Читать книгу Betrayed - Christopher Dinsdale - Страница 13

Connor and Angus quietly arose before dawn while dozens of knights remained sprawled on the floor of the Great Hall, snoring off the previous evening’s consumption of strong ale. They quietly piled their mats in the corner of the room then made their way out into the fresh air of the outer bailey. Striding through the morning light, they wandered excitedly around the compound until they could peer over the wall of the sea fortress. They were surprised to see so much activity on the shore below. Leaving the comfort of the small village on the opposite side of the bay, a handful of fishermen made their way down to the dozen skiffs lined up on the shore and pushed them out into the cold sea, their nets ready to haul in the day’s catch. Only one of the large still lay beached on the water’s edge, and workmen continued to swarm all over its length. The boys were amazed as the sailors carefully inserted a huge, newly-hewn mast into the heart of the ship using a complex set of pulleys, scaffolding and ropes.

The boys turned away from the wall and made their way to a small stone hut at the southernmost tip of the fortress. It was positioned so that it overlooked the entire harbour, giving the building a clear view to any ship that left or entered the waters of Kirkwall. Connor and Angus could hear a bellows sucking away at the morning air. Sparks danced out of the chimney to the rhythm of the bellows, a cloud of fireflies lighting up the morning twilight. The boys smiled at each other, and they jogged toward the stone building.

They pulled up short of the building and stared at two strange, but very large metal objects pointing out beyond the castle wall. The cylindrical objects seemed to be keeping watch over the waters of the harbour. Connor ran his hand along its cold smooth surface, the shape reminding him of a gigantic carrot with its pointy end chopped off. Eight thick metal rings were spaced evenly along the length of the cylinder.

“Hey, look at this!” said Angus, standing at the narrow end, his heels teetering on the edge of the precipice.

Connor leaned over with his friend. “What?”

“See? Look inside. ’Tis hollow. What do you suppose it does?”

“I don’t know,” answered Connor, getting down on one knee to look into the dark hole of the second strange object, “but I reckon someone in the hut might have a clue.”

They left the edge of the cliff and wandered over to the open door. Inside, Sir Rudyard’s friend Tomasso was shouting instructions in Italian over the roar of a huge bellows that hung from the ceiling like a monstrous, overweight bat. The second man, a blacksmith, his face streaked with layers of soot and sweat, cracked his mallet hard onto the end of a glowing strip of metal, spraying orange sparks into the air.

Using metal tongs, he carefully moved the glowing metal strip to a piece of wood of the same cylindrical shape as the metal objects the boys had seen near the wall. The blacksmith placed the strip along the length of the wood then began to bash the metal until its flat shape was transformed into the curve of the blackened wooden mold.

Tomasso nodded his approval and helped the blacksmith add previously curved lengths of metal to the wooden cylinder until the entire piece of wood disappeared beneath iron casing. Eight glowing metallic rings held the metal plates in place. Using every bit of strength his massive arms, the blacksmith lifted his metal-and-wood creation off of the workbench and threw the entire thing into the furnace. Tomasso slapped him on the back and grinned. They turned to get a drink of water but stopped in surprise as they saw the two young men watching them from the doorway.

“Ah, Sir Rudyard’s son and his friend,” he said, switching to accented Gaelic. “I am glad you dropped by. Come in! Join us in a drink of water.”

The boys stepped through the doorway and followed the two men to a water barrel. Tomasso dipped the wooden ladle into the cool water and passed it around for all to enjoy. He said something in Italian to the blacksmith, the boys picking up their names, as well as Angus’s father and Prince Henry. Looking back at them, Tomasso switched again to Gaelic.

“Connor and Angus, you remember Master Iacoe from last night. He is one of the finest blacksmiths in all of Venice. He has travelled this huge distance to Kirkwall to help Prince Henry with his quest.”

They shook hands. The boys ignored their blackened palms.

“What are you making in the furnace?” asked Angus.

“Ah, that glowing creation will soon become Kirkwall’s newest cannon.”

“Are those two metal things on the castle wall cannons as well?” asked Connor.

Tomasso nodded. “Yes, those are finished cannons. They are the first ones we have made for Kirkwall that are of a high enough quality to be used in battle.”

Angus looked outside the door, confused. “What exactly do they do?”

Tomasso lowered his voice and leaned in, waving the boys in closer. “Those cannons are the greatest weapon man has ever created!”

“You throw them at people?” asked Angus incredulously.

Tomasso laughed. “No, my friends. You don’t throw a cannon. First, let me explain how a cannon is made. Did you see Tomasso place the newly-made cannon into the furnace?”

The boys nodded.

“Well, the key now is to burn away the log that is giving the cannon its shape. The cannon needs to be hollow.”

The boys looked inside the furnace. Already the cylindrical log was engulfed in flames within the confines of the glowing metal casing. Tomasso waved them over to the corner of the shop. Sitting on the table was another cannon, cold and black. Both ends were open. He picked up a heavy metal ball and passed it to the boys.

“How would you like to be hit with one of these iron balls? It would hurt, no? Would you believe that this cannon could fire a ball with enough force to shatter a hole through the hull of a ship?”

The boys looked at each other in disbelief.

“How could such a small contraption throw a ball this heavy at such a speed?” asked Connor. “Prince Henry’s largest catapult couldn’t complete such a feat!”

“True,” agreed Tomasso, “you would need about half an army to prime then release a catapult stone in order to reach the same velocity. But with a cannon such as this, you two could launch a ball at such a high speed, all by yourselves.”

Connor frowned. Such a claim could only be made by a lunatic or by a spell-wielding sorcerer.

“How could two people have the strength to do such a thing with only a small metal device?” asked Angus, pointing at the cannon before him.

“Ah, now that’s the trick, isn’t it? Humans simply don’t have the muscle power to do it. So we must find another, even greater source of energy for the task.”

Tomasso stepped back and looked down at three large sacks that were lined up against the wall. The boys followed his gaze. Together they stepped over to look at the sacks. Each one contained a different coloured powder: yellow, white and black. Tomasso stuck his hand in the white powder and let it run through his fingers as if he were playing with sand on a beach.

“Have you boys ever heard of the Great Eastern Empire?”

Angus nodded. “My father has told us of it. A distant emperor has a kingdom that is greater than all of Europe put together. Father has taught Connor and me some of the fighting techniques used by the empire.”

Tomasso grinned with admiration. “Then you are more enlightened than most Europeans. There are many legends regarding the Eastern Empire. Some say that there are entire cities made of gold. Others talk of his single navy being many times larger than all of the ships of Europe put together! They have even invented objects that are as large as this shop but can float in the air on a summer breeze. But of all of the Empire’s many amazing inventions, I consider this to be its greatest of all.”

Tomasso pointed to the bags, and the boys looked at each other, confused.

“This simple powder is greater than a flying building?” asked Connor incredulously. “How can that be?”

“Listen carefully to the story of this simple powder. The Templar Order first heard of the miracle powder over two hundred years ago. The powder was mentioned through the boasts of visitors to Jerusalem. The Persians, of a kingdom near the Holy Land and controlled by the Great Khan’s cousin, described a powder that was explosive and could send special arrows called rockets hurtling high up into the clouds.”

“The clouds?” the boys said together, in disbelief.

Tomasso nodded. “Amazing, but apparently true. The Jerusalem Templars knew how important it was to discover the secret of this powerful substance. Through their friendships in the Holy Lands, they were able to secretly purchase a small quantity from an eastern trader. They then transported the substance to a team of trusted Italian scientists. It was they who finally unravelled the secrets of the powder.”

“And what was it?” asked Angus, excitedly.

Tomasso pointed again at the bags. “Three different ingredients . . . The black powder is simple charcoal, but ground into a fine dust. The yellow powder is sulfur that can be easily mined from the ground. It is the third substance, however, that was the most mysterious ingredient. This, in my hand, boys, is saltpeter.”

“It looks like table salt,” said Connor, staring closely at the plain-looking substance.

“This special salt is created by decomposing then evaporating animal urine. The location of evaporation is very important. The land on which the urine is spread must have an abundance of nitrates in the soil. If all of those conditions are met, the water within the animal waste will evaporate and a white salt will remain on the ground that can be harvested and purified. Follow those directions, and you will have made saltpeter.”

“And that’s it?” asked Angus, suspiciously. “You just mix the three powders together, and they explode?”

“Ah,” smiled Tomasso, “now comes another trick. You must mix them together very carefully and in the right proportions. If you don’t, then you do not get a powerful enough explosion.”

“And what are the proportions?” asked Connor.

Tomasso waved the boys closer so that he could whisper. “This is top secret. Our blend has not yet been discovered by any other European country, so you must swear on your lives to keep it among the Templar knights of Kirkwall. Do you swear?”

The boys nodded eagerly. “On our Templar honour,” Angus said.

With a twinkle in his eye, Tomasso glanced around for possible spies, then leaned in close. “Out of a total eight parts: six parts saltpeter, one part sulfur and one part charcoal dust.”

Connor straightened in surprise. “Wait . . . eight parts? Like the eight arches of the perfect chapel?”

Tomasso shook his head and shrugged. “I myself am not a Templar knight like you. I am only a humble Venetian artillery maker. But I am also one who does not believe in coincidences. Perhaps there is a Great Design to the heavens? Why shouldn’t the most powerful substance man has ever invented have a divine ratio to its ingredients?”

“Incredible . . .” muttered Connor, looking at the sacks. “Tomasso, you mentioned that the powder had to be carefully mixed. How do you do that?”

Tomasso stood up and reached behind the bags of powder to remove a cloth hanging on the wall. Traces of powder could be seen engrained in the fabric.

“After crushing the powder together with a large mortar and pestle, you sift it through this cloth to ensure that the powder is evenly mixed. The powder is then caught in another clean cloth and wrapped up. We call the wrapped up cannon powder a charge. We keep all of the charges over there.”

He stood up and led the boys to large oak box. He lifted the lid. It was half-full of cloth packets bulging with powder. In each corner were larger bags made of coarser flax.

“This is where we keep the charges. It’s important to keep them as still as possible so the ingredients do not separate.”

“What are the bigger bags?” asked Connor.

Tomasso lifted one of the larger bags and opened it. “This bag is full of a type of powdered rock that absorbs water. You have to keep the charges dry. Humidity will cause the powder to get wet and sticky. Then the charges will be useless.”

He closed the lid and led the boys outside to the cannons. The sky was now brightening, with the sun starting to peek over the eastern horizon.

“To fire a cannon, you take a charge and stick it into the open end. Then, you pick up this pole and push the charge down to the back of the barrel. Next goes the cannonball. Of course at this point, nothing is going to happen. One thing is still missing. You need to light the charge. Do you see that little hole at the back of the cannon?”

The boys walked around and peered at the back of the cannon. At the top of the barrel was a small hole leading down into the heart of the weapon. Connor stood on his toes and peered down at the breach in the metal. “That is a deep hole. How do you get fire down into the cannon to light the charge?”

Tomasso smiled at the boy’s insatiable curiosity. “With a special wick. Next to the charges in the shop is a bag of string that has been soaked in a strong solution of saltpeter. The salt hardens the string so that you can push it down the hole until it pierces the charge. Then all you have to do is light the fuse. Three seconds later . . . Boom! The cannon ball is launched into the harbour.”

A loud clanging suddenly filled the air. Tomasso and the boys turned to face the keep. He placed his hands on their shoulders.

“Something is wrong. That is Prince Henry’s signal for an emergency gathering. Everyone except for those on sentry duty is expected to attend. Come on. I’ll take you to the Great Hall.”