"And if there are no prints to be found on the artifacts? Or they are too indistinct to be useful?"

"Then we have lost nothing but time."

Ferdinand rose. Everyone in the hearing room did the same. "I think this is too great a matter to be resolved in the little time remaining to us today. We will recess until tomorrow morning." Lewis, Niccolo and Lorenzo left the hearing room.

"Uncle, we need to talk privately." Giulio Inghirami raised his eyebrows, but agreed. Once they had found a suitable place, and barred the door behind them, he motioned to Curzio to continue.

"Do you remember that boating accident I had, about five years ago?"

"Vaguely. What of it?" "My thumb was cut badly. I still bear the scar."

"And so?"

"I fear that the scar would be visible in my thumb print. It would be quite distinctive, would it not?"

"All the better for proving that you did not forge the Etruscan doc.u.ments." Uncle Giulio frowned.

"Unless, of course, the thumb print of the Etruscan has the same scar."

Curzio said nothing.

"Curzio, you idiot, what have you done to us!"

Curzio slumped. "I meant well, uncle. I thought that since the cause of the Church was just, that it would not be sinful to create a false Etruscan artifact which would serve the greater cause of supporting it in its struggle with the Protestants.

"Also, I found descriptions of truly great Etruscan remains in the books in Grantville."

"You should have studied less history and more natural philosophy, it seems."

Curzio shrugged off this dig. "Those remains, unfortunately, were not on our land. The only way I could hope to get access to them was to first be accepted as the authority on all matters Etruscan. And for that to happen, I had to make a dramatic find. I was on the horns of a dilemma."

"How n.o.ble of you to tell a little lie for the greater good of the Church and your ruler. Rather than, say, to show up theprofessori who had a low opinion of your academic abilities." Guilio sighed. "It is going to be very difficult to extricate ourselves from this imbroglio with our honor intact. And that is going to depend very much on what Lewis Bartolli will agree to."

"Do you think he can be bribed to accept the authenticity of the artifacts?"

"No. Too much of his own prestige is now invested in challenging them. But we may be able to persuade him to take you off the hook. He is interested in thesoffioni south of Volterra, I have heard. I will make sure that he knows how much we can help or hurt him in that regard."

Andrea Cioli addressed the a.s.sembly. "I put it to this court that the n.o.bleman Curzio Inghirami has been the innocent victim of a vile deception, practiced by another. A person of his tender age could not, of course, have been expected to recognize the artifacts as fraudulent, and because he was himself beyond reproach, those who considered the artifacts later did not given them as thorough an examination as they would have had they come by a different channel. None, then, is to blame, but the true forger."

"And can you put a name to this forger?" Ferdinand asked.

The councilor turned to Lewis. "Lewis Bartolli. Are you presently aware of any evidence which would suggest that the forger was one other than the vile and despicable Michel Ducos?" The question had been most carefully worded.

Lewis fought to keep a straight face. "No." Cioli turned to the grand duke. "As I am sure you are aware, Michel Ducos was the mastermind of the plot to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Holy Father. And I have been informed that his agents planted false doc.u.ments in attempt to implicate others in the plot.

"Thus, forgery is a technique which the infamous Ducos had used before." Cioli shook his head sorrowfully. "We can only wonder how he intended to exploit these faux Etruscan artifacts. No doubt, we would have eventually found a capsule which contained, in Latin, some subversive utterance, once he had convinced the populace that the writer was a true prophet. Be that as it may, his plot has now been foiled."

Next month they'll be blaming Ducos for stillborn calves and sour milk, Lewis thought.

Niccolo Cavriani whispered to Lewis. "I know that you would rather have denounced Curzio as a forger, but don't forget what we are getting out of this. The Inghirami family has agreed to supply the labor and materials for the Larderello operation. In return for letting Curzio off the hook."

The grand duke, in the meantime, was whispering to Cioli. At last, Cioli called the audience to order.

"Thank you for your report," Ferdinand said. "These are my decisions.

"Signore Curzio Inghirami, I regret any embarra.s.sment which these revelations may have caused you. Be a.s.sured that as a scion of the family Inghirami, you remain in my affections. I believe that your affection for history is so great that you acted imprudently in the matter of the dissemination of these inscriptions.

Perhaps a course of study at one of our great Tuscan universities would remedy the lacunae in your knowledge which led to this outcome.

"Signore Inghiramo Inghirami, it is not for me to intervene between a father and his son, but it is clear that your Curzio was misled because he did not have the knowledge of Latin, or of history, which one of his calling should acquire. May I ask that you permit him to study those subjects at the University of Florence? If so, I will permit him to list me as his patron.

"Dottore Lewis Philip Bartolli, I have heard that according to your history books, my brother Leopold and I started a famous scientific society in 1657. Having witnessed first the great experiments of our own beloved Galileo Galilei, and now your own rational investigations into the truth of this Etruscan mystery, I have decided that there is no reason to wait more than two decades to establish theAccademia del Cimento . Galileo, of course, will be its first member.

"The word 'cimento,' as you know, means 'experiment.' Mycimentisti will disdain the sterile attempt of the Aristotelians to deduce everything; they will insist on the experimental proof of each hypothesis. I would like to invite you to join their ranks."

Me? A member of the same scientific society as Galileo?thought Lewis. "Your Grace, as you know, I am in Tuscany for a particular purpose."

"Indeed. But since that purpose requires scientific investigations, I do not see a conflict."

"Also, I must answer to my superiors as to where I am stationed. I don't know how long I can remain in Tuscany." Lewis carefully avoided any references to his superiors being in the military. Ferdinand knew, but it was not for public release. "However, provided that they have no objection, and that you have no problem with my being a non-resident member, then, of course . . . with the utmost thanks . . . I accept!

Historical Note There really was a Curzio Inghirami, and in November 1634, he "discovered" Etruscan artifacts, which he called "scariths," which were definitely fake and almost certainly fabricated by him. His big mistake was that he had his Etruscan write on rag paper rather than on linen cloth-a mistake which "my" Curzio avoids thanks to his research in Grantville. For the history of Curzio's scariths, read Ingrid D. Rowland, The Scarith of Scornello: A Tale of Renaissance Forgery (U. Chicago Press: 2004). Note that my chronology differs, thanks to the "b.u.t.terfly effect" of the Ring of Fire, from the historical one.

Wings on the Mountain

by Terry Howard

The regulars left the table nearest the fire when the strangers came in. At the base of the Matterhorn summer nights are chilly, so a fire is welcome starting in the late afternoon. Strangers paid much higher prices for everything and the whole village, not just the innkeeper, profited. Everyone made strangers welcome.

The four outlanders were barely seated before a jack of beer was set in front of each of them. "There is soup tonight," the innkeeper said, "and clean linen for pallets in the loft. I am sorry but the village has only one sleeping room for travelers and it has already been let.

"Tomorrow would you prefer beef, pork, or fowl?" The village would enjoy what the travelers paid for but did not eat. It was hoped they would want beef.

The guests were taken aback. "You presume we are staying."

"Good sirs, the trail does not lead through the village. When you leave you will go back the way you came. You are not pa.s.sing through."

A man who, by his dress, did not fit in spoke from the darker back of the room. When he quit paying for meat the village quit making room for him by the fire. "Until Grantville came to the Germanies, only those born here ever came. Most who leave never return. You came to climb the mountain. You will not leave until you have tried."

The four men were clearly astonished. "Did you think you were the first to try?" the man asked. "Sir Edward Whympel, will, would have been, the first to climb this mountain. If he can do it in 1865, you can do it now and be remembered forever."

A very disappointed traveler asked, "Then we are too late?"

"Too late to be the first to try. You could be the first to succeed."

"Who else has tried?" one outlander demanded.

"Who remembers those who only tried? I can get you the names of the others still in town if you wish."

This caught the attention of the adventurers. One asked, "Other climbers are in town?"

"They have already tried? We must talk to them," demanded another who was clearly n.o.ble from his voice. He would have his way. No one would tell him no.

The man in the dark shook his head, "The priest will not allow it."

"What does the priest have to say about it?"

"Raising the dead takes a witch, and the priest will see any known witch burned. None will raise the dead for you, no matter how much you pay."

"How many have tried?"

"They say the first ones came early last year. We were the fourth group, you are the fifth. There are four men in the church yard and three more on the mountain. Others have gone back down the pa.s.s. I decided to wait for another group and try again. I'll be happy to tell you everything I know, and act as a guide, as long as I can join you in your climb."

The innkeeper asked, "Would you gentlemen like bread and soup now or later? I can add cheese and some pickles. We will do better tomorrow."

Pocket Money

by John and Patti Friend Kloee glared at Emery, as Dakota held up a dried cob. "So this is the big deal you found to get us some extra money?" Kloee and her kin were meeting in Papaw Murray's barn because it was the one place they could go without some adult looking over their shoulders. Kin in this case meant her brother Emery, her sister Dakota, little brother Zackie, and sort-of-cousins Freddie Bates, Franz Meyers-Bates, Wilhelm Engling-Bates, called WB, and Sybella Doebling-Bates, who everyone just called Sybie. Some up-timer, some down-timer, but all family.

"You know that me and Emery go with Papaw Murray when he goes out," Dakota said proudly. "Well, Papaw's friends, the Knapps, kind of pick up something for him. And that got me an idea how to make some money." A conspiratorial look appeared on Dakota's face. When no one asked her what the Knapps bought for her grandfather, she blurted, "Tobacco! Papaw smokes when he ain't home and Granny Murray can't catch him."

Kloee laughed. "Like Granny Murray don't know everything Papaw does. Papaw ain't half as smart as he thinks."

"So what does a dried-up, broken corncob have to do with anything?" Franz asked.

"Well, how do you think Papaw smokes his tobacco?" Dakota responded sharply. "Ain't you heard anyone complain about no paper fit to roll cigarettes or how expensive pipes are?"

Freddie tugged at the skull-and-cross-bone earring he wore. "Sure," he mumbled. "I hear that sorta thing from Frau Meyers. She has bugged Papa about finding a way to make paper for cigarettes."

"Okay, Dakota, go ahead and tell us how a no-good, broken corncob's going to make us some spending money," Kloee ordered. She was rewarded with an icy stare from Dakota.

"Well, Papaw says that down-timer pipes is too expensive and he just holla's out an ol' corncob and a elderberry twig and makes his own pipe. Don't cost nothin' to make and lasts awhile."

"I don't think we can make money that way," said Sybie.

"Sure we can," WB interjected. "Papa says that there are lots of people smoking tobacco 'cause the English, French, Dutch, and Spanish is all growing and selling it right now and ain't a lot a people saying it ain't good for you."

"I don't know," Kloee said. "How we going to sell them if we do make them? I don't know no one that smokes and I sure ain't gonna stand on a corner in Grantville and sell them." Becoming a street vendor would be very undignified and spoil her image in school. After all, she was fourteen now and had an image to maintain. She wasn't like Dakota, who kept her hair cropped short and dressed like a boy.

Besides, selling pipes at school would be a quick way to get expelled. That wasn't happening, either. She could just see her friends buying corncob pipes and smoking. How gross would that be?

"We make them and my grandmother can sell them," Franz said proudly.

"Sure; and the Hun will take all the money and save it for us, too," Freddie added scornfully. Frau Meyers showed each of them the money she put into their own accounts every month-accounts they couldn't touch. She even put half their allowances into the bank for them. Mama Margaretha thinking it was a great idea and Papa not wanting to go against Frau Meyers on the matter of banking didn't help, either. "Don't call my grandmother 'the Hun,'" Franz snapped. His peevishness drew snickers from WB and Sybie.

"I don't want old Frau Meyers managing my money or anything else," Dakota spoke up. "I don't care if she is Franz's granny, she's a nasty old woman."

"We need something we can make and sell ourselves so we can buy some things we want." Kloee commented in order to head off a battle between Franz, Freddie, and Dakota and because she could think of a bunch of things she wanted that no one would buy for her or give her the money for right now.

It seemed she would have to make the money to buy them herself.

Her comment had been too little too late. The meeting broke down when everyone started yelling and arguing. Freddie and Franz were near blows over comments about Frau Meyers. Sybie and Dakota were arguing about the way a girl should act at school-nothing to do with money at all. WB was just sitting off to the side, looking irritated and ready to leave.

"Enough!" Kloee yelled. "Let's just get back to the stupid pipes." If the bickering kept up, Granny Murray would be out here, giving all of them grief.

"Good. I'm tired of this squabbling," WB said. "Go ahead, Dakota."

Kloee's sister smiled at the fourteen-year-old boy. Dakota had a nice smile and it wasn't lost on WB.

"Okay, this is how this works," Dakota began. "You have to have a good corncob to start with. Just any old cob ain't gonna do."

"Papaw says it needs to be from something like the corn Granny Murray and Auntie Phyllis grow, not from some of that big fancy stuff that everyone else likes to raise. Anyways, the corn has to be barely ripe, not full yet. You gotta get the corn off the cob, dry the cob good, and then holler it out like this." For the purpose of demonstration, Dakota broke out her pocket knife and started removing the pithy inside portion of the half cob.

"Papaw told Emery that all the soft stuff had to come out. Course, you can't get all the soft stuff out; that's why someone's gonna hafta smoke each pipe a couple of times to burn it out."

Kloee felt herself turn green. She and Cherie had tried a cigarette and both had become violently sick, possibly because the cigarette was yellow with age and had come from an old pack one of the other girls had found; but whatever the cause, her experience had convinced her that smoking wasn't cool.

"I can do that," Freddie volunteered.

Trust Freddie Bates to do something gross,Kloee thought. Of course, Freddie was almost sixteen and no one was going give him any c.r.a.p about smoking.

Dakota held up a piece of wire and a thin branch from an elderberry bush. "This is the part that's tricky.

You have to get the wire really hot and push it into the stem. The branch has to be the right size with enough of a soft inside for the wire to burn out.

"You can burn yourself real good if you pick up the hot wire. Emery sure did when he made his own pipe. Just wait 'til Papaw or Mama Melodie catch him with it." Kloee didn't think that would take long for Emery to get caught.

". . . the stem down so it fits tight in the hole in the cob," Dakota was saying. "Papaw says you don't want smoke leakin' 'cause the pipe won't draw right if the stem don't fit tight."

The meeting's discipline broke down again when everyone pushed forward to see the finished pipe Dakota had put together earlier. Maybe her sister wasn't so dumb after all, thought Kloee. Dakota had put the presentation together as neatly as a science demonstration at school.