Scan McMullen - Voice of Steel

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Voice of Steel

by Sean McMullen

The Tynedal Journal ended with the sharp, shocking finality of an executioner's blade. Edward and

William Tynedale had died in 1406 when the two-man culverin that they were testing exploded. That

information was not an entry, it was on a photocopy that had been inserted by Sir Steven Chester. Up

until 1404, most of the journal had been about gunpowder mixtures and alloys for gun castings. The

remainder consisted of notes and observations on optics, astronomy, birdflight, and even the design of

ships. Then, on the 4th of April, 1404, William noted that he had bought a singing sword from some

stallholder in a market, and that he intended to keep it under observation until it sang for him. The sword

was Spanish in general style, and he referred to it as the Don Alverin sword.

The sword did not exactly sing for William, but it did speak. To William it must have been

incomprehensible, but like a good scientific observer, he noted down what he had heard as best he

could. Being a scholar of early English, I managed to translate the words into what had actually been said

by the sword, as opposed to what William had written down. Part of the reason that thirteen words had

taken over an hour was my own disbelief at what I was hearing.

"Cor toop onter London orbetalle, steefee," was very hard to explain. "Wante some thing ater soopr

marte?" was also a serious problem.

I read the two sentences aloud several times. The faster I read, the more they sounded like "Caught up

on the London Orbital, Steffy" and "Want something from the supermart?" The words had obviously

been spoken in English, but transcribed by someone unused to English as we spoke it, and relying on

phonetics very heavily. Either of the Tynedale Brothers might have transcribed the original sentences like

that.

"Of course I intend to have the journal checked for authenticity," Sir Steven Chester told me as I first

read the words that simply could not have existed, but nevertheless did.

The Tynedale Journal and the Don Alverin Sword were lying on the desk before me. It was 2004, and I

was in a country house near Chesterforth, north of London. Sir Steven had discovered the sword and

journal sealed up in a grave while the ancestral crypt was being renovated as some sort of tourist

attraction. Although he knew little about early English, he had recognised William Tynedale's version of

"supermarket" for what it was.

"Have you any idea how it could have happened?" I asked.

"You are the expert, Michelle, I had hoped you would have all the theories."

I had no theories. Sir Steven had found my name on the Internet when he had done a search on Edward

and William Tynedale. Although I am a schoolteacher rather than an academic, the Tynedales had been

almost an obsession of mine since my university undergraduate years. The few surviving records

concerning them hinted that they had been quite brilliant scientific observers and innovators, at least peers

of Da Vinci or Galileo. I had copies of everything known about them, and even a few scraps of paper

with their writing. I even had a print of the only known picture of William Tynedale hanging in my unit.

My dream was to find evidence that they had invented something important, such as a microscope, but

that the evidence had been lost after the accident that killed them.

"I cannot provide any theories about why a sword would say 'supermarket' in 1404," I admitted. "As for

the Tynedale brothers, I thought I knew everything about them, but this journal is new to me. Do you

have a family connection—like an ancestor of yours that was their patron?"

"Not that I know of. What can you tell me about them?"

"They were gunsmiths, although Edward was an alchemist as well. William had been apprenticed to a

jeweler as a boy, then he went on to make several crown-wheel escapement clocks. He had also

experimented with lenses, and constructed what he called a compound machine for drawing objects

large. If that machine was a telescope, then it was two centuries before the first telescope was supposed

to have been invented. If it was a compound lens microscope, well, they were still a long way ahead of

everyone else."

"So William was the brains of the family?"

"They were both bright, but William was the dreamer, while Edward did more of the management and

merchandising. They were brilliant, successful, and comfortably wealthy when that culverin exploded and

killed them. Had they even lived to their thirties, they might have revolutionised English science and

industry. This journal proves it beyond doubt. Notes on a working telescope, along with observations of

lunar craters and the moons of Jupiter. The design for an iron foundry, even the suggestion for an

'unsinkable' iron ship."

From my reading of the Tynedale Journal, I could imagine the consequences of the Tynedales living

another three or four decades and transforming English industry. The industrial revolution would have

taken place in the late 1500s rather than the late 1700s, for example, and William would have

transformed astronomy and physics two hundred years before Galileo. Where would humanity be by

now? A single, stylised portrait of William had survived, and I now opened a folder and showed a colour

print of it to Sir Steven. William had a dreamy look about him, yet he was well dressed and seemed quite

dynamic as well. I actually fancied him in an odd sort of way, and I had even dated a string of men who

resembled him. I did not let Sir Steven know any of that, however.

"This journal could be one of the greatest finds in the scientific history," I said as I gazed sadly at the page

open before me, shaking my head as I spoke.

"Could?" asked Sir Steven, who saw it as first rate publicity material to draw tourists to his estate.

"This word is definitely 'could', rather than 'is'. All that material on the Tynedale telescopes and iron

foundry designs is in the same journal as the words 'supermarket' and 'London Orbital'. Those words

brand the entire thing to be a fake."

"But we could get it dated. Don't they use carbon or something?"

"Yes, but even if the paper and ink was dated to around 1400, people would just say it was a clever

fake."

"And an obvious fake. I mean my wife radios me from her car nearly every day about supermarket

shopping or turning the oven on."

"Radio? As in cell phone?"

"No, it's a pair of rather old-fashioned radio transceivers. It's actually cheaper to use them than run cell

phone accounts. You know, belt tightening while we get the estate's finances back on an even keel."

"Well, that would explain a lot if it had been you who had heard the sword speak in 2004. The question

is who would be talking about supermarkets and the London Orbital six hundred years ago? In fact, how

could the sword speak at all …"

My voice trailed away as I recalled something from a yacht race, years earlier. I had been a member of

the university yacht club. The club owned no yacht, but members volunteered to crew the yachts of

people who could afford them, and the memory of one such vessel returned to me now. Through some

freakish accident in its manufacture, the metal mast acted like a crystal set and picked up one of the

coastal radio stations. Crystal sets work on the power of the radio signals themselves, they need no

batteries. If a mast could do it, why not a sword?

"You were saying?" he asked.

"There are documented cases of odd objects like false teeth and stoves picking up radio transmissions. I

once heard music coming from the mast of a yacht."

"So it could be possible with a sword?"

"Why not try testing it? Do you have one of those radio units handy?"

He fetched his transceiver. It was a large, solidly built, handheld unit from before the days of cell phones.

"Now that I think of it, Ellen did take the Don Alverin sword to London about a fortnight ago. It was

something to do with an insurance assessment."

"So it would have been in the car with her if she called you with her radio?"

"Well, yes. But she would have heard the sword picking up her words."

"Not if it was in the boot or on the back seat, buried under shopping. Take the sword into another room

and put it on a table. I'll try transmitting something to you."

Sir Steven left with the sword. I waited a minutes, then I turned on the radio unit and spoke my test

message. Presently I heard footsteps approaching.

"That was a naughty thing for Mary's father to do," he laughed.

"What? So the sword really did act as a sort of crystal set?"

"Not very loud, but it was quite clear. What a thought! This could be quite a good tourist attraction for

the estate."

"But we still have a problem. Radio transmitters are very sophisticated, and need a power source.

Nobody could have built one in the early fifteenth century."

"I suppose supermarkets were pretty thin on the ground too."

"Not to mention the London Orbital. Anyway, I should get out my laptop and handheld scanner. Are you

sure you have no problems with me copying the Tynedale Journal?"

"Copy all you like. Try to publish it, and you will find me on your doorstep waving the Copyright Act."

He left me with the journal, and I began to unpack my laptop and handheld scanner. The actual idea of

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Scan McMullen - Voice of Steel

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