“So, you think Vladimir is right.” The Odoevskii didn’t get along all that well with the Gorchakov family. If Ivan Nikitich could find a way to say Vladimir’s report was wrong, he would.
“No, absolutely not,” Ivan Nikitich said by reflex. Then he laughed. “Well, perhaps a little bit. The way the boy proposes to go about it is all wrong. We are not some barbarous western nation. It will need to be the Czar’s Bank and all the little banks part of the Czar’s Bank. The Gorchakov boy’s proposal will just make the Gorchakov family richer than they already are.”
Filaret gave the Boyar of the Exchequer a look.
“Very well. The Gorchakov family and many others,” Ivan Nikitich conceded. “But the czar should reap a greater benefit if the government owns all the banks, not just the Czar’s Bank.”
Filaret considered. “What bureau would control the Czar’s Bank?” He gave Ivan Nikitich another hard look.
Ivan Nikitich gave him back look for look. “The bureau of the exchequer is the obvious choice,” he acknowledged.
In some ways Filaret really preferred Vladimir’s plan. As chaotic as it was, it had the advantage of not putting the power of a central bank in the hands of one of the great families. On the other hand, having the Romanov family in charge of the central bank would strengthen them considerably.
The discussion continued for several hours that night and then broadened over the next several days. Eventually, it included every member of the Boyar Duma cabinet and many members of the Assembly of the Land. It was pointed out that the institution of this system would probably mean fewer taxes would be needed, at least for now. Which made it quite popular. There was much support among the great houses and monasteries for Vladimir’s plan but the deti boyars, the service nobility, and the merchants hated it. Both because of the extra power it would give the great houses and monasteries if they could print their own money and because of the difficulty they could see clearly in determining how much this house’s ruble would be worth versus that monastery’s ruble. That pitted the great houses against the service nobility. Not an uncommon occurrence. But while everyone was fighting over which way to do it, the whether to do it got decided by default.
The czar, at his father’s urging, came down on the side of the service nobility. The money would be issued by the Czar’s Bank. All banks in Russia would be branches of the Czar’s Bank. Which, by the way, would offer nice jobs for lots of the service nobility. Something that didn’t make it into the general discussion was the fact that more money would make it easier for serfs to buy out of their bonds to the land. Not that that mattered much. Every year for the last decade and more had had a decree from the czar that the serfs couldn’t leave that year, even if they had paid off their debt.
Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev leaned over to his friend and chief henchman, Colonel Leontii Shuvalov, as the debate went on. “It was good that the note from Vladimir arrived in time to prevent the patriarch from dragging us into war with Poland, but the notion that they are truly from the future disturbs me.”
“I’m not entirely comfortable with it myself, my lord, but facts are facts and Bernie is real. The stuff he brought from Germany is real.”
“And the knowledge,” Sheremetev grumbled. “Slavery and serfdom were both banned in their world. It will give our serfs ideas. There are too many new ideas coming out of Germany these days and they will spread faster with this outlander from the future here. The Gorchakovs are really just puffed-up merchants, even if they did hold their land independently before it was absorbed by Muscovy. Why did Filaret give them the patent on these new inventions?”
He knew why Filaret had done it. It was precisely because the Gorchakovs were just puffed-up merchants with little connection to the factions in the great families. He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it won’t amount to much. Games and rumors are all that have come from that dacha of theirs in the months he’s been here.”
Chapter 15
Andrei Korisov sawed away at the barrel of the rifled musket. He had taken it out of the musket and was sawing off the breech end. He had, he thought, the beginnings of an idea. He had spent the last three months going over the history of firearms with Bernie, a subject that the up-timer knew rather less about than he thought he did. Andrei was convinced of that. Andrei didn’t know what parts were missing, and that was perhaps the most frustrating aspect of it all. But a week ago, they had gotten to talking about movies and Bernie had remembered that the ball and cap pistols of the old west had been muzzle-loaders.
That, of course, wasn’t what Bernie had said, but after discussing it with him for two hours, that was what Andrei was convinced the up-timer was describing. Powder, then shot shoved down a short barrel. There were six of the short barrels in a cylinder which was why the pistols were called six-shooters, but the six barrels weren’t full length. There was an earlier version that was called a pepper-pot, according to Bernie, in which the barrels were full length but the six shooters had short barrels that rotated into position behind a longer barrel. And that was what had led Andrei to his gun shop in the middle of the night, filled with uncertain inspiration.
How much force did you lose, Andrei wondered as he sawed, out of that gap between the short barrel and the long? It couldn’t be so much that the bullet stopped in the barrel. It couldn’t even be so much as to rob the bullet of its knock-down power. Not when sent through a short pistol barrel. But how much would you lose when it was fired though a long musket barrel? Would the length of the barrel make any difference? Was that why they only used the technique on pistols?
Having cut the rear five inches of the barrel off, Andrei carefully smoothed away burrs with a fine file, then reinstalled the barrel in the stock. Placing the back of the barrel in a vise, he proceeded to load it with powder and shot. He pressed a lead ball and wading into the chamber he had created, then reinserted it into the rifle, being careful to make sure that it lined up properly, and then tied it into place. This was simply a test, after all.
On due consideration, Andrei looked at the rifle sitting in the sandbag, then decided that he was too important to risk.
“Ivan, come over here,” Andrei shouted. He always shouted, since the peasant workers wouldn’t actually do anything if he didn’t.
This one, whose name might or might not have been Ivan, came over, looking warily at the rifle.
“I want you to lean down and pull that trigger,” Andrei said.
Ivan looked a bit nervous, so Andrei glared at him harder. “Lean down and pull that trigger.”
The peasant finally complied. The musket was braced in sandbags for stability and it was at an awkward height. The peasant put his left hand on the sandbag to brace himself, leaned down and put his right hand by the trigger. This put his head just above the gap and his left wrist just beside it.
“Pull the trigger!”
So he did.
“ Yaaaaah! ” Ivan jerked back, grabbed his left wrist and put his right arm over his face, still screaming.
“What’s the matter with you?” Andrei shouted. “Get out of here!”
The gun shot didn’t attract much attention. But Ivan’s continued screaming did.
Filip Pavlovich Tupikov came running from the blacksmith’s shop, where the Fresno scraper was being finished. “What happened?” he asked.
“It worked,” Andrei said, and then pointed downrange. “See the target?”
There was a little black hole in the paper target, a little below the bull’s-eye.
“What was that man screaming about?” The injured man was being helped away by several other workers.
“He put his hand in the wrong place, the idiot,” Andrei said with a dismissive wave. He didn’t notice Filip’s change of expression as he looked at the rifle. The firing chamber, the back of the barrel that he had cut off, had shoved back into the stock and cracked it. Also the same escaping gas that had injured the peasant had cut into the stock of the gun. “Look what happened to the rifle. The stock is damaged. I’ll have to work on that. Can’t have the stock being damaged by only one firing. Perhaps a shield of some sort.”
Andrei ignored Filip as he left, immersed in reworking his rifle design. A few more shots and the gun would
