"It sure isn't what Spartacus is writing. It's not intellectual, analytical stuff. The style is way different, too. They aren't even plagiarizing him," Dave Stannard added. "The Twelve Points aren't like the Brillo Broadsides or the Common Sense pamphlets, either. The author has his own agenda."
"Where is it coming from, then?" Maydene asked.
"Some of the points, from the farmers themselves," Johnnie F. said. "Like, `don't try to tell us how to divide our property when we die.' The rest . . ."
"There are two kinds of revolutions," Dave Stannard interrupted. "The `down with the system' revolutions. Those are really hard to handle. Especially when the people in them don't know for sure what they want to put in place of what they have. Then the `let us into the system' revolutions. Those are a bit more manageable, generally, and that seems to be, mostly, what we've got here. A lot of the rest of the points, I think, from talking to the Amtmaenner and people out in the villages who are working on the voter registration lists, are what our old friend Meyfarth thinks would be good for them."
"Meyfarth!" Scott Blackwell choked on his coffee.
Johnnie F. cleared his throat. "Stew says . . ."
Steve motioned to Weckherlin again. "Stewart Hawker, Johnnie F.'s counterpart over in Bamberg."
Weckherlin nodded.
"Stew says that he's churning out the propaganda pamphlets, apparently spending all night writing with both hands at once, plus songs and poems and talking points and," he grinned, "getting a lot of help from Emma Thornton. So you can put that in your pipe and smoke it."
Steve looked warily at Maydene, Willa, and Estelle. "Don't tell me," he said, "that Emma Thornton is a member of . . ."
The three of them chanted together, "the Grantville League of Women Voters."
Willa added, "So's Liz."
"Liz who?" Weckherlin asked.
"Liz Carstairs. Her sister-in-law. Was Mike Stearns's chief of staff; now Ed Piazza's. You must know her."
Georg Rodolf Weckherlin looked down at his notes to disguise a wince. Were all these uptimers related to one another? How could a person possibly keep track of it? He doubted that he would ever forget his first encounter with that, that . . . creature who sat in the anteroom of the SoT's president. She was not an Araminta. Nor an Ariadne. Nor any of the other nymphs who populated love poems. His job required him to exchange correspondence with her regularly. It was not his favorite activity. No one short of a dowager empress should be so self-confident. Certainly not that woman. She was, really, only the wife of a small town guildsman who belonged to a heterodox religious sect.
At least, he had known enough to treat her with outward respect. He had been warned about her already in Magdeburg, before he took the letter of recommendation to Grantville. Which meant that he owed a big favor to Graf August von Sommersburg. A very big one which, undoubtedly, the count realized. And would, someday, call in. Dealing with these uptimers could be a touchy business.
Chapter 9: "Unless it should happen that I am unlucky"
Franconia, February 22, 1634
David Stannard had been quite right the previous fall when he said that down-time Amtmaenner really had lists down pat. They had the electoral lists in shape. Every Amt had just as many preprinted paper ballots as it had potential voters, with a dozen or so to spare in case someone made a mistake. The spares were sealed. If one was used, two different election officials had to sign an explanation of the circumstances why it was needed, written on the envelope next to the opened seal. With the spoiled ballot, crossed out, put into the envelope.
In a few places, such as the town of Gerolzhofen, the election had to be conducted under military supervision.
The administration had given the ram its point three. Every adult in Franconia got to vote, even the people living in the little independent enclaves, just as long as they were within the general boundaries of Würzburg, Bamberg, and Fulda.
So in quite a few more places, the electors had to be conducted under military supervision, so to speak. Conducted from their village of residence, where some sputtering local lord was trying to prohibit voting, to the nearest functioning polling place.
Followed by a visit from the military police to the lord or Reichsritter to explain what they planned to do if they received any information in regard to attempted retaliation against legal voters.
"We mean it" did very well in the Franconian election of 1634. "Motherhood" and "Apple Pie" were not on the ballot.