1636: The Viennese Waltz

CHAPTER 15

Karl’s Ring

February 1635

Grantville, United States of Europe

“I have a letter from Hayley,” Judy the Younger Wendell told the girls of the Barbie Consortium. “She wants stuff and she wants money, but mostly she wants me to get Sarah to tell her what’s wrong with the Austro-Hungarian economy.”

“So, what is wrong with the Austro-Hungarian economy?”

“Hey, I’m the pretty sister. Remember?”

“Not according to the Ken Doll,” said Millicent Anne Barnes. “He starts drooling every time he gets near Sarah.”

They were just back from a weekend trip to Magdeburg. A long weekend. It took a day each way. So they had taken the sleeper Thursday night and spent Friday and Saturday in Magdeburg with the Wendells, and come back Sunday night. Karl had taken the excuse to go with them and escorted Sarah to the opera. Sort of opera. It was called A Knight of Somerville, a new play written in the style of a 1930s Busby Berkeley musical. They couldn’t do the full Berkley experience, but it had lots of dancing and was probably loosely based on the events of the ennoblement of the count of Narnia. In this case, the juvenile princess actually knighted the knight of Somerville herself, rather than have her father do it later.

“So,” Vicky Emerson said, “when do you think he’s going to ask her?”

“Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean everyone has to be,” Susan Logsden said.

“I think he’s scared,” said Heather Mason.

“Of what?” asked Gabrielle Ugolini. “He’s rich, he’s a prince, and he’s not bad looking.”

“Of my sister,” Judy proclaimed. “As any sane person would be.”

“Of the crap that’s going to get dumped on them when they actually get engaged,” Millicent said. “You know how Catholics can be.” She looked pointedly at Vicky.

“I resemble that remark,” Vicky said. “Or I would if Bill were Catholic. But he’s Lutheran and Cardinal Mazzare says it’s okay. I’ll just have to endow a church or something.”

“Yeah, but will the pope be so understanding? Or the cardinal of. .” Judy stopped. “Which cardinal is it who would cover the Holy Roman Empire?”

“It didn’t have one,” Vicky said. “It was Scipione Borghese till he died in 1633, but the post wasn’t filled after that. The Holy Roman Empire didn’t have a cardinal, and now there isn’t a Holy Roman Empire. There are the Habsburg lands, Austria and Hungary, and they have a cardinal, Franz Seraph von Dietrichstein.”

“So how is Dietrichstein going to react?”

“I don’t know. But if Cardinal Mazzare gives them permission, there isn’t a lot he can do.” Vicky said it smugly. She was proud of her parish priest being a cardinal.

* * *

Sarah Wendell looked at the plane on the airfield outside Magdeburg. It was a Dauntless, one of the line of aircraft made by Kelly Aviation. The original Dauntless had gained famed or notoriety-take your pick-very recently, when it crashed after accidentally bombing Noelle Stull and Eddie Junkers. This was a replica, the first one Kelly had made. Bob Kelly’s wife Kay was here in Magdeburg lobbying the government to buy some for the Air Force.

At the moment, though, she was still lobbying-and the aircraft was still available. Kay was renting it out on a daily basis for anyone who could afford the steep price.

“Are you sure about this?” Karl asked dubiously. “I’ve never seen one up close before. It’s much smaller than they seem up in the sky.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m not worried about the plane. Bob Kelly may be the world’s worst businessman, but he knows how to build airplanes. The real issue is the pilot.”

Karl now studied the fellow in question, who was standing next to the plane and chatting with someone Karl took to be the mechanic.

“What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t know how to operate the plane?”

“No, Lannie Yost is actually a good pilot. The problem is that he’s also a drunk.” She headed toward the plane. “Luckily, I have a good nose.”

As it turned out, there was alcohol on Yost’s breath. But the smell was faint-Sarah gauged it as one beer. Certainly not more than two. Given Lannie’s capacity, he should be fine.

Not to her surprise, Karl didn’t say anything about the smell. Sarah had already learned that people born and raised in the seventeenth century were more lackadaisical about drinking than up-timers were. Given that water was unreliable when it came to carrying diseases, that was probably understandable even if she didn’t really approve.

She looked over at Karl. “What do you think?”

“I still prefer comfort.” He smiled at her. “But if you’ll hold my hand, I’ll go up in it.”

* * *

Holding hands proved to be easier said than done, because of the cockpit’s design. There were seats up front for the pilot and someone else-a copilot, theoretically-but only room for one person in the small seat in the back.

At Sarah’s insistence, Karl took the front seat. She’d flown before; he hadn’t. Her hope was that he’d enjoy the flight, once he got over his apprehension. That was the reason she’d made the suggestion in the first place. Since it seemed clear they would be seeing each other for quite some time and he had lands scattered all over central Europe, Sarah figured that aviation would be a handy thing to encourage.

When they got up in the air, Karl turned around to look back at her. “You promised to hold my hand!” he said, shouting to be heard over the noise of the engine.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but gave him her left hand. It was a sunny day and unseasonably warm, so she didn’t object when he took her glove off. Then she felt the cold metal of the ring as he slipped it onto her finger. She turned to look, and he shouted: “Will you marry me?”

Lannie looked at them and grinned. Sarah didn’t let go of Karl’s hand but she didn’t answer right away. She wanted to think about it-and the noise of the engine gave her an excuse to wait until they landed. Besides, she figured after pulling a stunt like this, he should just damn well wait anyway.

The decision took less time than she would have thought. Once the plane was on the ground, she didn’t wait for the engine to be turned off.

“Yes!” she shouted.

* * *

“What about the religious issues?” Fletcher Wendell asked.

“Karl is talking with Cardinal Mazzare,” Sarah said. “There’s not going to be that much of an issue, anyway. He’s Prince Karl von Liechtenstein and I’m plain old Sarah Wendell, so it’s going to be a morganatic marriage. Which is okay. I have enough money so that it’s not going to be a problem for our kids. And, as far as I’m concerned his cousin Hartmann can have it. Or Hartmann’s kids can. I figure we’ll likely outlive Hartmann, unless medical care in Austria-Hungary gets a lot better.” While much of the USE had taken to up-time medical practice with a will, that response was hardly universal throughout Europe. “Anyway, we’ve agreed that we will let the kids choose their religion for themselves once they grow up. Karl has his own confessor, of course, but Father George has a pretty reasonable atitude. He’s been on the wrong end of religious persecution in England, so after a few talks with Cardenal Mazzare, he has developed a great deal of respect for freedom of conscience.”

“Is Karl all right with a morganatic marriage?” asked Judy the Elder.

“He says he is,” Sarah said. “And I think it’s mostly true.”

“Mostly true?”

“Well, he grew up Prince Karl, heir to the Liechtenstein family holdings, so he’s a bit ambivalent about not passing that on to his children. On the other hand, he knows that between us we can set up trusts that will make sure that the kids have a good start. And in the new world we’re building here in the USE, that should be enough.”

* * *

The Liechtenstein Improvement Corporation got the news over the telegraph in the private code that Karl had had generated by a computer program in Grantville back in 1633. It was two copies of a notebook, one of which Karl kept, and the other for the board. The reasons for the encoding were two fold. One was the tabloids. The National Inquisitor was already printing speculation about when Karl was going to ask Sarah to marry him and what she was going to say. He wanted to inform his family and Emperor Ferdinand III before they read about it in the papers.

But there was a more important reason for codes. Karl was, for the most part, if not sanguine about his marriage to Sarah being morganatic, and least resigned to it. However, he didn’t want that to mean that his children’s entire inheritance would be from Sarah. Nor did he want Sarah to have to live on her income. Sarah wasn’t poor by any reasonable standard. But Karl Eusebius von Liechtenstein was not raised to a reasonable standard of wealth. Instead, he was raised to a royal standard of wealth and by that standard, Sarah Wendell was barely getting by. By Karl’s standards, a person of reasonable wealth could raise and fund their own army at need. And it was his intent that once they were married, his wife and children should be able to do that if the need arose.

Karl was going to use the LIC to move some funds from the family accounts to private businesses and partnerships that could go first to his wife as her dower, and through her to their children when they came along. And he didn’t want his uncles to know about it. For that matter, he wasn’t totally convinced that he wanted Sarah to know about it. Judy the Younger Wendell, on the other hand, would do fine administering the fund till it was needed. The LIC had as members Dave Marcantonio and Father George, but also Judy the Younger, Susan Logsden and Millicent Anne Barnes, members of the Barbie Consortium.

“Did you know he was going to ask this trip?” Millicent asked Judy accusingly.

“Naw. I figured he’d chicken out again. He’s been carrying that ring around since he got back from Prague. It’s Morris Roth’s work and the rock’s big enough that Sarah’s going to have trouble holding up her hand. And her left arm’s going to end up a couple of inches longer than her right.”

Susan snorted. “How much did the Roths charge him?”

“I don’t know. Silesia, maybe,” Judy said. Which was, Dave thought, utterly ridiculous.

“Ladies, if we could get to the financial part of the message,” Dave said. “I’m a bit concerned about Prince Karl using the LIC for this.”

“Why?” asked Father George Hamilton.

“Legalities,” Dave said. “He’s using the LIC to move money from his family accounts to his personal accounts. I’m worried that it could be seen as malfeasance on the part of the LIC.”

“I don’t think so,” said Father George. “However, I will consult with the lawyers about it. Most of the monies in the LIC were provided by Prince Karl’s individual investments, which the rest of the family had no part in.”

“That’s fine. I’m just not sure that his uncles and cousins are going to see it that way,” Dave said. The board had received letters from the Vienna branch of the family, attempting to get the LIC to provide funds for friends of the family. Those requests had been passed up to Karl. Some he had approved, and others not.

“Which is why he’s keeping it quiet. It’s not so much that he fears he would lose a lawsuit, but that he doesn’t want to fight one if he can avoid it.”

* * *

Two days later, they got the lawyers’ report. What Karl wanted to do was iffy, but probably legal. The LIC was in place to give loans and provide startup capital and equipment to companies and businesses on the Liechtenstein holdings, wherever they were. Which of those companies were to receive the loans or gifts of the LIC was at the discretion of the board, under the direction of Karl von Liechtenstein. If he chose to have that money given into hands that would also benefit his future wife, well, there was no rule against it.

* * *

The Barbies set up the Dower Corporation, which would be funded by Karl out of his personal funds, then receive equipment and low interest loans from the LIC. It would be managed by the Barbies and would buy things like farms and mines on Liechtenstein holdings, and set up factories, also on Liechtenstein lands.

And in the meantime, the girls were sworn to secrecy. Not just in regard to the family, but especially in regard to Sarah.

They were in the middle of setting that up when Henry Dreeson was killed defending the synagogue in Grantville. Bill Magen, Vicky’s fiance, was shot and killed in some of the distracting riots and it seemed to Vicky that no one really noticed in all the concern over Mayor Dreeson.

Twenty-five Miles North of Vienna

Sonny Fortney took a drink of small beer and returned the canteen to his belt. It was a cold day, but he was working up a sweat in spite of the weather. There were several hundred people here and there were four more camps spread out like beads, each one using Fresno scrapers to build a roadbed to the next and the ones back toward Vienna with wagon after wagon of crushed rock and coal tar to pave the raised mound. Still, it was going incredibly slowly because the ground was frozen about half the time. In engineering terms, the smart thing to do would be to wait till spring. But people needed the work now, and if they waited till spring some of those people would have starved to death in the meantime. Sonny hoped that Prince Liechtenstein came through, because if he didn’t they were going to have to shut down.

Vienna

“Well, the LIC sent the money,” Moses Abrabanel said, smiling.

“I figured they would,” said Dana Fortney. “But we still aren’t going to be able to start the rail line. Not enough iron, and it will be four months before the steel mill in Linz will be running.”

“I was given to understand it was going to use wooden rails.”

“It is. In fact, we’re going to use dowels instead of nails and spikes whenever we can. But we still can’t avoid using steel for some things. And we need good steel, because to get the same strength from iron would take twice as much.

“No. . What we’re going to have at first is simply a good road. That, we can do with just Fresno scrapers and lots of labor. That by itself will allow multitrailered steam wagons. Not great, but a heck of a lot better than a mule train. Then, using the road, Sonny figures that a single wooden rail to take most of the weight of the train will let us at least double the cargo capacity. But we won’t even start that till next year at the earliest. Meanwhile, it’s just a works project. Lots of people earning salaries. Not great salaries, but salaries.”

“Well, that will help the unemployment and the level of debt your businesses have been accumulating.”

“It should,” Dana agreed, though she wasn’t at all sure that it would help enough.

Grantville, United States of Europe

Karl Eusebius paced around the room as he dictated the letter to Herr Hofer, who sat at his typewriter. These weren’t the easiest letters he had ever tried to write. First, one to the family, telling them he was engaged. Once the inimitable Herr Hofer had the letter in shorthand, he would type them out and give Karl a copy for his signature. Finally, he had the first one written and started the second. This one to Ferdinand III, the emperor of Austria-Hungary, explaining that he would like to come to Vienna for the wedding, but couldn’t do it unless he had assurances that he would be allowed to leave again.

It helped a bit that Ferdinand III was a friend, and his younger brother Leopold was a close friend.

Karl debated. Perhaps if he wrote Leopold. .

No. It had to be faced. His friend, the emperor, was probably somewhat angry that Karl had had to deal with King Albrecht of Bohemia. Hm. That might be a solution, Karl thought. Perhaps he could act as ambassador to Austria-Hungary from Bohemia. Perhaps King Albrecht might support him. . that would give him diplomatic status.

Of course, diplomats did get taken hostage. . sometimes. .

Karl stopped dictating letters and went to the telegraph office. This once, he was glad that the telegraph didn’t go to Austria. Yet.

* * *

As it happened, King Albrecht of Bohemia was quite pleased with the plan. He had good reason to want a settlement with Austria-Hungary, because he wanted a fairly small chunk of Hungary without a war. Also, he wanted to avoid having the whole issue between the USE, Saxony and Brandenburg sucking in Austria-Hungary, because they would probably be sucked right through his territory. The shortest route from Austria-Hungary to Saxony was right through Bohemia.

So he was quick enough to agree with Karl’s request, but it still took a little while to make everything official.

Magdeburg, United States of Europe

“So what do you think the chances are for hostilities to resume between Austria and Bohemia?” Mike Stearns asked his Secretary of State.

Landgrave Hermann of Hesse-Rotenburg pursed his lips thoughtfully. Now that he’d served the prime minister in this capacity for a year, Hermann was a lot more relaxed than he’d been at the beginning. Among other things, he’d learned that Stearns had no objection if one of his ministers took a bit of time to think upon a matter before expounding his opinion. He appreciated the fact, given that it suited his judicious temperament.

The truth was, Hermann hadn’t wanted to become the Secretary of State in the first place-and still wasn’t very happy with the situation. But he’d had little choice in the matter. His older half-brother Landgrave Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel was one of Gustav Adolf’s primary allies in Germany. He’d been keen to get Hermann a prominent position in the cabinet and refusing him would have been problematic.

Thankfully, Stearns had accepted the situation with good grace. He’d never been anything other than cordial in his dealings with Hermann and, as time passed, the young Landgrave of Hesse-Rotenburg had developed a great deal of respect for the prime minister.

There were many noblemen in the Germanies who considered the up-timers a pack of puffed-up peasants who owed their meteoric rise in status to nothing more than their mechanical skills. (Regrettable skills, to many-but hard experience had by now proven to even the most cast-iron aristocratic minds that the Americans made a huge difference when it came to war.). Hermann might have even been one of them, initially. He could no longer remember clearly what his attitude had been two or three years earlier.

Working as Stearns’ Secretary of State, however, had disabused him of whatever notions he’d had then. He’d found that the USE’s prime minister was as shrewd as any political leader in Europe, shrewder than most-and probably more far-thinking than any other. He had no intention of telling anyone-certainly not his own family-but he’d already decided that when the time came to vote for a new prime minister, he’d quietly vote for Stearns rather than Wilhelm Wettin. He disapproved of some of the up-timer’s policies and had doubts about many others, but of one issue he was now certain-the position of the USE in its dealings with other powers was safer in Stearns’ hands than it would be in any other’s.

“Smaller all the time,” he said. “There are three critical factors, and they all work in the direction of peace-even, I think, toward a final settlement.”

“And they are. .?”

“First, the threat from the Ottomans. Which seems to be growing again. Second, the advice he’s getting from Janos Drugeth.”

“Which we know about because. .”

Hermann grinned. “Drugeth keeps warning him, but the new emperor still has the habit of speaking in front of servants. Some of whom-two, I believe, although Fernando is evasive on the subject-are on our payroll.”

Stearns chuckled humorlessly. “It’d probably be better to say, on anybody’s payroll. But those two factors have been there for some time. What’s the third one?”

“This one is new. It seems-I say this partly from the reports Francisco Nasi gets from Vienna, but also from word that comes to me through my own contacts-”

That meant other noblemen to whom Hermann was related in some way. Which, given the realities of aristocratic intermarriage, included a good chunk of Europe’s entire upper crust. Mike Stearns had realized long since that European noblemen were every bit as sloppy about blabbing stuff to each other as they were about blabbing it in front of menials.

“-that the influence of the up-timers who moved-and are moving-to Vienna is growing faster than I’d ever have expected. I’m not sure why, but the fact of it seems certain.”

He had a bemused, almost mystified expression on his face. Mike managed not to laugh, or even smile.