Grantville Gazette Volume 25 Read online

  The first requirement that they had to meet for successful spying was that all four of them must be absolutely quiet for three or four hours. This was harder than they had expected, since after they were in place, it occurred to them that they had not decided in advance which one would get to drape his body across the old privy and put his ear to the hole in the ceiling. Melchior naturally thought that he should, since it was his primary concern and he had suggested the idea in the first place. Dick was of the opinion that for services rendered, he should have the honor. This led to some scuffling until Otto reminded them that they were supposed to hold still and be quiet. While this was going on, Tom slid down through the privy opening and spread-eagled himself upon the ceiling beams below in such a way that they could not pull him back up. Not, at least, without causing a lot of noise and destroying the entire enterprise.

  The others had to recognize Tom as the winner by default. Not without thinking of various forms of reprisal to be administered at some future date.

  The CoC members arrived, as did Master Massinger. The meeting, duly eavesdropped upon, took place. The four boys above remained still. So still that the mice who resided in the ceiling and were quite used to voices and movements from the room below ventured out upon their ordinary business. One, young and not yet wise in the ways of the world, ran up the back of Tom's neck and across his face. He twitched, jerked, and part of his lower body slipped off the beam onto the wattle-and-daub that filled the spaces between the beams. A shower of shattered plaster and dried-out twigs, accompanied by a few half-grown mice, landed in the middle of the CoC meeting.

  Tom managed to hold onto the beam. Only one of his legs protruded through the ceiling.

  This proved to be enough to grasp the attention of the people seated in the room below.

  Before any member of the Bamberg CoC decided to do anything rash, Philip Massinger, a tone of deepest resignation permeating his voice, admonished, "Come on down."

  Tom slid over, grabbed the beam with his hands, swung his legs off it, and lightly dropped the remaining two feet onto the table beneath him.

  "I can't let Tom go down there by himself. The whole thing, the whole idea, was my fault." Melchior slid down into the ceiling space and swung himself after Tom. Prudently looking to be sure that Tom was out of the way first.

  "If these two were up there," Massinger said to the leader of the CoC group, "then there are two more." He looked up. "Dick. Otto. Now."

  The other two entered the meeting by the same method, which meant that they all arrived covered with plaster dust and mouse droppings. Massinger looked at them disapprovingly. "As the index tells us the contents of stories and directs to the particular chapter, even so does the outward habit and superficial order of garments (in man or woman) give us a taste of the spirit, and demonstratively point (as it were a manual note from the margin) all the internal quality of the soul; and there cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross manifestation of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breeding than a rude, unpolished, disordered, and slovenly outside."

  "Yes, sir," Tom replied.

  "We're sorry, sir," Dick added.

  "Moreover, perhaps you should have taken to heart the maxim that the over curious are not over wise."

  "Don't blame Tom and Dick. The whole thing, the whole idea, was my fault." Melchior stepped forward, prepared to shoulder the blame. "But I'm not going to apologize until I know what happened. Tom, what did you hear while you were listening."

  Tom looked from Melchior to Master Massinger to the CoC members. Then, finally, back to Melchior. "You were right. At least, they're still trying to make him change the play to suit them better. None of them threatened him this time, but they have a whole list of stuff that they want him to put in to make them look better. Such as having the men in the chorus be CoC members instead of Jaeger."

  Massinger opened his mouth.

  One of the other men raised his bushy eyebrows before Massinger could get any words out. "Don't I know you? From somewhere?"

  "I'm Melchior Kronacher. Frau Else's son."

  That information landed on the chairman of the Bamberg Committee of Correspondence, also since the previous autumn the chairman of the Bamberg city council, like a large blob of unbaked bread dough.

  "Ah, yes. We all know Frau Else. Could you provide me with further information in regard to 'threatening' and 'this time'?"

  The boys could. And did.

  "We—we actors—know that we are foreigners, of course," Dick summed it up. "We are here at your sufferance and pleasure. You—the government of Bamberg, which is now the Committee of Correspondence for all practical purposes—can forbid us to play. You can tell us what to play. By looking away, you can permit the destruction of all our sets and costumes by the city mob. By saying a few words, you can encourage the mob."

  "But you're not supposed to." Melchior's voice rang with disillusionment. "You're supposed to be making things better. Better than the old city council and the way it treated Willard Thornton and Johnnie F. last fall."

  The bushy eyebrows came down. Then went up again. "Herr Massinger, if I might speak with you privately for a moment. If privacy is to be found in this tavern, that is . . ." A few moments later, in the innkeeper's own cubbyhole, he asked, "What do you make of it?"

  "Ah, young Melchior. The soul is strong that trusts in goodness. Yes. There was an earlier meeting—at which threats were uttered."

  "Thank you. Although you have spoken no names, I observed the direction in which your eyes moved, almost against your will. Like a rough orator, that brings more truth than rhetoric, to make good his accusation."

  "In my profession, I would hope to have the rhetoric as well."

  * * *

  For the entire length of their walk back to the print shop, Melchior continued to make it plain how unhappy he was that Herr Massinger had not made any grandiose statements of principle in opposition to the imposition of censorship.

  "Young man . . ." Massinger began. "Ah, well. You are no apprentice of mine. I cannot ream you out. I shall leave that to your master."

  "Don't have one."

  "Then to your father."

  "He's dead."

  "Then, I suppose, to the redoubtable Frau Else. But a few words of wisdom I will give you. We have the word of the good chairman that there will be no more threats. That we may play Franconia! as it is written now, with no further changes required, and with no . . . excessive supervision . . . of any changes that may be necessary to render the cabaret . . . current, shall we say? topical? . . . as time passes. There is no need for me to posture; no need to require that the CoC officers publicly abase themselves with apologies. For a flying foe, discreet and provident conquerors build up a bridge of gold."

  * * *

  "Since we are the ones who are putting the scripts into type," Otto suggested, "Maybe in a few places we could have the chorus consist of the Ewe's fine, strapping, sons. They might not notice until it was too late."

  Melchior looked at him.

  "Just teasing."

  * * *

  "We never planned on staying in Bamberg so long." It was a month later and Mistress Antonia was fretting over the bookkeeping. More precisely, over the bottom line. There were only so many people in the city, and of those, only so many attended plays.

  "This is no prudent time to leave. The rebellion makes the roads between here and Bayreuth very chancy."

  "Then you will simply have to write a new play, Philip. This week. If we are not all to be reduced to beggary."

  "Unlikely, since once more the members of the 'American colony' have been kind enough to house and feed us."

  "But we need to leave appropriate gifts when we finally can go. We can't leave without acknowledging such generous hospitality."

  "We can. It would merely be discourteous."

  * * *

  "Who is this famous Herr Eddie you keep quoting, anyway?" Tom asked. "And where is he?"

  "Eddie Junker.
From Grantville. He's a down-timer from somewhere in Thuringia, I guess, but everybody thinks of him as coming from Grantville. He's been teaching us English since . . . oh, about February, I guess." Melchior looked at Otto. "February or March?"

  "March, at least. He's a friend of Noelle Murphy's."

  "Why hasn't he been around?"

  "He's up somewhere around Bayreuth, I think. So's Noelle. Has been since March or April."

  "Darn." That was Mike Mundell. "I like Noelle. It would have been great to see her again."

  "Where did you meet her?" Otto asked.

  "She used to baby-sit for us sometimes. And her mom used to be the office manager for the doctor's office in Fairmont where my mom took us to the pediatrician. The factory where Mom worked had its group health plan there."

  All four of the down-time boys just looked at him. It was Otto who finally got over his pride enough to ask what those words meant.

  * * *

  "Then Mariah yelled that Ludovic was a veritable octopus; a many-handed monster. She's starting to speak in blank verse. The wordplay on the hydra, the 'many-headed monster,' was splendid, and quite spontaneous."

  Otto looked at Dick critically and concluded that the praise was genuine and honestly meant.

  "It is good that Master Massinger was there."

  "Why? After all, if he hasn't managed to make Ludovic stop it so far, he isn't likely to now."

  "He is writing a new play, for Antonia. It will be called The Americaness. He has used a lot of what he learned from observing Mistress Higham and Mistress Piazza. Originally, there was not to be any up-time role for a younger woman, but more and more I suspect that there will be a place for a character based upon Mariah. The taming of a shrew is always a popular theme."

  "Black detraction will find faults where they are not. Mariah's not a shrew," Tom objected. "Not most of the time. Not a 'diva,' like the girls in Mistress Higham's class last spring would call someone. Not if Ludovic would just leave her alone."

  * * *

  "Your voice is changing."

  "If you were a Papist, Mistress Antonia, I would expect you to summon the Inquisition and set it upon me any moment now. For my sins, my sins, my most grievous sins."

  "You are also miserably impudent, Tom Quiney."

  "For this, you can scarce blame me. 'Tis the work of Mother Nature."

  "Who is to understudy Mariah for Ado Annie now? At least you are still a tenor, so you can understudy Ludovic for Curly and not be a total waste and a burden upon all the rest of us. But the new timbre simply will not handle some of Ado Annie's songs. If Philip had not assigned 'Many a New Day' to her, perhaps you could last the length of the summer tour. But he did."

  "I am not a total waste. That I can say with great righteousness. I am singing six different roles that Master Massinger has added to the play since Würzburg."

  "Six very small roles," Mistress Antonia countered. "And the hope is that the audience will not notice that the same actor is playing them all. Please note. On the new programs that we now distribute, you are listed by six different names."

  "Another valuable contribution, giving the patrons the impression that we are a far larger and more prosperous company than the truth would warrant. Not to mention more cosmopolitan. Tomas Quiroga singing the Spanish spy. Hah!, I say, Mistress Antonia. Hah!" Tom took a breath. "You're going to need somebody else to understudy Mariah, anyway. Master Massinger wanted an up-timer for the advertisements, but we all know that she only signed on for the summer. She'll be going back to Grantville, I suppose. You need a new Ado Annie. Or you will."

  * * *

  "You are in the chorus, for now," Mistress Antonia said to Christina. "But I will teach you. By next summer, if you prove to be adept, you will sing Ado Annie. And you will prove to be adept, given what I will have to pay the innkeeper to let you out of the rest of this year's employment contract."

  There was a crash behind the draperies, followed by a shriek of, "Hände weg, Du Schwein."

  Mistress Antonia sighed. "Ludovic seems simply incapable of becoming interested in any girl who might welcome his affections."

  "You don't have to pay the innkeeper, Mistress. You can trade someone to him."

  "What?"

  "Barbara Ostertag hates being a player. She thought it would be fun, back in Grantville, when she agreed to come, but it's a lot more work than she expected. Now she truly hates it. It's not just the lines she has to memorize. It's Ludovic. She told me that at first she thought that it would be nice to have Ludovic's attentions. But he showered them on every other young woman first, Mariah, Anna Maria, every temporary chorus member hired in every town, so she knows that he is only pursuing her now as his very last choice. She hates being his last choice. She calls him 'Sir Ludovic of the Many Hands.' He claims that since she sings the song about people saying that they are in love so sweetly, she must perceive him as a man to adore. She knows he is lying. He does not adore her. She does not adore him. She would rather be a chambermaid than spend one more day on a stage with 'you pig.' Let her go to the inn and I will come to you."

  "Then who is going to sing Laurey?"

  Christina shrugged. "Anna Maria? She's the understudy. Presumably the costumes fit her. Any other little idiot of a soprano you can find in Bamberg? All she has to do is stand there and look pretty."

  Mistress Antonia looked at Christina thoughtfully.

  A soul mate.

  Possibly, once Philip decided on an heir, a successor.

  Another crash. "Ich habe dir gesagt, Händeweg!" Followed by a seriously sincere scream. "What part of 'hands off' don't you understand, you creep?"

  Which was followed by a high-pitched shriek. And a thud.

  Mistress Antonia ran, Christina following her. Master Massinger arrived next, with Tom. Frau Else preceded Dick, who had been running her through her lines as the Ewe. Mike Mundell and the stage crew, who were working on improvements to William Jennings Bryan's railroad car, followed.

  Barbara stood in the middle of the stage. Mariah was at the edge of the platform, looking down.

  "He ripped my bodice," Barbara howled. "He broke the drawstring in the neckline of my shift." Her voice raised to a high-pitched squall. "He yanked on my laces so hard that he tore out one of the eyelets in my bodice and it is practically new." She walked to the front of the platform, looked at the ground.

  Ludovic was there, sprawled ungracefully.

  She cleared her throat mightily and spat. "Du Schwein." She didn't miss.

  "Good going, sister." Mariah gave her a high five.

  Master Massinger announced, "Nor custom, nor example, nor cast numbers of such as do offend, make less the sin."

  Barbara looked at him. "For all your fine words, I will not remain here one more day. One more hour. One more minute."

  Mistress Antonia looked at all of them. "Tom, you are no longer the understudy for Curly. You sing Curly. Beginning this afternoon."

  Tom nodded.

  "Ludovic. You are demoted to understudy. And . . . and . . ."

  "And you are going shopping," Christina suggested helpfully.

  "Yes," Antonia agreed. "That is quite right. You are going to visit a seamstress. You are going to pay for the repairs to Barbara's shift and bodice from your own funds."

  "You are going shopping with us," Frau Else added. "With Antonia and myself. With the boys also, so you do not change your mind and flee."

  "The bodice is practically new," Christina added. "Barbara has said so herself. In addition to buying a new drawstring and paying to have the eyelet repaired, you must also buy her a new bodice as compensation for your misdeeds. Of the very finest wool. The new merino. With some embroidery on it."

  Antonia was feeling more optimistic by the moment. Soul mate. Successor. Dick was kissing the girl in any case. Christina would make him a splendid wife. Likely, he would think it was his own idea when the time came. The girlfriend in Grantville was surely only a passing fancy.

  *
* *

  "For evil news rides post, while good news waits. Ill news, madam, is swallow-winged, but what's good walks on crutches."

  "The news these past few days has been about as bad as it gets," Janie Kacere said. "Here it is, August already. I'm sure I don't know where the time goes, and I'm so worried about Emma Thornton and Pastor Meyfarth."

  "It is very gracious of you to dine with us, under the circumstances. We would not have been offended had you seen a need to cancel." Since the players were still trapped in Bamberg by Massinger's reluctance to risk traveling during an ongoing peasant revolt, Antonia had invited Janie Kacere, whose husband was "somewhere" because of the exigencies of handling the rebellion, and Anita Masaniello, whose husband was in Würzburg, equally absent from the marital bed even if she knew his location, to dinner.

  She had invited them quite expressly so she could study the mannerisms and "body language" of two more mature American women before she undertook the role of "The Americaness" on stage.

  Neither of them had been offended by her frankness.

  "Do you ever wonder if, over the summer, someone could have seen something, done something, that would have prevented this?" she asked.

  Anita Masaniello shook her head. "It's August. That's my favorite song in Oklahoma! 'Many a New Day.' There's no point in asking this month's sky where the month before went. Or what one might have done differently during that month. None. Not a single bit. 'Never have I wept into my tea, over the deal someone doled me.' Yeah. 'Many a red sun will set, many a blue moon will shine before I do!' The only thing that counts now is what I can do to get our people back from that idiotic Freiherr von Bimbach, slimy poseur that he is. He really has to be out of his mind to think that taking a few hostages will bring a halt to something of the dimensions of the Ram Rebellion."

  Antonia and the two up-time women continued their conversation.

  Massinger sipped his wine, mentally writing another major speech for The Americaness.

  * * *

  Philip Massinger was writing at the same time he dictated to Tom and Dick. Antonia, with a list of characters in her hand and Mariah and Anna Maria in tow, was creating chaos in the costume department.