Hans dropped the burning compound onto a clean watch glass and held a second clean watch glass over the burning compound. He had to put it down quickly because of the heat. He slid a clean piece of paper under the watch glass so any soot would show up better.
"It is less soot than from even a wax candle, Herr Doctor." Hans turned excited eyes to Dr. Gribbleflotz. "Could it be a wickless candle?"
Phillip thought for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "No, Hans. I don't think it will give off the light of a true candle. However, you say it gives off heat. Maybe we have discovered a replacement for the expensive candles we currently use in our experiments. Come. Let us make a bigger batch. We have many more tests to conduct."
Winter 1633, Magdeburg
"Hi, Mike. We've got something for you." Greg Ferrara and Christie Penzey slipped into Mike's office. Greg delved into a paper bag and extracted a package from it. He slid it across Mike's desk.
Mike poked suspiciously at the waxed paper bundle. "So, what is it?"
"Cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine."
Mike looked to Christie. "Could you translate that, please?"
"Its RDX, or Cylonite. One of the main ingredients in military C-4 high explosive."
"I thought you said you couldn't make anything other than nitro or dynamite without benzene from the coal tar process?"
Greg grinned a bit sheepishly. "We did. We were wrong. Not about getting benzene from the coal tar process. But we were wrong about the benzene."
"So when did you start making this RDX?"
"We aren't making it, Mike. There's a small company that was making small lots for the Thüringian Rifles." Greg nodded to the package on the desk. "That's where we got that package."
"Well, how much more can they make? And how come the Thüringian Rifles got it first?"
Greg shrugged. "They're only set up to make pounds per week. The RDX is a sideline from their main product." Greg shuddered as he remembered the main product of Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza, or the Distillery and Chemical Factory of Schwarza. "Percussion caps."
Mike pulled back from his desk and stood up. "I thought you said we couldn't make percussion caps. Wasn't that the reason we went for flintlock over caplock?" Greg nodded. "So how is it that some back woods down-timer operation can make percussion caps when you say you can't?"
Greg shuddered. "You have to understand. They are using mercury, Mike. They're making fulminate of mercury percussion caps, for God's sake. Believe me. That stuff is lethal. It's not that we can't make percussion caps, Mike. We could easily make fulminate of mercury percussion caps. Just tell me how many lives I can budget for. What's my death quota?"
Mike glared at him. "What's with this 'death quota' and 'lives budget' nonsense?"
Christie spoke up. "What Greg is trying to say, Mike, is that people are literally dying to make percussion caps. Sure, we could make percussion caps. But we would have accidents, and probably deaths. Neither Greg nor I want to be responsible for people dying while they make percussion caps. Fulminates are very sensitive. If they're less than pure they become unstable. Hell. Copper fulminate will explode as soon as look at you. That's the problem. To make fulminates you need pure ingredients. Trouble is, we can't just call up our friendly chemicals supplier and ask for a few hundred gallons of pure nitric acid. We have to triple distil everything, even the water we use."
Greg took over. "Then there is the matter of volumes. The best of the backwoods outfits is making maybe an ounce of fulminate of mercury a day. That's enough for about five hundred caps. The army needs millions. There's just no way we can safely make enough caps using fulminate of mercury."
Mike collapsed into his chair. "Okay. I think I understand. We can make caps, but not safely. Certainly not as many caps as the army would need." At Greg and Christie's nods, he settled and returned his gaze to the RDX. "So, how did these folks make this RDX before anybody else?"
"Fuel tablets." At Mike's raised eyebrows Greg smiled. "Yep. Initially they developed the technique using fuel tablets from Tracy Kubiak's old stock from before the Ring of Fire. Apparently, she still had a few cases left. Anyway, they picked up a cheat sheet for RDX from somewhere and started making it. The real break, though . . . that came from Jena." Greg grinned and drew another packet from his bag and presented it to Mike.
"Gribbleflotz Essence of Fire Tablets?"
"Yeah. Maybe you don't know the connection between the Kubiaks and Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz? Anyway, Ted, Tracy's husband, discovered that their Dr. Gribbleflotz was making some kind of fuel tablet. So he got some and turned it over to the people making the RDX."
"So we can start volume production of RDX?"
"It depends on what you call volume, Mike. Kubiak Country Industries has built a facility just outside the Ring to make the fuel tablets. Actual production will depend on the demand. Ted said that there should be good demand from the soldiers who will want something that they can use to cook or start fires with. But for high explosives, the problem is still the pure acid needed to convert it from fuel tablet to explosive. Besides, neither they nor Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza want to touch volume high explosives. The Chemiefabrik guys are happy to license their methods to anybody who is interested." Greg paused to collect his thoughts, "The question then is, what's the government's priority here? Do we buy a license, set up a plant, and set money aside for widow's benefits? Or we can pay a premium and convince our contractors to up their production. The miners could certainly use it. So could the military. This decision is, as Frank says 'above my pay grade.' So, what do you want us to do?"
Dr. Phil Zinkens A Bundle
By Kerryn Offord
Jena, 1633
The new chemical "battery" was most interesting. Just by adding two electrodes of different metal into a glass container of weak oil of vitriol one could generate enough of the new electricity to light the small light bulb.
Dr. Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz returned his attention to the up-time science book. The large printing and colorful pictures gave clear directions on the process and explained everything in the simplest of English. Just what was needed for the World's Greatest Alchemist, especially as he had only learnt English because those silly up-time females from the town of Grantville could only provide reference material in English.
Phillip looked back at his "wet cell battery." The zinc electrode was wasting away before his very eyes. He had been warned about this. He pulled the electrodes from the oil of vitriol and wiped them with a rag. Then he turned to the collection of chemicals the Grantville females had given him when they presented him with the up-time science books. One jar caught his eye. It was labeled "Zinc Zn." There was less than half a jar of the precious metal left.
With a heavy heart he turned back to survey his laboratory. There were a number of electricity experiments that really needed zinc. However, zinc was not available in Europe except as an expensive import from the distant East Indies.
Dragging his feet, Phillip made his way to his study. In there were all of his reference books. Maybe there was something in there about zinc.
* * *
There was nothing on sources of zinc in his library. He sighed heavily. He had been afraid that would be the case. He moved over to the window and looked out over the crowded streets of Jena towards the university. No. That would never do. He would not go begging those people for help. Phillip conceded defeat. He collapsed into his chair. Reached for his pens and ink. Pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer and sat and chewed the end of the iron tipped pen while he debated how to start the letter to Frau Kubiak. If any of the up-timers knew how to get zinc, he was sure Frau Kubiak would be able to obtain the necessary information. His only worry was what the dratted woman would ask in return.
Grantville Canvas and Outdoor, Mahan Run
Tracy Kubiak carefully placed the letter from Dr. Gribbleflotz on the kitchen table. She stepped back from it and walked around the kitchen. All the while, she kept an eye o
n the letter, expecting it to get up and bite her, or try to escape. She had had sufficient dealings with Dr. Gribbleflotz to know just how hard he must have found it to write that letter. The fact that there were no errors or blots suggested that it wasn't a first draft. A lot of care and attention had been invested in it.
Tracy searched high and low for her husband, calling out as she searched. She finally ran him to ground in his workshop. "Ted. There you are. Why didn't you answer when I called?"
Ted very carefully didn't say that he had answered. "What's the problem, Trace?"
"I just got a letter from Dr. Phil. He wants to know about zinc. What do we know about zinc?"
Ted smiled at his wife and shrugged his shoulders. "Somewhere between nothing and not a lot. What does he want to know?"
"He says he's afraid of running out of zinc for his electricity experiments. I think he wants us to find him some more."
"That's not going to happen. Every bit of spare zinc, even up-time coins, is being melted down for use in industry. They don't make it in Europe yet. They import it from the Far East, as far as I know. Do you want me to check out the library?"
"Please. If there's nothing else you need to do, I'd like you to see what you can find."
Ted smiled wryly. "So, what is it you want from Dr. Phil this time?"
"Actually . . ." She smiled back. "Nothing. I can't think of a thing, but it won't hurt to have Dr. Phil owe us. You never know. Maybe one day we'll get something really good out of him."
"Yeah, right." There was only a hint of skepticism in his voice. "I'll finish cleaning up in here then head over to the library. While I'm out that way, I might as well drop in on the ammonia plant and see how Dr. Phil's crew are doing."
HDG Enterprizes, Jena
Dr. Gribbleflotz and his personal laborant, Hans Saltzman, carefully read over the large bundle of notes Tracy Kubiak had sent. They described zinc and the extraction process, but the notes created more questions than they answered.
"I shall have to journey to Grantville and examine the research material myself, Hans. Please see that everything is made ready."
"Of course, Herr Doctor. Will you be visiting the spirits of hartshorn facility?"
Phillip paused to think for a moment. "Yes. If I include an inspection of the facility, I will be able to claim the cost of the trip against the company."
"Very reasonable, Herr Doctor. Will you be requiring my presence on this journey?"
"No." Phillip shook his head. "Not unless you wish to come. You could visit some of the up-time facilities if you wish. I am sure Michael Siebenhorn and Kurt Stoltz will be only too happy to make arrangements."
* * *
Once in Grantville, his duty visit to the spirits of hartshorn plant complete, Phillip had set out to complete his real mission. Michael Siebenhorn, the ex-laborant in charge of the facility, had introduced Phillip to a most excellent specialist library researcher and a copyist to do the hard work of the actual library search and the taking of notes. While the two specialists visited the various libraries around Grantville, Phillip, with time heavy on his hands, had taken the opportunity to investigate the clothing and shoe stores of Grantville. Hans was left to amuse himself touring some of the up-time facilities
* * *
Jena
The copious notes assembled by the researcher and copyist sat in piles on Dr. Gribbleflotz' desk. Both Phillip and Hans worked away in silence, reading and taking notes.
"'Both sphalerite and calamine are ores of zinc.' Well, that is old news." Phillip looked across to Hans, a look of disgust on his face. "You would think, for the exorbitant fees those leeches charged, that they would tell me something I didn't already know. Why, I've made brass using both of those self same ores many a time."
"But, Herr Doctor. Read this." Hans waved the sheet he had just finished reading. "It says here that it is from the vapors of those ores that one can obtain the zinc."
"What? Let me see that." Phillip grabbed the sheet and quickly read it. He dropped his head into his hands. "So close." He looked up at Hans. "So many times I have been so close to discovering zinc. If only I had thought to trap the vapors. I would have earned my rightful place beside my great grandfather, the great Paracelsus."
"Herr Doctor, one of the notes says that the great Paracelsus named the metal zinken." Hans hurriedly flicked through the researcher's notes. "Yes, here it is."
Phillip read the note. "Then in honor of my great grandfather, from now on, I shall call the metal zinken."
Phillip started to walk around his study. "We will need to prove that we can isolate the zinken. Either of the ores will do for that. However . . ." Phillip paused to read from the sheet he held. " It appears that 'pure' oil of vitriol can be made by catching the vapors from the zinken ore sphalerite. As the process to isolate zinken is the same for both ores, we shall experiment with sphalerite."
Phillip stopped to read further. "I believe ten thousand Pfennige should be enough. According to this paper, that is sufficient to produce four thousand Pfennige of metallic zinken and two gallons of strong oil of vitriol."
Phillip made for the door. "Hans, start making a list of what else we will need while I instruct Frau Mittelhausen to place an order for some sphalerite. We will start designing the new retorts we will need when I return."
* * *
Phillip found his housekeeper-cum-business-manager in the kitchen. After stopping to slip a couple of cookies out of the cookie barrel, he approached her. "Frau Mittelhausen."
"Yes, Herr Doctor?"
"Frau Mittelhausen, please place an order of ten thousand Pfennige of sphalerite ore. I believe it should come from the Harz region. Please be sure to insist on only the best quality ore, and ask that it be delivered as soon as possible. For such a trifling amount the transport cost should not be excessive."
"I will pass on the order to Herr Ostermann when I collect the bread and pies from the bakery, Herr Doctor." Frau Mittelhausen added a note to her shopping list.
Ostermann Transport, Jena
"Good afternoon, Frau Mittelhausen. What can we do for you today?" Joachim Ostermann asked.
"Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz wishes to purchase some material from Harz." Frau Mittelhausen checked her shopping list. "Ten thousand Pfennige of sphalerite."
"Sphalerite, ten thousand Pfennige?" Herr Ostermann checked to confirm he had heard correctly.
"Yes. Only the best premium grade ore mind, Herr Ostermann."
"Of course, Frau. For the good Herr Doctor, only the best of the best. For such a small amount the supplier might charge a premium price. Will that be agreeable?"
"Yes, Herr Ostermann. If you would prepare a contract, I will sign it when I return from the bakery."
December 1633, Ostermann Transport, Jena
Joachim Ostermann passed a horrified gaze along lines of pack mules carrying what the mule skinner leading them claimed was Dr. Gribbleflotz' order of sphalerite. "How did it happen?" he demanded of the world.
Hans Ostermann, his son, checked the bill of lading the skinner had presented. Confused, he looked at his father. "What is the problem, Papa? The order was for ten thousand Pfundt of premium ore, to be delivered as soon as possible. That is exactly what we have here."
"Let me see that." Joachim grabbed the bill of lading from his son's hand. A quick glance confirmed what his son had said. Someone, somewhere, had converted the order from Pfennige to Pfundt.
"How did you pay for the ore, Hans?"
"I sent a signed money order, Papa. Just like we always do. You saw me collect Frau Mittelhausen's signature before I took the authorization to the banker."
Joachim slumped against the first of the more than fifty pack mules that carried the premium quality ore and sighed. "Hans, my son. We have a problem. We could be bankrupted over this error."
"Bankrupted? But the Frau signed for it. We have a signed contract." Hans took time to have another look at the bill of lading. He waved it like a talisman towards
his father. "Yes, Dieter correctly calculated the estimated cost of freight. So even the freight has been mostly paid. How can we be bankrupted?"
Joachim mopped his sweating forehead. "Hans . . ." He paused as he struggled to find the words. "Hans, the order should have been for ten thousand Pfennige, a little less than twenty Pfundt. Not ten thousand Pfundt. We have over-ordered by a factor of more than five hundred, and the freight is inflated more than a thousand fold. I do not know that Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz will accept the mistake."
"But Frau Mittelhausen signed confirming the order, Papa."
"Yes." Joachim shook his head. "Someone made a mistake. Somehow the order was prepared using Pfundt rather than Pfennige." Suddenly Joachim jerked upright. His eyes opened wide. "That fool Beyer. It must have been him. Dr. Gribbleflotz' order was the last one he processed before he became so ill he had to be taken to Saint Jakob's infirmary. Come, let's check his desk."