Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  Clavell nodded.

  “The daughter of that foundry owner is in my class. Good student.”

  “Higher-class citizens always seek new knowledge here. It should be no surprise that they already know the secrets of gunpowder.”

  “So it would be safe to tell them the formula,” Harrison said. “Fifteen to three to two. Mix it, wet it, and corn it. Might be a good idea, Sarge. They’ll appreciate knowing. That’s the formula you gave them?”

  “Precisely so. Those portions, by dry measure.”

  “And willow charcoal,” Harrison said musingly. “Where do you reckon they’ll get sulfur?”

  Vinicianus shrugged.

  “I told them their trade ships and agents should look for springs that smell of rotten eggs. That was what Gengrich did.”

  “Black powder and alcohol,” Clavell muttered. “Used to know a song about that. Never did know where to get sulfur. Well, well.” But I do know better sources of saltpeter, I think. Gull rocks. Bat caves. Maybe there’s money in knowing that? He turned to the Roman. “So why are you telling us all this?”

  “I’ve told you little you won’t learn in due course,” Vinicianus said. “As I said, I hope to earn your friendship and good will. And perhaps you may need my services another time.”

  “Need ’em now,” Clavell muttered.

  “For what purpose?”

  “I need to get a message to Colonel Galloway,” Clavell said. “You want to earn some good will with the Colonel, let him know all this right away. That we’re here and can’t leave, not mistreated but we’re sure as hell prisoners. Tell him that Nikeis is going big time to make gunpowder. That there’s maybe new star people with all kinds of star goods. Get that word to the Colonel, and I guarantee you he’ll be grateful.”

  Vinicianus smiled thinly.

  “I’m certain you are right.” He looked up to see one of the household children scurry past with a mop and pail. “Your housekeeper’s child?”

  “How would I know?” Clavell shook his head.

  “You don’t, but I do,” Harrison said. “Her name’s Chara. We sort of own her. Orphan kid, as it happens. Nobody knows from where, talks Terra Firma all right but don’t speak much Italian, kidnapped on the mainland and brought here by some fisherman who wanted a servant. Grabbed me around the knees when I was walking down by the docks, and begged for a job where they didn’t beat her.” Harrison shrugged. “So I bought her. Didn’t cost much.”

  “Oh. Well, you done good,” Clavell said.

  “Yeah, she’s worked out all right, works hard,” Harrison said. “Cook treats her like one of her kids, and she’s getting a little meat on them skinny bones. So tell us, Marcus, can you get a message to the Skipper or not? I’m bettin’ you can’t, this place is sealed up pretty good.”

  Vinicianus shrugged.

  “It would be difficult and very expensive at this time. Are you certain you wish to make such an attempt? The Signory will expect you to do so, of course, and they will be watching you closely.” He shrugged again. “As they will now be watching me, since I do not doubt they know I have been here. Do not think ill of me if I decline the attempt, at least for now. It may be easier in a few days.”

  He watched Chara the kitchen maid retreat out of sight and smiled softly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CROSSING

  Twelve days since landing

  Bart Saxon watched uneasily as the sailors lashed the cargo container to the reinforced deck of the big ship. There was activity all around him. Longshoremen and deckhands loaded the ship next to them with copper and tin ingots, another ship down the way was being loaded with charcoal. Saxon could see the fires from the charcoal kilns all around the port city.

  This was the last of the twenty-foot containers. The first had been safely taken across to Nikeis by Haskins and Sandori while Saxon stayed to watch the other two. Haskins had returned to report it safely across, installed in Senator Avanti’s palazzo with Ms. Sandori to watch it, then went back over with the second. Saxon had been surprised to see Haskins return with the ship after shepherding the second cargo container. That left two of the containers in Nikeis with only one star guard.

  Of course there was nothing to be done about it. Sandori had sent him, claiming concern about Saxon. Haskins wasn’t precisely afraid of Sandori. Intimidated would be a better word, Saxon thought. But it all added up to his coming back to Terra Firma leaving two containers on the island with only Officer Lorraine Sandori to guard them. Saxon frowned at the thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sandori, but she’d become increasingly friendly with the young Senator Avanti, and the Senator was understandably curious about the contents of those containers. Moving them was expensive, and Avanti had never lost an opportunity to remind Saxon of that. For all his suspicions, what were the alternatives to cooperation with Avanti and the Serene Republic? Saxon could think of none.

  What the hell can she be planning? Probably nothing. Keeping her options open, not closing off any. That would mean she wouldn’t go too far, not just yet. But she’s thinking of what she can do on her own. I’m sure of it.

  Those cargo containers were almost certainly the most valuable objects on the planet, but it wasn’t clear whether the Nikeisian elites understood that. Sandori certainly did, which probably meant that Senator Avanti did . . . Saxon shook his head in frustration. Saxon had the only keys, but that wasn’t anything permanent. The best locks would yield to a sledgehammer.

  And it only takes one dagger in the right place to get the keys away from me, Saxon thought.

  If anyone planned on doing that, it wasn’t obvious. The Nikeisian officials they had met were uniformly polite, and their hospitality was exaggerated. They were meticulous about recording every ducat they spent on this operation, but the charges they made didn’t seem excessive. From what Saxon could discern, gold was important here—and there was a modest but weighty bag of Krugerrands in this last container, and only Saxon knew about them. It ought to be more than enough if the Nikeis officials were as honest as they protested they were.

  Odd, Saxon thought, but they do seem to be honest. Merchant societies often are. Maybe they have to be.

  Honest or not, the Nikeisians were certainly efficient. Within a week of their landing on Tran a sizable expedition of oxen and wagons had appeared in the clearing. The containers were far too large for existing wagons, but in four days new and very large wagons had been built and the containers had been manhandled onto those wagons. Teams of twenty-four oxen had pulled each container over the trail to the main road, then eighteen-oxen teams had pulled them the dozen miles to the sea. Progress had been slow but quite steady, and everything was done professionally. Clerks had noted every expense as they moved from the clearing to the road, then into the fortified harbor city. It added up to an impressive sum in ducats, but when Saxon found what they paid for gold he stopped worrying about it. He could afford this—and Spirit might be paying in something other than coins.

  Not my concern, Saxon thought. Or I hope it isn’t.

  The journey to the sea had been interesting. This area was obviously a center of industrial activity. Loggers were everywhere. On their first day Saxon saw what looked like an enormous tipi of logs stood on end. Men were plastering the outside of the tipi logs with dirt. Saxon thought hard about what they were doing, but then he saw a similar structure on fire, and realized they were making charcoal. Charcoal would be important in metal refining and forging, and the Nikeis workers seemed to know precisely what they were doing. This wasn’t anything they’d learned recently. They passed several more charcoal kilns as they made their way to the sea coast.

  And we almost certainly have ways to improve the charcoal-making process, Saxon thought. That’s in the books I brought. The Britannica was a gold mine of information about the early technology of the Industrial Revolution. That alone should be enough to pay the debts we’ve run up. Charcoal. Black powder. Maybe even nitric acid and guncotton. Smokeless powd
er. Nitroglycerin . . . The last thought brought a mischievous grin to Saxon’s face. Dad would be proud . . .

  We’ve been well treated. It’s been expensive, but all’s well so far, Saxon thought. The Nikeis officials treated them as wealthy visitors. They’d been advanced local currency—ducats, which Saxon remembered from Shakespeare but had never seen before—and a line of credit for food and drink. Every item was written down by a clerk. But then, damned near everything they do is written down. Damnedest country for record keeping I ever heard of.

  Yes, all was well and they were treated as wealthy and honored guests. But there had never been any discussion of where they were going.

  * * *

  The ship was about a hundred and fifty feet long. Saxon paced it off before they boarded. A hundred and fifty feet long and more than forty feet wide amidships, with a high forecastle forward and a narrow poop deck a full deck higher aft. A stubby, sawed off tub. It was fitted to row, but it also had a pair of masts. It bore the name Queen of Heaven, and the locals called it a navis oneraria. A merchant ship. It hadn’t been built for anything as large as a twenty-foot cargo container, but the sailors had made do. The deck had been beefed up with square timbers the size of railroad ties, and the container rode on those amidships, ahead of the mainmast and between the left and right rowing benches. The middle benches on each side had been cut short to make room for the container between them. Saxon could see the raw wood at the edges. The container was lashed down by ropes to both sides as well as fore and aft, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Actually, it might keep the ship floating,” Haskins said. “If it came to that. Them things are pretty watertight.”

  Saxon shuddered.

  “Thanks. Well, two are safe over there, so I guess we’re all right. What’s it like? On the island?”

  “Islands. Lots of them. You keep askin’ me that, and I keep telling you, I didn’t get far from the docks,” Haskins said. “Now Miss Spirit can tell you more, I reckon. She seems to be doing all right with that Senator kid.”

  “They were getting pretty thick on the trip coming to the harbor,” Saxon said. “Are they sleeping together?”

  “Don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me none.” Haskins shrugged. “They sure spend enough time together. One thing, if’n the women I saw are typical, she’s got competition. Some real hot babes in that city. On the other hand, Miss Spirit’s likely the thinnest woman on the island.”

  “The women are fat?”

  “Not so much fat, maybe, but sure more rounded out than Miss Spirit,” Haskins said. “Lively, too. Not that I saw all that many women around the docks, but there was some. Some real fancy dressed, too, not just the kind of women you expect to see around sailors. Didn’t seem to mind what color I was, either.” Haskins chuckled. “Miss Spirit wasn’t so happy to see them, though. Kept saying she had to find a hairdresser and a dress shop. Real insistent about it.”

  “That doesn’t sound much like her.”

  “Sure don’t, Bart. But that’s how she was.”

  “All right. Now why are you carrying that?” Saxon indicated the H&K battle rifle slung over Haskins’ shoulder.

  Haskins shrugged again.

  “They asked if we had star weapons to protect the ship,” he said. “Miss Spirit told them we did, and they wanted me to carry mine.” He grinned. “Not like I’ve ever had to use it. We didn’t even do a demonstration, not that it’s needed, I think these guys know all about what a rifle like this can do.”

  “How would they know that?”

  “I don’t know, Bart, but they sure haven’t acted all that curious. Maybe they seen them in action already.”

  Saxon thought about that for a moment.

  “You know, you may be right,” he said. “Galloway’s been here for years. There’s no way these people can make a smokeless powder rifle, but they’ve got to have heard of them.” Saxon looked at the bronze fittings of the ship. There was a forged pump of bronze and iron. No cannon, but once the idea occurred to these people they’d be able to make cannon, he was certain of that.

  “If the signori please,” Captain Fieschi said. “It is time to depart. The tide will be in our favor.”

  “Certainly,” Saxon said. He let Fieschi lead them up the wide gangway. “Will the weather be favorable?”

  Fieschi shrugged.

  “Only God knows, Signor Saxon, but we usually have favorable winds and small seas at this time of year. And it is less than two days’ voyage at worst.”

  The gangway led to the main deck. They went aft between two benches of oarsmen.

  No chains, Saxon noticed. Apparently the Tran version of the Serene Republic was like Earth’s Venice, free oarsmen. Venice, or classical Athens, he thought. A strong man could make a reasonable living as an oarsman. A good one might even become a ship captain.

  They climbed a stairway to a poop deck that rose above the main deck to almost the height of the cargo container, so they could look right over the container to the front end of the ship. Rowers were taking their places at the benches. Armed marines stood on the forecastle. There were two devices up there. Onager. That’s the name, Saxon thought. A small stone-throwing torsion catapult. There was no sign of ammunition for the two onagers, but the marines who stood next to them were apparently the crew for the weapon. They seemed to be doing something, but Saxon couldn’t make out what. The entire ship had an air of ordered confusion, with everyone familiar with what had to be done so no one was giving orders. Things just happened.

  There were cabins under the poop deck, and they were shown to two of them, presumably officer quarters vacated for Saxon and Haskins.

  “Can’t complain nohow about the hospitality,” Haskins said. “See you up on deck in a minute?”

  “Sure.” Saxon looked around the cabin.

  Stateroom. They’d call it a stateroom in English, Saxon thought. God knows what that is in Italian. I guess cabin will have to do.

  The room was larger than he’d expected. It was stuffy, owing to a complete lack of windows or portholes. A bed was built in against the hull side of the cabin. Saxon noted that it had high sideboards so that he wouldn’t fall out if the ship rolled in high seas, and nodded in satisfaction. He expected to be seasick, and he was pleased to see a bucket half filled with seawater set securely into a wooden structure fastened to the bulkhead by his bed. Apparently they thought he might be seasick too.

  There was no sign of a bathroom. There had to be something. The ship didn’t stink. The maritime crew and the oarsmen had to have some place. The bucket? Maybe more buckets? He could ask Cal.

  There were shouts and the sounds of rushing feet. Saxon came out into the hall between cabins and went up the ladder to the deck above. The oarsmen were in their places with the oars raised high, while linesmen cast off and pushed the ship out from the dock with long poles. Once they were away from the dock the oarsmen dipped oars and began to push.

  Push, Saxon thought. They’re standing and facing the direction we’re going. Using their legs. I don’t remember reading anything about that. But they sure are.

  He looked back to the shore. The dock was part of a fortified harbor, a walled castle with stone breakwaters extending out to make a small basin. The castle flew banners with the winged lion and battle-axe of Nikeis. Saxon had seen similar banners in books about Venice, except he didn’t remember any battle-axe on the Venetian banners.

  Hills rose steeply beyond the walls of the port town. Saxon saw logging operations on every hill in sight. As he watched, loggers felled a tall tree near the top of the nearest hill. If they kept up operations at that pace the trees would be gone in no time—but it was pretty obvious that this wasn’t any ordinary forest. The trees were too regularly spaced, and mostly the same size. Planted? They must have been planted a long time ago to have gotten so big! And there were charcoal burnings everywhere, giant tipis smoldering away. Other big trees were being dragged down hill. A raft of trees floated ne
ar shore.

  They moved out past the breakwaters and into the open sea. Not far outside the breakwater a brisk wind came up from the left quarter behind them, and the captain shouted orders. Lateen sails quickly appeared on both masts. Sailors rushed about with lines, everyone moving with precision without more orders. Soon the ship began to move rapidly through the water. The oarsmen, seemingly without orders, brought the oars inboard and secured them, then sprawled on their benches.

  And we’re on the way to Nikeis, Saxon thought. Now what?

  * * *

  Later in the evening the wind was stronger. There were whitecaps on most of the waves. They had an evil reddish cast in the light of the Demon.

  Saxon had little experience on water, and none outside San Francisco Bay. He’d heard of the Beaufort scale for rating the strength of winds, but he didn’t know how to use it to rate the strength of this wind. Whitecaps on all the waves, one wave in twenty breaking. Half gale? Fresh breeze? For that matter, would the Beaufort scale work on another planet? He didn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t, but the thought nagged him. Gravity about the same, but atmospheric density would be different. How different? He couldn’t think of a way to measure that. Pressure he could manage if there were any mercury on the planet. How many millimeters high could mercury rise under a good vacuum? Or in strong wind? But the gravity would be a bit different, acceleration wouldn’t be thirty-two feet per second per second. But he could measure that and then come up with the local planetary gravity. Drop something and time it? Galileo used inclined planes and balls. That would work. He’d have to do it before his watch stopped working. Get that local g acceleration and it would be the key to a lot.

  Maybe he could work that out another way. Use a pendulum—he shook his head to rid himself of the speculations. Time for that sort of thing when they got settled. The formulae would all be in the books.