Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

and begged as many favors from the lords as we have. Our twenty cities all have charters that protect us from complete despoilation.”

Mayer twisted excitedly in his chair. “As of today, things begin to change. Jerry, that platen 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 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. When they were all printed, he stopped pumping and Gunther handed the still wet finished product around to the audience.

Olderman stared down at the printed lines, scowled in concentration, 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 was 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 turned 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 Bessemer method, we’ll call it. 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 particularly 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 reentered accompanied by four servants and a mass of equipment. Kennedy muttered to Amschel Mayer, “I feel like the instructor of a handicrafts 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 size and weight, I’ve had constructed only a model. Jerry!”

Jerry Kennedy brought to the heavy table a small steam engine, clever in its simplicity. 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 an hour ago?”

Honorable Russ was rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully. “It might even be adapted to propel a coach. A coach without horses. Unbelievable!”

Mayer chuckled in 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 engine-propelled vehicle 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 pamphlets, instructions, plans, blueprints.

Mayer said, “I have just one more device to bring to your attention at this time. I wish it were unnecessary but I am afraid otherwise.”

He held up for their inspection, a forty-five-caliber 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 cities. However, this is an advancement on their weapons. This unit includes not only the bullet’s lead, 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 the 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, sent 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 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 now, “The weapon is simple to construct, any competent gunsmith can do