“And Cavriani Frères deals in…?”
Cavriani waved his hand. “Oh, a little of this, a little of that. You could think of us as brokers, I suppose. I rather like your up-time word—facilitators. Smoothers of paths. Those who make the rougher places plain.”
Ed’s mouth quirked. “You’re in road construction?”
“We can ensure that a road is constructed. Or that a boat is built and crewed. That an enterprise is financed. Or even, sometimes, that an idea is spread. As the fiddler whom you watched is ensuring that an idea is spread.”
Ed cocked his head. “Would it be indiscreet to ask just whom, or what, you have been facilitating in or near Grantville?”
“Ah,” said Cavriani. “Not at all. My meetings with Count August von Sommersburg, if not public as to their specific content, have not been concealed. Nor has their general purpose, which is financing the expansion of his slate quarries southwest of Grantville. I assure you that my presence is known to your Saale Development Authority. I paid Mr. Bolender at the Department of Economic Resources a courtesy call as well.”
Ed thought privately that if Count August was slick, his backer was likely to be even slicker. Nonetheless, Cavriani was a pleasant man to have as a new acquaintance. But “facilitators” usually were pleasant. Amiable. Courteous and easy to talk to. It was part of their stock in trade.
Cavriani was continuing. “If we could meet for dinner, I would be happy to explain the proposals we will be presenting.”
But Ed had an out, at least temporarily. “Unfortunately, Monsieur Cavriani, I have a prior commitment.” Ed dangled a tidbit of information to gauge Cavriani’s reaction. “Margrave George of Baden-Durlach—who, as you know, is here as King Gustavus Adolphus’ personal observer—has invited several gentlemen to a private supper this evening.”
Ed was gratified to see Cavriani’s eyes brighten, ever so slightly. He thought that, undoubtedly, the man would make it his business to find out just which among the “several gentlemen” in attendance at the colloquy would be meeting with the margrave, and equally undoubtedly would know the answer before the dinner even took place. And why not? Information would certainly be one of the major trade items purveyed by Cavriani Brothers of Geneva (not to mention by Cavriani cousins, current Cavriani in-laws, and potential husbands of Cavriani daughters, sisters, and nieces, wherever they might be found). It would be very surprising if the firm didn’t have permanent correspondents at every major Imperial and CPE post office, picking up the news as fast as it came in.
Ed glanced down at his watch. “But our break is over. Back to the discussions.”
They returned their beer mugs to the vendor. Ed noticed that, under the stern eye of Jena’s new Public Health Security Force, the booth actually had a couple of pans of dishwater in the rear, and a boy who was washing the mugs before the owner re-used them. He refrained from commenting that the practice would be even more helpful if they occasionally changed the dishwater. One step at a time. Apparently the sanitation squad hadn’t gotten to Chapter Two.
* * *
Knowing I’m on the street where you live…
Ed Piazza’s attendance at the Rudolstadt Colloquy had not been uncontroversial within the Grantville administration. To quote Mike Stearns’ explosion of the previous December: “Damn it, Ed. We’ve got six to a dozen major projects going and all of them need you more than we need to have you sitting in on an academic debate and listening to a bunch of guys argue about who’s going to be the minister of one single Lutheran church.”
Ed hadn’t kept on top of every turn of the kaleidoscope for the past twenty years, watching Grantville High School’s cliques and allegiances shift on the basis of both current interests and longstanding family feuds, for nothing. If any occupation could have prepared a resident of Grantville to conduct early modern diplomacy, it was experience as a social studies teacher and high school principal.
“Look, Mike,” he said patiently, “we can’t just do things according to our own priorities. We have to factor in the priorities of our allies. Yes, they’re arguing about who’s going to be minister at St. Martin’s. Okay. Point One. Specifically, they’re talking about whether the minister, whoever Count Ludwig Guenther’s appointee turns out to be, will be a Matthaeus Flacius Illyricus-style Lutheran or a Philip Melanchthon-style Lutheran. Point Two. Even more important for us, they’re arguing about whether, if he’s a Flacian, he can exclude all of the followers of Philippist-style teachings who are now living in Grantville from taking communion. And, I suppose, vice versa. I’m still not sure on that one.”