Eloy's eyes squinted in confusion. A second later, he ran out of the cell.

  "You." Michel pointed at Gilles. "Take the corpse out of here." He pointed at the guards. "Help him."

  "But what of the other two prisoners?" one of the guards asked.

  "Don't worry about them," Michel said.

  Gilles stomped from the cell followed by the guards dragging Bart's body. A thin trail of blood stained the stone. The footsteps faded.

  Roderik's legs wobbled and he dizzied. Michel's fetid breath blew across his face. He turned his head to the side and held his breath a moment. Once his stomach settled, he licked his cracked lips, scraping caked salt from them.

  "Roderik," Michel said, "I never meant for this. I—"

  "You what?" Roderik spun, raised a hand, and took a step toward Michel. He didn't care what happened to him now—he meant the governor harm. At least that'd be a form of redemption.

  "Don't," a weak voice said. Edmund groaned and got to his feet. He shook and shivered. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth atop the blood already crusted there.

  "What's this?" Michel asked.

  Edmund fell against the rotund governor, the unexpected weight—even that of an emaciated old man—toppled them. The old man landed on Michel who gasped for air, sucking in ragged breaths. The sailing master coughed, spraying blood on the governor's face and neck.

  Roderik stooped, attempting to pull Edmund off of the governor, but Michel rolled, ending up on top of Edmund.

  "Michel," Roderik said. "Get off."

  Michel rolled off the sailing master and managed somehow to get to his feet. He dragged a sleeve across his face and spit. "Guards," he yelled and stumbled out of the cell.

  Roderik went to Edmund's side. "You didn't have to interfere. I was ready to pay the consequences of attacking the governor," Roderik whispered in his ear.

  "I couldn't allow such a folly," Edmund whispered. "You've duties regarding your order. Find the innkeeper in Marseilles—Claude."

  Edmund coughed. Warm droplets of blood and spit hit Roderik's cheek, but he didn't care. Not now. Not when Edmund intervened and prevented Roderik's certain life imprisonment or execution.

  "I'm sorry," Roderik whispered. "I should never have pretended to be a prisoner. My deceit cost you and Bart your lives."

  "The poor boy," Edmund said. "I never wanted him hurt and now he's dead." He coughed and coughed.

  The slapping of uneven footfalls echoed. Roderik glanced up from the dying sailing master. Michel stood in the doorway; his face had turned from red to bone white.

  "Roderik," Michel said. "Get away from him, he'll spread his ill."

  "You've killed him, and for what?" Roderick asked.

  "Answers. Information."

  "Old information and likely of no use to you."

  Edmund groaned, but a cough interrupted the sound. "Go, Roderik. Do good for your order, but remember, even pirates have honor and some deserve forgiveness and redemption."

  "I'm afraid I'm the one in need of both of those," Roderik said.

  Edmund gasped and his breathing ceased. Roderik smoothed the dead man's hair and mouthed a quick prayer.

  "You can return to your quarters," Michel said from behind. "You've done your part."

  "I did nothing other than betray these men. I betrayed myself." Roderick stood and shoved past Michel. "We'll speak in the morning." Roderik walked away, standing as straight as his broken body would allow, determined Michel would not see how physically weak he'd become. "The topic of discussion will be my departure from your beloved chateau."

  His penance was far from over—had hardly begun in fact. Marseilles—perhaps his redemption awaited in an inn run by a man named Claude.

  ****

  Bartley's Man, Episode Two

  Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

  January, 1634

  Darlene was there to meet Johan when the train pulled in. The weary travelers debarked, and David waved Johan toward Darlene and went to meet the rest of the group that had gathered to welcome them home. And there was Johan, coming toward her and slowing as he came. Darlene started to get nervous because she wasn't sure if he was slowing because he was just as nervous or because he had maybe changed his mind about her.

  Darlene got more and more nervous as Johan slowed, till she couldn't take it anymore. And then she was moving. Three quick steps and he was within reach. Johan was a short man, though he didn't look it, and Darlene was actually a couple of inches taller than he was. And she was wearing two-inch heels. She reached around, grabbed him in a hug and bent down to kiss him, not at all sure that he would respond, but unwilling to wait to find out.

  He responded. His arms went around her and he returned her kiss with great fervor and moderate skill.

  "I've missed you!" Darlene murmured into his mouth.

  They were interrupted by applause and catcalls from the other people on the platform and Darlene noted that Johan had a rather blotchy blush that went all the way up to his hairline and down somewhere past his collar. It wasn't, objectively, the most attractive blush she had ever seen, but she found herself wondering how far it went down.

  ****

  "So where do you want to get married?" Darlene asked as she snuggled up to Johan.

  "What do you mean? In Grantville, I guess."

  "No, I mean, in what church? Or do you want a civil ceremony?"

  Johan had been a Calvinist before he joined the army and since had been whatever faith was expected in the service he was a part of. In general, he had lost his faith during his first real battle and never found it again. Until he came upon the Ring of Fire and the people it had bought into the world. That had convinced him—again—that God did exist and did care about the welfare of the world. What it hadn't convinced him of was any doctrine. "I don't know," he said. "What about you?"

  "Well, my family was Presbyterian before the Ring of Fire but we weren't much on going to church. After the Ring of Fire, I was much too busy hating God for what he had done to my life to look very seriously at what the Ring of Fire meant in regard to the doctrines of my faith." Darlene stopped, and Johan waited while she worked it out. "I think the whole Calvinist predestination thing is right out the window. God can change our destinies any time he wants and He . . . or She . . ." she added, watching Johan's face carefully.

  It wasn't the first time Johan had heard the idea of God perhaps being female. A few of the up-time women were adamant about it. Mostly, Johan thought, to piss off down-time men. So he said, "Or She," quite agreeably, and Darlene humphed.

  "And if She can do it here on Earth, She can do it in heaven as well."

  Johan nodded his agreement. "It would have been nice of Him . . . or Her, to give us some indication of what was expected of us, though."

  "Yes, it would. But maybe He did," Darlene said. "He could have picked the Vatican, after all. Dropped the up-time Vatican or Brigham Young University, or some Buddhist temple. Instead, we get a mostly but not entirely, Christian town with us all living together."

  "So perhaps the message is 'stop killing each other over the small stuff,'" Johan said, nodding agreement.

  "Maybe. And maybe we should look for a church that thinks that way to get married in."

  "I think I know one. The Schmidt family, including young Master Donny, go to a church in Badenburg which is nominally Lutheran, but Pastor Steffan Schultheiss has converted it to what Mrs. Higgins calls passionate Unitarianism. God will find a way into your heart no matter what faith you hold, so look for the commonalities and be kind to one another as you would hope for God to be kind to you. Mrs. Ramona says it's very spiritual."

  "Well, we could talk to him, anyway," Darlene said.

  ****

  Pastor Steffan was very busy these days. His Revelation, as several people were calling it—complete with the capitalization—had offended a bit less than half the congregation, so he had kept his position. Barely. But it had also attracted followers, an
d while some had left, more had joined. Still, he made time to talk to Johan Kipper and Darlene Myers. Darlene was an up-timer and Johan was, in his way, a power in the economics of the new, greater Ring of Fire metroplex, which now included Badenburg as well as Rudolstadt, and Saalfeld and had a much increased population. There would be a lot of people attending Johan Kipper's wedding, and Pastor Steffan's wife made sure he was aware of the political and economic considerations involved.

  May, 1634

  As was custom, they were married at the church door, with the public square filled with witnesses. The fight between Karen Smith Reading's Bridal Shop in Grantville and Bruno Schroeder in Badenburg was just one more skirmish in their never-ending war over what the styles in the new timeline should be.

  To Karen Reading, a purple tux was over the line for the groom, though possibly acceptable in the groomsmen—if the bridesmaids' dresses coordinated. To Bruno, any tux, even in a neon purple, was hopelessly boring. He wanted the groom looking like a peacock. David had suffered through it at Karl and his mother's wedding, and Johan had laughed through the whole procedure. Now it was David's revenge. Even the fact that, as best man, he would be dressed in almost as much lace and embroidery as the groom didn't stop him.

  Darlene laughed out loud every time she saw either of them, then made Johan accept every flourish Bruno added.

  Looking at the bills, Darlene's father made the comment that the purpose of the Baroque style was to make fathers go broke. He said that, in spite of the fact that he wasn't actually being asked to pay for the wedding. Johan was quietly paying the bills.

  ****

  "Well, that's over," David said after the bride and groom had made their escape. They would be spending two weeks in Magdeburg.

  "A lot you know," groused Brent Partow. "We have two weeks of Gretel's cooking to face. Her pepperoni rolls taste like knockwurst."

  June, 1634

  The phone in the room rang and Darlene reached for it. "Yes?"

  "Good morning, ma'am. It's your wake-up call."

  Darlene looked blearily at the clock. "It can't be six already. I just got to sleep." Then, blinking, she saw the clock. It was, in fact, six AM.

  Johan was looking at her, then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Darlene resisted the temptation to poke him, got up and headed for the shower. Breakfast at the Twinlo Palace started at seven, and though Gretel handled it, Darlene liked to be there when they opened. Which meant she had just forty minutes to get showered, dressed, and catch the shuttle.

  There was an expression that struck Darlene. "He's so rich that his servants have servants." And in the case of David Bartley, it was the next best thing to true. She and Johan lived in the Higgins Hotel, one floor down from the penthouse. They had a suite and the staff of the hotel did the cleaning. Every day there were fresh towels and Johan would probably get breakfast from the hotel dining room. All the while insisting that he was just "Young Master David's manservant."

  But he wasn't, damn it! He was a major executive in dozens of companies. He always had a briefcase full of work and a secretary of his own. She shook off the thought and went about getting ready, then took the elevator down.

  "Morning, Georg," she said to the elevator boy.

  "Morning, ma'am," Georg said. He was seventeen and would be going off to high school after he finished his morning shift. "They are holding the shuttle."

  The shuttle was a mini-van converted to use natural gas, with a trailer attached and it would go by Twinlo Park on its way to Badenburg, where it would turn around and come back.

  "What? Why?"

  "Because Frau Higgins told them to." Georg seemed confused by the question. Of course the shuttle was held for important people. But Darlene didn't think of herself as an important person.

  The shuttle was a bit late and Gretel had already opened the doors of the Palace when Darlene got there. Darlene decided that, in the future, she would either have her wake-up call earlier or leave breakfast in Gretel's hands.

  ****

  Johan got his own wake-up call an hour later. He got up, got dressed and went down to have breakfast in the dining room rather than ordering room service. He ate and read the papers. Johan liked the News more than the Times. It was more fun.

  Then he had a meeting with Kaspar about the projects that they had started in Amsterdam. At noon he had lunch scheduled with Heidi Partow, who wanted to discuss something.

  She hadn't said what it was about, but it probably had to do with Adolph Schmidt's steam engine factory. And Adolph had sent Heidi, the one up-timer that worked for him, to get Johan's support for whatever it was. Johan owned about three percent of the stock in Schmidt Steam but he was on the board as young Master David's—well, the whole Sewing Circle's—representative. And between them and the other people that Sarah or David had put into Schmidt Steam, sometimes without even mentioning it—people like Gretchen Richter, Jeff Higgins, Delia Higgins, and Dave Marcantonio—who gave the Sewing Circle their proxies, Johan voted thirty-nine percent of the stock. Add in Adolph's twenty percent and it meant that if Heidi convinced Johan, it was going to happen.

  He looked forward to dinner out at Twinlo with Darlene.

  ****

  For the next few months, things went along swimmingly. Darlene had her new job at Twinlo Park and spent time consulting on electronic devices and working up menus. More of the latter than the former, but she was at least useful in the development of several machines that would make switch and gauge parts. And Johan was busy handling details of the expanding interests of OPM.

  "You guys seem to be involved in everything," Darlene told Johan one evening when the servants had left them with a plate of cheeses and a bottle of wine and gone off to bed.

  "Not really," Johan disagreed, rubbing her back with a lazy hand. "There is a great deal to be involved in. More, I think, than the most optimistic up-timer would have thought possible right after the Ring of Fire."

  "I don't know what happened," Darlene complained. "It's as if the first couple of years after the Ring of Fire went by in sort of a daze for me. It seems like yesterday that the Emergency Committee was screaming about there not being enough up-timers to do all the things that absolutely had to get done. And now there is this industrial complex and even more industry in Magdeburg."

  "Well, you see, we down-timers can do some stuff," Johan said. "If you up-timers show us how."

  "It doesn't seem to take a lot of showing how," she told him.

  Darlene felt Johan shaking his head. "More than you might think. First time I saw a gas range, I nearly crossed myself, and me a Calvinist at the time. We need you to show us subtler stuff too, I think. It's a hard, cruel world we were born into and we never learned the gentler ways of you up-timers. Still haven't, to my mind. In Amsterdam and Antwerp, they were still trying to get over on each other."

  He stopped and Darlene looked back at him. "What?"

  "Well, you up-timers have higher standards of decency than down-timers do."

  Darlene snorted. "Bull! You should see some of the crooks we had up-time."

  "Maybe," Johan said, though not like he really believed it. "But look at the way people talk about the Prince."

  "Mike Stearns is not a prince, Johan. He's a two-fisted politician and like any politician, he'd sell his mother for a few votes." Darlene had a pretty jaundiced view of politics, and the election fight between Mike Stearns and Admiral Simpson had not improved that view. She'd supported Stearns, but not because she loved him. She'd supported him because she didn't want a President Pink Slip. Especially as the power plant where she had worked was owned by the government. But she had found a lot of the things Stearns had said about Simpson's positions way over the top, and she hadn't been really impressed by any of them. Granted, Stearns had done okay since, even if he was way too willing to give over sovereignty to the kings and potentates of the here and now. "Not that Simpson wasn't worse. And I admit I don't really trust most of the down-time n
obles as far as I could throw them. Even Gustav Adolf, and he seems the best of the lot. But it's a really bad lot."

  "That's what I mean. The best of ours is not quite so good as the worst of yours."

  "Now, that's not what I meant and you know it, Johan." Darlene shot Johan a hard look. "I'd rather see you as president than a lot of up-timers. Heck, I'd much rather see you as president than Simpson."

  Johan turned a rather blotchy shade of red and Darlene noted, not for the first time, that blush was not Johan's best color. Though making him blush was kind of fun.

  November, 1634

  David was getting more and more frustrated. Sarah had gone off to Magdeburg to work with the USE Federal Reserve. The name was a concession to the down-timer prejudice in favor of up-timer monetary policy. The twins were doing what they loved, and David's days were turning into a round of paperwork followed by more paperwork . . . and then, for a change, still more paperwork. About the only time he got out of the office was to go to school or to go to Guard drill on one weekend of the month. And he was getting tired of the whole mess. Not that he knew what he wanted to do instead.

  He looked up as the door opened and Johan came in. "What's wrong?"

  "I'm not sure, Master David," Johan said. "Darlene had an upset stomach this morning, and you know in this world any disease is dangerous. Even if Darlene says it's nothing."

  "Have you called a doctor?" David asked. There were now several marginally-qualified doctors in Grantville, mostly down-timers who had studied with Nichols, Adams or Shipley long enough to get the basics of modern medicine. It wasn't the same thing as having an up-time doctor, but the up-time doctors were booked solid.

  "She said not to worry about it."

  "Well, that's up to you. I have no understanding of women," David said.

  "Sarah is just young yet," Johan said. "Not ready to settle down."

  "Not with me, anyway," David agreed, then shook it off. "So, what is the status of the spark plug company?" He was talking about the one that OPM was invested in, not the other one.