"Joachim Schmidt. We started up an outfit to make percussion caps and primers up Salt Lick Run last year . . ." Monkey started.
"And we were doing okay until Schmidt and the rest of the crew decided they wanted to run before they could walk," Ape added.
"Run before they could walk?" Maria Anna asked.
"Yeah, coming from Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza you probably know making fulminate of mercury-based caps is dangerous. We wanted the crew to stick to one gram batches until we were confident they knew what they were doing."
"But effing Schmidt wanted to make batches as big as Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza were making." Ape shook his head. "Hell, they were making three hundred bucks a week, each. I would have been happy to make that much. Heck, me and Monkey were only making seventy-five a week and we were happy."
"Yeah, because just like our thief, we weren't greedy. If we'd got production up to twenty grams a batch we'd have been sitting pretty right now," Monkey said.
Monkey sat silently for a few minutes while he considered what might have been, and the deaths of the four down-timers who'd been working for them. Joachim Schmidt was no great loss, but he felt bad about the two girls. He sighed and looked over to Maria Anna. "What happens now?"
"Now? I guess I talk to the police," Maria Anna said.
Monkey sat up straight. "Not the freaking police. Those bastards have got it in for me and Ape."
"Yeah," Ape agreed. "Especially Neubert. He's gonna do everything he can to prove we done it."
"But you're the people who reported the problem to me," Maria Anna protested.
Ape shook his head. "You just don't understand cops, Emma. They're lazy. Why try and find out who done it when they can pin it on me and Monkey."
"I've got a friend on the force. Maybe if I talk to her, off the record of course . . ." Maria Anna looked hopefully at Ape.
"A down-time cop?" Maria Anna nodded. "She'll side with Neubert," Ape said.
"No, she won't. Not if I explain."
Monkey stared at Maria Anna. She seemed sure of her friend, and they had to let someone official know that someone had been stealing explosives. "If you're sure she won't think two Harts in the hand is better than looking for somebody else in the bush . . ."
"I'm sure," Maria Anna confirmed.
"Then I guess that's the best we can hope for. When are you going to talk to your friend?
"This evening, right after work."
Monkey sighed. It looked like he and Ape might get visits from the cops later this evening. Cora Lee was not going to be happy. He rose to his feet. "Come on, Ape, we better get back to work."
"See you later, Emma," Ape called as they left.
Later that afternoon
The sound of the door rebounding off the wall and slamming shut was the first indication that they had a visitor. Monkey and Ape lowered the box they had been lifting and looked towards the door. A very agitated Maria Anna was storming towards them.
"The unmitigated gall of the bastard," Maria Anna uttered loudly.
Monkey was surprised at Maria Anna's language. Something had their normally unflappable manager in a tizzy. "Something the matter, Emma?"
Maria Anna stopped and glared at Monkey. "Something the matter? Something the matter? I'll say there's something the matter. I just had a visit from some government creep who seemed to think I'd be happy to produce evidence proving the pair of you have been supplying the black market with high explosive."
"Did you tell him it wasn't us?" Ape asked.
"Tell him? You bet I told him. He didn't like it when I told him that it had to be someone else because it wasn't you two."
"Yeah, well . . . we told you so," Ape said.
"I can't see a man for the government just taking your word, Emma," Monkey said.
"He didn't." Maria Anna sniffed delicately before continuing. "I was able to provide him with documentary evidence that all explosive produced in this facility has been accounted for, and I informed him that if military dynamite was appearing on the black market it had to be coming from somewhere else, like maybe military stores." She smiled. "He didn't like that."
"Emma, you lied. You actually lied to a man from the government." Monkey chuckled and hugged her. "We'll make a redneck out of you yet."
"Not wanting to interrupt or anything, but doesn't that mean we can't report the theft of explosives?" Ape asked.
Monkey stepped back from Maria Anna. "Yeah. You kinda ruined any chance we might have had of reporting the thefts."
"And somebody gets away with stealing from the company," Ape stated.
"I'm afraid so," Maria Anna answered, "But at least we caught up with them before we went into full production. We'll just have to take what satisfaction we can in the fact that they'll be sitting back somewhere watching the shipments of explosives going out the door while they calculate how much their two percent would have been worth."
Ape sniggered. "That's not very nice, Emma."
"Yeah, that's the kinda thinking me and Ape might do," Monkey said.
"What can I say?" Maria Anna asked. "The pair of you are a bad influence."
* * *
Walking back to her office Maria Anna mopped up the sweat that had beaded on her brow while she talked to the Harts. Fortunately neither of them had asked why the man from the government might have expected her to willingly produce evidence against them. She'd realized that the Harts weren't really to blame when they proclaimed the fact that they weren't greedy. She'd had to accept that Christine and Justina's own greed had killed them and Arthur and Dexter hadn't deserved to have their last percussion cap operation fail through no fault of their own. The man from the government had told her about the debts the brothers had as a result of that failure and her conscience was niggling her, making her feel guilty. She'd have to make it up to them somehow. Pay their debts or something. Preferably without letting them know how she'd contributed to the business' failure. She thought about it for a moment. Then she smiled. She could give them the money, calling it a reward for discovering that someone was stealing explosives. If they questioned the amount, she could hint at it being hush money, buying their silence to protect the company. That would probably appeal to them. They'd never suspect it was guilt money.
She walked a few more steps, paused, and turned to look back towards the storeroom. It was all their own fault. If they didn't constantly try to live down to their reputation she'd never have thought them responsible. Who could blame her for believing the image of the Hart brothers everyone in Grantville painted? Nobody. She smiled, and turned and continued to walk back towards her office satisfied in her own mind that she hadn't really done anything wrong.
* * *
Character illustrations by Jaime Patneaude
Gajam Raanni
Written by Iver P. Cooper
North of Kollam, India
Kumbham (February-March),
809 Malayalam Era (1634 CE)
"Princess, where are you hiding?" yelled Abhaya, his hands cupped to form a speaking trumpet.
There was no answer.
"Chinna! It's time to go! You have a wedding to attend."
Abhaya, a wiry twelve-year-old boy, turned slowly, looking and listening in every direction. There was a broad trail, but Chinna was not the sort of gal to always take the easiest path.
After a moment's hesitation, he saw where she had stepped off the trail into the forest. "Chinna." He sighed. The canopy closed above him, and he felt cooler almost immediately.
After a few dozen gaz, he emerged into a glade. Chinna was there all right, drinking from a pond.
"Princess, it's about time. You still need to be painted, you know."
Chinna wrapped her trunk around Abhaya.
"Yes, yes, I know you like me. I like you too. But let's get going."
* * *
They were scheduled to make a ceremonial appearance at a wedding in a village two days' journey north of Kollam. While there may have
been elephants closer to the village, most elephants outside the temples and palaces were meergha—low caste. Whereas Chinna had the great girth, plump backside, massive head and chest, short neck, broad and well-proportioned trunk and full cheeks of a bhadra, a high caste pachyderm.
At the wedding, Chinna symbolized Ganesh, the elephant-headed Lord of Beginnings. She brought luck to the couple, and coin to Abhaya's pocket. The hire price would have to be shared with Chinna's owner, but Abhaya had had Chinna do some tricks for the guests, and had collected many tips.
Abhaya was a bit worried about the future, however. It was Kumbham, and the marriage season was almost over. Soon Chinna would have to either do farm labor or begging. The first carried the risk of injury, and the second that of hunger.
* * *
Abhaya and Chinna slowly made their way down the coastal road, toward Abhaya's home town, Kollam. From time to time, Abhaya hummed; his father had taught him how to imitate the sound that a mother elephant made to let its calf know where she was.
"Are you thirsty, pretty one? In an hour we will be in Neendakala, and you can drink the whole of Lake Ashtamudi like some hero of the epics, if you so please."
Suddenly, Abhaya rose slightly from his usual sitting position, and pointed ahead and to the right. "Look, Chinna, there are two Portuguese. "What are they doing on this beach?"
The elephant chirped.
"You're right, Chinna, it doesn't make sense. The Portuguese mainly keep to Tangasseri." That was their trading post, and it was a short distance away from Kollam, which the Portuguese called Quilon. "And their interest is in spices, which are hardly to be found on a beach.
"Let's find out, shall we, dearest?" Abhaya gently pressed with his left heel against the flank of Chinna's head signaling her to turn right.
People who have only seen elephants assume that because of their size they must make plenty of noise when they walk. But that is not in fact the case. Abhaya and Chinna got within a few gaz of the foreigners before they heard her.
To say they were startled would be an understatement. One reached for a pistol, but his companion stopped him, whispering, "That will only enrage an elephant, you idiot, even if he let you get off a shot."
"Namaskaru, strangers. Did you lose something in the sand?" This was a polite way of asking, "Why are you digging here?"
"Not at all," said one of the Portuguese. "We are humble scholars, and there is something to be learned from even a grain of sand."
"Uh-huh," said Abhaya, "but it seems to me that you have quite a few grains of sand to learn from already. And it seems that you have a preference for the black ones." Abhaya wouldn't have questioned them so aggressively, if he weren't on the back of an elephant. But given that he enjoyed that security, he was keen to find out if there was anything about this encounter which he could turn to profit. A word to a rival merchant, perhaps, who would pay for the information . . . or an honorarium from these two, to buy Abhaya's silence.
Pistol Man laughed. "So much for you. You can't even fool a kid with that story."
Humble Scholar shrugged. "It was worth a try. What's your name, boy?"
"Abhaya."
"Well, I'm Agostinho Pereira, and my friend here is Benedito Surrão. Perhaps you can help us, we're looking for a particular kind of black sand."
"And how will you know if you've found it?"
"If you want to see, I'm afraid you'll need to get down from that beast of yours."
"Well . . . all right. . . . But you better not try to harm me . . . or Chinna will deal with you." Abhaya stood up, turned around and grabbed Chinna's ears, put one foot on the center of her trunk, and gave a command. A moment later, Chinna lowered him to the ground, and Abhaya sprang off.
"Very gracefully done, young Abhaya. Now look." Agostinho took out a thin panel of wood, and spread some sand over it. He then pulled out a strange black stone, and passed it over the sand. Some of the grains twitched, and moved along with the stone.
"May I?" said Abhaya, extending his hand. Agostinho handed him the lodestone, and Abhaya amused himself for a few minutes with it. When he saw that Benedito was fidgeting, Abhaya returned it with a bow.
"What is this sand good for?"
"We have books that say that it can be made into a very fine white paint," Agostinho explained.
Abhaya laughed. "Books, eh? How can you make black sand into white paint?"
"I don't know myself, but the books of Grantville say that it can be done."
"Grantville! The storytellers have spoken of Grantville. They say that it is a city perched on the side of a great volcano, that rose in a single day, and that the reason the people know so much is that each of them has two heads."
Agostinho stifled a chuckle. "Well, you have told us that we shouldn't believe all we read, and perhaps you shouldn't believe all you hear."
Abhaya gestured at the beach. "Do you know why there are patches of black sand on this golden beach? My father told me, as his father told him. The devi Kanyakumari had the power to overcome the asura, the demons, only so long as she remained a virgin. Yet she wished to marry and have a husband. She prayed to Shiva to find her a husband, and lo, the Auspicious One volunteered to marry her himself. But there was one problem. Her kin, the devas, insisted that the marriage ceremony occur at midnight on a particular day. Shiva's wedding procession set out earlier that evening, at the most auspicious time, to meet Kanyamurari here. But his fellow gods also feared the asura, and conspired against him. One turned himself into a rooster and, when Shiva passed by, crowed as if to greet the day. Shiva thought that he had failed to arrive on time, and returned to his home in the Himalayas to sulk. Kanyakumari waited and waited, but Shiva did not appear. When the sun rose, she threw in every direction the pots of food that had been assembled for the wedding feast, and cursed them, changing them into the black spots you see today."
"So," said Agostinho, "do you know where we can find more of that black sand? A very big wedding pot, shall we say?"
"I know where there is plenty of black sand, but as to whether it is sand with this, this 'frog power'—I don't know. In any event, if you want to dig for it in large quantity, you will certainly need the permission of the raanni of Kollam, as well as the raja of Venad. It is in a well-traveled area."
Agostinho stood silent for a few moments. "Are you and this Chinna available for hire, perhaps? I think we are going to join the raanni's next procession to Trivandrum."
Abhaya smiled, his teeth gleaming against his dark face.
* * *
The procession wound ponderously down the coastal road to Trivandrum, where the raja, Unni Kerala Varma, was presently residing.
The elephants, horses, and carts of the entourage of his sister, the raanni of Kollam, were in the lead, followed by those of the Portuguese traders and other supplicants.
First came two carefully matched male elephants, each wearing a jewel-studded headband. Then came standard bearers, whose flags hung limply alongside their staffs. They in turn were followed by several ranks of spearmen, a few noblemen on horseback, and the raanni herself.
The raanni, of course, was carried in a palanquin, with a half-dozen red-coated bearers fore and aft, on her left a chhathram-umbrella man to fend off the Sun, and on her right a chaamaram-whisk man to brush away the flies. Both chhathram and chaamaram were symbols of her royal authority. The fly-whisk was necessary, of course, since to kill insects would make one impure, but the flies did seem to come right back. The umbrella man had the easier duty.
Behind the raanni, there were more spearmen, then rows of Brahmin priests. When the raanni made her formal appearance at the palace, they would precede her, chanting her lineage and titles. The royal contingent ended with a cart carrying her maidservants.
In like manner, Chinna, ridden proudly by Abhaya, was the ceremonial vanguard of the Portuguese contingent. The Portuguese merchants were on horseback, and their presents for the raja were in the carts behind them. They even included a few
items from fabled Grantville.
Before leaving Kollam, Abhaya had bathed Chinna—which was no problem as elephants love the water—and scrubbed her down with a pumice stone until she was a glossy black. He then took her to the best elephant painter in Kollam, a temple mahout who was too old to ride. She was now, in Abhaya's admittedly biased view, the most beautiful cow elephant in all of south India. The cost of this transformation was borne, somewhat grudgingly, by the Portuguese—"The raja's first impression of your party will be when he sees Chinna coming down the road," Abhaya told them, "so don't you want her to look her best?"—and of course the painter had given Abhaya a referral fee.
From Kollam to Trivandum was some forty-five miles, a three day journey. The crisis came on the morning of the third day. One of the priests had been falling gradually behind the others. Suddenly, he collapsed. This frightened the horses pulling the cart immediately behind him. They panicked and tried to veer to the left, off the road. While that saved the poor fellow from being trampled by the horses, it meant that he was liable to be run over in an instant by the right rear wheel.
Abhaya, whose eyes were perhaps twelve feet off the ground, saw his predicament. "Chinna!" he cried.
Chinna, of course, could see the fallen man, too. She reached out with her trunk, snaking it between the spokes of that wheel, and lifted. The raanni's maidservants clutched the sides of the cart, and screamed, but Chinna had been clever enough to lift the wheel just enough to clear the priest, but not so much as to topple the women into the roadside ditch. Chinna's pull on the wheel also arrested the horses' attempt to escape, giving the driver the chance to get them back under control.
Because of the commotion the procession came to an uncertain halt, and the noblemen rode back to find out what was wrong. Orders were given; the Brahmin's companions put him on an improvised stretcher and put him in the cart with the maidservants. Fresh horses were brought up from the rear of the column and the agitated ones sent back.
First the noblemen, then several of the priests, told Abhaya that he was a great mahout, a prodigy for his age, and that the raanni and the raja would surely reward him after they arrived at the palace. Each time, Abhaya bowed and thanked them for their praise.
Grantville Gazette Volume 25 Page 22
