Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume IX

"No, that won't work," Filaret said. "The Yaroslavich family is rich but not that rich."

"He plans to sell the rights to produce individual products," Boris explained. "The research center will make a working model of, say, a reaper and designs for the parts to it, then sell the rights to make reapers to another clan or to a set of villages."

The patriarch nodded and considered. "Exclusive except for the government. I'll not have the government giving the Yaroslavich family the rights, then paying for the research as well." That too was standard. The government of Muscovy maintained first call on everything. If a family gained exclusive control of a mine what that family got was what came out of the mine beyond the government's share. The extra.

"Of course, Patriarch." Boris nodded. As each new device was made both the government and the Yaroslavich family would have the right to produce it if they chose. In the case of the reaper, the government would be able to either make reapers itself or have them made; so would the Yaroslavich family. The Yaroslavich family might want to sell its rights to make the product but that would not affect the governments rights. "Of course, the research center will need experts from some of the bureaus."

Filaret nodded thoughtfully. "That can be arranged. And the church?"

"Vladimir would prefer not to make an open grant to all the church." Boris' answer was delicate. "There have been abuses of such grants in the past. I am very much afraid the bureaus would not like such a blanket grant either." The Russian Orthodox Church was neither monolithic nor free from corruption. Monasteries vied for power and wealth with the great families and each other.

The patriarch grinned rather sardonically and nodded. "The patriarch's office, then." He laughed at Boris' expression. "Not even that?"

Boris steeled himself. "Who will be the next patriarch?"

Filaret nodded, but lost his smile.

"Vladimir did wish me to convey his warmest personal regards to you, Patriarch Filaret. His concern, and frankly mine, is that the next patriarch may not share your concern for the czar or for Muscovy as a whole. Do you remember mention of Patriarch Nikon from the histories we sent?" Boris really wished he could avoid this part of the conversation. He was used to bureaucratic infighting but not at this level.

Filaret grimaced but nodded. "However, I am patriarch now."

"As long as that happy situation remains, the patriarch's office will receive anything the dacha can provide."

Filaret's fingers made a drum roll on the desk as he thought about it. "It is a great risk for young Vladimir. He could ruin his family if it doesn't work." Then he stared at Boris. "What about you, Boris? What do you gain in this? What do you risk?"

"It has been suggested that I would make an excellent candidate for the head of the Grantville section of the embassy bureau." He shrugged. "That is both the reward and the risk. If it doesn't work, well, my position in the bureau would become untenable."

"Yes." Filaret's eyes glittered. "It would." Another pause while the patriarch's fingers continued to tap out a strange beat on the desk. "Very well. I will talk to Fedor Ivanovich Shermentev, then. I'll even do what I can to get the appropriate people assigned to your section and loaned to the Yaroslavich dacha." He paused a moment. "You understand what you're risking?"

"I think so, Patriarch."

"And with that he sent me on my way." Boris took another sip of the tea Daromila had made him. He felt exhausted and at the same time, jubilant. Also a bit frightened.

"Let me get this straight." Daromila sat down. "If this 'think tank' doesn't produce results-good results-inside a few years… say five at most, you will lose the Grantville section. You will also lose any hope of ever again becoming a section chief. If it succeeds-but not extraordinarily well-you will end your career as a relatively minor section chief. If it succeeds extraordinarily well, then section chief of the Grantville section will become a plum job."

Boris nodded. "It's a risk. Section Chief is a nice promotion but the important point is section chief of which section. If the Grantville section becomes like the Bristol section-just the section chief and a clerk-well, I'll spend the rest of my life sitting there growing mold. If Grantville and the research center become as important as I think they might be, then the Grantville Section will rival the Polish Section. More than a hundred jobs to hand out. Favors to other section chiefs. It will be the job everyone wants. That will have it's own dangers but also opportunities. It will become a stepping stone to still higher positions, which could work well for us. Patriarch Filaret said 'I'll do what I can for you, if it succeeds.'"

"If he's still here," Daromila pointed out. "The man is eighty." Daromila had helped him negotiate the waters of the Moscow bureaucracy all the years of their marriage. She knew the risks and rewards as well as he did.

"Positions for the boys," she murmured. Their four sons were of an age to begin government service. The eldest, Pavel, was already working in the bureau of posts, although as a minor clerk. The middle two, Boris Borisovich and Vasilli, were currently overseeing the villages. Only the youngest, Ivan, remained at home.

"Ah, yes." Boris hesitated a moment. Daromila was a mother. Mothers worried. "We should send each of them to Grantville, you know. They will gain experience there." Boris knew that Daromila wasn't entirely happy with the idea that her sons would follow in his footsteps, as least as far as being a spy was concerned.

Daromila frowned. Boris held his breath. He didn't really like it when she frowned, but this wasn't directed at him. She stood, went to the stove and moved a pot to a cooler spot. "You're probably right. " She turned back to him. "The prince you went with, Vladimir? Will he be careful of them?"

"He's an honorable man."

Daromila nodded. "We must do what we can. Pavel first."

"Ivan, I think," Boris said, "should join the dacha. In a minor post, of course."

"That should work." Then she smiled the smile that had always tugged his heartstrings. "He and Bernie have been talking all the time you were gone."

Boris groaned a bit. "He'll be ruined. Ruined."

Daromila smiled again. "Now, dear. Don't worry so. Bernie is a nice boy." Her eyes grew distant. "The first thing we should do is go and see Natasha Petrovna Yaroslavicha."

Boris nodded. "Yes. I have letters for her. First thing tomorrow morning, I think."

Boris had sent a message and he knew Vladimir had corresponded with his sister. She should be aware that he was coming. He thought it best not to spring Bernie on her as a surprise. The Yaroslavich townhouse was large and palatial. To a young, protected princess (the great families tended to keep women sheltered) Bernie Zeppi might come as an unwelcome surprise. Best to make her acquaintance first, Daromila had said.

His first surprise came at the door. The tall, young woman who answered it wasn't a servant. She was the princess in full court dress. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. Vladimir speaks very highly of you." She was looking around curiously like a like a child looking for the clowns to arrive. "But why did you not bring Bernie? Vladimir says he's to stay at the dacha."

This girl-well, young woman-was not shy. Not in the least what he'd expected. "Well, I thought I might prepare you a bit." Boris stumbled over his answer. "Bernie is… well, Bernie. Rather unusual. Not like us."

A cackle from the other end of the room surprised him. And a tiny old woman rose to greet him and lifted her cheek for his kiss. "Sofia Petrovna. Vladimir's aunt. We've both been looking forward to meeting the outlander." Her black eyes sparkled with intelligence. "Letters?" It was not a question. Boris handed them over, while the princess told a servant to bring tea.