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Twenty-Nine

Leonessto Hanorissio sat reading trial records. In Hrumma, the amirr was the court of final appeals. His secretary interrupted by opening the door and looking in.

"Sir, Ambassador Brokols is here with Mr. Venreeno. They wish audience with you."

"Umh!" He'd hoped he was done with the foreigner for a while. Brokols could have given his acceptance or refusal to Allbarin; surely Venreeno knew that. Perhaps he had something more than a simple yes or no. "Send for Allbarin," he replied. "I'll see them all together."

He returned to his reading then. It was several minutes before his secretary knocked again, and he had the visitors sent in. He did not get up when they entered.

"Sit down," he said. When they had, he looked at Brokols. "What is your decision?"

"Your Eminence, I will do all I know how to help you resist and defeat the Gorballis. I've had specific thoughts on the matter."

The amirr leaned forward a bit at that. "Let's hear them."

"You recall the thunder weapons at the front and rear of the ship. It has others, more powerful, below deck. They're called cannon, and they're powered by something called 'gunpowder'; it was gunpowder made the thunder you heard when the ship fired its salute. I'm not familiar with how cannon are made. My knowledge of weaponry is limited very largely to use; it doesn't include manufacture. So it would take me too long to work out how to make suitable cannon and then see them made. But I believe I can make a primitive form of gunpowder.

"I envision making objects called grenades. They are like—small jars filled with gunpowder. Small enough that soldiers can throw them, or cast them with slings. Grenades can be thrown among the enemy to burst with great force, and each grenade can kill or wound several men. They need not hit a man to kill him. Close—several feet away—is often enough."

"And you believe you can make this gunpowder?"

"I believe so. There are problems involved. I have never made it before, or even seen instructions, but I know something of the ingredients, and with some experimentation . . ." He shrugged.

Leonessto Hanorissio nodded. He supposed he could make a sword of sorts himself, if he had to, but the first would be crude to the point of uselessness except as a club. And even a crude sword would be beyond him if he had to start with raw materials—iron ore, dry wood, and whatever else was necessary. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Just now, I don't know explicitly. In Almeon I could simply ask for the ingredients by name. Here I first need to learn what they're called, and then where to find them. I've discussed it with Reeno, and he can steer me. Later I'll need a place outside the city, to work on the mixture. Eventually you'll need shops to produce grenades in large quantities, assuming that I'm successful in making gunpowder."

Leonessto pulled thoughtfully at his chin and looked at the two adepts, Allbarin and Reeno. Was the foreigner sincere? He asked the question mentally while opening his mind to them. "What have you to say, Reeno?" he asked aloud.

The answer was clear, but obliquely put so that Brokols would never know what the question truly was, or how the answer was obtained.

"If Ambassador Brokols believes he can do it, I consider the prospects good, Your Eminence."

"Allbarin?"

"By all means we should let him try, and see that he gets the necessary help. With your permission sir, when we are done here, I'll prepare a suitable letter of authority for him, for your signature. Granting him the power of acquisition and hiring."

"Good."

They were looking at the amirr as if waiting for dismissal, but he had more to ask. "Ambassador, your superior is at Haipoor l'Djezzer, and I believe you've mentioned that he is or was a military man, a general. Not so?"

Brokols didn't remember mentioning it, but supposed he must have. The day before perhaps, when being questioned. Or did they know it from the same source they knew so much else from? "Yes, Your Eminence, he is a general."

"Isn't he likely to be providing the Gorballis with these—grenades?"

"It's possible," Brokols said thoughtfully, "but I rather doubt it. As you already know, the emperor will land an army in Djez Gorrbul, probably at or near Haipoor l'Djezzer. He would prefer, I'm sure, that the Gorballis not meet him with grenades.

"If—if Lord Kryger provides them with weapons that are unfamiliar to you, then . . . then I'd expect they'd be heavy cannon not suited to being moved rapidly. Something cumbersome, difficult to transport, that could be emplaced opposite your border fortifications. They could batter down your walls from a mile away, but couldn't readily be moved north to defend Gorrbian cities. Nor through the hills into Hrumma to collapse your resistance there.

"In fact, it might be well for you to prepare defenses in depth, in the Neck, not depending on your border fortresses."

The amirr nodded. "Thank you, Ambassador Brokols," he said. "We'd do that in any case." He looked around. "Unless someone needs to say something, I'm going to adjourn this meeting. No questions? Good. Allbarin, prepare the letter of authority. You gentlemen go with him. Ambassador Brokols, I'll want to hear of your progress or lack of it."

His visitors stood up and left. Leonessto Hanorissio looked down again at the trial record he'd been reading. It wasn't as interesting as the meeting just past, and it was hard to get back to it. But he'd be happy to forego the kind of national emergency that was developing—to have nothing but the routine affairs of a nation at peace with its neighbors—especially the poorly-known "neighbor" some eight thousand miles west.

* * *

When they left the Fortress, Brokols and Reeno didn't go back to the apartment. Instead they went to a nearby satta shop to sit quietly in a corner and talk, and to eat the breakfast they hadn't yet had. The shopkeeper gave Brokols dirty looks—Brokols had noticed more and more of those since the rallies had begun—but they were served readily enough, and the food was actually quite good.

The rallies still continued; Brokols had lied to Kryger about that the evening before. He was surprised things hadn't turned ugly—had asked Reeno if safeguards might not be necessary to protect him from violence. The Hrummean had looked surprised. Hrum's people would require truly extreme provocation for that, he'd said. He himself would be protection enough.

Such widespread public moderation remained somewhat unreal to Brokols. True, Eltrienn had explained the purpose of the rallies, and also true, the one he'd heard had not been truly inflammatory. But it seemed to Brokols that some people would still be driven by them to violence. In Almeon to make a public speech without a permit was a felony because of the violence that might result.

This morning though, the Almite paid little attention to the shopkeeper's look. He had things on his mind: the ingredients for black powder. Carbon shouldn't be a problem; not if crushed and powdered charcoal would serve, and surely it would. And sulfur? They were bound to have sulfur here.

"Reeno," he said, "I need a substance that I don't know the name of in your language. It's a yellow powder, a rather pale yellow. Do you have such a substance here?"

"Perhaps. When we've eaten, I'll take you to an herbalist's shop, and you can see what he has."

"What I need isn't a plant substance."

"Herbalists use all lands of materials besides plants. It's simply that historically, plant materials are what they began with, and I suppose they're still the most important. But an herbalist will have most of the substances known to man."

"Hmm." Brokols relapsed into silent thought. So probably neither charcoal nor sulfur will be a problem. But saltpeter? I wouldn't know the stuff if I saw it. What was it, really? He recalled something about saltpeter being obtained from the large deposits of nightbird dung in certain caves on Kelthos, Almeon's southernmost island. Was it unique to nightbird dung, or was it found in other dung? And saltpeter wasn't simply dung; it would be a substance in the dung. How would one extract it? He hadn't the slightest notion.

Well, he told himself, if herbalists use all sorts of substances, they must know how to get them. The question is, do they have saltpeter?

"Reeno, do you have nightbirds on Hrumma?" He translated the Almaeic name for it, a compound of night and bird. "They're a bird that stays in caves during the daytime, where it's dark. They come out at night and catch insects."

"Yes, we have birds like that."

"What do you call them?"

"What you did. Nightbirds."

Brokols didn't pursue the matter further just then. It would have been indelicate to discuss dung at a meal.

But somehow the ancients had made saltpeter, probably in a form none too pure, and made gunpowder with it. And if they had, presumably he could too. He'd better. The amirr expected it of him.

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