction, a little bit of hope flared inside Prudentia. She tried to ignore it. She didn't want to be hurt. She expected Jabe to say something, anything, but the silence seemed to stretch on for eternity.
She decided to fill that silence. "I wish you and Svetlana all happiness. But I can't be here to see you two together."
"What, but, ah . . . Svetlana? What are you talking about? You can't go to Prague!"
Hope flared again, and this time Prudentia didn't try to suppress it. "Why not?"
"I don't know. Maybe you can. But I'll have to come with you. Even if I have to desert, I'll go with you."
Looking at Jabe, Prudentia knew he wasn't kidding. Tears came to her eyes and overflowed. "You would go somewhere where you don't know anyone?"
"I'd know you. And Mr. and Mrs. Roth. Sort of. But I can't be apart from you. Is that what you were afraid of? That I was going to leave you for Svetlana? Why, for heaven's sake?"
"You do have a lot in common with her."
"Yes. But she doesn't make me feel the way you do. I don't think anyone could." Jabe looked at her. "I'm serious. I'll go to Prague with you if that's what you really want."
Prudentia kissed him then. "Let's not be hasty. I think I will tell Don Morris no—for now. Perhaps in the future, if he is still willing. But I would not ask that of you."
They kissed again and then just spent time together. Not talking or doing anything else. Just reveling in each others' presence, and that was good enough.
Grantville is Different
by Russ Rittgers
It was late August, 1632, when Georg Bauer climbed out of the ditch he'd been digging for Jena's new sewer line. Sweat was still pouring off him when he first heard about Grantville.
Almost twenty-two, with dark hair and a strong build, Georg was the fourth son of a farmer who threw him out after he beat one of his brothers senseless. His older brother had been an overbearing bully and Georg knew his father would never willingly let him leave the farm without a major cause. So he gave him one. Georg soon found a small town and was a tough for a year until it was destroyed by one of the passing armies. Escaping unhurt, he joined another army as a mercenary. After almost dying of camp fever three months later, Georg decided any place an army wasn't in Germany would be healthier. So one night while he was supposed to be on guard duty, he slipped away, ending up in Jena ten days ago.
Georg poured cup after cup of water down his throat during his break. "Hans, who's the big blond with the short hair talking with the boss?" he asked one of his fellow ditchdiggers.
"That's Herr Chip Jenkins," Hans answered, taking a quick glance. "He works
with the Jena Committee of Correspondence. He drops by here every now and then. He also does some administrative work for this project. I hear he's also the son of a rich landowner in Grantville. Came here less than a year ago. After the Americans captured that small mercenary army."
"Grantville? Doesn't sound German."
"You're right. I hear some witchcraft dropped the entire town west of Rudolstadt. They call themselves Americans and say they're from across the Atlantic Ocean. Some say that no one has to work hard there, there's as much light at night as there is in daytime and they have carriages that don't need horses. Bunch of crap, I say. You want to find out about it, ask Herr Jenkins. Break's over," Hans said when the bell rang again. He picked up his shovel and jumped down into the ditch.
That evening at the crowded Crazy Fox tavern, Georg was hesitant about walking up to Herr Jenkins and asking anything. The Crazy Fox had a different feel. It took several moments to figure out why. Then it came to him. It was the women! Granted this wasn't a low tavern but somehow the atmosphere was different from the usual respectable neighborhood tavern as well. There was more . . . vibrancy. Here, while there were barmaids and a few women who looked like they might be prostitutes, there were many other women—maids, laundresses, common working women, wives of working men, older and younger women. In fact, he didn't take a count but there seemed to be far more women in the room than men and they seemed to be in anticipation.
Herr Jenkins was standing near a table with a small mug of beer in his hand. For one with such a position, he seemed remarkably accessible. He was joking with the men and women, occasionally winking humorously. He was not slim but Georg could distinguish a muscular body under his clothing. Tall, inches taller than Georg, Herr Jenkins didn't act at all like a wealthy landowner's son. Certainly not the one whose father owned the land Georg's father and brothers farmed. Arrogant snot. Perhaps like Georg, Herr Jenkins had been thrown off the land.
