Jim Baen's Universe
Grantville Gazette, Volume 27
Grantville Gazette, Volume 27, 1 January 2010
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 © 2010 by Grantville Gazette
A 1632, Inc. Publication
Grantville Gazette
P. O. Box 7488
Moore, OK 73153-1488
What is this? About the Grantville Gazette
Written by Grantville Gazette Staff
The Grantville Gazette originated as a by-product of the ongoing and very active discussions which take place concerning the 1632 universe Eric Flint created in the novels 1632, 1633 and 1634: The Galileo Affair (the latter two books co-authored by David Weber and Andrew Dennis, respectively). This discussion is centered in three of the conferences in Baen's Bar, the discussion area of Baen Books' web site. The conferences are entitled "1632 Slush," "1632 Slush Comments" and "1632 Tech Manual." They have been in operation for almost seven years now, during which time nearly two hundred thousand posts have been made by hundreds of participants.
Soon enough, the discussion began generating so-called "fanfic," stories written in the setting by fans of the series. A number of those were good enough to be published professionally. And, indeed, a number of them were—as part of the anthology Ring of Fire , which was published by Baen Books in January, 2004. ( Ring of Fire also includes stories written by established authors such as Eric Flint himself, as well as David Weber, Mercedes Lackey, Dave Freer, K.D. Wentworth and S.L. Viehl.)
The decision to publish the Ring of Fire anthology triggered the writing of still more fanfic, even after submissions to the anthology were closed. Ring of Fire has been selling quite well since it came out, and a second anthology similar to it was published late in 2007. Another, Ring of Fire III, is forthcoming. It will also contain stories written by new writers, as well as professionals. But, in the meantime . . . the fanfic kept getting written, and people kept nudging Eric—well, pestering Eric—to give them feedback on their stories.
Hence . . . the Grantville Gazette. Once he realized how many stories were being written—a number of them of publishable quality—he raised with Jim Baen the idea of producing an online magazine which would pay for fiction and nonfiction articles set in the 1632 universe and would be sold through Baen Books' Webscriptions service. Jim was willing to try it, to see what happened.
As it turned out, the first issue of the electronic magazine sold well enough to make continuing the magazine a financially self-sustaining operation. Since then, even more volumes have been electronically published through the Baen Webscriptions site. As well, Grantville Gazette, Volume One was published in paperback in November of 2004. That has since been followed by hardcover editions of Grantville Gazette, Volumes Two, Three and Four.
Then, two big steps:
First: The magazine had been paying semi-pro rates for the electronic edition, increasing to pro rates upon transition to paper, but one of Eric's goals had long been to increase payments to the authors. Grantville Gazette, Volume Eleven is the first volume to pay the authors professional rates.
Second: This on-line version you're reading. The site here at http://www.grantvillegazette.com is the electronic version of an ARC, an advance readers copy where you can read the issues as we assemble them. There are stories posted here which won't be coming out in the magazine for more than a year.
How will it work out? Will we be able to continue at this rate? Well, we don't know. That's up to the readers. But we'll be here, continuing the saga, the soap opera, the drama and the comedy just as long as people are willing to read them.
—The Grantville Gazette Staff
FICTION:
The Anaconda Project, Further News
Written by Grantville Gazette Staff
As Eric points out, no one expects the Inquisition. And no one expects open heart surgery, either.
Unfortunately for the fans, Eric's surgery has thrown his writing schedule completely out of whack. He's currently working on the novel Much Fall of Blood, due out in May 2010. That one will be followed by Threshold and is due out in June 2010. And those will be followed by 1635: The Eastern Front, which is due out in October 2010.
As soon as he gets caught up, he'll start on The Anaconda Project again, and we'll resume the serial.
Let's all hope for soon.
Adagio
Written by David Carrico
Magdeburg
August 1634
Johann Bach left his rooming house in the sprawling exurb to the west of the Magdeburg city walls. He nodded to old Pieter the porter as he hurried down the wooden steps and stepped onto the graveled road that ran through the built-up area that by now was several times larger than the city proper. Magdeburg itself, the area within the walls, covered only about a square mile. The arc of land around the walls, beginning with the Navy Yard to the north of the city and ending with the refinery and chemical complex to the south was full of new construction, much of it in raw lumber.
The rebuilding of Magdeburg after the almost total destruction of the city by Tilly's troops and the subsequent withdrawal of Pappenheim's occupation forces had drawn workers and their families from all over the Protestant territories. The eruption of manufacturing concerns that sprouted from the intersection of up-time knowledge, down-time skills and interests, and the support of Emperor Gustavus Adolphus turned a stream of workers into a flood, and much of their initial labor went into raising the buildings they now lived in outside the city.
He stopped at a bakery on the corner and purchased a roll for breakfast. Fresh and crusty it was, and he devoured it with gusto as he walked toward the city walls in the early morning light.
The bridge over the moat was busy with traffic today, as it was most days. Johann joined the stream of men heading into the city. He looked down from the peak of the bridge and watched the water boil around the columns that supported the span. The gates into the city were open, as they were most of the time these days. Magdeburg was a city that was beginning to never sleep.
Johann stepped through the gates, and immediately felt closed in by the walls. It was funny; he never would have felt that way even six months ago. Walled cities and towns was the way things were everywhere; it was the way things were done. But having lived in the "Boomtown," as the up-timers called the exurb outside the walls, now for several weeks, and mixing with the up-timers on a frequent basis and hearing them complain about how crowded and cramped the old city was, he had started to absorb some of their attitudes. He shrugged his shoulders, and hurried on down the street. He had finally found a whitesmith who was rumored to have the knowledge he needed, and he wanted to speak with the man soon.
"Johann!"
He stopped and looked around. He was one of several men doing so, and he wasn't surprised at that. His name was one of the more common men's names among Germans. Sometimes he wished his parents had used a little more originality in selecting his name. They did so with his brothers, Christoph and Heinrich, after all.
"Johann!" the voice called again, and he saw Marla Linder waving at him, two other women at her side. He waved back and walked to meet them.
"When did you get back from Grantville?" Marla asked.
"Wednesday."
"And today's Friday, so you've been back for two days and you didn't let us know." Marla shook her head. "What are we going to do with you?"
Johann grinned and shrugged.
"So, what did you find out?" Marla lifted an eyebrow.
Johann sobered. "I heard many of t
he recordings, and you are right. Johann Sebastian Bach is truly a great composer and musician, whatever his relationship to my family might be."
"And?" Marla looked at him expectantly. "Did you listen to the one I told you to?"
A slow smile crossed Johann's face. "The Toccata and Fugue in D minor? Oh, yes," he said with reverence. "Many times. One of the reasons I was so long in returning was I was copying it out from the printed copy in the library of your Methodist church."
"Hah. I forgot they had one," Marla replied. "Gonna learn to play it, are you?"
"A silly question, Frau Marla. It may take a while, of course. I share a name with the man, but I am not at all sure I share his talent." Johann grimaced a bit.
"So what's next for you?"
"Organ design and building. In fact, I am on my way to meet with a whitesmith. There is one in Grantville, but I would rather work with one here in Magdeburg. It will make testing and tuning easier. We have a lot of pipes to build."
"How many pipes in a pipe organ?" one of the other women asked.
"I'm sorry," Marla interjected, "I haven't introduced you. Anastasia Matowski," she pointed to the woman who had spoken. She was very short, petite, slender, with a long neck that lifted her head above her collar. "And this is Casey Stevenson," Marla pointed to the other woman. "Meet Johann Bach."
"Really?" Casey looked to Marla.
"No, he's not that Bach," Marla said.
Johann gave a slight bow. He knew his smile was a bit twisted, but he was getting so tired of that reaction from the up-timers. The two women nodded back. "So how many pipes in a pipe organ?" the question was repeated by Fraulein Matowski.
"That depends on the organ," Johann smiled. "I do not yet know how many will be in my organ, but . . ." He thought for a moment about the space he had to work in. ". . . if I realize my dreams it would not surprise me to see three thousand pipes, perhaps as much as two hundred more."
"Wow." Fraulein Matowski blinked. Johann noticed that her eyes were large, golden hazel, and gleaming in a heart-shaped face framed by shoulder-length walnut-hued hair stirred by a breeze. "Sounds like a good job for a Bach."
"Thank you, Fraulein Matowski." Johann bowed to her. With what he knew now, she had delivered him quite a compliment whether she meant to or not.
"Call me Staci."
"Thank you, Fraulein Staci." He bowed again.
"But enough of me," he continued. "What is happening with you? What is new in the musical life of Magdeburg since I left?"
"We're going to perform Händel's oratorio Messiah either in late December or early January." Marla pointed at him. "You should either be in the choir or in the orchestra. I know you said you play."
"Orchestra," Johann said. "Viola."
"Good. Come by the house tonight and talk to Franz. Meanwhile, we've got to get back to school and you've got a whitesmith to talk to. We'll see you later."
"'Bye, Herr Bach," Staci said as they walked away. "It was nice to meet you."
Johann watched them move off, Marla setting the pace. Just before they turned the corner, Staci looked back over her shoulder and smiled.
Johann stood for a moment, thinking of a pair of dancing hazel eyes. Then he shook his head and took off down the street. Once he got to the Gustavstrasse, the wide boulevard that bisected Magdeburg Altestadt, the old part of the actual city of Magdeburg, he turned north.
In a few minutes he was crossing the moat again, this time into Magdeburg Neustadt. He smiled at the thought of calling that part of the city "new." It was also surrounded by the city walls, and was older than his grandfather.
He hadn't learned every street in Magdeburg yet, but he knew enough to find the building he was looking for. He knocked on the door.
"Yes?" A young man answered the door.
"Herr Johann Bach, to see Master Philip Luder."
"Come in, Herr Bach." The youth gave a slight bow as he opened the door wide. Johann stepped through into a wave of heat. "The master is at the forge at the moment, but will be with you very quickly."
He conducted Johann to a chair set to one side, then stepped over to the forge set against the back wall of the building and spoke to a man of middle years who was stirring something in a crucible set above the coals. The man looked over his shoulder, handed the ladle to the younger man, and bustled toward Johann.
"Herr Bach! I am Philip Luder." The master wiped his hands on his leather apron and extended one to Johann. Johann stood to clasp hands with the man. Master Philip had a strong grasp, but didn't attempt to crush Johann's fingers. As a musician, he appreciated that.
"And what can I do for you, Herr Bach?" The whitesmith's eyebrows climbed his forehead for all the world like two bushy caterpillars. Johann had to bite his tongue for a moment to keep from grinning at him.
"Pipes, Master Luder. I need pipes—many pipes."
The master's eyebrows contracted downward. "Pipes." A vertical line appeared between the brows. "For water? For oil? For . . ." He looked expectantly at Johann.
"For music, Master Luder. I need pipes for a pipe organ."
"Ah!" A concerned expression appeared on the whitesmith's face. "Are you the one who will build the new pipe organ in that fancy new building that is beginning, or are you the one who will be rebuilding the organ in the Dom?"
Johann was taken back. "Rebuilding?"
"Oh, yes." The whitesmith nodded. "You are not from here, so you may not know that that black-souled Pappenheim, may he rot in Satan's hands, favorite tool that he is . . ." Luder spat into the forge. "Where was I?"
"The organ in the Dom?"
"Right. Pappenheim stripped all the metal work from the organ and sold it off to a jobber before he fled like a jackal with his tail between his legs."
Johann was horrified. "I hadn't heard. Was not that a Compenius instrument?"
Luder nodded again. "Aye, built by old Heinrich himself—the son, not the father—thirty years ago, they tell me. And a sweet instrument it was, although I'm no musician to say so. But no more, no more, thanks to Pappenheim eviscerating it . . ." The master's voice trailed off into muttered curses.
"I have met Master Heinrich the younger," Johann said. "He came to visit his son Ludwig, who lives in Erfurt. I learned much from the two of them."
"Ach, well, according to the word in the halls of the Dom, Herr Christoff Schultze, him who used to be Möllnvoigt for the archbishopric and is now the hand of Ludwig Fürst von Anhalt-Coethen, Gustav Adolf's administrator, has been in contact with the Compenius family, trying to get either Ludwig or his older brother Johann Heinrich to come and lead the repairs."
"If all the pipes were stolen, it will be more like building a new organ."
"You would know better than I would," Master Luder smiled. "But your name is Bach, not Compenius, so now that I think about it, you must have something to do with the new organ rather than the old."
"Indeed." Johann smiled back.
"Should I congratulate you or commiserate with you?"
"I will let you know in a few months, but probably the latter." The two men laughed together. Johann decided he liked Master Luder.
"So you come to me to talk about pipes."
"To talk about making the pipes, yes."
"Hmm. And how many pipes are we talking about?" One of those expressive eyebrows climbed a level, but the grin was still in place.
"Three thousand, maybe a bit more."
The eyebrow dropped and the grin faded. "Three . . ."
"Thousand. Maybe a bit more."
Master Luder stripped off his apron and threw it on a peg on the wall. He rolled down his shirtsleeves, took down a jacket from another peg, and crammed a hat on top of his bristling hair. "Come. This needs ale."
Johann followed the craftsman out of his shop and down the street. Luder said nothing until after they entered a tavern—it was The Green Horse, Johann noted—and ordered their ale.
"Three thousand pipes." Master Luder began as they sat down at a tab
le.
"More or less," Johann replied.
"All different sizes, I suppose."
"Many sizes, yes, but not individually unique, no. Many pipes can be made and tuned from one size."
"Good. That will speed the work. Do you know yet how many sizes you will have?"
"Not yet. I may use wooden pipes for the largest ones, and I won't know how many metal sizes there will be until I make that decision."
"Pipe metal? Tin and lead alloy?"
"No. No lead in it. It dulls the sound. I want a bright sound to the pipes, so I want only tin, the purest tin you can get. English tin if you can get it."
"I can get it." Master Luder pursed his lips as his eyebrows crouched close together. "But enough for three thousand pipes will cost you. And I can't get it all at once."
Johann shrugged. "It costs what it costs. And as long as the pipes are done when I need them, it doesn't matter when the tin is available. But do you know how to make pipes?"
The craftsman took a healthy swallow of ale, then wiped his mustache and beard. "I do. I was a journeyman in Leipzig when my old master provided repairs to the university church organ. We had to replace a number of the pipes. I still remember what we did."
"Good. Then how much to put to use what you remember?"
Johann took a swig of his own ale as the bargaining began.
* * *
Marla looked up from the piano keyboard at a noise in the door. School was done for the day and she was relaxing a bit by playing.
"Hi, Staci. What's up?"
"Nothing. I just stopped by to see what you were up to."
Marla smiled as she always did when she heard Staci's voice. The powerful contralto was so surprising coming from her tiny frame. She waved her friend into the room. "Come on in."
Staci Matowski hesitated. "I don't want to interrupt anything."
"You're not interrupting. I was just improvising a little."
"Improvising?" Staci stepped over to the piano.
Grantville Gazette Volume 27 Page 1
