The Grantville Gazette - Volume 6 Part 17

asked Belle.

Mary Rose looked from Belle to Tasha. "I was kinda thinking, maybe Tasha might like to ask Amy to ask Cousin Greg. After all, she is a chemistry teacher in training."

Nodding her head, her mouth full of biscuit, Tasha agreed to ask her daughter to pa.s.s on the request.

"Michael. How many times have I told you not to feed that dog from your plate." Belle bellowed before launching herself from her chair and making her way to her son.

The ladies watched Belle put a strong restraining hand on her five-year-old son while giving her husband, who should have been watching him, a sharp talking to.

"Situation normal," muttered Erin with a giggle.

A week later. Sunday lunch, Tasha's place "Guys, Amy here has come through. Come on, Amy. Show them the recipe," Tasha said pus.h.i.+ng her daughter towards the seated mothers. A little self-consciously Amy placed a single sheet of paper on the coffee table in front of the ladies and stood back to let them read it.

"Uh, yuk. Do you see that?" Mary Rose pointed to the first instruction. "Imagine carefully fermenting urine. Does that mean we have to, you know, ask people to fill a bottle? And why add honey? Is that to sweeten it to taste?"

"Ha ha, Mary Rose. Obviously the honey is there to help fermentation," Tasha said, continuing to run her eye down the directions. "How do you cook off limestone?" She looked up at her daughter, a question in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh Amy looked at her mother and her friends. "I think this is going to be a bit like the time Dad tried to do some baking. You remember how he couldn't understand how you got cream from b.u.t.ter and sugar?" Smiling at the memory Tasha nodded her head. "I think you might want to find someone who knows a little chemistry and see if they'll make the stuff for you."

"But we know somebody who knows something about chemistry," Tasha pointed out, giving her daughter a significant look.

In horror Amy took a sudden step back, getting some separation between her and her mother.

"No way. Sorry, but no way. I'm much too busy at school." She held her hands out defensively and shook her head. "Really. I think you should find yourselves a friendly alchemist and pay them to make the stuff."

"And how are we going to find one of them?" asked Mary Rose.

"Well, Jena is a university town. There must be tons of them there."

"So you think we should go knocking on doors in Jena asking alchemists 'Please sir, can you make baking powder for us?'"

"Baking soda. If you'll read the recipe again you'll see it's for making baking soda, not powder," Tracy pointed out, her finger pointing to the top of the sheet.

"Amy?" Tasha turned to her daughter. "I thought you were going to ask about making baking powder?"

"I did, Mom. I asked Mrs. Penzey. She said you have to make baking soda before you can have baking powder. If you look near the bottom," she pointed to the bottom of the recipe, "you'll see she has included how to make baking powder. The problem is getting the cream of tartar. It's a by-product of wine making, and she's never seen it in its raw state. She's not sure how to get any. And that's another reason why I think you should contact an alchemist. They know about things like cream of tartar, except they probably call it something different."

Mary Rose looked at Amy. "What you're saying is, we can get baking soda easily, but if we want baking powder, that's going to take a little experimentation?"

Amy nodded. "Yes."

"That's not so bad," Belle said. "We can make biscuits using baking soda. I'm sure we all have some recipes that'll work. Besides, there are tons of uses for baking soda. There's toothpaste subst.i.tute for a start. And soon enough we should be able to get baking powder." Amy slipped away while the ladies sat silently digesting their thoughts. "Tracy, are you planning on a buying trip to Jena anytime soon?" asked Tasha.

"Ted and I were planning on going down river in another week or so. I guess we can ask around. We should see if Danielle and Steve can go as well. It's a pity we don't have more people able to speak German. The more people searching the faster things will go." Turning to Belle, Tracy continued, "Will you be able to look after Danielle and Steve's two little monsters if they go?"

"Sure. They aren't that bad, and they are closer in age to Louis and Michael than your mob.

It'll keep all of them out of my hair if they can entertain each other. What about Rich.e.l.le? Do you want me to keep a friendly eye on her?"

"Please. I've already arranged for a couple of the machinists to live in while we're away, but she'll feel more secure knowing you're just across the road."

Jena, ten days later Tracy looked across the table to Danielle and Steve Kowach. "It's as if they don't want our money. As soon as I say I want someone to make baking powder for cooking they get all uptight and condescending. Their holier than you 'I am an Alchemist, not a cook' line is really getting to me. Have you two had any better luck?"

Danielle shook her head and looked at her husband, who shook his head in negation. "We've been getting the same story. 'Alchemists are not cooks. Please go away and stop bothering me.

My work is important.'" She mimicked the condescending att.i.tude that Tracy had become familiar with so accurately that Tracy started to giggle.

"Here comes Ted. I wonder if he's had any luck. Ted, you make any progress?" Steve asked as Tracy's husband took a seat.

"Well, I've ordered a heap of canvas. A few hundred yards of cord of varying diameter, and some oils for waterproof-ouch!" Ted grabbed Tracy's hands to stop her pummelling him.

"Edward Robert Justinian Kubiak, you know that's not what Steve meant." Tracy said, struggling to pull her hands from Ted's grip.

"Has anybody ever told you you're beautiful when you're riled?" Ted asked, a smile in his eyes. They both fell silent as their eyes locked.

"Hey, you two. None of that in public. So Ted, have you found us an alchemist?"

Ted broke eye contact with Tracy and turned to Danielle. "First thing I learnt is, we don't want an alchemist."

"What?" Danielle and Tracy asked in unison. "Of course we do," Danielle continued. Tracy nodded in agreement.

"That's where you're wrong. No." Ted held up his hands to silence their protests. "No alchemist will lower themselves to do what you are asking. What you need . . ." he paused dramatically, "is a technician. Some suitably trained plodder who can follow directions without making any spontaneous additions just to see what happens."

"And how do we find this suitably trained plodder?" Tracy asked.

Ted theatrically drew a piece of paper from a pocket. "By pure chance I have here the directions to one Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, late of the school at Fugger. Apparently he lacks the proper scholastic and academic att.i.tude to be an alchemist, but in some quarters he is a highly regarded technician."

"What's the significance of the school at Fugger?" Seeing Ted's blank look Danielle hurried on. "Never mind. He has to be better than those supercilious morons from the university."

"I wouldn't bet on that, Danielle. Apparently he styles himself as Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz. His clientele humor him. He's good at what he does, and it's a fairly harmless conceit. But it does mean you might have trouble getting him to make your baking soda."

"Will money talk?" asked Tracy.

"Ah, the Evil West Coast businesswoman strikes. Yep. My informant indicates that the good Dr. Phil has a ma.s.sive ego, only eclipsed by his vanity. His major expenses are his continuing experiments and fancy clothes. Currently he is 'between jobs,' and the quarter's rent on his laboratory is due shortly. The perfect mark for what you want."

Tracy smirked back at her husband, and rubbed her hands together in antic.i.p.ation. If he was desperate, then he couldn't afford to knock them back. He would probably offer token resistance as a matter of pride, but to Tracy's mind, they already had him in the palms of their hands. It was always better to negotiate from a position of strength.

Jena, later that same day "Let me see if I understand, Frau. You wish me, Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, Great Grandson of the Great Paracelsus, to make this 'baking powder.'" At Tracy's nod, he continued. "I. I am not a cook. I, do not follow a recipe. I, am an Alchemist. A Great Alchemist. A Great Alchemist does not make funny white powder so people can bake biscuits." It came out stilted, growing in volume as he spoke, until he was almost roaring.

It was a strategic cough from Ted that drew Phillip's fire from Tracy. The six-foot, two hundred plus pound frame of Ted towered above Phillip's thin, short frame. With his p.r.o.nounced Adam's apple bobbing, Phillip swallowed his words and turned his attention back to Tracy.

"But you could make the powder if you wanted to couldn't you, Herr Doctor?"

Phillip flashed his eyes over the recipe again, then looked back at Tracy. "Of course. Any marginally competent student of alchemy could easily make this 'baking soda.' The 'baking powder' . . . a little time in the laboratory, and that too can be made."

"Well, can you at least help us find someone to make it?"

"I am not a procurer. If you wish someone to make this baking powder you must find them yourself. Now, please. I wish to get back to real work. Do not bother me with 'cooking.'"

"Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz, we can pay, and pay well for this baking soda. Won't you please reconsider?"

Phillip looked at Tracy over the lenses of his spectacles, the watery eyes staring. "No. No amount of money can compensate for the distraction from real science." He turned away and started to take his leave.

"What about a couple of sets of clothes? Tailored to fit. With pockets, zippers, and b.u.t.tons. In the fabric of your choice." Tracy was almost desperate.

Phillip stopped midstride and turned to look at Tracy. Then Ted. His eyes traveled up and down Ted, examining the denim trousers, linen s.h.i.+rt and leather jacket. "I want shoes like yours, Frau. With the elevated heel."

"Yes, even shoes with elevated heels."

Smiling at Tracy's complete capitulation Phillip returned to the seat across the table from her.

"Give me another look at that recipe. I believe we can talk business." * * *

Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz watched the American man and woman walk away. He ran his fingers through his goatee beard as he looked into the distance, seeing himself in his new clothes. A fine figure of a man, commanding, dignified. The target of envy from less fortunate beings. Drawing his attention back into his rooms, he looked about his shabby quarters and laboratory. Maybe, if the Americans were as good as their words, he could move into accommodations more befitting Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, the World's Greatest Alchemist. With the funds they promised he could employ laborants to do the dull repet.i.tive tasks. Yes. If the Americans came through he could purchase some of that new gla.s.sware Herr Geissler was making after his visit to Grantville. With the areas of investigation the new gla.s.sware opened, soon those narrow-minded imbeciles of the university would kneel before Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, the World's Greatest Alchemist, begging him to accept one of their diplomas. Begging him to join the staff of their university. One day . . .

Sunday lunch, Tracy and Ted's place "Well?" Tasha asked significantly, staring inquiringly at her cousin by marriage. "Did you find us an alchemist to make baking soda?"

Holding her mug in both hands Tracy took a sip of tea before looking over the lip of the mug at the expectant faces surrounding her. "No." She paused, teasing them. The quiet groans of disappointment were interrupted by Danielle breaking into a fit of the giggles. "We found someone better." With that Danielle started to roar with laughter. Tracy limited herself to a broad smile as she, too, tried to imagine Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz as being "someone better." "The guy is a bit of a pompous a.s.s. But at least he is willing to make our baking soda."

"When can he have it ready?" asked Mary Rose.

"At the moment he's only making a test sample. He said he needs at least a week for the urine to properly mature so as to produce the best spirits of hartshorn."

"Gross." Erin shook her head in disgust. "What are spirits of hartshorn?"

"Ammonia. Spirits of hartshorn is what it's called here and now. And quite frankly, I think it will be less trouble if we learn to use whatever names Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz wants to use."

Belle's forehead creased. "Hang on. He's a doctor? But you said you couldn't find an alchemist."

"He's not an alchemist. For that matter, Ted and I are pretty sure he's not even a doctor. At least not from any reputable university. Anyway, he said he could deliver a couple of pounds in about two weeks' time."

Two weeks later, Sunday lunch at Belle's "Now for the big test. Everybody take a bite and let's see what we think." Belle pa.s.sed a plate of steaming biscuits around the table.

"Mmmm, nice. Different from baking powder biscuits, but still very good," Tasha volunteered. The other women nodded and agreed that the biscuits were good. Tracy looked over her friends, "So we are agreed that Dr. Phil . . ."

"Dr. Phil?" Belle's raised eyebrows were duplicated by the rest of the girls.

"That's just Ted's name for Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz," Tracy replied.

"I thought he claimed he never watched Oprah?"

Tracy smiled at Belle. Ted had often made that claim. However, it seemed he had been a little economical with the truth. "Anyway, are we agreed that we should look at getting Dr. Phil making lots of baking soda?" At the nods of agreement, Tracy continued. "Then we have to think about raising capital. I've made enquiries. Dr. Phil will need to rent new facilities, buy additional hardware and supplies. He will also need to employ some people he can teach to do the work. We will also need to supply someone to manage everything when Dr. Phil loses interest and goes back to his pet projects. I'm thinking that if all the family can contribute maybe a thousand dollars per household to the project we can raise at least twenty thousand dollars. That should be enough to get him started, and running for at least three months."

"Hang on, Tracy. What are we going to get for our investment?" Mary Rose frowned. "A thousand dollars is a bit steep for a few pounds of baking soda." The other ladies looked at Tracy, nodding agreement.

"I'm suggesting that we set up a manufacturing company with Dr. Phil as the head or consulting chemist. He gets paid a retainer, a share of any profits, and access to the company's supply of chemicals and facilities for his experiments. In exchange, he is responsible for ensuring the processes work, the staff he trains are capable of doing the work they are paid for, and,"

Tracy paused dramatically, "the company owns anything he develops on company time, or using company facilities or chemicals."

"Nasty." Belle licked her lips in antic.i.p.ation. "Can you enforce that last condition?"

"Herr Hardegg of the legal firm of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp seems to think so. He doesn't expect any problems dealing with Dr. Phil. He did, however, suggest that Dr. Phil have a large share of the company. Something like fifty percent. Although he did agree that forty-nine percent would do."

"Are you saying your Dr. Phil is worth twenty thousand dollars, Tracy?" Erin asked.

"I think so. Certainly there's n.o.body else offering to make baking soda. You do realize that there is a potentially big market out there, and whoever gets in first could dominate the market? I just think we should get in first."

"That recipe Amy got. You think someone else could get one?" a thoughtful Tasha asked.

"Yes," replied Tracy. "And there are plenty of bright people in Grantville capable of following the recipe. However, if we get in fast we can lock in a lot of the local suppliers of urine. That's where some of the start-up capital will go. We also need an ice-making machine.

Something that will work in Jena."

Mary Rose blushed. "If we lock in the local suppliers of urine? Hold it. How do we do that?

Who are the local suppliers of urine?"

Tracy grinned. "Ted claims that the various drinking houses produce buckets full every day.

Currently a lot of it is being dumped via the sewage system. He reckons he and a couple of the cousins can modify the urinals so that the urine is diverted into some barrels rather than the sewer. If we offer to make the modification at no cost in return for the urine, he thinks we could lock in most of the taverns. They'll save on the toilet tax since they won't be pumping so much into the sewerage system." "Those years with O'Keefe's are good for something then," Belle commented with a grin.

"Don't forget the papers in waste engineering Ted's done at college. But yes, he's happy to be able to make a useful contribution to this project."

Jena, the shop floor of Kubiak Country Laboratories (Jena): A few weeks later Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz pa.s.sed his eyes over the hard-working young urchins he had recruited as laborants to make the "baking soda" for the American women. He smiled to himself as he remembered his victory over naming of the product. Who would want to be known as the man who makes "baking soda?" Sal Aer Fixus, now there was a product to be proud of. Any alchemist worth the t.i.tle would immediately respect the abilities of the man who can produce Sal Aer Fixus. Baking soda was for cooks.

"Hans." His high-pitched squeal penetrated the noise of the laboratory. "Did I tell you to stop grinding the ice maker?" All eyes turned to Hans, who had hastily returned to grinding the icemaker.

Phillip walked up and down the production line checking on his workers. For a pack of illiterate street refuse, they had taken to the work well. Most of them didn't understand what they were doing, but they were all capable of following his clear and concise instructions. At the ringing of a bell, everybody concentrated on finis.h.i.+ng the current batch. As the batch pa.s.sed from station to station, the youths cleaned down their work stations before helping other workers clean up. Soon, the batch was finished and ready for packaging in the fancy new paper bags the Grantville ladies had supplied. Waving his workers off to the noon meal, Phillip ran a finger over the image printed on some of the bags. A woodcut portrait with "Gribbleflotz's Sal Aer Fixus"

written around the border. The image was very good, if he did say so himself. The artist had managed to catch his true essence. He appeared suitably regal and dignified. On the back of the bag there was more printing. There was a list of several uses for Gribbleflotz's Sal Aer Fixus, including a recipe for the America culinary atrocity they called "biscuits."

He gave the workroom one last sweep with his eyes. What he saw filled him with pleasure.

The workroom and his personal laboratory had been fitted out to his specifications, with a few suggestions from the Americans, at considerable expense. The Americans themselves had come in and done much of the work setting up the laboratories. They now boasted "fume cupboards,"

something that was especially valuable when dealing with fermented urine and spirits of hartsthorn, and easy to drain hot and cold baths. There was even running water. Just as long as the tanks were kept topped up.