Part 19 (1/2)

”Of course, sir. We always pay our just debts.”

”Tadeusz,” I said. ”What do they owe you for what they've done to your property, for the injury caused to you and your wife?”

”Who can say, Sir Conrad?” the innkeeper said. ”But is this wise?”

”Name a number!”

”Perhaps five hundred pence?”

”Good,” I said. ”Okay, wh.o.r.emaster. You owe us five hundred pence, not to mention the mess you've made on the floor and the fact that your thugs cut up and bled all over my best outfit. Get out!”

”As you command, Sir Conrad Stargard.” He left with as much dignity as he could muster.

”Are you insane, Sir Conrad?” the innkeeper said. ”Now they will come back!”

”I doubt it. That kind knows when it's licked.”

”But they will! Girls! Quickly! Run to Sir Conrad's room. Bring back his weapons and armor!”

Six naked teenagers scurried off, the one with the blanket having dropped it in the blood pooling under the body that was still stuck to the beam. ”At least bring my wine!” I shouted. I dropped heavily into a chair. The action was over, and I was starting to get the shakes.

I got my wine, but shortly six pretty, nude girls, at Tadeusz's insistence, were stripping off my outer clothes and lacing me into padded leather and chain mail. ”This is stupid. They won't be back,” I said, but I was wrong. Once I was fully armed, we searched out and found the inn's guard.

He had a huge knot on the side of his head and was bound, gagged, and furious. He smiled at the corpse stuck to the ceiling, and when the other thug started moaning, he took particular pleasure in tying the man up.

”Yes,” the guard said, gripping his sword. ”Let them come back.” ”Hey,” I said. ”If you people are that worried, why not send for the count's guardsmen?”

”Certainly, Sir Conrad,” the innkeeper said. ”But who would dare go out into the night?”

”Oh, h.e.l.l. I'll do it myself,” I said. ”And have these girls get some clothes on. They act like this really is a brothel!”

”And leave us defenseless?” one of the girls squealed. ”s.h.i.+t.” I sat down and took a long pull of wine. There was nothing for it but to wait until they all calmed down and went back to bed.

Anyway, my injured foot was throbbing.

The girls were pa.s.sing out knives from the kitchen, which was absolutely stupid.

If you don't know how to use a weapon, you are much better off without it. In their excitement, they had forgotten my instructions to get dressed. Or perhaps running around naked with knives seemed more adventurous to them. Mrs. Wrolawski, who usually kept them in check, was sitting, stunned, on her bed. She hadn't even made an effort to cover her bruised b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her husband was sitting in the other chair in a blue funk, blood still dripping from his nose. The guard was looking for an excuse to kill somebody, the girls were working out a set of heroic pa.s.swords, the body was still stuck to the ceiling, and my foot hurt.

d.a.m.n, what a lunatic night! My mother told me I should have gone to the beach.

There was a knock at the door.

Everyone in the room froze. Even the previously murderous guard was suddenly sweating.

”Never mind,” I said. ”I'll get it.”

I limped down the hall to the main door. One more piece of insanity and I was going to scream. I did take the precaution of drawing my sword before opening the door.

”Ali. Sir Conrad Stargard, I believe,” said the well dressed gentleman before me. ”Please note that we come unarmed and with goodwill. We wish to make amends for certain unpleasantries that occurred earlier this evening.” There were six of them, two men and four women. They presented Tadeusz with a purse containing five hundred pence, removed the dead and wounded men, and, with buckets of warm, soapy water that they had brought with them, cleaned up the blood on the floor.

”These, of course, are yours by right of combat,” the gentleman said, presenting me with the newly cleaned misericord, the wide-bladed knife, and the leader's throwing knife. All three were sheathed. He must have brought the leader's sheath with him.

”Certain other amends will be made at the earliest opportunity. In the interim, I wish you a pleasant sleep and our a.s.surances of our continued goodwill.” And they left.

”That's it, gang. Back to bed,” I said, and took a long pull of wine. A week later, a messenger delivered to me four complete outfits, all beautifully embroidered and one almost an exact duplicate of the one that had been damaged. He also brought a red velvet barding for Anna and a matching surcoat for me, both embroidered with gold thread.

All of it fit perfectly. I never found out how they got the sizes, but I was never again troubled by the underworld.

Chapter Nineteen

I needed quite a few bra.s.s castings for the wet mills. There was the gearing between the small, compensating windmill and the turret. I had originally envisioned a collection of wooden cog wheels, but a bra.s.s worm gear was a lot simpler and more efficient.

A worm gear is simply a screw-the worm-with threads that fit into the teeth of a gear. The problem is that for them to mate properly, the shapes of both the worm and the gear get very complicated. They were well beyond our ability to machine; they were probably beyond my ability to describe mathematically. I spent an evening drinking and pondering the problem in my room.

The taproom below was always too crowded and noisy to think, and even in my room enough noise seeped up from below to be disturbing. I finally hired a krummhorn player to sit in the comer and play softly. Muzak.

The next morning, I had Mikhail Krakowski make up an oversized worm and gear out of clay.

This was done crudely, by hand and by eye. The teeth were very deep, and the clay was built up around turned bra.s.s mandrels to a.s.sure concentric bearings. When dry, we fitted these together in an adjustable wooden frame. The fit was poor at first, but it was possible to turn the gear by turning the worm. We then put a man to cranking the worm gently and adjusting the teeth together as the unbaked clay wore away. In three days, they were much smaller and a perfect fit. We then fired the clay worm and gear, and these became our master patterns for bra.s.s castings. This gearing gave us a 48 to I reduction between the small windmill and a shaft that connected to the turret. The shaft turned a lantern gear that worked on pegs set into the fixed tower. As a result, the small windmill turned 1,152 times in the course of rotating the turret once. I hoped it would be enough.

One by one, problems were solved. The bus.h.i.+ngs had been cast, one with sockets to hold the windmill blades. These bus.h.i.+ngs were being turned laboriously on the big lathe. Two more smaller lathes were under construction. We were confident that all the parts necessary for the wet mill would be ready for delivery to Okoitz in a month.

I was getting ready to return to Count Lambert when I heard an awful squealing from the foundry. I rushed over and was stopped by Wladyslaw Krakowski. ”My brother! My own brother called me a lazy pig!” ”I called you a lazy pig because you are a lazy pig!” Mikhail explained. The squealing was still going on.

”All right! But I'm a tired lazy pig, and walking in that barrel on the lathe is no fit job for a man!”

They were still arguing when I pushed past them and went to the lathe. Thom was operating it.

Inside the barrel an unhappy pig was trotting madly, trying to climb the rotating wall. A bra.s.s ring in the animal's nose was tied to a wooden stick such that if it stopped running, its nose was pulled.

I stared at this for a while. Using a pig as motive power was strange, but a pig is a strong animal, and its short legs let it work where no horse could possibly fit. Would our future machines be rated in pigpower the way Americans use horsepower?

I suppose it was hard on the pig, but I can think of nothing worse to do to an animal than killing and eating it, and I am not about to become a vegetarian like Adolf Hitler.

Thom moved the stick back so that the pig could stop. ”The speed control,” he said. ”I think we'll have to switch pigs about three times an hour. It's cheaper than men, though.”

I could see that it was time to go back to Okoitz.

I was in the saddle when the innkeeper brought me a stirrup cup and a pouch of gold. ”Seven thousand pence, my lord. Your profits for the first month of the Pink Dragon,” he said.

I thanked him and rode off. Seven thousand pence in a single month! That was twice what I paid for the place, back salaries and all! Well, it would keep the foundry going no matter what else happened. If I couldn't get land of my own, that foundry might be all that stood between us and the Mongols. Anna seemed inordinately proud of her new red velvet barding. She held her head high with her neck arched and walked with a gait she'd never used before. It was a sort of hopping thing, with her left front and right rear hooves. .h.i.tting the cobblestones at the same time. I guess it was impressive because a lot of people came out to watch.

But it was rough on my lower back, and as soon as we left the city gates, I urged her into a more comfortable gallop.

She ran the entire way to Sir Miesko's manor, again without working up a sweat. Krystyana greeted me, but at first I almost didn't recognize her. Her actual appearance hadn't changed, except that she wore her hair differently. But something about her bearing, the way she held her shoulders back, the way she glided instead of clumping along like a gawky adolescent ... But there was more, much more. Something that I couldn't quite define. Somehow, a pretty duckling had turned into a swan.