Ring of Fire II(32)

"The piglet was mad enough when we untied it," said Lars. "I think all Stockholm heard it. That nosy Norwegian certainly did. Good thing you sent him away."



"He looks like a pirate and is most certainly a spy. But I heard you filling him with tales of men walking to the deepest depths with our pumps."



"He was buying the drinks. And we know that cannot work like that. You cannot pump air to very deep without a very good non-return valve. That is not that easy to make. Our system works. That will not. "



Mazalet looked suspiciously at him. "How do you know? I have seen pictures."



"We know," said Per smiling. "You see . . . we must introduce you to our partner. At the workshed."



It was barely ten yards away from the quayside where they had been talking, and Fermin Mazalet found himself being led out of the sun and into the half dark where Karl and Olof were working on the windlass, with a pair of local carpenters . . . and a familiar face.



"Monsieur Mazalet. Perhaps you have some books you would like to return?" said someone he thought safely in Grantville Library.



Mazalet's eyes nearly started out of his head. Then he started to laugh. "I have always said you could not cheat an honest man. Now I have proved it to myself, on myself. You out-thought me, mam'zelle. Well done."



"You don't seem angry, monsieur," said Ginny. "I expected trouble, to be honest. Until we brought you to your senses, that is."



Mazalet shrugged. "What would be the point? I have a project now that may well even succeed . . . and shares which have become vastly valuable. The local wealthy folk may not trust Fermin Mazalet. But they do believe in the technological advantages of Grantville. And you need me for my connections at least. But I wonder why you came out of hiding now."



Per answered. "Because tomorrow we do our first test and she wants to be there. And this afternoon would be too late, because you have arranged for us to see Nya Nyckeln."





"Good afternoon, fellows. I'm Lieutenant Sparre, the admiral's aide." The smallish officer looked none too pleased with his task, but there was no scorn in his voice. "Word's came down from on high that you boys need a guided tour to one of our largest ships."



"The largest," Lars answered. "Or the one that looks most like Vasa anyway."



Sparre made a tching sound. "Another attempt at a salvage!"



"Is there a problem?" Per asked.



"Well, yes." The young officer looked uncomfortable. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?"



"Of course," Lars said gaily. "All Delsbo boys like to talk."



"He means you should keep your mouth shut," Karl said.



"No problem," Lars said. "We're real good at that, too."



Lieutenant Sparre tugged his jaw. "Several of my peers lost friends and family when Vasa sank and there has been a lot of bad feeling about the whole thing."



"Yeah," Lars said, "Like the ship not being seaworthy."



"Shut up!" Per snapped. "I'll do the talking from now on." He pushed forward towards Sparre and bowed from the waist. "My brothers are fresh from the north," he said. "Please, forgive them some naive bluntness."



"No matter," Sparre said stiffly. "Nya Nyckeln is waiting. Please follow me." He turned abruptly and walked down towards the half-finished hulls still propped up on their slipways.



"Nya Nyckeln," Sparre said half proud, half sad. "Maybe the last of her kind."



"Almost as big as a church boat back home," Lars murmured.



Per stared. Nya Nyckeln, the New Key, was huge, almost twice the size of most naval ships, and sitting on her slipway, her entire hull towered over the group of people, reducing them into insignificance.



"She's the size of Vasa?" he asked in a quiet voice.



"Yes," Sparre said. "Somewhat broader of beam and with a little more draft, but close enough."



"That's a tall order," Karl said. "Lifting her in one piece I mean."



"It can't be done," a nasal voice interjected. "It was tried and nothing good came out of it."



Per turned and looked into a florid face made no prettier by being drawn into a supercilious sneer.



"Fellows," Lieutenant Sparre said formally. "This is Captain Stolpeskott." He shrugged. "Sorry, Captain, but I am acting on orders from the admiral himself.



"Letting unlettered peasants aboard his majesty's ships," Stolpeskott sneered. "Well, I heard that it was that slimy frog Mazalet who's got the contract, so I probably shouldn't be too surprised. Drinking and whoring is all those papists are good for." He turned abruptly and disappeared toward the administrative buildings.