He’d make the thing cheaply out of fired clay and wound around with iron wire, as Marcus the Greek had said.
CHAPTER 54
Jared slapped potter’s clay around a wooden former, with a straw inserted into it at the closed end as his fire passage, and then fired it in the kiln. Attaching stout wire around the base end, he had his devil’s dust peashooter.
He made three, the bore of one equal to an acorn, the other two the size of an onion. There was no crimping possible so it would be set on end, shooting up in the air with the base sitting immovably on a rock.
He packed his contrivances carefully and headed out for the ravine.
It was grey, threatening rain, but he was going to try if heaven itself was against him.
At the flat rock he took out the smaller of the three but on sudden impulse made it the larger one. It seemed so odd sitting there, defiantly upright and looking about as lethal as a flower vase, but it was about to deliver him an answer.
For the first trial he decided to use the minimum devil’s dust just to see if it worked, and then increase it by stages. One spoon’s worth, carefully poured down into the dark void and tamped down with a stick. An onion, dropped in over it. A twisted cloth in the fire-passage.
It was ready!
Jared got the taper going and brought it to the cloth – it caught and he hastily scrambled across the rocks, braced ready for the cataclysm.
Nothing.
The makeshift contraption just stood there in the distance, a wisp of smoke lazily dispersing.
What had gone wrong? If it was true that the huo yao didn’t like being confined, his entire—
But then there was a livid flash and roiling smoke. Its sound echoed to and fro before fading and seconds later, and almost as an afterthought, the onion plummeted back from the sky and smashed to pieces on a nearby rock.
Shaken, Jared came to the heady realisation that it had actually worked! A wave of exultation washed over him as he went back to examine the split and blackened vessel. And such a small bit of huo yao for so much ferocity!
CHAPTER 55
‘So let me understand you,’ Rosamunde said carefully. ‘You’ve shot an onion in the air from a jar and this is what you want to tell me?’
‘It’s the last matter to prove before I make the first … um, powpe. You see, I’ve proved that if fire is brought to the devil’s dust in its prison, it gets so enraged it rushes to secure an escape – which it only finds at one end – by pushing on what confines it at such a force that it flies out faster than a bird on the wing.’
‘And this is the use you’ve found for your devil’s dust?’
‘I’ll now make an iron powpe that shoots a pebble, just to show you it will work, fired straight out at a target like in archery. Then a mighty powpe that can hurl boulders. You can’t tell me but that any great lord will pay much to possess the means of bringing his neighbour’s castle to ruin!’
‘Ah. This is more promising. You’ll tell me now that to make an iron one, you’ll require a fully stocked smithy with all its tools and things.’
‘Well, to work on such a piece I’d need much …’ He trailed off at her expression.
‘Until there’s something to show, we’ll make do with my usual workaday blacksmith – under your eye, naturally.’
It was agreed. He would produce his work and this time she would be witness to its powers. Should it turn out as he promised, then she would take a view as to serious investigation.
John Gosse was stolid and reliable as a smith, but was loudly stubborn that things would only be done his way.
‘What’s it to be, then?’ he demanded, leaning forward truculently.
‘A special.’
‘Well, a special what?’
A long and wearying two days later Jared took delivery of his powpe.
Awkward and heavy, crude and disfigured on the outside by hammer marks, it was nevertheless what he’d asked for.
The trials now would be in deadly earnest.
There were still some details to be resolved, however.
The first of these was the hole for the fire-passage. If it was too big, the devil’s dust would find it a more convenient exit, but too small and he wouldn’t be able to stuff in his cloth.
Another was the ‘pea’. He’d assumed a pebble would be what was wanted but there were very few he could find that fitted well. He didn’t want them to jam inside so the only option was to make some clay balls of the right size.
He set up by the waterfall. The target was a white sheet with a large diagonal cross and he laid things out on a flat rock thirty yards away.
The iron was cold and dinged alarmingly on the stone as he set it down on the little legs he’d attached at the front and back.
A single spoon of huo yao to start with, then the clay ball.
Finally the wispy cloth twisted hard to get it into the fire-passage, and he was ready.
He juggled the powpe tube until it pointed at the target, and got his taper going.
The cloth started flaming quickly and he retreated and waited.
Long minutes of absolute stillness passed.
Jared waited until it became clear that nothing was going to happen.
Gingerly he went up to it and saw the reason why: the fire had gone out when it reached the constriction of the hole. It was obvious when he thought about it: unless there was space for the flame to go inside it would be smothered.
The trial was a failure.
There had to be another way of getting fire to the devil’s dust!
In the darkness of the early hours his half-awake mind gave him the answer. If he couldn’t get to the devil’s dust, bring it out to meet him! Make a continuous path of huo yao from the inside to the outside of the hole and set it off in one.
Almost immediately he saw a snag. He’d be on top of the thing when it let go. Could he survive the noise and violence?
Perhaps modifying the outside of the hole with a small cup-shape indentation would expose enough devil’s dust to touch off with the taper?
He set up as before and hung the target. One spoon of huo yao, then the clay ball followed by a small shake into the hole until grey powder spilt out into the daylight.
With his heart in his mouth he got the taper going. It was tied to the end of a pole, and at a distance from the powpe Jared swung it around and hovered it near the fire-passage. In his nervousness it swayed about and then maddeningly stubbed out against the powpe.
He had to get closer.
Holding the pole halfway helped and he saw the tiny flame of the taper descend slowly to the waiting grey blotch.
Not knowing what to expect he flinched as the flame lowered.
His mind barely registered what happened next: an alarming fizz of white smoke for a split-second then a savage crack that left his ears ringing. The powpe reared up and was flung backwards with such fury that it barely missed him, ending on its side.
Recovering, Jared looked at the target. It was innocently hanging in the breeze without a mark.
He sat down to think it through. For now he would reduce the amount of huo yao and take the powpe nearer to the target to be sure of a hit – and he’d most surely have to tame the kick of the beast.
He set up, the powpe now held down by slabs of rock. This time: half a spoonful of huo yao and the clay ball.
Warily lowering the taper, he set it off with another ringing crack but he was ready for that, and the improvised restraints did their duty.
Maddeningly the target still floated serenely when it should have been holed. Where could the ball have gone, to miss so decisively?
It must be the clay, unable to stand the raging huo yao and turned to dust.
He had with him the only two pebbles he’d found. Would these fly true?
The huo yao, the pebble. A careful lining up of the iron powpe. And then the flame.
There was an obedient crash of sound – and incredibly, almost instantly, the target
folded in like a warrior taking a death blow!
Jared gave a long shuddering sigh.
CHAPTER 56
Rosamunde had promised to witness his success and she kept her word.
They rode slowly together out to the ravine and she waited patiently while he set up. He now had good pebbles and a rough baulk of wood to take the place of the rock-slabs in steadying the piece.
‘Stand away from the powpe,’ he ordered sternly.
She meekly obeyed.
The flame came down slowly as he called out, ‘Now!’
The brutal crack came as a shock, sending her to her knees but she rose slowly with a look of wonder and admiration at the far-off target, hit fair and squarely.
‘I-I did not think …’
‘Another one?’
‘No, no’, she answered faintly. ‘That was quite enough for me, thank you.’
The ride back was in silence and when they stabled the horses she pleaded a headache and retired.
At supper she was quiet and withdrawn, then said softly, ‘Jared, we must talk.’
The room was cleared.
‘Are you … do you know what it is that you’ve done?’
He chuckled. ‘Made an iron powpe?’
‘I beg you’ll be serious, Jared. And do swear to me that you will speak not a word of any of this to a soul.’
‘I promise,’ he replied, affected by her intensity, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘Do you not think I’ve found a use, then, for my devil’s dust?’
‘Yes, Jared, I do. Now, I said that if you made it happen I’d help you.’
‘Join me as a partner.’
‘Make common commercial cause with you.’
‘I’m not sure I completely understand you, Rosamunde.’
‘That is to say that the house of Barnwell is willing to invest a sum of money in your apparatus with a view to bringing it to market.’
‘Ah.’
‘On certain conditions.’
‘Oh?’
‘That the object of the investing is the producing of a machine or similar with a fixed purpose that may be constructed and sold for a profit. No wild schemes of turning castle walls to ruin or some such.’
He bristled but had to accept. If Mammon was the only path to the higher, then so be it.
‘Secondly, that you are the master who will create the machine while the House of Barnwell takes charge of the mercantile.’
‘Yes, I agree.’
‘Which is to mean that each will be guided by the other.’
‘Of course.’
‘And lastly – that we agree on a proper name for your device. If it’s to be offered up to princes and nobles I hardly think “powpe” will excite.’
‘Then … we call it a “fire-tube”, don’t you think?’
‘That is not what I had in mind.’
‘A “thunder-stick”, then?’
‘No.’
He frowned in exasperation. ‘Well, you tell me – what’s the most frightening thing you know?’
She thought for a moment. ‘It was something in my childhood, so dreadful I can still remember her.’
‘Her?’
‘I had a nurse from Norway. She took wicked joy in telling us of their awful history. Especially a war-maid married to Eric Bloodaxe, a sorcerer who bewitched men by loud shouts and became known as “mother of kings” after slaying Thorfinn Skull-Splitter. She must have been hideous to behold on the field of battle, I believe.’
‘Like our powpe will be to the foe. What was her name?’
‘Gunnhild Gormsdóttir.’
‘A bit long for most. We shorten it to … Gunn. Not a powpe, a Gunn.’
‘Hmm. I like that.’
‘How would we spell it?’
‘I would say, g-u-n-n-e. So then we can call your huo yao gunne-dust.’
‘Or gunne-powder, as saying this is not dust to be swept from the
house.’
‘Done!’
They laughed together then sobered in awe of the occasion.
‘I rather think we must now toast our future.’
She called for a page and when the wine arrived, deep, rich and red, they raised their goblets.
‘To Master Jared’s magnificent and terrible creation – his gunne!’
‘And to the two of us who are going to bring it into the world,’ he said.
She hesitated, her expression unreadable.
Then she impulsively leant across and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘I’ll right willingly drink to that,’ she said softly, her eyes fixed on him.
Unsure and confused, Jared took refuge in his wine.
The moment passed.
Rosamunde cleared her throat. ‘There are still matters to settle.’ She was the hard-eyed merchant investor again.
‘The market. Who will most desire our … gunnes? England is calm after the Scottish treaty, we are not at war with France.’
With none to buy the devices there would be no profit – no profit and the whole thing must fail.
‘Then …?’
‘I have my agent reporting to me shortly. He comes from a country that wars with itself without ceasing, one that glories in one town’s striving over another and who would greedily seize the chance to snatch unfair advantage over the other.’
‘Which can this be?’
‘Well, I rather fancy you will very shortly be on your way to Italy.’
CHAPTER 57
The English Channel, AD 1309
With a ponderous curtsey the well-laden cog acknowledged the open sea, its big sail slapping imperiously as it worked to claw to windward.
Standing at the rail on the raised deck aft, Jared watched the little port of Hythe fall astern, its details merging in the haze to an anonymous blur.
The familiar stinks and fresh salt air aboard a sea vessel had by now asserted themselves but this was a very different experience to the one before, for he was not a hapless pilgrim in the bowels of the ship – he was a respectable factor of the House of Barnwell and had accommodation to suit. His attire proved it to the world, especially his new half-circle scarlet cloak.
Jared suppressed a sigh; he was on his way to a destiny that was inconceivable in Hurnwych, outward bound to Italy to seek his fortune in the most fantastical way.
It had been quick – as soon as the agent had agreed with Rosamunde that the best prospects were to be found in Italy, plans had been drawn up, costed and an understanding finalised.
She had spoken to him incisively, telling him his days as a blacksmith were over and now he was to conduct himself as a respected member of the House, to remember his manners always and to regard the augmenting of revenue and frugality in expenses as the highest calling. Her agent would take care of his commercial affairs and it were well to take his advice to heart, for Italy was a much different place to England.
At their parting she’d wished him well of his venture and had pressed on him a lavishly set gold ring, a large amethyst surrounded with emeralds. As he contemplated what it might mean she had coolly explained that it was insurance should he be stranded without funds in some foreign quarter. It seemed an extravagant gesture to wear it, so it was now under his tunic on a string around his neck.
Jared took a last look round and went to the cabin under the afterdeck to join the agent.
Messer Domenico Sforza was writing at the little table. The candle guttered at the sea draughts that made their way past the embroidered hangings that offered a degree of warmth and gentility.
He was a neat individual with a permanently grave expression of unassailable dignity and looked up as Jared entered, laying down the pen.
‘I do trust these quarters are to your liking,’ he said in his impeccable English. The cabin was to be shared, but only between themselves.
‘How long will it be?’ Jared asked diffidently, unsure how to relate to the agent, who was in every respect so unlike himself.
‘To Genoa? With good winds, no
more than six weeks, God willing. Wine?’
There was a jug on the side table and he poured two glasses. ‘The time will pass – we have much to do.
‘Signor Jared, I have firm instructions from Mistress Barnwell that you’re to imbibe as many of the Italian civilities as we have time for, in order that you’re able to maintain a countenance in high places. For this you must be aware of many things, our history and culture, manners and delights. It will be my honour to be your teacher.
‘And she did suggest that as you are as yet unacquainted with the more delicate aspects of the station of gentleman, it might profit you to—’
‘I’m happy as I am,’ he retorted. ‘I’ll never wear a false front!’
Sforza sighed. ‘Signor, we all wear a front, false or no, in whatever situation we find ourselves. It is the way of the world and in my country it is nothing less than essential. Why? We shall discuss this later.’
‘As we’re speaking plain, Messer Sforza, it would satisfy me to know just what interest you have yourself in this venture.’
‘Speaking plain is never a good plan in Italy, but I let it pass. I am a trusted agent for the House and have been for some years. In this venture I shall be choosing and making the first approach to those who will be offered your … er, gunne. For this service I shall be satisfied with a due proportion of the outcome. By this you will understand that it is in my interest to ensure you have all the funding and assistance necessary to achieve your objective.’
‘I see.’
‘Which is why I fear that all our expense and effort will be in vain were you to fail to impress. You are a striking figure of a man and will attract much curiosity, which we may turn to our advantage, therefore I beg you will be patient in this.’
Jared’s education began that evening.
Sforza was a gracious host and gentle teacher and on the understanding that it was accepted that there did not necessarily have to be a good reason for any or all of the arts of politeness, gradually these were acquired.
The Powder of Death Page 18