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The Creamed Madonna

Written by Kerryn Offord

Late summer 1635, Jena

Dr. Phillip Gribbleflotz was at a bit of a loose end. He'd finally concluded that there was something fundamentally wrong with the theory that pyramid power could be used to invigorate the Quinta Essentia of the human spirit, and had regretfully given up on that line of research. He desperately needed something new to work on. Something interesting. Something impressive. Something that would prove to the world that he was in fact the World's Greatest Alchemist.

He sat back in his chair and surveyed his office, looking for inspiration. There was the large portrait photograph of his beautiful young wife, Dina Kastenmayerin, in pride of place over the fireplace. That was certainly inspiring, but not in any direction that would impress the academics at Jena University. On either side of the fireplace were bookshelves. It looked like he was going to have to do a lot more reading to get what Jonathan Fortney called the "killer application" that would forever cement his place in history.

Phillip looked up hopefully when the door opened. He was hoping it would be Dina, but it was only his secretary with the mail. "Anything interesting?"

Frau Beier placed one envelope on his desk. "This one was marked personal and confidential, so I didn't open it. The rest are just the usual. Begging letters, inquiries about licensing agreements, and requests for you to endorse various products. I have prepared the usual responses."

Phillip sighed. Advertising was the curse of the new business environment. He reached for the envelope. The first thing he noticed was the excessive use of scent. He rubbed his nose and looked up at Frau Beier.

"I assume it is from a 'lady.'" The emphasis she put on the word indicated she thought the author no such thing.

"Do we know a Velma Hardesty, in Haarlem, the Netherlands?"

Frau Beier shook her head. "No, but I assume it is one of the up-timer females. Though what she wants that is private and confidential, I can't imagine."

Phillip had had much the same thought. He'd received a few letters from up-timers before, but never one claiming to be personal and confidential. Oh well. There was surely one way to find out what Velma Hardesty wanted. If he could make out the overly curly penmanship.

September 1635, Cora's cafe, Grantville

Priscilla Fortney put down her cup of coffee, looked around to see who might be listening, and leaned closer to her fellow members of the Red Cross Sanitation Squad seated around the table. "You'll never guess what I overheard at the library this morning."

"No, we'll never guess. What did you overhear that you weren't supposed to hear, Prissy?" Minnie Frost asked.

Prissy sniffed delicately. That was Minnie, always trying to act like she didn't listen to gossip. "Dr. Gribbleflotz is going to make . . . well, you know. That sex pill. Via-something."

"Wow! Viagra? Are you sure?" Evelyn Paxton asked. "My Lacy's husband could sure use some."

"I heard Clara offer the job to the freelance researchers myself," Prissy said.

"Oh! So it's still in the research phase?" Evelyn asked.

"Well, yes. But this is Dr. Gribbleflotz we're talking about. The Aspirin King himself."

****

Richard Somers put his finger to his lips, signaling Carl Duvall to hush so he could listen in. The conversation from the other table was interesting. If he could get in on the ground floor of one of Dr. Gribbleflotz's inventions he could make a fortune. He was still cursing the fact that he missed the early days of the aspirin rush. And as for the Kirlian Image interpretation industry, he'd dismissed that as a foolish fad until it was too late. This time he was going to get in on the ground floor.

After a few minutes he gave up on listening to the old women and returned to his discussions with his old partner in crime. Not that they were discussing anything important. One visited Cora's to overhear the gossip, not to be overheard. He could ask Carl what he knew about this business later.

HDG Enterprises, Jena

"Well?" Dina asked. "What does it say?"

Phillip passed the letter from the State Library over to his wife. "The whole synthesis is much too complex for my current capabilities. I've never made anything like the heterogeneous polycyclic structure I can see in the diagram, and I know I can't make the piperazine yet."

Dina tapped the folded letter against her teeth. Nice well-proportioned white teeth. She certainly didn't need the dubious benefit of a visit to the American dentists. He returned his attention to the letter. "I'm afraid I can't help Frau Hardesty with her little problem."

"Well, we tried. I'll write a letter saying we're sorry that she mistook the advertising for Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula as little blue pills of happiness to mean you were making the up-time kind of little blue pills."

Phillip broke the seal of the next letter. "Would you believe it? Some American claims to have overheard that I was going to be making sex pills, and please could he place his order now, to get in before the rush."

"Pass it over. I'll write a letter saying you aren't going to be making any sex pills."

Phillip shook his head and picked up the next letter. "Here's another one." He passed it to his wife and had a look at the rest of the day's mail sitting in his in-basket. Many more than normal seemed to have originated in Grantville. "Dina, I think you might want to wait before starting on those letters. There might be a few more."

"Why? Why is everyone so interested in buying those pills?"

Phillip just raised his eyebrows. Even he knew why there was so much interest in what a certain up-time little blue pill offered.

"Yes, yes. I understand men having difficulty performing their husbandly duties might be interested, but why do they think you're making it?"

"I can only imagine that someone heard about my making inquiries and they assume that I can make it."

"Are you sure you can't?"

The obvious belief in Dina's voice forced Phillip to reconsider the problem. After some thought, he shook his head. "You saw its insane molecular structure. Certainly I could make it, if I could afford to spend years working on nothing else and I had as many trained laborants as this 'Pfizer Laboratories' put on the task helping me. You don't see the Great Stoner everyone fawns over wasting time on something like this. No, he has better things to do than waste time on a drug of such limited utility, and so do we."

Dina nodded. "Pity. Oh well, I'll send an announcement to the newspapers telling them you aren't working on it. Maybe it will stop these silly letters."

"Thank you, dear."

A week later, Grantville

Carl Duvall passed the newspaper across to Richard Somers, his finger pointing to a column. "It says here that Dr. Gribbleflotz is not working on producing sex pills."

"An announcement placed by the good doctor himself," Carl said.

"But then, he'd say that even if he was working on it, wouldn't he?"

Carl smiled. He'd thought exactly that when he saw the advertisement. Clearly Dr. Gribbleflotz was trying to divert attention from his latest project. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"Um. Talk to someone in his lab?"

Carl grimaced. "Impossible. I can't imagine what he did to create such personal loyalty, but none of them will do anything to hurt him."

"What about inserting our own man?"

"We can try." Carl answered.

HDG Enterprises, Jena

Phillip looked at the letters cascading out of the mail sack Frau Beier was holding. He picked up the first one. It was from Erfurt. I wonder what they want.

A few minutes later Phillip was at the end of his rope. Erfurt, Halle, Magdeburg, even Leipzig. Letters from all over and the authors all wanted the same thing. There must be over a hundred of these letters! He stuffed them into a basket and went hunting for Dina.

****

"Dina, that announcement didn't have the effect we expected."

"What announcement?"

"The one where we said I wasn't making sex pills. It seems that nobody believes us."

Dina took the basket and started sorting through the letters. "This is ridiculous. What can we do?"

"I don't know. I guess I could do some more research. Maybe there are alternatives."

State Library, Grantville

There were a lot of books on sex in the library and, surprisingly enough, very few of them mentioned Viagra. Dina compiled a list of everything that was supposed to help, from special compounds such as ground rhinoceros horn, to special diets and exercises. Maybe she could prepare a suitable pamphlet. Certainly, given all the interest shown in those letters, there was obviously a demand for information on how to reduce the incidence of erectile dysfunction. Dina grinned at the term, so American in its wishy-washy manner of describing impotentia coeundi.

She paused to consider some drawings of different positions. Then, with a smile, she made copies to show Phillip. Some of them looked . . . interesting.

****

Phillip was also busy in the library. It seemed a bit wrong that relaxation of the muscles in the target area was what was needed, but that's what the notes said. It was the relaxation that allowed a greater inflow of blood, and thus an erection. Nitrous oxide reacted in the blood chambers, the muscle relaxed, and poof! there you were. Of course, there was also an off switch or . . . well, walking around that way all the time would be a bit uncomfortable. The up-time pill worked by turning off the off-switch.

Well, if he couldn't produce the inhibitor, he could surely increase the amount of nitrous oxide available, couldn't he? Of course, he'd have to make nitrous oxide, and he wasn't overly entranced with one of the methods described to produce the gas. Any method that warned of the potential for explosions wasn't going to be amongst his favorite processes. There were other options, but they seemed to have their own problems. Maybe Hans, his personal laborant, could be enticed into making nitrous oxide.

HDG Enterprises, Jena

"Hans, a moment of your time if you have it to spare."

"Of course, Doctor. I just need to add one last data point."

Phillip walked over to the large graph Hans was updating and considered what it indicated with interest. "I see the yield seems to be increasing as the pressure is increased."

"Yes," Hans Saltzman agreed. "Just like Le Chatelier's principle suggests."

"How soon do you think before you can commence industrial scale production of spirits of hartshorn from air?

Hans shook his head and gave Phillip a wry smile. "A while yet, Doctor. There is so much we don't understand. Have you heard anything more from Fräulein Drahuta? She would be of immense value to our research program."

"She expects to visit us in late February next year." Phillip paused a moment. "That is about when Dina is expecting to give birth. If I'm not in Jena when she arrives I expect you to make Fräulein Drahuta so welcome she wants to stay, Hans."

"Of course, Doctor. Now, you wanted to talk to me? You have a new project?"

"Yes. If you'd like to join me in my office, I'll go over what I want you to do."

****

With Hans in charge of making the nitrous oxide, Phillip set out to investigate ways to introduce it into the human body. The experiment Hans was running in the secure laboratory had given him an idea. The experimental apparatus combined gases under pressure to force the production of spirits of hartshorn. What if he used nitrous oxide under pressure? Could that increase the production of the chemical responsible for the relaxation of the smooth muscle? But how to introduce it? Phillip turned to his books.

The article on diving suggested a pressure vessel large enough for a married couple might do the trick. It was certainly worth trying . . . not that he and Dina needed it. But, as a special service for couples having marital difficulties, it offered promise.

The real problem with a hypobaric chamber of sufficient size was that it would be beyond the pocket of all but the most wealthy. What was needed was something everyone could afford.

Phillip made a few notes and wrote a memo to look into the economics of building a suitable chamber before returning to the diving article. He could try making a pressure suit. Something like the new hard-hat rubberized diving suits, only without the helmet. The pressure the suit could be safely inflated to couldn't be high however, otherwise it would burst like a . . .

Phillip grabbed his pen and made a note before he forgot this idea. A balloon. A rubber balloon, just like the ones he used in some of his demonstrations. Surely he could make a special balloon. Something like a pair of rubber pants that could be inflated with nitrous oxide.

****

Dina Kastenmayerin chewed on the metal cap of her fountain pen. Frau Hardesty's request for the other type of blue pill of happiness had opened her eyes to a problem she hadn't really thought about. One heard about men finding it difficult to perform their husbandly duties, but it wasn't the kind of thing wives talked about in the presence of the unmarried daughter of their pastor.

She wrote a short memo to remind her to talk to Step-mama. She would surely have had to counsel wives whose husbands were unable to perform their duties properly. What was really needed was a pamphlet. Something that any wife could easily access for help. But what to put into it?

She wrote down a heading. What Wives Should Know About Marital Health and Vigor. Then she proceeded to construct a list of all the things she thought should be included.

Several days later

Dina had a good fire going to take the chill of the air and was kneeling in front of it, powdering the rubber pants with talc. Beside her was the cylinder of nitrous oxide.

"Are you nearly finished, Dina?" Phillip asked.

She looked up, a look of happy anticipation on her face. "Just about."

There were traces of white talcum powder in her hair and on her face. She looked delightful. Right then Phillip didn't think he needed any additional nitrous oxide, but a true scientist must complete his experiments.

The now well-powdered rubber pants had been made to a carefully considered design, with strong waist and leg bands to stop the pressurized gas escaping when they were inflated. This was the moment of truth. Phillip started to put them on. There was a stifled giggle from Dina. She'd obviously noticed how little he needed any extra help.

The gas-tight leg and waist bands made it difficult to pull the pants on, but finally, with sweat starting to bead on his body, he got them on. He sniffed delicately at the amused look on Dina's face. "Connect me to the gas, please."

Dina connected the short rubber umbilical cord from the pants to the gas cylinder. Phillip took a deep breath. Time to test his theory. "All right, dear. Open the valve."

Cold didn't begin to describe the sensation. Phillip screamed.

Pop! The pants burst, sending a cloud of talcum powder around the room.

"The gas . . . turn it off," Phillip cried.

Dina scrambled to shut the valve, then looked up. She fell backward, laughing like a maniac.

Phillip ignored his wife's laughter. He had more important things to worry about. He disconnected the umbilical cord and made a dash for his dressing room.

****

He was a sight to behold. The pants were still on, but the front had blown out revealing all his shrunken glory. The nitrous oxide gas had had a definite effect all right, but it sure wasn't the effect he was looking for. He'd forgotten that gas stored under pressure could be extremely cold when it was released.

It seemed fair to say that the experiment had been a complete failure. The details of the write-up of this experiment would require considerable thought, if not outright creativity. There were some things the world's greatest alchemist did not want recorded for prosperity.

Next day, an apartment in Jena

"He's running late," Richard complained.

Carl checked the time on his wristwatch. "It's only just after five, Richard. Give Thomas a chance. He's said before that he doesn't finish before five, and sometimes has to stay late."

"Gribbleflotz is supposed to be a good employer, and very strict about overtime."

Carl nodded. "Yes. But Thomas is working with a research group, and you know you can't stop an experiment just because a clock says it's time to knock off."

Richard did know this. For a while there, a couple of years ago, he'd thought he'd had it made, siphoning off some of the explosives production in Grantville. But that damned female the company installed had instituted "quality control" testing and the Hart brothers had discovered the machine that cut the explosive into pound blocks was giving short measures. Worse still, they were checking the weight of the blocks regularly, so he and Carl couldn't reset the cutters back to the short measure. That had been a nice little earner, and it could have made him and Carl rich. But no longer, more's the pity.

****

Thomas Brückner dawdled as he made his way to the meeting with the two men from Grantville. Initially it had seemed like a good idea to take money from them to spy on Dr. Gribbleflotz while also drawing a wage working for the good doctor. Now he wasn't so sure. He was the one taking all the risks while they took none.

He walked up the stairs and used the special knock that meant it was him at the door.

"You took your time. Have you any idea how long we've been waiting?" Richard demanded.

"I am most sorry. I got here as fast as I could, but I had to wait for Dr. Gribbleflotz to leave before I could check his journal entry for the day."

"You have access to his journals?"

"It is very risky. I have to sneak into his personal library to access them, but yes, I have been able to read some of his journals."

"So how is the old fraud planning on pulling this off?" Carl asked.

"The Doctor is not trying to make the up-time drug. The chemistry is too complex. However, he believes that he can achieve the same result by increasing the availability of nitrous oxide to the body. His latest experiments are based around wearing a specially made pair of rubber 'pants' into which nitrous oxide is injected."

Carl started laughing. Thomas stared at the up-timer. "What is so funny? Last night the doctor was scheduled to test his new rubber pants."

"And did they work?" Carl asked.

"Dr. Gribbleflotz has not yet written up the results of the experiment, but Frau Kastenmayerin was walking around all day with a very broad smile on her face."

"She's probably just remembering what her husband looked like all tricked out in his rubber pants. Either that or she caught a good snort of laughing gas."

"Laughing gas?" ...