[X] "I think these new inventions may be the heralds of a new age of progress."
Castermaine's eyes narrow as he turns to you. "Is that so?" he asks. "Judging from the results of the demonstration before us, one would hardly think to consider such machinery anything more than an expensive way to make loud noises and stop traffic. So what hidden insight, pray tell, brings you to believe that they will be of such far-reaching effect?"
"It is precisely the examination of the machine before us which brings me to such a conclusion, sir," you reply.
Wulfram leans in, his eyes alight with interest. "Is that so?" he asks. "Would one be so good as to enlighten us?"
"Conventional high-pressure vapour engines only use a single fire tube to heat the water inside the boiler," you begin to explain. "This boiler has multiple such tubes—"
Castermaine raises a hand. "I beg pardon. Forgive my ignorance, sir, but what exactly is a 'fire tube?'"
"It is a pipe which conveys the hot exhaust from a firebox to an exhaust," Wulfram explains before you can reply. You try not to look as surprised as you feel. It is rare indeed for a man of Wulfram's position—or yours, for that matter—to be well-versed in the mechanical arts. "The metal of the tube is heated on contact, which in turn heats the water in the boiler, evaporating it at great speed and thus creating pressure."
"I see," Castermaine replies, his brow still furrowed in thought. "What I do not understand is the significance of having multiple such, ah—'fire-tubes' in a boiler."
"By increasing the number of tubes, the surface area of hot metal in contact with the water is significantly increased," you answer. "Which means the water in the boiler may be evaporated faster, building pressure more rapidly."
A tinge of excitement fills Wulfram's handsome features. "So that is why the boiler burst. It could not handle the greater pressure!" he exclaims, with all the triumph of a child who has solved a riddle. "But once that fault is corrected, such a boiler could produce prodigious amounts of power, more than—"
A fresh commotion rises from the crowd as the clatter of hooves and the high clanging of handbells echoes down the street. The throng parts to reveal another pair of Intendancy constables, followed by a pony-drawn pump cart bearing the colours of one of Aetoria's private fire companies.
"Well, it seems there is nothing more to see here," Wulfram declares as the Intendancy men begin examining the machine, and the crowd finally disperses. "We'd best get moving. The club is only a block down. Castermaine, when we get indoors, might I oblige you to send your man to retrieve Forsythe and my coach?"
Castermaine nods but eyes the still-steaming traction engine warily. "It might be a while before the road is clear. Her Grace may take issue with your lateness. Take my coach instead."
"No worry," Wulfram replies with a slight grin. "The Duchess knows exactly where I am, and I dare hope she trusts me enough not to think ill of me for getting home late." With that, he points his hand down the street to where the crowd is already melting away into the gaslit gloom. "Now then, shall we get going?"
-
The premises of the Rendower Club are practically a palace in their own right. Past the wrought-iron gate and liveried guards, Wulfram leads you through polished oaken doors into an entry hall hung with row upon row of banners emblazoned with the crests of the House of Rendower and its cadet branches. The music of a chamber orchestra wafts down the plushly carpeted corridor from somewhere not too far away. The names of members and former members line the elegantly panelled walls in gilt script, glittering in the lamplight as you pass them by.
Then it is past a reflecting pool topped by a statue of Edwin the Strong and up a staircase, its banisters worked with gryphons and towers. More footmen await at the top of the stairs. Wulfram and Castermaine hand them their coats and hats without breaking a step. You try to do the same. At long last, yet another pair of attendants open a pair of double doors, and the three of you enter into the sanctum beyond… The stateroom of the Rendower Club is filled with the smoky aroma of expensive liquor and the buzz of masculine voices. Everywhere you look, you can see figures in perfectly tailored jackets lounging in elegant armchairs at tables of the finest Butean wood, drinking, chatting, and generally taking their ease.
Wulfram and Castermaine bring you to each group in turn, introducing you to a selection of names, faces, and titles. Your reception is warm, for the most part. A few do not seem to know what to make of you, but most are happy to be introduced and shake your hand, at least.
You try to be as friendly as you can in return. The men in this room are some of the foremost in the Unified Kingdom. Even if you are not acquainted with them personally, you can recognise the titles of some of the greatest landowners, financiers, and statesmen in the realm, each passing before you just long enough for you to recognise, and no longer.
In truth, it looks as if the whole of Aetoria's men of high society is here. Only the soldiers are absent. Aside from you and Castermaine, it seems there are few military men here, and when you make inquiries, it appears that almost all of them have spent the entire war at either Grenadier Square or Admiralty House.
Before long, you cannot but begin to feel a little out of place in your surroundings. You've spent most of your adult life as a soldier. In that time, you've become accustomed to being judged as a soldier for your ability to lead men into battle, not your politickal stances. To be at peace among men who have spent their entire lives at peace is an alien experience. Though Wulfram and Castermaine endeavour to make you welcome, you begin to long for a time when the men you spoke to identified more by regiment than by fashion or faction.
When a liveried footman enters to announce that dinner is to be served, it's almost a relief.
As the guest of honour, you are placed at Wulfram's right-hand side at the head of the table. As the first round of aperitifs is brought out by yet more liveried footmen, the topic of conversation once again turns to the traction engine, with Wulfram enthusiastically extolling its potential to transform the Unified Kingdom's industry and Castermaine discounting the entire thing as a pointless extravagance.
In a way, they are recapitulating the arguments they made before you not an hour ago, but this time, they do it for the benefit of a much larger audience.
Before long, other club members are joining in with their own thoughts on the matter. By the time the first round of drinks is taken away and the soup is brought out, two friendly but clearly defined factions have formed, one supporting Wulfram and the other Castermaine. In between mouthfuls of a particularly fine Kian consommé, they argue the matter back and forth, debating the possibility of using vapour engines in fields as diverse as agriculture, road-building, and even the propulsion of ships—a possibility which even Wulfram must admit is patently absurd.
"In any case, I fear that this discussion may yet be premature," Wulfram remarks ruefully as the soup course is being taken away. "Any effect these machines might possibly have on the state of the realm will be severely curtailed so long as the baneless classes do not have the capital to purchase them or the goods they produce. I fear that as long as His Majesty insists on placing the needs of his army before the needs of the commons, we shall be hard-pressed to maintain the industries we have."
Heads nod almost in unison. In this, at least, the membership of the Rendower Club seems to agree.
"Then let us not put the cannon before the limber," Castermaine interjects sourly. "Why speak of these fantasies of vapour engines when we must first convince the King to put an end to his war taxes and reduce the army?"
"Indeed," Wulfram replies. "If the realm must beggar itself to support the implements of war, we shall never be able to flourish in peace." He turns to you. "Would you not agree, Lord Reddingfield?"
[ ] "I would agree wholeheartedly, sir."
[ ] "I fear I cannot agree, sir. The army must be maintained."
[ ] "Can we not find a way to maintain the army and end the war taxes?"
