Chapter 5. Dwarves, Meet Rocksaw. Hey What Do You Mean, Sent By Divines?! (Also, On The Benefits Of Embroidering)
It's been almost a month. We have sixty-seven dwarves now, in total. Of course, only forty of them are work-capable men, the rest are mostly women, four children and one venerable elder making up the difference. Venerable elder is... interesting. This is what happens to dwarves once they cross out second century. Most live for, at best, a hundred and forty, so venerable elders are something like centenarians for humans. On the other hand, apparently dwarves are not out of puberty until thirty, so... This also explains the occasional bawdy rumor about them partying hard. Admittedly, they were busy the whole month. Two furnaces are ready. They're using some of the local stone for construction, which is passable for puddling smelting. Barely. Apparently, the selection process involves roasting the stones in a pit kiln to filter out weaker boulders and leave only those that can take a full day of coal-fired heat and not crack.
The construction of actual hall is problematic. Timber is available, that's not a problem, but the vast majority of building has to be masonry for fire safety reasons, and all they have for quarrying is rockpicks and ropes and iron dowels to roll the quarried slabs on. I've put a hold on that until they produce the first batch of iron. I have an idea, but that is contingent on them being able to produce a wire. The slag from the smelting is thankfully nickel and corundum slag, just what I need for some abrasives.
Had a bit of a snag lately, apparently wanting a large amount of bones is an alarming sign. I've actually had to resort to inviting a priest to oversee the whole glue-boiling process in order to assuage the worries of populace. I wish I could make do with the starch-derived adhesive, but it's just not strong enough to withstand the friction, and gummiarabic is not really an option in this climate.
So far, I had to resort to hand-crafting the sample equipment. My goal? A rocksaw. Wire dipped in adhesive and then into powdered nickel-corundum slag, a loop of it running over two pulleys, a handcrank attached to one of them via gear multiplicator and a barrel of water to pour into the cut to cool and wash out the rock dust. This sample is not big, it should be able to handle cuts about two meters long, no more. Still, right now I'm demonstrating the thing. Four of the dwarves are taking turns cranking the pulleys, two more are handling the water pouring, and four more are slowly pushing the slab of rock against the whirling wiresaw. Given their expressions... this is gonna go well. The whole thing is overseen by me, father and Geoff - the aforementioned venerable elder, who is apparently an authority on quarrying among dwarves. He watches the wire biting into the rock, his eyebrows slowly raising.
"Faster than I thought." - he mutters. It had taken dwarves about ten minutes to cut through the rock slab about... a meter thick. Wire is going to be useless after that, it will need another dip into glue and abrasive. Thankfully, I have prepared ten loops, so they can test the thing properly. If this pans out, we're going to have to hire more people to operate the glue-boiling setup on a consistent basis.
The castoff rock clatters to the ground as the saw grinds through the last of rock, and the dwarves all slacken off and shake their hands. Intense work, I get it. Still... Geoff approaches and runs his fingers over the smooth surface. I can see tremors in his hand. He's seriously old, I should probably see about getting some kind of portable chair for him if he is going to oversee the quarrying each day.
"A fine cut." - he mutters - "Very fine." At his gesture, one of the younger dwarves fetches him a hammer with a round nose. And he smacks the round nose against the edge of the slab. Well, damn. Old he might be, but that didn't hamper his swing much. A flake of stone breaks off, the hammer leaving a notable indent. He frowns. Hammers again. And again. It takes him six strikes to force a notable chunk to crack out of the side, and he gives the hammer back with a sigh. Insufficient durability, maybe? I'm not sure how to improve on that other than getting more people to prospect for harder rock variety.
"Yer lordship." - he rasps loudly - "How much glue can we get within a week?" Gerard has a far-off expression as he thinks back to the glue... "Half a barrel might be feasible." - he finally offers cautiously. Geoff nods. "Kin! Everyone who can hold the pickaxe is to quarry! Cut slabs as big as we can shift!" Nevermind, apparently he deems slabs sufficient. And then he turns to me - "Iffen not ye do more than this, I would have called ye the chosen of Argul. But as ye are, all of the gods must have pitched in." Argul, huh? Isn't that the primary deity dwarves worship? The god of crafts and forge?
"That's flattering, venerable elder." - I offer to him neutrally - "You seem to approve of cut stone as construction material. Any guesses how quickly the hall can be erected?" I have, in other news, introduced primitive cranes to aid with the foundation excavation.
Geoff chews his lips as he considers the answer. "Ah's say four to six months, blessed by Argul as we are." - he finally offers. So... winter. That's actually not so bad. I was worried it would take more, but thankfully they saw the wisdom of creating the industry quarter in the vicinity of the quarry.
"Very well." - father concludes - "This will be a beginning of a profitable endeavor, venerable elder. I pledge to support your kin with food and fabric and spirits so that you could concentrate your efforts on the construction. Forge hall is important, but as a favor to me and Alyssa, I ask that you concentrate your efforts on raising the living quarters first." And this is important. So far, the newcomers are mostly living out of tents. This is suitable for summer, but they would face heavy attrition in winter colds. Everyone present is well cognizant of the fact that focusing on constructing dwellings first will push back the beginning of large scale steel production by at least two months - and also serves as very solid proof that we intend to keep and expand dwarven populace. Eventually, as my plans are laid out, dwarves would have their own town here. One that would be the heart of my industrial empire. Muahahahaha, oh I love it when a plan comes together.
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Middle of summer. Since dwarves are having matters well at hand, I'm focusing my attention elsewhere. Taking my time to experiment with local magic more fully. And, on a more secretive note, a time to experiment with my own innate abilities as a shoggoth. I have to say, having an instinctual feel for production is probably the greatest efficiency multiplicator I have currently. I'd be hardpressed to explain how, but I do have an innate sense of how to adjust production in the most efficient manner. This drastically cuts down the time I have to spend experimenting with innovations, mostly because I tend to get them just right on, at most, a third attempt. Speaking of which. I have commissioned a number of millstones from dwarves. A waterwheel driven mill is being constructed on my orders. Apparently, the custom is for every single household to just purchase grain and mill it in small quantities. Well, I say mill, but many households don't even have mills, those are... WERE too complicated to create with just a hammer and chisel for stonecutting. The strange idiosyncrasies of this world are getting to me. Apparently, pretty much everyone subconsciously reinforces themselves with magic to make up for the primitivism of tools and techniques. Which is not something people are conscious of. Ridiculous.
I already have a two-person mill that can be also operated by having a horse draw the crank instead. Emplacing it in the town square next to the bazaar was, perhaps, a bit of a mistake, because people are cranking it day and night. Literally. Father had to assign guards to the whole thing to prevent brawls for the right to use it. And then had to hire a person charged exclusively with preparing torches solely so that the mill could be cranked at night. Apparently, merchants had very quickly caught up on the fact that flour keeps just as well as grain, but takes much less space. As such, from sunrise to sunset, the mill is opened to the city dwellers. At night, merchants have their hirelings grind their grain supplies into flour. Hopefully, the waterwheel mill will alleviate the bottleneck enough to make people stop the nighttime grinding, at least.
I... fucked up. There's just no way to hush the rumors now, all I can really do is to embrace the "Miracle Lady" moniker and run with it as far as I can go. To aid in this, I'm researching the effects of spell placebo. I have a book created out of layered linen, each layer embroidered with a different assortment of flowers. It's all but useless to ME, since I don't need flowers to do magic, but to people who believe flowers are an integral part of it, the thing is yet another "divine revelation". Mainly because simply by having the thing and opening the "page" with the requisite flower image permits one to have unparalleled flexibility with spells. It's awkward, clumsy and generally unsuitable for specialized work, but apparently is considered a superb teaching aid for getting kids used to magic. Of course, since the prevailing opinion is that facsimile is much weaker focus, coupled with widespread belief commoners are weaker in magic leads to most of what can be learned out of such book be essentially cantrips...
But I digress. I've introduced a concept of "professional bracers" - a set of arm-sleeves embroidered with a selection of flowers thought to be best for the elected profession. First five sets were made by me personally and had reeds and ivy on them - which are the flowers commonly believed to be most aligned with "womanly crafts". Namely, embroidery. Hiring all available old maids to churn out all sorts of professional bracers was an inspired solution, if I do say so myself. The demand is through the roof, and that is in spite of the fact I have no less than a hundred and seventy women across the hold doing nothing but embroidering the things from sunrise to sunset. I had thought people would scoff at "fakes", but apparently someone figured out really early that you can simply tuck your preferred flower into an armband and have both the full expected range of professional magic AND the flexibility of invoking secondary flowers for ancillary needs as needs demand. At this point people nearly mobbed my five initial embroiderers and I had to scramble to hire more. I made a point of employing old maids, elderly and injured women, as this is something that can be handled by practically everyone. (Embroidery is considered one of the core things a woman can do to pass the time, and every single female from lowest pissant to crownprincess herself is taught the basics of it.) No reason to deplete the farming workforce if I can utilize the people normally perceived as not work-suitable. The fact all of them enjoy a better quality of life as a tradeoff is appreciated.
A wagon trundles by as I stroll down the street. It's full to the brim with millstones. Apparently, every town wants a horse-driven one at least. As soon as the waterwheel proves itself, I am going to construct a windmill and go through upgrading horse-driven ones to windmills. I have better ideas for horse usage, but for now, it will do.