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1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz: Chapter Eight
Last updated: Saturday, July 16, 2016 11:50 EDT
Dr. Phil Takes the Piss Out Of Grantville
November 1631, Grantville
Tracy sat at the kitchen table of her home and idly played with some small pale blue pills.
“What’s that you’ve got there?’ Ted asked as he walked over to the table.
“It’s a test sample of Dr. Phil’s version of aspirin.”
Ted picked up one of the pills. “Why’re they blue?” he asked as he examined it.
“He insisted that they had to be blue, because blue is a calming and cooling color.”
Ted raised a brow suggestively.
Tracy smiled in response. “Yeah, I know. It’s a load of crock, and the color is going to make it hard to get Americans to buy them.”
“Nah, if they want their aspirin, they’ll buy them. Anyway, I just need to collect my bike and I’ll be off.”
“Off?” Tracy asked.
“Yeah, Jonathan Fortney’s got to deliver one of the APCs up north, and he’s agreed to take me and a load of urine as far as Jena.”
It was Tracy’s turn to raise a brow this time. “He’s allowed to do that?”
Ted shrugged. “He seems to think so.”
Tracy shook her head slowly. “What time do you think you’ll be home?”
Ted shrugged. “Late afternoon probably. I want to check up about that canvas you ordered. What are your plans for the day?”
“After breakfast Belle’s coming round to collect Justin and Terrie, then I’ll drop by Nobili’s Pharmacy and see what Tino thinks about Dr. Phil’s blue aspirin . . .”
“He’ll agree with me,” Ted said.
Tracy glared at Ted. “And then I’ll finish off the last of the order for tents for the Refugee Commission.”
From the road a truck horn sounded.
Ted hurried to the window and looked out. “That’s my ride,” he said as he kissed Tracy goodbye. “See you this afternoon. And in the meantime, stay out of trouble.”
Tracy swatted Ted on the buttocks. “I won’t have time to get into trouble.”
She handed Ted his coat and followed him to the door, where she stood watching as he loaded his bike and cycled down to the waiting modified coal truck. She waved until the truck was out of sight, then turned and returned to the kitchen. She had to get things ready for when Belle arrived to pick up Justin and Terrie.
Jonathan Fortney was a tall and lanky twenty-one year old West Virginian male. Like a lot of West Virginian males, he’d been a bit of a shade tree mechanic back up-time, but unlike most of his contemporaries, he’d worked mostly on diesels. That was the influence of his father, who’d had a lifelong love affair with diesel engines. His experience with diesel engines had proved a godsend when it came to finding employment after the ROF.
Back up-time he’d been training to be a collision repair specialist, but post ROF there wasn’t enough demand, and certainly the Army wasn’t employing any collision repair specialists, but they did need diesel mechanics. So he became a mechanic with the Mechanical Support Division.
Today he was taking an APC — actually a 1986 Mack RD688S tandem rear axle coal truck with steel plate welded onto it in strategic areas to provide protection from down-time muskets while the back was enclosed with quarter-inch plate — back to its parent unit. The armor added a lot of weight, but not enough to be a problem for a vehicle designed to haul up to twenty tons, so, naturally, he’d asked around for anyone needing to move a bit of cargo north. Ted Kubiak had made the best offer — a full cargo as far as Jena.
Jonathan pulled up outside the entrance to Ted’s place and sounded the horn. While he waited for Ted to arrive he gazed at the house. If he remembered correctly the property had belonged to a coal company executive who’d sold up when the coal mine on Dent’s run was mothballed, and it looked it. He had to wonder how the Kubiak’s had been able to afford such a flash new house. He shrugged. It was none of his business, but it was an impressive house, nestled as it was into the hillside like that.
He saw Ted cycling down the drive and called out to him when he got to the road. “Tie your bike to the rack at the front.”
A short time later the door opened and Ted Kubiak hauled himself up and in. “Morning, Jonathan. Do you know where to go?” he asked as he laid a scabbarded rifle on the seat and dropped a saddlebag at his feet.
Jonathan nodded. “Though I can’t imagine why you’d want to ship urine to Jena,” he said as he got the truck moving.
“Dr. Gribbleflotz uses it to make Spirits of Hartshorn.”
Jonathan turned to look at Ted. “What’s that?”
“Ammonia. He needs it to make baking soda and baking powder.”
“But urine’s not all ammonia, is it?” Jonathan asked. “So why don’t you turn it into ammonia here before shipping it to Jena? Surely that would reduce the volume you have to send.”
“By at least ninety percent,” Ted agreed. “Unfortunately, Dr. Gribbleflotz doesn’t have anybody trained to do that, yet.”
“Ah, so you plan to do it eventually?”
Ted nodded. “We’d be silly not to.”
They picked up the full barrels of urine from a warehouse close to the Freedom Arches and headed for Jena, arriving there just over an hour later. They could have made the trip a lot quicker, but at speeds in excess of thirty miles per hour consumed considerably more fuel, and more importantly, increased wear and tear on the truck tires, the supply of which was extremely limited.
While the barrels of urine were being unloaded Jonathan wandered around the facility. To his surprise he found himself on his own in what was obviously a private laboratory —#8212; the fume cupboard and racks of laboratory apparatus gave that away — looking at the containers of chemicals arranged along a wall, “Hey, cooool!” he said when he spotted a jar of iodine. He checked out the rest of the rack, occasionally touching a marked jar in fond memory of the experiments he’d done with the home chemistry set his father had assembled for him.
It was only when he saw Dr. Gribbleflotz’ reflection in the fume cupboard’s sash window that he realized he probably shouldn’t be here. He turned quickly. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz. I know I shouldn’t be in here without your permission, but I noticed the jars of chemicals and was curious to see what you have.” He smiled. “You can do a lot of cool experiments with what you have.”
“How did you know that I understand English? Did Herr Kubiak tell you?”
Jonathan did a quick double-take. Firstly, he realized he’d spoken to Dr. Gribbleflotz in English, which given the quality of his German didn’t come as a surprise. But the second question raised the possibility that Dr. Gribbleflotz had been hoping to keep his knowledge of English from the Kubiaks. “No, Mr. Kubiak didn’t tell me. Does he know you understand English?”
“I was hoping that he and his wife were in ignorance of my English skills,” Phillip said.
“They might still be,” Jonathan said.
“Then why did you address me in English?”
Jonathan dropped his head momentarily in shame, then looked up and gave Phillip a rueful smile. “My German isn’t very good.”
“Herr Kubiak and his wife speak acceptable German,” Phillip pointed out.
“Yeah, but they get to practice it more often.” Jonathan shrugged. “Most of the guys in my department are Americans, and the few down-timers are all trying to learn English, so I don’t get to say much more than hello and goodbye in German.”
“I understand.” Phillip smiled at Jonathan. “So, you like my laboratory?” Phillip asked.
“What’s not to like?” Jonathan asked as he waved an all-encompassing hand around the laboratory, “especially when you’ve got iodine and ammonia.”
Phillip asked. “Don’t you mean Spirits of Hartshorn?”
“Yeah, probably,” Jonathan said with a smile. “Where did you learn? You know, to speak English?”
“I spent a number of years in England,” Phillip said as he wandered over to the rack of chemicals and lifted up the jar of iodine. “So, what can you do with this and Spirits of Hartshorn.”
“It makes a cool contact explosive,” Jonathan said.
Phillip hastily put the iodine back. “There is nothing cool about explosives,” he said.
“Oh, it’s not a real explosive,” Jonathan protested. “Mr. Morrison wouldn’t have been allowed to do such a cool demonstration with it in class if it was dangerous. It’s more sound than substance, rather like a kid’s cap gun, except that when it goes off there’s a big cloud of purple vapor.”
“So, describe this cool demonstration!”
“Well, Mr. Morrison had one of those stands,” he pointed to a chemical apparatus ring stand, “with half a dozen of those round beaker supports arranged along its length. He placed filter papers on each of the beaker rings and put a little bit of wet triiodide onto each filter paper. Then he taped a feather to a pole and waited for the triiodide to dry. Then he touched one of the piles of triiodide with the feather.” Jonathan had grown more and more excited as he described the demonstration. “They all seemed to go off at once and there was a big purple cloud.”
“Do you know how to make this triiodide?” Phillip asked.
Jonathan combed his fingers through his hair as he procrastinated. “Not really,” he finally admitted. “But I know where to find instructions.”
“When you find them, please drop by,” Phillip said, “meanwhile, why don’t I show you around my laboratory?”
“Sure,” Jonathan said.
Phillip laid a hand on the sash window of his fume cupboard. “This is my fume cupboard, in German I call it my abzugschrank, it uses . . .”
Grantville
Tracy walked into Nobili’s Pharmacy and waved to Tino, who was chatting at the till with Katie Jackson. “Could I have a word?” she asked.
“Sure, come on out back,” Tino said.
Tracy followed Tino into the back. “I’ve got Dr. Gribbleflotz’ test run of aspirin, except he calls it Sal Vin Betula.”
“That’s not a problem,” Tino said as he craned his neck trying to look into Tracy’s bag.
“And he insists on dying them blue,” Tracy said as she hauled a large jar out of her bag. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asked as she held up the jar of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ Sal Vin Betula.
Tino opened the jar and picked out a pill into his hand so he could examine it. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Suddenly Tino sniggered.
“What’s the problem?” Tracy asked.
Tino popped the pill back in with the rest and closed the lid. “I was just thinking that we could advertise them as Dr. Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness.”
She stared blankly at Tino. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m missing something here.”
Tino grinned. “They’re almost the same color as Viagra.”
Tracy stared at the pills. She vaguely remembered seeing advertisements on TV, but couldn’t remember what the pills had looked like. “I’ll have to take your word for that. Is it going to be a problem?”
Tino shook his head. “We identify different pills and tablets by their size, shape, and color, and although the color is close, the shape is completely different. Now these,” he said as he tapped the jar, “are going to cost ten dollars a pill?”
Tracy nodded. “It’s steep, but that’s the price Dr. Gribbleflotz insisted on charging, and it is half the current black-market price.”
“I know,” Tino said. “But such a high price will just encourage others to get in on the act.” He frowned. “The problem there is, they won’t be able to get fresh supplies of suitable willow bark until next spring. But come once the spring growth arrives, everyone will be jumping on the bandwagon, and if your pet alchemist wants to keep selling his aspirin, he’s going to have to drop his price to remain competitive.” He shook the jar carefully. “How many are in here?” he asked.
“A thousand,” Tracy said.
Tino whistled. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay for it all right now.”
“No, you can take them on consignment.”
Tino nodded. “Thanks. Have you thought about packaging for across the counter sales?”
Tracy had to shake her head. “No. I thought the pharmacies would just fill glass bottles with the pills.”
“At ten dollars a pill?” Tino asked archly. He shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. At that price people are going to be pushing it to buy more than ten at a time, and that’d cost a fortune in glass bottles.”
Tracy wanted to kick herself. Of course glass bottles were going to be expensive. “What do you suggest?’
“You could try a casein-plastic pill box.” Tino smiled. “You could even dye the plastic the same color as the pills.”
“Plastic? How are we going to make that?”
“You’ve never made casein plastic?” Tino shook his head ruefully. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll write down some instructions.”
“What’s it going to cost?” Tracy asked, thinking of the royalty they were paying Tino for the cheat sheet to make aspirin.
“This one’s on me,” Tino said with a beaming smile.
Jena
“Hey, Jonathan, where are you? The truck’s unloaded and cleaned,” Ted’s call from the courtyard was easily heard in Dr. Gribbleflotz’ private laboratory.
“I’d better be going,” Jonathan said. He held out his hand to Phillip. “Should I call at any particular time when I have the cheat sheet for the triiodide?”
Phillip shook Jonathan’s hand. “No, you can call any time. I’m usually in my laboratory or checking up on the laborants.”
“Lab rats?” Jonathan said, unsure if he’d heard correctly.
“No.” Phillip smiled. “Laborants. It’s a name for laboratory assistants, although lab rat fits some of the current crop of workers better.”
“#8220;Jonathan!” Ted called out again.
“I’d better be going.”
Phillip nodded. “And please, don’t tell anyone that I understand English.”
Jonathan drew a finger across his lips. “My lips are sealed,” he declared. Then with a friendly wave to Dr. Gribbleflotz he hurried off.
“Where have you been?” Ted demanded when he got back to the truck.
“Oh, you know, just having a look around,” Jonathan said.
“Just as long as you didn’t do anything to upset Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Ted said. “I’ve got my bike and things, so you can go now.”
Jonathan grinned. “You’re eager to get rid of me.”
“Yeah, well Dr. Gribbleflotz is the sensitive type, and I don’t want you upsetting him.”
“He seemed okay showing me around his laboratory,” Jonathan said.
“What were you doing in his laboratory?” Ted demanded. “No, never mind that.” He looked at Jonathan earnestly. “Dr. Gribbleflotz really showed you around his laboratory? How did you manage that with your German?”
“My German’s not that bad,” Jonathan protested. That got a wry grin from Ted, and Jonathan realized Ted didn’t know that Dr. Gribbleflotz understood English. Dr. Gribbleflotz’ secret was still safe and it was his duty to keep it that way. “As he showed me around he’d point to things and say their names in German, and I told him the English name in return.”
“You and Dr. Gribbleflotz got on well together then?” Ted asked.
Jonathan nodded. “He’s invited me to visit any time I’m in Jena.” He smiled “I’d better be off before someone starts asking where their APC is. See you around,” he said before hurrying back to the APC.
Later that afternoon, Grantville
Tracy placed her mug of chicory coffee on a heat mat and collapsed on the window seat, exhausted from several hours bent over her industrial sewing machine putting the finishing touches to the latest order of tents. Toby, the household cat, ruler of all he surveyed, lifted his head and looked at her.
“You poor thing, did I disturb you?” she asked as she rubbed the base of his ear. Toby answered by purring and nudging his head into her hand. “It’s so nice and peaceful without the kids, isn’t it?” She read Toby’s “mrrroww” as agreement. “Unfortunately,” she continued, “their Auntie Belle will be bringing them back soon.”
“Yip, yip, yip, yip.”
“Ratter!” Tracy called as she shot to her feet, spilling a disgruntled Toby from her lap. She looked out the window and could see Ratter barking at something in the bush just above the garden. This was unusual behavior for the little Jack Russell, so she hurried over to the ammo draw and grabbed a handful of cartridges for the .410 before unlocking the kitchen gun cabinet. The single barreled shotgun loaded, but the action still broken, she relocked the gun cabinet before setting off to see what had Ratter so excited.
As she approached she heard the wailing of a baby, quickly muffled, coming from the bush Ratter was excited about. With Ratter holding the front, she worked her way around the back. Sneaking up on whoever Ratter had found.
She almost stepped on them. The woman — more of a girl really — was huddled up, with the baby in her arms, staring at Ratter. The girl looked as if she hadn’t had a meal, let alone a good one, in many days.
“Hello, can I help you?” Tracy bent down and offered her a hand up, but the girl drew back in terror.
“If you come with me I’ll feed you and your baby,” Tracy said as calmly as she could. But it can’t have been calmly enough for the girl just sat there, on the ground, staring at her with her big blue eyes.
Tracy reached out and gently pulled the girl to her feet. “Come on, there’s food in the house.” She was talking to calm the girl down, and it seemed to be working. Or it would have if Ratter hadn’t kept making a noise.
“Ratter, shut up.” That didn’t work too well, so Tracy called him to her. When he arrived she picked him up and introduced him to the girl. “This is Ratter,” she said.
Fortunately, from his position of safety in Tracy’s arms Ratter didn’t feel he had to be so protective of his territory, and he tried to lick tears that were running down the girl’s cheeks. That got a giggle from her. It wasn’t much, but as far as Tracy was concerned, it was real progress.
Tracy led the girl into the house and sat her down on the bench seat by the table, then she put Ratter down beside the girl and stood back to take stock. She didn’t have much basis to estimate the age of the girl, but she looked way too young to be the child’s mother. But there was a war going on, and Tracy knew that it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility. Unfortunately, those possibilities included rape, and she wasn’t really sure she knew how to deal with the ramifications if that was how the baby had been conceived. There was however one thing she could do right now, and that was feed the pair.
Keeping an eye on her guests Tracy put the shotgun away before microwaving a watery bowl of stew and slicing and buttering some bread. The girl, her eyes darting from between Tracy and Ratter, was ever watchful. The moment Tracy put the food down the girl dived in.
Tracy stood back and watched. She was worried that the girl might be eating so fast that she’d be sick. Now, what to do? After a moment’s thought Tracy went to the phone and called the police.
It was getting late. Soon the sun would be hidden behind the surrounding hills. Tracy was waiting at the door as the police vehicle pulled up. Officer Ralph Onofrio stepped out of the driver’s seat while a young uniformed woman stepped out the passenger seat. While Ralph approached Tracy the young woman helped an older woman from the back seat before letting a large dog out of the back. It looked like a grey, long haired German Shepherd, except it’s ears didn’t flop over, and it seemed to have heavily furred shoulders and neck.
“Tracy, this is Police Recruit Erika Fleischer and her mother. We understand you need someone to help with a young German woman and baby?”
Before Tracy could answer, Ratter charged through the door, his fur puffed up, and a sound that could only be called a growl, issued from his mouth. The woman’s dog, actually little more than a puppy, advanced sniffing.
“Pluto, no!”
“Pluto?” Tracy turned to Ralph. “You called that monstrosity Pluto?”
“Hey, blame television,” Ralph said with a shrug. “Erika was watching a Disney video when her boyfriend turned up with the little fellow.”
“Little, that animal was never little. Just look at the size of those paws. He’s going to be enormous when he grows up.” Pausing for breath Tracy reached forward to restrain the excited Ratter. “Can you please keep your dog outside? We don’t need a territorial squabble just now.” With Pluto left waiting just out the door, occasionally pushing his snout through the “cat flap” Tracy lead Ralph and the two women to her guests.
Tracy watched Ted cycle up the drive. He disappeared for a couple of minutes into the garage before reappearing which the saddlebag slug over a shoulder and his rifle, still in its scabbard, in his hand. Behind her Erika joined them. She appeared upset.
“Her name is Richelle,” Erika said. “She’s almost fifteen, and the child is hers, a girl. The father was her stepfather, they executed him for incest. It’s only because of she was pregnant they didn’t execute her. She managed to escape before her baby was born.” She wiped the tears that were starting to fall from her eyes before continuing. “The bastard didn’t touch her until she was fourteen.” With the last comment Erika stormed out of the house, to be shortly seen crying into Pluto’s neck.
Tracy looked to Ralph. “What did she mean?”
“The bastard bit? Under fourteen and she’s under the age of responsibility, and the guy gets all the blame. Over fourteen, she’s a willing party, and also liable for the death penalty. What Erika probably means is, the bastard deliberately waited until his stepdaughter stood to suffer the death penalty for incest if she complained, before he raped her.”
Ted was just coming through the door as Tracy barged past him out into the yard. He turned to follow her.
“Don’t.” Ralph laid a restraining hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Let her go.”
Ted looked to Ralph. “What the hell’s going on?”
“She’s experiencing what my wife calls a ‘men are utter bastards’ moment. Give her a bit of time to cool down. She’s just had a rather brutal introduction to the local customs.”
Erika was peering through the windows trying to see into the basement workshop when Tracy joined her.
“Do you want to come in for a better look?”
She nodded and followed Tracy as she unlocked the door and turned on the lights. Erika found herself in a workroom. “What do you make in here?”
“Lately it’s been tents, and more tents.”
“Those marvelous canvas houses for the refugee center? You made those? Here?”
“Yes, I sent the last lot off earlier today. Until I get more canvas, I’m a lady of leisure.”
“Lady of leisure? What is that?”
“It’s an expression. It means that I won’t be working, in here at least. With two young children the household chores never end.”
Erika’s ears pricked at the mention of children. Her eyes casting around the workshop, she could see a cordoned off area where children could play without getting underfoot. Before she could voice her thoughts there was a clatter and whine from the door. Looking at it, she could see a long grey snout poking through the little flap near the bottom of the door. Turning to Tracy she started to speak, only for Tracy to interrupt.
“Oh, let him in. We’ll never have any peace if you leave him out there.”
“Is he going to be a police dog?” Tracy asked while Erika let Pluto into the workshop.
Erika turned her head, leaving herself exposed to a lick on the other side of the face. She pushed Pluto’s snout away. “Chief Frost has talked of it. He thinks Pluto would have much to offer the police department if he were properly trained.”
Erika, closely followed by Pluto, walked round the workroom. Stopping, she gestured at the machines. “Do you have anybody to help you?”
“Ted, my husband, used to help, but now he’s needed to help with the building program. Why do you ask?”
“I have a widowed sister, and a sister-in-law. Both have young children, so their work options are limited. Maybe they could work for you?”
The idea of having someone over the age of five to talk too appealed to Tracy. “I don’t suppose they know anything about using a sewing machine?”
Erika smiled. “No, but that means they won’t have any bad habits to unlearn.”
A few days later, Jena
Phillip held the directions close to his eyes so he could focus on the words, then he laid the paper down and proceeded to the next step in making nitrogen triiodide.
“Do you need glasses,” Jonathan asked.
“Glasses?” Phillip asked.
“Spectacles. You know.” Jonathan used the thumbs and forefingers of both hands to make spectacle frames and held them to his eyes. “They improve your eyesight.”
Phillip snorted and waved to a drawer under one of the benches. “Over there. They are useless.”
Jonathan sent Phillip a shocked look before he hurried over to the drawer in question and pulled out a pair of down-time spectacles. The moment he had them in his hands he held them in front of his eyes and smiled. “I’m not surprised you think these things are useless, but what about proper up-time ones. There’s an optometrist in Grantville. He can test your eyes and make you a pair of glasses that’ll give you 20/20 or better vision.”
“Twenty/twenty vision?” Phillip asked, not having any idea what it meant.
“It means you can read a line of type of a certain size at twenty feet that a normal person can read at twenty feet.” Jonathan waved towards the paper Phillip had been reading. “The way you were squinting at that, your vision might be something like 20/30 or 20/40.”
“How much would this cost?” Phillip asked.
Jonathan laughed. “You’re worried about being able to afford new glasses? You must be raking in a fortune with your little blue pills of happiness.”
Phillip winced a little at the name they were using for his Sal Vin Betula in Grantville. More important though, was the idea of getting spectacles. “How long would it take?”
“Well, the actual examination shouldn’t take more than an hour. Making up your prescription will depend on what they have in stock. You might be able to walk out of Grantville on the same day with a new pair of spectacles, or it could take a week or so if they have to grind some new lenses.”
“I will instruct Frau Mittelhausen to make an appointment for me. Who should she make it with?” Phillip asked Jonathan.
“Dr. Shipley, but make sure you ask for the optometrist, otherwise you’ll end up with an appointment to see his wife, the doctor of osteopathy.”
“Doctor,” Phillip said.
“Well, yes. Is that a problem?” Jonathan asked.
“No, no, of course not.”
Jonathan didn’t look convinced. “Dr. Gribbleflotz, I’ve heard a rumor that you don’t actually hold a doctorate.”
“Rumors, who believes rumors?” Phillip said with a shaky voice. “There is also a rumor that Professor Rolfinck would like to have me run out of Jena.”
“We can’t have that,” Jonathan said.
Phillip shook his head regretfully. “No one can stop him.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Kubiak can do something.”
“What can they do against the dean of medicine at the University of Jena?”
“Would it make a difference if you held a doctorate?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course it would, but unfortunately, I don’t. Almost, but I don’t.”
“Does it matter where you get your doctorate from?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course it matters,” Phillip said. “A medical degree from Padua is the top medical degree. Jena is okay for law, and . . .”
“No,” Jonathan said. “I meant does it matter where your doctorate comes from when it comes to dealing with Professor Rolfinck?”
Phillip shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t have a doctorate, and I am unlikely to ever earn one.”
Jonathan nodded sympathetically. “There might be a way to get around your problem, Dr. Gribbleflotz.”
“Oh!”
Jonathan nodded. “Back up time there were institutions that awarded degrees, including doctorates based on what they called relevant life experience. All we have to do is find a suitable down-time institution.”
“No reputable university will award a degree based merely on relevant life experience,” Phillip said.
“They might,” Jonathan said, “if they were offered enough money.”
Phillip snorted his disbelief. “Impossible.”
“You wait,” Jonathan said, waving a finger at Phillip. “I’ll talk to Mr. and Mrs. Kubiak and see what they think.”
“It would be easier for me to leave Jena,” Phillip said.
“But you’d be leaving under a cloud, and it would damage your brand,” Jonathan protested.
“My brand?” Phillip asked.
“Sure. Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula, Gribbleflotz Sal Aer Fixus, and Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness.” Jonathan waved his hands. “The Kubiaks can’t afford to have you kicked out of Jena.”
Phillip glanced around his laboratory. It was a nice space, built according to his specifications, with a few up-time improvements. He didn’t want to leave it. “You’re welcome to talk to the Kubiaks about a, what do you call the kind of institution that sells degrees?”
“A diploma mill,” Jonathan said. “You won’t regret this,” he said.
Whoooomp!
Jonathan leapt over to the fume cupboard and hauled down the sash. He turned and smiled at Philip. “I guess we forgot about something. Do you want to have another go?”
Phillip looked at the purple cloud being drawn up the fume cupboard chimney. He’d forgotten all about the experiment. “That is supposed to be safe?”
“Hey,” Jonathan protested. “It’s not like we’re chasing mercury around the bench tops with our bare hands.”
Phillip looked askance at Jonathan. “What is wrong with mercury?”
“It’s considered too dangerous to use in the classroom,” Jonathan explained. “Dad calls it health and safety gone mad, because when he was at school they used to be allowed to play with it. On the other hand,” Jonathan admitted, “there are the stories about mad hatters.”
“Pardon?” Philip asked.
“Hat makers used to use mercury, and it drove them mad. Hence the phrase mad as a hatter, like in Alice in Wonderland.”
“Alice in Wonderland?” Phillip asked. He was getting very confused.
“It’s the name of a famous up-time book. One of the characters was called the Mad Hatter.”
Phillip shook his head. “Mercury is perfectly safe,” he said as he wandered over to a bookshelf and pulled out a book. “My great grandfather, the Great Paracelsus himself, wrote this book about using mercury to treat syphilis.”
“But did it work?” Jonathan asked. “Back up-time we were regularly bombarded with reports on the dangers of mercury.”
“Of course it worked!” Phillip said with some heat. “My great grandfather wouldn’t have promoted a treatment that didn’t work.”
Jonathan held his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay, keep your shirt on. I know they tried and failed to ban its use in dentistry.” That reminded Jonathan of something else. “While you’re getting your eyes tested, it might be an idea to have one of the dentists check out your teeth.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my teeth,” Phillip insisted, even as he tried to look at them in the reflection of the fume cupboard’s sash window.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Jonathan said. “Now, back to our experiment.”
Phillip touched the feather to the nitrogen tri-iodide on the middle paper. He’d thought that he’d been ready for it, but the reaction happened so fast. Fortunately he’d had the sash of the fume cupboard almost closed, so only a little of the purple vapor entered his laboratory. A few minutes later the vapor dissipated to reveal the tower of samples of nitrogen tri-iodide on sheets of paper had all exploded. He looked at the result with interest. He’d only touched one sample, but all of them had detonated, and so quickly. It would definitely be an interesting addition to his public demonstrations.
He walked over to his chemicals rack and pulled out the jar of iodine. It was nearly half full, or for someone intending to use the contents in important public seminars, half empty. He turned to Jonathan. “Next time you’re in Grantville, could you order some more iodine for me?’
“Are you planning on repeating the experiment?”
Phillip nodded. “I hold regular seminars and demonstrations of various things of interest. I’m sure my regulars would be interested in seeing your contact explosive.”
Jonathan stopped off at the Kubiak residence on the way home. Actually, the house on Mahan Run was quite a way out of the way home, but he thought that the sooner something was done about finding a diploma mill for Dr. Gribbleflotz the better.
There was a new face it the house when he arrived. A young girl grabbed a baby and bolted the moment she saw Jonathan at the door.
“Who was that?” he asked when Ted let him into the house.
“Richelle. She’s a refugee we’ve decided to adopt.”
Refugee, female, plus baby all went together to give Jonathan an idea why she might have bolted at the sight of a strange male. It made him sick to think of what might have happened to the girl, but there was little he could do about it, so he turned to the reason for his visit. “I dropped by to visit Dr. Gribbleflotz today and . . .”
“You did what?” Tracy demanded from the kitchen door.
“I had to pass through Jena today, so I stopped by to see Dr. Gribbleflotz,” he explained.
“You sound awfully familiar with Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Tracy said.
“Didn’t your husband tell you that Dr. Gribbleflotz invited me to visit him?” Jonathan asked. With the high ground firmly in his possession he continued with the reason why he’d dropped by. “I’d heard a rumor that he didn’t have a doctorate, and well, the long and short of it is, I asked him, and he admitted that he didn’t.”
“He admitted to you that he doesn’t hold a doctorate?” Tracy demanded. “Why would he do that?”
Jonathan thought it better not to try and answer that question, so he hurried on. “And he said that the dean of medicine at the university was trying to get him run out of Jena.”
“Run out of Jena? But we’ve invested a fortune in him,” Tracy wailed.
“Yes, well, apparently all Dr. Gribbleflotz needs to stymie Professor Rolfinck is a duly awarded doctorate, and I was wondering if there mightn’t be an institution somewhere in Europe willing to award him a doctorate based on relevant life experience.”
Off to the side a loud choking sound came from Ted. “You mean a diploma mill?” he asked.
“Or something like that,” Jonathan said. “I mean, Dr. Gribbleflotz is earning you a fortune with his little blue pills. So surely you owe him something.” He shrugged. “What can it hurt to at least make inquiries?”
Next day
Jonathan stopped by his local pharmacy to ask about iodine for Dr. Gribbleflotz, and about using mercury to treat syphilis. He entered and walked up to the counter.
“Hi, Jonathan, how can we help you today?” Susan Little asked.
“I’ve just got a couple of questions. Firstly, can I buy iodine?” Jonathan asked.
Susan shrugged and called out to her colleague. “Hey, Bibi, Jonathan here wants to know if he can buy some iodine.”
“What do you want it for?” Bibi Blackwood called back.
“ItR#8217;s for Dr. Gribbleflotz. He needs it for some experiments.”
The two pharmacy clerks exchanged looks. “I’ll ask Lasso,” Bibi said before disappearing out the back.”
“How do you know Dr. Gribbleflotz?” Susan asked.
“Ted Kubiak introduced me to him.”
Susan nodded knowingly. “You delivered a load of urine for them in one of the army’s trucks?”
Jonathan nodded. It wasn’t as if he had received any money for that trip. It had gone straight to the army.
“I understand you want to buy some iodine,” Lasso Trelli said as he entered the shop front.”
“I don’t actually want to buy it, Mr. Trelli. It’s for Dr. Gribbleflotz. I just want to know if you have any available for sale.”
“You’re in luck,” Lasso said, “the Sanitation Commission deemed a reliable supply of iodine sufficiently important to make getting it a matter of urgency. You can extract iodine from seaweed ash, and we recently received our first shipment from the Baltic, so we have a reasonable supply on hand.”
“Why’s it so important?” Jonathan asked.
“It’s important because it’s so useful. Iodine can be used to sanitize drinking water, and as an antiseptic. Also, your body needs iodine. Iodine deficiency can cause goiter and intellectual disability, and that can be prevented by adding iodine to the salt supply.” Lasso smiled. “Is that all you needed?” he asked.
“Yes. No.” Jonathan said.
Lasso grinned. “Make up your mind.”
“It’s about mercury. I was talking to Dr. Gribbleflotz, and I said how they didn’t allow it in schools back up-time because of how dangerous it is, and he insisted that it was safe, and that his great grandfather, the Great Paracelsus, used it to successfully treat syphilis.” He looked earnestly at Lasso. “Can it treat Syphilis? I always thought it was a dangerous poison.”
Lasso nodded. “That’s the modern view, but mercury has been used as a topical antiseptic for centuries. They only stopped distributing Mercurochrome in the US in October of 1998, and even then, that was done purely on the fears of potential mercury poisoning rather than because of any evidence. It was still available in Europe in 2000.”
“So Dr. Gribbleflotz was right, it is safe. Can be used to treat syphilis?”
Lasso sort of shook his head. “It’s mercury, so I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say it’s totally safe, but it could be applied to genital ulcers as a topical antiseptic. But I doubt it would be much use beyond the primary stage.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said. “I’ll tell Mrs. Kubiak that Dr. Gribbleflotz wants some iodine and that you can provide it.”
Lasso snorted. “Tracy’ll probably place the order with Tino.” he shook his head ruefully.
Jonathan dropped his head. He’d forgotten about Mrs. Kubiak’s connection with Nobili’s Pharmacy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trelli.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jonathan. We’re making enough off Dr. Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness that missing the sale of a little iodine won’t hurt us.”
“Thanks for the information,” Jonathan said as he left. He was going to have to apologize to Dr. Gribbleflotz for doubting him, he thought. Maybe he’d better check what the encyclopedias had to say about the medical uses of mercury.
December 1631, Amsterdam
Caspar Barlaeus sat at the table with the other members of the recently created Athenaeum Illustre. He looked around at his colleagues. “Can anyone tell me why this meeting has been called?”
His question was met with blank faces and shaking heads.
There was a perfunctory knock on the heavy wooden door before it was pulled open. Casper shot to his feet, all ready to protest, but then he recognized who were standing at the door — Jacob Dircksz de Graeff and his nephew Andries Bicker. Together the two men controlled the cityR#8217;s politics. There was a third man, a colorless functionary of some sort. Judging by the quality of his clothing he was probably a lawyer, though why Jacob and Andries would turn up at a meeting of the faculty with a lawyer in tow he had no idea.
“Please be seated,” Jacob said, as if he was in charge. “I have wondrous news for the Atheneaeum Illustre.” He gestured for the lawyer, who walked around the table placing some papers before each person.
Casper glanced down, meaning to just have a glance, but the title on the top page caught his eye and he started reading in earnest. He only looked up after reading the first couple of paragraphs. When he did he saw his colleagues were equally shocked. “How can the Atheneaeum Illustre suddenly be turned into a university,” he demanded, “it’s only just been formed as school of higher learning.”
Jacob turned to his nephew and raised a brow, inviting him to answer the question.
“It’s not a done deed, yet,” Andries said, “but with my uncle and I supporting the petition, I am sure the city council will sign off on it and present it to the Stadtholder for confirmation.”
Casper could readily believe that these two men could force anything they wanted through the city council, but that didn’t explain why they would do it. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure you and your uncle are capable of having the Atheneaeum Illustre suddenly turned into the University of Amsterdam, but why would you do it?” he demanded.
Andries gestured for the lawyer to speak.
“My esteemed colleagues in Jena have a client who wishes to have a doctorate awarded to a man in their employ,” Johannes Rutgers said.
Casper didn’t like the implications of that, but he had a ready solution that wouldn’t put the school in an invidious position. “Our charter doesn’t allow us to award degrees, let alone doctorates,” he said.
“Your current charter may not permit you to award degrees or doctorates,” Johannes corrected, “but the new charter, which would be in force if the Atheneaeum Illustre were to become the University of Amsterdam, would allow it.”
“You can’t just suddenly turn an advanced school into a university,” Casper protested.
Jacob Dircksz de Graeff just smiled. Casper understood what that smile meant. When you were as rich and powerful as he was, you could do just about anything you wanted.
One of the men at the table stood up. “Even if we were a university able to award degrees you can’t just walk in here and expect us to give a doctorate to someone to suit yourselves,” Wilhelm Dorschner protested. “It violates every principle one has as a teacher. Why can’t this client of your colleagues do the proper thing and pass the requisite exams?”
All eyes turned to the lawyer in response to what Casper could only consider a very good question.
“For reasons which I have not been made aware, there is a matter of urgency surrounding my esteemed colleagues’ client’s requirement to secure a doctorate from a reputable institution,” Johannes said. “My esteemed colleagues hope that you will consider awarding their client a doctorate based on relevant life experience.”
Casper snorted. “And what relevant life experience does this man,” he checked the name on one of the papers in front of him, “this Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz have that should cause us to award him a doctorate?” he asked.
“Phillip!” Wilhelm said in surprise before flicking through the pages to find the page Casper had read from.
“Do you know this man?” Casper asked, waving the page in question from his pile of papers in front of Wilhelm.
“If it’s the same man I knew,” Wilhelm said as he finally found the page in question, “then he was apprenticed to Professor Casseri in Padua for three years, and studied medical botany under Professor Alpini at the same time.”
“He studied at Padua?” Casper asked. “Then why does he need us to award him a doctorate?”
“Professor Casseri died before he was ready to sit the exams,” Wilhelm said, “and for reasons he never went into, he left Padua without a degree.”
Casper did some rapid calculations. “Professor Casseri died nearly sixteen years ago. What’s he been doing since then?” he asked.
“He served in the army of the counts of Nassau-Siegen as a physician and surgeon between 1618 and 1623,” Johannes said.
“That’s when I met him. We worked together most of that time,” Wilhelm said.
“And that is when he saved the leg and life of my niece’s son,” Jacob added.
Casper glanced at Jacob. That bit of information went some way towards answering the unasked question of why Jacob and Andries were willing to see Mijnheer Gribbleflotz awarded a doctorate. He checked the paper in front of him. “It says here that he worked with Professor Bauhin for two years while he was in Basel.” Casper looked at the lawyer. “Why didn’t he take the exams in Basel? With three years study under Professor Casseri and four years as a military physician and surgeon, he should have had little trouble passing the exams.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question,” Johannes said. “However, is what is laid out before you a satisfactory collection of relevant life experiences?” he asked.
Casper was still hesitant. He trusted that Wilhelm had actually worked with the man, but why, he wondered, had Mijnheer Gribbleflotz, in all that time, not taken his medical exams at some institution. He glanced at Jacob and Andries, wondering what was in it for those two for them to be so willing to push for the Atheneaeum Illustre to become a university.
“Of course the Collegium Chirurgicum will also become a part of the new University of Amsterdam,” Jacob said into the silence that permeated the meeting room.
That, Casper was aware, was both a promise and a threat. If the Atheneaeum Illustre promised to award Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz a doctorate, then the medical school would be the senior department in the new university, and if they didn’t, the Collegium Chirurgicum would be given the option. He glared at Jacob. “We would like some time alone to discuss this,” he said.
Jacob nodded affably. “Of course you do.” But then he ruined it by adding, “but don’t take too long,” before leaving the meeting room with his nephew and the lawyer.
Early January 1632, Jena
“This is outrageous,” Professor Rolfinck said as he slammed the newspaper down on the table.
Willi, Kunz, and Zacharias all jumped at the noise the paper made. “What’s outrageous?” Willi asked.
“Haven’t you read the newspaper?” Werner demanded.
Willi pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Well look at it now,” Werner told him.
Willi unfolded the four page newspaper and skimmed through it from front to back. “What am I looking for?” he asked after his first pass.
“It’s on the front page,” Werner said. “That charlatan!”
“What’s Dr. Gribbleflotz done this time?’ Zacharias asked.
Werner turned to glare at Zacharias. “You call him doctor as if he’s entitled to the title,” he accused.
“I’ve seen no evidence to the contrary,” he answered.
“No evidence?” Werner demanded. “What about his claim that he can make gold?”
“Hearsay,” Zacharias said. “No one I’ve spoken to can verify that he ever made such a claim.”
“And his hemorrhoid ointment works,” Willi said.
Werner turned to glare at Willi. Meanwhile Kunz had been scrutinizing the newspaper. “It says that the Grantville papers are calling him the Aspirin King.” Kunz turned to Werner. “What’s aspirin?”
“It’s the name the Americans gave to a pill made from the power left when you evaporate willow bark tea,” Zacharias said.
Kunz continued reading. “Sales of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness are rumored to exceed ten thousand a week, at ten dollars each.” He whistled and looked at his colleagues. “That’s a fortune.”
“For a pill that costs less than a dollar to make,” Werner said. “That proves he’s a swindler.”
“There’s a shortage of suitable willow bark, Werner,” Zacharias said. “I believe Dr. Gribbleflotz has had to buy his supplies from as far afield as Dresden.”
“That would certainly add to the price,” Willi said.
“But not enough to justify charging ten dollars a pill,” Werner said.
“A simple article in a newspaper doesn’t explain your anger, Werner. Why’re you so upset?” he asked. “What else has happened?”
“That happened,” Werner said, pointing at the newspaper. He looked up at Zacharias. “This morning I had a visit from Johann Selfisch, of the respected Rudolstadt law firm of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp. He informed me that if I did not immediately cease and desist making defamatory comments about his client, he would be forced to bring an action against me.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Willi said.
“Don’t be silly, Willi,” Kunz said. “It’s obvious that with his income from the sale of Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula he can afford the best legal representation.”
“And that’s another thing,” Werner muttered. “The names he gives his products; Sal Aer Fixus, Vin Sal Aer Fixus, and now Sal Vin Betula. The man has no sense of what is right and wrong.”
“Well,” Zacharias said, “you’ll just have to be careful what you say about Dr. Gribbleflotz in future.”
Werner shook his head. “The threat of legal action is the sign of a worried and desperate man. As soon as I get responses to my letters to Padua and Basel I’ll have the proof I need that he has no right to call himself a doctor and I’ll be able to run him out of Jena no matter how many lawyers he employs.”
Phillip stood in front of the mirror and frowned. He turned to the left, then to the right. “No,” he sighed, “it doesn’t work.” He turned to the young laborant as he struggled out of the jacket. “I need the green shirt, Hans.”
Hans Saltzman dashed over to the open wardrobe and carefully removed the lime green linen shirt and hurried back to Phillip, who’d been distracted by a sight out the window.
While he changed his shirt Phillip watched the men unloading the barge from Grantville. Another load of urine for the American’s silly cooking powder, he thought. Still, it did pay for his fine clothes. He glanced at his image in the mirror. “That’s better,” he declared. The lime green of the shirt perfectly set off the puce lining of his dark blue, almost black, jacket. He turned to the waiting Hans. “Off you go. I’ll catch up with you in the laboratory.”
With his personal laborant gone Phillip returned to the window. Nine tenths of every barrel was little more than water, and it made no sense to pay to transport water when there was plenty of perfectly adequate water in the river. That money could be better spent elsewhere, such as on some new trousers to compliment the new boots he’d ordered. The problem, Phillip reminded himself, was that there was no one he trusted to turn urine into Spirits of Hartshorn without his supervision. He was going to have to pick someone out from his best laborants and train them especially. The question was who?
With the question of who to train bringing a frown to his face, Phillip left his room and headed for the laboratory.
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