The bedroom smelled like rotten eggs. Taylor had shoved the sulfur rocks under her bed, but the scent of brimstone was permeating the room.
"It smells like a demon died in here," Luna complained, pinching her nose as she helped Taylor scrub the coal dust off her face.
"It smells like victory, Luna," Taylor muttered.
She sat at her desk, reviewing her mental checklist.
1. Charcoal:Easy. The kitchen has tons of it.
2. Sulfur:** Secured from the mine.
3. Potassium Nitrate (Saltpeter):Missing.
Without Saltpeter, the sulfur and charcoal were just dirty rocks. With it, they were the "Black Powder" that would end the age of knights and swords.
[Science Corner: The Gunpowder Recipe]
75% Potassium Nitrate (Oxidizer)
15% Charcoal (Fuel)
10% Sulfur (Lower ignition temperature)
"I need an oxidizer," Taylor whispered. "The septic tank will produce nitrates eventually, but that takes months of decomposition. I need something now."
She closed her eyes, accessing Arthur's encyclopedic knowledge of civil engineering and historical chemistry. *Where did medieval people get saltpeter before industrial farming?*
Caves (bat guano).
Manure heaps.
And... old, damp walls near latrines or stables.
"Efflorescence," Taylor snapped her eyes open. "Wall sweat."
"Wall... sweat?" Luna looked concerned. "My Lady, do you have a fever again?"
"Luna, grab a scraper and a bucket," Taylor stood up, grabbing her cloak. "We're going to the stables. Specifically, the back wall where the horses have been peeing for fifty years."
***
The Oakhaven stables were dark, damp, and smelled of ammonia. The horses nickered softly as Taylor and Luna crept past the stalls.
"Here," Taylor pointed to the stone wall at the back.
It was covered in a fuzzy, white, crystalline crust. To a normal person, it looked like mold or salt. To Taylor, it looked like ammunition.
"Scrape it off," Taylor ordered, demonstrating with a knife. She scraped the white crystals into a jar.
"This is... dried horse pee, isn't it?" Luna asked, her voice trembling with the sheer indignity of it all.
"It's Calcium Nitrate, mostly," Taylor explained, scraping vigorously. "We'll need to boil it with wood ash to convert it to Potassium Nitrate, then crystallize it. It's tedious, it's gross, and it's going to save our lives."
"I wanted to be a lady's maid," Luna whimpered, scraping the wall. "I thought I would be brushing hair. Not harvesting wall-crust."
"Consider it a promotion to 'Lab Assistant'," Taylor said.
Rustle.
Taylor froze. The sound came from the hayloft above them.
She grabbed Luna and pulled her into the shadows of a stall. They held their breath.
A figure dropped down from the loft. It wasn't a stable boy. It was **Violet**.
The stepsister landed silently in the hay. She was wearing a white nightgown that was stained with... dirt? Or rust?
Violet stood in the center of the stable, looking around. She hummed a low, discordant tune.
"I know you're here," Violet whispered. Her voice echoed in the wooden structure.
Taylor's grip on Luna tightened.
"The horses told me," Violet giggled. She walked over to the spot where they had been scraping the wall. She touched the spot where the white crust was missing.
"Making snow?" Violet asked the empty air. "Or making sugar?"
She licked her finger.
Taylor almost gagged. *She just ate the nitrate.*
"Salty," Violet murmured. Then, she turned her head, looking directly at the stall where Taylor was hiding. Her eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Big Sister is building a fire. Burn, burn, burn."
Violet laughed, spun around, and skipped out of the stable as if she hadn't just eaten wall chemicals and threatened arson.
"She... she ate it," Luna whispered, horrified. "My Lady, your sister is broken."
"She's not broken," Taylor said, stepping out of the shadows, her face grim. "She's observant. And that's worse."
***
[The Family Dinner]
That evening, the atmosphere in the dining hall was tighter than a bowstring.
Count Roderick sat at the head of the table, eating his roast pheasant with aggressive enthusiasm. The soap deal had put him in a good mood.
"The Treasurer tells me the first shipment sold out in the village market," the Count boomed. "Excellent work, Taylor. I might not sell you to Baron Hogg after all. Maybe I'll sell you to a Duke."
"Thank you, Father," Taylor said, cutting her meat surgically.
Across from her sat Countess Isabella. The Stepmother looked pale. She pushed her food around her plate. She kept glancing at Taylor, then at the Count, then at the door.
She was waiting for news. News that the mine had exploded. News that hadn't come.
"Is something wrong, Mother?" Taylor asked innocently. "You haven't touched your wine."
Isabella flinched. "I... I have a headache. The weather."
"It is a bit stifling," Taylor agreed. "Especially with all the *gas* in the air."
Isabella's fork clattered onto her plate. She stared at Taylor.
Taylor smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey.
"I visited the mines today," Taylor said casually, taking a sip of water. "Foreman Biggs found something interesting in the ventilation shaft. A blockage. Wool and oil."
The Count stopped chewing. "A blockage? Sabotage?"
"Indeed," Taylor said, locking eyes with Isabella. "Fortunately, we found it in time. The mine is safe. Production continues."
Isabella's face went white. She reached for her wine glass, her hand shaking so badly the red liquid rippled.
"Who would do such a thing?" Isabella whispered.
"I wonder," Taylor said. "Probably someone who wants this family to fail. Someone who doesn't want the Count to succeed."
The Count slammed his goblet down. "If I find the traitor, I will hang them from the walls!"
Isabella flinched as if struck.
*Got you,* Taylor thought. *You're terrified.*
But the victory was short-lived.
A servant approached the table—a new servant Taylor didn't recognize. He placed a small covered dish in front of Taylor.
"Compliments of the chef, My Lady," the servant mumbled, and walked away quickly.
"Oh? Dessert?" The Count asked.
Taylor stared at the silver lid. A cold feeling washed over her.
She lifted the lid.
It wasn't a cake. It wasn't a tart.
It was a pile of **ashes**.
And resting on top of the ashes was a single, perfect **bullet**.
A modern, 9mm casing. Not a musket ball. A bullet.
Taylor slammed the lid back down before the Count could see.
"What is it?" The Count asked.
"Just... burnt crust," Taylor lied, her voice trembling slightly. "The chef burned the tart."
She grabbed the bullet in her napkin, hiding it in her lap.
She looked around the room. The new servant was gone. Isabella was staring at her plate. Violet was humming to herself, stabbing a potato.
Taylor squeezed the cold metal casing in her hand.
"A" wasn't just using medieval methods. "A" had brought something from Earth. Or "A" had the ability to make things from Earth.
If Taylor was building gunpowder... "A" already had guns.
[Ding!]
[New Threat Level: Lethal]
[Enemy Tech Level: Modern]
Taylor looked at her knife. It felt very small.
*I need more than gunpowder,* she realized.
I need an army.