Grantville Gazette Volume 25

by editor Paula Goodlett

  "Well now. Seems to me you were the one who thought I oughta' go to Magdeburg and help that navy fella' to draw up the plans for the paper machine," Vernon said. "Looks like that sweet little girl went home to Finland and built a plant, and now she can't get it to work."

  "Well, you weren't doing nothin' else and the pay was good."

  "Well, I ain't doing anything now, either."

  "But you'll probably be gone all winter."

  "So? What else do I have to do this winter? Besides, like you said, it will pay a whole lot better than anything I can get here in town and I'm already involved."

  "They got no business asking a man near eighty years old to go to Finland."

  "I ain't eighty yet!" Vernon said, getting his back up.

  "You're closer to eighty than you are to seventy!"

  "Well, I can at least go to Magdeburg and talk about it."

  Late Fall 1636, Kymi Paper Mill

  Tuomo, Carlo, Kristiina and Vernon stood at the end of the line, watching, while a large roll of rough brown paper was lifted off the end of the machine with a yoke rigged to a block and tackle. A new roll was already filling with paper.

  "Mahtavaa," Tuomo said.

  "And that means?" Vernon asked.

  "Umm, translate it as 'great!' in this case. Are you sure we can sell this?" Kristiina asked.

  "Ship it to Grantville if you can't sell it closer. They'll buy it. Or make paper bags here and sell them. We've got the machine working, now, but I know we can make better than this."

  "But Master Verni, if we can already sell this, is it worth the extra work to make it work better?" Tuomo's German was getting better almost by the day.

  "Yep. Yes, it is. When they said paper, I don't think this is what they had in mind. While we can sell this, we can sell typing paper for a lot more.

  "Back when I was your age, I used to talk all night long with an operator almost as old as I am now. We worked swing shifts, so every third week we worked nights. He'd been around from the beginning, or next to it. He'd seen it all, and remembered it all, and told me all about it. Amongst other things, he told me what-all they did during the war when they couldn't always get what they needed, and had to scrounge and make do."

  Vernon turned to Kristiina and said in English, "But, I told you all of that when we talked in Grantville and Magdeburg.

  "That master dyer and the university-trained alchemist you hired out of Gribbleflotz's labs seem to know what they're doing. What they've done about making peroxides and chlorines with that one little generator is amazing. That thing ain't hardly more than a toy.

  "I ain't gettin' back on that boat till spring gets here and the water calms down, anyhow, so we've got all winter to work it out. Don't go fretting about it, young lady. Between the dyer and the alchemist, and with what-all I've got tucked away up here—" He tapped the side of his head. "—Well, we may not get your paper to snow white. But we can get close enough. I am absolutely sure we can get to typing grade in something light enough that you won't have to worry about selling it.

  "Even if they can only make enough bleach for every tenth batch or so, we'll have it worked out. You can get a bigger generator later."

  "What did he say?" Tuomo asked.

  Kristiina smiled. "He said we can make it work"

  Spring 1637, Magdeburg, Warehouse Office of David Solomon, Merchant

  "What are you saying?" a shocked Adalbert Schmitt demanded. "You told me you would take all the paper I could get you."

  David Solomon replied, "I did. And I will. But the market price has dropped. I can't pay what I did before because I can't get what I did before."

  Adalbert asked, "Why? Is demand down?"

  David answered, "No. With the lower price my volume is actually up."

  "Up?"

  "Yes. Up! With the lower price I'm selling more paper. Printers are planning more books because they will be able to sell them for less."

  "What can you give me?" Adalbert asked and sighed.

  David named a price.

  Adalbert blew up, "What? David, we've been doing business for years! Don't do this to me! Quit wasting my time and yours trying to bargain me down. Tell me what you will give me or I'll turn around and leave. Someone will buy what I've got. I'll carry it from printer to printer, if I have to."

  David stood firm in the face of an empty threat. "That's the price, Adalbert. You will do a bit better in retail, until you factor in your time. But that is the best wholesale price you are going to get in this town. Yes, we used to pay the best price around, which is why you brought it here. Now we're not. Are there places you can do better? Yes. Not for much longer, mind you, but for right now, yes."

  Adalbert caved in and asked, "What's going on? That's less than we were getting five years ago before the boom. The way you've been going through paper, the rag pickers are living like kings. There's a rag shortage now. I heard of a footpad who was ripping the clothes off of peoples backs because he could get more for rags than he could for their purses."

  "Surely you jest!"

  "Of course. It was a joke. But papermakers are paying twice what they did for rags and still can't get enough to meet demand. David, if I hadn't known you for years I'd call you a liar. There is no way anyone can get enough rags cheaply enough to sell paper at that price."

  "They aren't using rags."

  "Then, it's not the best quality paper. I've got top of the line white linen rag paper. Don't go trying to tell me it isn't worth more than what you're getting elsewhere?"

  Adalbert continued, "What is it, anyway? All hemp? It would have to be at that price. You can't get a good all-hemp paper. You know anything over fifty/fifty just won't work for books. Broadsides? Maybe, but this is book quality paper you're turning your back on."

  David brought an opened sheaf out from under the counter. Adalbert looked at it and paled. David kept a straight face. It would not be just a metaphor to say that Adalbert's face was paler than the paper. The stack on the counter was a soft tan or pale yellow. It was not as white as new snow in the sunshine. It was not as white as the white linen rag Adalbert was selling. It was not even quite as white as common cream. But, it was white enough to be called white.

  Adalbert picked up a sheet. He held it up to the sunlight. There were no tears in it. There were no inclusions, no specks. There were no fibers to be seen. There was no watermark either. It was a rare papermaker's screen without a watermark. Adalbert could tell by looking it wouldn't pull apart. Sure it would tear, any paper would, but just pulling on the two ends of the sheet would not cause it to separate. Adalbert's heart crawled up from his chest and lodged in his throat. The quality was good enough, too. Was it the best he had ever seen? No. If David Solomon was telling the truth, which Adalbert knew he was, even if he didn't want to believe it, it was selling for less than what he had to get to turn a profit.

  "How?" a cowed Adalbert asked.

  "You know the navy here in town has been one of my biggest customers." David said.

  Adalbert nodded.

  "Well, a week ago their buyer canceled their standing order."

  "Ohhh?" The sound carried pure sympathy.

  "It's worse, and it's better. He says to me, 'Look, Herr Solomon, we've always done well by each other, I need to unload some surplus, can we help each other out?' And it turns out this isn't a one-time situation. He wants me to buy his surplus on an ongoing basis. He can let me have it at a price I can't pass up, and you've seen the quality."

  "What is going on?"

  "Someone in Sweden is using up-time techniques and turning wood pulp into paper."

  "David? How did it happen without you hearing about it? It's not like you to let something like this slip by unnoticed."

  "Oh I heard about it, but I didn't believe it. The people who knew about it all said not to worry; it would be years before they could be anything more than a novelty. I was told there would be months of poor quality paper, barely suitable for broadsides, or butcher pa
per like the grocery stores in Grantville want, while they worked out the bugs, before there was any book-quality paper. But they sent a mechanical genius from the navy yard to the back side of nowhere in Sweden last fall to work on something called plywood for building ships and things. Well, he got iced in and didn't come back till spring. When he did he brought a ship load of that." David pointed at the stack on the counter. "And a contract for a regular supply. I got a cancellation, and a contract to buy their surplus." He shrugged.

  "You said wood pulp? How?"

  Solomon shrugged again.

  "This could put the papermakers out of business," Adalbert said.

  "Yes, if they don't want to learn, and won't invest in the new equipment. The buyer told me you can't make this in a shop. It takes a mill. Building a mill costs a fortune. A shop can turn out nine rieses a day. A mill can do that in an hour.

  "Look, Adalbert, I know you brought the paper here because I said I'd buy it. I can't give you the old price, but some customers are still buying rag paper, so I can still sell it. Now here's the best deal I can give you." He named a price. "But only if you take it out in the new paper."

  Adalbert started to object. Why would he sell paper to buy paper? Before the words were out of his mouth his mind kicked in and did the math. It was a simple equation, after all. Probable price upon sale at points A, B, and C, minus purchase price and transport costs, equals . . . "Deal!" he said with a smile.

  * * *

  A Nerd at Sea

  Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

  Portsmouth, England, 1633

  Captain Erasmus Waddle didn't waddle, Jeremy noted. He seemed likely to, being a short, portly man of middle years with graying hair. If you saw a portrait of him you might well assume that he waddled like a duck. Instead he moved with a stiff, but forceful, precision, that seemed to say "Step aside or be run over! I've important business and you're interfering with it." Jeremy let such thoughts occupy his mind as his father and the captain disposed of his future without so much as glance his way.

  "I'll train him to command if he's up to it, Mr. Toot," Captain Waddle said. "You can't tell till you see them in action, but he'll gain the skills right enough."

  "Well, do what you can, sir." From his father's expression, he didn't expect much. The men shook hands, then Jeremy's father put his hand stiffly on Jeremy's shoulder. "Do what you're told, son." Then he left. Just like that. Jeremy was used to it and didn't really think his father didn't love him, but it hurt anyway. The England of Jeremy's birth was rather closer to Shakespeare than Rule Britannia. Its navy was closer to Drake's than Nelson's. Jeremy knew of Drake but nothing of Nelson or the traditions that made him. Those traditions were just being born, as much in the British East India Company and merchantmen as in the Royal Navy.

  "Well, Mr. Toot, you're an apprentice master's mate aboard the Hazard now and I would imagine that it's going to be a bit of a shock," Captain Waddle said. "It might help you to know the reasons why things are so different before you are faced with it." He snorted. "It certainly would have helped me. A ship at sea isn't like a farm or a croft. People can't leave and there's not room for them to go off by themselves. Even a simple mistake can kill not only you but everyone on board, if it's just the wrong mistake at the wrong time and there's no place to run to get away from the disaster and no one outside the ship's company to come to our aid. The answer to that is ship's discipline in order to minimize the mistakes people make."

  Jeremy was aware that the Hazard was named for the dice game. He'd heard his parents talking about it. Still the name seemed all too prophetic for comfort.

  * * *

  Out of Portsmouth they sailed to Hamburg, while Young Mr. Toot learned what ship's discipline meant at the frayed end of a piece of rope. He also started learning navigation, ship handling, rigging, and the location of everything on board ship.

  "Why Hamburg, Lieutenant Wesley? My da said we were going to the Indies," Sam Townsend asked. Sam was one of the five other special ship's boys, the ones whose families had paid to have them trained to be ship's officers. The ones that the captain and Lieutenant Wesley called "midshipmen" to differentiate them from the regular ship's boys, and because they were housed amidships, while the regular crew were housed before the mast and the officers in the stern.

  Mr. Wesley gave Sam a hard look and Jeremy was glad he hadn't asked the question. Then the first mate shrugged. "Since we're at sea it doesn't matter, but I will have a few words with Mr. Townsend when we get to shore about speaking out of turn." Mr. Wesley, as was often the case with first mates, was the backer's representative on board. "After I've talked with your da, I imagine he'll have a talk with you. He did at least tell you not to mention the Indies, didn't he?"

  Sam nodded.

  "We're going to Hamburg for two reasons," Lieutenant Wesley continued. "First because that's where we told the government we were going. The Governor and Company of Merchants of London Trading into the East Indies has exclusive license from the crown to do business in the East Indies. So sailing straight from Portsmouth to the East Indies would be a crime—which your father, Mr. Townsend, would be assumed to be a party to. However, after going to Hamburg to pick up various goods, the captain's instructions are, officially, simply to look for opportunities for trade and shipping. If we should happen to end up in the East because that's where contracts or the trade took us, that's a much more iffy matter . . . and can hardly be considered the fault of the investors.

  "The other reason is to buy trade goods. No doubt you've all heard of the up-timers." He looked around at the midshipmen, collecting nods and more than one doubtful look. "I'm not sure I believe everything I've heard, either. But wherever they come from, they have some unbelievable goods—many of which can be had in Hamburg. Goods that become more valuable the farther you get them from where they are made. I haven't seen all those goods, but I know a German captain who bought a set of clocks that he swears are accurate after months at sea. If they are, then any captain that puts to sea for a long voyage without them is a fool. Now explain to me, Mr. Townsend, why is that? What is the advantage of having an accurate timepiece at sea?" Which brought the discussion back to issues of navigation. They spent another half hour on navigation problems then an hour discussing maritime law, after which they were released to the second mate.

  Mr. Wesley taught them the book learning; Mr. Burnside oversaw them as they took sightings and other work having to do with managing the ship. Jeremy rather enjoyed their time with Mr. Wesley, but none of the midshipmen enjoyed their time with Mr. Burnside. Nor, as he made quite plain, did Mr. Burnside enjoy wasting his time on a bunch of puffed up ship's boys whose parents had more money than sense. Mr. Burnside was a quick man with a rope end.

  * * *

  "Now be quiet in here, Mr. Toot." The captain was a stickler for manners. Hamburg was Jeremy's first visit to a foreign port. He was moderately well educated and surprisingly well read, but his German was, at best, spotty. He could worry out written German well enough, but understanding what was said was another matter. Which was why he was trailing along in the captain's wake while Captain Waddle went looking for clocks.

  The store was easy to find. It was located in the most upper-class section of the port area of Hamburg, near a tavern where captains and officers from the ships came to dine and discuss business. It also had a rather large sign saying Naval and Navigational Equipage in the florid German style. Inside were clocks, true enough, but there were more than clocks. There were sextants, much more accurate than the Davis Quadrant that they had been using on the trip over. Sextants, as the shopkeeper explained, used adjustable mirrors to locate the distance from the horizon.

  Jeremy watched with some amusement as the shopkeeper noted that they were English and pointed out that the first use of the technique was by the famous, not yet born, English scholar Sir Isaac Newton. He wondered who the fellow would have credited with the invention if they had been French. Probably a mythical v
iscount or something. The device, sextant, from the arch of one sixth of a circle, was no laughing matter at all. The clerk demonstrated it and the accuracy was amazing compared to the Davis Quadrant and so was the ease of use.

  Absent knowledge of the exact time, it was more accuracy than would do you any good for longitude but for latitude . . . it could tell you within a mile of where you were. Then the clerk showed them the clock sets. Each box showed three clocks. As a safety feature, the clerk explained. It would be much later before Jeremy learned why the works of the clocks were oriented differently, or why there were springs made of combined metals. The little booklet that came with the clocks didn't say. But if they worked, it would mean you could tell longitude as well as latitude. They were expensive, but not exorbitantly so. Which was surprising when they got a look at the works.

  Then they looked at the charts. "These are a combination of the locations provided by the up-timers maps and rudders and more precise, well, more detailed, maps we already had access to," the clerk said.

  "How does that work?" the captain asked.

  "The up-timers have very accurate maps," the clerk said, "but often they don't have a great deal of detail. They will give, either in the maps themselves or in a listing, the exact location, longitude and latitude, of a geographic feature that we also have records of. For instance, they have the location of Surat, but the maps of the coast near Surat are not at a useful scale. They lack detail, so we use the location of Surat from the up-timers references and combine that with coastal maps, and that gives us the location of cove and coast for miles around the city. It works even better when we have two or three features that are on both one of our maps and one of theirs."

  Jeremy couldn't help it. "You guess," he blurted out.