3.28: The Price of Progress

The next morning, as I prepared to leave for the industrial district, Aprilia caught me at the door and planted a quick kiss on my cheek.

I returned it and stepped back, but her eyes remained fixed on mine.

“Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Are you going to begin with Aramid and Kovar?”

“No. I’ve already laden those poor bastards with as much work as they can handle safely. If anything, they need bigger breaks. I’ll…”

I drew a long breath.

“I’ll start giving the Ducklings more responsibility.”

“Good. They’ll surprise you.”

“Let’s hope it’s in a good way.” I adjusted my coat. “How is Harald doing?”

“Fine. He’s teaching me a lot of things. You were right; he was practically running Lord Ludwin’s estate.” Her lips thinned. “Harald didn’t say it openly, but this Ludwin doesn’t sound like a good man.”

“He’s not.”

”And you just left him in Mondgrove?”

“Eirica will handle him.”

“Eirica is…”

Oops.

“Dowager Mondgrove.”

She searched my face.

“Jack… did something happen between the two of you?”

“No,” I said, my voice cracking. “Why do you ask?”

“The way you talk about her is… different. A bit like the way you talk about Lady Reshma. Except you are ashamed of it.”

I sighed. I was not very good at hiding my emotions, nor did I want to hide them from Aprilia.

“Jack and she were… lovers. Before—”

“You became Jack.”

“Yes. Before her marriage to the Baron.”

“And it… affects you?”

I could do nothing but nod silently.

“What kind of person is she?”

“Why do you ask?”

“If you’re considering marrying her, I need to know.”

“I never said that! I tried to be an asshole to her to kill whatever was left between us.”

“Why?”

“Those are not my feelings.”

“You don’t like her?”

I exhaled. “She’s fairly attractive, but it’s not like there is a clear barrier between my feelings and the original’s.”

She put a hand on my shoulder.

“She is quite smart,” I continued, “Reshma likes her.”

“So… what happened?”

“She figured out that I’m not her Jack, so I think my act worked.”

Her eyes widened in alarm.

“What?”

“It’s fine. She owes me too much to betray my secret.”

Her shoulders sagged as she deflated. “Please be more careful with it. You keep sharing it like coin.”

“I will,” I said, taking her small hands in mine. “Is everything going fine with the preparations for the election?”

“There’s been some friction with the Elders, but it’s… manageable.”

“Let me know if you need me to intervene.”

“I will.”

In the workshop, we introduced the Ducklings to the lathe.

They watched in open fascination as the cannon’s heavy bronze body revolved on it. The cutting bit slowly dug into the breech with a hiss, peeling away in thin curls of bronze.

We gave the breech a slight taper, then set the youngsters to polishing it smooth.

Giving the cartridge the exactly matching taper turned out to be more challenging.

The brass buckled in immediately.

“Work hardened,” Kovar complained, turning the ruined case in his hands.

“Hmm…”

“Why don’t you just push it in?” Frida asked innocently.

“What?”

“Heat the cartridge just enough and then push it into the breech. It will take the shape on its own.”

That could work.

I was too attached to the cannon to think of it as a sizing die.

We pushed a heated cartridge into the breech, using a mandrel from the muzzle to push the walls outward.

The cartridge resisted at first.

We kept pushing,

A sudden jolt inward.

It crumpled like parchment.

We tried again, this time heating a cartridge for a few seconds less.

Slow, constant force.

It slid inside.

It took some effort to pull it out, but nothing compared to the first one.

I shoved it in and out multiple times. As it cooled, it became more easy.

Satisfied, we filled the cartridge, took the cannon out into the valley a safe distance away, then fired it.

As the mountains echoed with the shot, I unscrewed the breech, hooked the extractor on the cartridge and pulled.

A bit of resistance, then it slid out easily.

I drew a sigh of relief.

“Good work,” I said, patting the thin girl on the shoulder, as pink crawled up her neck.

The cannon’s breech wasn’t a proper sizing die. We’d have to make a steel version for that, and one shot wasn’t enough to prove the design’s reliability.

But, we now had a clear path forward.

I’m definitely not telling Aprilia about this, or I’ll be hearing about it forever.

At the same time, the blacksmiths finished a set of ball mills to replace the one that had almost killed me.

One of the mills was to be reserved for grinding nothing but black powder, filled with brass balls this time. Not only that, I had ordered the men to build a separate building away from the workshops to house it, and surround the building with berms.

“Why brass?” Kovar asked. “Lead would’ve been just fine. You brought so much of it.”

“No,” I replied. “Lead is too soft. The balls will grind themselves down and contaminate the powder. I don’t want my best marksmen going mad just to save a few coins.”

Besides, I had brought tons of lead for other purposes besides ammunition.

I told some of the smiths to begin turning a few of its ingots into sheets, large enough to cover the walls of a small room.

The sky roared, announcing the arrival of rain.

A moment later, rain began drumming against the roof.

I frowned.

If the soldiers had to fight in this weather, the rifles could not be relied upon, despite all their firepower.

Those little umbrellas on the priming pans helped, but they did not make them all-weather weapons.

That would require a lot more chemistry.

Time to produce some sulfuric acid.

A message arrived from Master Wolmar that his men had finished the final boat, along with my modifications.

“Who wants to visit the Bay with me?” I asked the Ducklings.

Aldren’s hand shot up immediately.

I suppressed a smile and nodded.

Really eager to fly, this one. Best if he at least knew the principles.

As we left the industrial district, I slowed down.

The forest around it had almost vanished, save for the line of trees behind the palisade. Just thick enough to keep it hidden from anyone looking inside.

Dozens of pine and cedar trees had been cleared away, large and small, leaving stumps behind.

I sighed.

We had been cutting trees for construction and fuel nonstop ever since we had arrived. There were only a few thousand of us and the valley vast, so it wasn’t in any danger of ecological collapse.

Yet.

But I planned to turn Chadom into an industrial powerhouse, with bigger furnaces, forges and more power hungry machines.

If we kept consuming wood at our current pace, I feared we might strip the whole valley bare within a few decades. There was coal we could bring in from Nobhart, but it cost money to both dig and transport. And right now, we didn’t have the manpower to focus on both military and economic expansion.

After lunch at the castle, we headed towards the Bay.

As our carriage rolled out of the settlement, the wheels rattled over the newly paved section of road.

Dozens of men moved aside to let us pass, their shirts clinging to them with sweat, their backs bent from fatigue.

Hyde’s sixty supporters.

Pairs of soldiers wielding repeating crossbows stood at intervals, watching over them.

A reminder that they had been shown mercy, not forgiveness.

Mounds of stone and gravel lined the roadside. The men had already begun paving the worst parts of the road that had turned to mud in the rain. Without it, hauling stone, wood and water between the quarry, the Bay and Cradle would become very slow.

If we had the time and manpower, I would have had them make something like a roman road. A proper foundation with drainage. But Chadom had more immediate needs than roads so well made they could survive thousands of years.

Salt laden damp air announced that we had reached the Bay. The fragrant smell of pine tar accompanied it.

The immigrants were working on the four insulae with more gusto than before, with some of the Cha working along them. Hammers rang against timber, as men shouted instructions.

The eyes that fell upon me weren’t as suspicious anymore.

Their sharp-eyed leader arrived the moment I crossed the buildings.

“Master Wolmar, how are you doing?” I asked.

“Well, my lord,” he said, his lips curved in a smile. “The people are thankful to you for giving us such well-made houses.”

“They’ve earned them with their hard work.”

I looked at the harbor below us.

Well-built docks lined the shore, with piers jutting out into the water at regular intervals, sturdy enough to receive large ships. Three of mine were already there, rocking against the lines. A dozen fishing boats dotted the harbor farther out.

My nose itched.

The smell of pine was overpowering. I looked to the side. Men were stirring a thick black-brown sludge in an iron vat over a fire, not far away from the newly completed boat.

It had a mast, just as I had ordered.

“There’s just finishing up, my lord,” Wolmar said nervously. “A final coat of pitch. Thank you for providing it to us without charge. We… uh, didn’t expect you this soon.”

I waved him away.

“It’s fine.”

We had literal tons of pine tar left from producing ungodly amount of wood we turned into charcoal, that our furnaces and forges ate every day. The first thing I had done after figuring out cast iron had been to make condensers for the coal-makers. It would have been stupid to lose something this valuable.

I walked up to the men, my nostrils feeling like they were being forced open. Pine was one of my favorite scents, but I suppose ‘too much of a good thing’ was an adage for a reason. The pitch folded sluggishly against around the wooden paddles with each turn.

The two men attending it straightened up when they noticed us arriving and bowed clumsily. They had thick beards and leathery skin, hardened by working under the sun for years.

“How is Chadom’s pitch compared to the southern stuff?” I asked

“This here’s the real stuff, milord,” said the shorter and the older one of them. “Not that garbage they call pitch in the capital.”

“What other kind of pitch is there?”

“It ain’t no proper pitch, milord. There’s this crud that comes outta the ground. Cheap bastards ruin ships with it just to line their pockets.” He spat to the side. “Doesn’t crack and melt when it gets too hot or cold, mind, but it smells horrible and ain’t half as good as the real stuff.”

I stopped breathing.

Similar looking liquid that comes out of the ground. Thick and syrupy.

“What does it look like.”

“Just like proper pitch, but blacker and thicker.”

My eyes widened.

“Have you seen it yourself?”

“Not meself, but a bud o’mine has. Said it seeps outta the ground in large puddles. Black as a buffalo’s ass—beg your pardon, milord.”

“Harl!” Wolmar said, horrified. “I apologize for his behavior, my lord. He’s a good worker, I promise.”

I barely heard him.

Thick, syrupy, black liquid that seeps out of the ground.

The nectar of the earth. Black gold.

“Well, spank my ass and call me Jed.”

“My lord?”

My focus remained on the man holding the pitch-covered paddle.

“That there sound like Texas tea, son.”

“Wha’?”

My heartbeat picked up pace. I jerked my head up.

No eagle screamed overhead. No helicopters arrived to ‘liberate’ us.

Hopefully we had escaped the World Police’s attention.

I heaved a sigh of relief, then looked back at Harl.

“Now tell me everything you know about where your bud saw those seeps.”

My eyes narrowed.

“And leave nothing out.”