1634: The Ram Rebellion (assiti shards)

by Eric Flint

  There were no colleges of business or economics at Jena, but there was talk of starting one. At least, a college for economics was being discussed. A college of business was considered, well, too plebian. Economics, though, that was a proper theoretical field of study. Determining the GNP might actually be as esoteric as determining the number of angels that can dance on the head of a pin and be useful at the same time.

  Eddie’s favorite professors were those who were pushing hardest for a college of economics. One of the professors had even been heard to say that a college of business might not be all bad. The notion of treating those necessary matters of business as a science appealed to the professor.

  The notion appealed to Eddie, too, especially now. Written there, neat and tidy, in his fathers books was a tale of disaster waiting to happen. Every ready source of quick funds had already been tapped. The village rents would come due in the fall. Fall was too late to help and even if hadn’t been too late, the rents weren’t enough.

  The Junkers were going to have to sell something. But, selling things meant finding a buyer. There was enough talk in town about his father’s failed investment that everyone knew they were in need of quick cash. That would force the prices down. The Junker family would be bargaining from a position of weakness.

  * * *

  “I’ve been over the books and father’s notes,” Eddie told his mother. “From what I can tell, this man Pomeroy actually did try to make a microwave. I wish he hadn’t. It would have cost less. We do have assets to sell, but we won’t be getting a good price for them. By now, everyone knows that father was invested in the microwave project. Everyone will know that we need the money.

  “There is one bit of good news. Land prices in and round the Ring of Fire have been going up drastically. The rents are set and we cannot raise them. But, if we can broker a deal where the villagers of Sundremda get the Lehen and buy the land from Marion County at the same time, the price will be higher. Owning the land with clear title would make it worth more.”

  His mother frowned. “Frau Newhouse has told me several times how much she and her husband would like to have clear title to the farm. From what I understand the government of Marion County doesn’t really know what to do with the land. It seems that the county cannot collect taxes on the property, because the county owns the property. It cannot tax itself, there would be no point.”

  “That makes sense,” Eddie said. “They do things one way and we do them another. Trying to make the two ways fit together can’t be an easy task.”

  “You go to Grantville and find out what Marion County would want for their title to the land. I will go see Frau Newhouse and see what the villagers would be willing to pay for clear title.”

  * * *

  “Excuse me? You could perhaps direct me?” Deborah looked up to see an attractive young German man standing at her office door. Poor guy, he looked like he was completely lost.

  “I’ll be happy to, Herr …?”

  “Junker, but call me Eddie, please. Could you perhaps tell me who I would see about property? I have some questions, but so far, three people have sent me to four different places. I have been unable to get an answer.”

  “Well, ah, Eddie, I guess you’ve found the right person, at last. At least, I hope I’ll be able to answer your question,” Deborah answered. “I’m afraid that government agencies, even our government agencies, tend to make finding an answer harder than it has to be, unfortunately. What is your question?”

  “Mein, ah, my father owns the Lehen, the rents for the village of Sundremda. It is possible that he may wish to sell this. But, with all the new laws, the new government, we are not sure how to go about this, anymore,” Eddie answered. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Deborah remembered the name Junker. This must be the son of the man who had funded Guffy Pomeroy. No wonder he wanted to sell something, from what she had heard Pomeroy had taken him to the cleaners. Poor man.

  “You’ve definitely come to the right place, sir. Please sit down, and we’ll discuss what to do. I can even tell you why there was so much confusion.”

  As Eddie Junker took a seat in front of the desk, Deborah began speaking, “You see, before the Ring of Fire there was Grantville. Grantville was a town inside Marion County. Marion County was inside the state of West Virginia and the state of West Virginia was inside the United States of America.”

  “Back up-time, we had a lot of governments, I’m afraid. We had the town government, the county government, the state government and then the United States Government. When the Ring of Fire happened, the only government that came back was that of Grantville, the town.”

  “When we started rebuilding government functions, we started with the New United States. At the very beginning, the New United States and what was left of West Virginia and Marion County were all the same size. Now, though, the New US has more states but West Virginia and Marion County are still the same territory. West Virginia and Marion County still exist legally but don’t exactly have their own governments.”

  “So, for all practical purposes the State that includes the Ring of Fire area and now includes Sundremda and some other villages is the same territory as Marion County. That makes Marion County the owner of the property, because the folks in Sundremda asked to be annexed by Marion County.”

  The young man was clearly baffled by the explanation but trying gamely to follow along.

  “Never mind, you’ve found the right office.”

  * * *

  The knock on the front door made Mary Lee want to scream. For the first time in three weeks, she actually had her own house to herself. The quiet and privacy were so welcome that she very nearly didn’t answer the door. When the knock came again, though, she got worried that there might be an emergency of some sort. It seemed that emergencies happened every time she had ten minutes of quiet.

  Mary Lee pulled the door open with a certain amount of force, prepared to glare at the person who was invading her limited privacy. Her visitor’s identity caused her to start in surprise.

  “Frau Junker, oh…, I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Clara smiled politely, “I regret that I did not inform you, so that you might prepare, Frau Newhouse. Do you think that you and I might talk?”

  Caught at a disadvantage, flustered and out of sorts in general, Mary Lee sighed internally as she wondered what this visit could be about. “Please, come in. Would you care for a cold drink? I have some tea, chamomile, in the fridge.”

  “A cold drink, Frau Newhouse? How unusual. Yes, I should like very much to have a cold drink. It is perhaps an imposition, and I regret if it is, but may I see this ‘fridge’, did you call it? I have not yet had the opportunity to view the inside of an up-time house.”

  “Certainly, Frau Junker. I would be pleased to show you around, if you like. Please excuse the disorder. I’m afraid that my grandchildren tend to destroy the place if you don’t watch them every second of every minute of every day. The fridge is in the kitchen. This way, please.”

  As they entered the spacious kitchen, a room that Mary Lee had spent a lot of time and effort making just right, Mary Lee watched her unexpected guest’s face. Mary Lee was proud of this kitchen. It was her favorite room, one she was very pleased with. She hoped that Frau Junker wouldn’t turn her nose up at her efforts.

  It was a great relief when Clara smiled as she gazed around the room. Mary Lee began to relax a bit, and lose some of her irritation.

  “It is very lovely, Frau Newhouse. I would never have considered this possible. So bright and colorful. Such light. It does not look like any kitchen I have ever seen.”

  “I’m pleased you like it, Frau Junker. It’s my favorite room. We spend most of our time here, Birdie and I, when we have the opportunity. I’ve always felt that the kitchen was the heart of the home, and I tried to make this one reflect that feeling. Please, have a seat, here at the table.”

  As Clara sat down, Mary Lee retr
ieved her best glassware from the cupboard, filled the glasses with ice and poured the pale yellow tea in the glasses. Returning to the table, she set a glass down in front of Clara and took a seat across the table. Clara’s face didn’t reveal much, but Mary Lee felt that the woman was worried about something.

  When Clara still remained quiet after a few sips of tea, Mary Lee decided she might as well just jump in. “You had something you wanted to speak to me about?”

  “Yes, well… yes,” Clara hesitated. “Last year, your husband offered to purchase the Lehen for the farm in Sundremda. I wondered if perhaps he would still wish to do so.”

  Mary Lee knew about Guffy Pomeroy and his swindle. She had even heard that Claus Junker had been involved in some way. As she looked closer at Clara she realized that Clara was a very worried woman. Damn it, she thought, there’s a lot of trouble brewing for her, I can tell. And I like her. I liked her from the first.

  “What Birdie wants, Frau Junker, is clear title to his own land. He wants to be able to farm, without interference, without being checked up on, and to be free to do his best at it. Yes, I’m sure he would want to buy the Lehen. I imagine that most of the villagers want the same thing.”

  “Each to buy their own land, each to be free, Frau Newhouse?” Clara asked.

  “You might as well call me Mary Lee. We’re not a very formal people, as you may have noticed. Yes, that’s exactly what they want. Is your husband willing to sell it all?”

  “I am Clara, then, Marilee, und yes, he is willing.”

  Mary Lee noticed that Clara’s carefully pronounced English, apparently something she had learned in the last year, was beginning to slip. She suddenly realized the truth.

  “He doesn’t know about this visit does he, Clara?”

  Clara started at the directness of the question. It was clearly unexpected. She flushed a bit, and looked away from Mary Lee for a few moments. Finally, composure regained, she looked directly into Mary Lee’s eyes.

  “No. No, he does not. I prefer that he never learns of it.”

  Mary Lee understood completely. She hadn’t had to deal with this kind of attitude herself, Birdie being the type of man he was, but she had watched many wives deal with it. Slip in the back way, offer hesitant suggestions, and never show your own good sense.

  “He won’t hear it from me, Clara, or anyone else I know. In fact, Birdie is playing cards this evening and won’t be home for several hours. The girls and the grandkids shouldn’t be back for a good while, either. So,” she said, as she rose and went to a cupboard, “You and I are going to have a nice long talk and work this out.”

  Mary Lee moved to the freezer and pulled out her very last can of frozen limeade, “First, though, I think we could use something a little more relaxing than this tea. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a frozen margarita, have you?”

  * * *

  “Horace, we sort of have a problem,” Deborah Trout said, as she entered the room for the meeting that was due to start in a few minutes. “We’re basically the county seat now, aren’t we?”

  “Well, I suppose so,” Horace answered. “Considering the number of problems that keep landing on my desk, I suppose we must be. What is it this time, running out of paper?”

  “Don’t I just wish? Maybe if we ran out, I wouldn’t have so much of it to shuffle around. The problem is a little more serious than that, though. You know I never meant to become the tax assessor, right? And, I never really wanted much to do with organizing the finances for anything as big as Grantville is becoming, either. But, since I’m stuck with it, I want to do it right.”

  “Completely understandable, Deborah. So what is the problem, exactly?”

  “Money. When isn’t the problem money? Do you realize that Grantville now owns Sundremda? It was crown land. Now that we’re the government, it’s county land. We need money to run things, but we can’t exactly tax ourselves, now can we? I can assess all the taxes I want, but a property that has no owner isn’t going to pay anything into the coffers, is it? We can’t sell it either. Well, we could, but, who to? It’s surrounded by a bunch of contractual obligations that seriously limit what the owner can do with it. About the only people who would have any interest would be the tenants or the Lehen holder. Sundremda isn’t the only place like that, either. Half a dozen other villages have petitioned to become a part of Marion County.

  Horace Bolender thought for a few moments, and then looked at Deborah with a grin. “You wouldn’t have come here complaining if you didn’t have a solution worked out. What do you think we should do?”

  “Well, somehow or other, we need to sell off some of this stuff. To do that, we need clear title or at least clearer title. We need to either buy the Lehen or sell the land to the Lehen holder or the renters. We won’t get full price, but we’d at least get something, and taxes, eventually.”

  “I’m pretty sure that Birdie Newhouse wants to own the land outright. He’s been complaining to Willie Ray about the restrictions on usage,” Horace remarked. “Tell you what; you come up with what you want to do. Write out proposals for it and I’ll see what Mayor Dreeson and Senator Abrabanel have to say. Congress has decided that they can act for Marion County in this sort of situation.”

  Deborah looked at Horace with a bit of fire in her eyes. Damn it, life had gotten so complicated lately, ever since they had a real government with a constitution, instead of the emergency committee.

  * * *

  “Father, you must be realistic. It is the only way,” Egidius insisted. “There is nothing else we can sell that will bring in the amount of money that the Lehen will bring in. Not without taking a much greater loss.”

  Claus stared at his son in disbelief. “You wish me to sell your heritage? What comes to you from William the Silent and the Counts of Gleichen? Why should I agree to this, this travesty?” Claus knew the reason, but the knowledge was burning a hole in his guts. He didn’t want this. He had been doing everything he could to avoid it for months, long before Pomeroy had died.

  Egidius was looking at him with concern. “Perhaps, Father, you do not fully understand what has happened here. I know what you did was customary. It was done the way things had always been done. But it was against the law even before the Ring of Fire. Now, with the Committees of Correspondence and Herr Ritter’s connections to them, there will be no looking the other way. You have diverted public funds to private use. It is a crime with criminal penalties. If we do not replace the money, and do it very soon, you could be sent to prison. Do you think I would see you in prison for the rents on a village? Not only the disgrace, not only the lessening of our family’s position, is at stake here. You can be criminally charged and go to prison. Do you wish that to happen?”

  Claus felt as though he had been slapped in the face. What he had done had been done by others for centuries. Now, he, a man of wealth and position, had no more protections. From the time the Ring of Fire had happened the world had been changing faster and faster. He had tried, with every means he could find, to prevent the life he knew from being swept away. He had failed, although he hadn’t realized how badly until just now. His son, the child for whom he had lived, worked and dreamed, had adjusted to the changes, but he had not. He still did not want this new world. He hated it, wanted it to go away.

  Yet, here was this young man. Where had he come from, this tall and strong man of business? It was just a week ago that he had been laughing as he sat his first pony.

  “Very well, my son, if we must, then we must. I will sell the Lehen of Sundremda, and I will sell it to that Newhouse person and the villagers,” he answered. “But the price! I know the market. It is worth twice that.”

  “Yes, Papa, I know. But not to us, not for years. The rents are set. We could not change anything without buying the renters out, then buying the property from Marion County.”

  * * *

  Mary Lee had talked to Birdie and Ernst Bachmeier after Clara’s visit. While Birdie had been in no mood to
do any favors for Claus Junker, Ernst was thrilled at the prospect. The lines of status were much more severe in the seventeenth century. Owning property, actually owning it, meant you were a person of considerable status. Not a peasant, not someone’s tenant, your own man. Nor did Ernst bear Claus Junker any ill will. He had always been fair and decent Lehen holder, understanding if the crops had been bad. Yes, Herr Junker had been harder to deal with since Birdie had leased his farm, but Ernst felt that the difficulties were partly Birdie’s fault.

  There had been phone calls from the Newhouse residence to the government to try and figure out who had the authority to sell the property. Now that there was a government other than the emergency committee, Deborah Trout was apparently the person to see. Deborah had already been approached by Eddie Junker. Then followed quite a bit of back and forth, working out the various ends of the deal. The Junkers needed cash up front, Marion County wanted some of the land both for public right of way and some to sell. The village would lose almost a thousand acres. Birdie would have to give up some of his land as a right of way, which would put a public road right across his original property.

  Ernst and Birdie called a meeting of the village to talk about the proposal. They discussed the pros and cons. The pros were that agreeing to the proposal would give the villagers more control over how the village was run and greater status in the eyes of most down-timers. The cons, well, there was only one con, a big one. If the village agreed to the proposal it would probably cost them more money. Their mortgage payments would run about fifteen percent over their rents. Also, part of the village property, much of the forest and some of the pasture would no longer be part of their village.