Down Styphon!, page 6
part #8 of Kalvan Series
Halgoth paused for a moment. “Edrick the Bald would be my suggested replacement.”
Kalvan said, “Good choice. Tell him before you depart for the Sea of Grass.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The walls of the University of Hostigos reared up above them. The gates swung open even before they arrived and a bunch of men swarmed out of the building.
“Your Majesty!” cried Rector Ermut, who was leading the pack. He was accompanied by about a dozen faculty and students in maroon robes. “I’m glad you could make it. We have new things to show you.”
Kalvan felt his heart race as he dismounted and tied his horse up to a hitching post. He enjoyed tinkering around at the university much more than fighting battles or settling disagreements in his presence chamber. “Good, since this will be my last visit this year.”
“Why is that, Your Majesty?” Ermut asked, as if he’d made some unrecognized faux pas.
“War is heating up again.”
“Are the Styphoni gathering another army?” he asked, his voice rising.
Kalvan shook his head. “No. We’re going on the offensive. The Return to Hostigos crowd wants their homeland back....”
Ermut shook his head, and spun his index finger, as if the whole concept were crazy. “We have a better and more secure home here in the Upper Middle Kingdoms, than we ever had in Hostigos. Fewer enemies, too."
Kalvan shrugged. “That’s what I believe. But not everyone shares our feelings. Anyway, enough of that; I’ll have to deal with this nonsense for the next year or two—or more. What about that demonstration Nathros said was ready?”
Kalvan followed the Rector and his staff through the open courtyard and into the engineering building, which looked like the former keep at Tarr-Hostigos. The idea being that if the town was ever sacked by enemies, the University of Hostigos would act as a defensive fort within the town. The fact that the military school was next door gave some credence to its defenses. However, if it looked as if the university were about to be overrun, there were enough emplaced fireseed charges to ensure the entire facility went up like an erupting volcano. Kalvan did not want his crowning achievement to fall into enemy hands, regardless of the cost.
They walked up four flights of stone stairs, much wider than the typical Zarthani interior castle stairs, to the engineering laboratory where the new steam engines were being perfected. The room smelled of oil and burnt machine parts. The earlier cylinders, made of hammered steel, were okay for the primitive steamboats, but improvements were needed if they were ever to get the railroads off the design tables and into the field. Realistically, Kalvan knew that large railroads wouldn’t be built during his lifetime; the Hostigi would have to build and develop a major iron industry first. But his grandchildren might live to see such a world.
As a child, Kalvan had become a big railroad enthusiast after getting his first Lionel train for Christmas when he was seven years old. He had grown up within hailing distance of the Juniata railroad yards in Altoona, a town steeped in railroad history and steam engine innovation.
One of the apprentices met them at the door. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but Master Nathros is late. He should be here with your model soon.”
Ermut said, “While we wait, Your Majesty, how about some winter wine?"
Kalvan shook his head. Having a drink was not the answer to all problems, although it seemed that almost everyone here-and-now took that approach. He suspected his top artificers and engineers might have had a hard time assembling the model, which would explain the delay.
After a long wait, Nathros finally came into the chamber, his long maroon robe dragging on the floor. There were dark bags under his eyes and he appeared woe begotten: “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we’ve had some problems with the model I wanted to show you. My apprentices should be along shortly.”
The minutes soon dragged into a candle-half. It was stuffy in the room and Kalvan found it difficult to keep an even temper. Finally he had had enough. “Nathros,” he said, “I thought you told me that demonstration setup I wanted you to build would be ready by now.”
Nathros went to the door and peeked out. “Looks like they’re just coming with it now,” he said nervously.
A couple of burly apprentices were horsing a brass tank through the door. It looked like a cross between a small wash boiler and a milk churn, with a base about two feet in diameter and a hollow cylinder about four inches in diameter and about eighteen inches in length protruding from the top. In the middle of the cylinder a rod about half an inch thick stuck out. The whole thing was festooned with petcocks and valves, as well as a large screwtop cap that was mounted on the side of the wash boiler.
Kalvan gestured. “Put it down on that grate over the fire there.” He went over, unscrewed the cap, and poured in a measure of water.
“I don’t know what this is, but I’m sure it is important,” Nathros commented speculatively.
Kalvan handed him a plate with a fixture in it. “Put this on the rod, put those rocks on the plate, and sit and watch,” he said quietly.
Nathros did as he was told.
Presently he heard a hissing noise. The plate, rocks and all, was slowly rising up
“What in the name of Dralm’s Staff is this?” Nathros cried out.
Kalvan gave a satisfied laugh. “That’ll be enough. Help me get this thing off the fire and onto the floor before it explodes.”
Together they lifted it onto the floor. Nathros said “Is this the same thing as the steam engines we used in the steamboats?”
Kalvan shook his head. “Something better. We can use this to make machines that move by themselves on land, as well as water.”
“My King, if you had not shown us many things I would not have believed it possible,” Nathros commended, as he studied the contraption. Now that it was off the fire and cooling, the plate was slowly sinking down under the weight of the rocks.
Kalvan pointed to the rod holding the plate. “What would you say if I told you that this rod could be made to move back and forth with great force and rapidly?”
Nathros gave it a wall-eyed look and then caught himself. “But how? It takes a long time to heat up, and then it takes a long time to cool down.”
Kalvan turned to the table where there were some diagrams. “You do it this way. First, you separate the boiler from the cylinder, and then you set it up using valves so that steam is admitted to the cylinder when the piston is near that end of the cylinder, and that steam is exhausted to the air when the piston is at the other end of the cylinder. You do this on both sides of the cylinder.”
Nathros studied the drawings. “Yesss...but nobody can turn the valves that fast and get it right all of the time,” he said pensively.
Kalvan pulled another piece of paper out of the stack. “This is going to take some experimentation, but this is how you can get the valves to open and close when they should. These rods control slide valves and they are worked by this connecting rod, which has stops to make the valves move when they should. You put a swivel here on the connecting rod and then another rod to this crankshaft here”—he pointed to the crankshaft—“and it will run itself.”
Nathros was excited. “Sire, I’m beginning to see how it can be done. It will take considerable experimentation to get it right.”
Kalvan clapped him on the back. “And you are just the man to do it.”
SIX
I
The newly appointed Duchess Danar Sirna did her best to hide her dismay as Great Queen Lavena berated one of her royal dressmakers for making the waist of her new gown too loose.
“What do you think I am, some sort of fat cow?” Lavena shrieked, while striking the poor woman about the head and shoulders with her fists.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Sirna interrupted. “The poor woman just made an error in measurement.”
The dressmaker was now huddled on the stone floor, sobbing with her face buried in her arms.
The truth was Lavena had put on weight, or hadn’t lost a lot of the weight she had gained since the birth of her daughter—another failure in Lavena's mind since she had wanted an heir to cement her control over the destiny of Hos-Harphax, not a mere daughter. Of course, it was easier to blame the tight fit on the dressmaker than to lose the weight she’d gained.
The Queen was one of those people for whom good enough was never sufficient. Her sudden rise from the gentry to the highest of nobility should have been enough to guarantee her happiness, or at least satisfaction. Instead, it appeared only to have fueled the ambitious monster that resided inside.
“I ought to send her to the headsman,” Lavena muttered.
The scary part was she might have done it if Sirna had not been there. Sirna was the only friend Lavena had and the only person, including Great King Geblon, to whom she was willing to make concessions in order to keep in their good favor. What the Queen didn’t realize was that she had already lost Sirna’s respect and friendship; all that was left was her self-serving determination not to become another one of the Queens victims. If the Queen ever realized how little she valued her, Sirna knew that she might quickly make her own acquaintance with the headsman’s ax.
The dressmaker quickly hustled her way out of the Great Queen’s private quarters, giving Sirna a shy smile of gratitude as she fled. Sirna wished she could join her.
“What’s the matter, Your Majesty?” Sirna asked. “And don’t tell me it’s the size of the garment.”
“You know me too well,” the Great Queen said. “I just received another note from my father.”
Sirna nodded. Prince Sthentros was the kind of person who could poison a well from long distance just by thinking about it. He was demanding, overweening, narcissistic and insecure. In Lavena’s case, the poisoned apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. “What does he want this time?”
Lavena giggled, which made her appear a decade younger and nicer.
Sometimes it's hard to remember she's just a kid, Sirna thought. A spoiled and arrogant child, just the same. Yet, RyIla's only a year older than her cousin, but she's decades more mature.
The Queen quickly sobered. “Poppy wants more gold. He claims that we insulted him with the paltry twenty-thousand ounces we sent him a moon ago.”
Sirna wasn’t surprised. Sthentros’ original demand had been for two hundred and fifty thousand ounces, commensurate with his position as one of the leading princes of the realm. This was completely untrue since his princedom of Hostigos was underpopulated and needed rebuilding. Sthentros didn’t have a clue as to how lucky he was that Great King Geblon doted on his wife and gave in to her every whim. It had been Lavena herself who’d cut back her father’s demands when the Great King told her that most of the gold would come out of her personal allowance.
Geblon was rightfully worried that his subjects wouldn’t put up with another major tax increase, not after the last tithe to refurbish the palace that Lavena had demanded. There were rumblings in the streets of Harphax City about the Queen's frivolous ways and the high taxes that were shuttering businesses and filling the debtors’ prisons. Recently graffiti had appeared on public buildings reading: “We want King Kalvan!” and “Down with King Geblon and Styphon’s House!” The last was ironic since Geblon only dealt with the Temple because he owed their Great Banking House so much gold.
Lavena had been trying to talk him into sacking all the Styphon’s House temples to fill the Royal Treasury, as Great King Phidestros had done in Hos-Zygros. Geblon had refused: “We live next door to those godless money grubbers. If we sack their temples, next we’ll have Grand Master Soton pounding at our city gates demanding our heads!” Instead, they had borrowed more gold from Styphon’s Great Banking House.
His argument hadn’t quite convinced Lavena, although it had shut her up on the subject. Sirna believed that Geblon was absolutely correct; there was no way Styphon’s House was going to allow a neighboring kingdom to desecrate its temples. The Temple’s response would be all-out war. One that Hos-Harphax would probably lose without Phidestros’ support.
Great King Phidestros was far away from the Temple’s center of power and had a large enough army to keep them away. It had been several months since they’d heard about the shipload of priests’ heads that Phidestros had sent to the docks of Balph and, so far, there had been no response. Of course, that would change if Styphon’s House ever regained the power they’d lost since Kalvan’s arrival.
She had tried to contact Field Agent Maldar and tell him about Phidestros’ bold strike against Styphon’s House, but he had not replied. What was it now: eight or nine ten-days ago? Nor had she been successful in raising anyone at the House of Olthos, the mercantile firm that the Harphaxi Study Team used as a safe house. She was beginning to get worried. What if she’d been abandoned here on Aryan-Transpacific, Styphon’s House Subsector, Kalvan’s Time Line? Would she have to spend the rest of her life dependent upon Lavena’s mercy and good humor? Now that was a nightmare scenario.
“My father’s also unhappy,” Lavena continued, “that he has so few subjects. He wants my husband to order several hundred merchants and guildmasters to relocate to Hostigos.”
Sirna had to stifle a laugh, and ended up grunting and snorting instead.
Lavena broke out with laughter. “Can you imagine some of these highborn snobs living in the ruins of Hostigos Town! It would almost be worth the open rebellion it would cause to see the looks of horror on their faces!”
Sirna was gratified to hear that the Queen realized the consequences of sending prosperous merchants to Hostigos. Not even the poorest of the poor were willing to emigrate to Hostigos, despite free land grants and a dozen silver crowns. A few thieves had taken the silver, but lost their heads when they shortly reappeared in Harphax City. Hostigos was like a penal colony without the trappings.
“What are you going to do about his latest request?” Sirna asked.
“My husband suggests we empty the City gaols and the castle dungeon, then send all the thieves, robbers and murderers to Hostigos. He believes that’s the only way we’ll ever fill Hostigos with subjects. Of course, I rejected it; my father would be very angry and hurt. Unfortunately, the better sort—the very ones he wants—will never emigrate there. I find it so frustrating that Our subjects will not do as we command that I want to pull my hair out!”
“Well, there’s another way to look at it, Your Majesty. Those well-off subjects that your father wants in his realm are the very ones that contribute the most to the Royal Treasury. I suspect you would be sorely pressed financially if they did emigrate to Hostigos.”
Lavena broke out in a smile. “That’s why I value you so, Sirna. You’re so thoughtful and wise. Yes, that’s a very good reason. Of course, I can’t tell my father that. He’ll just have to make do on what we send him.”
II
Kalvan decided it was time to make a trip to the Royal Hostigos Artillery Works to see how much progress had been made with the rifling project. He heard the whoop-whoop of guns being fired outside in the proofing field. He knew from reading about the Civil War that cannon rifling would not only increase accuracy, but double the range of their fire.
Most rifled cannon back on otherwhen were breech-loading guns. Since they didn’t have the time to rediscover how to construct breechloaders, Kalvan decided to try something the U.S. Ordnance Board had done just before the Civil War. They had converted the older smoothbore cannons by simply cutting grooves into their bores.
After some experimentation on some older guns, the Artillery Works had been able to cut the proper grooves into the gun bores. Now, the problem was designing the right kind of projectile to shoot out of the guns. Since time was short, Kalvan had ordered them to develop winglets for the cannonballs, which fit into the rifling grooves.
Captain-General Alkides met him in the main office where his desk was covered with papers and small to medium-sized round shot. Alkides, who had become head of the Royal Artillery after the death of Captain-General Thalmoth, was rail thin; Kalvan noticed that he’d recently lost the pot belly that used to balloon out underneath his breastplate.
“Your Majesty, I’m glad you were able to be with us as we test the latest prototypes. Since these guns will be used mostly on the field of battle, rather than for siege work, we’ve limited our work to the eight-pounders.”
Alkides held up one of the new cylindrical-conical shells which had six little winglets, and passed it to Kalvan.
“Nice work, but how does it shoot?”
“Let’s go out to the testing field and see, Your Majesty.”
Outside in the proofing field, the gunners were using ropes to pull a brass eight-pounder in position. They were firing into sandbags set against a thick stone wall. The last thing anybody wanted was to damage one of the neighboring houses. After swabbing the barrel, the gunners put in the fireseed charge and followed that with one of the winged cannonballs.
“They’re harder to load than the smoothbores,” Alkides noted. “The balls have to be carefully guided into the gun or the winglets can get bent.”
Kalvan watched as three artillerymen loaded the rifled artillery piece. Once the cannonball was put in place, it was followed by cotton wadding, then the fuse was lit and the gunners quickly pulled back.
He put his hands over his ears when the gun match was lit.
The gun fired with a loud boom.
There was a brief explosion and a cloud of gray and black smoke. The ball hit the side of the wall with a loud whuumphl
“Now that we’ve proofed the new gun,” Alkides said, “next, we’ll take it to the firing field so we can get a better idea of how far the ball will travel. Would you like to join us, Your Majesty?”
“No, Alkides. I’ve got too many things to oversee for the expedition to Tarr-Ceros. Let me know how far it travels by courier. I’d like to take one or two batteries of these new eight-pounders with us when we go into Hos-Ktemnos, if it’s at all possible.”
“So far we’ve proofed six guns, Your Majesty. Another twenty are in various stages of production. But, there’s no way in Ormaz’s Caverns we’ll get even one complete battery ready before you depart.”
