"I said I would make the weapons, not buy them. The money I have will get me started. After that, I will have to come up with salable products to meet expenses. Mortar and bricks, certainly. Perhaps pottery. Cookware, pots and pans. Maybe even glass. At this point I am not sure of specifics, but I know it can be done."
"Very well. If we assume that you really can build such arms and that the peasants will wear them, it is still useless. A mob of peasants, no matter how armed, is still a mob. Fighting men could cut them up regardless of weapons. Believe me. I've seen it too many times."
"Training is necessary, of course. But techniques exist that can turn a bunch of farmers into a fighting unit in four months' time. I've been through it myself, my lord."
"Indeed. What does all this have to do with my original question? Why do you want that land?"
"I need to have someplace to do these things. I can't do it in the cities. The guilds would never permit me the innovations that I will have to introduce."
"You did well enough with the guilds of Cieszyn. You abolished one and have another louting to you."
"My lord, that business with the whoremasters guild was simply stupidity on their part. I never wanted anything to do with them. As to the bell casters, they were only three brothers who were starving to death. I wouldn't have that kind of luck in Cracow."
"Why not?"
"I can't do it here. These people are primarily farmers. I need fulltime craftsmen."
"I see. You are dismissed, Sir Conrad."
Shaking slightly, I went back down to the party and drained two mugs of beer.
Shortly, I saw Lambert being escorted to the duke's chambers. A thorough man, the duke.
The party was breaking up. It must have been approaching midnight, because I saw Sir Vladimir stumble out to relieve Sir Stefan. He hadn't been at the feast, and from the looks of him he had slept in his armor.
The duke came down and looked at me. "There is more to gain than to lose. I'll be watching you, boy, but you can have it."
I came close to fainting.
Privately and somewhat curtly, the count informed five adolescent girls that they were leaving with me, the ones he thought were acting above their station in life. That night Krystyana was happy and excited about the coming adventure. She didn't realize that she was being thrown out.
I didn't regret my actions. I intended to raise a million bright kids "above their stations," and damn these Dark Age rules!
Yet personally, I was somewhat sad. I had been happy at Okoitz, but my job there was done. Good things must end, and perhaps the future would not be so bad.
For a penniless immigrant who had arrived only six months before, I had done fairly well. We now had the start of a decent school system, the beginnings of a textile industry, and the glimmerings of an industrial base.
If the seeds I'd brought worked out, we had the makings of an agricultural revolution.
We had steel, a fairly efficient brass works, and a profitable if embarrassing inn.
And now I had a hundred square kilometers of land to work with, land that would someday be the industrial heart of Poland.
It was a magnificent challenge, but still, leaving is a sad thing.
Tom pressed the HOLD button.
"Enough for today. They're waiting the banquet on us, but I'd hate to make them hold the ballet."
"Okay," I said. "But first tell me what went wrong."
"Wrong with what?"
"With Conrad's plans. He seems to be an intelligent, competent engineer. He had the backing of the authorities. He had raw materials and a good work force. Where did he fail?"
"What makes you think he failed?"
"Well, he had to fail! He's trying to start the industrial revolution five centuries too early, which obviously didn't happen."
"Ah, the catch is in that word 'obviously.' Son, I've been showing you this record for a reason. You know that subjectively I'm over eight hundred years old. There are limits to what even our medics can accomplish. You are ninety now, and I think you're mature enough to get involved with the firm's decision-making processes."
"But decisions shouldn't be made without complete information, and for us there's never a reason for anything to be rushed. Time, after all, is our stock in trade. Let's go eat."
"But-"
"But nothing! You want to keep the dancers waiting?"
As we left for the banquet hall, Tom put his hand on my shoulder and said, "What tickles me is the way Conrad keeps on talking about building socialism while at the same time taking all of the actions a nineteenth-century capitalist would approve of. Buying businesses, making them profitable, reinvesting the money..."