'ope we can get along, yeah?

“Gunpowder? Aye, it haþ long been used for ship and hand cannons. What of it?” Eleanor said.

“How good are they? Hand-held guns, I mean? It seems like everyone uses swords and shite so I imagine they ain't amazing or nuffin?”

Eleanor and Alice looked at each other confusedly, then back at me. Alice was the one to break the silence.

“If þou meanest þat þey are outmached, þen aye, one couldst say as much. A battalion of muskets be’þ a forse to be rekkoned wiþ, no doutt, but þey be’þ a slow and klumsy weppon. þey’re carried along by individuals as little more þan a sidearm at most.”

“Well, where I comes from, guns are pretty much the dominant weapon for direct fights. Ain’t no way you’s running off to war with a sword or bow when a bloke with a 7.62 semi-auto’s pinning ya’s down from ‘alf a klick away.” Realising that half the words I just said only served to confuse my companions more, I clarified: “what I mean is that guns in my world can shoot way further, load way quicker and kill way easier. Hell, if someone could make a full auto in this place, one chap alone could probably take on a hundred knights.”

Alice’s face was painted with shock, while Eleanor looked sceptical and apprehensive at best.

“A lone man aganest a hundred? How fast could one possibly fyre þis weapon? Ten tymes per minute?”

“Try ten a second. And that’s just the 'and'eld ones. The mounted ones are even faster. Some of the buggers can pump out three or four thousand in a minute. It's lunacy.”

Where before she was sceptical, Eleanor now looked outright aghast. I couldn’t blame her, I imagine if I was told that humanity had optimised killing each other for hundreds of years I’d probably be pretty horrified too.

I decided to refrain from teaching them about nuclear warfare.

“How… how could such a weapon possibly eksist? Such a þing soundeþ lyke an old wyves tale,” Eleanor said, her voice wavering.

“I concur wiþ Eleanor, a weapon of þat calibre seems… far feched to say þe leest. But I trust þee not to misleed us. Tell us, how doþ such a þing operate?” Alice asked.

“I’m… not entirely certain.” I put my hand to the back of my hand sheepishly, and both of my companions sighed. “Ownership a' guns and all is illegal in me 'ome of ol' Blighty, so I didn’t exactly get a chance to fiddle around with the things, I’m afraid. But I do know the basics at least, just not the nitty gritty. I’ll explain what I can, but there’s gonna be some gaps in me knowledge, so bear wi' me.”

I went on to explain, to the best of my abilities, the intricacies of modern ballistics. I also asked Alice and Eleanor a few questions, and from their replies it seemed like firearms had developed up to the invention of the flintlock, which was actually better than I expected, but still missing even the most basic of modern conveniences, so I had to start pretty much from scratch.

“I see… filling þe round itself wiþ gunpowder negateþ þe issue of loading betwixt each shot…” Eleanor said as she stared off into space, seemingly picturing it in her mind. “But þe gunpowder contaner þen remaneþ wiþin þe gun, yes? Doþ þis not pose a problem?”

“It depends on the type of gun. For some, you manually pull a mechanism that ejects it and loads the next. For others, the force of the bullet being fired causes enough recoil to do it for ya's. The first type are generally more accurate and easy to use, while the second is a damn sight faster.” I wasn’t exactly an expert on guns, so my explanation was probably subpar at best, but I knew what I knew.

Alice seemed pretty lost with the conversation, having by her own admission never even held a handgun before, but Eleanor seemed to understand reasonably well. After she was done asking questions (and I was done trying my best to answer them), she sunk into silence for a while, seemingly deep in thought. A few times I noticed her muttering to herself, though I couldn’t make out so much as a word. After a few minutes of somewhat awkward silence, however, she suddenly stood up from her her seat and clapped her hands together.

“Milady, if I could ask þat you please weareþ a hood or cloak to hyde youre identity. I’ve a place in mynd for us to go.”

“Of course, but art þou certane? þou hast a bisness to run, dost þee not?” Alice replied.

“It be’þ a Sunday, milady.”

“þou hast werked Sundays for as long as I’ve known þee.”

“And bisness also be’þ slowest on þose days. One day of þe shop being closed be not þe end of þe world. I believe our current endeavour be morr þan worþ þe tyme. Now, please make haste, milady, we haven’t all day,” Eleanor said, hurrying Alice out of þe room. “Master Mackay, ready youreself as well. We’ve someone to visit.”

***

I, alongside Alice in a grey cloak that covered her head, followed Eleanor closely through the busy streets. Luckily, even on a Sunday everyone seemed too busy going about their business to pay us much attention, so we were able to slip through the crowds without trouble.

Across the Main Street and down a large side alley, we passed a number of shops related to handiwork trades. Leather workers, tailors and even a rival smithy that Eleanor stopped to tut at. We continued on to the very end of the street, where Eleanor stopped at the door of a quaint shop with a carefully carved wooden statue of a young man out front, roughly the same height as myself. The sign atop the door read “Amaranthus Woodwerk and Handikrafts.”

Eleanor first put her ear to the door for a moment. Then, seemingly satisfied with what she heard (or didn’t hear), opened the door and waltzed in casually.

“Lo! Arþur, old frend. Werking on a Sunday, art we? I see you still hast yet to kick þat particular habit,” she said in a cheery tone.

“þe same could be said of þyself, could it not, dear Eleanor?” The responding voice, followed by a deep chuckle, belonged to an old gentleman at the shop counter, the only other person in the building it seemed. He could have been no younger than 60, with his partially bald head covered in short grey hairs, and a wrinkled face that had clearly seen many years. His age, too, showed in his movements, as he stepped out from behind the counter and trundled over to Eleanor, wrapping her in a fatherly hug. “To wat do I owe þe pleshure of þis visit, my girl?”

“Can a smiþ not see an old frend for a simple visit, old man?” Replied Eleanor, briefly returning his hug.

“Ha! One can, of course, but I and þee noe boþ þat þou are not þe smiþ who wouldst do so. For þou to take tyme from werk, þere must be a good reeson. And I hazard a gess þat it be'þ related to þe kweer felloe and þe cloaked lady behind þee, ys it not?” The man said, releasing Eleanor from his hug and scrutinising the two of us with his gaze.

“Aye, I’m afrade so. Much as I wish I were here merely to cach up wiþ a frend and make up for lost tyme, þere is a matter I wish to discuss wiþ you, and my two companions here are much of it.” Eleanor turned to us, beckoning to Alice to lower her hood.

“A pleshure to meet þee, Ser. I am called Alice Elizabeþ, formerly of house Edelweiss. I þank þee deeply for taking such good care of my Ella,” she said, lowering her hood and giving a polite bow.

“Ahh, þe yung lady Edelweiss! I am glad to see þee in good healþ. I had herd wisspers on þe streets þat þou faced deaþ last nyte,” the old man said.

“Aye, ‘Twas a narrow escape I made. And, þough it be presumptuous of me to ask a favour so readily, myte I request þee keep my survyval a secret? ‘Tis better for me in þis moment if I am presumed dead,” Alice replied, putting her hood back up in case anyone else came.

“But of course, I will speek not a word of it. ‘Tis þe leest I can do after all þee haþ done for my dearest Eleanor,” he said, before turning his attention to me. “And þe strapping young gentleman at þe lady’s syde, myte I enkwire as to þy name as well?”

“Name’s Barry Mckay,” I replied, “been travellin’ with the lady ‘ere for a little while, figures I should ‘elp out as I can, what with 'ow much of a gem she's been to me. Pleased to meetcha’s, ‘ope we can get along, yeah?”

The old man, seemingly completely unable to parse my words, stared at me blankly for a moment, before Eleanor said something in his ear.

“Ahh, an oþer worlder, as I lyve and breaþe! þy kynd be’þ kwyte þe rarity indeed, my lad. Very pleesed to make þine akwanetanse.” The old man bowed at Alice and me, before continuing “I am Arþur Amaranþus, woodwerker and frend to all. I hope þee and I get along well.”

Despite his rigid movement, he seemed pretty energetic for an old boy. He spoke quickly, not missing a beat except for dramatic pauses. He also seemed like the very essence of a kindly soul, beaming smiles from the very moment we entered the shop. Despite his eccentricity, his presence was immediately comfortable. He had an almost fatherly quality to him. I wondered if this was the same craftsman who had helped Eleanor out in her younger years.

“Wyle I would so love to chat, I believe it’s best we get to þe point kwickly, þat I do not waste boþ of our tyme,” Eleanor said to Arthur. “þe world þat master Mackay haileþ from far exceedeþ our own technologically, if his words are to be trusted, and I believe him trustworþy enouf. I would lyke to ask you if you can creatt someþing... absurd. Someþing þat will change warfare as we noe it.”