But they all knew his favorite role. “Hey, Mr. Piazza,” said Tanya the radio operator, as Ed poured boiling water into the Drip-o-lator, “Give us the serenade.”
The serenade was Ed’s glory. Six times, during his life, he had been called to this acme of thespian desires—in high school already; in college; while he was in the army, during an R&R in Guam; three times for community theaters. He had met Annabelle during the first community theater version. It was never enough. There couldn’t be too many productions. So as Leopold Cavriani came in, hoping to extract data about the previous evening’s conclave of chancellors, he found the odor of coffee, six apprentice diplomats (only one of whom officially worked for the Department of International Affairs) sitting around their breakfast table wearing borrowed St. Mary’s second-best choir robes that they tried to pretend were seventeenth century academic gowns, enthusiastic applause, and the secretary of state, garbed in a matching choir robe, throwing himself into a glorious basso rendition of “Some Enchanted Evening” as the sun rose.
That was another thing that Ed had learned about colloquies. They started early. The participants were not inclined to waste daylight.
* * *
“Ah, M’sieu Cavriani, good morning. Do join us. My staff—Tanya Newcomb, our tech. She’s based in Grantville, in my department. I’ve borrowed two of them from our administrative delegations assigned to the cities of the U.S., just for the conference, to broaden their perspective a bit. Peter Chehab, Suhl; Joel Matowski, Fulda. Zack Carroll—he’s in the army and will be sent to Erfurt in the fall. By the way, his sister Sara just graduated from our high school this spring and joined the army, too. Jamie Lee Swisher—she’s been working as a page at our National Library, but she did such a good job getting stuff together for this conference that I’ve borrowed her—and if I can, I’ll steal her for my permanent staff. Staci Matowski—she’s taking teacher training and we hope to have her in the social studies department at the high school in a few more years. Right now, her folks said that she could come along because she’s Joel’s sister and he could keep an eye on her.”
Cavriani recognized them—not the individual young people, but the type. He had been one, at their age. His son had recently become one. Trainees: the pool from which the designated successors would someday emerge. The only really, ah, interesting thing about the American staff was that half of them were girls. He stashed this in his mental file, for future consideration. Obviously, he couldn’t put his daughters—four girls to one boy! What had Potentiana been thinking of as she conceived?—as assistant factors in most of their branch offices. It just wasn’t feasible in the environment of European business. But, in a couple of years—maybe in this Grantville… If daughters could become contributing members of the firm, it would far more than double their personnel. In this generation, the Cavriani Frères were very short on Cavriani Fils. He would think about it. Idelette was 15 now…
* * *
As soon as they were sufficiently fortified with coffee and hard rolls, Ed collected his tote bag and joined Cavriani for the walk over to the medical school. Cavriani was clearly pumping for information, but at least Ed had something to offer that was both news and would shortly be public anyway. He said solemnly, “No, Margrave George’s guests found that the situation is not yet opportune to move the colloquy toward a conclusion. Late yesterday afternoon, the delegation from the University of Tuebingen theological school arrived. Nothing will be decided until they have had their chance to speak. Anything else would be gravely discourteous.”
Cavriani nodded with equal gravity. Both men knew what this meant in terms of hard-bench-days.
The delegation from the University of Tuebingen theological school included all of the faculty and most of the students. Down toward the southwest, in Swabia, Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar (theoretically on behalf of the French component of the League of Ostend, but mainly for himself) and Gustav Horn (for Gustavus Adolphus and the CPE) had spent the past six months campaigning with a lot more energy than generals usually brought to the late autumn, winter, and spring seasons. Both of them were young men—Horn just turned forty and Bernhard a good decade younger. Both were energetic; both were ambitious; both had funds. They both regarded war as a combination of job and sport.