28: Farewell

The summer wind ruffled our hair as my pupils, the three boys and two girls, and I walked along the shore of Wendau towards the sea. Rationing had ended months ago and the changes were visible on their young faces. Their cheeks had filled out again. No signs of hunger that once haunted them. I wasn’t satisfied with just food in their bellies. They deserved more, and they would have it.

“As you know,” I began, to the background of rustling pines, “I’ll be leaving to visit the capital of Nanon. Hopefully I will return with an alliance that ensures our safety, but it’s also possible I don’t make it back at all. If that happens, you must continue my work without me. So today I’m going to give you the keys to carry our people far ahead of everyone else.”

The scientific method and courage.

I didn’t say it out loud. Best to let them discover it on their own; lessons learned that way carried more weight.

“I remember telling you about the scientific method. Who can tell me what it does?”

Concern vanished from their faces as thought replaced fear. Aldren’s hand shot up, eyes bright. I nodded my assent.

“It helps you gain knowledge by observing the world!” he said eagerly.

“Correct, but be very skeptical while making those observations. Your senses can deceive you and your mind loves to make assumptions. To discover the truth, you must doubt what you see.”

Their brows furrowed, making me smile. Confusion was the first step toward understanding.

“Turn around,” I ordered.

Once they did, I took out my wooden ruler and drew two equal straight lines on the dirt. Then I drew arrows at their ends. One set pointing inwards, the other outwards. The Müller-Lyer illusion.

“Turn back.”

Looking at them, I asked, “Which of the lines is longer.”

Every finger pointed at the one with inward pointing arrows.

“Measure it.”

Their certainty turned to confusion when the ruler told them the truth.

“Your mind lies.” I said. “Good craftsmen have known this for ages: never trust your senses blindly. They measure twice before they cut. A good scientist does the same with truth.”

They all nodded, embarrassed but wiser.

“What else does a good scientist need?”

Only blank faces answered back.

“Humility,” I said softly. “The moment you form a theory, you will want it to be true, but you must never, ever let ego get in the way of the pursuit of truth. If your results don’t match reality, throw the theory away. It will hurt, but only then can you call yourself a scientist.”

They nodded solemnly.

“What else do you need beside the scientific method?” I asked.

“Courage!” Fennar the bold proclaimed.

“Yes, but not just bravery in the face of swords and spears. There are other kinds of courage as well. Let me show you one.”

We left the shore and I led them to an isolated clearing. The air grew thick with the stink of ammonia. Two men were turning dark heaps of soil and straw with long-handled forks, sweat streaking their filth-stained faces.

“Do you know what that is?” I pointed to the mixture emanating the foul stench.

They shook their heads, noses wrinkled.

“That,” I said, “is our future. In that muck, tiny creatures are creating the key ingredient to our safety.”

Lucky for us, the wind changed direction and we could breathe again. The workers approached us and bowed to me, their clothes drenched in sweat and filth. The teenagers held their breaths, disgust barely hidden behind their eyes.

“These two gentlemen are Danel and Levik,” I told them. “When we rescued the two kidnapped boys, we found heavy purses of gold and jewels in the brigands’ tents. I haven’t given away a single coin from that pile to anyone, except these two.”

Their eyes widened.

“They receive a hefty pay, because they are quite possibly the bravest men in Chadom. Do you know why?”

“They do the work no one else wants to?” the cheeky Tobin asked.

“Partially, but the work isn’t particularly dangerous in itself. These men are brave because they’ve continued to do this job despite the price they had to pay. Everyone else has shunned them for collecting buckets of urine every day. They were forced to move their tents away from others.”

The teenagers’ faces blanched at that. Few punishments cut deeper than exile from one’s own people.

“They knew there was a risk of others looking down on them, but when I explained how vital it was, they agreed. They had the courage to stand up to the disapproval of their own people.”

The men stood taller, pride rekindled beneath the children’s gazes.

“If anything happens to me, you will work with them to produce saltpeter, the key ingredient for a very special powder, along with the projects I’m leaving in the hands of Aramid and Kovar.”

They nodded emphatically, conviction burning bright in their young eyes.

My plans for the future would mean nothing if we couldn’t defend ourselves in the present. That problem, at least, was about to be solved.

Despite juggling the carriage, the lessons and the exhaustion, Kovar, Aramid and I managed to finish our most intricate creation yet: a simple metal lathe. It’s sturdy frame of steel beams gleamed like a polished mirror. The waterwheel powered spindle spun smooth, not wobble around like jelly, and the carriage was firm as bedrock.

“That lead screw took eighteen attempts to make, milord,” Aramid complained.

“If it turns out to be accurate and precise, every one of them was worth it,” I answered.

All that precision wouldn't mean much if our cutting tools couldn't hold their shape. Unfortunately, I knew pretty much nothing about advanced metallurgy. I didn’t have the exotic metals like vanadium and tungsten that tool steel needed, let alone the knowledge to make it. So we managed with what we could make: carburized, quench-hardened steel. Good enough for what I wanted to make.

The lathe came alive as we connected it to the waterwheel. Mouth dry, I carefully turned the handle. The cutting bit bit deep, and brass curled away in shiny ribbons, shaping the golden beacon of our future. A sound both harsh and beautiful filled the air.

We had shaped a long thin brass “vase,” the first tool of a new age.

A beautiful yet dangerous thing. It would ensure our safety, yet make killing a man so much easier. I shook myself out of my thoughts. No matter how much I hesitated, I also knew we had to move forward.

We mounted the finished object in a sturdy block of wood, poured some gunpowder down it’s throat and touched a smoldering slow-match to the hole at its base.

A jet of sparks hissed like an angry serpent, then spit flame and smoke in a booming roar. The stench of sulfur might as well have been perfume in that moment.

Time for the real test.

Before that, I had to make one change. My favorite kind: one that nets a big reward for little effort. I corned the gunpowder into uniform grains, which burned much faster and at a consistent rate.

I lit a match to a small pile and it vanished in a flash, almost singeing my eyebrows. A smiled tugged at me. Thank you, past me, for having such odd interests.

We invited the Elders for a demonstration. Some looked at the contraption with skepticism, others with confusion and hope. Instead of explaining, I simply loaded the brass “vase” with powder, wadding and a conical metal slug. I rammed them down the gullet, stepped back and touched the match.

The world cracked.

The target, a solid wooden plank, split in two.

Cheers erupted. The craftsmen whooped while the Elders gawked, half in awe and half in fear. I smiled at Danel and Levik, who stared wide-eyed, finally understanding the value of their sacrifice.

If Nanon tried to surprise us, they’d receive something a lot louder than words in return.

That night, I went to bed early. It was empty, again. Sighing, I lay down on the fresh cool sheets.

A sharp, insistent knock dragged me back from the edge of sleep.

“Who’s there?” I asked groggily.

“Me,” came Aprilia’s voice, sharp and impatient.

She stormed in the moment I opened the door, locked it behind her, glowered, then lunged forward. Her kiss was fierce and possessive, mine confused at first, surrendered a moment later. I told my mind to check out and enjoy the taste of my fiery girl.

We spent our sweet time making each other feel better. Time vanished into warmth, gasps and the faint creak of our bed.

Some time later, she lay across my chest, skin warm against mine.

“Why didn't you choose Mia?” she asked softly.

“Who?”

“Come on, you know,” she said, miming exaggerated curves. “The only girl who was more fetching than me at the interviews.”

“Oh, that one,” I said, swallowing the spit that rose in me. “She wasn’t more fetching than you. Sure, she had a nice set of,” I pointed at her chest, “but her personality was lacking, to put it very mildly. I wanted someone who would make my life better, not worse.”

“Hmm,” she said, nonchalantly, but her expression darkened.

“She has nothing on you. Are you really insecure about that?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Of course I am! I know you like them big. I've seen you ogling,” she spat, every word laced with irritation.

I realized that maybe honesty wasn’t always the best policy. Sometimes intellect just couldn't triumph over emotions.

“If all I cared about was the size of a woman’s assets, Mia would be the one lying here right now. I chose you because you are so much more than her. And I like yours just fine,” I said, cupping her more than handfuls.

That didn’t soften her entirely, rousing my suspicion.

“Is this really about her… or the Queen?” I asked.

She turned her eyes away and tried to slip free, but I held her with a hug.

She struggled in vain, then gave up. “How can I ever compare with a Queen?” she said in a meek voice.

“I gave your mother my word that I would never leave you, and I meant it. No matter what. You are an amazing woman. And what are the chances she even agrees?”

She refused to meet my eyes. The silence itself spoke, what if she does?

I kissed her hair and murmured, “Hey, if you want to become more voluptuous up here, I know a magic spell.”

She looked at me, confused, then her pupils dilated, with realization dawning.

“You mean it?”

“Not right now, but once Chadom's future is secure, maybe we can embark on a personal project. I'll be your horse at day and you can be my horse at night, until we've put a bun in your oven. What do you think?”

She squealed with delight and began peppering me with kisses.

It was a big commitment, but our constant struggles had taught me how stupid it was to wallow in indecision. If I couldn’t give her a vow of marriage, I could at least give her this.

Dawn crept through the narrow windows. I forced myself to get up from the soft and warm embrace of the snoring beauty, my every fiber protesting. I needed to prepare for the journey ahead. She stirred the moment I moved.

“Come back to me alive and well.” Aprilia whispered, her fingers straightening my collar. The fabric smelled faintly of pine oil.

“I’ll do my best.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And stop making me fear for your life so often. I’m tired of it.”

“Would you leave me otherwise?”

“Never,” she whispered, as our lips almost touched.

I decided I could be a little late. This might be our final farewell.