There were certain things Gale never left lying around in her workshop, in particular was various information on firearms and the related drawings. Instead there were mere scatters of notes here and there, mixed in with other designs that seemed to match. For example, if she required particular measurements for a gun barrel, she would look at the various common diameters and measurements for pipes. For information on creating more mechanical pieces, she would look to the various ratchets and gears – pieces that would find use in a variety of factories. The layout and positioning of holes? Grills and grates. They were, of course, little more than outlines with a collection of numbers either side of them, but never the less important.
Other things she simply just knew, that sulphur, charcoal and saltpetre were needed – with the latter being the most lengthy to make. A concoction of urine and straw, left to effectively ferment for half a year to produce the salt crystals. Her room had stunk for the last five months by this point. The rest was a case of gathering it; charcoal was used by her for smelting anyway. Sulphur was more of a problem, getting hold of it was troublesome; but not always necessary. She understood that it lowered the temperature needed for igniting the charcoal to begin with. Of course, for the occasions something better was needed she would turn her attention to that of Pyrite – or Fools Gold as it was more commonly known. Her gaze moved and shifted to the heated furnace and the almost sealed front, if not for the heavy iron pipe that lead down, away from it and into a clay pot that was currently submerged in the salt water trough. She gave it a cautious squint, watching the occasional wisp of yellow vapour escape from the gaps on its journey. Of course the yield would be significant less than what was actually available, but it was better than nothing.
Gale returned to the task at hand.
It was a round cylinder clamped into a vice, the heavy graphite marks upon its flat surface. Above and poised in the press was the drill, an equally meaty device that she had to crank. She pulled the gloves over her hands, the goggles over her eyes and went to work. A slow, arduous task, often thankless to her hands and arms. Cranking it, it hummed and scratched through the surface, the continuous rotation slowly but surely pushing downward into it. Occasionally she lifted the drill, letting the tip buoy at eye level on its stand. A blow, the steel shreds were dusted aside and the way was clear.
Many would have argued it would have been quicker to create a mould or to create the piece with the holes already in place – but Gale did not trust the nature of steel to behave or maintain integrity. Minutes went passed, ticking on as the central hole was drilled through; the six chambers were next, the minutes turning up into hours as she continued to work. She stopped when the drill finally broke through the base of the last chamber, exchanging the bit for a reamer. Stretching her legs, she checked upon the furnace and fed it – catching the distinct acidic scent that burned off. She clicked, stretched and proceeded to get back to work. Her aim was to finish the chamber tonight, while the rest could be brought together in the upcoming days. The holes were smoothed and enlarged, fingers brushing away the fine powder.
Once cleaned off, she carefully marked half a centre meter down around the base, small and tiny marks ready for her to create indents. Her current thought was to make a Ratchet rotation, allowing the chamber to only rotate around in one direction. She pushed on, despite the hour growing late. Carefully filing down and in where the marks were, carefully sawing into the steel and creating the small indents. Time continued to pass by, the tiny saw being replaced with files to get rid of the stray edges, before the six dents were done. She sighed, pinching her brow before packing down for the night.