The arrival of the Imperial Sovereign was not a delivery; it was an occupation. The massive engine was lashed to a specialized heavy-lift barge that groaned under the weight of Solstice-cast iron as it glided into the Oakhaven basin. Escorting it was a full company of the Lord High Steward's personal guard, their silver-and-black uniforms a sharp, cold contrast to the grease-stained wool of the Oakhaven engineers.
Deacon stood on the pier, watching the steam-cranes struggle to hoist the behemoth onto the Oakhaven rails. The Sovereign was a grotesque expansion of his own Pathfinder design—larger, more ornate, and burdened with excessive brass filigree that added dead weight without contributing a single pound of tractive effort.
"It's a peacock in a cage," Miller muttered, spitting into the oil-slicked water. "They've doubled the boiler capacity but used standard Imperial stay-bolts. If they push that thing to the pressures we run at, those bolts will shear and the firebox will collapse like an eggshell."
"That's exactly what the Steward is here to find out," Deacon replied. He saw the Lord High Steward stepping off the barge, followed by a team of Imperial engineers clutching leather-bound notebooks. "They know their 'Shadow-Rail' is failing in Solstice. They've brought it here to see why our engines have more 'soul' than theirs."
The Steward didn't waste time with pleasantries. He gestured to the Sovereign as it touched the rails with a bone-jarring thud. "Lord Cassian. We've found that our trials in the south were... inconsistent. The Sovereign lacks the sustained torque of your Pathfinder. My engineers suggest it is a matter of 'Ambient Aether,' but I suspect it is a matter of the fuel."
Deacon felt the "Logistical Insight" tighten. The Steward was hunting for the Deep-Pulse. The Imperial engines relied on traditional coal, which produced a "dry" heat. The Oakhaven engines were secretly "boosted" by the geothermal siphon—a high-pressure, moisture-rich steam injected directly into the cylinders to increase expansion. If the Steward discovered the geothermal well-heads hidden beneath the foundry floor, the "Independent Charter" of Oakhaven would be shredded in favor of a total Imperial seizure of the resource.
"It's not the fuel, Steward," Deacon lied, guiding the party away from the foundry's primary steam-vent. "It's the Feed-Water Heating. We use a closed-loop system that recycles the waste heat from the cylinders back into the boiler. It increases thermal efficiency by fifteen percent."
The "gritty realism" of the next forty-eight hours was a desperate game of mechanical shell-games. Deacon had Miller and the crews work through the night to "rig" the Sovereign with a series of complex, non-functional copper pipes that led to nowhere, labeling them as "Thermal Recirculators." Simultaneously, they had to bleed the geothermal pressure away from the main yard, causing the factory whistles to sound weak and tinny to avoid drawing suspicion to the subterranean pulse.
"We can't hide the vibration forever, David," Julian warned as they sat in the command center. "The Steward's lead engineer is already asking why the ground in the shunting yard stays warm enough to melt the snow even when the boilers are cold. He's not a fool; he's an alchemist with a background in geology."
"Then we give him a distraction," Deacon said. He ordered the "Hot-Weld" crews to begin a massive, loud, and entirely unnecessary repair project on the canal's secondary lock. "If he wants to find the source of the heat, let him find the 'Friction of the Water.' We'll claim the canal's hydraulic pressure is generating the thermal signature."
The tension broke during the Sovereign's first test-run on the Oakhaven tracks. The Imperial engineers insisted on pushing the engine to full throttle on the steep "Cleft Gradient." Deacon stood in the cab, watching the pressure gauge climb toward the "Poisoned Limit" he had designed in the Solstice blueprints.
The engine began to scream—a high-pitched, metallic wail as the out-of-phase boiler tubes began to expand faster than the Imperial shell.
"Pressure is at two hundred pounds!" the Imperial driver shouted, his face pale. "She's vibrating! The seals are leaking!"
"Hold it!" the Steward commanded from the tender. "I want to see the Northern speed!"
Deacon reached for the Saturator Valve—the hidden connection he had surreptitiously installed the night before. By feeding a small amount of Oakhaven geothermal steam into the Sovereign's cylinders, he could temporarily stabilize the engine and give it a burst of unnatural power, convincing the Steward that the "Oakhaven Standard" was a matter of delicate tuning rather than a secret resource.
The Sovereign surged forward, the vibration smoothing out as the "Deep-Pulse" steam acted as a lubricant for the failing pistons. The engine roared up the gradient, reaching a speed that left the Imperial guards gasping.
The Steward was impressed, but the victory was hollow. As the engine rolled back into the station, the Imperial lead engineer knelt by the cylinder-cocks, collecting a sample of the condensed water in a glass vial.
"Strange," the engineer mused, holding the vial up to the light. "The mineral content of this steam... it matches the volcanic springs of the High Cleft, not the soft water of your reservoirs. Tell me, Lord Cassian, how does a 'Feed-Water Heater' change the very chemistry of the water it recycles?"
Deacon felt the air in the station go cold. The distraction had failed. The "gritty" truth of Oakhaven's power was a single laboratory test away from being exposed.
"It doesn't," Deacon said, his hand resting on the heavy wrench at his belt. "But the mountain has a way of leaving its mark on everything we build here. If you want pure water, I suggest you stay in the South. In the North, we use whatever the earth gives us."
The Steward looked from the vial to Deacon, a slow, predatory understanding dawning in his eyes. He didn't call for an arrest. He simply smiled. "I think I've seen enough, Lord Cassian. Your 'Standard' is indeed a miracle. I look forward to the day when the Empire can... 'unify' our water sources."
The Sovereign was re-loaded onto the barge that evening, but the atmosphere in the valley had changed. The "Guest" had found the secret. Deacon knew the clock was now ticking. The Empire wouldn't wait for a "Shadow-Rail" anymore; they would come for the source.