COMPOUNDING INTERESTS

Part I

by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright © 2011

 

"You want a summer job?" Angus stared, amazed.  "You just finished a really tough year of college course work!"

"Was it really?"  Ada stared.  "I was having so much fun that I didn’t notice!"
            "Fun?"  Angus frowned.  "Margo told me she had to virtually pry you out of the library to go on a group date!"

"Oh, that!" Ada said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  "It certainly couldn’t compare with the delights of those books!"

"Don’t get me wrong."  Angus held up a hand.  "Loving books is great, I know.  It’s just that young ladies are supposed to have other, ah, interests as well—and I don’t mean coursework."

"Oh, but it was all so fascinating!"  Ada fairly glowed, eyes alight, face radiant with delight.  "Especially the courses in economics—and argumentation and debate, and history, and…well, all of them!"

Angus caught his breath and reminded himself that some day this young woman would meet a very handsome young man and fall hard.  He resolved to be standing near when the romance ended.  In the meantime, he decided, he’d better read up on interpersonal communication, especially the part about listening.

"It’s not enough to learn the theory, though," Ada said.  "I want to learn how it functions in practice.  That’s why I want to work at a bank."

"Makes sense."  Yorick nodded.

"She could start a little higher up," Angus protested, "maybe in the investment department."

"Oh, no!" Ada protested.  "I mean to learn the entirety of the subject, not a few bits and pieces out of context!"

"I suppose that makes sense," Angus said, radiating doubt.

"Oh, it does, Ang," Yorick said.  "Trust me—it does."

So Ada spent her summer behind bars—the bars of a teller’s window (bulletproof glass was something else she would have a bit of trouble understanding, but not the bars above the cash drawer.  June 1^st came, and with it a flock of retirees lining up to have the interest in their bank books totaled up.  Suddenly the concept of compound interest leaped out of her textbook and took on a real and very vital interest.

But if fifty years’ compound interest could furnish a pensioner with an income, what could two hundred years do?  Or five hundred?  Or a thousand?  She did the sums on the bus on her way home to the apartment she shared with Margo, and burst in bubbling with excitement.  "Margo!  We can make a fortune!"

"Calm down, dear, calm down."  Margo poured her a cup of tea.  "Anybody can make a fortune if they can save enough money, can’t they?"

"Yes, but if we deposit, say, a thousand dollars in, oh, 1055 AD, we’ll make millions!"

Margo stared, floored.  Suddenly she saw why Doc Angus had recruited this particular young woman.  Ada rattled out her scheme, scarcely pausing for breath, and Margo had to remind her several times to sip her tea—the magical British cure for every ailment, including overenthusiasm.  Finally Margo managed to ask, "Amazing, and I have no doubt it would work—but where will you find a bank that lasts so long?"

That brought Ada to a temporary standstill.  She gazed off into space, her history and economics courses running through her memory on fast forward.

Margo waited.  She was beginning to have quite a deal of faith in her roommate.

Finally Ada said, "The Knights Templar!  They acted as international bankers for several hundred years."

"A good thought."  Margo nodded.  Now it was her turn to gaze off into space and try to remember the history course.  "Of course, you’d have to withdraw your money before Philip the Fair arrests all the Templars so he can steal their gold."

Ada nodded, still excited.  "Then we’ll deposit it in a new bank—new for the time, anyway."

"Better make it a year ahead," Margo suggested, "so they can transfer the gold bars before Philip springs his little surprise."

"Of course."  Ada nodded with delight.  "Thanks, Margo.  I hadn’t thought of that."

"Glad I did," her friend said.  "We can tell Doc Angus tomorrow."

 

*                       *                       *

 

"Fabulous idea!" Angus said.  I knew you were the right one for the job.  We’ll order you a pilgrim’s cloak  from the costume house in Denver—they’re getting a lot of business from us lately.  They can ship it to us Railway Express, and you can leave tomorrow afternoon."

"Me?"  Ada gasped.   "I—I thought it would be an experienced field agent that did it!"

"We’re all field agents here," Angus said, "and this is a relatively safe mission for you to cut your teeth on."

"I’m not sure I like that word ‘relatively'…"

"Oh, you’ll be fine."  Yorick stepped up and patted her shoulder.  "Besides, Margo will go along."

"But—my job!  I don’t want to lose it—I’m learning such a great deal.  I can’t take that much time off!"

"You won’t," Yorick said.  "Time travel, remember?  You can take a couple of weeks, and still be back at work tomorrow morning."

Ada gave in with a smile.  She could see time travel would take a bit of getting used to.

Everything went according to plan—Angus’s plan.

With Yorick looking on somewhat anxiously (he already thought of Ada as being in his care, as he thought of all the GRIPE agents), a young man in doublet and hose appeared in the time machine’s booth.

"Margo and Ada," Angus said, "meet your local guide."

"Margo I of course remember."  Gianni stepped out of the booth to press Margo’s hand.  "Have you engaged in another assignment since we attempted to recruit Jean LaFitte?"

"None, monsieur," Margo said with a small curtsy.  "That was only two weeks ago, for me."

"We did insist she take a little time off to re-orient herself," Angus said.  "Ada, meet Gianni Ricci."

"He’ll have to handle the actual contact with the Templars," Yorick explained, "since they avoided women if they possibly could."

Ada heard him in a distant way; her gaze was fixed on their guide.  He had the looks of a passionate Italian, though his initial glance was only polite—but then came back to her with considerably more interest.

Margo smiled, amused.

"Ada Berkshire," Angus said, "this is Gianni Ricci."

"Johnny?"  Ada held out a hand.

"No, Gianni," Angus said as the Italian took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm, which seemed to take fire on the instant.  As he let her hand go, his eyes seemed to devour her.  "So pleased to meet a native of the northern isles.  I hope, signorina, that you have not the usual bloody cold of your countrymen."

"He means 'usual cold blood,'" Margo explained, "'sang-froid.'"

"I hope that I do not, signor Ricci."  Ada sounded totally false even in her own ears.

"Gianni knows medieval Europe very well," Angus said," and he speaks Italian like a native—which he is—born in Florence in 1233."

"Yes, born," Gianni confirmed, "though the good doctor fails to mention the harelip and cleft palate which made me, ah... distinct... from my fellows."

"Didn't have too many playmates," Angus explained, "and his parents died when he was four."

"Not the plague," Gianni explained.  "Typhoid."

"Oh!"  Ada stared in horror.  Then she realized that loss gave them something in common.  Before she could speak, though, Gianni said, "I remember little of them."  He made a gesture as of wiping a slate.  "The good monks of St. Francis reared me, ‘protecting’ me from contact with women, and permitted me to run their errands—but I must say they did not esteem me overmuch, especially when they saw I had more talent for fighting than for praying."

Ada hadn't known the man more than a few minutes, but already her heart wrung for him.

"They didn't hesitate to encourage him to join the army of the duke," Angus explained.  "One of their periodic wars coming on, you know."

"And... and you died in that?" Ada asked.

"So I am assured," Gianni answered.  "Myself, I remember only a shield rising before me and a crossbow bolt biting into it.  Then the Venetian who held it threw an arm about me, I became violently sick, and found myself here."

"We fixed him up and sent him back to his own city during what should have been his own lifetime," Angus said, "though I had a mission for him when the Crusaders sacked Byzantium—something involving a troop of Genoese archers.  He'll be your guide for the first two deposits."

"Will you really?"  Ada was surprised how reassuring the Italian's smile was, then reminded herself that with so handsome a man who fairly exuded passion, she should be anything but reassured. 

"Here’s the first one."  Angus handed Gianni a leather bag.  "It’s from King John’s hoard.  Don’t worry, Ada—we only picked the gold pieces that were minted before he came to the throne."

"I thank you for your kind assistance, signor," Margo said.

Ada was tongue-tied.

 

The pilgrim's robe was scarcely the most attractive garment Ada had ever worn, but Gianni assured her it was absolutely necessary.  "Unless, of course," he said, "you wish to deposit these coins with the Templars in Aleppo merely for safe-keeping.  Many do—a Temple priory is a far more secure place than a country manor."

"Yes, but they won't have much sympathy for me, will they?" Ada asked.  "After all, I'm making this deposit in 1055 so that it will accumulate interest for two hundred fifty years.  They'll take far better care of it if they think I'm so devout that I wish to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem."

"It is a delight to travel with one of such high ideals," Gianni said, "but I doubt the Templars share them.  Their purpose is to protect pilgrims and safeguard their money so that it will be waiting for them when they come back."

Ada stared in shock.  "You don't mean they would take whatever money was offered without considering its source or use!"

"Its source, most definitely," Gianni said.  "Even after only fifty years, their order has already gained enough power and wealth to accumulate its share of enemies.  Use?  I think not.  That is for the pilgrim’s conscience, not theirs.  What right have they to enforce a depositor’s morality?"

"But they are sworn to protect pilgrims and the money they need for their journey."

After a second, Gianni nodded.  "There is some argument about their primary mission, and suspicion that their devotion to the welfare of pilgrims may not be the highest—but it is only suspicion, slanders spread by those who envy their wealth and their power."

"Certainly their goal cannot be worldly," Ada objected.  "Their Order may be wealthy, but each individual knight lives in poverty."

"In most priories, yes," Gianni affirmed.  "There are some that have grown corrupt, of course, but most still cling to their purpose."

"Whatever it may be," Ada said.  "Still, let us take advantage of their side concerns, shall we?"

"Off to Aleppo," Gianni declared, "in 1055!"

 

*                       *                       *   

 

The nausea rose up and passed.  Ada put out a hand to steady herself and was surprised to feel bark under it.  Then the heat hit her—intense and unrelenting.

"Vile climate, is it not?" Gianni asked.  "And the sun is not yet risen."

"How... how can people live in such dry air?" Ada asked.  "It feels as though it is sucking every drop of moisture from my skin!"

"Those who live here grow up accustomed to it," Gianni told her.  "Your northern isles seemed horribly chilly to me, and I visited them in July."

"But Aleppo’s in the Middle East, a great trading city!  I thought it would be a seaport with humid ocean breezes."

"It is a city, with a wide river," Gianni explained.  "Regard the palm trees.  They require at least some water."

Ada couldn't restrain a smile.

"There now!  See?  I have amused you!  But do not hold it within, signorina!  I would hear your laugh."

In spite of herself, Ada let a chuckle escape.

"Musical," Gianni averred.  "Let us pace the streets while the day is cool."

"Cool!" Ada exclaimed.

Gianni nodded.  "Believe me, signorina, you do not wish to walk these streets at midday."

They set off, and overheated or not in their pilgrims' robes, Ada could not help but marvel at the very strangeness of the scene.  The buildings were low and earth-colored, with walls that seemed as much of the earth as the streets.  Palm trees lined the road, a minaret rose high before them, and on a hill across the plain, a Crusader castle guarded the route to the Holy Land.  Alien scents rose about them, spices that must have been worth fortunes in Europe at this time.

Gianni offered his arm.  Greatly daring, Ada took it and, side by side, they walked down the street of Aleppo, seeking the priory of the Knights Templar.

Ada was amazed at how quickly they found it.  She wondered if Gianni had ventured a previous trip to Aleppo, but before she could ask, he forestalled her.  "Wait here.  I shouldn’t be long."  Into the gatehouse he went.

"What is he doing?" Ada asked Margo.

"Making a deposit," she answered.

Ada stared, then asked, "In my name?"  When Margo nodded, she said, "But doesn’t he need my signature?"

"Not to make a deposit.  A withdrawal, now, that’s another matter entirely."  She saw Ada’s concern and assured her, "Perhaps he shouldn’t be long, but business matters take their own time, in Western Asia."

It did take half an hour and involved some raised voices, but Gianni emerged with a letter of credit for twenty-eight pieces of gold.

"I… I am sorry to have troubled you, signor," Ada stammered.

Gianni frowned, puzzled.  "Trouble?  How?"

"The… the… well, not shouting, but…"

"Ah, you mean the discussion about the interest rate," Gianni said.  "Entirely expected, I assure you.  In fact, the knight with whom I spoke would have been insulted if I had not bargained."

"Other times, other customs," Margo said.  "What rate did you get?"

"He wanted twenty, but we settled at twelve."  He smiled at Ada.  "I hope that was sufficient."

"Twelve?"  Ada thought of the six percent she was gaining on her deposits in a Victorian London bank and said, "Quite sufficient, I assure you."

"After all, it’s GRIPE’s money, not ours.  How far ahead to we want to go, Ada?" Margo asked.

"1306," Ada said with assurance, "a year before the original Friday the 13^th."

"When Philip the Fair arrested all the Templars in France."  Margo nodded.  "Yes, let’s avoid that little unpleasantness, shall we?"

The local time machine was disguised as a confessional in the Church of St. Germain.  It was blocked with a sign that said "Under Construction" and looked as though it had been that way for centuries.

"Hasn’t anybody noticed this booth is never used?" Ada asked.

Gianni shrugged.  "It has taken centuries to build this church.  No one expects a simple confessional to be finished terribly soon."

"Not even in a parishioner’s lifetime?"

"Not particularly," Gianni said.  "The pulpit and the choir loft are certainly more important."

So it was that Ada, a devout Anglican, stepped into a Papist confessional—but before she could even kneel down, nausea gripped her, the close little booth seemed to whirl around her, and she found herself back in the time lab.

 

*                       *                       *

 

They ate together, Ada a non-stop chatterbox, babbling out the adventures of the day with excitement.  Only when she was launching into the itinerary for the next day did she realize that her companions were all watching her with different degrees of doting fondness and nostalgia, no doubt remembering their own first missions.  Ada looked down at her plate, somewhat embarrassed, and heard Yorick say, "Yes, it’s been a big day, and it sounds as though it’s going to be a bigger one tomorrow."

"And so to bed," Angus said.

Ada looked up wide-eyed.  "Will we meet Samuel Pepys?"

"Sooner or later," Gianni said.  "He was kind enough to leave us a very detailed chronology of a key period in the history of the world."

"Not tonight, though," Angus said.

"No," Gianni said.  "Not tonight."

 

*                       *                       *

 

Ada was surprised to find that Gianni had a room in GRIPE headquarters, too—but come to think of it, all the agents probably did, though on a time-share basis.  She went up to her room in the elevator with Margo.  As the doors opened, her friend said, "You're up to a dollar fifty."

"What?" Ada stared.

"At the going rate—a penny for each thought."  Margo smiled.  "Handsome, isn't he?"

"I haven't cared for those dark Mediterranean features before this," Ada said evasively.

"Before," Margo reminded.  "You should have a very interesting mission tomorrow."

 "I suppose I shall."  Troubled, Ada asked, "Margo... can one be infatuated with two men at the same time?"

"It's possible," Margo said, "but with me, a new crush usually means the old one is over."

"Crush?"  Ada asked, puzzled.  "What is a ‘crush?’"

Margo debated whether or not to try to explain the term, especially since it didn’t seem to have any sensible source, and settled for saying, "It means an interest in a man.  A very strong interest."

"Ah."  Ada’s face cleared.  "Well, of course, one can be interested in any number of young men, can’t one?"

"Of course," Margo said.  "Why pick one apple if you haven’t seen the whole orchard?  That sounds like true foolishness."

"I suppose it does," Ada said slowly.

As she went to bed, she wondered if her newly-discovered interest in men would only compound her problems.  True, Victorian morals may have been more restrictive, but they were also much less complicated.  She reflected that it was just as well her infatuation with Angus had passed—it would have been rather awkward to discover herself fancying a man old enough to be her father.

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

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