“How are the guns coming, Otto?” Jason asked the smith, who wiped his sweaty, grimy forehead with a rag he pulled from his leather apron. They talked directly outside the doors to his workspace, and the clanging of the workmen inside echoed out into the bright summer day.

A tired smile answered. “Well, my lord. We have as many as eighteen men working in the space at a time. I call it the ironworks, but the men have taken to calling it the furnace. It is hotter than a…” he trailed off and looked sheepishly at the town’s leader. “Well, it’s hot.”

“Very few of the men actually have the skill to forge the weapons directly, so we have three teams working at a time. My two sons and I lead each one, and we have two assistants each in heating and bending the strips. We’re actually moving extremely fast for the quality of the work we’re producing.

“The other men are preparing the materials or doing the final lathe work and fitting of the wooden parts and iron accessories. “

“The stock - the part that goes against the shoulder? And what else?”

“The sights. They are not much more than bent metal scrap, but I think they were what you wanted.”

“Perfect,” Jason replied as Alex walked up and joined them.

Otto continued. “We also have one of the younger men melting lead and pouring it into the bullet molds. Some women were trained by Pein to make the black powder, and they are carefully rolling it into cylinders of paper, packing it down with the lead ball, and twisting the top to complete the package. He says they are better able to do it than you when you showed him.”

“Hah! I’m sure that they have steadier hands and more patience than I do,” the ruler replied. “I know we did some initial test firing, but haven’t determined the ideal amount of powder per charge?”

“Actually, I think we have,” Otto replied. “We were going to do another test-firing on one of the new barrels today. Want to watch?”

“Definitely.”

---

The barrel being tested was clamped to the edge of a workbench that had been carried out into the field. Several three-inch-thick boards had been placed side by side and propped up on end thirty paces downrange, forming a wall that was to be their target.

A cylinder of paper with a measured charge of the black powder had been poured down the barrel earlier, a lead ball dropped in, and the cartridge paper tamped down to help hold everything in place. A tiny hole drilled near the rear of the barrel gave access to the section where the powder was.

A shallow open-topped container had been affixed over this hole, and after checking that everyone was clear, Otto poured a tiny bit of powder into this pan. “Hand me the flame,” he requested, and he touched the stick with a burning end to the device.

Jason turned to the other observers and said, “Alex, remind me about-”

A small flash with lots of smoke was followed an almost indistinguishable instant later by a larger boom.

“What was that, my lord,” Alex asked, rubbing his ringing ears.

“A better source of ignition than a burning stick. I can do better than that,” Jason replied, his fingers trying to reach his own eardrums. They started walking towards the boards, and Jason continued, “Every piece of technology that seems relatively simple seems to be surrounded by countless other ‘simple’ things. If we had time to learn by trial and error, that would be one thing, but we don’t. I’ve got to do better at thinking of those in advance.”

Jason followed the rest of the men to arrive at the target and looked through the new knothole in the leftmost board. “It passed clean through the timber. Not bad.”

They placed another series of three-inch thick boards in front of the existing planks, and removed the clamps, and brought the gun up. “Next cartridge, please,” Otto held out his hand.

“Wait!” Jason cried out. “Aren’t you going to clean the barrel?”

Blank looks answered him.

Jason shook his head and put his forehead in his hands. “I apparently forgot to tell you a critical step. What do you think might happen if you pour gunpowder down a barrel that might still have burning embers in it?

Realization visibly flowed over the group’s faces.

Otto, much more subdued than usual, said, “that could be rather bad for the hand I was using to pour the powder.”

“Uh huh. Let’s talk about swabbing the barrel and cleaning. Black powder is very corrosive. And I’m going to wrack my brain about anything else I might have missed.”

---

Everyone who was able-bodied worked on the preparations. Teams of both women and men worked on more gunpowder. One group was tasked with soaking sections of twine in dissolved saltpeter to create slow-burning matches. One of the women, a young lady by the name of Samatha, had discovered that if the water was hot, it would absorb more of the nitrate. She brought a small amount of water up to boiling and saturated it with as much saltpeter as she could, despite the rest of her work-group’s pleas to “just do it the way we were told.”

The lone man in that group slipped away and told Jason what was happening, concerned about wasting limited resources. When he arrived, she was laying out the newly soaked twine to dry.

The group of women stood up and bowed to Jason, causing Samatha to look up and hastily repeat the motion.

“Hello, ladies,” Jason responded. “I hear we have a new experiment going on?”

They looked at each other and then at Samantha.

“Uh, yes, sire. That would be me. I’m Samantha Chapman, my lord,” she added with a curtsey. “It was an accident. You see, I didn’t want to draw more water, so I used some that had been warming up in a teakettle.

“The cloudiness disappeared much faster, and it got me thinking. So I decided I would take the time to follow it to the extreme.”

“I appreciate your curiosity. So, you heated it up further?”

“Yes, all the way to boiling. When I added the saltpeter, it disappeared much faster, and I just kept adding to it. These,” she swept her hand across the twine, “are the result. I planned to light one once they were dry and see how they worked. Hopefully much better,” she said with a slightly concerned look. “I’m sorry I used up so much of the saltpeter, my lord,” a contrite smile forced onto her face.

Jason snorted. “No, you’re not. I mean, you probably are sorry you used up so much of a limited resource. But I bet you’re dying to know what the new twine will do.”

A look of horror covered Samantha’s face, and she fell to her knees. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Please, I’ll never do it again! I’ll accept any punishment you see fit to give, but please don’t kill me!”

Confusion was evident in Jason’s whole demeanor as he tried to stand the girl back up on her feet. “Um, no one’s going to kill you.” He looked around to the rest of the group, still standing awkwardly and glancing at each other.

“I think she took your last statement as a final ruling, my Lord,” an older woman finally offered. “You implied you would execute her.”

“Huh?” Jason thought back. “Oh - ‘dying to know’? That’s just a saying… Look, Sam. Can I call you Sam?” he asked.

“Anything,” she replied, finally standing up with Jason’s help.

Jason cursed himself silently. “No one is dying,” he spoke out loud. “Where I’m from, that just means you really want to know something.”

He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “Sam, I really appreciate the fact that you want to experiment and learn new things. That’s a trait I’m always looking out for in people that work for me.

“It probably would have been better if you had waited to use up the saltpeter until we were able to purchase more,” he continued, and Sam’s face fell again. “But I’m sure you learned to think about that first next time, right?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. I will,” the words poured out.

Jason sighed uncomfortably, not knowing quite what to do.

“Samantha, I think I’ve scared you enough in one day. When these cords are dried, come find me, and we’ll test them together.” Jason paused before taking it one step further. “I could use someone willing to think creatively working directly with me. If you’re interested or want to learn more, let me know.”

Jason nodded at the rest of the group. “I’ll take my leave. Thank you for your work.” With that, he beat a hasty retreat.

---

“I’m not sure if doing that is the... safest choice for you, Sammy,” her father, a former merchant, thought out loud with a concerned look on his face. “Nobles are not known for displaying restraint.”

“What do you want to do, my love?” her mother asked Samantha. “We’ll respect your decision, though we’ll fill you completely full of advice in the meantime,” she continued, smiling at her husband.

“I’m going to do it,” Samantha said firmly. “This is my chance, and I’m going to take it.”