The engineering shed had a unique smell I was growing to love: linseed oil, drying leather, and the faint metallic tang of freshly worked iron. I found Sanders and Michael hunched over what was supposed to be our revolutionary new vehicle, but from the amount of arguing going on, I was pretty sure "revolutionary" was not among the descriptors for the device.
As I walked in, neither of them looked up. Sanders was rubbing his temples like he had a headache, and Michael was just staring at a pile of what used to be braided hemp rope scattered across the floor.
I knocked.
"My lord," Sanders said, looking up. His voice had that flat, defeated quality I'd heard from craftsmen before when a project goes sideways.
"How is it going?"
"This Bicycle is currently just a very expensive and awkward way to sit down."
I walked around the prototype. The frame looked solid. They had used good ash wood reinforced with iron brackets from Jorb's forge. But where the power from the pedals was supposed to transfer to the wheel, there was a thick braided leather strap hanging limp, as if it had given up on life.
"Looks like your belts are a little loose?" I said with a grin.
Michael gestured at the rear wheel with the kind of exasperation that comes from fighting the same problem for days. "That's putting it mildly. You wanted us to move power from the pedals to the back wheel. Your drawing showed gears and an odd metal chain. Since we have no idea how to do that, we tried various types of rope and leather." He pointed at a strap on the floor. "Works great for about five minutes. Then it heats up, stretches, and starts slipping. By the time you've pedaled for a few minutes, the whole thing is loose and just slides over the wheel."
"And the rope?" I pointed at the sad remains of hemp on the floor.
Sanders grunted. "Even worse. The problem is the teeth on the gear wheel. If we make them sharp enough to grip the hemp, they saw right through it like a knife through butter. If we make them blunt so they don't cut, the rope just rolls right over the top. And even when it does stay on, hemp stretches under load. You're pedaling your heart out, but the wheel's barely turning."
I stared at the contraption. Without a way to make a proper metal chain, this whole bicycle idea was dead in the water. The modern chains would be impossible right now. That, or everything would have to be hand-made one piece at a time. It would take a year to make a single chain. Well, that might be an exaggeration, but it was definitely not worth the cost.
But then I looked at the frame itself. It was actually pretty solid. The wheels were wooden spoked wheels. They had wrapped them in rope and then added a thick, rough leather covering. The rope, combined with the leather, gave it some cushioning. The steering system was also sound. The small leaf springs in various places were quite amazing.
I stepped into the center of the frame, straddling the crossbar. I spread my legs wide to avoid the pedals. Being taller than the other men, my feet easily reached the ground.
"You're saying it doesn't work," I said, gripping the handlebars. I wiggled the handle back and forth, turning the wheel.
I pushed off with my right foot, then my left, making my way out the door. The wooden wheels creaked as they turned. Once outside, I started taking long, running strides. Another stride, then another. I picked up speed until I was gliding across the yard's dirt, my feet on the pedals just off the ground, coasting on momentum.
"My lord! You'll fall!" Michael shouted, already moving to try to catch up to me.
I just laughed and coasted for a good twenty meters before I slowed to a stop, grinning like an idiot.
“I have got to get myself one of these. That was great.”
“My lord. You are a natural at that.” Michael said as he caught up. “It took me a long time to balance that well.”
"Forget the rope and the leather for the chain," I said, still holding the handlebars. "This is a walking-runner. Or maybe a balance bike. I don't know. I suck at naming stuff."
"My lord, this isn't what you asked for," Sanders said.
"True, but remember what the end goal was.”
“You gave us pictures of what you wanted. This is-“
"Simple?" I interrupted. "Exactly. We smooth out the joints, add a padded seat so people don't destroy themselves sitting on bare wood, and we have something useful. Not what we wanted, but it is a mode of transporting a person faster with less effort."
We walked the bike back inside. "This is amazing, but I want something faster." I began to pace. What about those big-wheeled bikes that you see in old pictures? I didn’t know how much better they were; maybe they were just a fun curiosity like a unicycle, but it was worth trying.
I stepped up to the slate board on the wall and started whipping away the walking-runner. That really was a stupid name. Maybe a road runner. I started sketching a new design: one large front wheel, about as tall as a man's chest, with a small trailing wheel in the back just for balance.
"Look," I said, tapping the center of the giant wheel with the chalk. "We attach the pedals directly to the axle right here."
"Why?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I want you to try it, though."
“This will be hard to ride,” Michael groaned.
“Probably, I said with a nod. I wasn't an engineer and I had no idea how useful these big wheel bikes would be but I had come to realize that some of my ideas were just not posible right now. We just didn't have the know-how or materials.
It was like the tires. I wanted rubber tires but that would require rubber trees or a way to make synthetic rubber. In school, my environmental nut of an earth science teacher had claimed we could stop the destruction of the environment by using natural latex from plants. I even think she went off on a tangent of how it was done but I really wasn't interested at the time. I always wondered if she would lose her job because she chained herself to a tree. Totally her style.
Regardless, sooner or later, we were going to need rubber. and not just for silly things like tires. I needed a good rubber eraser for my artwork.
Michael leaned in, studying the drawing. Then he frowned. "But the steering. We will have to do something different."
Sanders came over. Looking at it. “We will need to distribute the force better. I don't think we can put a basket on the front.”
He continued to stare at the drawing of the massive wheel, and I could see the concern on his face. "The rider's going to be sitting way up in the air on that thing. If they hit a rock or a rut..."
"Then they're going to have a bad day," I admitted. "But that's why we tell them not to hit rocks, and why this is not for old grandmas. Let’s build one first. Then we can worry about whether it will kill someone.”
Maybe making helmets from the compressed hemp armor and stuffing would be a good idea.
I looked at Michael. "Talk to Jorb. Let’s see what you guys can do. Start coming up with a plan."
Sanders was still looking skeptical, but he was nodding. Michael was already making notes.
"And gentlemen?" I added. "Let's not call it a failure just because it didn't work the way we planned. We learned that rope and leather can't handle this kind of load. That's valuable information. Now we know we need to work in a different direction. Or maybe someone will invent a way to make a chain. But for now, we've got a working design. That's not nothing. Sometimes the best inventions come from failures that teach you what actually works."
I left them to their work and headed out the door. Before I was too far away though, I heard Michael say to Sanders. "It took me a week to balance as well as he did. How did he do it on his first try?"
I paused to hear Sanders' response.
He chuckled. "Obviously, it wasn't his first try. He probably had them in the Endless Realm."
"You really believe he is a Chosen."
"I don't know if he is Chosen or something else. But he isn't from Marth that is for sure. No one comes up with all the ideas he does without training in the area to which they apply it. No one has such confidence that what they draw will produce what they want unless they have seen it before."
Michael thought for a moment. "How do you think they made a bike in the Endless Realm?"
"I wish I knew."
After that, the two men got back to work, and I headed to the knitters of North Cove. Nothing I could do about the rumor. I couldn't undo the things these people believed, no matter how much I promised that I was not from this Endless Realm. I guess Earth would seem like a place of gods to these people if they visited.
I had overheard the maids gossiping last week about how their chest wrap was going to need to be replaced, and others complaining about the way their backs ached. I am actually surprised I hadn't thought of the solution before. Probably because I had never heard any of them complain before this. Not being a woman, I had no idea how well a bra would work compared to the wraps they currently used, but if they were no better at all, then why were wraps still not used in my old world?
The very thought of the bra brought back great memories of stealing my older sister's bra and shoving it in Nathan's face when he wasn't paying attention. The guy was totally terrified of women's underwear, and I got the best reactions. Then Natalie would come over and shout incoherently at me, or skip the shouting and just punch me. Then Natalie would come in and start screaming that I was a pervert and snatch her bra away from me. I couldn't help but let out a chickle at the fond memories.
These musings carried me all the way to the shop where four women were busy making socks. All of them looked up as I entered and greeted me.
"Women of Pine Ridge, I have something for you to try that may be just as much a benefit to you as it will be to me. You for comfort, me for money."
This brought a smile to the women's faces. The oldest of them said, "Of course, my lord. How may we assist?"
"Ok, gather round, and I will show you." As the women gathered, I pulled out drawings of a bra. "This is to give you better breast support and make you more comfortable."
The oldest woman, Marta, took the sketch with careful hands, her weathered fingers tracing the lines. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Two separate... cups?" she asked, turning the paper to catch better light from the window. "Connected by this band that goes around the back?"
"Exactly. And these straps here," I pointed, "go over the shoulders to help distribute the weight."
One of the younger women, barely twenty, a Karr with red hair pulled back in a braid, leaned in. "Forgive me, my lord, but how's this different from a good wrap? We bind tight enough, everything stays where it should."
"No clue," I said. "This is just an idea."
Another woman spoke up. "Your breasts are so tiny, you haven't had the pleasure of having breasts so big that they cause your back to start aching halfway through the day. Have enough babies, and you'll understand. It may keep the weight from causing a problem."
She continued, "And when you're working? Bending over? Reaching up?" You can't tell me it doesn't get uncomfortable.”
The mother’s words caused the younger girl to look down at her chest, an annoyed look on her face. "These cups... they'd need to be different sizes, wouldn't they? I mean, not every woman is shaped the same."
"Good point. We'd need to make different sizes. Maybe start with small, medium, and large, then adjust from there based on what women need."
I had been firmly removed from the discussion, just the way I liked it.
"And the fabric?" the mother asked, practical as always. "Can't be too stiff or it'll chafe. But too soft and it won't support anything."
Martha spoke up. "We'll figure it out. We may need to grab some linen from the weavers for the support pieces and use knitting for the parts that need to stretch.”
Before anyone could get any more carried away, I spoke up.
"This is excellent. That's exactly the kind of feedback I need." I gestured to the drawing. "You think you can make it? Maybe a few different sizes?"
The mother was already pulling out her measuring cord. "I could have three sizes ready in two days, if you're not picky about the fabric. Just to see if the design works."
"What about closures?" the fourth woman spoke up for the first time, a quiet woman with gentle hands. "Those hooks you drew—we don't have anything quite like that. Could use ties for now, I suppose."
I shrugged, "It's up to you. You could use a button with multiple holes for different fits."
Marta was already making notes on a scrap of paper; her handwriting was neat but slow. Not full sentences, just words. If I remember correctly, her grandson had been helping her learn to write after school.
"We'll need to test them, of course. Can't just make them and hope," she said.
"I'll test one too," the mother said. "See how it holds up with little ones climbing all over me."
The redhead grinned. "We'll all do it."
I felt a smile spreading across my face. This was exactly the kind of enthusiasm I'd hoped for. "So you think this could work?"
Marta folded the drawing carefully, then met my eyes. "My lord, if this garment does what you say it will, every woman in North Cove will want one. And they'll pay good coin for it too."
As I turned to leave, I heard Ada's soft voice behind me, "My lord? Thank you. For thinking of us."
We will see what turns out better, the bike or the bra. Sometimes the best innovations weren't the flashiest ones. They were just the ones that made daily life a little less painful.
*
John and I sat in a gazebo at my soon-to-be home in Hillside. The gazebo was the latest collaborative attempt between the carpenters and masons to make a better building.
Looking around at the freshly plastered surfaces and arching pillars, John shook his head. “When you first told me you were using the hot mix method to make your mortar and concrete, I thought you were not the gentle person I had first believed you to be. Hot mixing is a great way to lose your masons.”
“It is kind of a scary process. I told them not to do it if they felt it was too dangerous.” I chuckled. “Instead, they invented that ridiculous drum, and now no one wants to bother with the pit method unless they have to.”
John’s eyebrows rose questioningly. “They told me you came up with the idea of the mixing drum that was rotated from the mule wheel.”
I waved him off. “Yeah, I gave them the idea for the cement mixer, but they had the idea to make it out of copper and put ridges on it. They designed the mechanism for turning the drum. They are the ones who came up with the idea to partially submerge the drum in water to draw out the heat.”
“That part still doesn’t make sense to me,” John said.
“I was surprised too. Apparently, it keeps the drum cooler as the heat is transferred to the water. If they use that water for their next batch, it is already warm and sets better.”
“So do you even make mortar the normal way?”
“Yeah, they still use the lime pits for most projects. Like most things, there are advantages to both methods. The pit method allows them to store it for months and then use it as needed.” I shrugged.
Just then, lunch arrived. The two women carrying the trays set them down in front of us, lifted the lids, and stepped back.
I looked over the food and smiled. “It looks like you have something new for us to try.”
Lilly, one of the new chefs who had been trailing behind them, stepped forward. “Indeed, my lord. For your pleasure, today we have made double-processed beef and pork, bound with Kayver eggs. It was seasoned with sea salt and pepper from Bolster, covered in a light gravy, and served with pickled greens. We call it a bound forcemeat, my lord,” the woman said. She wore one of the new chief’s uniforms I had designed, her back straight, her hands folded neatly at her waist.
The dish was laid out with care. Clean lines. Nothing piled too high. I had been teaching them how food should be presented according to all the cooking shows I had seen on the Food Network. I had also given the title of Chef to those who had mastered the basics of preparation and could create something of their own. The elevation from cook to chef was a huge deal in the kitchens, and they wore the title with pride.
Next up, cooking competitions. It would be done live in an amphitheater. First, we needed to build an amphitheater. Cooks running around a stage while the water clock counted down. I laughed at the thought.
I took a bite.
Warmth spread across my tongue. Amazing. Beside me, I think John let out a groan of pleasure. Lily and the others lost formal expressions and smiled.
“This is phenomenal,” I said, setting my fork down. “You have truly outdone yourselves.”
The women beamed.
“Thank you, my lord,” the chief said. “We worked hard to balance the depth of the fatty meat with the savor of the sauce. It took time. And many failed attempts.”
I smiled at that. “Thank you very much for your dedication to your craft. We will call when we are done.”
They turned and left. I watched John try to slow his eating to better enjoy the meal. I picked up my fork and continued to eat in silence.
When John was finished, he leaned back and sighed in relief. “I am going to miss this. I would steal them from you, but I don’t think I could afford their pay. How in the world did you find such incredible cooks?”
I chuckled. “I didn’t find them, I created them. Well, more like directed them. I gave them measuring instruments and told them to experiment. I demanded that they try to make new dishes. I also made sure they were using the measuring instruments to make each dish repeatable.”
John’s eyes lit with understanding. “This is just another one of your experiments, except rather than using stone and metal, you are using food.”
“Bingo. The key was to force them to fail and realize it was ok. You heard what Lily said. It took a lot of failures to achieve this success. Everything in this world stays the same because if a cook prepares a meal that turns out poorly, they have wasted food, and if it is eaten by a noble, they might even get punished. I tell them if they fail enough, they will eventually learn how to make something outstanding, and as you can see, it worked. If only it weren’t so expensive.” I sighed.
“I can certainly say it is worth it to experiment, but I am surprised you are spending the money to do so. Your other inventions can be sold for a great deal of money. But this seems to be for your own pleasure. How much of the spice you received from the bolster did they waste to make this?”
“You are only partially right. Benjamin and I were discussing the fact that we need to impress nobles in every way possible when they come here in order to gather support. I mentioned we could try to do it through food, and this is the result. How much would a noble pay for this dish.”
It clicked for John. "A few of these dishes would probably pay for the lost spices.
John stood up and walked over to the smooth stone column that held up the gazebo. “Amos, if a single noble is not impressed with what you have done in this small town, they are blind, deaf, and have lost all their taste buds.
“I have no doubt my next visitor will be the perfect noble to test it on.”
“And who might that be?” John said as he turned.
“Baron Sophis of Ridgeland. He is coming next month to deliver the fifteen Starlight Mars he promised me.”
"Now that will be an interesting visit. Even in Carok, we have heard of Baron Sophis. I must have some of that wool, or I will never forgive you.”
“But I have so many other people who will want some. I am sure Jarum would be thrilled to obtain quality wool.” I smiled with a wolfish grin.
“You are a cruel man, dear cousin.”
Erica Herron
Erica sat in her favorite chair, her mass of black curls pulled back into an intricate braid as she worked on the embroidery before her. Her long, delicate fingers pushed a thin bronze needle through linen, forming a pattern of softly interwoven swirls. It was not fashionable. Most favored birds or mythic creatures. She, however, was drawn to the gentle curves and flowing lines. They felt alive in a way the flawless images her mother created never did.
She paused her hand, letting it drift to the small book on her writing desk. As her hand brushed absently against it, her mind wandered to the man who created it. She didn’t own the book. It would have been a luxury she could never afford. She had pleaded with her Uncle Falmore to let her borrow it. To her, any information about her future betrothed was worth its weight in gold.
She had trained her whole life to manage the affairs of a noble house, though the opportunity kept slipping through her fingers. She needed to know how to work with this man from the North. How to manage him and his household. But what did this small book of fables tell her about him?
It was at that moment that a knock came at the door.
She spoke clearly, with an even and practiced voice. “You may enter.”
Jillian, her lady-in-waiting, came in with a smile on her face.
Erica returned the smile. “Welcome back. I hope the journey was pleasant.”
“It was not. It rained all three days I was there in Maticole, and the roads were a mess on the way home. But,” She said, her look of disgust morphing into a grin. “It was fruitful.”
The way she said it caused Erica to straighten the way she did every time she prepared to hear political intrigue. She could see that Jillian almost giggled at the unconscious tell. Not wanting to torture her friend any longer, Jillian pulled a package from her satchel. It was wrapped in oiled cloth as an extra layer of protection.
As Erica eagerly opened it, her normally calm demeanor cracked, and she looked at the book in her hands with amazement. It was different from the one resting on her table. That one was thin, and the cover was made of wood bound together.
This book had a well-made Mar skin cover. The title of it was burnt into the center. “Lady Catherine's Book of Etiquette.” The cost of such a thing would have been expensive in Vaspar. Here in Herron, the rare treasure was near priceless.
She continued to stare at it. “How?”
Jillian let out a chuckle.
This broke Erica out of her spell. Erica had always been the picture of propriety and elegance. Constantly honing herself into the perfect court lady. But since the news of her engagement to this unknown man, she had found herself slipping. Knots and butterflies in her stomach were constantly trying to destroy her practiced calm. Her nerves frazzled at the idea of another disaster waiting to happen.
“What did you have to pay for her to let you borrow this? How long can I keep it?” She needed to study it to see if there were any clues within it.
“It is yours. Lady Catherine insisted you keep it as a wedding gift.”
“That’s—” Erica took a breath and let it out slowly. "That is very generous.”
She reset her face and opened the book. The first page once again held the title written in meticulous hand. Next was a... Table of Contents.
Holding up the book to her friend, she asked, “What is this?”
“Lady Catherine explained that this was a course book. It is something they use in North Cove to teach children. This page contains a list of the subjects and the page on which they can be found.”
Without responding, Erica continued to look through it. Forgetting about her lady-in-waiting, as she became lost in the pages. It truly seemed to be a comprehensive book of all court etiquette.
“And all the children of nobles in his land have access to this?” Erica said. The thought of children of knights being allowed to touch such a rare treasure.
“No, my lady.” Jillian paused for effect. “According to Lady Catherine, all children in North Cove have access to this.”
The statement didn’t register at first. Then Erica’s eyes went wide. “All. How is that even possible?”
“The rumors are true. All children of North Cove are given an education. Adults may attend in their spare time if they desire.” Then Jillian spent the next ten fractions explaining the Education system of North Cove.
“...and then in order to pass the writing class, as he calls it, they must copy at least one chapter from this book. They are rewarded based on how neatly they write it and if it is free from errors. The chapters are compiled into new books. They are not as luxurious as these, but they would sell well.”
Erica shook her head. Instructing students on how to read and write was truly ridiculous, but teaching them etiquette was utter nonsense. And yet the rumors in court say he may be a sage.
It frustrated her. She prided herself on her ability to understand the motives of other nobles. But this man… Nothing made sense.
“Tell me what you learned of him from his cousin,” she said, trying to forget about the strangeness of the man until she had more information.
“I don’t think the rumors of him being a whoremonger are true. It is obvious that Catherine loves her cousin, perhaps even more than she should.”
“Has he been in a relationship with her?” Erica asked, trying to keep any hints of annoyance off her face. It was the duty of a wife to ignore such things, but it still left a bad taste in her mouth.
“No, I have found no evidence that the man has ever been promiscuous. Though Catherine said many women tried to catch his eye while she was there.”
The thought was encouraging. It would be nice to have a husband who did not sleep with others. Secrets were let loose in a foreign bed. Secrets that could destroy a house. If he could keep secrets, her job would be much easier. Games of court and intrigue were won by those who knew when to speak and to whom.
There was the Lady Emily Paper she would have to deal with. The rumors were everything from her being like a sister to him to her being his lover. She would make no judgments yet. She would figure out how to deal with the girl when she got to North Cove.
The conversation continued well into the evening. Jillian and Erica analyzing what they knew and devising plans on how to deal with her betrothed.