He looked up at the smoke cloud with his customary mixed feelings. On the one hand, he hated what it was doing to his workers’ lungs. On the other hand, it was the unavoidable consequence of producing the quantities of steel Charis needed for its survival. And whatever reservations he might have about it, those coking ovens and blast furnaces produced byproducts—from the coal gas lighting his manufactory floors and buildings and the Tellesberg waterfront to the creosote which would preserve the wooden sleepers Stylmyn’s railroads would eventually require—that were of almost incalculable value. And in a very few more months, some of those same byproducts would be finding their way into the production of Safehold’s first smokeless powder and artillery bursting charges.
In the meantime, the Lywysite manufactory west of the main Delthak Works had gone into volume production. At Merlin’s urging, the initial pilot production had gone to Earl Hanth, who’d certainly used it to good effect, but producing it had scarcely been an efficient process. The new manufactory, on the other hand, incorporated dozens of lessons learned in the prototyping process, and it looked as if it was going to exceed Sahndrah Lywys’ original output projections by at least ten percent. Howsmyn hoped that would offset her disgruntlement with what Cayleb and Sharleyan had insisted on naming the new explosive.
She’d wanted to call it by Alfred Nobel’s original name, since most of her work had simply been the duplication of his Old Earth manufacturing processes. Unfortunately, no one had been able to come up with a reasonable explanation for a bizarre word like “dynamite,” and she’d been less than delighted when her monarchs insisted on naming it after her, instead. The new manufactory’s products were actually superior to Nobel’s early accomplishments, but remained unsuitable as a shell filler for all the reasons most nitroglycerine-based explosives had: sweating, sensitivity, and its tendency to degrade in storage.
Nitrocellulose propellants were almost certainly going to be available before a suitable high-explosive shell filler, but Lywys was hot on the trail of military-grade TNT. She had all the ingredients (including toulene, extracted from the blue-needle pine, a tree which grew commonly in Charis and Emerald); it was mainly a question of producing them in sufficient quantity with the necessary safeguards against toxicity. And, Howsmyn admitted unhappily, with an eye towards limiting the long-term pollution volume production would create. As with so many other aspects of the Charisian version of the Industrial Revolution, they would do all they could to mitigate the consequences, yet they had no choice but to pursue the processes to create the weapons they needed to survive.
In many ways, picric acid was simpler to manufacture. It was also more powerful than TNT, but it carried serious stability and corrosion issues. For all of its other drawbacks, TNT was extraordinarily stable and far safer to store or handle, and its lower melting point made it much easier to fill shells with it.
The small arms cartridge production and filling assembly lines were in full swing at the Delthak Works, as well, although—like the Lywysite manufactory—the powder works had been located well clear of the main facility. Ultimately, however, the bulk of Charis’ cartridge-filling capacity would be located at Howsmyn’s Cahnyr Works, the satellite manufactory on Gull Inlet, just off Eraystor Bay in Emerald’s Earldom of Bayshore.
More and more of the Empire’s gunpowder production had already been moved to Emerald. Partly that had been to disperse production and decrease the Empire’s dependency on the established Charisian powder plants, especially after the horrific explosion at the Hairatha powder mill. More of it had been simple rationalization, however, in light of Emerald’s proximity to The Wyvernry. That craggy headland at the northwestern end of Silverlode Island, across Dolphin Reach from Eraystor, boasted immense, cliff-like deposits of wyvern guano which were the main reason Silverlode had been settled (if one could call its sparse population density “settled,” even now) in the first place. They were also the reason the entire island had been claimed by the farsighted Ahrmahk Dynasty long before any of its members had ever heard of someone named Jeremiah Knowles, because of their value to the fertilizer industry. Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s embargo had put a major crimp into the profitable nitrates trade with the mainland, but those same nitrates were just as important for the burgeoning munitions industry.
Given the quantities of powder Emerald was already producing and the fact that the Delthak Works’ current case production was higher than could be filled locally, it made sense to ship the extra cases to Emerald. Eventually, as the Cahnyr Works’ own case-drawing lines reached production, Emerald would also provide at least fifty percent of the Empire’s total cartridge cases, and Cayleb and Sharleyan intended to locate much of the smokeless powder production in the island, as well. For that matter, they’d also begun installing case-drawing equipment at the Maikelberg Works, where the first of the new Chisholmian rifle- and pistol-making lines were already in operation. It was part of their plan to spread employment—and the heretical concepts of industrialization—as broadly as possible among their subjects.
And it would be a good thing when the Cahnyr Works hit their stride, Howsmyn reflected, pedaling steadily, because Kynt Clareyk’s 1st Corps had been completely reequipped with the new cartridge-firing weapons. Every one of his scout snipers and every man of the 3rd Mounted Brigade had been issued one of the new revolvers (officially the “M96 Revolver, Caliber .45, Mod 0,” but already known to the troops as the “Mahldyn .45,” to the considerable embarrassment of Taigys Mahldyn), and one of the even newer M96 bolt-action rifles. Four thousand of the 4th Infantry Division’s riflemen had also been issued M96s, while all the rest had been issued converted Mahndrayn breechloaders. Officially, those were designated the “Mahndrayn Rifle, Caliber .50, Mark II, Mod 2,” but the troops, with their customary disregard for formal terminology, had adopted Mahldyn’s own designation and called them simply “Trapdoors” from the design of their hinged breeches. The mounted infantry’s cap and ball revolvers had been passed on to 1st Corps’ artillerists, and the support squads’ mortar crews and Artillery Support Party troopers had also been issued Trapdoors.
That meant 1st Corps’ twenty-seven thousand or so men could lay down an awesome amount of firepower, but it also meant Howsmyn had been forced to ship the new weapons no later than the beginning of February if he’d wanted to get them into Green Valley’s hands in time for his planned offensive, and cartridge production had run behind original estimates. They’d been able to ship two hundred rounds per revolver, three hundred rounds per Trapdoor, and three hundred and fifty per M96 rifle, but that wasn’t a very generous supply, given the troops’ need to familiarize themselves with the new weapons and carry an adequate ammunition supply into combat with them. More ammo was in the pipeline, already in transit to Siddarmark, but so were additional rifles and revolvers to use it. It was proving harder than he’d anticipated to build up an adequate supply of the new ammunition, and he strongly suspected that demand in the field would be higher than projected once the spring campaign season got underway, as well. All of which explained the sweat and worry he was expending over the new Emeraldian ammunition manufactories.
He grimaced at the thought, but if Green Valley was going to have to be careful about ammunition expenditures for the next month or so, his men would still be enormously better off than their opponents. The new M97 mortars would help offset any small arms ammunition shortages, as well, and while Lywysite wasn’t a very satisfactory shell filler, Hanth had already demonstrated how useful it would prove to the Imperial Charisian Army’s combat engineers. All in all, the Army of God was not going to enjoy the fresh fruits of Charisian inventiveness.
Which is a damned good thing, he told himself, his expression grimmer, as he reached his destination at last and dismounted from his bicycle. Brother Lynkyn’s proving even more irritating at St. Kylmahn’s than Zhwaigair’s proving in Gorath. And Duchairn’s turning into an even bigger pain in the arse than he’s been before. I hope whoever murdered Zhorj Trumyn a
nd stole his briefcase finds an especially hot spit in hell. More to the point, I hope Aivah’s agents catch him and drop him into Bedard Bay with a rock tied to his ankles.
Lynkyn Fultyn’s curiosity, imagination, and agile mind, like Dynnys Zhwaigair’s, were doing exactly what Nimue Alban’s original mission needed done … which was unfortunate from the perspective of what Charis needed. Fultyn had been smart enough to realize the pitch and shape of the new Zhwaigair-designed, Fultyn-modified rifle’s breech plug was likely to be critical. That being the case, he’d built no less than two dozen prototypes simultaneously, each with slightly different screws, and adopted the one which performed best.
Not content to stop there, he’d gone a step further than Zhwaigair and come up with an even better breech design and he was producing the new rifles in greater numbers—and more cheaply—than he’d predicted. He was even going to manage a greater degree of standardization, although that was only just phasing in. Worse, he’d leapt on the open-hearth steel production notes from Trumyn’s briefcase like a drowning man onto a liferaft as the krakens closed in.
With Duchairn’s backing, he’d translated the diagrams and instructions Trumyn had been supposed to deliver to Greyghor Stohnar’s Council of Manufactories into detailed construction plans and directions for their operation and distributed them to every foundry in the Temple Lands, Harchong, Desnair, and Dohlar.
Desnair (predictably) had been much less receptive to the new concepts, and even Dohlaran foundry masters would take a while to get the new furnaces up and running. Winter weather wasn’t helping construction, either. For that matter, Charis, thanks in no small part to Merlin’s (and Owl’s) input, had a huge head start on the art of making good steel, with alloys it would take the Church’s foundries years (or even decades) to duplicate by trial and error. Even less-than-perfect steel was far better than cast iron, however, and the Church’s production would rise enormously, with the very first of the new steelworks coming online around the Gulf of Dohlar in the next month or two.
It couldn’t take much longer than that, given that Howsmyn himself had originated most of the new techniques as little more than systematic refinements of already existing practices. And, unfortunately, the directions he’d sent to Siddarmark for applying those refinements had been very clear, concise, and complete. They were simply lucky the other information in Trumyn’s stolen briefcase had been intended as a broad introduction to the concept of steam engines rather than building instructions with the diagrams and explicit directions about materials, dimensions, and practices which had been provided for the furnaces. The last thing they needed would have been to deliver what amounted to an actual working model of one of Praigyr’s beloved steam engines to Mother Church!
Even Brother Lynkyn was finding the translation of general principles into actual hardware heavy going, but Howsmyn was glumly confident that, given enough time, he’d produce crude steam engines of his own. No doubt they’d be underpowered and prone to breakdown, not to mention offering plenty of chances for catastrophes like exploding boilers, but they’d still represent an enormous increase in the Church’s capabilities. It would be bad enough just in terms of steam-driven blast furnaces and manufactories, but the thought of facing even relatively slow steam-powered warships was unappealing.
Well, not even Brother Lynkyn and Lieutenant Zhwaigair are going to overhaul the Church’s entire industrial plant overnight, he reminded himself as he rolled his bicycle into the rack outside the Urvyn Mahndrayn Rifle Shop Number One. And I don’t think the Army of God has very many months left. Anything they want to do after we’ve kicked their army’s arse up between its ears and convinced the Group of Four they never—ever—want to screw with Charisians again is fine with me.
“Master Howsmyn!” Taigys Mahldyn greeted him with a huge smile, clasping forearms with him. “I see you’re closer to on time than usual!”
“It’s not a good idea to point out that I’m always behind schedule, Master Mahldyn,” Howsmyn told him with a frown, and Mahldyn chuckled. He’d come a long way from the anxious but determined craftsman who’d sought an audience with the wealthiest man on Safehold to show him his concept for a new revolver. And so he should have, since he was well along towards becoming one of the wealthiest men on Safehold himself. Almost more important to Ehdwyrd Howsmyn, however, was Mahldyn’s confidence in his own self-worth—and in his own inventive judgment—which had come along with the last furiously busy year or so of his life.
“Seems t’ me there’s no reason you should be different from those of us as work for you, Sir,” Mahldyn pointed out now. “Every single one of us is trying t’ do two hours’ work in a single hour every Langhorne blessed day, aren’t we?”
“I do believe you have a point,” Howsmyn acknowledged as he released the other man’s arm and twitched his head at the rifle works’ door. “So why don’t you and I go take a look at your latest effort to stretch the hours available to you?”
“I’m thinking it’s something you might find a mite interesting, t’ be honest, Sir,” Mahldyn said, walking along beside him. “I’ve been giving some thought t’ what you said t’ other day ’bout the one advantage smoothbores have over rifles. Especially breech-loading rifles.”
“Ah?” Howsmyn hid a smile behind a puzzled expression. He’d been looking forward to this conversation. “Oh!” He allowed his expression to clear. “You mean their ability to fire ‘buck and ball’ rather than just a single bullet when the range is short enough, like in the Battle of the Kyplyngyr?”
“Aye, Sir, that I do.” Mahldyn nodded eagerly. “You see, I got t’ thinkin’ about that, and there’s not rightly a reason we couldn’t fire buckshot out of a cartridge, ’cept how much brass it’d use because the cartridge’d be so large. But then it came t’ me. The chamber don’t care what the cartridge’s made of; its job’s t’ hold the charge, whatever we pack it in. So it came t’ me that instead of usin’ brass, there’s other things we could be lookin’ at. Like paper. You take the right cardstock, now, and you bind one end into a brass cup t’ hold the primer, and all you’d have t’ do’d be to—”
.X.
Nimue’s Cave, Mountains of Light, The Temple Lands
“Owl and I have completed our analysis.”
Nahrmahn Baytz’ holographic eyes tracked around the faces of the other members of the small group assembled—physically or electronically—at the table in Nimue’s Cave. Actually, only Merlin, Aivah, and Sandaria Ghatfryd were physically present, but this time Owl had generated full holographic images of all of the attendees rather than simply projecting them onto the contact lenses of those scattered elsewhere around the planet.
“As the Sisters of Saint Kohdy had speculated,” Nahrmahn continued, this time looking at Aivah and Sandaria, “the reason he decided to write in Spanish—in Español—was his concern over how far outside the bounds of accepted doctrine and theology his speculations might fall. Even the portions he recorded in English have given us considerable additional insight into what actually happened following the Rakurai strike on the Alexandria Enclave, though.”
“Insight not already present in Saint Zherneau’s journal?” Maikel Staynair asked, his sinewy hands folded on the table in front of him. Actually, they were folded on his desk in far-off Manchyr, where it was almost midnight.
“Quite a lot, really.” Nahrmahn shrugged. “Jeremiah Knowles and his friends were hidden away in Tellesberg, Maikel. They had access only to whatever information reached what was basically a very small town at the back end of nowhere. That limited what they could really know about what was happening elsewhere, and their orders from Shan-wei to keep their heads down came into play, as well. There wouldn’t’ve been much the four of them could’ve accomplished, cut off from Alexandria and isolated half a world away from all the rest of the colonists, even if they hadn’t had Shan-wei’s instructions to lie low, survive, and plan for the future. So in many ways, Saint Zherneau’s perspective on the War Against
the Fallen was as much that of an outsider as anyone else on Safehold had. Cody Cortazar, on the other hand, was right in the midst of that war. He saw a lot more of it, and from a considerably different perspective.”
Staynair nodded slowly and thoughtfully.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wasn’t challenging your interpretation. I only wanted to be sure I understood the context.”
“With all due respect, Your Eminence,” Sandaria’s expression was as dry as her tone, “I think ‘context’ is something we could all use at this point.”
Several of the others chuckled, and Merlin smiled. Sandaria might continue to nourish reservations over the inner circle’s version of the Archangels, but her sojourn here in Nimue’s Cave had soothed those reservations’ sharpest edges. And she’d obviously gotten over her initial discomfort at holding long conversations with people who weren’t physically present … or happened to be dead.
She’d been skittish about Owl when Merlin and Nimue explained that his hologram was that of an individual who’d never physically existed outside the effectively “magical” confines of a computer. Still, that had been easier for her to process than the idea that the individuals she knew as Merlin and Nimue were actually a pair of machines, both of which contained the memories of a young woman—the same young woman—who’d died almost a thousand Safeholdian years before her own birth. She’d known—or been introduced to, at least—both Merlin and Nimue before that truth had been shared with her, however, and she related to them as the discrete and separate individuals they’d become in a way which pushed the fact of Nimue Alban’s physical death back below the level of conscious awareness.
She couldn’t do that with Nahrmahn Baytz. She knew he’d died, and he had no more of a physical body than Owl did. It had taken her many days to get past the idea that she was talking to a ghost whenever she and Nahrmahn spoke. In fact, for the first five-day after her arrival in the cave she’d avoided speaking to him whenever possible. She’d preferred to address any comments or requests to Owl and let the AI refer them to Nahrmahn if that turned out to be necessary.