1636 The Kremlin Games (13 page)

“Good. I’ll get right on it and have Gregorii make a drawing as well.” Gregorii Mikhailovich was the artist whose job it was to take Bernie’s descriptions and very rough sketches and turn them into usable drawings. “Brandy can probably find out what I’ve done wrong. It’s a darn good thing your brother stayed in Grantville. When I’ve finished the letter, I’ll take a look through the books and stuff he sent. Maybe I can figure out how to explain gravity.”

“Seriousness?” Natasha’s voice was curious. “Don’t they know what seriousness is?”

Bernie groaned. Then headed back to face the brain cases.

*     *     *

“Bernie Janovich, what is the center of gravity?” Petr Nickovich had been waiting impatiently while Bernie was out of the room. His English was not good and the discussion of gravity was more confusing than helpful. He knew there was something there because the notes he had received on flight mentioned gravity regularly. Center of gravity, specifically. He sat and thought, giving no sign how much it hurt him not to understand about gravity and how to fly. Finally, Bernie returned with the letters and Petr asked his question before the sewer system could distract them again.

“Hey, I actually know that one.” Bernie grinned at Petr. “Cars need a low center of gravity for stability.”

Petr just looked at him. As usual, Bernie hadn’t explained anything.

Bernie lost his grin. “Okay. Try it this way. Bend over.” Bernie bent over. “As your head moves forward, your rear end moves backward, otherwise you fall on your face. That’s to keep your center of gravity over your feet.” Bernie stood up again. “Try to balance something on one finger. It’s the same thing. To keep it balanced, you have to keep your finger under the center of gravity.”

“You mean that center of gravity just means the point of balance?” Petr couldn’t help his look of shock. “The place where you would place the fulcrum?”

The outlander shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Petr considered, then asked. “Then why does how high the center of gravity is matter?”

“There is other stuff besides gravity. Centrifugal force and stuff.”

“Explain that, if you would.” Petr tried not to grit his teeth. He knew he was close to something but wasn’t sure what. He listened to Bernie’s rambling explanation. It was there he knew, if he could just grasp it. The secret to everything. It came in bits and drabs . . . gravity was a force like centrifugal force. Then another piece when Bernie squared his stance and had someone push from the side. The person pushing on him to try to overbalance him was a force. The key came when he asked why they used rockets to get to the moon. “Why not wings?”

“No air in space.”

“Why not?”

“Gravity,” an obviously frustrated Bernie insisted.

Petr froze. He could see it in his mind’s eye. “How much does air weigh?”

“I don’t know.” Bernie shrugged. “It’s pretty light; we can look it up. Uh . . . maybe not, but we can write Vladimir about it.”

The outlander didn’t realize. How
much
air weighed didn’t really matter. What mattered was
that
air weighed. That it had weight. It was pulled down to the ground by a force; water was, too, but more so. They wouldn’t have to look the weight of air up, Petr could think of several ways to work it out. Looking it up might be easier if it was in one of the books. The important point was that air had weight. That was how the balloons worked. That was how it
all
worked.

*     *     *

Vesuvius erupted. Russian words spewed forth. Bernie didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand after he caught the Russian words for “idiot” and “uncultured” repeated several times. At least this time everyone was an uncultured idiot, not just Bernie. Which was a relief. Everyone, Petr included, everyone from Adam to Aristotle . . . especially Aristotle. Everyone in the entire history of the world, both histories. Only two exceptions could be made: God and Sir Isaac Newton. God for creating such a complex world from such beautiful simplicity and Sir Isaac Newton for understanding it.

“Don’t you understand, you uncultured buffoons? We can fly!”

“What in blazes are you talking about?” Filip Pavlovich was not one to accept being called an idiot by anyone. “Of course we can fly, once we know how. If the outlanders from the future could do it, we can learn to do it.” He froze then. “You know how?”

“It’s all forces, don’t you see . . . damn Aristotle to the worst region of hell. Innate desire. Natural tendency. Bah . . . it’s forces. Water is heavy, air is light, the force of gravity works better on heavy than light, that’s what makes it heavy.”

Bernie almost laughed at the man’s odd combination of enthusiasm and exasperation. “Think you can explain a gravity-feed system to these guys, Petr?” he asked, half-jokingly.

“
Da
,” followed by about three sentences in Russian said too fast for Bernie to understand. Which led in turn to several voices from around the room saying, “Oh, we understood that part! We thought he was talking about something else.” Bernie just shook his head and left the geeks to their talk. Somehow, he couldn’t stop grinning. These guys got such a charge out of this stuff. Now maybe they could get the plumbing to work.

*     *     *

That night, instead of studying, Bernie wrote a letter to Brandy Bates.

Hello, Brandy

If you really want to change Russia send me instructions for fixing the plumbing. Creating the plumbing, rather. They have a disease here that they call slow fever. It lasts a month or more with the fever getting worse and the people getting weaker. I watched a little boy and a lot of other people die of it this spring. We’ve sent its pathology to Prince Vladimir in hopes that he can find out what it is and how it’s cured from the up-timer docs. But diarrhea is one of its main symptoms and I figure it’s getting into the water supply and spreading that way.

I got to tell you, Brandy, these folks don’t wash much. Steam baths, sure. Washing your hands before you prepare food? Not so much. Washing dishes is pretty slapdash, too. I already had that fight with the kitchen staff here at the Dacha and won it, with the support of Princess Natasha. Working after school at the Burger Barn has paid off.

Anyway, if we want to stop the slow fever and probably a lot of other deaths, we need hot running water, hand soap, and toilets. I tried putting a septic system in here at the Dacha and it isn’t working. I haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong but . . .

Bernie spent the next three pages describing in great boring detail what he had had installed and the symptoms of its failure.

Brandy, I’d write this on my knees if I thought it would help. Please find someone there in town who can tell us how to make this work. You’ll be saving lives if you do.

Bernie Zeppi

Chapter 22

Freshly ensconced in his new kingdom, Andrei Korisov didn’t hear about the new understanding of gravity in the Dacha. He wouldn’t have cared that much anyway, because it didn’t change ballistics, just the reason they worked. If he had cared at all, it would have been to be concerned about the allocation of resources away from his guns to flight. That, however, was no longer a problem. He had his own resources now. Well, he was in charge of them. Which was the same thing. He went back to working on the Andrei Korisov rifle.

The mechanics of holding the chamber in place while allowing it to rotate up and out for reloading weren’t very complex, but they were an added complication. The gimbal was constantly breaking under the stress of firing, then having to be redesigned and strengthened again. Andrei was sure he was missing something. He went out to the range, where one of the apprentice gunsmiths was testing the latest version. Andrei had decided to go with a smaller bore and a shorter barrel, mostly for ease of construction. He would use much tighter rifling and count on the greater spin to keep the smaller bullet accurate. But that wasn’t what these tests were about.

These tests were to determine how much wear was caused by the outgassing. They would fire one hundred shots, then measure the wear on the protective plate Andrei had installed. It was still basically a Russian muzzle-loader with the back five inches of the barrel sawed off, but some things had been added. A heavy iron gimbal had been added to let the firing chamber be rotated up for loading and back down into alignment, and Andrei’s protective plate, a relatively thin piece of curved iron, had been inserted into the stock where the firing chamber muzzle almost touched the open back of the barrel.

Oleg had the new rifle clamped to the bench and was using the string and pulley system to test fire the rifle. Andrei watched as the boy pulled the string and the rifle fired. Then Oleg made a mark in a slate. Fourteen shots since the start of the test. It was going a little faster than Andrei had thought it would.

Oleg went over to the rifle and pulled out the spent chamber and put in another one. He poured a little powder into the pan, cocked the lock, and went back behind the bench and pulled the string. The rifle fired again. The chamber slammed against the back plate and the stock cracked. The stocks weren’t handling the strain.

“Where did you get that chamber?” Andrei shouted.

“Which one?” Oleg asked, then continued quickly, seeing it was his boss, “One is from this rifle, sir, and the other one is from the last one. It’s quicker to load the two chambers together, then just switch them out. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How do you get one chamber out to put in the next?” Andrei asked.

“After the gimbal broke. Ah . . . they do that a lot,” Oleg said, clearly anxious not to be blamed for breaking the gimbal. “It was just easier to put the chamber in by hand than fix the gimbal every time.”

But Andrei wasn’t concerned with that. He had just found the key to making the rate of fire for the Andrei Korisov rifle much higher, at least for a short while. A chamber was a lot shorter than a barrel and a lot easier to make. He could make several chambers for each rifled musket. The soldier could carry them loaded and have several fairly quick shots before having to reload the chambers.

*     *     *

It was weeks later that he realized that the chamber didn’t have to be the same shape as the barrel. At least in its outer dimensions. And he still hadn’t realized how necessary it was to have the chamber holder attached to something.

Chapter 23

Grantville

August 1632

“Well, the problem is that we can’t foreclose on it.” Dori Ann Grooms hesitated and Vladimir saw the blush rise. “I’m sorry. That really wasn’t the best way to put it, Herr Gorchakov. What I mean was that your collateral is simply too far away for the Bank of Grantville to accept it as surety for a loan. It’s not like it was in the old, ah, new, back up-time. And even then there would have been issues with using property in a different country.”

Vladimir nodded. He’d thought that might be the answer, but it had been worth a try. He needed more money, cash on hand. Most of his family’s wealth was tied up in land. Much of the rest was tied up in the Dacha research center. “Do you have any suggestions, then?”

Dori Ann shook her head. “Edgar said you might have better luck with the Abrabanel Bank. Seems like they’ve got agents everywhere.”

*     *     *

The young man ushered Vladimir into Uriel Abrabanel’s office in the Bank of Badenburg, closed the door and left. Uriel was behind the desk, while Don Francisco Nasi sat in a corner and grinned.

“Ah . . .” Vladimir was clearly unprepared to discover that Don Francisco would be sitting in on his conference with the president and primary owner of the first down-time bank to become a member of the New U.S. Federal Reserve System.

Don Francisco waved reassurance. “I’m not here to interfere in your business with Cousin Uriel, Prince Vladimir.” He smiled at the look on Vladimir’s face.

“You do understand that I will not . . .”

“Betray your people? Please. Do I look like John George of Saxony?” Francisco waved away the whole idea. “All that is going on here is that when I learned of your appointment with Uriel, I decided to take the opportunity for a semi-private meeting. But I am more than willing to wait my turn. Please go on with your banking.”

Then for a while Francisco mostly watched as Vladimir and Uriel discussed banking matters. He did put in a comment here and there. “Vladimir’s Dacha has already produced half a dozen products that are being licensed to various groups in Russia. Are you sure, Cousin, that speculative venture is the right description?” That got Francisco a dirty look from his elder cousin. And a curious one from Vladimir.

Then, some time later, Francisco said, “Paper rubles with the printing in the hands of the
Boyar Duma
? No disrespect intended, Vladimir, but the czar’s cabinet isn’t exactly known for its restraint.”

“A lot of that was simply not being aware of the consequences. Printing gobs of money would not benefit the great houses,” Vladimir said.

“If they realize that and if they care,” Uriel said. “Printing gobs of money, as you put it, may not be good for the economy but in the short run it can be very good for the printers. Even if they show restraint, determining the amount of money needed to run the economy without causing hyper-inflation is no easy task. Not even with computers. I can’t avoid the conclusion that accepting payment in the czar’s paper would be a speculative investment. I really have to insist on New U.S. dollars.”

*     *     *

So it went for about two hours. Francisco mostly watched the exchange, and kept Uriel from skinning the Russian prince too badly. Vladimir wasn’t as good at this as he apparently thought he was. But, finally, agreement was reached and Vladimir was provided with a letter of credit.