"Are you ready to play?" Gabrielle Ugolini asked, tennis racket in hand.
"Hang on a sec, my hands are cracking. Let me get some lotion." Heather Mason reached into her school daypack. One of the geeks at school had nicknamed it the "magic bag of holding" because there was enough stuff in it to fill a pocket universe. Her hand emerged, triumphantly, with a plastic bottle. The up-time lotion was long gone, but it had been carefully filled with Doctor Gribbleflotz's "Celestial Dew of Mount Sapo." She squeezed out a bit of "dew," and rubbed her hands together.
"Okay," she yelled across the net, "What's the holdup? Serve!"
The Barbie Consortium had staged yet another takeover. This time, it wasn't financial. There were three tennis courts at the high school, and they were playing on all of them. Hayley Fortney and Susan Logsden were playing singles on one, Judy Wendell and Vicky Emerson on the second. There was a doubles game on the final court, Heather and Gabrielle on one side, Millicent Anne Barnes and Kelsey Mason on the other. Kelsey wasn't actually a member of the Barbie Consortium, but she was Heather's older sister, and a good athlete.
The main road was on an embankment, looking down at the tennis courts. William Cavendish, the third earl of Devonshire, stood there, watching the game. He was on his "grand tour" of Europe, a rite of passage for young British noblemen. He had traveled through France and Italy and across the Alps with his governor, Thomas Hobbes. On this fine summer morning, he was just three months shy of sixteen years of age.
"Geoffrey, what game are they playing?" Geoffrey Watson was one of the three lesser servants he had brought with him to Grantville.
"I couldn't say, sir."
"They're hitting the ball about with rackets. And there's a net to separate them. It's almost tennis. But there are no walls. It can't be tennis without playing shots off the walls and rooftops. And those balls—look how bouncy they are!"
"Fifteen-love!" shouted one of the girls.
William snapped his fingers. "This is some kind of tennis. No way the same crazy scoring system would appear, by chance, in an unrelated game."
William had been left to his own devices because he had interrupted Hobbes one time too many as the tutor tore through the Grantville Public Library. The last straw had been when William had brought Hobbes a comic book, saying, "Mister Hobbes, look at this, it has your name on it." Hobbes had taken a quick look at The Complete Calvin and Hobbes and then suggested that William go find the local gymnasium and converse with other gentlemen his age. With Geoffrey to watch over him, of course.
"Don't look now, but cute stranger at four o'clock," said Heather.
Gabrielle looked, of course, although she tried to turn her head as little as possible. "Since when are you interested in boys?"
Heather didn't deign to answer. "You think he's some kind of nobleman?"
"Duh? Dressed like that, he has to be. Guy next to him is obviously a servant."
"Perhaps he's a prince?"
"I hope not. Can't do much of a curtsey in tennis whites."
"He only has one servant. Maybe he's just a duke."
"With blond curls like those, even a mere earl would be acceptable."
"So, do we talk to him?"
Heather sighed. "No, he'd probably think we were forward."
"You could pretend to sprain your ankle."
"Real smart. Then I'd have to limp along the rest of the day, or he'd know I faked it. And why."
Millicent, waiting on the other side of the net, was dancing around, impatient. "Have you gotten tired of tennis?"
"Give us five minutes," Gabrielle shouted back. She turned back to Heather. "I suppose 'Hey! Don't I know you from somewhere?' would sound kinda lame."
"Ver-ree lame."
"Hey, I have the solution." Gabrielle turned and shouted, "John!" Gabrielle's brother John and Heather's older brother Derrick were nearby, playing one-on-one.
Heather was appalled. "But I don't want anyone to know."
"Everything's under control, Heather." Gabrielle raised her voice. "John, you moron, get your ass over here."
"Gabe, you made me miss the shot!"
"Big deal." She glared at him, arms akimbo.
"I'm coming. Jeesh." John walked over, while Derrick stayed behind, practicing layups.
"What's the problem, Gabe? Need a tennis lesson?"
"Stop dribbling the basketball with your head; it's affecting your brain. I need you to introduce yourself to that young man over there." She jerked her head, ever so slightly, in William's direction.
"Where is there?"
"I am not going to point, you idiot, I am trying to be subtle. S-U-uh-B-T-L-E. The one with the fancy doublet and the feathered cap. With the servant in black, behind him. Ask him if he is interested in sports, where he's from, how long he'll be in town, that kind of thing. Can you handle it?"
"Hey, you aren't interested in this guy, are you?"
"No, no, this is a public service announcement. Heather's making eyes at him. Or thinking about it."
"Heather?"
"Not a word to anyone about it, or I'll squash you like a bug."
"What about Kelsey? Or Derrick?"
"Definitely not Derrick."
Derrick had belatedly followed John. "What don't you want to tell me?"
The jig was up. "Keep your eyes where they are, but Heather's interested in that guy, the nobleman up on the road."
Derrick strained his peripheral vision. "Heather, you don't know anything about him. And you know what most of the down-timers think about girls."
"When I want you to protect me, I'll let you know. In the meantime, stay out of my life."
"But—"
"But would you like me to tell everyone about the swimming hole incident?"
Derrick blushed a deep red. "John, I'll wait for you at the basket." And off he ran.
"I hope you haven't done permanent damage to his psyche," John said. "Unless it will throw off his shooting."
"Well, what about the down-timer? We don't have all day."
"Get back to the game. I'll watch you play for a few minutes, then check him out. Is that S-U-B-T-L-E enough for you?"
Kelsey and Millicent were sitting on their side of the court, gabbing.
"What are you waiting for?" yelled Gabrielle. "Let's play!"
Heather tried two serves, both of which went into the net. It wasn't easy to keep her eyes on the ball and on the mysterious stranger at the same time.
After a few centuries had passed, John strolled over to William.
"New to Grantville?" They spoke for several minutes.
Heather was getting impatient. She waved Gabrielle over for further consultation. "I told him to introduce himself, not recite the Gettysburg Address."
"Just keep your mind on the game, okay? We're putting on a show for him, y'know."
At long last, John returned. "He's British, name's William Cavendish, he's the earl of Devonshire." Heather and Gabrielle laughed. "Have you girls gone nuts? What's so funny about Devonshire?" They laughed again.
"Anyway, he's done the grand tour through France and Italy and now he and his tutor are in beautiful downtown Grantville."
"Tell him that if he hasn't tired of Italian food, he can join us at the pizza parlor for lunch."
Hobbes had given Geoffrey clear instructions. "Remember, you are supposed to keep Lord Devonshire out of trouble. No buying of supposedly ancient artifacts. No attempted descents into volcanoes. And most importantly, no playing chess with courtesans." All references to William's past escapades.
Well, there were no ancient artifacts here, just futuristic ones. There were no volcanoes, just chimneys here and there. And, while these ladies certainly were showing a lot of leg, Geoffrey was quite sure they weren't courtesans.
In fact, Geoffrey was pretty sure they were upper class. Whoever heard of servants wearing spotless white outfits, outdoors?
So there was no reason for intervention on Geoffrey's part, none at all.
Anyway, Geoffrey was enjoying the view.
"Excuse me, but the guard tells me that your name is Thomas Hobbes. Is that right?"
Hobbes frowned at the woman who had just accosted him. "Yes, I am. Mister Thomas Hobbes, a bachelor of Oxford University, and tutor to the third earl of Devonshire."
"Well, that's great. I read your book."
"My book? You mean my translation of Thucydides? I hadn't expected that anyone in Grantville would have heard of it."
"Thucydides?"
"Yes, Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War."
"No, no. Leviathan."
"Leviathan?"
"Oh, yes, I had to read it in school." She put her hand to her mouth. "I forgot. You might not have written it yet."
It had not even occurred to Hobbes that his name would be remembered, and his writings read, four centuries in the future.
"Is Leviathan about my contributions to geometry? Did I publish my method of squaring the circle? Am I a famous mathematician of your past?"
"Um, Leviathan is about politics. The 'Leviathan' is the government and, uh, that's all I remember."
That was even more of a surprise. Since he had not written anything about political philosophy yet.
"Is there anywhere I can find a copy of this Leviathan?" Hobbes was a firm believer in predestination, but this was getting ridiculous.
"We have a copy here, and there should be stuff about you in the encyclopedias."
"About me?"
"Just don't weird out when you read the date you died. The Ring of Fire changed history. And even little changes, like who was where on a particular day, can add up to become big ones. Anyway, gotta run."
Hobbes sighed. If the library lady knew about him, it was certain that others did, too. Half the down-timers in the Grantville Public Library were probably there as spies for someone else. Hobbes realized that he had best find out what the books of the future had to say about him.
As if he didn't already have enough to worry about. He had, as instructed, looked up various members of the Cavendish family. The entry for one of the William's uncles, the earl of Newcastle, mentioned that he had been a royalist commander during the English Civil War, and later a member of the privy council of Charles II.
This led to the discovery that in the original time line, in 1649, King Charles' head was chopped off. Hobbes' friend, the king's physician, William Harvey, had visited Grantville in early 1632, and Hobbes suspected that this bit of history was what had prompted Harvey's hasty return to London.
The encyclopedias also revealed that the Cavendishes were forced into exile during the era of parliamentary rule. So they, too, would want to know who became a roundhead, and who, a cavalier.
Surprisingly, during the Restoration, the unwed William's yet-to-be-born son had become a leader of the opposition to the pro-Catholic policies of Charles II and James II. Indeed, a leader of the Glorious Revolution that unseated the last Stuart king. Leading naturally to the question, did King Charles know that, and would it create a political problem for the Cavendish family?
All right, then, let's see what the Encyclopedia Britannica has to say about me.
When he finished reading, he sighed. He was happy enough with the conclusion: "he has gradually been accorded recognition as one of the greatest English political thinkers." Hobbes was less happy to discover that, "unfortunately, Hobbes antagonized both parties in the current constitutional struggle."
The Encyclopedia Americana wasn't any more comforting: "he was suspected of atheism, and his attack upon ecclesiastical authority enraged both Anglicans and French Catholics. . . . As late as 1683 Hobbes' books were publicly burned at Oxford."
Perhaps it was time to do some job hunting in Magdeburg?
John made the introductions as they walked over to the pizza parlor. "Here in Grantville, we tend to go by first names. I hope you don't mind. William, meet Gabrielle, Heather, Millicent, Vicky, Judy, and Heather's brother Derrick, and sister Kelsey. They're all nice, except for my sister Gabrielle of course." She stuck out her tongue at him.
"This is Marcantonio's. I hope you like their pizza."
William watched the cook slide a giant metal spatula into a brick oven, and pull out a large round bread, covered with melted cheese and vegetables. "Is that the pizza?"
John Ugolini frowned. "Yeah. Didn't you say you were just in Italy? How come you don't know what pizza is?"
Gabrielle came to William's rescue. "John, you moron, we're in the seventeenth century, remember? The Italians haven't invented pizza yet. I thought everybody knew that."
They were seated at a large round table. Which meant that William could see all of them at one time. His rescuer, Gabrielle, had the classic Mediterranean look: brown eyes, olive skin, and coffee brown hair. Her tennis partner, Heather, had matching hair and eyes, but pale skin. Millicent, Kelsey and Vicky were blondes, and Judy was a redhead. Auburn, not coppery. Height-wise, Millicent was tiny, and Vicky taller than the two guys present, John and Derrick. Geoffrey had been offered a seat, but declined. But he was happily munching on a slice of pizza at a small table nearby.
Gabrielle nudged Heather. Heather said nothing.
"So, William, what did you think of our game of tennis?" asked Gabrielle.
"It was interesting to see how it differed from real tennis."
Vicky challenged this statement. "So what do we play, 'pretend' tennis?"
Gabrielle wasn't amused. "Oh, give him a break, Vicky."
William put his hand over his heart, turned to Vicky, and inclined his head. "Forgive my poor choice of words, mademoiselle." The girls tittered. "I suppose we can call it 'royal tennis.'
"Imagine putting half a cloister inside a high-walled building. A cloister's a garden, surrounded on all four sides by a roofed gallery.
"There is a cord strung between two poles, to separate the two teams. The players have rackets, with which they hit the ball, back and forth, across the line.
"The players make the game less predictable by serving the ball so that it bounces at least once on the penthouse to their left—"
"Wait. What penthouse?" asked Millicent.
"That's the sloped roof of the gallery."
"Monks with Penthouses, huh? What about Playboys?" said John.
"Shut up, idiot." Gabrielle looked at her friends. "Has anyone ever noticed that 'brother' is just one letter away from 'bother'?"
Heather nodded. "I always thought that the Russians were clever, because their word for 'brother' is brat." Derrick saluted her, and then converted the movement into a quick grab for her slice of pizza.
"Owww!" Heather had slapped Derrick's hand away. He held it up, bent at the wrist, and acted as if it had been maimed for life.
"Do I need to operate, Derrick?" said his other sister, Kelsey. She was in EMT training. "I recommend decapitation; then you won't notice the pain."
William grinned. His own brother, Charles, had been twelve when William left England. Such an endearing age. Decapitation, defenestration, and drowning had all appealed to William at one time or another.
"If, after the served ball comes down, it's volleyed back, or it bounces in a marked area on the receiver's side, it's a good serve. From then on, you can strike the ball so it bounces off a wall, to try to trick your opponent. You can try to hit a winning opening in the galleries. And if the ball bounces twice on the server's side, or in the receiver's forecourt, or it lands in one of the other openings, it sets up a chase."
"What's that?"
"If a second bounce is anywhere on the server's side of the net, or in the front part of the receiver's side, a chase is marked at that position. Then, before the game ends, we play off the chase. We switch sides, and the new server, to win the point, either has to cause the ball to take its second bounce closer to the far wall than the mark, or get the ball into a winning opening."
"I guess that means you want to get distance on your shots."
"That's right. Otherwise, your opponent will just let the ball bounce a second time, close to the net, and then win an easy chase."
Vicky groaned. "I've heard enough about tennis. Anyone who wants to continue to talking about it—" She mimed swinging a tennis racket, two-handed. Her imaginary ball sailed out the window of the pizza parlor "—can go outside."
They told William about the twentieth century, the Ring of Fire, and the Croat raid. William spoke about his travels. The highlights, so far as the Americans were concerned, were that he had met Galileo and walked across the Alps.
William also described his home, Chatsworth Hall. Even though he was the earl of Devonshire, his estates were actually mostly in Derbyshire. Chatsworth lay between the Derbyshire River and the moors, and it was a Tudor dwelling in the grand style: square turrets at the corners, a gateway (complete with a portcullis), a great hall worthy of the name, and an inner garden. It had already achieved some notoriety, he noted, as the elegant prison of Mary, Queen of Scots.
"Sounds a bit like Pemberley," Heather said. "Wait, let me find it." She rummaged in the infamous magic bag of holding for a moment, and emerged triumphantly with a well-thumbed copy of Pride and Prejudice.
"This is from a novel written in 1813 by Jane Austen. Hold on a moment." She skimmed it rapidly.
"Aha! Listen to this: 'the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills—and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance.' And Pemberley was in Derbyshire!"
"Your 'Pemberley' does sound quite a bit like Chatsworth," William said.
"So that means—" Heather's eyes widened "—you're Darcy."
"Who's Darcy?"
"Uh, never mind." Heather fidgeted. "My Aunt Gayle's in England, now. She's with Miss Mailey, and Tom and Rita Simpson, and the rest of our embassy to King Charles."
"I hope to have the honor of meeting her and her colleagues, when I return to London. This Tom Simpson is the head of your delegation?"
Judy Wendell shook her head. "No, the official head is Rita Simpson, Mike's sister. Because Mike's President, and down-timers think he's some kind of king."
"And who, then, is the real head?"
"That would be Melissa Mailey."
William didn't comment. Vicky took issue with his silence. "You don't think a woman can handle the job?"
William held up his hands. "Please. It is only thirty years since the death of Queen Elizabeth. And if you ever met my lady mother . . ." He rolled his eyes.
"Sounds like my mother," said Millicent. "Always bossing me around."
"Where are you staying, William?" asked Heather.
"At the Higgins Hotel."
"Good for you," said Judy. "It shows you have excellent taste."
"Judy is at the Higgins, too." said Vicky.
William looked at Judy. "I thought you were a native of Grantville."
"I am," Judy said, "but my parents are working in Magdeburg, for the government. I stayed here since I wanted to finish high school. Delia Higgins is looking after me, so . . . the hotel is my home away from home."
John caught William's eye. "If I had known you could afford a room there, I would have made you pay for the whole pizza." Heather elbowed him.
"Do you know about our movies?" asked Judy.
"Movies? Some sort of race?" The up-timers laughed, and told him that movies were a form of entertainment, a bit like a play, but recorded and then looked at later, like a painting or a book. William wasn't sure he quite understood, but admitted he would like to see one.
Judy smiled. "We're all going to the Friday night movie at the Higgins Hotel. You should join us. Since you're a guest, you can get in for free."
"Yes, please do that, William," said Heather.
William was at the library, doing some research of his own.
"Hah!" The librarian shushed him.
William strode over to Hobbes' table. "Look at this. It says here that in 1638, Athanasius Kircher had himself lowered into the crater of Vesuvius. That's what I wanted to do, only you wouldn't let me. I could have done something that would have made me famous, like Kircher."
"It could also have made you dead, like poor Francis Bacon." Hobbes was referring to the infamous experiment in which Bacon, his mentor, had sought to prove that a chicken stuffed with snow would not decompose, and had instead contracted a fatal bronchitis.
Clearly, there was not a meeting of the minds here. William changed the subject. "There is a 'movie' being shown at the Higgins Hotel tonight. Are you going?"
"No, Lord Devonshire. I found out that one of the residents has a copy of an up-time book of great interest to me. But he is leaving town tomorrow, so I must either see him tonight, or wait several weeks until he returns.
"Enjoy this movie you speak of. Make sure you bring one of the servants with you; it would be beneath your dignity to go unattended."
William had somehow neglected to mention to Hobbes that he was meeting some young ladies at the Higgins Hotel movie theater. The hotel was brand-new, and only part of it was in operation.
The operational half was a mid-rise, which held shops, the hotel lobby, the restaurant, a lounge, and the movie theater. There was also a conference center, with both conference rooms and hospitality suites.
You passed through the lobby to enter the rectangular inner courtyard, which led to "the tower." This would be a "high-rise." Right now, it was still under construction. And the courtyard wouldn't be landscaped until the tower was done.
Still, the conference center was in business. Not only did people meet there, the hospitality suites were rented out at outrageous prices to visitors, like William, who wanted to make an impression. Once the tower was in operation, guests would stay there, instead.
The hotel also made money off the restaurant and the movie theater. The latter was equipped with a VCR and a large projection TV; the hotel charged admission and split the profits with the TV owner. Movie admission was free to hotel guests, but they had to sign in, so they could be accounted for.
Judy's informal guardian in loco parentis, Delia Higgins, owned the hotel. That meant Judy could see a movie pretty much whenever she wanted, which was usually at least once a week. Her fellow Barbie Consortium members often came, too. There weren't a lot of entertainment choices, after dark.
Vicky was the first to arrive. She sat next to Judy. Then Heather showed up.
Judy, who was watching the crowd, was the first to spot her. What she saw was so astounding, her brain had trouble processing what her eyes were telling her. "Heather's wearing a dress."
Vicky turned her head so quickly, it was amazing she didn't suffer whiplash. "You're right! She always wears pants. What's going on?"
"I think William is what's going on."
"Uh-huh. This will be an interesting evening."
It was. When William arrived, which was while Heather was off in the powder room, he sat down next to Judy. Heather came back, gave Judy a suspicious look, then hurriedly took a seat on William's other side. Gabrielle arrived, and sat next to Heather, and Millicent flanked Vicky. William looked like a sultan having a night out with his harem.
Judy squirmed a bit. She liked William, but she wasn't interested in William. Not like Heather. Who Judy was probably going to be hearing from, before the night was over.
It was obvious what Heather saw in William. He could pass, in the right clothing, for a rock-and-roll idol. He was reasonably well educated, for a seventeenth-century nobleman. He was athletic.
But, hey, what kind of long-term relationship could they have? The men of his class didn't marry for love; their marriages were more like corporate mergers.
Heather was usually practical. What was wrong with her?
Oh, that. Judy hoped not.
Sybill Johnson was very apologetic.
"I am sorry, Mister Hobbes. TJ isn't feeling well, you can't come in."
"Can you fetch me the book? It's Hibbert's Cavaliers and Roundheads. I'll take good care of it."
"His library is a mess, I don't know how he finds anything."
"Perhaps . . . you could just ask him, and then find it yourself?"
"I'm so sorry, but he's sleeping, and I'm not going to wake him up. But I'll ask him tomorrow, and you can pick up the book tomorrow night." She shut the door.
Hobbes decided he might as well see what a movie was like.
It wasn't easy spotting William in the darkened room. Hobbes hunched over so as not to block the view, and shuffled along until he found his charge. There he was.
Girls to the left of him. Girls to the right of him. A coincidence? Hobbes wasn't a big believer in coincidences.
William had obviously enjoyed more of a social life in Grantville than he had been letting on.
Hobbes decided that it was high time to get William away from his female admirers. Even if that meant forsaking the Grantville Public Library for a while.
As soon as the lights were turned on, Hobbes walked over. "Ladies, I am Mister Thomas Hobbes, Lord Devonshire's governor. Do you mind if I speak privately with him for a moment?"
Hobbes pulled William into a corner, then looked back. Sure enough, several of the girls were watching them. That confirmed Hobbes' suspicions. "Lord Devonshire, you remember how anxious you were to see Magdeburg? Now that it is an imperial city?"
"Yes . . . But I'm learning a lot here."
"I am sure you are. But you are destined for a political life, and that means you need to go where the emperor is. Magdeburg."
"I suppose a little visit might be nice."
"Actually, Lord Devonshire, I thought we might spend a month or so there."
William bit his lip.
Hobbes decided to sweeten the deal. "We'll see the Swedish Army at drill, and the Navy yard building new ships, and much else of interest. And Halle's on the way; we can play at the tennis court there."
William nodded, slowly. "That sounds good. When do we leave?"
"Next Friday. I need a few days to complete my research here." Hobbes didn't mention that his research would now include background checks on the girls sitting next to William.
"So, are you going to introduce me to these young ladies?"
After all the moviegoers had gone home, or to their hotel rooms, William went to the hotel lobby to use the telephone. He called Judy.
"William? What's up?"
"There's been a change of plans. Mister Hobbes says we're going to Madgeburg. Next Friday."
"That's pretty sudden."
"Yeah."
There was a long silence.
"Y'know, my parents are living in Madgeburg now. That's why I'm staying with Delia. She's a friend of the family. Mom and Dad usually come back once a month to visit me, but it might be fun to go see them instead.
"I could ask them if we could travel up with you and Mister Hobbes. If that's okay."
"That would be great! Uh, who's 'we'?"
"My girlfriends. I'm sure Heather would like to go; she's never been to Magdeburg. Perhaps some of our brothers. And I suppose we'd have to hire guards, or our parents would have conniptions."
William took a quick look across the lobby. No sign of his tutor. "Mister Hobbes told me that there's a real tennis court in Halle. That's on the way to Magdeburg. I could teach you all how to play."
"It's a date. I mean, that sounds like fun."
Judy called Heather. "William's going to Magdeburg. For at least a month."
Heather started wailing.
"Take it easy. I have it all worked out," Judy said. "We'll travel along, let him show us his royal tennis in Halle, maybe do some sightseeing together in Magdeburg. It'll give you a chance to make more of an impression on him, and of course I'll get to see my folks."
"Thanks, Judy. Wait, you aren't interested in him yourself, are you?"
"Honestly, Heather, I have no ambition to be the 'Mistress of Pemberley.' Do you know how often I have to shoo off worthless young noblemen who hear that I'm rich?"
"But William isn't worthless."
Judy thought it just as well that Heather couldn't see her expression at the moment. "That's not what I meant."
"And I think he likes you."
"What do you want me to do, Heather? Walk around with a paper bag over my head? Come along, talk to him, play some tennis, and see how it goes."
"Okay. But what will our parents say? We can't go without adult supervision, that's for sure."
"Hmm. Mister Hobbes is going, he's perfect. If he can get William safely across France, Italy and the Alps, he can get us from Grantville to Magdeburg.
"And we can say it's like a social studies field trip, going with this great political philosopher."
Heather pondered this. "They might think that his loyalties are to William."
"Right. Like he and William are going to carry us to their castle, like in some Gothic novel. Well, that's what the guards are for. So Hobbes can't hit us over the head with a copy of Leviathan."
When there wasn't any military traffic, personal messages could be sent, via radio, between Grantville and Magdeburg.
Judy sent her parents a radiotelegram:
WOULD LIKE TO VISIT YOU IN MAGDEBURG STOP
IF LEAVE THIS FRIDAY, CAN TRAVEL WITH PARTY OF THOMAS HOBBES, FAMOUS BRITISH PHILOSOPHER STOP
WOULD LIKE TO INVITE VICKY, MILLICENT, GABRIELLE, JOHN, HEATHER, KELSEY AND DERRICK TO JOIN ME STOP
Judy hadn't mentioned Hayley or Susan, because she knew they couldn't go.
DO YOU HAVE PREFERENCE AS TO WHICH GUARDS TO HIRE? STOP
CAN YOU ARRANGE LODGING FOR FRIENDS? STOP
This was the sales technique known as the "assumed close," that is, the questions were about guards and lodging, not about whether to go at all.
She soon received a reply:
DELIA CHOOSE GUARDS STOP
FELLOW STUDENTS STAY HERE STOP
HOW OLD THOMAS HOBBES? STOP
How lame, thought Judy. She composed a reply and handed it to the radio operator.
FORTY-FIVE STOP
JEESH STOP
HOBBES PHILOSOPHER, INFLUENCED AMERICAN DECLARATION INDEPENDENCE STOP
LIKE HAVING GUEST LECTURER IN SOCIAL STUDIES CLASS STOP
"Wait," Judy said. The operator handed the form back to her.
Is that a good reason for my parents to like the idea? Yes. Are they going to think it's my reason? No. So what will they do? They will keep hunting for my real motive. So what will satisfy their curiosity?
She thought a bit longer, and then scribbled an addendum:
HOBBES KNOWS WEALTHY ENGLISH FAMILIES, POSSIBLE INVESTORS GRANTVILLE BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES STOP
TRIP CHANCE TO PICK HIS BRAINS STOP
There. That fitted in perfectly with her 'Judy the Barracudy' rep. And it was true. Just not all the truth.
They were at the train station, which was the old B&O depot, waiting for the train to head out. William and the girls were chattering a mile a minute. All of Judy's invitees, save Millicent, had successfully reasoned, wheedled, screamed or otherwise buffaloed their parents into agreeing to "the field trip."
Hobbes was not happy. The point of going to Magdeburg was to get away from the girls. Not to escort them to the big city and teach them how to play royal tennis, to boot.
Not that Hobbes had any problem with teaching women. He had long been of the view that all humans are naturally equal, which implied that women are equal to men.
The problem was that if William got into any foreign romantic entanglements, his mother Christian would certainly blame Hobbes.
Upon interrogation, William had confessed that Judith Wendell had invited him to the movie. And then invited herself and her buddies along on this trip to Magdeburg.
It was small consolation that this Judith Wendell was, in some respects, a suitable match. She was the daughter of Fletcher Wendell, who was the "Secretary of the Treasury." As near as Hobbes could figure out, the equivalent British position was the "Chancellor of the Exchequer." The chancellor of the exchequer was almost always a nobleman; the present title holder was a baron, Francis Cottington. So it was safe to assume that this Fletcher Wendell was a nobleman, too.
Yes, yes, Hobbes had been told that the Americans didn't have a noble class. As a historian, Hobbes was familiar with several governments which were republican in name, but run by a small group of families. The Most Serene Republic, for example. Hobbes assumed that Grantville had a similar system.
The thought of William marrying Judy was amusing, in one respect. William had no idea how much Judy looked like William's mother Christian, when she was sixteen. Both pretty, redheaded wenches, accustomed to getting their own way.
The rail line from Grantville to Halle, when completed, would be almost ninety miles long. The track crossed "the ring," and then followed the west bank of the Saale as it leisurely wound its way through the forested limestone hills of Thuringia.
The train was powered by what the girls called a "pickup truck," and it drew three wooden cars on metal-topped wooden rails. The rails were not unfamiliar to Hobbes; there were similar structures serving a few British collieries. The "pickup truck," however, was a source of great amazement.
The train traveled at the astounding speed of ten miles per hour, without rest. William was quite excited, but Hobbes caught the quickly concealed smiles on the part of the up-timers. This is slow, by their standards, he thought.
Their parties occupied much of one rail car. The five in the Cavendish party of course, Judy and some of her friends, and two hired guards. This amused Hobbes a bit. He suspected that they were present to protect the girls from William as much as from bandits. Whereas Hobbes was intent on protecting William from the girls.
The first stop was at Rudolstadt, just outside the Ring of Fire. About three hours later, they pulled into the station serving the university town of Jena. Some students came onboard their car. One, more courageous than the others, spoke briefly to Heather, who was sitting nearest to them. She spoke to the young scholar with great animation, but occasionally glanced at William. To see if he is getting jealous? Hobbes wondered.
An hour and a half later, they were in Naumburg. This was the end of the line for now, so they hired coaches and continued on to Halle, where they would spend the night.
They had reserved the following day for seeing the sights, and playing tennis. The next morning, they would board the barge to Magdeburg, another fifty-odd miles away. It would be slow, even though they were traveling with the current, but the girls weren't accustomed to riding long distances.
"This place is really gloomy looking," Vicky said. The walls and ceiling of the tennis court were painted a solid black. Nor did the flagstone floor do much to cheer up the look. "Is this a home for Goths?"
Hobbes looked puzzled. "The Goths? Well, they are a Germanic tribe, and we are in Germany, but I don't think they played tennis. At least, I don't recall any reference to it in Jordanes' Getica."
"She means, why all the black?" said Gabrielle.
"Oh. To make it easier to see the ball, which is white."
"Why not whitewash the walls, and use a black ball?"
"They do that in Spain, but nowhere else in Europe."
"They don't have very good architects here in Halle, do they?"
"Why do you say that?"
"There's a kink in that wall, the one without the penthouses."
"That's the tambour, the 'drum.' You see how at the kink, there's an angled face? If the ball hits that, it's 'pinball time.' "
William suggested that they watch others play first, then take their turn.
Two young gentlemen did some practice volleying, and then began the game in earnest. The server cried "tenez!", and his opponent responded "Oui!"
"So that's where tennis gets its name," said Heather. "But what does 'tenez' mean?"
William smiled. "It means, 'take this!' " The girls laughed.
They were seated in the dedans, the gallery behind the service side of the court. William had told them that it was one of the three winning openings. The first serve sailed up into the air, and skipped several times along the service penthouse. Were that not enough, it rounded the corner, striking the penthouse behind the receiver, before it finally landed. The ball was returned after the first bounce.
"Was that a good serve?"
"Oh, yes. The receiving player has to just wait patiently for it to come down. The Spanish even have a saying, aun esta la pelota en el tejado, 'the ball is still on the roof.' They say it when something is not yet decided."
Suddenly, the receiver swatted the ball over the net and into the main wall. It bounced off and flew straight toward the girls in the dedans. They flinched involuntarily, but the ball was caught by the net hung in front of them.
The impact rang a bell. "Fifteen-love," the marker intoned.
"So if this dedans is the winning opening for the receiver, where's the one for the server?"
"There are two, actually. If you look at the far wall, behind the receiver, you see that it's blank except for a small hole on our right."
"I see it."
"That's the grille. In the old monasteries, the monks went to that opening to talk to outsiders."
"To order a hamburger?" asked John.
Derrick offered John a high five. "Good one!"
Gabrielle tapped the side of her head with a finger. "I'm glad someone thinks John's funny."
"Besides the grille, the server can also score outright by placing a shot into the 'winning gallery.' That's the last of the eight openings under the service side penthouse, the farthest one from us."
"What happens if you hit the ball into one of the other seven?"
"That creates a chase, just as if you had a double bounce on the parallel part of the floor."
Eventually, the players finished their four-game set, waved to the spectators, and walked off.
William approached the marker, who happily accepted the fee for two hours of court time, and supplied William with rackets and balls. However, when the girls came onto the playing floor, he balked. Until William produced more money, which magically vanished into the marker's clothing.
Judy had watched the negotiation. "It's kinda annoying that you can't play this game without a referee to mark the chases."
William shrugged. "Before they used markers, there were many fights."
William had them first just hit the ball back and forth. They needed to get used to the balls and rackets, both different from the modern ones. He encouraged them to cut under the ball, so it would drop sharply at the end of its trajectory.
Then he had them try different kinds of serves. While this was going on, the master of the court, the ballmeister, arrived.
"What's going on here? Why are there women on my court?"
Their marker rose to the defense—of himself. "Women? Here?" He turned to Hobbes. "I am shocked, shocked, that you would bring women here. You dressed them in men's clothing to trick me. I am most disturbed."
"I'm willing to pay a suitable fee for the privilege of playing here with these gentlewomen," said William.
This offer didn't diminish the ballmeister's agitation. "This is a house for the royal game of tennis, not for the entertainment of doxies!"
William bristled. Hobbes carefully stepped on his foot. "I don't understand your objection, my dear ballmeister," said Hobbes. "Women play in Udine, the chief town of the Friuli. And in Ferrara."
"Well, let them go to Udine, or Ferrara, then, but they shall not, no, they shall not, play here." He shook his tennis racket in a threatening manner.
Hobbes decided to try a different tack. "They are the guests of this young gentleman, who is the earl of Devonshire. What you would call a count. That makes him one of the British Hochadel. Do you really wish to offend him?"
"You and he are welcome to play. Just not the women."
"I won't play if you won't allow my friends to play," William said. "And consider this: The father of one of the young ladies is the Secretary of the Treasury of the CPE, and a confidante of Gustavus Adolphus."
"I care not a fig. Get out, or I will have you dragged out."
William put his hand to his hip, reaching for the sword that wasn't there.
Judy saw the gesture. "It's too hot to play, anyway. Let's get some fresh air." She looked at the other girls. They took their cue, and agreed with her.
Once they were outside, of course, they were quick to vent their spleen. "I can't believe that in Halle, which gets so much business from Grantville, someone could be so obtuse."
"Don't forget that this kind of tennis isn't known to any up-timers, save us. The creep probably doesn't have much contact with people from Grantville."
Judy looked at William. "Are you disappointed? You said that tennis courts were rare in this part of Europe."
William shrugged. "As Vicky said, it was too gloomy in there. Don't worry about it."
"I wish there was a royal tennis court in Grantville. That would serve him right."
The barge ride down to Magdeburg was picturesque, Judy supposed. Meaning, boring after the first hour. With the day a balmy one, Judy dozed off. And found herself dreaming about William. More specifically, dreaming about kissing William.
She awoke with a guilty start, and saw Hobbes and William playing a game of chess, with Heather watching.
Good thing Heather doesn't have telepathic powers, Judy thought. Or I might be swimming right now.
Judy had thought that she just wanted a guy who was smart, and could make her laugh, she didn't care how handsome he was. Okay, now she had to admit, looking like a young Brad Pitt was a plus.
William had stood up for the girls in Halle, even though, let's face it, he'd never heard of women's lib. Of course, from what Judy had heard about his mom, he probably thought there was more of a need for men's lib. But still, Judy had been pleased by his actions.
And he did have, for lack of a better term, a curious turn of mind. Judy wouldn't have thought of descending by rope into Mount Vesuvius, that's for sure. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Judy hadn't decided.
Okay, she admitted, maybe she was interested in William. And Heather had had a fair shot at him.
But Judy wasn't sixteen yet. And her parents had set sixteen as the rockbottom minimum dating age. Which Judy wouldn't reach until next year. By which time William would be back in England, for sure.
It wasn't the sort of thing Judy could renegotiate. If she tried, her older sister Sarah would side with her parents. Because Sarah had to wait.
At least it was an equal playing field. Heather was also fifteen and her parents would make her put off dating, too.
Of course, the definition of a "date" could be pretty elastic. Judy would just have to think about how to stretch it.
"A distinguished visitor? From England? Can't you fob him off on someone else? Isn't that what my staff is for? I have a war to win." Gustavus Adolphus was not really into the ceremonial aspects of royal office.
"If you insist, Your Imperial Majesty, but I think you should make the time. He is a young man, the earl of Devonshire. They are one of the wealthiest noble families in England, and he is at an impressionable age. If you will excuse my saying so, you do intend to inspire hero worship in such youths. That may come in handy when he is a bit older.
"And, sir, he is accompanied by a Mister Thomas Hobbes."
"That name sounds vaguely familiar."
"In the old time line, he became a famous political philosopher, a defender of monarchy. And yet his writings were influential in the development of the American political system."
"Yes, yes, I think someone showed me something about his book Leviathan. You think he could be useful to us?"
"He is quite a forceful writer."
"All right. Fifteen minutes."
Hobbes and William were ushered into the august presence of Gustavus Adolphus, Lion of the North, King of Sweden, Emperor of the Confederated Principalities of Europe, and Captain-General of the State of Thuringia-Franconia. Unfortunately for the royal schedule, the conversation drifted to the subject of tennis.
"Tennis, you say? I adore the game. I learned it when I traveled in France, as 'Captain Gars.' "
"We played it in France and Italy," William said. "And, after we crossed the Alps, in Augsburg and Nurnberg."
"Nurnberg, yes. I was there last year, dealing with Wallenstein's army. Somehow never had the time to play tennis.
"Now, earlier in the war, when I was outside Ingolstadt, I wanted to play at the ballhouse there. With my officers."
"They wouldn't let you?" asked William.
"No. And I made them a very reasonable offer. I promised to leave my army outside, and to allow food carts to enter the city for the entire day."
Hobbes raised his eyebrows. "Oh. You wanted to play tennis in a city which you had under siege."
"That's right. It was very unchivalrous of them to refuse."
An hour later, Gustavus Adolphus was still rattling on about his tennis triumphs. His aide had to force him to go on to the next meeting.
"So, how was your trip?" asked Judy the Elder. "And would you like more salad?"
"No more, thank you," said Judy the Younger. She finished off the last leaf of lettuce and drank some weak beer. In Magdeburg, it was much safer than water. "The trip was fine, Mom. We even got to play a new kind of tennis in Halle."
"Who taught you?"
"We learned from Mister Hobbes. He's not just a philosopher, he plays tennis. Now that's something I bet Ms. Mailey didn't know.
"Anyway, we went to this gigantic tennis court, and they showed us how to play what they call 'royal tennis' in England. You play indoors, in kind of an enclosed monastery courtyard, and you serve onto a ten-foot-tall rooftop so it bounces on the other side, and then both players can bounce it off the walls, and there are goals you can sink the ball into to score a point, and—
"Who's 'they'?"
"Hobbes and his student."
"Somehow, I don't remember your mentioning him traveling with a student."
"Oh, yes, that's how come Hobbes was in Grantville in the first place. He was guiding one of the Cavendishes around Europe."
Momma raised an eyebrow. "One of the male Cavendishes?"
Fletcher Wendell, who had been paying more attention to the food than to the conversation, heard the magic word "male" and came alert. But he let his wife continue to examine the defendant.
"Yes."
"A fellow middle-aged philosopher?"
"Not exactly. William is around my age. Actually, younger than me."
Fletcher finally intervened. "You do remember our dating rule, young lady."
"Oh yes. But we weren't alone at the tennis court, there were a half-dozen of my friends there. Plus Mister Hobbes, who's an adult, and William's servants. So it was an adult-supervised group activity. Not a date."
"Servants, plural? Just what is William's rank?"
"He's the earl of Devonshire. And very rich."
"I hope you aren't planning to take advantage of him." Fletcher reddened. "I mean, economically."
"I haven't anything to sell to him right now. We're still waiting for the printers to finish the brochures for our South Sea Trading Company."
"Very funny."
"Our slogan will be 'Send Your Money South.' "
Heather was not, she admitted to herself, the sort of person who let her emotions hang out. In fact, she looked down on those who did.
But when you were interested in a guy, all those inhibitions kind of got in the way.
She had traveled all the way from Grantville to Magdeburg, and she wasn't even sure that William knew that she liked him.
Anyway, she had been happy when Judy had excused herself to spend a quiet evening with her family. Judy was a great friend and all, but she was just a little too pretty for Heather's peace of mind. When William was around, that is.
So, she and Kelsey were walking arm and arm in the market square, with Derrick and William behind them. "You know what to do," she whispered to her sister.
"Oh, look at that," Kelsey said, pointing to one of the stalls. "Isn't that darling? Derrick, come with me. I think I might need your help."
"What?"
"Come . . . now."
That left Heather alone with William. She was searching for the right way to start, when he spoke up.
"So how long have you known Judy?"
Arrgh, she thought. "For years."
Her little tryst went rapidly downhill from there. He wanted to know all about Judy's likes and dislikes. And was she betrothed to anyone.
Arrgh.
Kelsey and Derrick emerged. Kelsey took one look at Heather, and her smile died stillborn.
"The weather has suddenly gotten chilly," Heather said. "I want to go back to the inn. Now."
By the end of the week, when it was time to head back to Grantville, Heather had more or less forgiven Judy. And even William. He probably wouldn't like doo-wop music, after all.
But she was thinking of a few new additions to the Trommler Records song collection. "I'm Henry the Eighth" was one. "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" was another.
Hobbes stared perplexedly at the paper in front of him. He had been assured that all applicants for positions with the CPE administration had to fill out this form.
Some of the questions were perfectly reasonable, others . . . less so.
But the most puzzling point of all was . . . why did they call it an SF-171?
Judy and Millicent were lying on the bed in Millicent's room. Millicent's mom had gone ballistic at the first mention of the possibility of a "field trip" to Magdeburg. The two had a big argument, and Millicent had been grounded for the entire week that Judy and the others were away.
Judy had been worried that Millicent would hold this against her, but she didn't. Of course, Millicent insisted on a blow-by-blow account of the whole journey.
That completed, Judy said, "I've been thinking."
"About boys? Mister W, perhaps?"
"About tennis."
Millicent started warbling the love song from the Titanic movie. The DVD had been released some months before the Ring of Fire.
Judy slugged her with a pillow. "All right, about both," she admitted. "But I want to talk about tennis."
"So talk."
"It's getting harder and harder to find balls that are bouncy enough for twentieth-century tennis. Once we open the can, the balls lose their air within weeks. And even in the can, they're only good for two years or so."
"You're thinking about switching to royal tennis?"
"That's right."
"But we can't play in Halle, thanks to that jerk of a ballmeister. And constructing a matching tennis court in Grantville would be real expensive."
"It's a catch twenty-two. We could justify it if we had the players, but we won't have the players until we have the court. Still . . . tennis used to be a very posh sport. Just the thing to play at the Higgins Hotel."
"Yeah, but there's no way OPM would fund constructing a real tennis court there. Not until the hotel was in full operation and was getting enough down-time visitors who knew the game."
"Yeah." Judy puttered around a bit. "Wait. I was just thinking. About the back courtyard. It's much like a cloisters. And it isn't all that wide."
"You're right! And the walls have sloped roofs, to keep the snow off them."
"It would mean playing tennis like they did it a few centuries ago. I mean, back when they played in monasteries instead of customized courts. But it would be a way to work up interest in the game."
"And if enough people got interested, then maybe OPM would decide it was a good investment."
"William told me that there are almost two thousand tennis courts in Paris. And that when one of the indoor markets burnt down in 1590, it was replaced with a tennis court, because that was more profitable."
"We would need someone to teach the game. Someone that was willing to teach women to play."
"What about William, when he comes back?"
"Well, there would be a lot of snob appeal in having an earl as a teacher. But I don't think he knows how to make the balls and rackets. Perhaps Mister Hobbes, the seventeenth-century know-it-all, does?"
Judy had written to William: "So, if someone were to build a real tennis court in Grantville, what would be the right dimensions?"
When she got his response, she read it aloud to Millicent: "There are no two tennis courts which are exactly alike. They can have different dimensions, different winning openings, and so on."
She looked at Millicent. "That's crazy, don't you think?"
Millicent disagreed. "Crazier than baseball stadiums?"
When she had a chance, Judy stopped by the Grantville Public Library. The 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica had plenty to say about "royal tennis," including the typical dimensions of the various parts of the court.
Enough to show that the inner courtyard at the Higgins Hotel was an acceptable match. There would be compromises, of course. No main wall. And the grille side wasn't walled up. But she thought it might work. At least if any exposed windows were covered over. She didn't want to pay for broken glass.
She would ask William, when he got back from Magdeburg, to take a look.
"Hi, Heather!" William smiled at her. "I just got back last night. Took my time getting up this morning."
Heather picked up her books and hurried off. "Hey, what's the matter?" William said as she retreated.
Derrick Mason was on the other side of the street, and William waved to him. Derrick Mason turned his back.
What has gotten into these people? William thought. He walked over to the public library. Hobbes was already at a desk, with books piled in front of him. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
"Hello, Mister Hobbes."
"Good morning, Lord Devonshire."
"I haven't suddenly acquired leprosy, have I, Mister Hobbes?"
"What on Earth leads you to ask such a question?"
"My American friends haven't been very friendly today."
"Yes, I know why. I found out when I arrived at the library. Fortunately, the librarians didn't hold it against me."
"Hold what against you?"
"Against us. England, Spain and France have formed an alliance, the League of Ostend. The League defeated the Dutch Navy off Dunkirk."
"Good for them. The Dutch deserve it, after torturing our people on Amboina to make false confessions of treason."
"Indeed they do. But no one here believes that the League is arrayed against the Dutch alone. King Charles has transferred the American colonies to France. And the Grantville embassy in London has been imprisoned in the Tower. Do you know who is in that embassy?"
"Melissa Mailley, my friends' teacher."
"That's right. And Rita and Tom Simpson, Friedrich and Nelly Bruch, Darryl McCarthy, and Gayle Mason. All popular people here. I'd stay away from Thuringen Gardens for a few days, unless you have a taste for one-against-many bar brawls."
"So, are we prisoners, too?"
"Not yet, at least. But we do appear to be persona non grata, all of a sudden." Hobbes closed the book in front of him with a snap. "The attitude of the Americans is not our only problem."
"How so?"
"Your license from the Privy Council to 'go beyond the sea' says—" Hobbes changed the pitch of his voice to indicate that he was quoting from memory " '—do not haunt or resort onto the territories or dominions of any foreign prince not being with us in league or amity, nor wittingly keep company with any person or persons evil affected to our State.'
"If you stay, it could be interpreted as treason."
The coach was loaded to capacity. Hobbes and William had acquired so many curiosities in Grantville that if they put on another bag, the horses would just go on strike.
William was feeling sorry for himself. When he asked at the hotel desk that they connect him with Judy, they had told him, "she's out." Again and again. William suspected that she would be "out" until he left town.
William was leaning against the coach, waiting for Mister Hobbes to finish checking the hotel's arithmetic, when Judy appeared.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself."
William shifted from one foot to another. The silence grew.
"I know it's not your fault. I mean, the Treaty of Ostend. But people I know are going to end up fighting, and maybe dying, over this. Derrick and Kelsey Mason are in the military. And even civilians are at risk—we haven't forgotten the Croat Raid on Grantville."
"I know . . . But from what Mister Hobbes has taught me, history has a way of flipping things around. Enemies today, allies tomorrow."
"Yeah." Judy blinked, as though she was trying to hold back tears. "But it can be a long time in-between flips."
"Maybe . . ." William paused, wondering how to say it. "Maybe, someday . . ."
Judy gave him a little smile. "Yeah. Maybe someday. Write me, okay?"
"I will."
The coach was ready and the men were getting impatient. It was time to go. "Ah . . ." William wanted to say more but didn't have any words. "Ah . . ."
Judy leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "Maybe next time." She ran off, back into the hotel.
William watched the doors for a moment, but she didn't come back. Instead, Hobbes emerged. "Lord Devonshire, are you ready?"
"Yes, Mister Hobbes. It's time to go."
Hobbes and William stood on the docks of Hamburg. With the ports of Holland under blockade, Hamburg was busier than ever. The servants carried William's baggage, piece by piece, onto the ship that would take him home.
But Hobbes was not going home. He had told William everything that needed to be passed on to his family. It was far too sensitive to set on paper. While Hobbes didn't point it out, he knew that this knowledge would give William a kind of power he had never had before. Hobbes hoped that William would profit from it.
William would also give his mother an explanation of why Hobbes was staying behind. First, to continue his researches into up-time history that could affect Cavendish interests. Secondly, so that he could send word back home of any critical new developments.
Of course, Hobbes had other reasons, too. William knew them.
"Mister Hobbes, are you sure you are going to live in Grantville permanently?"
"The ball is still on the roof, Lord Devonshire."
Hobbes was quite sure that only the Americans would tolerate his views toward religion. While the Cavendishes might protect him from charges of heresy, such protection would probably come at the price of his remaining silent on any matter that could give offense to anyone.
Such silence was a price he had resolved not to pay.
Still, change might come to England, too. Perhaps sooner than the king, or even Doctor Harvey, expected.
William embraced him. "Goodbye, Mister Hobbes. I shan't forget all your lessons. And I will have your things sent to you."
"When you write to me, do not put my name anywhere on the letter. I would like to leave as vague as possible where I am and what I am doing."
"But how will the letter be delivered to you?"
"You must place some token upon it that the people in Grantville would understand, but the censors in England will not. A drawing of a whale to signify Leviathan, perhaps."
Hobbes paced. "Or perhaps not. The king may have sent agents to Grantville, to find every encyclopedia reference to Englishmen of our day, and the whale would surely point to me."
"Mister Hobbes, I promise to try to come up with something better. I have a long sea ride with nothing to do but think."
"Letter for you, Mister Hobbes."
"Thank you." Hobbes ripped it open the letter. It was from William. At least, Hobbes recognized the handwriting. The letter itself was unsigned. It thanked Hobbes for his efforts, and assured the unnamed recipient that he was to consider himself still on the family payroll. Without naming any particular family.
And there was a laundry list of gadgets to collect for William's uncles "if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
Carefully folded inside the main letter was a second one, addressed to Judy. Hobbes didn't open that one. Now that William was outside his custody, it was none of his business.
He decided that he would bring it by the Higgins Hotel and deliver it personally, as Judy might not otherwise realize who it had come from.
The next day, Hobbes spotted the postman as he walked down the street. Hobbes called out through his window. "That letter you gave me. How did you know it was for me?"
"It was obvious, Mister Hobbes." The postman waved and walked off.
Hobbes looked at the address side of the letter again, still puzzled. There was no name on it. No whale, for that matter. Just a drawing of a bipedal orange tiger, wearing a gown and a mortar board cap.
What could that refer to? Then Hobbes remembered the comic strip William had shown him, months before. Calvin . . . and Hobbes.