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Black Gold

Written by Jeff Corwith and Kerryn Offord

Gerhard Grave's residence, Wietze, February 1634

Christian Grave used one of the new-fangled forks (three prongs rather than the Italian two-pronged variant) to lift a portion of medium-rare beef to his mouth. The taste of the well-cooked meat flooded his mouth as he started to chew.

"So, Christian, what do you think of my well-boring company now that you've spent a few months working on my rigs?"

Christian hastily chewed his mouthful of beef enough to swallow it. He cast a glare across the overloaded dining table as he swallowed. It was just like his Uncle Gerhard to wait until he had his mouth full before asking his question. Christian took a sip of beer while he considered his answer.

"I'm grateful for the chance to learn the business from the perspective of the workers, Uncle. But for these new machines from our American partners it appears to differ little from other forms of common labor. All in all, I cannot believe it is a suitable occupation for one so closely related to the von Lengerkens of Osnabrück."

"Ah, nephew, of course it isn't suitable for such as we, but this common labor makes us an uncommonly good profit. We invoice the Americans as if all our workers are masters of their craft, but we only pay the journeymen the journeyman's portion they deserve. Then, to cap it off, the Americans insist on paying us an additional ten percent for 'overhead.' A better arrangement I couldn't devise."

"Surely you don't pay the Americans a journeyman's wage?" Christian demanded, worried that his uncle might be doing something that could upset the Americans.

"No, that's the beautiful part of this," Gerhard answered, "The Americans are all under contract to Herr Underwood's oil company, and they pay their wages. We only deal with the rig workers."

Christian took another sip of beer. This sounded almost too good to be true, but maybe there were ways to profit even more. "If we were to provide some of the management positions, wouldn't we be able to increase our profit even further?"

His uncle beamed. "I see you've definitely inherited the family head for business. Perhaps the Americans can be convinced that we could better provide one or two of the positions . . . Hmm . . . which job do you suggest you take?"

Christian nearly sprayed out the beer in his mouth. He hadn't expected his uncle to seize on the idea quite so quickly. It had, after all, just been a passing thought. It would be just like the old so-and-so to time the dropping of that question deliberately, without any real interest in his answer. However, Uncle Gerhard looked as sincere as he'd ever seen him look. Not that that was necessarily an indication of sincerity, but it wouldn't hurt to give a properly thought out response. He stared past his uncle, letting his mind wander a little, then he had it. Perfect. "Uncle Gerhard, you have three rigs. Each rig runs pretty smoothly by itself, but the Americans insist they need a 'drilling superintendent' to coordinate between the three. It seems to me that Herr Willcocks doesn't do much other than go from rig to rig bothering the drillers with his concerns about procedures, and 'good housekeeping.' We could help both ourselves and the drillers by letting Herr Willcocks retire to his home and garden back in Grantville. I, of course, would make a most excellent 'drilling superintendent.'"

East of Wietze—The University of Helmstedt oil lease

Ulrich Rohrbach heard the heavy footsteps climbing the stairs to the rig and glanced over in time see David Willcocks, the drilling superintendent, step onto the drilling rig floor. "How are you today, David?"

"Growing old sucks," David muttered loud enough to be heard as he gently massaged his knees. "Why the hell did I have to insist on having the drill rig floor being on a raised platform? If I'd let Underwood have his way I wouldn't have to climb these steps to the rig floor all the time."

Ulrich smiled. He'd heard this refrain often enough in the past to know to ignore it. David had insisted on having the drill rig floor on a raised platform because the alternative would be to put the wellhead valves in a deep cellar where asphyxiating gas could collect. Besides, who would want to excavate a cellar in the winter when the ground was frozen? Even Herr Underwood had finally accepted the necessity. "Your knees still bothering you?"

David snorted. "Still? At my age, sonny, there ain't much hope of them ever stopping bothering me. Enough about me. What's the progress?"

"We're almost on bottom with the new bit." Ulrich gestured toward Peter Welf, the rig's lead hand, who was controlling the descent of the drill bit.

Ulrich had been unconsciously glancing at the large dial fixed to one of the derrick legs above him every now and again as he talked. "Bottom," he called when instead of the small twitches that had occurred every time Peter slacked off on the brake and lowered more cable previously, this time there was a larger twitch, which from experience he knew meant the bit had touched bottom.

In response to Ulrich's call Peter pushed the brake lever down hard and clipped a chain to hold it in place.

With the drill bit finally at the bottom of the well, the two floor hands clamped the heavy rope cable to the massive lever of the walking beam which would raise and lower the drill bit as it pounded its way deeper.

David drew Ulrich away from the drill crew. "I'm impressed, Ulrich. No shouting or swearing."

Ulrich grinned. "Oh, there's plenty of yelling and screaming when something goes wrong."

"Well, you don't need me hovering about while you work, so I'll be on my way over to Rig Two to see how they're doing."

Ulrich winced at the sight of the pain that flashed across his friend's face as David took the first step down from the drill rig floor.

David paused with one foot on the drill rig floor and one on the first step and turned. "Ulrich, when Bernd relieves you, could you drop over to Rig Two?"

"Would this have anything to do with this terrible drilling cable that's afflicting them? You should hear them complain; you'd think it was a device of torture rather than a 'gift' from Herr Underwood."

David chuckled. "Well, it is what I want you to look at, and it is giving Two an unholy time. I'd like you to run the rig for a while, just long enough to get your opinion on what it feels like. You're the best driller we have and I want to know if it's the steel cable Underwood got or just Segelcke not getting proper harmony between the line and the bit."

Ulrich swallowed. He knew he was good at what he did, but for David to call him "the best" was praise indeed, especially from a man not overly given to handing out praise. He stood straighter. "I would be honored to assist you, David."

****

While Ulrich ran the rig David listened to the lead driller complain about the steel cable with which he was trying to drill.

"It just doesn't feel right!" Johann Segelcke protested. "And we've broken off the cable three times on this well." He held up a length of unraveled cable. "This twisted steel is supposed to be stronger than hemp rope? Then why does it break so much? We've never broken off the hemp."

David sighed. Johann Segelcke was the last person he'd have selected to try out anything new, but Gerhard Grave had decided that this rig would get the steel cable Quentin Underwood had so graciously obtained from under the Navy's nose. "Well Johann, I'd gladly take this entire spool off your hands and send it to Magdeburg, but Herr Underwood went to great lengths to obtain this for us, and we have no choice but to use it. Besides, why complain? Drilling or fishing, the work still pays the same."

"Ha!" snorted Johann. "Tell that to my rig hands. Fishing is harder work than normal drilling. It's frustrating to be drilling a well backwards, where your depth at the end of the day is less than that at the beginning." He wrung his hands. "I beg you, please rid us of this affliction."

"I'll wait to see what Ulrich thinks. If nothing else we can leave it lying around on the wharf. Maybe the river pirates will take it."

David and Johann smiled. They both understood that the only river pirates likely to visit Wietze were the Navy as they delivered the supply barges.

****

It hadn't rained for several days, blessing David and Ulrich with a relatively mud-free walk from Rig Two to the tent that served as an office for David and the site geologist. A lone figure appeared at the tent opening and stood waiting for them. Even clad in overalls and hardhat Ulrich had no difficulty identifying the site geologist. "Fräulein Koudsi," he mumbled, still unaccustomed to young women attired in workman's clothing.

"Ann, how're we doing?" David asked.

"Prospect Five's hit gypsum," Ann reported.

"Mist!" Ulrich swore. Then he realized what he'd said and blushed as he met Fräulein Koudsi's eyes. "Your pardon, Fräulein."

She smiled back. "No pardon necessary, Herr Rohrbach, I've heard plenty worse." She turned to David. "When Prospect Two hit gypsum we went on to hit salt. In my opinion Prospect Five is going to do the same."

David scratched his head. "I've seen wells where we found the oil pool just below a gypsum cap. Are you certain this just means we'll find the salt again?"

"I can't be absolutely certain, but the chances are very slim that it could be otherwise."

David paused to think before making a decision. "This site was chosen by Underwood, and he'll have my hide if I just give up on it. We'll keep drilling until either we hit oil . . ."

"Or we hit salt," Ann finished for him. "Oh well, it can't be helped. At least I'll get more ammunition for my case to move the drilling locations away from the regular grid Underwood's had us drilling." Ann sighed. "Enough about my troubles, what's the story with the steel cable on Rig Two?"

The Oil Facility, Wednesday

Ann Koudsi knocked on the door of the chemical engineering hut and entered without waiting for an invitation. Across the room, at a desk positioned to get the best benefit of the sunlight coming through the window, Lori Drahuta sat working on a drafting board.

"Hi," Ann called out. "You interested in visiting the market?"

Lori turned from her work and smiled at Ann. "You came all this way just to ask me if I want to go shopping? I'm impressed."

Ann giggled. Currently she was working on prospects on the other side of Wietze, in the University of Helmstedt lease. It would have meant walking through Wietze to meet Lori before walking back to Wietze, a round trip of over three miles. "I had to present a progress report to Herr Grave."

"Problems?"

Ann sighed. "I don't like Herr Grave's nephew. He's . . ." Words failed her, so she just shrugged, hoping Lori understood what she meant.

"There's something about him I just can't like either," Lori agreed.

"That and the way he keeps hinting that he could do wonders for one's career." Ann shuddered at the memory of her most recent encounter with the man. "The trouble is his uncle is trying to get David to retire so he can take over his job."

"Can Christian do David's job?" Lori asked.

Ann snorted. "He wishes. A couple of months as a roustabout and he thinks he knows everything."

"Well, if Annie Laurie has anything to say about it, David's going to die in harness."

"Yeah, Grandma always said there was nothing more trouble than a retired husband cluttering the house," Ann agreed without much enthusiasm.

"Right. So if David's unlikely to retire, what're you worried about?"

Ann sighed as she remembered the Graves' reaction to her latest progress report. "If he doesn't retire soon they'll find another way to get rid of him."

"So what kind of ammunition did you just hand Herr Grave?"

Ann glared at her roommate. Even after just a few weeks Lori knew her too well. "David's insisted on continuing with Prospect Five."

"And your report says you disagreed?"

"Yeah, we've hit gypsum at about the same depth as Prospect Two did, and Prospect Two was dry."

"So why's David still drilling?" Lori asked, the confusion obvious on her face.

"Because sometime back up-time he'd worked on wells that have gone through gypsum to hit oil."

"Is there any chance of that?"

Ann shook her head. "Not this time. I think Prospect Five is right on top of a salt dome, and all we're going to hit is salt."

"So where would you rather be drilling?"

"Don't get me started." Ann sighed. "At least the prospects Rigs Two and Three are drilling have a chance of hitting the same reservoirs as Prospects Three and Four hit."

"And those two are our only producers so far. It's a pity the oil we're drawing from them is so low in the lighter fractions. We'd get more gasoline if those fractions were higher."

Ann shrugged. "There's not much we can do about that. If it's not there it's not there. What are you working on that's so important you had to come in on market day?"

Lori glanced at the drawing on her drafting board. "USE Steel has asked if we can recover the bitumen from the fuel oil we've been dumping."

"Dumping? You can't be serious? What about pollution?" Ann was outraged.

Lori held up her hands. "Easy, girl, by dumping I mean we've been dumping it from the separation pots after we've extracted the lighter fractions. We've actually been sending anything we don't use ourselves down river to Bremen, where they're using it as an alternative to peat."

Ann relaxed a little. She'd read that in the early days of the original oil industry kerosene had been the only product of any value, and they really had literally dumped everything else. "So what does USE Steel want with the bitumen?"

"They want to use it in the production of fancy refractory bricks for blast furnaces," Lori explained. "They use them as insulation between the molten steel and the furnace, like fire brick, but at much higher temperatures."

"So what has USE Steel been using until now?"

"They've been using bitumen from coal tar to make them, but since Underwood and Hartmann's little problem in Magdeburg, well . . ."

Lori didn't have to finish the statement. The coal tar facility Quentin Underwood owned in partnership with the down-timer, Hartmann, had been badly damaged in an industrial accident last December and it still wasn't fully back on line. "They want an alternative supply. So can you do it? Can you separate the bitumen?"

Lori nodded. "Sure. It'll mean building another separating pot to process the fuel oils, but it'll improve the quality of the fuel oil we've been sending downriver and give USE Steel what they want."

"But it'll take time to get it built?" Ann asked.

"Everything takes time to build. Come on, let's go shopping."

****

Ann glanced around the oil facility while she waited for Lori to lock up. To the west was the dock on the River Aller. To the north was the River Wietze. Whereas the Aller was navigable to vessels up to fifteen tons as far as Celle, another fourteen or so miles up river, anyone'd be lucky to float a kid's paper boat on the Wietze. That dock was the only reason the oil facility—it would be too much of an overstatement to call it a refinery—was built so close to the river rather than closer to Wietze where everybody lived. It might have been an ideal location, if the ground hadn't been so wet. "This place is never going to be much more than a glorified moonshiner's camp."

Lori joined Ann in studying the cluster of single-stage separating pots and storage tanks that dominated the compound. "Hey, you've got to remember, they had to truck in everything and get the separators running as quickly as possible last year. That's why they're all only doing one fraction. It was a lot faster and easier to design them as separate pots than if we'd tried to design and build a proper fractional distillation tower."

"Do you have any idea what it would cost to build a proper one-hundred-and-fifty-foot tower in Wietze?" Ann demanded. "Unless you build right by the village you'll spend a fortune on foundations, not counting the cost of getting stuff to and from the site." She shook her head. "That's the real problem. It's one thing to base your refining operations at Wietze when it's your only source of oil, but it's a lousy place to base a refinery to serve the other known oil fields in Germany."

"So where do you think they should build an oil refinery?"

"I'd favor building a refinery at Hamburg. Not just because the city is on the Elbe, which means shipping is a lot easier, but also because the World Atlas indicates there's at least two oil fields close by. And in the long term, if we import oil from overseas, it has the advantage of being a good port with room to expand."

Lori nodded. "You've convinced me, but any thoughts of building there are moot as long as Hamburg isn't part of the USE."

Ann nodded silently and started walking. Soon they passed the guard at the entry to the earth fieldworks that were being built around the oil facility. Ann spared a look at the men and women working the near-frozen earth. "Now that's another waste of time."

"Building a defensive wall around the oil facility? Or the presence of the garrison?"

"Both. It's all so unnecessary," Ann said. "Who's going to attack us?"

"Ann, the government might be able to strip gasoline from the gas back in Grantville, but we're the only source of the diesel Admiral Simpson needs if he's going to get his ironclads into the Baltic to relieve the siege at Luebeck."

Ann sighed. "Well, I guess one good thing has come from having the garrison sent here. It's only because the village could never feed so many people that the duke who controls the territory granted the village the privilege of having a weekly market."

Lori turned to Ann in horror. "You mean there was no weekly market last year? However did you manage?"

Ann grinned. "Burke's catalog and despairing letters home begging for care packages."

Gerhard Grave's office at the Oil facility

The writing was on the wall. David could see it clearly. He glanced at the girl shuffling uncomfortably as she stood by the window. The kid looked embarrassed; but hell, she had to protect her own job, and he had gone against her advice.

"Herr Willcocks, we are still waiting to hear your explanation as to why you chose to ignore the geologist's expert advice and continue drilling even after she advised you that the prospect would be dry," Gerhard Grave demanded.

David saw a wince pass across Ann Koudsi's face at that comment. No way was she an expert on oil geology, and he credited her with knowing that, but then, Gerhard wasn't really interested in explanations. He obviously had some kind of personal agenda. "Back up-time I've drilled plenty of wells where we found oil under gypsum, I thought it was possible we might get lucky." Immediately after the word left his mouth David could have bitten his tongue.

"Lucky? Luckeeeee?" The second time Gerhard said it he managed to really drag out the last syllable.

Oh well, David thought, it looks like I'm out of here. But maybe I can make things a bit easier for Ann and the crew. "We've been drilling according to a grid Quentin Underwood drew up without asking any of his geologists. We need all the luck we can get to strike oil if we stick to it."

He sent Ann a quick smile before turning back to the Graves. From the looks on their faces he was pretty sure he was about to get the chop.

Gerhard lounged back in his chair and stared through David. "Herr Willcocks, this company cannot afford to waste time and resources drilling dry prospects. This is not the first time you've taken it upon yourself to take unfortunate risks. For that reason we must regretfully let you go. My secretary will provide you with your severance papers."

David snorted. He passed a contemptuous look over the Graves before turning and walking out of the office. As he expected, Grave's secretary had his severance papers already prepared. Clearly the meeting had been a farce. The decision had already been made before it started. "Who's the new drilling super?" he asked the secretary.

The young man sent a shifty glance toward the door to Gerhard Grave's before stepping closer and whispering, "Christian Grave."

"Figures," David muttered. He waved his papers and smiled. "You know how to get in touch with me when he screws the pooch."

The secretary nodded and David left the office. He was sure Ann was going to want to apologize for getting him into trouble, so he picked a sunlit spot to wait for her.

Five minutes later he saw Ann leave Grave's office and run down the steps before looking around. David pushed off from the maintenance shed he'd been leaning against and waved. "Over here, Ann."

She trotted over. "I'm sorry, David."

David laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't let it worry you, girl. They were out to get me. You're the one who needs the sympathy. Guess who's the new rig super."

Ann grimaced. "Christian?"

"So you'd worked that out already?" David smiled at the glare she sent him for that sally.

"They've hardly kept it a secret that they wanted to get rid of you. I'm just sorry it was something I said that gave them the ammunition."

"Nah, don't blame yourself. You were right. We probably shouldn't have kept drilling on Prospect Five after you reported we'd hit gypsum, but that's where Underwood told us to drill, and I wasn't going to give up until it was proven dry." He turned Ann toward Wietze. "Come on; let's go tell everyone the good news."

Ann shook her head in disbelief. "David, your sense of humor is sooo bad."

"You don't think Annie Laurie's going to be pleased to have me around the house full time?" David smiled at Ann to let her know he was joking.

"She is so not going to like having you underfoot," Ann agreed.

"Yeah, well, I shouldn't be underfoot for long. Segelcke's still having trouble with that wire cable and Prospect Six is getting pretty deep. Next time it breaks who's going to fish it out?" He thumped his chest. "Me, of course, but this time I won't be on salary. No sirree, they're going to have to pay me 'special consultant's rates' if they want me to fish it out for them."

"Ulrich might be able to fish it out," Ann suggested.

"Hey, girl, I know you're hot for the guy, but he's not as good as me." David waited for the flush of color that had flooded Ann's face to peak before he added the punch line. "He likes you too."

Ann shot a red-faced glare at David before stalking off.

Two weeks later

The loud shouting drew Ann out of the site tent. She immediately looked south, toward Rig Two. Just as David had predicted, they'd continued to have problems with the wire cable. So far they'd managed to recover the bit each time, but they were taking longer as the well got deeper. She ducked back into the tent to get her notes on Prospect Six before grabbing a hardhat, earmuffs, and jacket before heading for the rig to see what was happening.

She arrived on the rig floor to find Johann Segelcke's crew swinging the walking beam out of the way to clear access to the wellhead. That meant they'd probably broken the cable again. She glanced at the depth counter beside Johann—it read 836 feet. Ann didn't need to check her notes to know they'd only managed to drill a few more feet since the cable last broke.

"The same?" she called out to Johann.

"Ja!" Johann nodded. "We broke off of the bit yet again. Now I must ask for your pardon, but I have to get this crap wire out of the well so we can fish for the bit."

Johann slammed the winch into gear and started winding up the cable. He barely waited for the donkey engine to take the load before he thrust the throttle to high. Ann winced at the anger and frustration those simple actions signaled. Without the weight of the drill tools, the pulleys were literally humming as the cable was wound in. Ann could see that the cable was winding erratically onto the drum, but Johann didn't seem to care.

"Shouldn't you slow down?" Ann shouted over the noise.

Johann glared at her and shook his head.

Ann was about to say more, but the sudden dawning horror on Johann's face signaled that something was wrong.

"Loose cable!" he yelled before he threw himself over the rail.

Ann went the only direction she could, out the door, backward. She landed on the banister and slid most of the way before falling heavily to the ground. She looked up to see Johann crawling out of the space below the rig floor. "What. . . . What the hell happened?"

"The cable, it's always broken right at the bit. This time it parted halfway up the hole."

Ann rolled to her feet and followed Johann back up the steps to the rig floor. She stayed back while Johann ventured in and shut down the engine. Without power the winch drum stopped spinning and the loud slap of the cable end on the wooden floor stopped.

Johann glanced down the borehole and grimaced. "We won't be needing the overshot tool to retrieve the bit this time," he joked wryly. "I don't know how we're to get this hell-formed cable out of the well at all."

"David would know," Ann suggested.

Johann shot a glance her way before shaking his head. He walked to the stairs and called down to one of the roughnecks who'd rushed over. "Hans, go over to One and ask Ulrich to come."

Hans nodded and hurried off toward Ulrich's rig.

****

Ulrich listened to Hans in horror. "A loose cable? How did that happen?" he roared. He shook his head. "Never mind. What's the damage? Anybody hurt?"

Hans struggled to keep up with Ulrich's questions. "No damage. Herr Segelcke hurt his knee when he jumped clear, and the geologist . . ."

"What?" Ulrich demanded. "Ann was on the rig when the cable broke?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he ran down the stairs and sprinted toward Johann's rig.

He found Ann looking somewhat disheveled, but apparently unhurt. He wrapped his arms around her to reassure himself that she was all right. She responded with an embarrassed smile and stared over his shoulder.

Ulrich looked over his shoulder to see a crestfallen Johann and two of his roughnecks standing uneasily looking at him. "So, Johann, what happened?"

"It was that cable. It nearly killed us this time," Johann responded shakily.

"I see that," Ulrich said. "But what happened before that? What caused this?" Ulrich waved his arm in the direction of the rig floor.

"The cable broke, except this time . . . this time the cable broke halfway up the well instead of at the bit as it had every time before."

"But how could that happen? The new procedures David laid down should have made that impossible."

"Ah. Well," Johann responded carefully, "Herr Drilling Superintendent Grave gave me new procedures. He said that Herr Willcocks was being an old woman insisting we slow down. He also gave us an improved attachment of the cable to the drilling tools so that it wouldn't break so much."

"You let that pretender re-build your rope socket?" Ulrich demanded. "What kind of idiot are you? If the cable breaks, we want it to break at the bit! That's why David would clip a few strands when he re-headed: just so this wouldn't happen."

"It's not as if I had a choice, Ulrich. Herr Drilling Superintendent Graves gave a direct order."

Johann's insistence on Christian Grave's full title all the time finally registered with Ulrich, and then he understood why he was so diligent in toeing the company line. Like the rest of the down-timers on the rigs, he was from around Wietze; and, like the rest of them, he'd been nothing more than an unskilled farm laborer before being employed, first as a roughneck, and then, as he gained experience and the demand for drillers grew, he'd been made driller on Rig Two. All the oil workers were on good money—easily four times what they'd been getting as farm laborers, but as a driller he was earning even more. More than enough to marry and raise a family; and Johann's new wife was due to give birth to their first child soon. He had a family to feed, and he wasn't willing to put his well-paying job at risk.

"David said it'd only be a matter of time before Christian put his foot in it," Ann whispered.

Ulrich suddenly became aware of the warm bundle cuddling against him. He looked down into Ann's face. "The fool's done more than put his foot in it. You could have been killed." He swallowed at the realization of how close he'd come to losing Ann and turned back to Johann. "Get your crew to spool off all of the cable you had in the well. I want to personally examine it for damage before trying to fish the broken end out of the well." He glared Johann and his roughnecks down before continuing. "Now, if you don't mind, I want to have a private word with Fräulein Koudsi."

Three days later

Ulrich pulled aside the flap to the geologist's tent and walked in to slump onto the bench seat across the camp table from Ann. He leaned a weary-looking head on his arms and smiled ruefully at her. "Graves isn't going to be satisfied until he's sent us all to our graves."

"What's he done now?" Ann asked sympathetically.

"'You're not working fast enough,'" Ulrich mimicked. "The biggest piece we fished out was eighteen feet long, and that was on the first attempt. Since then we've recovered several shorter pieces of cable, but it all adds up to less than fifty feet of the more than four hundred that Johann lost. So far today we've recovered nothing." He sighed wearily. "Our only hope of recovering the bit is to convince the Graves to call in David."

"That's not going to happen. It would be the same as admitting they were wrong to dismiss him," Ann said. "If you can't get the bit out without David's help I think they'll just use it as another reason to abandon the university's lease."

"David's not going to be happy if you're right. He was kind of cherishing the opportunity to tell Gerhard Graves 'I told you so.'"

Ann smiled weakly. "I think he was more interested in getting rich charging them consultant's rates. I wonder what he'll do instead."

Quentin Underwood's Magdeburg office

Professor Dr. Johannes Wissel rested his hands on Quentin Underwood's desk and stared hard at the man responsible for his problems. "Herr Underwood, the University would like an explanation as to why you have stopped drilling on our lease."

Quentin leant back in his chair and stared directly into Johannes' eyes. "Because we've drilled four prospects in your lease area, and they've all come up dry. I've only got three rigs, and I've decided to move them back to the west of Wietze where we've already got a couple of producers.

"The university had an agreement with you to explore our lease," Johannes protested.

"Sure you did. And we explored your lease. But after four dry holes I reckon we're wasting our time. Besides, the government's pushing me to ramp up production of fuel. That means I need productive wells, and that means drilling where I know there's oil."

"But Herr Willcocks insists there is oil in our lease," Johannes almost shouted

Quentin snorted. "David Willcocks is an old woman. He's a seventy-year-old ex-roustabout who was only made superintendent of drilling because he was the most experienced guy we had for the job, and he's been canned."

"Canned?" Johannes stumbled over the word. Surely he couldn't mean . . .

"Fired, let go, downsized," Quentin explained.

That wasn't the meaning Johannes had expected. "Why? Surely if he's the best man for the job . . ." he stuttered to a halt when he saw the expression on Herr Underwood's face change.

The blood was rising in Quentin's face as he stared angrily at Johannes. "The prick was canned for wasting money continuing a hole long after the geologist told him it was going to hit salt dome. He knows stuff-all about geology, let alone oil geology, and he should have listened to the expert."

"But what do we do about the university's lease?" Johannes pleaded.

Quentin shrugged. "You can do what the hell you like, but I'm not going to waste effort drilling your lease when I know there's oil west of the village, around the surface seeps."

"We have a contract . . ."

"That contract only says nobody else can drill in the lease during its lifetime," Quentin said. "It doesn't say we have to drill."

Johannes stood and glared at Quentin. What he said was true, but, "After the deprivations of Tilly's men the university needs the funds it would earn from oil royalties."

"My heart bleeds," Quentin replied sarcastically. "You only get royalties if we extract economic quantities of oil, and with four attempts we didn't even find traces of oil." He paused and sat forward in his chair. "Hell, I'll be generous. Talk to the lawyers and buy back the residue of the lease. Then you can do what you like. Hell, you can even employ Willcocks to drill your lease if you want to."

Johannes stood back from the desk. He was angry. Angry that Herr Underwood wouldn't drill in the University of Helmstedt's lease, and angry that the university would have to buy back the right to drill their lease. He took an executive decision. "The University of Helmstedt graciously accepts your offer." He stared at Quentin for nearly thirty seconds. "The university's lawyers will be in touch with your lawyers," he announced before turning and walking out of the office.

A tavern in Wietze

 

Ulrich felt as though people were staring at him as he stood at the bar waiting for his beer to be drawn from the keg. After paying for it he took the mug and finally turned to see if he was being paranoid or not. He wasn't. There were four men seated at a table, three of whom were openly staring at him. He stared back at them for a moment before raising his mug to salute them, then he took that first luxurious swallow of beer after a hard day's work.

One of the men made a "come here" motion with his hands. Ulrich pointed to himself. The man nodded and repeated his "come here" gesture. Ulrich made his way across the tavern to their table. "Yes?" he asked.

"Please, you are Ulrich Rohrbach?" Ulrich agreed that yes, that was who he was. "Please join us. We have a proposition to put to you."

As Ulrich sat the fourth man left the table. Ulrich settled into his chair and put down his mug. "Who was he?" he asked, gesturing to the retreating back.

"Just someone who offered to point you out. I am Professor Dr. Johannes Wissel, of the University of Helmstedt." He gestured to the younger man on his left. "This is Professor Dr. Joachim Wecke, also of the University of Helmstedt." He pointed to the other man, "and this is Professor Dr. Heinrich Schmerheim, representing Duke August von Lüneburg, Bishop of Ratzeburg." Johannes paused for breath. "We understand you run a drilling rig . . ." Johannes left the question hanging.

Ulrich nodded. "That's right. I'm the driller on Rig One."

"Good, good," Johannes nodded. "That's what we were told." He suddenly turned all his attention onto Ulrich. "How would you like to work for us?"

Ulrich stared at Johannes. "Work for you? Doing what?"

"Drilling for oil in the university's lease."

"The university's and Duke August's lease, Johannes," Heinrich Schmerheim interrupted.

"Yes, yes, of course, and Duke August's lease." Johannes turned his attention back to Ulrich. "We have reason to believe Herr Underwood was premature in pulling out of our lease and having purchased back the drilling rights we wish to start drilling as soon as possible."

Ulrich shook his head gently. "And what do you know about drilling for oil? I'm sorry, but I already have a job, and Herr Grave is not a man to react favorably to someone leaving his employ to work for the opposition." Ulrich emptied his mug and put his hands onto the table in readiness to stand.

"Herr Willcocks recommended that we employ you and your men to drill our wells. Of course, the university is short of money," Johannes paused to give Ulrich a regretful grimace. "Tilly's men destroyed so much while they were garrisoned in the area that we still haven't recovered, so we won't be able to pay you a lot. However, Herr Willcocks suggested that you and your men might be happy to accept lower pay in return for a share of any royalties paid on the wells you drill."

Ulrich managed not to jerk in reaction to the offer and immediately settled back in his chair. David had talked about the difference in possible income between "wildcatters" and regular drillers. Wildcatters drilled unexplored prospects for a share of the income, while regular drillers drilled in known producing areas and were paid so much per foot they drilled. Nobody drilled in an area known to have oil for a share of the revenue, but only because the people who owned the rights never made that kind of offer—except of course, when they couldn't afford to pay the regular rate. Which raised another point. "Can you afford to buy new casings?"

"Not really," Johannes said. "However, Herr Willcocks says he can recover the used ones from the existing wells in our lease area."

Ulrich whistled. So David had thrown in his lot with the university people. The Graves weren't going to be happy about that, which only made the university's offer more attractive. He looked at the three men watching him with interest. "Very well, I'm interested. I'll talk to the members of my crew. However, before any of us commit to drilling, first, David has to fish out those casings, because without them we can't drill, and you have to get David and Ann Koudsi, the geologist, to agree on where to drill." He smiled at the nodding heads. Chances were they didn't expect any problems, but then, they didn't know David and Ann like he did.

May 1634

The rig had long been dismantled and moved to the new drill site five hundred paces west of Prospect One and the only thing left to show that Prospect Six had once been a hive of activity was the wellhead casing sticking out of the ground. David Willcocks wished the boys luck, and they were going to need it. Ann Koudsi seemed pretty convinced that it was going to be another dry hole. He stood and contemplated the wellhead. Somewhere down there was a two thousand pound drill bit with about four hundred feet of wire cable attached. Ann thought they should continue drilling the prospect, even if she wasn't sure they'd find oil. She'd had a pretty convincing argument that with information from this well she could make a good prediction on where they should drill next.

"So you have convinced the university men to let you drill their lease," Gerhard Grave said from behind him.

David turned to face the Graves, uncle and nephew. They looked angry, but he wasn't overly worried. He might be twenty-odd years older than Gerhard and forty years older than Christian, but Gerhard was already going to fat, and Christian looked like, given half a chance, he'd follow. They were soft, made softer by too much good living and a sedentary lifestyle. Not like himself, he was fitter and healthier than he'd been at fifty. Besides, coming up behind the Graves, ready to come to his assistance, were Ulrich and Ann. "That's right."

"You are wasting your time. There is no oil here," Gerhard announced waving an arm to encompass the university lease.

David shook his head. "I think you're wrong. And so does Ann Kousdi." He looked past the Graves. "Hi, Ulrich, Ann, I was just telling these folk that we think there's oil under the university lease."

"You mean under the University of Helmstedt's and Duke August's lease," Ulrich corrected.

David shook his head at Ulrich. "You've been hanging round Professor Dr. Heinrich Schmerheim too much."

"He is very interested in what I do," Ulrich said.

"They all are. I've had Professor Dr. Johannes Wissel and Professor Dr. Joachim Wecke constantly asking me about oil geology," Ann said.

"Well, you might be able to finish Prospect Six, but without casings you'll never be able to drill another one," Gerhard Grave said smugly.

David looked toward the Graves. "Are you two still hanging around?" he asked with contempt. "Yeah, I bet you've tied up the suppliers so they can't sell us any. Never mind, we weren't planning on buying any. We're going to recover the casings from the abandoned holes and reuse them."

"You can't do that," Christian protested. "They belong to us."

David shook his head. "You should have read the contract the University signed with Underwood. They bought back the lease and any materials the drilling company had not removed by April thirtieth."

****

Quentin Underwood had arrived in Wietze only three days ago—although it seemed much longer—and, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, Ann Koudsi was cowering in the geologist's field tent like the coward she was, convinced that as long as she couldn't see him, he wouldn't notice her.

She checked her watch. Unfortunately, it was time to venture ...