“What do you want?”
“Clear title to some of the land around the race track and a farm for the seeds and stuff we brought.”
“How much land?”
Ron pulled out a map. The area had been surveyed by Sonny Fortney and he had clearly delineated the area between the race track and the Danube. Up to now that area had belonged to the emperor. The Sanderlins and Fortneys had simply had the use of it as part of their employment agreement. They had stretched that pretty far in setting up businesses, but they had gotten permission for each business. Now Ron showed Ferdinand III and Reichgraf Trautmannsdorf a map of a good-sized town, almost half a mile across in either direction, but that included the race track and canal, centered just northeast of the race track. It was small compared to Vienna and tiny compared to an up-time city, but it was clearly a town. It included the race track and room for up to fifty separate businesses. There was already an agreement between Brandon and the chief gardener at the emperor’s hunting lodge to have Brandon and some of the gardeners plant the up-time plants come spring. But the plan expanded that into a village between the hunting lodge and Race Track City.
Again, it was stuff that they had sort of started on already, but on a semi-official basis.
Ron pointed at the map. “The parts that are crosshatched would be ours and the rest would be the crown’s to do with as you like, but you might want to put some businesses in from here to here. That will be prime real estate as the town grows up.” At least that was what Hayley had said, and it made sense.
Trautmannsdorf was not one to take the first offer though. “For that you ought to pay for the whole canal.” But he was smiling when he said it.
They spent half an hour bargaining back and forth, and by the end of it Ron Sanderlin knew he had been skinned good and proper. A fact Hayley Fortney confirmed with loud lamentation as soon as she heard the results.
Fortney House, Race Track City
“We’re going to be overrun with Hofbefreiten and we get to pay most of the cost of building the canal for the privilege,” Hayley pointed out.
“What are holfbitten?” Dana wanted to know.
“People. People who have a special status. Hofbefreiten means court-freed or court-exempted. The way it works is that they pay the court for the privilege of providing stuff to the court. Anything from socks to carriages to coffeecake, and they get to sell stuff to the general public without paying the local taxes, the onera. Which can be quite onerous.”
Gayleen groaned and Dana made to whack her daughter.
Hayley ducked and continued. “He must have figured it out before you even finished talking about the effect of the canal.”
“Figured what out?” Bob Sanderlin asked, moved to rare speech by his confusion.
“That the steam ferry and the canal make Race Track City effectively part of Vienna, but not legally part of Vienna. Which gives all of Race Track City effective Hofbefreiten status without him having to officially do it, so the burghers who do have to pay onera won’t start screaming till it’s too late. Remember, they pay for the privilege of being Hofbefreiten and that’s money in Ferdinand’s pocket. I figured he’d insist on us paying for more of the canal and give us more of the property to dispose of, but he saw the potential. He can move Hofbefreiten out here to Race Track City and it will seem like a big concession to the burghers. And he can sell Hofbefreiten status to new craftsmen too. Make his tenants out here official Hofbefreiten. He’ll recover his whole share of the cost of the canal in the first year’s rents.”
“Well then, you should have done it yourself,” Ron groused. “I never claimed to be David Bartley.”
CHAPTER 12
November 1634
Liechtenstein House, Vienna
Gundaker von Liechtenstein was not overly distressed by the emperor’s interest in the cars. Quite the contrary. The more time Ferdinand III spent playing with his new toy, the less time he would spend on interfering with older, wiser heads in the managing of the government. With the Edict of Restitution revoked, a whole new round of lawsuits had been issued. Protestant churches were demanding their buildings back. Protestant nobles and burghers were demanding their property back. As often as not, those properties had changed hands again after being returned to the Catholic church. Sometimes the same day. As it happened, Gundaker von Liechtenstein owned a number of them.
“It’s vitally important that the revocation of the Edict not be interpreted to mean that those properties already returned to the church must be given back to heretics,” Gundaker told one of the family’s lawyers.
“Unfortunately, that seems to be the way Ferdinand III is leaning.”
“Then the cases need to be decided below the imperial level, and appeals to the crown need to be delayed in the courts long enough so that there is time to persuade the headstrong boy that such a policy would be an unholy and impious act.”
After the lawyer had left, Maximillian cautioned his brother. “Be careful how you refer to his majesty, even with our own people. I’m not overly thrilled with the effect the revocation of the Edict will have on our family’s property either, but he is the emperor.”
* * *
In the cathedral of St. Stephens, Father Lamormaini was discussing the Sphere of Fire with his fellow Jesuits, and not getting very far.
“First of all, it’s not exactly six miles across,” said Father Fuhrmann. “It’s a little over six miles across, or maybe a little less depending on whose miles you’re using. I think that from Ring Wall to Ring Wall, it’s six miles, two hundred seventeen feet, six and a half inches.”
“It’s six miles within any reasonable measure,” Lamormaini insisted. “You said yourself ‘depending on whose miles you’re using.’ It might be more or less than six miles.”
“Second, it’s not a sphere. Even if there was a sphere in the moment it occurred-and not all the accounts agree on that point-it’s not one now. A half-sphere at best. That would make it six broad, six long, and only three high. Not the number of the beast. I grant it’s a clever conceit, Father, but not evidence of a message from God.”
Lamormaini stood, his face red. He had seen the truth as God had revealed it, and now Fuhrmann was splitting hairs to avoid the truth. “Father Fuhrmann. .”
“No, Father. While His Holiness has not ruled on the matter, it would be worse than premature to attempt to preempt his decision. I will make note of your observations and send them to the father general, but don’t expect any action till His Holiness has had a chance to consider all the ramifications of his decision.”
Lamormaini sat back down. He would write the father general as well but-much as he hated to admit it-Fuhrmann was right, at least about the likely response of the Holy See. Still, he couldn’t sit around and do nothing till His Holiness got around to noticing that Satan had arrived and the end days were upon them.
Inn in Vienna
“I need you to go to Grantville,” Father Lamormaini said once they were seated and the tavern girl had left them their beers.
Friedrich Babbel didn’t blink or let his surprise show in any way. “It will be expensive, Father.” He wondered how much Lamormaini was willing to pay. The change in administration hadn’t done Friedrich’s prospects any good at all. Janos Drugeth was a sanctimonious prick who didn’t want the reports adjusted to suit the listener, and that wasn’t a practical attitude. Friedrich took another drink of beer while Father Lamormaini pondered his purse.