>Within the Head Workshop of the House of Artisans, Safe Harbor_
Tarragon never thought himself much of a diplomat, if he were honest.
Though his position as the primary outward face met by those who wish to do business with Safe Harbor’s prestigious (if he did say so himself) House of Artisans may say otherwise.
‘Well, someone's gotta do it’ was what he wished he could reply when inquired; t’were it not a massive breach in etiquette.
The truth was: the biggest reason Tarragon held his high position in the House was because he was one of the only members that could reliably uphold that etiquette in official discussions between contractors and his counterparts in other Houses.
Simply put: Members of this House had a reputation for ineptitude in social circumstances. He and his fellow artisans were little more than problem-solvers by disposition.
Not solvers of big, complicated problems like…‘what is beauty?’ or ‘how to navigate the intricacies of human conversation?’
No. Problems like that fell under the purview of other people's specialties. Other people that belonged to other Houses.
Those that worked for the House of Artisans were concerned with more practical problems. Problems like ‘Just how sharp is too sharp for a utility knife before it becomes impractical’ or ‘How can the city’s street drainage network be made more efficient?’
Problems that could be solved with a small handful of people, some rolls of paper along with measurement and writing tools, scale models, and mathematics.
An untold many of those problems arise within the confines of a human city all the time. It was up to people like him, in his opinion, to derive solutions for them.
Of course, one could also go with the method preferred by many humans, including the Houses of Smithy and Carpenters. The ‘produce and/or continue what has already proved to work to fix what's broken’ method.
Why waste resources on unfamiliar, unproven inventions that are so liable to fail or even make things worse when all that we have is so scarce to begin with?
Despite that, Tarragon always felt himself partial to the potential of new ideas and unproven technologies to improve his kind’s lot in life. There were enough people around who shared his inclination to form their own House around it.
Then again; If only more of the proposals, projects, and inventions had actually turned to success, and not crumbled to wasteful failure. Perhaps the wider human attitude to strange innovations would be more positive, and the public reputation for his House be improved.
But that was a problem for another day. Today, Tarragon found himself standing alone in the Head Workshop- the moderately large building which serves the House of Artisans’ headquarters- reception foreroom. The room which served as a room to both meet and conduct meetings with official House guests, and one of the only rooms in the entire buildings which didn't perpetually look as if a dragon rampaged through it.
He stood within the small, tastefully furnished room wearing stuffy formal attire because he was told to. And because he was trying to solve one of the biggest problems members and officials within his House had been trying to grapple with for the past few weeks.
‘Just what do we do about these foreigners?’
Nearly an entire monolunar phase cycle ago, did a gigantic fleet of watercraft that defied every conception he had of what should be physically possible, much less practically feasible, appear in the Bay suddenly with no prior warning.
The morning following, a massive dragon attack suddenly descended upon the city. Only to be thwarted within minutes by the same watercraft. The attacking dragons ripped to pieces mid flight by unknown weapons.
From those watercraft did hundreds of foreigners, foreigners that boasted a strange language, a strange appearance, strange technologies, and yet stranger customs came forth.
Many within his, and other, Houses were distrustful of the foreigners. They show up, possibly attract a dragon attack, parade around the city, attracting the attention of her citizens and even setting up their own base camp just outside the city? All with no prior background knowledge or introduction of who they are and what they’re here for?
That just wasn’t terribly polite.
Personally, Tarragon wasn't entirely sure where he fell in line, either trustful or distrustful of the foreigners. On one hand, prior points withstood. On the other, he was fully aware of how bad Safe Harbor was stagnating before they got here. And he was still hopeful these foreigners could do something to help.
Which led neatly back to why exactly he was standing here, alone in the reception room, robed in formal attire, watching a sundial painted onto a wall just outside a small window. Prepared on his part for official discourse.
It was because the foreigners had finally managed to set up a meeting with the House of Artisans through official channels, and because he was hoping they could help solve one of the biggest, most pressing problems ever imposed upon any and every House of Artisans in any human settlement:
‘How do we improve the lot in life man is faced with on this scorching continent?’
He was broken from his internal musings by a dull knock on the heavy wooden door that served the threshold between the Head Workshop and the outside world. He moved to open it with haste.
He was caught off guard somewhat when the first pair of eyes his own locked onto were not the peculiar bright blue surrounded by sandy skin many of the foreigners possessed, but the deep brown of a more familiar-looking woman with skin tones closer to his own.
“-Hi.” Tarragon blurted flatly, already violating standard diplomatic etiquette with the first phrase. Surely a new record.
“Greetings.” She replied, an arm appearing from her overgarment to gesture towards a small collection of foreigners of varying attire standing just behind her. One towards the back of the crowd cracked a smile and waved cheerfully.
“I trust we aren't late?” She said.
The House official collected himself. “Uh, no! Not at all, miss. Well, people. You are in fact, right on time, I believe. Granting you are indeed the procession that was delegated an official meeting with the House of Artisans?”
She, and to his surprise; so did some of the foreigners, nodded. “Of course. My name is Rosemary, member of the House of Education and interpreter to the Office of Lordship. This is Barley, my counterpart.”
She pointed to a rather sprightly looking foreign man, probably in his early twenties at most, standing nearest to her.
“Oh?” Tarragon replied, somewhat intrigued by the mention of the foreigner's name. “Barley… Is that also his name in his own tongue? Or merely a nickname?”
“Well, more or less, sir.” ‘Barley’ said with a small smile, in accented Human Standard.
Tarragon supposed he shouldn't have been mildly surprised; it was only logical that the foreigners would now have some of their own interpreters.
“You could say it's a translated name, because that's a much simpler explanation than going into detail about our very different naming customs.”
Barley drew himself up a little. “That aside, we are indeed something approximating an ‘official delegation’ to your organization, and we're here to hopefully discuss the prospect of business. And even put on some demonstrations, let's call it.”
The House official was put somewhat off his rhythm. Both by the almost casualness the Standard-speaking foreigner held himself with, and because his accent was throwing him off a little.
Even though he was speaking a language obviously unfamiliar to him, he spoke with a strange almost drawl that blended the words together somewhat. Making him sound as if he were perpetually relaxed. Very much diametrically opposed to how Pyrrhian humans held themselves.
Doesn't that sound nice. A part of him huffed.
He ignored that part. “Well, don't let me keep you outside! Very improper of me. Please, come in.” He waved at them, stepping back inside himself.
The procession all filed into the reception room after him, taking looks around, pointing at a table against one wall, one of them pushing in a strange flat cart with tiny gray wheels covered in stuff concealed by a sheet. Tarragon felt the need to enquire what was on that cart.
Instead, he opted for a starter of more casual conversation. “Have you any sorts of titles or additional context with your name, Barley?”
He watched the foreigner’s reaction closely. “Eh… well, maybe not as you might be imagining, but yes. I'm a ‘soldier’ of the united states ‘army.’ All of us are.” Barley gestured to the other foreigners with him.
“We're still working on translating the names for their ranks.” Interpreter Rosemary cut in.
“The organization system they use for their ‘army’ is very detailed, and most of the ranks don't have equivalent terminology in our language.” She finished, Barley nodding along.
Tarragon shrugged. Fair enough.
He decided to be a little more direct himself. “Alright, then. What's all… this?” He waved a hand at the cart.
The foreigners exchanged glances, before one stepped towards the table on the side of the room and did something that unclipped a latch on a kind of weird sheath at his hip.
Tarragon wanted to get a closer look at the mechanism of that sheath, but what the foreigner pulled out of it immediately demanded his attention.
A small, dark gray metallic object far removed in appearance to what one would normally expect to come out of a belt-bound sheath.
The man set the object on the table, and the House official hustled over to get a closer look.
The object was shaped far unlike any tool or weapon or handheld machine he'd ever seen or heard of. A very dark gray- almost blackish- color all over, an obvious handle grip set at an obtuse angle to the rest of the object. Which was long, mainly smooth with a rounded top and engraved text in a language he did not know on the side. Although he could make out a small inscription of a horse outline alongside the foreign lettering.
The small object was covered in smaller shapes and lines that denoted it being more complicated than it appears at first glance.
“...Is that-?” Tarragon started.
“We call it a ‘pistol.’ This one specifically is called the model nineteen-eleven.” Soldier Barely said.
“It is the smallest version they have of their bolter-weapons. The weapons they used to slay those night dragons.” Interpreter Rosemary added.
He let out a low whistle. He'd heard much from coworkers and fellow citizens in the form of rumors and speculation about these ‘bolters.’ he'd never seen one up close for himself until now.
Fighting to keep his eagerness in check, he examined the foreign weapon closer. Despite not having any obvious visual cues to being dangerous, such as sharp edges, the dark metal object gave off a certain deadly aura- like a wickedly sharp dagger or dragon's claw- that demanded respect. It was undoubtedly a tool that was made to kill.
“May I-?” The House official breathed, not breaking eye contact with the small bolter-weapon.
“Of course. It has been rendered safe.” Soldier Barley responded.
Without pondering what that meant further, Tarragon gingerly picked the small weapon up, the mechanical-analysis part of his mind kicking in.
The ‘pistol’ was heavier than it's size immediately suggested, pointing to an all-metal construction. A dense, hard metal at that. Not like copper or bronze. Expensive.
It felt solid in his hands, almost as if it were as sturdy as a solid block of metal. But he knew that just wasn't the case; there was too much obvious sub-machinery.
He turned the object over. The lines and shapes that made up its outline were without blemish: He had no idea how such a feat was possible, given how difficult hard metals like iron were to work with unless extremely hot. A full cast mold also probably would not work, given the small protrusions and hole opposite the handle grip.
And what a handle grip it was! Careful to keep his pointer finger off the obvious trigger mechanism- not unlike what can be seen on some crossbow designs, he firmly held the bolter-weapon in its probable intended position. It fit his right hand perfectly like the finest of hilts; the overall weapon supremely well balanced like the highest-quality of Un'raaks. Rough patterns on each side of the handle lent to a firm hold even if the weapon was slick with water.
In this orientation, the experienced Pyhirrian artisan also noticed a couple extra things about the weapon. For instance; a few moving parts within easy reach of his thumb on the back and side of it. He was, however, reluctant to fiddle with them without knowing exactly what they did.
A (relatively) large divot on the upper right-hand side of the top of the mechanical tool pointed to even the largest uniform piece of the weapon not being a solid part.
He also noticed a few tiny metal notches on the top of the ‘pistol’. A pair close to the very back of the top part, and one close to the front. They lined up perfectly, when the weapon was held straight. Suggesting a use in aiming the device.
He could see where speculations of these bolter-weapons sharing much in common with crossbows arose. However, in his opinion, being a handheld apparent projectile weapon with a trigger mechanism was about where the similarities stopped.
As much as Tarragon might like to stare at this ‘model nineteen-eleven’ for hours on end to determine its means of function, it was far more time-efficient to simply ask the very people that made it.
“How does it function?”
In response the Standard-speaking foreigner named Barley held out his end, requesting the ‘pistol’ back.
Tarragon made to pass it to him, but stopped himself. One should never point a knife or dagger towards someone you aren't intended to kill. This weapon, though not possessing blades and likely unloaded, should be treated the same.
That was just good common sense, as his father would've said.
He adjusted his grip so that the weapon was pointed towards the floor, and handed it to the foreigner.
Who, for his part, deftly maneuvered the dark gray object in his hands, quickly assuming a grip position similar to how Tarragon just held it, but more surely.
“It's a projectile weapon, I'm sure you're already aware.”
Yes, I am. But how could a projectile-throwing device be so compact?
Barley pulled a small cylindrical object the color of brass from a pocket in his clothes.
Ah, the origin of the ‘bolter’ nickname.
It was rather shaped like the small metal bolts often used by humans as a component to hold together wooden contraptions.
It was a little wider than a common bolt, though. One end of it was a light gray rounded dome shape, while the other flat, but with this peculiar rim indenture close to the base. Most of it a bright brassy color.
It was rather small for a projectile, although it made sense in reference to the small size of the actual weapon itself. However, Tarragon could see no manner of stabilizing mechanism whatsoever. How did these people keep the bolts from tumbling midair and veering off course?
“It shoots these. We call them ‘(bullets.)’ You don't quite have an equivalent word in your language yet. Although for all intents and purposes you folks have also nicknamed them bolts I hear?”
Before the House official could respond, Barley the Soldier pushed a small button on the side of the weapon, sliding a thin shiny box out from the apparently hollow handle grip.
He slid the brass cylinder into one end of the small box, the end that was inserted farthest into the peculiar weapon.
“This here is the case. We call it a (magazine). It can hold up to seven of these particular bolts.”
He slid the cylinder into the end of the case, pushing it down with a finger to show how it can fit more. When he removed his finger, the bolt slid back up to the opening of the ‘magazine’ on its own, suggesting a spring mechanism.
Barely the Soldier quickly slid the small box back into the ‘pistol's’ handle grip, demonstrating how the device is loaded.
Tarragon's head spun as he tried to mentally imagine and keep up with all the subcomponents and moving parts, and all the features and functions as demonstrated so far this small weapon contains. While also trying to fill in the blanks for things he didn't understand yet.
Such as how that tiny thing is able to accelerate those bolts to such speeds that they'd be able to harm even a dragon's scales. It was far too small for traditional methods of building and holding tension like a bow or crossbow.
The speed at which the foreigner was moving also wasn't helping.
Said foreigner reached up with his left hand and lightly gripped the upper rear of the weapon, close to where many strange vertical ridges were carved into the sheened metal, and yanked the whole thing back. Revealing that even that part of the weapon could move and slide, and a small circular structure that appeared from within the piece and remained fixed as the rest of the top slid back.
He then slid the top part back into place, and repeated the process a second time. This time causing the brassy bolt from earlier to fly spinning out of the notch, which was also apparently an opening, on the top of the sliding part. He caught the bolt again with a clearly practiced precision, and gave Tarragon a small grin.
It has some kind of built-in spring-loaded ejector system, too? How complicated is that thing?
“So… how exactly does this weapon work? If you are permitted to share that information?” The House official eventually asked.
Barley lowered his head with a small chuckle. “Of course, that is actually what we’re here for. Sorry for holding you up. I'll bet you're probably dying to know, if you are what we'd call an (‘engineer’).”
He lowered the pistol to the table, once again removing the ‘magazine’ and doing something that made the weapon produce a click! noise.
“We call this a ‘field strip.’” He said.
The foreigner then, with only his bare hands and no tools whatsoever, started to pull the ‘pistol’ apart. He started by rotating a small piece on the front of the weapon, then pulling out a tube-like cylinder with a coil of shiny metal sticking out one end. He pulled the coiled wire of metal out easily.
Tarragon examined the coil closer. Perhaps some kind of spring? Metal springs in general are already annoyingly hard to make. Always a pain to heat-treat correctly so that it's actually springy. A precise coil spring like this would surely require more effort than such a small weapon is worth?
Barley pulled back a lever-looking part on the back of the weapon, and then pulled out another part closer to the trigger mechanism that Tarragon thought was another smaller lever when he himself held the weapon in his own hand.
He then slid the entire top portion of the weapon off the handle grip with seemingly no resistance. Revealing many smaller parts within the weapon that gave it its functionality in the base portion and a perfectly round and thick shiny metal cylinder within the top portion.
An ordinary layman might have been impressed by the young foreign man's dexterity or strength that he could pull apart such a clearly complex machine with only his hands and no tools. But Tarragon was not an ordinary layman. He was a high-ranking official in the House of Artisans, and he knew technology.
He could see that the speed and ease at which this young man had partially disassembled this weapon was not necessarily thanks to his own skill (although it was clear that he had practice), but rather it was a deliberate design feature by the designer that it could be taken apart so easily.
Any random schmuck could learn a party trick. Designing an extraordinarily compact machine that could effectively perform that party trick for the individual while still maintaining a more practical purpose… that was another matter entirely.
Despite its unfamiliar nature, and not yet knowing much about what made this device work, he found himself growing more attracted to it.
The foreigner once again pulled the bolt projectile up, and handed it to Tarragon.
“Are you familiar with the concept of explosives?” He asked.
Tarragon eyed the foreigner. He actually was somewhat familiar with them, mostly due to his own interactions with members of the House of Alchemy, another much smaller House of Safe Harbor, often closely associated with the House of Artisans by many citizens not actually part of either House.
While members of the House of Artisans were concerned with the properties of machines and architecture, people in the House of Alchemy were often more concerned with the physical properties of the materials said things are made from.
As his counterpart in the House of Alchemy once put it to him: “Anything burns as long as it has air and you get it hot enough. But some things, if you mix them together just right, tend to burn a little more excitedly.”
By ‘excitedly’, said House official of course ment near instantly. Along with a force that threw everything around it back with a small thunderclap.
There had been some joint attempts between members of the House of Alchemy and House of Artisans, and no doubt many other humans scattered across the continent, to develop various explosive materials into something more useful.
Either developing them further into a kind of usable weapon that could be wielded against the dragon menace, or for a more civil use such as an aid to the House of Mining or for other commercial applications.
Even one idea filed for a kind of ‘insurance outfit’ from one member of the House of Tailors.
None of those attempts ever really came to fruition, to his knowledge. Mostly because explosives very quickly garnered a reputation for being extremely unsafe to work with; many of the inventors that tried to work with them had famously lost fingers and eyes to them. And because the loud sounds explosives made when they activated became known for attracting the attention of dragons, leading to the destruction of the works in progress.
That last point was somewhat moot in the case of Safe Harbor, if only because of the relatively infrequent dragon sightings compared to human settlements on the other side of the Gauntlet and farther inland. Nonetheless, it had been decreed illegal by the Mayoral Office to further experiments with explosives as part of the ‘Minimizing Unnecessary Hazards’ jurisdiction.
“Yes, I am, actually.” Tarragon eventually responded. “Wait a moment… You aren’t saying this weapon functions through some manner of explosion?”
It was a partially rhetorical question. At this point, the Pyhrrian artisan was already beginning to suspect just that.
“Yes, that's exactly it, actually.” The foreigner named Barley said. He pointed one finger towards the middle of the bolt. “There's a small amount of explosive powder right in here. When ignited, it propels this bit forward at extreme speed.” He pointed to the silvery dome-shaped end.
So even that small bolt is a compound of multiple parts. No real surprise there, at this point.
There was no way that tiny brass thing could handle the pressure of an explosion. The blast would probably send tiny metal fragments in all directions including the intended one.
Probably what that thick metal around the round part is for, on the actual bolter-weapon itself.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
So. We have a super-compact projectile weapon that uses a small, controlled explosion to launch tiny metal projectiles at speed.
A foreign concept to be sure, but not an ultimately unreasonable one. His brain was already starting to run the numbers on what exactly such a machine would need to function, and the forces that would be acting on it. (Despite of course literally having one of said machines right before him)
Still, even with such a small amount of explosive material, the forces and pressures acting on this weapon when it fires must be immense.
Barley rotated another small piece on the very front of the top piece, and slid the thick cylinder out the front of the piece. He presented it to the House official.
“This here is called the ‘barrel.’ It's where the action happens.”
Tarragon took the piece and examined it closer, doing a sort of double take on it. The metal piece was hollow, one end of it being round and tube-like while the other more boxy with smaller parts built into it.
“This craftsmanship… it’s exquisite.” He spoke aloud, having forsaken much perception of the outside world beyond the feat of metalworking before him.
“This ‘barrel’… its opening is perfectly round. Yet this is clearly one cast piece! I cannot see any imperfections in its form! How is that possible? What means of master blacksmithing could produce such an unblemished piece?”
Filing out metal pieces to certain shapes was already an exceptionally time-consuming process. Doing it to conform to a perfectly round shape was nearly unprecedented… not to mention doing so in one piece that was cast as one solid component. And with metal so clearly hard as this.
He looked through the metal tube like an eyepiece, seeing evenly spaced winding metal grooves on the inside of the cylinder. He had no idea how long that would have taken to make.
Perhaps he responded so much to this rather than all the other wild parts of this weapon, because he was well familiar with how difficult it was to work metal in such a way that would be required to produce such a part.
“Well now, that's partially what we're here to show you.” Barley took the metal barrel piece back, and rapidly reassembled the ‘pistol.’
Once completed, he racked the sliding piece back and forth several times, showing Tarragon how to do it. He handed the mechanical weapon to him, and turned back to one of the carts some other foreigners had pushed in. Saying something in English.
Tarragon never specialized in weapons, but he, and every tool maker worth their bronze knew that when it came to tools in general, but especially weapons, that the less moving parts it had, the better.
Moving parts and complex mechanisms were points of failure. Points where things could go wrong, wear down, or get gunk in them.
That was one reason why crossbows were never widely implemented beyond the walls of the Safehold as an anti-dragon measure for their Archer Guards despite their potential effectiveness: Because it wouldn't do a Guard Scout much good if he had to return it to the workshop for repairs after the first time he had to take cover in a muddy ditch in the woods.
Nevertheless, this weapon he now held was far more complicated than even the sillier of their operational man-wielded crossbows, yet this organized foreign fighting force used it.
Either all the foreigners that carried weapons similar to it were veritable master crafters that could repair these fantastical weapons out in the field. Which he doubted, because, despite all their strangeness, they were still clearly humans.
Or the designers of these weapons built them to such criteria that they would be uncharacteristically resistant to outside contamination and light damage for what they were.
Out of the two (albeit, somewhat crazy) options, he found one of the potential explanations far more believable.
The House official racked the sliding piece for himself. He could feel how all the subcomponents and springs and levers perfectly clicked and moved together exactly as intended. A perfect blend of complexity, function, even form. An excellent, seamless, mastercraft of design.
Easy there, Tarragon. You're a married man.
He chuckled to himself, and once again set the ‘model nineteen-eleven’ back on the table. There had been rumors circulating, among the less technologically knowledgeable citizens of Safe Harbor, that some form of magic was behind much of the seemingly inconceivably advanced technology these strangers employed.
But he knew better. To an artisan of machines like him, even the concept of using ‘magic’ or employing assistance from spirits was little more than a cop-out fielded by lazy people too unimaginative to develop more practical means of accomplishing their goals.
Not only that, but it was dangerous too.
These people, whoever they were, were no enchanters. They, or at least the society that produced them, are Master Artisans.
Or, well, Master ‘Engineers’ as they themselves would probably say.
He was broken from his thoughts by the Standard-speaking foreigner addressing him, now holding a peculiar looking metal tool that somewhat resembled a clamp of some kind.
“-We call this thing here a ‘vernier caliper.’ We use it to measure precise things, especially the diameter of a circle.”
He moved the thing closer, and pointed to the flat part of it, which looked simply textured from a distance, he could now determine the patterns in the metal were many evenly spaced parallel black lines and (probably) tiny number symbols.
“A measurement tool, you say?” Tarragon said absentmindedly, taking the peculiar tool in his hands.
Measuring equipment, and their accompanying marking utensils, were often the unsung heros when it came to making things. Underestimated by the average person in their vitality.
One thing that Tarragon had noticed earlier, and that he'd just realized he probably ought to be grateful for: was that these foreigners also seemed to have developed and utilized a ten-digit number system that mirrored their own.
Or maybe he himself ought to be grateful that his own people developed a ten-digit numbering system with which all counting and measuring was done that coincided with the foreigner’s. He wasn't particularly familiar with the history of his own culture's numerology and practical philosophy.
Either way, it was a stroke of luck. Because it simplified things like this much more.
Focus, Tarragon. What were you supposed to be thinking about?
…
Oh, yeah. The measuring thingy.
Which, for its part, was by all appearances a rather overly complicated device, given its intended purpose. It had all kinds of knobs and subcomponents that he couldn't really determine the function for.
But if the ‘pistol’ he'd just seen the insides of was any precedent, these foreigners didn't take to adding all kinds of unnecessary pieces that served no purpose other than to increase weight and waste.
“You see these lines here?” Barley said, pointing to the lines once again. “We call these ‘inches’ and ‘centimeters.’ They're both measuring systems that we use.”
They were both pretty close to smaller distance measuring orders he was already familiar with.
He pointed his finger to the side of the flat part with the wider line increments. “These are ‘inches.’ Using these grip-like things and all these parts here, it can measure up to a thousandth of an ‘inch’ in precision.”
If it were actually physically possible for a man's eyes to fall out of his head, Tarragon was pretty sure his own would have.
That is a truly inhuman level of precision
The sheer amount of ambitious projects and designs that failed to work in real life that could be made feasible with precision like this.
Thrice-cursed moons and wings above, this little tool alone could revolutionize our technology.
“Is… is that how you make such machines like this ‘pistol’ possible?” He managed to ask.
“Well, it and stuff like it certainly help. But that isn't the whole story.”
At that Barley turned and said something in English back to the other foreigners.
The House official wondered if he was about to see what manner of peculiar feat of foreign engineering was under that sheet on the cart they pushed in.
After some discussion, the foreigners in fact did remove the sheet to reveal….
A box. Which appeared to be full of papers.
Tarragon mentally kicked himself. He'd allowed himself to slip back into a younger and more eager version of himself back when he was a lower-ranking artisan. He held his current job because he was able to, and used to, dealing with paperwork.
He'd let himself get a little excited that perhaps they'd have some manner of crazy machine concealed under that sheet that surpassed even his childhood dreams, but it seemed that was not so. At least for now.
Barely took a sheet of perfectly smooth paper out of a box and presented it again to him. It appeared to mainly have a highly-detailed ink-drawn outline picture of what he could only assume to be another machine covering most of it.
The machine in the technical drawing was rather strange looking. It was clearly not meant to be handheld, looking more like furniture than anything. All the levers, wheels, handles and moving parts all over the exterior of it did not lend him any hints to its function.
The Standard-speaking foreigner spoke once again: “We call that there a ‘lathe.’ Once again, not super sure if you have an equivalent word in your own language.” The young man turned to glance over at Interpreter Rosemary, who had been silent this entire time.
She, for her part, only shrugged back at him. She looked a little lost.
Perhaps the discussion of technology and machines like this is outside of her range of knowledge. He figured.
The young foreigner took the non-answer in stride, and rolled on: “Anyway, that and machines like it are one of the big reasons why we are able to make things like the bolter I just showed you. Rather than shaping and hammering and filing metal and wood and things only by hand, we can use machines like these to do levels of precision like that ‘caliper’. Down to a thousandth the diameter of your finger. Not to mention we can do it, much, much faster than anyone using only their hands.”
Tarragon spared a glance towards the other foreigners in the procession. Presumably they weren't able to speak Standard with the same proficiency as their counterpart. They seemed a little unsure of what they ought to do.
He returned his attention to the information at hand. Namely the revelation that these foreigners used immensely complicated machines to build other immensely complicated machines.
Is that really a surprise, at this point? But what is the purpose of this discussion? One may think that these people would come here with a purpose more practical than to boast their technical prowess.
“You wouldn't happen to have any of these machines with you? Or are you trying to slowly break it to us that you've lost this… production capacity?”
The foreigner shook his head.
“Nah. This drawing right here is of the same kind of ‘lathe’ that we pulled off one of our destroyers. We wanted to bring it in to show you, but it's a little big and heavy for this room. Not to mention we wouldn't be able to turn it on in here.”
“I see. How does this machine work, exactly?”
“Well, it would take a little more time than we have to explain the intricacies, but the basics are that you attach a piece of something you want to work with to this bit here, which is an axis of rotation, and various attachments to work on and shape your work piece. Using this machine, you can do either… hang on, what are all the equivalent words…?”
He pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket. “Eh, cutting, sanding, drilling, knurling, deformation, turning and facing. Yeah, glad I wrote all those down.
As you can imagine, these are also particularly useful for round pieces.” He finished with a grin.
Tarragon concealed his surprise. That is a lot of different things you can do with that one machine.
As much as the idea of having another fascinating human machine before him and not getting to learn how exactly it worked made him itch, he would also agree that they don't have all the time in the world. And discussing the nature of machines was not what his job here was, as much as he may want to do it.
Although, he did still have a couple questions.
“You said you took one of these ‘lathes’ off of one of your ‘destroyers.’ What are you referring to?”
It seemed a little ironic that a thing that was meant to create would come of something called a ‘destroyer’.
“That's just what we call one of our kinds of war ship. You can recognize them by looking for the biggest boats out on the water that clearly aren't cargo ships.”
Ah, a type of vessel, then. Fascinating.
He would admit, to the foreigners' credit, ‘destroyer’ was a pretty epic name to bestow upon a fighting ship. Even if it were a little on the nose.
I wonder what else those ships are able to destroy. Probably anything within range of those massive bolters they have.
He also wondered what other manners of awesome machinery were aboard those vessels. An immense curiosity itching at him like sand in his garments.
Scorch, were I any younger and dumber, I might volunteer to go and raid a dragon lair for treasure just to get a chance to tour one of those vessels.
But that was a discussion for another day.
“You mentioned something about turning this ‘lathe’ on. What do you mean by that?”
At this Foreigner Barley vocalized something decidedly congratulatory-sounding, and pointed a finger from each hand at him in a rather charismatic fashion. A couple other foreigners and Interpreter Rosemary gave him slightly odd looks.
“Great question! That's actually the main concern with integrating the more advanced of our stuff with your infrastructure. How familiar are you with lighting?
That caught Tarragon off guard. Both the question regarding lightning and the implication that these people wanted to revolutionize their city without even asking for prompt or payment beforehand. Even Interpreter Rosemary looked confused.
“Uh… What?” Was all he got out.
The foreigner didn't miss a beat. “‘Electricity’ is an English word you're gonna want to learn. Basically, most of our bigger, more complicated, or more powerful machines run using small amounts of lighting.”
He clearly took Tarragon's dumbfounded face as que to elaborate. He slapped the boxes on the cart with one hand. “In here you'll find all sorts of manuals, guides, papers and stuff explaining it and the math behind it in as much detail as you could want, but it's all in English of course. I'll try my best to give you a basic overview.”
He turned and had a brief discussion in English with the other foreigners with a fair amount of physical gestures and exchanged, and papers in the boxes wafted through. Even Interpreter Rosemary chimed in a few times.
Tarragon shuffled on his feet a little. Even in a small room, these people sounded so loud when they talked to each other. It was no wonder why many citizens had been complaining about safety concerns.
The usual counter-argument being that the very things the same people used to slay a force of dragons powerful enough to jeopardize the entire city within minutes hadn’t gone anywhere.
Eventually, the foreigners turned back to regard the House official. Barley in particular now holding several papers and props.
“Now, I don't know how much you guys have studied lighting and it's effects, but I do know there's not a whole lot of words in your language that involve ‘electricity,’ so I'll try to explain it from the top as simply as I can. If you wanna know more, I'm afraid you'll have to learn English.”
He waved his hand. “The easiest way to describe how lighting works is that there is a certain differential between the clouds and the ground. We call this differential a ‘static electrical charge,’ but I guess the best way to say it in your language would be to use a water analogy.
“Water is everywhere, right? All over the ground, in the ground, in you and me, in the seas and in the air as ‘vapor’- or I guess you would just say steam- and all that? You can kind of imagine lighting to be something similar. Water on the ground turns to steam and collects up in the air as clouds, and when those clouds pass a certain density threshold, they pour that water down as rain.
You can conceptualize lighting in a somewhat similar way. Charge builds up in the air and clouds over time, and comes slamming down to the ground under certain conditions. I'd be lying if I said that was an accurate analogy, but it should be good enough to get the general picture. Get it so far?”
Tarragon blinked. This was all completely new to him. He'd never pondered the more peculiar things in the world like lightning, always preferring to focus on what was right in front of him. Nevertheless, he could at least say that he was mostly following what the young foreigner was saying. Though the speed at which he spoke wasn't helping. It was pretty clear that whatever this ‘electricity’ was and its relationship to lightning, that he must know a fair bit about and was interested in it. Hence his eagerness.
He felt a little bad for Interpreter Rosemary, though. She looked completely lost.
“Uh… alright. I think I follow, but what does this have to do with how you said you power your machines?”
Barley grinned. “Well now, that's the cool part. You familiar with the purpose of all the ducts and gutters that line the streets in this city?”
Now Tarragon nodded more surely. Of course he was familiar with them; The House of Artisans played a crucial role in their development and building.
“They serve to improve cleanliness in the city by diverting water from the Riverstream and drainage in case of flooding.” He replied.
The foreigner noted emphatically. “Yup. But you also have waterwheels and things close to the mouth of the small river that drive mills and grinds, right?”
The House official tilted his head. Where is he going with this?
“Point is, lighting, like rain, is hard to reliably harness because it's hard to predict and account for. Sometimes- usually- in lightning's case, it's more destructive than helpful.
But what if, instead of relying on occasional huge bolts like lighting, you found a way to harness smaller, more steady amounts of it like the streams in your artificial water ducts to run machines like your grinder mills?”
It finally clicked to Tarragon what he was implying, along with the huge implications and slew of questions.
“Surely that is impossible! You cannot direct and control lighting like a flow of moving water! Can you?”
Barley grinned. “You can! Just like how water likes to flow downhill and through the path of resistance, does ‘electricity’ flow through and lightning gets attracted to certain metals and materials like gold and copper!”
Wait, gold can be used to control lightning?
He'd really hate to break it to these people who had all the gold on this continent.
Barley continued. “Now, it kind of makes sense why you all hadn't figured this out, because you like to build houses and stuff to be as low to the ground as possible, but we in our world figured out centuries ago that some of our tall ‘cathedrals’ attracted lighting strikes. That wasn't any good, but we also figured out that when we put a big old metal pole through the spire lighting would attract to the pole alone and flow through it to the ground.”
He turned to one side and seemed to talk to himself: “Actually, that kind of makes sense. Y’all build your buildings close to the ground or partially into it, and don't know much about lighting, but y’all do know more about drainage and flooding control than we did. Interesting, interesting.”
He whipped back to face Tarragon. “-Point is! Lighting, or at least what makes up lightning, likes to flow through many metals and other things. And just like you can use things like ducts, gutters, dams, slopes and steps and whatnot to control the flow of water, can you also use conceptually similar mechanisms to control how ‘electricity’ flows.
“And just like you use waterwheels and mills to harness the water's power to do work, do we also use machines like that to harness the power of ‘electricity’ to do work.” He finished.
“But how can you harness lightning in the first place, even if you say you can control it? It isn't exactly as though you can summon the bolts.”
At this the young man held up two small pieces of metal in both hands, showing them to Tarragon. “That's the other cool part! Have you ever heard of anything like these?”
The things in his hands were small rectangles, dark gray in coloration. A lot of their things were that color. Barley brought them closer together, and they jumped together and stuck to each other with a sharp click!
“Lodestones?” Tarragon blurted.
“Pardon? I don't know that word. Do you know that word, Miss Rosemary?”
“What word?” Interpreter Rosemary spoke up.
“What Mister Tarragon here just said.”
“Oh, sorry. I don't know that word in English.”
“That's alright. Are you at all familiar with these or things like them, Mister Tarragon?” Barley directed the last question back at him.
“Err… If by familiar you mean I've seen them before, yes.”
That was the truth. Lodestones are strange metallic rocks found in random places across the more habital places on the continent and are known for their weird tendency to try and stick to iron.
No one knows why they do this, and despite the efforts of a few artisans like him who managed to aquire a few, no practical use for them beyond a novel children's toy had been developed.
At least, a pair of lodestones had been one of his favorite toys when he himself was a kid.
“That's alright. The important part is that we figured out how to use, we call them ‘magnets’, like these to small, steady currents of lighting.”
He turned to grab a piece of paper, and Tarragon braced himself. Surely a machine capable of creating lighting using lodestones would be more complicated than he can imagine.
Barley handed another piece of paper to him, with yet another ink picture drawn onto it.
To his surprise, that picture depicted a small machine that more resembled a common oil lamp than anything else.
“And there it is! A basic ‘electrical generator’! Those blocks there are the ‘magnets’. They sit still. This part here is a coil of copper wire, it spins around! These little things are called brushes, they touch the split-ring there. These parts here are where the metal wires connect, giving you an outflow.” He said as he pointed to different parts of the picture.
“This whole part here needs to spin, and you get a current of lighting right in these wires! You can take those wires out wherever you want, sort of!” He grinned.
Tarragon regarded him. “Wait, that's it?”
“For making power, yeah!”
Seriously? The secret to harvesting the power of storms and lightning itself is a coil of copper wire spinning around in between lodestones?
He could probably put one of these machines together using just spare junk lying around the Workshop!
(It probably wouldn't work very well, but still.)
Tarragon was beginning to notice a trend with the unique machines these people create. While they may seem immensely complicated and do things seemingly magical at first glance. They're actually very, almost comically, simple and straightforward at their fundamental level.
Strange weapons that can destroy the monster of every human's nightmares in seconds? A reinforced metal tube and controlled explosion.
A level of precision metalworking that should be impossible by human standards? Fancy measuring tools and a mechanical rotating file.
Machines literally powered by lightning? Copper wires and spinning lodestones.
Some may call it ridiculous, he called it pretty good design. What good, on a grand scale, were theoretical legendary artifacts or ‘magical’ implements when they could only be used by a small handful of people?
Any idiot could learn to use one of these machines, by his reckoning.
There was a massive utility in that, especially if they could get these machines all over the continent.
His eyes widened as he came to a realization.
Wings above, that's the point, isn't it?
When he'd been told by his superiors that he was going to be meeting a foreign procession to discuss ‘business potential’ with them, he assumed they'd come wanting to purchase things from his House. That's what most people, excluding the Mayoral Office, came for.
That's not what they came for. These guys came because the business potential they wanted to discuss was giving us the ability to make tools, machines, and weapons like them.
That must be why they spent this whole time trying to demonstrate how their tech works.
Nevertheless, the House official felt it prudent to ask.
“What is the overall point in you showing me, us, all this?” He asked the foreigners.
To his mild surprise, Barley the Standard-speaking foreigner didn't just roll off the question without missing a beat, he paused for thought this time.
“...Well, to put it simply, Mister Tarragon, go back a couple hundred years and the world we came from didn't look much different from what you guys have here. At least technology-wise. Most of this crazy stuff we have was invented less than a century ago. There are still many places where we come from that probably don't look all that much different than this city here.
“But there was a certain point we came to, and a threshold crossed. Our civilization was changed forever. It became possible to build things like the machines I've shown you in mind-numbing quantities.
“We've already done the hard work of inventing these machines and making ways to produce them in numbers. It wouldn't be difficult to bring you guys up to speed.”
He pointed over to the boxes on the cart. “In there we have designs for entire buildings whose sole purpose is to House a bunch of specialized versions of that ‘lathe’ to produce weapons like this ‘pistol’.
“Our ships are equipped with huge ‘generators’ like I showed you that can produce massive amounts of ‘electricity.’ We can supply a grid with power, and we have the raw materials to set that grid and infrastructure up. But we can't do that ourselves. This is your city, yours to revolutionize.”
Decades of conditioning and diplomatic experience couldn't keep the visible shock off Tarragon's face.
“You… you can't just give that away… The secrets that must be in there… centuries’ worth of revolutionary tech like you've shown me… it… just the knowledge in there alone would be worth more than a dragon queen's entire hoard!
“You said you were here to do business, what are you asking for in return?”
An entirely valid question, to which the young foreigner simply shrugged in response.
But the words he spoke next, they sounded genuine even through his thick accent:
“We’re not. Not for that, anyway. You all, the people of this town have shown us kindness and hospitality in allowing us, complete strangers, to stay here when you would have been completely justified in telling our convoy to move on.”
Well, no. You can't just tell wanderers to just get lost here! Their burnt blood will be on your hands. That's like the first rule of etiquette for us. Maybe it isn't for them?
Barley continued. “Contrary to the opinion of many here, we aren't squatters. We aren't freeloaders. We're ‘Americans.’ We work to earn our living. We will not, cannot, just ride off your politeness while we're here without giving you something in return.
“We can't repay you through currency. The silver and copper pieces you all use as money, we don't have. Nor is our currency any good here… yet. But we do have goods, and we have intellectual property. Those are valuable. As you put it, as valuable presumably as a whole pile of precious metals and minerals.
“We aren't merchant traders, but we have stuff to market. And the ‘patents’ can't get us all the way over here.” He grinned at the House official with a hint of mischief.
Who, for his part, could only stand unsure. Not really knowing what to think.
These people… these strange people… giving up what makes them unique, mysterious, powerful, in exchange for us letting them anchor their boats in our bay and set up a bunch of tents?
That cannot be the full story.
Where in the name of this dragon-scorched land did these blazing people come from!? Why did they come here!? No sane state that wielded enough technological and economic leverage to topple Blood Mountain would just… not use it!
“What kind of city are you people from that you could be this unfathomably wealthy that you would just give away that kind of resource?” Tarragon demanded, almost fully dropping any veneer of diplomatic etiquette.
Barley only shrugged. “We’re not. The state we hail from isn't confined to a single city.
“What you see right now of us, our entire convoy, is little more than a rounding mistake compared to the whole production capability of a state which spans the entire length of a land larger than this whole continent.”
For the sake of his own composure, Tarragon decided that he did not in fact hear that correctly.
“But… you're just going to let us… copy your technology? Have your trade secrets? In exchange for what? Us being cool with you camping outside the city limits and you slaughtering any dragons that attack us along with a clause that we actually build this stuff you're giving us?”
Barley only shrugged. “Yeah, and?”
Tarragon stared back. Then he laughed. A loud, long cackle. It felt pretty good, it'd been a while since he'd laughed.
“Alright, fine. Deal. Whatever the scorch your deal is, you've got it. With what you're offering, the House Head would have mine if I said otherwise.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, alright then. Don't forget that we also really need you all to build all this as much as you do. Also keep in mind that we'll be here to give plenty of advice and instruction where necessary to help smooth things along and keep accidents from happening.”
Ah, there's the attached string. They get a say in what we do. Only people that can tell a House what to do are the Lord-Mayor and House Administrators.
…
Lord-Mayor Talem would totally let these foreigners tell us what to do.
He sighed. No matter, it's still an immensely good deal.
Besides, even he felt a little reluctant to just dive into that box of designs and go nuts with the first thing he sees. Same way he felt reluctant to play with that bolter-weapon.
Just like careless use can cause a weapon to destroy more than its intended target, can tools like these cause more problems than they were meant to solve if misused.
Letting the people that invented these machines and grew up around them call the shots in terms of which ones get built first and how, seemed a good idea.
“I assume all the written information in those documents are in your language?”
The foreign man nodded. “You'll have to employ some translators. Or perhaps send some members of your House through an English learning program we’re setting up.”
He nudged Interpreter Rosemary, who looked a little zoned out. “Hey, aren't we going to meet up with your House to set that up? Aren't you with the teachers?”
“Oh, uh, yes. To both those things.”
Barley turned back to him. “We can also try to divert resources to translating them to your language, but that would take a long time.
Tarragon shook his head. “As helpful as that would be, I can't recommend it for the short term. With all the unique terminology you used during the lightning explanation, I feel like half of the words in them would end up being English anyway.”
He himself should probably prioritize learning their language, especially if he was going to be working more with these people in the future.
The foreigner granted his point with a nod.
“Keep in touch, Mister Tarragon. These papers are yours. Any questions you have, write a letter, give to the Office of Lordship. We'll get it. We're also happy to try and provide smaller versions of many of the machines exampled in those papers that we have aboard our ships. Keep in mind those papers aren't just designs for machines, but architecture practice and innovations we use as well as a bunch of math and science lessons.
“Now, this is important, don't go try to build the stuff detailed in those sheets, not until you thoroughly understand them and we tell you.”
That last part sounded more like a warning. An unnecessary one, given he barely had any clue how that stuff worked.
“Of course. I take it you're leaving, and off to meet with the other City Houses?”
“Yeah, sorry to walk out on you like that, but we've got a lot of places we need to be. Folks to meet with.”
“Very well. A word of caution: Beware the House of Records, they're jerks. And beware the House of Mining, they're crazy.”
Barley huffed a laugh. “Ha, we were just at the House of Records; the lady at reception said the same about you.”
Despite himself, Tarragon felt his indignation flare up. “Oh, that old… she would, wouldn’t she? Did she!?”
“No.” The foreigner said flatly.
“...Oh.” Tarragon deflated.
Barley snorted, and turned to leave along with the rest of the procession.
Huh, they're really leaving so soon? I guess they got what they wanted done.
He glanced over at the empty table. Empty besides the tiny ‘magnets’ and a couple of pictures shown to him.
They didn't even stay for tea.
“Take care of yourself, Mister Tarragon. We'll be seeing each other soon, I'm sure.”
“Take care, Interpreter Barley, Interpreter Rosemary, the rest of you.”
And with that exchange the door closed shut, once again leaving Tarragon standing by himself in the reception room. This time with a cart carrying boxes stuffed full of papers.
He allowed to slump his shoulders and sigh. He felt tired, but still had so much on his hands.
He had to talk with the other House Administrators. He had some explaining to do.
He had problems to solve. And problems to solve before those problems could be solved, and problems to solve before those in turn could be solved, and so on.
But such is life. He thought ruefully. Or at least, such is the life of man.
From his coworkers, to his job, to city politics, to everyday life, to these foreigners, to the dragons themselves. It was all problems to solve.
Unfortunately, he was only suited to solve only a small handful of those problems.
He stepped over to the table, and picked the tiny ‘magnets.’ He clicked them together a couple times, feeling how they drew to one another through some unknown force. He looked back to the boxes of papers.
Maybe with this… we can solve problems no human even dared dream of living without.
“Maybe.” He mumbled to himself.
“Well, looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Tarragon.”
***