Part 5 (1/2)

Mayer said over his shoulder, ”All right, Jerry, this is where we put it to them.”

They entered the long conference room. A full score of men sat about the heavy wooden table. Most of them were as richly garbed as their host.

Most of them in their middle years. All of them alert of eye. All of them confidently at ease.

Amschel Mayer took his place at the table's end and Jerome Kennedy sank into the chair next to him. Mayer took the time to speak to each of his guests individually, then he leaned back and took in the gathering as a whole. He said, ”You probably realize that this group consists of the twenty most powerful merchants on the continent.”

Olderman nodded. ”We have been discussing your purpose in bringing us together, Honorable Mayer. All of us are not friends.” He twisted his face in amus.e.m.e.nt. ”In fact, very few of us are friends.”

”There is no need for you to be,” Mayer said snappishly, ”but all are going to realize the need for co-operation. Honorables, I've just come from the city of Ronda. Although I'd paid heavily in advance to the three barons whose lands I crossed. I had to bribe myself through a dozen road-blocks, had to pay exorbitant rates to cross three ferries, and once had to fight off supposed bandits.”

One of his guests grumbled, ”Who were actually probably soldiers of the local baron who had decided that although you had paid him transit fee, it still might be profitable to go through your goods.”

Mayer nodded. ”Exactly, my dear Honorable, and that is why we've gathered.”

Olderman had evidently a.s.sumed spokesmans.h.i.+p for the others. Now he said warily, ”I don't understand.”

”Genoa, if you'll pardon the use of this name to signify the planet upon which we reside, will never advance until trade has been freed from these bandits who call themselves lords and barons.”

Eyebrows reached for hairlines.

Olderman's eyes darted about the room, went to the doors. ”Please,” he said, ”the servants.”

”My servants are safe,” Mayer said.

One of his guests was smiling without humor. ”You seem to forget, Honorable Mayer, that I carry the t.i.tle of baron.”

Mayer shook his head. ”No, Baron Leonar. But neither do you disagree with what I say. The businessman, the merchant, the manufacturer on Genoa today, is only tolerated. Were it not for the fact that the barons have no desire to eliminate such a profitable source of income, they would milk us dry overnight.”

Someone shrugged. ”That is the way of things. We are lucky to have wrested, bribed and begged as many favors from the lords as we have. Our twenty cities all have charters that protect us from complete despoilation.”

Mayer twisted excitedly in his chair. ”As of today, things begin to change. Jerry, that platen press.”

Jerry Kennedy left the room momentarily and returned with Martin Gunther and two of the servants. While the a.s.sembled merchants looked on, in puzzled silence, Mayer's a.s.sistants set up the press and a stand holding two fonts of fourteen-point type. Jerry took up a printer's stick and gave running instructions as he demonstrated. Gunther handed around pieces of the type until all had examined it, while his colleague set up several lines. Kennedy transposed the lines to a chase, locked it up and placed the form to one side while he demonstrated inking the small press, which was operated by a foot pedal. He mounted the form in the press, took a score of sheets of paper and rapidly fed them, one by one.

When they were all printed, he stopped pumping and Gunther handed the still wet finished product around to the audience.

Olderman stared down at the printed lines, scowled in concentration, wet his lips in sudden comprehension.

But it was merchant Russ who blurted, ”This will revolutionize the inscribing of books. Why, it can well take it out of the hands of the Temple! With such a machine I could make a hundred books--”

Mayer was beaming. ”Not a hundred, Honorable, but a hundred thousand!”

The others stared at him as though he was demented. ”A hundred thousand,” one said. ”There are not that many literate persons on the continent.”

”There will be,” Mayer crowed. ”This is but one of our levers to pry power from the barons. And here is another.” He turned to Russ.

”Honorable Russ, your city is noted for the fine quality of its steel, of the swords and armor you produce.”

Russ nodded. He was a small man fantastically rich in his attire. ”This is true, Honorable Mayer.”

Mayer said, tossing a small booklet to the other, ”I have here the plans for a new method of making steel from pig iron. The Bessemer method, we'll call it. The principle involved is the oxidation of the impurities in the iron by blowing air through the molten metal.”