Judy slugged her with a pillow. "All right, about both," she admitted. "But I want to talk about tennis."
"So talk."
"It's getting harder and harder to find balls that are bouncy enough for twentieth-century tennis. Once we open the can, the balls lose their air within weeks. And even in the can, they're only good for two years or so."
"You're thinking about switching to royal tennis?"
"That's right."
"But we can't play in Halle, thanks to that jerk of a ballmeister. And constructing a matching tennis court in Grantville would be real expensive."
"It's a catch twenty-two. We could justify it if we had the players, but we won't have the players until we have the court. Still… tennis used to be a very posh sport. Just the thing to play at the Higgins Hotel."
"Yeah, but there's no way OPM would fund constructing a real tennis court there. Not until the hotel was in full operation and was getting enough down-time visitors who knew the game."
"Yeah." Judy puttered around a bit. "Wait. I was just thinking. About the back courtyard. It's much like a cloisters. And it isn't all that wide."
"You're right! And the walls have sloped roofs, to keep the snow off them."
"It would mean playing tennis like they did it a few centuries ago. I mean, back when they played in monasteries instead of customized courts. But it would be a way to work up interest in the game."
"And if enough people got interested, then maybe OPM would decide it was a good investment."
"William told me that there are almost two thousand tennis courts in Paris. And that when one of the indoor markets burnt down in 1590, it was replaced with a tennis court, because that was more profitable."
"We would need someone to teach the game. Someone that was willing to teach women to play."
"What about William, when he comes back?"
"Well, there would be a lot of snob appeal in having an earl as a teacher. But I don't think he knows how to make the balls and rackets. Perhaps Mister Hobbes, the seventeenth-century know-it-all, does?"
Judy had written to William: "So, if someone were to build a real tennis court in Grantville, what would be the right dimensions?"
When she got his response, she read it aloud to Millicent: "There are no two tennis courts which are exactly alike. They can have different dimensions, different winning openings, and so on."
She looked at Millicent. "That's crazy, don't you think?"
Millicent disagreed. "Crazier than baseball stadiums?"
When she had a chance, Judy stopped by the Grantville Public Library. The 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica had plenty to say about "royal tennis," including the typical dimensions of the various parts of the court.
Enough to show that the inner courtyard at the Higgins Hotel was an acceptable match. There would be compromises, of course. No main wall. And the grille side wasn't walled up. But she thought it might work. At least if any exposed windows were covered over. She didn't want to pay for broken glass.
She would ask William, when he got back from Magdeburg, to take a look.
Grantville
September 1633
"Hi, Heather!" William smiled at her. "I just got back last night. Took my time getting up this morning."
Heather picked up her books and hurried off. "Hey, what's the matter?" William said as she retreated.
Derrick Mason was on the other side of the street, and William waved to him. Derrick Mason turned his back.
What has gotten into these people? William thought. He walked over to the public library. Hobbes was already at a desk, with books piled in front of him. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.
"Hello, Mister Hobbes."
"Good morning, Lord Devonshire."
"I haven't suddenly acquired leprosy, have I, Mister Hobbes?"
"What on Earth leads you to ask such a question?"
"My American friends haven't been very friendly today."
"Yes, I know why. I found out when I arrived at the library. Fortunately, the librarians didn't hold it against me."
"Hold what against you?"
"Against us. England, Spain and France have formed an alliance, the League of Ostend. The League defeated the Dutch Navy off Dunkirk."
"Good for them. The Dutch deserve it, after torturing our people on Amboina to make false confessions of treason."
"Indeed they do. But no one here believes that the League is arrayed against the Dutch alone. King Charles has transferred the American colonies to France. And the Grantville embassy in London has been imprisoned in the Tower. Do you know who is in that embassy?"
"Melissa Mailley, my friends' teacher."
"That's right. And Rita and Tom Simpson, Friedrich and Nelly Bruch, Darryl McCarthy, and Gayle Mason. All popular people here. I'd stay away from Thuringen Gardens for a few days, unless you have a taste for one-against-many bar brawls."
"So, are we prisoners, too?"
"Not yet, at least. But we do appear to be persona non grata, all of a sudden." Hobbes closed the book in front of him with a snap. "The attitude of the Americans is not our only problem."
"How so?"
"Your license from the Privy Council to 'go beyond the sea' says-" Hobbes changed the pitch of his voice to indicate that he was quoting from memory " '-do not haunt or resort onto the territories or dominions of any foreign prince not being with us in league or amity, nor wittingly keep company with any person or persons evil affected to our State.'
"If you stay, it could be interpreted as treason."
The coach was loaded to capacity. Hobbes and William had acquired so many curiosities in Grantville that if they put on another bag, the horses would just go on strike.
William was feeling sorry for himself. When he asked at the hotel desk that they connect him with Judy, they had told him, "she's out." Again and again. William suspected that she would be "out" until he left town.
William was leaning against the coach, waiting for Mister Hobbes to finish checking the hotel's arithmetic, when Judy appeared.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself."
William shifted from one foot to another. The silence grew.
"I know it's not your fault. I mean, the Treaty of Ostend. But people I know are going to end up fighting, and maybe dying, over this. Derrick and Kelsey Mason are in the military. And even civilians are at risk-we haven't forgotten the Croat Raid on Grantville."
"I know… But from what Mister Hobbes has taught me, history has a way of flipping things around. Enemies today, allies tomorrow."
"Yeah." Judy blinked, as though she was trying to hold back tears. "But it can be a long time in-between flips."
"Maybe…" William paused, wondering how to say it. "Maybe, someday…"
Judy gave him a little smile. "Yeah. Maybe someday. Write me, okay?"
"I will."
The coach was ready and the men were getting impatient. It was time to go. "Ah…" William wanted to say more but didn't have any words. "Ah…"
Judy leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "Maybe next time." She ran off, back into the hotel.
William watched the doors for a moment, but she didn't come back. Instead, Hobbes emerged. "Lord Devonshire, are you ready?"
"Yes, Mister Hobbes. It's time to go."
Hobbes and William stood on the docks of Hamburg. With the ports of Holland under blockade, Hamburg was busier than ever. The servants carried William's baggage, piece by piece, onto the ship that would take him home.
But Hobbes was not going home. He had told William everything that needed to be passed on to his family. It was far too sensitive to set on paper. While Hobbes didn't point it out, he knew that this knowledge would give William a kind of power he had never had before. Hobbes hoped that William would profit from it.
William would also give his mother an explanation of why Hobbes was staying behind. First, to continue his researches into up-time history that could affect Cavendish interests. Secondly, so that he could send word back home of any critical new developments.