1 mug beer 1 pfennig
To quote the up-timers, wow. Issue Four of Der Schwarze Kater is intense. Relived Masque of the Red Death in my dreams last night. Woke up four times, even after lying awake a lot of the night. Four. Wow. Toward the end, Herr Poe and Max were standing to one side commenting on the story. Tried to talk to them, but they acted like they couldn't hear me and the story kept sweeping me along. Very strange night. If Max is supposed to be my guardian angel, not sure he was doing his job last night.
Had hard day at work today. Very tired. Managed to get my work done, but was hard. Herr Schiller kept looking at me, finally asked me if I was hung over. Just said I didn't sleep well last night. Didn't tell him why. Even as tired as I was, wasn't that stupid. He frowned, but didn't say anything else.
Tried to work on Portia in Tauris copy, but just couldn't focus, so picked up Issue Four. Had skipped over first story last night to read the important work, so went back and read it. Title was The Brass Homunculus, by V. I. Fuchs. Idea was a man of science created a device shaped like a man out of metal and gave it the ability to move and to reason. Things didn't go well. Man of science wasn't very smart. Have to wonder where some of these writers get their ideas. I mean, a metal man? Who could take that seriously, Herr Fuchs?
Wish I had thought of it.
Can't keep eyes open. Stumbled through evening prayers. Hope I sleep better than last night. Now to bed.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
6 May 1635
Sunday
Breakfast–
Fasted
Lunch-
1 sausage 2 pfennigs
1 wheat roll 3 pfennigs
Supper–
1 bowl fish stew 3 pfennigs
1 barley roll 2 quartered pfennigs
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Lord's Day, Lord's work.
Rained this morning, just like yesterday and day before. Church was cold and dank again, not many people there. Music wasn't good because so few voices. Sang anyway. Reading and homily were dull. New young guy spoke, wasn't very good. Needs to learn to speak louder and with some feelings. Also needs to learn how to write a homily. Wasn't very good, made no sense, just rambled.
Quiet day after noon. Went back and read some of the early passages in The City of God. Think I understand them better now. Read some in Samuel, about David and Jonathan. Wish I had a friend like that. But not if he had a father that would throw spears at me like King Saul did at David. David was a better friend than I would be, I think.
Finished the clean copy of Portia in Tauris late in the afternoon. Read through it, bundled it up and addressed it and took it over to Herr Gronow's office before I could get scared, pushed it through the slot in the door. Felt what was my customary panic when it left my fingers, leaned my head against the door and made my customary prayer. Went back to my room.
Reread issue three of Der Schwarze Kater to finish the evening. Leaving issue four for a treat. Got about halfway through.
Recited evening prayers. Three times. Now to bed.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
16 May 1635
Wednesday
Breakfast–
1 cup morning broth 1 pfennig
1 barley roll 2 quartered pfennigs
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Supper–
1 sausage 2 pfennigs
1 winter apple 1 pfennig
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
More dreams about Herren Poe and Lovecraft last night. They were arguing about whether stories involving demons would be more horrible and horrifying than stories that show the full depravity men are capable of. Then Max appeared and told me I was wasting my time listening to them, because they were both right and both wrong. I was trying to figure that out when I woke up.
Quiet day at work today. Thomas left early because his kinsman, the merchant that Master Gröning is cultivating, needed him for something. Okay for me. The less I see him, the happier I am.
Realized late in the afternoon that I haven't heard anything from Herr Gronow. Surprised. He usually responds to my offerings quickly. Hope nothing's wrong. Hope he's still going to publish Der Schwarze Kater!
Worried about that all evening.
Read another story in issue four. This one was Shadow of Furies, by Georg Hannover. Must be one of those pen names Herr Matthias was telling me about. Had me looking over my shoulder before I finished it, so better than some of the down-time written stories I've read.
Recited evening prayers. Three times. So now to bed, and sleep—I hope.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
19 May 1635
Saturday
Breakfast–
1 winter apple 1 pfennig
1 wheat roll 3 pfennigs
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Supper–
1 sausage 2 pfennigs
1 cup sauerkraut 1 pfennig
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Dreams still dark. Issue Four is almost haunting me. Woke up three times even after not reading any of the Der Schwarze Kater issues yesterday. Dreams ran stories together in a muddle. Max was there for a while, but tide of dreams swept me away.
Stopped in at Syborg's Books. Both Herren Syborg were there. Talked to Herr Johann, told him how much I liked Issue Four of Der Schwarze Kater. He asked me if the down-timer stories were as good as those by Herren Poe and Lovecraft. Told him not yet, but each issue seems to get better. Herr Matthias told me I was lucky I got my copy, because they didn't get as many copies as they usually do, and a few of their regulars had been disappointed and had had to try and find copies other ways. That alarms me. Told him I want my copy no matter what, even if it means I have to pay for it ahead of time. He got a thoughtful look on his face, and said he'd think about that.
Still have not heard from Herr Gronow.
Very worried. Couldn't focus on anything all day. Fortunate that work was very routine today.
Worried all evening.
Recited evening prayers. Four times. Four. Still worried, but now to bed.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
21 May 1635
Monday
Breakfast–
1 cup morning broth 1 pfennig
1 barley roll 2 quartered pfennigs
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Supper–
1 sausage 2 pfennigs
1 cup sauerkraut 1 pfennig
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Dreams, but nothing I recall. Stupid dreams.
Messenger finally brought a letter from Herr Gronow today! Late in the afternoon. Wanted to rip it open and read it right then, but both Herr Schiller and Thomas were looking at me, so just stuffed it inside my shirt and carried on with work.
After a few minutes, Thomas walked over to Herr Schiller's desk and said something, asked a question, I think. I couldn't hear what he said, but he looked over at me when he said it. I could hear Herr Schiller tell him it wasn't any of his business and to go sit down and finish his work. Thomas didn't like that, looking at his expression, but he did go back to his desk. Caught him staring at me later on.
Finally.
****
21 May 1635
Herr Philip Fröhlich
Your persistence is admirable, Herr Fröhlich. And I will say, you have yet to make the same mistake twice. That is also admirable.
It is not, however, sufficient to achieve publication. Your work has improved, yes, but not enough.
Your latest work proves that you have mastered the art of presentation. Your manuscript was acceptable in its form and structure, with nothing of note objectionable about it. The content of your manuscript, however, is another matter entirely.
There are two things I must set out before you. First, there is a difference between noting facts and telling a story, Herr Fröhlich. It is not enough to clearly state that someone is fr
ightened or horrified or disgusted. You must describe it. You must evoke it. You must make your reader feel it along with the character.
Second, there is a movement, a progression to a story. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It is not enough to simply place on the page a setting where something happens, or someone has an experience. There must be reasons why the character is there, and why he has that experience. There must be a flow from scene to scene, there must be transitions. You are not scripting a play, where a character stands here and says this, then moves over there, and says that. You are leading the reader through terra incognita by the hand. The reader must understand what is occurring, and you, as the author, are the only person who can give them that understanding. Progression. Transition. Beginning, middle, and end. Master these, Herr Fröhlich, and you will sell your stories.
"Portia in Tauris" is an . . . interesting . . . title. Better than your previous titles. Nonetheless, it is not adequate. Try again.
It is now with some interest that I say when you correct the issues noted above, please resubmit your story.
Good day to you.
Johann Gronow
Editor and Publisher
Der Schwarze Kater
XI
Late February, 1635
The Reservation
The pilot plant consisted of several buildings: the chem plant where the primer compound was made, the primer plant where the compound was added to the cups to make a finished primer, and the brassworks that made the primer cups on one small production line and the cartridge brass in another line. The remaining building was the assembly plant where the primers were inserted into the brass. It was in a separate building for safety. Nicki Jo was adamant about separating the fab plant from the chemical plant to prevent sympathetic detonation if the chem or primer facility went up.
All stages of production had been tested individually. Now it was time to test the entire production line from end to end. The test run would start at 7:00 AM and run until they were out of materials—in other words, when they could make no more primer cups, no more cartridge brass, no more live primers, no more primed cartridge brass.
The crews were ready. They had been training for a week, walking through each step of their piece of the process under supervision. The workstations were completed and, where they were handling explosive material, surrounded by sandbags and armor plate. They were ready.
Gary looked at the group—officers, stockholders, managers, professional staff, Nicki Jo and Katherine. The employees were at their positions waiting for the signal to start. Gary pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and waved it. The fabrication plant steam engine operator was watching for the signal. When the operator saw Gary waving a handkerchief, he followed his instructions and pulled the lanyard on the brass whistle on top of the engine.
The whistle sounded, echoing across the Reservation. Everyone except for the company officers and stockholders dispersed. The test was on.
Archie watched them leave. He turned to Pat Johnson. "Is it gonna work?"
"Yeah, it should—it will. We reached this point sooner than I estimated. I really thought Nicki Jo was going to have more problems making DDNP safely. I knew she'd be paranoid about that. It's one reason why I wanted her." Every member of the Board knew about the explosion at Essen Chemical the previous year. No one spoke of it but each board member agreed that, for Suhl, Incorporated, her paranoia was exactly what was needed.
"We're still behind schedule, though?" Archie asked.
"Yes, a month," Pat agreed. "It would have been worse if Nicki Jo hadn't altered her design. That saved us several weeks. She thought it would introduce additional worker risk but after that accident in the chem plant a couple of weeks ago, she now thinks she was too cautious in her original design."
"Let's get inside, Pat. I'm getting cold out here."
They were now alone on the reviewing stand. It wasn't much of a stand, a hastily constructed platform a couple of feet above the ground. They stepped down and headed for the admin building. The test run would last most of the day, and both of them had jobs to do.
As they walked, Pat mentioned, "I've already had requests from employee committees asking if, when, they could buy stock. I've assured them that we will have some kind of profit sharing program once we're in full production and selling our product. That's satisfied most of them."
Archie nodded in agreement. He, as a member of the board, had received some queries, too.
"Gary and I," Pat continued, referring to the upcoming initial sale of stock, added, "along with our financiers, have decided to restrict the number of shares to be sold on the open market. We have enough financing that selling more shares just isn't needed. We may make some concessions to our existing partners, like H&K. They've just bought another 10 blocks." They continued toward the admin building, across the graveled driveway to the front steps. "We had thought to sell shares to our employees but we now think a simple profit-sharing plan is better. That will still allow our employees to have a stake in the corporation."
They reached the main door of the admin building. Archie held the door open for Pat, "How much for a block?"
"Fifty silver guilders for one block."
"So H&K's initial investment was 500 guilders?" Archie asked.
"More, actually." They passed through the double front doors, past the receptionist desk and down the hallway towards Pat's office. "Our financiers suggested we convert to USE dollars and declare one share equal to a hundred USE dollars or roughly two and a half guilders. I argued against that. I want us backed by silver, not paper. In the end, the financiers appreciated that view. We need to repay them, buy out their investment, and they'll want a profit for investing and risking their capital. If all goes well, we can be free and clear of them in a few years. This will allow us to remain a closely-held corporation and still allow us the leeway to sell more shares in the future if we ever need to do so."
They reached Pat's office and went inside. Pat hung his coat and hat on a coat tree next to the door while Archie draped his coat over the back of a side chair and pulled a second chair closer to Pat's desk and asked, "What is the total investment at this point?"
Still standing, Pat walked to a side table, poured two mugs of hot broth, and gave one mug to Archie. He sat and continued the conversation. "Not counting the initial cash on hand, we have about thirty thousand guilders total investment. The actual asset value is half again more. I've asked the financiers to send an auditing team. They'll arrive later this month and will be our assurance to the investors that we're really doing what we say we're doing."
"Any money worries?" Archie asked.
"Surprisingly, no." Pat leaned back in his swivel chair, and stretched. He hadn't noticed how tense he had been that morning. He shouldn't have been. All the trial runs had performed well; bugs had been found and corrected. If the test went well, they would pass a major milestone and the possibility of failure would be greatly reduced. From this point forward, research would be finished and development nearly so. Pat closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them and looked at Archie. "You know, there was a real risk it would all collapse if we hadn't gotten enough initial funding, if the Abrabanel clan hadn't come through for us."
"Are they directly invested?" Archie doubted direct involvement. From what he knew and had heard, the Abrabanels preferred to work behind the scenes, not out in public.
"No," Pat confirmed. "Indirectly? You can count on it."
****
Gary blew his whistle. It wasn't really needed. Everyone was already present, standing in the shadows of the western peaks. His watch read 4:35 PM. The individual managers gathered in front of the reviewing stand. "Report!" he bellowed.
Pat Johnson stepped forward. "Four thousand, seven hundred, thirty-two cartridge brass manufactured."
Nick Jo spoke next, "Eight thousand, two hundred seventy-six primers manufactured."
Gary reached into his pocket, extracted a piec
e of paper and read the figures aloud, "Four thousand, six hundred and ninety-three primed cartridge cases." The managers and supervisors clapped. They knew they had done their jobs. "We would have primed all the brass," Gary reported, "except for one box of primers that was spilled. Those are being picked up at the moment . . . carefully," he added, to the laughter of some of the employees.
He turned to the rest of the officers and stockholders. "I'd call that a success. We overran our goal by a factor of four—and that was just one production line that was only semi-mechanized."
Later than evening Gary Reardon walked into the radio station and told the attendant, "I have some messages that I need sent."
BEGIN: SUHL TO BMBG
TO: ABEL ABRABANEL
FROM: GARY REARDON
DATE: FEBRUARY 23, 1635
MESSAGE: TEMPLATE 3 STOP MILESTONE 43 SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED STOP 4693 stop 9 DOT 5 HRS STOP 400 PERCENT STOP
"Send that same message to these people and addresses, too," Gary ordered, passing the list to the attendant.
I think I'll have a little celebration, Gary thought as he left the station. The Boar's Head was slightly out of his way home, but not all that far. Gaylynn would understand. The proprietor had received some superb brandy from Amsterdam, and Gary thought he'd try it. He wasn't a drinker, but today . . . Yes, today was special.
****
"We need to track down who Zoche is working with here in Suhl and up the line to Zwickau," Archie said. He was sitting in the new boardroom in the Reservation's admin building with Gary Reardon, Nicki Jo Prickett and Katherine, plus Eric Gruber.
"Francisco Nasi, in his private capacity, is interested in our situation and has promised to watch Zoche's couriers from Suhl up to Zwickau. When the courier passes our secret data, he'll sweep in and gather them up."
Grantville Gazette, Volume 73 Page 9
