Grantville Gazette 36 gg-36

by Paula Goodlett

  "Gunter, I found you an all day one, loading hides for Josef Boyer, the butcher and unloading the hides at Schwengfeld's tannery. Take twenty of the new pamphlets to pass out in the street. I'm sorry I couldn't find you anything cleaner."

  Martin realized that Jorg had found work for these men and was sending them out to spread Committee of Correspondence pamphlets. And taking their reports.

  "Casper Amberger raised the wages of his journeymen. Do you think the other gun makers will follow?"

  "Your friend Hatfield is hiring more Jaegers, and is looking for two more men for driver training. Think you could put in a good word for Henrich Bohl?"

  "Bauer, the printer, has printed thirty-five copies of that book; the one written by the Frenchman, Arouet. The one you had us read."

  Soon the three men were gone, only to be replaced by four more. The same scene was repeated five more times as men came and went.

  Finally the men stopped coming. Jorg waved Martin over. "That's a good start to the morning. Let's go have breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us."

  "Jorg, I read that pamphlet and I have some questions."

  "No more politics until after we eat; definitely none at our meal."

  Martin was curious. What did Hennel have in mind? Why did he need a skilled thief? No. A skilled almost thief. "What are we going to be doing? I hope it involves getting some money. My pouch is empty."

  "Well, first we'll eat. Then we'll see about making some money," Jorg answered as they walked down the street.

  They were soon in the more prosperous part of the city. The buildings weren't as run down and the taverns had brightly painted signs. Jorg pointed to a busy tavern. "How about the Laughing Boar for breakfast? Since it's next to a bakery, they should have fresh bread."

  Martin was taken aback. "Jorg, it's also next to the city watch headquarters. There are always watchmen stopping in."

  "So? Have you forgotten that you're no longer a would-be thief? The watch has better things to do than to chase honest men."

  Martin was unsure. The watchman might not know I am not a thief. Besides they do chase beggars. But he followed Jorg into the tavern.

  Jorg surprised him by walking directly to the table where a watchman was seated. And not just any watchman. Martin recognized Captain Johan Frey, the commander of the watch.

  Jorg seated himself on an unoccupied bench and waved for Martin to take a seat beside him. "Good morning, Captain Frey. I hope you are enjoying your well-earned breakfast. I'd like to introduce Meurer, my new associate."

  Martin could see that Captain Frey was studying his face. Was the man memorizing his looks, or just thinking? Finally he responded. "Hello, Martin. You look better than when I last saw you in the market. I see you lost your limp. Given up begging, have you?"

  Before Martin could stumble through an answer, Jorg commented. "Martin has decided that there was no future in being a beggar and is too honest to be a thief."

  The captain smiled. "So now he is another of your projects, Jorg?"

  Jorg shrugged. "He shows promise. What I wanted to ask you was if you were done with that book I loaned you? I want Martin to read it."

  Martin could feel the captain's eyes still studying him. Then the watch commander nodded, "Certainly I'm finished with it. It's over in the watch office. I think Watchman Weiss is reading it, though."

  Jorg said, "No, let him finish it. I'll get another copy. Tell Weiss to pass that copy on. Now breakfast. How is the porridge this morning?"

  ****

  Breakfast with the commander of the watch! Martin couldn't believe it, but it happened. The man even paid for Jorg and Martin!

  Jorg's rule about no politics while eating held through out the meal. The only conversation was about Martin's life. What was there to tell? His mother had been a prostitute. She died and left him an orphan who never knew his father. Passed from relative to relative and some who weren't relatives. Small for his age, so there was no hope for work as a day laborer. Money for an apprenticeship hadn't even been a dream. His one try at being a cut-purse had failed. The roofs had been his way out of boredom. Then they had looked like his future. Now he was a failed thief.

  But Jorg kept asking questions. It was a long meal; Martin wondered if he should go find Captain Frey and confess so he could be arrested.

  Finally it was over. Jorg shoved his bowl away and nibbled a last crust of bread. "Now, Martin, ask your questions."

  Martin laid the pamphlet on the table. "What does it mean? What are you working for?"

  Jorg looked at him directly. "I am working for a dream; a dream of a perfect world. A world I don't expect to see, but one I see coming."

  He touched Martin's shoulder. "I see a world where a poor man has the same standing before the law as a king. But in our world, the poor man is in chains of laws made by kings and nobles. I am working to make my dream become real; a world where all men are equal."

  Martin picked up the pamphlet, "Is that what Paine meant by 'Natural Liberty'?"

  "Of course. You notice that Paine said one honest man is worth more to society and in the sight of God, than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived. He could have been talking about our German nobles."

  Martin thought for a moment. "You want to replace the nobles?"

  "Not the good ones. Some nobles are even members of the committees. Not many, true. Most are more interested in their privileges than the lives of the people."

  "So that is why you don't want me to steal from the poor?"

  "Martin, I don't want you to steal from anyone, rich or poor. If you could steal from anyone's house in Suhl, who would it be?"

  Martin thought. Who was the richest man in the city? "Rudolph Amberger. He's a councilman and rich."

  Jorg smiled. "But he employs twenty-five apprentices and journeymen, not counting the teamsters and carters in his trade caravans. So, you would still be stealing from the poor. Besides, Amberger is working to improve conditions. He did favor allowing all residents, not just citizens, to vote in city elections. He lost, but he was in favor."

  Jorg stood up. "Come on. We can talk while we walk. We're going to see Anton Bauer, the printer, and we can't be late."

  "For more pamphlets?"

  "That too, but mostly we need to earn some eating money. Anton's journeyman has left to open his own shop and the apprentices are too small to work the press. So you are going to help unload paper for the shop and I am going to apply some muscle to the press handle. Three days of meals if we get there on time."

  ****

  The work wasn't the hardest thing Martin had ever done. Try hand-walking a house's eaves three stories above the street! But it did stretch muscles he didn't know he had. The pay wasn't the three days' meals that Jorg had promised either, only two, but the printer had given him his first real book. Jorg had said it was worth reading.

  Besides, he had seen the inside of a print shop for the first time. He wondered if fourteen was too old to become an apprentice printer. Who would take him? How would he pay the fee?

  Martin stopped and studied the title of the book again. The Social Contract or Principles of Political Right, written by some Frenchman named Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

  Maybe there were some answers in it.

  Two weeks later

  Martin sat on the roof peak over the attic room where Jorg was meeting with his fellow committee members. The sun was just setting behind the house across the street. He was no longer running the roofs as a thief, but he still did his best thinking high above the stink and noise of the street. The ideas from the books and pamphlets he had been given to read were going round and round in his head. The Rousseau book had pride of place in his collection, but it was hard reading; someday he would finish it.

  The idea that all men are by nature equally free and have certain inherent rights was easy to understand. All the writers said that. Of course, putting it into practice would be a problem. No noble or wealthy burger was going to give up their privil
eges or even believe that the poor were equal to them in the courts. And the concept that all power comes from the people was foreign to those same nobles. They thought God had given them their place in society. The very idea that the common people, even people like him, could have a voice in choosing a government would give them fits.

  The voices from the room below caught Martin's attention. Jorg's meeting was breaking up. Martin's thoughts were pulled away from politics and back to his condition. Soon he and Jorg would go to dinner. Martin was hungry; he had spent the day in the hard physical labor of unloading charcoal at Johann Will's gun works. Working at a gun shop had been interesting, despite the labor involved. Between trips to the wagon for charcoal, Will had shown him how a master shaped metal and how to hammer rough parts into a finished weapon. Martin thought maybe he might like to become a gun maker instead of a printer.

  As he swung down from the roof peak to the window of Jorg's room, all the political ideas were brought crashing back by a comment by one of the departing committee members and Jorg's answer. The member asked, "But do we have right to change the government? Not can we? We know we have the power, but do we have the right?"

  Jorg's answer was straight and to the point. "Heinrich, we are agreed that government is instituted for the common benefit and security of the people. If the acts of the government are contrary to that purpose, the people have the right to reform, alter or abolish it. So, yes, I think we have the right."

  Heinrich seemed satisfied as he left, but Martin's head was suddenly full of all the political arguments he had overheard in the past weeks. All the ideas from the books and pamphlets were there and Martin decided they were worth working for. But were they worth fighting for? He knew it would come to fighting, the news from other parts of Germany were full of the events of Operation Krystallnacht. No, the so-called leaders of society wouldn't give up their privileges without a fight.

  Jorg turned toward him and asked, "Martin, ready for dinner?"

  Martin was more than ready, but this was more important. "Jorg, what does it take to join the Committee of Correspondence? Not just follow you around as a hanger-on, but to be a real member? I think I want to join."

  Jorg smiled an odd smile and stated, "Nothing and everything. No amount of money can buy your way into our trust and fellowship, but you will give everything to our cause if you become a member. Some Americans in a future that never will be said it best. Our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor. You know we can still lose and if we do we will be hunted down like all people in a city hunt rats. Think hard, Martin, before you ask to join."

  "But . . ."

  "Plus, you are younger than most of our members like for a recruit. So, no, I will not suggest you as a full member."

  Martin was not too disappointed; he had never expected to be accepted as a full member. But there had to be a way. He spoke formally. "Herr Hennel, I wish to apply for the position as your apprentice. I have been your shadow for the past month and I am ready for more duties."

  ****

  Credit Where It's Due

  Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

  October 1633

  "Marie is a member of the radio guild!" Johan Kreger said with surprising heat. Well, shocking heat really, at least to Marie. The fact that he had said it at all left her a bit stunned. They were in a village to install a new radio with a selenium photo-resistor amplifier and a speaker. As had happened a few times before, the village council wanted her to stay right here till it was demonstrated that all the bells and whistles worked. This was the first time Johan had come with her rather than one of her parents or Peter Kreger.

  "It's all right. I don't mind staying the night," she said, trying to smooth things over. The whole situation with her old archenemy Johan had gotten really confusing. He had started being nice to her and she hadn't a clue how to deal with it. Having him stick up for her and brag about her skill was freaking her out.

  Herr Schmidt grunted acknowledgment then looked at Johan. "And how am I supposed to know that?"

  "Ah . . ."

  "It's good of you to stand up for your friend, son. But the last guy we had through here selling us up-timer products almost killed Gretchen Kauffman with whatever was in those little blue pills. He said he was an accredited supplier and a personal friend of Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz. We found out later that the one time he had been to the Ring of Fire, he had been arrested for trying to pass bad money. They took his picture and everything. Which is how we found out about it. He's wanted for aggravated fraud this time. That's what they call it when the fraud endangers someone's life.

  "So, now we check. Got a free box of the little blue pills, the real ones, when Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz found out about it."

  Johan didn't much like it, but they spent the night. And the radio, as they almost always did, worked like a charm.

  ****

  "You're serious?" Peter Kreger looked at Greta Schultz doubtfully. "What good would that do?"

  "If we use the freezer to store fresh peas, then we can take them to market in the middle of winter and get a better price," Greta pointed out. "It's what the up-timers did. Grew in-demand crops, stored them, then sold them at a higher price once they were out of season. And you know that fresh peas taste better than dried."

  "And have more vitamins," Eva Katharina pointed out. "The nutrition program is always talking about vitamins. And using less salt. And using less fat, for that matter. Not that anyone here gets that much fat. But we could also make butter and save it for winter, too. There are all sorts of fresh foods that we could freeze, if we have enough space. It would bring a higher price come about, oh, January."

  "So you want the village to buy one of these refrigeration units and build a place to put it. That's a considerable investment." Peter didn't have all that much choice. All the women of the village were dead set on the freezer. Of course, it didn't just mean the refrigeration unit. They had to buy a generator to power it. They needed a Fresno scraper to dig out the space for the freezing unit to cool. And concrete to line it. And . . . well, the list got pretty long. It added up to quite a sum, but the village was flush from the sale of wheat that year. It was the first time in a long time that the village had been that cash rich. Peter would admit later that it had gone to his head as much as anybody else. He'd even bought his son Johan a camera, in spite of the fact that Johan couldn't develop the pictures himself.

  All in all, the six months delay before they would receive the freezer unit was a good thing. It gave them time to prepare for it.

  Early Spring, 1635

  "Oh, stand still, Joseph. You're going to tear my tape measure!" Greta really couldn't help snapping. She'd been trying to measure the child for half an hour and it wasn't like she didn't already have plenty to do.

  Eight-year-old Joseph tried not to wiggle. He didn't succeed particularly well, but Greta could tell he was trying. Mostly trying her patience, but that was the nature of boys, after all.

  "Thirty-five inches, Marie. From his heel to his shoulder."

  "Yes, Mama." Marie looked at the sizing chart in the 1635 Burke Wish Book. "He's a size eight, then."

  "And we'll order a size nine, then," Greta said. "Maybe even a size ten. Because every time I turn around, this child is wearing rags. Rags that are too short. They claim that those Torberts will last and last. They'd better."

  "Can I go now?"

  "Try to stay out of the mud," Greta said. "Not that you can, not at this time of year." She folded the tape measure, then stepped to the table. "I hope I get a chance to look at that catalog, Marie. It seems like every extra cent we have left from harvest is going to clothe Joseph and your father this year. But there are some things I want, too. Like a cloth tape measure."

  "I've got a bit saved," Marie admitted. Most of Marie's earnings from building crystal sets was supposed to go into her dowry fund. It didn't always get to the dowry fund, though. Not that she was in any hurry to marry or had anyone she was interest
ed in marrying. Well, there was Johan Kreger . . . but, well, he was Johan. She'd known him all her life.

  A year and a half since that first trip with Johan to a village and Marie still wasn't sure how to deal with him. She had grown quite fond of him, but she still didn't have a dowry of any size and it was looking like she was going to have to sell her business to save Papa's half-farm.

  The village had bought a lot of stuff from Grantville and Magdeburg in the last two years. A generator system that was her charge was one of the first purchases. It was 3,500 watts which ran the freezer in the summer, electric lights for the village and, of course, the radios. They used the lights sparingly; they were expensive and didn't last that long. It also ran the water pump and a router and other tools in Johan's wood shop. Johan was making the cases for her radios now.

  Her family owed the village for their part of the generator use, as well as owing for their part of the rent. As it was, Marie was working constantly on building radios and their accessories just to keep her income up with the outgo.

  In spite of all Marie and her mother could do, Papa tended to be a bit, well, extravagant. It was a worry. And a worry that was getting bigger each day.

  ****

  Peter Kreger was worried, too. The price of wheat was down. Again. The village was producing twice as much as it ever had by using the proper fertilizer, but wasn't quite covering the debts they'd agreed to assume. The villagers held the debt for the generator in common, as well as the debt for the new plows. Then there was the thresher, the damned thing. Always breaking, it was. And new parts-those the blacksmith couldn't build himself-cost plenty.

  Then there was the great idea of frozen vegetables that the women had. But no one thought of freezer burn. They should have; they had all seen the effects of freezing on plants and animals caught out in a blizzard. About half of the food the women had preserved had been freezer burnt and unsuitable for sale. Naturally, the village ate it, freezer burnt or not. In fact they ate an awful lot of fruits and vegetables that winter. Peter hadn't thought that you could get tired of fresh peas, but people were getting pretty sick of them by spring and there were still a lot in the freezer.