Текст книги "Grantville Gazette 45"

Автор книги: Paula Goodlett

Соавторы: Kerryn Offord,Enrico Toro,Terry Howard,David Carrico,Griffin Barber,Rainer Prem,Caroline Palmer
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

He lost track of the men within three steps. Hoping they would do the same, he started in the direction of his lodgings. The sun continued its dive to the hills beyond the river.

Salim saw the boy hanging by one hand from the trellis of an inn as he was leaving the market. He wouldn’t have thought anything of the skinny urchin but for the fact the boy pointed straight at him and continued to do so as he moved through the crowds.

“Paid eyes,” he muttered. Were he given to cursing, Salim would have. Instead he quickened his steps, hoping to get out of sight before the boy could direct the men to him.

“There!” It wasn’t a shout, but the word was spoken with an air of command.

Salim turned. It was one of men from the boat. The man was already pounding his way, naked steel in hand. The more distant man was waving an arm, most likely summoning more men.

Breaking into a run, Salim looked for places to lose his pursuers or, if he must, make a stand. Nothing looked promising in the first length of road but he hesitated to take one of the side streets for fear it would dead-end. He held little hope of outrunning the pursuers. Had he a horse, even a nag, under him, things would be different. Afoot though-he could already hear the first man closing the distance.

He picked a spot, decided it was as good as any. Placing his back to a stack of great clay urns, Salim turned to face his pursuer, blade flickering to hand.

The younger man didn’t slow, charging in, howling, “God is great!” as he swept his blade down in an untrained and fatally stupid overhand cut.

Salim deflected the blade to his outside right and twisted his wrist, sending his own slashing across the man’s torso.

Unable to stop, the man ran up the blade and opened his gut to the evening air, battle cry becoming a wail for his mother. The man staggered another step, tripped in his own entrails and fell to his knees.

Salim took a two-handed grip, brought the sword down with all the power of back and shoulders. The blade nearly severed the man’s neck, ending the cries.

As the corpse fell he turned and saw the easy killing of the one had given his other pursuer pause.

Knowing he was done for if the man waited for help, Salim spat in his direction.

The man didn’t respond to the insult.

Salim rolled his wrist. Steel hissed as it parted air, casting a thin line of blood in the dust of the street. By happenstance instead of intent, a drop of blood just reached the other man’s boot.

Eyes went wide with rage. Uneven teeth bared behind his thick beard, the man advanced. Despite his anger, this man was a far more capable adversary.

Salim was forced to retreat, working to deflect several fast and powerful strokes. Timing them, he found an opening and chopped a short hard strike at the other man’s hand. It missed the mark but slapped the inner curve of the other’s sword, sending it out of line.

Reversing direction, Salim stepped close and forced the other man’s sword away. He shot his free hand around the back of the man’s neck and pulled, hard, even as he threw his own head forward and dipped his chin.

Cartilage and bone ruptured under his forehead.

Fireworks exploded and danced.

Blinking, he chopped a blow that had more of savagery than art at his reeling opponent. His sword cleaved the man’s collarbone and hacked through the first three bones of the upper ribcage before lodging fast.

“Heretic!” the man burbled, mouth filling with blood.

Mullah Mohan it was, then.

The dead man collapsed, eyes still full of hate. Salim put boot to corpse to wrest his sword free.

The muezzin called the faithful to prayer as Salim turned and resumed his run.

Father settled himself, the unrelenting white of his robes of mourning making him stand out among the reds and golds of the cushions like a lily among orchids. Prayer beads in hand, he nodded at Jahanara.

Two slaves-selected by Jahanara for their pleasing manner and skill at anticipating the emperor’s needs as much as their desire to serve as tasters-knelt to either side of him, ready to serve the choicest morsels. At her direction, others of the harem slaves entered carrying tray after tray of delights for his meal.

Beyond ensuring the service was faultless, Jahanara spared no thought for the food. Instead she watched Father closely from under long lashes. There were lines on his face and white in his beard that had not been there before mother passed. The thought of Mother, especially at this moment, brought a hollow ache to her spirit.

Instead of turning from the ache, she embraced it, armored herself in it, knowing her mother would approve of her actions today, despite what woe she might bring to Father. And Jahanara had no doubt the plan would add to Father’s woes, just as she had no doubt that what she was about was absolutely necessary for the survival of the family, most especially if her family were to mean more to history than a divisive, degenerate, and despotic dynasty that left the varied nations under their care open to occupation and subjugation by Europeans.

Jahanara glanced down the line of women to her left, those who were not his wives but lived under Father’s protection in the harem. As she had arranged, Nur Jahan was not present due to an upset stomach. It had been the one point of failure of the plan. It was never certain exactly whenher woman in Nur’s service could administer the mild poison, and harder still to judge when it would take effect. That difficulty combined with the fact that Dara could not very well linger in the harem led her brother to grant permission for her to speak to father on behalf of both of them.

God, of course, quickly made them glad of their careful plotting. No sooner had Dara agreed to let her speak for him than Asaf Khan, Father’s wazir and their maternal grandfather, had invited Dara to a hunt a few days from Agra. He had only departed this morning, so it had been just barely possible Prasad would find Dara and return in time. Father finished the main courses, began to indulge in a few desserts.

Time was nearly up.

Weeks of preparation and planning had led to this moment. Despite Dara’s absence, she must move forward.

Mustering courage, she spoke. “Father?”

He turned his head to look upon her, eyes warming ever so slightly as they lit on her face. “Yes, daughter?”

“I have something I wish to show you, something important.”

He waved a hand, granting her leave to approach.

She rose and padded to him on henna-painted feet. The slave-girls rose gracefully and retreated to stand with their backs to the wall of the Red Fort.

Father watched her, sad smile making his beard twitch. “You are so like your mother, Jahanara.”

The princess knelt before Father and bowed deeply, smiling in return. “It is good to hear you speak of her without such pain.”

He punched his bearded chin in the direction of the growing monument to his love. “The heart heals as the walls of her monument rise, daughter.” He blinked, spoke to the distance. “Even so, I will never be whole again until we are together in Paradise.”

She bowed her head again, suddenly uncertain.

He sighed, the sound bearing more of quiet contentment than pain. He took her hand. “What is it, beloved daughter?”

“Father, I would show you a picture.”

“Oh?”

“But first– you remember sending Baram Khan on his errand?”

Shah Jahan’s grip tightened on her hand. “To the village the Jesuits reported had sprung into being someplace in Europe?” he asked, a little sharply.

“Yes, Father,” Jahanara answered, wondering if she had not chosen the wrong entry to the conversation. The Jesuits and their hosts, the Portuguese, were only recently returned to, if not favor, then the tolerance of the emperor. The Portuguese and their priests had proved faithless when Father requested their aid in his rebellion against Jahangir and his step-mother, Nur Jahan. Possessed of a long memory, Shah Jahan had ordered punitive raids into the Portuguese colonies along the coast almost as soon as he took the throne, taking many prisoners.

“What of it?” he asked, more calmly, gaze already drifting over her shoulder to the distant site of her mother’s tomb.

She took a breath, dove in. “It did come from the future, as mother’s astrologers claimed.”

His gaze snapped to her face, locking her eyes to his like chains of hardened steel as he snapped questions at her. “And where is Baram Khan? Where is that craven supporter of the pretender to power, Nur Jahan? Does he think to avoid my eternalanger by telling my daughter his report in my stead? I am not the broken man I was when his perfidy was discovered. I will not fail to punish him this time!”

Jahanara, shaken by the heat of him, spoke quickly, “Dead, Father. Baram Khan sickened and died in that far-off land that is host to the village from the future.”

Shah Jahan looked away, sniffed.

Released from his gaze, Jahanara felt as if she had stepped from a cold darkness into warm sunlight. Remembering her purpose, she gathered her tattered calm and summoned her body-slave to bring forward the ‘postcard.’

Father’s anger was not entirely gone. “Who brings his lies before us, if he is dead?”

She took the card. “I beg your indulgence, Father. Decide after you have seen the proofs before dismissing the claims.”

“Who?” he asked, still insisting, but more gently.

“No one you know, Father. He is another disciple of Mian Mir, one who has proven an honest and loyal servant to the living saint and, by extension, your person. He took great risks-at hazard of his own life-to bring word ahead of Baram Khan’s remaining servants.”

Clearly still skeptical, the emperor opened his mouth to ask another question.

Greatly daring, Jahanara spoke over him. “This, Father, is one of the proofs.” She lowered her head and presented the postcard.

His hand left hers, pulled the photograph from her outstretched hand.

She left her hand extended, hoping he would take it again.

Long moments passed in a silence Jahanara barely dared breathe into.

A tear struck her palm.

Jahanara looked up.

Shah Jahan, emperor of the Mughals, cried a river of tears in total silence, postcard in hand.

Sole Heir

Terry Howard

Grantville, Early Spring 1636

"I got a letter today from Wolmirstedt. They wanted me to know that Otto Schmidt died. His shop is sitting empty. They are asking if we're coming back. And, they want to know what we're going to do about Anna," Arnulf Meier announced to his family, and everyone else at the dinner table.

The dining room table seated all ten members, eleven counting the baby, of the three families who shared the house when they were all there at once, which they usually were at supper time. Everyone except Madde and the baby had jobs. Not that Madde didn't work. She had a baby to take care of, plus she kept the common areas of the house and cooked most of the meals for all three families.

All four of the boys worked full-time, or part-time before and after school, in the old mine they, along with Officer Lyndon Johnson of the Grantville police department, leased from the government. They still had not gotten around to mentioning to their parents just how much money they had in the bank from selling the large stash of aged moonshine they had originally found in the mine where they now grew mushrooms, aged cheese, and processed copper for wire. Nor had they ever mentioned what they were doing with that money in the way of investments and business start-ups.

Herr Meier looked at his eldest son Paulus. "You remember Anna. When you were apprenticed to Herr Schmidt we assumed you would one day marry her. She was his only living child so you would eventually take over the shop. You couldn't take over the shop now even if you wanted. You aren't a shoemaker, and you have no interest in being one. And even if you were and even if you did, you aren't old enough.

"But that still leaves Anna. On the one hand, there never was a formal betrothal agreement. So we have no legal obligation to see the two of you married. And, her dowry is a shoemaker's shop which doesn't have enough business to make a living and isn't going to, the way things are. This means, she doesn't really have any other prospects.

"On the other hand-" Arnulf looked at his oldest son. "-the letter made it clear that some people there are still assuming you will marry Anna. The letter also made it clear that some people there feel we have some obligation to take care of the girl. Which, I suppose we do. As much as there was a shoemaker's guild in Wolmirstedt, we are what is left of it.

"So, Paulus, what are you going to do about Anna?"

Paulus looked back at his father. The blank look on the boy's face caused Arnulf to suppress a smile. He knew he had caught his son in an unguarded moment. He was sure his son's face completely and exactly reflected the boy's state of mind. It looked like the thought of marrying Anna, or anyone else at this time, for that matter, was, to his son, a completely unparsed sentence. Arnulf felt certain that, regardless of what things were like here in Grantville, the boy was still used to the idea of men getting married around thirty to women around twenty.

Shortly Paulus spoke, "Father, that is not for me to say!"

Arnulf worked hard at keeping a smirk off of his face. "Son, you can't have it both ways. When I suggested you help me out in the shop and finish learning the trade, you told me you were over eighteen and therefore an adult. You told me you've got a good job working in Officer Johnson's mine with the mushrooms and the cheese. You said that as long as you're paying your share of the rent and expenses, which I have to admit is true for both you and your brother, I don't have anything to say about how you spend your time or your money. I am still trying to figure out how Ebert managed to apply the same logic to stay out of the shop. He isn't eighteen yet. But, now you want to turn around and tell me you are too young to take on an adult's responsibility when it comes to dealing with the hard questions of life. Well, make up your mind. Are you an adult or aren't you?"

Arnulf continued with a solid demeanor and a straight face. "You're legally an adult only because we are in Grantville. Anywhere else in the civilized world, you would be right. It would not be for you to say. But, here in Grantville, up-timers see nothing wrong with a boy getting married as soon as he's out of high school as long as he can make a living. You're out of high school. You've got a good job in Officer Johnson's cheese mine. You can afford to support a wife and kids."

Herr Meier lost the fight at keeping a straight countenance. His face glowed with a smirk like a pig with a secret stash of apples. The three men at the table had figured out, at least in general, what their sons were up to, even if they had no idea just how much money the boys were worth or just how many different businesses they were shareholders in or how much property they owned (besides the house they all lived in), or even where exactly the money had come from in the first place. The boys were paying a reasonable amount of money every week to the support of the families and the three families were enjoying what they all considered to be a very comfortable standard of living. So Herr Meier and the other two fathers had agreed amongst themselves to sit back and wait for the boys to bring it up. But, since he could put his son in an uncomfortable spot without breaking the secret, it amused Herr Meier to do so.

"So there it is." Arnulf recapped the pertinent facts, "Anna is probably assuming you are going to marry her someday. Wolmirstedt is assuming we will take responsibility for the girl, even if there never was a formal betrothal. So! What are you going to do about Anna?"

Paulus blinked. As he thought about it he realized, somewhere, not far from where his id hid from his ego, he still assumed he would one day marry Anna Schmidt. This was perhaps part of the reason why dating was not something he had taken an interest in, no matter how many girls threw themselves at him. He was a plain-looking fellow, and no one had been particularly interested in him before he went into business. Now he assumed it was his money they were interested in. This was a perfectly reasonable reason for them to be interested in him, when one looked at it logically. But, now that he dragged his unexamined thoughts into the light of day, he found that his logic had been corrupted by up-time romantic thought. On the one hand, if they didn't want anything to do with him before, he didn't want anything to do with them now. On the other hand, in another unlit crack or cranny, one that had not been corrupted by Grantville's improbable and improper ways, dating was courting, and he was ten years away from being old enough to have a family of his own and therefore he had no reason to be courting anyone, not to mention the expense of doing so. These were the first assumptions he looked at. His second thoughts were of Anna herself. He hadn't seen her in over five years. His father had collected him from Herr Schmidt's shop on his way out of town. Herr Schmidt had decided to stay and hide and thought his apprentice should stay with him. Paulus tried to conjure an idea of what she might look like now. He couldn't get past the picture of a scrawny redheaded lass standing under her mother's hand, while his father and her father yelled at each other.

Still, the idea that she would one day be his wife was, upon reflection, just as comfortable in the light of day as it was lurking in the dark shadows. His father was absolutely right. He was more than capable of supporting a wife and family. His father had no idea just how true that was. When they had found the stash of aged moonshine they did not tell their parents because they feared their parents would take the money and use it to leave Grantville. Instead they invested it. Now, after all this time, telling them would be difficult.

Paulus blinked again. "If we are going to play this by Grantville rules, and apparently we are or you would be telling me what to do instead of asking, then Anna will have something to say about it. I suppose I ought to go find out."

His father nodded. "I suppose you should."

"But, even by Grantville rules, we'd have to wait. She's not sixteen yet," Paulus said.

"She can get married at fifteen, with parental consent," his brother Ebert pointed out.

Paulus turned to Ebert. "Well, we can't burn that bridge until we get there. If she says yes, we can find her a place to stay here in town and she can work in the mushrooms if she can't find something else, while we work out the details. If she doesn't say yes, then we will see if a stay in Grantville might not change her mind."

Ebert smirked, "What's the point of asking her if you're not going to accept her ans-"

The words, "Shut up Ebert," were accompanied by an elbow in the ribs.

Magdeburg, early spring 1636

Some days Anna could turn her mind off and think of nothing but cutting shoe parts out of the hide in front of her. It made the twelve-hour workday go faster. And some days she couldn't. This was one of those days.

The millwright and the mechanic were assembling a stamping press for cutting uppers like the one already in use for cutting the soles. They might not get as many units out of a hide as they did when they cut them by hand, since they'd be cutting several hides at once, but the savings on labor would make up for the loss on the materials. Besides, they were getting a good price, a very good price, on scrap leather. Once they'd chopped it into tiny bits, the gunsmiths were using it for bluing barrels and they could sell all they had. The cutters and the kids tracing the patterns for the cutters to cut had been told not to worry. "No one is going to lose their job. We'll still be cutting the odd sizes by hand and some of you will move up to other jobs because output will go up."

Her mind went back to the days in Wolmirstedt, when she was a little girl and she had a mother and a father and knew she would one day marry her father's apprentice and keep the house while he kept the shop. Then came Tilly's men. Paulus' father took him and fled. Momma got sick and died that first winter when there was so very little to eat. Her father caught a fever and died just a few months ago.

There was no one to take over the shoemaker's shop. Where there had once been two shoemakers in town before Tilly's men, now the town was about one-fourth of the size it had been before and there wasn't enough business in Wolmirstedt to keep even a single shoemaker busy. It didn't help that the people could buy shoes out of the Wish Book cheaper than her father could make them. With no one to run the shop, Anna moved to Magdeburg and got a job in one of the shoe mills. It was either that or starve. The town council told her they couldn't support another charity case.

Anna's thoughts went from worrying about the future to dreaming the impossible dream, Adolf's dream. Before she met Adolf, she dreamed Paulus' family would return to Wolmirstedt, that they would take her in and she would, in due time, marry him and he would run the shop in Wolmirstedt. Now it was a different dream.

Adolf, his sister, and his mother lived in the same two room apartment she did, along with sixteen other people. He had almost been a journeyman before Tilly's men came through. He was sure he could make a living in Wolmirstedt if he could get one of the heavy machines for sewing the uppers onto the soles like he was running now, and one of the light machines for sewing uppers. He had in mind a style of shoe not found in the Wish Book. He'd seen it in a used clothing store. It was from Grantville and it was a baker's shoe, called a loafer. It was suitable for a townsman who didn't want to wear the heavy work boot like the ones the mill was making for the army, and sure didn't want to wear a wooden shoe like a peasant. He'd have to cart them to market in Magdeburg or somewhere else not run by the guilds. And if anyone ever opened a mill making them, he might be out of business. Still, Adolf had a dream and she and her father's shop were now part of it. When she couldn't turn her mind off, the dream was often the only thing she had to keep her going.

Anna heard voices. One was the plant manager. He was escorting someone through the mill. This meant some bigwig, usually a shoe buyer, sometimes a shareholder. But the bigwig was too young to be a shoe buyer. He was little more than a lad of a boy; he was very plainly dressed to be someone important like a shareholder and yet his voice was oddly, distantly, familiar.

"You can see we are nearly done assembling the new stamping press for cutting uppers. We are expecting a fifteen percent increase in production once the new press is on line. And over here is the old cutting area."

Anna took a second look at the bigwig. Her mouth fell open. "Paulus?" Her hand flew to her mouth. But it was already too late. The name was out. The plant manager turned to look at her with a frown on his face. The idea of someone on the floor addressing one of his guests greatly annoyed him. His people should be concentrating on their work. They shouldn't even notice he was there.

Paulus stopped and stared. No one would call the girl beautiful. But no one would call her ugly either. Mostly she was clearly Anna and that was comfortable.

"Anna?" Paulus answered. "I was just in Wolmirstedt looking for you. They said you'd gone to Magdeburg."

"How did you ever know to look here?"

"I didn't and I didn't think I'd ever find you. So I wasn't even looking. But since I was passing through town I thought I'd see how things were going in the shoe plants." He couldn't help doing a little bragging. "Having stockholders dropping in for a look around from time to time is supposed to be good for keeping the management on their toes."

"You're a stockholder?" Anna could see that the shop manager was starting to fidget on top of turning red in the face. "I've need to get back to work."

"No you don't." Paulus said. "You need to quit."

" Quit?I can't do that! I need this job!"

The plant manager spoke up, "Herr Meier, I would hate to see her quit. She is a good worker. She is on the list for trainees for the new press."

Paulus ignored the plant manager and said to Anna, "No you don't."

"Yes I do! How will I pay my room and board?"

"Anna, you're fourteen. You're too young to be working full-time in a shoe mill."

"Paulus, there are lots of people younger than me working here."

"Yes, but they're not wards of the Wolmirstedt Shoemaker's Guild."

"There isn't such a thing as a Wolmirstedt Shoemaker's Guild."

"Well, there was. It was your father and my father and your father was the guild master. So I guess my father is now. It really doesn't matter. When my father finds out you're working in a shoe mill, he'll put a stop to it. You can't work here if you're going to school in Grantville where my parents can keep an eye on you. So you can quit now and come to Grantville with me. Or you can wait and make my father come and get you. You don't want to make him do that! He won't ask you to quit. He'll tell you to. Then if you don't he'll have them fire you."

Several thoughts and emotions flashed through Anna's mind pretty much at the same time. First was the old dream. The Meier family would not be returning to Wolmirstedt; but, they would take her in and take her to Grantville. They would take care of her, even send her to school, and in due time, she would marry Paulus. This caused her to smile in relief. Secondly she did not want to make Herr Meier angry. This thought linked into the unhappy memories of her own father in a drunken rage as he was so often towards the end. This caused her to wince in remembered pain and grief. Then came the new dream, Adolf's dream. Now the dream would not happen. This thought brought sadness and with the sadness came guilt. For Adolf's dream to work, they needed the shop in Wolmirstedt plus what she could add to the family's savings. How could she turn her back on her new family? She now shared one of the big beds in the apartment with Adolf, his mother and his sister. It was cheaper than renting a cot. When the nightmares came, Adolf's mother would snuggle her and whisper comforting words and prayers in her ear.

When Anna's mind and face settled down what remained was resolve tinged with sadness. "Paulus, I can't. I'm going back home to Wolmirstedt just as soon as we save up enough money."

Shock fought with puzzlement for dominance in Paulus' mind. He'd never really considered the possibility that Anna would say anything but yes. "Anna, we need to talk about this.

"Herr Wiesel," Paulus asked the plant manager, "would you be kind enough to give her the rest of the day off?"

"Paulus, they'll dock me."

"I'd object if they didn't!" he said. "Don't worry, I'll cover it. Go get your coat and meet me in the office. We'll go to an early lunch."

"But, who will do her job?" The manager objected. "We're barely keeping up as it is. I'll end up sending some people home early when we run out of uppers and we'll miss our production goal for the day." He knew he had a winning argument because Paulus had been asking rather critically about missed production goals.

Anna turned back to cutting uppers with a vengeance and was steadfastly ignoring him.

Recognizing defeat Paulus said, "Anna, I'll be here at the end of the day."

Back in the office, Herr Wiesel asked, "If you don't mind my asking, what is your interest in our Anna?"

"I was her father's apprentice. I'm going to marry her."

"Oh? I thought she had an understanding with Adolf."

"What? Who?"

Now her reaction started to make since. The startlement transformed into anger. Anna had other plans. But, Anna is mine! How dare she?But the anger gave way to reason. Well? Why not? We never were formally betrothed. I wasn't there when she needed me.The reason which replaced the anger slid into acceptance. The acceptance became relief. I don't have to look after her. She is going to marry someone else.The relief became sadness. The death of a lifelong expectation was still a death and while it was not a devastating loss it still needed to be grieved. In his grief he thought of three girls in Grantville, each prettier than Anna, who had flirted or at least tried to flirt with him. Still, Anna was his. Am I just going to let this fellow Adolf steal her?

The manager answered Paulus' question, "Adolf Braun, he's one of our machine operators. He's been trying to raise a loan to buy a sewing machine to go into business. They won't sell him the sewing machines on installments because he isn't a master, so they don't consider him qualified. If he can manage to get a loan, the rent would be cheaper out of town. So he's been talking to Anna about her father's empty shop and his family has been saving their money."

"But, he can't compete with a mill." Paulus said.

"He doesn't want to. He wants to make a town shoe instead of a work boot. He wants to buy cut soles and whole hides and his other supplies from us and then he wants to sell his shoes out of our retail store here in town. You remember, we originally opened it to have someplace to sell the seconds we can't send to the army. We're selling out of seconds and we're getting a good rate for firsts going out the door too."

"Would the scheme work?"

"When we get the new press for uppers up and running, we're going to have to cut more soles than we can cut in a twelve-hour shift. So we're planning on opening up a partial night-shift just for running the sole press. If we do that, then we could run enough extra soles to let some go off site. The more soles we cut, the more scrap we can cut up into tiny little bits and from what we're getting for them we could quite possibly turn a small profit from cutting up whole hides. As for the rest of the supplies, the more we buy the better. Even after we charge him a handling fee, we can still sell to him at a better price than he can get anywhere else and it all helps our bottom line. But that would be a matter of policy and I'd have to kick it over to the board."