Grantville Gazette 37

Equal Rights, Part Two

The Thuringen Gardens

Yakov Chekhov was mopping up a spilled drink when the crowd suddenly went quiet, and heads started turning toward the television behind the bar. He began to make out the announcer's words, and then saw the pictures.

Satan's balls! That's her! If they catch one of those English pricks, they'll get the other one, and they'll both talk! Could be any minute!

He shoved the mop and bucket into the janitor's closet, slipped out through the kitchen, and around to the street.

He took a fast look around without turning his head-no police in sight, and the next tram to Schwarza was only half a block away. He jumped aboard with nothing but the clothes on his back and the cash in his pocket. At the end of the line he started walking. Once clear of the town, he got off the roads and headed for Saxony.

One thing was for certain, the next nom de guerre he picked wouldn't be anything like the last one, it wouldn't even be Russian.

July 11, the second day

At two in the morning the call came in by CB that the Garbage Guys had spotted Olivia Villareal's pickup truck in the bushes off a dirt lane near the in-town end of Murphy's Run. It was Marvin Tipton's shift to coordinate the search, and he rousted Officer Erika Fleischer out of bed to bring Pluto to the scene. Pluto couldn't catch a scent of Olivia outside the truck. He picked up something, but couldn't follow it far; he wasn't a tracker. Marvin asked a mounted volunteer to ride out to the count's stables, to see if the jaegers there had a dog that could help. Meanwhile, he phoned over to Leanna's place, to ask Carlos to come look at the truck and see if he could see anything that didn't belong.

****

Olivia woke up freezing in what could only be the middle of the night, and managed to sit up, still sore as hell. The lamp was lit. By its light she could see a bowl of bloody water beside the mat.

There was a cheap-looking velour jogging suit on the table, the garish kind of pink somebody like Velma Hardesty would go for. There wasn't any underwear with it. Then she heard someone move, and turned her head to see a young man behind her.

"Please take that look off your face, Olivia Villareal. I am not an adulterer or a rapist." He finished wiping his hands on a large napkin, and tossed it aside. "The clothes are what I could find; I regret that they are no better. Bennet ruined your own in his frenzy. This is a disgrace, and beneath my dignity that any of this should have happened."

She hurriedly pulled on the jumpsuit. It wasn't much of a fit, but it covered most of her body, and the zipper closed all the way. "Your dignity? What are you talking about? How long have I been-"

His shoulders slumped for a moment. "Since yesterday afternoon. Bennet took you when you approached Oughtred's house. He drugged you with opium. I brought you this; it is chloramphenicol."

She thought hard; nothing was clear in her mind. But then she realized what he meant. "Oh, God! There's never been anyone but Carlos."

"Faithful as Penelope. I thought as much. I give you the chloramphenicol, for your sake, for your husband's and for your children. I would apologize on behalf of Bennet, if an apology could mean anything now. He is taking it, much good may it do him."

He gestured to the napkin on the cave floor.

"The wound to your arm, which you must have suffered in being lifted up to this place, is properly dressed now. You look to be fit enough now for the descent, as soon as the lingering effects of the opium have worn off. I have brought more food and water, as well. Fare well, and God be with you. I cannot stay, unfortunately."

She tried to speak. She couldn't find the words.

He was gone. The line whipped around a little as he went up it to the clifftop, and then there was silence.

Damn. Go up after him? No, she was weak and dizzy, no idea how much blood she'd lost, and with the injured arm, in no shape for that kind of climbing. It would have to be down, like that miserable rat had said, and a rappel that far was nothing to try in the dark. Eat. Rest.

When Olivia woke again, it was already late afternoon. The cave mouth was in shadow. So much for looking for something shiny to try signaling with.

****

By the end of the day, the count's hounds had followed the unknown scent as far as they could, but lost it in the busy sidewalks downtown. The organized teams had done a thorough line search through the area around Olivia's pickup, then done it again crosswise. Nothing. The Boy Scouts were working outward up the ridges. The two perky old ladies at the map in police headquarters kept marking off backyards and sheds that had been checked by the householders, as the phone calls came in.

Juergen Neubert stood back, thinking. The truck's placement had looked to him like deliberate concealment. Suppose it had been dumped there, to delay the alarm and divert attention from the real scene? Where else should they look? Even with all the help they had, searching the whole town, let alone the surrounding territory, would take far too long for someone who might be hurt and lying out in the open. What did they have for clues, though? Well, the stranger Rothrock had appeared at Oughtred's house, almost at the far end of Murphy's Run, immediately before the destruction happened in the Villareal house. That might mean something. He'd send search parties out that way in the morning, the dogs first.

****

Olivia sized up the situation. If that crazy bastard Bennet came back and she was still here, there wasn't much chance of getting away alive. One thing was for sure, she was in no shape to put up much of a fight this time around. Got to go. No sense waiting any longer.

All right, what was there for gear? The second guy had left a harness that fit after some adjustments. By some miracle it was a full-body harness. That would make rappelling a whole lot more manageable, with the injured arm. Not much else that would be of any use. No pitons or tools. Damn. That nutcase Bennet had even chopped her shoelaces to bits. She tore a few strips of cloth off her shredded shirt and twisted them so she could lace up her sneakers. Then she ate and drank as much as she could, and filled up the wooden canteen that lay beside the table.

The next shock was seeing the line hanging down past the cave entrance-it was her best blue rope, one she never rented out. How had they gotten hold of that? She looked out carefully-it reached the ground, all right, but instead of being passed freely through a ring up above and doubled, it was just one line hung down from the top. Single line technique. Not a method she liked.

Nothing to do but hook up and start the descent, though. The harness was just a harness, the jerk hadn't left any kind of ascenders, if he even knew what they were. If she hadn't been injured and doped-up, she could have managed that much of a climb anyway.

Nothing about this was any fun. It was a long way down, and with the curvature of the cliff, she was a good way out before she was halfway to the ground.

All of a sudden the feel of the rope screamed for attention. It hadn't just been carelessly abused by ignorant beginners, it had been torn up, practically wrecked. It had been dragged through mud and not cleaned, it had been scraped over sharp rock edges . . . a terrible certainty seized her. She reached down and felt it. Right below her knee it was torn nearly through. For a moment she was paralyzed with fear. She didn't dare go any further down and put her weight on it. Throw a knot in it and re-rig the harness? How, with no handholds or footholds to unload the line, and no spare gear? She hauled up a hundred feet or so and looked at it; it wasn't in much better condition; there were scrapes and broken strands everywhere.

What the hell am I going to do? She was getting dizzy again-whether that was the lingering dope or the blood loss, there was no way to tell. Well, one of the first things that was drilled into every new climber was: if you're in trouble and you've got a little time, use some of it to think. Olivia looked around.

From up there she had a pretty good view all around the coal mine's pithead, but there wasn't anybody outside. Probably wouldn't be until the shift change, and then no telling whether anybody would look up, or if they did, realize a climber just hanging out in space needed help. Some loud piece of machinery was going; she tried shouting anyway, on the chance it might do some good.

Well, there was one thing. Not too far off to the left was one of those cramped little down-time mine tunnels the Ring cut through. If she could get herself swinging the right way, and get about ten feet higher up the rope, it didn't look too far to reach. That was going to be no fun. I can manage ten feet. Sure I can.

Getting the swinging right was the hardest part, but finally she got a hand on the edge of the tunnel and held off the dizziness long enough to work her way around the corner and inside. By then she needed to sit down. She started letting out a little slack so she could get further inside and sit. After that, pull up the rest of the rope and check it all, and see if there was any way to rig it to reach the bottom safely. Once her head stopped spinning.

Somehow she fumbled it. The rope got away and slithered out of the tunnel, hanging straight down from above the cave, and a long way out of reach. Oh, God.

For the first five minutes she slumped against the rough interior wall and caught her breath. Then she figured she'd better find out whether there was anything there she could use. It didn't take long. The place turned out to be an irregular drift where they'd been digging into an ore seam for thirty feet or so, before the mine it belonged to flew away up-time. Some places were wider than others, but there wasn't anywhere high enough to stand up straight. Near the outside where there was some daylight, there was a little soot on the wall and ceiling, where their candles or lanterns must have rested, but that was all. Whoever ran that mine must have been the kind of neat freak who picked everything up at the end of the day; there wasn't so much as a candle stub lying around. About the only good thing was that it was shelter from the wind.

She drank a little water and closed her eyes for what seemed like a minute-twilight had crept up once more. For sure she'd been missed by now, but in this light it would be pretty hard to see anything in here even if they looked. Maybe in the morning . . . For now, she moved a little further in. Even in July the nights could get cool.

July 12, the third day

Deborah drew a pot of water to boil for porridge. There was no more labor to it than turning a handle right there in her kitchen. If she and Timothy had to work for the rest of their lives to pay off the mortgage on this house and land, and their children after them, it would be worth it. She happened to glance out the window above the sink, to see what the day's weather looked like. Some of the maize stalks were moving. But there was no wind, at this early hour. "Tim! Jack! Someone is picking in our field!"

****

Tim belted on his sword, but in his hands he carried a hunting rifle. Jack took a double-barreled shotgun from the closet beside the back door. The disturbance, they saw, was over toward the Wall, as close to it as they'd dared plant. They separated, to catch the intruder between them.

A popinjay in a lavender coat was scrabbling about in their garden, blundering into the plants and breaking some, picking up bits of something from the ground. A couple of times he looked up sharply at the cliff.

It was no trouble at all for Tim to walk up to within ten feet of the man and point his rifle an inch to one side. "You want to die, bastard?"

The man looked up at Tim and raised his hands in surrender.

"George Bennet. I never thought I would see you again this side of the Styx. What a pity." He gestured with his rifle to move him along to the front porch, Jack walking on the other side. "What mischief are you making here on my property?"

Bennet began a confused muttering of Ring's Fire, and from where it had fallen. It all began to come together in Morton's mind.

"Deborah, sweetheart, here's the one the police want so much. After you send for them, tell Villareal to come with his gear, too, will you? I believe there will be climbing to do today. Bess, there you are, kindly run and tell Master Oughtred the same."

Bennet suddenly seemed to focus. "Villareal? What is this? You are the Earl of Arundel's man, as I am. Where is your loyalty?"

"Loyalty? Loyalty? If you've done half of what I think, you've blackened the earl's name from here to Constantinople. Piss-poor loyalty that was! My loyalty is to this state where I took an oath of citizenship, and to my family here, and all the people who've treated me fair since I came. Jack and I did our job for Arundel, we got Master Oughtred here safe and sound, and the only thing I owe the old man now is the tavern gossip he pays me for. Loyalty!" He spit on the ground over the porch rail and moved his head fractionally toward the telephone. Deborah was already dialing.

****

Marvin Tipton was back on when the dispatcher hollered that Tim and Jack Morton had one of the arson suspects under citizen's arrest for, of all things, trespassing in a cornfield. The chief himself responded over the radio; he wanted to question this bum right away. Looked like Juergen Neubert's guess last night was right on the money. The longer ol' Juergen was on the job, the better he got. Marvin decided he'd better go out in the field and direct from there today, as soon as he could work up the search plan and get the teams on their way. Now, where were those jaegers and their dogs?

****

Leanna came running in from the bedroom. "Dad! Wake up! It's the Mortons on the phone. They think they know where Mom is. They want you out there with climbing gear, and anybody else you can round up."

Carlos levered himself off the camp mattress in the den, picked up the phone there, listened, organized priorities in his head. Leanna was already packing a lunch for him, and her husband Enrico had coffee brewing and his thermos on the kitchen counter ready to fill; Carlos didn't have to think about any of that.

First get some more help up and moving, then pull on yesterday's clothes and go. All his stuff was still in the truck from the other day. Too bad Sherrilyn Maddox wasn't in town, she was as good a rock climber as he'd ever met. The Fire Department high angle team, then. He called fire headquarters, gave them the what and where.

Leanna squeezed his arm as he ran out the door. Paola just looked at him wide-eyed.

****

When Carlos got to the Morton house, they had the creep in the purple coat leashed by his ankles to the porch post. They were watching him like a couple of guard dogs anyway.

Bennet was hollering, "What is the meaning of this, Morton? I am of the Earl of Arundel's companions. I have rights!"

Carlos blew his stack. He took the stairs in one stride, grabbed Bennet by his coat, and slammed him against the post. "You've got a right to keep silent and a right to a lawyer, you piece of shit, but I'm not a cop. Where's my wife?"

"I've seen you, you're no more than a tavern keeper. You dare lay hands on me?"

"I'm the guy who'll break your damn neck if you don't give me a straight answer. What'd you do to my wife?"

****

Fifty yards down the slope at the Mortons' parking turnout, Press Richards heard a roar that could lift a manhole cover. Oh, boy, that's Villareal. He slammed the cruiser's door and took off up the front walkway at a run. He wasn't worried Carlos would kill the guy, but he was a cop, and he had two priorities right then. First, get Olivia back safely, if at all possible. Second, make sure the charges stuck. Nobody was going to abuse a prisoner on his watch, and Villareal was big enough to do some serious damage without even intending to. The idea of playing a Pat-and-Mike routine with a civilian never even crossed his mind. He chose his words as he came within sight of the porch.

"Back off, Carlos. You don't want to give this guy's lawyer any ammunition." He pointed his finger at the perp in the purple coat. That long, curling blond hair he had was something else. "You're under arrest." He cuffed the prisoner, and rattled off his rights. "Morton, Oughtred, what can you tell me?"

Villareal suddenly went around behind purple-coat and grabbed his left wrist, turning the hand over.

"Hey, I told you to stand back."

"Look at this silver ring on his finger, Chief. It's Olivia's. I made it." Villareal let go.

Richards, Villareal and Morton all looked at each other. Tim Morton began to recount what he'd seen and heard. After a while the prisoner began to babble something about the goddess Calypso, above all earthly things. The geologist, Oughtred, agreed with Morton's thinking. She was likely up on the Wall someplace, and there was only one place up there they knew of that made any sense. That rope hanging there pretty well clinched it. The rescue truck was already pulling up; four of the Benedictine Brothers in fire department uniform got out and started up the front walk. Briefing time.

****

"Sounds like a plan, Brother Girard. Let's get out of here, before the road is full of buses."

"As soon as you can shift your equipment into our truck. And you can just call me Girard, while we're on fire department business."

"Fine, I'm Carlos and this is Will." He reached down and helped Will pick up his climbing gear off the porch. Moving his own was just a matter of snatching a few old milk crates out of the back of his pickup and passing them across.

The last thing he saw before they closed the doors and rolled away was Tim's stepdaughter Bess Lacey at the corner of the porch, patiently searching all around the Wall with Will's big tripod telescope.

There wasn't much to say, on the ride up to Schwarzburg. With two extra people sitting on top of the rock climbing equipment, it was cramped enough in back. Will was refreshing his memory of a few details from the little notebook he'd found on the grass by his path the previous day-no idea how it had gotten lost there. Their seatmates were praying silently.

The little dirt parking spot at the north end of the upper village was as far as they could take the rescue truck. From there, it was half a mile along a pack trail, then a rough path up-slope to the clifftop above the cave. Carlos looked around at everything they were unloading for the job. "Three trips to carry this stuff up, you think? What goes first?"

Brother Girard smiled. "Look behind you, Carlos. I made certain arrangements through fire headquarters while we drove up."

Carlos turned and looked up the road-several soldiers were bringing horses down from the castle.

The Morton family's side porch

Jack stood looking at the Wall. Nobody was talking to him just now; Father had gone off to guide the jaegers and their hounds while they worked through their land. Beside him, stepsister Bess was making good use of Master Oughtred's big telescope. What she could see through it, she could see very well, but she could see only a small patch of the Wall or the lower slopes at a time. If something was there for just a moment or two, and the telescope was looking in the wrong place . . . they needed more eyes.

He stepped around the house to where he could see the buses unloading, and smiled. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted his loudest, "Beaver Patrol! Beaver Patrol! To me!" Five faces turned toward him, and he swung his arm in the signal "Assemble" and then "Hurry."

Jan Brinker was first up the walkway as they came all in a rush. "Hello, Mister Morton. What is going on?"

"Troop 9 will take on a task no one else has thought of. Very likely Mrs. Villareal is up there somewhere, maybe not where anyone thinks. We will stand here and watch the Wall, steadily, for any clue. Point at anything you see, until Bess here can bring Master Oughtred's telescope on it. Did any of you bring telescopes or binoculars?"

Ralph Onofrio had. Karl Blume had. The boys and their Assistant Scoutmaster divided up the cliff into search sectors and went to it. Bess concentrated on stepping the big telescope from pocket to cliff-edge to cave-opening. After a time Stepmother brought them breakfast; they ate with their eyes on the Wall.

Above Murphy's Run

"Holy cow, look what those klutzes did with that rope! It's lucky the thing didn't come loose with them on it! And Livie."

"Carlos, if you must blaspheme in front of four monks, it's as well you chose to blaspheme the Hindu beliefs."

Brother Girard laughed.

"Mmp. Sorry. What do you want us to do, Girard? Belay Marcel, there?"

"No, he just needs to rig his rope and descender, so he can go down to assess the situation. I'll assist him as needed."

"Suggestion? No telling who or what is in that cave. Somebody else should go with him for backup, and they should both be armed."

Brother Girard gave him a startled look, then nodded. "Indeed. Marcel and Andre together, then. Carlos and Will, secure your own safety lines, then help Mario place the hoisting rig over the cliff edge; we may well need it."

"Right."

Stake down the base. Run backstays to handy trees. Thread the pulley. Lay out lines, ready to drop. Set down the rescue basket where it was out from underfoot, but easy to reach in a hurry if the team below called for it. Carlos's lips tightened at that.

Meanwhile, Brother Girard watched and waited with a walkie-talkie in his hand. It was a piece of junk. There were only two channels; the thing was made for kids to play with, and the effects of that were plain to see. Even the up-time duct tape repair was cheap stuff, it was starting to peel at the ends. The battery pack was a clunky thing with a belt clip, kluged on with a yard and a half of lamp wire. Still, it was the latest technology. It wouldn't dump acid out and quit working if it tipped over. Before long, it came alive.

"Rescue One Alfa, this is Rescue One Bravo, at the entrance."

"Rescue One Bravo, Alfa. You have found her?"

"Negative. Nobody is present, and we searched everywhere we could reach and called loudly. But there is a kind of camp a good distance inside, you can't see it from the entrance. I found damaged woman's clothing there. Does Carlos know what she wore that day?"

Brother Girard held out the radio.

"Carlos speaking. Most likely jeans, but sometimes she changes during the day. What kind of shirt did you see?"

"Plaid, mostly white with thin blue and red stripes."

Carlos groaned. "Has to be hers. She's got one like that."

What the hell? If she rappelled down, she'd have landed on the road and gone straight to the nearest house, the Morton place. Was she hiding from somebody? Could somebody else have taken her off somewhere?

****

Tipton heard it on his patrol car's CB rig. This was getting crazier and crazier. The chief had said Bennet didn't seem to have any notion about moving her after he and Chekhov hauled her up there-and where the hell was Chekhov?

The dogs hadn't scented Olivia anywhere but along the path between Oughtred's cabin, the Morton place, and the road to the foot of the Wall. The miners had stopped work; they were checking everything inside their own fence. The ground search teams were already moving in, best leave them to it. He was getting a sinking feeling about this, but if there was any chance at all. . . . What were they overlooking? Where else did they need to look?

Jack Morton and one of his Scouts were coming at a dead run.

****

"Rescue One Alfa, this is Bluelight Eight. Can you guys get a look into those cut-off mine tunnels below you?"

"Stand by, Bluelight Eight. This will require some thought."

A minute passed.

"Bluelight Eight, Rescue One Alfa. We have a plan. It will be necessary to place anchors on the way down in order to stay against the Wall. We have qualified rock climbers with us who can do this."

Marvin Tipton's mind was racing. Villareal and Oughtred could get there, but should they? If it was a wild goose chase, it could burn up a lot of time, and then they'd need to get back up before they could go anywhere else.

The kid with Jack Morton broke into his thoughts. "We can't see into there from this angle down here, Mr. Morton." His hand waved vaguely. "We'd have to be out there someplace."

Tipton's jaw dropped. He whirled to the car and twisted the channel knob. "Grantville Tower, this is Blue Light Eight. You got anybody who could do a flyby along the Ring Wall?"

****

The plane came skimming over the ridgeline, sideslipped down over the wooded slope, made a steep turn away from the Wall, poured on the power and climbed away again. A couple of miles away, it came around for another pass.

"What are you doing, Carlos?"

"Praying for the guys in that plane, Will. I've seen Belles fly. They're no crop-dusters, they're not built for this stuff."

Suddenly Brother Girard's walkie-talkie came alive again. "Blue Light Eight, this is Belle Three. My student caught a glimpse of something fluorescent pink. Going around for another pass."

"Blue Light Eight, roger." The radio went quiet.

"Do you think that's her, Carlos?"

"I don't know, Girard, I'm pretty sure she doesn't own anything that color, but no down-time dye looks like what he described." He looked out at the plane below them, maneuvering into position.

The plane came across the opposite slope this time, in a descending spiral toward the mine buildings. The engine started throttling up for the climb-out.

"Blue Light Eight, Belle Three. Contact. Upper left mine tunnel. A red-haired woman lying curled up in a sunny patch, a few yards inside. We didn't see movement."

"Belle Three, Blue Light Eight, roger and thank you."

"Blue Light Eight, Rescue One Alfa copies all. Proceeding with plan."

It was Olivia, right where Bess had said. And this was going to be a rock climbing job after all.

There wouldn't have been any point trying to set up directly above the tunnel where Olivia was, even if the terrain allowed for it, which it didn't. Carlos and Will were already dropping their lines over the edge and hooking up. The fastest way was down to the lower row of anchors they'd set the other day, across along the fixed line, and then down the Wall setting anchors periodically so as to stay pulled in; it wouldn't do a lot of good to get down there and not be able to reach it. The firemen pulled a powder-driven stud gun out of their bag of tricks, to speed that up. Down went the rescue basket from the hoisting rig, with a long tag line to Will's harness.

"Ready, Will?"

"Yes, Carlos, all right."

"One moment, gentlemen. Marcel, lend them your radio. What's your call sign?"

"Rockhound."

****

"What if she's dead, Will?" They were anchored about half way down to the tunnel entrance, taking a breather because they had to.

"Hope, Carlos, hope! She must have gotten up onto her knees for a moment, otherwise how could she have been seen from below? Pray with me for a moment."

They caught their breath and swung back into the job: drive an anchor, thread a ring, descend some more.

The mine drift was small and still damp with the night's dew when Carlos and Will finally reached it. She was curled up in what little sunshine was still getting inside this late in the morning, facing the sun. Carlos was first in; he felt her bare ankle. Her flesh was cold, and she wasn't shivering. His heart sank.

But her foot pulled back, and they heard a croak, "Go fuck yourself." She opened her eyes and looked; whether she really saw them was impossible to tell.

"Livie! I'm here."

"No. Bad dream. Carlos. Dead." Her voice was awful, a rasp.

"Livie, I'm alive and I'm here."

"No . . . no. Carlos is dead. He fell off the Wall."

"Livie, the basket is coming. We'll put you into the basket and lower you to the ground." That was the plan, the only choice that made any sense. She needed the ambulance, and the ambulance could only come by road. Will took the radio and started talking to the firemen.

"No. I am dead. Carlos is dead. Everyone is dead. We died when the Ring fell and went to hell."

"Olivia, mi corazon, I live, we live."

She looked at him, trying to focus, "Why are we all dead?"

"Nobody's dead. You're alive."

"This is hell."

"No, mi corazon, anywhere you are is heaven."

She blinked, then, and moaned, "Water, please. The stars are spinning."

Will had the tag line hauled in by then. Carlos got out the pulley they'd sent in the basket. While Will held his canteen to her lips, Carlos took the stud gun one more time and anchored that pulley overhead so it would never come loose with Olivia's weight on it. Then he shot in some more of the things and rigged a ring, so he could rappel beside the basket and guide her down.

Livie began screaming as soon as they started to move her. She hit Will so hard that she broke her wrist on the backswing against a ragged lump in the drift wall. That made it even more of a delicate job to get her settled in with a blanket around her and her climbing harness secured to the cable for a safety backup.

Then everything was ready. Will got on the radio again. "Rescue One Alfa, this is Rockhound. Take up the slack, with utmost care."

Over the edge, and down to the valley floor. Olivia didn't stop screaming until they reached the ground and the two female EMTs spoke to her.

Will cast off the rescue team's pulley so they could haul up their gear, and came down Carlos's line. By then the ground teams were streaming back and gathering around the command post. Carlos turned in the walkie-talkie to Tipton, stood up on the cruiser's bumper, and waved his hands for silence. "If you haven't heard, Olivia's on the way to the hospital, and Will Oughtred and I are leaving in a minute to follow her. Thank you, thank you all, for everything you did. I think we got to her just in time, I hope we did. God bless you."

****

Will had never really seen what Leahy Medical Center was like from the inside. For the first couple of days Carlos hardly left the hospital. The medical staff let him stay by her side, holding her for hours at a time, when it didn't interfere with treatment. Will sat with him when he could; it seemed to help, even if there wasn't much to say. Twice the doctors sent out the call for blood; Will's was acceptable, as was Paola's; Carlos' was not.

Even in these terrible circumstances, William Oughtred's curiosity as to new things could never be extinguished; he learned the names of some of the means of keeping Olivia in this world-a defibrillator, a crash cart, an oxygen concentrator, Code Blue.

September 6

The sky above Grantville rumbled darkly, flashing with lightning. A blast of wind came rolling down through the treetops like a passing train. Carlos Villareal barely made it to his old truck before the thunderheads opened and let loose a torrent.

He'd left before it was done. His soul ached. To hell with Bennet! He snorted at the irony of the thought. Yeah, any minute now. He took a breath and reached for the gearshift. The rain coldly hammered everything, the wind shoved the truck around, the windows seeped, and the tattered windshield wipers gamely did what they could. Here and there, through the blur, he glimpsed faint red taillights or yellowish headlights.

It was a relief to arrive at Leahy Medical Center. He managed to snag a spot close to the front portico, and waited a couple of minutes to see if the squall would break; meanwhile, he was left with nothing to think about but-everything. Livie would be sure to tease him about the poetry of counting moments between lightning, thunder, and rain cells when he told her. Finally, he flung open the truck's door, slammed it behind him, and dashed through the sheets of rain to the front door.

Carlos strode down the central hallway to physical therapy, taking barely enough notice of the people bustling past to avoid an actual collision. He leaned on the doorframe for a second or two with his head down, then slipped inside, dropped onto the oak bench by the doors, and settled in to watch the session.

It was a bright room, the walls a cheery butterscotch. The tall south-facing windows, adorned with flowers cascading from the sills, brought in all the light possible in the gloom. Two of the cast iron stoves were going, taking the edge off the dankness.

Busy as the place was, Carlos had eyes only for Olivia. She hadn't looked his way when he came in, and neither had the therapist she was conferring with. Well, he'd seen before how intense these sessions could be. It was just a miracle what physical therapy could do after the doctors finished. They'd told him her right arm ought to make a full recovery, or close to it. Knowing Olivia, she'd do the exercises for as long as it took.

After a time, Will Oughtred slipped in next to him and stretched out his legs. "The hanging went very well. It was well-attended. I wondered that you did not stay."

Carlos replied, bitterly, "No, I decided I didn't want to . . . but, Will, it was a good day for it."

"The rain? The thunder and lightning? The hurley-burley?"

"God's judgment, as you keep reminding me-any day is good for that . . . Look at her. Livie's making progress. She can bend her elbow pretty well now."

"Yes, she's doing well." Will paused, watching. "That rocking motion seems to help-you said she does four hours a day, everything taken together? But how is her state?"

"Her state of mind? It could be a lot better. I hope . . . At least the law sent Bennet to hell! Are the damned lawyers done discussing that damned Rothrock yet? Or are they still debating which circle of Dante's inferno to send him to?"

"Dante's inferno? You speak too casually, Carlos. Think what hell is. The absence, forever, of God. Bennet had no valid claim to mercy, so by his choices and guilt, he surely chose hell. We may never understand that choice. But truly, we both know, for Rothrock there are mitigating circumstances. If the legal proceedings and negotiations go as the newspapers predict, he's most unlikely to hang for his failings."

Carlos slammed his fist down on his knee without even realizing it. "Goddamn Rothrock! After all the damage they did, he did, hanging's not enough! Nowhere near enough! That torn ligament they've got Livie working on over there didn't have to happen, never mind all the rest of it!"

"Carlos, Carlos, softly, please, Olivia has not seen us yet. Have a bit more faith that justice will be done. In any case, death by hanging is the most severe sentence that court has in its hands-or cares to have. You know the great irony? Bennet would likely not have lived another year, perhaps half a year. He was deathly ill with both leukemia and syphilis.

"Let's go sit over coffee, Carlos. We can talk more there."

If there was anybody in Grantville Carlos could talk with about any of this, it was old Will Oughtred. He spread his hands for a moment and got up.

Sternbock's Cafe, off the hospital's lobby

Carlos stared down at the cup of espresso cradled between his hands. For all the attention he gave the stained glass window, welcoming as it was even on a day as gloomy as this one, it might as well have been bare mud brick.

Will's voice pulled him back to his surroundings. "I've come to see much merit in what English law has become here, through the twists and turns of history. Rothrock's trial, I think, will be all about the law."

Carlos chewed that over. "The law? I guess so. With that pile of paper you're spreading out, there sure isn't any shortage of evidence."

"Just so. I have talked to certain people and umm . . . retrieved the information necessary to prepare a complete account of all this, a bit underhandedly, I admit." He gestured toward one stack. "Here we have the transcript from Bennet's trial."

"You, a preacher man, underhanded?"

"On rare occasion. This is essential, if I am to present a report to, um, Arundel. He wanted the intelligence about the law here-and the politics; he has since the beginning. However, this series of events raised his concern to something well past a general interest in ordinary matters or their political implications. Oh, and please, Carlos, I do appreciate your reticence as to my holy orders, with regard to the good ladies of the Episcopal Church."

"Ffff! Sure, I got your back on that."

"Thank you. As to Arundel, he harbors both an apprehension and a deep curiosity about, well, everything related to us here-not just the bald facts of our laws and politics, but the full meaning! He seems driven to grok it all-I like that word-from the United States Constitution's fourteenth amendment to what the SoTF has made of it."

"The fourteenth . . . ? Oh, yeah, equal protection of the laws."

"Among its other provisions." Will's eyes flashed for a moment. "In those few words we see the heart and soul of the entire social philosophy you brought us, not just the formalisms of law. Anyone who hopes to comprehend what the Ring of Fire brought to this world must understand this deeply. I've said as much to Arundel, a time or two."

"Well, you took up citizenship-"

"Two years ago-and I'm still doing as I agreed for Arundel. Well.

"You know the words of that document, Carlos-but you've had those rights your entire life. They are new and very compelling to us-" Will stopped sorting papers to look across the table at him. "Just as your reaction to a public hanging is odd to those of this century."

"Those rights are the only thing worth fighting for . . . but I have trouble dealing with a public hanging. I'm not against the death penalty, but we put that behind closed doors a long time in our past. Sweet Jesus, I didn't need to watch it to know it was done."

"Mmm? You do trust in justice, then."

Carlos looked back at him, and waved an acknowledgment.

"But to return to this business, absorbing an essay on our laws here is one thing, fully grasping their logic and origin is another. By the light of German law heretofore, I'm certain Arundel will find it altogether astonishing that because of your old constitution Bennet had the legal right not to incriminate himself, and for that reason, there never was any thought of torturing him for a confession." He sipped at his espresso. "Well, Spee's Cautio Criminalis must have echoed down the centuries. I shall advise him to read it closely, if he hasn't already done so."

"Damn right, he should. It's enough to curl your hair." Carlos had read the English translation in the newspaper, during the witchcraft uproar a couple of years earlier. "The crap they used to do. Still do, in a lot of places." He took a gulp from his coffee.

Will set down his cup and looked at Carlos. "That aside, there are other things that concern us. In particular, that limestone cave up on the Wall."

"Huh? I'd just as soon we'd never seen it."

"I can well understand. However, I went there with a party of the mineral survey a few days ago. We were able to get in further than when it was first discovered, through a narrow passage Rothrock and Bennet hacked open in their search. In the chamber beyond, we saw impressively large calcite crystals."

That broke through Carlos's sour mood. "Oh, yeah? That ought to make the optics crowd happy."

"It would if they were clear, but if any of that kind have been found in the Germanies, I haven't heard. Still, some were beautifully colored. Doctor Jones was rubbing his hands with glee as we shone our lights around. He turned to me and exclaimed, 'Excellent, Oughtred, we must publish!' Here, Carlos, take a look." He took a small velvet bag from his leather case and spread out a sprinkling of translucent crystals, some almost white and some reddish, the largest the size of a man's finger.

Carlos looked close, then picked up a couple of them and turned them in the light. "Nice. Looks like calcite, all right. You sure, though?"

"I tested with acid. Little else would react the same way."

"Yeah. Too bad it's not clear calcite. Or clear quartz, for that matter. They'd be a lot more useful."

"Yes, well, who knows what else we might find in the lower strata of the Zechstein? But here's the thing. As I said, some of those crystals are rather beautiful, and could draw buyers for that reason alone. Rothrock had no idea what they actually are, but he filed for the right to mine the deposit. He owns it all, or holds a lease, or some other legal formula, I'm not precisely sure. Perhaps it would bring enough to pay a share of what your dear lady's care is costing."

"Sue the bastard? Well, why the hell not? If the claim's worth anything. I've got no idea what mining law is like by now."

"Or if his defense lawyers fail to consume it all." A rueful expression flickered across Will's face as he put away the stones and laid a notepad where they'd been. "And now, let's try to impose some kind of order on this mountain of words in front of us."

The second floor

It was very late when Carlos came into Olivia's room. She was already fitfully asleep.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead lightly. It was her soul that mattered; her state of mind tore at him. She twitched restlessly in her dream. He brushed a long curl off her face. Olivia was perfectly beautiful, ageless in a way. He rested his weight on the cot they'd put there for him. Cheerless as it was, it was beside Livie.

He had to persuade her to come home. He would try again in the morning, but gently. He understood her reasons; Bennet had invaded their home and made a wreck of it, besides all his other crimes, but he was finally gone for good. Yet, in her mind, Leahy Medical was safest; it was full of people at all hours, and always prepared for trouble. He hoped she would come 'round, and soon. Her physical injuries had nearly healed.

But after what had happened, he could not, would not, rush their life back together. He would try to sleep. The night terrors would start soon enough; Olivia's or his, then sometimes both of them would wake nearly screaming. Then Carlos would hold Olivia on her hospital bed until sleep came again.

She never remembered anything of the dreams, but he always remembered. For her, Carlos would always remember.

Morning

Carlos stopped short in the doorway when he caught sight of the manuscript stacked beside Will Oughtred's portable typewriter. The old man must have been sitting there in the cafe all night, going without a break. Carlos had agreed to proofread, but he hadn't expected anything as massive as this. It wasn't just Will's report, either. It was the table full of documents and books it had to be fact-checked against.

He took a couple of seconds to get his face back under control, then walked in. You kept your promises, if you wanted to keep your friends.

Will lifted the morning newspaper. "They've decided, Carlos. Rothrock is charged as an 'accessory after the fact to kidnapping and rape,' a far lesser offense than Bennet's."

Carlos blew up all over again. "The bastard! He went up there and saw her, and left her there! He didn't say a word to anybody, not even an anonymous note-he just plain left her there! Goddamn Rothrock-I could break his lousy neck!"

"As understandable as that would be, it would gain you and your family nothing, my friend, but to put your own head in a noose. Do not succumb to the devil's temptations. Let it be the jury that pronounces lawful judgment upon him."

Carlos just growled.

Will half-smiled for a moment. "That aside, there's this report to Arundel to finish; he has been asking when it would be complete since his first letter after correspondence resumed. I'd like nothing better than to deluge him with copies of all of this."

"Tell me he has some better reason than morbid curiosity-"

"I can tell you this much-what I suspect is true and what actually is true might not coincide entirely, but he's maneuvering for something, I am certain of it. He is nearly always planning and doing more than one thing, if over twenty years of acquaintance is any guide. But whatever might be in his mind, it will be with relief that I see this off by courier to my connection at Leiden."

"Huh? Leiden? Is that the only way you can get it to Padua?"

Will sighed. "My friend, Arundel is no longer in Italy, he has gone to be with Hartlib and other scholars in the Netherlands, because of what happened in Padua. Bennet's misdeeds are still coming to light. It wasn't in Grantville that they began, or apparently in Padua, either."

"So? My wife's hell and mine-"

"Were caused . . . were caused by a mad series of events that began with confusion and have culminated in disaster. Do you know we finally discovered what became of the former chain of couriers?"

"Maybe you said something; I don't remember."

"Well, then, at Arundel's urging after we regained contact, I hired the man who calls here to trace the whole chain and make inquiries as he went. A certain Armand d'Orsini, a man of seventy or so, traveled for many years between Padua and Innsbruck. On January fifth, he began his usual run north, went on for eight days, and stopped for the night according to his usual habit at the inn in Campo di Trens. And there he died in his bed. The innkeeper knew nothing of d'Orsini's business or relations, and had no better idea than to keep his saddlebags until someone might call for them."

"Nobody did?"

"Nobody did, until the man I sent. As it happened, the bags contained Arundel's letter asking what I knew of the Ring's Fire-by that time a wildly spreading craze among the continent's rich and powerful, and soon enough a commodity of political advantage. Months wore away with no reply from me, and no messages from Morton either after that letter left Padua. Then an ordinary article of mine appeared in one of the new scholarly journals. Arundel was baffled and worried. A man in his position is liable to acquire unknown enemies at any time, and not necessarily because of anything he's done or not done. And so, not knowing whether Tim Morton or I even lived by then, or what other unimaginable calamity might have come about, Arundel sent Rothrock and Bennet here to look and listen with the greatest caution, and to do whatever seemed best. The rest, we know all too well." He flicked his eyes toward the court transcripts.

"Shit! That's what started this whole clusterfuck?"

"Yes, Carlos. It was nothing more sinister than a man coming to the end of his appointed days. I have offered prayers for him.

"One thing more. Though I've served Arundel in compiling this, little in it is in any sense secret or even private. Nearly all of it comes from public records that any citizen may read. An agent connected to Schmucker and Schwentzel has approached me to make a book out of this miserable, confused affair. You and Olivia would be most welcome as co-authors."

****

Olivia's homecoming was far from the joyful triumph it should have been. It was bittersweet to see Carlos's gentleness as she nerved herself to step down from the truck, looking all around her, then through the garden gate, along the flagstones, and finally after long minutes, up the stairs onto the porch and through the front door. She wore her gun; at her insistence, Carlos and Will did likewise.

She examined the house room by room, over and over, visibly taking hold of herself as she went.

All was tidy and well-repaired by the hands of their neighbors, friends, and children, other than the empty places of certain long-cherished belongings that were no more. The pain of Bennet's wanton destruction-which that hateful despoiler admitted at trial. . . . He never explained what prompted his furious ransacking, or what its object had been. Century-old Mexican artifacts shredded, Olivia's classically themed portrait spirited away, massive frame and all . . . At the end, he set fire to the back patio arbor. None of it made the least sense to anyone, perhaps not even to him. He had screamed "witches" repeatedly at Olivia, Carlos, even Will during his trial, and been held in contempt thereafter.

Carlos helped settle her in the best chair, and brought her herb tea. While he warmed a bowl of apple crisp a neighbor had left, Will stood looking out at the front garden, wondering whether there was anything he could say to her that would help, or even whether it would be wise to say anything at all. But it was Olivia who spoke. "Carlos, you want to bring in the cassette recorder? If we're going to write a book about this mess, we'd better start saving our recollections."

September

"What the hell happened, Will?"

They were seated around a painted iron table, looking out into Olivia's back garden, where a young peach sapling had grown noticeably during the summer. Four or five bees hummed among the flowers in the golden light of afternoon. Even on this late summer day, Olivia wore a wool jacket half-buttoned, and had a light blanket thrown over her lower body.

Will cupped his hands around the mug of warm chocolate, made Mexican style, and tried to formulate an answer. Many answers.

"Bennet's delusion, I think, is the lesser mystery. You were among the artists and art teachers who posed in costume during photography and drawing sessions?"

Olivia nodded.

"One of those who came here to discover what might be of use in his profession returned home to Italy with photographs taken during the sessions. He was already an accomplished and respected painter. One of those photographs ironically became the inspiration for his own depiction of Calypso. Arundel purchased it as a gift to his host, who hung it in one of the salons, where Bennet saw it often. It fed his growing insanity. I can only guess what he imagined when he saw your portrait from Gozo, after he had already kidnapped you.

"But as to larger matters . . ." he paused again to marshal his thoughts. "The Earl of Arundel rarely does anything for a single reason. However, I think I understand one of his purposes.

"He wishes England to take her place among the powers of the earth, as she once did in your history. But having pondered deeply on that history, and on the works of economists from Adam Smith onward, he has gained a very different understanding of the foundations of wealth and power from that of most minds of our time. He has discarded the long-held assumption that of course economics is what is called a 'zero-sum game,' because he sees that land is no longer to be the only source of wealth-not even the chief source. Therefore he is indifferent to the gains of others, so long as England gains-and the Howards. But for anyone to gain, the knowledge here in Grantville must not only be kept safe against all hazards, it must be spread to the world and brought to England as quickly as it can be. This has already begun, of course; one of my former countrymen at the high school has returned home to teach mathematics at Cambridge.

"Richelieu's unspeakable assault two years ago, which came so dreadfully close to success, shook Arundel badly. He wrote as much when I reported what nearly became of the library. He declares Richelieu's vicious plot to be a knowing and willful rebellion against the manifest will of God, blackest treachery even against the church he proclaims holy, against all of the Christian churches, and even to the great detriment of all the people of France. He has said that whatever brilliant arguments Richelieu may have conceived to excuse such a sacrilege in his own mind, it was in stark truth done in the service of Satan.

"Rothrock told me that when Arundel first read my report of the attack against the library and school, he was shaking with fury. He struck his fist against the dining table so hard that the plates jumped, and roared 'Never again.' He is determined that everything that is of use must be copied, translated, archived, and taught in so many places that there will never again be a place where it can all be destroyed at one blow. As you may well imagine, I am one of many who share in that purpose."

Olivia couldn't stop her face from showing the bitterness she felt. "I hope to hell he can find better help than he did the last time."

Carlos looked off toward the picket fence for a moment and snorted. "He'll sure need a lot of it. Does he have any idea how big a job he's talking about?"

"Oh, he fully understands that he cannot fund such a massive task from his own purse, nor even direct it. Many scholars are already at work with and without him; they have reasons enough of their own. No, what he hopes to do is assist, encourage, lightly guide, whisper a word in the right ear, spend a few guilders where they would clear away whatever bottleneck is most troublesome. Of special importance, watch for key omissions and commission someone capable of attending to them, so that essential accomplishments that might take decades take years instead, or some that might take years should take months. He'd hoped the University of Padua might become a center for it all, but Bennet's offenses against decency there have come to light and made it impossible for him to accomplish anything. He's with Samuel Hartlib in Leiden now. They're constantly at the engineering school and the university.

"As for me, he's written of hopes to hurry along certain important improvements in printing. He wishes me to meet with the Kubiaks to see what might be done."

Olivia lowered her cup to her lap and looked at him. "You know, outside of editing our manuscript, reading is about all I've been doing lately. Good luck getting anything about England straightened out, with that bloody-handed madman Charles Stuart in the way. Not to mention Boyle. And I wonder what Cromwell's up to, now that he's loose?"

"The Stuarts . . . Even here in Grantville, I shall not speak of them. The rest of the landed aristocracy, well, little is likely to be done with England's wealth of coal, of iron, of timber and deep harbors and hard-working folk, while so few keep their grip on the land and the gold, and use it only for extravagant entertainments and displays of curiosities, wrestling for political advantage. And Arundel, being of that aristocracy, will need to be agile, if he hopes to gain by such an overturning of the order. But any courtier must be agile, always.

"But Cromwell, now, there's a joker in the deck! It's said he travels with a radio operator, and knows many things the other Cromwell did not. I wonder who may be busy among the libraries and factories of Grantville on his behalf?

"Meanwhile, having fulfilled the commission I agreed to, I have a new offer from Arundel. His son, Lord William Howard, is to study here, and he wishes to engage me to guide him. I'm giving it serious consideration, after our book is at the printers."

October

"Beautiful, Carlos. Stunning. Is it what I think?"

"Yeah, Will, it's one of the little geodes Jack cemented to the Wall, and, yes, it turned out to be ametrine inside. The other one's in Roth's vault. Go ahead and pick it up. Have a look."

Oughtred turned it under the brilliant light over the bench where Carlos had been working at it. With the dull crust gone, it was still close to five inches across.

Carlos pointed with a pencil. "If you squint, you can kind of see the outlines of the continents in it.

"I didn't want to just cut this up and sell it off in little pieces, like that guy in Jena did with what Tim brought him. Jeeze, I wish to heck I'd mentioned what got stolen, sometime at the Gardens when Tim was around. Or if he'd just said something about what he and Sybil found.

"Anyway, we got this back. But now I don't know what to do with it. It's probably worth an emperor's ransom."

"I don't doubt it is, Carlos. And our emperor has better sense than to squander all he has on pretense and display. Well, then, why not let Roth manage the sale? He would surely know the price of such a marvel, and how best to bring it to market."

****

Olivia didn't put her hand on her pistol, but she stood with her body between it and the door as she turned the knob with her other hand.

A messenger from das Furstenhaus Thurn und Taxis handed her a thick packet and a receipt to sign.

As she took it to the dining room table, she called down the cellar stairs, "Carlos! Will! Come on up and look at this thing!"

Will's eyebrows rose when he saw the parchment outer envelope, complete with a green satin ribbon sealed in amber wax with the sigil of the Earl of Arundel.

The letter, when she opened it, was dated September 21, 1634.

"You've become a personage of note, Olivia; that's the earl's own handwriting."

"Um, okay . . . looks like the first part of this is an abject apology for dumping Bennet in our laps, and everything he did . . . Huh? He and Lady Alethea are coming to Grantville, and he wants to visit us and apologize again in person. But will you listen to this! He says 'no noble lady, however distantly related to my house, should have suffered such indignities and offenses!' Good grief, Will, I thought you said he understood our laws and why they're the way they are, after everything you sent him. It doesn't matter who I'm related to, nobody from a scrubwoman to a senator should have to go through what I did! I think I'll write to him myself and tell him thanks for the sympathy, but they hung Bennet for what he did, not who he did it to, and the laws in this state are the same for everybody. He'd damn well better get that through his head, if he's coming here."

Will stood with a startled expression on his face, while she picked up the inner envelope, the same as the outer, and sealed in the same way. Her hand still trembled with indignation as she broke the seal and opened it; the letter inside slipped out and fluttered to the table.

She picked it up, still shaking her head at how obtuse the nobility could be, even when they were trying to be fair and decent. She began reading. After the salutations and the expressions of sympathy and regret, came the heart of the missive.

****

My lord husband and I have found much to ponder in Master Oughtred's many letters, together with the books and documents he hath commended to our attention. Among these are A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, as well the provisions of the old United States Constitution. If you and the justly famed Mistress Mailey would do me the honour of calling at our suite during our stay in Grantville, I would very much like to hear your thoughts of the history of your Nineteenth Amendment and in what manner its like might be brought home to England, for I fear that our land may never find her rightful place as long as half her people are denied theirs.

Lady Alethea, Countess Arundel

****