"Grantville Gazette.Volume XIX" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

The Creamed Madonna
Kerryn Offord

Late summer 1635, Jena

Dr. Phillip Gribbleflotz was at a bit of a loose end. He'd finally concluded that there was something fundamentally wrong with the theory that pyramid power could be used to invigorate the Quinta Essentia of the human spirit, and had regretfully given up on that line of research. He desperately needed something new to work on. Something interesting. Something impressive. Something that would prove to the world that he was in fact the World's Greatest Alchemist.

He sat back in his chair and surveyed his office, looking for inspiration. There was the large portrait photograph of his beautiful young wife, Dina Kastenmayerin, in pride of place over the fireplace. That was certainly inspiring, but not in any direction that would impress the academics at Jena University. On either side of the fireplace were bookshelves. It looked like he was going to have to do a lot more reading to get what Jonathan Fortney called the "killer application" that would forever cement his place in history.

Phillip looked up hopefully when the door opened. He was hoping it would be Dina, but it was only his secretary with the mail. "Anything interesting?"

Frau Beierplaced one envelope on his desk. "This one was marked personal and confidential, so I didn't open it. The rest are just the usual. Begging letters, inquiries about licensing agreements, and requests for you to endorse various products. I have prepared the usual responses."

Phillip sighed. Advertising was the curse of the new business environment. He reached for the envelope. The first thing he noticed was the excessive use of scent. He rubbed his nose and looked up at Frau Beier.

"I assume it is from a 'lady.'" The emphasis she put on the word indicated she thought the author no such thing.

"Do we know a Velma Hardesty, in Haarlem, the Netherlands?"

Frau Beier shook her head. "No, but I assume it is one of the up-timer females. Though what she wants that is private and confidential, I can't imagine."

Phillip had had much the same thought. He'd received a few letters from up-timers before, but never one claiming to be personal and confidential. Oh well. There was surely one way to find out what Velma Hardesty wanted. If he could make out the overly curly penmanship.

September 1635, Cora's cafe, Grantville

Priscilla Fortney put down her cup of coffee, looked around to see who might be listening, and leaned closer to her fellow members of the Red Cross Sanitation Squad seated around the table. "You'll never guess what I overheard at the library this morning."

"No, we'll never guess. What did you overhear that you weren't supposed to hear, Prissy?" Minnie Frost asked.

Prissy sniffed delicately. That was Minnie, always trying to act like she didn't listen to gossip. "Dr. Gribbleflotz is going to make. .. well, you know. That sex pill. Via-something."

"Wow! Viagra? Are you sure?" Evelyn Paxton asked. "My Lacy's husband could sure use some."

"I heard Clara offer the job to the freelance researchers myself," Prissy said.

"Oh! So it's still in the research phase?" Evelyn asked.

"Well, yes. But this is Dr. Gribbleflotz we're talking about. The Aspirin King himself."

Richard Somers put his finger to his lips, signaling Carl Duvall to hush so he could listen in. The conversation from the other table was interesting. If he could get in on the ground floor of one of Dr. Gribbleflotz's inventions he could make a fortune. He was still cursing the fact that he missed the early days of the aspirin rush. And as for the Kirlian Image interpretation industry, he'd dismissed that as a foolish fad until it was too late. This time he was going to get in on the ground floor.

After a few minutes he gave up on listening to the old women and returned to his discussions with his old partner in crime. Not that they were discussing anything important. One visited Cora's to overhear the gossip, not to be overheard. He could ask Carl what he knew about this business later.

HDG Enterprizes, Jena

"Well?" Dina asked. "What does it say?"

Phillip passed the letter from the State Library over to his wife. "The whole synthesis is much too complex for my current capabilities. I've never made anything like the heterogeneous polycyclic structure I can see in the diagram, and I know I can't make the piperazine yet. The whole synthesis is much too complex for my current capabilities."

Dina tapped the folded letter against her teeth. Nice well-proportioned white teeth. She certainly didn't need the dubious benefit of a visit to the American dentists. He returned his attention to the letter. "I'm afraid I can't help Frau Hardesty with her little problem."

"Well, we tried. I'll write a letter saying we're sorry that she mistook the advertising for Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula as little blue pills of happiness to mean you were making the up-time kind of little blue pills."

Phillip broke the seal of the next letter. "Would you believe it? Some American claims to have overheard that I was going to be making sex pills, and please could he place his order now, to get in before the rush."

"Pass it over. I'll write a letter saying you aren't going to be making any sex pills."

Phillip shook his head and picked up the next letter. "Here's another one." He passed it to his wife and had a look at the rest of the day's mail sitting in his in-basket. Many more than normal seemed to have originated in Grantville. "Dina, I think you might want to wait before starting on those letters. There might be a few more."

"Why? Why is everyone so interested in buying those pills?"

Phillip just raised his eyebrows. Even he knew why there was so much interest in what a certain up-time little blue pill offered.

"Yes, yes. I understand men having difficulty performing their husbandly duties might be interested, but why do they think you're making it?"

"I can only imagine that someone heard about my making inquiries and they assume that I can make it."

"Are you sure you can't?"

The obvious belief in Dina's voice forced Phillip to reconsider the problem. After some thought, he shook his head. "You saw its insane molecular structure. Certainly I could make it, if I could afford to spend years working on nothing else and I had as many trained laborants as this 'Pfizer Laboratories' put on the task helping me. You don't see the Great Stoner everyone fawns over wasting time on something like this. No, he has better things to do than waste time on a drug of such limited utility, and so do we."

Dina nodded. "Pity. Oh well, I'll send an announcement to the newspapers telling them you aren't working on it. Maybe it will stop these silly letters."

"Thank you, dear."

A week later, Grantville

Carl Duvall passed the newspaper across to Richard Somers, his finger pointing to a column. "It says here that Dr. Gribbleflotz is not working on producing sex pills."

"An announcement placed by the good doctor himself," Carl said.

"But then, he'd say that even if he was working on it, wouldn't he?"

Carl smiled. He'd thought exactly that when he saw the advertisement. Clearly Dr. Gribbleflotz was trying to divert attention from his latest project. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"Um. Talk to someone in his lab?"

Carl grimaced. "Impossible. I can't imagine what he did to create such personal loyalty, but none of them will do anything to hurt him."

"What about inserting our own man?"

"We can try." Carl answered.

HDG Enterprizes, Jena

Phillip looked at the letters cascading out of the mail sack Frau Beier was holding. He picked up the first one. It was from Erfurt. I wonder what they want.

A few minutes later Phillip was at the end of his rope. Erfurt, Halle, Magdeburg, even Leipzig. Letters from all over and the authors all wanted the same thing. There must be over a hundred of these letters! He stuffed them into a basket went hunting for Dina.

"Dina, that announcement didn't have the effect we expected."

"What announcement?"

"The one where we said I wasn't making sex pills. It seems that nobody believes us."

Dina took the basket and started sorting through the letters. "This is ridiculous. What can we do?"

"I don't know. I guess I could to do some more research. Maybe there are alternatives."

State Library, Grantville

There were a lot of books on sex in the library and, surprisingly enough, very few of them mentioned Viagra. Dina compiled a list of everything that was supposed to help, from special compounds such as ground rhinoceros horn, to special diets and exercises. Maybe she could prepare a suitable pamphlet. Certainly, given all the interest shown in those letters, there was obviously a demand for information on how to reduce the incidence of erectile dysfunction. Dina grinned at the term, so American in its wishy-washy manner of describing impotentia coeundi.

She paused to consider some drawings of different positions. Then, with a smile, she made copies to show Phillip. Some of them looked.. . interesting.

Phillip was also busy in the library. It seemed a bit wrong that relaxation of the muscles in the target area was what was needed, but that's what the notes said. It was the relaxation that allowed a greater inflow of blood, and thus an erection. Nitrous oxide reacted in the blood chambers, the muscle relaxed, and poof! there you were. Of course, there was also an off switch or… well, walking around that way all the time would be a bit uncomfortable. The up-time pill worked by turning off the off-switch.

Well, if he couldn't produce the inhibitor, he could surely increase the amount of nitrous oxide available, couldn't he? Of course, he'd have to make nitrous oxide, and he wasn't overly entranced with one of the methods described to produce the gas. Any method that warned of the potential for explosions wasn't going to be amongst his favorite processes. There were other options, but they seemed to have their own problems. Maybe Hans, his personal laborant, could be enticed into making nitrous oxide.

HDG Enterprizes, Jena

"Hans, a moment of your time if you have it to spare."

"Of course, Doctor. I just need to add one last data point."

Phillip walked over to the large graph Hans was updating and considered what it indicated with interest. "I see the yield seems to be increasing as the pressure is increased."

"Yes," Hans Saltzman agreed. "Just like Le Chatelier's principle suggests."

"How soon do you think before you can commence industrial scale production of spirits of hartshorn from air?

Hans shook his head and gave Phillip a wry smile. "A while yet, Doctor. There is so much we don't understand. Have you heard anything more from Fraulein Drahuta? She would be of immense value to our research program."

"She expects to visit us in late February next year." Phillip paused a moment. "That is about when Dina is expecting to give birth. If I'm not in Jena when she arrives I expect you to make Fraulein Drahuta so welcome she wants to stay, Hans."

"Of course, Doctor. Now, you wanted to talk to me? You have a new project?"

"Yes. If you'd like to join me in my office, I'll go over what I want you to do."

With Hans in charge of making the nitrous oxide, Phillip set out to investigate ways to introduce it into the human body. The experiment Hans was running in the secure laboratory had given him an idea. The experimental apparatus combined gases under pressure to force the production of spirits of hartshorn. What if he used nitrous oxide under pressure? Could that increase the production of the chemical responsible for the relaxation of the smooth muscle? But how to introduce it? Phillip turned to his books.

The article on diving suggested a pressure vessel large enough for a married couple might do the trick. It was certainly worth trying.. . not that he and Dina needed it. But, as a special service for couples having marital difficulties, it offered promise.

The real problem with a hypobaric chamber of sufficient size was that it would be beyond the pocket of all but the most wealthy. What was needed was something everyone could afford.

Phillip made a few notes and wrote a memo to look into the economics of building a suitable chamber before returning to the diving article. He could try making a pressure suit. Something like the new hard-hat rubberized diving suits, only without the helmet. The pressure the suit could be safely inflated to couldn't be high however, otherwise it would burst like a…

Phillip grabbed his pen and made a note before he forgot this idea. A balloon. A rubber balloon, just like the ones he used in some of his demonstrations. Surely he could make a special balloon. Something like a pair of rubber pants that could be inflated with nitrous oxide.

Dina Kastenmayerin chewed on the metal cap of her fountain pen. Frau Hardesty's request for the other type of blue pill of happiness had opened her eyes to a problem she hadn't really thought about. One heard about men finding it difficult to perform their husbandly duties, but it wasn't the kind of thing wives talked about in the presence of the unmarried daughter of their pastor.

She wrote a short memo to remind her to talk to Step-mama. She would surely have had to counsel wives whose husbands were unable to perform their duties properly. What was really needed was a pamphlet. Something that any wife could easily access for help. But what to put into it?

She wrote down a heading. What Wives Should Know About Marital Health and Vigor. Then she proceeded to construct a list of all the things she thought should be included.

Several days later

Dina had a good fire going to take the chill of the air and was kneeling in front of it, powdering the rubber pants with talc. Beside her was the cylinder of nitrous oxide.

"Are you nearly finished, Dina?" Phillip asked.

She looked up, a look of happy anticipation on her face. "Just about."

There were traces of white talcum powder in her hair and on her face. She looked delightful. Right then Phillip didn't think he needed any additional nitrous oxide, but a true scientist must complete his experiments.

The now well-powdered rubber pants had been made to a carefully considered design, with strong waist and leg bands to stop the pressurized gas escaping when they were inflated. This was the moment of truth. Phillip started to put them on. There was a stifled giggle from Dina. She'd obviously noticed how little he needed any extra help.

The gas-tight leg and waist bands made it difficult to pull the pants on, but finally, with sweat starting to bead on his body, he got them on. He sniffed delicately at the amused look on Dina's face. "Connect me to the gas, please."

Dina connected the short rubber umbilical cord from the pants to the gas cylinder. Phillip took a deep breath. Time to test his theory. "All right, dear. Open the valve."

Cold didn't begin to describe the sensation. Phillip screamed.

Pop! The pants burst, sending a cloud of talcum powder around the room.

"The gas… turn it off," Phillip cried.

Dina scrambled to shut the valve, then looked up. She fell backward, laughing like a maniac.

Phillip ignored his wife's laughter. He had more important things to worry about. He disconnected the umbilical cord and made a dash for his dressing room.

He was a sight to behold. The pants were still on, but the front had blown out revealing all his shrunken glory. The nitrous oxide gas had had a definite effect all right, but it sure wasn't the effect he was looking for. He'd forgotten that gas stored under pressure could be extremely cold when it was released.

It seemed fair to say that the experiment had been a complete failure. The details of the write-up of this experiment would require considerable thought, if not outright creativity. There were some things the world's greatest alchemist did not want recorded for prosperity.

Next day, an apartment in Jena

"He's running late," Richard complained.

Carl checked the time on his wristwatch. "It's only just after five, Richard. Give Thomas a chance. He's said before that he doesn't finish before five, and sometimes has to stay late."

"Gribbleflotz is supposed to be a good employer, and very strict about overtime."

Carl nodded. "Yes. But Thomas is working with a research group, and you know you can't stop an experiment just because a clock says it's time to knock off."

Richard did know this. For a while there, a couple of years ago, he'd thought he'd had it made, siphoning off some of the explosives production in Grantville. But that damned female the company installed had instituted "quality control" testing and the Hart brothers had discovered the machine that cut the explosive into pound blocks was giving short measures. Worse still, they were checking the weight of the blocks regularly, so he and Carl couldn't reset the cutters back to the short measure. That had been a nice little earner, and it could have made him and Carl rich. But no longer, more's the pity.

Thomas Bruckner dawdled as he made his way to the meeting with the two men from Grantville. Initially it had seemed like a good idea to take money from them to spy on Dr. Gribbleflotz while also drawing a wage working for the good doctor. Now he wasn't so sure. He was the one taking all the risks while they took none.

He walked up the stairs and used the special knock that meant it was him at the door.

"You took your time. Have you any idea how long we've been waiting?" Richard demanded.

"I am most sorry. I got here as fast as I could, but I had to wait for Dr. Gribbleflotz to leave before I could check his journal entry for the day."

"You have access to his journals?"

"It is very risky. I have to sneak into his personal library to access them, but yes, I have been able to read some of his journals."

"So how is the old fraud planning on pulling this off?" Carl asked.

"The Doctor is not trying to make the up-time drug. The chemistry is too complex. However, he believes that he can achieve the same result by increasing the availability of nitrous oxide to the body. His latest experiments are based around wearing a specially made pair of rubber 'pants' into which nitrous oxide is injected."

Carl started laughing. Thomas stared at the up-timer. "What is so funny? Last night the doctor was scheduled to test his new rubber pants."

"And did they work?" Carl asked.

"Dr. Gribbleflotz has not yet written up the results of the experiment, but Frau Kastenmayerin was walking around all day with a very broad smile on her face."

"She's probably just remembering what her husband looked like all tricked out in his rubber pants. Either that or she caught a good snort of laughing gas."

"Laughing gas?" Richard asked.

"It's another name for nitrous oxide. I think the old fraud has out done himself this time. There is no way nitrous oxide can help sexual performance. Heck, the dentists use it as an anesthetic."

"So you think Dr. Gribbleflotz is not going to sell nitrous oxide as a sex aid?" Richard asked.

Carl shook his head. "No. There is absolutely no way he can sell nitrous oxide as a sex aid."

"That's a pity," Richard muttered. "I guess its back to Grantville and the explosives factory."

Jena

Phillip was still trying very hard to convince himself that Dina's broad smile and giggles were a consequence of her inhaling a quantity of nitrous oxide. It was a losing proposition, though. The effects of the gas surely couldn't last this long. He was going to have to admit that she was still laughing at the image of him standing in their bedroom with a… well, thinking about it wasn't going to help him forget the experience. Fortunately there was only one witness and he could trust her not to spread the story.

The sound of the dinner gong dragged Phillip out of his retrospection. He hastily finished the entry he was making in his journal and put it away. When Frau Mittelhausen sounded the dinner gong that meant dinner would be served in five minutes, and she got upset when people were late. He'd have a terrible time finding another housekeeper of her quality, so he tried not to upset her.

After diner Phillip followed Hans back to the secure laboratories, not that he needed to check up on Hans, but rather to get away from that smile on Dina's face. He left with the image of Dina talking to a couple of female laborants while gesturing in his direction burning in his brain. He was pretty sure she wouldn't talk about last night. Surely she wouldn't. Would she?

"How is the research on the spirits of hartshorn process going, Hans?" he asked.

"Pretty well, Doctor. If you like we can check the graph in my office."

"Thank you. I would like to see your progress."

"Of course, Doctor. And how's your nitrous oxide research progressing?"

That question had sounded much too innocent. Had Dina been talking about last night? "Not very well," Phillip admitted.

"That's too bad. Did you have troubles with the rubber pants last night?"

Now Phillip was sure Dina had been talking. "They didn't work. The nitrous oxide was too cold, and the pants over-inflated and burst. Are you happy now?"

Hans nearly jumped back into the wall. "I'm sorry, Doctor. You were so hopeful, too. Will you try again?"

"No. There must be an easier way." To himself Phillip added, and less embarrassing. "I am going to the library."

Thomas Bruckner shot to his feet, nearly spilling the glass at his side when Phillip burst into the library.

Phillip stared at the laborant for a moment as he processed faces and names. "Thomas. Thomas Bruckner, the new laborant working with Hans?"

"Yes, Dr. Gribbleflotz. Do you want me to leave, Doctor?"

"What? Leave. No, stay where you are. What's that you're reading?"

"One of your old journals, Doctor. From when you first made the Sal Aer Fixus."

"Why are you wasting your time with that old stuff? The newer journals make better use of the new chemistry."

"I've just finished reading about your investigations into pyramid power."

"Ah! Not one of my better moments."

"But the research led to the Gribbleflotz Kirlian Imager, Doctor."

"I suppose some good came of it." Phillip sighed. He'd been so hopeful about pyramid power, too. "What's that you're drinking?"

Thomas held up his glass. "This? It's one of the new soda drinks, Sparkling Lemon. Would you like to try it?

"If you have it to spare."

Thomas pulled a bottle from the floor, used something to open it and poured some into a glass. "Here you go, Doctor."

"Thank you." Phillip lifted the glass, then hesitated. "Why is it bubbling?"

"They call it soda pop, Doctor. I believe they force a gas into the liquid under pressure, and when the bottle is opened the gas is able to escape, causing the bubbles."

Phillip studied his drink. What was the gas? Could nitrous oxide be forced into solution? A vague memory from that diving article flashed though his mind. Something about nitrogen entering the blood and bubbling out if the diver returned to the surface too quickly. "Could I have a look at the bottle, please?"

Phillip searched the label for the name of the manufacturer. Maybe whoever they were could put nitrous oxide into a drink, then anybody could increase the amount of nitrous oxide in their body by simply drinking it. It was, even if he said so himself, a quite brilliant idea. But first he needed to a name, and there it was, "The Saalfeld Bottling Company." With the bottle still in hand he left the library calling out for Hans.

Thomas was left behind, wondering what had the Doctor so excited.

Several weeks later, Grantville

Carl wasn't sure he believed what he was seeing. "'Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic, for restoration of the Vital Humors.' Does that mean what I think it means, Richard?"

"What?"

"Vital humors. Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Is it a sex aid? Yes, that's what it means. Do you want to go in and ask for some?"

"No. But I wonder what it is."

Richard shrugged. "Wait here then. I'll go in and ask."

A few minutes later Richard returned with a pamphlet.

"Well?" Carl asked.

"Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic is part of a complete program of diet and exercise aimed at restoring the Vital Humors," Richard read from the pamphlet. "Our special tonic contains nitrous oxide, a chemical identified by up-timer science as being important for successful sexual congress. Used in conjunction with a proper diet and exercise program Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic will restore waning vital humors." Richard looked up. "It appears that the good doctor has found a way to sell nitrous oxide as a sex aid."

"What? Give me that. Nitrous oxide shouldn't have any effect on sexual performance." Carl grabbed the pamphlet out of Richard's hands and started reading. "Oh, the sneaky bastard. Whoever wrote this must have written copy for infomercials. The loopholes are big enough to sail an aircraft carrier through."

"You mean it's all a fraud?" Richard asked.

"You bet it is."

"How can you be so sure, Carl?"

"Follow me home and I'll show you."

Carl searched around in his chest of drawers before finally finding the small cardboard box he was looking for. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper. "I told you Gribbleflotz was a fraud, and here's the proof. It says right there under "Clinical Pharmacology" that the important chemical is nitric oxide. Nitrous oxide is a completely different thing."

"Who is Pfizer Labs?"

"They're the up-time company that made Viagra."

"Oh! Um… ah… Carl, why do you have this pamphlet?"

Carl blushed. Something he couldn't remember doing since he was a pimple faced teenager. "Well, ah… I ordered some when I heard about it. Not that I needed it, but there was a lot of talk about the effects back then."

"Of course you didn't need it, Carl."

Carl glared. That agreement lacked a little in the way of belief.

"Maybe the doctor means nitric oxide?"

"Why are you trying to give Gribbleflotz a break, Richard? It's a fraud, pure and simple. There's no way it can work."

"But people are buying it."

"Of course people buy it. It gives hope, and depending on what their problem is, maybe a change of diet and a bit of exercise will do them some good."

"So it's not a complete fraud?"

Carl sighed. "Okay, it's probably not a complete fraud. Are you happy now?"

"Not yet. If it's not a fraud then I'm not going to be happy until I have my share of Dr. Gribbleflotz' latest Big Thing. I missed out on the Kirlian Imager craze, I don't intend missing out on the revitalizing tonic craze."

Dr. Shipley's office, Grantville

Dr. Susannah Shipley removed the blood pressure cuff from around Lacy Brumfield's arm and made a notation in her notes. "And how are things with Rick, Lacy?"

"Things couldn't be better since I started him on Dr. Gribbleflotz' Revitalizing Tonic, Dr. Shipley. These days he's always raring to go."

Susannah contemplated telling Lacy that there was no scientific reason Dr. Gribbleflotz' Revitalizing Tonic should have any effect, but no, something had put that contented look on Lacy's face. Sometimes a patient's belief was more important than being properly informed. However, she might as well make sure Lacy and Rick got the maximum benefit from those beliefs. "I hope you're both following the diet and exercise program Dr. Gribbleflotz recommends. The revitalizing tonic won't work nearly as well if the program isn't followed."

"I'll be sure to tell Rick that, Dr. Shipley."

Dr. Shipley followed Lacy out of her consulting room and headed over to Dr. Jeff Adams' room. "You got a moment, Jeff?"

"Sure, Suz. What's up?"

"Rick Brumfield, apparently. Lacy says they've been having success using the new Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic."

Jeff nodded. "I've had a few patients saying the same thing."

"So you don't think we should go public saying it has no foundation in scientific fact?"

"Hell, no. It's not like the tonic is dangerous, and it does seem to be doing some good. I say we don't rock the boat."

"Well, we agree on that. What I can't figure out is where on earth Dr. Gribbleflotz got the idea he should be using nitrous oxide."

"You didn't get many guys asking about Viagra before the Ring of Fire, did you?"

"No. For some reason guys didn't come asking me to prescribe it. Why?"

Jeff pulled a folder out of a filing cabinet and handed it over. "You've probably only read the trade literature then. Take a look at some of the newspaper and magazine clippings in that folder."

Susannah picked up the first article, skimmed through it. She paused at one point and looked up at Jeff -he was smiling – then she returned to skimming through the articles. "What? The first one talked of nitric and nitrous oxide as if the terms are interchangeable, but this one only mentions nitrous oxide."

Jeff grinned. "Yep. There's a lot of poor information in the newspapers and magazines. Anybody looking at those clippings would have concluded that they meant nitrous oxide. Mind, there is one silver lining."

"And what's that?"

"We're not going to have a shortage of medical grade laughing gas, that's for sure."

Cora's Cafe, Grantville

Minnie Frost passed the bank statement around the rest of the group. "We're going to have to do another fund raiser."

"Not another one," Evelyn Paxton complained.

"Yes, Evelyn, another one. And this time it might be nice if you actually turned up at the sausage sizzle."

"I was sick in bed, Minnie, as well you know."

Minnie snorted her disbelief.

"We really need something a bit better than a sausage sizzle, though, Minnie. I mean, we only raised two hundred dollars last time," Prissy Fortney said.

"Well, I'm open to suggestions."

A deep silence followed Minnie's statement. Then Prissy pointed through the window. "Evelyn, isn't that your Lacy's Rick over there?"

"Yes, that's Rick. I wonder where he's been."

"Judging by the fact he's holding a Nobili's Pharmacy bag, I can make a fair guess," Minnie said. "And if I was a betting woman, I'd be willing to bet five dollars I know what he's got in that bag."

"How can you know from here?" Prissy asked.

"Nobili's only uses their paper bags when the customers ask them to. And there's only one thing they sell that a guy is going to buy that needs a bag that big."

"Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic," the three of them chorused.

"My Lacy swears by it you know. Rick's a changed man since she started him on the Gribbleflotz treatment."

"Now that's what we need for a fund raiser. Something like Gribbleflotz's tonic," Minnie said.

"Trouble is, Nobili's have the local market sewn up," Evelyn said.

"Yes, so it's another sausage sizzle, same time, same place, next Saturday."

"Yes, Minnie," Prissy and Evelyn mumbled.

Evelyn was a little fed up with Minnie and the incessant need to run fund raisers to keep the Red Cross Sanitation Squad with enough money to continue their good works. What they needed was a real moneymaker. Something, anything, that could take the place of endless hours sizzling sausages.

She found her husband lying back on the sofa listening to a record with his eyes closed, a dreamy look on his face. He looked so happy and relaxed… which didn't sit well with her current mood. So she turned off the stereo.

"What the hell?" Charlie muttered. "Why did you do that?"

"Minnie says we have to hold another fund raiser for the Red Cross Sanitation Squad next Saturday."

Charlie walked over to the stereo, removed the record from the turntable and examined it carefully. "Well there's no need to do that. You could have damaged my record."

Evelyn snorted. There was every reason to "do that." She wanted a fight to relieve her frustrations, but Charlie wasn't cooperating. Instead he was dusting the record and putting it back into its protective sleeve.

"Hold it!" Evelyn cried.

Charlie stopped, the record part way back into its slot. "What's wrong now?"

"That record. Let me see it."

Charlie shrugged and passed it over. "What's the problem? You've seen the cover often enough before. You've even laughed about it."

"Shush, I'm thinking." Evelyn stared at the cover. "Yes, I've seen it before, but not right after talking to the girls about Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic."

"What're you thinking about now, Evelyn?"

Evelyn handed the record back to a bemused Charlie and went hunting in the pantry. "Charlie, do we have any gas cartridges for this? Doesn't it use nitrous oxide? Seems like I remember that." She held up a whipped cream maker.

"For what? Oh, the creamer. Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"Because I want to try something. Where are they?"

"In the garage somewhere." She gave him a look, so Charlie asked, "Do you want me to find them?"

Evelyn's foot was tapping a mile a minute. "Yes, dear. I do want you to go and find them."

"Okay, okay, I'll go. But why are you suddenly so all fire interested in making some whipped cream?"

"Just find them, Charlie, and all will be revealed."

Next evening, the Paxton residence

"Girls, I've got a brilliant idea for the fund raiser to end all fund raisers. Not only will it make the sanitation squad some real money, it's also sure to offend our children and grandchildren."

"An offensive fund raiser?" Prissy asked.

Evelyn grinned. "I thought that would get your attention. Yes. Offensive to the delicate morals of our children and grandchildren, and a sure fire fund raiser."

"If it makes money I doubt my family will find it offensive," Minnie Frost said.

"Just wait and see," Evelyn said.

A month later, Magdeburg

Milana Frost tugged on her mother's hand and pointed. "Look, Mommy. That woman's not wearing any clothes."

Richelle Frost swung around to look where her daughter was pointing, and released a sign of relief. She'd feared a naked woman might be sitting in a shop window, not that that sort of thing was suppose to happen in this area of Magdeburg. Still, you could never be too sure.

"What's revitalizing cream do, Mommy? And why is the woman covered in whipped cream?"

Richelle tugged at Milana's hand. "Come on dear. It's just an advertising poster."

"What is it they're advertising?"

"I have no idea, dear," Richelle lied. With the come hither look in the model's eyes, the finger licking the cream, and the close proximity to advertisements for Gribbleflotz Revitalizing Tonic, it didn't take a genius to detect the double entendre in the product being advertised. Revitalizing Cream, indeed.

"Is it advertising whipped cream, Mommy?"

"Yes, dear, it is advertising whipped cream."

"I like whipped cream, Mommy. Can we get some?"

"I'll buy some cream and make some when we get home. Now, come on."

"But it's a fund raiser, Mommy, for Grandma's Red Cross Sanitation Squad."

"What?" Richelle all but roared.

Milana pointed. "It says so at the bottom of the poster, Mommy. 'A proportion of profits go to the Grantville Red Cross Sanitation Squad.'"

Richelle gulped. That was just like her mother-in-law. She desperately hoped none of the parents who sent their children to her branch of St. Veronica's Academy ever made the connection."

Christian Koppe slipped discretely into the shop. A peek through the window only revealed an American women trying to control her daughter. He approached the man serving at the counter. "That poster in the window. Can I buy it from you?"

"The 'Creamed Madonna'?" I'm afraid I need to keep that for advertising, sir."

Christian glanced back at the poster in all its colored glory. He had to have it. He pulled out his wallet. "I'll make it worth your while."

The shop assistant glanced around the shop, and then leaned closer and whispered. "There's a spare in the storeroom I might be able to let you have for a small consideration."

"It's the same poster?"

"Yes, the very same. Paxton's sent a few just in case they got damaged in transit."

Christian put down some money, when the shop assistant failed to move he added some more. Several bank notes later, the assistant scooped them up and slipped into the back room, returning a few seconds later with a large sheet of paper.

"I really shouldn't be doing this you know."

Christian accepted the poster, and after gazing at it for a few seconds rolled it up. "It can be our little secret."

Richard Somers watched the man walk out of the shop with his copy of the Creamed Madonna poster. His new shop was doing well supplying the revitalizing products craze. He didn't even need the boost that Paxton's Revitalizing Cream gave his business, and as for those posters… That reminded him. He slipped into the storeroom and ran a thumb through the stack of posters. Barely two dozen left. He'd better add a request for another hundred or so to his next order from Paxton's.

Gribbleflotz residence, Jena

Dina scooped some of the cream onto her finger and licked it. Then she scooped up some more and offered her finger to Phillip.

"I can feel the nitrous oxide starting to work already."

"I noticed."

Phillip felt Dina shiver, and looked into her eyes. Starting the revitalizing products craze might not be the killer application he needed to be remembered as the world's greatest alchemist… but it did have its compensations.

First Impressions

Written by Iver P. Cooper

The pickpocket thought he had spotted an easy mark.

First of all, he could tell from the fellow's clothing that he was a foreigner. So he wouldn't get the same kind of help if he raised a hue and cry that a citizen would.

Secondly, he was at the fair selling paintings. Artists were notoriously oblivious to the mundane aspects of life, like eating.. . or not getting their purses lifted. Of course, there probably wasn't a lot in that purse, but you couldn't have everything your own way.

Finally, he was distracted, talking to an extremely pretty girl. Tall, blonde and buxom. For that matter, she was doing a pretty good job of distracting bystanders, that might otherwise notice a cutpurse.

The pickpocket was having trouble staying focused himself.

He worked with the ebb and flow of the crowd, sidling closer without making his path obvious. He waited… then made his move.

The pickpocket should, perhaps, have paid closer attention to the subject matter of the paintings. They were detailed and realistic looking depictions of life in the New World. Including such subjects as Indian raids.

The painter whirled, and caught the pickpocket's wrist. A wrist which was, unfortunately attached to a thievish hand whose fingers were at that very moment gripping the painter's purse. It was, to be blunt, the very worst moment to have one's wrist grabbed and placed on public display…

"Naughty, naughty," the painter, Felix Gruenfeld, said. His voice was relaxed, but his fingers weren't.

The blonde took in the scene and reacted in a less elegant but more practical way. "Help! Thief!"

The bystanders surged forward, eager to aid the damsel in distress, and tackled the unfortunate thief. They accepted the damsel's thanks, and then handed the criminal off to the market guards. He would probably be hanged before the fair was over.

If her helpers were disappointed to learn that the purse was the painter's, not hers, and that she was the painter's wife, at least they were too polite to say so.

"That was deftly done," said his wife, Birgit Wegenerin.

"Thank you," said Felix. "There are advantages to living several years in the wilds of America. And making friends with the Indians. They taught me how to sneak up on an animal, or a person, and how, um, to not get sneaked up upon. What's the up-time term? 'Situational awareness,' I think."

"Comes in handy in chess, too," said Birgit. "Too many players focus on their own attack, without minding where their opponents' pieces are marching."

Felix wasn't surprised by the chess reference. Birgit was from Stroebeck, the "Chess Village." Where girls as well as boys learned to play at a young age. And where a suitor had to play a village champion if he wanted to marry a Stroebeck maiden.

Felix had been such a suitor once. He was clobbered in the first match, but went to Grantville, learned up-time chess theory, and returned for a rematch. At which he won her hand.

They had just driven a wagon, loaded with Felix' sketches and paintings, to the Free Imperial City of Nurnberg, one hundred seventeen miles south of Grantville. They had arrived in time for St. Egidius' Day, September 1. While the town was Protestant now, and didn't celebrate saint's days in the Catholic manner, that day was still the beginning of a three week fair of international proportions. Felix's artwork had sold well. Well enough, obviously, for his purse to attract the attentions of a pickpocket.

The swordsman stood on a barrel, a sword in one hand, parrying dagger in the other. He mimed dueling, then placed the point of the dagger at his throat, as he aimed the sword skyward. After pausing for effect, he somersaulted off the barrel.

Birgit gasped.

The swordsman, now at ground level, held up the dagger; the crowd could see that he hadn't lost a drop of blood. They applauded, and the performer took a bow.

"I wouldn't want to try that trick," Felix said. "Not even with a paintbrush in place of the poniard."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"So, now what, Birgit? Listen to some pipers? Go bowling on Haller meadow? Watch a crossbow match on Schutt Island?"

"I think we should pack up now so we can leave for Solnhofen first thing in the morning."

The village of Solnhofen lay forty miles south of Nurnberg.

Felix frowned. "There's no rush. Perhaps I'll sell a few more paintings."

"You already said that was unlikely. That at best you might sell a few at the very end, to the bargain hunters that offer half-price, or less, in the hope the seller doesn't want to transport his merchandise back home."

"That's true. I suppose."

"So waiting around Nurnberg just costs us money in rent that could be better spent on starting up the new printmaking business."

The problem with painting, as he had told her in the early days of their courtship, was that it took so long to do each piece. And if one was popular, it took equally long to make a duplicate. Sketching was fast, but didn't command the same prices as paintings. If you thought the art could sell many copies, you could prepare a copperplate engraving, and make prints. But engraving a plate was much more time-consuming than painting.

Birgit was a practical sort of girl and, once he took her back with him to Grantville, she started asking the up-timers questions. Lots of questions. And the answers were the other reason they were in Nurnberg. She had persuaded Felix to try to duplicate lithography. Lithography was reputed to have many advantages, not least of which was that it was much cheaper, easier and faster to print drawings by lithography than by copperplate engraving.

"I'd feel more comfortable about lithography if, you know, we weren't the first."

"We aren't the first. The first was Alois Senefelder in 1796, old time line. The encyclopedia said so." Her tone was reverent.

"You know what I mean. First in this time line. Books are all well and good, but you don't learn to paint from books, and you don't learn smithing from books, so why should we expect to be able to learn lithography from books? I'd be a lot more comfortable with this scheme of yours-"

"-scheme-?"

"If even one of the up-timer art teachers were an expert with it.

…" His voice trailed off.

Birgit took a deep breath, and expelled it slowly. "Felix. If there was already an expert around, then it wouldn't be as promising a proposition. We would have competitors. They would run up the price of the limestone. Or worse, persuade the Solnhofeners to give them an 'exclusive.'" Solnhofen's fine-grained limestone was Senefelder's original "litho"-stone. And was still used by printmakers two centuries later. The stones could hold fine detail and, unlike a copperplate, a Solnhofen stone could be ground and re-used to print a new design.

"If Solnhofeners were still quarrying limestone two centuries after Senefelder, then surely there's plenty of it to go around."

"Sure. But we want to get the choicest pieces at the best price. And we want to be the first on the market with lithographs, so the other artists are playing, um, 'catch-up.'"

"Still, it's a risk."

"Living is a risk. War, famine, and pestilence all around us, despite the up-time inventions. You already did what you could to bring down the risk. You read all the book entries. You sat down with all the art teachers, and found out what they remembered about lithography from their printmaking classes in art school. Eleanor gave you some tips that weren't in the books, as I recall."

"Still-"

Birgit glared at Felix. "I did not ride in a wagon for over a hundred miles just to watch you sell paintings in a square in Nurnberg. I could have stayed in Grantville and been productive. I could have gone to the library, and visited friends who have TV and air conditioning. I could have eaten ice cream every day. I didn't have to come here with you, husband."

Felix's up-time friends had told him how they had visualized German women before the Ring of Fire. Either wearing a "dirndl" and carrying a beer mug in each hand, smiling, or wearing a horned helmet and carrying a long spear, frowning. Birgit definitely fit the second image at this point. A Valkyrie, a chooser of the slain.

Felix decided that discretion might be the better part of valor. On the other hand, he did have his male dignity to consider.

"We'll leave. In two days. That will give me one day to dispose of some of the paintings. Give us more room for the limestone."

Birgit nodded curtly. "Fine. I'm taking a walk. I need to calm down."

Birgit strode off, turned the corner. After a few blocks, she stopped at a bakery and bought a Lebkuchen, a honey cake. When you're feeling down, eat a sweet, she figured.

As she munched, she thought about the complications of married life. Felix is a kind man, and funny, and a fine artist, but, really! He just hasn't learned that you have to put money to work if you want to make money. You have to learn to take a calculated risk.

Felix complains about how hard it is for painters financially, but doesn't want to do anything about it. And he knows that I have more of a head for business than he does, but he won't let me do so. Even though he grew up in Holland where "she-merchants" are taken for granted.

Or he agrees, then gets cold feet. That's worse than just saying "no" in the first place.

She made her way back in the Haupmarkt, where they had been arguing an hour or so earlier. Felix was gone. Back at the inn, she supposed. Packing. Painting. Sulking, perhaps.

Birgit strode over to the Schoner Brunnen fountain. It looked like a miniature cathedral, with a spire

She took hold of the famous golden ring. What had people told her?

"Turn the gold ring thrice; wish granted in a trice."

She turned it, three times, and stepped back.

"Bah!" she exclaimed. A passerby gave her a curious glance. As if you could just need to wish for something, and it would happen.

As soon as Birgit was out of sight, Felix started walking back toward the inn.

Birgit's smart, but she's lived such a sheltered life, up to now, he thought. Birgit had never been rich, but she had never had to miss a meal because she couldn't afford one. Felix had. Even before the siege of Amsterdam.

The Guild of Saint Luke's in Amsterdam wouldn't have elevated Felix to mastery if they hadn't thought there was room for him. But art isn't like bread, or smith work. It's a luxury, not a necessity. If times are bad, then even master painters starve.

Felix kicked a stone down the road, watched it skitter over the cobbles. When he met Birgit, all his worldly goods were in Amsterdam, the Spanish siege line rendering them as inaccessible as if they were in the New World he had once visited.

The newspapers in Nurnberg had just announced the peace treaty between the United States of Europe and the Netherlands. That meant the siege was over, Felix supposed. It didn't mean that his paintings, and other possessions, had survived the siege. They could have been stolen. Or burnt. If so, his resources were limited to the little he had accumulated in Grantville.

And now I have Birgit to support, too. It can only be a matter of time, considering how long and how often I've been bedding her, before we have a child as well. Then I'll have three mouths to support. On just a painter's brush.

A pack of children came running around the corner, laughing; Felix stepped out of their way, and watched them for a moment.

Birgit's father, Felix knew, thought he was just a vagabond. Within a week of the engagement, old Hans Wegener had second thoughts and started trying to talk Birgit into breaking it off. Prudently, Felix got her out of Stroebeck right away, before she, too, changed her mind. But that meant taking her to Grantville before Felix was entirely confident that he could support her.

To start over in Grantville, I had to buy brushes, paints, canvas, and an easel. I had to rent a room that had good light. And rent, even outside the Ring, is astronomical.

He recognized an approaching citizen as one who had purchased a "Battle of Wismar." It was a good seller in Magdeburg; the heroic Hans dive bombing the Lossen. He hadn't been sure that it would do as well here, so far from the sea, but the gamble of bringing a few had paid off well. Felix greeted the customer.

He suddenly thought of what he might do about the remaining paintings. He turned down a side street and went off to visit a fellow guildsman, a Nuremberger who came to Grantville from time to time and had bunked down in Felix's garret. Felix left the paintings with him. His friend promised to try to sell them in Felix's absence, for a commission, of course.

Painting isn't like a regular job, Felix mused as he stepped back into the street. You don't get a weekly paycheck. It takes time to paint and it takes time to figure out what paintings would sell. And when the work is commissioned, you can wait a long time to actually get paid.

Someone like Rubens, with high level patronage, can take risks. But I can't, can I? Just because the up-timers in their own time and place knew how to do something, doesn't mean that it can be duplicated here and now. Look at the microwave oven disaster!

Felix had thought about working more for the Geological Survey. Full time, not just contract illustrations. But then he realized that if he did, he would hardly have time to paint.

What would my life be like without Art?

What would it be like without Birgit?

Felix hoped that this new lithography venture would work. For both their sakes.

Felix and Birgit went to bed quickly, without their usual banter. The next day, they talked, but a bit stiffly, confining themselves to minutiae like "how's your stew?" and "I wish it would stop raining."

The appointed day of departure, fortunately, was more pleasant; the morning sun warmed the stones of the Frauentor, the Ladies' Gate, and sparkled on the dancing waters of the Pegnitz as they steered their wagon southeast, along its northern bank.

The sun also seemed to have a warming effect on the couple's mood; after a while they spoke, at first haltingly, then with greater animation, about the people streaming past them and what their business in the city might be.

They arrived in Schwabach, their first stop, a little after lunch time. After eating, Felix and Birgit wandered up to the Church of Saint John. It was Lutheran, of course; it was here in Schwabach that the Schwabacher font, used to print Martin Luther's first German bible, had been designed.

Felix pointed out to her the altar carved by Veit Stoss. "You know the story about him?"

Birgit shook her head.

"He was a master of the arts-wood carving, sculpture, painting, and engraving. He was also a forger. He was caught and sentenced to death. The Prince-Bishop of Wurzburg pleaded that his life be spared, and at the last moment the Rath decided that his talents were so great that it would be sacrilegious to execute him. So they branded him on both cheeks, and threw him into prison for a few years. Eventually, the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian the First, granted him a full pardon."

"What did he forge?" asked Birgit.

"Some kind of promissory note. Not another artist's painting, if that's what you were thinking."

After looking at a few paintings, they sauntered out, and blinked as their eyes re-adjusted to the bright sunlight. "Okay, now it's my turn," Birgit said. "We have a look at the needle factory."

"Needles?"

"It's for another of my… schemes…"

"No problem," he said hurriedly. "Take your time, I'll do some sketching."

They spent some minutes there, and Birgit ended up buying a few needles. Not for sewing or knitting on her own account, however.

"I had a very interesting chat with Sarah Wendell before we left Grantville. The Higgins Sewing Machine Factory would like to find a better source for needles than the one it is using now. Someone read in an encyclopedia that Schwabach was the, what was the phrase?" She wrinkled her eyes. "The 'chief seat of needle manufacture in Bavaria.'"

"When?"

"Well, that was the question no one in Grantville knew the answer to. But when we got to Nurnberg, I asked around, and they told me that a needle factory was established here last year. And HSMC will pay me for the information I collected, thank you very much. Enough so that we can certainly spend the night at the inn."

"I won't fight you on that. Particularly since I made my own inquiries in Nurnberg."

"And?"

"They said that the brewery here is excellent."

They had only driven the cart for perhaps an hour or two when Felix heard a rider, coming up fast behind them. At least, he hoped it was just one rider.

There was no way that the mule-drawn wagon was going to stay ahead of a horseman all the way to Roth, so Felix pulled over to one side. He sent Birgit into the woods close by, pulled out a pre-cocked crossbow, and loaded a bolt into it. He stood on the far side of the wagon from the road, and used the body of the wagon to conceal the weapon. And he put a souvenir of his stay in the New World-a tomahawk-close at hand.

The rider swept by. He was young, and wore clothes which would have been deemed gentlemanly if they weren't tattered. He gave Felix only a quick glance and then continued.

Felix didn't wave her back. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, Birgit emerged from the woods anyway. "That was a false alarm…"

"Get back in hiding! We don't know who's after him, or why! And I hear riders!"

She scowled, but scurried back into hiding.

A few minutes later, four more riders appeared… Sighting Felix, the leader made a hand motion. Two of the riders kept going, and the leader and his remaining henchman came toward Felix and dismounted.

"Hello, stranger. Have you seen anyone in a hurry this morning, heading south?" As he spoke, his fellow rider sidled to his left.

"Indeed I have," said Felix. "You're perhaps a half-hour behind him."

"Well, that's good to know. However, I think I would like to look inside this wagon of yours, to make sure that he didn't accidentally sneak under the blankets when you weren't looking."

"And I might let you do that, provided that we take precautions so that you don't accidentally ride off with something which doesn't belong to you. To begin with, tell your friend to halt… now." Felix raised the crossbow into view. The flanker halted, but gave the leader a questioning look.

"That's good for only one shot," the leader said coolly.

"I am sure that your widow will find that a great consolation."

"So what do you propose?"

"Your friend rides far enough away that I don't have to worry about him rushing me, but in sight so that he can see that I am playing fair with you." Felix didn't add, and so I can see that he isn't trying to circle around me. But the leader no doubt understood.

"You take off your weapons, leave them back a few feet. Then you can pull off the blankets. Look all you please, but keep both hands where I can see them."

"Fine, fine." The leader rummaged around the inside of the wagon, looked underneath, shook his head. "Okay, that's clear. How do I know he's not hiding in the woods?"

"Then what did he do with his horse? These are mules, as I am sure you know. You see where they're standing. Do you see any fresh horse poop elsewhere, but nearby, other than what you brought with you? This whole time, have you heard your horses' neighing answered?

The leader scowled. "I do see foot prints, actually."

"My son's. I sent him into the woods, for obvious reasons."

The leader stood, studying Felix.

Felix returned the compliment. "You think the two men you sent ahead will be enough to get him, before he reaches Roth?"

The leader shrugged. "I suppose that even if you've got him hidden in the woods behind you, it will cost him in the long run if we beat him there." He bowed, collected his weapons, and swung himself back into the saddle. "If we do find out you helped him, and we see you again… you'll regret it."

He turned to the other man. "Joseph. On to Roth."

They rode off. Felix waited, until he was sure that they weren't planning a double back, then called Birgit back.

She emerged, somewhat tattered himself. "When I went back in the second time, I had less time to find a decent hiding place, I had to throw myself into a goddamn bramble bush."

"Better a few thorns than a few swords," said Felix. "You can repair yourself when we get to Roth."

They arrived there shortly before lunch. They passed through the gate, and Felix pointed toward a fountain. "And this is why the chase was so fierce," Felix said.

"What… oh." She saw the sign. "An asylum." Here, a fugitive could pay the Freingsgulden and stay in Roth for a year, hoping that in the meantime he or she could negotiate a more permanent solution with the pursuers.

"Did he make it?"

"I hope so," Felix said. "I didn't appreciate the interrogation."

"You're just sympathetic because you think he was fleeing creditors."

"That might be part of it. It is, after all, almost the natural state of the aspiring artist."

"But for all you know," said Birgit, "he seduced their sister, or maybe he even murdered someone."

"We won't be here long enough to find out."

Felix had thought they were just passing through Roth, but Birgit had other ideas. "I've heard about this town. Back when we were in Nurnberg. Half a century ago, the Fournier family started a wire goods factory here. Started by Georg Fournier, who fled here from a Nurnberg debtor's prison."

Felix groaned. "Not another factory. Perhaps I'll let that fugitive we met murder me."

Birgit smiled sweetly. "You don't have to go. You can go up to Schloss Ratibor, the hunting lodge built here by the Margrave of Ansbach. Look at the artwork."

"Right. One painting after another of noblemen on horseback, and dogs treeing some critter or another. Fascinating."

Despite the factory tour, they reached Pleinfeld at dusk, and hurried in before the gates were closed.

"No factories here, I hope," muttered Felix.

"None that I know of. They mine sand here-I think they sell it to glassmakers-but it is too expensive to ship it a long distance. Now, when the railroad comes to Nurnberg, there will be some possibilities."

The inn at Pleinfeld had been horrible. Felix and Birgit almost wished that they had been locked out of the town. But at least they could look forward to a lunch stop at the Imperial Free City of Weissenburg-am-Sand. Or at least Felix was looking forward to it.

"I'm feeling a little nauseous," said Birgit.

"I am not surprised. I think the eggs were rancid."

As they neared Ellingen, the traffic picked up. At first Felix thought it was because they were getting near to Weissenberg, but that wasn't the answer. Or at least not the whole answer. At Ellingen, the road from Nurnberg to Augsburg crossed the one from Wurzburg to Munich.

"Stop the cart."

"Ho!" Felix shouted, as he pulled gently on the reins.

A moment later, Birgit leaned over the side of the wagon, and threw up.

Felix shook some water out of a water pouch and used it to moisten a rag. He reached around and held it to her forehead. "That help?" She nodded, but stayed by the side of the wagon.

They waited a while, and at last Birgit announced, "I think that's it. Let's get going."

"You sure?"

"If I'm sick, and not just suffering from indigestion, I'd rather be in Weissenberg."

If I were sick, I'd rather be in Grantville, or Jena, than Weissenberg, thought Felix.

They came to the crossroad, and Felix looked both ways. "Well, that's an interesting coincidence. " He pointed in the direction of Wurzburg, at an approaching coach, with cabbalistic symbols marked on the front. "A traveling Paracelsus." By which, he meant, an itinerant peddler of medicines. "Perhaps he has something that can help you."

This Paracelsus wannabee was of the opinion that to pause between sentences was to waste God's Bounty of Breath. "And then I have the new products, out of Grantville. Do you have a headache? I have Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula. That is, the little blue pills of happiness."

"Not a headache. Nausea."

"Hmm… then perhaps you should try a little Gribbleflotz Sal Aer Fixus, in water. And add some ginger. Honey, too, perhaps. Let me see what I have."

He found the Sal Aer Fixus quickly enough, but had to search for the ginger. He kept chattering as he did so. Finally, he pulled out a jar, and held it out where he could read the label. "Ah, that's it," he muttered. "Sorry it was buried so deep. But the toughest part is over, I have the honey right here."

They dickered a bit. Felix had to do the talking, and Birgit thought that he settled at too high a price, but she didn't have the energy to intervene. At last, the peddler waved good bye, and continued on his way, and Felix administered the remedies to Birgit.. .. After giving it time to take effect, he helped Birgit back on board and took up the reins.

They came around a bend in the road and Felix brought the team to a halt, and sighed.

"What's wrong, Felix?"

"Nothing's wrong. Under ordinary circumstances, I would draw that vista." The city of Weissenberg was perhaps a mile beyond. But Birgit quickly realized that the city was not the attraction. Rather, it was the fortress of Wulzburg, southeast of Weissenberg. This crowned a hill that rose perhaps two thousand feet above the town.

"You can draw it. I am not nauseous right now."

He paused for a moment, then motioned the mules back into action. "No, we best not wait, your nausea might return. Perhaps I will draw it on our return trip."

The next morning, Birgit told Felix that she was feeling better, but wanted to go back to sleep.

"So we will spend the day here in Weissenberg?"

"Yes-you could go back and draw the fortress you liked."

"You're sure you won't need me?"

Birgit pulled the covers over her head. Through them she mumbled, "I feel fine, I just want to take it easy today. Now, tell the maid not to disturb me, and go out and let me get some rest." Felix went out, and returned; Birgit passed on lunch. At dinner she just ate some bread.

From Schwabach to Weissenburg, they had been heading up the valley of the Regnitz, a tributary of the Main. To continue, they now had to head south, and cross into the valley of the Altmuhl. This would take them to Dietfurth, Pappenheim, and at last to Solnhofen. While that was their ultimate destination, the Altmuhl would flow on, eventually reaching the Danube at Kelheim.

Still, some delays were necessary, at least artistically. They had barely left Weissenburg behind them, and Felix already had his sketchbook out, after an apologetic look at Birgit. The mules didn't mind… Birgit didn't either. Now that she had the ginger. And not if Felix was quick about it. It was business, after all-exotic scenes were the artist's stock in trade.

Birgit watched his fingers as he drew, then followed his gaze. "So that is the Teufelsmauer -the 'Devil's Wall.' You have to wonder why the Devil bothered to build a wall out here in the middle of nowhere."

"Very funny, Birgit," he replied, his pencil continuing to fly across the page, and his eyes flicking back and forth between the vista and the paper. "You heard what the minister in Weissenburg said, before I drank him under the table-the Romans built this wall. You have to visualize what it was like when it was new. A stone wall eight feet high, made, I suppose, of rock from local quarries… With a road behind, and stone watchtowers, three times the height of the wall, every few miles. With legionaries on the lookout for the Hunnish hordes to the north."

"I'm a Hun, I suppose."

"I am sure they would have been happy to let you across. But not your brothers and boy-cousins."

Birgit was feeling back to normal. While Felix drew, she looked around for Roman artifacts that might be sold as curiosities. Just before her enthusiasm dwindled to the point of nothingness, she found the cheekpiece of a legionnaire's helmet. It was embossed with the image of a woman.

"She's carrying a bow, so she's probably the Goddess Diana. Should fetch a decent price for some collector's Wunderkammer." A wunderkammer was a curiosity cabinet, a private museum. Throughout Europe, many noblemen had them, and in the Netherlands, merchants were also collectors. Since Felix was a landscape artist, he had found it to be a profitable sideline to also keep his eyes open for artifacts, historical and natural, that he might sell to curiosity seekers. He had been off prospecting at the time of the Battle of Dunkirk. Otherwise, he would probably have been in Amsterdam when the siege began. "Unless you would rather keep it. Being a goddess on earth, yourself."

Birgit shook her head, but smiled.

The minister had also told them about the Fossa CarolinaCharlemagne's Ditch-which was five miles southwest of Weissenburg. In 792, the Emperor ordered that a canal be dug to connect the Rhine to the Danube. Or, more precisely, the Altmuhl to the Rezat. The effort petered out, even though the two tributaries were only a mile apart, because canal locks had not yet been invented, and the two streams were at levels many feet apart.

The minister had a somewhat more spiritual explanation for the failure: "God would not allow his own Design to be frustrated." Which was another way of saying, if the Lord had wanted the Rhine and the Danube to be connected, he would have formed them that way to begin with. Birgit was unimpressed-she knew that a Rhine-Danube canal was shown on the up-timer's maps of Germany-but kept her skepticism to herself.

Felix had thought, based on the up-time maps, that they could stay on the north bank of the Altmuhl all the way to Solnhofen. That wasn't possible, after all. Just past Dietfurt, the river turned sharply south, skirting a tall plateau.

Yes, a local told them, they had to cross the river at Dietfurt, Felix should have guessed; the name of the town did mean, "People's Ford."

By the time they completed the crossing, both Felix and Birgit were exhausted. Still, the Lutheran Birgit made the time to seek out the former home of the famous female champion of the Reformation, Argula von Grumbach. When Arsacius was arrested in 1522, she had lobbied the Rector and Council of Ingolstadt University. Her Scripture-rich letter found its way into print, and went through fourteen editions in two months. The Catholics called for Duke Wilhelm to tame "the silly bag," but the Lutheran preacher Balthasar Hubmaier said that she knew more of the Divine Word than all the red hats in the world put together.

Her principles were pursued at some cost; her husband Friedrich remained a Catholic, yet lost his job at Dietfurt as a punishment for her activities. Argula had once written, "May God teach me to understand how I should act towards my man." Birgit had sometimes wondered that herself, even though Felix's Calvinism was not especially problematic for her.

The Altmuhl, heading east, had to force its way across the Franconian Jura, like a corkscrew threading into a wine cork. It was narrow and windy, with cliffs several hundred feet high framing the river. Willows shaded the green water, and oak trees dotted the ground between the river and the cliffs. Beech trees clutched the slopes, and, craning his neck and shielding his eyes against the sun, Felix could make out the familiar silhouettes of spruce, pine and larch at the top of the gorge.

It was by the circuitous path of the Altmuhl that they came at last to the village of Pappenheim, the boyhood home of the famous commander of the Black Cuirassiers. Who was now far away, in the service of His Recently-crowned Majesty, King Wenceslas V Adalbertus, sovereign of Bohemia and all its dominions. Formerly known in these Protestant parts as Wallenstein the Devil.

The next morning, the sky was dark and threatening, and before they broke their fast, it began to rain. So heavily, in fact, that Felix joked that he wasn't sure whether the river Altmuhl was at their feet or above their heads.

Two hours later, the rain hadn't slackened a bit, and they decided to have lunch in Pappenheim. Felix took out a piece of charcoal, and drew an eight by eight grid on the table. They improvised chess pieces from pieces of wood and rock, and played chess the rest of the dreary afternoon.

The next morning, they were surprised to receive an invitation to the graf's castle. Actually, the summons was from the grafin, Anna Elisabeth, Pappenheim's second wife. Thanks to Pappenheim riding Wallenstein's coattails, she would now be "Her Serene Highness, the Duchess of Moravia."

She had heard, from a somewhat drenched servant, of Felix and Birgit's presence in the village, and was anxious for news of fabled Grantville. And, of course, of her husband. They enlightened her as best they could.

They were surprised to discover that, like Birgit, the duchess was of the Lutheran faith. Pappenheim, after all, was one of the leading lights of the Catholic League until he was forced to choose between Maximilian and Wallenstein. But it turned out that when Pappenheim married Anna Elisabeth in 1629, he guaranteed her freedom of worship, and ceased the persecution of Protestants in his lands. Even Calvinists like Felix.

Birgit and Felix each played a game of chess with her, this time using a real chess set, with silver pieces and a marble board. They then did their best to entertain their noble hostess in other ways. Birgit sang a show tune from the new musical, Franconia!, and Felix drew a sketch of the noble lady.

Much to the amazement of her maid, Anna Elizabeth then condescended to give them the "castle tour" herself. In the process, they discovered that Pappenheim wasn't, exactly, her castle. She normally lived at Schloss Treuchtlingen, further up the Altmuhl. But her husband's elder cousin, the real Graf zu Pappenheim, had fled the region, and so she spent part of her year in Pappenheim to make sure the place didn't-what was the American expression?-"go to pot." Whatever that meant.

Before they left, she gave them a letter of introduction to the village headman in Solnhofen. "Perhaps it will help you get what you are looking for. It is the least I can do for someone who has helped me wile away what would otherwise have been a boring day."

It was evident from their first look at the village of Solnhofen that they had come to the right place. All of the rooftops were covered with Legschieferdacher, flat stone shingles, probably cut from the very quarries they were seeking. They were larger and thicker than the slate shingles that Felix had seen elsewhere, and they varied in thickness, giving the shallow-pitched roofs an odd appearance. Felix fancied that it was as though some of the limestone outcrops, tired of roughing it in the mountains, had slid or rolled down to the river's edge. And then grown windows so they could keep an eye on things.

Since Roman times, perhaps earlier, the rock had been collected for use as a building material, and rafted downriver to Kelheim and the Danube. In fact, in the towns on the Danube, it was known as Kellheimer-platten, rather than by its town of origin. Outside the Solnhofen area, it was used as a floor tile or wall covering. In fact, in Pappenheim, Felix and Birgit heard that that it had been used in the old Roman bath at Weissenberg, and even in the Haghia Sofia in faraway Constantinople.

Now, Felix and Birgit had a new use for it. Actually, uses. Birgit didn't know if the lure of a new printing technique alone would have been enough to persuade Felix to make the long journey. Fortunately, there had been an unexpected twist. Some months earlier, while Birgit was still in Stroebeck, Felix had illustrated a new geology pamphlet for the SoTF. As soon as he mentioned Solnhofen to his mentor, Lolly Aossey, she started jumping up and down, shouting "Archaeopteryx!" Once she had calmed down, she explained that Solnhofen was one of the most famous geological sites in the world. Its limestone had once been the carbonate-rich mud of a Jurassic lagoon, and it preserved fossils of dragonflies, beetles, sea lilies, pterosaurs and, most remarkable of all, the Archaeopteryx lithographica, the earliest known bird.

If the limestone had fossils, he could sell it to collectors, and if it didn't, he could use it for printing.

Just how valuable was an Archaeopteryx, Felix had asked.

The British Museum paid two years of its Geology Department budget for a single Archaeopteryx, Lolly told him. That got Felix' attention, all right. It sounded like, if luck was with him, he might find something which would command a truly royal price. One of Lolly's books had an Archaeopteryx illustration, which he copied into his sketchbook so he would know exactly what it would look like.

Felix was not looking forward to the bargaining process. If he were dealing with art, or with "curiosities," he would be more comfortable; through long experience, he knew what was in demand, where, and the going prices. He didn't necessarily do what the market forces dictated, especially when it came to producing art, but he did know the market.

But building stone? That was a bit outside his purview. Felix repressed the sudden urge to just wait until nightfall and then de-shingle a few houses.

"Remember the signals, Felix."

"I remember."

Felix knew very well that Birgit had much more business sense than he did. Ideally, he would just let her do the negotiating. But this wasn't Amsterdam, where a woman could be a "she-merchant" without raising male hackles… They feared that here, in rural Franconia, if Birgit took too prominent a role, that it might do more harm then good.

Hence, they had worked out signals by which Birgit could tell Felix when to stand firm and when to make a concession.

"And if I kick you, what does that mean, Felix?"

"I don't remember that one."

"It means that you aren't paying attention to my signals!"

"I'm Johannes Bergmann, and I'm the foreman here. Looking for Plattenkalk?"

"Yes, we are."

"How much?"

"It depends on the price. A wagon load, if the price is right."

Johannes wrinkled his nose. "Don't expect buying a wagon load to get you a price break, we sell by the raft load hereabouts. Roofs or floors?"

"Huh?"

Johannes gave Felix a pitying look. Speaking slowly, he said, "Are you going to put the plates on the rooftop, or use them as flooring?"

Felix didn't want to reveal that he had a new use for the stones. It might prompt a price increase. "Uh… on the floor." Felix hoped that he wasn't coming across as a simpleton.

"Then this be what you're wanting." He held out a piece to them.

Felix picked it up, looked at both faces, and shook his head. "No, this is wedged."

It was Johannes' turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The faces need to be flat, and parallel, like the front and back covers of a book."

"Gah, you set the pretty face upward in the floor, it doesn't matter how rough the back be, or where it faces. The good earth holds it."

"It matters to me."

"Oh, please, good sir," Birgit added.

"Well, then." Johannes pulled out another piece. "Is this what you want?"

"Well, the shape's right. But it's too thin." Felix knew that it were too thin, it would break under the weight of the printing press.

"How about this one?"

"Sorry, too thick, not easy to handle. What I want is, oh, the thickness of between four and seven of my fingers, held together." That worked out, in up-timer measurements, to three to five inches. That was the value recommended by the 1911 Encyclopedia.

"I suppose that can be done. Although it isn't easy to get just the right thickness, mind you. The stones don't always split as you want them to. You'll have to pay for the wastage."

"Really? I thought they split as well as slate. That's what puts the Platten in the Plattenkalk, right?"

The quarryman grumbled. "It depends on the layer. Some split better than others."

"But you can give me the ones that split well. The ones that don't, you can sell to the fellows who want thick slabs anyway."

"Fine, fine. Let's get you your stones, and tally them up. Then I can quote you a price."

"Forgive me, but I'm concerned about more than just the dimensions." Felix pulled out the magnifying glass he had been assigned when he started working part-time for the Geological Survey. The quarryman stared at Felix as though he had just pulled a rhinoceros out of his pocket.

Next to the quarryman, there were several open wooden crates, each holding perhaps forty pieces, standing on edge. They varied somewhat in color. Through his magnifying glass, Felix studied their exposed faces, trying to judge how fine- or coarse-grained they were, and thus their porosity. Another of the workers wandered over to see what Felix was up to.

"This is my younger brother, Simon," said Johannes.

"Want to take a peek?" Felix asked.

Johannes shook his head, but Simon looked through the magnifier. He shrugged. "Not very interesting. Sometimes we find fish in the stones. Washed up here by Noah's Flood."

Felix tried to stay calm. "Do you have any for me to look at?"

"Not now," said Simon. "We don't find them every day. So what are you using that seeing-glass to look for?" Johannes, in the meantime, had noticed a worker slacking off and was now haranguing him.

"Just as cloth has its weave, which may be coarse or fine, so, too, do stones have their grain, for they are made up of much tinier stones which you can see clearly in my magnifying glass," he told Simon.

Felix would be drawing on the stone with a greasy crayon or the like. The stone had to be porous enough so that the grease would penetrate a reasonable distance. But it had to be fine-grained enough so that one would get a continuous-tone.

"Well, you know more about rock than most of our customers. Are you a mason?"

"An artist."… He said this, figuring that Simon would assume Felix was some sort of stone carver.

Felix mulled over what he had learned from the inspection. There was a good correlation between color and grain size. That was good, because it would be a lot easier to specify the color. The white stones were the coarsest, so he figured that they were unsuitable. Especially since the encyclopedia article had mentioned yellow and grey stones, but not whites. The yellows were a medium-grain, the greys finer still, and the blues finest of all.

Then Johannes returned. "Sorry about that. So, have you decided on which stones to take? Should I have Simon here lift up the mountain, so you can have a peek at its roots?" He laughed at his own joke.

"This is the color I want, just this," said Felix, pointing to a grey.

"Hey, now, this isn't a jeweler's shop, where you can pick out just the right color and shape of gem," Johannes shouted, his face reddening. " This is a quarry, you need take what we're digging out, when we're digging it out."

"But you can see the color of the layer when it's still in the earth, and dig out the color I want."

Johannes gestured in the general direction of the diggers. "If we have to go hunting for a particular color for you, then we waste time. And if you only take the grey stone, then the rest goes to waste."

"It's not waste, you'll just sell it to someone who isn't looking for grey."

"There's not enough grey. If you want that, you must take some of the other rock as well."

Birgit had been eyeing the slates in the cart. "Oh, Felix, I do think the yellow is nice. Doesn't it complement my hair? Do you think the yellow might do? There is so much of it."

Felix knew that Birgit was gently reminding him that the encyclopedia considered the yellow stones to be acceptable. For Johannes' benefit, he harrumphed. "I… suppose… we could take some yellow… If we got all the grey. And if the thickness were right."

Then they talked price. As Felix and Johannes argued, Birgit sat primly on a nearby rock, her hands in her lap. Johannes didn't notice how her left hand, initially covering her right, would move up the right arm now and again, signaling how much of a price increment Felix should agree to.

Then Birgit brushed her hair.

Felix recognized the cue. "We could go to Langenaltheim. Perhaps their prices will be more reasonable. They have Plattenkalk there, too, don't they?"

"Langenaltheim. You don't want to go there. It's a good five miles from the river, the cartage costs would ruin you." Johannes looked at his brother. "Isn't that right, Simon?" Simon nodded.

Felix disagreed. "More like half that. But if all we are paying for are the choice pieces we want, then that will keep our cartage costs down, too.

"Besides… there's Moernsheim, too. Just a few miles downstream from Solnhofen. No cartage costs to get it to the Donau, none at all, right?"

Birgit pitched in with some delicately phrased prattle. "And Moernsheim is on the way to Eichstatt, dear Felix. Her Grace, the Duchess, the lady of Pappenheim castle, told me to be sure to visit the Prince-Bishop's garden, the Hortus Eystettensis. The one founded by the late Bishop Konrad."

Johannes blinked rapidly. "You know Her Grace?"

"Oh, yes. Show him the letter she wrote for us, Felix." Felix whisked it out. As Johannes studied it, Felix watched his eyes and lips closely. Johannes didn't move his lips at all, so it was very doubtful that he could read a word of it. On the other hand, he was probably perfectly capable of recognizing the lady's seal. Or at least of recognizing that it was the seal of some member of the nobility.

Johannes folded it up and handed it back. "I am sure we can work something out. For associates of Her Grace."

Okay. Now the hard part, thought Felix. Getting the stones on the wagon, and keeping them there all the way back to Grantville. He was thankful that it was no mere farmer's cart, but a full-fledged light freight wagon, made according to the new design that the up-timers had introduced. A "double box" wagon, it was called.

They ordinarily couldn't have afforded it. But Birgit had spoken to the craftsman who made it, and pointed out that his business would be so much better if he sold it through the Wish Book. And wouldn't he like the catalog to include a picture of the wagon, drawn by Felix? And Felix could also paint a little advertisement on the side of the wagon, which was being driven all the way to Nurnberg. And when Felix returned, he could give a little testimonial to add to the Wish Book copy, which would be most impressive since Felix was a world traveler.

He and Birgit wrapped the stones in burlap. It was nice for the quarrymen that the Solnhofen limestone split so easily, but that also meant that the bumps of the trip home could reduce his fine specimens to little shards if they weren't protected. Then they racked them in wood crates like the ones that the quarrymen used.

The average stone weighed perhaps eighty pounds, but there was a lot of variation. One stone, however, was both heavier and bulkier than he liked. It was one of the stones that the Johanneshad insisted he take, and Felix had agreed since it had some grey sections. Belatedly, Felix decided to try to split it into more manageable pieces.

One of the perks of working part-time for the Geological Survey was that he was issued a decent rock hammer and chisel. Bureaucracies being what they were, regardless of place and time, the Geological Survey had forgotten to ask for it back. And Felix had no intent of reminding them, they came in very handy when he was out looking for curiosities.

He found a likely crack, inserted the chisel edge, and gave the other end a controlled whack. A big chunk split off. He gave a grunt of satisfaction. Which changed into something more.

"Birgit! Look at this!"

He turned the piece so she could see it. The freshly exposed face held the clearly delineated fossil of a fish. Its body was almost triangular, and it had a long spearlike beak.

"What about the other piece? The part you split off?"

He flipped that over, and found that it bore an impression of the body of the same fish.

"Matching pieces!" he announced with glee, and gave her a celebratory kiss. "For the right collector, that would probably pay for our entire trip."

"That's wonderful news. I suppose that you should try splitting any stone you decide isn't quite usable for lithography."

Yep. Perhaps I'll even find an archeopteryx."

"Don't be disappointed if you don't. What did Lolly tell you? Less than a dozen found after a century and a half of hunting for them."

"The Bible places great emphasis on the importance of faith."

"Felix, it isn't as though it isn't a beautiful day, but can you stop gloating over the fossil fish, and get back to packing? I'd rather not sleep in Solnhofen tonight."

"Oh. Right."

Felix didn't think the trip back to Nurnberg would be too bad. They didn't have to ascend or descend any mountains, and the only ford was the one at Dietfurt. And this was fall, when the water levels were usually at their lowest. Past Dietfurt, it was open country, and when they reached the Rezat and the Regnitz, they would keep to their east banks all the way to Nurnberg.

The wagon, of course, was heavier than on the trip out. Perhaps two tons. But six mules could pull such a load, even on the crude roads of the Altmuhl valley. Once they reached Nurnberg, they could make do with four.

Their progress was slower, of course. It took two days to traverse the seven miles back to Dietfurt, because they sometimes had to weave their way between the trees dotting the ribbon of flat land between the river and the cliffs, or dare the soft ground of the river bank.

By the time they reached Dietfurt, it was getting dark, and they decided to spend the night in the village and make the river crossing in the morning.

Birgit motioned Felix over. "The innkeeper says it rained last night. Quite hard."

"I'm surprised. We were by Pappenheim then, they didn't get any rain."

Birgit shrugged. "This is mountain country, like the Harz near Stroebeck. Local showers are common enough."

"I suppose. I grew up amidst the mountains of Holland." He paused for effect. "Some rise as high as three feet."

Birgit waved the barmaid over, got her mug refilled. "So, are we going to have to wait in Dietfurt for the river to go down?"

"I'll make a judgment tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the levels in the Altmuhl may rise, but that in our mugs shall decline. In the interest of natural equilibrium, of course."

The waters of the Altmuhl gurgled at Felix' feet. He held a long stick up in the air and drove its sharpened end into the riverbed. He gave it a shake, then pulled it out again and repeated the procedure a yard away.

"Well?" asked Birgit.

Felix made an unhappy noise. "It's softer than I like. If we try, the mules might get skittish, and stop, and then the wheels will sink in fast and we'll be in big trouble. Just to add to the fun, the mules might decide to lie down, and then they have to be dragged out."

"Can we go around the headwaters of the Altmuhl?"

"Let's look at the map."

Birgit fetched it, and they rolled it out over a slab of Plattenkalk. Felix put an arm around Birgit, and she leaned into him.

They studied the map for longer than was perhaps strictly necessary.

Birgit summed it up. "Ugh."

"Yes. It's a good forty or so miles to the end, near Rothenberg, and then almost the same distance east to Nurnberg. And we have no idea whether we can take a wagon along the upper Altmuhl and then cut over, either."

It rained that afternoon, and in the evening, too.

Felix watched the raindrops pockmark the surface of the Altmuhl. "This delay isn't doing our purse any good." It hadn't helped that the innkeeper had decided to jack up the price of room and board, for both people and mules. Felix and Birgit weren't the only northbound travelers who were unexpectedly enjoying his hospitality, and the elevated demand was much to his liking.

"I know. Can you, I don't know, sell any drawings here?"

"In Dietfurt? The art capital of Europe?" He laughed to remove the sting.

"It's too bad there are no barges here," Birgit muttered. "That we could load the wagon onto, I mean."

A few moments later, Felix turned abruptly. "You know, there is an option. "Water casks. Empty ones. We lay the wagon bed on top of couple of kegs, lash them together, and float the wagon across. We'll need ropes to haul it from the far side. Don't worry, I can get the rope there."

"So we need rope and water casks. We have some rope, is it enough?"

"Yes, but we still need the casks. And I can't imagine what the innkeeper would charge for them."

"We don't need to buy them, just find some peasants to borrow or rent them from. If they can be floated across, they can be floated back."

"That might still cost too much."

"Give me a moment." Birgit went over to talk to some of the other travelers, then returned.

"They're as tired of Dietfurt as we are. I told them that you're an expert riverman. If you know more than your client, you're an expert, right? I promised that if they get the casks, then you'll guide them how to get their wagons and ours across. You can do that, I hope? And then we'll have more people to push and pull, too."

Felix agreed. The travelers assembled at the ford.

"Don't peek," Felix told Birgit. She closed her eyes, and he stripped. He tied a borrowed fishing line to a nearby tree, put the other end in his mouth, and, holding it with his teeth, swam across.

Birgit peeked anyway.

He signaled, and one of the other travelers took the tree end of the line and tied a heavier rope to it. Felix pulled it over, and tied the rope to a tree on the far side. The rope was now fastened to a tree on either bank, and hung low over the surface of the Altmuhl. Felix had chosen his tree so the rope went diagonally across, in a downstream direction.

Felix signaled again, and a couple of their fellow travelers stepped out into the water, holding the rope and guiding all of their mules across, tied together in single file. Since they weren't pulling a load, the mules weren't likely to be fazed by the water.

Birgit untied the rope from the tree on the south bank, and retied it to the tongue of their wagon. On the far bank, Felix set up their mules to haul the wagon across. She hopped on, and the remaining travelers pushed it into the water. Soon, she and their precious cargo were on the other side. Felix waded back, an arm on each cask, and returned them to the south bank.

The process was repeated until everyone was across. The last men, of course, had to wade. Or swim.

"Come to the bath house, rich and poor,

"The water is hot, you may be sure"

Felix was thinking about one of the entries in Jost Amman's Das Standebuch, a collection of woodcuts which depicted various trades, from Apothekers to Zirkelschmidt s… tool makers.

Amman was from Nurnberg, and there even the poor were given money and an hour off for their weekly bath. After the arduous wagon trip all the way from Solnhofen to Nurnberg, Felix was looking forward to a good soak. A tip from a rich merchant that Felix had assisted over the Altmuhl was paying for the bath.

Felix paid his fee, and waited for the trumpet to sound, the signal that the water was hot and the bath was ready to receive guests.

"With fragrant soap we wash your skin,

"Then put you in the sweating bin;"

Felix had been in Grantville long enough to have his doubts as to the efficacy of sweating as a plague preventative. But he figured it couldn't do any harm, since the up-timers admitted that twentieth century Scandinavians still took saunas.

"And when you've had a healthful sweat,

"Your hair is cut, your blood is let,"

But Felix decided to draw the line at blood-letting.

"And then, to finish, a good rub

"And a pleasant soak in a soothing tub."

Felix fought back a yawn as he left the bath. As he headed back to their lodging, he wondered how Birgit had fared with her mysterious errands.

"Felix!"

"What's wrong, Birgit?"

"The question isn't what's wrong, but what's right. Now is the right time for you to make a lithograph."

"Wait, Birgit. I was going to take the stones back to Grantville, experiment with different media and etchings, make a few trial runs. .. That was our plan when we left Grantville, right?"

"Yes, yes, that was a good plan then, but this is a cusp, a turning point in history, and you must take advantage of its artistic possibilities. And financial possibilities."

"What are you talking about?"

Birgit shoved a newspaper in his direction.

"Hmm… So Don Fernando, the self-proclaimed King in the Low Countries, has rescued his cousin, the Archduchess Maria Anna, from the clutches of Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar. By airplane, no less. It is certainly a great moment in history. Don Fernando will no doubt commission Pieter Paul Rubens to paint it. Lesser artists will copy the Rubens. None of which will matter to me, back in Grantville."

"Don't you see? Those paintings will take months to complete. And they will be seen only by a few members of the nobility. But with lithography, you can create hundreds, perhaps thousands of posters quickly, so that everyone who reads the newspaper-and even people who can't read-can picture what the, the Aerial Rescue, was like. What's the proverb? Strike while the iron is hot."

"I can quote proverbs, too. 'Look before you leap.'"

"'He who hesitates is lost.'"

"'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'"

"'The early bird catches the worm.'"

"'Haste makes waste.'"

"'A stitch in time-'" Birgit cut herself off. "Enough of the dueling proverbs! The point is, we have a chance to make a killing. You can do your experimenting here, and when you're satisfied with the results, well, there are plenty of printers in Nurnberg." She paused, then added slyly. "How would you depict the event, if you were drawing it?"

Felix leaned back in his chair, eyelids half-shuttered. "Well, there are many possibilities. You could show the prince helping the archduchess into the cockpit. But that's a little, um, passive?

"Or the plane coming in for a landing on one side, and Bernhard's cavalry charging in from the other. With the archduchess waiting in the middle." He paused. "Perhaps with one angel in the air, helping the plane along, and another rising out of the ground, causing Bernhard's horses to topple.

"Or perhaps we should have them already in the air, flying on to the Netherlands. Into the sunset."

Birgit gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You could do all three, see which sells best. People can buy any of the three, or the set at a special price."

"All right. I'll do it. Fortunately, I have seen a plane. A Gustav flying over Grantville. So I know what it looks like from below. I'll have to guess what it looks like from above, if I decide to show that view. But, hey, only a handful of up-timers will know if I get that wrong.

"I'll need pictures of Don Fernando. And the Archduchess. Duke Bernhard, if I can find his likeness, but I can always recycle a stock villain if I have to." Birgit promised to see what she could come up with; she already knew a printer who she thought likely to try a new printing method. He already had two "Vignelli-graphs," the down-time recreations of a mimeograph machine.

Felix would get the artist's materials. And do preliminary sketches to show the printer, and pick out the stone to use for making the first lithograph in history.

He could draw on the stone with a wax crayon, like the "Crayola" crayons which the up-time children hoarded. Or with a pastel, the newfangled chalk-like drawing stick in which pigment was bound by gum. Or with an oil-based ink. All had the fundamental attribute that the binder was a water-repellent grease of some sort.

He didn't have the special grained transfer paper which was mentioned in the encyclopedia article. That meant that he would have to do the drawing in reverse. Well, that wasn't a problem. Birgit had a hand mirror; he would do an initial sketch in charcoal, view it in the mirror, and then draw the reverse image on the stone.

Picking the right stone wasn't easy. Yellow or grey? He decided to try a yellow first. He had more of them, so if he spoiled the stone on his first attempt, it would be less of a loss. He picked out a likely prospect, and used calipers to check for parallelism. Hmm, not so good as it had seemed when he was at the quarry. Well, when they got back to Grantville, he could see if someone at the machine shop could sand it down for him. In the meantime, he needed a different stone.

His second choice was more of a greyish-yellow. It passed the caliper test. He now drew a big X of water on it, sprinkled some sand, and rotated a second stone on top of it. He stopped when the X was completely gone. "I hope that's good enough," he thought.

He drew the simplest of the three images on the stone; it took a full day to complete. So far so good.

Felix had bought both aqua fortis-what the up-timers called nitric acid-and gum arabic at a nearby apothecary. The next morning, he made a trial mixture of a small amount of each, and tested it on an unused part of the stone. Hmm, not strong enough. He added another drop of the aqua fortis, and decided this was satisfactory. So he made up a larger batch, with the new proportions, and retested.

He took a deep breath and brushed the mixture over the stone, starting at the margins and then, not without some trepidation, over the drawing proper.

The purpose of the etch was not to remove material, but to make sure that the undrawn portions of the stone would, when wet with water, repel the printer's ink. Whereas the drawn portions, thanks to the grease, would attract it. He was pleased-relieved to be more accurate-to see that the etchant hadn't defaced the drawing.

Felix hesitated at this point. The Encyclopedia Americana had said to wash the etched stone with a mixture of ink and turpentine, replacing the original image. That didn't make a lot of sense to Felix. And the 1911 Encyclopedia hadn't said anything about turpentine. Felix decided to go ahead with the turpentine wash, and then do a second etching.

He carefully picked up the prepared stone and headed to the printer. Felix got into a big argument with the fellow. The printer wanted to use some cheap paper that he was overstocked with; Felix insisted that he use a high-quality rag paper, as suggested by the encyclopedia. Felix also warned him to use an oily ink. By the time Felix wore the printer down, it was closing time. The printer promised to run off a proof the next morning.

Felix and Birgit came by the print shop at daybreak. They entered, uncertain of their reception, but the printer was all smiles. The proof looked good, very good indeed. The printer told them to come back in the afternoon. They did so, and the printer was even more cheerful. It had taken only a few hours to pull the hundred lithographs off the press; they were still drying, but they looked exquisite. All three went out to celebrate.

Felix spent several days drawing the second, more detailed image, and rushed it over to the printer. The results were… not so good. Felix blamed the printer, the printer blamed Felix. There was no celebrating that night.

The following morning, Birgit suggested that perhaps what was lacking was… time. The original argument had resulted in the prepared stone sitting overnight before being used. Perhaps the chemicals needed to settle in, somehow? Felix talked it over with the printer, and he grudgingly agreed to an experiment. Felix would break a stone in half, and prepare each half the same way, but one would be used immediately after etching, and the other after an overnight delay.

The printer sponged each trial stone with water, rolled oily ink over it, and printed a few specimens. Sure enough, the delay was critical. For whatever esoteric reason, the image needed to be allowed to rest, after etching, to be stable. With confidence restored, Felix redid the second drawing and then moved on to the third.

"So, have we sold any yet?"

"Not yet, Felix. We finished the print run too late in the day. We'll have a better idea in the morning."

Felix tossed and turned that night. Birgit tried to ignore his agitated movements, but couldn't. She finally kicked him out of a bed. Apologetically, but firmly.

They walked down to the print shop.

"How're they selling?" Felix asked.

The printer stared at them lugubriously. Felix started to turn away.

"Like Lebkuchen!" the printer shouted, and laughed. He took Felix into a bear hug.

The trilogy of lithographs celebrating "The Aerial Rescue" was a great commercial and artistic success. The printer was besieged with requests for reprints and new works. Birgit negotiated an arrangement under which he would obtain the stones for them, and he would have the first dibs for printing lithographs from those stones in Franconia.

And if anyone noticed that the archduchess in the poster had a surprising resemblance to one Birgit Wegenerin, artist's wife and entrepreneur, who was equally tall and buxom, well… they didn't mention it in public.