Grantville Gazette, Volume 71

by Bjorn Hasseler

  "Why?"

  "After you tell Papa your new name he'll be so apoplectic with anger he will forget all about me. Either that or he will feel relieved that all I want to do is talk with up-timers, not become one. So, thank you, Barbie."

  The two girls looked at each other and broke into gales of laughter.

  ****

  In a barn outside Bremen

  A few days later

  The newly-renamed Barbie stood amongst a group of young male and female musicians in a large wooden barn. The only animals in attendance were a few chickens pecking the ground in search of a late lunch and four grey goats wandering among the humans cadging for treats from bags and pockets. Midafternoon sunlight slipped through the open slats here and there.

  The young music makers spread themselves on the bound hay bales stacked in the center of the barn.

  "Let's get this going, shall we?" Barbie stood in the center with a tall, gangly young man a few years older than the young Knaub. His large hands emerged several inches beyond his slightly dirty cotton sleeves. His dark brown hair brushed the top of the expensive, lace-touched white collar. His up-timer jeans tucked into well-worn leather boots, and a blue patterned doublet completed his attire.

  The young people scattered around him and Barbie ranged in age from thirteen to nineteen and carried a wide selection of instruments, even one or two that their instructors might not recognize as musical instruments like an ale barrel or two.

  All the young eyes were fixed firmly on Barbie.

  "So you want to be in an up-timer rock and roll band?" The young man scanned the musicians arrayed around him.

  All the heads nodded in unison. A few shuffled their feet.

  "How many of you are already in an orchestra or another group?"

  Several of the young men raised their hands. The young women sat with widened eyes. One spoke up, a girl with auburn plaits wrapped around her head like a crown. "If we have not been playing with another group does that disqualify us?"

  Barbie and the young man next to her, Carl, conferred quietly then turned back to the teenager. He spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. "Of course not, Brigitte. Rock and roll is about new things, breaking new ground, celebrating the music in all of us. We do ask everybody to try out so we can see how you fit n with the band. What do you play?"

  She scrunched up her courage. "Recorder."

  Carl turned to the girl next to her. "And you, Gisela, was it?"

  The young woman with short light brown hair smiled shyly and mumbled. "Sackbut."

  Carl continued around the loose circle, receiving a variety of answers. "Trumpet." "Flute." "Guitar." "Lute." And others.

  "It sounds like we have the making of a kickin' band!" Barbie clapped her hands in delight.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent with the group talking about what up-time music they liked and getting to know each other.

  ****

  The Knaub household

  A little over a month later

  Marieke heard light steps coming toward her bedroom door. She thought it might be the young maid bringing in the laundry or some other morning chore. Marieke turned back to her book. She had been reading a book copied from the Grantville library. She knew her father would not approve of the title so she hid it in her skirts when she heard steps.

  The steps stopped outside her door. She slid the thin book into her skirt pocket and picked up the needlework she kept nearby.

  She barely recognized the apparition that slid into the room through a half-opened door. Marieke gasped, drawing her hand across her open mouth.

  "Katrin?"

  Was this really her sister? Was this a joke? Marieke had never seen anyone dressed like this. It could be Katrin, or maybe not. Should she laugh or not? Frankly, she had no idea how to act.

  A familiar voice called her name. "Marieke, it's me. How do you like the new look?"

  "Katrin, Barbie, whoever. What have you done? What are you wearing? Where is the rest of your hair?" Mielke did not know where to look first or what to ask. All she could do was gape.

  The last time she had seen her younger sister the girl looked like many girls in Bremen. Long, braided hair with a nicely embroidered brown bodice laced over several sets of cotton skirts accented with lace on her starched blouse. Light shoes on her small feet finished the picture.

  But that was this morning. Obviously, something had changed. Katrin had made a full transformation into a rock and roll diva.

  Every strip of clothing Marieke could see on Barbie/Katrin was black. She wore a black stretchy turtleneck under a black leather bodice over a series of black cotton skirts. At the bottom, Marieke could see black hosen and heavy black leather boots peeking out. Her sister had cut her beautiful blonde hair! Her hair, when loose, had reached past her bottom but no longer. Now, the shiny blonde hair barely covered the girl's ears with a straight bob. Perhaps the most shocking details danced across the black bodice --white and silver skulls grinned their way across in a macabre yet delicate chain!

  "Katrin!"

  "No! Please, it's Barbie now."

  "All right, Barbie . . ." Marieke held her tongue and ran through all the things she might say.

  "Marieke, will you come to our first gig? That's what up-timers call a recital, a gig. It will be so much fun! We are going to play real up-timer rock and roll songs! It is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me! Please, say you will be there! Please!"

  "I don't know, Ka . . . Barbie. No, I will be there. Girls have to stick together, right?" Marieke stood up and walked over to her dark-clad sister and hugged her.

  ****

  Bremen, Rathaus

  Morning, September, 1635

  Betlinda Knaub paused, took a deep breath, and sailed into the office of the Bürgermeister und Präsident des Senats, as the mayor of Bremen had been known for centuries. The occupant wasn't the man known from the histories—he'd fled with the prince-bishop. The new officeholder was a widowed functionary named by Prince Friedrich, a man named Emil Jauch who was from a famous family in Hamburg. He was stout, and in the warm weather of early September, he was florid and sweating through his expensive red silk doublet.

  "And what may I do for you, Frau Knaub?" Herr Jauch unfurled one of his broader smiles to welcome Betlinda into his office.

  "I have an important treat to offer the citizens of Bremen. You will recall the story of the 'Musicians of Bremen'?"

  "Yes, and I just was overseeing the placement of the statue that is based on the up-time photo of the statue they say stood in the Rathausplatz in their time. It is near the holy statue of the paladin Roland."

  Betlinda smiled back. "We have a group of young people, what the up-timers call 'teenagers,' who have formed a musical group, a band, and they call themselves the Musicians of Bremen. They would like to perform for the city."

  "Well, I hope their musicianship is better than the cat, the dog, the rooster, and the donkey!" Jausch thought his witticism the height of humor and let loose a friendly guffaw.

  "They would like to perform in the Rathausplatz next month. May we have your permission?"

  "What kind of music do they play?"

  "Music to dance a brawl by."

  Jausch leered at Betlinda, who was a very good-looking older woman. "Do you dance a brawl, Frau Knaub?"

  "Oh, call me Betlinda, and may I call you Emil? Yes I love a good brawl. If you approve the concert, I will surely save a dance for you!"

  Jausch grinned, and stood. Beneath his doublet he was wearing up-timer blue jeans, stuffed into high brown boots. He held his hand out and she shook it. "You have your concert, Betlinda. I hope they are good."

  "I'm sure you will see . . . they play up-timer rock and roll!"

  ****

  Bremen town square

  An early October evening in 1635

  Between the statue of Roland and the new statue of the Musicians of Bremen, the assembled townspeople shuffled their feet as they sat on every availab
le space. Those still standing pressed forward to see the stage lit by candles and torches. Vendors wove their way through the crowd with sweets, mulled wine and pastries. Mothers tossed their little ones on their laps to keep them amused while everyone waited for the new music.

  The crowd held people of all ages, from babies in arms to almost toothless grandfathers. Several shopkeepers had rolled carts outside where they peddled ale and brats, pretzels and candies. Everyone wanted to be at Bremen's first rock and roll concert!

  Several fires had been lit on either side of the low wooden stage. Some people had brought out candles in holders they held or stood upright in the dry ground. An array of instruments was arranged as if waiting for their musicians. There was a lute, a harpsichord, a clavichord, a sackbut, a dudelsack, a recorder on a stand, a guitar, and even several ale barrels of varying sizes arranged in a circle.

  Then a tall, young man took the stage.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you . . . Barbie and the Musicians of Bremen!" The tall man in his late twenties stood in the middle of a raised platform, surrounded by an array of musical instruments. The silver buttons and chains strewn across his black leather jacket, pants, and boots reflected back the flickering candlelight.

  The audience watched as a procession of young musicians filed onto the stage and took up their instruments. A burly teenage male pulled up a straw bale behind the well-used ale kegs and started a backbeat. The rest of the musicians picked up their instruments. As the rest got going, Barbie in her blackest finery danced on stage, pounding a tambourine. She got into the first song—Geboren in Bremen. The few citizens who had heard up-time music and any up-timers in the crowd would recognize the tune as "Born on the Bayou."

  Barbie belted it out at the bottom end of her sweet alto register. The male harpsichordist joined in on the chorus, adding more depth. All the musicians, male and female, got lost in the tune and missed the hoots and calls from the attending family and friends. Some of the instruments were a little too light to be easily heard but all the musicians played, letting the music flow through their instruments.

  One clump of listeners stood in shock near the back of the crowd. Herr and Frau Knaub stood flanked by their son, Ebbe, and several retainers. Silence swathed the small party as Herr Knaub's face grew redder and redder. His wife kept glancing between her husband and the stage where his youngest sang and banged her tambourine as if the world were ending.

  The scrawny, ginger-haired young man, Gunter, made his dudelsack sing like a moaning cow. Gilbert, in a dapper dark blue doublet with embroidered skeleton edging, played counterpoint on the harpsichord with a strong backbeat, echoed by blonde, chunky Metta on the flute. Other teens joined in on guitar, clavichord, sackbut and underneath it all like a giant heart was Bernhardt of the massive arms, the smith's son, pounding the driving beat while sweat poured off his dark curls.

  Marieke and Aunt Betlinda sat on a bale at the front of the audience where Barbie could see them. Shortly after the music started she saw them drawn along by the musical flood with the rest of the increasingly appreciative crowd.

  By the end of the first song, the happy Bremenites were clapping and stomping, their legs carrying them through polkas and simple stomps, as they made largely unsuccessful attempts at singing along with the rousing chorus.

  The song stopped, and Barbie swiftly swung the Musicians of Bremen into their next one, "Stolz Maria" or "Proud Mary" to the English speakers. Nobody seemed to care too much about the words as the young band carried the song to a rousing crescendo.

  The Musicians of Bremen kept up their concert, bewitching the town square. By the end of an hour of up-time-based songs their black costumes were drenched in sweat, and the townspeople were dancing on and around the bales, with ersatz polka and waltz steps and some that resembled nothing more than an outright brawl.

  Halfway through the gig, the Musicians of Bremen took a few minutes to grab some water and air. A few audience members had left, mumbling, "Devil's music" and "Never want to hear that again!" But most of the townsfolk, of all ages, were just catching their breath and waiting for another round. They were saying things like, "Best polka I ever heard!" or "I haven't danced a brawl that good in a long time!" The children universally took advantage of the chance to dance unabashedly across the square with their parents using more traditional steps. The older people seemed split, with a few leaving, complaining this must be devil-inspired, but most staying to clap hands and tap toes.

  As soon as Barbie felt the band members could hit a beat again, she started into the second half. Now the audience was ready for them. There was no hesitation as there had been at the beginning of the first set. Bernhardt, sweat plastering his light linen shirt to his body like a wet second skin, hit the top of his ale barrel and everyone was on their feet.

  The Musicians of Bremen kept the crowd dancing through several more songs ending with a fully German version of "It's Only Rock and Roll But I Like It." All the band members not playing an instrument that required their mouths joined in on the final chorus.

  Then, just as suddenly as the music started it stopped. The young players were so tired they resembled nothing more than clockwork figures that had merely run down. Sweat dripped off their clothes and hair. They seemed almost too tired to hold their instruments. The crowd milled about, exhausted but too energized to stop talking. Nothing like this had ever been seen in Bremen!

  The susurrus of the crowd rolled across the square. Then, one voice, one word, resounded from the back of the happy crowd. "Katrin!!!"

  Herr Knaub, looking like an expanded red balloon, stood staring at his bedraggled youngest daughter. Her stepmother sat on the bale next to him, fanning her face with a Spanish lace fan.

  Barbie was still on the stage, chattering happily with her band mates. Her father's voice cut through everything, dragging her attention to the other end of the square where he stood, ready to explode.

  She looked at each of the other musicians then stepped off the platform and headed toward her family. Barbie walked past where Marieke and Aunt Betlinda stood.

  Marieke grabbed and hugged her as she drew near. "That was wonderful! You were wonderful l!"

  "That you were, my girl!" Betlinda stood nearby, beaming with pride. "I have not had that much enjoyment in ages!" Her greying braids frayed where the hair had escaped as if to better enjoy the music. Her embroidered brown dirndl was unfashionably damp.

  Fully aware that her father still loomed at the back of the milling crowd, Barbie hugged them and promised to talk more later. Then she headed to meet her father.

  "Papa! Did you enjoy the show?" Barbie cast her lot by pretending she did not see her father's impending explosion.

  "Katrin, we MUST talk." The words seemed to push their way past his clenched jaw rather than being propelled.

  "Wasn't it marvelous!?" Barbie looked from her father to her stepmother, even glancing at Ebbe who loomed at the back of the family. She hoped her status as youngest daughter would protect her from the worst of Herr Knaub's ire.

  "Not the words I would choose, Katrin. We will discuss this at home. In private." With that he turned to his wife and then Ebbe. "Enough of this for now. We are all going home now. You, too, Katrin." Herr Knaub walked off, somehow seeming to stomp without actually doing so, followed by his wife and son.

  Ebbe grinned maliciously at Barbie as he pulled up the rear of the small procession. He had always been jealous of her. Barbie figured this was his chance to become the favored one. Fine with her! She never wanted to be a pampered princess. She wanted to have a real life! She was going to be a rocker! Imagine! The first down-time rock diva!

  ****

  The Knaub Household

  Later that evening

  Barbie walked slowly up to the front door of her brightly illuminated home. Light poured out of the windows on the first and second floors.

  This told her everything she needed to know, or feared, about her father's anger. Normally, the hous
e would be dark at this time of night. Maybe Old Albruna would be in the kitchen baking the morning's pastries. But Barbie had never seen the house lit up like a lantern this late. Maybe she should wander outside for a while, hoping her father would fall asleep, and everyone else would follow.

  Barbie started to move away from the ornately carved front door and back into the late night shadows. Too late.

  Unseen, Ebbe had stationed himself at the library window as lookout. "Katrin, Father is looking for you." His voice boomed out across the front yard like a foghorn.

  As if waiting for the right sign, her stepmother swept out the front door, directly at Barbie. "Katrin, we were all so worried. Where have you been? You are still dripping wet and in this cool air, too."

  Before she could physically drag Barbie in the doorway, Herr Knaub's voice reverberated through the house, out the windows and down the lane toward town. Somewhere in the back of her mind Barbie wondered if the band members could hear him, too. "Katrin!"

  Barbie felt herself being dragged, gently, by her stepmother into the house and down the hallway to the library where her father radiated anger like some ancient battle lord. Her stepmother waited for Barbie to get all the way into the library and then left her standing in front of her father, who was also standing.

  "Katrin. You are to begin a new life tomorrow. Or rather, you are to return to being my beloved daughter. I do not know this skull-bespangled, black-draped apparition that shrieks in public. This is not my Katrin! I demand to have my Katrin returned to me! With the morning light! Am I clear?" All of that he had ejected in what seemed like one breath. Then, with a deep "Hrumph!" he sat in his red leather desk chair with air of a king who has just made a kingdom-wide pronouncement. His dark grey eyes bore into her blue ones.