CH155 · Rewrite
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Chapter 155: Visitor

The steam engine contract was the largest Roland had signed.

Ten engines, beginning with one delivery in two months, one added per month until the total reached ten. Five hundred gold royals per unit — naked engines, no installation — and future technical support billed separately. The natives of this era had never encountered a warranty obligation, which meant there was no expectation of one, which meant everything additional was revenue.

Barov was effusive. Barov was always effusive when revenue was involved, regardless of whether it arrived by conquest or commerce; the man had a purely hydraulic relationship with money, and it flowed toward him like water seeks the lowest channel. Carter, Scroll, and Nightingale had each, separately and with different levels of tact, pointed out that Border Town didn’t yet have enough steam engines for its own needs. They were not wrong.

Roland hadn’t explained himself, because the explanation was long and the strategic intuition behind it was harder to describe than to execute.

The problem wasn’t production. Anna’s black filament could bore cylinder blanks faster than his construction crews could put buildings up to house them. The problem was what mass production of steam engines would actually require — not one witch with a near-zero-width flame, but factories, assembly lines, workers who understood the tolerances involved and could replicate them by hand. The machines Margaret would carry back to King’s City and the Fjords would end up in mines, in mills, on ships. People would learn to tend them. Workers would develop the particular knowledge that came from ten thousand hours of daily contact with the same mechanism. Those workers were worth more than any single engine.

And when his boring machines and planing machines were ready — when the factory floor existed that could produce components without Anna’s direct involvement — the capacity would compound. He would sell the early engines cheap relative to their value and expensive relative to their cost, and use the margin to build the infrastructure that made selling ten thousand of them possible. It was a familiar pattern. He had read about it rather than lived it, but the logic was sound.

He did not believe buyers could reverse-engineer the newer models. The cylinder geometry required a boring machine of a precision this era hadn’t yet developed. He had also been deliberate about which components he made complex. Even a buyer with access to high heat — a witch, theoretically — would produce something that worked poorly or not at all.

What should have made him feel satisfied kept not doing so.


Nightingale had positioned herself on the corner of his desk with a plate of dried fish and her legs folded beneath her. She ate with the unceremonious attention of someone who had been watching Roland’s expression for the last several minutes and was waiting for him to say something.

“You’re still wearing the worried face,” she said.

“Am I.”

“The Church seized Eternal Winter.” She said it as a question that wasn’t quite a question. “That’s what Margaret told you.”

“That, and that they’re already preparing to move on Wolfsheart.” Roland set his pen down. “I’ve been thinking about why they would simultaneously supply all three candidates for the throne here. It doesn’t look like support — it looks like consumption.”

Nightingale ate a piece of fish and waited.

“They don’t need Graycastle to survive the succession war. They need Graycastle to not survive it — to bleed its armies dry fighting itself, so that what’s left when the God’s Punishment Army arrives is too weak to push back.” He turned his hand over on the desk. “Wolfsheart is nearly gone. Eternal Winter is taken. The Kingdom of Dawn will follow. And then — four kingdoms, all weakened, all fractured along the fault lines the Church deliberately cracked open. The reunification they want doesn’t require them to conquer anyone. They just have to wait.”

“But you have new weapons,” Nightingale said. “The Judges aren’t stronger than ordinary knights in open battle. I don’t believe they could beat you.”

He looked at her — at the confidence in it, the uncomplicated certainty. She had been afraid of the Church for so many years that the act of not being afraid still carried a brightness to it. He didn’t want to do anything to that.

“We’re working on it,” he said, which was not quite a lie.

The truth was that Anna could produce revolver frames without difficulty. The trigger reset worked. The cylinder rotation worked. What didn’t work yet was the primer — no mercury fulminate, no mercuric nitrate, nothing that would strike a consistent spark against a cartridge at the moment of firing. Without that, the weapons were clever objects with no practical function. He had sent word to Redwater City’s alchemist guild. He was waiting to see what came back.

He had just retrieved the thought from where he’d set it aside when Lightning appeared in the doorway.

“The eastern flag changed,” she said. “It’s blue.”

Roland looked up.

Blue. The flag system he’d established at the edge of the tree line — a witch had entered Border Town.

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