"Huh? Leiden? Is that the only way you can get it to Padua?"
Will sighed. "My friend, Arundel is no longer in Italy, he has gone to be with Hartlib and other scholars in the Netherlands, because of what happened in Padua. Bennet's misdeeds are still coming to light. It wasn't in Grantville that they began, or apparently in Padua, either."
"So? My wife's hell and mine-"
"Were caused . . . were caused by a mad series of events that began with confusion and have culminated in disaster. Do you know we finally discovered what became of the former chain of couriers?"
"Maybe you said something; I don't remember."
"Well, then, at Arundel's urging after we regained contact, I hired the man who calls here to trace the whole chain and make inquiries as he went. A certain Armand d'Orsini, a man of seventy or so, traveled for many years between Padua and Innsbruck. On January fifth, he began his usual run north, went on for eight days, and stopped for the night according to his usual habit at the inn in Campo di Trens. And there he died in his bed. The innkeeper knew nothing of d'Orsini's business or relations, and had no better idea than to keep his saddlebags until someone might call for them."
"Nobody did?"
"Nobody did, until the man I sent. As it happened, the bags contained Arundel's letter asking what I knew of the Ring's Fire-by that time a wildly spreading craze among the continent's rich and powerful, and soon enough a commodity of political advantage. Months wore away with no reply from me, and no messages from Morton either after that letter left Padua. Then an ordinary article of mine appeared in one of the new scholarly journals. Arundel was baffled and worried. A man in his position is liable to acquire unknown enemies at any time, and not necessarily because of anything he's done or not done. And so, not knowing whether Tim Morton or I even lived by then, or what other unimaginable calamity might have come about, Arundel sent Rothrock and Bennet here to look and listen with the greatest caution, and to do whatever seemed best. The rest, we know all too well." He flicked his eyes toward the court transcripts.
"Shit! That's what started this whole clusterfuck?"
"Yes, Carlos. It was nothing more sinister than a man coming to the end of his appointed days. I have offered prayers for him.
"One thing more. Though I've served Arundel in compiling this, little in it is in any sense secret or even private. Nearly all of it comes from public records that any citizen may read. An agent connected to Schmucker and Schwentzel has approached me to make a book out of this miserable, confused affair. You and Olivia would be most welcome as co-authors."
****
Olivia's homecoming was far from the joyful triumph it should have been. It was bittersweet to see Carlos's gentleness as she nerved herself to step down from the truck, looking all around her, then through the garden gate, along the flagstones, and finally after long minutes, up the stairs onto the porch and through the front door. She wore her gun; at her insistence, Carlos and Will did likewise.
She examined the house room by room, over and over, visibly taking hold of herself as she went.
All was tidy and well-repaired by the hands of their neighbors, friends, and children, other than the empty places of certain long-cherished belongings that were no more. The pain of Bennet's wanton destruction-which that hateful despoiler admitted at trial. . . . He never explained what prompted his furious ransacking, or what its object had been. Century-old Mexican artifacts shredded, Olivia's classically themed portrait spirited away, massive frame and all . . . At the end, he set fire to the back patio arbor. None of it made the least sense to anyone, perhaps not even to him. He had screamed "witches" repeatedly at Olivia, Carlos, even Will during his trial, and been held in contempt thereafter.
Carlos helped settle her in the best chair, and brought her herb tea. While he warmed a bowl of apple crisp a neighbor had left, Will stood looking out at the front garden, wondering whether there was anything he could say to her that would help, or even whether it would be wise to say anything at all. But it was Olivia who spoke. "Carlos, you want to bring in the cassette recorder? If we're going to write a book about this mess, we'd better start saving our recollections."
September
"What the hell happened, Will?"
They were seated around a painted iron table, looking out into Olivia's back garden, where a young peach sapling had grown noticeably during the summer. Four or five bees hummed among the flowers in the golden light of afternoon. Even on this late summer day, Olivia wore a wool jacket half-buttoned, and had a light blanket thrown over her lower body.
Will cupped his hands around the mug of warm chocolate, made Mexican style, and tried to formulate an answer. Many answers.
"Bennet's delusion, I think, is the lesser mystery. You were among the artists and art teachers who posed in costume during photography and drawing sessions?"
Olivia nodded.
"One of those who came here to discover what might be of use in his profession returned home to Italy with photographs taken during the sessions. He was already an accomplished and respected painter. One of those photographs ironically became the inspiration for his own depiction of Calypso. Arundel purchased it as a gift to his host, who hung it in one of the salons, where Bennet saw it often. It fed his growing insanity. I can only guess what he imagined when he saw your portrait from Gozo, after he had already kidnapped you.
"But as to larger matters . . ." he paused again to marshal his thoughts. "The Earl of Arundel rarely does anything for a single reason. However, I think I understand one of his purposes.
"He wishes England to take her place among the powers of the earth, as she once did in your history. But having pondered deeply on that history, and on the works of economists from Adam Smith onward, he has gained a very different understanding of the foundations of wealth and power from that of most minds of our time. He has discarded the long-held assumption that of course economics is what is called a 'zero-sum game,' because he sees that land is no longer to be the only source of wealth-not even the chief source. Therefore he is indifferent to the gains of others, so long as England gains-and the Howards. But for anyone to gain, the knowledge here in Grantville must not only be kept safe against all hazards, it must be spread to the world and brought to England as quickly as it can be. This has already begun, of course; one of my former countrymen at the high school has returned home to teach mathematics at Cambridge.
"Richelieu's unspeakable assault two years ago, which came so dreadfully close to success, shook Arundel badly. He wrote as much when I reported what nearly became of the library. He declares Richelieu's vicious plot to be a knowing and willful rebellion against the manifest will of God, blackest treachery even against the church he proclaims holy, against all of the Christian churches, and even to the great detriment of all the people of France. He has said that whatever brilliant arguments Richelieu may have conceived to excuse such a sacrilege in his own mind, it was in stark truth done in the service of Satan.
"Rothrock told me that when Arundel first read my report of the attack against the library and school, he was shaking with fury. He struck his fist against the dining table so hard that the plates jumped, and roared 'Never again.' He is determined that everything that is of use must be copied, translated, archived, and taught in so many places that there will never again be a place where it can all be destroyed at one blow. As you may well imagine, I am one of many who share in that purpose."
Olivia couldn't stop her face from showing the bitterness she felt. "I hope to hell he can find better help than he did the last time."
Carlos looked off toward the picket fence for a moment and snorted. "He'll sure need a lot of it. Does he have any idea how big a job he's talking about?"
"Oh, he fully understands that he cannot fund such a massive task from his own purse, nor even direct it. Many scholars are already at work with and without him; they have reasons enough of their own. No, what he hopes to do is assist, encourage, lightly guide, whisper a word in the right
ear, spend a few guilders where they would clear away whatever bottleneck is most troublesome. Of special importance, watch for key omissions and commission someone capable of attending to them, so that essential accomplishments that might take decades take years instead, or some that might take years should take months. He'd hoped the University of Padua might become a center for it all, but Bennet's offenses against decency there have come to light and made it impossible for him to accomplish anything. He's with Samuel Hartlib in Leiden now. They're constantly at the engineering school and the university.
"As for me, he's written of hopes to hurry along certain important improvements in printing. He wishes me to meet with the Kubiaks to see what might be done."
Olivia lowered her cup to her lap and looked at him. "You know, outside of editing our manuscript, reading is about all I've been doing lately. Good luck getting anything about England straightened out, with that bloody-handed madman Charles Stuart in the way. Not to mention Boyle. And I wonder what Cromwell's up to, now that he's loose?"
"The Stuarts . . . Even here in Grantville, I shall not speak of them. The rest of the landed aristocracy, well, little is likely to be done with England's wealth of coal, of iron, of timber and deep harbors and hard-working folk, while so few keep their grip on the land and the gold, and use it only for extravagant entertainments and displays of curiosities, wrestling for political advantage. And Arundel, being of that aristocracy, will need to be agile, if he hopes to gain by such an overturning of the order. But any courtier must be agile, always.
"But Cromwell, now, there's a joker in the deck! It's said he travels with a radio operator, and knows many things the other Cromwell did not. I wonder who may be busy among the libraries and factories of Grantville on his behalf?
"Meanwhile, having fulfilled the commission I agreed to, I have a new offer from Arundel. His son, Lord William Howard, is to study here, and he wishes to engage me to guide him. I'm giving it serious consideration, after our book is at the printers."
October
"Beautiful, Carlos. Stunning. Is it what I think?"
"Yeah, Will, it's one of the little geodes Jack cemented to the Wall, and, yes, it turned out to be ametrine inside. The other one's in Roth's vault. Go ahead and pick it up. Have a look."
Oughtred turned it under the brilliant light over the bench where Carlos had been working at it. With the dull crust gone, it was still close to five inches across.
Carlos pointed with a pencil. "If you squint, you can kind of see the outlines of the continents in it.
"I didn't want to just cut this up and sell it off in little pieces, like that guy in Jena did with what Tim brought him. Jeeze, I wish to heck I'd mentioned what got stolen, sometime at the Gardens when Tim was around. Or if he'd just said something about what he and Sybil found.
"Anyway, we got this back. But now I don't know what to do with it. It's probably worth an emperor's ransom."
"I don't doubt it is, Carlos. And our emperor has better sense than to squander all he has on pretense and display. Well, then, why not let Roth manage the sale? He would surely know the price of such a marvel, and how best to bring it to market."
****
Olivia didn't put her hand on her pistol, but she stood with her body between it and the door as she turned the knob with her other hand.
A messenger from das Furstenhaus Thurn und Taxis handed her a thick packet and a receipt to sign.
As she took it to the dining room table, she called down the cellar stairs, "Carlos! Will! Come on up and look at this thing!"
Will's eyebrows rose when he saw the parchment outer envelope, complete with a green satin ribbon sealed in amber wax with the sigil of the Earl of Arundel.
The letter, when she opened it, was dated September 21, 1634.
"You've become a personage of note, Olivia; that's the earl's own handwriting."
"Um, okay . . . looks like the first part of this is an abject apology for dumping Bennet in our laps, and everything he did . . . Huh? He and Lady Alethea are coming to Grantville, and he wants to visit us and apologize again in person. But will you listen to this! He says 'no noble lady, however distantly related to my house, should have suffered such indignities and offenses!' Good grief, Will, I thought you said he understood our laws and why they're the way they are, after everything you sent him. It doesn't matter who I'm related to, nobody from a scrubwoman to a senator should have to go through what I did! I think I'll write to him myself and tell him thanks for the sympathy, but they hung Bennet for what he did, not who he did it to, and the laws in this state are the same for everybody. He'd damn well better get that through his head, if he's coming here."
Will stood with a startled expression on his face, while she picked up the inner envelope, the same as the outer, and sealed in the same way. Her hand still trembled with indignation as she broke the seal and opened it; the letter inside slipped out and fluttered to the table.
She picked it up, still shaking her head at how obtuse the nobility could be, even when they were trying to be fair and decent. She began reading. After the salutations and the expressions of sympathy and regret, came the heart of the missive.
****
My lord husband and I have found much to ponder in Master Oughtred's many letters, together with the books and documents he hath commended to our attention. Among these are A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, as well the provisions of the old United States Constitution. If you and the justly famed Mistress Mailey would do me the honour of calling at our suite during our stay in Grantville, I would very much like to hear your thoughts of the history of your Nineteenth Amendment and in what manner its like might be brought home to England, for I fear that our land may never find her rightful place as long as half her people are denied theirs.
Lady Alethea, Countess Arundel
****
Second Chance Bird, Episode Six
Garrett W. Vance
Chapter Thirty-One: One Man's Junk is Another's Treasure
Captured Oriental Junk, South Coast of Mauritius
Pam and Dore climbed the wide, stair-like ladder out of the cool shadows of the lower decks to stand blinking beneath the Tropic of Capricorn's blazing sun. Squinting against the glare, Pam saw Dore looking wistfully back down toward the wonderful galley they had discovered-the height of luxury and abundance after their long sojourn marooned on a remote shore. Pam smiled at Dore's almost child-like eagerness to play with her new toys and motioned her to follow. "Okay, pal-o-mine, you'll have your chance to do your thing in there soon enough. Let's go check out the upper cabins."
The junk was cruising slowly down the coast of their cove, pushed along by a summery breeze in her slatted crimson sails, engaged in another practice run. Sailors rushed to and fro, sometimes pausing to puzzle over her unfamiliar designs. The bosun's voice could be heard on the foredeck, by turns roundly cursing any man who was slow to grasp the intricacies of the foreign rigging, then damning the mad heathens who had built such an unusual craft in the first place. Pam had full faith that her crew would manage; they were moving forward in any case, which must surely be a good sign. Now that they had a ship, she didn't want to dally. The fate of the colonists weighed heavily on her, as it did on all aboard, and all possible haste would have to be made.
Their eyes somewhat adjusted to the brightness, she and Dore headed to the high aft tower that Pam thought of as "the castle deck." Standing in its shade, they peeked into the bottom cabin. The windows had been opened to freshen the air inside, which had a pleasant woody scent. Earlier, the sailors had reported that they had performed a very thorough cleanup, removing all evidence that the pirates had ever lived aboard. One of the cleaning-crew sailors, Hake, had remarked that the heathen pirates had been remarkably neat and clean, except for some bloodstains here and there, very likely from tortured captives; "Once they've dried, they're hell to remove." Pam had grimaced at that, but didn't fault the fellow for his honesty.
"Let's go inside!" Pam s
aid, Dore nodding eagerly in reply.
The cabin was no disappointment even after the delights to be found in the galley. These were the quarters the bosun had suggested for Gerbald and Dore. The door opened near the bottom of the castle deck's ladder. As the only married couple of the expedition, they would be given the second-nicest room on the ship, the first being reserved for the captain. They found a spacious, wood-paneled apartment, elegantly furnished with the same kind of heavy and ornately carved lacquered-wood furniture found in the lobbies of fancier Chinese restaurants. It most certainly had been reserved for distinguished guests, or perhaps used by high-ranking ship's officers. They found fresh bed linens neatly folded and ready for use in sandalwood scented cabinets. Pam was very pleased to see they were made of silk. The bed was, much like the Redbird's, built into the walls. It was a lot wider, yet a bit shorter than what they were accustomed to. There were plenty of large cushions and pillows if they needed to spread out onto the carpeted floor.
After the initial inspection, Dore wrung her hands and exclaimed, "We can't possibly stay here!" She was obviously shocked by the level of opulence. "This is a room for a prince or a duke, not a washerwoman and her old soldier husband!"
"Nonsense," Pam replied firmly. "You're the chief cook and Gerbald is my personal bodyguard as well as an acting sergeant in our fighting force, so you get the good stuff. Enjoy it!" Dore looked unconvinced but Pam added "That's an order!" and gave her friend a playful grin.
Pam wasn't surprised when the upper quarters were double the grandeur and four times the space, occupying the entire floor of the tower. Pam looked around and quickly decided she would make the area near the door the dining room and office. The back third of the capacious room would be made private, since that was where the bed was, as well as the bathroom. She was pleased to see those facilities were a bit more advanced than on the ships of Europe. There was more than enough space for her needs. Placed along the dark-stained wooden walls were many beautifully painted movable screens. These would be perfect for dividing the room.
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