Grantville Gazette. Volume XX (ring of fire)

by Eric Flint

  The door slammed open. People jumped. Gottfried Groenenbach and his wrecking crew armed with cudgels swaggered in. Everyone drew back.

  "Plotting revolution?" he asked.

  Annabet held the lace panel up to the light to judge her progress. "Making frillies." She switched her gaze to the enforcer. "Gossiping. Female things."

  "And you, Herr Klaussen?"

  Paul met Groenenbach's look, then took a pull from his flask. "I am the only non-betrothed rooster in a room full of hens. Who needs revolution when there are women running loose?"

  Groenenbach looked around again. "Why these women?"

  Paul smiled and tugged on Annabet's lace-edged cap. "I like my pullets to have fine feathers." He grunted when Annabet's elbow connected with his ribs. "And be full of spice. I will be a master some day so I might as well start looking for a wife sooner rather than later."

  Groenenbach sneered at that. He and his men tromped through the women, kicking over baskets and upending work bags, searching. They loomed over the men, Karl in particular.

  Karl ignored them and kept sanding his latest crochet hook.

  Not finding anything but patterns and simple tools, Groenenbach menaced the group for a bit then left.

  ***

  Johann stepped inside the door of the Nutsch family parlor almost three weeks later. He growled and dropped his pack.

  Annabet frowned at him. "What is wrong with you?"

  Johann pointed at Paul. "What is he doing here?"

  "Talking about the Committees of Correspondence."

  Paul merely drank from his mug. "I'm also courting your sister."

  Annabet swatted him. She had learned Paul liked to tease people. He especially liked to tease her. "He is keeping up the charade we agreed on."

  "No one only visits their sweetheart at their shop," Paul added.

  Johann just looked at him with suspicion.

  Paul smiled. "How many patterns did you bring back? More and more women want American lace. Annabet can't make her own patterns fast enough."

  "Lots. The lady let me copy a whole book this time." Johann opened his pack and took a thick sheaf of paper out before tossing several rollags of mauve wool to Annabet.

  "They had no spun wool," Johann told her. "I did manage to convince the owner of Lothlorien Faberwerks that all women know how to spin. All they wanted were the new colors." He pulled out more bundles of unspun wool. These were smaller and in a variety of vivid, nearly eye-searing colors Annabet had never seen before. "He got excited and talked into some device. Then he sold me all the samples my bag would hold and asked that I tell him what the women liked best." Next he pulled out more paper.

  "Are those the patterns?" Paul asked.

  Johann grinned. "Oh, no. We have much work to do. While I was in Grantville, there were many stories being told about Brillo the Ram." He nodded when Annabet raised her eyebrows in a question and pointed at the wool piled in her lap. "That Brillo, yes. If Brillo were a man and not a ram, he would be leading the Committees of Correspondence.

  "I collected all the stories I could since I think they will be very popular here. I also started sketching illustrations for them. I think I could make them into books for children. Listen." He read Schade, Brillo! Schade! aloud to them. "It's never too early to start teaching people about freedom."

  Annabet and Paul exchanged looks. Annabet blushed and fingered the wool in her lap. "The earlier the better," she said. She straightened her shoulders. "It is our duty to instruct children how to be good adults. If we should ever have them."

  Paul smiled at her and raised his mug in a toast.

  Annabet blushed and went back to her hand work.

  Paul stopped teasing her, for the time being, and looked at Johann. "Show me your sketches then read us the next story."

  ***

  An Electrifying Experience

  Jack Carroll

  Somewhere in the eastern Harz mountains, 1635

  Something's burning! Stefan Leichtfuss stopped in his tracks to sniff, and began slowly scanning his eyes all around. There! A wisp of smoke was rising out of that new wooden cabinet mounted on the post! Before he could move, there was a loud humming, and then a rising screech from the machine on the floor. He was halfway across the mill before the two sacks he'd been carrying hit the floor and spilled. He paid no attention to that-in one fluid motion, he snatched up the grain shovel leaning against the wall and swung it at the leather belt. It popped clear of the pulley and hung down. He shouted out the door, "Herr Hartmann! Stop the wheel!"

  ***

  The first thing Gerd Hartmann heard was a howl like an outraged cat. He was already moving when Stefan yelled. In three fast strides he reached the headrace gate, seized the lever in both hands, and slammed it shut. The flow over the spillway rose, while the wheel rumbled to a halt. As Gerd ran through the door, Stefan stuttered, "I-I'm sorry, Herr Hartmann, I know it's not my place to give orders."

  "Never mind, I stopped it because I trust you. I would have anyway, I heard it too. Now… what happened?"

  Stefan pointed to the box. "I saw smoke starting to come out of there, and then the belt started slipping on the pulley. I knew something was wrong."

  "The generator pulley?"

  "Yes."

  Gerd unhooked the latches on the side of the cabinet and swung the front cover open. He didn't know what the insides were supposed to look like, but it surely wasn't this. The pivoted copper bars with the wooden handle were tarnished, almost black in places, and the metal was still hot-he could smell it. There was some kind of covering over some of the wires, looking frayed and charred. Something black had dripped down to the bottom of the case, and there were tiny flames dancing on the liquid pool, licking against the wood at the back.

  "Quick! A bucket of water!" He pushed the cover shut to contain the flames.

  The only bucket handy was full of freshly ground flour. Stefan dumped it back in the bin at the foot of the grindstones, and ran outside to the brook. He was back in seconds. Gerd opened the box again and started tossing the water in, a little at a time, until the black stuff hardened and the charred wood was damp.

  ***

  When Theodor Dranitz heard the call from down the shaft to try it again, he'd gone outside the mine entrance, and waved to Hartmann down by the mill. Hartmann waved back and started the wheel.

  Theodor went back in with his lantern and climbed down the upper shaft. He'd gone twenty feet along the tunnel, when there was a strange snapping and hissing sound, and an orange glow appeared between the boards of the wooden covering over the wires. Then he smelled smoke, and flame blossomed at one spot.

  He took a short-handled pick and started to knock loose the burning board, before the fire could spread. Flaming fragments and splinters rained down on his left hand. He shook them off and kept swinging. Suddenly the dull orange glow from two of the newly exposed wires faded to black, and the noises stopped after a few seconds. He stamped out the burning wood, and looked to make sure no other pieces were on fire.

  He went back up as fast as he could with his burned hand, and ran outside-Hartmann wasn't in sight. He hurried down the hillside to tell him not to start again, until they could figure out what had gone wrong.

  ***

  All the way up at the house, Marta Seidelin heard the shouting. This scheme of Winkler's had her a little nervous to begin with. She rushed down to the mill to find her husband Gerd and his apprentice Stefan looking into a ruined-looking complicated thing on the post, along with Theodor Dranitz from the mine. There was a big puddle of water on the floor. Then she saw the condition of Dranitz's hand. There were raw, red patches, blisters forming, and dirt all over it.

  "Theodor! That looks terrible! It must hurt!"

  "Oh, it's not so bad."

  "Well, it will be if it gets infected. The newspaper had an article about burns. Come up to the house with me and I'll take care of it."

  Stepping back outside, she looked up to the house, and s
aw her daughter at the door. "Ilsabe! Ilsabe! Take two cups of boiling water from the pot and set them to cool!" Ilsabe waved and went inside.

  ***

  Stefan was unlacing the belt when old Winkler arrived from down in the mine. "What's your apprentice doing over there, Hartmann?"

  Can't even call Stefan by his name. Gerd snorted. "What does it look like, Horst? He's taking down the belt from that generator of yours."

  "Hah? What about the test run? I'm certainly not going to pay you if you don't turn it."

  "I'd like to get paid, all right, but I haven't the least desire to have my mill burned down. Take a look at this. Take a good look. This thing was on fire when we stopped it."

  "The switchboard? On fire? What did you do?"

  "We started the wheel when your foreman Theodor signaled. Then we stopped it when the pulley started screeching and this thing caught fire, and we put out the flames. Enough, Winkler! I'm through letting you and your men just try things in my mill with this new machinery when you obviously don't know what you're doing. Get somebody up here who understands this." His voice rose to a roar. "And by God, no more 'quick tests' without a proper belt release lever!"

  The shouting match went on for ten minutes while Stefan finished taking down the belt and stowed it behind the generator.

  ***

  " Well? What's wrong here?"

  Winkler was standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his bewhiskered face.

  Gerd silently fumed. This was just typical. What a way to speak to a man who came all this way to help!

  The young Dutchman-he'd introduced himself as Jan Willem Bosboom, a "field engineer" from American Electric Works-straightened up from examining the insides of the switchboard. He just shook his head. "Quite a lot, Herr Winkler. Quite a lot. But this -" He pointed at a large porcelain block. "-is why the damage went so far. These load wires are supposed to be connected to the bottom end of the fuse holder. They're connected to the top instead."

  "We tried that. Those little pewter ribbons on it are too weak. They kept melting."

  "Well, I should hope so! That's what they're there for. They're supposed to disconnect the circuit when the load is too great, so that this -" Bosboom gestured open-handed toward the remains. "-doesn't happen. The instruction sheet explains all that. You did read it, didn't you?"

  "No," Gerd said in a dangerous voice. "Herr Winkler has that. His men did everything, except for adding a pulley and belt to my main shaft."

  "Oh? I see. Well, others are selling the services of their water wheels to generate a little electricity, and there's no reason you shouldn't do the same. But this… Well, I'll go over the owner's manuals later with both of you, but for now, let's finish the initial inspection before the day gets any further along. I'll get my hand lamp. We can follow the wiring down into the mine, and then we'll see what the pump looks like."

  Gerd took a deep breath. "I think I'd better come along and see all of it for myself."

  Winkler looked up sharply. "Eh? As you wish. Mind your head in the tunnels."

  Bosboom reached down to his tool case and took out a small varnished wooden box. They started up the hillside to the mine entrance, Bosboom looking speculatively at the line of poles as they went.

  Meanwhile he flipped out a crank on the side of his lamp, and with a skkrrrk spun it for a minute or so. Finally he flipped a little lever. A soft whirring noise started up inside, and a narrow beam of yellowish light sprang out through a window on the front. Gerd looked curiously at the thing. "Is that one of those marvelous portable lights I've been hearing about?"

  "An up-time electric flashlight? Not quite. They can't duplicate those yet, but somebody found a good use for the half-million or so Christmas tree bulbs they have."

  "Christmas tree bulbs? What are they?"

  "Well, during the Christmas holidays, they decorate their houses by bringing in a small fir tree and stringing colored ornaments and tiny electric lights all over it. Supposedly it was originally a German custom, but they used little candles in the old days."

  Winkler looked blank. "German? Not from around here. What a strange habit!"

  "Oh, I agree," he laughed. "A street full of houses with Christmas trees in the windows is a sight to treasure forever, though."

  ***

  The boss was coming up the hill. Gerd Hartmann was with him, looking like he was ready to spit thunderbolts. The stranger behind them must be the foreign expert to figure out what was wrong with this new pumping machinery… what was he supposed to be again? Some new kind of mine engineer? Theodor Dranitz picked up the lantern at his feet and lit a second one from it. He handed it to Herr Winkler as they reached the entrance, but it was Hartmann who performed the introductions.

  Theodor led the way to the shaft head, and began descending the ladder. The miller followed him down, and then the visiting engineer. Finally the boss started down. The engineer was still ten feet up on the ladder when a sudden realization struck Theodor. "Herr Bosboom, wait!"

  Crack! There was a clatter and a muffled exclamation. The beam from the odd-looking lamp swung around wildly.

  "Hold on, I'm coming back up. Here, I'll guide your foot to a solid rung."

  He braced himself between the ladder and the opposite side of the shaft, and lifted. The light steadied above him.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I think so," came out with a hiss. "It feels like I strained my left shoulder. I should have let the lamp fall and grabbed on with both hands."

  "I'm sorry about this. I've been meaning to replace that weak rung. All this confusion… Can you make it down the rest of the way now?"

  "Yes, but give me a moment."

  Bosboom slowly descended the last few feet. Herr Winkler came down, and Theodor led the party off along the tunnel. By now the whirring from Bosboom's lamp was slowing down, and it was starting to get dim. Hartmann asked, "Herr Bosboom, would you like me to wind that for you?"

  "Thank you, yes. I wish I had some ice for this shoulder."

  Theodor replied, "The water in the flooded shaft is almost as cold as ice. I can dip a rag in it for you when we get there, if that will help."

  "It's worth a try."

  Bosboom stopped when he saw the charred fragments lying on the tunnel floor. "What happened here?"

  Theodor said, "One of the cover boards caught fire when all this happened. I knocked it off so the flames wouldn't spread. That's when I got this burn."

  Bosboom looked down at the bandage on Theodor's hand, then turned and raised his lamp. Herr Winkler didn't seem to notice when the engineer stiffened. Hartmann did. He asked, "What do you see there, Herr Bosboom?"

  "These wires here look like iron. They should be copper. That's one major problem right there."

  Herr Winkler snapped, "There's no copper wire made around here. We were told that iron could be used to carry electricity."

  Bosboom looked over his shoulder at him. "That's a common mistake, unfortunately. Our instruction sheets warn against it. Besides all the other reasons not to use it, iron wires would have to be at least two and a half times this diameter to carry the current. That's why they got so hot and started a fire."

  Winkler waved his hand at the wires. "The smith charged me enough for the iron wire. Copper would have been unbelievable. That would have to come all the way from Saalfeld!"

  "Actually, no. We have plenty of it at the sales offices in Halle and Magdeburg, and there are others selling it too. That's not the worst problem I see here, either. Well, let's continue the inspection."

  Theodor answered, "This way, then, Herr Bosboom," and stepped forward.

  As the party moved through the tunnels, Bosboom kept looking around at the bends, the drain channels, and the wooden covering over the electrical wiring.

  Finally they came to another shaft, filled with water almost to the top. Theodor reached down into the water with a rag, and handed it to the engineer. Bosboom clapped it to his shoulder, and began examining the equipm
ent lying on the tunnel floor, moving his lamp around as he did.

  There was a cast iron pump secured to a hoisting rig, connected to a long canvas hose stretched out along the tunnel, and a loose coil of electrical cable running down from the end of the wooden raceway. The engineer looked it all over. Then he knelt down and took a close look at the pump.

  He sniffed at it. "What on earth? Ohhhhh. "

  The boss snapped, "What now?"

  "Just a moment, while I make certain." Bosboom took the rag off his shoulder and wiped the nameplate clean. He brought his lamp up close.

  "Well. To start with, this isn't a mine pump. It's for a village water supply system, and it's only meant for clean water with no muck in it. If the length of that discharge hose is any indication, it can't possibly force water up from anything like the depth of this shaft, and I don't see the pressure relief valve it's supposed to have in case of a blocked outlet line. That's why it stalled out and overloaded the wiring. There's no fused disconnect switch on the wall here. Now that I think of it, I didn't see one at the mine entrance either. On top of everything else, you had the fuses at the generator bypassed. This motor smells like it's cooked."

  Winkler looked wide-eyed at him. " Cooked? Why would anybody cook a motor?"

  Bosboom's shoulders shook for a moment. He coughed, then got out, "Sorry. A figure of speech I heard at the factory. It means it was probably ruined by overheating."

  "So what does this mean? How do I make this pump the water out of here so we can get down to the ore seam?"

  "With this pump alone? You can't. It's impossible. The most it could do is push the water up the entrance shaft and out of the mine, if you didn't have a drain tunnel at this level."