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Ya’ Gets Yer Money and Ya’ Gets Yer Choice
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Grantville, November 1634
Tom Quiney rested his elbows on the balustrade of the concrete bridge that was such a landmark feature in downtown Grantville. Their goal, a white-painted storefront office, was just in sight.
“Should we?” his brother Dick asked.
“The bill was good.”
“I guess he was sick. He died. So someone in the company in London probably called a doctor.” Dick shook his head. “But you don’t have to be sick first to die. Not in Grandpa’s business. Think of Kit Marlowe. Think of . . . .”
“He was sick. Somehow, the bill didn’t get paid. The doctor’s been annoyed about it ever since.”
“It’s a lot of money. Especially with fifteen-plus years of interest.”
“Aunt Sue sent the money with Marmion when he came, along with the manuscripts and stuff, especially to pay it off.”
“Uncle Hall sent it with Marmion, if you ask me.”
“Yes, but they’re married,” Tom protested. “‘The two shall become as one flesh,’ and all that.”
“In this case, ‘with all my worldly goods I thee endow’ comes closer. I still say that it’s a lot of money.”
“My dear brother . . .”
Dick made a face. “Oh, all right.”
****
Leslie Snider looked up from the desk at the medical offices of Adams, Nichols, and Abrabanel. The two boys looked harmless enough–maybe fifteen and sixteen. Shouldn’t they be in school in the middle of a weekday? Still . . . “Yes?”
“We’re here about an overdue bill.”
“Just let me pull the records. Your names?”
“Umm,” the taller boy said. “It wasn’t for us.”
“It wasn’t here, either,” the shorter one chimed in.
“It wasn’t there either–I mean that it wasn’t up-timer.”
“It was actually quite a while ago.”
“Some time back, if ...
That ends the preview. Probably in the middle of a sentence. Sorry.