Grantville Gazette, Volume 65 Page 2

  Niels laughed. “They sound like my cousins. They all look alike and won't ever admit which one is really in charge, either.”

  The girl returned with two foaming tankards. Niels picked his up and took a drink. “It's cool, almost cold. That sure does taste good after a long hot day.”

  Björn nodded his agreement. He was watching the crowd because it seemed to grow every moment. The airship company men were doing something, but Björn couldn't quite tell what, so he stood on his chair to see over everyone’s heads.

  Niels said, “What you think they're doing, Björn? It looks like they're setting something up.”

  Björn said, “Oh it looks like machinery. Nobody else brings their work with them, but my friends say that the airship men are always up to something, demonstrating a new joint or some new type of mechanism. Sometimes it can get exciting.”

  Niels stood on his chair as well, since he was on the short side for a Dane. The crowd in the corner were laughing and joking, then someone started shouting. Shortly thereafter, everyone heard a loud hum.

  And then Niels felt his hair move, as if in a light breeze. Something about the hum was moving the air in the tavern. He was about to go over and investigate, but that was when the young lady returned with two platters. She set them down and said, “Here's your biscuits and gravy. Enjoy, gentlemen.”

  The food won out over the clamor on the other side of the tavern. So he and Björn applied themselves to their platters. Niels was amazed. First of all, these were nothing like the biscuits he had encountered aboard ship. Those were hard and grey, only appetizing when there was nothing else. These were light and airy, like something you would find on the king’s table.

  And the gravy was an experience all on its own. It was delicious but it was different. Until now, anything like gravy had been thin, just meat juice with some breadcrumbs to thicken. This was smooth and thick. It had small bits of meat in it that were chewy and spicy, and the gravy seemed heavy with cream.

  At length, with their meal completed, Niels and Björn were again attracted to the activity in the corner. The airship company men were packing up their machinery. Niels said, “Why don't we go over and see what was going on? The crowd seems to have thinned out, so we can get in there without being jostled by everybody in the tavern.”

  Björn stood up and followed Niels over to the corner. Several people were talking to the airship company men. When one left, Niels stepped up to the man from the airship company. “I am Niels Isaksen, with Halmsted Construction. What was this machinery all about?”

  The man shook Niels’ hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jens Dalgaard. And some of this crowd was watching me. I think I just sold an engine.”

  Niels frowned, “An engine? Why would anybody want something quite that small?”

  Jens turned and they watched the small device as it was taken apart and packed into a crate. “Oh, it wouldn’t be that small. This is a working model, we built it to prove the concept before we went on with the full-sized ones. This is the type of engine that powers the Royal Anne airship. The one I sold will be bigger. I think they want to power a tugboat in the harbor with it. At least they had a lot of questions about how to hook it up to a rotating wheel.”

  That comment caught Niels attention. He began to get excited. “It can be attached to a rotating wheel? How big is this one you are going to build for the tugboat?”

  Jens said, “Why don’t you come to my office, down at the hangar on the airship field? Ask for me, Jens Dalgaard. I’m the shop foreman, and I can answer your questions better than anyone else. See you tomorrow.”

  Niels said, “I would be glad to meet you. This may solve a problem that I haven’t been able to come at any other way.”

  ****

  The next morning, Niels left a foreman at the worksite and walked out to the airship landing field. The hangar was busy; people were working on the airship that had just returned from India. Everybody was involved in something.

  Niels finally caught the attention of somebody who looked like a supervisor and asked for Jens Dalgaard. He was led to a work area. “Herr Dalgaard, we spoke last night at the tavern.”

  Jens said, “Yes, I remember. I am glad to see you today. What can we do for you?”

  Niels pointed to the busy men all around him. “I had thought that you had finished all the engines for the airship. But here you look like you're working very hard. What's going on?”

  Jens laughed. “Surprisingly, we have received orders for new engines from various different organizations. So, far from closing down, it’s beginning to look like we'll need to expand our operation. Why don’t you have a seat, and we can discuss just what your problem is, and what I might be able to do for you.”

  By lunchtime, Niels had the promise of an engine that would meet his needs and be available in a surprisingly short amount of time. It would be expensive, but it would simplify his operation a great deal. The biggest technical challenge was making sure that the engine could run the crane both forward and in reverse. It would not be very helpful to have a crane that could lift up but not lower down.

  ****

  Niels did everything he could at the worksite, but over the next week, the work crew fell a little further behind every day. He had to have Björn and another apprentice monitor the linkage to the walking cage and hook it up every time it fell off.

  He had used his own funds and ordered an engine to fit his problem, but was told it would take a couple of weeks to get it. So he kept the crews working until they could do something else.

  Luckily, the engine arrived the next day. The setup would mean more time lost, but by now, Niels was so far behind that a half-day wouldn’t make any difference.

  His work crew stood around as the engine technicians analyzed the layout, then began the installation of the mechanism. Some, especially the ones that walked the wheel, were grumbling, worried about losing their job to a machine. But it was all too interesting not to watch.

  The mechanic was familiar to Niels. Eric had been out to visit, take measurements, and reassure Niels that it would work. Finally, Eric stood up and wiped his face with a kerchief. “All right, Matts. Light a fire in the steam maker. Let's see it work.”

  As the fire was lit a shout went up from the work crew. Shortly, they all laughed as a brass bell-shaped device on the side of the steam producer let out a high-pitched scream.

  Niels was visibly nervous, but Eric waved and said, “Don’t worry, it’s supposed to do that. I know it can be annoying, but the whistle lets everyone know to be careful. A steam engine is nothing to be casual about. A malfunction could have bad consequences.”

  It took a little more time to help the crane operator familiarize himself with the controls. “This is your control lever. If you push it forward it causes the crane to pull the cable up. If you pull up the middle the cable will be locked in place, and if you pull it towards you the crane will lower. The more you push the lever, the faster the crane will run, either up or down. Be careful because in full reverse the crane drops very quickly—you don't want to crush anybody.”

  The crane operator nodded. “Thank you. I have seen accidents before, and we do not need to cause one.”

  Eric returned to the sidelines, so Niels stepped into the middle of the clearing. “I want to do a test load. I think our crane operator needs to practice before we load it up, and everyone wants to see how it works.”

  A large cart loaded with barrels and supplies, tools and lumber, was rolled into place. Carefully the work crew attached it to the crane. Then Niels said, “Everybody stand back.”

  The area cleared, then Niels nodded. “All right, lift it up. Be careful. Let's do this safely.”

  The crowd held its breath as the crane operator pushed the lever forward. Everyone could hear the strange grumble of the engine, but the cable on the crane began to pull the hook up, then with a small jerk, the load was smoothly lifted into the air.

  The crane operator just concentrated
on the load. When it reached the level he wanted, he pulled the lever back, and the load stopped. The load was a little bit too low, so little by little, he worked it into position, and the workmen on the scaffolding began to unload the cargo. Once the cart was empty it was lowered to the ground.

  The whole operation took less than twenty minutes. Everybody was astonished because just this morning, it had taken more than an hour, and there was no gang of men grunting and straining inside the treadmill to make it go up.

  Niels grinned and shook Eric’s hand. “It looks like you brought me a miracle.” Then he stepped to the edge of the open space and shouted. “What are you looking at? Get to work. If I have to pay a late fee, I’m taking it out of your pay.”

  With a cheer, the men hurried back to work. Niels sent Björn to gather the men who had been in the walking cage and add them to the loading crews on the carts.

  Then Niels sat down at his desk and gestured for Eric to do the same. “This changes everything. I've never seen so much work done in so small a space. Whoever thought that a flying machine could do so much work on the ground?”

  A Pirate Made

  By Andy Rogers

  Author's note: A Pirate Made is a prequel to The Doom of Sallee, originally published in Grantville Gazette, Volume 62.

  April, 1631

  Off the coast of Portugal

  Lysbeth Janszoon van Haarlem worked to loosen the damp knot of her neck scarf and leaned back into the curved railing on the aft deck of the Leeuwin. On one side, the coast of Portugal traced a hopeful path south toward her estranged father. A featureless ribbon of land, as indistinct as her new future and grey in the April light of their first clear morning since setting sail from Antwerp.

  Beneath her, the ship surged gently forward before easing into the next rolling wave. A growing warmth promised midday heat and, if God should be so gracious, an afternoon's respite from the pervasive wet.

  Two couples shared the deck with her.

  Alonso Vargas, captain of the Leeuwin, stood with Klaus, his smooth-cheeked helmsman. Lysbeth had rarely seen the two apart since taking passage on the journey south. Though to be fair, passengers were rarely allowed on deck. Today, however, was different, and spirits were high with hope for a calm and rainless day.

  Marit van Voorburg leaned into her husband, Heer Henrik. The newlyweds kept near the railing as well, permitting the sailing men room to work. The lean young man unwound an arm from around his young bride. Beside him was a parasol and he opened it to shade her from the rising sun.

  "Captain Vargas," Marit said, "it is so kind of you to allow us time on deck. I was nearly undone with fear that rain would harry us to the very docks of Cartagena."

  Henrik responded to his wife's words before the captain could reply, "I do hope, sir, that it is no imposition. We have greatly enjoyed both your table and your company at supper, but a chance to air and pray for the sun's warmth is a blessing."

  Vargas spared half a smile for the young couple. His voice was deep, the Spanish accent a rich complement to his dark eyes. "Just stay off the main deck," he said, "and keep the women out from under foot. I welcome the company and more refined conversation than Klaus here has to offer."

  "Then I insist we pass the time with a game." Marit's words were high and melodic, particularly by comparison to Lysbeth's own low voice.

  Henrik smiled with a tolerant softness at his wife's unsurprising mention of a game. "Choose an innocent game this time, Love. Lest our helmsman turn it against us."

  The captain made a sound that was more snort than laugh. "Good luck with that," he said. "Klaus can make holy communion sound randy."

  "Communion, no," Klaus said. "But I can show you a thing or two to do with rosary beads." He held the wheel with hands weathered nearly as brown as the ship's well-kept wood.

  Marit laughed, "Please do not, sir."

  "He is incorrigible, Señora," Vargas said.

  Henrik moved the parasol to better shade Marit. "Share the game with us, Love. And save the poor sailor lest blasphemy damn his soul."

  "Very well," Marit arranged her skirts to dry in the growing strength of the sun. "We shall play 'Two Truths and a Lie.' I will make three statements about myself. Two will be true, and the third will be a lie. The group must then divine which of the three are false. Agreed?"

  Lysbeth smiled contentedly as the young bride described the latest of a seemingly endless supply of social diversions. She breathed in deeply, letting the adventurous scent of salted air, oiled wood, and the bodies of the men working on the deck below soak through her.

  She imagined that her father's ships must conjure similar emotion. And although Lysbeth would never forgive the man for abandoning his only daughter for life at sea, she began to understand the hold it must have over him.

  "A game of lies," Captain Alonso said. "Finally an activity where sailing men can show their worth."

  "I will start," Marit said. "Let me see…la! I have one. Here are my two truths and a lie. I was born on a ship. I was born in a carriage. I was born in a barn. Which two are true, and where is the lie? Lysbeth? Will you play?"

  Lysbeth considered the erudite young woman. Marit was small and enviably curvaceous. Even in her sodden skirts, Lysbeth felt heavy and hipless by comparison.

  Lysbeth considered what she knew of the young woman, saying, "I fear I have not done well at your games in the past. Perhaps I will find an advantage in this one."

  Marit seemed comfortable at sea, and Lysbeth thought she remembered Henrik mentioning a family shipyard. Perhaps the couple was the product of an arranged marriage between wealthy, Dutch shipping families. If that was the case, a birth at sea seemed as probable as any other guess.

  Lysbeth shared her reasoning with the group. "I think you want us to assume the easy answer that you were born in a coach parked inside a barn."

  "That is my guess," Alonso declared.

  His face serious and without a trace of humor or emotion, Klaus said, "I'll park something in your barn."

  "Klaus . . ." Alonso warned.

  Lysbeth did her best to ignore the men. "I think instead that you were born aboard a ship. I remember Heer Henrik saying something about a family shipyard."

  "Indeed I did," Henrik said. "Good memory, Mevrouw van Haarlem. That is the very reason I am aboard this ship. An innovative shipbuilder is lecturing in Cartagena, and my father has dispatched me to see if there is any merit to his techniques."

  Marit beamed to rival the warming sun. "I commissioned a tailor to make Henrik a set of clothes for the occasion. They are so sharp and manly that I will need to chase the Spanish women off with a broom!"

  Lysbeth smiled at the young couple, saying, "Then I guess you were born in a shipboard stable. The coach is the lie."

  Marit grinned, her eyes narrowing impishly. "Anyone else? The captain says the ship is the lie. Lysbeth says the carriage."

  Henrik leaned his head in close and whispered in a conspiratorial, yet completely audible voice, "Give the answer quickly, Love, before good Klaus guesses something inappropriate."

  "La," Marit crowed. "I win! My father owned the barge service crossing the Schelde at Antwerp. I was born aboard a ferry inside the carriage carrying my mother to the midwife."

  "Well done, Love," Henrik said. She leaned into him and he pecked her cheek with a chaste touch of his lips.

  "There is a trick to this game," Vargas said.

  "I've got one," Klaus said from the wheel. "What's longer? The ship's beam, the ship's mast, or the captain's c—"

  "Klaus!" Vargas cut the ruddy-cheeked helmsman off. "We are accompanied on deck by a pair of fine ladies. I am sure they are not interested in any of the measures you mention."

  Lysbeth turned her smile from the Voorburgs to the pair of sailors. Her father, from what she remembered as a much younger girl, had possessed a tongue as wicked as his wit. Though her mother would favor him with cross looks when his conversation turned coarse, their affection wasn't so diffe
rent from that shared between the Captain and his man.

  Marit's voice was melodic with laughter. "This is not a game of bawdy riddles, sir. You must tell three things of yourself, two of them true and we must divine from the telling where amongst the three the lie is hidden."

  "If I did not know better," Henrik said in his entirely audible whisper, "I would say our corky helmsman was flying your colors, Love."

  Lysbeth whispered back to them, from across the deck and just as clearly, "I am fairly certain that Klaus flies only the Captain's colors."

  "Lysbeth!" Marit cried. "I expect such ribald conversation from these rogues, but you are a lady."

  "Forgive me, gentle folk," Vargas made his voice heavy and grave. "Klaus is a scoundrel through and through. And, I believe, a pirate at heart."

  "Do not tempt the fates with talk of pirates," Marit said. "Henrik, have a go at our game before I faint dead away from the thought of pirates."

  "I am on a ship at sea with men of skill and daring, Love. It is not the nature of a man to tell truths in such a situation. And you ask me to find two?"

  Marit would not be denied. "Nonsense. Show them."

  "I think Mevrouw Lysbeth should have a go," Henrik said. "She has quite a memory for the details of our stories, yet she shares so few of her own."

  Lysbeth grew still, her smile fading as she reviewed the expectant group. Klaus kept his eyes moving over the rolling waters ahead. The rest watched her, waiting.

  Memories of her estranged, seafaring father were still strong in Lysbeth's thoughts. Indeed, he was the very reason she had abandoned her home to travel south. Though she generally avoided discussing her father, she found her two truths were about him. Once she had them, the lie came easily.

  "Like you Heer Henrik, I am traveling south to see a man, although I will not find him in Cartagena. I will start my search even farther south beyond the Straits."