Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 7: March 2014 (34 page)

“No,” said Padway. “It’s a simple mechanical device, like a—a water clock.”

“Ah. I see.
But why a pointer to show sixtieths of an hour?
Surely nobody in his right mind would want to know the time as closely as that?”

“We find it useful.”

“Oh, well, other lands, other customs. How about giving my boys a lesson in your American arithmetic now? Just to assure us that it is as good as you claim.”

“All right.
Give me a tablet.” Padway scratched the numerals 1 to 9 in the wax, and explained them. “Now,” he said, “this is the important part.” He drew a circle. “This is our character meaning
nothing
.”

The younger clerk scratched his head. “You mean it’s a symbol without meaning? What would be the use of that?”

“I didn’t say it was without meaning. It means nil, zero—what you have left when you take two away from two.”

The older clerk looked skeptical. “It doesn’t make sense to me. What is the use of a symbol for what does not exist?”

“You have a
word
for it, haven’t you?
Several words, in fact.
And you find them useful, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” said the older clerk. “But we don’t use
nothing
in our calculations. Whoever heard of figuring the interest on a loan at no per cent? Or renting a house for no weeks?”

“Maybe,” grinned the younger clerk, “the honorable sir can tell us how to make a profit on no sales—”

Padway snapped: “And we’ll get through this explanation sooner with no interruptions. You’ll learn the reason for the zero symbol soon enough.”

It took an hour to cover the elements of addition. Then Padway said the clerks had had enough for one day; they should practice addition for a while every day until they could do it faster than by Roman n
u
merals. Actually he was worn out. He was naturally a quick speaker, and to have to plod syllable by syllable through this foul language almost drove him crazy.

“Very ingenious, Martinus,” wheezed the banker.
“And.
Now for the details of that loan.
Of course you weren’t serious in setting such an absurdly low figure as ten and a half percent—”

“What? You’re damn right I was serious! And you agreed—”

“Now, Martinus.
What I meant was that
after
my clerks had learned your system, if it was as good as you
claimed
,
I’d consider lending you money at that rate. But meanwhile you can’t expect me to give you my—”

Padway jumped up. “You—you wielder of a—oh, hell, what’s Latin for
chisel?
If you won’t—”

“Don’t be hasty, my young friend. After all, you’ve given my boys their start; they can go alone from there if need be. So you might as well—”

“All right, you just let them try to go on from there. I’ll find another banker and teach his clerks properly. Subtraction, multiplication, div—”

“
Ai!
” yelped Thomasus. “You can’t go spreading this secret all over Rome! It wouldn’t be fair to me!”

“Oh, can’t I? Just watch. I could even make a pretty good living teaching it. If you think—”

“Now, now, let’s not lose our tempers. Let’s remember Christ’s teachings about patience. I’ll make a special concession because you’re just starting out in business…”

Padway got his loan at ten and a half. He agreed grudgingly not to reveal his arithmetic elsewhere until the first loan was paid off.

Padway bought a copper kettle at what he would have called a junk shop. But nobody had ever heard of copper tubing. After he and Thomasus had exhausted the secondhand metal shops between the latter’s house and the warehouse district at the south end of town, he started in on coppersmith’s places. The coppersmiths had never heard of copper tubing, either. A couple of them offered to try to turn out some, but at astronomical prices.

“Martinus!” wailed the banker. “We’ve walked at least five miles, and my feet are giving out. Wouldn’t lead pipe do just as well? You can get all you want of that.”

“It would do fine except for one thing,” said Padway, “we’d probably poison our customers. And that
might
give the business a bad name, you know.”

“Well, I don’t see that you’re getting anywhere as it is.”

Padway thought a minute while Thomasus and Ajax, the Negro slave, who was carrying the kettle, watched him. “If I could hire a man who was generally handy with tools, and had some metal-working experience, I could show him how to make copper tubing. How do you go about hiring people here?”

“You don’t,” said Thomasus. “It just happens. You could buy a slave—but you haven’t enough money. I shouldn’t care to put up the price of a good slave into your venture. And it takes a skilled foreman to get enough work out of a slave to make him a profitable investment.”

Padway said, “How would it be to put a sign in front of your place, stating that a position is open?”

“What?” squawked the
banker.
“Do
You
hear that, God? First he seduces my money away from me on this wild plan. Now he wants to plaster my house with signs! Is there no limit—
”

“Now,
Thomasus,
don’t get excited. It won’t be a big sign, and it’ll be very artistic. I’ll paint it myself. You want me to succeed, don’t you?”

“It won’t work, I tell you. Most workmen can’t read. And I won’t have you demean yourself by manual labor that way. It’s ridiculous; I won’t consider it. About how big a sign did you have in mind?”

Padway dragged himself to bed right after dinner. There was no way, as far as he knew, of getting back to his own time. Never again would he know the pleasures of the
American Journal of Archaeology
, of Mickey Mouse, of flush toilets, of speaking the simple, rich, sensitive English language…

***

Padway hired his man the third day after his first meeting with Thomasus the Syrian. The man was a dark, cocky little Sicilian named Hannibal Scipio.

Padway had meanwhile taken a short lease on a tumble-down house on the Quirinal, and collected such equipment and personal effects as he thought he would need. He bought a short-sleeved tunic to wear over his pants, with the idea of making himself less conspicuous. Adults seldom paid much attention to him in this motley town, but he was tired of having small boys follow him through the streets. He did, however, insist on having ample pockets sewn into the tunic, despite the tailor’s shocked protests at ruining a good, stylish garment with this heathen innovation.

He whittled a mandrel out of wood and showed Hannibal Scipio how to bend the copper stripping around it. Hannibal claimed to know all that was necessary about soldering. But when Padway tried to bend the tubing into shape for his still, the seams popped open with the greatest of ease. After that Hannibal was a little less cocky—for a while.

Padway approached the great day of his first distillation with some apprehension. According to Ta
n
credi’s ideas this was a new branch of the tree of time. But mightn’t the professor have been wrong, so that, as soon as Padway did anything drastic enough to affect all subsequent history, he would make the birth of Martin Padway in 1908 impossible, and disappear?

***

“Shouldn’t there be an incantation or something?” asked Thomasus the Syrian.

“No,” said Padway. “As I’ve already said three times, this isn’t magic.” Looking around though, he could see how some mumbo-jumbo might have been appropriate: running his first large batch off at night in a creaky old house, illuminated by flickering oil lamps, in the presence of only Thomasus, Hannibal Scipio, and Ajax. All three looked apprehensive, and the Negro seemed all teeth and eyeballs. He stared at the still as if he expected it to start producing demons in carload lots any minute.

“It takes a long time, doesn’t it?” said Thomasus, rubbing his pudgy hands together nervously. His good eye glittered at the nozzle from which drop after yellow drop slowly dripped.

“I think that’s enough,” said Padway. “We’ll get mostly water if we continue the run.” He directed Hannibal to remove the kettle and poured the contents of the receiving flask into a bottle. “I’d better try it first,” he said. He poured out a little into a cup, sniffed, and took a swallow. It was definitely not good brandy. But it would do.

“Have some?” he said to the banker.

“Give some to Ajax first.”

Ajax backed away, holding his hands in front of him, yellow palms out. “No, please, master—”

He seemed so alarmed that Thomasus did not insist.
“Hannibal, how about you?”

“Oh, no,” said Hannibal. “Meaning no disrespect, but I’ve got a delicate stomach. The least little thing upsets it. And if you’re all through, I’d like to go home. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He yawned thea
t
rically. Padway let him go, and took another swallow.

“Well,” said Thomasus, “if you’re sure it won’t hurt me, I might take just a little.” He took just a little,
then
coughed violently, spilling a few drops from the cup. “Good God, man, what are your insides made of? That’s volcano juice!” As his coughing subsided, a saintlike expression appeared. “It does warm you up nicely inside, though, doesn’t it?” He screwed up his face and his courage, and finished the cup in one gulp.

“Hey,” said Padway. “Go easy. That isn’t wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Nothing makes me drunk.”

Padway got out another cup and sat down. “Maybe you can tell me one thing that I haven’t got straight yet. In my country we reckon years from the birth of Christ. When I asked a man, the day I arrived, what year it was, he said 1288 after the founding of the city. Now, can you tell me how many years before Christ Rome was founded? I’ve forgotten.”

Thomasus took another slug of brandy and thought.
“Seven hundred and fifty-four—no, 753.
That means that this is the year of our Lord 535. That’s the system the church uses. The Goths say the second year of Thiudahad’s reign, and the Byzantines the first year of the consulship of Flavius Belisarius.
Or the som
e
thingth year of Justinian
imperium.
I can see how it might confuse you.” He drank some more. “This is a wonderful invention, isn’t it?” He held his cup up and turned it this way and that. “Let’s have some more. I think you’ll make a success, Martinus.”

“Thanks. I hope so.”

“Wonderful invention.
Course it’ll be a success.
Couldn’t help being a success.
A big success.
Are
You
listening, God? Well, make sure my friend Martinus has a big success.

“I know a successful man when I see him, Martinus.
Been picking them for years.
That’s how I’m such a success in the banking business. Success—success—let’s drink to success.
Beautiful success.
Gorgeous success.

“I know what, Martinus. Let’s go some place. Don’t like drinking to success in this old ruin. You know, atmosphere. Some place where there’s music. How much brandy have you got left? Good, bring the bottle along.”

The joint was in the theater district on the north side of the Capitoline. The “music” was furnished by a young woman who twanged a harp and sang songs in Calabrian dialect, which the cash customers seemed to find very funny.

“Let’s drink to—” Thomasus started to say “success” for the thirtieth time, but changed his mind. “Say, Martinus, we’d better buy some of this lousy wine, or he’ll have us thrown out. How does this stuff mix with wine?” At Padway’s expression, he said: “Don’t worry, Martinus, old friend, this is on me.
Haven’t made a night of it in years.
You know, family man.” He winked and snapped his fingers for the waiter. When he had finally gotten through his little ceremony, he said: “Just a minute, Martinus, old friend, I see a man who owes me money. I’ll be right back.” He waddled unsteadily across the room.

A man at the next table asked Padway suddenly: “What’s that stuff you and old one-eye have been drinking, friend?”

“Oh, just a foreign drink called brandy,” said Padway uneasily.

“That’s
right,
you’re a foreigner, aren’t you? I can tell by your accent.” He screwed up his face, and then said: “I know; you’re a Persian. I know a Persian accent.”

“Not exactly,” said Padway.
“Farther away than that.”

“That so?
How do you like Rome?” The man had very large and very black eyebrows.

“Fine, so far,” said Padway.

“Well, you haven’t seen anything,” said the man. “It hasn’t been the same since the Goths came.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially: “Mark my
words,
it won’t be like this always, either!”

“You don’t like the Goths?”

“No! Not with the persecution we have to put up with!”