The Khan’s son sank down beside his father, too. He looked up, his lips white, at Plekhanov. “Yes, he is dead.”
Leonid Plekhanov collected himself. “It was his own fault.”
Reif’s cold face was expressionless. He looked at Joe Chessman. He said, “You can supply such weapons to my armies?”
Plekhanov said, “That is our intention, in time.”
Reif came erect. “Subject to the approval of the clan leaders, I am now Khan. Tell me more of this State of which you have spoken.”
CHAPTER IV
THE SERGEANT stopped the small company about a quarter of a mile from the city of Bari. His detachment numbered only ten but they were well armed with swords and blunderbusses and wore mail and iron helmets. On the face of it, they would have been a match for ten times this number of merchants.
It was hardly noon, but the sergeant had already been at his wine flask. He leered at them. “And where do you think you go?”
The merchant who led the rest was a thin little man but he was richly robed and astride a heavy black mule. He said, “To Bari, soldier.”
He drew a paper from a pouch. “I hold this permission from Baron Mannerheim to pass through his lands with my people.”
The leer turned mercenary. “Unfortunately, city man, I can’t read. What do you carry on the mules and asses?”
“Personal property which, I repeat, I have permission to transport through Baron Mannerheim’s lands free of charge and worry from his followers.” He added in irritation, “The Baron is a friend of mine, fond of the gifts I give him. Only last week, we supped together.”
One of the soldiers grunted his skepticism, checked the flint on the lock of his piece, then looked at the sergeant suggestively.
The sergeant said, “As you say, merchant, my lord the baron is fond of gifts. But aren’t we all? Unfortunately, I have received no word of your passage. My instructions are to stop all intruders upon the baron’s lands and, if there is resistance, to slay them and confiscate such properties as they may be carrying.”
The merchant sighed and reached into his pouch again. The eyes of the sergeant dropped in greed. The hand emerged with two small coins. “As you say,” the merchant muttered bitterly, “we are all fond of gifts. Will you accept this and do me the honor to drink my health at the tavern tonight?”
The sergeant’s mouth slackened and he fondled the hilt of his sword.
“Do you insult me by offering me a bribe, merchant?” He cleared his throat suggestively. “Such a small bribe, at that?”
The merchant sighed again and dipped into the pouch. This time his hand emerged with half a dozen bits of silver. He handed them down to the other, complaining, “How can a man profit in his affairs if every few miles he must pass another outstretched hand?”
The sergeant growled. “You do not seem to starve, city man. Now, on your way. You are fortunate I am too lazy today to bother going through your things. Besides,” and he grinned widely, “the baron gave me personal instructions not to bother you.”
The merchant snorted, kicked his heels into his beast’s sides and led his half dozen followers toward the city. The soldiers looked after them and howled their amusement. The money was enough to keep them drunk for days.
When they were out of earshot, Amschel Mayer grinned his amusement back over his shoulder at Jerome Kennedy. “How’d that come off, Jerry?”
The other sniffed in mock deprecation. “You’re beginning to fit into the local merchant pattern better than the real thing. However, just for the record, I had this, ah, grease gun, trained on them all the time.”
Amschel Mayer said, “Only in extreme emergency, my dear Jerry. The baron would be up in arms if he found a dozen of his men massacred on the outskirts of Bari, and we don’t want a showdown at this stage. It’s taken nearly a year to build this part we act.”
At this time of day the gates of the port city of Bari were open and the guards lounged idly. Their captain recognized Amschel Mayer and did no more than nod respectfully. The merchant and his party proceeded through the heavy stone gate, with its grill of iron, now lifted, its ultra-thick, ironstudded doors open behind.
Jerry Kennedy said from the side of his mouth, “A couple of sticks of dynamite and you’d have a hole you could march a regiment through.”
And Mayer answered placidly, “Which is one of the reasons we have not as yet introduced dynamite, my dear Jerry.” He kicked his heels into his mount’s sides.
They wended their way through narrow, cobblestoned streets, avoiding the crowds in the central market area. They pulled up eventually before a house both larger and more ornate than its neighbors. Mayer and Kennedy dismounted from the horses and left their care to the others.
Amschel Mayer beat the heavy knocker on the door and a slot opened for a quick check of his identity. The door opened wide and technician Martin Gunther let them in.
“The others are here already?” Mayer asked him.
Gunther nodded. “Since breakfast. Baron Leonar, in particular, is impatient.”
Mayer was proceeding down the tapestry-hung, still grim, hall. He said over his shoulder, “All right, Jerry, get the servants to bring that stuff in. This is where we put it to them. Or, as the old expression had it, lay it on the line.”
Followed by Martin Gunther, he entered the long conference room. A full score of men sat around the heavy wooden table. Most of them were as richly garbed as their host. Most of them were in their middle years. All of them were alert of eye. All of them confidently at ease. They were men of strength, no matter their physical make-up, which varied considerably.
Amschel Mayer took his place at the table’s end, and took the time to speak to each of his guests individually. By the termination of that, Jerome Kennedy had entered the room and sank into the chair next to him.
Mayer leaned back and took in the gathering as a whole. He said, “You probably realize that this group consists of the twenty most powerful merchants on the continent.”
The one he had greeted earlier as Olderman, nodded. “We have been discussing your purpose in bringing us together, Honorable Mayer All of us are not friends.” He twisted his face in amusement. “In fact, very few of us are friends. Competition, when one reaches our level, does not bring with it personal regard.”
“There is no need for you to be,” Mayer said. “But all are going to realize the need for cooperation. Honorables, I have just come from the city of Ronda, where I needed the help of some of the artisans there to complete my preparations for this meeting. Although I had paid heavily in advance to the three barons whose lands I crossed, I had to bribe myself through a dozen roadblocks, had to pay fabulous rates to cross three ferries, and once had to fight off supposed bandits.”
One of his guests grumbled, “Who were actually probably soldiers of the local baron who decided that although you paid him transit fee, it still might be profitable to go through your goods.”
Mayer nodded. “Exactly, my dear Honorable, and that is why we’ve gathered.”
Olderman had evidently assumed spokesmanship for the others. Now he said warily, “I don’t believe I quite understand, Honorable Mayer. Your urgent invitation that I attend this conference suggested that it would be greatly to my profit. It is for this reason I am here.”
Mayer suppressed his characteristic impatience. “Genoa, if you’ll pardon the use of this name to signify the world upon which we reside, will never advance until trade has been freed from these bandits who call themselves lords and barons.”
Eyebrows reached for hairlines.
Olderman’s eyes went quickly about the room, went to the doors. “Please,” he said. “The servants.”
“My servants are safe,” Mayer said.
However, several of his guests stirred in their chairs unhappily.
One of them was smiling without humor. “You seem to forget, Honorable Mayer, that I carry the title of baron.”
Amschel Mayer shook his head. “No
, Baron Leonar. But neither do you disagree basically with what I say. The businessman, the merchant, the manufacturer on Genoa today, is only tolerated. He is a second-rate citizen of middle class. Were it not for the fact that the barons have no desire to eliminate such a profitable source of income, they would milk us dry overnight.”
Someone shrugged. “That is the way of things. We are fortunate to have wrested, bribed and begged as many favors and privileges from the lords as we have. Our twenty cities all have charters that protect us from complete ruin.”
“So long as they wish to continue to observe the charters,” Mayer snorted. “A whim might decide the Baron Mannerheim tomorrow to march on Bari. A sizeable donation to the Temple would guarantee its blessing, and the charter would be put aside, legally, on some obscure technicality.”
One of the guests said, “That is indeed possible. But what is your point, Honorable?”
Mayer twisted with a small boy’s excitement in his chair. “As of today, things begin to change. Jerry, that press.”
Jerry Kennedy left the room momentarily and returned with Martin Gunther and two of the servants. While the assembled merchants looked on, in puzzled silence, Mayer’s assistants set up the press and a stand holding two fonts of fourteen point type.
Jerry took up a printer’s stick and gave running instructions and description as he demonstrated. Gunther handed around pieces of the type until all had examined it, while his colleague set up several lines.
Kennedy transposed the lines to a chase, locked it up and placed the form to one side while he demonstrated inking the small press, which was operated by a foot pedal. He mounted the form in the press, took a score of sheets of paper and rapidly fed them, one by one with his right hand, removing them with his left. When they were all printed, he stopped pumping and Gunther handed the still wet, finished product around to the mystified audience.
Olderman stared down at the printed lines, scowling in concentration. He wet his lips in sudden comprehension.
But it was merchant Russ who blurted, “This will revolutionize the inscribing of books. Why, it can well take it out of the hands of the Temple! With such a machine I could make a hundred books—”
Mayer was beaming. “Not a hundred, Honorable, but a hundred thousand!”
The others stared at him as though he were demented. “A hundred thousand,” one said. “There are not that many literate persons on the continent.”
“There will be,” Mayer crowed. “This is but one of our levers to pry power from the barons. And here is another.” He tuned to Russ. “Honorable Russ, your city is noted for the fine quality of its steel, of the swords and armor you produce.”
Russ nodded. He was a small man, fantastically rich in his attire. “This is true, Honorable Mayer.”
Mayer said, tossing a small booklet to the other. “I have here the plans for a new method of making steel from pig iron. The principle involved is the oxidation of the impurities in the iron by blowing air through the molten metal.”
Amschel Mayer turned to still another, “And your town is noted for its fine textiles.” He looked to his assistants. “Jerry, you and Gunther bring in those models of the power loom and the spinning jenny.”
While they were gone, he said, “My intention is to assist you to speed up production. With this in mind, you’ll appreciate the automatic flying shuttle that we’ll now demonstrate.”
Kennedy and Gunther re-entered accompanied by four servants and a mass of equipment. Kennedy muttered to Amschel Mayer, “I feel like the instructor of a handicraft class.”
Half an hour later, Kennedy and Gunther wound up passing out pamphlets to the awed merchant guests. Kennedy said, “This booklet will give details on construction of the equipment and its operation.”
Mayer pursed his lips. “Your people will be able to assimilate only so fast, so we won’t push them. Later, you’ll be interested in introducing the mule spinning frame, among other items.”
He motioned for the servants to remove the printing press and textile machinery. “We now come to probably the most important of the devices I have to introduce to you today. Because of its size and weight, I’ve had constructed only a model. Jerry!”
Jerry Kennedy brought to the heavy table a small steam engine. He had half a dozen attachments for it. Within moments he had the others around him, as enthusiastic as a group of youngsters with a new toy.
“By the Supreme,” Baron Leonar blurted, “do you realize this device could be used instead of waterpower to operate a mill, to power the loom demonstrated half an hour ago?”
Honorable Russ was rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully. “It might even be adapted to move a coach. A coach without horses. Unbelievable!”
Mayer chuckled in pleased excitement and clapped his hands. A servant entered with a toy wagon which had been slightly altered. Martin Gunther lifted the small engine, placed it in position atop the wagon, connected it quickly and threw a lever. The wagon moved smoothly forward, the first car of Genoa’s industrial revolution.
Martin Gunther smiled widely at Russ. “You mean like this, Honorable?”
Half an hour later, they were reseated, before each of them a small pile of instructions, plans, blueprints.
Mayer said, “I have one more device to bring to your attention at this time. Perhaps I wish it were unnecessary but I am afraid otherwise.”
He held up for their inspection, a bullet. Jerry Kennedy handed around samples to the merchants. They fingered them in puzzlement.
“Honorables,” Mayer said. “The barons have the use of gunpowder. Muskets and muzzleloading cannon are available to them both for their wars against each other and their occasional attacks upon our supposedly independent chartered cities. However, this is an advancement on their weapons. This unit includes not only the lead of the bullet, but the powder and the cap which will explode it.”
They lacked understanding, and showed it.
Mayer said, “Jerry, if you’ll demonstrate.”
Jerry Kennedy said, “The bullet can be adapted to various weapons, however, this is one of the simplest.” He pressed, one after another, a full twenty rounds into his gun’s clip.
“Now if you’ll note the silhouette of a man I’ve drawn on the wooden frame at the end of the room.” He pressed the trigger, sending a single shot into the figure.
Olderman nodded. “An improvement in firearms. But—”
Kennedy said, “However, if you are confronted with more than one of the bad guys.” He grinned and flicked the gun over to full automatic and in a Götterdämmerung of sound in the confines of the room, emptied the clip into his target, sending splinters and chips flying and all but demolishing the wooden backdrop.
His audience sat back in stunned horror at the demonstration.
Mayer said, “The weapon is simple to construct. Any competent gunsmith can do it. It is manifest, Honorables, that with your people so armed your cities will be safe from attack and so will trading caravans and ships.”
Russ said shakily, “Your intention is good, Honorable Mayer, however it will be but a matter of time before the barons will have solved the secrets of your weapons. Such cannot be withheld forever. Then we would again be at their mercy.”
“Believe me, Honorable,” Mayer said dryly, “by that time I will have new weapons to introduce, if necessary. Weapons that make this one a very toy in comparison.”
Olderman resumed his office as spokesman. “This demonstration has astounded us, Honorable Mayer, but although we admire your abilities, it need hardly be pointed out that it seems unlikely all this could be the product of one brain.”
“They are not mine,” Mayer admitted. “They are the products of many minds.”
“But where—?”
The Earthman shook his head. “I don’t believe I will tell you now.”
“I see.” The Genoese eyed him emotionlessly. “Then the question becomes, why?”
Mayer said, carefully now, “It may be d
ifficult for you to see, but the introduction of each of these will be a nail in feudalism’s coffin. Each will increase either production or trade and such increase will lead to the overthrow of feudal society.”
Baron Leonar, who had remained largely silent throughout the afternoon, now spoke up. “As you said earlier, although I am a titled lord myself, my interests are your own. I am a merchant first. However, I am not sure I want the changes these devices will bring. Frankly, Honorable Mayer, I am satisfied with my world as I find it today.”
There was at least one murmur of approval from the merchants who sat about the table.
Amschel Mayer smiled wryly at the other. “I am afraid you must adapt to these new developments.”
The baron said coldly, “Why? I do not like to be told I must do something. I am an important figure in the world as I know it. Radical change may upset this. If we loose these devices upon the world—Genoa, as you call it—who can say who will fall from the heights, and who will climb up from below? The status quo is always the safest for those on top.”
Mayer nodded acceptance of that. “Because, my dear baron, there are three continents on the planet of Genoa. At present, there is little trade due to infrequent shipping. But the steam engine I introduced today will soon drive larger craft than you have ever built before.”
Russ said, “What has this to do with our being forced to use these devices? I find much to cause me halt in what Baron Leonar has said.”
“I have colleagues on the other continents busily introducing the same inventions, Honorable. If you don’t adapt, in time, competitors will invade your markets, capture your trade, drive you out of business.”
Mayer wrapped it up. “Honorables, modernize or go under. It’s each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost, if you’ll allow a saying from another era.”
Kennedy added, grinning, “Sometimes known as free enterprise.”
They remained silent for a long period. Finally Olderman said bluntly, “The barons are not going to like this.”
The usually quiet Martin Gunther said softly, “Obviously, that is why we have introduced you to the tommy gun. It is not going to make any difference if they like it or not.”
The Rival Rigelians Page 4
