Chapter 3
Magdeburg, June 1636
They arrived in Magdeburg several days later, after a blissfully uninteresting trip. Both the horses and the wagon had little trouble along the way, though a spoke on one of the wagon wheels cracked.
As part of their payment for the repair, Daniel drew a quick sketch of the wheelwright’s wife and children in charcoal. He opted to try his hand at Cubism once again, making their faces into tiny geometric shapes that looked like masks when he was finished. He thought he did a passable job, but when the wheelwright saw them, he just laughed, shook his head, and wouldn’t hear anything further on what Cubism was and what it represented. He accepted the drawing after Daniel signed it at the bottom and said, “Keep it anyway. Someday, it may be worth a lot of money.”
The wheelwright nodded and walked off laughing.
Magdeburg was the largest city that Daniel had been to in a long while, and it was quite a bustling town now that Gustavus Adolphus and the USE were in charge. It was indeed a “hot-bed” of activity, as the up-timers might say, and Daniel’s heart leapt for joy when they entered. What artistic wonders he would create in this place! All he needed now was a studio, commissions, and students.
But after several days of looking for the right space, there was nothing available—at least not anything that they could afford on the meager personal monies that they had, or the small loan that Clyde had given them. But the cost of the inn they were staying at was too high to allow them to continue looking for just the right place. So, they settled on an apartment with a small kitchen, a living room, a bedroom for him and Sofia, one room on a second floor for Benjamin, and another much smaller room (almost a closet) for storage and supplies. Daniel would have to use the living room for his painting activities, and the light in that room was inadequate. Daniel sighed at his misfortune, but Sofia took it in stride.
“Do not worry, my love,” she said, already unpacking the first box of kitchen ware. “It is only temporary. We will find a more suitable place in time.”
Daniel nodded. “I do hope you are right, but I am reluctant to announce my arrival publicly, and I cannot call for students until I have a studio.”
“Well, you are a court painter, and you did say that you wanted to try to have the king sit for you again. Take those letters of introduction and try to gain an audience with him. The king may remember you, but those around him may not. That’s why you brought the letters, remember?”
The letters! He had almost forgotten about them. He had tucked them into a large book, between two pages filled with Degas ballerinas. Of course!
He found them and read them again. Two very complimentary letters from Elaine O’Meara and the Rices. Daniel smiled. To his surprise, he missed his time with Ella Lou and Clyde already, even though it had only been a couple weeks. They were such nice people to have opened their home to him and his family. Such generosity was rare in the world, and as he clutched the letters and thought about them, he considered another family: his own.
“I may be able to gain an audience with Gustavus with these letters,” he said, waving them at Sofia, “but it’s a letter that I must write myself that worries me.”
Sofia stopped unpacking and looked at him. “You are really going to see him?”
Daniel nodded. “Of course. He is here and he is my son, and I have to try. I have a lot of fence-mending to do. I just hope he’s willing to speak with me.”
Sofia smiled and reached out her hand. Daniel took it and kissed it. Then she pulled it back quickly. “Okay, then. Get you out of my kitchen, and go to work. You have letters to deliver and to write. Hop to it!”
Sofia gave him a little wink, and Daniel got to work, amused at the up-time expression that she had used. He saluted her in American military fashion, like he had seen Grantville children use at play. “Yes, my love. Right away!”
He kissed her cheek, grabbed his hat, opened the door, and stepped out into the warm spring day of Magdeburg.
Tonight, he would write that letter to his son. But he would deliver his letters of introduction first… once he found where Rebecca Abrabanel lived.
∞ ∞ ∞
Rebecca Abrabanel greeted Dr. James Nichols at her front door.
“James, please come in,” she said, standing aside to let him in.
Many down-timers referred to Dr. Nichols and his daughter Sharon as Moors. She herself had made that mistake when they had first met, but such artificial labels easily fade away with time. Rebecca knew that the more accurate term was African-American… at least to the up-timers. Of course, they couldn’t be called that anymore, since they were no longer Americans. In any case, James Nichols was, above all, a man, a doctor, and a retired Marine. That was all that mattered.
In a room on the floor above them, her children, Sepharad and Baruch, were playing with a new friend: five-year-old Benjamin Block. It sounded as if they were going to crash through the ceiling.
Nichols chuckled. “You have a full house today, it sounds like.”
Rebecca nodded. “The children have a new friend from Grantville. A young boy who likes superheroes. He is introducing them to the Man of Steel.”
She closed the door behind them and invited James to follow her into the front parlor. “In a way, that is why I have asked you here.”
“Oh? Is the boy ill?”
“No, but I am concerned about Gustavus Adolphus.”
“He is improving, every day. But . . .”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, nodding. “But by how much? Michael is worried. He tells me that the king is moody and restless.”
“He is that. It's difficult for him to find time in the day to rest. People are pulling him in every direction, and of course he lets them. He can't stay out of the game for long—always has to know what's going on, always has to put himself into the fray, you know. It would be good for him to find some peace and quiet. But try telling him that.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, “however, I think I may have a solution for you. Come.” Rebecca led James into the next room. “Allow me to introduce Daniel and Sofia Block.”
After they shook hands, Rebecca continued. “Daniel is an artist who has just arrived from Grantville with Sofia and their son Benjamin. . . . That is who you hear bouncing around upstairs. Daniel has been studying the history of up-time painting techniques with Elaine O'Meara. He has come to Magdeburg to open an art gallery and, in time, teach a new generation of artists some of those up-time techniques . . . to get a jump on history.” She smiled. “And as part of that plan, he came to me with letters of introduction and recommendation from Elaine, as well as Ella Lou and Clyde Rice, and we have come up with a plan that I think you would find agreeable. Daniel?”
“Thank you, Rebecca,” Daniel said. “Dr. Nichols, let me explain a little about my past. In my youth, I used to travel Europe as a court painter, visiting royal families in Mecklenburg, Bamberg, Stettin, Luebeck. I was pretty good, too, I don't mind saying. But when I visited Grantville recently with Sofia and Benjamin, I discovered that no trace of my existence came through the Ring of Fire. Nothing. Not even my name. It was a depressing revelation, that my body of work was so insignificant in history that it deserved no mention in the texts. Have you ever experienced something like that?”
James shook his head. “No, sir, I can't say I have.”
“It's not a feeling that I would wish upon an enemy. And so I've resolved to change history, Doctor. As Rebecca has said, I've studied up-time techniques, and I want to paint Gustavus Adolphus again. I've done so in the past, extensively, however I no longer have contacts within the king's court. I came to Rebecca hoping she could present me to his majesty—but first, of course, I also wished to see if he was well enough to sit for me.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, “and I thought this would be a good opportunity for the king to have a few hours a day, several days a week, perhaps—whatever is medically advisable—to sit in peace and quiet without the stress of dealing with his advisors and foreign dignitaries. Since Daniel has painted him before, the king may be more agreeable to it, and it would not seem so much like babysitting on our part.”
James chuckled and poured a cup of tea. He took a sip and said, “He will probably accuse us of that anyway, no matter what we do.”
“He may accuse if he wishes,” Rebecca said, “but we have his best interests at heart. And that, he cannot deny.”
James huffed. “Don't bet on it.”
A rumble came from the stairs as the children barreled down and ran through the living room. Sepharad and Baruch were chasing Benjamin, who wore a red cape and shouted, “You can't catch me. I'm Superman!”
They all laughed together, and when the children disappeared into the dining room, James said, “Gustavus thinks he is Superman, but I can assure you, Herr Block, he is not.”
“Then convince him that this is for his own good,” Rebecca said.
James crossed his arms and stroked his chin. After a long moment, he nodded. “I will try. Honestly, I think it's a fantastic idea.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Daniel said. “I'm in your debt.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Emanuel Block engraved a child's name on a small silver cup while his mentor and father-in-law, Peter Schwend, looked on.
I hope he does not see the tension in my shoulders, Emanuel thought, as he tried to hold the burin correctly, as Peter had instructed. Hold it too tightly and the work, the engraving, might be too deep. Hold it too loose . . . But it was difficult to focus today. All his concentration was on a crumpled letter in his pocket. He tightened his grip on the tool and squinted into the letter “L” that he was trying to finish. He placed his thumb in the appropriate place, pressed the burin's tip into the silver, and moved it slowly.
“Ach, Scheiße!” Emanuel growled, as his wet palm slipped and the burin cut a gash across the silver cup. He hurled the tool at the wall, straightening as the burin clattered to the floor. He turned to his father-in-law, grimacing. “Why, Papa? Why now, after all this time?”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “I do not know, my son. But perhaps time has taught him to better appreciate his older children.”
Peter smiled, and Emanuel's anger subsided a little. The mild, grey-haired and stooped old Pole had become like a father to him—far more so than the man whose name was signed on the letter in his pocket. The idea of that man coming back into his life now was, frankly, unthinkable.
“I want nothing to do with that . . . Abschaum,” Emanuel said, pulling the letter from his pocket. “My mother might well still be alive if he hadn't been so busy trotting around, running errands for his noble friends in the hope that they'd hire him to paint pretty pictures. And then, if he'd been a decent man—a family man, like you—he would have cared for his sons, instead of pawning us off on his brother while he went off and romanced that bitch, Sofia.” He shook his head and removed the silver cup from the vise that had held it while he worked. “Schwiegervater, I'm sorry. I'm letting my emotions distract me from my work. I will fix this, and burn this damn letter, and that will be an end to it.”
Peter smiled and, stepping closer, touched Emanuel's shoulder. “Don't worry about the cup. I know you'll have it done with your usual skill before Herr Adelson comes to collect it. As for Herr Block . . . I would ask you to reconsider.”
Emanuel frowned and opened his mouth to speak.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Peter said, holding his hand up to stop him. “But Herr Block is well-connected. You saw in his letter, he has already begun to seek an opportunity to paint the king himself. For my sake—for the sake of my wife and your mother-in-law, Anika—and most of all, for the sake of our dear Marija, I would ask you to try to make peace with him. It may prove . . . useful in the future.”
Emanuel hesitated only briefly before—however grudgingly—agreeing. He had always found it difficult to refuse any request from his father-in-law, especially where Anika was involved. She had been far kinder to him than he had even hoped.
“You do me proud,” Peter said. “You always have. My sweet Marija gave us a great gift when she became your wife, bless her soul.”
After a moment of silence passed, Peter returned to his work in the storeroom, and Emanuel took the cup to another bench, where he began to erase the damage his errant burin had done. He was only halfway finished when he saw movement outside and looked up.
A particularly heavy wagon rattled past the window, bearing what appeared to be large barrels of wine. He watched the muddy white horses strain in their harnesses for a moment, and had just started to turn back to his work when he caught sight of a tall, stout man standing across the street. Though the man's face was in a dark shadow, Emanuel could tell instantly . . . it was his father, Daniel Block.
“Scheiße,” Emanuel whispered. “Why now? Why at all, old man?” But he remembered his promise, and the great debt he owed to Piotr and Anika Swędrzyński—Peter and Anika Schwend, as they were known in Magdeburg—who had treated him like their own son, both before and after the murder of their daughter, his precious wife.
The energetic, laughing Marija would more than likely have given him a son or daughter of his own by now, had that Swedish bastard Gustavus not betrayed the city by failing to protect Magdeburg five years ago, as he'd promised to do. And Emanuel would never have left his wife and child for extended periods of time just to seek fame and money. A real man took care of his family. A decent, honorable man worked hard and stayed at home to raise his children.
Emanuel watched Block cross the street carefully and walk toward him, marveling at how kind the years had been to this man, who so richly deserved suffering for all the pain he'd caused. Emanuel wished briefly for a runaway horse to come and trample Block under its metal-shod hooves, before he put down the silver cup and went to the door to greet the man who had once been his father.
He could tell from the look on Daniel's sweaty face as he stepped inside that he did not recognize his own son. Emanuel struggled to conceal his fury as he spoke: “I received your letter. I was not expecting to see you so soon.”
“Ah!” Daniel said, and paused as he studied Emanuel's face. “You are . . . tall. Taller than I expected.”
“Taller than you,” Emanuel said.
Daniel smiled awkwardly. “Yes. Well, I was hoping . . . Sofia and I would be pleased if you would join us for supper on Friday evening. It would give you a chance to meet your half-brother Benjamin, and you can tell us what you've been doing these past few years.”
Emanuel paused long enough to swallow the words that demanded to be spoken—damning his father, his new wife, and their child. “I will come,” Emanuel said, knowing how cold it sounded. How rude. So be it.
“Yes. Good. Well.” Daniel held his hand out stiffly and, after an uncomfortable pause, Emanuel took it.
Emanuel heaved a heavy sigh of relief when his father left the shop. Watching through the window, he saw Block do the same, and he felt, for just an instant, a sort of sympathy for the man.
It was a feeling that passed quickly.