Grantville Gazette-Volume XI

by Eric Flint

  Ursula nodded and waited.

  "A lot of up-timers seem to think that just because they are from the future they know how to run a business. Well, they don't. You've heard the horror stories; I know you have. Even the up-timers have, though they don't seem to be listening all that well."

  "If they're that bad, why are you carrying around up-time style management flow charts?" She held up the document in question.

  "The up-timer management strategies in the business books that came back with the Ring of Fire are often brilliant and mostly useful. But most up-timers don't seem to have read the books." Paulus grinned at her and she had to acknowledge the truth of his words with a nod.

  "It takes more than just the books, anyway," Paulus said. "It takes experience to understand what the books mean and most up-timers don't have it. I doubt if there are fifty up-timers who ran a business before the Ring of Fire. It's a different world view."

  "Okay. So the up-timers aren't the world's greatest business people. What does that have to do with what you said before?"

  "That's less the problem than the fact that most of them don't seem to realize it. What do you think the Burkes would say if I offered to take over?"

  Ursula grinned. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think you might be surprised." She knew that the pressures of running the business weren't doing good things for the Burkes. That they weren't all that happy with the way things were going. "Is that what you have in mind? To take over the Wish Book and make us all rich?"

  "Sort of. I have partners too, you know. I have a responsibility to them." Paulus hesitated then burst out. "The truth is, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be considering a merger at all. And even if the Burkes agreed, I doubt if my partners would."

  "Why not?" Ursula tried to keep her voice level in spite of the sudden realization that he cared a great deal for her. She had come to know Paulus and one thing she was sure of was how important doing the best job he could was to him.

  "Because they don't have that much to offer. The concept of the Wish Book, which, as Gerber has shown, we don't need to pay for. A little good will, but not that much. I know what my partners are going to say. 'Sounds like a great idea. What do we need the up-timers for?' Unfortunately, I don't have a good answer for that question."

  Ursula cocked her head to the side. "You're not as smart as I thought you were. You know what? I have a good answer for that question."

  "What?"

  "Knowledge. Not business knowledge. General knowledge. Look, a few months back someone wanted us to sell an electric belt that was a cure for everything from the black death to back pain. Could an electric belt do that?"

  "Well, from your voice I guess not." Then he grinned. "But if I had just seen a proposal for such a product, I would have no way of knowing."

  "Joyce took one look at it and laughed. The idea that electricity could cure a disease was ridiculous to her. On the other hand, the magnetic stand that lets another magnet float above it? I would never have believed that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I would have thrown that one out. But it does work. It's not good for all that much, I grant, but it's a very impressive knickknack and we've had a lot of letters about how much people love playing with them. There have been a lot of things like that over the last couple of years. They know a lot about what works, stuff that makes no sense to us and would take years to pick up on. That's their value. That's what they have that makes including them in the deal a good idea."

  * * *

  Paulus tried to keep his nervousness from showing. "Let me start with my business. My partners and I own several river barges and part ownership in some inns, as well as a piece of several mule trains. It's partly what your up-timer books would call a distributed network transport system. Say a load of iron comes in through Hamburg. A merchant there will buy part of the load, then sell it to foundries and smithies. Then he will contact us and tell us how much he wants to go where. We'll agree on a price and a timetable, then we'll send it by barge up river or by mule train, east or west. To an inn, where the shipment will be split and then sent by other barges and or mule trains to different destinations, or wait in a back room in an inn until there is transport available to ship it where it needs to go. We only own a few of the steps in the chain, but we have standing agreements with a lot of others. Sometimes we're carrying their stuff, sometimes they are carrying ours. Once in a while, we work out who's been carrying more of whose cargo and pay each other to keep everything pretty much balanced. Scheduling isn't quite catch-as-catch-can, but it's not all that precise, either. It's a fairly slow way of getting your goods from one place to another. On the other hand, it's quite a bit cheaper than hiring a mule train to take your cargo where you want it in one shot."

  Joyce and Gary looked at each other. The way that tied in to the Wish Book business was obvious. "Why did you tell us you were a merchant?"

  "Because I am?"

  "But why didn't you tell us that you were in transportation?"

  "Oh. It didn't occur to me for a while that my business and your business had much to do with each other. You see, we don't ship to Mr. Smith on Baker's Lane or Mrs. Jones on Market Street. We ship to Smith and Sons Fine Blacksmiths or to Jones' Tailor Shop."

  "You don't do retail?" Muriel asked "Why not?"

  "I have been asking myself that same question since I looked at the open spaces in your business flow chart and compared them to the boxes in ours. One reason, I think, is that the guilds wouldn't approve. Have you noticed how much of your sales are to small villages instead of towns?"

  "Most people live in villages."

  "True enough, but the money is concentrated in the towns. Most towns have rules limiting the import of goods that are already manufactured by the guilds in that town. So, ready-made boot sales are limited to villages where there isn't a shoemakers guild. A battery or crystal set or record player, you can sell most anywhere. Ready-made pants are likely to be blocked. Not always, by the way. If you send it by post, it will mostly get by. What they are really after is someone bringing in a cart load of shoes to sell in town. That might change, though, if more people start using the Wish Book, the Bargain Book or the others that are sure to follow."

  Paulus watched their faces. "Anyway, that's why I wasn't thinking in terms of a connection between your business and mine. We don't generally do retail. Then a few days ago I happened to have projections from your business and mine on the table at the same time and suddenly saw the connection. It seemed like we could fill in a lot of the holes in your organizational chart and that you could expand our business. What it didn't seem like was something that either you or my partners would agree too. I went ahead and did the work-up as practice. A way of learning to use what I found in the books. Then Ursula saw it and convinced me that you at least might consider it."

  Paulus then launched into a detailed plan of how it would work. He answered questions about how their business would change and be helped by his. When the questions came back to the workings of his business, he said, "You should come with me and see how it works." He wondered if they'd go for it, frankly. While quite a number of up-timers had gone off to other places, a far larger number seemed to be planted in Granville to stay.

  Sure enough, they were surprised by the idea. "Ah . . . we'll have to think about it," Gary said. "We hadn't . . ."

  Ursula kept quiet. In her own opinion, as good as they'd been to her, up-timers were a bit soft. And very attached to their luxuries.

  * * *

  "We did used to camp," Gary pointed out. "Not much difference, sanitation wise."

  "I always hated it," Joyce grumbled. "Always, always, always. Go out in the hot, go out in the cold, pee in the woods . . . hated it."

  "Joyce." Muriel glared. "You are such a wuss."

  "Am not, either," Joyce screeched.

  "Are so," Mom Burke screeched back. "You'd never have made it through the Depression. You're only fifty-five. I'd go, only I'm way too old. And the arthritis ha
s me down too bad."

  "Oh, yadda yadda yadda. Do we get the 'walked to school in the snow' lecture now?" Joyce slumped into her recliner. "I didn't say I wouldn't go, people. And there's more than the potty issue, you know. Wasn't that long ago we got attacked, remember? I can't help it. I'm nervous about leaving Grantville."

  "You ain't no spring chicken, either." Muriel grinned. "If you don't want to go, I will. What the heck. I'm seventy-four. How many adventures can I expect?"

  Joyce snickered. "I can see it now. You on a horse."

  "You're a wuss, Joyce."

  Ursula went to her room. They were all wusses, she thought. That didn't mean she didn't care about them. But they really were wusses.

  * * *

  Joyce, Gary, Muriel, Ursula and Paulus stepped off the barge in Lauenburg and looked around.

  "Sure is a busy place," Gary mumbled.

  It was. The barges were lined up, waiting to unload and new piers were being built to accommodate them. Men with carts trudged to and from various warehouses; the taverns were full to overflowing.

  Paulus' expression was one of satisfaction. "Yes. And getting busier. Come, please."

  * * *

  "We don't really need them," Albrecht pointed out. "Yes, it was a good idea. I can agree with that. But we don't really need them."

  "Yes, we do need them." He explained about the knowledge they all had. "They will keep us from accepting a reasonable sounding impossibility and let us consider impossible sounding things that do work. They also have connections in Grantville that will make dealing there and with up-timers in general easier. Besides, he thought, I need Ursula. And with Ursula comes the Burkes.

  Muriel spoke up. "Reputation is important in retail. It affects sales and can even affect whether we are allowed to sell in towns. Heck fire, the arguments the guilds usually use to justify blocking imports is quality." Then she discussed the patent medicines that used to be sold in their world, and were sold even now all over Germany. Nasty stuff that did no good, but only made things worse. "We can prevent a lot of those mistakes. There will still be some, but if we can keep the number low enough, we can maintain a reputation for quality that will make keeping us out harder and harder as the years go by."

  Albrecht was watching Paulus. Suddenly he grinned. "Acquired a bit more family than you thought you would, looks like. All right. I'll go along. But I want some use of those connections. I want my son to go to Grantville, to help there. And my daughter. To put her to school."

  "I'm sure it can be worked out," Paulus said. "They have a saying, these people. 'Love conquers all.'"

  "They're crazy."

  "Yep." Muriel agreed with a smile. "We sure are."

  Trommler Records

  Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

  "Just sign right there." The blond man, Contz Beckenbauer, indicated the space for her signature and handed her the pen. "Right there, as I said. Then we'll talk about what you will sing for the record."

  Els hesitated a moment. She was just about to move to dip the pen when Herr Beckenbauer said, "The offer could be withdrawn at any time, you know."

  That just didn't sound right. This man was in a bit too much of a hurry for Els' comfort. There must be something in this contract that he hadn't properly explained. Els could remember spoken words very well. She had a little more trouble when it came to reading them. The counselor at the high school had called it dyslexia. That diagnosis had come as a relief. It explained why she could memorize spoken lines for plays but had trouble reading them herself.

  Els stood. "I will have my father look at this." She picked up the up-time style handbag that had been a gift from Trent Partow for her eighteenth birthday and shoved the contract inside. "I've been told many times that a person should have a contract examined by a legal expert." She headed for the door, over his protests.

  "I will withdraw the offer, then," he said. "You will not record for my studio."

  Els turned. "As you wish. But I'm still going to have this contract 'checked out,' as they say." Perhaps you are not an honest man, Herr Beckenbauer.

  * * *

  Judy was almost dancing in her seat at Cora's, waiting for Els to get there. When Els came in, she jumped up. "How did it go? Did you get a contract?"

  Els slumped into the booth. "I got one. But I haven't signed it and now he says he withdraws the offer. Here." Els scrabbled around the bag. "You look at it."

  Judy knew about Els' problems with the written word. Els didn't like to talk about it, but they'd grown close over the last couple of years. She took the contract and worked her way through it. It was in legalese, which she didn't speak, but it felt off. That was okay; she knew lawyers. "You were right not to sign it. I can't really read it either, between the German and the legalese, but I think it's a case of "what the large print gives, the small print takes away.'"

  * * *

  Judy caught up to Els in second period practical math. "Good thing you didn't sign it," were the first words out of her mouth. "He'd have had you tied up for fifteen years for one thing. You wouldn't have gotten any royalties for your records, either."

  Judy looked ready to bite some one's head off. "We're going to have to put the word out about this turkey. I hope there aren't a lot of people who've signed this sort of thing. Professor Gruder says it's as near to a contract of indenture as makes no difference. Except a contract of indenture actually pays you something." Gruder was one of the teachers from Jena who had come to Grantville to learn up-timer law and teach down-timer law. He was positively fierce and scared everyone in class. Except, apparently, Judy.

  Els slumped into the desk. "Wonderful. I finally get a chance and this happens. I want to be a star, Judy. I've wanted that since I first discovered what it meant. Not just for me. For my family. For Trent. So he will have a wife of property, not just a player."

  "You already are a star," Judy insisted. She was supported by a couple of nods from some of the other kids near them. "Besides, you know that Americans don't think that way, Els."

  "No, they don't," Els conceded, after giving her a look. It was true mostly, though the exceptions weren't as rare as Judy seemed to think. "But my own people do. To become famous . . . it would mean a lot."

  Judy's expression went a bit sad for a moment. Els knew she was remembering Katrina Kunz. Katrina was from a wealthy family in Badenburg. She was the one who had explained to Judy that players were not socially acceptable.

  Katrina had been trying to be nice and keep Judy from making a social error that might ruin her prospects, or so Judy had insisted. She had returned the favor by explaining that in the up-time world having successful actors for friends was a good thing. Katrina hadn't taken it well. She no longer talked to Judy, who hated losing friends, especially over something that just didn't make sense to her.

  Els examined Judy, her friend. Four years after the Ring of Fire, Judy was no longer the cute little sister of Sarah Wendell. She was the acknowledged queen of Grantville High. She was five feet nine inches tall and could be a runway model if she had time. Herr Schroeder had asked her. She was, in Els' opinion, the prettiest girl in school. She made Els feel better about being thin just by being there.

  Judy tapped her fingers on the desk. "What you need is an agent."

  Els pulled herself back from her thoughts. "Agent?"

  "Right. Up-time actors have agents."

  "What do agents do?"

  "They . . ." Judy paused, then grinned. "We take ten percent off the top." Els gave her a look. This was Judy the imp. Judy the plotter. Els knew she was in trouble. When Judy the imp got started you ended up doing the craziest things . . . but they all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

  Judy started laughing. "An agent handles things like contracts, does the negotiating, has the contacts. Arranges things. It should be someone with your best interests at heart." Judy stood and grabbed her own bag. "C'mon. Let's go to the library. I need to do some research. Agent and manager. That's som
ething I could do. I'm sure of it."

  Els rolled her eyes. Judy wouldn't actually do the research. She never did. She would grab someone and have them do her a favor. Probably Susan. Susan was good at research.

  "All right. But I've got to be at the lounge at six." Els had been singing in the lounge in the Higgins Hotel three nights a week for the past two years.

  * * *

  Ritter Jost von Reinhart was quite pleased with the overall situation. He was rather short at five foot four, with sandy hair and gray eyes. People who called him fat were both unfair and unwise. He was big-boned. Granted there was a certain amount of padding on the bones, but a surprising amount of it was muscle. He was, as usual, meticulously dressed and groomed. Every hair in place. There were rather fewer of those hairs than there had been in his youth. He pushed a button and the servant came and exchanged this course for the next. While his estates were near Berlin, he had a house in Magdeburg from which he did most of his business.