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

Wish Book
Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

"Gary Jordan!"

Gary Jordan Burke flinched. He almost always flinched when Joyce got to screeching. It was an automatic response to her high-pitched, overly-loud voice. You'd think the woman thought everyone was deaf.

"Gary Jordan!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Go downtown and get some more paper scrap. We're nearly out."

"Yes, dear." Gary suppressed a sigh. Still, he'd best get downtown and do as Joyce wanted. If he didn't she'd get into his garage again, looking for non-glossy paper. She mostly left the glossy stuff alone, but any thin sheet of print was in danger around Joyce. Of course, so were ear drums.

Gary spent a lot of time in the garage. He almost had to, considering how crowded the house seemed. Heck, Joyce and her screech were a crowd all by themselves, but add in visits from kids, grandkids and assorted relatives – well, the place was a mad house half the time.

"A man can't hear himself think around here."It had been bad enough, back before the Ring of Fire. It had gotten three… no, six… no, twelve… well, a whole lot worse since then. Mom and Dad were living with them now, since they'd sold their house when they ran out of money. That was bad enough. But the worst was Aunt Muriel. Oh, Lord… Aunt Muriel.

The woman never, ever quit talking. Talking in the same kind of screech Joyce had. Even so, she did pay rent. Which was more than Mom and Dad did. Mom and Dad just assumed they'd be welcome until their dying days. Which they were, really. It was just that money was so damned tight. And feeding everyone wasn't getting any cheaper. And Gary really, really didn't like thinking about the property taxes and the way they were probably going to go up.

So, going out after paper scraps wasn't all that much of a chore. Well, it was, but it was worth it to get away from the screeching and protect what was left of the reading material in the house. Which, come to think of it, was mostly what people had used just before the paper scraps. He remembered old stories about the Sears and Roebuck catalog, back before it became the Sears catalog. How people would go to the outhouse and use the Wish Book twice. Now, that's recycling.

Gary froze. The Wish Book. They called it the Wish Book and everyone in America had one. Almost, anyway. Now that he was thinking along those lines, he remembered other stories told about the Wish Book; people ordering whole houses out of it and life-saving things. Teachers teaching children to read using it. Talk about advertising penetration. He'd been trying to figure a way to make some more money for a long time. And now he thought he'd found one. The big problem was that he didn't have a lot of money to put into the idea. Which meant he needed to talk to Mom and Dad. And Muriel.

"So, I don't see any reason to wait, Aunt Muriel. In fact, we shouldn't wait. Somebody else might beat us to the punch if we do."

Muriel watch him squirm for a few moments. It had to have been hard for him to do this. Gary Jordan was a proud man, one who'd done well by Joyce. But times were hard and getting harder, at least in this household. Too many people, not enough income to support them all. "I'll do it. And I'll get your parents to invest, too. It'd downright foolish to sit on what they got for the house, planning to leave it to you and Duncan when they croak. It'd make a lot better sense to put it into the business. Instead of the Sears and Roebuck catalog, why couldn't it be the Burke catalog? Running a mail order business out of the garage ought to work."

Well, that meant the garage would be lost as a quiet haven, Gary knew. But he needed to do something. So he'd have to sacrifice. Who wasn't, these days?

"First thing we need is a catalog."

Muriel shook her head. "First thing we need is some inventory. We ought to be able to buy in bulk and get a discount. And then we need an engraver, to do the pictures to go in the catalog. Then we get it printed up and sent out."

"But there are already such things," Ursula Reifsniderin said. "There are seed catalogs and catalogs of other things as well." Ursula was a refugee who had needed a place to stay. She acted as primary translator for the family as well as general help and instructor in the German language and German ways. She was still learning English, but was learning it a lot faster than they were learning German.

"You mean they already have the Sears catalog?" Gary asked.

"I don't know about this Sears. I don't know that word, but merchants have listings of their products they send out."

That got them into a discussion of what would make their catalog unique, which led to a discussion of what had made it unique in the original time line. It took some working out and some research. What they finally determined was that it was a combination of things. The Sears catalog had been a general merchandise catalog with a lot of products, which made it distinct from the more specialized catalogs. It had also been published in a time when transport had gotten much cheaper. Which made Gary and Muriel nervous, but pleased Ursula because the same thing was happening around the Ring of Fire with the new roads and the railroads getting started.

The first catalog was a simple thing. Not very big at all. Not too fancy, either.

But it was an actual book, well, booklet, bound with thread and it did work. In some ways, it worked too well. Orders poured in from as far away as Jena. More than they had the stock to fill. Which caused it's own problems, including letters of apology and refunds when requested. Each of which cost them money. And some of the suppliers jacked up the price for products they had already ordered. They ended up selling some stuff at below cost because of that. In spite of all the headaches, they made a profit that first year. Not as large a profit as they'd have liked, but still a profit.

Muriel kept the books. The woman was a whiz with numbers and she had all day free, unlike Gary and Joyce. They kept their day jobs. Had to keep body and soul, together, after all. Mom and Dad helped, too. Most of their inventory was small stuff, so no one had any trouble lifting the various items and packing them up.

The hardest part of it all was reading the handwriting on the orders. Ursula Reifsniderin was a treasure. She was the one who took the packed up orders to the post, using the red wagon that had been around since the kids were little.

Ursula looked in the mirror and grimaced. She wasn't fond of her face. She had survived some rough times in her life and they had left marks. Grantville had been her salvation and the Burkes her blessing. She remembered a line, she couldn't remember where she had read it or heard it, but when she thought of Burkes it always came to mind, "Who is your family? The ones who put you out or the ones who took you in? " The Burkes were her family now and the Ring of Fire her fatherland. In general, it was a good family and a good fatherland.

She abandoned the fruitless examination of the mirror and set to work. They needed a bigger cart than the little red wagon.

"Look, Papa."

Johan stopped what he was doing and straightened up, grabbing at his back when he felt a twinge. "Yes, Anna? What is it now? And have you finished your chores? Picked up the bread, as your mother asked?"

Papa's back hurt a lot. Anna repressed some concern about that. It did tend to make him a bit irritable. "Papa, look at this. A man dropped a whole stack of them in the village. I've been reading it. It says here that you can order all these things from Grantville. I think Mama would love one of these." Anna pointed to the drawing.

Her papa grunted and took the book. He began flipping through it. The words "Pain Relief" caught his attention. "Dr. Gribbleflotz' Little Blue Pills of Happiness. Says here they're good for all matter of ache and pain."

"The little box is pretty, too." Anna hesitated. "It couldn't hurt to try them, could it?"

"Perhaps not. And you're right. Your mama would like that."

"I don't believe it for a minute," Hans said. "All of it is too cheap. It must be a scam."

"It came from Grantville," Freidrich pointed out. "And Pastor Schultz says they do things differently there. He's even been there."

"The whole village knows that." Hans' voice was full of scorn. "Like you could not know that, the way the man talks about it." He flipped another page. "Hm. Ursel would like that."

"Mama, Mama!"

Adele flinched at the shrill shout. Children. You just can't keep them quiet. "Shh, child, shh. Not so loud please. What is it?"

"It was so exciting, Mama. An up-timer came through the village. In one of their pick-up trucks. And he had a box of these. Then he gave me one. Look."

Adele shook her head even as she reached for the pamphlet her son held out. "Child, child, child. Your curiosity is going to get you in all sorts of trouble one of these days." She began flipping through the pages, looking at the drawings. "Oh. Papa would like one of those, don't you think?"

"What about the 1633 catalog?" Joyce asked. She and Gary were in bed watching TV, just like before the Ring of Fire. Of course, the movies were all reruns and the news was about broken armies, new business, and, of course, the weather and what the little ice age meant to their future.

"What about it?" Gary mumbled, not really paying attention. She could tell. Sometimes it seemed the only way she could get his attention was to screech.

This time she used an elbow to the ribs. "How are we going to handle it? Last year we bought the stuff in advance and ran out a lot. We need a better system."

"Oww. What sort of better system?"

"I don't know, but we have to come up with something. I'm not sending out any more 'Sorry, but that product is out of stock' letters if I can avoid it." She gave him a look. "Aside from what it does to our profits, it hurts our reputation."

"Joycie is dead right about that," Pop Burke said. He always had been pretty partial to Joyce. "We took their money, then we had to give it back. It cost us to do that. What we really need is a way to do Collect on Delivery, like they did back in the old days. Didn't do that much anymore, not even up-time. Everyone was using credit cards and checks."

"I don't know if we can work that part out," Gary admitted. "Maybe we can. What we'll have to do, though… I think, maybe… is get the suppliers more involved, get them to give us better discounts for one thing. Freight costs… man alive, those are terrible. But we need guaranteed stock, no more of this 'oh, we're out of that.' And, considering how well we did do, I think a bigger, better catalog will help a lot."

Muriel nodded. "That last one was pretty plain. I bet it got lost in the mail half the time. We need a better cover, something that stands out. Color if we could get it."

"Whoo hee." Pop chuckled. "And pretty girls modeling underwear?"

Mom swatted his arm. "You old coot."

"Hey!" Pop rubbed his arm. "I don't see why not. They did that, even back in the old days."

"I don't see why there shouldn't be pretty girls. And good-looking guys, for that matter," Joyce said. "Whatever it takes to sell stuff. And we've got some good products. Life-saving products, even, now that they've figured out the household fire extinguisher. Adolph Schmidt's gold-plated flatware ought to sell like hotcakes, too. We ought to be able to double the pages this time."

"Me? To model?" Ursula's hand flew to her face. "Oh, no. Not me."

"Herr Gruber will leave that out, Ursula." Joyce smiled. "Back up-time they airbrushed out all sorts of defects. I mean, you'll never convince me that they didn't airbrush the Playboy bunnies right, left, up-side-down and sideways. You're the right size and the right build. We'll put your hair up pretty and get you a real nice outfit. That won't matter."

"But… "

"It's keep it in the family, or we have to hire someone else. And the more we can keep it in the family, the more money we get to keep."

Ursula reluctantly agreed. Joyce had the right of it there, as much as she hated to admit it.

"I'm sorry, Herr Kruger. But unless you can guarantee a supply of your vise grips at a consistent price, they won't be in the Wish Book this year." Gary Jordan Burke was learning to play hard ball, or at least he was trying. Herr Kruger was one of the people who had jacked up prices last year, which left them selling his product for less than they paid for it. It hadn't been entirely his fault; he had had to put on extra people to fulfill the demand. On the other hand, he wasn't the one that had taken the loss.

"But you won't guarantee to buy them. That is hardly fair."

"You're right. But having your product in our book is very good advertising." Gary shrugged. "It's your choice."

"No, Herr Schmidt, it's not about the flatware." Joyce smiled at the rather beefy down-timer. "We would like to include the Higgins Sewing Machine in our Wish Book. The way it would work is we would forward orders received to you, then receive a commission on sales you made through our Book."

"How much of a commission were you thinking about?" It went on from there and took several weeks to work out all the details. Of course, Gary and Joyce were working out the same issues on other products at the same time. It depended on the product and the company as to how things worked. Sometimes they bought stock outright, sometimes they acted as agent for other companies. Sometimes their agreements were exclusive, sometimes not.

"Oh, I really like this section." Muriel flipped through the pages of the 1633 Burke catalog. "That was clever, naming each section that way."

"Working Man Blues for the overalls is cute, I suppose." Mom sniffed. "But I'm not at all sure about that Mail-Order Bride section."

Pop cackled. "Keep your wife as happy as a new bride." Then he snorted. "But that sure didn't work the time I bought you a new vacuum, if I remember right."

Mom threw him a look. "You old coot. That was our twentieth wedding anniversary. You coulda made some kind of effort."

"Mail-Order Bride?" The caption brought Paulus Sandler to a brief halt, then he saw the rest of it. "Keep your wife as happy as a new bride. Ha! As though that can happen." He started to toss the book back on the table, then caught sight of the cover. "Hmm."

He looked at it again, then flipped through it a bit more. "Hmm." He looked at the cover again.

"See something you like?" Albrecht Pfister asked. The other men around the table laughed. Paulus looked over at Albrecht, who was suppressing a grin and not doing a good job of it. Paulus had been a widower for two years now. His partners had each tried to find him a new wife amongst their relatives, but Paulus wasn't impressed with the results. He knew they wanted him to remarry. He even realized that they probably had a point. Maria had been the joy of his life. He still felt it when he thought of her and probably always would. He looked back at the book and Albrecht spoke again. "Think you ought to send off for that one, do you?"

"They're not selling the woman, you idiots. They're selling the things she shows. You know that as well as I do. Besides, I doubt she's real. Or, if real, I doubt she looks like that."

"Dare you to write and find out." Albrecht took a sip of beer. "You never know. It came from that Grantville place. I hear they're strange there."

That put a slight damper on the conversation. Everyone had heard they were strange there and more. By now everyone had met several people who had visited the place and seen the wonders. What they were concerned about was how those wonders would effect them. Paulus and his partners were in the shipping business. They owned, between them, half a dozen barges, and owned or had a agreements with dozens of inns and mule teams for the shipment and storage of goods. They had heard of the railroads but they were far away… at least for now.

The drawing of the woman was a topic of conversation time and time again. After a week, Paulus gave up. "All right, all right. I'll write the letter and order the woman. But you know she isn't real."

Paulus knew she wasn't real. He knew this wouldn't happen, that he wouldn't receive a bride in the mail. But she sure was pretty. Perhaps, if she was real, just maybe she would write to him. But she wouldn't be real, not looking like that. It was impossible. Real women didn't look like that.

"Because I can order it cheaper than we can go there." Johan Weisel shook his head. "To travel to Grantville would be too expensive. To order this, even with the freight charges, I can afford."

Barbara Weisel hid a smile. She'd been pretty sure that was the right approach. First she'd started by asking that they make the trip to Grantville and see the sights. She'd known all along that wouldn't happen. But enough display of unhappiness had gotten her what she really wanted. She would be the first woman in the village to have gold-plated flatware. Wouldn't Maria be envious?

The Gerber Bargain Book came out about three months after the 1633 Burke Wish Book. Gerber had copied their idea and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. A lot of their nonexclusive suppliers had their ads directly copied in his book.

No one was sure how he had gotten the print plates. Perhaps he hadn't; perhaps all he had done was use their book as a model. That's what Herr Gruber, the engraver, insisted. There were, he said, little differences in the Gerber book and the Wish Book. They actually talked to a lawyer about suing Gerber, but the lawyer told them it probably wouldn't do any good because the guy was based in Halle. Even if they won, the suit was likely to cost more than it would gain them. No one was sure what it would do to sales but they were all worried.

Johan groaned and stretched. "My pills, dear. Please."

Barbara nodded. She was happy that Johan had discovered the Blue Pills of Happiness. He was much less grumpy these days. She had used them a time or two herself, when the monthly cramps got out of hand.

All in all, she thought that many people in the village were a good bit less grumpy these days. Even her mother, who took the pills for the constant toothaches she suffered. "It's getting to be time to order more. But I think we should try the ones from the Bargain Book. They're cheaper."

"I'd be afraid they wouldn't work as well. Let's stick to the Gribbleflotz brand… just in case."

"Those are in the Bargain Book, too."

"But we know the ones from the Wish Book work."

Barbara shrugged. "As you wish. And your trousers are worn to the weft again. How about you try a pair of torberts?"

Ursula sighed. There were order forms in the Wish Book which made it easier to tell what was being ordered, in spite of which a lot of people put their orders in letters. People just didn't follow instructions. Still she had a job to do. She opened the letter and quickly realized that there was, in this case, a good reason for not using the order form.

Dear Sirs,

I would have used the order form but the item that captured my interest possessed neither order number or price. This is entirely understandable, for the young lady displayed on the cover and in your Mail Order Bride Section is clearly a pearl beyond price. Capture my interest, did I say? Nay, more. The kindly sparkle of her eyes, the clever wit of her smile, hold me an entranced prisoner even now.

I am not a fool, good sirs, though I know I must sound one. Such a one cannot exist in our poor earthly world. Not unless an angel from heaven snuck to earth in the fabled Ring of Fire. No, it must be the work of a latter day Michelangelo or Leonardo Da Vinci, who has, in turning from uncouth men to lovely ladies, put Michelangelo'sDavid to blushing shame. And in his model found a smile that causes the famed Mona Lisa to raise her hand to hide the smile that, until now, men so remarked upon.

Still, even the greatest artist must needs have inspiration to work from. And the inspiration for these works of art must have been more than a mere physical model. Clearly the artist has managed to capture a bit of the beauty of the model's soul. Nor, I know, can such a thing be bought. It must instead be won. Did I but live in an earlier age, I would don armor and seek out a dragon to slay or perhaps take up my lute and compose ballads by the score.

But we do not live in such times and my singing causes children to flee in fear, convinced, no doubt, that some horrible monster approaches. I am but a man of accounts. A merchant, who even now kicks himself for not having the wit to offer my customers such a compilation of products to be ordered with such ease. So, while I would willingly and happily order all of the items in the Mail Order Bride section of your Wish Book – did I have such a bride as the one you show to gift them with. Alas, the one that would make the others worthwhile is unavailable. But, on the infinitesimal chance that I am wrong… that there is such a paragon of the womanly virtues as the pictures display… How might she be contacted?

Yours Most Sincerely,

Paulus Sandler

Ursula sat frozen in her chair, staring at the letter, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Clearly the letter was intended to offer the writer up for friendly ridicule for the amusement of the reader. But she was sure that there was a touch of genuine desire hidden in its lines. There was a loneliness in it that she recognized as her own. A loneliness that didn't really expect to find easing. It was that realization that tipped the balance in favor of tears, for she could almost – but not quite – believe that she could ease that loneliness and her own into the bargain. And the certainty that she couldn't weighed on her with a weight she couldn't bear. Tears filled her eyes, a little for the letter but mostly for the knowledge that she would live and die alone. Leaving the letter where it lay, she got up and ran from the room.

"What was that all about?" Gary asked.

Joyce was quicker. She went to Ursula's desk and looked for what some cretin could have written that would upset the normally unflappable young woman to the point of tears. Ready to give the cretin a piece of her mind, she of course saw the letter immediately. And began to read. Gary shortly was reading over her shoulder.

"What's the big deal?" Gary asked, just like a man. "So the guy was over the top. Why not just trash it if she didn't want to answer it."

Joyce slammed him with an elbow to the ribs. "Don't be more of a jerk than you have to, Gary. The problem is she does want to answer it."

Gary stepped out of range because he knew he was about to earn another elbow. "So why not answer it?"

Joyce didn't answer, she just looked at him and sighed. "Stay here. And don't say a word about this to Ursula. Ever! I'm going to talk to her."

Ursula was crying in her pillow when she heard the knocking and realized that she had run out of the room. Embarrassment fought grief and won, at least for the moment. She wiped her eyes and went to open the door. When she saw the letter in Joyce's hand, a new embarrassment added its weight to grief and the tears came again.

"I knew I shouldn't have agreed. I knew it."

"Honey, it's a beautiful letter. It's kind of like the man really wants to know you. He sounds very sweet." Joyce pointed to the phrase "children run screaming in fear." "You've got to like a guy who can put himself down like that."

Ursula blinked back tears. "And now I have to tell this perfectly nice man that I am not what he thinks. I knew Herr Gruber was doing wrong, making me too pretty. No one has ever offered me marriage. My family didn't even want to look at me, not after… Mama cried every time she looked at my face. That is why I left. I could bear it no longer."

Joyce patted her shoulder. "You are too that pretty. Why, if we were back up-time, they could fix that in a heartbeat."

"But we are not." Ursula stood, then wiped her eyes. "We are not."

Dear Sir,

I regret that I must decline your kind offer. It is quite true that nothing was added to that drawing, that I will attest to. But I'm afraid something was left out of it. I feel that it would not be to your advantage, or mine, to correspond.

I thank you for the letter you sent and will treasure it.

U.R.

Ursula considered and worked on her response for a week. Even though Joyce had offered to write it, she felt that she must. After at least fifty starts and stops, she finally decided that short and simple was best. But she couldn't resist letting Paulus Sandler know that she did treasure his letter.

"She writes a beautiful hand," Albrecht pointed out. "I wonder what she means, 'something was left out of it.'"

"Pox marks, I'd bet."

"Fat as a house, maybe?"

"No teeth?"

Paulus read the letter again. Something about it spoke to him. But he didn't know what. "I suppose we'll never know. I told you there would be something like this." Even as he blustered, he tried to hide his disappointment.

"Business is slow," Albrecht said. "You could go see. Don't even have to give your name. Just go and look."

"Bah! Pointless."

"Well, there's always my niece, Anna."

Paulus flinched. Anna was, in his opinion, a shrew and as close to witless as he had ever seen.

"Then you ought to go. Every man should travel now and again." Here, fishy, fishy.

"Pointless, I say."

"Dare you. Besides, we need someone to have a look at those railroads and see if we can get shipping contracts from Grantville. We got some from that Simpson fellow in Magdeburg."

"We don't have much in the way of connections in southern Germany. We always thought they weren't needed."

"True enough, before the Ring of Fire happened. Now I'm not so sure. It's been a couple of years and they're still there. Even getting bigger. I really do think it's time we started paying attention, don't you?"

The suppliers, some of them, were doing it again, in spite of the contracts. "Unavoidable delays." "We're sorry, but there are just so many hours in a day and we're working our fingers to the bone as it is." It was even true. Of course, some of the stuff they were working their fingers to the bone making was going to Halle to the Gerber warehouse. Gerber's advantage was that he had more startup money. He could make bulk orders, put them in his warehouse in Halle and have them ready for the orders to come in.

"I'm getting worried about this," Joyce said. "This is the fifth 'out of stock' letter I've had to write this week. If this keeps up, it's going to ruin our reputation."

"It's going to ruin us entirely. Waiting for those products is costing us money. And we're still getting orders from last year's Wish Book at last year's prices." Muriel was getting worried. When they had decided to seriously expand the Wish Book for 1633, they had put up the house as collateral for a large loan. They had gone with a truly monstrous print run, fifteen thousand copies and hired extra people. All of which would have been fine if they had or could get enough product to support their orders.

At seven months after the publication of the 1633 Wish books they had filled sixty-three thousand orders and had just under twenty thousand waiting, at an average of three point seven items per order. Mostly small ticket items: measuring cups and spoons, scales, even fabric tape measures, were selling faster than they could be produced. So they had a fair-sized staff that was mostly sitting on its hands waiting for the manufacturers to deliver the product so that they could package it and ship it. And they couldn't let their people go; they had become like family. Instead, she had missed the last two payments on the house. The worry was affecting her temper, which was none too even to begin with.

Paulus Sandler couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The Wish Book came from here? A small, inconspicuous building, off the main streets of Grantville? There was no warehouse. There was barely room for a person to turn around in the crowded space. How could this possibly be the headquarters of the Wish Book?

He stopped staring in the window, squared his shoulders and tapped at the door. In the few hours he'd been here, he'd already learned to call this kind of building a "garage." It appeared that many of these garages had been converted to living spaces or workshops for various manufactories.

"Come in!"

Paulus flinched. The voice was very high-pitched and screechy. Perhaps that was what U.R. meant when she said that something had been left out. He cracked open the door. "Hello?"

"Come on in. I'm in the back."

Paulus made his way around a stack of barrels. "Ah?"

"What can I help you with?" The woman who spoke was very old, but her eyes behind the thick spectacles were bright. "Were you looking for Gary or Joyce?"

"Ah… no." Paulus held out the letter he had received. "I am looking for the person who wrote this."

Muriel looked at the letter. She knew all about it, of course. You couldn't keep a secret in the Burke household. "You the man that wrote?" He wasn't a bad looking man, she thought. A bit beefy, maybe, but nice looking.

"Yes. And I could not help myself. I must know what got left out of the picture. I simply must."

Muriel picked up a copy of the Wish Book and pointed to the cover. Then, with a finger nail, she indicated a scar on the beautiful face. "Ursula has a scar here. A bad one, caused by one of the men who attacked her. But that isn't the worst scar she carries. The worst one is the scar she carries in her heart."

"Ah." Paulus stopped.

"So tell me, buster. Does that change things for you? She's not quite what the picture shows. But she's really a lot more than it shows, too. I've never met a more caring person, up-time or down. And as they say, beauty is only skin deep."

"How am I supposed to know that?" Paulus complained. "I have never met the woman. I don't know how things would go between us even if she looked exactly like the picture. What's she like? Will she find me an old, fat man?" Paulus wasn't fat but he was solidly built and not overly tall. Nor was he a doddering oldster, though there was some gray in his blond hair and lines of care on his face. He looked like what he was, a middle-aged, fairly prosperous merchant. But he knew that to the callow youth he had been, he would look an old man. "Does her smile in the picture there reflect her laugh or is it the artist's grace? Does she laugh with joy or at another's pain?"

He shook head unable to really explain what had brought him here "It's true that I came about the girl, but I knew it was probably a fool's errand even as I made the trip. I have no desire to hurt the girl nor any great desire to be hurt myself. The excuse I gave myself was that I was really coming to look over your business. Perhaps it's best we leave it at that for now?"

"Oh no! Gerber's already killing us. Now you want to jump in."

Paulus laughed. "Not necessarily. It's more curiosity than anything else. Is Gerber really hurting you that much? From what I hear back home, you seem to have plenty of customers."

"That's not the problem. It's the suppliers." And from there they went into a detailed discussion of what the business was doing and how it was working. That's what Ursula found Muriel and the stranger talking about over an hour later.

As she usually did around strangers, Ursula stood with the good side of her face toward anyone she didn't know well. This sometimes took some maneuvering, but to Muriel it seemed that it was almost second nature by now. "I'm back, Muriel. Shopping done and the day's packages delivered to the post. The new cart makes that job much easier."

Muriel smiled. "We're pretty much done for the day, then. And I'm tired. Ursula, this is – "

She stopped abruptly because Paulus cut her off. "Albrecht Pfitzer, at your service." He bowed. "Frau, ah, Muriel, rather, has been telling me about you."

Muriel kept herself from flinching. She could understand that Paulus might not want to embarrass Ursula, but she was pretty sure he was making a big mistake. "Albrecht is going to have supper with us, Ursula. He's got some very good ideas about how we could expand the business and I want to pick his brain a bit longer. We'll need to tell Joyce to set another place at the table."

Albrecht was a very nice man, Ursula thought. He hadn't visibly flinched when he saw the scar she bore and had kept up dinner conversation very well. He'd also borne up under the noise level, which was something that Gary didn't always manage very well. Ursula knew that Joyce, Mom Burke, and Muriel couldn't help the pitch of their voices. It did make for piercing conversation, though.

Paulus thought about the Burkes and Ursula all during the walk back to the Higgins Hotel. The Wish Book had been a good idea, one that was clearly working and that had a lot of profit potential. But, as good-hearted and kind as the Burkes were, none of them had a head for business. They'd done reasonably well, even so. What they didn't have was the capital to grow. And he knew, from talking to Muriel, that they were in serious danger of going under. It was a case of too much success, too soon, compounded by the problems with their suppliers.

He, though, had capital. And business sense. And it was clear that Ursula was a part of the Burke family, an important part. He doubted that she would look kindly on him taking over if she thought it would damage her adopted family.

And, now that he thought about it, keeping his real identity a secret might have been a mistake. It had been a spur of the moment thing, an unthoughtout attempt to save them both embarrassment. It had suddenly occurred to him that maybe her letter had simply been a kind way of telling him she wasn't interested. He had never thought that before and nothing Muriel had said supported the notion. It was seeing her face. The unscarred side of her face. She had looked like the pictures. Just like the pictures. What could such a woman see in him? Now he faced another problem. How would Ursula feel when she discovered his deception? Having Ursula think he was dishonest would not make him happy, he acknowledged. She was beautiful in spirit and that spirit called to him. Probably he should have admitted who he was immediately.

Of course, if he helped the Burkes out of their troubles, surely that would make her look kindly upon him. Perhaps even enough that she would forgive him the deception.

He worried at the problem most of the night, even as tired as he was.

Paulus Sandler wasn't the only one worried. All through dinner, Muriel had worried. First, that he had involved her in his lie. Then about why he lied. Was it to save Ursula embarrassment or had he decided as soon as he saw her that he wasn't interested? That actually seemed to make more sense, though he hadn't acted uninterested in Ursula. If he was going to fade away, it might be best if Ursula never found out that Paulus Sandler had come to visit. That led her to worrying if perhaps he hadn't come here about Ursula at all and was just here to scope out their business. For all she knew he worked for Gerber. Finally after dinner she talked to Joyce and Gary about it. Then they started worrying.

"No, I don't think it was all a scam to get a look at how we operate." Gary grinned. "He was looking at Ursula all night and it wasn't the scar he was looking at."

"Gary Jordan, you are a dog." Joyce glared.

Gary grinned. " Arf, arf. But I'm your dog, darlin'. Point is, he was interested. Of course, he could be interested in both. There are guys who are interested in more than one thing." He pointed at his chest with his thumb, waited a beat for Joyce's disbelieving snort, then said, "I've met some."

"So what do we do? Drag him back down here and make him fess up?" Joyce asked. "He's going to have to sooner or later – and the longer he waits, the worse it's going to be for everyone."

Gary had been thinking about that. "I think the first thing to do is for me to go down there and have the 'what are your intentions' talk."

"Gary, Ursula's a grownup." It was clear from Joyce's tone she wasn't entirely convinced.

"I know she is, but she's also family, or close enough, and she's been hurt. I don't want to see her hurt again."

"So, if you're satisfied with his intentions, you're going to drag him back here to face the music?"

"I'm not sure. On the one hand, he surely deserves it. On the other hand, it seems like a great way to screw up any hope of them working things out. Ursula is liable to say something because she's pissed. He's liable to say something because he's trying to cover his ass. It might be better if he's not handy to pound on when Ursula gets the news."

Joyce shook her head. "Won't work. If he's not here, Ursula's going to feel like it's because he can't stand to look at her. I know it doesn't make sense, but that's how she's going to feel. Anyway, she's going to figure that the whole different name thing was just a way for him to wimp out. She's going to be hurt and if he's not here to explain himself, that's just going to nail it down."

"What are your intentions toward Ursula?" Gary felt like an idiot saying that but he couldn't think of another way to put it. Nor was he sure how he would answer if Paulus Sandler asked him what business it was of Gary's.

Instead, Paulus seemed relived. "I thought it was too late… " Paulus trailed off, clearly looking for the right words and not finding them.

"Okay." Gary sighed. "Let's go get some breakfast and you can tell me about it."

The tower, if you could call it that, of the Higgins Hotel wasn't finished yet so the restaurant was still located on the second floor of the middle building. But it was pretty darn fancy anyway. Which didn't seem to bother Paulus at all.

They sat down to scrambled eggs, bacon and pancakes while the merchant told his story. After he had gone through it all and explained why the sudden name change, Gary agreed that he was in some trouble. "The good news is you get to figure out what the dog house is like early."

"That news doesn't seem all that good to me."

"Well, you earned it and you know it." Gary grinned.

"You wouldn't sort of, well, explain the situation to Ursula?"

"Nope. I thought about it. But Joyce doesn't think it would be that good an idea. She figures if you don't show, then Ursula will think it's because you can't stand to look at her."

"That makes no sense!"

"Since when have women ever made sense?"

"But Ursula is clearly a pleasant and reasonable young woman. Surely… "

"Ursula got cut up and and assaulted eight years ago and the people of her village blamed her for 'inviting' it. A bunch of sickos blaming the victim, if you ask me. Anyway, from what we can gather, she was pretty vain about her looks before that and probably something of a tease. She figured she had lost everything. Which was what the SOB apparently had in mind. Now she figures she's the next best thing to the hunchback of Notre Dame. I know it's not that bad, you know it's not that bad. There's no convincing Ursula, though. You've seen how she hides that side of her face."

"Is that how it happened?"

"Well, that's how we've put it together from the odd comment she's made and a couple of crying jags when she'd had a bit too much wine. Point is, if you're not there to tell her different, she's going to figure that it's because you can't stand to look at her. And that, my friend, means you're going to have to be the one to tell her you were lying about your name." By now Paulus was acting like a ten year old who knew he was caught and was trying to figure out a way to get out of 'fessing up. Figuratively speaking, Gary grabbed him by the ear and dragged him home.

Judging honestly, Gary felt that Paulus held his own fairly well. Of course, it was Ursula who had most of the ammunition. The results were not deep passionate love. It was way too soon for that. Some pictures in a magazine, one letter each way. One dinner when one of the pair hadn't even known who the other was. And one "how could you do such a thing?" It was more like an armed truce. Paulus had not lived up to Ursula's expectations; he was on notice that he was on thin ice and he'd already cracked it.

At the same time, Paulus had stood up there at the end and let Ursula know that she could well win a Pyrrhic victory and run him off, and was getting very close to doing so. Yes, he had blown it. People sometimes do. No, he didn't find the scar much of an issue, not nearly so much as the "holier than thou" attitude. No, he wasn't going to run screaming because her face wasn't perfect, but neither was he a lap dog for anyone. Not even her. Looking at Ursula's face, Gary figured she was rather pleased with that last.

"So how do we keep him here long enough for something to grow?" Joyce asked after the fighters had retreated to their respective corners to get ready for the next round. That is, Ursula went to her room and Paulus went back to the Higgins Hotel.

"Do we want to?" Gary asked.

"Gary Jordan!" Joyce screeched.

"Well." Gary defended himself as best he could. "We don't really know all that much about him. We know he's a merchant, a friendly guy and he wrote a funny letter. But that's about it. He could be the next thing to a con man for all we know."

"So find out!" Joyce commanded.

What Gary found out over the next few days, first from Paulus himself, then from some of the commercial interests that were now based in Grantville, was that Paulus was generally considered honest enough, if a bit hard-nosed, in matters of business. That he was a fairly successful wholesaler of everything from pig iron to pepper. The way they decided to keep him around, even before they had confirmation for most of this, was to see if they could get him to help with organizing their business.

"Transportation." Paulus sighed. "The problem, Ursula, or the biggest problem, is transportation." He took a big drink of his beer. "The railroad will help. It will help more than I would have imagined possible before seeing it. But it will be months before it reaches Halle, and longer still before it reaches Magdeburg. And it's running at close to capacity now. What that means is that something like seventy percent of your sales have been within natural-gas-car range of Grantville or the railroads. That's a corridor about twenty miles wide on either side of the railroad in which you have unbelievably cheap transport. After you get out of that pocket, the cost of transport goes way up – to the point that it cancels out the advantage you have in mass production. It works the other way, too.

"Getting the raw materials up here costs a lot more if they aren't local, Look at the prices of your goods. Where the raw materials come through Hamburg, the cost of your goods is four to ten times higher than if the raw materials are found locally. What happens when your competitors have factories and warehouses in Magdeburg and yours are still here? Even with the railroad, they will be able to undercut your prices. You have to plan for the future."

"Is the river really that much cheaper then the railroad?" Ursula asked. "I mean, once the railroads reach Halle and Magdeburg?"

"It can be and it will be. Don't forget that by the time the railroad reaches Halle, it won't be competing with the little barges we have now. We'll build big barges with engines on them, maybe steam or, perhaps, internal combustion. We're still working that out. But my partners and I will have big barges built in Magdeburg before the rail line hits Halle. We'll be able to ship a hundred tons for what it cost us now to ship ten. And we'll have those hundreds of tons to ship, too, because of the industries that are starting up in Magdeburg and all along the Elbe."

Ursula was a bit worried. This particular batch of beer was pretty powerful. Apparently the local brewers were getting ready for the harvest celebrations. She'd determined that the last thing she wanted to do was get falling-down drunk in front of Paulus. Falling down might not be so bad. It was the drunk part she didn't much want. "But this is their home, Paulus. Many of the up-timers, especially the older ones, are afraid to leave Grantville."

Paulus burped. "Mark my words, my lovely, mark my words. It won't be that long until all the modern conveniences are available everywhere. Think about it. I come here and stay at the Higgins Hotel. I get up in the morning, walk to my own little bath house right there in my room. Get hot water with the turning of a knob. What do you think I'm going to do when I get home? The plumbing is coming. Well, for the wealthy. You can already buy a generator for the electric. There's no reason not to locate the business in a more optimum location."

Ursula grinned. Paulus had been doing a lot of talking with Huddy Colburn and picked up quite a bit of his vocabulary.

He swept his hand in the air, gesturing at the full room. "Every one of these people who wants to make money needs to consider the transportation. It will never be economically viable to have the mail order business located in such an inconvenient location. Well, the business offices can stay here. But not the warehouses and the shipping. What we need to do is convince Gary Jordan and Joyce. And Muriel. And Mom and Pop Burke." He grinned a bit blearily. "The old coot and the old hen. They don't all have to move. Muriel should probably stay here and it might be better for Mom and Pop Burke. Grantville does have the best medical facilities in the world."

"I've been reading, too. We need a parcel service like they had up-time. You Pee Ess, they called it."

"Might be possible, too. All the independent couriers… like that Martin over there… " Paulus paused. "Hm. I need to talk to Martin, I think. He'll have contacts." Then he shook his head. "That's for the future. Right now, what about us?"

He must be a bit drunk, Ursula thought. He was usually much more reticient. "What about us?"

"You still mad at me?"

Ursula took a sip of beer to delay answering. "Not really, I suppose." Their relationship had smoothed considerably in the last month. Perhaps it was time. "I'm not sure I ever really was. I was… " She touched the scar. "I was… afraid. Afraid that I would be alone forever. And then your letter came. And I thought maybe… but then… "

"I was afraid, too. Afraid I had destroyed what could have been."

Paulus had spent a lot of time with a new book in the last month. It had been written by some of the professional researchers who worked in the national library. It was a translation of management and organizational techniques developed up-time. Quite a bit of it was stuff Paulus already knew from experience, but it was organized and boiled down. Looked at in the light of Paulus' experience and "Business Management 101," the problem with the Burkes' business was that they were running it like a corner shop. They didn't have flow charts or much in the way of organizational structure. They weren't looking at who their suppliers were or, really, who their customers were. They weren't looking at what parts of the operation cost what, or seeing where things could be improved.

Paulus grimaced a bit. A lot of that could be applied to his own business as well. He and his partners had a great deal of experience. Between them they knew their business inside out, but not in a very organized way. Right now, he was a bit scared for his own fortune and his partners. It was unlikely that they would go out of business, but they could be hurt by the changes that were radiating out from the Ring of Fire. They were shippers of goods, mostly transhipers. They shipped quite a bit by barge up and down the Elbe and the Rhine, but they also had contracts with inns throughout northern and central Germany. They ran several mule trains carrying wine, cloth and all sorts of other goods. And one of the problems facing them was the change in the transportation picture. What was going to happen to the muleskinners when the railroad came? What would happen to their business as the muleskinners were affected?

While he had been building business flow charts for the Burkes, he'd also been building them for himself and his partners. Partly because he had an entirely different sort of merger on his mind, he started noticing the merger potential between the Burke's business and his. What he and his partners had was a distribution network, seventeenth-century style. What the Burkes had was access to the suppliers of up-time goods and a really good marketing idea that was already being copied. He started drawing new boxes and new lines, combining the two companies into one larger company, using each to add to the other to fill in missing pieces.

It was really just an exercise. Neither his partners nor the Burkes were likely to agree to it. His partners because they could copy the parts that the Burkes did readily enough. They hadn't yet because they mostly dealt in bulk goods. The Burkes because – like a lot of the up-timers – they seemed to want to keep control of everything in their own hands. At the same time, he did have a responsibility to his partners. The way things were looking, they were going to lose a lot of their trade over the next few years to the railroads.

"So you see, I really must be getting back. Albrecht, the real Albrecht, has written, asking for more details."

Ursula nodded. She and Paulus were walking through Grantville, her to do the shopping, Paulus just to keep her company and because he wanted to pick up some things he'd ordered. "You've been a lot of help. Even Gary says so. I did speak to him of the transportation problems. He is unsure."

"Ah. Here we are." Paulus put his hand on her waist and guided her through the door of Eberhart Leather. "I'm to pick up the briefcases today. Which will be much more professional-looking than a canvas tote."

Ursula giggled. "The mark of a businessman is his fancy leather brief case. Gary is going to start calling you a 'suit.'"

The counterman, having recognized Paulus, brought out the four briefcases he'd ordered. He'd had the initials of his partners applied to each. "Most excellent," Paulus said. "Most excellent. Wrap those up, please, but I will take this one now." He started transferring the load of file folders out of the tote, but he was a bit clumsy with it. One folder fell, spreading the contents over the floor.

It had to be that folder.Paulus reached for the organization chart, but it was too late. Ursula had already picked it up.

She looked up from it, face flushed. "Just what kind of merger are you planning, Herr Sandler? I don't recall… "

"Please don't be upset." He hesitated a moment. "I'm not really planing much of anything yet. It's more of a possibility than a plan."

"It looks pretty detailed to me."

"Yes, detailed, but not probable. What I haven't been able to figure out is the key to the whole thing… how to get anyone to agree to it." The clerk was looking at them, so, leaving Ursula in possession of the flow chart, Paulus took her arm and led her out of the shop.

"What do you mean?" Ursula waited till they were in the street to ask. One of the things that had impressed him about her was that she noticed things.

"Let's find a place where we can sit and talk." Paulus looked up and down the street for someplace fairly private.

A few minutes later, Ursula was seated in a corner of a cafe, waiting to hear Paulus' explanation. She hoped it would be a good one because she didn't really want to believe that he was going to try to steal the Wish Book from the Burkes.

"How many of the businesses in Grantville are now run by down-timers?" Paulus asked.

Ursula gave him a look but answered anyway, figuring this was part of the explanation. It had better be. "I don't know the exact numbers, but quite a few."

"Neither do I," Paulus acknowledged. "But I have noticed that a lot of them seem to have a certain amount of resentment attached to it, even when the up-timer gets rich off the deal… which a lot of them have."

Ursula nodded and waited.

"A lot of up-timers seem to think that just because they are from the future they know how to run a business. Well, they don't. You've heard the horror stories; I know you have. Even the up-timers have, though they don't seem to be listening all that well."

"If they're that bad, why are you carrying around up-time style management flow charts?" She held up the document in question.

"The up-timer management strategies in the business books that came back with the Ring of Fire are often brilliant and mostly useful. But most up-timers don't seem to have read the books." Paulus grinned at her and she had to acknowledge the truth of his words with a nod.

"It takes more than just the books, anyway," Paulus said. "It takes experience to understand what the books mean and most up-timers don't have it. I doubt if there are fifty up-timers who ran a business before the Ring of Fire. It's a different world view."

"Okay. So the up-timers aren't the world's greatest business people. What does that have to do with what you said before?"

"That's less the problem than the fact that most of them don't seem to realize it. What do you think the Burkes would say if I offered to take over?"

Ursula grinned. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think you might be surprised." She knew that the pressures of running the business weren't doing good things for the Burkes. That they weren't all that happy with the way things were going. "Is that what you have in mind? To take over the Wish Book and make us all rich?"

"Sort of. I have partners too, you know. I have a responsibility to them." Paulus hesitated then burst out. "The truth is, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be considering a merger at all. And even if the Burkes agreed, I doubt if my partners would."

"Why not?" Ursula tried to keep her voice level in spite of the sudden realization that he cared a great deal for her. She had come to know Paulus and one thing she was sure of was how important doing the best job he could was to him.

"Because they don't have that much to offer. The concept of the Wish Book, which, as Gerber has shown, we don't need to pay for. A little good will, but not that much. I know what my partners are going to say. 'Sounds like a great idea. What do we need the up-timers for?' Unfortunately, I don't have a good answer for that question."

Ursula cocked her head to the side. "You're not as smart as I thought you were. You know what? I have a good answer for that question."

"What?"

"Knowledge. Not business knowledge. General knowledge. Look, a few months back someone wanted us to sell an electric belt that was a cure for everything from the black death to back pain. Could an electric belt do that?"

"Well, from your voice I guess not." Then he grinned. "But if I had just seen a proposal for such a product, I would have no way of knowing."

"Joyce took one look at it and laughed. The idea that electricity could cure a disease was ridiculous to her. On the other hand, the magnetic stand that lets another magnet float above it? I would never have believed that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I would have thrown that one out. But it does work. It's not good for all that much, I grant, but it's a very impressive knickknack and we've had a lot of letters about how much people love playing with them. There have been a lot of things like that over the last couple of years. They know a lot about what works, stuff that makes no sense to us and would take years to pick up on. That's their value. That's what they have that makes including them in the deal a good idea."

Paulus tried to keep his nervousness from showing. "Let me start with my business. My partners and I own several river barges and part ownership in some inns, as well as a piece of several mule trains. It's partly what your up-timer books would call a distributed network transport system. Say a load of iron comes in through Hamburg. A merchant there will buy part of the load, then sell it to foundries and smithies. Then he will contact us and tell us how much he wants to go where. We'll agree on a price and a timetable, then we'll send it by barge up river or by mule train, east or west. To an inn, where the shipment will be split and then sent by other barges and or mule trains to different destinations, or wait in a back room in an inn until there is transport available to ship it where it needs to go. We only own a few of the steps in the chain, but we have standing agreements with a lot of others. Sometimes we're carrying their stuff, sometimes they are carrying ours. Once in a while, we work out who's been carrying more of whose cargo and pay each other to keep everything pretty much balanced. Scheduling isn't quite catch-as-catch-can, but it's not all that precise, either. It's a fairly slow way of getting your goods from one place to another. On the other hand, it's quite a bit cheaper than hiring a mule train to take your cargo where you want it in one shot."

Joyce and Gary looked at each other. The way that tied in to the Wish Book business was obvious. "Why did you tell us you were a merchant?"

"Because I am?"

"But why didn't you tell us that you were in transportation?"

"Oh. It didn't occur to me for a while that my business and your business had much to do with each other. You see, we don't ship to Mr. Smith on Baker's Lane or Mrs. Jones on Market Street. We ship to Smith and Sons Fine Blacksmiths or to Jones' Tailor Shop."

"You don't do retail?" Muriel asked "Why not?"

"I have been asking myself that same question since I looked at the open spaces in your business flow chart and compared them to the boxes in ours. One reason, I think, is that the guilds wouldn't approve. Have you noticed how much of your sales are to small villages instead of towns?"

"Most people live in villages."

"True enough, but the money is concentrated in the towns. Most towns have rules limiting the import of goods that are already manufactured by the guilds in that town. So, ready-made boot sales are limited to villages where there isn't a shoemakers guild. A battery or crystal set or record player, you can sell most anywhere. Ready-made pants are likely to be blocked. Not always, by the way. If you send it by post, it will mostly get by. What they are really after is someone bringing in a cart load of shoes to sell in town. That might change, though, if more people start using the Wish Book, the Bargain Book or the others that are sure to follow."

Paulus watched their faces. "Anyway, that's why I wasn't thinking in terms of a connection between your business and mine. We don't generally do retail. Then a few days ago I happened to have projections from your business and mine on the table at the same time and suddenly saw the connection. It seemed like we could fill in a lot of the holes in your organizational chart and that you could expand our business. What it didn't seem like was something that either you or my partners would agree too. I went ahead and did the work-up as practice. A way of learning to use what I found in the books. Then Ursula saw it and convinced me that you at least might consider it."

Paulus then launched into a detailed plan of how it would work. He answered questions about how their business would change and be helped by his. When the questions came back to the workings of his business, he said, "You should come with me and see how it works." He wondered if they'd go for it, frankly. While quite a number of up-timers had gone off to other places, a far larger number seemed to be planted in Granville to stay.

Sure enough, they were surprised by the idea. "Ah… we'll have to think about it," Gary said. "We hadn't… "

Ursula kept quiet. In her own opinion, as good as they'd been to her, up-timers were a bit soft. And very attached to their luxuries.

"We did used to camp," Gary pointed out. "Not much difference, sanitation wise."

"I always hated it," Joyce grumbled. "Always, always, always. Go out in the hot, go out in the cold, pee in the woods… hated it."

"Joyce." Muriel glared. "You are such a wuss."

"Am not, either," Joyce screeched.

"Are so," Mom Burke screeched back. "You'd never have made it through the Depression. You're only fifty-five. I'd go, only I'm way too old. And the arthritis has me down too bad."

"Oh, yadda yadda yadda. Do we get the 'walked to school in the snow' lecture now?" Joyce slumped into her recliner. "I didn't say I wouldn't go, people. And there's more than the potty issue, you know. Wasn't that long ago we got attacked, remember? I can't help it. I'm nervous about leaving Grantville."

"You ain't no spring chicken, either." Muriel grinned. "If you don't want to go, I will. What the heck. I'm seventy-four. How many adventures can I expect?"

Joyce snickered. "I can see it now. You on a horse."

"You're a wuss, Joyce."

Ursula went to her room. They were all wusses, she thought. That didn't mean she didn't care about them. But they really were wusses.

Joyce, Gary, Muriel, Ursula and Paulus stepped off the barge in Lauenburg and looked around.

"Sure is a busy place," Gary mumbled.

It was. The barges were lined up, waiting to unload and new piers were being built to accommodate them. Men with carts trudged to and from various warehouses; the taverns were full to overflowing.

Paulus' expression was one of satisfaction. "Yes. And getting busier. Come, please."

"We don't really need them," Albrecht pointed out. "Yes, it was a good idea. I can agree with that. But we don't really need them."

"Yes, we do need them." He explained about the knowledge they all had. "They will keep us from accepting a reasonable sounding impossibility and let us consider impossible sounding things that do work. They also have connections in Grantville that will make dealing there and with up-timers in general easier. Besides, he thought, I need Ursula. And with Ursula comes the Burkes.

Muriel spoke up. "Reputation is important in retail. It affects sales and can even affect whether we are allowed to sell in towns. Heck fire, the arguments the guilds usually use to justify blocking imports is quality." Then she discussed the patent medicines that used to be sold in their world, and were sold even now all over Germany. Nasty stuff that did no good, but only made things worse. "We can prevent a lot of those mistakes. There will still be some, but if we can keep the number low enough, we can maintain a reputation for quality that will make keeping us out harder and harder as the years go by."

Albrecht was watching Paulus. Suddenly he grinned. "Acquired a bit more family than you thought you would, looks like. All right. I'll go along. But I want some use of those connections. I want my son to go to Grantville, to help there. And my daughter. To put her to school."

"I'm sure it can be worked out," Paulus said. "They have a saying, these people. 'Love conquers all.'"

"They're crazy."

"Yep." Muriel agreed with a smile. "We sure are."

Trommler Records

Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

"Just sign right there." The blond man, Contz Beckenbauer, indicated the space for her signature and handed her the pen. "Right there, as I said. Then we'll talk about what you will sing for the record."

Els hesitated a moment. She was just about to move to dip the pen when Herr Beckenbauer said, "The offer could be withdrawn at any time, you know."

That just didn't sound right. This man was in a bit too much of a hurry for Els' comfort. There must be something in this contract that he hadn't properly explained. Els could remember spoken words very well. She had a little more trouble when it came to reading them. The counselor at the high school had called it dyslexia. That diagnosis had come as a relief. It explained why she could memorize spoken lines for plays but had trouble reading them herself.

Els stood. "I will have my father look at this." She picked up the up-time style handbag that had been a gift from Trent Partow for her eighteenth birthday and shoved the contract inside. "I've been told many times that a person should have a contract examined by a legal expert." She headed for the door, over his protests.

"I will withdraw the offer, then," he said. "You will not record for my studio."

Els turned. "As you wish. But I'm still going to have this contract 'checked out,' as they say." Perhaps you are not an honest man, Herr Beckenbauer.

Judy was almost dancing in her seat at Cora's, waiting for Els to get there. When Els came in, she jumped up. "How did it go? Did you get a contract?"

Els slumped into the booth. "I got one. But I haven't signed it and now he says he withdraws the offer. Here." Els scrabbled around the bag. "You look at it."

Judy knew about Els' problems with the written word. Els didn't like to talk about it, but they'd grown close over the last couple of years. She took the contract and worked her way through it. It was in legalese, which she didn't speak, but it felt off. That was okay; she knew lawyers. "You were right not to sign it. I can't really read it either, between the German and the legalese, but I think it's a case of "what the large print gives, the small print takes away.'"

Judy caught up to Els in second period practical math. "Good thing you didn't sign it," were the first words out of her mouth. "He'd have had you tied up for fifteen years for one thing. You wouldn't have gotten any royalties for your records, either."

Judy looked ready to bite some one's head off. "We're going to have to put the word out about this turkey. I hope there aren't a lot of people who've signed this sort of thing. Professor Gruder says it's as near to a contract of indenture as makes no difference. Except a contract of indenture actually pays you something." Gruder was one of the teachers from Jena who had come to Grantville to learn up-timer law and teach down-timer law. He was positively fierce and scared everyone in class. Except, apparently, Judy.

Els slumped into the desk. "Wonderful. I finally get a chance and this happens. I want to be a star, Judy. I've wanted that since I first discovered what it meant. Not just for me. For my family. For Trent. So he will have a wife of property, not just a player."

"You already are a star," Judy insisted. She was supported by a couple of nods from some of the other kids near them. "Besides, you know that Americans don't think that way, Els."

"No, they don't," Els conceded, after giving her a look. It was true mostly, though the exceptions weren't as rare as Judy seemed to think. "But my own people do. To become famous… it would mean a lot."

Judy's expression went a bit sad for a moment. Els knew she was remembering Katrina Kunz. Katrina was from a wealthy family in Badenburg. She was the one who had explained to Judy that players were not socially acceptable.

Katrina had been trying to be nice and keep Judy from making a social error that might ruin her prospects, or so Judy had insisted. She had returned the favor by explaining that in the up-time world having successful actors for friends was a good thing. Katrina hadn't taken it well. She no longer talked to Judy, who hated losing friends, especially over something that just didn't make sense to her.

Els examined Judy, her friend. Four years after the Ring of Fire, Judy was no longer the cute little sister of Sarah Wendell. She was the acknowledged queen of Grantville High. She was five feet nine inches tall and could be a runway model if she had time. Herr Schroeder had asked her. She was, in Els' opinion, the prettiest girl in school. She made Els feel better about being thin just by being there.

Judy tapped her fingers on the desk. "What you need is an agent."

Els pulled herself back from her thoughts. "Agent?"

"Right. Up-time actors have agents."

"What do agents do?"

"They… " Judy paused, then grinned. " Wetake ten percent off the top." Els gave her a look. This was Judy the imp. Judy the plotter. Els knew she was in trouble. When Judy the imp got started you ended up doing the craziest things… but they all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

Judy started laughing. "An agent handles things like contracts, does the negotiating, has the contacts. Arranges things. It should be someone with your best interests at heart." Judy stood and grabbed her own bag. "C'mon. Let's go to the library. I need to do some research. Agent and manager. That's something I could do. I'm sure of it."

Els rolled her eyes. Judy wouldn't actually do the research. She never did. She would grab someone and have them do her a favor. Probably Susan. Susan was good at research.

"All right. But I've got to be at the lounge at six." Els had been singing in the lounge in the Higgins Hotel three nights a week for the past two years.

Ritter Jost von Reinhart was quite pleased with the overall situation. He was rather short at five foot four, with sandy hair and gray eyes. People who called him fat were both unfair and unwise. He was big-boned. Granted there was a certain amount of padding on the bones, but a surprising amount of it was muscle. He was, as usual, meticulously dressed and groomed. Every hair in place. There were rather fewer of those hairs than there had been in his youth. He pushed a button and the servant came and exchanged this course for the next. While his estates were near Berlin, he had a house in Magdeburg from which he did most of his business.

He was, of course, disappointed that Contz Beckenbauer had failed to get Els Engle's signature on the contract. There was still hope, though not much if the young lady actually did take the contract to a lawyer. Beckenbauer should never have let her take it out the door. Thankfully, most didn't seek legal advice. Even if this girl did, though, he still might get her. Many people were desperate to get a record cut and become famous stars in the up-time fashion. He doubted that she'd be able to do that. He had too much control already.

Jost owned – indirectly – a record player manufactory and a record cutting studio. And had a contract with Adolph Schmidt at the pressing plant. He also had several other contracts. Jost paused a moment and chewed. This up-timer catfish was excellent. Completely unlike the inedible down-time sort.

His cutting shop had contracts with several recording studios that delivered tapes to him. He owned one of them already and expected to pick up the other soon. The other one was a studio with some good portable equipment, perfectly suitable for recording live concerts and plays. It was expensive equipment – quite expensive – and he could probably pick it up fairly cheaply in exchange for not prosecuting when Jacob Trommler defaulted on his contract.

Jost grinned and patted his mouth with a napkin. It was a good contract, that one. It obligated Trommler Records to buy at least one cut master a month at a set price. If Herr Trommler didn't buy the master, he didn't just owe the cutting shop for it, he owed a penalty as well. Of course, Jacob had not been quite so naive as the "want to be" stars whose contracts Jost owned. If Trommler did come up with something to cut a master of, the von Reinhart cutting studio was obligated to do it.

But Jost doubted that Trommler would have anything more than another speech he wanted recorded. The man was too civic-minded for his own good. Jost grinned again. The radical ones often were. Jost was a fairly conservative man. He was willing enough to use the technology the up-timers brought. He was less happy with their radical political notions. Trommler had insisted that he be able to cut and distribute anything he wanted to and hadn't paid much attention to what else was in the contract. Which meant that, soon enough, Jost would own Trommler Records.

"Because," Judy said, weeks later, "Speeches aren't especially entertaining. She was sitting in a rather dingy office outside Magdeburg where the rents were cheaper. And talking to a committed record producer. Or perhaps one who should be committed. "They're topical, I'll give you that. People need to hear them, but mostly they only need to hear them once. Maybe twice, in an election year. Records are for stuff you want to listen to every day or every few days or maybe just when you're in the mood."

Trommler Records wasn't doing all that well, not these days. Clearly, Jacob Trommler thought it was a wonderful idea to make records of speeches. Mike Stearns' speeches. Wilhelm Wettin's speeches. Speeches from the USE House of Lords and senators. Judy had gone over his sales list and inventory.

"But speeches are important," Jacob said. "Not like the silly music." Jacob broke into song and Judy winced when she heard it. "In the big rock candy mountains, you never change your socks," he warbled. "And the little streams of alcohol come a trickling down the rocks." Thankfully, Jacob quit singing. The wobbling of the guy's Adam's apple had been almost as bad as his singing voice. He started talking again, which wasn't as bad.

"How is this of value? It goes against the sanitation lessons. It goes against what we are told of the evils of too much drinking. Speeches matter, Fraulein. They tell people what is going on in the world." It was clear that Jacob, a skinny guy with muddy brown hair and glasses, was trying to impress her.

Judy sighed a bit. Since moving to Magdeburg after graduation she had been quite busy. It had taken a telegraph message from Trent to remind her of her promise to Els. Feeling guilty she had moved into high gear and found Trommler Records. "Herr Trommler, yes, they do. But they are not entertainment. A person will go hear a speech, yes. Listen to it on the radio, yes. But the election is over. It's done. And people don't want to listen to politicians spout off every day. " Judy could see him getting ready to object and held up her hand. "They aren't going to buy that kind of record. On the other hand, they do listen to music every day."

"I have inventory. The speeches will sell, given time," Jacob said. Inventory he did have, Judy knew. Inventory of a bunch of records of speeches he hadn't had to pay an artist to record. The only thing keeping this guy afloat was the one really good idea he'd had. The record sets of "Learn Up-timer English" sold well. The record sets of "Learn Latin" sold even better. True, he did have two speeches that sold reasonably well. One was of Gustavus Adolphus, the other of Mike Stearns conceding the election to Wilhelm Wettin.

"Herr Trommler, I'm not arguing the moral merits of music versus speeches. What I am saying is that people won't buy the speeches, not in the numbers you need to make a profit. You need an entertainment division to support your other, more high-minded, products. For that you need a name. Someone who is already recognized by the people you're trying to sell to. Someone like the Old Folk's Band. Marla Linder. Or Els Engel."

Jacob's eyes lit up a bit. Els had become fairly well known after singing at the hotel lounge, appearing in plays and doing a few commercials on the radio. Well, and not to mention that she provided the voice of Maid Marie for the "Robin of the Committees of Correspondence" radio serial.

"I would have to pay for cutting the records," Jacob said. "I have very little cash left, as you know. Else you would not be here."

Judy grinned. "True. But it just happens that I know someone who has a very great interest in music recording. Cash flow can be arranged, assuming you're willing to have a couple of partners."

"I already have investors." Jacob sighed. "And debts and contracts. I will not lie to you, Fraulein. The debts and contracts I already have threaten to run me out of business."

The contracts were the key to the whole deal. Friends had looked them up in the records offices in both Grantville and Magdeburg. Those friends would end up owning a small part of Trommler Records if this worked out. Judy took care of her friends.

"So when do I make a record?" Els asked.

"When I get finished with all this, this… stuff." Judy's voice was strained. Els looked at her. Judy looked angry. Quite angry.

"What is wrong?"

Judy sighed. " Susan and Professor Gruder ambushed me. Professor Gruder even took the train to Magdeburg to do it. That contract got him interested and he started looking into things. When he got to Magdeburg, he and Susan put together a report and are making me read it. It turns out that this Ritter Jost von Reinhart is up to something nasty."

Els rolled her eyes a bit. "Umm. Right. What is so bad? And why can't I make a record, yet?"

"If you want to sign something that amounts to an unconscionable contract, you can go right ahead. But I'd advise against it."

"What?" Els looked startled.

"An unconscionable contract is basically one that is so one-sided it makes the judge puke. The problem is that the dear ritter left just enough on the other side that the judge just might not lose his lunch. But if you're in so much of a hurry that you want to wind up practically indentured to this jerk, go right ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"The contract was with Contz Beckenbauer, not von Reinhart."

Judy snarled. "Yes, it was. And Beckenbauer works for von Reinhart. He's just a front man for the creep. He'd have turned the contract over to him and you'd have been stuck but good. Just give me a little more time. I think Susan and the professor have pounded this stuff into my head. Susan says we've got to get all the girls together on this."

"As long as I get to make a record someday." Els sighed.

Judy pretended she was staring into a crystal ball, even though it was actually a coffee cup. "I see," she intoned in a mystical voice, "stardom in your future." She reverted to her usual voice. "Just keep your shirt on, will you?"

"Take a look at these," Susan said. She passed copies of various contracts around the table. The Barbie Consortium was meeting in a private dining room in the recently-built Capitol Restaurant. Judy had just returned from Grantville and her meeting with Els. Judy and several of the girls were giving the G amp;M rail line quite a bit of business since they'd graduated.

Susan looked at Judy and quirked an eyebrow. Always one of the more serious of the girls, Susan believed in preparation. Judy nodded, indicating that she had in fact read them and Susan grinned. Susan had been much happier since leaving Grantville. They waited for the rest of the girls and Helene Gundelfinger to finish reading.

"So," Heather Mason said, "This Ritter whoosis… ah… Reinhart, that is, has controlling interests in most of the local entertainment companies. And contracts that are going to let him wind up with a monopoly, considering how many of these people don't know squat about business. Is that a pretty fair summation?"

Susan grinned. "Ten points to Heather. And would anybody care to guess just how appreciative the USE government is going to be about the possibility of a media trust?"

"The current government or the previous one?" Vicky Emerson muttered.

"Now, now," Judy cautioned. "Prime Minister Wettin has sworn to uphold the laws of the USE."

Gabrielle, just back from a visit to the University of Jena, said, "Whatever. The thing is, this guy is trying to take over the whole media industry before it gets off the ground good. And your Herr Trommler signed the contract. So he has to buy a cut master, every single month. At a set price, in case you didn't notice."

"If we catch Judge Riddle in the right mood… " Susan began.

Judy grinned. Like a shark, some might say. David Bartley, now on the board of OPM, didn't call her "Judy the Barracudy" for nothing. "Yeah, maybe. But do we really want to try and break it? You'll notice that the price is set. Von Reinhart can't change it. So all we really have to do is make some records that will sell." Judy's face grew serious for a moment. "What I'd really like to do is break Ritter Jost von Reinhart. He's a self-proclaimed patron of the arts, but what he really is, is a rat.

"That will have to wait, though. Jacob Trommler has already missed two months. When you add up the fee for the cutting, the penalty and the interest, he'll owe von Reinhart a fortune if he doesn't catch up. But the contract doesn't specify that the master has to be a speech, either. It can be anything."

Helene Gundelfinger, who'd made a day trip to Magdeburg for this meeting, grinned. Like a shark, some might say. Some did, in fact. "I like it."

Judy smiled a little grimly. "It's a start. You saw the contract that Contz Beckenbauer wanted Els Engle to sign. She'd have wound up working for von Reinhart. I don't like this guy. I don't like what he's trying to do and he's way too close to succeeding. So, ladies of the Barbie Consortium, do we or do we not take this turkey down?"

A number of sharkish grins went around the table.

"Aye." "Aye." "Aye."

No one was opposed.

Jacob Trommler's investors weren't happy campers.

"How did this Jost character get so much of the business so fast?"

"Blackmail," Judy explained. "Well, greenmail, maybe, since it was all about money. I've spent the last couple weeks researching the mess. The thing about the recording industry is that if you have control of one piece you can screw everyone. Of course, you screw yourself, too. But if you have more money than the other people in the game, you can run them out of business or force them to do what you want. It's more complicated than that, really. But that's what it comes down to. And that's what von Reinhart is trying to do."

"So how do we avoid that?" Frantz Erwin was Jacob's largest, and most vocal, investor. And the unhappiest, for that matter.

"It's mostly cash on hand." At Herr Erwin's puzzled look, Judy clarified. "When von Reinhart got involved, most of the rest of you had already spent most of your money. It was tied up in things like the record press or the master cutting house. He bought out the guy who was making record players and stopped selling them. No new record players. No new record customers."

"He did," Jacob confirmed. "And none of us could raise more money to start building more."

"Someone will, sooner or later," Herr Erwin said.

Judy nodded. "Sure. If someone had had the guts, the money and the interest to go against him when he already had a factory up and running. He didn't stop making them, just selling them. The other guys in the business couldn't afford to wait or to start their own record player company. They caved and he got the cutting house for next to nothing and has a contract with the pressing house."

"Again, why won't that happen to us?" Herr Erwin's face was flushed.

"Because for a piece of the business, we're going to rescue your silly asses," Vicky muttered.

"Trommler's record contracts," Judy said quickly, giving Vicky a harsh look, "have considerable value. Also, after von Reinhart got what he wanted, he started selling record players again. Everyone who can afford one is buying them. That's a one time trick and we've got cash, which you guys didn't. So we propose to invest in this company. If you will give Jacob a bit more time. If you prefer to cash out, I'll buy your shares."

Frantz Erwin and a couple of other investors elected to cash out. They didn't want to be invested in a company run by such young people, and the offer was fair considering the circumstances. They didn't lose that much. Judy and the Barbie Consortium now had a controlling interest in Trommler Records.

"Heather, we'll need your CD collection, I expect. We'll need to have Els go through a bunch of songs to pick out what people will like. Not to mention, she learns lyrics and lines by listening to them. And I'd like, if we could, to have her cut the first hit record of 1635."

"Works for me," Heather said. "I don't see why a pretty good number of my oldies won't work, if they get translated properly. Change a word here, change a word there. It ought to work."

"But, Judy," Millicent Anne Barnes piped up, "what are you going to be doing?" Millicent still looked like a moppet, with her curly dark hair and tiny size.

Judy grinned. "I'm going to be investigating what will sell. I was struck by something Herr Trommler did while I was in his office, back weeks ago. I know a lot of us," she waved her hand at the table, "like some of the more modern music. Well, except for Heather, that is."

The girls laughed. Heather's passion for oldies had been a joke with them for several years. Judy shook her head. "The thing is, if you'll pay attention sometime, people around here don't go around doing rap under their breath, do they? Even with as much of it as some people play." Judy cast a look at Hayley Fortney, who stuck her tongue out at her.

"No taste," Hayley remarked. "No taste at all, Judy."

"Anyway," Judy said, "the song Herr Trommler sang to me – and I should probably mention that he's got no more voice than a frog… " The girls laughed. Neither did Judy, as she well knew.

"Anyway," Judy said, after the laughter had died down, "the song he sang wasn't rap. Or one of Heather's oldies. Or that opera that Marla Linder does, either. Although I have heard some of her Irish folk tunes being hummed around town."

"Oh, God." Hayley groaned. "Don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me." She buried her head in her hands. "I bet I don't want to hear this."

Judy grinned. "'Fraid so, Hayley. It was one of the numbers the Old Folk's Band does. Something about a big rock."

Sharkish grins disappeared. Most of the girls at the table groaned. But Helene Gundelfinger grinned and winked at Judy.

"That's just plain rotten." Mr. Buckner and the rest of the OF Band were in their backyard again. "Pickin and grinnin," they called it. "Not that I know a heck of a lot about business, you understand."

Judy nodded. She was just off the train from Magdeburg again. There were some things you needed to do in person and persuading people to sign with a record label was one of them.

"But we haven't signed any contracts." Huey Jones rattled his tambourine. "We're doing well enough already. The girls have the boarders and all. So we didn't figure we needed to make a record, back when that Beckenbauer guy tried to get us to sign up with him. We just pass the hat at the Gardens and have a meal. Suits us, that way."

"I'm glad to hear that." Judy smiled. "That you didn't sign the contracts, I mean. But not about the record. I think you ought to get all your music recorded, myself. So it doesn't get lost in time, or get all jumbled up with other stuff. It would be a part of the historical record, in a way." Judy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The breeze was a little too strong for a good hair day.

It took a fair bit of talking them into it, but Judy left with a proper contract with the OF Band.

Jost von Reinhart took a sip of beer. "It will not matter. Up-timers do not know what people like to hear. I do. So even though they have a controlling interest in Trommler Records, it will not matter."

"It isn't just the contract with the Engle girl," Contz pointed out. "They have one with the OF Band, too."

Von Reinhart's face changed a bit. Contz though he might be a little more worried, now. Just as well, Contz thought. The… well, fink, to use an up-time expression… had nipped his own production company in the bud, after all. Perhaps these girls would give him something to think about.

"So I finally get to cut a record?"

"Yes, Els, you do," Judy said. "Have you picked out the song? Or songs, for that matter. You can get about six and a half minutes at sixty rpm. Not quite five minutes if we go to eighty."

Els considered a moment. "I have listened to both. The sound quality is not that different. The eighty rpm records would be better for opera, but for my voice the sixty will do. It will mean I can record two songs on one record."

Heather nodded her head earnestly. "And that's why we think you should be recording. That way Mother Maybelle's heritage will never be lost."

"And you'll pay us to sing for the record." Minnie wanted confirmation.

"Absolutely," Heather said. "And royalties, once the sales have paid for the advance. Of course, it all depends on how many sell, but we're doing the stocking at the stores. The stores are mostly going to be taking the records on consignment, so we'll know how much of what sold."

Bennie Pierce nodded. "Always was a crap shoot, the recording industry. No way to know but to try it."

"Pretty much," Heather agreed.

"Here it is." Hayley shook her head mournfully. "Our first master. And it's a country song. Not even decent rock and roll."

"Els thinks it will sell better," Heather said. "And I do, too. So, just shut up and soldier, Hayley."

Hayley grimaced. "A country song. Shudder. Changed lyrics, and only Mr. Simmons playing the guitar for accompaniment. Yerg."

"It's going to take some time to get things turned around," Judy noted. "But Els is going to sing it on the radio program tonight. She got the writers of Robin to agree to work it in. Free advertising. The changed lyrics had had a lot to do with that."

Hayley grimaced again. "Yerg."

Tip's was quiet tonight. It usually was on Friday night, when it was time for Robin of the CoC to be broadcast on the Voice Of America. The crowd listened intently, as they usually did. The crowd at the Freedom Arches was doing the same thing. Robin was a popular show.

This time, Robin was riding to the rescue of Maid Marie, who had been captured – again. She got captured fairly often. Which was understandable since her duties as an agent of the Committee of Correspondence took her to some dangerous places. While Robin of the CoC had started out as an adaptation of the Robin Hood stories, they were, of course, influenced by the famous Gretchen Richter and Jeff Higgins. Robin was a noble who had taken on the goals of the CoC and Marie was a farmer's daughter. With her parents safe again after the arrival of the Ring of Fire, she had joined the CoC. There she had met Robin and become his partner. In a number of important ways, Els' role was more akin to the Bill Cosby role in I Spy than to the average Maid Marian. In fact, she was often the rescuer, rather than the rescued.

This time, while held by an evil ritter, she sang to the absent Robin, not knowing he was hidden just around the corner waiting his chance to set her free:

"I don't believe in right of kings,

good blood, bad blood, silly things.

I don't believe in stories told

of maidens weak and knights of old.

That might is right and weak is wrong,

or God's word can't be set in song.

That life and love are some cruel jest,

or some are simply born the best,

But I believe in love.

I believe in freedom.

I believe tomorrow's hope,

'Cause I believe in you."

The response was surprisingly fast for a world that mostly lacked telephone and telegraphs. The VOA was deluged with requests for the song. First from the area right around Grantville, then, as the days passed, from villages and towns all over the VOA's listening area.

They had thought they were ready. Trommler Records had a lot of prints ready for shipping. They sold them in the first three days. Eventually, it became the first gold record in the new history by passing the half million records mark without even slowing to look as it passed. It took some time to pass that milestone, mostly because of the time it took to stamp the records.

Of course, by then the Barbie Consortium had run off to Vienna, leaving Els' career in the capable hands of the Gertrude Schmidt Talent Agency. Sometimes called "Gerty's T amp;A" because of the large number of young ladies it had signed, it was listed as GSTA on the Grantville exchange. The Barbie Consortium, as might be expected, owned a fair chunk of that stock. Trommler Records was left with a down-timer merchant as the CEO and Els' Uncle Heinrich as the vice president of the Entertainment Division. Herr Trommler was now VP of News and Education.

Jost von Reinhart was not a happy camper. He had a fair number of singers under contract but since Els Engle's hit, the label of choice for aspiring artists was Trommler. Old Folk's songs, while not selling quite so well, were selling, and so were recordings from the new talents TR had signed. Even the silly speeches were selling better.

Fuming, he pushed the button to call for the next course. He was already in a foul mood. That mood was not improved when the butler carried in the next course. Whistling. That song.