Jack Whitney suddenly realized that communication between English-speakers and German-speakers in Grantville during the early days after the Ring of Fire had been far from perfect. She had literally been trying to tell them that she did not want to carry such a heavy, awkward weapon, day in and day out.
"Oh." Maybe, he thought, they ought to consider revising the manual for basic firearms training. Possibly even implement some standard other than pure marksmanship as the basis for deciding what type of gun to issue to whom.
Maria Anna led the way into the reception room.
Mary Simpson paused to watch from the door. The two of them were such a contrast. Don Fernando, like so many of the Spanish Habsburgs-it still came as a surprise to her-was a blue-eyed strawberry blond, rather fine boned and with delicate features, in spite of the heavy lower lip. Now that she saw them together, Maria Anna was as tall as he was, possibly even a little taller. With the brunette looks of her Wittelsbach mother-black hair, dark brown eyes-and rather full-bodied, the two made a striking couple.
With a flourish of his feathered hat, he bowed at the same time that the archduchess curtseyed.
The bow seemed to make a most favorable impression on Maria Anna. Of course, it would be such a contrast to the stiffness of Duke Maximilian. Mary knew perfectly well that Don Fernando's other main attraction-being twenty-four years old instead of sixty-two years old-was something that Maria Anna had known about in advance. The archduchess had even told Mary, once, on the long trek to Basel, about her youthful hopes for a bridegroom who would die in a timely manner so she could become a formidable regent, joking that she would be willing to make an exception to this requirement in the case of her cousin.
Maria Anna, in turn, seemed to be making a most favorable impression on her fiance. Mary could guess what he was thinking. Healthy. He would have heard that often enough, but it would be something else for him to see it for himself.
Don Fernando was indeed thinking. Not only healthy but also and with all her component parts in the right slots. And laughing at himself-here I am, already thinking to myself in terms of that horridly tedious treatise on interchangeable parts that I have commanded myself to master before I command my subordinates to master it. And that is-um-a really magnificent bosom. Nearly of Richter-like proportions.
He took her hand as she rose. "Most honored cousin," he said. "I very much regret to tell you that just before we left Amsterdam, we received news of the death of the Holy Roman Emperor."
"I was afraid," she said. "The newspapers said that Papa was very ill." Automatically, her other hand felt for her rosary.
He reached out and embraced her.
"I will not go." The expression on Diane Jackson's face was a triumph of stubbornness. "I will not abandon this embassy. My job is not over. Margrave Friedrich has just started to talk to me. I need to finish."
Jack Whitney and Burt Threlkeld just looked at her.
"Duke Hermann, the one with the complicated name, from Hesse. He has not told me to go. Ed Piazza has not told me to go. Tell Frank they are my boss."
Neither Jack nor Burt really wanted to be the man who told Frank Jackson that. Frank had made it very plain that he wanted them to yank Diane out of Basel.
"I'm staying with her, then," Tony Adducci said. "She'll need the radio. Besides,…"
"Besides, what?" Whitney asked.
"He is my mouthpiece," Diane said.
"Mouthpiece?"
"Like the lawyer, in gangster movies. He talks for me. He speaks English. He speaks French, which is even better. He can take notes when I speak French with the margrave. He says that he took two years of French because he did not want to take Spanish. Then he took two more years because he was sorry for Mrs. Hawkins. He thought she might lose her job if not enough students took French. Then, after the Ring of Fire, he learned German. Also, he learned Latin from Father von Spee. And from his grandparents, he remembers a little Italian. So he is my mouthpiece."
"'Spokesman' might be better," Whitney suggested.
"Mouthpiece, spokesman, all the same. I am the ambassadress. I need him. He stays."
"I really sort of think," Tony said, "that we ought to try to do some fence-mending with the Basel city council after the way you all came barreling over the bridge and through the gates. Figure out some way to help them save face. The margrave will probably help, and Freinsheim. Plus anything we can do to keep them from firing Wettstein would be all to the good."
"Maybe 'aide-de-camp' would be a better description," Whitney said, looking at Tony. The Grantville kids, the ones who had been in high school or younger when the Ring of Fire happened, were adapting to this world with a speed that sometimes made their parents and grandparents dizzy. It even made him dizzy and he was more "older brother" age. Especially in regard to the traditional American reluctance to learn foreign languages, which they simply seemed to have weighted down and dropped into a pond somewhere.
"Anyway," Tony said, "I'm not going unless Diane does."
Swiger, Gordon, and the rest of the embassy staff turned out to be of the same opinion.
"This Duke Bernhard is still out there," Diane said. "Tony will send radio to Ed Piazza. They will tell me what to do about him."
"Ah, Diane," Burt Threlkeld said. "I don't think that Mike and them really expected you to try to handle anything that high-level when they sent you down here."
"No," Diane admitted. "It was just that the rude margrave wanted to look at an up-timer. But I am here and they are not. So I handle. You want him to go away, don't you?"
Burt Threlkeld emitted a slightly gurgling sound from the back of his throat. "I am sure," he said, "that General Horn would be delighted to have him go away."
"Fine," Diane said. "I stay. You go now. He goes later."
There did not seem to be much more to say. There was certainly no point in spending more time in Basel than they had to.
Their march through the streets of Basel was rather tense, with everybody thinking that something was going to go wrong at the last minute, but they made it across the bridge and into Riehen district, followed by Cavriani, Wettstein, Professor Buxtorf, and a sizable contingent of university students, all of whom were having prudent thoughts to the effect that the Basel city fathers were going to be really, really, annoyed about this, might possibly try to vent their feelings on anybody handy, and should be allowed to simmer down for a while before life went on.
Chapter 68
General Horn's Headquarters, Rheinfelden
"It looks like they pulled it off," Jesse Wood said.
"I don't see them bringing any wounded."
"We didn't hear any shots, either."
"Swords are always an option. Arrows. Clubs. Rocks."
"Get back to work, guys," Jesse said. "Since they are here this afternoon, we'll have to get the Gustav ready to climb off the ground in the morning."
"If the fuel comes."
"Sure, if the fuel comes. One or the other of the convoys is bound to make it."
"Tell the infantry to take position," Horn said, "between here and where we know Bernhard to be. Don't go into Riehen. I don't want to cause unnecessary controversy with the Basel city council. Between Rheinfelden and the Riehen boundary markers. Knut has the diagrams for all the emplacements we worked out."
"How much baggage?" Jesse Wood asked. He was trying to calculate whether he could possibly get back to Mainz the next day even if neither of the fuel convoys appeared. "I hope you warned them that there's not a lot of room. Mary Simpson should know that, anyway."