"Wolfgang, this is Meister Leonhard Low from Nurnberg."
"Guten Abend, Meister Low," Wolfgang greeted the man hesitantly. He had heard the news that Low had taken over the business from bell founder master Herold, who had died shortly after Wolfgang had left Nurnberg. So this had to be the new founder master for the Lokschuppen Marshall had spoken about the last weeks.
"Guten Abend, Meister Hilliger," the older man answered. "It seems the 'propeller' you have cast has proven to be a fine piece of craftsmanship."
"Thank you, Meister, for the honor, but I'm just a journeyman."
"No you aren't. Not from now on."
Low took a large parchment from his bag and handed it over to Wolfgang. It was a master certificate.
For founder master Wolfgang Hilliger.
The Duelist, A Continuation of the Euterpe Stories
Magdeburg
October 1635
Giacomo Carissimi closed the front door behind himself, and began to take his coat off.
"Is that you, Jude?"
The sound of his wife's voice calling out her nickname for him still stirred a warmth in him. Elizabeth Jordan had not been married to him long. Her deceased husband Fred had died in March of this year, and it had taken her some time to deal with her grief, wrap up the family's affairs in Grantville and relocate with her children to Magdeburg. They had, in fact, been married for only two weeks. And it was still the joy of Giacomo's life to wake each morning and find her in bed beside him.
"Yes, it is me," he responded, hanging his coat on a peg in the wall next to the door. It looked to be a hard winter coming. It was already getting cold enough in October to warrant heavy coats. And being originally from Rome, Giacomo was already not very comfortable in cold weather.
"Papa Giacomo!" Elizabeth's daughter Leah came running down the stairs to the second floor. She ran over and threw her arms around him, giving him the most ferocious hug her seven-year-old arms could manage.
"Bella mia!" Giacomo said with a smile, ruffling her hair.
"Go finish your homework," Elizabeth said as she walked into the room. "Supper will be a while yet."
"Okay." Leah bounced back up the stairs as Elizabeth handed something to Giacomo.
"What's this?"
"Duh. It's a letter, silly."
Giacomo looked at it. It was indeed addressed to him, with a Grantville postmark. But who would be writing a letter to him?"
"I have no idea," Elizabeth said, which made Giacomo realize he must have spoken out loud. "Why don't you open it?"
He ripped open the up-time style envelope, extracted the pages, and began to read. "It's from Johannes Fichtold! Why would Girolamo's journeyman be writing to me?"
"Come read it to me while I finish putting supper together."
Giacomo followed Elizabeth to the room they used for dining. Leaning against the door frame, he shuffled the pages and began reading out loud at the beginning while Elizabeth began placing dishes and bowls on the table.
To Master Giacomo Carissimi
Magdeburg, USE
From Johannes Fichtold
Grantville, USE
Second day of October, in our Lord's year 1635
Esteemed Master Giacomo,
Please pardon this letter, but the matter involved is much too complicated to discuss by telegraph, even if a certain amount of secrecy was not warranted.
As you know, Master Girolamo Zenti, your friend and my craftmaster, does from time to time go on long trips to different areas. During these trips, he searches for sources of supplies and parts for pianos, as well as seeking to make contacts to develop purchasers for the pianos we construct. He left a few weeks ago on such a trip, leaving me in charge of the house and the workshop.
One night I woke up at the sound of someone in the main living room of the house. It was very late or very early, whichever way you want to think of it. I could hear steps coming and going from Master Girolamo's room, so curiously and a bit anxiously I got up to go check.
When I entered the room I found Master Girolamo just closing a couple of saddle bags. His clothes were dirty, his boots muddy, his face unshaven, and he clearly did not take good care of his personal hygiene. He smelled bad. I was quite taken aback by seeing him in that bad shape.
"What is going on?" I asked. "In what kind of trouble are you? Running from a zealous father or a jealous husband?" You see, I know the master well.
He whispered tiredly, "I wish. I hid for the past four nights and I was able to sneak to the house only now. But I cannot stay. I need to leave Grantville and Germany altogether."
"Why? What happened?"
"Long story short, I killed a man. It was done honorably, in a duel, in front of seconds and accordingly to the rules of honor that regulate these things. But I doubt his family and the law will consider this. They are already starting to look for me, to hunt me, and if either catches me, the outcome for Girolamo won't be that good. In one case I can end up losing my head to the ax, or be thrown in a very unhealthy gaol for some time. In the other, well, I guess bleeding slowly to death in a back alley is what I can expect."
"I do not understand. I mean if you won in a regular duel, would not that count?" I said.
"Oh, the fact the duel was carried out according to customs helped me not being killed by my rival's seconds, but it still remains illegal, and my rival's family is not satisfied. They want revenge, and they are out for blood-mine, specifically. That is not uncommon. Even in Italy, too many times a duel leads to a blood feud. It is best for everyone if I leave, and the less you know the less you have to lie for me when they ask you where I am gone."
"How did that happened? Who did you kill?"
Master Girolamo sighed. "All right, if you want to know the whole story, please go fetch us some wine while I finish packing. Then I will sit down a few minutes and tell you everything. Go, don't look at me like that!"
I came back to the room shortly carrying a carafe full of wine and two cups. Master Girolamo was sitting on an armchair right under the sconce. He seemed a bit more relaxed under the flickering light of the candles. When I gave him the cup he took it in both hands and drank fully and deeply, then looked at me and started telling me his story.
"I was in Nordhausen, for business. Christian Schenk von Tautenberg contacted me some time ago because he wanted to order two instruments for his new wife; one a harpsichord and one a wall piano for his music room. We agreed to meet in Nordhausen, because he was inspecting properties in the area his family had just inherited. The negotiations went well, and we signed a contract. I left with some silver as earnest money for the instruments. Plus, I also managed to meet two local craftsmen I decided to hire to help produce the felt punchings we need in the new pianos."
I nodded. "Production bottlenecks," as the Grantvillers call them, were becoming a common issue for many craftsmen in the area, with supply unable to sustain the demand of many goods. It was good that Master Girolamo had found some help.
"And having killed two birds with a single stone, I decided to celebrate in the best tavern in town. A place recommended to me by the craftsmen. I was expecting good food, good drink, possibly good company, and instead the fates had planned something entirely different for me."
"So now you are being very dramatic, master, but your bait is good and you got me hooked. What happened at the tavern?" Master Girolamo always tells a good story, you know. I was hanging on the edge of my chair.