FreeLook BookStore

Book Cover  •  Table of Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >

CHAPTER 11

More Troubles

      IT SEEMED to Peter that from that day forward, they were plagued by troubles. The weather turned unseasonably cold, and ice crystals formed in a batch of ink they had been mixing. The pages printed with the damaged ink smudged easily, and the labor of many days was ruined. The work stopped while they mixed more.

      When the cold snap was over, a long, rainy autumn began. The paper room, which had always remained dry even in the worst weather, suddenly developed a leaky roof, and a new shipment of paper became thoroughly wet and was ruined. This caused a second delay, while more paper was sent for.

      What was even more depressing, Fust was again taking an interest in the printing. He was the one who met with Peter now, just as he had done in the early part of the year. When Fust was away, Peter's meetings were with Conrad Henkis, the old man's head clerk. Henkis was a spare, melancholy-looking fellow, whose balding head made him look older than he really was. Unlike Fust, he was always pleasant and soft-spoken, but he let no account go unexamined.

      All during that fall and winter, Peter never set eyes on Christina at all.

      Although Fust now treated Peter with greater regard than before, he was irritated by every delay, and by the expense of buying additional paper. Again and again, Peter had to soothe the rich man's bad temper and persuade him to be patient. "Mr. Fust, you cannot hold us responsible for any of this. Gutenberg works day and night casting type, and we have put aside everything else to work on your Great Bible. The only other printing we do is for the Pope's letter, and we can't very well stop work on that."

      "Well, of course for the Pope . . ." Fust nodded reluctantly. "I recognize that his work must be done."

      The old man had conceded almost too easily, Peter thought as he trudged back to work, late one afternoon. True, he still went over every bill and growled over every penny of expense, but it was as if his mind was preoccupied with some other concern.

      "Or perhaps the difference is in me," Peter said to himself.

      Snow began mixing with the rain that had begun earlier in the day, and the wind grabbed at his cloak, driving the chill moisture against his body. But Peter hardly noticed it, as he muttered, "Yes, perhaps it's that my own thoughts are elsewhere."

      He was thinking of Christina, of course. He missed seeing her more than he wanted to admit. Even on the days when he did not go to Fust's, his thoughts kept returning to her. Where was she? Why was Fust overseeing Gutenberg's accounts again? Had she lost interest in the project?

      Peter was so lost in thought that he stopped walking. He was remembering her words: "I believe that the printing press is one of those great inventions that will change the lives of all those who follow us." Her face had been like a candle flame when she said that. No, he thought, Christina would not lose interest or forget!

      But he hadn't seen her since the harvest festival. Why had she deserted them?

      As he crossed the town square, he looked up at the spires of the cathedral, but they were hidden in wet mist. Two horsemen came galloping down the main road. Peter stopped again to watch them come, muffled in their woolen cloaks, crouching in the saddle, thick hats pulled low against the rain.

      They were headed right for the spot where Peter stood, and he had to step aside to avoid being run down. As they passed him, the nearer one charged right through a pool of rain water. At the touch of the horse's hoofs, the muddy stuff flew into the air in all directions, and Peter was splattered — hat, cloak, shoes, and all.

      The horsemen galloped swiftly away. They never glanced behind them at the solitary figure in the street, dripping and shivering in the cold twilight.

      "Confound the man," Peter growled, dabbing at the mud and trying to shake some of the water from his cloak. "He could have avoided that puddle if he'd tried!"

      For some reason, the rider reminded him of Dieter von Erbach. In just the same careless way, Dieter had come from nowhere to ride roughshod through Peter's life.

      "That's why I haven't seen her, of course. That greedy fool, von Erbach, has carried her off," Peter muttered. "He'll marry her and ruin her life — and mine — and the worst of it is, that he cares absolutely nothing for her. He only wanted to get his hands on old Fust's money!"

      Peter stood for a moment, glowering into the rain. "The old man is selling Christina to him — it amounts to that! — so he can brag that he's related to the nobility! How contemptible!"

      Secure of his own real worth and his genuine abilities, Peter had never envied the titles and privileges of the noble class. But now, for just a moment, alone in the twilight, he hated Dieter and everything he stood for.

      But then the wind gave another fierce gust, and Peter realized that the cold was increasing. So he pulled his sodden hat down over his eyes and slogged back to work.

     


Cover  •  Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >  •  Page Top

Copyright (c) 2001, FreeLook BookStore. All rights reserved.