by Eric Vall
“Now,” I replied as I rubbed my hands together eagerly, “comes the fun part.”
First, I dealt with the sulfur.
I gently removed each of the large, yellow rocks from my bag. Then, I set two of them aside on a shelf on the opposite end of the room from the forges.
I used my power to break the last rock into smaller, more manageable pieces, and the largest of those pieces I touched with the tip of my finger, and it collapsed into dust with the barest hint of magic. I scooped the yellow particles into a metal bucket and set it aside for the moment.
Both the guano processing and the charcoal creation were going to take a little more time and a good deal more of effort, so I turned to Aurora for help.
“I need you to make some charcoal,” I said to her. “Can you do that?”
“Just tell me what to do,” Aurora replied with a shrug.
I walked to the corner of the room and hefted the large metal box I had crafted for this explicit purpose before we left. I brought it back toward one of the forges and set it in the hearth. Then, I turned to the half-elf and pointed to the stacks of woods used for fuel that were placed against the far wall.
“Fill this metal container with as much wood as you can,” I instructed, “and then I’ll need you to bathe it in a fire hot enough to char the wood but not enough to melt the box.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Aurora remarked as she glanced over to the stacks of kindling. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”
I rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt and cringed. “I’ll be digging through some bat poop.”
“I do not envy you,” Aurora said with a smirk, and then she set off to complete her task.
While the half-elf worked on the charcoal, I returned to the clay container of guano on the table. I pulled on a pair of leather gloves before I uncorked the seal and dumped the guano into a metal pot. Away from the caves, the stench was pungent, and I wrinkled my nose as I fought to keep the food down in my stomach.
Then, I added water to the pot of guano until it was over half full, and then I picked it up and walked over to Aurora and the now raging fire she had created.
The half-elf glanced at me in question, and the flame that shot out of her hand began to die down, but I shook my head and carefully reached out to set the metal pot on top of the box the Ignis Mage was bathing in fire.
“As you were,” I said with a grin as I stepped back from the heat.
Aurora nodded, and the flame she controlled grew again until the skin of my face felt nearly tender.
Once the water in the pot had reached a boil, I removed it from the flame and strained its contents out. Black sediment, the waste remnants from the guano, had settled at the bottom. I threw this away and was left with a milky and opaque pot of liquid. I added a little more fresh water to the pot, and then I returned it to Aurora’s flame to leech the saltpeter I desired from the guano one last time.
Fifteen minutes later, Aurora finally dropped her hand and extinguished her flame. Sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip and curled the small wisps of hair at her cheek. She turned to me expectantly, and I moved into action.
First, I scraped the white saltpeter crystals out of the pot and into a glass vial about the size of my hand. Next, with Aurora’s help, I carefully opened the still scalding metal box in the forge and very precisely extracted the lump charcoal from its depths. Still with my gloves on, I ground the smoldering charcoal into gray dust and set this in its own separate container.
Now, I had all three ingredients, ground, refined, and ready to be mixed and used.
“Time for a little experimentation,” I said with a grin. “I can’t quite remember the exact ratio to mix these components, but it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out via trial and error. As long as I don’t blow us up.”
“Blow us--” she started to question.
“It will be fine,” I laughed.
I stepped forward and cleared the workshop table to avoid the potential risk of accidents and injuries. Once the table was clear except for my three ingredients, and a scrap piece of paper for later, I pinched an even amount of each and mixed them together carefully on the flat, metal tabletop. When I had a small pile of black powder, I turned to Aurora.
I was practically bouncing on the balls of my feet.
“I need a little bit of flame, my lady,” I asked her formally as I gestured to the mixed powder.
Aurora frowned in confusion. “I thought this weapon would not require magic.”
“It won’t,” I assured her. “I just need a little fire right now to test the potency of the powder.”
The half-elf still didn’t look convinced, but she lifted up her hand regardless and shot a small, blue flame onto the table.
An instant later, there was a loud pop, and the air exploded with dark smoke.
Aurora and I stumbled back from the table top coughing.
“What is the name of the gods?” the blue-haired maiden choked out as she waved her hand in front of her face. Her green eyes watered from irritation, and black soot dusted the tip of her nose.
“Sorry,” I apologized hoarsely as I coughed and wiped at my own face. I looked back toward the charred spot on the table. “It seems I used too much charcoal.”
I thought carefully about the three ingredients. If charcoal caused too much black smoke, that must mean the saltpeter or the sulfur was the main component. I looked back to Aurora, who still wheezed from the smoke.
“Bear with me a little longer,” I cajoled. “I promise this will be worth it in the end.”
“Or … an explosion,” Aurora grumbled as she scrubbed the black dust of her cheeks.
Although it took a few more tries and an hour of experimentation, I thought I had come to the perfect ratio: seventy-five percent saltpeter, fifteen percent charcoal, and ten percent sulfur. Aurora looked exhausted and ready to give up, but I wasn’t.
Confident in my current mixture, I walked over to the blacksmith’s pile of scrap metal and selected a piece of iron. Even though weariness did pull at my limbs, I summoned forth my magic one last time and molded the metal into a pipe half as long as my forearm. I then sealed one end of the pipe, except for a tiny pinprick on the sidewall near the base, and took a small piece of metal off that end and shaped it into a metallic ball the size of a peach pit.
When I approached Aurora with these items, she looked completely vexed.
“Your weapon is this powder and a metal club?” she questioned with disbelief.
“This is just a prototype to test the powder,” I explained with a tired smile. “If it works, tomorrow I’ll start on the actual designs for the weapon itself.”
“How will this test work?” she asked with a curious tilt of her head.
“Like this,” I replied. I set the metal pipe upright on the table and leaned over the gray powder I had made. With the scrap piece of paper I had set aside, I carefully scooped up the powder, and then I tipped it into the open mouth of the pipe. When all the powder had disappeared down the tube, I crumpled up the paper and shoved it down the hole. Finally, I set the metal ball at the top of the pipe and, with a nudge of my magic, I slowly moved the ball, paper, and powder to the sealed base of the pipe.
Swords had always called to me, but come on. Who hadn’t lost a whole night’s sleep staying up to watch how-to videos on muskets and Civil War reenactments?
Excitement burned through my veins and chased away my fatigue. I turned and offered the prototype weapon to Aurora, but made sure to keep the barrel pointed away from either of us.
“I need one last flame from you,” I said eagerly. “All you need to do is hold this end of the pipe, point the other one at that wall over there, and send the barest hint of a spark through this small hole and down the length of the tube.”
“And what will happen?” Aurora asked as she took the end of the pipe cautiously and examined the spot I had indicated.
“We’ll see,” I said teasingly as a broad gri
n stretched across my face, and then I gestured for the beautiful mage to follow my instruction. She seemed skeptical still, but she aimed the pipe at the empty stretch of stone wall I indicated and took a deep breath as she frowned with concentration.
The spark of energy that was a prelude to magic arced through the air, and an instant later, a concussive explosive noise echoed throughout the workshop.
Aurora cried out in alarm and dropped the pipe. The metal clanged harshly against the stone floor, but I didn’t pay it a single thought because my eyes were trained on the wall across the room.
A small hole had been blasted into the stone, the exact size of the bullet I had just crafted.
“Oh, hell yeah!” I shouted as I pumped my fist into the air.
I spun back to Aurora, who was still crouched in defensive alarm. Before she could say a word, I wrapped my arms around her and swung her in circles. “It works!”
The half-elf protested being picked up, but I hardly heard her as the feeling of victory soared through my body.
Now, we were in business.
Chapter 9
During the gunpowder test, I essentially made a rudimentary musket with the pipe and Aurora. That had been cool and incredibly easy, but I meant for these weapons to go up against monsters and beasts. A muzzle-loading weapon was simply impractical for those purposes.
So, I thought revolvers, and even a lever-action rifle, would be the next easiest thing to craft. Those had been around for a few hundred years back on Earth at the very least. Cowboys had made and used them, and they barely had electricity back then. Plus, with my magic, I could mold and shape any piece of metal exactly how I wanted in a fraction of the time a blacksmith would need.
I knew the basics of guns. I had even been to a shooting range a few times in college. I knew I needed a barrel, a hammer, a trigger, and a cylinder to hold the bullets. The trigger released the hammer, the hammer activated the firing pin, and the firing pin, in turn, struck the bullet. A small explosive charge set on the back of the bullet casing was ignited, and the force then projected the bullet forward out of the muzzle toward its intended target. Relatively simple.
What I hadn’t considered, however, was exactly how all of these different pieces and parts came together.
My first attempt yielded something that looked like a gun, but it was just a single, continuous hunk of metal. Nothing moved or operated as it should have. Even the trigger was a solid, unyielding piece. I melted down the failed attempt and tried again.
And again, and again, and again.
I switched off between the revolver and the rifle, but neither of them provided any real results. All I managed to produce were frames for the weapons, like metal skeletons without any of their connective tissues.
It seemed that my magic conformed to my preconceived notions of how guns were meant to work. It knew what the end product was supposed to be, and it tried to take a few shortcuts to get from A to B quicker.
After my first few failed attempts, I tried to take a step back and start smaller. I crafted the muzzle and barrel and then stopped. I molded a cylinder next, and then a trigger. But then I ran into the problem of fitting them all together. I knew there needed to be some screws involved, so I set out to make those. I managed to get some of the pieces connected, but never all of them at once. The minute details of the mechanisms kept eluding me.
It had been two days since my gunpowder victory, and I had barely left the blacksmith’s forge during that time. I was running on very little sleep, and I was nearly at my wit’s end.
I looked down at the workshop table I was hunched over, and my vision started to double. I sighed as I rubbed at my strained and tired eyes.
“You need to rest,” a voice said over my shoulder, and I turned to find Aurora leaning up against the doorframe. She had a frown on her face, and she held something hidden behind her back.
I hadn’t seen the half-elf much since I became consumed with my project. She had her magely duties during the day, and I had been practically glued to this table.
“I’m fine,” I replied with a disarming smile, but Aurora wasn’t fooled. She rolled her eyes at my bravado and pushed herself off the wall. As she approached, she finally brought her hand out from behind her back, and balanced on her palm was a plate of food.
“At least eat something,” she protested as she set the plate down on the table in front of me. The meal consisted of a charred piece of meat, a side of seasoned fingerling potatoes, and a thick chunk of bread slathered in yellow butter. My stomach growled ferociously as the enticing smells assaulted my nose. I suddenly couldn’t remember the last time I had actually eaten.
“What time is it?” I asked curiously as I picked up a small potato and popped it into my mouth. As the salty flavor of the potato enveloped my tongue, I let out a small moan of ecstasy. “Damn, that was great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“Past dinner,” Aurora replied. She scowled and put her hands on her hips. “Have you not left this room all day again?”
“Well…” I shrugged evasively and took a bite out of the bread. Butter melted in my mouth, and I had to be careful not to drool.
“Do you even know what day it is?” she asked, and her green eyes opened wide with concern.
“This is delicious,” I said around a full bite. The half-elf frowned and jabbed me in the chest with her slender index finger.
“Do not change the subject,” she chastised me. “What have I told you about pushing yourself too far? I swear, I will enter this room one morning to find you dead and cold on the floor.”
“You worry too much,” I replied as I swallowed. I flashed the blue-haired maiden my best cajoling smile. “The metal pieces I’m working with aren’t as big as the sword we made. I barely use any power to melt and mold them.”
“Then why do you look as if someone has struck you on both eyes?” she countered as she reached up and ghosted her finger across the top of my right cheekbone.
“If you are referring to my dark circles, I think they make me look quite distinguished,” I responded with a mock pout, but I couldn’t keep my mouth from twitching as I added, “You know, like Mage Abrus.”
Aurora actually snorted and took a step closer to me. Her hand trailed down from my cheek, to my shoulder, to my chest.
“I think the comparison is a little unfair,” she said as she placed her palm over my suddenly racing heart. She looked at me from under her lashes and smirked faintly. “After all, I do believe Abrus’ eyes are what make him distinguished, not the bags beneath them.”
“You wound me,” I gasped dramatically as I slapped my hand over hers atop my heart.
Aurora rolled her eyes again at my antics and lightly shoved me back. “In all seriousness, Mason, you do need to find time to rest.”
My grin slowly faded, and I rubbed at the back of my neck. “I know, and I’ll stop before I hurt myself. It’s just… I’m so damn close!” I turned and gestured to the workshop table and all the scattered, melted, unusable pieces of metal. “I’m like eighty percent there, but I can’t seem to clear the final hurdle.”
“Well, what is the problem?” the half-elf asked with a frown. Her shoulder brushed against mine as she leaned over the table to examine my trials and errors.
“This,” I sighed as I picked up the solid frame of the revolver. I pointed to the cylinder that my magic had welded to the frame. “So, this part right here is supposed to spin in place. You see these holes here? Each of them is meant to hold a piece of metal. The incendiary powder I created ignites a small explosion that will force the metal out of this barrel here and project it toward a target, like a super fast, super accurate, super small arrow. However, the cylinder needs to shift for each of the metal pieces to be moved into place. The problem is that I know which pieces need to shift and move, but the intricacies of how to make them do that escape me. I’ve tried building this piece by piece, but I can’t seem to get the mechanics down.”
“
So,” the Ignis Mage hummed as she tentatively touched the metal frame, “you are saying you need an expert in gears and moving parts.”
Something in Aurora’s voice made me look at her curiously. “What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I think I know of someone who may be able to help,” the half-elf responded as she met my eyes. “He is not a weaponsmith so this may fall out of his area of expertise, but I believe his skills could be of some use.”
“Who is it?” I questioned. My heart began to pound with hope and excitement.
“His name is Elias Sayer,” Aurora replied. “He’s a watchmaker in the craftsmen’s quarter of Serin.”
“You have watchmakers?” I asked as I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I hadn’t seen any timepieces since I had arrived in Illaria. Then again, I had mostly been holed up in this workshop.
“There are a few, although their clients are almost entirely made of nobility,” Aurora said with a shrug, “but Elias is the best in the kingdom. He creates and maintains the clocks for the king and castle.”
“Hmm,” I hummed contemplatively as I processed this information. A watchmaker would know his way around small, moving parts. If I could sketch out and explain to him, to the best of my knowledge at least, how this revolver worked, maybe he could fill in the missing pieces.
“Do you think it will be beneficial to speak with him?” Aurora asked as she cocked her head to the side.
“I definitely think it couldn’t hurt,” I replied with a broad grin. “Can you show me where his shop is?”
“Now?” The half-elf looked at me like I had grown a second head since it was already fully dark outside.
“In the morning,” I amended. I looked back to the workshop table with a renewed vigor. “I need to make one last thing before we meet with him.”
Despite Aurora’s protests, I spent a few more hours in the workshop before she physically dragged me to my sleeping quarters. In that time, I sketched out a few schematics for the watchmaker to reference when we met, and I also molded a handful of bullets. Making the ammo was easy. The blacksmith had a wealth of different metals for me to work with, and before long, I was done.
