Missy's uncle Wes might think Ron was getting to be a pain. However, he supposed this might count as something consular. Approximately. Vaguely. At least, this time he was at the office and he'd phoned ahead for an appointment.
"I got a letter from Joachim Sandrart."
At least Mr. Jenkins' face looked encouraging.
"He's an artist who traveled with us from Padua to Frankfurt. He came up from Rome with Signora Gentileschi, Prudentia's mom. Jabe McDougal's girlfriend. Have you met her? Either one of them?"
Don't rattle on, he told himself. He'll think you're nervous. Just because you are nervous doesn't mean that he needs to know it.
"Joachim's working for Soubise, now, in Frankfurt. He just got back from a trip to France. But that's not exactly why I thought I should bring you the letter to read."
He reached into his pocket, pulled the letter out, and dropped it on the desk.
"He mentioned that Soubise's brother, the duke of Rohan, who is a very important man among the Huguenots, has left Switzerland and gone to Besançon. That's where Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar is setting up his new capital."
"So?"
"In October, on our way back from Italy, we stopped to see the duke. It was Joachim's idea," Ron inserted defensively, "not mine. Honest."
"I believe you."
"It's not been in any of the papers, the Besançon business, I mean. I read at least three different papers every morning, from beginning to end. Because of Dad's business. I pretty well have to. We ship internationally, of course, and there are so many variables. I start with the Street and then the Times and then whatever's the most recent one from Magdeburg that's been delivered to the office. Plus my secretary skims a bunch of others and makes me news clips."
Which actually embarrassed him. Both having a secretary and reading news clips. Frank was running a dive in a slum in Rome and Ron was sitting out at Lothlorien like some Wall Street penguin-type reading news clips, so he could make a reasonable decision on whether some offer that had come in was legit or not.
Not that his secretary was a bad guy. Actually, he was pretty efficient, considering that he was only a couple of years older than Ron. Muselius over at Countess Kate's had recommended Barthold Orban for the job, once it had dawned on Ron that he needed a secretary and mentioned to Jonas that the last thing he needed in the outer office was some guy with a lot of experience who would try to take over because Ron had hardly any.
"Anyway, when we stopped in Switzerland, the duke spent a whole evening talking to me, and gave me a couple of books he's written. I've read them. A little hard-hearted, maybe, but . . ."
He stopped.
"Uh. Could you just read the letter, before we go any further."
Wes' first thought was: way above my pay grade.
"May I make a copy of this? I think I'll have to ask a few other people before I can give you an answer and I'd like to have one to refer to."
"Sure. Keep the original, if you want. I'll do fine with a copy. I can wait outside." Ron tilted his head at the door that led to the Bureau of Consular Affairs waiting room. "Or come back later this afternoon, before I go back to Lothlorien, to pick it up."
Wes looked at the letter again. "I don't want anyone else looking at this. If you have time, you can go back there"—he tilted his head at the back door of his office, which led into a file room—"and write the copy out there. If you would be so kind."
"Yeah. Sure." Ron stood up.
Wes, still sitting, looked up at the boy. Young man.
"Is there any other business that might possibly have brought you to the Bureau of Consular Affairs this afternoon? Something I can reasonably call Martina or Lucia in and ask her to take care of? To account for your visit? Something that's preferably reasonably complicated?"
Ron frowned. "You know, I really don't like to ask for special favors. But we have this guy out at the plant who comes from someplace up in the Baltic. He landed here because he was in the Swedish army, the Yellow Regiment that was stationed here under Kagg in 1633, but his sister was married to a Pole . . ."
"Sit down again, why don't you?" Wes started taking notes.
". . . and even though he's a Swedish citizen, he'd be willing to be naturalized here if that would help get his sister's kids out of the clutches of their wicked uncle on the other side of the family. Does the SoTF have a consular agent in Danzig?" That was where Ron reached a stopping point. Fifteen minutes later.
Wes asked, "Why hadn't you brought this up with me before?"