Grantville Gazette, Volume 64

by Bjorn Hasseler

  Table of Contents

  The Story So Far …

  Matters of State: The Escape

  Reed & Kathy Sue

  The Night Soil King

  Ein Feste Burg, Episode 23

  About the Faces on the Cutting Room Floor: Number Two

  Life at Sea in the Old and New Time Lines: Part 1, Providing Nourishment

  Notes From the Buffer Zone: Snoopy and the USB Drive

  This Issue's Cover

  A Green Tongue

  Grantville Gazette, Volume 64

  Editor-in-Chief ~ Walt Boyes

  Managing Editor ~ Bjorn Hasseler

  Grantville Gazette, Volume 64

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this magazine are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Grantville Gazette

  A 1632, Inc. Publication

  Grantville Gazette

  P. O. Box 7488

  Moore, OK 73153-1488

  Grantville Gazette, Volume 64, 1 March 2016

  Table of Contents:

  Read Me First:

  The Story So Far … by Walt Boyes

  Fiction:

  Matters of State: The Escape by Mitchell Townsend

  Reed & Kathy Sue by Bjorn Hasseler

  The Night Soil King by Walt Boyes and Joy Ward

  Continuing Serials:

  Ein Feste Burg, Episode Twenty-Three by Rainer Prem

  Nonfiction:

  About the Faces on the Cutting Room Floor: Number Two by Charles E. Gannon

  Life at Sea in the Old and New Time Lines: Part 1, Providing Nourishment, by Iver Cooper

  Columns:

  Notes from the Buffer Zone: Snoopy and the USB Drive by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  This Issue's Cover—64 by Garrett W. Vance

  Universe Annex:

  A Green Tongue by Frank Dutkiewicz

  The Story So Far …

  by Walt Boyes

  Welcome to the 17th Century! We have attempted to make this thrill ride as realistic as possible, so keep your hands on the book or e-reader, and hang on!

  After the blinding and painful flash of light that they call the Ring of Fire, the people of the little town of Grantville, West Virginia had to come to terms with the notion that they were … well, not in West Virginia anymore. It took a while for them to figure out that they now lived in a different universe, started at the moment of the flash. Some hoped it would all go back. Others dived right in—to the new situation.

  In "Matters of State: The Escape" Mitchell Townshend shows what happens when amateurs try to capture a professional espionage agent, who is bent on escaping the tyranny that England has become.

  Bjorn Hasseler’s "Reed and Kathy Sue" is a love story told in letters between Reed, at the front lines, and Kathy Sue, at home with the kids and all the daily strife. Their letters are enlivened by their unapologetic and truly living faith in God.

  "The Night Soil King" by Joy Ward and Walt Boyes tells the story of a survivor of the Great Drowning of Men, and his forbidden love affair with a burgher’s daughter—and what that love will make them do. Civil Engineering and revolution await.

  Rainer Prem continues his serial, "Ein Feste Burg" with its 23rd episode. Moritz von Hessen saves the day for his aunt Amelie.

  In nonfiction, we have part two of Charles E. Gannon’s outtakes "From the Cutting Room Floor." This is an extremely interesting look at what doesn’t make it into a novel, that novelists don’t usually show.

  Iver Cooper gives us a look at "Life at Sea," which may be different than what you think it was like. This is part one of a multi-part series.

  Kristine Katherine Rusch gives us her column, "Notes from the Buffer Zone." This issue, she reminisces about the future, from the vantage point of a USB stick shaped like Snoopy Beagle.

  And in the Universe Annex, we give you "A Green Tongue," by Frank Dutkiewicz, in which a diplomat must find a way to communicate with a vegetable.

  Matters of State: The Escape

  by Mitchell Townsend

  Kent, England

  Autumn, 1634

  Harry Vane and his friend Benjamin Verney sat by the fire in the drawing room, well-fed and relaxed, with brandy to finish the evening. Harry had not been to London since the spring, and had not often been there since returning from the Continent a year earlier, so there was a lot to catch up about. Verney, besides being a classmate at Oxford, had been a colleague in the Secretary of State's office.

  "So, Harry. Have you finished rusticating? Fairlawne is a beautiful house, but even so, I would have expected you to be up in town more often."

  "And what should I be doing there that I cannot do here? I tend to my own affairs, I write and study, and I do go up once in a while. London is not what it was." He did not need to say why.

  "Come back, Harry." Benjamin leaned forward. "Truly, you must come back. We need you. We still use that cipher you invented, by the way."

  "I did not invent it. A German monk named Trimethius invented it, and an Italian named Belaso improved it. All I did was refine the key to make the pattern less obvious. Besides, the up-timers have improved it even further."

  "Well, it was good enough to baffle the Spaniards. We had a courier turn up dead in Milan, and they got nothing useful from his pouch. Anstruther still speaks highly of you and your work in Vienna, too."

  "Well, aside from that lapse, Sir Robert is a very wise man. How is he? Or rather, where is he?"

  "He had returned to Copenhagen briefly, but is back in London. He suggested that you might like to go to Magdeburg."

  "If I were to return to His Majesty's service, Magdeburg would be a fine place. My father was sent to Gustavus Adolphus, you know. Not with any results, to speak of, but no harm done, either. But I am not convinced that I should return. You know what happened in the up-timers' history. This time, I am being given a chance to keep my head where the good Lord put it. Matters of state seem too dangerous for me."

  "Give it some thought, Harry. Please."

  "I will, of course, but my inclination is against it. Give me a fortnight to think it over, but if I am still against it, please accept that decision as final."

  "That is all I can ask. Thank you, Harry."

  At length, Ben said, "Meaning no slight to the excellent dinner and this very nice brandy, but that claret you had was superb. Where do you get it?"

  Harry smiled. "You have touched upon a mystery. My father arranges for its delivery. He buys it a pipe at a time, and has a vintner put it up in bottles. Neither he nor any of the servants have anything to say on its origins, so I suspect the worst."

  "Well, if you ever pierce that veil, please let me know where to get it."

  "Take some with you tomorrow. I'll have a dozen packed up."

  "No, Harry, I couldn't."

  "Please, I insist. We have plenty more."

  "No, Harry, truly I cannot carry them. I came here on horseback, not in a wagon. But I thank you all the same."

  "Then take a half dozen. No? What then, could your noble steed manage the weight of a single bottle? Good. I'll see about getting you more some other time."

  ****

  The Next Week

  Harry Vane was at dinner. His mother, brothers, and sister had eaten some time before, while he had been meeting with the estate overseer in his father's absence. He had been trying to arrange importation of a Spanish breed of sheep that he had heard about. English wool was considered the best, but this new breed had sounded like a serious rival, and he wanted to see if he could improve the breed. Cold roast beef with fresh bread, claret, and good cheese was no hardship, and he could
read at the table without being rude.

  "Sir, a messenger wishes to see you."

  "A messenger? From whom?"

  "He says he does not know, sir, but that he was engaged by a gentleman he does not know. Please, sir, he begs leave to tell you that the gentleman says that the claret is excellent, and that the gentleman prays that you will give the messenger a shilling."

  Harry started. "Send him in immediately."

  The messenger, all muddy and wet, entered and handed Harry a sealed document. The wax seal was plain, with no signet. Harry opened it. There was no signature, but he recognized the handwriting. It read: Harry, a warrant from the Star Chamber for your arrest will be issued tomorrow. C may not wait for it. Leave at once.

  Harry read it through again, then dropped it into the fireplace.

  "Did the man who sent you have further instructions?"

  "No, sir."

  "Here is something for your services. Do you have any other business?"

  "No, sir. I am at liberty, at the moment, this having been my only message."

  "It's late. I am sorry not to put you up here, but the Ivy Inn at Sevenoaks is only six miles northwest of here. Here, take this for expenses as well. Please do not mention my name."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  That should keep the messenger out of the pursuers' way for the time being. He threw smallclothes and stockings into a sack, put on his heavy belt, buckled on his sword, and called for the groom to saddle his horse. His emergency purse had 100 pounds in gold and small coins. He took his Grantville revolvers, powder, shot, caps, a spare cylinder, cartridge papers, and some made-up cartridges. The Lord's help and ready money would have to take care of the rest. He would ride by what little moonlight there was.

  He stopped and composed himself. He could not leave without speaking to his mother, and he could not speak to her until he had himself under control. He had to tell her enough to convey the urgency, but not the danger, and he could not lie to her.

  In the parlor, his mother and his sister Frances sat embroidering while Margaret practiced at the virginal. "Mother, I am afraid I must leave immediately. I must go over to the continent, and time is of the essence. I cannot tell you more. I am sorry, Mother."

  She asked, "Is this something to do with matters of state? Will you be going to your father? I won't ask any more than that."

  He replied, "Yes, Mother. It is an official matter. I may meet with Father before I return. It depends upon things in which I have no say."

  "Well, this was what we expected, when we felt you were meant for office. Just be safe, and come back as soon as you can."

  Margaret leapt up from the bench, scattering her sheet music, and flung herself into Harry's arms. "You were gone so long the last time, much longer than you've been home. When are you coming back, Harry? I'll miss you terribly."

  "I'm sorry, Meg. It's not for me to say. But I will write, and send you more books from Grantville."

  "Not those foolish romance novels, Harry," said his mother with a smile. "They are not at all conducive to the proper raising of a young lady."

  "I cannot promise that, Mother, but I will send instructive and elevating books as well. A fair bargain? Then I must be off."

  "Tonight? It's already dark, Harry, the horse will stumble and throw you."

  "Tonight, dearest Mother. I dare not delay." He pulled her aside, away from his sisters. "Mother, the Earl of Cork is sending someone to arrest me. You know I was in the Grantville history books, and how it all ended. It seems that they are going through the books again. Clearly, I was no regicide in that other world. I had nothing to do with the king's death and argued against it. Nevertheless, the courtiers around the king feel they can flatter him with their zeal in persecuting his enemies, real or imaginary."

  "Oh no! Harry, are you sure?"

  "A good friend took a deadly risk to warn me, Mother. I must go. Here, kiss me and let me go."

  ****

  The clouds came in, covering and uncovering the half-moon. He could barely see the road at a walk. At Maidstone, he took a room for the rest of the night at the inn. "Young Master Vane, welcome! How is your father?" said the landlord. Harry mumbled that he was fine, thank you, but sore and tired. How did this man know his family? It was too close to their house for his father to have stayed there. He left that mystery for the morning.

  He rose at dawn, washed, and dressed. He was still tired, having barely slept. At the top of the stairs, he paused. There was an argument going on downstairs. The landlord shouted, "You can't just go wherever you please, pulling honest folks from their beds …" He heard blows, then groans. Another voice shouted, "And there's more where that came from, if you want it. Come, lads." He dashed back to his room and opened the shutters. There was a soldier standing guard below and the groom's boy holding the search party's horses.

  As quietly as he could, he climbed onto the windowsill and pulled himself onto the thatched roof. He looked around. There was one old fellow watching him from across the street. The man laid a finger alongside his nose and Harry returned the gesture with a grin. The authorities were not regarded with affection here, evidently. He pulled himself up and over the peak, then climbed part-way down the back of the roof, trying not to crush the thatch and make a sound. He peered over the eaves until he saw part of a hat below, then pulled back. The alley was too narrow for the guard to see the roof. There was nothing to do but wait.

  After the soldiers had finished their search, they rode off to the southeast, toward Folkestone and Dover, one leading Harry's horse. Harry inched down the back of the roof and dropped into the alley. The kitchen door stood open. He went through to the front room, where the innkeeper sat with a bloody cloth pressed against his face. "Well, young sir, that was not the way I like to start the day, but I've had worse. Especially in this trade. So, what do they want with you?"

  "I am not sure. It may be that they think I might be plotting something. I know not what. There were some books from Grantville. Perhaps I was in one of them."

  "Oh, that lot. Dutchmen, weren't they? Sailing right up the Thames and back out again! With the Tower ruined and half the guards dead, the other half gone with them. That was a queer thing, that was. Some new kind of ship, I hear, that goes against wind and tide. And they blame you for that?"

  "No, not that, but you know how they have been seizing or killing innocent men. I believe they mean to do the same with me. I need to pass over to the continent."

  "Yes, we heard about that, and I think you must go or hang, and hang for nothing. Now, have you any port in mind?"

  "Any but an English one."

  "We'll get you over, all right. You'll want to stay off the road to Dover. That would be where they'll look for you, it being the shortest way over. Now, if you were to take the south road, where it turns off, you'll get to Hawkhurst, about 20 miles. Ask there for the road to Rye, maybe another 20 miles. It's a much smaller port than Dover, and shallow, but there's smaller ships that come there from France. The inn there is the Mermaid. Tell the landlord that Jack Peckham at the Swan sent you. He'll see to you. You'll want to hire a horse, I'm thinking, since those thieves in top-boots took yours. Now I think of it, you'll want to change your fine clothes for something more common. Come along. You're a long one, but I think I have something that will fit, though not so fine."

  Harry changed his clothes. The new ones, not really new, were wool stockings and breeches, a linen shirt, and a plain wool coat. The boot soles were thin in places. He could feel pebbles through them. The horse provided was an elderly mare. He soon discovered that she would trot for a few yards, then resume walking. She responded to light reins. She had probably had bad riders grinding the bit into her mouth, and no doubt she was sore there.

  He reached Hawkhurst in early afternoon. He asked the way to Rye, and hired another horse. The road, or rather the track, went through the marshes. A few miles in, he knew he could not ride in the dark. He urged the horse into a trot fo
r a while, alternating with walking. The double track showed it was used by carts. It branched off from time to time. Even when he tried to choose the more worn path, he could not always tell which one was the main road. One path led him to a dock along a small river, and he had to retrace his steps. There was mud and water in the lowest parts of the road, and small streams to ford. He only met one other traveler, a freight wagon with a team of four horses heading north.

  It was nearly dark when he reached the Mermaid Inn. He had mud and water soaking into his boots and the horse had mud up to his belly. He took the poor animal to the stable to be groomed and fed. When he walked into the tavern, the men sitting there all looked him over, but no one spoke. He spotted the innkeeper, and said "Mr. Etheridge? My name is Harry Vane. Jack Peckham in Maidstone sends his greetings and said that I should ask for you."

  The other patrons returned to their suppers and drinks. "Oh, he did, did he? Then have you come here on business for him?"

  "No, on business of my own. I want to go over to the continent. Mr. Peckham said you might know a captain going that way."

  "That's as may be. There's a ship down by at the wharf taking on ballast. I don't know where they're going. I don't ask, but you might. They'll be sailing on the morning tide, is my guess. Ask for Captain Johnson. You want to do that tonight. Do you want a room to yourself, sir?"

  Harry thought dark thoughts as he went down Mermaid Street to the wharf. Instead of learning French or German or Dutch, not to mention Latin and Greek, he might have better learned English as the country people spoke it. Even with these worn clothes, the innkeeper had taken him for gentry. Right now, he wanted nothing so much as to be inconspicuous.