Konrad managed to drag himself off the ground.
The door swung open. Hans rushed back into the room. However, he had not returned with a physician.
Trailing behind the anxious caretaker was a man who looked entirely out of place in a noble’s bedchamber.
It was Master Dieter, the estate’s head blacksmith. Dieter held a crumpled piece of parchnt in his hands, staring at it as if the ink itself had offended him.
"Hans, leave us be for a mont," Konrad commanded, "Go check the storehouses. See how much grain we actually have left before the peasants realize my father is dead."
Hans hesitated. But the unquestionable resolve in Konrad’s eyes forced the old man to obey. With a bow, Hans scurried out of the room.
Konrad slumped into a chair, gesturing for Dieter to sit on a nearby stool.
Dieter understood the reality of the Holy Roman Empire better than anyone. Without Lord Wilhelm, this small Swabian estate was a rotting carcass waiting for the vultures.
The peasant mobs were burning their way across the countryside, slaughtering nobles who had squeezed them dry through feudal exploitation.
If the peasants didn’t kill them, the greedy Duke of Württemberg surely would, seizing their lands to pay off his own mounting debts. To Dieter, their doom was entirely certain.
"My Lord," Dieter finally rumbled, "Hans shoved this parchnt into my chest and told you drew it. He told you want to build it. I am a loyal man, but I must speak plainly. I cannot forge miracles from madness."
"Tell what you see on that parchnt, Dieter," Konrad said, leaning forward. "No titles, no formalities. Just tell what you see."
"I see a wheel," Dieter grunted, pointing a finger at the drawing. "A water wheel. But it’s connected to a wooden shaft with strange pegs on it. And those pegs lift a massive iron hamr, dropping it onto an anvil. It is a triphamr, driven by the river. It would strike the iron a hundred tis a minute without a man ever lifting his arm."
Dieter paused, "And this... this looks like a grinding mill, but the notes say it is not for wheat. It is for mixing saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal. You want to mix the serpentine powder wet, press it, and break it into solid grains."
"Corned gunpowder," Konrad corrected. "And a water-powered forge hamr."
Dieter lowered the parchnt. "The Fugger banking family in Augsburg guards the secrets of their copper mines with their lives. The master gunsmiths of Nuremberg would slit a man’s throat for a new wheellock design. So, I must ask... where did you steal these?"
Konrad let out a genuine, hearty laugh, though it quickly turned into a mild coughing fit.
He clutched his chest, waiting for the pain to pass, before looking up at the giant blacksmith.
"I didn’t steal them, Dieter. I designed them." Konrad stated plainly. "The fever nearly took my life last night. As I lay there burning, I realized sothing terrifying. My father is dead. The treasury is empty. We have no silver thalers, no trade routes, and no rcenaries to protect us. The peasants will soon march on our walls with stolen pikes. I realized that if I did not change, we would all die."
Konrad pointed at the parchnt. "But my knowledge is entirely useless without your hands, Dieter."
The blacksmith looked back down at the drawings.
"Even if I build this hamr," Dieter said, "we have a terrible problem, my Lord. If we suddenly start producing tons of high-quality steel and refined gunpowder, the Swabian League will notice. They will declare us heretics or rebels, march a thousand veteran Landsknecht rcenaries to our gates, and take the forge by force."
"Exactly," Konrad agreed, slamming his hand on the table. "Which is why we are not going to sell steel, and we are not going to sell gunpowder."
Dieter blinked, "Then how will we make the silver to pay the guards and buy grain?"
"We sell the chanism," Konrad explained, "The matchlock arquebus is terrible. The burning match cord goes out in the rain, and it gives away a soldier’s position at night. The wealthy nobles are currently obsessed with the new wheellock pistols... weapons that use a spring-loaded steel wheel to strike sparks against pyrite."
Konrad grabbed a piece of charcoal and quickly sketched a small, intricate chanism on the table’s surface.
"The current wheellocks are horribly expensive because the clockmakers who build the springs do it entirely by hand, and they break constantly. With your new triphamr, we will stamp out standardized, highly durable wheellock springs and firing chanisms."
Dieter’s eyes widened to the size of gold florins.
"We sell the small parts," Dieter whispered, "We quietly sell crates of reliable wheellock components to neutral rchants traveling the trade routes to Italy and France. No one will know the parts co from our tiny estate. The rchants assemble them elsewhere and sell the finished pistols for a fortune."
"And we take our paynt in pure silver!" Konrad nodded, "We use that silver to buy livestock. We use it to secretly hire a small, elite guard force. We rebuild our walls. We survive the coming chaos of the Peasant’s War, and we make our lands an impenetrable fortress of industry!"
Konrad pushed himself up from the chair. He stood as tall as he could and extended his right hand toward the massive blacksmith.
"I cannot do this alone, Master Dieter," Konrad said, "Will you help build it, so our people can live?"
Dieter looked at the extended hand.
Without hesitation, Dieter reached out his hand and grasped Konrad’s pale fingers.
"I have hamred iron for thirty years, Lord Konrad," Dieter said, "We will build your water wheel."
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