The Dwarves Lose Their Minds Over New Technology (1)
This was a sight I'd seen plenty of times in my past life, too.
Should I call it artisan's pride, or plain stubbornness? The world moves on, and new methods emerge that make old techniques easier and better than ever—yet some people cling to tradition anyway.
"Fire, hammer, and iron in conversation—that's what a blacksmith DOES! And what, ma~gic~? Magic, my frozen ass!"
A small hand hammer whirled around and around, taking aim at the dwarf Gode. Gode rolled his squat little body between tables to dodge, then scooped up a scrap of metal from the floor and hurled it back in counterattack.
"You saw the ballpoint pen and you still don't get it? The time has come to embrace magic for the sake of progress! Stop being so stubborn!"
Roughly speaking, I could piece together what was going on. Gode had been so impressed by the ballpoint pen I'd made with magic that he'd suggested to his fellow dwarf they accept magic into their craft—and the fellow dwarf, swollen with pride in his own skills, was now flatly rejecting it.
"No sorcery shall ever enter this sacred forge! Get out!"
Wham!
The tool the dwarf threw struck a dent in the floor and ricocheted, its new trajectory angled nearly straight up—and it was aiming at Lily, who stood staring blankly around the forge. She'd been too busy taking in her surroundings to notice it coming.
"Eep—!"
I reached out and snatched the tool out of the air. My palm throbbed as if I'd just caught a fastball, but I didn't let it show.
That would ruin the cool factor.
Unfortunately, my body didn't quite obey my will. Cold sweat prickled across my face as the pain traveled up through my palm.
"Owen, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"But Owen, your hand... your hand is..."
Lily grabbed my trembling hand—the one shaking like a jackhammer—and held it tight in both of hers, worry written all over her face.
"Better me getting hurt than you, standing there defenseless. I'm just glad you're safe."
Keeping my rogue hand clamped shut, I scanned the now-quieted forge. The dwarves had stopped brawling. Instead, having apparently forgotten they were supposed to be on opposing sides, they were ganging up to punish the one dwarf who'd endangered a student.
While a handful of dwarves pummeled him, Gode came over and apologized on his behalf.
"Sorry you got caught up in that. You all right?"
I fixed him with a level stare.
"No. I'm not."
After all, I had something to squeeze out of these dwarves. Whether it was a debt or an apology, I intended to leave something owing—and make Gode my faculty advisor in return.
"Ah, damn it, that cursed fool! He doesn't even know whose hand that is!"
Gode soccer-kicked the dwarf sprawled on the floor. The guy was bleeding profusely from the nose and spitting up white—was he really going to be okay at this rate?
"Well, guess the debate ends here. Tch! I was going to show him how important magic is, and we ended up as the Opening Act! It's a disaster zone in there, but come on in."
Gode guided us into a room at the back of the forge. Lily and I squeezed together, awkwardly cramped, onto a sofa built far too low and small for me—while Gode brought out tea and snacks.
"So, what brings you here?"
"There's something I'd like to ask of you."
"A favor! What is it! Have you thought up some clever idea like the ballpoint pen! Are you planning to collaborate with me!"
One sentence from me, and a hundred came flying back.
"The idea already exists. And as for collaboration—think of today's business as an extension of that."
"Oho! Yes! Let's hear it."
"I'm planning to establish a club. It's called the Engineering Club—the main activity would be making inventions."
I pushed the club proposal plan across to Gode. He read through it with evident interest, nodding along as if he were clearly about to say yes—but then—
"The plan's good. The spirit's good too. But there's a problem."
He stroked his beard as he said it.
"A problem? What kind of problem?"
"If I'm to be your faculty advisor, I'd have to be active in club affairs myself—and there's no telling whether my workshop buddies would permit that. There's not a soul in forging who works like I do, you see."
"You've said it exactly!"
BANG!
A dwarf with a bandage wrapped around his head burst through the wooden door, splintering it. The door opened fine. There was no need for a dramatic entrance of that caliber.
"I have no intention of permitting it!"
Then he plopped himself down beside Gode and delivered his decree like a judge on a bench.
"A blacksmith's hammering breathes soul into iron. And you want me to sit by while fools skip that process with magic, wasting their time cozied up to sorcerers? Not in my lifetime—not as long as there's dirt in my eyes. Wait. What are you doing?"
"You said you'd permit it if dirt got in your eyes."
"Are you insane? That's how much it ISN'T permitted."
Well, I hadn't done that with any real sincerity anyway.
Lily had already demolished her share of Gode's tea and snacks and was smacking her lips for more, so I slid mine over to her. When she looked up at me as if asking, can I really have it?, I gave a nod, and she dug in with delight, nibbling away like a hamster.
"It seems there's a misunderstanding, so let me correct that first."
Working things through magic?
From the look of it, the dwarves believed I'd crafted the ballpoint pen that way. And, well... that was true. But it wasn't how I handled things every time. That method only worked with Muriel around to create the environment I needed—which meant I'd been feeling the need to produce something that retained its productivity even without her help.
This was the perfect opportunity to unveil it.
"I can achieve that level of precision without using magic at all."
"Ha! What a joke! Do you have any idea how difficult this craft is?"
"And dwarves could attain craftsmanship to match."
"What?"
"If that proves possible, would you permit Professor Gode to serve as our club's faculty advisor?"
The dwarf clearly didn't believe a word of it.
"Fine! Do it then—IF you can! Honestly, you mages who sit at desks with your noses in books must think the whole world is easy."
Maybe that was why. Convinced I was bluffing, he scoffed and accepted my proposal with all the swagger of a man who'd already won.
But I could already see the future.
I could see the dwarf, trembling with excitement at a technique he'd never known existed. I could see him bending his ironclad convictions, begging on his hands and knees—please, I can't live without this, please share it with me.
"Owen, do you actually have a plan?"
Lily tugged at my sleeve as she asked.
"Of course I do."
A plan? Naturally. The reason blacksmiths became so rare in the modern world was exactly that. If I reproduced the technologies that replaced them here, that nameless dwarf would end up with his eyes spinning like a cat that'd licked up a whole pile of catnip.
"Professor Gode, could you help me with something?"
Before Gode could answer, I raised my swollen hand for him to see.
"My hand's in this state."
Hammering in this condition would be difficult. If I went home, I could simply ask Muriel to fix it with magic—but that dwarf hated magic, so I'd planned from the start to do this without it.
"Oh! Of course I'll help! No—rather, you'd be doing ME the favor!"
Thankfully, Gode showed no reluctance whatsoever. If anything, he grinned from ear to ear as if he'd found himself a diverting new toy, accepted on the spot, then rolled up his sleeve for no particular reason and told me to put my trust in him and him alone.
"First, I'll draw up the blueprints."
Seated where I was, I began sketching onto a sheet of paper, quick and sure.
"Oh! The ballpoint pen! That magnificent invention!"
Gode hit me with a sneak attack of worship, in a voice like some innkeeper praising a guest. When I worshipped myself, it was no burden at all—but having someone else do it nearly made me dizzy.
"Let me explain."
I turned the rough blueprint toward Gode. He stretched his neck out like a turtle and buried his face in the drawing.
"Mmmm! Good! I'll do it!"
Gode let out a strange, wavering moan, and I nearly smacked the back of his head on reflex.
"First, take a look at the power source."
"Looking!"
"A piston-driven air compressor, assisted by a mana stone, first draws in the surrounding air. That air is then fed into the connected pressure-generation unit."
What I was about to build was a pneumatic hammer—a machine powered by a compressed-air system. Anyone who's set foot in a factory has seen one: the blunt-headed machine that slams down onto steel with a mighty bang! bang! That's exactly what it was.
You could call it the invention that freed smiths from backbreaking manual forging—a gift of rain in the middle of a decade-long drought, as far as blacksmiths were concerned.
"After that, the air passes through a filter to remove impurities and moisture. The compressed air finally pushes down on this cylinder section here."
"So the iron hanging up top comes slamming down—BANG!—is that it?"
"Exactly."
"Oho!"
Gode smacked his knee in admiration.
"Did you understand it?"
"No. Not really. You're telling me compressed air can deliver that much force?"
"Oh, absolutely."
The power of compressed air defies imagination. An air rifle fires its projectile with compressed air—and it packs enough punch to take down a bear with thick hide.
"I'll be in your care for the next few days, then."
"No, no—in MINE!"
Gode and I shook hands with burning enthusiasm.
I couldn't wait to see that dwarf go completely head over heels for the pneumatic hammer a few days from now.
Just wait, dwarves. Time for your first taste of modern engineering.