by Eric Flint
“A cave heaven, what’s that?”
“According to Tu Kuang-t’ing, who lived seven centuries ago, there are ten cave heavens and thirty-six small cave heavens in the mountains, miles deep in certain caves. Each is a gateway to another world, where time runs differently than it does here.”
Jacob and Eva exchanged looks. Everyone on the mission staff had been instructed to pay close attention to any Chinese belief that suggested the possibility of time travel or parallel worlds.
“By entering one of these cave heavens, and then returning, is it possible to visit one’s own past?” asked Eva.
“I haven’t heard of such a thing happening,” Xiake admitted, “but only a few privileged souls have ever entered a cave heaven. You can’t even discover the entrance unless you have been properly purified.”
“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” asked Jacob.
“Yes, let’s do that,” said Xiake. “I am getting hungry.”
They retraced their steps. The pine torches were still burning, albeit more dimly. They made it up the cliff, and Eva and Jacob didn’t even try to hide their relief.
“These pine torches are very useful, but I think we can do better,” Eva told Xiake. “During our training, we did go into mines. And while the working miners in Grantville were accustomed to using battery-powered headlamps, their grandparents and great-grandparents used carbide headlamps. And since both batteries and bulbs are in limited supply, carbide lamps are being made again. Some were brought on our ship for demonstration and sale. I wish I owned one myself; it would have come in handy today.”
“I would like to see this carbide lamp,” said Xiake. He had a bit of trouble pronouncing the term “carbide,” since it was also in English. “And to understand how it works.”
“Talk to Judith Leyster,” Jacob suggested. “She uses a big one for magic-lantern presentations, and so she was given responsibility for demonstrating the head-mounted ones, too.”
* * *
“So, who is this official we need to impress?” asked Eric.
“His name is Lu Weiqi,” said Admiral Zheng. “He is the minister of war in Nanjing.”
“Excellent!” said Colonel von Siegroth.
Eric coughed. “I appreciate the introduction, but I would like some clarification of his authority first. My understanding is that since the founding of the Ming dynasty, Nanjing has been a secondary capital. I thought it was just a skeleton bureaucracy, with no actual duties unless Beijing falls.”
Mike Song piped up, “So he’s a minister in mothballs?”
This prompted a brief digression on what mothballs were, and how they were used.
Once this was settled, Zheng Zhilong explained, “Anyway, in answer to your question—it’s complicated. The Nanjing bureaucracy, both civilian and military, are nominally equal in rank and pay but effectively inferior in authority and status to their northern counterparts. However, the Nanjing minister of war has responsibility, not only for the security of the Southern Capital and Nan-Zhili Province, but also for suppressing piracy on the southeast coast and aboriginal rebellions in the southwest.
“And if the bandits crossed the Yangtze, then it is likely that he would have some responsibilities for dealing with them, too. So the position is not a sinecure.
“There are eighteen imperial guard units in Nanjing, as compared to forty-four in Beijing. There are another thirty ordinary guard units in Nanjing, but I am not sure how many are in Beijing now. All told, about one tenth of the entire army is in Nanjing. And some of the Nanjing soldiers are trained in naval combat.”
“How strong is a guard unit?”
“At full strength, it is five thousand six hundred soldiers.”
Colonel von Siegroth raised his eyebrows. “And exactly how far below full strength are these guard units, in actuality as opposed to the pay rolls?”
Admiral Zheng laughed. “I see you are an experienced military man. My best guess is that the units, on average, are at about one-fifth strength. In toto, perhaps sixty thousand men. Still a respectably sized force, however.”
“How far is it to Nanjing?” asked Mike.
“As the crow flies, about one hundred and fifty miles,” said the admiral. “But if you are moving artillery, I imagine you would want to go by water.”
“We could take the Rode Draak north along the coast and then up the Yangtze. Or is the river too shallow? If need be, the Groen Feniks draws less water.”
“Too shallow?” The admiral laughed. “You could sail one of the great treasure ships of Cheng Ho many miles up the Yangtze.” His expression sobered. “No, the problem is that I can’t imagine that the authorities would give permission for a foreign warship to approach the Southern Capital. You have no idea how hard it was for me to get you permission to come to Hangzhou, and then only temporarily. I will have to find you alternative transport.”
Chapter 38
Hangzhou docks
Admiral Zheng and his retinue guided the westerners toward the docks. They made slow progress as they neared the Grand Canal, as they had to thread their way past increasing numbers of beggars, porters carrying goods, donkey and mule drivers, and other passengers. At times, the westerners feared getting separated, but Zheng was accompanied by a standard-bearer whose pole was visible over the head of the crowd, and each person behind him tried to keep track of the person in front of him.
As they walked, Jim told Martina, “A few years ago, I visited DC, and in front of the White House you’d see these groups of tourists in single file behind a guide holding up an umbrella or a flag. That’s what this reminds me of.”
At last, the street reached the Grand Canal. Hangzhou was the southern terminus of the Grand Canal, which cut across the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers, eventually ending at Beijing.
Here the Grand Canal was about eighteen feet wide, but Mike knew that it varied a great deal in width. The street continued, crossing the canal by means of an arched stone bridge; the Chinese called this a “rainbow bridge.”
There were no long piers in this part of the canal; the boats were anchored alongside the wall of the canal, and they could be reached by rope ladders or stone ramps.
There were many boats in the canal. These included large barges, with their cargo on deck. In some cases it was obvious what the cargo was: stacked bricks or tiles, bundled cords of wood, and so on. On other barges, the cargo was hidden inside canvas sacks or wooden boxes. The Grand Canal was broad enough so that two of the big barges could pass each other in opposite directions.
There were also smaller boats, which seemed dedicated to carrying passengers. Some of these, Mike judged, were commercial boats, collecting fares to transport people to other parts of town. And others were obviously the pleasure boats of the wealthy. He knew from the maps that Zheng Zhilong had shown him that a complex network of waterways ran through and around Hangzhou, connecting the Grand Canal with the Che River (the up-timers’ own maps called it the Qiantang) and also with various lakes.
“I hope that this will serve your needs,” said Admiral Zheng.
The westerners stared at the vessel in front of them. “Now this is something you don’t see every day,” said Eric.
Jim’s eyes were wide. “Ohmigod, it’s a paddle wheeler.”
The boat in question was a sidewheeler, with three pairs of wheels. It also had a single mast, with a typical junk sail. One of Zheng’s men grabbed hold of the forward mooring cable and pulled the boat in toward the dock so Admiral Zheng, Jim and their companions could hop on board.
Some fishermen on a passing boat pointed at the westerners, and yelled something in the local patois that, perhaps fortunately, Jim couldn’t understand.
The admiral led them on board the boat and Jim examined the treadmill mechanism that operated the paddlewheels. Jim motioned his assistant, Herr Doctor Johann Boehlen, over, and said, “Okay, we can install one of the donkey steam engines we took to China with us, and connect it to the crankshaft with a chain or bel
t drive.”
“Should we take out the pedals?” asked Boehlen. “Otherwise, the steam engine has to move them around even when the steam is doing all the work.”
“That’s true,” Jim admitted. “But the pedals are trivial compared to the paddlewheel blades, and they’ll allow us to get some headway even if we haven’t built up a head of steam. It’s just too bad that you don’t have boats with pedal-powered screws instead of paddlewheels.”
“Screws?” asked the admiral.
Jim mulled over how to explain this. His first thought was of the Archimedean screw, but according to his reading, the Chinese used chain pumps, not screw pumps. “Fan-shaped angled blades that twist from the root to the far end. Wait, let me draw one for you.” He pulled out the sketchbook that he used for drawing pictures and Chinese characters when he was having trouble communicating by spoken word alone.
As he drew a marine propeller, he said, “In the market, I saw some toys that used screws. One’s called a bamboo dragonfly.”
“I know the toy you mean,” said the admiral. “My son Big Tree is fond of them. You hold the stick vertically, but not so tightly that it can’t spin. You pull hard on the string and it takes off.”
“Exactly. There’s a toy boat we had in America that’s based on a similar principle, except it had the propeller on a horizontal axis; you turn the propeller a few times which winds up a rubber band—remember the rubber band I showed you?—and when you let go, the rubber band unwinds, turning the propeller and propelling the boat. Speaking of which—” he passed over the finished drawing of a propeller—“this is what I am talking about.”
The admiral looked at the drawing, then handed back the sketch book. “What’s the advantage of a propeller over a paddlewheel?”
“First, the propeller produces more thrust for a given engine power.” Jim laughed. “There was a famous test in the mid-nineteenth century. They positioned a screw steamer and a paddlewheel steamer, of equal size and engine power, rear to rear, with a cable tying them together. With both at full power, the screw steamer ended up towing the paddlewheel one backwards despite its best efforts.”
“Also,” Boehlen added, “the propeller is less affected by the heeling of a boat on a turn, or the change in water line depending on how heavily the boat is laden.”
Eric cleared his throat. “Guys, for SEAC, from a marketing standpoint, it would be great to parade our steam technology up the Grand Canal, but we’ve been cautioned that Christians are considered suspicious foreigners and, unless they are sure of their welcome, they try to keep a low profile.”
“Not to worry,” said Admiral Zheng. He beckoned to one of his attendants, who was carrying a folded cloth. “This pennant says ‘Traveling between Hangzhou and Nanjing by Command of the minister of war. Valid during the period such and such.’ Not only will no local official stop you, you can expect most other craft to yield the right-of-way.”
“Having a steam-powered paddleboat would be nice,” said von Siegroth, “but it is just not large enough to hold everyone and everything that would be going.”
“Hiring a couple of sailing junks to join the procession will not be a problem,” said Admiral Zheng. “Not with that pennant in hand.”
“I imagine you’re right,” said Eric.
* * *
It turned out to be quite a large procession. The Hubers wanted to come, to see more of Chinese geography and geology. And Judith Leyster and Zacharias Wagenaer, to photograph and draw the sights of Nanjing. Eric Garlow, Mike Song, and Maarten Gerritszoon Vries, to help Colonel von Siegroth. And once Fang Yizhi heard that they were going to Nanjing, he wanted to come along. And then his aunt wanted to do so, too.
That was actually to the advantage of the USE party, because many of the literati families of Tongcheng had moved to Nanjing after the uprising the October before, and thus there were many people that the Fangs could impose upon to find housing for their western friends.
* * *
Colonel von Siegroth cleared his throat. “Mister Saluzzo, I have a somewhat ghoulish question to ask you. What sort of target might I use to demonstrate the effectiveness of a shrapnel shell?”
“I don’t know,” said Jim. “It’s a bit outside my area of expertise.”
“Mannequins,” said a voice behind von Siegroth. He started; it was Jim’s wife Martina. “Not the fancy clothing-stores ones. Something simple, maybe papier-mâché over a wire frame, or wickerwork?”
“Hmm.… That’s a good idea. But perhaps too expensive, unless they already have them?”
“If you ask the Chinese, they invented everything first,” said Jim.
“Often they did,” said Martina. “We can ask Yizhi.”
“Perhaps a simple scarecrow would be good enough?” Jim ventured.
“The important thing is that you can see the holes made by the shrapnel.”
* * *
The hot air balloon was not going to be taken to Nanjing. The Nanjing minister of war was too powerful. Zheng Zhilong warned them of the risk that he might like the balloon too much and demand that it be turned over to him. The excuse that it was intended to be taken to Beijing, to show the emperor, might deter this…or it might not. The minister might insist that they train his henchmen to fly the balloon and then take it to Beijing himself. Perhaps without even bothering to give them credit. Lacking any firsthand knowledge of the minister’s character, Eric Garlow didn’t want to take a chance.
Jim Saluzzo was to remain in Hangzhou with his pregnant wife Martina, and Doctor Carvalhal would stay with them. That meant that Doctor Bartsch would need to go to Nanjing in case the main party needed medical care beyond what the local Chinese doctors could provide. While he had not spent as much time in Grantville studying medicine as had Doctor Carvalhal, he had studied medicine at the University of Strasbourg, and he and Doctor Carvalhal had talked a great deal during the long time at sea about the differences between up-time and down-time medicine. It did not appear that Doctor Bartsch’s astronomical expertise would be needed any time soon, and Doctor Boehlen could help Jim at the exhibition hall and shop.
None of the up-timers was especially happy with the arrangement. By now, they’d all come to have a lot of confidence in Carvalhal’s medical skills. That of Doctor Bartsch…not so much.
But there really wasn’t any workable alternative. As Mike put it—privately, of course—“Nobody ever said travel in the seventeenth century was a piece of cake.”
“Oh, shut up,” grumbled Eric.
“For that matter,” Mike continued breezily, “even crossing the street in the seventeenth century has its challenges.”
“Shut. Up.”
Arsenal exercise grounds
Nan-Zhili (South Capital) Province
Nanjing
Nanjing Minister of War Lu Weiqi’s father was a mere clerk in the district office. Lu Weiqi’s mother died when he was just five years old, but he was raised by his grandmother and, when his father remarried, his stepmother.
Lu Weiqi had been a dutiful student, qualifying as a juren in 1612 and a jinshi the next year. After that he had risen rapidly in the Chinese bureaucracy, first in the provinces and later within the ministry of personnel in Beijing, until he dared to criticize the personality cult glorifying the eunuch party leader, Wei Zhongxian, and was forced out of office. That had been in 1626, but in 1628 he had been invited back into public service. In the ministry of revenue in Nanjing he had reformed the granary administration and the copper mints, and then was rewarded with his present position in 1633.
It was not an easy position. Back in February 1634, he had memorialized the throne concerning the danger posed by rebels to the Ming ancestral tombs in Fengyang, and even to Nanjing. His warning had fallen on deaf ears. Then in early 1635, he had strengthened the defenses of Nanjing and sent reinforcements to Fengyang.
They had not been enough. The tombs were desecrated, an imperial prince residing in the area was murdered, and the political prisoners held
at Fengyang were set free to do mischief. It had been a great blow to imperial prestige.
Despite his warnings and efforts, Lu Weiqi was one of those blamed for the disaster and in the old time line, he had been dismissed from office. In this new one, just after the emperor had decided his fate, a severe thunderstorm had struck the palace. The emperor, fearing that this was a warning from Heaven, changed the dismissal to an admonition.
A lesser man would have refused to even see the foreigners—officials had been brought down before on account of their dealings with the barbarians—but Lu Weiqi had a strong sense of duty. Still, the barbarian officer would have to make a compelling case.
Chapter 39
Eighth Month (September 11–October 10, 1635)
Arsenal exercise grounds
Nan-Zhili (South Capital) Province
Nanjing
“This is a volley gun,” Colonel von Siegroth told Lu Weiqi a week later, shortly after the procession arrived in Nanjing. “It is a battle-tested design which was used against the French and other foes in a recent war. A recent, successfully concluded war, I might add. But a heavily punctured target is worth a thousand words. Let us show you what the volley gun is capable of.”
Colonel von Siegroth was accompanied by his two assistants, as well as Mike Song. While Mike had coached the colonel on how to explain the technical aspects of his military wares in Chinese, von Siegroth had wanted him nearby, just in case.
They stood on the archery and artillery test range of the Nanjing Arsenal Exercise Grounds. The target, an undyed cloth banner on wood supports, was about forty yards wide, roughly equivalent to an infantry company of about one hundred men if drawn up in a double line. The same number of cavalry, charging in a single line, would have a frontage closer to one hundred yards.
The test range was two hundred yards. According to the tests made by von Siegroth back in Germany, at a maneuvering gallop, cavalry could cover the distance in thirty-four seconds. At full gallop, it would take only twenty-six. Whereas enemy infantry would take a full two minutes to get to sword and spear range of the artillery—more like five minutes if they advanced while firing.