by Eric Flint
Mette grabbed his arm and guide Jan to an empty table, at the same time motioning to the barkeep to send over drinks. “Sit down and I’ll tell you. It’s a long story!”
An hour later, as Mette finished the tale of Bundgaard’s arrest and escape during the bombardment, Jan grew pensive. “If he’s still loose, I think Luke would definitely want you to join him. The new settlement is growing fast and houses are already being built.” He pointed toward her belly. “How soon are you due? Even with the baby, you’d probably be safer sailing with the next supply ship.”
Mette interrupted before he could go further. “Plans are already underway to do just that. I have someone that’s ready to buy the tavern, as soon as he receive the funds. The ships want to clear well in advance of the fall storm that’s forecast. All you hear are complaints on how slow the work is going and how the Company’s offering land for those that want to relocate. I’m getting thoroughly tired of it all! Now, finish your beer and see to delivering your other packets. I have a letter from my husband I want to read and I don’t need you reading over my shoulder!” She gave Jan a friendly slap on the back and retired upstairs with the letter.
* * *
As he approached the palace to deliver the King’s packet, Jan withdrew both packets from his jacket. For the first time, he realized the packet for the King was substantially thinner than the Abrabanels’. He shoved the thicker packet back in his jacket. No need to let the King know he’s not getting all the news!
It took two hours of waiting and explaining before Jan got an audience with the Prime Minister’s secretary. He was told in no uncertain terms that he could turn over the packet and then be about his business. Luke had told him this might happen and that as long as the packet got that far, he was safe to turn it over. It was getting late, so Jan handed the secretary the packet and then returned to the tavern for a meal and a room. He would deliver the Abrabanels’ packet in the morning. Luke had warned him that he might have to spend a lot of time answering their questions.
* * *
Jan got directions from Mette, before he turned in, on the location of the Company’s new offices,and then set out early the next morning on foot. His rolling gait marked him as just back from a long voyage and the few doxies still trying to make one last mark for the night half-heartedly propositioned him as he passed. Jan just smiled and shook his head. Best not to antagonize them, in case their pimp was nearby. He hurried on, trying to look down on his luck and broke. He tried to ignore the heavy pouch inside his shirt. As he neared the office’s address, he realized things must be looking up. The neighborhood was bustling with new buildings going up where he remembered that old warehouses had stood. When he rounded the last corner, Jan was surprised to see a line of people waiting outside a new office with a sign proudly proclaiming, ‘Hudson’s Bay Company, Land Office for the Gold Fields of the New World!’ In smaller letters it added, ‘Official office for all relocation transportees. Next ship sails August 1st ’. For as earlier as it was, some must have spent the night waiting outside the office. Packs, children, and small carts clogged the sidewalk all the way around the far corner. As he bypassed the line, a younger tough, who was keeping order, called out, “Wait your turn like the rest!” Jan held up the packet with the Abrabanels’ names on it. “This says I go right in! I’ve worked for the Company a lot longer than you have. This is news fresh from the colony!” As soon as he said that, Jan realized it probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. The crowd lost all order and crowded around, pelting him with questions. As the tough tried to restore order, Jan slowly pushed through the crowd and finally reached the door. Another guard checked the packet before quickly unlocking the door and letting Jan slip inside.
Reuben Abrabanel was sitting at a raised desk at the rear of the room and instantly recognized Jan. He broke into a broad grin and rushed to meet his visitor. “Captain Nielsen, I’m delighted to see you! I had heard that your ship docked late yesterday and that you’d been to the Castle. What news do you have for me?
Jan pointed to the chaos outside. “I think we need to go someplace a little quieter.”
Reuben laughed, “Nonsense, that happens all the time. Ever since the King announced that there was going to be a flood this fall, we’ve been swamped with applicants. Half the buildings you see around here are temporary housing for the emigrants that will be leaving next month. I just hope Captain Foxe is ready for them.”
Jan insisted. “I think you really don’t want me making a full report right here. I have some substantial examples of the mining results to deliver to you for safe keeping.”
As the implications of what Jan was hinting at sunk in, Reuben glanced at the crowd outside and the two guards and turned white. “I think I understand. Follow me to the back room. You can give me the full report there.’ He turned to a young clerk who was trying hard to look occupied. “Aaron, go quickly to Factor Bamberg and request he drop whatever he is doing and come here as quickly as possible. Tell him there is news from the New World.” The young man nodded and slipped out the back door.
BRAVE NEW WORLD
By Eric Flint
Magdeburg, capital of the United States of Europe
August, 1634
Francisco Nasi leaned forward and placed a thin folder on Mike Stearns’ desk. Then, sat back with an odd little smile on his face. If Mike didn’t know the man better, he’d think Francisco was a bit embarrassed.
Impossible, of course. The Sephardic Jew served Mike as his chief of espionage, security, and whatever other sundry and divers matters he wanted kept privy. Francisco had some official title, which Mike tended to forget, but that was the gist of his position. Despite his relative youth—he was still shy of thirty--—Nasi was a veteran of the Ottoman court. A surviving veteran, more to the point, in a court which was probably the most powerful and almost certainly the most dangerous in the world.
The point being that embarrassment was no more possible for him than it would be for a python who had mastered the jungle.
Still, he looked embarrassed.
“I’m afraid,” Nasi said, “that some members of my extended family—very extended family, you understand—have been up to some mischief.”
He cleared his throat. Mike decided to make it a little easier for him. “Francisco, I’m well aware that the Nasi ‘family’ bears far more resemblance to a clan—you might even say, a tribe—than anything Americans usually mean by the term. That means there’s no way, of course—not given Abrabanel resources—that you or anyone else could stay on top of everything members of your family are up to anywhere in the world.”
He grinned. “So just come right out with it and give me the bad news.”
Francisco gave him a thankful look. “It’s not exactly ‘bad’ news. More in the way of complicated news.”
Mike made a face. “If there’s a distinction between the two, when it comes to foreign affairs, I have yet to encounter it.”
“True enough, I suppose.” Francisco poked the file with a forefinger, edging it perhaps two inches closer to Mike. Who, for his part, made no motion to pick it up.
“Summarize for me, if you would.”
“The gist of the matter is that two of my cousins—very distant cousins, you understand—took it upon themselves to help finance an expedition to the New World.”
Mike folded his hands before him and assumed a placid expression. “There are, have been, and will be many expeditions to the New World.”
“True. Not many of them, however, are well-financed, led by a capable and very experienced explorer and commander—that would be Captain Luke Foxe—backed by the English ambassador to Denmark—that would be Sir Thomas Roe—and given discreet but significant support by Christian IV, the King of Denmark.” He paused to take a breath. “Which support seems to have included providing Foxe and Roe with a large number of colonists. Much larger than such expeditions normally consist of—and much better equipped.”
“How m
any colonists are we talking about?”
“Close to four hundred. Along with a great deal of equipment, including mining gear and the wherewithal for a sawmill. That’s to be expected, since they include a sizeable number of miners and lumbermen. They also have enough provisions to get through at least half a year with no difficulty. Finally, they seem to be quite well armed. Not just with hard weapons but possibly some cannons as well.”
“In other words, Christian’s backing is extensive. Whatever he’s up to, he’s serious about it.”
“So it would seem.”
Mike rubbed his face with his hand. “And what is he up to, do you think?”
Nasi looked out the window pensively. “I’m not certain, if course. And in any event, there are a number of possible answers to that question. They range from ‘he’s just looking to make some money’ to ‘he’s developing a long-term plan to secretly build up Denmark’s naval power.’”
“And your best estimate is…”
“Somewhere closer to the second, but still short of it. I don’t think Christian, even at his drunkest, is irrational enough to think that he could offset Gustav Adolf’s advantage in having up-time technical advice and assistance, when it comes to developing a navy. Simply having access to the naval supplies provided by a large New World settlement wouldn’t be enough.”
“But it would be enough—might be enough, let’s say—to keep Denmark from becoming completely overshadowed by Sweden in naval terms.”
“Yes. And I think—”
Mike waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Christian’s read the same books and encyclopedia articles Richelieu has, and come to the same conclusion.” His voice assumed a slight sing-song pitch. ‘The future is in the New World. Whoever controls North America will dominate the world, yadda yadda yadda.’”
Nasi gave him a quizzical look. “I’ve noticed before that you don’t seem unduly concerned about that. Why?”
“Because I don’t believe in voodoo. There isn’t any magic power emanating from the soil of North America, Francisco. The pre-eminence of the United States in the universe I came from stemmed from a lot of historical factors, very few of which can be duplicated in this universe by people like Cardinal Richelieu—much less the king of Denmark.”
Nasi leaned forward in his chair. “Such as?” His tone was curious, not challenging.
“Start with the fact that by the year 2000, when the Ring of Fire happened, the United States was the world’s third largest nation in terms of population. We’re talking about three hundred million people. That’s a lot of economic muscle—not to mention a lot of battalions, when you need them. And how did the country get so big? By drawing people from all over the world because we had a loosy-goosy attitude toward immigration and we were willing to give people a lot of personal, political, religious and economic leeway once they arrived. You think a French absolute monarchy—which is what Richelieu is trying to build—could possibly duplicate that? Much less the Danish junior varsity?”
“I’m not sure what a ‘varsity’ is, of either the senior or junior variety, but I see your point.” Francisco leaned back. “I take it, then, that your main concern with this development is how it will affect relations between Christian and Gustav Adolf. When Gustav Adolf finds out.”
“Which he’s bound to soon enough. There’s no way you can keep something like this hidden for very long.”
Mike rose from his chair and went over to the office window. He gazed out at nothing in particular for perhaps half a minute before speaking again. Then said: “That being the case, I’d rather he heard it from me. Build trust, etc. etc.—and I might be able to have an effect on his reaction. Set it up for me, will you?”
“Certainly.”
* * *
Gustav Adolf didn’t keep him waiting. He saw Mike the next day and listened to his explanation patiently and without interruption. When he was done, the king hefted the folder Mike had given him.
“Quite slender,” he said. “You are thinking we should let this folder continue to thicken, yes?”
Mike couldn’t help but smile. There were ways in which he and his sovereign, despite being born three and half centuries apart, were very much alike.
“I don’t see where there’s any harm being done, and it would be interesting to see what happens.”
Gustav Adolf studied the—still unopened—folder for a few seconds. Then tossed it onto his desk and rose from his chair.
“I agree. And it will help keep Christian from mischief. Or perhaps I should say, mischief that really matters to me. You will keep me informed, I trust.”
“Certainly.”
It was the king’s turn to smile. “I’ve seen some of Shakespeare’s plays, you know. I was particular taken with The Tempest. Oh brave new world, that hath such schemes in it.”
