The Grantville Gazette - Vol 9 Part 18

The marquise smiled. "Yes."

"Think of how this can be used in theGazette , Your Eminence," Theo said. "Through the benevolence of Cardinal Richelieu, the people of Europe will be saved from disease."

Richelieu smiled. Theophraste Renaudot had always been good at finding ways to praise his patron. "Do you wish a t.i.tle to go with this, Marie? Perhaps the d.u.c.h.ess of Maryland?"

The marquise gave him a brilliant smile. "If you can convince the king, I would not reject it."

Two weeks later Josh and Colette Modi said their goodbyes and left for Essen.

As they rode through the streets Josh could see that Colette was in a pensive mood. "Guilder for your thoughts."

Colette laughed. "I thought it was supposed to be only a penny."

"Well, I don't want you to think I don't value your thoughts you know. Anything you want to talk about?"

They were approaching the final gate leading out of Paris and Colette motioned around her. "I think I've fallen in love."

"With Paris?" Colette nodded.

"Well," Josh said, "we could always move to Essen. That would put us much closer. Besides, then we would be close to Amsterdam as well, and I loved that city up-time. Something about the ca.n.a.ls . . ."

Colette's eyes sparkled. "You would do that? For me?"

Josh smiled. "For us, darling. Always for us."

Side by side, they rode out of Paris towards their future.

At the Cliff's Edge

by Iver P. Cooper

Friedrich Adelsohn, Captain of the Third Company of the Mounted Constabulary of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, stared at the ox. The ox stared right back. After a moment, it lowered its gaze, and resumed its attempts to convert the roadside into a nicely trimmed lawn. Friedrich wished that, like Siegfried in the Volsunga Saga, he had tasted Fafnir's blood, and could understand the speech of animals.

Could the ox tell him what had brought it to this deserted spot, miles from the town? And why it, and its fellow beast of burden, had been abandoned?

The ox stolidly ignored his musings. Clearly, it was what the American movies called, "the strong, silent type." So it was up to Friedrich to figure matters out for himself.

The two oxen had been unyoked and left to graze. The wagon itself was in excellent condition, although empty. If bandits had slain the teamsters, why hadn't they slaughtered the oxen for food? If the wagoneers had fallen sick, where were their bodies? If they were hale and hearty, why had they not simply ridden the wagon into nearby Wurzburg?

The wagon was abandoned on the flank of a great sawtooth-shaped hill, with a cliff brooding over the road. Friedrich remembered, suddenly, that there was an ancient watchtower, half in ruins, near the cliff's edge. Could bandits have taken it over? Was the wagon ferrying supplies to them?

Friedrich pointed at the forested slope beyond the wagon. "Herman, Wolfgang, scout that area. See if there's a trail that looks like it might go up the hill. And if there are signs of recent use."

They didn't have to search for very long. While there were no footprints-if any had been left, they wereobliterated by a rain shower earlier that day-there were plenty of broken branches to indicate that men had pa.s.sed that way.

"All right, looks like we may be near a bandit lair. Bring the horses into cover, and tie them down.

Jakob, and Gerhard, stay on guard here. The rest of you, we're going to have a climb. If there are bandits at the top, it will probably be fighting at close quarters, so have your swords and pistols at the ready. But Hans, you're our best marksman, you hold your rifle, in case we need distance fire. Ready?

Let's go. And don't make noise."

They started hiking. As they snaked up, they caught occasional glimpses of the crest.

"Captain, there's something smoking up there!" whispered Herman. Clearly, there were people above them. It reinforced Fredrich's suspicions.

As they neared the top, Friedrich signaled a short halt. He wanted his men rested before they clambered up, and exposed themselves. Finally, he judged them ready for action.

"All right, let's be about it. Hans, hold back and give covering fire if we need it. The rest of you, come along!"

What they discovered was not what they expected. There was a group of herdsmen and farmers at the foot of the old watchtower. Some were gathering wood, while others were looking intently upward.

Friedrich naturally looked up, too.

A wooden boom extended from a machiolation of the tower, and a cable hung down. It ended with a hook, and a man dressed in black was suspended from it, facing downward. The fire, which was more smoking than flaming, was built beneath him, and he was flailing about and yelling at the others.

"What in G.o.d's name is going on here?" Friedrich yelled.

One of the shepherds turned. "We caught a witch, and we're burning him."

"Oh? By what authority? Has he been tried by an ecclesiastical court? Are you bishops in disguise, perhaps?"

"You can see for yourself that he's a witch! He's dressed like a bat, which is a creature of the devil, and he's clearly trying to fly to a witch's sabbath."

"So you didn't hang him up there yourself?"

"No, that's how we found him."

"And that's how you're going to leave him. Damp out that fire!"

The locals muttered angrily.

"Your last chance. Do as I say or we'll cut you down where you stand." Friedrich's men raised their swords.

The would-be witch hunters were armed only with knives and cudgels. Sullenly, they complied. "Off with you, now." The herdsmen dispersed, with Friedrich's men keeping an eye on them.

"Thank you, Captain! I would bow, to honor your timely intervention, but it is a trifle difficult right now.

Do be so kind as to lower me down, gently of course," said the hanging man.

"What, precisely, are you doing up there?"

"I am emulating Daedalus, he who flew on feathered wings from the Palace of Minos."

Friedrich didn't have much occasion to think about Greek myths. "Come again?"

"I am trying to learn how to fly, but I am not a witch. I am a natural philosopher."

"And why are your wings black, and like those of a bat?"

"Surely it is obvious." The German Daedalus spread his arms and legs. "Bats, like birds, fly, and we humans have more in common with bats than we do with birds. Bats have teeth and hair, just as we do.

Birds don't. Ipso facto, we should imitate the bats, not the birds, if we wish to achieve dominion of the air. That is the fundamental error of my predecessors, they used feathers, not flying membranes. One was even so foolhardy as to use chicken feathers, can you believe it? Have you ever seen a chicken soar through the air? But look at me now!" He flapped his arms, and wobbled about.

Friedrich covered his mouth, smothering an impolite chuckle. "But you aren't exactly flying, right now."

"I am daring, not daft. The purpose of suspending myself in this fas.h.i.+on is so I can test the wings, know how the air moves over them, feel how best to spread and flap them. Without having to make an actual landing. When I am satisfied, I will use a longer cable, and hang over the edge of yon cliff. Finally, I will dispense with the safety line entirely, and fly off!"

"Like a rock," said Friedrich.

"Your skepticism is unjust, sir. And again, I ask, can you haul me down?"

"Just one more question, Herr Batman. How did you get up there?"

"The lads I hired, they carried up the wood and rope, and so forth, and constructed the support according to my instructions, then hauled me up. But when those country b.u.mpkins came by and accused me of witchery, the wretches fled and left me to my fate."

I suppose they decided they could make better time to safety if they ran, than if they rode the wagon, Friedrich mused.Oxen are not noted for their speed.

In any event, Friedrich was satisfied that the man was neither a witch nor a threat. Except perhaps to himself.

"Very well, men, help our flying friend down." They complied. Herr Batman sighed with relief once he was standing on the ground, unhooked.

Friedrich was suddenly conscious of a faux pas. "Forgive me, what is your name?" "I am Herr Doctor Johann Boehlen, formerly of the faculty of the University of Heidelberg." They bowed to each other.

"And what led you to adopt this particular site for your aeronautical exploit?"

"I liked the look of the watchtower, and the cliff. I didn't want to conduct my experiments in town, where everyone could see them, just in case they were unsuccessful."

"You are lucky that the rain shower made it difficult for the 'b.u.mpkins' to get a proper fire going.

Otherwise you would have been less a bat, and more a bird. A well-roasted one."

"I suppose. I will have to find a better place to conduct my experiments."

Friedrich sighed. "Tell me Doctor, have you heard of Grantville?"

"Of course. Who hasn't?"

"Well, in Grantville, they already have machines that fly. Perhaps you should learn how they work."

"I have actually seen one of those machines in the air. An inspiring sight! And indeed I intend to go to Grantville one day. But I will not be a mere supplicant. I will perfect my batsuit, and then I will go to the tallest building in Grantville, and jump. That will give them proof of my genius, and then the builders of the flying machine will treat me as a true colleague."

Friedrich bit his lip. He was quite sure that all that the doctor would prove was that what the Americans liked to call the Law of Gravity applied to everyone, including natural philosophers.

"Doctor, I believe that they already have found out how men can fly, it is just that the machines do it so much better. They don't have muscles which tire. Surely your genius is better spent building on what they already know rather than what they call, 'reinventing the wheel.'"

The doctor's expression was one of suspended judgment.

Friedrich pressed his case. "I am sure you will fit in well. Why, you have what they call a 'scientific mind.'

You didn't just jump off the cliff, you built this test equipment. They like that sort of thing. I am sure that you will be an honored colleague."

Boehlen fingered his beard. "There is something in what you say."

"Grantville lies only about eighty miles to the northeast of here." Friedrich smiled. "As the bat flies."

b.u.t.terflies In The Kremlin, Episode 2

A 'Merican in Moscow

by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

Spring, 1633 "Home," Boris sighed then waved at the white stone walls of the Kremlin which stood sixty feet tall and dominated the mostly wooden city of Moscow.

Bernie Zeppi, after the long trip, didn't care if it was home or not. Didn't care about the view. He just wanted in out of the wet. And, judging from what he'd seen so far, Muscovy just wasn't . . . well, wasn't much. Not that there wasn't a lot of it. Lots and lots of what amounted to log cabins, all crowded together. "Where do we go first?"

Boris pointed toward a street. Well, river of mud masquerading as a street. "My townhouse. I must make a report and get instructions."

Boris burst into the house roaring, "I'm home." His arms were raised in a dramatic pose, in full conquering hero mode, as though he had just returned from being the first man to reach the North Pole. Which, come to think of it, wasn't that far from the truth.

"Yes, dear," a short, plump woman said and lifted a cheek to be kissed. From her response, it seemed that Boris had gone to the corner store for milk. You'd think that after being gone for a year a guy would get a livelier reception than Boris had, Bernie thought. Mom had always run to greet and hug Dad when he came home from a trip. But not this lady, presumably Boris' wife, Daromila. Bernie shook his head.

How formal could people get?

Boris deflated and gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. She looked to be about forty, maybe forty-five.

She was wearing blue, mostly. Her overdress anyway. Sarafin, they called it. Reddish brown hair, with a sprinkling of gray, and twinkling blue eyes. It was almost like a game of some sort. Bernie had no clue as to the rules but Boris had lost this round. Then he saw the woman's half grin. Maybe not.