“I told you before, I can’t do that. Your site isn’t a Roman villa.” Mike crossed his arms. His hands were shaking and he didn’t want Schuler or his goon to see how scared he was. “Besides, there’s not much information about the Romans in Germany. There is ‘they were here and there and they built these roads,’ not ‘look here for buried treasure.’ The records just aren’t there.”
“Ah, yes, that seems to be true about the books in the main library. However, my sources tell me that you have special knowledge about Roman villas. My partner has verified this. You boasted about it on a private tour of your diggings at New Hope.”
“If your partner actually talked to Herr von Weferling he’d know that I have a pair of brochures about one, count ’em, one, Roman villa in Germany. The one Mrs. Clark mentioned. I showed the brochures to Weferling. He can tell you what was and wasn’t in them. The only thing that came close to your ‘marble statues’ was a broken, crudely carved sandstone head of Athena. Oh, yeah, there were a couple of copper coins from later, much later, around the year 1796. No gold, no statues, no silver. The owners packed up all the valuable stuff when they moved out. Anything that the Romans might have left is long gone, sold or carted off by their German descendents. Anyway, your ‘Roman villa’ is nowhere close to the area the Romans colonized.”
The smile disappeared from Schuler’s face. “Don’t try your lies on me, boy,” he hissed. “If there is nothing of value you wouldn’t spend time digging. A wealthy man like Herr Clark isn’t paying you to harvest stones. Don’t waste my time prattling on about your sacred archlogy.”
Mike sighed and tried again. “It’s archaeology, as in the study of archaic things. Your sources in Grantville should have told you that archaeologists don’t dig looking for gold. They dig looking for knowledge from everyday items.”
The goon stepped forward, sneering, and pointed his pistol at Mike’s face. “Give me ten minutes with him, he’ll spill everything he knows.”
“No,” Schuler said firmly, “not yet. I’ll let him think about it for awhile.” He glared. “Sooner or later you will give me the information. Or you will give it to Klaus.”
Schuler started out the doorway. The goon picked up the bowl of soup and flipped the liquid into Mike’s face. “Herr Schuler doesn’t like people who don’t do what he wants.” Then he followed Schuler out, slamming the door behind him.
Luckily the soup was only lukewarm. Mike found a relatively clean corner of the blanket and wiped his face. Moving slowly, he rose, pulled out the chair, and sat on it. His chain let him, just. He needed to think.
* * *
Mike had been sitting at the table for an hour or so. His stomach was managing to keep down the bread and a few sips of beer. His head and body still ached but his mind was clearer. Marking up the site plan might buy him a few days while Schuler checked it out. When they found nothing Schuler would probably have Klaus the goon kill him. Or, once he had the marked plan, Schuler could decide that Mike was a liability and kill him immediately. Mike scratched his chin. Not marking the site plan could buy him either a couple of days or an appointment with Klaus the goon. He still couldn’t decide.
The chain and ankle cuff had to go. He shifted his attention to the wall and the mortar around it. The mortar looked new and it felt slightly damp. He kneeled next to the eyebolt, took a length of chain in his hands, and began to jerk it back and forth. A minuscule gap appeared around the eyebolt. The chain was cutting into his hands so he grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around the chain, and tried again. Some time later he leaned back and examined the results. There was a definite gap around the shaft of the eyebolt and with each jerk he had felt a tiny bit of give.
At the rate he was going it could take days to pull the eyebolt out of the wall. Mike didn’t think he had days. He looked around the room. The mortar might be soft enough to dig out but he needed something to dig with. Remembering the spoon that had come with the soup, Mike started to get up. A bit of color under the bed attracted his attention. In a moment he retrieved it.
Schuler was an idiot. Or maybe it was Klaus the goon who was the idiot. Someone had chucked Mike’s backpack under the bed. He dumped it out. The pack had been searched. Mike’s gun and ammo were missing as was his folding knife, but his trowel was there. The trowel’s edges were nearly knife sharp. It would be awkward to use but he had a weapon. Peeling back the Velcro from an outside pocket he found the soft, rolled up leather pouch that held his dental picks. Mike took several deep breaths, struggling not to shout with glee, and then went to work on the padlock.
“Getting the chain out of the wall would be nice,” he crooned to the padlock. “But that leaves me with six feet of chain attached. Hard to sneak away from the bad guys with all that iron clanking. Get rid of you, my lovely, and I’m free as a bird.”
Mike had picked padlocks before. His brother had showed him how years before using paperclips and other bits of stiff wire. The dental picks, as fragile as they looked, were all top quality steel. Normally he used them for delicate excavation work, but they also made excellent picklocks. This padlock was huge compared to the ones Mike had practiced on, but he figured that the principles were the same. After some fumbling there was a click and the lock fell open.
Gently, Mike removed the padlock and opened the cuff. Pain flared and he saw that the cuff had chewed through his sock and into the soft flesh above his boot. He opened another pocket on his backpack, found his first aid kit and cleaned the wound thoroughly. Luckily there was a clean pair of socks in the backpack, so he put them on. His shirt and pants were awfully fragrant, enough that dogs wouldn’t be necessary to track him, not the way he smelled.
There wasn’t any water to wash with but clean clothes from his pack should lessen his stink. When he got out he’d need to find the city guard. With any luck, the clean clothes would make them at least listen to his story instead of tossing him in jail as one more drunk.
Finally feeling halfway decent, Mike stuffed his gear back in the pack. He picked up the trowel, walked to the door and listened. Silence. A look out the window confirmed that he was high up, on a third or fourth story, and there wasn’t a hint of a ledge. He went back to the door and eased it open. The hallway ended to his left in a staircase. Three other doors along the hall stood open, showing rooms like his. Only the room directly across from his showed any signs of recent inhabitation. Below him he could hear muffled sounds of someone yelling.
As quietly as he could, Mike descended the stairs, praying that none of the treads creaked. The next floor presented two doors, both closed and another stairway at the far end. Mike passed on investigating. He wanted out of this house. The next flight down brought him into an empty kitchen. Probably not empty for long, since something bubbled in a pot hung over the fire. Candles hung above a table provided a surprising amount of light.
He froze in place; only his eyes moved, searching for a way out. There should be a door into a yard or alley; he hoped for an alley. His eyes found a door in the right place. More odd noises came from the front of the house. Now was not the time to stick around.
Mike muttered a quick prayer that this wasn’t the cellar door, opened it, and slid through. For a moment he thought he had found the cellar. The alleyway was narrow and the houses on the other side blocked any sunlight. Waiting for his eyes to adjust he tried to determine if anybody else was in the alley. He heard someone enter the kitchen behind him, talking loudly. Spurred into action by thoughts of recapture, he dashed down the alley, and slammed head first into Klaus the goon. The impact knocked Mike down.
Klaus didn’t have his pistol but he did have a knife on his belt. Growling, the goon reached for that knife. Mike smashed his boot into the logical target. The man’s hands flew his crotch and he moaned. Mike rolled away, grabbed the trowel, and staggered to his feet. Klaus the goon was bent over, clutching himself and groaning.
“Nicely done, Michael. Nicely done!” The high tenor voice came from the darkest part of
the alley. Reichard Blucher stepped out, grabbed Klaus the goon by the hair, and slammed the man’s head into the wall of the house.
“That will take his mind off his other pain.”
Mike straightened up and gave a sigh of relief. The cavalry had arrived. “Where are Rob and Lannie? Are they okay?”
Reichard smiled. “They’re fine. When you didn’t show up Thursday morning Wilf insisted that they go back to Grantville. We came looking for you.” The big man clapped Mike on the shoulder. He kicked the groaning Klaus. “You’re turning into a regular Indiana Jones, young Michael.”
Wilf Jones walked out the kitchen door and into the alley. He looked from Mike to Klaus the goon and back.
“Glad to see you’re in one piece, Michael. Schuler will be, too. When we didn’t find you in the house Christian started to lovingly describe the ‘death of a thousand cuts’ to him. The head of the Bamberg city guard is in there, suggesting additional, cruder measures.”
* * *
Jo Ann was snuggled tightly against Mike on the sofa, firmly holding his left hand. They were sitting in the Clarks’ comfortable and familiar living room, listening while Wilf and Christian finished up the story of finding Mike.
“Michael saved himself. We just came along and cleaned up the mess he left.” Christian smiled and winked at Mike. “Reichard saw him in action and was impressed with how he handled himself.”
“Aye,” Wilf agreed, “impressed enough to suggest that we take him along the next time we go horse trading.”
Mike blushed, pleased at the compliment and half-appalled at the thought of the kinds of trouble Wilf and his friends attracted.
Jo Ann squeezed the hand she was holding. “Mike’s heard from Jena. They want him to teach archaeology.”
“Well, not really teach.” Mike’s blush deepened as he explained. “I won’t be a professor, more like a guest lecturer. It’s kind of weird. I’ll be a student but they want me to present some lectures on up-time archaeology, too.” The doubts he’d felt earlier were dying down. The letter proved that his efforts to reinvent up-time archaeology weren’t wasted and that there were smart people who didn’t think he was just a dumb kid. Even his dad had been impressed.
Lannie nudged her husband. Rob stood, excused himself, and left the room. He returned shortly, holding something behind his back.
“In light of your recent adventures,” Rob said, “and especially your new status as a college lecturer, we thought these additions to your wardrobe were appropriate.” Rob held his hands out. The right held a brown leather jacket; the left a brown fedora. “You’ll have to provide the bullwhip yourself.”
An Eye Opener
Kerryn Offord and Linda Davidson
Spring 1635, Magdeburg
“I hear business is slow.”
Ursula Sprug finished securing the door of her optometry practice before turning around to face Cathy McNally. “What makes you say that?”
“Your receptionist told me. He’s worried you’ll have to close your practice.” Cathy grinned. “I think he likes you.”
“Thomas is just happy with his new glasses.”
“But business is slow?”
Ursula sighed. Slow didn’t describe the near total lack of customers. “Yes.”
“Well then, why don’t you take advantage of your friends?”
“I don’t know many people in Magdeburg, and those I know don’t need glasses.”
“I don’t mean you should try to fit your friends with glasses. I mean you should ask them to help you. For instance, I bet there are dozens of girls at school who need glasses. Talk to Casey and Staci. See if they’ll let you examine their students.”
“They’d never let me take the girls out of school to bring them to my office,” Ursula protested.
“They might, if they felt the girls might benefit, but what about just using an eye chart and doing a simple screening test at the school? If you find any girls need glasses you can let Casey or Staci know and they can contact the parents recommending a proper examination and the purchase of prescription glasses.
“You could also offer to give the students a little talk about the different problems people can have with their eyes and how important properly fitted glasses are. Dad and Dr. Shipley would certainly approve of that.”
Ursula thought about Cathy’s suggestions. Dr. Shipley and Mr. McNally, the Grantville optometrist and optician who trained her, would definitely approve of her educating people about eye health. And Casey and Staci were, well, more than just teachers at the new Duchess Elisabeth Sofie Secondary School for Girls. They were part owners and could talk to Lady Beth Haygood, the principal. “How much can I charge though?”
“Well, just to get them interested, I’d suggest doing a screening test of the current pupils for free,” Cathy suggested.
“Free? Dr. Shipley said I should charge for examinations.”
“Hey, it’s not as if you have a lot of paying customers. And you might want to prepare a handout for those little talks. Those girls all have families, you know. The more people know, the more likely they are to want to do something. Think of it as preparing the ground for seed. Anyway, it’s a way to get your foot in the door. I know of at least a dozen girls who wear those funny down-time glasses, and I bet they would benefit from a decent pair.”
Cathy certainly had that bit right. Her father was pretty scathing of the quality of the glasses the local spectacle sellers peddled. At best they had lenses of equal power, when very few people who needed glasses needed the same prescription in each eye. At the worst, well, Jim McNally considered them more damaging than going without.
“Okay, I’ll talk to Casey or Staci.”
“Tonight! After class.”
Ursula glared down at Cathy. “Yes, tonight.”
“Don’t forget.”
Ursula had a feeling that if she did forget, Cathy wouldn’t. “I won’t forget.”
Karickhoff’s Gym
The dancers were pulling on their outdoor clothes after a hard session under the eyes of Bitty Matowski. Ursula was pulling a brush through her hair when she felt Cathy’s eyes boring into her. In the mirror she could see Cathy nodding suggestively toward Casey Stevenson who was just about to leave the changing room. She glared back at Cathy before thrusting her hairbrush into her bag and scrambling to her feet.
“Casey, could I have a word?”
Casey turned from the door and smiled. “Sure. Can you talk while we walk? I’m supposed to be going to the American Kitchen with Carl.”
“Thanks.” Ursula took a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could do screening eye tests on the pupils at your school?”
“What does that entail? We can’t afford the time to take them to your office.”
“I was just thinking of using a room at the school and doing a simple test using an eye chart. For most of the children it wouldn’t take more than five minutes.”
Casey nodded. “And how much were you planning on charging?”
“Cathy suggested doing the tests for free.”
“Can you afford to do them for free? I hear you haven’t had many customers since you opened your office.”
“What? Where did you hear...Oh. Cathy’s been talking?”
“Yes, Cathy’s been talking. You really should have spoken up earlier. Come on, there’s Carl. I bet Kelly Construction would be interested in having their work force screened for vision problems.”
* * *
Ursula skipped home with a new spring to her step, and after an hour and a half of barre and center work under Miz Bitty’s eye, that was saying something. She might not have any guaranteed customers, but Carl had promised to talk to the guy who doubled, or tripled, as health officer at Kelly Construction about scheduling screening tests, and Casey had promised to bring up the idea of screening tests and talks on eye health with Lady Beth. Surely some of the tests would result in customers.
She used her key to open the door of the boarding house w
here she had a room and made for the kitchen. Everyone knew she went to dance class after work, so there was usually something left simmering on the range for her.
She bounced into the kitchen, and froze. Sitting back at the kitchen table working her way through a bowl of stew was the landlady. “Hi, Elisabetha. It’s been a fantastic day, hasn’t it?”
Elisabetha Schmelzer smiled. “Did you get a customer?”
Ursula flushed. Did everyone know that she’d barely had any customers? “Not yet, but I’ve arranged to do screening tests at Kelly Construction and the new girls’ school.”
“What are screening tests?”
“It’s just a quick and dirty way of determining whether or not someone needs a proper examination. I can give you one now if you like. I just need to get a chart and tape measure from my room.”
Elisabeth shook her head. “No need to rush. Get something to eat, and then have a soak. There’s still plenty of hot water. How much are you charging for these screening tests?”
Ursula found a clean bowl and, after filling it with stew, collected some bread and joined Elisabeth at the table. “I was planning on doing them free.”
“Have you thought about offering free tests at your office?”
“No.”
“You might want to try it. A lot of people see the fancy office and think they can’t afford to see you. If you put out a sign offering free examinations...well, it’ll be a foot in the door.”
Ursula blinked. There was that phrase again. “Have you been talking to Cathy McNally?”
“No. Should I have been?”
“It’s just she used that exact same phrase when she suggested I talk to Casey about screening the girls at Duchess Elisabeth Sofie.”
“Ah, well, it’s probably a common up-timer phrase. My Tommy uses it a lot.”
Ursula grinned. “And which door is your Tommy talking about putting his foot in?”