1636: The Atlantic Encounter by Eric Flint & Walter H. Hunt

Author:Eric Flint & Walter H. Hunt [Flint, Eric & Hunt, Walter H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Alternative History, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781982124755
Google: LRxjygEACAAJ
Amazon: 198212475X
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2020-08-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

For the director-general of New Netherland, Gordon Chehab had set aside a clean and semi-formal suit of clothes. The Germans had an expression—Kleider machen Leute—“clothes make the man”—and Cavriani and Miro had suggested in the strongest manner that he should make an effort to impress anyone he met with “the earnest of his mission.”

The hardworking Danes and the ascetic Puritans had not needed or wanted to be impressed, but Gordon assumed that the Dutch proprietors in New Amsterdam were more likely to be.

It turned out that he did not need to bother.

* * *

“Excuse me?” Gordon said.

“I think you know very well what I mean, Mynheer,” the clerk said, smiling in a way that made Gordon’s skin crawl. “The governor’s time is very valuable.”

“I’m sure it is. But so is mine.” Gordon looked sideways at Pete, who was standing easy, balanced on the balls of his feet.

The clerk shrugged and began to turn away.

“So…when will the governor have time for us?”

“Wie het weet?” Who knows? “In a day, maybe two. When he tells me he wants to see you, I’ll let you know.”

“Unless I…”

“Pay the slimy bastard,” Pete said. “Bribe him.”

The clerk frowned. “I don’t like your choice of words, Amerikaner.”

Pete took a step toward him. “And I don’t like your style, Dutchman. In order for us to get an interview with the director-general of New Amsterdam, I have to cross your palm—or you’ll keep us iced out here indefinitely. If it’s not a bribe you want, what would you like to call it?”

It was clear that the clerk wasn’t used to any answer other than yes or no.

“What—” he began.

Pete hadn’t raised his hand or changed his expression—he was just standing three or four feet away, doing what he did best—doing what he’d come along to do. He was giving the clerk the cool stare.

The clerk looked at Pete, then beyond him to Gordon. His eyes seemed to plead, as if he didn’t know what Pete might do next.

It was Gordon’s turn to shrug.

“The director-general—” the clerk began, obviously intimidated, then held up his hand. “I’ll check with him.”

He disappeared through an inner door, and Gordon and Pete heard the beginning of a muffled conversation in Dutch.

“Not a perfect work of public relations,” Gordon said. “But at least you didn’t hit him.”

“What makes you think I was going to hit him?” Pete smiled. “I am a peaceful man.”

“You didn’t seem so.”

“Never let the batter know what pitch you’re going to throw, big bro.”

“I don’t think that clerk knows much about baseball, Pete.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

Gordon smiled. “I know it’s a—”

The door opened; the clerk emerged, looking even more intimidated. “The director-general will see you now,” he said, and stepped aside.

Gordon and Pete walked toward the inner door. As they stepped into the director-general’s office, they heard what sounded like a particularly offensive word in German—which apparently bore a strong cognate in Dutch.

They ignored it.

* * *

Wouter van Twiller, Director-General of New Amsterdam, was a younger man—a few years older than Gordon.

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