Chapter 16

“Do you solemnly renew the oaths you took at your initiation and at your ascension to the first and second degrees of mastery?” Rolf asked. Keith answered with the required phrase and was led forward to kneel before the old man on the stone floor. The remainder of the ritual took place in an archaic German dialect with words that were over 500 years old. Keith was asked if he was worthy to ascend to the highest level of mastery and responded that if God willed he would achieve this degree

Keith stood and was led directly in front of the altar where he knelt again.

With Frank on one side of him and Rolf on the other, Keith was presented with the elements. The ritual was reminiscent of a Catholic Mass, and if the Guild’s lore was correct, Archbishop Dieter von Isenberg had been the first to administer this sacrament to the masters of the Guild, which at the time had numbered only Johannes Gutenberg and Peter Schoeffer. After the ritual blessing of the elements, Frank dipped a tiny fragment of parchment in a dish of printer’s ink held by Rolf. This he placed on Keith’s tongue. Keith swallowed and his mouth felt bitter with a strong metallic aftertaste of the ink. Half the ink’s ingredients were toxic by all current standards, but 500 years ago Newton was drinking straight mercury as a health tonic, so Keith figured he would survive a little lead, antimony, lampblack, and boiled linseed oil. Nonetheless, his stomach fought to keep its contents down.

“The sacred elements of alchemy are blended together in precise measure to create a durable new element that will withstand the pressure of a printing press. We call these hardened metals type,” Frank said. “But if the type is damaged and is no longer able to fulfill its purpose, it is cast back into the melting pot where it separates into its native elements.”

“May God so separate my body and soul if I am found unworthy for my task,” Keith responded. These were the words that gave the ritual its greatest power. Keith had committed himself to attaining the third degree no matter the cost. Now he would be given the task that might cost him more than the eye he struggled to compensate for tonight. The toll could be both mental and physical.

He was given a written set of instructions and examined the table before him. Frank and Rolf moved back to join the other members of the Guild against the wall with cowls pulled over their heads so that they all but disappeared against the bones that surrounded them. Keith felt alone in the room.

“Is there anything lacking on this table that you need to complete your task?” Frank asked. Before Keith, hot coals burned in a brazier. It was positioned just a few inches in front of the secret chest of Gutenberg that rested in the niche. According to the instructions, it was not to be moved during the ritual. Additional coal was in a basket at his side, as was a small bellows. On the table were various metals, a scale, crucibles for heating and mixing the metals, and a mold.

“All that is needed is here,” Keith responded formally. “I will assay the task.”

Keith had been honest with Maddie when he told her about creating an alloy with the same specific density as silver. But the task that was before him was far more sensitive than the typecaster’s art. Gutenberg’s secret alloy for lead type contained not only lead, but also tin and antimony. Primitive experiments in pouring hot metal type left gaps in the printing from some letters being smaller than others due to shrinkage while cooling. Unlike most elements, the highly toxic antimony has the property of expanding as it cools from molten to solid, not unlike water turning to ice. Its melting point is over 600°. Most people equated softness with a low melting point for metals, but the fact was that the melting point of lead was nearly 100° higher than that of tin. Like mixing silica with soda to make glass, mixing the three metals together changed the melting point of all three. The lead kept the type metal from being too brittle, while the tin made it more durable so it could withstand the pressure of the press without deteriorating. But antimony, expanding while the other elements contracted, provided the essential ingredient of dimensional stability so that each character of type was the exact same height. In front of Keith were other metal powders as well, including iron, copper, and zinc. Nothing in the instructions indicated what combination of elements he should use or how much of each. Keith had to determine the formula to fit the task he was given.

The test was to mix a perfectly dimensionally stable alloy, melt it, and forge it at exactly the right moment—all with the most primitive tools and measuring devices.

Nothing, of course, was as easy as it seemed. Metal type was exactly 23.33 millimeters or 0.9186 inches in height, known universally as “type-high.” Its size was measured in points, or approximately seventy-seconds of an inch and was as small as 9 or 10 points for most printing work. At that dimension, tiny dimensional imperfections might not be noticed as ink would make up the difference. The mold Keith had in front of him was easily five times that size, both in length and girth. The increased volume of the larger mold left less room for error and the conclusion of the task required that the result be stronger than lead type.

Keith could measure the elements all he wanted, but the real alchemy would happen only if he felt the proper proportions. He had to simply know when the brazier was the right temperature as he pumped the hand bellows gently across the coals. He had to blend the metals at the correct moment and stir them to make the alloy uniform. And he had to make enough of the mixture to fill the mold. Sweat was running down Keith’s face as he shrugged his arms out of the robe, which dropped, leaving him bare from the waist up, the bruises on his back still evident in the dim light. He reached across the brazier to add lead powder to the crucible and a stray thread from the bandage on his left hand touched the coals and flashed in flame. The fire-point for cotton is only 400° and Keith’s brazier was well over 600° already. For a moment it looked like his hand was on fire as he stripped the bandage off the injured hand and heard an involuntary gasp from Maddie in the shadows. He shook his head, trying to focus his one eye on the scale. It wasn’t correct. Keith lifted the beaker, felt its weight, and then added another half-scoop of antimony. He could not see the blue tinge that he expected with his one good eye. Seeing the colors of the metals as they heated—even the color of the coals—was critical to completing the task.