Jason watched in the hot, humid room as Otto’s oldest son, Tom, demonstrated the pipe casting process to the town council. “Making the first mold was the hardest part,” he said, pointing at the long, 8-inch-wide tube that the men had switched out for their gun barrel lathe. “Then, we had to get the molten ductile iron into the whole length while the mold was spinning. That’s what this narrow trough does.” Tom looked up at Jason and smiled. “Your suggestion of putting it on tracks, so it stayed in alignment, helped quite a bit.”
Jason nodded. “I’m glad. I’d hate to have another mold break.”
Tom scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well, we actually did break another one. This one is mold number three. But it seems to be holding up so far, and no one decided to try to hit it with a mallet to see if we could extract the pipe faster as it cooled,” the young smith glared at another man clustered around the equipment.
“Sorry, Tom,” he grimaced.
“As it turns out,” Tom continued, “Not all ideas lead to revolutionary new ways of doing things.”
Sam blushed when the group turned as one to look at her.
Tom cleared his throat and got their attention again. “Delays aside, we finally have a team able to produce sections of pipe consistently. We flare one end of the pipe to accept the other end of the next pipe.”
“Have you tested the way of connecting them I recommended?”
Otto spoke up. “I did, my lord. You wanted us to place the strip of leather that you called it a gasket between the pieces and then weld the pipes together.”
He paused for a long moment.
“It failed. Miserably,” he said flatly. “It was impossible to get the leather thickness perfect and get the pipes to slide properly, and then we have no way to melt up both ends of the pipes to weld them without destroying the leather anyway.”
An awkward silence ensued.
“Well,” Jason spoke, “I guess that just means we’ll have to figure out another way to do it. Any ideas?”
---
The traveling merchant asked around for a place to rest when he arrived at the bustling town. The wagon-driver he talked to directed the weary man to the local bakery and informed him that it had recently been expanded into a full-fledged inn. “Best bread in town,” the man said. “And Loretta is a proper cook too.”
“Thank you, good sir,” he replied politely, then cocked his head and asked, “Has there been a lot of growth here, recently? It’s been a while since I passed through this way.”
“Oh, yes,” the man gushed. “You’ll see new things wherever you look. We’re going to be a proper town and not just a settlement in the middle of nowhere. Just you wait and see. Why, you might even want to open up a shop here.”
The traveler must have displayed a hesitant expression because the driver continued. “ The next time you come through here, you won’t recognize the place. Even I might get one of those fancy new houses.” Smiling, he clicked his tongue, and the wagon pulled off down the street.
The merchant asked for directions several more times on his way to the new inn, even if he didn’t need the help, and asked more questions of the helpful villagers. They invariably painted a picture of a prosperous recently changed town. He wondered if it was due to a new power controlling the area. It must be Brighton. I need to see if I can verify that, though, the man decided. He was uncomfortable with taking what the townsfolk might consider too much of an unhealthy interest in their new allegiances, though, so he’d need to be subtle. Innkeepers are notorious gossips, he thought. That will be my best bet. I don’t want to lose my head here as a spy, but if I don’t get the information the commander needs, I’ll just be going back to his anger. That would not end well, either.
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He pushed the door to the inn open and saw the space was mostly empty since it was the early afternoon. “Good day,” a booming voice welcomed him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around. New to the area?” the baker and innkeeper asked.
“Quite new,” he replied, “And it seems to be an interesting place. Sadly, I’m just passing through and will be selling my wares and moving on tomorrow. In the meantime, I heard I could rent a room here.”
“That you can,” Phipp smiled, happy to have a new customer. “You’ll even have a room to yourself.”
The man smiled and paid his ten copper coins. “I’d love to hear the local news if you have the time, he asked.”
“Of course,” Phipps replied, the smile not leaving his face. “Let me go ask my wife to warm up your meal, and then you can tell me what you would like to know.”
---
Otto’s wife, Loretta, finally found Jason at the ironworks. When he saw her, he excused himself from the group, and Samantha followed him over to talk to the innkeeper’s wife.
“You were right, my lord,” Lorreta said in low tones. “We have a visitor who Otto thinks may be a spy. He said he would do as you instructed.”
“Thank you, Lorretta.”
“You’re welcome, my lord. We’re glad to help in any way we can. Now, I must be back.”
Samantha inclined her head after the woman disappeared down the street. “When will you capture him?”
“I won’t,” Jason replied.
“Then what will you do?”
“Nothing,” Jason stated. “Well, almost.”
---
Outside of the simulation, the news cycle hadn’t yet moved on from the topic of Jason’s situation. If anything, the focus was increasing. Independent VR commentators and major news agencies alike were feeding the public’s interest in the novel simulation and the story developing within. The majority of active VR system owners signed up for Razor’s streaming service, which they had simply called Cutting Edge. Tanya looked at the preliminary engagement numbers and was pleased by the results. It seems the world is watching. Now we just have to make sure they’re hooked before the free trial is up, she mused. How can we make this more interesting?
The CEO looked down to a written summary of the next half-day of streaming. It looks like Jason’s enemy requested reinforcements, she mused. That should be a good challenge for the next bit.
---
The aide-de-camp turned merchant left Enderton the morning after he arrived. He squinted down the road towards his destination, resisting the urge to look back towards the town in any suspicious manner. Success, he mused. That innkeeper was quite helpful. Quite a few townspeople had mentioned that ‘we’ won the victory, but the innkeeper was level-headed enough to not attribute Brighton’s success to themselves. From the way the town talks about the battle, though, they’ve been almost entirely subsumed by Brighton. They're using words like ‘we’ instead of ‘they.’
Regardless, It looks like we may need to bring our full army and be prepared to declare war against Brighton if we want to take the last village of the unclaimed lands. I wonder if the king is ready to set us loose, or if he’ll be content with what he has?
The man snorted and shook his head. Hah. He won’t be satisfied with the bite he already took. He will just see the justification for us to take the next step.