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No Ship for Tranquebar, Part Two

Written by Kevin H. and Karen C. Evans

Copenhagen

Late December 1635

 

Marlon Pridmore had some apprehension about this first day of work. He had yet to meet the crew, and he didn't relish the thought of walking into the middle of a project. Nevertheless, he walked into the shops with Cornelius Holgarsson, the head of the group of investors sponsoring the project. "Well, what do I need to know to get started?"

Cornelius grinned. "Let me show you around a little." He took Marlon over to a small group of men. "Marlon, this is Rikard, the shipwright. He's intensely interested in speaking to you about several key pieces of information."

"That's what I'm here for. Take your best shot, Herr Shipwright."

Rikard began. "Herr Pridmore, we desperately need to know a few things to continue on with our project. The first and most important involves the actual lifting capacity of hydrogen gas. Encyclopedias and information that we've been able to access up till now mention the size of historic airships, their lifting capacity, and how much power they needed, but neglect to say how much the gas could lift by cubic volume. We have put together an estimate of the size of the airship we need, and have prepared frames for a hangar to enclose the construction, but we can't make any final determinations because we literally do not know how big to build it."

"Cornelius has shown me your plans, "Marlon said. "I'm impressed; your basic drawings are actually very good." He walked over to a chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk. Just like the training classes at the bank, he thought.

"The information you need is that one thousand cubic feet of hydrogen will lift approximately sixty-six pounds. The airship you prepared for is actually quite a bit larger than what I would have thought to try for a first airship, but my first rough estimate shows that the airship we are building needs to be about six hundred fifty feet long and around seventy feet in diameter. That means we need a hangar about seven hundred feet long and about ninety feet high inside."

Rikard nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. We actually designed our prototype around the dimensions of the Graf Zeppelin, found in the encyclopedia. The dimensions you recommend are only about two thirds the size of our initial airship plans."

"Yes, I'm very concerned about getting a hangar to work in. It seems to me that it might take quite a bit of time to get something large enough built."

Cornelius looked at Rikard then laughed. "This is the information we needed. So we are building the hangar tomorrow. You need to come with us in the morning."

****

The next morning dawned crisp and cold There was no snow on the ground, but the clouds threatened more soon. The field was a hive of activity. There were more men and ox teams than Marlon expected.

Two lines of holes were dug parallel to each other on the field. Stacks of what appeared to be frameworks of wood and piles of spars were scattered along the lines of holes, along with huge piles of what looked like brush.

Rikard walked over and spoke to a large man holding a maul in his hand. After a moment Rikard shouted something to the crew, and held both fists above his head, thumbs pointing up. That was the signal, and shouts began echoing across the field. Large masses of men and animals took up ropes and began to heave. Slowly a flimsy-looking framework lifted into the sky.

"Cornelius, that doesn't look very strong," Marlon said. "It doesn't even look strong enough to hold its own weight. Are you sure it can do what we need?"

Cornelius nodded. "We think so. It's really not unlike an oversized version of the cattle barns you find all over the country. It is perhaps four times larger than anything that we would normally build, but once the arches are tied together, and the thatch is on, the structure will become very solid. The thing we were worried most about is that it's so light that there's a chance of it blowing away in a high wind. So we've used sunken anchors so that we can cable the structure to the ground."

"Okay. I can see what you're trying to do, the big arches will form the framework, and the brush pile will be the roof, but what are the smaller arches for?"

Cornelius responded, "Those arches will form the dormers. After the room is thatched, we will add windows. We must have some form of light inside the building, and a large building built of wood is not the best place for torches or fires."

 

Copenhagen

Christmas 1635

 

King Christian demanded that the "flying machine expert" have an office near the palace. He wanted to be able to ask questions whenever he pleased. A contract for Marlon's consultant work with the king of Denmark was drawn up, very similar in some ways to the patronage contracts that circulated among the artists and painters of the time.

Just before Christmas, the Pridmores moved to a townhouse much closer to the royal residence. Reva settled into preparing for the festive season.

The truth was, she had become a little bored with her role as lay-about rich lady. She really welcomed the opportunity to have a project to fill her time. Marlon had been busy from the day they left Grantville, so wasn't available very often.

So she threw herself into celebrating Christmas. The season started with Advent, the fourth Sunday before Christmas day. And candles were really big.

By December 24th, she had the house decorated with wreaths and candles. Marlon was in his office in the front room, working on drawings for the airship all day. He had promised to quit in time for dinner. Just to be sure, Reva threatened Gregers with expulsion from the celebrations if he failed to bring Marlon back in time. She was confident that it would do the trick.

Just before the dinner hour, the door of the studio office opened, and Marlon strolled out. Gregers came behind him, and blew out a long sigh as he slipped into the kitchen.

Marlon stretched, and worked his way out of his doublet. "Reva? What was all the fuss? I'm trying to work out just how much horse power this steam engine will . . ."

His words dribbled away as he looked around. Candles were burning everywhere in the room, and a tree stood in the corner, waiting for the small candles to be lit. Reva stood to one side with a plate of cookies in her hand, and a wreath on her head.

Marlon blinked like an owl suddenly wakened in the daytime. "What's all this?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Swordfish. Glaedelig Jul. I hope I said that right. I've been practicing all afternoon."

Marlon still looked mystified, so Reva explained. "You've been so busy I didn't want to disturb you, but now it's time for the holiday. If you go back to the shop, you're just keeping all your assistants away from their families. And they're too polite to tell you. Now hang up that jacket, and go wash up. It's time for Christmas."

****

With supper finished, and the evening drawing to a close, Marlon and Reva sat in what they thought of as their living room. The light was dimmer, and only a few candles were still burning. Marlon was sipping glogg, and Reva had some tea. It was very romantic.

Reva set her cup on the table and snuggled next to her husband. "Marlon, I've been thinking."

If Marlon had been alert, this would have sent alarms rattling up and down his spine. But the fortified wine had him feeling very warm and mellow. He just put his arm around her and said, "Hmm?"

"What are your plans for the next six months to a year ? Just how long is this going to take?"

Marlon leaned back and stared at Reva for a moment. He hadn't really looked at her for a couple of weeks. Just too much going on. Now he saw that she was happy and rosy-cheeked. "Well," he said. "I'd have to say that we may be here at least a year. Maybe longer. Why? Are you in a hurry to leave?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I've got something I want you to think about for a while. You're almost in your dodderage, and I'm no spring chicken. And what exactly do we have waiting for us back at Grantville? I've had all the holidays I can take watching my nieces and nephews get married. It would be different if we had children of our own, but you know all about that. Maybe it's time for you to retire from the bank, and make this move to Denmark permanent."

Marlon opened his mouth to protest, but Reva hurried on. "Now hear me out. I know that you were kind of pushing the idea around in your head of writing a will, and selling the farm to Bernard. It would give him something tangible to leave to Helga and Ulrich. All I'm saying, is that now may be just the time for that. You're happy in your projects, and I have something fun just about to take off. Why don't you think about that for a while?"

Marlon didn't know what to say. This was all such a surprise.

Copenhagen

January 1636

 

When Marlon agreed to be a consultant for The Royal Airship Company of Denmark, he sent word to Coleman at the bank and Bernard at the farm. He needed Bernard to send all the magazines and manuals and technical specification books he had collected over the years. There were several boxes of them in the attic of the house.

Today, the middle of January, his supplies from home finally arrived. He had no scheduled meetings, so he busied himself with his office. He was there mostly to stay out of Reva's way. Her boxes from home had also arrived, and she was busy unpacking and arranging everything just so.

One of Marlon's boxes held things he had forgotten about for many years. Before leaving the army, he had packed up his "I Love Me" wall, and never thought about the certificates and plaques again. Now here they were.

Suddenly it felt intensely important to hang up all his framed stuff. Sending for a hammer and a few nails, he started. The wall was a military tradition of his younger years. He enjoyed putting his war certificates and memorabilia on the wall as kind of a reminder of what he'd been and where he wanted to go.

In the middle of the mess, in walked King Christian. "Ah, so now you are a decorator? What is so important that you must put holes in the walls yourself?"

"Well, your Majesty, this is a reminder of my military career in my former life."

King Christian stepped close, examining all the pictures. "And this photograph, what is it?"

Marlon glanced over, but he knew that one very well. "That's a picture of my first jump."

His Majesty raised his eyebrows. "Jump?"

Marlon was finding out that consulting with the king was a job that he would be called upon to do at the drop of a hat. "Yes. When I was in the army, my unit was specially trained to parachute out of aircraft."

Christian continued his investigation. "And this photograph?"

"That is me getting my 'tab.' It's an award given in recognition of the completion of an extremely difficult course of training."

Christian returned to the first photograph. "How hard is this jumping with a parachute?"

"Did you hear about that woman using a parachute in Magdeburg? She's making parachutes now for the air force. Her name is Tracy Kubiak."

King Christian continued to examine the photographs, and Marlon could tell that the wheels were turning. The monarch was already thinking about his own parachute adventure.

Marlon stepped to another box and pulled out a paperback manual. "This is the instruction for a job we called a rigger. This job included repairing and packing the parachute."

Reaching farther into the box, Marlon pulled out a collection of straps and buckles. "This is the harness that I wore when I was jumping. We called it a Flintstone because it was an old-style harness that dated back almost twenty years before I went to jump school. This harness was used for almost forty years because it was absolutely reliable."

The discussion continued, with the king becoming more and more excited, and with Marlon reminiscing about his experiences in the military. As the afternoon waned, King Christian finally ran out of questions. "Marlon, I think it time to dress for dinner. You are attending this evening, aren't you?"

Marlon tried to hide his shudder. State dinners were always a little stultified and boring. "Of course, Your Majesty. My wife informs me that I have a new doublet just for the occasion."

"Excellent." Christian picked up the harness and the manual, and headed for the door. But before he left, he turned. "And I think it important to contact that Kubiak woman. She should come out some time this spring, and tell us everything she knows about this parachute. Arrange it, won't you?"

And with that, the monarch swept from the office.

 

Copenhagen

April 1636

 

Marlon hurried into his townhouse, shouting. "Reva! Sweet-pea! Where is that woman when I need her?"

He continued to shout and carry on until Gregers came into the salon. "Herr Pridmore, what is the problem? You are looking for your wife?"

"Yes, Gregers. I thought that was obvious. Is she here? I need to talk to her."

"Sir, she isn't here at the moment, but I think I know where to find her. Do you want me to send her a message?"

"No, I want her here as soon as possible. Oh, fine. Send her a message, and have her find me in my workshop. I need her quickly."

Twenty minutes later, Reva walked into the workshop and looked around. For a moment, she didn't spot her husband, but then saw him near the blackboard, pacing. He didn't seem to be mortally wounded even though the message from Gregers contained very strong demands. "Marlon, for heaven's sake. What's wrong with you? I told you this morning I'd be in town all day. Why did you scare Gregers so badly? I thought for sure you had had a heart attack or something. What's the problem?"

Marlon ran to her, took her hands in his and led her to some chairs nearby. "Reva, I desperately need somebody I can trust to do me an enormous favor."

"There are lots of people you can trust, aren't there?"

Marlon let out a huge sigh. "The only person I think I can really trust with this is you. I really need somebody to go to Venice and get me some glass."

"This is about glass? You need me to go and get glass? I don't know anything about the technical stuff, you know that. Why can't you send Rikard? Or that other young man? Gunnar?"

Marlon struggled, and got his excitement under control. "I need to send you because you have a way of getting what you want. I don't want to say you intimidate people, but it is awful hard to deny you anything when you have your bulldozer act going."

Reva's brow was low and clouded, and any husband in the vicinity should recognize that the weather was not good for flying. But Marlon ignored his trepidations and continued quickly. "Reva, you can fly out of Amsterdam to Grantville and then from Grantville to Venice. There's a multi-engine airplane on that route now. I don't need a lot of glass, just some carefully made to all of my specifications. It's for gauges and watch glasses, that sort of thing. They should be easiest made by the experts on the island Murano."

Reva began to object. "I don't know, Marlon. I don't know anything about your engines and such. You know that the technical stuff just goes in one ear and out the other. Besides, I have obligations . . ."

Marlon interrupted before she could give him too many reasons. He knew how to convince her. "The other thing is this would give you a chance to go to Grantville and talk to your friend, you know the one you've been trying to correspond with? That Home Ec teacher you keep telling me about. I know you have something going on, but this would work for both of us."

Reva was silent for at least thirty seconds while she thought over his last bit of argument. "I only need to get to Venice with your drawings, and wait for them to make the gauges? I'd be gone less than a month?"

"Yes, I can almost guarantee it. And you get a nice visit in Grantville as well."

"Okay, Marlon. You start making arrangements, and I'll see what I can pack."

Marlon didn't say any more, but gave his wife a big hug and kiss.

****

Reva had been gone for five days, and Marlon was a wreck. He just couldn't concentrate. He wasn't used to pottering around the house without her nearby. They had worked together at the bank for many years, and then gone home together at night. There were times that he traveled and left her at home, especially when he was in the National Guard as a younger man. But for Marlon, this was the first time he had ever stayed home and waited for Reva to return.

He paced up and down the living room, and he finally became aware of the servants muttering in the other room. He realized that they wanted to come in and clean, and he was disrupting their routine. He let out a huge sigh, and retreated to his bedroom. It had already been made up, and he could be alone here for some time.

It would be at least three more weeks before she came back. Marlon finally pulled himself together and gathered what he might need. He was going out just to clear his head. Today, he decided, was the end of moping. It was time to do something fun. "Gregers, have the boys get the carriage ready. I want to go to the hangar and oversee progress on the engines."

Unbeknownst to Reva, Marlon had brought his favorite shirt to Copenhagen. It actually dated from the late 1970s. After all this time, it was threadbare and faded, but he still loved it. Over the years, Reva had attempted to throw it away, give it away, and burn it in the trash bin. But every time, Marlon always rescued it and smuggled it back into the house.

So today, he pulled the bright yellow T-shirt from underneath his office desk where he kept it hidden. He pulled the shirt over his head, then turned and looked in the reflection of the glass window on the opposite wall. There he stood in his oldest jeans with holes in the knees, work boots with the leather worn off one of the steel toes, and the bright yellow T shirt with a smiley face.

Now he hauled a long drovers coat out. Reva despised the thing, but she wasn't here to express an opinion. Whenever Marlon wore it, he felt like a Texas Ranger. No doubt he looked like an idiot with the long coat over his yellow smiley shirt, but today he didn't care.

He and Gregers left the house, and stepped into the waiting carriage. As they made their way to the outskirts of Copenhagen, Marlon could feel his spirits lift. The hangar workspace was always an enormous amount of fun. Today was a day for working and getting dirty. He headed for the small door on the front of the hangar.

The hangar was always alive with activity, and today was no exception. Many people were busy, beams were being swayed into the air, hammers were beating on metal.

The engines had finally been redesigned. Marlon and Rikard had settled on six V-12, bash-valve steam engines. Mostly because they were not internal combustion, the engines themselves didn't have to contain explosions every time the fuel was ignited. For those reasons, they could be designed as very light, not adding much to the weight of the airship.

Today, six separate crews had been handed the plans, and work was beginning on the casting of the engines. They were not set up for mass factory production, and all agreed that it would be faster if all six engines were assembled simultaneously.

Marlon walked through the shop. It had been a couple of weeks since he'd been in here. He came into the casting shop, and got his first surprise. We're not in Kansas any more, he thought. We're in the seventeenth century.

In the twentieth century, machines were usually not seen at all, or if they were, they were very utilitarian, like diesels and heavy road equipment, or they were slick and plastic, like desktop computers and automobiles.

The seventeenth century had a very different esthetic and he realized that he was about to be treated to a whole world of Baroque and Rococo decorations.

"Herr Shipwright, just where will this casting be on the engine?" Marlon couldn't place the shape or use of the wooden form, because it was full to overflowing with suns and moons and stars. Absurdly, Marlon was suddenly reminded of some wallpaper his grandmother had installed in the "nursery" of her house, where all the children played.

Rikard and the foreman turned, a little surprised. "Ah, Herr Pridmore. I'm glad you're here today. I was going to find time to come to your studio and show you some of the drawings, but here you are."

"I guess this will save us both some time, Rikard. Now, tell me, what will this be? I'm having trouble recognizing it."

"This is the casing for the engine, Herr Pridmore. The shape and size of it is exactly to your specifications, yes? But the foreman and I felt that for something so important as Engine Number One, it needed to look like something that belonged on a royal airship, not something from some backwoods blacksmith shop. So we got the woodcarver to decorate it. What do you think?"

Rather than the plain, functional surface Marlon had included in his drawings, the artisans replaced utilitarian with Baroque. In Marlon's opinion, it verged on the edge of downright gaudy.

"Have you decorated all the engines like this?" Marlon was still trying to get the image of decoration and his understanding of steam engines melded in his thoughts. It was not an easy fit.

"All but number six, Herr Pridmore. The artist we had depended on is down with a fever, and hasn't gotten done. Is there a problem?" Rikard looked confused.

"Oh, no, no. Of course not, Rikard. I just wasn't aware that you planned to decorate the engines. I have no objection. Go right ahead."

****

Marlon and Gregers spent the rest of the afternoon moving from one engine crew to another, watching progress as the crews prepared the sand for casting, and the decorated forms.

In the course of the day, Marlon took off his coat, much to the amusement of the workmen at the hangar. They hadn't ever seen something like the smiley shirt. They had heard about blue jeans, but it was the first time they had gotten a close look.

When he laid the drover's coat aside, the first man to see him stopped working, and actually dropped his hammer to the wooden floor. Silence pooled around Marlon like a thick syrup. Many of the down-timers stood with their mouths hanging open as if he had walked into the hangar totally nude. In fact, nudity would not have been as much a shock to the work crew as the smiling face peering at them from Marlon's gut.

By the end of the work day, Marlon was feeling considerably better. Only a little longer, and Reva would be home.

 

Copenhagen

May 1636

 

It was a big day for Marlon. He stood at the dock, straightening his lace collar. Today was the day Reva was to arrive from Amsterdam. He had gotten a note from the radio operator last night that the ship had been sighted, and that Reva was aboard.

The wind was fresh and cool, and the sun was warm. The tide was coming in, and the fishing fleet was returning from a long day's work. Then the ship with Dutch flags rounded the protected edge of the bay. Marlon lifted his binoculars, and focused them on the deck of the ship.

His heart fluttered as he spotted Reva. She was wrapped in a cloak and scarf against the cold North Sea winds, but she ...