You’ve Got to Be Kidding
Tim Sayeau
As Colonel Nils Ekstrom worked his way through the various reports sent to Lübeck from Torstensson’s adjutants, he spotted an oddity.
Thorsten Engler, that sergeant the princess wanted made a count, had captured both the French cavalry commander and the French army commander!
“Oh, splendid! That’s one problem solved at least! Bring me a map,” he commanded his nearest aide, one Major Dag Rödvinge. “Nutschel. That’s about where the capture was made.”
“What’s this about, Nils?” asked Frank Jackson, having just come in.
Ekstrom explained about Thorsten Engler, Caroline Platzer, and how princess Kristina had come to name Engler the Count of Narnia. Ekstrom concluded with, “We’ll just inform the villagers that the emperor—their emperor now—has decided to rename their village to honor the great victory.”
“Rename it what?” asked Frank Jackson.
“Narnia, of course. That gives us a fallback position—that is the American term, yes?—in the not unlikely event the emperor capitulates to his daughter.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
The fish-eyed look Ekstrom sent Jackson’s way would have done credit to the holds of a fleet of Baltic fishing vessels returning to port. “You have met Princess Kristina, I believe.”
“Good point. Yeah, I have met her. Narnia, huh? Well…as long as they don’t spell it in Fraktur.”
☆ ☆ ☆
As Ekstrom and Jackson conversed, Major Dag Rödvinge considered the odds.
I’m not the only one here, he thought. Not counting the colonel and Frank Jackson, there’s Viggo, Loke, Svante, and Tor. They’re all close by, and they heard the conversation just as well as I did, so there’s absolutely no reason to—
“Rödvinge!” called Colonel Ekstrom.
—run! finished Dag, his eyes closing in dismay.
Rapidly disciplining his face to show only utmost readiness, Major Rödvinge turned to his doom.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“You heard Jackson and me talking, so I don’t need to repeat myself. Write up a proclamation for the emperor to announce and, once the Navy has defeated the Danes, take charge of this Nutschel business and get it settled to everybody’s satisfaction.”
“Yes Colonel, I’ll work it out right away,” said Rödvinge, making a quick note on a nearby sheet of paper.
And I’ll also arrange the Second Coming of Christ, thought Rödvinge as he scribbled. To everybody’s satisfaction, of course!
☆ ☆ ☆
Thirty minutes later Dag Rödvinge was in deep conversation with Lübeck Mayor Dieterich Matthesen in the latter’s council office.
Seated within a deep leather chair, Mayor Matthesen stared at Rödvinge across an ornate desk.
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
Rödvinge looked him straight in the eyes.
“No, I am not. The emperor wants Nutschel’s name changed to Narnia, and he wants it done yesterday. That’s not exaggeration, by the way!”
Matthesen leaned forward.
“This is ridiculous! This high-handed conduct is…it’s…I could believe it of that Saxon twerp John George or that fool Charles in England, but Gustav Adolf? Has he gone mad? And besides, what is a Narnia anyway? And why should Nutschel change its name to that, anyway?”
“Mayor Matthesen—Dieterich—listen to me. Please. I beg you, let me explain. And this will go much faster if you don’t ask questions until I’m finished. Yes, that’s high-handed, but believe me, it’s better that way, it really is. What is going on is this. There’s a flying artillery sergeant called Thorsten Engler—”
☆ ☆ ☆
“…and that’s why Nutschel has to be changed to Narnia,” finished Rödvinge.
Silence. Then, from Matthesen—
“Major—Dag—let me see if I understand this. Because Princess Kristina on a whim named a man the Count of Narnia, which is a fantasy land in a series of up-timer children’s books, now the village of Nutschel has to be renamed Narnia? Do I have that right?”
“Essentially, yes.”
Matthesen stared at Rödvinge for several long seconds.
“Do you have any idea how silly that is, Dag? That grown men, supposedly intelligent grown men, will indulge a willful seven-year-old girl’s wish?”
“That willful seven-year-old girl is the daughter and heir of Emperor Gustav Adolf II of the USE and the king of Sweden, Dieterich. Your emperor, my king, Dieterich. He dotes upon his daughter as a father should, and besides, this Thorsten Engler did capture the highest-ranking members of the French army, so as silly as it may be, on this Princess Kristina gets her wish, and anyway—”
“And anyway it is rather sweet, I suppose,” finished Matthesen. “How otherwise sane and supposedly mature men of high consequence and grave bearing make themselves into the willingly indulgent slaves of a headstrong little girl!”
Relieved at Matthesen’s unexpected good humor, Rödvinge smiled. “It is a wonder to see. And not just Kristina, mind. Little girls do make grown men go soft in the head and the heart in the best way possible.”
“That they do, Dag, that they do. Even when you know they’re doing it to you. Which I suppose is how I shall try to make the CoC see this. And the village council. And the people of Nutschel. Because otherwise—this really is high-handed, you know. It’s not even that it’s so bad, but the way in which it is being done! This really is being done bass-ackwards, you know.”
“Bass-ackwards? Amideutsch, right? And yes, I agree. The thing is, nobody knows anything. Which I deny ever saying, but it’s the truth. The USE has just begun, after being first the NUS and the CPE; they’re working it out as they go along. I’ll see if there are any copies of those Narnia books in Lübeck, if not the Air Force can ship some in. Not just for you and me, but for the people of Narnia. That should help. Anyway, once the proclamation is made Nutschel becomes Narnia, the princess gets her wish, and that’s the end of it.”
Oh my friend, thought Matthesen, as they walked together out of his office. I’d tell you, but enjoy this respite while you can.
I hope you get a countship out of this, you’ll deserve it!
☆ ☆ ☆
Two days later the official proclamation went up on the Nutschel St. Jacob’s Church door.
It would have been only a day later, but no copies of the Narnia books had been available in Lübeck, and Rödvinge had successfully argued introducing the books into Nutschel at the same time as the proclamation “would help settle matters; at least when people are busy reading the books they’re not wondering what this Narnia is all about.”
Ekstrom having agreed, a special delivery had been made from the bookshops of Magdeburg to Wismar to Lübeck by the Air Force. Colonel Jesse Wood did grumble about “not being a mobile library, damn it!” but supervised it personally—“if we have to do it let’s get it done right.”
(A few days after the flight somebody painted a winged horse and the name “Fledge” on the nose of the Gustav plane that flew the books in. Nobody ever admitted responsibility, but the nose art stayed.)
The proclamation, as expected of one on behalf of both the Lion of the North and Aslan the Lion of Narnia, was impressive.
In bold, large print it announced:
Along with the official proclamation on the church door of St. Jacob’s were smaller proclamations, handed out to every passerby and churchgoer. The copies of the Chronicles of Narnia flown in to Lübeck the day before proved greatly popular among the Nutschels, once it was realized these books were free.
Rödvinge’s reason to delay the proclamation proved perceptive; the villagers were interested in the books, in the free books, in the free books from up-time, in the free books from up-time that were among the favorites of Princess Kristina Vasa herself!
What interested a princess greatly interested the villagers. Conversations centered around the books.
“Narnia? What sort of a name is Narnia?”
“Aslan? The Lion? All right, with Gustav Adolf the Lion of the North now Narnia makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t! Why change Nutschel to Narnia when it was at Ahrensbök that the real victory was won?”
“Children’s stories? This is all because of children’s stories?”
“They’re not exactly children’s stories, are they? The books themselves talk of Christian imagery.”
“Witch? Witch! Heresy!”
“Shut up, you idiot. The witch doesn’t live, read the book!”
“Dawn Treader? What a poetic name! Dear—”
“All right, but still, for a fishing punt?”
“Magician’s Nephew? Magician! Her—”
“Shut up, you idiot!”
“Can you build me a wardrobe? One like in the books.”
“All right, but you do know it won’t actually take you to—”
“Of course not, I meant one that looks like the one. Although maybe a secret compartment or two? Don’t tell me where they are, I want to find out on my own.”
“Aslan is Christ? Christ as an animal? Blasph—”
“Do I have to say it?”
“Who do you like the most?”
“Well, don’t tell anyone, but—Eustace.”
“Him? He’s scum!”
“I know he starts off that way, but he changes into a hero, and I like that.”
“That’s it, horse! You’ve rolled in the mud once too often, from now on your name is Puddleglum!”
“You can’t name your kitten Aslan!”
“Why not?”
“Because I named my kitten Aslan first!”
☆ ☆ ☆
Those were the initial conversations about the books. The ones people had while they were still reading the free books, still distracted by the free up-time books Princess Kristina herself read.
Then came the real conversations. The ones Matthesen had known would come and hadn’t yet wanted Rödvinge to worry about.
“You know, these stories are all very well and good, and I guess Narnia is a pretty good name, but—”
“Yeah, but now what? Who do I pay my rent to now?”
“Can I still run my tavern out of my house?”
“I have the leases on a farm west of here, at least I did, but now I don’t know.”
“What’s this count of ours like anyway?”
“So who’s in charge now? Is it this count or Lübeck?”
“I liked it before, I knew who did what and who to go see when I had a problem. Now—”
“Will this new count let me stay as the schoolteacher? And if he does, who pays my salary?”
“A new broom sweeps clean, I hear.”
“Yeah, but this new broom isn’t doing anything.”
“Hasn’t even come round to see us.”
“At least before we knew what was what.”
“I admit the French weren’t here too long to do much damage, but they did do some. Who do we see about getting repairs done?”
“What about the woodlot there? It’s common property, you know that!”
“I knew that, but now I don’t know, I don’t want to be in trouble for gathering firewood.”
“This is just not right. Somebody needs to do something. Maybe write to Lübeck and ask what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I’m going to do that. I mean, I don’t know if I should, I don’t know what this Engler guy is like, but he can’t leave us like this, he has obligations!”
“That’s right he does!”
☆ ☆ ☆
The letters came first. Then the people.
The people, like the letters, were mostly respectful. Stating facts tactfully and requesting information, advice and aid with modesty and grace.
Those who weren’t either wrote letters anonymously or requested others make their case for them.
The anonymous letters found use in the Rathaus jakes.
Some of the requests made it to Lübeck. Others were forgotten on the way.
What Mayor Dieterich Matthesen and Senior Rathaus clerk Leo Anslinger could handle they did.
What they couldn’t, they set aside for Rödvinge.
After all, he had been put in charge of Nutschel/Narnia.
Fortunately for Rödvinge, Matthesen and Anslinger waited to inform him of ongoing matters in Narnia only as long as it took for those matters to become a mild curiosity instead of an overwhelming necessity.
So it was only a small packet with an accompanying letter that landed on Major Dag Rödvinge’s desk somewhere in Copenhagen instead of a mailbag.
The official letter from Matthesen stated the following:
Mayor’s Office
Rathaus, Lübeck, USE
To: Major Dag Rödvinge
Army of Sweden
Copenhagen
Re: the Countship of Narnia
We of the Lübeck City Council write to you to express first our continued loyalty to and full support of the Emperor, and to request clarification of an increasingly difficult legal matter.
Simply put, who is in charge of Narnia? When the name was changed, what else if anything changed with it? Does the Count of Narnia own only the name of Narnia, or does he also legally own the village and surroundings of Narnia?
If the former, then everything is as it was before the name change and will proceed according to established custom, tradition and law.
If the latter, as we personally feel it must be, then for the past few weeks Lübeck has been assigning to itself the Count of Narnia’s privileges and responsibilities, much as Grantville did those of the Saxe-Weimar brothers.
That was of course an exceptional, even miraculous situation, a True Act of God.
In Lübeck’s case, should the status of Narnia not soon be officially determined, we in Lübeck increasingly fear we risk a charge of lèse majesté, possibly even High Treason against the Emperor.
As our lawyers have made clear, the action of taking to ourselves the privileges of the Count of Narnia, ennobled by the Emperor himself, could be considered usurping the privileges of the Emperor himself.
We therefore request an immediate clarification of the legal situation concerning the village of Narnia.
We add that until such time as the legal and official status of Narnia be known, the Lübeck City Council cannot in good conscience and lawful obeisance to the Emperor continue its relations with Narnia.
Accordingly we must and will defer all such decisions to the lawful authority of the Emperor and his duly appointed representatives.
Signed this day by
Dieterich Matthesen,
Mayor of Lübeck,
United States of Europe
Inside the letter Matthesen included a handwritten note.
Dag—sorry to do this to you, but this is what happens when things are done bass-ackwards. We aren’t really afraid of being arrested for treason, but the fact is, stranger things have happened.
Another fact is, what is Narnia? Is it only the village or is it a county? If so, whose? The count’s, the emperor’s? Who handles the rents, land sales and ownerships, leases? You said it yourself, “They’re working it out as they go along.” This is something that needs to be worked out. I swear, the Rathaus will do everything possible to help, but we need to know what it is we’re helping to do!
Sincerely, Dieterich
☆ ☆ ☆
Major Dag Rödvinge of the Swedish Army, currently in Copenhagen for the Congress of Copenhagen, finished reading both letters from Dieterich Matthesen. He picked up and weighed the packet that had come with the letters. Then he considered his options. The Republic of Essen, that’s where I’ll go. Close by, and I speak the language. Instead, he picked up the letters, then went to speak with Colonel Ekstrom.
☆ ☆ ☆
Four hours later Major Rödvinge was at the Copenhagen aerodrome, awaiting a USE flight to Lübeck.
As he sat in the “command headquarters” of the airfield—really a rather large shed, incongruously supplied with panes of stained glass and luxurious chairs—and stared out one of the few clear windows at the construction of King Christian’s “flying cottage,” he considered his verbal and written orders.
Colonel Ekstrom when presented with the developing situation had quickly presented Rödvinge with the authority and funds to solve it.
“The emperor stated we’d borrow the Habsburg model. The only Habsburg counts without land are those who’ve gambled it away. So, Engler gets land. Here’s your authority to negotiate purchases of lands and leases, plus a letter authorizing you to draw on the Abrabanels. Speak with their Copenhagen branch before you go—if they don’t know who’s the best lawyer in Lübeck it’ll be because there are no lawyers in Lübeck and that’s impossible, they’re always underfoot. Make sure the first thing you do in Lübeck is hire whomever they say. You have two weeks.”
Two weeks! Goodbye, sleep!
He checked again the leather saddlebag swung over a shoulder.
Authority to negotiate and purchase, check.
Authority to disburse funds to purchase, check.
Authority to call upon the services of the local USE forces, check.
Abrabanel recommendation of a lawyer, one Ludwig Hautzmeyer, check.
First flight in an airplane, coming up soon.
As he repacked the letters and authorizations, in walked an Air Force NCO.
“Major Rödvinge, sir? Your flight is ready. Weather reports clear skies to Lübeck.”
Oh good, thought Rödvinge. I get to see everything!
☆ ☆ ☆
Ludwig Hautzmeyer proved to be everything the Abrabanels said and more.
Apprised of the situation, Hautzmeyer had quickly read the attached letters, the official—Nicely done there, Mayor—and the unofficial—Bass-ackwards? Amazing, never heard it before yet fully understood—made notes on how to handle the complaints and requests in the packet—Hmmm now this can wait, this fellow here must be doing it for the attention. Yes, all right, God is your witness but His affidavit would be more help—and drew out the whole story of Princess Kristina and Narnia from Rödvinge almost without asking any questions.
At the end of the interview, as Hautzmeyer and Rödvinge prepared to leave Hautzmeyer’s offices for the Rathaus, Rödvinge asked why Hautzmeyer hadn’t once questioned or wondered about the sense of the whole thing.
“Don’t you find it rather odd, all this for what is essentially a little girl’s whim?”
Hautzmeyer drily replied, “Not at all, Major. Odd is changing one’s will based on the phases of the moon, which I only talk about because that was one of my grandfather’s clients, and it’s been done with for years. Still haven’t solved the murder…As for this matter of Narnia, it can be done in two weeks but I warn you, that will cost. Not only my services. Depending on what we find in the Rathaus files, there could be any number of issues: Access rights to the Trave, for instance. Road maintenance. This Thorsten Engler may find being a count less pleasurable than he expected.”
Rödvinge considered what he knew of Engler. He’d formed a good opinion of the man, having met him at the Congress.
“I don’t think he can find it any less pleasurable than he already does. Actually, that came out wrong. I’ve actually met Engler. At the Congress.”
Warming to the topic, Rödvinge continued. “I made sure of that; I really wanted to meet the guy who got this whole Narnia thing going. Quite a good sort really; it’s not that he hates the whole count business but I got the feeling he’s only going along with it to humor Princess Kristina. Which is an odd way to view becoming a count, but that’s the best way to put it. He’s planning to become a psychologist after he gets out of the army. I think that’ll reconcile him most to being a count—he’ll be able to afford the time to study.”
Hautzmeyer paused.
“A psychologist? What the—no, let me guess. Psykhe, from the Greek, spirit. Logi, logist, probably Greek again, so logos, logic, study. Logic, study of the spirit, is that it?”
“Actually, yes. As he explained it, it’s all about studying the mind, figuring out why people act as they do, restoring sanity. Grantville apparently has all sorts of books on the subject, especially at their Leahy hospital.”
“Huh,” replied Hautzmeyer, resuming his preparations. “Well, if he’s going to be studying in Grantville, he’s going to need his countship. The income, especially. I hear all sorts of stories about the place, is it true that—”
☆ ☆ ☆
They were warmly greeted at the Rathaus by Mayor Dieterich Matthesen and senior Rathaus clerk Leo Anslinger.
While Matthesen and Rödvinge talked, Anslinger and Hautzmeyer got down to business.
“We knew this would be coming before the major even left,” confided Anslinger. “So I had all the files on Nutschel pulled and set aside. Then had my juniors going through a few of the files each day, checking for any misfiles. Didn’t find anything on Nutschel so far, but sorted out a few things all the same. Really ought to do that much oftener—amazing what gets put where.”
“Thank you, Leo. This makes my job much easier. The major’s too.”
“Our pleasure, Ludwig. The major’s a good sort, so helping him out is only right. Don’t cheat him too much on the fees, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Leo, I’m a lawyer,” said Hautzmeyer, reaching for a file. “We never cheat, we finesse. There’s a difference. When the major is done with the mayor, show him in here, will you? I should have some idea of what’s what by then and be able to give him the good news or not.”
“Will do.”
Some time later Rödvinge entered the room where Hautzmeyer was busy checking through files. “Sorry for the delay, Ludwig. Dieterich wanted to know all about what’s going on in Copenhagen. He says it’s for his wife, but I wonder.”
“Hmm. Mine will want to know about Copenhagen, too. Something tells me I’ll be working late at the office tonight. Well, I’ll have to anyway, to get this worked out as fast as your colonel wants, but now I won’t have to pretend. So far nothing I’ve come across is anything exceptional. Now, I have to finish going through these files, so you can either stay here and read through the files yourself, or…actually, I don’t know what else. I usually have a law clerk to take notes, but I don’t know if that’s suitable…”
“It is. I even have legible writing.”
“Oh, good. All right then, first thing I’ve found; the local miller…”
☆ ☆ ☆
It took four days.
Working sixteen to eighteen hours a day, sending out for meals and arranging to sleep overnight in the Rathaus, Ludwig Hautzmeyer and Dag Rödvinge worked out everything connected to Narnia.
Not by themselves, not after the first day. After the first day, Hautzmeyer called in one law clerk after another from first his office, then from a colleague’s.
First one room in the Rathaus had been taken over, then another and another. Notes and files were passed around, clarifications requested, law books requested and studied, files and laws studied again, then again passed around and studied.
The horrible thing, as Rödvinge came to realize, was that Nutschel—Narnia—was not a particularly remarkable village.
It wasn’t particularly small, nor particularly large.
Issues of land ownership, rights and leases were not particularly complicated nor particularly significant.
But until now, nobody had ever sat down and actually worked out every particular detail of a particular village.
Those had always been handled on an individual, case-by-case affair. A transfer of a land lease here, an issue of a cottager’s access to the common lands there.
Individually no one issue was particularly noteworthy. But add them up all at once, and then!
Once an issue was determined, Hautzmeyer informed Dag Rödvinge, who then entered the detail into ledgers set aside for that purpose.
(Not that Rödvinge and Hautzmeyer and the clerks were ever to know it, nor would they have cared other than to snarl “How nice!”, but decades later social historians would praise them for their work, citing it as an authoritative study of a north German farming village in the early years of the USE.)
☆ ☆ ☆
The sixth day, refreshed after taking the injunction of Sunday as a day of rest and sleeping through it, Rödvinge and Hautzmeyer met at Hautzmeyer’s office. Hautzmeyer opened up the ledger reserved for his and Rödvinge’s use.
“Most fine handwriting, Major. A pleasure to read. Now, as I hear the Americans say, come the hard parts. Buying Narnia. Running Narnia.”
“Let’s work on buying Narnia first. For the running part, perhaps you could do that”—Hautzmeyer glared at him—“…or recommend somebody,” Rödvinge quickly added.
“We’ll handle the buying part first. I’ve gone ahead and listed all the lands and leases for Narnia along with the likely purchase cost of each and all together.”
Hautzmeyer handed Rödvinge several sheets of paper.
Rödvinge looked at the final page, dropped the pages, and sat down hard on the floor.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Hautzmeyer dispassionately as Rödvinge tried to stand up, his legs failing him. “Not everybody is going to want to sell, and it’s not as if it has to be all paid back at once. However, for this count to be viewed seriously, he has to be the majority land or lease owner.”
Back on his feet, Rödvinge bent down and picked up the sheets. He sat on a nearby chair and studied the pages. Finished, he held them in his lap and looked at Hautzmeyer.
“This is going to take longer than a week.”
Hautzmeyer, seated as well, leaned forward across his desk.
“Yes. It is. As your lawyer, and by extension the count’s, I have several recommendations.
“First, arrange to have the funds to make purchases. There are three banks in Lübeck that can probably handle that much, one for sure.
“Second, we both go to Narnia. The people there are going to have questions and concerns, and we need to be there to answer them.
“Third, unless you want to be here for the next three to four months, appoint me as your representative. I know I glared at you before, but after those four days at the Rathaus…” Hautzmeyer paused in recollection, then shook himself and continued explaining matters to Rödvinge.
“As your representative I’ll send in weekly reports, and by all means come in unannounced to check on me whenever you like. You won’t find anything wrong, but best to get into the habit of doing so. Not everybody you meet and employ is going to put your interests ahead of their own, and even if they do that’s no guarantee there won’t be mistakes made along the way. Trust, but verify. If more people did that there wouldn’t be a need for lawyers. Well, not as much need,” amended Hautzmeyer.
Rödvinge nodded agreement at the points Hautzmeyer made. He thumbed through the pages, examining them in more detail. Finished, he turned to Hautzmeyer.
“Sounds good to me. After the bank, let’s first see Matthesen. Lübeck owns and leases land in Narnia, and I’m sure they’ll sell.”
“Hmmm…it’ll have to be decided in a special meeting of council, but you’re right, I’m sure they will. For the bank, I advise setting the purchases up this way. While you are here, full disbursement. When you aren’t, arrange it so that I can disburse the funds into escrow pending your approval. That way, the seller knows the money is there, you retain approval, and the possibility of embezzlement is lessened.”
“Lessened?” Rödvinge asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hautzmeyer solemnly nodded. “Lessened. Believe me, that’s the best that can be done. The creativity of people when it comes to money…I tell you, Jesus kicking the money changers out of the temple should rank as one of His miracles.”
Rödvinge looked discomfited. “That arrangement would make it seem I don’t trust you.”
Hautzmeyer shook his head in refusal. “Major, you are planning to make some rather large outlays of funds. That attracts the envious, the desperate, and the greedy. The envious will find any way to make the most aboveboard and honest transaction seem criminal, the desperate will find any way to grab what they can, and the greedy will find any way to grab what they can.”
Hautzmeyer stood up and walked around the desk to stand next to it. He looked straight into Rödvinge’s eyes.
“Believe me when I say this Narnia business can go from a child’s fancy to a tragedy within an eyeblink. Faced with that, the question of whether or not you seem to trust me isn’t a concern. My concern as your lawyer is making sure everything goes well for you, for the count, and yes, for Narnia. As a lawyer, and hopefully as a good man, I’ve seen and heard enough tragedies to know I want no part of those.” Hautzmeyer paused. “And that’s quite enough of that talk for the morning. The week, even.” He picked up a sheet from his desk and handed it to Rödvinge. “Here’s a list of those banks I mentioned.”
Rödvinge examined this new sheet.
“Let’s see—Fugger Bank I know, who doesn’t? But Berenberg Brothers and Sparkasse zu Lübeck?”
“The Berenberg Brothers are Hans and Paul, although only Paul is around. Hans died a few years back. They started off in Antwerp and moved to Hamburg to escape the Duke of Alma. They’re fairly new to Lübeck but are solid in Hamburg.”
“And Sparkasse zu Lübeck?”
“Is the one wholly Lübeck bank on the list. Well, the name shows it, Savings Bank of Lübeck. Like the Berenbergs it’s a family bank, the Dossenbachs. They started off as jewelers three centuries ago, then moved into the amber and timber trade with shipping investments and from there to banking. They’re solid too, even though they did just change their name.”
“They did? Why?”
“Like everybody else, including me, once they heard of Grantville they sent off to find out what history remembered of them. Didn’t find anything, so they asked around for anything about Lübeck. Somebody had a postcard showing a Lübeck street scene, and there it was, Sparkasse zu Lübeck, so they took it for their own.”
Rödvinge looked again at the sheet of paper listing the recommended banks.
“Which do you recommend?”
“Honestly, Berenberg and Sparkasse together. I said they’re solid and they are, but I’m not sure either could handle Narnia alone.”
“Why not the Fugger Bank, then? They loan to the pope and the Habsburgs. They could handle it all.”
“I know the Fuggers could handle it all but they’re too rich as it is. Besides, they’re Catholic, they’re in Bavaria, and as a Lutheran and Lübecker and I guess now a USE citizen, I’d rather have the business kept here.”
Rödvinge drummed his fingers on his chair as he thought about his upcoming decision.
I’m a Swedish Army major, what do I know about banking? Ah, blast it, forget the Fuggers, Lübeck’s one thing but who wants to go to Bavaria?
“All right, the Berenbergs and the Sparkasse together, but how does that work? Do I have to go see them one at a time or what?”
“They’re bankers—they’ll work it out. With your permission, I’ll contact them now and ask to have representatives meet us on our way to Matthesen and the Rathaus.”
“So fast? And without even seeing them first? Will they even come?”
“Major, they already know you’re here and why. They contacted me yesterday. I made no promises save that if you agreed, I would send for them. Besides, for a chance to do business with the Abrabanels and Emperor Gustav only a Spanish banker would say no. Probably say no. But now, we’re expected, I’m sure.”
☆ ☆ ☆
They were. As Rödvinge and Hautzmeyer discussed banking, the Lübeck City Council was in session. By that time every member of the council knew why Major Dag Rödvinge was in town. Matthesen, true to his word about doing everything to help, had made sure of that. Of course, not every member of council was all that interested in helping Matthesen keep his word.
“But it makes no sense!” cried one burgomaster.
“Neither does that name!” voiced another.
“Does it have to?” asked Matthesen. “Or do you really want to say no to Gustav Adolf, to the emperor who came to Lübeck under siege and stayed here? To the Lion of the North whose forces broke the League of Ostend at Ahrensbök?”
“No,” admitted the first to speak up, one Josef Jacobs. “It still makes no sense, though I admit, better this than whatever King Christian would come up with. Did you hear the latest out of Copenhagen, about that up-timer lieutenant and Christian’s daughter?”
“Yes. My wife told me all about it. She and her friends all think it romantic.”
“So does mine,” admitted Hans Rolfes, the second council member to speak up. “I blame it on the newspapers, serializing all those Austen writings. I admit she and that Heyer one wrote well, but the women take it too far! Plus, I heard from a friend in Bamberg about something called a Romance Readers’ Book Club. I dread the day it comes here. I tell you, every woman in Lübeck will be signing up once they hear of that.”
Council Member Alois Rodlauer chuckled. “Not all. Only the ones who can read. This is why I thank God I only have sons.”
“Don’t joke about it, Alois,” retorted Rolfes. “You know darned well ‘only the ones who can read’ is all of them. Except the blind, and they’re sure to find somebody to read the stories to them. I tell you, there isn’t a man in Lübeck who won’t curse the day that gets here.”
“Don’t remind me,” mourned Jacobs, who after six daughters had glumly accepted his sorrowful lot. “The dowries! Thank God I got three of them married off before Grantville came. I thought I had suffered before, but now the other three and my wife are getting ideas from all those damnable serials. My house is filled with talk of Directoire and Empire dresses, Regency riding habits and Spencer jackets, reticules and parasols, and I don’t want to know what else!”
“It could be worse,” piped up fellow sufferer Georg Kenzian, with four daughters. “They could want a submarine!”
“True,” laughed Matthesen. “Somehow I think that whim of Christian’s is going to become very popular among the lords and ladies of Copenhagen. Not the fathers, though. Thank God it’s there and not here.”
“That said, we do have a monarch of our own to deal with. Opinions?”
Jacobs waved a hand. “Sell. Not like we could say no to him anyway, or have a good reason to refuse. And with the Abrabanels backing him, we’ll actually get good money for it.”
“And for a good price,” added council treasurer Fritz Pütter. “I for one insist on that. Bad enough we have to lose the revenue from Nutschel—from Narnia—but let’s at least get a good price for what we have there.”
“All right. What would you call a good price?” asked Matthesen.
“Double or triple what we paid is what I’d call a good price. The emperor ended our independence and tossed us into the USE. He should pay for that as well. However”—Pütter raised his voice and a hand, forestalling objections—“a fair price overall would be what we paid plus nine per cent. Taking into account what we have in Narnia, what we paid for it and when we paid for it, that really is fair. If Rödvinge wants to haggle or somebody above him does, seven. Even then we’d lose a bit on some of the lands and leases, but anything less and we’d lose on all.”
“Do we really want to haggle with the emperor?” questioned Kenzian. “To play devil’s advocate here, you said it yourself Dieterich: he came to Lübeck under siege and stayed here. All before the Danes were cleared out of the Baltic, I point out.”
“I admit Gustav Vasa deserves his accolades,” stated Pütter. “I even admit that if Lübeck had to lose its independence and neutrality, better to Gustav than anyone else. All the same, for all that I respect the man himself, we are in the USE now. I hear we have a constitution and a Bill of Rights before which even an emperor must bow. Well then, as we have those let’s use those. Accommodating the emperor on this Narnia business is one thing. Spoiling him is another.”
“Hear, hear,” cried other burgomasters.
“Right then,” said Matthesen. “All in favor of selling Lübeck’s holdings in Narnia to Major Dag Rödvinge on behalf of the emperor of the USE for cost plus nine percent, seven if need be, raise your hands.”
The motion passed with full support.
“Very well then. Fritz, I want you with me when Dag and Ludwig come here. Show them the figures, make it clear we really are cooperating as best we can.”
☆ ☆ ☆
Accompanied by Carl Menckhoff from the Berenbergs and Albert Dossenbach from the Sparkasse zu Lübeck, Rödvinge and Hautzmeyer met in the mayor’s office with Matthesen and Pütter.
The offer of cost plus nine percent was accepted by Rödvinge. Even so, Hautzmeyer insisted there be some negotiation before the actual transfer of lands and funds.
“Best to start at fifteen, Fritz, so the major can argue down to nine. Silly, I know, but if my client takes the offer right away somebody is going to go looking for evidence of bribes or kickbacks. When they find nothing they’ll consider that evidence and lay charges.”
Rödvinge stared at Hautzmeyer, eyes and mouth wide open.
“So…I have to argue with Dieterich and Pütter even though we’re already in agreement?”
Hautzmeyer quietly replied, “Yes, Major, you do.”
Rödvinge glanced at the others in the room, all of whom were nodding in agreement. Rödvinge closed his eyes. Opened those.
“God in Heaven, give me a battle any day! All right, if we have to do this—Pütter, fifteen percent? Dieterich, when you told me the council would do anything to help, you left off ‘yourselves’! Fifteen percent? I wouldn’t give my mother fifteen percent! Five, if she made me lutefisk beforehand!”
Matthesen shook his head, his face expressing appalled disbelief at Rödvinge’s inability to grasp simple economics.
“Rödvinge, take a look at the numbers! Twelve is the best we can do!”
Rödvinge, face heating, answered back with, “Twelve? Twelve? I’ll give you seven, for the seven deadly sins—that’s more fitting!”
Matthesen, close to shouting, riposted with, “There are also seven blessed virtues, none of which I see in you! You’d only give your poor mother, who raised you, who fed you, loved you and cared for you, five? Even doubled at ten would be a serpent’s tooth!”
Rödvinge snorted in contempt. “Ten? I’m surprised you can count that high without checking your hands first! I’ll make it easy for you, one hand and three of the other, that’s eight!”
Then it got personal.
“Ten, you Swedish thief!”
“Eight, you Lübeck lout!”
“Ten, you—Major Dag Rödvinge, you!”
“Eight, Mayor Dieterich Matthesen!”
Who without changing his tone shot back, “I’d say we’ve taken this far enough. You?”
“Agreed!” shouted back Rödvinge. Then, in a more temperate tone, stated, “Let’s sign the papers. I still have to get to Narnia and work that out to everybody’s satisfaction, I’m told. How much of Narnia is being transferred now, anyway?”
Hautzmeyer examined his notes. “About…forty percent, more or less.”
“Which already makes this Thorsten Engler the majority holder, you could leave it at that,” opined Pütter in a diffident voice.
“I thank you for the suggestion and no. It would work for Thorsten and his betrothed Caroline, but the colonel would order me back. Even if he didn’t, somehow I don’t see it working for the princess. And…it’s odd, I’ve never met her, but…I don’t want to disappoint her,” finished Rödvinge, his tone that of a man realizing an unsuspected truth about himself.
The room was silent for a moment after that.
Carl Menckhoff spoke first. “I presume you’ll be wanting myself and Albert to accompany you and Hautzmeyer to Narnia then, Major? If so, we can arrange a coach to take us there by tonight. We can bed overnight in Narnia and begin at first light tomorrow.”
“Is there enough room in the coach for myself and Fritz?” asked Matthesen. “I know that as of now Lübeck has nothing to do with Narnia, but we should speak and explain matters to the villagers.”
“It has room for eight, so there’s enough,” said Dossenbach.
“Splendid! But does that work for you, Major?” asked Hautzmeyer.
“It does, and thank you both.”
“Speak to Leo about sending for the coach,” piped up Pütter. “And best tell our families we’ll not be home tonight. Pity that, there’s a new Heyer starting in the evening paper and I was looking forward to reading it.”
“Oh? What’s the title?” asked Dossenbach.
“A Civil Contract. I’m sure it’s only a coincidence, though.”
☆ ☆ ☆
The trip to Narnia was uneventful. On the way they reviewed what was likely available in Narnia and discussed possibilities. Menckhoff and Dossenbach were brought up to speed on why and how Narnia had come into existence. Rödvinge noted to himself they hadn’t needed much extra information. Not that why I’m here is really a secret, but honestly, do even the fish in the harbor know?
They arrived late in the evening at Narnia and put up at the local tavern. After assuring the owner that yes, he could continue to run his tavern out of his home, they obtained beds throughout the village. “Good thing,” voiced Hautzmeyer. “By tomorrow morning everybody will know we’re here. Some will even be right as to why.”
☆ ☆ ☆
The morning showed Hautzmeyer’s prediction right. Excluding those who had to work in the fields, after breakfast most of the village of Narnia was sitting in the tavern. The day being sunny, Dag asked for tables and benches to be set outside “to discuss and explain what’s happening and answer as many questions as we can.”
The dorfschulze, the village representative, one Otto Fruhner, took the lead from there. Rödvinge was pleased to see Fruhner didn’t just order; he helped move the sturdy wood tables and benches.
Once set up, Rödvinge spoke. Drawing himself to his full height, Rödvinge used a modulated parade voice, one designed to carry to all assembled without shouting or berating.
“My name is Major Dag Rödvinge of the Swedish Army, here on detached duties on behalf of Emperor Gustav II Adolf of the USE. This gentleman seated to my right is Ludwig Hautzmeyer, lawyer. Next are Carl Menckhoff and Albert Dossenbach, bankers. To my left are Dieterich Matthesen, Mayor of Lübeck, and Fritz Pütter, Lübeck city treasurer.”
Each man nodded or waved a hand at the villagers as they were introduced.
“We are here because of the change in Narnia’s status, from being the village of Nutschel located within the lands of Lübeck to being the village of Narnia, with USE Sergeant Thorsten Engler proclaimed Imperial Count of Narnia at the Congress of Copenhagen for his bravery at the Battle of Ahrensbök.
“We are here because over the past few weeks we’ve realized almost everything connected to that has been done bass-ackwards.”
A murmur ran through the assembled villagers at that admission. Those seated next to Rödvinge glanced warily at him.
“We—I—am here to change that for the better. I’m here to resolve the status of Narnia and yes, to buy lands and leases. When and if people are willing to sell, and only then. There will be no forced buyouts. I’ve personally spoken with the count, and that is the last thing he wants and needs.”
Must remember to tell him that; I’m sure he’ll agree.
“That’s already happened, as Mayor Dieterich Matthesen and Treasurer Fritz Pütter will confirm.”
The two silently nodded in confirmation.
“That’s also why Ludwig Hautzmeyer, Carl Menckhoff, and Albert Dossenbach are here. Hautzmeyer and myself to buy, Menckhoff and Dossenbach to guarantee payment. Full, fair, and good payment.”
He paused a moment for effect.
“But not today.”
That caused everybody to sit up and take notice. Everybody. The villagers were surprised, Menckhoff and Dossenbach stunned, Matthesen and Pütter stared at each other, and Hautzmeyer stared warningly at Rödvinge.
Ignoring them, staring straight at the villagers, Rödvinge explained.
“No, not today, because today not everybody is here. Because today is the first anybody here has heard of this. Because today we need to talk, to listen, and to learn. Because today, and tomorrow, and the day after, and in the days to come we need to figure out where we are going with this, with Narnia.
“That won’t be done in a day, a week or a month. It will take time. What we can do today is start. Start by asking questions and by providing answers. And here’s the first question. For you, Herr Fruhner. What do you want? And here’s the second question. What do you hope for?”
Please answer. Damn it, I should have set this up beforehand, help me out here!
Fortunately Otto Fruhner picked up on his unrehearsed cue.
“Well, I guess what I want to know is about that woodlot there. People keep asking me if it’s still for the community, and I don’t know what to tell them. Is it, and I hope it is, I’ve been saying use it.”
Thank you, Fruhner. You too, God.
“As long as it’s used properly, and I can see from here that it is, it remains and stays as it is: for the use of Narnians.”
Encouraged by the friendly answer, another Narnian spoke up.
“This count we are told we have now—is he going to change all our names?”
“What?”
“Well, in Narnia there are names like Digory and Jill and Polly and Puddleglum and Cloudbirth, and we are in Narnia, so do we all have to have names like in the books?” explained the villager, face and stance genuinely serious and concerned.
How could anyone think…well, the village name was changed so it makes sense—-no. Don’t go there.
“No, not unless you want to. I would stick with the English names for now if you decide to change your names. Otherwise, keep your names, I assure you Count Thorsten Engler has no interest in changing your names.”
But in you he’ll have interest, once he completes his education!
“Does this mean we don’t have to change our church name to Aslan or Emperor Beyond the Sea then?” asked another. Again in all seriousness.
Rödvinge, familiar with the Chronicles of Narnia and their mythology, was not fazed by this. Forcefully he stated, “No. St. Jacob’s remains St. Jacob’s.”
The villager turned toward another. “See, Hans? Told you!” Hans scowled back. As did Otto Fruhner.
Sensing the mood, or else genuinely curious about the answer, another villager quickly asked another question.
“Major Rödvinge, what about the wasps?”
Flummoxed, Rödvinge asked back, “What wasps?”
Otto Fruhner explained. “Major Rödvinge, what it is is that wasps built a nest in Helga Fischer’s garden. They swarmed and badly stung Kurt Gruber’s dog. He wants compensation. Helga says she isn’t responsible for what wasps do; Kurt says they came from her garden so she is responsible.”
This is more like it. Not that I expected wasps, but finally a sensible question. That I haven’t the slightest clue how to answer…
“Ah…tell me, how would such a dispute usually be handled?”
“Well, before we’d leave it for the judge for the area to decide, but now with this count, we don’t know—does it still go to the judge or to the count?”
Another save, thank you! Fruhner, I swear if I have anything to say about it Engler will keep you on the job for life!
“To the judge. Believe me when I say that although there has been a change of name, the usual administrative, judicial, and village procedures remain. Treat matters as you normally would”—Why do I think that won’t solve much?—“and carry on as before. I have met Thorsten Engler, I assure you he wants matters to remain as normal as possible. I don’t say there won’t be changes, our being in the village of Narnia instead of Nutschel is proof of that, but any other changes will not be as dramatic nor as noticeable. Keep on doing what you were doing before then. Yes, you fellow, with the hand up,” finished Rödvinge, pointing to a rather runty-looking villager.
“What’s he like?”
“Pardon?”
“This Thorsten Engler, what’s he like? I mean, I know you say he wants matters to stay pretty much the same, but”—the villager asking had an apologetic look on his face—“we don’t know him. He’s never been by, after all.”
Do you know, I think that’s the…bravest…question I’ve heard. You look like mice could beat you up, yet…
“He won’t be, not for a while. He’s still in Colonel Straley’s Flying Artillery, so it will be a while before he can come by. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to come here—he’s as new to all this as you are—he really can’t come by, he isn’t free to do so.”
“How long until he can, then?”
“Well…at least as long as it takes the emperor to conclude the wars…however long that is.”
“That makes sense, but still…” The villager looked both apprehensive and determined now. “What’s he like, Major? You’ve met him—what’s he like?”
Smarter than me, he’d have answered your first question before now.
“He’s…he’s solid, I guess is what you would say. Dependable. Reliable. Honest. He’s from a farming village himself, you know. He’s the sort who’d be the dorfschulze or even the amtmann for villages for years. He’d be in the job for so long children would grow up believing he’d always been there and always would be.”
“I hear he knows Princess Kristina, is that true?” asked another villager, a woman this time.
“Yes, he does.”
“Huh. How’s a guy from a farming village meet the princess, then?” asked another.
“From what I heard—understand, I don’t know all the details, just some gossip and little things he talked about—-he met the princess at the settlement house where his betrothed works.”
“What’s a settlement house?” asked the female villager of a moment ago.
This really isn’t what I planned, but we’re talking, so—
“It’s—I’m not too sure myself. From what I gathered, it’s a charitable institution the rich ladies of Magdeburg run and work in as well. They run something called a tag-pflege, where parents leave their children to be cared for for the day while the parents work. Or at night, if that’s when they work. They also do something called a ‘soup kitchen,’ that gives free meals to hungry people.”
“A ‘soup kitchen’? Sounds American,” observed another villager, previously silent.
“So this betrothed, she’s a rich lady of Magdeburg, then?” asked another. She sounded disappointed somehow.
“Caroline Platzer is her name, and yes, she is a lady. In the best sense of the word. But no, she isn’t rich or even from Magdeburg. She’s from Grantville.”
There was a collective gasp from the assembled villagers.
“From Grantville? You mean she’s an up-timer?” asked the woman who had spoken in disappointed tones before.
“Yes, she is an American, an up-timer.”
“How did he meet her, then?” asked the villager, excitedly.
Let me guess, you are the village gossip. Which works out great! Probably.
“He met her at her workplace, at the”—Rödvinge stumbled over the unfamiliar phrase—
“De-part-ment-of-So-cial-Ser-vi-ces.”
“What’s that?” asked the gossip.
“It’s like the settlement house, only the government runs it.”
“Why was he there then? Does he have children he had to drop off?”
“Or looking for a meal?” asked another villager, a male this time.
What’s with that disparaging tone, fellow? Feeling jealous, are we?
“No, he does not have children.” Yet.
“And no, he was not ‘looking for a meal.’ Besides, after what he did at the coal gas explosion he could get a free meal in Magdeburg anywhere.”
“The coal gas explosion?” gasped the village gossip. “We heard that here in Nut—Narnia! You mean he was there?”
“Yes. Back then he was a foreman at the coal gas plant.”
“Oh, come on!” cried the sour one. “Next you’ll be telling us he helped the Prince deal with the explosion!”
“Yes. He did.” And he should have gotten his countship for that, not capturing two Frenchmen too exhausted to do anything other than surrender.
The sour one looked as though he were going to object, then saw the look on Rödvinge’s face. He shut up.
The other villagers also saw Rödvinge’s look. They didn’t shut up.
“You mean our count knows the Prince of Germany Michael Stearns himself?” cried the gossip.
Huh. It’s true. It’s not what you know or what you do, it’s who you know.
“Yes. Helped the Prince prevent a worse explosion, put out the flames, then dealt with the dead and the maimed.”
“Well!” said the gossip, her words expressing the reverential look on the faces of the other Narnians, even the sour one.
☆ ☆ ☆
Although other questions were asked by the villagers after that, it was clear that from then on Thorsten Engler would have to work hard and long to lose respect among the Narnians.
(A century later the town history, The Chronicle of Narnia: One Hundred Years of The Lion, would claim the villagers of Narnia quickly accepted their new status. Although true enough, the fact was that it was that moment when the villagers first considered themselves Narnians and Thorsten Engler their count.)
Hautzmeyer that night congratulated Rödvinge on his tactics.
“I had no idea where you were going when you said we weren’t going to buy anything today, but my God that was inspired! Thorsten Engler should adopt you for that! Dear God, I should!”
The other four added their congratulations. “The villagers will probably pay us to buy land from them now!” Albert Dossenbach joked, with Menckhoff agreeing.
Matthesen, with a wink to Rödvinge, congratulated Pütter. “To think you managed to get him up to nine percent! Even none would have been amazing, facing Dag!”
Pütter, also winking at Rödvinge, agreed. “My best day ever and his worst. Otherwise, I’d have sold Lübeck!”
Elsewhere in Narnia conversations mostly centered around their count.
“Faced death alongside the Prince, astounding!”
“And he knows the princess as well. I hear she’s remarkable for her age. I was speaking with Heinrich the other day, and his cousin was in Magdeburg the day the princess spoke to everybody there. He says she was impressive.”
“Engaged to an up-timer woman—he must really have something on the ball then. The stories you hear about up-timers—”
“Was a farmer himself, so he won’t be stupid about things, not like most of ’em.”
“We might even get to meet the princess ourselves one day, you know.”
And other matters:
“What have you decided for the names?”
“I had been thinking Maria or Kurt, but now—I mean, we do live in Narnia, and Digory or Polly sound nice—”
(Pity the Prince, The Chronicle of Narnia would say. Only in Narnia is the name Michael uncommon in the USE. Instead Digory, Kirke, Peter, Edmund, Clarence, Eustace, Cole and Colin are near-obligatory for boys born here. As are Jill and Polly, Susan and Lucy, Letitia and Gwendolen for girls.)
“Joachim showed me that wardrobe you made for him. Really fine piece of work, and the secret compartments are a nice touch.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Could you make me one like that? Maybe with a lion head at the top.”
“All right, but you’ll have to wait, I have three orders in already, and they all want secret compartments. This keeps up, I’ll have to get an apprentice.”
(As The Chronicle would later explain, thus began the Narnian tradition of Wardrobes. With production limited to master carpenters living within the county, using only wood sourced from the county and with all fittings handmade, Wardrobes, with their secret compartments and carved depictions of scenes from the Chronicles, were by then recognized internationally as an art form of furniture, with the prices to match.)
☆ ☆ ☆
Three days later when Rödvinge and the others left Narnia they could and did compliment themselves on a job well done.
There hadn’t been much buying and selling done, but there had been a bit. Enough that Thorsten Engler now had the leases on two more farms and the right of first refusal on several more lands and leases.
Apart from that, there hadn’t really been much call for Menckhoff and Dossenbach, but when Rödvinge apologized for bringing them in, they quickly corrected him.
“Big deals are all very well and good, but it’s little and medium ones that are the backbone of any bank,” explained Dossenbach.
“Besides, it’s early days yet; this is just priming the pump,” added Menckhoff.
Back in Lübeck, they all came to see Rödvinge fly off to Copenhagen.
“Amazing invention,” said Matthesen admiringly.
“Yes, amazing,” agreed Pütter, although the green tinge to his face as he looked at the Gustav made it plain that slipping the surly bonds of earth would never be his ambition.
“Now remember to check on me unexpectedly,” insisted Hautzmeyer. “Otherwise I’ll charge extra for noncompliance.”
☆ ☆ ☆
Once reinstalled in Copenhagen, Rödvinge quickly reported the results of the land-buying to Colonel Ekstrom and through him to the emperor and the princess.
Rödvinge pointed out that Thorsten Engler was now the majority land- and leaseholder in the farming village and surroundings of Narnia, with the prospect of the gradual acquisition of more lands and leases in the following weeks and months.
He emphasized the remarkable aid and assistance of the City Council of Lübeck, particularly that of the Mayor Dieterich Matthesen, City Treasurer Fritz Pütter and senior Rathaus clerk Leo Anslinger.
Praise was handed out unstintingly to lawyer Ludwig Hautzmeyer, whose ongoing legal help, advice, and work was credited as chiefly responsible for the smooth transition of lands and leases.
Sparkasse zu Lübeck and Berenberg Brothers were strongly recommended to the Abrabanels, with particular thanks to their representatives Albert Dossenbach and Carl Menckhoff.
Lastly, Rödvinge thanked the villagers of Narnia, especially Otto Fruhner, for their quick acceptance of the ‘new normal’ and willingness to help their count in his endeavors both in Narnia and outside.
With that done, Major Dag Rödvinge returned to his usual duties as an aide to Colonel Nils Ekstrom.
☆ ☆ ☆
Some weeks further on, Rödvinge was along with the other aides and everybody else in the Swedish and USE armies up to his ears in preparations for the next campaign.
While he was ensconced at his desk, his fellow aide Tor Svensson popped in his head and told him, “The colonel’s asked you to come see him now.”
Startled, Rödvinge looked up. “Did he say what it was about?”
“No, although he did say to tell you it wasn’t anything bad. But, you do have to go see him now.”
“Good thing, actually. I see one more request for dynamite, and, I swear, I’ll explode myself. Try and explain the up-timers don’t have much left if any, nobody’s making much just now, and anyway it’s not all that helpful to us, but nobody believes me. The worst are the Germans, who think since up-time it was a Swedish invention and I’m Swedish of course I can get them some. Then there are those who ask me for it knowing I have to refuse, so since I didn’t get them that, could I see my way clear on this other thing they want…” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in righteous exasperation.
Tor nodded in commiseration. “I’ve got this one quartermaster who somehow heard about hot or warm pockets, whatever those are, and keeps asking for pants with those. I’m tempted to send him some with matches in the pockets, except I know he’d light the pockets on fire and then wonder why the pants burned!”
“Anyway, duty calls, see you!”
☆ ☆ ☆
Ekstrom was in his office waiting for Rödvinge.
“Ah, Rödvinge. This came for you.” He handed over an envelope—a thick, cream-colored envelope, clearly of the most expensive stock.
Rödvinge opened the red wax seal. Inside the envelope was a letter, itself on expensive high-end paper. It was a personal letter from the emperor, written in his own hand.
Greetings, Major Dag Rödvinge.
I join with Colonel Ekstrom in praise and thanks for your astounding accomplishment in Narnia.
The villagers of what was once Nutschel have by all accounts taken to their new status of Narnians with a good will that I could and do wish all in this world would have.
My daughter joins her thanks to mine and expresses her hopes to one day thank you in person for making Narnia real.
Sincerely,
Gustavus II Adolphus Vasa
Rödvinge read it. Then read it again. Touched Gustav Vasa’s signature with the fingers of his hand, as if to assure himself it was real. He looked up at Colonel Ekstrom, eyes wide.
“Congratulations, Major. You have earned it. A personal letter of thanks from His Majesty is a true honor. Cherish it.”
Overcome with emotion, Major Rödvinge wiped his eyes clear with a sleeve. “I—I—I do, Colonel. Sorry, I can’t seem to—I…I…”
Ekstrom was sympathetic. “Take your time, Dag. You’ve earned it.”
“Th-thank you, Colonel. I—I’ll be all right, I will. I—I am all right.”
“Ah. Good. As it so happens, I received a letter from the emperor as well. Nothing so grand as yours, alas. A note, quickly written, scrawled really. All about future affairs.”
“Very well, Colonel. With your permission, I’ll return to my duties.”
The colonel affected not to hear.
“As I said, all about future affairs, some of which concern you, Major.”
“Concern me, sir? How?”
At this the colonel looked—sympathetic?
“Major—please sit down. Rather than explain, I think it best you read the note. And—I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Read the note, Major,” said Ekstrom, handing it over.
In writing far less measured and elegant than that of his letter to Rödvinge, indeed in the scrawl Ekstrom had termed it, were the emperor’s words.
His chilling, horrific, terrifying words.
Nils—It occurs to me that when Thorsten Engler was made Imperial Count of Narnia we also made that scapegrace Eddie Cantrell Imperial Count of Wismar. Plus, Kristina insists her governess Caroline Platzer is Countess Oz.
Since Rödvinge has demonstrated remarkable talent in this area, put him to acquiring Wismar Bay for Cantrell. Since it’s in Mecklenburg and I’m the duke, he has my full permission. Same with Miss Platzer, and as she’s betrothed to the Count of Narnia, tell Rödvinge to get her land close to Narnia. If there’s no good land there close by, then Lübeck again or Hamburg—actually, make it Hamburg, the Lübeckers have been generous enough.
Leave this until after Saxony and Brandenburg, but tell Rödvinge this now so he won’t have to rush as much as he did for Narnia. He can get some preparation done in advance. Once we’re finished with my oaf of a brother-in-law, this gets his full attention.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” escaped Rödvinge’s lips. Then he looked up at Ekstrom, his eyes pleading, begging for succor.
“Sir, I resign my commission effective immediately!”
The colonel was amused. “Forget that, Major. As the Americans don’t say, no good deed of land goes unpunished!”