Chapter 2
Schallenburg
The following afternoon
The brief pause Matthias could afford amid the old Heimat, the little cluster of villages where he'd spent his earliest years, had been crowded with visits. Happy visits, mostly. Catching up with friends and relatives, hearing new stories, bringing out songs he hadn't heard in years. Now, with the sun halfway down the sky, there was just time to spend a few hours with Benno Balsch and his family, who he'd missed the year before. And in the morning it would be time to return to Vehra and hoist his trunk aboard a freight wagon going north. It was just too bad Benno's brothers wouldn't be there tonight, but they were apprenticed too far away for that.
Matthias hardly noticed the ripening fields all around him during the hour-long walk over from Vehra.
His mind kept returning to everything that had happened the day before, most of all the things Dora's father had said.
As he passed between the first houses lining the one main street, though, he suddenly realized that something wasn't normal. Even in a village as tiny as Schallenburg, it was never this quiet in the daytime. Nothing was moving in the street but a couple of cats. He slowed to a stop, and looked around. Then the church bell rang several times. He could only see the top of the spire from where he stood, but he started to hear voices from that direction. In another moment people appeared in the street. One of them was Benno, coming his way.
Benno was half a head taller than Matthias, as he'd been three years earlier, but he'd gotten broader. Well, farm work would do that. So would the extra years. He had to be twenty-two by now. And he sported a blond mustache. But he was dressed for church, not work, in an unbuttoned pale yellow coat and breeches. The downcast way he walked left Matthias in no doubt what had happened. "Who was it, Benno?"
Benno abruptly straightened and hurried over in a few quick strides. "Matthias. You're here." He reached out to grasp Matthias by the shoulders. He took a couple of deep breaths. His eyes were watering. "It was Sybilla Rudigerin. And her baby."
Matthias tipped his head to one side and looked off toward the tile roofs across the way, while he tried to think who that might be.
"Reimar's wife. You never met her. She wasn't from around here. It was terrible. The midwife tried everything she could think of, and couldn't get the baby out. Nothing worked. I don't know why, but it happens. It's good to see you, but this is a sad time you've walked into."
"Yes, yes, I'd better go see him and offer my condolences."
"Tomorrow would be better, I think. It's too much for him right now. They lost their first child a year ago, and now this. Come home with me, you must be hungry. Mama and Papa will be along in a while. I'll find you something to put in your stomach, and then we can talk while I milk the cow. Have you made any more new songs?"
"Nothing I'd want to sing in front of people just now, I'll tell you that. And I don't think I'd want to write about this." He fell silent, while they followed the gentle curve of the street back toward the Balsch home.
Ten minutes later Benno led Matthias around behind the comfortable old house to where the cow was sheltered. It would have been pretentious to call it a barn. The cow shed was just about big enough for one medium-sized cow, with a thatched roof, crooked walls, and missing patches of plastering. She was a good-looking brown cow, though. Benno ducked a little as he went through the doorway, with a three-legged stool in one hand and a pail in the other. Even so, his cap brushed the lintel. Matthias stood outside on the bare dirt, out of reach of the tail, with a generous chunk of cheese in one hand.
Once Benno got the rhythm, he looked up over his shoulder. "So, you were in Eisenach when they had that big fight with the Spaniards, weren't you? Did you meet any of the Americans? What did you think of them?"
"Not then, but later, when Uncle Berthold had business dealings with a few of them. Hmm, well, the first thing you notice is that most of them seem to be in fine health. No pockmarks, good straight teeth right into old age. It's hard to tell how old any of them are. And they're peaceful people, mostly. They insist on peace. They demand peace. And they're ready to kill anybody who won't give it to them."
"Ha! Your turn of phrase?"
"Uncle Berthold's. After what they did at the Wartburg to that Spanish army. But he's happy with what they did to the road between Eisenach and Jena. Business has never been so good." Matthias ran down. His eyes drifted off toward the trees along the river bank a couple hundred paces away. They'd gone wading there years ago, but this time of year it was almost dry.
After half a minute or so of silence, Benno looked up again. "You look like you've got something on your mind. Something bothering you, I'd say."
Matthias snapped back into focus with a start. "Yes. Maybe. I've been thinking about what you told me when I came. About the funeral. I think perhaps I should take this as a sign, whether it was meant to be one or not."
"A sign? How?"
"Benno, you know I visited our friends in Henschleben yesterday? Dora Hammelin and her parents?"
"I didn't, but I can't imagine you passing them by."
"Well, it came out that she cares for me as much as I always have for her. God willing, we'll marry when the time is right. When we can afford to start a household."
"You're betrothed? Congratulations."
"No, her father won't allow it, not until I show I can support a family. He wants me to prove myself first." He spread his hands and shook his head. "Well, what argument could I possibly make against that? I suppose I must agree that Thomas Hammel is a sensible man. As far as he sees things. He got me to dithering right up to this minute about whether I ought to do what he thought I should, and turn back to studying law."
"You're not? What are you doing, then?"
"That's one of the things I was going to tell you, and what happened today puts an end to my doubts. No, I'm going to study chemical engineering, as I intended. It's one of the new professions. Then my work will be in Grantville, or Schwarza, or Saalfeld, and my wife will be right where she can reach the new midwives and doctors in Grantville and Jena. I tell you, it was all over the university last spring. The medical faculty at Jena has started teaching things nobody all the way back to Hippocrates ever knew. Women don't die in childbirth there." He pounded one fist into his other hand. "No, whatever Thomas Hammel says, and whatever happens, my wife won't be put in the kind of danger poor Sibylla was. I won't be the cause of that. I will make my career where she can be safe."
"Is that true? We hear a lot of things, but . . ."
"Oh, yes, it's true, and a lot more besides. I tell you, Benno, we can only guess at why God sent Grantville to us, but maybe this was one part of His plan. And I believe it would be very wrong to ignore this gift." He took a couple of steps back and forth, while Benno finished milking. "I suppose He must have decided that if it was time for a miracle, it was time for a thundering big one."
"Heh. I suppose it was. I hear it thundered when it happened." He straightened up, picked up the pail and stool, and bumped into Matthias's arm as he turned. "Whoops. What's this under your shirt?"
"It's a bandage." Matthias's mood eased, and he let an ironic grin creep onto his face. "Where Dora stabbed me."
"What??! That sweet girl? Tell me about it, while I go put this in the cellar to keep. Then we can lead this one―" he patted the cow "―back to pasture. And then you can tell me about your plans."
Several days later
There was no mistaking the southwestern outskirts of Magdeburg as they rolled in at mid-day. It didn't look anything like the towns and villages the wagon had passed through. It didn't even look like Eisenach or Erfurt.
Matthias was perched up front beside Zacharias Kessel, the traveling merchant who owned the covered freight wagon. The old fellow wasn't big, but he was strong. Friendly, too, if you didn't try to impose on him. Formality had vanished by the second day on the road.
The new district reached out far beyond the old city walls. They couldn't even see the walls from where they were, and the only things they could see beyond were the top of the cathedral and a slender latticework tower poking up into the overcast. A couple of red lights flashed intermittently on its side.
Most of the buildings they passed were perfectly ordinary timber-framed affairs. The completed ones were plastered over, and left white more often than not. Three or four stories seemed to be the most common, though some were lower and some were higher. There wasn't a thatched roof in sight. It was probably forbidden. Here and there was a stone building, and a few constructed of brick. As they got further in, they passed one massive two-story monolith made of some drab grayish material he hadn't seen before. A heavy, slow hammering was coming out of it.
Everyone they passed seemed to have someplace to go and no time to waste getting there. But what was really different were the streets. They were not only wider than anything he'd seen before, they were mostly straight, and crossed at something close to right angles. At one place a crew of men was doing something in a trench dug straight through a crossing.
The horses were having an easy time with the roadway they were on. It was smooth and surfaced with packed stones. There were some smells, but then no city had ever been able to keep the streets completely clear of horse manure.
The buildings started to get closer together, and the streets got busier. Presently Kessel pulled up the horses. "Here you are, my young friend, safe and sound." He pointed down the street, where a glimpse of the city wall showed between the building fronts. "Right there is the northwest gate of the Altstadt, like you asked. This is as close as I can bring you. From here I go to the navy yard to deliver my goods."
"Thank you, Zacharias. It was good traveling with you." And not too expensive. The fare had been reasonable enough. Sleeping on the cargo under the canvas canopy instead of at inns had saved some more money.
Matthias went around to unlatch the rear of the wagon and swing it down. He worked his trunk over the edge and lowered it to the ground. As he closed up the wagon again, Kessel called back, "A piece of advice. Don't let that thing out of your sight. In fact, don't let it out of arm's reach until you get to your lodgings."
"That bad?"
Kessel swung his free hand around at the people hurrying in every direction, dressed in every style Matthias had ever seen and a good many he hadn't. "It's a city, what would you expect? There are thieves everywhere. Good luck."
"Thanks. And safe trip the rest of the way." He waved, and Kessel flicked the reins. Matthias put on his coat for padding and left it unbuttoned. He knelt to get his arms into the straps, then pushed off with his hands against his knees to stand up under the weight. He shifted it around, trying for a comfortable fit. There really wasn't one. The flat back of the plain wooden box pressed against his shoulder blades no matter what he did. But it was just a few hundred yards now.
He pulled the college's pamphlet out of his trousers pocket and folded it open to the map. The words at the top of the page caught his eye. Welcome to Magdeburg.
Late afternoon
Germund put down his tools and answered the door. The fellow in the fifth floor hallway looked up at him with a friendly smile, and spoke in German-accented Latin. "Ave. Are you Germund Hockenoher?"
The newcomer looked decent enough at a quick first glance. About average size for a German of scholarly persuasion, and not used to heavy work by the look of his hands. The style of clothing he wore was getting more common on the streets of Magdeburg, not exactly like an up-time casual shirt and trousers, but well-fitting in a way that benefited from sewing machines. Muted brown and dark green. From common dyes, then.
Germund burst out laughing. "Ha! I am Germund, true enough! For the rest, when the bursar asked my surname, I said 'ha'kke noe'. It means 'don't have any.' Not something we have much need of at home. And he garbled it as Hockenoher, so that's how it is in the college records. Without a doubt they'll inscribe it in fine flourishes on my diploma. And you?"
"Well, then, well met, Germund! I am Matthias Ehrenhardt, from Eisenach. I read the card you posted in the bursar's office." He stuck out his hand for a Roman-style forearm clasp. Probably because they were speaking Latin.
Germund grinned through his beard and responded in kind. "Ah, then, you're interested in sharing the room, such as it is? Well, come in and take a look." He backed in and moved aside, and the newcomer followed him and looked all around. "It isn't much, as you can see, but it's cheap. For two, it will be cheaper. I take it you're not swimming in silver, or you wouldn't be looking this far west of the gate for a place to live. You don't look like a starving scholar, though. I'll be frank. The one thing I insist on if we room together is that you pay your share of the rent on time." He laid down the small mallet in his hand and stood casually, with one hand resting on the table.
"Mmph. You come straight to the point, don't you? Testing whether I'll try to weasel or make excuses? My uncle is a merchant and city councilman, I've been been present for plenty of pointed talk about money. Well, I have enough for necessary expenses, but I know better than to waste any." He looked around at the unadorned whitewashed walls, with interior framing showing through. "I suppose it must come cheap. This looks like not much more than a wide hallway, running from the door to that window. As big as you are, I think you might be able to reach your arms across the short way, without straining too hard. How would the two of us manage to sleep in here, and still have room for anything else?"
Germund chuckled. "You noticed, did you? Stated the problem right off. I made sure there was an answer to that, before posting that card. One of the shops around the corner sells a kind of bed on posts. You can get it with two beds, one above the other, or just the upper one so you can stand it above a table or cabinet. They called it a bunk bed. So you use the floor it stands on twice. We'd need another chair, too. Only one came with the table." He reached out with one foot to point at a pile of boards in the middle of the floor. "Oh, and that won't be in the way for long. It's my travel trunk. I built it so I can take it apart and put it back together as a bookcase."
"That's clever, I'm impressed. Are you a carpenter, then? Studying one of the trades?"
"Not exactly. My family owns a small shipyard, so of course I know how to shape wood. It's in Uddevala, on the fjord behind Orust in southern Norway, near the tip of Denmark. We've already had a couple of small navy contracts. But steam is coming, anybody can see that, so it was decided that I should come here and learn mechanical engineering. You?"
"Chemical engineering. About the same as mechanical engineering, but with a lot of practical chemistry besides. So many bottlenecks have to do with materials. I think I can make a real difference, there. And I should have all the work I want, once I learn to design the chemical factories to make them. Hardly anybody is doing it."
"Sounds like a whole lot of study, but you could be right about that. Anyway, small as the rooms are in this place, there's one thing you might not have noticed. Indoor plumbing, two floors below us. So it's not quite as cheap as you'd think, but that's all right with me." A couple of loud clangs came through the open window. Matthias flinched for a moment. "Oh, don't worry too much about the noise from the metal-working shop on the ground floor. They hardly ever work at night."
Matthias glanced outside. "I hope not. What about meals?"
"Down the street. This is only a rooming house, not a boarding house. The neighborhood is full of cheap places to eat, where most of the apprentices and journeymen go. That's better for us, anyway. There's no telling what time of day any of us will finish classes."
Matthias's head was moving from side to side, peering. He took a step sideways, and stared at the wall just beneath the window. "What is that coil of rope doing there, tied to that ring?"
Germund chuckled again. "A specialty of the house, you could say. It's for going out the window, if we ever have a fire. The city fire department insists. And it's not tied, it's eye-spliced. Much stronger. If you don't know how to go down a rope, I can teach you." He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "So, what do you think?"
Meanwhile, in Sömmerda
The two hours it took Thomas Hammel to walk over from Henschleben gave him plenty of time to fret. He couldn't help musing on the irony of the lecture he'd delivered to Matthias Ehrenhardt just a few days earlier. Now here he was himself, one short step from walking into a situation full of unknowns. Well, it was time to resolve any lingering doubts one way or the other, before he uprooted his family from where they'd lived so many years and turned their lives in a new direction.
He found the count's new flax mill easily enough. He'd only needed to follow the little power canal downstream from the dam. The building stood apart, not in the town itself. But it was like nothing he'd ever seen. The only normal thing about it was the timber frame construction and the tile roof. Otherwise it was long and narrow, laid out east-and-west, with rows of windows along both stories to let in the light. A palace might be laid out like that, but this was no palace. Instead of a wheel outside, the headrace ran into the shadows beneath one end.
As he came around the corner of the building, he caught sight of a stout man near the far end, of perhaps his own age. He was soberly dressed, though not wearing a coat. He had a light staff in one hand, pointing something out to a pair of masons. Judging by the style of the goatee and the broad-brimmed hat, that was probably the man Thomas was supposed to meet this morning, the Dutchman who'd planned the place.
He found a short staircase up to an open door and stepped inside to see what he could while he waited.
The inside was even further from his past experience than the outside. The whole lower floor was one long hall, with the morning sun coming in the south windows. It was clear enough from one glance why the count's factor wanted a smith here; there was more iron than he'd ever seen in one place. Even the shafts overhead were metal, and they ran the length of the building. There were rows of hulking enigmatic machines, some standing as high as his shoulders. The ones that were mostly wood were full of metal parts; others were iron-framed and painted in bright colors. Judging by all the still-empty space, the cluster of unopened wooden crates in one corner, and the unoccupied ground he'd seen outside, there was going to be a lot more of everything.
He turned at the sound of brisk footsteps coming up behind him. The man with the staff was reaching out his free hand. "Good morning, are you Herr Thomas Hammel? I am Hannes Dirck Bosboom, civil engineer. Welcome. You look somewhat taken aback by all this."
Thomas shook the proffered hand. "So I am." He paused a moment to organize his thoughts. "This—it looks like much more than the work of one smith. Or work for one smith. What is it you and the count's factor desire me to do?"
"Ah. Most of these machines you see were made in the factories outside Grantville. But as we put them in place, there is always something that doesn't fit right, some little thing nobody thought to order, some little part that was bent or broken by rough handling along the way. That calls for someone who can shape metal. I have an assistant, but there is much to do. And when all this is finished and we leave, there will still be much to do keeping it all in repair. And you have a reputation as an excellent smith."
"I see. Yes, I can make things of iron, and fit them. What I don't see is how I'm to know what is to be done. I'm not shy about my skills, but nothing in my experience is anything like what I see here."
"Ah. Fear not. There are manuals." Bosboom turned to the nearest machine, a waist-high affair, and handed Thomas a thin paper-bound book he took from its top. A woodcut of the machine graced the cover, above the words.
Semmack Model 2
Flax Breaker
Installation and Maintenance
Thomas looked at it in surprise. "Books? Aren't there millwrights trained as apprentices to make these and keep them in order?"
"Ha! By the time anyone could finish an apprenticeship on these beauties, they would already be a thing of the past. So they come with manuals. And we get engineering drawings of the parts."
"What kind of drawings?"
"I will show you. Don't worry about what you don't know, just expect to do a lot of reading."
Thomas's head was starting to spin. "And how long will I need to do that to ready myself for this work?"
Bosboom laid his hand on the flax breaker, and laughed softly. "Oh, my new friend, we will be reading and learning the rest of our lives, until we retire to our firesides, and by that we shall be secure in our trades. This is not the time of our youth, when a craft master or a professor could teach a man all he needs for his whole life's work. No, this is a new age." He hit the machine a solid slap with the flat of his hand and gave Thomas a mischievous smile. "Welcome to the nineteenth century."
Thomas stared at the spot where he'd struck for a moment, wondering whether the man was serious.