Chapter 68. Ironworks
It had taken significantly longer than ten minutes for everyone to settle in, more like an hour, but at this point, things are on track. Everyone is keyed to their respective storages, briefed on security, shown the amenities (Apparently no one but me even thought about toilets and washing while on board. People, seriously?), explained the dining arrangements and otherwise given the information necessary for the trip. Right now, the notables are seated behind the table, while servants are getting instruction from Bridgit in the compact kitchen in the rear. Time to depart.
The airship lifts off without much fanfare, and I steer it towards the northwest, the route already mapped out. Those who were not present at the inspection flight are soon at the windows (including van der Klaases), marveling at the ground sinking below. In another fifteen minutes, we are set on course, achieved the five hundred fathoms and are pushing the wind at cruising speed. There is considerable agitation among the guests as they spot a cloud ahead, which mutates into considerable confusion as we fly into it and through it, and they realize that clouds are essentially fog. That discovery, apparently, floors some of the guests. Out of curiosity, I inquire why, and I am informed that common perception insofar was to consider clouds being something like huge piles of pillows - i.e. something notably dense.
Thankfully, the excitement quickly fades into more sedate lounging around once it becomes apparent that at this height and speed, the ground beneath is boring after a bit of looking. Before long, Abe, Hiram and Mihel are engaged in a low-key discussion of trading agreements I'm not a part of, and therefore largely uninterested. Marceu remains glued to the window, however. He had borrowed one of the looking glasses and is currently busy trying to spy something or figure something out, if his thoughtful expression is of any indication. Bridgit, Jakub and Giacomo are doing something in the kitchen - I assume they're busy preparing lunch. Which leaves me mostly bored. Thankfully, the instance of me in the Academy has lessons to attend to, so flying the airship is relegated to a background task.
The lesson is interesting, however. We're currently studying alchemy, and the professor presents the students with some practical exercises out of my book. I am, on the other hand, declared exempt from the exercise and instead invited to talk to her while everyone else is messing with blue vitriol. The first task is to turn it white and then back to blue, which is simple enough. Copper sulphate pentahydrate can be reduced to copper sulphate simply by heating to evaporate water, and adding some water back turns it into pentahydrate again. Or, more precisely, into a mixture of hydrates at first.
Meanwhile professor Schlagenblum is quizzing me on the basics of organic chemistry. I end up explaining to her a bit about the nature of alcohol, but quickly run into an issue. It is hard to systematize the explanation without giving the concept of valence and how it works to begin with. So right back to the periodic table we go. It has a lot of empty spaces in it, because a good number of chemical elements are straight up unknown to the world at large here. I end up conjuring a couple of retorts to demonstrate the splitting of water into oxygen and hydrogen, and how they combine back together. Electrodes, gah. I simply give up on that for now and just say that pushing lightning through water makes it split. I'll explain the idea of electricity later, she has enough issues with the concept of atomic number. The resulting conversation is fascinating and easily takes a couple hours well past the lesson's end, ending with professor Schlagenblum deciding to set up a couple experiments that I outlined on her own to see how it works. Nothing too complicated, but gah. I guess I'll need to write a primer on organic chemistry next.
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We arrive to the Gillespie estate shortly after dinner. Not bad, not bad. There are people outside - both humans and dwarves, standing around the edges of a large field father suggested as landing once I explained how big the airship is. They all look pretty gobsmacked at the moment... Right until I come out of the ship, at which point dwarves start cheering. The rest of the crowd joins them a moment later, just as Abraham emerges from the door, waving at people, who go quiet for a moment, then redouble their cheering. Dad comes out in front, bows to the king and hugs me. "Welcome to Gillespie county, your highness." - he enunciates clearly.
Abraham chuckles. "Soon to be Gillespie duchy, yes. Now that your daughter possesses such a magnificent mean of travel, be sure to come to Parsee for winter Solstice, count Gillespie. I'd hate to have to promote you in absentia." - he offers, and the crowd cheers louder, people exchanging excited whispers and nudges as the king himself confirms their lord is due for promotion. In a way, it is a promotion for them too, as the merchants and the officials tend to prioritize servants based on the rank of the lord they serve. The level of promotion is yet another reason for cheer - ordinarily, dad would have to be promoted to marquis, and it would fall to one of my brothers to be promoted to the duke.
Gerard gives the order and people quickly begin to bring in the samples we intend to showcase. Then, a couple crates are carried in. It's a bit of a surprise for Kraut kingdom - a hundred spearheads and ten thousand of arrowheads, all forged from ripple steel by dwarves. While this is handled, someone else comes up. Rory's been moving up in his life, I see.
"Your highness, I'd like you to meet the trade representative of dwarves, Rory the Smith." - father proffers - "Rory had been elected by the people of Grand Forge to represent the dwarven community and their interests at the meeting."
Abe quirks his brow. "Even so? Very well then. Rory the Smith, we the king of Champagne Abraham Cullen and the kingdom of Champagne do hereby welcome you to join our delegation to the kingdom of Kraut. May our efforts bring abundant profits for our people." - he pronounces officially. Rory bows.
"Moity honored ta be here, yer highness." - he rumbles - "Tha sons of Dorn are grateful fer 'ospitality and foresight of kingdom and count Gillespie. Our numbers grow by tha day, as more and more of tha kin find thar way ta the Grand Forge."
Abraham nods and frowns lightly - "I am heartened that I still have nobles with wit, Rory."
Dwarf smiles back. "Tha kin remembahs yer kindness too, yer honor. Many of mah brothers and sisters remembah yer given tha grain and shelter in yer own lands to as many as ye could." - he replies - "Grand Forge pledges preferenshal status ta the custom of tha Champagne kingdom for as long as tha city stands."
Abraham returns the smile. "Excellent, my good fellow." - he concludes - "With your superb labor, count Gillespie's mercantile acumen and lady Gillespie's most brilliant mind, bright days lie ahead of our people."
He pauses, then turns to me, motioning me closer - "Lady Gillespie, this is a bit of a last minute request, but would it be possible for the airship to make a brief stop at Grand Forge? I find myself unbearably curious about the new advances in metalcrafting."
I peer at Rory. "Call up your people?" - I suggest to him - "If there is no explicit reason against it at the site, stopping by at Grand Forge is of no issue to me."
He pulls out the copperphone, catching a knowing smile from the king in the process and pokes at it. "Elder?" - he rasps into the receiver - "...Nah, fine heah. His highness wants ta see tha city... Oh? Yah, good, good..." Hiding the receiver, he grins - "Sons of Dorn would be delighted iffen yer visit today, yer highness. T'is fortunate, ta tell ye tha truth, as we are about ta light up tha second Vagran furnace today. Having ye and gods-blessed Gillespies at tha event shouda be se-ren-di-pishous."
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Liftoff goes off without hitch, in spite of increased load. I'm glad. While I did design the zeppelin with enough of buoyancy to deal with weight, I was slightly worried about balancing issues, but between the gyroscopes and envelope balancing (envelope is split into sectors and I can raise or lower pressure in each of them separately, if needs be), things work out a treat and we ascend steadily and levelly. Father and Rory are glued to the windows, now. Meanwhile, dad's manservant is looking at Abe's manservant. "Granduncle Giacomo?" - he ventures hesitantly.
Abe's attendant smiles - "My, my. Hello, grandnephew. You're doing quite well for yourself, I daresay." And this is the point where I realize that there are two Giacomos on the ship now. The older one sketches a bow at my quirked brow. "We are related, lady Gillespie." - he admits - "Our family has at least one Giacomo in each generation. You might say it's a familial given name, at this point." Huh. Well, I suppose there are traditions in each family, and really, a commonly used given name is not nearly among the worst I can think of.
Given the relative closeness of Grand Forge, I don't bother going to altitude, and instead hover about twenty fathoms off the ground - plenty to float over the buildings and trees, but close enough to be able to see the ground below rush past. Marceu is notably interested in this, I notice, his lips moving soundlessly as he seems to be doing some maths in his head. I wonder what is this all about. Not going to ask, though. While van der Klaases heard the king loud and clear and don't try to annoy me anymore, neither of them is particularly friendly or willing to engage in conversation. I wonder why. Just Mihel's prejudice against nobles, or something more personal? Grudge over being used as a demonstration for my security? Who knows.
The distance disappears within a few minutes, and I slow the ship down, bringing us to hover next to the city. The last time I was here, a lot of the buildings were clearly unfinished. Today, it is no longer the case. What is more interesting, every street is now tar paved. It takes me a bit of time to find a decent landing spot, but once I do, the rest proceeds with practiced ease. The airship touches down, people outside cheer, we come out. While on the way, Abraham had notified the rest of the delegation about our next step, so everyone files out. Well, other than servants, they stay on the ship. I obviously leave an instance discreetly, and call out Bridgit to accompany me.
The dwarves outside, while obviously welcoming, seem to be running around with an agenda in mind, and Rory takes charge of our delegation, leading us around with confidence. He points out houses, explains the plans to which the build-up is conducted (Apparently, dwarves had pre-designated the living quarters and are building up extra houses in anticipation of immigrants, who, according to Rory, tend to show up with impressive regularity.), and then takes us to the forging hall. While we are going there, he explains the basic rules of safety (which, basically, are to stay close) and then starts pointing out the assorted workshops and mills. The guests are duly impressed as he begins the explanation by pointing out a sizable steam engine that cranks the shaft running straight through the building in question. Turns out there are four turntables and twelve cutting stations connected to the shaft via gears. The functions and uses are readily demonstrated, as dwarves around are busy milling and polishing assorted metalwares and stonewares. The forgehall itself is the next destination, twenty four anvils arranged along the walls (twelve per wall) while the center is dedicated to metal distributing and heating furnaces. Finally, we are led outside, where the smelting furnace is about to be loaded.
Another steam engine is here, a smaller one, cranking the lift built next to the furnace. We are shown the deep steel barrows the dwarves are using to ferry coal and ore and are told that the first barrows of burning coals had already been hefted in. The sparks shoot out of the furnace top as two dwarves up top heave another barrow in, a load of coal clattering downwards. Five more barrows of it, and then it's a turn for ore. Eight barrows. Four more barrows of coal. Eight more barrows of ore. Four more... The barrows arrive in a constant stream, dwarves running the empty ones back along the reinforced metal rails to the storage depot slightly off to the side.
"When are they going to stop?" - Mihel asks after a while, as we observe dwarves bring in barrow after barrow.
"They won't." - I tell him, and in a stroke of serendipity, that's when the smelting master hollers. Everyone turns to see what is going on, just in time to see him yanking out the heavy clay cork out of the furnace, a shower of sparks coming out for a moment before we see the first drops of molten iron sliding down the clay half-pipe. The drops multiply, merging together into a stream of liquid metal, still glowing sunny yellow as it streams past us, making everyone recoil slightly further from the weft of harsh heat. One of the dwarves pushes in a different cart, this one resembling a huge waffle iron. The resemblance is further reinforced by a very long handle attached to it, easily a touse long. Metal streams into the form, splitting apart into the square hollows. A different dwarf leans on the lever and the nozzle lifts up, halting the stream for just enough time for the dwarves to pull out the full ingot grid and replace it with an empty one. The process continues.
"Vagran furnace allows for linear production." - I explain in the lull of activity, while the next grid fills up - "So long as fresh coal and ore are brought in and poured into the top, the furnace will continue pouring the liquid metal. Eventually, the last helping of coal will be poured without ore, to clear out the remains of metal out of the furnace, and then it will be allowed to burn out and cool down."
Rory grins proudly. "Aye. We start tha furnace early on tha first day of tha week, and continue fer five days. On tha evening before weekend, tha last batch of coal is poured in, and tha furnace is let ta burn out and cool ovah sixth day. We clean them out and patch up tha cracks if any show up on tha seventh." - he continues.
Mihel considers the time it takes to pour out a grid of ingots and starts to pale. "...Are you telling me that you make, a, uh... how much does one ingot weigh?" - he inquires.
"Ten livres." - Rory answers simply.
"Ten livres?... And you pour twenty five per batch, so... Quarter of quintal at once?" - he continues - "And it took you maybe five minutes to pour one... So... that comes out to... THREE QUINTALS OF IRON PER HOUR!? For five days straight!?"
"More like four days." - I correct him absentmindedly - "They start the furnace on the morning of the first day, and bring it to rest in the afternoon of the fifth, and it takes a while for the furnace to ignite, so.."
Mihel groans - "Fine, four days. But without any breaks overnight, so it comes to, what... three hundred quintals of iron per week? Just... Good gods above, that's insane amounts of iron."
Rory shrugs - "Ta be fair, between tha need fer regular iron elsewhere and forging, only maybe forty quintals per week become ripple steel."
"Forty. Quintals. Of. Ripple steel. Per week?!" - Mihel enunciates clearly and slowly, as if he has problems believing the figure.
"Aye." - dwarf grins at him - "Argul blessed our works here aplenty."