But she was thinking of a few new additions to the Trommler Records song collection. "I'm Henry the Eighth" was one. "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" was another.
Imperial Palace, Magdeburg
August 1633
Hobbes stared perplexedly at the paper in front of him. He had been assured that all applicants for positions with the CPE administration had to fill out this form.
Some of the questions were perfectly reasonable, others . . . less so.
But the most puzzling point of all was . . . why did they call it an SF-171?
Grantville
August 1633
Judy and Millicent were lying on the bed in Millicent's room. Millicent's mom had gone ballistic at the first mention of the possibility of a "field trip" to Magdeburg. The two had a big argument, and Millicent had been grounded for the entire week that Judy and the others were away.
Judy had been worried that Millicent would hold this against her, but she didn't. Of course, Millicent insisted on a blow-by-blow account of the whole journey.
That completed, Judy said, "I've been thinking."
"About boys? Mister W, perhaps?"
"About tennis."
Millicent started warbling the love song from the Titanic movie. The DVD had been released some months before the Ring of Fire.
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.