Lefty

  “George, you realize how much trouble we’re going to get into for this?” Parker hissed, his eyes darting toward the door.

  The older man just grinned, barely visible through his soot-stained beard. “Only if we’re caught, lad. Or if we’re sloppy. Stop yapping and drop in the charcoal.”

  Parker tossed a few chunks into the hopper. George seized the iron crank and began to churn. It resisted at first, the gears groaning, but then the blades started to move. They had been using a mortar and pestle day after day to grind up the charcoal, but this—this was fantastic. If they could automate the crushing, their black powder experiments would move from grams to to kilograms. If they had done this before the Rabiss had arrived, they would have had so much black powder that those raiders wouldn’t be calling Amos the Hand of Wrath; they would have called him the Hand of Obliteration.

  He laughed at his own joke.

  He felt a twinge of guilt looking at the Bicman grinder. This new machine was the pride of the kitchen; it turned tough sinew into the smooth mash that had made Mary’s meat pies legendary this last week. If he chipped a tooth on this blade, Mary wouldn’t just be angry, she’d have his head on a platter.

  Nevertheless, George’s grin widened as fine-grained charcoal began to spill from the chute. It wasn't true powder yet, but the consistency was beautiful.

  “Pour the rest in, Parker. Then fetch more.”

  Parker coughed, waving away a plume of black dust. “More? George, the air is getting thick.”

  “We don’t have all day. I want to get as much done as we can before we get caught. Fetch more, and bring a bucket of water. We’ll need to scrub the evidence away before tomorrow.”

  As Parker hurried off, George didn't slow down. He leaned his weight into the handle, grinding furiously. The iron grew warm beneath his hand. The air became a hazy fog. He held his breath, his heart drumming a rhythm that matched the clack of the internal gears.

  The world didn't just end; it ignited. A blinding white flash erased the room, followed by a roar of heat that turned the darkness absolute.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  *****

  George was lying in his bed in the infirmary. His right hand was wrapped tightly in bandages and rested on the wooden board he had propped up on his knees. His back still ached, but he could ignore the pain.

  His left hand held a Bicman dip pen. Slowly, he struggled to scratch out notes with that hand. His head was bubbling with ideas which he didn't want to forget.

  The door to the room swung open and in strode the boy who was the size of a mountain. His normally good-natured look was gone. He looked like a thundercloud ready to burst.

  “George, I am glad you are recovering. Now tell me what in the world you were thinking,” His deep voice boomed.

  George gave his lord a smile. “Good morning, Count Bicman. Your concern is appreciated.”

  “My concern, George, is that once again I almost had children without a father. Your wife may have passed, but your children and grandchildren still need you.” The count said seriously. “You are lucky the thing was made mostly of wood. Or that explosion might have killed you.”

  “Sorry, my lord,” George said. He wasn’t really, though. If he had gone out with a bang, then he would have been sent to the Endless Realm to be with Val.

  “Please tell me you learned something from this,” Amos said.

  George’s eyes lit up. “Of course, my lord. I also thought of some ideas I have been writing down. The issue was the dust. We need to wet the equipment and the material so it can’t spark. I have designs I am trying to draw for a better machine. One that should get the powder very fine.”

  Lord Amos sighed. “I was hoping the lesson was not to grind explosives in a metal food machine.”

  “Ah, yes, well, I do feel bad about Mary’s meat grinder. I will certainly pay for a replacement.”

  Amos shook his head. “She already has a replacement. I was going to wait for her birthday to give it to her and put the prototype in the museum I am building.”

  “A new one,” George said excitedly. “I would love to see it.”

  “You are not allowed anywhere near it, and until you make things right with Mary, you are not allowed to have any of her meat pies.”

  George gave a small sigh. “Yes, my lord. But, my lord. I would like you to consider my idea for grinding the powders. I am sure if we keep it wet, we will not have another problem. I wish you could have seen the consistency that we got with the grinder. I—”

  The count held up his hand. “I understand the importance of progress. And a mechanical grinder would not just help with the black powder. However, tighter regulations will be put in place. From now on, you will write out everything you plan to do beforehand and give it to me.”

  Then the lord looked down at George's mangled right hand, and he suddenly became uncomfortable. “Sorry, that probably came off as rude.”

  George’s eyes followed the look to his right hand, then his face lit up. “Do not concern yourself, my lord. I survived.” Then, chuckling, he said. “Besides, the boys finally gave me my nickname of the group, Lefty.”