"Of course, I understand. Have you sold any pictures so far?"

"I have not been doing as well as I expected. The landscapes and natural studies which were snapped up by the burghers back home don't seem to satisfy Germanic tastes."

Birgit waved the picture of her and her friends at him. "Your sketch was very good. Perhaps you should be trying to sell portrait miniatures, instead."

Felix had a pained expression. "It is my desire to use my art to convey the reality of nature, which is God's creation. To depict the sweep of great mountains, and the delicate colors of a butterfly's wing. And to express these both beautifully and accurately. To paint portraits is to trivialize my skills."

Birgit had noticed that Felix wore clothes which, while made of a good material, had been carefully patched. She was also a practical girl. "I apologize, good sir. I had not realized that you were independently wealthy, and hence could paint and draw without catering to popular tastes."

Felix held up his hands. "Touche!" He paused. "Still, I can't very well paint portraits in advance, in the hopes that the sitter's father or spouse will show up at the marketplace. Portraits must be commissioned.

So on one visit I look for prospects, and on the next, I deliver the portrait and get paid. Right now, I need works which will appeal to many people, and might be sold then and there."

"You could always paint scenes from the Bible."

"There is that. Although they are difficult to sell in some towns."

"But surely an artist of your caliber can overcome the problem. You could leave out the saints' halos, for example."

Felix nodded thoughtfully. "I thank you for your advice. I will think on it." Waving goodbye to Birgit, Felix said, "I think that at the hour of vespers, I will go pray inside the Church of Saint Martin."

"That is very pious of you," said Birgit. "I am very pious myself."

Felix and Birgit's courtship progressed from there, albeit in fits and starts. Birgit could not go to Halberstadt often without arousing parental suspicions. For that matter, Halberstadt, with only ten thousand inhabitants, was not the best place for Felix to sell paintings. Still, they found opportunities to meet, even though it took some effort. Felix's story began to come out. There were many painters in the Netherlands, and hence it was important to have a specialty in which you were the acknowledged expert. After achieving mastery, Felix had decided to make himself the expert on the New World, and had wangled a position in the entourage of the Governor of New Amsterdam. He painted portraits, made maps, and so forth.

Felix returned to the Netherlands, only to find that his mother and elder brother had died of some potent disease, and that his father had abandoned himself to drinking and gambling. His life savings, which could have gone to setting himself up in his own shop, as an independent master, went instead to paying his father's debts. Felix had to make do by inking in landscape backgrounds for the portraits of others.

Boring work. Felix admitted to Birgit that this might explain some of his antipathy for portraiture. Except when the subject was her, of course.

Besides his artistic activities, Felix also collected "curiosities"-plants, minerals and so forth which might interest a collector. In the Netherlands, the interest in these wonders was not limited to the nobility; many wealthy merchants hadWunderkaemmer . Felix' curiosities could be sold, or given, to a prospective patron.

It was while Felix was away from home, on a collecting trip, that the next disaster occurred. It was a turn for the worse in the long war with the Spanish Hapsburgs. They destroyed the Dutch fleet, seized Haarlem, and laid siege to Amsterdam. It was clearly not the best time to try selling nature art in the Netherlands. Or art of any kind, for that matter. Except perhaps Catholic altarpieces.

Since Felix was of German descent, he decided to try his luck in the Germanies. Unfortunately, most of his stock and materials were in Amsterdam, on the other side of the siege line.

"Do you play chess?" Birgit asked.

"No, I don't. Didn't you ask me that before?" Felix took a closer look at her. They were in a dark corner of the cathedral in Halberstadt, but now that his eyes were better adjusted to the gloom, he could see that she was upset. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"One of my friends was indiscreet."

"Let me guess. Barbel."

"Yes. She said something about us . . . didn't realize her mother was nearby. And her mother makes Barbel seem like a Trappist monk."

"Big talker?"

"Yes. It is only a matter of time before my father finds out. Days at most."

"So perhaps I should make a preemptive strike. Tell him that we are engaged to be married. I can say that, right?" He grinned at her. She smiled for an instant, then looked grim.

"It is more complicated than that. I have put off telling you about the peculiar courtship and marriage customs of Strobeck. If your art were selling well again, they wouldn't matter so much. But under the present circumstances-I am worried." Felix was puzzled. "Just what are these customs?"

"Let's say that you need to learn to play chess. Right now."

"Checkmate!"

Felix Gruenfeld studied the board glumly. This was no friendly chess game. He was in the Saxon village of Stroebeck, where commoners had played chess for six centuries. In Stroebeck, the game of chess was an intimate part of the game of life.

Felix quietly tipped over his king, conceding the game. His opponent, Hans Wegener, smirked.

The mayor of Stroebeck cleared his throat. "Felix Gruenfeld, you have asked for the hand of Birgit, daughter of Hans Wegener. Under the laws and customs of Stroebeck, in order to proceed with the marriage, in spite of the opposition of Hans Wegener, you had to either defeat him at chess or pay a forfeit of twenty gulden to the village treasury. Since you have lost the game, you must either pay, or leave." Birgit was fighting back tears.

"I just don't have that kind of money right now."

"We don't need vagrants like you in Stroebeck," Hans snarled.

The Mayor was more tactful. "I am sorry."

Felix looked despairingly at Birgit. She blurted out, "You can try again in six months!"

"Hah!" said Wegener. "You are hopelessly inept. Six months or six years, you still aren't going to win against me without tutoring from a master. And how would you gain such training? If you can't pay the penalty, you can hardly pay for chess lessons. For that matter, outside of Stroebeck, chess is strictly a nobleman's game, and you can hardly expect a nobleman to agree to teach you. If one took pity on you, and gave you a few lessons, they won't make you the equal of someone who has played every day for three dozen years."

Felix looked at him stonily. "That may be, but I will be back in six months, and if I must, six months after that."

He bowed to Birgit and left the room.

Felix had realized that his chances of winning the game were not good. After his defeat, he had gone, as he and Birgit had planned, to the nearby city of Halberstadt. There, Birgit's brother, Karl, met him.

At one point, Felix had been a bit nervous about how Karl would regard the whole affair. Felix feared that Karl might be inclined to protect his little sister from undesirable suitors, and Karl was a journeyman smith. Swing a hammer all day, for years on end, and you are quite capable of flooring a mere artist.

Even one who has roughed it in the New World. However, Karl had reached that stage of life in which the son knows much more than the father. Hans'

heated opposition to Felix had made Felix prime brother-in-law material, so far as Karl was concerned.

"Here, Birgit gave me these for you. This is for your stomach,"-he handed over a loaf of bread-"and this is for your heart." The second present was a small leather pouch, which contained a lock of blonde hair. Felix quickly hung it around his neck, and concealed it under his blouse.

"Where are you going next?" Karl asked.

"I hear that Gustavus Adolphus is in Magdeburg. Perhaps he has need of an artist? Or at least of a draftsman? My status would be much enhanced if I had a royal patron.

"If the Swede is off with his armies, I will try my luck at that Grantville we keep hearing about.

"Once I am settled, I will send word here. Check for messages at that tavern you are so fond of,The Roasted Pig . Now give me a moment to write a note for you to carry back to your sister."

Birgit was, indeed, a practical girl. This first became evident to her family, years before, when her mother was sick for a few weeks. Birgit went to the market, and did the shopping. And, of course, the obligatory haggling. She was a natural. After her mother recovered, it was decided to let Birgit continue in that role.

She was so good that she impressed the pros. One merchant said he would have hired her on the spot, if she were a boy.

The family was less accepting when she started making suggestions as to things that her father could make in the smithy. That is to say, her father was less accepting. More to annoy him, than because of his faith in Birgit's business acumen, Karl made a few of the simpler items as journeyman projects. And was pleasantly amazed when they sold, sold very well indeed.

It was not prudent to remind her father about it, however.

Given her mental makeup, it was not surprising that,being a practical girl, Birgit turned to the question of how to improve the financial situation, not to mention the marital prospects, of a certain talented but slightlyim practical artist-cum-curiosity collector.

Birgit was at her friend Anna's home. "I need to write a letter," she said.

"To Felix?" Anna mouthed. Birgit nodded. Anna quietly brought her paper, a quill pen, and an ink bottle.

"Dearest Felix," she began. "I know you are my steadfast knight. Do not despair. I am confident that you will sell your art, that you will find a great patron, and, most important of all, that we will be united.

"I was thinking about how you might more profitably practice your skills. Did you not tell me that you can make copper engravings and woodcuts? A print can be sold more cheaply than a water color. The profit on each print is small, but those profits will add up.

"Moreover, you have told me that your father was a bookseller. Do you not know the names of your father's colleagues in other towns? Can you engage them to sell your prints for a percentage of the profits? Please think upon this." She added a few felicities, sealed the letter, and handed it to Anna. "Can you have Max take this toThe Roasted Pig , in Halberstadt? Father is watching me too closely for me to dare take it there myself. And Karl can't go this week."

A bleary-eyed Felix stumbled through the door of the Inn of the Maddened Queen.

The town of Grantville was wondrous, all right . . . wondrously confusing. There was no town square, and there was no telling which shops might be on a particular street. The residents spoke English, but with terrible accents. His attempts to locate the local Guild of Saint Luke's had been greeted with polite incomprehension.

He had stayed, at first, at a large dormitory. He didn't like the looks of some of the other guests and decided to find alternative accommodations. One of the citizens of Grantville had directed him to Clarksburg Street, and the Inn of the Maddened Queen. He hurried in; it was raining heavily.

Felix went to the desk and inquired as to the cost of lodging. He winced when he heard the number, it was way out of his league.

Felix decided that he would at least get something hot to drink before he went out into the night. Perhaps he would have some of thiscoffee he had heard about. There was a menu board on one wall, and the price of a cup of coffee, at least, seemed reasonable.

The painter winced when he came upon a table at which two men were playing a game of chess. He tried to find seating as far away as possible. No luck. In fact, by the time he finished his circumnavigation of the premises, the only open seat was at an adjacent table. He grimaced, and turned his chair so that his back was to the players.

"I guess you don't like chess," said the fellow facing him. He was a stocky man, with very bushy eyebrows.

"It evokes rather unpleasant memories."

"Oh?"

"I was in the Harz Mountains, and stopped in Halberstadt. It is a small city, perhaps thirty miles southwest of Magdeburg. There was a festival going on and, well, I met this girl. A real beauty, and clever, too. We saw more and more of each other, on the sly, but we weren't sly enough, I'm afraid. Her father found out.

"He said that he would refuse his consent, and she said that she wanted to have it, but didn't need his consent."

"Is that true?" Bushy Eyebrows was clearly doubtful.

"Her town, Stroebeck, is in the bishopric of Halberstadt, which is ruled directly by the Catholic Prince-Bishop Leopold Wilhelm von Hapsburg. So it strictly follows the canon law as proclaimed by the Council of Trent. That said that marriage does not require parental consent, and that it is anathema to assert otherwise." "But even if that is so, cannot her father refuse to pay a dowry? Can he not disinherit her?"

"Oh, yes, and he threatened to do those things. And she avowed that she would marry me nonetheless.

"Then, he said, 'Oh my foolish and wicked daughter, I will insist on the strictest compliance with the laws of this town. By those laws, any outsider who wishes to marry a fraulein of Stroebeck must play her father, or his champion, at chess. If the prospective bridegroom loses, he must pay a forfeit to the town treasury.'

"The penalty is much higher if her father did not consent to the marriage. That wrinkle is not in conflict with canon law, because it does not formally forbid the marriage itself."

"Chess? How strange."

"Stroebeck's theSchachdorf , the 'chess village.' They all learn to play when they are knee-high, boys and girls alike. Unfortunately, we got caught before my Birgit could teach me much more than the pieces and their moves.

"If her father liked me, he could have appointed, say, his six year old son, or the village idiot, to challenge me. But he wasn't keen on having me as a son-in-law, so he took me on himself. And he'd been village champion three years running."

In the meantime, the chess players had finished their game. One of them, a solidly built man with grey hair, got up at this point. "Hi, my name is Vince Masaniello. I couldn't help but overhear you."

Felix shrugged. "That's all right. I suppose there is some cathartic relief in talking about it."

"So let me get this straight," Vince said. "There is a village out in the Harz Mountains, near Halberstadt, where the commoners play chess."

"Yes, that's right. My sweetheart told me that it all started when the Bishop of Halberstadt imprisoned some prince or duke in a tower in Stroebeck. He was bored, so he drew a chessboard on the floor of his cell, and made pieces, and taught his guards how to play. They taught their friends, and the game became popular. Even the women played.

"Then some court functionary had to spend a night in Stroebeck, and was surprised when the mayor invited him to play chess. And even more surprised when the mayor beat him repeatedly.

"Word spread, and upper class Brandenburgers would make a point of stopping by to play. Not just with the Mayor, but with any villager who showed an interest.

"Time came when, once a year, some bigwig would come to Stroebeck and play against their chess champion. If the Stroebecker won, well, they didn't have to pay taxes that year."

Vince snickered. "I bet that really gave a boost to chess education in Stroebeck."

"So I was told. But my problem is that if you want to marry a Stroebeck girl, you have to either beat her father's champion at chess, or pay a big fine. And I had neither the chess skills nor the cash. I am a painter without a big patron."

Vince pondered Felix' story. "The best chess player in Grantville is Joshua Modi. He held master rank inthe United States Chess Federation."

"Master? There is a Chess Guild in Grantville?"

"Oh, no. It is a just a rank. The bottom rung in the UCSF is Class J. The classes go up to Class A, and then above that are Expert, Master, and Senior Master."

"And how many people are of Joshua Modi's rank?"

"Perhaps one USCF member in one hundred. And only perhaps one in fifty Americans was a member of the USCF."

"That is impressive. Do you think he would be willing to teach me?"

Vince scratched his head. "I am sure he would love to do so, but I doubt he has the time. He and Colette are spending most of their time in Essen nowadays. Greg's a fine player, too, but he is busy designing things-that-go-boom in Magdeburg. They may be able to give you a few tips before you have your rematch in Stroebeck, but that's about it."

"Can you help me?"