"You're not asking for much, are you, Morris?" said Bernard Fodor. The older of the two Fodor brothers was doing his best to grumble, but the effort was being undercut by the other members of his family. Not only was his brother Cyril smiling, but his wife was almost laughing.
Not to mention his two kids, Amy and David, both of whom were smiling as broadly as his brother.
"What d'you all think is so damn funny, anyway?" he groused. "We're talking about completely disrupting our lives. Giving up everything. You'd think there'd be at least one solemn face in the crowd, besides mine."
"Oh, come off it, Dad," said his daughter Amy. The teenager's smile was now an outright grin. "Giving up what? A house you've never liked much and never quit griping about? A job you like even less and gripe about even more?"
"Job pays good," he said stoutly.
"Not half as good as Mr. Roth is offering," countered his wife Joanna. "Even leaving aside the fact that you'll have part ownership in the business, which is more'n you got with the rail shop back in Grantville."
Bernard was nothing if not stubborn. "Already got part-ownership in my business with Cyril. Half -ownership, in fact, which is more than I'll have in this new outfit Morris wants to set up."
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" said his brother Cyril. "Yeah, sure. You and me each own half of an auto repair and body shop business-which ain't enough to keep either one of us working at it full-time, since the Ring of Fire. Seeing as how your automobile maintenance industry kind of shriveled up and died on the vine, seeing as how there ain't hardly no functioning cars any more."
He nodded toward Morris. "Whereas what he's offering is to set up a major manufacturing facility. With a steady and reliable business."
"For at least two years, anyway," said Morris. "After that…"
"After that, we're on our own, maybe." Cyril didn't sound disturbed by the possibility. "But even if your war wagon orders dry up completely, so what? By then, if we don't screw up, we'll have by far the biggest and best equipped metal fabrication company in Bohemia. More business is bound to turn up."
General Pappenheim, who'd been silent up till now, cleared his throat. "That's almost a certainty." He gave Roth a thin smile. "Don Morris is too cautious to speak of it directly. But the fact is that the king is bound and determined to develop a munitions and armament industry here in Prague. Even assuming that Don Morris' requirements come to an end-not likely, ha!-there would be other work coming from Wallenstein. Probably even before then, in fact."
He gave the two Fodor brothers a look that could have been described as "hawk-like" without insulting any raptors. "Especially if you can persuade him that there is any future in steam engine vehicles beyond locomotives."
"Sure there is," said Cyril. "It's just blind luck that internal combustion engines back up-time-"
"Lay off, will you?" said Bernard. "Now's not the time for that." He looked at Morris, while rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "One-fourth of the business, right? Shared evenly between me and Cyril."
Morris shrugged. "You and your brother get twenty-five percent of the stock. How you divvy that up between the two of you is your business."
Bernard nodded, still rubbing his neck. "And Larry Monroe gets another twenty-five percent. And you keep half of it."
"That's it. I put up all the capital except for some of the equipment you'll bring here from Grantville. And I handle the wages of the employees for the first two years. You and Cyril and Larry don't have to worry about meeting the payroll for that critical first stretch."
Bernard and Cyril exchanged a glance. That feature of the deal eliminated the single biggest strain on a new business, of course. But the flip side of it was that…
"But you do all the hiring, too."
Morris shook his head. "Not all of it, no. The two of you and Larry will do most of hiring of the skilled labor. I'm just handling the unskilled and semi-skilled applicants."
The two Fodor brothers studied him for a moment.
"Which is gonna be about ninety percent of the workforce," pointed out Cyril mildly.
Morris shrugged again. "Look, guys. I made no bones about this at the beginning, and I'm making no bones about it now." He got up from his chair in the big salon and moved toward one of the windows. "Come here. I want to show you something."
As the two brothers got up to follow him, Morris glanced over his shoulder and said: "All of you come over and look. You may as well see what you're getting yourselves into."
The two wives got up also. Those were Joanna, married to Bernard; and Willa, married to Cyril. So did Bernard and Joanna's teenage children, Amy and David.
Cyril and Willa's daughter Lynelle wasn't with them. She and her husband Paul Calagna might wind up moving to Prague also, but they hadn't decided yet. Leaving aside the fact that Paul had a good job with the government, he and Lynelle had five young children to deal with.
The window Morris led them to was just short of enormous. More precisely, since each pane was fairly small, the window was part of what amounted to the seventeenth century equivalent of a bay window looking down from the second floor of the Roth mansion. There was room for everyone to gather around.
"There it is," Morris said. His finger pointed to a mass of buildings just across the street. The buildings were narrow and pressed right against each other. Perhaps most striking of all was the fact that a wall separated them from the rest of the city.
"The Prague ghetto," Morris said. He sounded rather gloomy. "They still have the wall up along this stretch here. Not because the authorities require it any longer, which they don't, but because a lot of the Jewish inhabitants prefer having the wall."
Young David Fodor was peering at the wall with interest. "I thought Dunash Abrabanel and his guys tore it down."
Morris made a face. "Well, they did-partway. But then a lot of the ghetto's residents raised a fuss and… Well, I wound up persuading Dunash that he couldn't just do whatever he wanted high-handedly. So now the whole thing's being wrangled out." His tone got gloomier. "That means involving each and every rabbi in the ghetto. And once you do that, 'wrangling' really means wrangling."
He stepped back from the window. "And that's the issue, from my point of view. One of them, anyway." The gloomy tone left his voice, replaced by something a lot more determined. Even grim. "I am bound and determined to smash up those crusted-over ghetto habits and customs and traditions. And the best way I know of to do that-it's worked everywhere in the world, with every race and creed and color-is to give youngsters the opportunity to earn a good wage while learning some valuable skills. And not the same very tightly circumscribed skills that Jews are usually restricted to, in this day and age. I want those kids learning how to make things, dammit."
"Especially things that go 'boom,'" said David, grinning again.
Morris smiled back at him. "Well. Yes. That too."
Bernard was back to rubbing his neck. "You want only Jewish employees?"
"No. In fact, I'd much prefer to have an integrated workforce. But
…" He winced, slightly. "We'll have to see. I'm not sure how many Christian kids will be willing to work for an establishment that has a lot of Jewish employees and refuses to allow any religious discrimination."
Cyril grunted. "I'd say that'll depend mostly on the wages. You pay well enough, there'll be plenty of youngsters willing to thumb their noses at the establishment."
"Well, that's what I'm hoping. We'll see. In the meantime, though, I know for sure I can get as many employees as we need just from the ghetto. If need be."
Seeing Bernard's skeptical look, Morris seemed a bit uncomfortable. "Look. Just 'cause I don't like a lot of those rabbis out there, doesn't mean I dislike all of them. There's a few I get along with, and I've already talked this over with them. They're willing to run interference for me, if I need it."
Cyril spread his hands. "That's your business, the way I figure it." He cocked his head at his brother. "Bernard, are you ready, willing and able to quit dilly-dallying around? Me, I'm for it."
His brother scowled at him. But then, after perhaps three seconds, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm in. What the hell. We'd be crazy not to."
"What I been saying for weeks now." Cyril turned to Pappenheim, who'd remained sitting in his comfortable chair. "I suppose we should get started on the specific requirements you have."
The very tough-looking general's eyes widened. " Me? My requirements are a good horse, a good sword and a pair of good pistols. No, no, no. I am simply here out of curiosity. That, and the curiosity of my employer, even more. You need to talk to those two fellows who came here from Vienna with von Mercy."
The count's Bavarian accent was as pronounced as ever, making him just a bit hard to understand. By now, four years after the Ring of Fire, Cyril's German was quite good. But he'd learned that the German language in this day and age was almost more in the way of a cluster of very closely related languages than what you'd call a single and unitary language with various dialects. He was accustomed to the speech of people from Thuringia and Franconia, mostly. He found Germans from other regions often hard to understand, and sometimes downright impossible.
Pappenheim rose from his seat with the fluid grace you'd expect from a man who was not only a famed general but a famed warrior as well. The thought crossed Cyril Fodor's mind-as it had the minds of hundreds of others before him-that Count Gottfried Heinrich Graf zu Pappenheim was a very dangerous man indeed. The vivid scar on his forehead added to the image, of course.
"And now, I am off." He gave the Fodor brothers a grin that had very little humor in it. "We may say that I am about the king's business, I think."
Cyril wasn't sure what to make of that rather cryptic remark. Probably nothing. He was pretty sure that Pappenheim made cryptic remarks simply as a way of keeping the people around him slightly off-balance. Everything the man did had that flavor about it.
He commented to that effect, after Pappenheim was gone. "He's a little scary, isn't he?"
Morris smiled. "Oddly enough, he's become something in the way of a friend of mine."
All the members of the Fodor family stared at him. Much the way people might stare at a man who claimed to have formed a friendship with a lion. Or a dragon.
Judith Roth chuckled. "It's true, actually. But it doesn't make Pappenheim any less scary. And now, folks, you must all be hungry. Dinner is about to be served."
"I guess we'll have to get used to eating kosher, huh?" asked Joanna Fodor, about halfway through the meal.
Judith glanced at her husband-who was now looking about as grumpy as Bernard Fodor had, earlier in the day-and chuckled. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Where you decide to live, first and foremost," said Judith. "You'll want to live on this side of the river, of course, given where the factory will be located. But you can find a place in Old Town; you don't need to move into the Jewish quarter. After that, on whether you decide to do your own cooking or hire a cook. I'd strongly recommend hiring a cook, myself-given that you're pretty much going to have to home school your kids for the first year or so."
"Can we get a good cook?" Joanna asked. "At rates we can afford?"
"The cook is likely to be better than you are," said Morris Roth, "given the use of local ingredients. And the rates won't be a problem, with what Bernard'll be making. The key thing is that you have to be strong-willed enough to force a local cook and servants to accept up-time sanitary habits."
Morris was still scowling, but he seemed perhaps a bit less grumpy. "I'll say this much for hiring Jews. The only way they know how to cook is kosher, but in the here and now they're likely to have a lot better sanitary habits than Christians. Meaning no offense."
Joanna shook her head ruefully. Her husband chuckled. "No offense taken," Bernard said. "It can get pretty damn gruesome, I admit."
Cyril's wife Willa spoke up. "Will that be a problem for us, Judith? Hiring Jews, I mean."
"No, not with me setting it up for you. By now, I'm… ah… well-established in the community."
Morris burst into laughter. "'Well-established!' Yeah, no kidding. She's the wife of the richest Jew in the city-far and away the richest-and, unlike me, she doesn't have a reputation for being grouchy about religious matters."
David Fodor studied Morris, for a moment, with an intent scrutiny you didn't normally expect to see coming from a boy still shy of his sixteenth birthday. "You're a lot more than just the richest Jew around, Mr. Roth. You're pretty much a hero to these people."
"And what do you know about that?"
David shrugged, uncomfortably. "A fair amount, sir. I studied up on it, back in Grantville, before we made the trip."
"'Studied up'? With who or what?"
"I'm friends with one of the Abrabanel kids, sir. He's in my grade in school." A little shyly, he added: "You're a big hero to him too, you know. 'Cause of the Battle of the Bridge and all."
Morris looked uncomfortable. His wife gazed upon him with an expression that was an odd cross of proud and aggravated at the same time. "I'm afraid my blessed husband still can't wrap his head around all that." She looked at Willa. "But to get back to the point-no, you won't have a problem getting good help, as long as you let me handle it for you. But-to get further back to your question, Joanna-that would mean that, yes, you'd have to be willing to eat kosher. My contacts are mostly in the ghetto, so far."
"That's not true," protested her husband. "You know-we both do-lots of people in the Christian community."
"Sure we do. Each and every one of whom is a noble or an officer or a courtier or a bureaucrat or at the very least an educated person. Usually a clergyman. Or their wives. And just who among them d'you think Joanna and Willa could hire as a cook or a maid?"
"Well…"
"Don't teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. Or your wife."
Willa and Joanna both laughed. Then, peered at their husbands.
"Kosher sounds okay to me," said Joanna.
"Beats the alternative," said Willa. "Trichinosis. Cholera. Nothing else, a near constant case of the runs."
"Oh, it isn't that bad," protested Bernard.
"No?" His wife made a face. "The last time I was in church-which was the Sunday before we left, remember?-I saw a man-"
"Joanna!" protested her sister-in-law.
"You saw it too, huh? Talk about gross." She shook her head. "Bernard, stay out of this. You don't come to church but two or three times a year anyway, so what do you care? We'll leave our souls in the care of the priests. But I'd just as soon leave our stomachs and livers in the hands of whoever Judith can turn up."
"Not to mention our gall bladders, colons…" said Willa.
"Speaking of which," continued Joanna, "what's the condition of the Catholic church here in Prague? For me, that's probably going to be the worst of it. I really like our church in Grantville, even now that Larry Mazzare's no longer the priest."
Morris grinned at her. "Lemme get this straight. You're asking me-the Jew, remember, and none too observant at that-to give you the lowdown on the state of the Catholic church here?"
Joanna grinned right back at him. "Cut it out, Morris. You know perfectly well that it's the political lowdown I'm interested in. I'm not asking you about the theological fine points-or even about the personalities of the priests in town. I can handle that myself."
Morris paused for a few seconds, before answering. "That's kind of a tricky issue, actually. The Jesuits pretty much run the show here in Prague, and… well…"
"They're having a nervous breakdown all over Europe," Willa filled in for him. "What with the Pope himself and the Father-General being so friendly to us lately, whereas a lot of the Jesuits are pretty much still in full Counter-Reformation mode."
"Yup," said Morris. "By all accounts, the Jesuits in Poland are in what amounts to an almost open rebellion. Pledge of allegiance to the Pope be damned."
"What about here?"
"They're dancing back and forth, from what I can tell. Most of them, that is. But I can introduce you to one of the fathers who's on the side of the angels. So to speak."
"Okay." Joanna heaved a sigh. "That's a relief. I was really not looking forward to having to attend a church where I felt like an enemy walking in."
Her daughter Amy, who'd been silent throughout the meal, suddenly spoke up. "That's all fine and dandy. But now let's get down to the real nitty-gritty. I broke up with my worthless bum of an ex-boyfriend almost three months ago. Long enough. My heart bled buckets but my wounds heal very quickly. So what are my prospects going to look like here in Prague?"
All the adults at the table stared at her. The seventeen year old girl seemed quite unfazed. "I got no problems with down-time boys. Well. Leaving aside the worthless bum I broke up with. In some ways I like 'em better than American guys, being honest, though you usually do have to educate 'em some on hygienic matters. But how do I go about meeting anybody here? Seeing as how you said earlier, Mr. Roth, that I can't get accepted into your new college until I get my high school diploma-and that might take a bit of doing, seeing as how we're going to be moving here pretty soon. I still got more'n a year left at the high school in Grantville, and that's going to be sayonara."
She gazed at Morris. Then at Judith.
"So how's it work?" she asked.
Morris cleared his throat, preparatory to speaking. And then…
Said nothing.
"Men," muttered his wife. Judith gave Amy Fodor her most winning smile.
And why not? Judith foresaw no problems. The teenager was rather attractive, allowing for a certain amount of pudginess. But her appearance didn't really matter anyway. She could be downright ugly, and it wouldn't matter. Within a year, with her father established as one of the most prosperous burghers in town-and with the glamorous aura that usually surrounded up-timers, even when they weren't wealthy-Amy Fodor's biggest problem would be beating off unwanted suitors with a stick.
That was especially so, since the girl obviously didn't have any issues concerning down-timers. There were still some American girls and boys whose romantic interests were restricted to other up-timers. But given Amy's attitudes-
"There were a couple of Jewish kids I saw on our way here," Amy continued cheerfully. "About my age. Both of 'em were cute as hell, too, allowing for the silly hairdos."
Oh, boy.
Her husband cleared his throat again.
And, of course, said nothing.
"Men," Judith muttered.
The Pessimist's Daughter
Written by Mark H. Huston
The Gardens, December, 1634
"I found every last one of those sons-of-bitches. Every last one. Do you have any idea how much money that son-of-a-bitch spends on those sons-of-bitches?" Staunton Bell took a deep swig of pilsner beer, emptied the mug, and slammed it down with a victorious bang. "Could Tony find them? Could he?"
"No, he couldn't. Not at all. Not in a million years." LaDonna Marshall nodded into her beer mug in sympathy. She then straightened in her chair, chugged her mug down, and banged it on the table next to Staunton's. "We need more beer."
"But I found them. That is why I should be running the Department of Economic Affairs. Not friggin' Tony Adducci. He doesn't even have a degree in accounting. But they got him running the friggin' department." Staunton realized he was being loud, and tried to tone it down to a stage whisper. "He doesn't even have a degree!" He wobbled as he stood up and pushed back his chair, waved his mug, and shouted. "More beer here, wench!" He paused, noticed a few patrons glancing his way, glared back defiantly, and growled. "Sonofabitch." Seeing no challengers, he added a triumphant "Ha!" He sat back down with a self satisfied flourish, and looked at his co-workers.
"Staunton, be quiet. People are looking at us. This is supposed to be a little after work Christmas Party." Greta Greenwald felt tipsy, but not nearly as tipsy as the other three at her table. Her fellow down-time clerk, Katarina Zingerly, was a big woman who could drink. LaDonna Marshall, their up-time boss, appeared to be holding her own. Greta looked at Staunton Bell, and shook her head sadly. There was a man who could not hold his liquor. Drunk on his ass, as they say. Staunton was winding up again.
"Nasi thinks he is so damn smart. But he missed the first rule. Follow the money. That's what I did." He stood up again, knocking his chair over in the process, and announced to the room, "Follow the money!" A few heads turned to glare at him; he looked back through a pilsner induced haze, and met their glare defiantly once again. "Sonofabitch. Ha!" He then sat down hard on the floor, as he had not picked up his chair. Most of the room gave a quiet chortle.
Greta watched as LaDonna and Katarina helped the skinny and balding accountant back to his chair. It reminded her of two children with a pet ferret. She shook her head. "You should get home to that wife of yours, Staunton. And you should stop drinking. Before you get into trouble."
Katarina agreed. "You should go home, Mr. Bell. We think you've had enough for now." She started to whisper. "You did real well to find all of those hidden accounts of Don Fernando Nasi, you should feel good about the job, but you should not drink. It doesn't agree with you."
"That's right. I found it." He stood up. "Nobody else" he shouted. The glares returned. He returned them in kind. "Sonofabitch. Ha!" He checked for his chair, and sat.
Greta leaned across the table toward Staunton. "You shouldn't talk about work that way, Mr. Bell. Not that loud. You can get us all in trouble. You know we're not allowed-"
"That guy's just another Jew bastard who thinks he can hide his shit from me. I tell you they're all the same. They're all like that." He waved his arm clumsily. "Can't trust them to a man. Just like back up-time. Same shit. When I did taxes up-time-"
"Mr. Bell! You shouldn't say such things." Greta eyed Staunton from across the table. She had a good twenty pounds on the man. She figured she could drag him out of the Gardens if she had to. "We're supposed to be professional. We're auditors. And auditors don't do this, at least in public."
"Professional? Professional? Th-that is ridiculous." He belched loudly. "I have an antique computer that can barely run the software we use, and I use quill nib pens. With a friggin' inkwell, fer chrissakes. Some professional organization that is. Where the hell is my beer?"
LaDonna added her support. "God, I'm shitfaced. I haven't drank like this for a while." She looked around the table, smiled, and then unexpectedly turned green. "Uh-oh. Sh-shouldn't have eaten that-that sausage and ch-cheese. Excuse me pl-" She ran off, unsteady.
Greta looked at Katarina and rolled her eyes. "Up-timers can't hold their beer. My husband told me, but I didn't think it was this bad."
Katarina rolled her eyes too. "My husband said the same thing. I didn't believe him at first…"
Staunton looked like he was winding up yet again. "I bet Tony will take the credit for this. I know he will. I find out how the Jew is paying his spies, including some of his relatives, which is illegal as hell. At least it was." He shook his head to clear the fog. "Tony will take the credit. I know it. That's the sort of thing that just pisses me off."
At least he wasn't shouting this time, thought Greta. The waitress put another round on the table.
Staunton turned to her. "About time, bitch."
Greta watched as the down-time waitress looked at the two beefy down-timer women and then looked at the ferret-like man. "This idiot a friend of yours?"
They both looked at Staunton, and then back at the waitress a little sheepishly. "We just work with him," replied Greta, "He's our boss."
"I'm sorry for you." She turned and walked away.
"See if she gets a tip," growled Staunton. "Bitch."
"Watch it, Bucko. You keep talking like that and I'll kick your ass." LaDonna had returned. "She better get a tip."
He glowered at her as she sat down, and they all started drinking again. The girls talked quietly for a few moments about their families, Katarina's husband's job in the mine, anything but the office. Finally, it appeared to Greta that Staunton could contain himself no longer. "Did I tell you how I found the first one?" He started much too loud. "Nasi wrote him a friggin' bank draft. A bank draft! I can't believe the guy is that stupid! Once I had the account, then it was pretty easy to find another. From there, it really took off." He sat back into his chair and folded his arms. "Damn, I'm good."
"I suggest you be quiet, Staunton." Greta was startled by the calm and direct voice of Dennis Grady. She looked at his powerfully built body, and recalled hearing before he came to their Department of Economic Affairs, he had been a police officer. At the office it was not noticeable. But right now, well, Greta was glad she had been quiet. She turned to Staunton, who she expected to shut up. Greta felt her eyes go wide when the little man stood. Defiantly.
"I don't work for you, Grady. I don't have to listen to you. And we are not at the office. So just fuckoff." Staunton rolled his shoulders as if flexing to fight.
"Sit down, Staunton." Grady's voice was low. "Now."
"What if I don't, what are you going to do about it?"
Grady just looked at him with no change of expression. "Whatever I have to."
Greta did not fall off of the turnip wagon just the other day. She had been around more than one drinking establishment in her thirty-nine years. She slowly moved her chair back, in case things got messy. She sensed the rest of the bar feeling the same way.
"You're an asshole Grady. I'm the only real accountant your 'auditors' have." He snorted. " Professional Department of Economic Resources, what bullshit. None of you could find your ass with both hands if I wasn't there."
Greta inched back a little more.
"I'm the one who found the Nasi files-"
Greta really didn't see the punch from Grady. She was already ducking. She sort of felt it go by, and then sensed Grady straightening. When she opened her eyes, Staunton Bell was just starting to bleed in the area where his nose formerly protruded from his face. It was now turned to the side. His eyes were glazed. He teetered for a moment, and then fell like a stone to the floor, his head catching the edge of his chair on the way down, and laying open his scalp.
"Sonaofabitch," exclaimed LaDonna.
"Ha," added the waitress.
May, 1635, Grantville, High Street Mansion, SoTF Government Building
"Hello, Ursula." The up-time woman smiled from her office, as she had done for nearly every afternoon for the last two years.
Ursula Volz dropped her plain eyes to the worn wooden floor, nodded her head imperceptibly, and mumbled a quiet, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Carstairs," as she came into the back hall.
Ursula rapidly stepped by the lady in her office, past a large kitchen, and then threaded her way through a narrow hallway, arriving at the front foyer of the old mansion.
There was a guard station in what used to be the front hall. The regular night guard, Marcus Sauber, was sitting in a chair behind the desk. He was positioned facing the front of the building, where the public would normally enter. Ursula had entered by the employee and service entrance, at the back of the house.
The guard turned in his chair. "Hello, Ursula."
"Good evening, Herr Sauber."
"Right on time as always. Here is the note from the office manager, she tells me someone spilled coffee in the second floor hallway, and it needs to be cleaned up tonight." He handed her a note. "It's always something, isn't it? Spills or messes to be cleaned up. Night janitor is never a fun job, right, Ursula?"
"I don't mind it, Herr Sauber." She paused at the desk and signed in on the log book which Marcus Sauber kept.
"Good afternoon, Herr Sauber." Keeping her eyes turned to the floor, she turned to the staircase to the left of the desk, and headed toward the back stairs leading to the basement, taking a candle from the side table and lighting it as she went. There were no offices in the basement, because there were almost no windows. She went down the gloomy and musty stairs, and looked around. Something about being in a cellar always bothered her. The only things down here were storage for files and the cleaning supply closet, which was near the stairs.
Ursula gathered up her things from the supply closet, and trudged up the stairs. She usually started on the first floor, in the public spaces, and then moved to the offices in the later afternoon and evening. She began her work in the Lobby, by the guard station. It had rained during the day, and people had tracked mud into the hallway. With a mop and bucket, she started to scrub.
It was a good job, and Ursula liked it. It was quiet, especially later in the evening when everyone went home. It was interesting working at the High Street Mansion. It was built back when Grantville was a "boom town," owned by a man and his family who made toilets. When Ursula had seen it for the first time, she could not believe it was only for one man and his family. It took her almost a week to learn all the rooms. It was broken up into even smaller areas for more offices and rooms. The home was mostly empty when it came through the Ring of Fire, no one living there, and most of the contents had been auctioned off. Since it was big, and had plenty of light and windows, it was appropriated by the government as offices. Nobody bothered her much at this job, and she liked that too. The only thing a little bit irritating was-
"Ursula! Oh, I'm so sorry I'm late. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I got delayed at dinner with… umm… my mother. Aaand… she wanted to talk… about her new boyfriend."
Margit. Her co-worker. She finally arrived. About a half hour late, as usual. Ursula sighed. Margit always had excuses, and some of them were very entertaining. But tonight, Ursula was not in the mood. "I will finish this, you can start on the back hallway."
"Don't you want to hear about my mother's new boyfriend?"
"Not especially, Margit. And you used that excuse last month."
"Oh."
"Back hallway, Margit?"
"Okay. Let me get my stuff from downstairs. Back in a minute." She turned and half-skipped down the hall, humming a little tune. Ursula smiled just a little as she watched her disappear around the corner.
After finishing the public spaces and the offices on the first floor, they started up the stairs to the second, where more offices and desks were packed into rooms. Margit leaned over to Ursula. "Are you going out after work tonight, Ursula? You never go, and we have so much fun." Margit turned and bounced mischievously in her stride.
Ursula looked at her and shook her head. "I need to be home and to sleep so I can help my mother with the sewing as soon as it gets light."
Margit frowned. "Ursula, when are you going to have some fun in your life? How do expect to meet anyone if all you do is work here in the afternoon, go home and sleep, then sew with your mother from first light until you come to work again? You are what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?"
"I'm very plain, Margit. Who would ever want me? My father is a casket maker. He has no social rank."
Margit stopped on the stairs and blocked Ursula's path. "How many times have I told you it doesn't matter here? It must be a thousand times by now." She changed the tone of her voice, deepening it with authority. "Ursula, it doesn't matter here." She changed back to her impish grin. "There. One thousand and one."
Ursula paused. "Twenty-five. Almost twenty-six."
"What?"
"I will be twenty-six in two months."
Margit's hand went to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Ursula. I had no idea you were ahhh-were that-ummm…" Margit stuttered some more, and after a pause she half-heartedly added, "You look remarkably young for your age…" Margit turned red behind her grimace.
Ursula looked at her with a frown. Margit was almost a full head shorter than she, and here on the stairs they were eye to eye. Margit always had several boyfriends, she was always talking about them. Ursula sighed.
"There was a boy in Magdeburg, before the war. But my father said he was not worthy. Since then there has been no real time or stability-we moved so many times to stay ahead of the wars."
"Wait just a second, Ursula. You've been here for two years. And you've been working this awful schedule that prevents you from meeting anyone. You've had plenty of time to meet someone." She turned coyly. "Or even several some ones." She finished with a girlish giggle.
Ursula had little patience with girlish giggles. "Life is what it is, and life is what it shall be. And that's all there is to it. No more. No less. That's all life is." She shrugged and began to climb the stairs.
She trotted past Ursula and once again blocked her path. "That's your father talking. The famous Eeyore Volz. The man with the darkest disposition in town."
"He's a very practical man, Margit. He's provided for us even in the worst of times, since before Magdeburg. You know he got my mother and me out of the city before the siege. He sold everything, cancelled his lease, and moved away. He had the foresight to act before…"
Margit grew quiet. "I had a cousin and an uncle there."
"My father is very smart, Margit. We were in three different cities and towns before we moved to Magdeburg. In each one of them, we moved out before something terrible happened. Papa was able to figure it out, before it happened. We think he is very smart, and that has kept us alive and together as a family."
"But he never smiles. I have never once seen him smile. People stay away from him."
"People don't talk to Papa very often. Mr. Blackwell, who owns the funeral home where Papa works, said most people won't talk to you much when they find out what you do. I'm sure that's why. And we never really had many friends, no matter where we lived. Papa said that suits him just fine, too."
Margit put her hands on her hips and looked Ursula in the eyes. Her short red hair and freckles made her look far younger than she really was. "What am I going to do with you, Ursula Volz?"
"There is nothing you need to do. Things are just fine the way they are."
Margit turned and began bouncing up the stairs. "Maybe. Maybe not." She turned and looked back at Ursula. "But I am not going to let you be an old maid without getting you to have some fun." She skipped off around the corner.
Ursula stood on the stairs for a moment before heading up after Margit. Together they found the spill in the hallway, and then, as usual, Ursula continued to the third floor of the mansion, where they told her the "ballroom" used to be.
Rolf Burger, the night guard was at his post. He had a tiny desk and chair with a logbook where people signed in and out. His post at the top of the stairs put him between a heavy door and the hallway. Ursula was never really sure why they had the extra guard up here. The Department of Economic Affairs had something to do with money, she supposed from the name. Although she never saw any money there. As he saw her coming around the corner, he was already taking the keys off of his belt.
"So how is my fine, beautiful Ursula Volz this evening?" Rolf Burger was pushing sixty-five, had no teeth, and a twinkle in his eye. A mixer. That's what Ursula's mother had said when she described him. A mixer. Mostly harmless.
"I am fine, Herr Burger"
"What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?"
"Working at her job, Herr Burger." She signed in on his log book. As he let her in, purposely he brushed against her as he backed the door open. He grinned a toothless smile at her as she stepped back. She cast her eyes at the floor and went into the hallway. There was a long hall with a half-dozen doors on both sides. She sat about her tasks as quickly and efficiently as possible, methodically working through one office at a time. Trash, feather dust, sweep, repeat. She settled into a calm rhythm, so when she opened one of the doors to what she thought was an empty office, she was startled to see a huskily built man hunched in front of one of the computers. The screen cast the only light in the office.
"Oh. Excuse me. I didn't know you were here. I can come back later-"
"No. That's quite all right. I don't think we've met before. What's your name?" He stood.
Ursula was still surprised by the up-timer forwardness. The man was very friendly; all up-timers seemed to be. At least the ones she had met. She quickly looked at his hand to see if he had one of the up-time marriage bands. She was relieved when she saw he did. When her eyes went back to his face, they were observing her carefully. She immediately felt the blush, and looked at the floor. "Ursula Volz, sir"
"My name is Grady. Dennis Grady. Nice to meet you, Ursula. I'm sorry I startled you. I was just finishing up some work. You can just skip my office for tonight."
"Yes, sir." She backed out of the room and closed the door. In a few more minutes she had completed the floor, and she headed for the guard station. She opened the door to find Rolf sipping a hot beverage, with an up-time device steaming in the background. "Cup of coffee?"
Ursula's eyebrows raised. "Where in the world did you get that thing?"
"One of the ladies in the kitchen gave it to me. She said it was broken, so I took it to the tinker. You know we have one here now? He fixed it. The original glass is broken, so I use this ceramic mug. It only makes two cups at a time. This is the first night I have brought it to work."
"That's nice, Rolf. It smells good, too."
From behind her a masculine voice spoke up. "It sure does, Rolf. Smells darn good." Dennis Grady inhaled through his nose, enjoying the aroma.
"Hi, Mr. Grady. Do you want some too?"
Grady looked at the mug wishfully. "Going to have to take a pass. I need that stuff in the morning, not last thing at night before I go to bed. Sure smells good though."
Rolf's rubbery face lit up, and he turned to Ursula. "I have made this for my Ursula tonight, too. She knows I am in love with her, but she will never acknowledge it."
Ursula blushed and looked at the floor, as the old mercenary soldier flirted shamelessly. "Herr Burger, you are full of-poop, as the Americans say." She looked up at him and smiled, like she usually did. "How is your wife at home? I hear she was feeling ill last week? And your grandchildren, how are they?" She quickly glanced over to Herr Grady, and he smiled at her. She blushed again.
Rolf put his hand to his heart and looked crushed. "Oh, Ursula, what am I to do? You are about the only person who comes up here to see me at night. You never ask about how poor old Rolf is doing, you ask about my wife, my grandchildren, but not poor old Rolf. What am I to do?" His rubbery face was pouting and grinning all at the same time.
"Herr Burger. I ask about your wife and grandchildren to remind you it is not polite to flirt with younger women, especially single younger women. One of these days I will tell your wife how you are a shameless flirt with me."
The active rubbery grin left Rolf's face, and left only a pout with twinkling eyes remaining. "She already knows I'm an old goat, my dear." He laughed. "Just don't tell Eeyore, he might look at me and after a while I would jump off the ring wall cliff, I would be so depressed." He continued to grin.
Rolf seldom mentioned her father. Her mild irritation with the old guard was usually playful, but tonight, between him and Margit, Grady, and the spill, she'd had about enough. "My father is a good man who provides an important service to the town. He is not this 'Eeyore,' he is wise. And you should remember that, Herr Burger."
He looked hurt, his pout disappeared, and his eyes softened. "I meant no offense; it's just he is always so pessimistic. So sad. And it rubs off on you too, my dear, you are too young for that. Live a little, have some fun. Soon you will be old like me, and your life will be gone." He brightened and sat with mock suggestiveness on his stool. "However, I am not dead yet, my dear. Come and sit on my lap and…"
She turned on her heel and stormed down the stairs, leaving the two men. She was headed for the basement where she could cool off and put her equipment away. She knew she shouldn't let Rolf get to her that way, especially in front of an important up-timer. When she came down the first floor steps, she saw Margit sitting casually on the guard's desk, swinging her feet. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Margit. Happy, carefree Margit.
And she was old stick-in-the-mud Ursula.
Ursula thought.
She made a decision.
Quickly, before Ursula could change her mind, she stalked over to where Margit was sitting, still swinging her legs like a ten-year-old. "Tonight," she whispered darkly to Margit, "we go out after work."
As Ursula walked away from Margit and Marcus, she turned and looked back. Both looked stunned.
"Hey, everyone. I want you to meet my friend Ursula. Everyone, say hi to Ursula!" The little Sycamore Street Pub erupted in smiles and "Hello, Fraulein Ursula" from everyone who was there. Margit pushed Ursula from behind, and she stumbled into the room. She hadn't been in a place like this since she had been asked to fetch her father from a pub like this when she was a girl. She couldn't have been more than six or seven. She remembered the smell of the stale beer spilled on the coarse wood floor, the almost choking cloud of tobacco smoke, and the close feeling of the air inside. She hesitated again, and began to turn toward the door. Margit grabbed her and spun her back around.
"No, you don't, girl. You said you were coming in here with me, and I am making you keep your word."
"I have kept my word. I have come in. Now I want to leave."
"Not until you have had one drink, and meet my new boyfriend. I know he has friends here tonight. He is sooooo cute. He's French, you know. I think he's a spy." Margit giggled at Ursula. "C'mon, just one drink."
"Why would you go out with him if you thought he was a spy?"
"Don't be silly. Almost everyone in here is a spy. For one side or the other, sometimes three or four sides at once. Good Lord, Ursula, if they threw all of the spies out of Grantville, there wouldn't be enough men to go around."
"But, spies, Margit? It doesn't seem right to fraternize with the spies."
"Follow me." Margit took her in tow, and dragged her toward a table in the back of the dimly lit bar. "I want you to meet someone."
"But, but-"
Margit dragged her to the table which had three men sitting around it. One was older, maybe in his mid-thirties, tall and with a handsome face. At least the amount of face she could see in the dim lighting of the lamps. The other two were younger in their early- or mid-twenties. They were dressed in plain clothing. Not something a laborer would wear, but more like traveling clothes. Practical, and not fancy. They all knew Margit. One of the younger men stood as Margit approached.
"Here you are, my dear Margit. Who's your most charming friend? Is this the beautiful Ursula we have been hearing about?" Ursula was glad it was dark, as she could feel her face glowing with embarrassment.
"Francois, this is why I love you. You are the consummate male."
"Is it my French accent, or my other… 'special powers of love'… that make you love me so?"
Margit drew herself up to her full five feet, and presented the Frenchman with a visage as haughty as a diminutive German farm girl could possibly make, and said. "If you think you are ever getting into my knickers without a betrothal, Francois, then you have not been paying attention these last two months." The other two at the table laughed out loud, and Francois looked hurt.
"I only have eyes for you, Margit."
"Nice try, Francois. The answer is still no."
The other men within earshot laughed as loud as the two who were at the table. Margit grabbed a chair from nearby, shoved it up to the table between the older man and Francois, and pushed Ursula unceremoniously onto the seat. "Sit here, girl. You have met Francois, across from you is Pitor, and next to you is Ian." Ursula recovered enough to respond with a bit of dignity. "Herr, Ian. Herr Pitor, how very nice to meet you both." She turned to Margit. "Can we go now?"
Margit plopped herself down on Francois' lap and put her arms around his neck. "Not yet. You promised to have a drink first. Who's buying it?" She looked at Ian and nodded. "I think its Ian's turn at the bar."
Ian nodded in her direction, and replied with a subtle hint of sarcasm. "Of course, Margit, anything for you." He turned to Ursula. He seemed a little more reserved than the other two, and he had a distinguished-sounding English accent, very different from the up-timers. "Ursula, what can I get for you?"
His gaze was gentle but penetrating. His voice had a lyrical quality which surprised her. Masculine and wise. Not wise like her father, but wise is a different way. Worldly, strong. She caught herself blushing, and instantly felt like a duck out of water, awkward and stumbling around on webbed feet. She desperately tried to think of what she should order. She felt rising panic. Then he spoke again.
"Tell you what. I'll get you what I think you might like. I'll order for you. Will that be all right?"
She was certain her blush would be illuminating the room, and everyone at the table could hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Then she thought of Rolf, the guard at the mansion. Ursula was determined not to be an old maid, not if she could help it. She took a breath, found the will, and looked up at Ian. "Th-thank you. That would be very nice."
"No, I don't think so Ian," interrupted Margit. She turned to Ursula. "The last time he ordered for me, he came back with a tankard of some homegrown redeye made by the Haygood clan. Almost knocked me off of my chair with the first drink."
Ian looked rather betrayed at the accusation. "That was a drink for you, Margit. This lady is obviously very different, and respectable. I was going to get her one of the house pilsner, like the Yanks drink." He stood and turned to go to the bar, subtly winking at Ursula as he rose from his seat.
Margit shifted in Francois' lap. "Did he just say I'm not respectable?"
"I'm sure not," replied Francois with a grin. "However, you may remember the Haygood Redeye was meant to be sipped. As I recall, my love, you took a prodigious swig the first time he gave it to you." He turned to the others at the table. "It wasn't pretty."
Everyone laughed, including Ursula, who gasped when she realized she was having fun! Her! Ursula Volz, the one who never had any fun. The daughter of Eeyore Volz. She was still frightened, shy, even overwhelmed… but. She was having fun. A gleeful and satisfied smile was creeping onto her face when she turned and looked at Ian, returning to the table with their drinks. Her heart started thumping again, quite on its own accord.
June, 1635, Grantville
Karol Volz was not feeling like a happy man. That, by itself, was perfectly normal. Karol Volz was never happy. But today, very early in the dark of the morning, he was more unhappy than usual, to the point of upset. Over the past two months, his daughter Ursula had been coming home later from work than was normal. It started out just once in a while at first, then it became more and more frequent. Now, for the first time, she had stayed out for five nights in a row. She always helped her mother with the sewing, just as she should, without fail. She always made it home, but she smelled of pipe smoke and beer. Karol knew she was meeting friends after work, at a small pub called the Sycamore Street Pub, which as one could tell from the clever name, was located on Sycamore Street. Karol harrumphed. This wasn't the sort of thing a woman should do no matter how old. She said she was with her co-workers, and staying out late was an American tradition she needed to follow. But enough was enough. He had not suffered and wandered war-torn Germany to bring his daughter to a place where all she did was drink and carouse. It was not right. Behaving in such a way was weak, and could lead to complacency. His family was not weak, and they would never be complacent. Not as long as he was alive.
Granted, the two years spent in Grantville had been the best in many years. It was comfortable, they had enough to eat, and he had steady employment building elegant wooden coffins which occasionally challenged his talents as a cabinetmaker. He was well paid. Central heating in their tiny apartment. Plumbing from the twenty-first century. It was very comfortable.
They had no friends, only knew a few people, and he liked it that way. If you became too settled, you became weak, which led to being complacent, which inevitably led to tragedy. Always vigilant, always prepared to survive. That was the struggle of life in this time, and anyone who thought differently was a fool.
He heard the sounds of conversation at the door in the hallway. Quietly he picked up the sputtering candle and moved to the door. He put his head against it to listen.
"… nice time as usual, Ian. Thank you for walking me home again. You don't have to do it, though. I was walking home for two years before I met you."
"As always, it's my pleasure to do so." There was a pause.
Karol opened the door and looked at the two of them. Ian was holding his daughter's hand and was bending to kiss it. The candle held below Karol's countenance made it look as if his disembodied head was floating in the darkness. Both Ian and Ursula jumped back, Ian dropped her hand.
"Papa! This-this is a surprise."
He responded with a small grunt.
"Papa, have you ever met Ian? Ian, this is my Papa, Karol Volz. Papa, this is Ian. He is a-a friend."
Another small grunt. He looked at this Ian fellow, slowly, up and down. Karol didn't like the way he was dressed, the way he stood, or the way he smelled. He liked nothing about the man. He sounded foreign. Foreigners are never a good sign.
Ian tuned to Karol and extended his hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Herr Volz. I've heard many things about you. Your daughter says you're a wonderful man, very intelligent."
Karol let the man's hand hang in the air, and raised his candle to the man's face to get a good look. He was handsome in a way. Which made it all the more improbable his intentions toward Ursula were honorable. Karol gave a slightly more definitive grunt which registered his displeasure, then looked at his daughter and tossed his head in the direction of the door. She immediately went in, leaving him and Ian alone in the doorway. Karol gestured for the Englishman to come closer, and he whispered a monotone into his ear.
"If you do anything to hurt her, you will pay."
Karol leaned back and again put the candle up to the face of the Englishman, and watched for a reaction. The fact there was none told Karol all he needed to know. He's masking his reactions, his intentions are far from honorable. He is a skilled liar. Karol kept his face passive as he read the man's reactions. As he brought the candle back to his face, he said simply and flatly. "Understand?"
"Perfectly." Ian then looked past Karol, into the darkness of the apartment where Ursula was waiting, out of sight. "I will see you on Monday night, Ursula. Thank you for a wonderful evening."
"Thank you," replied Ursula timidly from the darkness, as Ian retreated down the hallway.
Karol closed the door and grunted again, softly, with worry. He held the candle below his drooping face, and turned to seek out Ursula, who appeared out of the shadows. Without changing expression, he simply said, "I forbid you to see him."
Ursula whispered angrily. "You can't do that. Not here. Not in Grantville. Things are different here. I am different here."
"There is no discussion. I forbid you to see him."
"Papa. I am old enough to make these decisions for myself. It's important I keep seeing him; I'm enjoying life for a change, Papa. Can you understand?"
Karol stepped toward Ursula so quickly, she retreated a step. He whispered harshly. "That man is false. He will hurt you."
"So what? So what if he hurts me? That's my choice, not yours. You don't think I know he's full of… of-poop most of the time?
"Keep your voice down. You'll wake your mother."
"Do you understand why this is important to me, Papa? I need to do this. I need to do this now. Here in this place. Grantville. This is our home now, Papa"
"Our home is where I say it will be!" His voice was barely contained. "We're staying here for now. It's comfortable. Too comfortable I think, for our own good. It has clouded your judgment. The evil world is still out there, Ursula. And it can come roaring down the street any time of the day or night, like the horsemen of the apocalypse. We need to be prepared to move on at a moment's notice, fleeing before whatever army or plague is coming next. There is always an army or a plague coming. Being involved with people only slows you down. It clouds your judgment. Stay separate from the community, and live off of it. You must not become attached."
"I don't want to be a parasite on where I live. I want to live here, not just exist. I want to be part of this community, to grow. This is a special place."
"Special? All you do is pick up people's trash in the evening."
"You just don't understand, Papa. You just don't understand."
"You are wrong, Ursula. I do understand. I understand perfectly well what you wish. It's you who fail to understand the consequences of what you wish for. You know I'm right. We've escaped from how many towns before they were destroyed? Three? That boy, back in Magdeburg. Is he alive now? No. He is dead in the ground. Rotting flesh, if there was any flesh left from the fires. What would have happened if we-or you-had stayed behind because of a feeling of fondness for him? Or his family? Or our neighbors?" He paused and looked at the candle, the single source of light in a very dark room. He took a breath and looked his daughter in the eyes. "There are two states of being. Life and death. Don't give me any religious crap. When you die, you go to the same place you were before you were born. Nothingness. So if we flee, if we live like parasites, it is because we must. To survive. To live."
He could see Ursula's eyes full of tears in the dim light, and she snuffled. "There's got to be more, Papa. There's got to be more…"
He placed the candle on the table, and put his strong arms around her. "There is no 'more.' Only family, and to survive. Stay away from him, and all the other entanglements and snares in this place. We must be able to think clearly."
"I can't, Papa."
"I will not leave you behind."
"You won't have to. When and if the time comes to leave, I will be there with you and Mama. You have my word, Papa. My solemn oath. But I must keep seeing him. It is very important."
Karol broke the embrace, and looked at his daughter. Her features were difficult to make out in the light of the fading candle. "Is there something you are not telling me?"
"No, Papa."
"You are not with child?"
"NO, PAPA!" she gasped. "I would never. We would have to sue him for support for the child. That would be an entanglement."
"Go to sleep now. In the morning, in the light of day, this won't seem so bad. I have an errand I want you to run in the morning."
"Yes, Papa."
He grunted his goodnight.
Ursula squinted against the bright sunshine as she made her way into the heart of Grantville. Ollie Reardon's machine shop was easy to spot. It was one of the largest in town, near where the railroad tracks used to be, before they were torn up and used for the ironclads. The large metal sided building was confusing, and she did not know where the office was located. There was a group of men outside one of the big roll-up doors, who looked to be taking a break. They all squatted on the ground, or perched on various pieces of scrap in the side yard of the shop. She timidly approached one of the men standing away from the others, reading.
"Excuse me. Can you tell me where to find the office? I have some hinges from my father…"
The man looked up from his reading, a thick book with very small printing. It looked to be some sort of a technical book, and he had been studying it closely. "Of course. It's right through the door here, and to the right, follow the path with the yellow lines, the office is just past the line boring machine and the old…" He stopped and looked at her expression. "Never mind, just follow me."
"Thank you, sir."
"No need to call me 'sir.'" My name is Heinrich. Heinrich Fremd. Haven't seen you around town before."
They walked toward the door. "My name is Ursula. Ursula Volz. We have lived here for two years."
Heinrich got a twinkle in his eye. "That is a shocking name, Miss-it is "Miss" isn't it-Volz?" She nodded, blushing slightly as they passed into the shop. "I guess you hear that joke all the time."
"What joke is that, Heinrich?"
"You know, Volts. Shocking? Volts can Hertz you? There have got to be a million of those up-timer jokes." The expression on her face must have given it away. "You have no idea what I am talking about, do you?"
"No, Heinrich, I don't."
"Seriously?"
Ursula felt mortified. If it had been two months ago, before she started going out after work, stretching herself, she would have fled this embarrassing encounter in tears. But today: "Heinrich. I-I… You are embarrassing me." The last part came out stronger than she meant it to, and poor Heinrich looked stunned.
Heinrich stopped and turned to her in the middle of the quiet shop. He was blushing. "I'm terribly sorry. I assumed you were an old Grantville hand after two years. Please forgive my forward behavior. I apologize, I'm not that sort of an oaf. Although I'm acting like it." He bowed at her briefly, as a courtier might, in the middle of the machine shop. "I must make it up to you. We need to start over. Could I buy you lunch tomorrow as an apology? Please?"
She saw the office door just ahead of her. "Thank you Herr Fremd. I appreciate the guidance. But I can make it to the office by myself now."
"And lunch? Tomorrow?"
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob to the office, and turned to him. "Why not? I'll meet you at Billy's Diner tomorrow at noon." She really liked the cute expression on his face, a combination of embarrassment, happiness, and now worry. What on earth could he be worried about? She went into the office and closed the door behind her, a quick glance told her he was still standing in the aisle, with the same dumb-cute look on his face.
The end-of-break bell rang, and men started going back to the machines. The bell shook Heinrich out of his trance. "What in the hell did you just do, Heinrich? You idiot." He started walking back to his machine, shaking his head slowly.
"Hey, hang on there a minute, Heinrich. You sure were nice to that young lady. Although she looked like she wanted to run away for a moment or two." His foreman, Grant Matowski, was flagging him down. "What did you say to her?"
"I made a stupid joke about her last name. It is Volz, so I made a very lame joke about volts and hertz-"
"Her name is Volz? Holy shit, it's true. Eeyore does have a daughter. Wait a second. You didn't ask her out did you?"
Heinrich shifted uncomfortably. "I had to, after I embarrassed her. Lunch is all. Billy's Diner tomorrow. And who is E-hore?"
Grant started laughing. "EE-Yore. You know, the melancholy donkey? Surely you know Eeyore Volz, the saddest man in town? Oh, I remember now. You don't go to funerals. Or church."
"Let's not start that again, Grant…"
Late August, 1635, Grantville
Elsa Volz looked at her daughter across the kitchen table which doubled as a sewing table in their small apartment. The apartment, while very tiny, had one major advantage, the large south-facing window in the kitchen. The large window allowed Elsa and Ursula to sew from dawn to dusk. Elsa looked carefully at her daughter. She seemed very tired, her eyes were red, and there were circles under her eyes. He hands were steady, so Elsa knew it probably wasn't alcohol. She had lost weight. She came to bed late, and awoke before anyone else. Elsa leaned back from her work and looked out the window.
"You look tired, Ursula. Have you been feeling well?"
"I'm okay."
"Have you been sleeping well?"
"Enough."
"I see." Elsa went back to her sewing for several moments, the only sound was of rustling cloth. She put it aside again. This time she looked at her daughter, not out the window.
"Your father says you are 'dating' three men."
Ursula flinched. "Ouch. I stabbed myself with a needle. Silly me." She popped her thumb into her mouth, sucking on it to stop the small blood flow.
The room was very quiet now, and Elsa leaned forward toward her daughter. "Care to explain to me how you are dating three men? At the same time?"
"I am not 'dating' three men at the same time. Daddy is overreacting. I have only seen two, and one of them only once. I don't know where he gets the third one."
"Go on."
"Well, you know about Ian. He's just a friend from work. He doesn't work there, but he hangs out at the place we go after work most of the time. We're just friends."
"Your father said he caught him kissing you?"
"That's silly. On the hand, yes. But he's English. They do that sort of thing."
"And what does this Englishman do to make a living?"
"Mother, it is not like I am planning on marrying him or anything. He's a student of sorts, and he does research about Grantville, and he corresponds with his home."
"So he has no normal job?"
"His job is not normal."
"And this mystery man from the south? The one who has a regular job at the machine shop? Who says his name is Fremd?"
"Has Daddy been following me?"
"He heard you went to lunch with him. Is this true?"
"Yes, Mama. It's true. But we met at a public place, and he just bought me lunch. He wanted to apologize to me for embarrassing me at the machine shop. He's really very sweet."
"Do you know he's not married, yet cares for three children? Three he 'adopted' after Magdeburg."
"He told me about it at lunch. He positively dotes on those children."
"Parents are known to do that now and again." Elsa trailed dry and loving humor through her last remark.
Ursula finally looked up and smiled. "I have heard that now and again, about parents."
They both went back to sewing for a while, and Elsa asked another question. This time there was no humor or kindness in her voice. "And the Jew?" Elsa watched her daughter's reaction. She seemed surprised, and yet frightened. Elsa's concern grew. "Your father says that you meet him right after work sometimes, but only for a while. What are you doing with a Jew in a dark alley? I have heard about them, and some of the things they do to good Christian women."
Her daughter sputtered. "I don't know what you are talking about. I know nothing about this Jew. Why would I do anything with one of them, mother? This is just silly."
Elsa leaned back in her chair and pushed a strand of graying hair out of her face. She sighed. "So you are not going to tell the truth about the Jew?
"There's nothing to tell. You and Father are mistaken. So just drop it. Please, just drop it. Next you will have me as one of the emperor's concubines." Ursula stood up. "I will need to be at work soon. Tell Papa to stop following me. I gave him my word I would leave with you, if it came to it again. Isn't that enough?" Her voice started to rise, and Elsa's followed.
"No, that's not enough! Do not raise your voice to me."
"Then don't accuse me of meeting Jews in alleys!" She stopped, horrified she had yelled at her mother. She began to cry almost immediately. "I'm sorry, Mama. Please forgive me. Please. It's been hard these last few weeks for me. It's almost over. Please, do not be angry with me. I am a good and faithful daughter. You must understand. Please."
"But I don't understand. If you're in trouble, then you must talk to us. We can help."
"No. I can't. You can't. Please. Just leave me alone." With that, Ursula broke down and ran crying from the apartment, leaving Elsa frozen at the kitchen table.
Later, she spoke to Karol. He paced about the room after she related the story to him. "What's wrong with her? What's she doing?"
Karol stopped his pacing. "It's time to move again, away from here. If she's in trouble, then the best thing to do is to run away now, before whatever it is blows up. Gather up the money from the hiding places. We will change it to gold as soon as we get somewhere we can. I'm thinking Amsterdam. The lowlands are prospering with the peace. There are many opportunities. We'll do well, I am sure. We leave as soon as we can close accounts from the bank in the morning."
Elsa stood resignedly. "Very well. This was such a nice place."
"I liked it too. But we must survive. And to do so, we must move on. This is why we've no close ties. So we can pick up and move on without any encumbrances."
"Do we have to Karol? Do we have to leave? Let's wait until we see what happens. How bad can it be?"
"This isn't open for discussion. We leave tomorrow."
"Where's your partner tonight Ursula? She been having too much fun lately? Couldn't make it to work today?"
"She is just sick, Rolf. And that means more work for me. Let me be, so can do my work."
"That's too bad." He pouted. "When are you going to make this old man happy? Will you ever say yes to me? A little smile? A quick peck on the cheek? I'm just a harmless old man. Come on, Ursula. When will it ever be?"
"Not tonight, Rolf, I have a lot to do. Please." She stepped past him and through the door, which he closed and locked behind her, as usual. She went in to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and started to clean it very quickly. While wiping off the mirror, her reflection caught her eye. Any other night, she would have ignored it. Tonight, she stopped and stared. The harsh fluorescent lighting in the white bathroom gave her face a hard and worn look. Her plain brown eyes had lines under them, and crow's feet at the edges. There were dark circles under her eyes, a too large jaw and a too large nose for her face. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf tied around the back of her head. It surprised her how old she looked. She spent several moments mesmerized by her face. Her expression then began to go from neutral to hardened. Her expression made her uncomfortable. Resolutely, she embraced the discomfort, turned, and headed out the door of the bathroom flipping off the lights as she went.
She immediately went to the next to last office at the end of the hallway, and closed the door behind her. She then pulled up her dress, and began to bring objects out of the shift beneath. The first was a small flashlight, that she held in her mouth, the others she placed on the table. She then unwound two cables from beneath her shirt, a tiny one and a larger, thicker one. She crawled under the table where the tall box for the computer sat, then pulled the computer away from the wall to access the back. She unscrewed one of the thicker cables, and then inserted her own, routing it to the top of the table. The other cable, the extension cord, was plugged into a power strip, and into that cable, she inserted a fist-sized black box she knew was a power supply. That cord she quickly routed to the table top.
She scanned the tabletop with the small flashlight for the next items. A small flat blue box, with a slot in the front, and a small floppy disk. Into the blue box she plugged the cords. A light lit up on the blue box. She inserted the floppy into the computer on the floor, and turned on the power. The machine cranked slowly to life. She held her breath for a moment, and waited for the old one hundred megahertz machine to recognize the floppy, and start to boot from it.
It did. She started to breathe. She was focused, she had practiced long hours to understand all of the components, to be able to connect them in the dark.
She reached under her skirt again, and pulled four small square plastic boxes, removed the one hundred megabyte Zip disk (she remembered how she smiled at the funny name the first time she heard it) and placed it into the blue Zip drive where she had already connected the cables. She then removed the floppy from the computer, and restarted it.
While the machine slowly rebooted, she went to adjacent offices and began to quickly dump the trash cans into her cart. It would not do to not have the office at least partially clean, anything else she could blame on the fact Margit was not in tonight. She completed six offices by the time the computer was ready to be used. She glanced at the locked door, where Rolf sat outside. Up to this point, she had been too busy to be frightened. Now came the hard part. Sitting in front of the computer and copying files to the external Zip drive.
Since the security to the machine was bypassed with her floppy, she was able to access the files. But it took time. Time to locate the right files, time to copy the files to the discs, and time to remove any evidence of her being there. Sitting and looking at the screen, with little else to do than wait for the process, her nervousness began to build.
She scanned the file tree for the files labeled "NSICSH," and copied them to the zip drive. Nasi Cash, is what that stood for, she knew. It was a slow transfer. While other files were transferring, she dashed out and grabbed waste cans from three other offices and emptied them. She copied other files onto the disks, swapping them out until they were full. She knew it was taking too much time. She would be in the security area longer than normal. And that could raise suspicions if someone reviewed the logbook. But there was little she could do, except wait for the files to copy, excruciatingly slow, to the external drive.
The contents of the computer looked like mostly spreadsheet files filled with financial data. When the last Zip disk filled, she began to disassemble the devices and reconnect the system to the original configuration. She placed the disks, power supply and the blue Zip drive into the pockets sewn into her shift. She shut the computer down, and then restarted it. She only had to wait for it to boot up again, and then shut it down for the last time, understanding this action would erase evidence of her presence.
While the machine was rebooting, she emptied the last of the trash cans, and was in the hallway on her way back to the open office, when Ursula heard the key turn in the lock of the hallway door. She suddenly stopped, halfway back to the computer, her back to the door. She heard the hallway door open, and Rolf called to her. "Ursula? Miss Volz? What are you doing in there tonight, my beautiful girl? You are ten minutes longer than usual."
Her heart, which was finally beginning to settle down, started beating wildly again. "I-I'm just about finished Rolf, I will be right there."
"You are done in here for tonight, and don't argue with me. You have been working too hard young lady, and you need to go home." He walked into the hallway to her cart, and began to drag it out of the room. "Wait until Margit comes back here, I am going to give her a piece of my mind, leaving you to do all the work. Let's go. Now."
She stayed still, trying to figure out how to get back to the office where the computer was still on. She had to turn it off, and she had to do it without raising Rolf's suspicions. She turned to Rolf. "I just have the one office to finish, Rolf. Let me finish that one." She pointed to the open door.
"Okay, young lady. But hurry it up. If you are in here longer than normal, I need to write a report. And I hate paperwork."
"Oh. I d-didn't know!"
He grabbed her cart and began pushing it toward the door. "Close that door and come along."
She swallowed and rushed into the office, grabbed the computer mouse and clicked the on-screen buttons to start the minute-long shutdown sequence on the machine. She quickly turned and backed through the door, trying to make sure the computer was really going to shut down. It seemed to be. She turned around and bumped into Rolf.
"Ursula, is everything okay with you tonight? You don't seem like yourself."
Her heart started to race again, and she could feel herself trembling. Rolf's eyes looked her over, and then went to the office door behind her. He got a questioning look in his eye, and moved her to the side. His hand went to the knob of the still open door.
"You are right Rolf, I haven't been feeling very well lately. Maybe I've got what Margit has. Not been sleeping well, either."
His hand still on the doorknob, he looked at her with a question in his eyes. She could see the light from the monitor inside the dark office, as the slow computer went through its shutdown sequence. Her mind was racing, and her tension was building to a panic. Oh, God. He is going to see the computer on, and that will be the end of me. She stepped back slightly and her knees felt weak.
"What is the matter Ursula? Are you ill?" Rolf stepped away from the door and went to her. She took another involuntary step back.
"I-I don't feel well, nervous or something, I guess. I think I need to sit-yes, sit down, and some water please?"
He took her hand. "Lord, girl. You are trembling. Come. Sit in my chair. Out there on the landing. Can you make it?"
"I think so." She glanced over her shoulder at the open door, where the computer was still shutting down. She could see the glowing light in the office from the monitor. "Yes. Let me sit in your chair." He led her down the hall to his chair behind the tiny desk. She eased herself into the chair, still trembling slightly, forcing herself to breathe normally.
Rolf looked at her with kindness. "You have been working way too hard. A pretty young lady like you should not have to work so hard. It leads to a shorter life, let me tell you. My brother worked very hard, and he didn't live to see fifty. Simply dropped dead in his shop one day. That's what his widow told me. Me, I don't plan to have that problem, and so far it's working." He chuckled and then smiled at her. "Can I get you something to drink? Water maybe? I have a little coffee left?"
She looked past him in the hall, trying to see if the glow from the monitor was still dully illuminating the office. "Yes. Water, please."
"Okay, coming right up." He went into the bathroom with an empty coffee mug. "I need to rinse this out…" He disappeared into the bathroom. She could hear the water running. She looked down the hallway and could tell the monitor was still on. The distance was too far for her to get up and close the door before Rolf returned. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Rolf emerged with the mug of water. "Here, drink this."
She took the water from him with both hands and drank greedily, draining the mug. She gave it back to him with both hands, so he would not see her trembling. "Thank you, Rolf."
"You are welcome. Stay here, I will get your cart and close the doors." Ursula watched helplessly as he turned and strode down the hallway to the slightly open office door, looked briefly inside, and closed the door. Ursula gave an inward sigh of relief. The computer had shut off. Rolf then pushed her janitor cart with the trash out of the corridor, and locked the door behind him.
Rolf looked at her with a scornful expression. "Young lady, you are done working for tonight. I'll take the trash and the cart down later. Go home and get some rest. Old Rolf knows the dangers of working too hard. One uncle on my wife's side worked too hard, and he didn't even make it to forty. Of course, Tilly's army burning his village and killing him might have had something to do with it. But still-he worked too hard before that." He looked at her with a concerned expression.
Ursula acknowledged his concern, and managed to return a small friendly smile. "Thank you, Rolf. I think I will go home now."
"Do you need help going down the stairs? Don't worry about signing out, I'll take care of it. I can't leave the floor, but I can call Marcus up here to help."
"No. No. That's not necessary. I can make it down. The water and just sitting for a moment helped. Thanks, Rolf."
"And don't work so hard. When you're well and return, I will tell you about my cousin-"
"-Thank you, Rolf." Ursula turned and eased down the stairs, increasing her speed to a quiet scurry as she distanced herself from Rolf. She felt one of the cables around her waist working loose. She slowed to snug it under her clothes. At the top of the first floor landing, she nearly ran head long into Dennis Grady, while she was tugging at her shirt.
"Easy there, Ursula. It's Ursula, isn't it?"
Ursula's hand went to the top of her blouse and clenched the neck. She looked at the floor. "Y-yes, Mr. Grady." Her other hand went to her lower back, where she could feel the cable coming loose. Part of it was hanging out of the back of her shirt. "I am sorry, sir. I don't feel well tonight, and my partner did not show up for work." At least it was easier to take a deep breath without the tightness of the cables.
"I hate it when that happens. Is old Rolf awake up there? I don't want to scare him too much. I came to get some paperwork out of my office for a meeting tomorrow."
"Rolf, sir, is very conscientious. He doesn't sleep on the job."
"Ursula, look at me please." She slowly looked up to meet his eyes. She thought he must certainly hear her heart beating. His gaze was penetrating, his face was analytical.
"He knows!" her brain shouted. He knows something is wrong. I can't keep looking at those eyes. They have to know. He must know. She dropped her eyes to the floor to escape the scrutiny.
He looked at her in silence a moment longer. "You're right. I don't think you look at all well. Are you done for the night?"
"Yes, Mr. Grady, sir."
"Please call me Dennis."
"Yes, Mr. Dennis, sir."
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Just Dennis, Ursula. Just Dennis. Okay?"
"Okay. D-Dennis. I'm done mostly for this evening. I didn't do much on the second floor, that's Margit's."
"Then go home. Now." He put his hand to her forehead. "You're warm. And trembling. Get out of here before you infect all of us."
"Yes, sir. I was just going." She backed away from him on the stairs. "Thank you-Dennis." She continued backing away, and he continued to watch her. Still observing, still analytical. She smiled at him a last time as he abruptly broke his gaze. He then turned and trotted up the stairs.
She quickly adjusted the dangling cables under her shirt, and went down the last stairs to where Marcus sat with his logbook. She quickly signed out, noting the time, and left the building by the back door.
She had done it. She was out of the mansion. Free and clear. She felt pride about what she had just done, and at the same time ashamed. I have lied to everyone who has been nice to me since I came here. I have lied to my parents, my friends. She had reached the end of the sidewalk, and started down the street. Tears welled up in her, and she fought to keep the feelings under control. Pride. Grief. Passion. Betrayal. They all started to boil and conflict like a toxic soup, as she increased her distance from the mansion.
"URSULA! STOP! STOP RIGHT THERE! It sounded like Marcus, the downstairs guard. She stopped in mid-stride. She fought with the emotions already there, as they mixed with the overwhelming re-occurrence of fear. She felt physically sick. She swallowed bile in her throat. She slowly turned around and could see Marcus and Dennis Grady walking quickly toward her. She involuntarily reached for her waist, to check the cables wrapped there. She felt one dangling out.
She felt an odd sense of relief sweeping over her, pushing every other emotion aside. I am caught. Finally, it can be over. She strangely welcomed the capture. They trotted up to her, and Marcus grabbed her by the upper arm. She drew away, but could not break away. She pulled her hands to her chest. She was unable to say anything.
"Hold on a moment, Ursula. You're not going anywhere." It was Dennis Grady, and he was-was smiling at her? "You're not going anywhere without this sweater. It's getting cold out here. Feels like fall. Take this, you are sick enough. Okay? It is too big for you I'm sure, it's mine."
Somehow, she wasn't sure how, she managed to say "Thank you, Dennis. This is very nice of you." She choked back a confused half sob. She saw the two men look at her, and then smile a "we-did-the-right-thing" smile at each other. She put the sweater on. It was almost the size of a nightshirt, and hid the dangling cable. She gave them a damp, teary smile. "I must go. Th-thank you."
When she was out of sight of the mansion, and alone on the dark street, she started to sob quietly to herself. To anyone walking by, it sounded like a cry of grief.
Ursula walked up to the door of the small house her three foreign friends were renting, and rapped on the door. Pitor, the one from Poland who was her computer "guru" as Ian called him, answered the door. She went into the living room where the curtains were drawn, and went to the table where Ian and Francois were already sitting. Ian's eyes were bright with anticipation. "Did you get them for me, my love?"
"Of course, I did. Did you doubt me?"
Ian turned to Pitor. "How did she do?"
Pitor smiled. "She was amazing. I thought she was going to be captured by the guards, they told her to stop outside the mansion. But she kept her cool, because they just gave her a sweater, didn't they Ursula?" She nodded. "This is a brave woman."
She smiled at Pitor. "Thank you. It was nice to know you were nearby."
"You're welcome. May I have the things? We need to look at them to know if they are valid or not."
"If you don't mind, I will excuse myself and remove all of this hardware." She went down a hallway, and quickly removed the cables, drives and the valuable disks from their hiding places in her clothing. She went next door to the bedroom, where a computer was set up on a desk. Pitor took the items from her, and started to reconnect it to the system.
"You were right, Pitor. The system there was very slow, compared to yours. It almost got me caught upstairs by old Rolf. But the boot disc worked perfectly. You really are amazing, Pitor."
"I have been doing little else than studying the technology for the last six months. It is complex, and I certainly don't know everything about how it works, but I have learned enough to get by."
Pitor was starting his computer, and he eagerly put in the first disc.
Ursula cleared her throat to get their attention. "How is Margit?"
"How is she, Francois?" asked Ian.
Francois looked and smelled like he had been drinking before he arrived. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. "She'll be sleeping this one off for a while yet. We were drinking Haygood Redeye. She matched me shot for shot, until she passed out. Margit could never resist a drinking challenge. But one thing about that kind of alcohol. It can be cut with water, and you never know it." He smiled mischievously. "Mine was watered, hers wasn't. Still, I have a headache. And I'm not looking forward to riding hard in the morning. I will miss the little fireball, even though I never got into her knickers. Damn!"
Ian turned to the other two men. "Gentlemen. I believe we agreed once we had possession of the information, we would never be apart. Not that we are dishonest men, understand, but while we are together it removes any… temptation." He looked at his partners, and they looked back with smiles and nods.
Pitor grinned as his computer started. "It looks like it is here. This is amazing. We are rich! Here is the file, just as promised."
Both of the men stepped forward eagerly. "Open the file. Open it!" They waited as the computer buzzed and the file started to open. It then stopped.
"It requires a password to access the file," groaned Pitor. "This was not supposed to be there."
Ursula cleared her throat at the men. "Ahem." The three turned from the computer screen and looked at her. "Go to the last zip disc. There are a couple of text files I found, with lists of passwords in them. I think they are called 'PSSWRD dot Text.' Not very clever if you ask me." She smiled at Ian. He turned and embraced her.
"My love! You astound me."
She blushed and looked at the floor. "I just remembered what Pitor said about how up-time people were very careless with passwords and such. I checked around the office like we planned and I couldn't find any. But I found them on the hard drive. At least I think I did."
Pitor had his head down on the computer, and after a while, gave a little whoop. "That's it! We're into the file!" I am making copies now. On floppies, zip discs and the hard drive. That should cover us."
Francois came out of the kitchen with four beers. "This calls for a toast. To Ursula. The brave, beautiful, and very smart lady to whom we owe it all. Cheers."
Ian embraced her, and gave her a gentle kiss. "Why do you look so sad, my dear?"
"Because you are all going to leave in the morning, and I will be very lonely. At least until you send for me, Ian."
Ian looked into her eyes. "I'm very proud of you, my love. I 'm going to miss you. You know I'll send for you the moment I get back to my estates in England. There are many things I must do there before I bring you to me. You understand, don't you?"
Ursula sighed. "I'll wait for your letter, and leave my family in an instant. Do you have my traveling money, for when you send for me? You said I would have it now, Ian. Do you have it?"
He smiled the warm smile of his at Ursula, which certainly melted her heart, and reached for an envelope in his case below the table. He handed it to her. "This is your money for traveling, my dear."
She blushed and turned away, then quickly looked into his eyes and chewed on her lower lip with sadness. "The next time we walk arm in arm, it will be in London, at your estate. Please don't wait long to send for me."
"It will be as soon as humanly possible, my love." He released his embrace. His eyes were shining at her with pride. "May I have the pleasure of walking you home for one last time, my love? I am afraid we will have some company." He kissed her hand, and turned with a flourish. He proffered his hand, she accepted with a curtsy. He then took her hand and led her through the door. As they hit the outdoors, the air felt crisp. Fall was coming and there was a hint of it in the night air. They waited as Pitor and Francois locked the house. They each had a floppy disc in their pockets, just to be sure.
They joined arms and began walk toward town, with Francois and Pitor following them. Ursula looked up at the moon, and sighed again. "Will you send for me in the spring, Ian? Is that when?"
"Most likely, my love."
She touched the envelope tucked into her waist. "I hope I can wait that long."
He leaned over to her. "We English have a saying about such things. 'Good things come to those who wait patiently.' That will be you."
She giggled excitedly. "Yes! I am so looking forward to seeing London. The holes in the tower walls are quite a tourist attraction now, I hear.
"You are right, my dear."
"Oh, Ian." She put her arm around him, and felt the blade he sometimes carried inside his coat. She looked at him quizzically.
"It is a precaution, Ursula. Nothing more. We have all worked hard to get this information. We can't let anyone else have them, can we?"
"You are so wise. I knew the first time I saw your face in the pub. 'That is a wise and caring man,' I said to myself. Hard to believe it was only three months ago. It seems like a lifetime." She looked over her shoulder at the two men following at a respectful distance. "There is no chance of us to be alone tonight then is there, Ian? Not with them behind all the time."
Ian leaned to her again. "Sadly, my love, it's true. I rather wish you had said something earlier about being alone together, before tonight. There just isn't enough time, I'm afraid."
She shrugged. "I can wait until London. We will be together then."
"Over my dead body, you good for nothing piece of-" It was Eeyore Volz charging out of the blackness of night. His powerful arms took Ian down to the ground. There was not time for him to draw a blade. They began to struggle.
Ursula's first impulse was to scream. She cut off the impulse, and nearly crashed head-on into Pitor and Francois as they were coming to Ian's aid. She hissed at her father to stop. Francois and Pitor dove in on the side of Ian. Ian then stood and drew his blade.
"No!" hissed Ursula. "You can't do this. I will scream if you do. The entire neighborhood will hear us and we will all go to prison." Francois and Pitor had by now pinned her father to the ground. Ian knelt down with the blade in his hand.
"Ian!" she hissed again, "you mustn't!"
"Quiet, Ursula." He turned to the men struggling on the ground. "Stop it and get up. I have this blade, I will use it if I need to. You must be quiet." The struggling stopped and the three men got up, disheveled and dirty. Karol had his arms pinned behind him.
"If you hurt her, so help me…"
"If you make any more noise, I will hurt you. Let's all be quiet, and finish a nice walk home, shall we? It is only just around the corner." The little group formed up, and began to move toward Karol's home.
Francois and Pitor frog marched Karol, while Ian took Ursula's arm, still holding the knife. Her heart was racing again, as she tried to figure an angle.
Karol stage whispered to Ursula. "Didn't I tell you getting involved would lead to no good. Didn't I tell you this piece of shit is no good? Did you listen to me?"
She felt Ian go tense, and he turned toward her father. "Papa. Be quiet. Please, he has the knife."
They walked along in silence for a moment, until Ian lowered his head to her, and asked, "Why didn't you scream?"
Her knees went weak, and she almost stumbled. "I just didn't. I didn't want you or Papa hurt. Didn't want to go to prison."
He nodded, and they continued to walk. Their home was just around the corner.
"You are not going to hurt us, are you, Ian?" She felt him stiffen slightly.
"No." He stiffened some more, turned and growled. "It's right up here. Not a word, Eeyore."
They rounded the corner and headed for the building. They began to cross the street, when a Grantville police cruiser came slowly around the corner at the far end of the block. It headed toward them, met them halfway across the street and stopped, blocking their way to the little house.
"Evening, Officer," said Ian calmly. "Can we help you?"
Ursula noted the officer was a down-timer, and actually quite small for a policeman. He looked familiar. He was looking them over carefully from his seat behind the wheel. Ursula watched him look at each of them, and his eyes settled on Karol. "What's wrong with him? He looks pretty pissed off. What is going on here?"
"Actually this is my Papa, Karol Volz." The officer looked as though the name didn't register. "You know, Eeyore. He works at the funeral home, building caskets. You certainly have seen him at funerals. He's had a little too much to drink this morning, sir, and these gentlemen were helping me get him home." She turned away from the police car, and looked to her father with pleading eyes. "Isn't that right, Papa?"
When Ursula looked at him, she saw the rage that was building inside him. "He just needed a little persuasion to come home tonight, right, Papa?" She turned back to the policeman, and smiled at him.
The radio crackled in the police car. "Patrol Two, this is Dispatch. We have a report of a disturbance with property damage at Monroe and Washington. Sounds like the Scotsmen have been partying at the Flying Pig."
The officer picked up the microphone and spoke into it. "Copy, Dispatch. Roll patrol one for backup, please." He turned to the group. "You folks get home. Gotta go." The officer turned on his red lights and zoomed away. As the car left, Ursula thought she saw movement in the shadows of the doorway to their place, as if someone had slipped in and eased the door closed behind them.
Ian turned to Karol. "Well done, old man. You too, my love. Now, into the apartment. Time to wake up Mama."
They filed into the tiny apartment, and woke Elsa. Karol and Elsa were bound together, gagged, and placed on the kitchen floor. They used cloth from clothing under repair, bits of rope and a halter or two snagged from a nearby barn, trussing up the Volz's very securely. They could breath, but that was it. Ursula bent down in front of them. "Please be quiet. This will all be over soon. Please." The expression of rage in her father's eyes had become frightening to Ursula. She could never remember seeing this much expression on his face at any time. It was a consuming expression, hard and violent. Her hand went to her mouth involuntarily. She tuned to Ian.
"You're not going to hurt them. You mustn't." She was still whispering so as to not raise any alarm.
Ian sighed. "As I see it, we have a couple of options. None of them great. We could take Ursula as a hostage, to guarantee the family silence, but from what she has told me of them, I don't think we could depend on that. Apparently the relationship is not good."
Ursula turned and looked at her parents on the floor; she could tell her mother was sobbing. She could still see her father's eyes. They were still on fire. His body was quivering. She had never seen him with this much rage. She wondered where it came from. He never showed this much intensity over anything.
"The other option is to just kill them." Pitor and Francois both looked at Ian, and then at Ursula. Ursula was staring at Ian, her mouth open and her hand in front of it. She reached back and steadied herself against the wall. She saw him finger his blade. Her father struggled against his bonds.
"You can't." Ursula felt her knees go weak, and she slid down the wall to the floor. The last six hours had driven her to the limit of her emotional endurance. She struggled to stand, and her legs failed to respond. She started to sob. "No, you cannot do it. Please."
He pulled out his blade and held it to her throat. "Shhh, my love. Quiet." He stood quickly. "Tie her up too." Pitor and Francois mumbled their apologies, and started to gag Ursula.
Her mind was racing. How did she get into this? All she wanted was a little excitement, a little fun. She was exhausted. There was nothing more she could do. She looked at her parents, and started to sob again. As the gag reached her face, somewhere she finally found the strength to plead. "You were going to send for me, Ian. I thought you loved me?"
"Did you really think I would send for you?" He smiled his smile, and all Ursula could do was hate it now. There was nothing charming about it. "I have met some naive girls-it is part of this line of work-but you, you fell for it hard. It's refreshing in a way. Gives one hope for humanity."
"I believed you."
"At times I did myself." He shrugged. " C'est la vie."
Pitor looked at her sadly, and started once again to put the gag into her mouth. She shook back the sobs. She had to try something-anything. "Wh-wait. Y-you are forgetting. Something." Ursula choked back another sob.
He held up his had to pause Pitor. "What is that, my love?"
"If I tell anyone, I-I will go to prison. I'm not going to say anything to anyone about this. I can't. Think about that, Ian. I don't want to go to prison."
Pitor looked at Ian. "She has a point."
She looked at her parents again, bound with only their eyes watching her. She found more strength she did not know was there. "And if we are found dead, the police are not stupid. They will check the mansion right away. They will put it together with my extra time in the Department of Economic Affairs. Pitor said if they know what to look for; they will be able to tell the computer was on when I was there. They have radios. The police saw you take us here. You would never get away, no matter how many fast horses you have. Think about it, Ian."
Francois stepped forward in the small kitchen. "She has a point there, too."
Ian paused, put his hands on his hips and hung his head in thought. He looked at Ursula. Ursula looked at him, emotionally spent and exhausted, unable to move. He paced back and forth a couple of times in the small apartment. He began to nod his head.
"Okay. But, Ursula. If I ever hear about you mentioning this to anyone, I will return someday and end this. Do you understand?
She sobbed again. "Of course. You have my word. Thank you. Thank you."
He turned to Elsa and Karol. "Do you understand?" Elsa nodded vigorously, and Karol just glared. "Eeyore, I think you need to understand what this means. You either go along with us, or I will have to kill you. Do you understand?"
After a brief pause that made Ursula's heart stop, Karol nodded yes.
"Are you going to call the police or turn in your daughter?"
Karol shook his head no.
"I have your word on this?"
Karol nodded again, and Ian stood up.
"Should we untie them," asked Pitor?
Ian looked at the anger still boiling in Karol's eyes. He shook his head. "No. Go ahead and loosen up Mama, but keep this Eeyore tied up. He still looks too pissed off. He needs time to settle down." He knelt in front of Elsa. "Mrs. Volz, my apologies." He shifted to Eeyore. "And Mr. Volz. You need to be more pleasant. Be nice to people once in a while. Especially your daughter. Smile. It may do you good." He stood. "Is there anything we are forgetting?"
"The traveling money," asked Pitor?
Ian looked at Ursula, lying on the floor. "Do you still have it?"
She nodded.
He quietly moved to her, and gently stroked some hair from her face. She recoiled slightly. "Keep it." In the darkness, she could see him smile. "You did good, kid." He looked at Pitor and Francois. "Any objections?"
They shook their heads.
With that, the three men left the room, and closed the door behind them. Ursula slowly collapsed onto the floor and lay at her parent's feet, for she did not know how long.
She awoke from her trance with a start, and sat up. Ursula could feel her father's anger was diminished. She was sure his discomfort was severe. She began to untie her mother first, when she heard a noise at the door. She could feel her father tense. For a moment she thought they had changed their minds, and were coming back to finish them. The door opened, and she could just make out a man with a knife. Her father saw him too, and started to struggle.
"Ursula, are you okay?" The voice had an unusual accent, Spanish and something else. Her heart leapt in joy, and she started to get to her feet, but fell back in exhaustion. Two more men entered the room, and more were out in the hall. She could tell they had up-time weapons. The first man knelt in front of her.
"Lorenzo! Am I glad to see you."
"And I'm glad you're okay as well. Are your parents okay?"
"A little shook up. Get Mama cut free, please." A grey dawn was starting to break over the hills. Several candles were brought in to lighten the room.
Someone pulled her father's gag out, about the time Lorenzo was helping Ursula to her feet. The room was so small, they could only have a couple of people working in there at a time cutting them loose.
Elsa was not happy with the sharp knives cutting the bindings made from her customers clothing. "Stop cutting the cloth! It is not mine, and I will have to repair it. Untie it, you idiot." She scolded the men in the dark clothing and was carried into the hallway to give them more room to work.
Ursula sat across from her father as Lorenzo went to untie him. She could see his eyes were still angry, but not furious as before. "First of all Papa, I want you to meet Lorenzo Nasi. He works for the government in counter-intelligence. He is my handler."
"Nice to meet you, sir. I apologize for not coming earlier. We had to be sure they were headed out of town. They're gone, computer and all." Lorenzo did not smile much, as he was always so proper. He continued to work on the bindings.
"This is the Jew you met in the alley."
"Yes, Papa. But I first met him almost a year and a half ago, right after I started at the mansion."
"You have known this Jew for over a year and a half?"
Lorenzo Nasi raised his eyebrows at Karol, and slowed his cutting of the bindings.
Ursula felt her strength returning. "That's right. Very good. You are very clever. Tell me the rest of it. What do you think?" Ursula knew this mental puzzle would calm her father.
He shifted slightly as a rope was cut, and tension was relieved behind his back. "That's better. I don't understand why they let those men get away. What did they do?"
Lorenzo chimed in. "They stole some top secret lists of our agents, all around Europe. Your daughter helped to steal them. From a computer, I might add"
Karol looked confused. "Why would you do that, Ursula? You should not be involved in such things. You should not endanger your family in such a way."
"Papa, please. Think about the files."
He paused for a moment. "That would be disastrous. We will have to move right away…" His voice trailed off. "You let them steal those files, didn't you? Those aren't the real files, are they?"
Lorenzo looked impressed as he cut another binding. "You were right, he is smart!"
Ursula sat back with a smile. "Told you he was. Except you almost messed it up, Papa."
He looked puzzled, then nodded. "I see. That's why you didn't scream when I tackled that smarmy English bastard. If the police had gotten involved, the whole plot would have been discovered." He looked at his daughter as more ropes fell away. He frowned at her and nodded his head. "But why couldn't you tell us what was going on?"
Ursula looked over at Lorenzo. "What is it called again? Operational security?"
Lorenzo nodded. "Yes. People only know if they have a specific need to know. With this much riding on the outcome of the operation, we just couldn't extend the need to know."
"After you attacked Ian, Papa, w-we just improvised. I assumed Lorenzo and his men were nearby the whole time, and they were. I don't think I could have done it without knowing they were behind me-us, actually."
"How did you know they wouldn't kill us," asked Karol?
Lorenzo shrugged. "That's one reason we asked the police car to delay you. To make sure they knew they could be identified. It gave us time we needed to get our team in the building. We also know Ian, whose real name is Maurice Rettanuer, and is originally from Alsace. Which is quite a way from England. He is a spy for hire, a 'freelancer' to use an up-time notion, but he has never killed anyone, as near as we can tell. No reason for him to start now."
Karol addressed Lorenzo. "If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch, I am personally going to wring his neck." He shook his head so his droopy jowls swung back and forth.
"Well Mr. Volz, you will have to travel to France, or Spain, or wherever they sell those files. Although they may be dead before you get to them, if the files are found to be bogus too quickly." Lorenzo cut another rope, and Karol could move his legs.
"Much better. I have feeling back in my legs," he said, with his typical matter of fact monotone. Ursula grinned widely at him.
Karol turned to his daughter, with just a hint of pride in his eyes. "But why did you do this, honey? It was dangerous. Too dangerous. You have never done anything like this before. Not even remotely like this. What possessed you? You became involved!"
"Papa, I have told you before. I don't want to live on the outside of the world any more. I want to be a part of it. A part of a community, not a parasite. I wanted to grow, to put down some roots. This was an opportunity to do both, and do some good for this place at the same time. So, when Lorenzo contacted me last year, and asked me to watch for someone to approach me about something like this, I had to say yes."
Finally Lorenzo cut the last of the ropes holding Karol, and they both helped him to his feet. He shook his legs and arms to restore circulation. He held out his arms to his daughter, and they embraced.
"Papa. You frightened me with your anger. And when you attacked Ian, I did not know what to think. It didn't seem like you."
Elsa walked quietly into the room with mounds of fabric in her hand. Karol looked at her, and they both nodded.
"It was me, Ursula. When you were young, there was a village that was destroyed. I could do nothing about it. I was tied up, and your mother was…"
Elsa joined them in a quiet embrace. "Maybe, someday we will tell you more, Ursula. That is enough for today."
Ursula stifled a sob. "I never knew, Papa. But I don't want to leave here. It's safer here than it is anywhere. This can be our home. Please."
"I like it too. I have said it to you before, Karol. This is a good place," Elsa added.
Ursula looked into his sad droopy face, and hoped. The anger in his eyes flared for a moment, and he hugged them harder.
Karol sighed. "I suppose we could stay a while longer. Just to see how things go."