inspire-indiana Chapter 1170 - 1103: Apartment Building
Chapter 1170 - 1103: Apartment Building
Horn chose to ride on his way back, rather than taking a carriage.Seated upright on the saddle, the horse's hooves trotted over the thin ice covering the road, producing a crisp "dada" sound.
He unbuttoned the third button from the bottom of his shirt, holding the reins with one hand while the other hand slipped inside his clothes, resting on his abdomen.
This wasn't because Horn's uncle had arrived, nor was it a stomachache like Napoleon's, but he was touching the underwear made of spider silk fabric.
His thoughts hadn't moved away from Schreiman's spider silk fabric, still lost in distraction.
The more he pondered over this spider silk fabric, the more intriguing it felt, and the flavor grew ever stronger.
According to the data supplied by Schreiman, a child tending to two spring looms could weave three and a half bolts of spider silk fabric.
While within the same period, one skilled worker using a flying shuttle could only weave one bolt.
This efficiency comparison was simply impossible to ignore.
Outside of the loom, the dyeing performance of the spider silk was even more crucial.
The dyeing performance of this spider silk was not only excellent, Schreiman even mentioned he was cultivating a kind of silver gland spider that could directly produce colored silk.
This colored gland spider already had some promising signs.
Thinking of the wool fabric spoiled in dyeing in the warehouse, then imagining the spider silk fabric dyed in vibrant colors, Horn rubbed his abdomen with increasing frequency.
They say the industrial revolution has three treasures: cotton, coal, and stocks.
Coal as energy, stocks as finance, and cotton, which represents industry.
Wool requires combing and strong depilation, its texture quite soft, whereas this spider silk has more tenacity, not easily torn, suitable for mechanical processing.
In current weaving machinery, Horn had the flying shuttle and scroll spinning machines.
Now, by combining the scroll spinning machine with the Jennie spinning machine, the mechanized mass-production divine artifact of the textile industry would manifest—the mule machine.
Put it this way, the scroll spinning machine has 500-800 spindles, whereas the mule machine has 2,000.
Back in those days, relying on this mule machine, Britain provided employment for 800,000 people within 30 years, reducing labor costs by 90%.
The output of one textile worker was equivalent to a hundred-person workshop decades ago, productivity increased a hundredfold in less than a century!
In 1780, Britain's cotton cloth export was only 360,000 pounds; by 1800, it reached a formidable 7,800,000 pounds, growing over twentyfold.
The ability for Horn's homeland, Britain, to grow its cotton cloth export from 360,000 pounds to 7,800,000 pounds, meant it wouldn't be an issue for the Holy Alliance to increase from 100,000 to 2,000,000 gold pounds.
While he was joyfully contemplating, Horn suddenly sensed a shadow flickering past the corner of his eye, seemingly a jumping stone fragment.
In the next moment, he heard his horse beneath him let out a shrill cry, then its forelegs abruptly came off the ground, rearing up.
"Charles, quiet! Quiet!"
Horn quickly steadied the reins, clamped his knees against the horse's belly, drew out his other hand, gently stroking the horse's neck, and whispered a few calming words.
The horse gradually calmed down, although its nostrils continued to flare rapidly.
"Your Grace, are you alright?"
The officers and monks escorting him were both shocked and angry.
"I'm fine, there's no need to make a fuss." Horn gestured with his hand for quiet, looking ahead on his own.
He had traversed this road several times last year without incident; what was happening now?
But upon looking, Horn found that this wasteland had undergone a drastic transformation.
The withered grass on the wasteland had been cleared, a wooden fence encircled a large area, within which hundreds of people were active.
The chaotic shouting, dinging hammer sounds, and clattering machinery stirred together, gurgling like boiling water by his ears.
Most conspicuous was the spring crane at the center of the site.
The iron structure reinforced with steel components was erected high, its top pulley creaked loudly as the spring moved.
The cables under the boom hung a basket of bricks and stones, swaying up into the air, only slightly more than half landing on the scaffold.
Watching it made Horn clutch his palms with worry.
The scaffold was made of thick wood, with crossbars densely interwoven into a large net.
The workers scampered like monkeys on it, as the planks below them sporadically groaned under the load.
Horn's expression turned somewhat grim, disregarding the persuasion of others, pressing the horse's flanks: "Move closer for a look."
The surrounding courtiers exchanged glances, each drawing a character on their forehead, sensing someone was about to face bad luck.
Not daring to be negligent, they promptly followed him.
"Hey, young man over there." Horn dismounted and called out to the short worker resting on the grass.
The short worker turned his head, only to reveal a boy who looked less than fifteen years old.
Horn's expression darkened further.
The boy glanced at Horn's simple attire and nervously rose: "My lord Bishop, may I ask what commands you have?"
Lord? Bishop? Weren't these terms abolished?
It's been seven or eight years, why is it still being discussed?
Horn knew that customs are hard to change instantly, so he didn't press further and asked amiably, "Who built this house?"
"The ry Court Barracks Monastery..." the young man mumbled.
"For whom was it built?"
"New immigrants."
Seeing the young man's nervous look, Horn reached out to pat his head and tossed him a Dinar, "Go, bring your leader here."
"The leader is very busy, might not have time to deal with you."
"Just call him here, tell him my horse was injured by his rubble."
The young man, wrapped in a coarse wool jacket, ran off, while Horn stood with hands behind his back, looking at the construction in front of him.
The foundation nearby had already been built up to a wall higher than a person, with grey-blue bricks stacked neatly.
White-grey concrete wedged in the gaps, reflecting a hard, cold light in the sun.
Steel beams were propped in several corners, seemingly to reinforce the rafters.
From the semi-finished windows on the second floor, a few workers could be seen hammering the bolts on the beams.
Only now did Horn truly see the outline of this construction site.
This was an apartment building under construction, with the framework reaching three stories high.
Exposed steel bars stretched from the foundation, supporting the walls like ribs.
Bricks were stacked tightly between the bars, fitting perfectly.
Square windows were reserved on each floor, with several workers crouching at the edges, burying copper pipes into the walls.
Those were brass pipes for the Spring Machine water system, one end connected to the wooden rooftop water tank, the other supposed to reach every household.
The building's design was quite orderly, square and neat, yet the edges were rounded.
However, the scene of the construction site made Horn frown.
Most workers wore thin clothing, without any safety measures, barefoot on straw sandals, running about the scaffolding.
Some carried baskets of bricks on narrow planks, some stood on one leg at the wall top laying bricks.
Only a wooden sign stuck at the site edge, with the words "Circumvent" written in charcoal.
No safety nets, not even a single helmet could be seen.
No, Horn did see one.
The swaggering foreman approaching, his head tightly capped with a helmet.
This burly figure with that gear-shaped pendant on his chest, he was actually a retired veteran.
Cursing between his teeth, "Which blind one didn't see the sign? Startled the horse..."
While cursing, he looked up in this direction, seeing Horn's appearance, the rest of his words stuck in his throat.
The flesh on the foreman's face instantly sagged, his legs went weak, and with a "thud" he knelt on the ground.
Horn's frown deepened: "Stand up, no kneeling allowed."
Yet the foreman trembled for quite a while before barely managing to stand.
"Is this the apartment building you're contracting?"
"..."
"Answer me!"
"Yes."
"Do you know how to read?"
"Yes, I can read."
"Then can you understand the 'Holy Alliance Building Safety Regulations'?"
The burly man almost knelt again, unable to utter a word.
"Which battle group are you from?"
It was as if someone had gripped his neck, his face flushed red, he couldn't utter a single word.
"If you don't say, I'll call all the battle commanders here, make them recognize you one by one!"
"I'm, I'm from the Wild Wolf Battle Group, retired soldier, Pilot." The foreman at this moment wished to find a hole to hide in, "Your Eminence, it's my fault, driven by greed, I'm a scoundrel, please don't call the people from the Wild Wolf Battle Group."
"You sure knew how to save face for the battle group, why didn't you think of that before?"
The foreman said nothing.
Horn sighed, speaking in disappointment to Petier, "Record it, halt the construction, and conduct inspections on all construction sites in the ry Court Barracks tomorrow."