Tales of Sam and Bess, 1660-1700
Tales suggesting famed 17th century diarist/naval adminstrator Samuel Pepys and his lady had more going on than even his famed daily diary let us know...
Note: The best way to know Mr. Pepys is through his magnificent nine year daily Diary...Which is now available on-line on a day-to-day basis at pepysdiary courtesy of the wonderful Phil Gyford.
I would also recommend "The Unequaled Self", a new biography by Claire Tomlin...Just terrific and fills in the gaps the diary leaves...
…
"Operation Fire Sale, 1666…"
Meanwhile…
That den of inquity, the Vatican…
Where even now the final plans for the latest move against the heretic
powers are being set in motion…
And celebration is in progress…
Though perhaps a tad too soon…
"Ah, ha, ha, ha!" shrill laughter ringing out through the vast
halls of papal power at St. Peter's.
"Look, look my cardinals!" His H kicks at a vast model to quarter
scale of London, knocking over by chance the home and new closet of a
certain Diarist. "Soon it will all be leveled…The traitors brought
low, their greatest city in ruins! A fitting revenge at last for the
rank traitor Henry. Yes, yes there will be a warm autumn this year, my
friends! Ah, ha, ha, ha!" glance at cadre of cardinals and minions…
Likewise engaged in expressing perhaps somewhat more forced mirth.
"Mark the time, boy…" wave to young priest who inserts a marker in a
large wall calendar.
"Seven days left and counting, Holiness…"
Hmmn…One cardinal frowns at the projected devastation.
If triggering a war between the heretic powers and wiping out the
population with plague didn't break them, somehow I just don't see…
"I sense a disturbing lack of faith in you, Cardinal." narrow, cold
stare.
Whoops…
"Not at all your Holiness…The heretics will be begging for Your
Holiness' clemency. I was just thinking it is such a shame to lose so
much valuable property, your Holiness."
"Our agents in London are insured…" chuckle…
"In Amsterdam…Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha!" Laughter taken up with a slight
degree of urging by the general group…
Two birds with one baker's stove…One does have to admit…The cardinal
nods.
"Pepys?"
"Sir?"
"I take it you have heard strange rumors circulating about the City?"
"Indeed a few, Sir Will…"
"Pepys…We have reason to believe that London is in danger. And that we
have…Approximately
…48 hours."
(Well, hell it's the 17th century…They need a little more time.)
"Excuse me, Pepys…My watch had stopped…Make that 46 hours."
"Indeed, sir." Would like to get back to see the new presses…Those
lovely new-gilded books must be beautiful.
"Pepys?"
"Oh, yes, Sir Will…46 hours you say."
"Yes…Normally we'd hand this over to the military but what with the
plague and so many of them being ready to kill us for pressing them…We
feel we must turn to you, once again, to save England from threat."
"I understand, Sir Will." Bess nods. "I take it this does mean
Samuel's little financial transgressions will once again…?"
"Pure as the driven snow…If you succeed…Else of course I leave him to
twist slowly in the wind over the roaring fire of a full Parliamentary
inquiry."
***
Where to begin?…Bess ponders as Balty beside her plays with sword.
Once again saved…er called to duty by sister Bess.
Where else…
"Well, niece…Heh, ha…" Uncle Wight eyes the two facing him. "While my
contacts in the City might occasionally encounter representatives of
shall we say, heh, hah…other powers…I could not for my life, name such
men…"
"How about women? Frenchwomen, perchance?"
"Heh, heh, hah…You know me and my tastes well, niece."
"Not that well." Bess quickly informs Balty.
***
That other den of iniquity…Where at least Evil is enjoyed…Immensely…
Louis happily regarding map of London, papal envoy at his throne side…
"Ah, by next week, it shall all be named for me…Louis Square, St.
Louis Cathedral, Louishall, Le Roi Soleil Exchange, Rue Louis, Rue
Louis I, Rue Louis II, Rue Louis le Grand…It all shall be…What?" Louis
eyes solemn-looking aide.
Holiness may have something to say about that…the envoy, smiling
brightly, does not say…
"Sire…I regret to say…We cannot invade in the next week…The Hollanders
are not feeling that the time is right. They will not support us
navily. The troops are ill…There's fear of the plague in England."
Lean back, narrow look… "Monsieur, you are dimming the luster of your
king's glory. Have we not the support of His Holiness and the Church?"
"Our full support…Majesty…" the envoy nods…
"Verbal and technical support and a few agents, your Majesty…Not
exactly what we need for a full-scale invasion, Sire."
"The dratted Dutch…"
"They fear you more than the English, sire…"
"Really…" beam restored. "As they well should…" rapid dimming of beam…
"But…Really? The invasion a no-go? You know we can't delay…Damned
thing can only be targetted at the proper time."
"We are destroying the capital, sire…The army, the navy, the general
population will be intact…"
"Almost seems unworthwhile…" Louis, morosely… "Just a mere test of our
power…" brightens, le roi soleil once more… "But it will be
spectacular…And it will mean Charlie will be even more desperate for
funds…"
"Crawling, Sire…Crawling…" the aide nods…The envoy nodding in
support.
"Still might force him to name half the new City after me in
repayment…" Louis grins, rising from throne. Aides hoping up,
scrambling to tend to his royal person.
"Then we shall proceed, Sire?"
"Indeed…Activate the glorious image of Our Power…In the image of the
Sun himself…The Solar Mirror…" grand exit, sweeping along…Papal envoy,
agents in train…
"Yes, Sire…" the aide calls…Waving to his own minions…
Hmmn…I seem to be experiencing a sense of forward- déjà-vu, regarding
this project…the aide notes to self.
As if many times in the future supervillains will attempt to use giant
solar mirrors to destroy or rule the world…
Ah, well…We were the first…
"Send word to Mont Blanc…Begin calibration, monsieurs!"
***
"Uncle Wight, London faces destruction…How can you protect these
people?"
"Eh…The plague wiped out far more this year than any French/Papal
superweapon targeted on London ever possibly…"
Ummn…Ooops…
"Heh, ha, heh…A mere whimsy, niece…"
French, eh?…Balty, rather pleased…Wait…
Uh-oh…
"Superweapon?…French?…" Bess stares.
"Balty?! Didn't Father go to Paris this month? He wasn't working on
anything you know of?"
"Nothing dangerous, sister. Come to think of it he was happy about
some private backer wanting to develop his mirror signaling
telegraph."
Heh, ha…Oh…Uncle Wight tries innocent look.
"So…Still won't talk, eh, St. Michel?" Louis, now in private study
with minions and papal envoy faces Alexander St. Michel, inventor par
too excellent this time, tied to large table… "I want the names of
those in England who know of our superweapon!"
"My signalling device…To be used for peaceful communication, you
fiend, Louis!"
"Dog…Well you sure as hell will never be Sieur de St. Michel in my
lifetime. Come, Cardinal…Let me demonstrate the power of our new
weapon in minature…" Louis waves the group in.
"You will note the map of London on which our traitorous citizen is
presently lying is drawn to scale but slightly altered to fit the
table…My apologies. You may begin!"
A beam of focused, burning light strikes at the end of the table,
quickly starting to move up toward the struggling Alex…
"This is sunlight, St. Michel…" Louis beams. "All my life I have
basked in it, worshipped its divine beauty, its unreal lightness…I
welcome any project that brings me closer to its source, the true
source of all power, all life…" Waves to guards who pull curtains… "My
very symbol, the sun god himself!"
Uh…Sire…The papal envoy eyes him…
"Classical allusion, solely of course…"
So why do we have 300 statues ready with Louis' head on Apollo's body,
ready to be displayed in every church in France?…One aide puzzles.
"And here's our target point…A little street, soon to become famous…
Pudding Lane…" Louis points.
"So Louis, you were expecting me to talk?" St. Michel speaking up,
startles the group.
"What? Oh, no, St. Michel…I expect you to die! Along with London!"
Say?…What…Louis stares around at the dark room, beam abruptly cut off…
Window to the study blackened suddenly.
"Light! Light!"
"Passing peasant deflected the beam, sire. Sorry about the mess on
your Majesty's window…"
"St. Michel's bonds were cut by the deflected beam, he's escaped!"
guard cries.
"No invasion, botched demonstration…This day is not going well!" Louis
fumes.
***
5am Paris, September 2nd.
"What do you mean good news and bad?" Louis demands of aide.
"Sire. St. Michel managed to destroy the super mirror."
"Bad. Yes."
"But not before our initial burst."
"Better."
"We won't vaporize London as we'd hoped."
"Bad."
"But we will set it aflame…The target was hit…The fires have started."
"Good."
"However…St Michel induced a slight extra deflection which caused a
bit of a problem…Though it did demonstrate the full vaporizing
effect."
"Potentially fatal…To you."
"Your Majesty was planning to completely redo Versailles anyway…"
***