****
"That's where I need to go," Johan said. He pointed to the sign, which said Grantville Free Press, then to another that said Grantville Times. "I wonder if I can get a bidding war going?"
"Or at least get them to develop all the pictures," Marie said. "Or sell some photos to each of them."
It worked out very nicely, actually. Johan got a very nice price for the photos of the battle from both newspapers, since they could both have different photos. There was an article on the battle that discussed the tactics and along with the pictures they sold their eyewitness account. The Count of Narnia picture made the cover of the Free Press and a blown-up, blurry, and touched up picture of General Stearns and his staff made the cover of the Times.
****
The interior of the bank was about as plain as anywhere Marie had ever been. But it was sparkling clean, with polished wood desks and counters, as well as with some kind of floor covering she'd never seen. It wasn't a rug, since it was too big. How would you ever take it out to beat it clean? Still, it was kind of pretty, with its grey and faded-purple swirls. And the glass walls were amazing. Everywhere she looked, people were sitting at desks behind glass walls.
"May I help you?" someone asked.
"We are here to discuss a problem," Pastor Althus said. "And perhaps find a solution."
"SFC or HFC?" the dark-haired man asked. "We can't really help you with HFC. For that you'll need to get in touch with Hardegg, Selfisch and Krapp. But we are buying out SFC, or so I'm told."
It turned out that Pastor Althus didn't really have to explain very much. The Abrabanel Bank was on top of it all and even had SFC's records. There was one mismatch, but Pastor Althus was able to prove with the parish records that there wasn't a Hermann Smittel living in their village. Just as well, since if he had been, the village would never have approved the purchase of a gold-cased pocket watch.
"Our terms are ten percent," the clerk told them. "Compounded annually, of course. And you have several years to pay it off. Which gives you a smaller payment, yes. You will wind up paying more over the long run, but that's only if you take all the time to pay off the loan. There's no penalty for early payment."
The Full Disclosure part of the contract was in print large enough for someone with the worst of middle-aged eyesight to read. And because the payments were so much lower, Pastor Althus felt that he could-very conservatively-request additional funds for additional tools. That, plus Johan's windfall, would let them buy quite a bit.
****
"I visited the Grange Headquarters today," Johan said. "After I went to the photography shop and bought more film. They suggested some new seeds for us to try. Soy beans, they called them. And some corn. Along with many others, but they claim that those two will sell particularly well. And I've got brochures and pamphlets. Lots of them."
Pastor Althus nodded. "Good, good. And you, Marie?"
"Lots and lots of brochures and pamphlets," she said. "Some more equipment, small stuff. And I did find a bargain on chicks for Herr Keller. They'll be a real mess to transport, but he was very earnest about them. And besides, I like eggs, too."
Lightweight carts for people visiting Grantville were common these days. So many people came and bought so much stuff that some enterprising soul had figured out a way to supplement his income by building them rapidly. He even bought them back, if the owner decided he didn't need it.
****
"So, none of that zucchini today, right?" Papa muttered.
"No, dear," Mama said. "You may not like it, but the pigs are getting fatter than ever. So stop complaining and eat your dinner."
That sounded like good news to Joseph, because he loved pork sausage with lots of pepper.
Papa sniffed. He did that a lot these days, since Mama had started listening to Fanny Farmer. "What are those?" He pointed to the bright orange fruit that filled a small dish.
"I'm not sure," Mama admitted. "I'm hoping that Marie brings more information about them. But you can pickle almost anything. So I did."
"Go ahead, Papa," Joseph said. Some of the Fanny Farmer recipes were really good, but some of them were yucky, like the squash which had almost no flavor. Still, Joseph liked trying new things. How else were you going to find out if something was good?
"I'm not sure I want to."
Joseph tried to hide his snicker, but Papa saw it anyway.
Papa took a deep breath and picked up one of the little orange fruits. Joseph wondered what they would taste like. Carrots? They were orange, like the up-time carrots, after all. Joseph liked the carrots.
"Aieeeee!"
Joseph's eyes widened as his father jumped out of his chair and danced around the room.
"Aieeee!"
Papa grabbed his mug and gulped down his beer. Then he reached over and grabbed Mama's beer and gulped it down, too.
"Good heavens, Karl! What's wrong?" Mama asked.
"What are those things!" he screeched. "I've never tasted anything so vile!"
Joseph was a bit worried, but really, really curious. How could something so pretty be bad? He took one of the fruits, and sniffed it. It smelled like pickles. With a shrug, he plopped it in his mouth and started chewing. Joseph's mouth was filled with fire. But that was all right. At least it tasted better than the squash. He kept chewing, then swallowed.
He looked at Mama. "Mama, can I have some milk? These fruits are kind of hot."
Papa sat back down, his eyes as big as the new dishes. "You like those!"
"Well, at least it's not bland and mushy, like the squash."
****
Pastor Althus, Johan and Marie were greeted like they were returning heroes. Which, in a way, they were.
Johan Keller was thrilled with the chicks, Greta figured out that the bright orange peppers were called habaneros (she'd already discovered that they were an acquired taste), and the cooks were pleased with the Grantville Extra Fine Sorghum Sugar that their travelers brought back.
It made the zucchini bread taste so much better.
****
Pipe Line
Written by Terry Howard
Kymi Mills, Winter 1636
Ari was complaining again. Or perhaps the correct phrase should be "still complaining." It was claimed Ari complained all day, every day. There was some truth to the accusation.
"Man, I really hate it when we're downwind of the glue works. That stuff stinks to high heaven. I wish we didn't use it," Ari said.
There was nothing to do while the borer turned besides clean up the shavings. Ari seemed to complain just to pass the time. When they backed the borer out and loosened the clamps, Ari lifted the ten-foot section of bored water pipe out of the jig.
Normally two men, one on each end, would handle the stock going into and coming out of the jig. The first day they worked together Ari scoffed when Kaapo tried to help. "Look," Ari told him, "you stay at the head end. Just get the clamp open when the borer is out, and closed when the next log is in the jig, then start the borer. I'll move the logs and clamp the tail end. If you muck around helping me move the stock, it will slow things down. And I don't need any help."
Working hard was about the only thing Ari didn't complain about.
Kaapo and Ari consistently bored more wooden pipe in a shift than any other team. The stock was turned on a lathe to a six-inch diameter. Ari took it off of the pile on a four-wheeled cart and put it in the jig. Kaapo clamped it down and engaged the borer.
An overhead power shaft, powered by a water wheel, drove the leather belts which turned the borer. As it was coming back out, Kaapo had to make sure the shavings were blown off of the threads, since they could jam up the worm drive. If they had to shut down and free it up, Ari would complain about it for the rest of the shift, and all of the next day too. The last thing Kaapo did before he freed the bored water pipe from the clamp was blow it out, using a leather hose connected to a compressed air line made out of the same pipe stock they were boring.
As soon as the clamp was loosened Ari lifted the pipe over his head, and put it on the second cart. Then he stepped through the empty space in the middle of the jig to grab the next log. He expected his partner to secure the clamp the second the log was in place, and to have the borer head in place to start cutting a second later. If Kaapo didn't hit the reverse within two or three seconds of the bit clearing the tail end of the stock, Ari, of course, complained about it. He always had the tail clamp opened before the borer was clear of the pipe.
Kaapo, a little annoyed at Ari's complaining, replied sharply, "Yes, it does stink. And, yes, the waterproof stuff stinks more than the other. But both hold the plies together to make the plywood. And the stinkier glue doesn't come apart when wet. They had the plywood mill before they had the paper mill and they've got to have the glue to make the plywood. Without the mills, they wouldn't be putting in housing and wouldn't need water pipes. So be happy it stinks, because without the mills we wouldn't have a job."
"We don't use all of what we make."
"So? Some of it gets shipped out. They tell me Germany doesn't have more trees than they know what to do with, like we do. Just be happy we only smell it when the wind is blowing this way," Kaapo said. "Can you imagine what it smells like in the glue plant? I am not knowing how it is those people go to work there every day, boiling down fish heads."
Ari continued to complain. He either did not catch the sharpness of Kaapo's reply or he didn't care. The first, just not listening, was a character flaw. The second was an egregious character flaw. Other than his habit of turning complaining into a high art, Ari was a fine fellow and a hard worker. "Adding the milk curds to make the waterproof glue is a waste and a shame. It could be made into cheese."
Kaapo explained again, patiently. "They only use the curds from the flocks grazed on cut pine greens."
"It could make cheese."
"Have you ever tasted goat cheese made from goats being fed on pine needles? I'd have to be mighty hungry before I'd eat it. Pine-flavored goat cheese is horrible."
"People are going hungry."
"Not as many as before. The mill girls are eating. The charcoal burners are eating, the goatherds and dairymaids are eating. The loggers and the mill workers are eating. Lots of people have work they didn't have before the countess opened the mills. Like you, for instance."
This didn't stop Ari from complaining. "I wish we didn't have a glue shop."
"If they stopped making glue, they would shut down the plywood mill and put people out of work. How are people who are not working going to buy cheese? So making cheese will cause people to go hungry."
Ari tried to follow the twisted logic. Somehow making more food would cause more people to go hungry. "Can you run that by me again?" Ari asked.
Kaapo ignored the request. "Why am I explaining things you already know? Why are you complaining about things that must be? I think you just enjoy complaining."
"Hey," Ari replied, defensive, "I'm just making conversation."
"Well," Kaapo complained right back. "If you can't do it without complaining, then just shut up, work in silence, and let me enjoy the quiet."
"You call this quiet? The only time it's quiet is when the borer is not turning and then we are too busy to talk."
"Okay then. Shut up and let me enjoy the noise."
Ari snorted. "And who is complaining now? And it's still not right to be making glue when you could be making food."
"Did you not hear me about shutting up? Did you not hear me about what pine cheese tastes like? Do you not know we could use ten times as much waterproof glue, and would make more if there were more curds than they can get off of the new flocks? Have you not heard the countess refuses to buy more curds because it should be made into cheese, which she does buy, by the way. Where do you think the smelly white cheese in the company store comes from?"
Ari countered, "They could feed the goats elsewhere."
"No, they could not!" Kaapo's knew his voice was louder in annoyance. "Goats are already being grazed anywhere goats can graze other than in the old forests where grazing is poor. The new flocks are eating the pine needles off of the trees that have been felled. Now shut up and sweep up the shavings."
Ari set the broom and dust pan down and loosened the clamp in the tail end as the shaft was backed out. Working with Ari was easy, as long as you stayed on top of things, and the production bonus was nice. Ari had the strength of two men and he would be the perfect partner, except he complained all the time.
****
Kaapo went home to his wife Sanna. She had a cup of hot broth waiting for him to warm him up after the cold walk home from the pipe shop. Kaapo took a sip of the broth and listened to his wife. She was speaking Finnish and it sounded a whole lot better to his ear than the German, Finnish, English mongrel tongue he used and heard used every day in the mill.
Sanna took one look at him and said, "You had a bad day. Did things go wrong again?"
Kaapo took a sip of the broth, "No, everything went right. Ari sees to that. But he just won't shut up. I think I will ask for a new partner."
"What if they put you back with Ville, or someone like him? You had to work a lot harder because Ville is lazy and you never got a bonus."
"True. But at least he'd shut up. Ari doesn't just talk constantly. He's either complaining or he's asking the same questions over again."
Sanna looked at him. "Seems to me you complained about every partner you've ever had. You've gotten a bonus every month since you started working with Ari."
"There is that. The money is nice. I just wish he'd shut up."
"Kaapo, we need the money. I could go back to working the bag line, but they'd make me stop in a few months."
"They would? Wh . . . You don't mean you're pregnant?"
Sanna smiled a radiant smile which only an expecting mother can smile.
Kaapo smiled back. "You're right. We will need the money. I will just have to put up with his chatter."
****
It was Saturday. The foreman announced it would be a short day. "We're making bowls today."
Ari, his tone of voice making it a complaint asked, "Why?"
The foreman, who put up with him because he brought up the production rate for the shift, answered, "Hey, it's your fault. We're ahead of orders."
"I hate doing those dinky little bowls," Ari complained.
"Tough," the foreman answered. "It's what we've got for the day."
"Why are we making bowls anyway?”
Ari was not the only one asking that question.
****
Countess Anna Marketta Bielke asked her business manager, Kristiina von Houwaldt, “Kristiina, I have been reviewing the production reports. Why are we making more wooden bowls when we have a warehouse full and we aren’t making money on them?”
“Anna-” The countess encouraged a casual attitude with her employees, such as she had observed while staying in Grantville. “The pipeline does not have enough orders to keep it in operation full time. The orders are coming in slowly and they are increasing. In time we will go to three shifts, but for now we run bowls to keep the men busy. It’s a break-even project. Most people carve their own bowls or buy them from someone in the village who does it as a winter job. Our main buyer is the army.
“It is just like the paper bag line. We don’t make much if anything on it but it keeps people working which keeps them from going hungry. It is in keeping with policy.”
“Could we make something else? Cups, maybe?”
“We couldn’t sell cups any better than we do bowls. The bowls will sell eventually. And eventually we will be exporting enough pipe that we won’t have time to make more bowls. We’d have to retool to make cups and we can’t justify the expense.”
****
"Sanna," Kaapo called. But his wife did not answer. The pot on the stove was boiling over. Kaapo rushed to set aside the pot boiling over on the stove. "Sanna," he called again. He heard a noise which might be his n
ame coming from the bathroom they shared with the three other apartments in the log building. It was so much nicer to share a two-hole flush-plumbing indoor bathroom with showers than to share a two-hole outhouse. The door to the washroom opened. Sanna, looking very pale came in. She looked immediately at the cook stove, turned around and ran back to the toilet. Kaapo followed to the sound of retching.
When she came up for air, she said, "I'm sorry, Kaapo. I hope dinner isn't ruined, but the smell of cooking made me sick." She went to one of the four copper-covered sinks and splashed water on her face.
"I'm sure dinner will be all right. Should we go to the clinic?" The countess had hired a doctor and then two Grantville-trained nurses to look after the mill town.
"No," Sanna said. "It is like morning sickness. It will pass."
She started toward the stove and Kaapo said, "No, you sit down. I will see to it." Which he did, including the cleanup afterwards.
"How did your day go?"
"Fine. We made bowls. I brought another one home." They already had a stack of them. The bowls were turned out of hardwood like the pipes were, and any bowls which were not perfect were thrown out. Anyone could take them if they wanted. Sanna and Kaapo had already taken a large stack home when they went to visit their families in the village where they were raised.
"Ari didn't complain too badly?"
"Just typical. I can put up with it. The bonuses are good to have."
****
On Monday they were back to making pipe. This time they were running an eight-inch exterior diameter blank with a four-inch bore. Ari let Kaapo help move the four-inch pipe; pipe being measured to the inside diameter. Ari moved with a passion, as if to make up for Saturday on the bowl production and Sunday off. Kaapo had to hustle to keep up.
At lunch Kaapo raced through the provided meal of rich stew, good bread and a short beer. Then he went to where they cut the pipe stock to ten foot lengths before they turned them on a lathe. There he picked up a piece of scrap.
Ari, coming back to work-early as usual-asked, "What are you doing?"
Grantville Gazette 36 gg-36 Page 9
