For the next week, the smithy sounded like a battlefield.
Arthur wasn't just casting metal; he was machining it. He had built a primitive lathe powered by the river.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The sound of hardened steel cutting steel filled the air. Arthur wore magnifying goggles he had ground himself, measuring the piston heads with a caliper.
"It must be airtight," Arthur lectured the exhausted smiths. "Efficiency is the ratio of work output to energy input. Leaks are failure."
....
Finally, the pieces came together.
It didn't look like anything the world had seen. A horizontal boiler made of black steel. A massive flywheel. A complex arrangement of sliding valves and rods.
They mounted it on a reinforced wooden chassis with thick, iron-shod wheels.
Duke Kaelen came down to inspect it. He circled the machine.
"It has no legs," The Duke observed. "It has no head. Arthur, how does this Golem fight?"
"It does not fight, Father. It hauls."
Arthur pointed to the firebox at the rear. "Feed it."
Hammerhead shoveled coal (which Arthur had identified from a local "black rock" quarry) into the furnace.
The water inside the boiler began to boil. Pressure built. A gauge on the side ticked up. 10 PSI… 30 PSI… 50 PSI…
"Pressure stable," Arthur announced. "Disengaging the brake."
He pulled a lever.
HISSSS. Steam shot out of the release valve. Then, a deep, rhythmic thumping began.
CHUG... CHUG... CHUG...
The piston shot forward. The rod pushed the wheel. The massive flywheel began to spin.
The machine shuddered. It didn't move forward (it was on blocks), but the wheels spun with terrifying power.
The Duke jumped back, drawing his sword. "It's alive! Hear its heartbeat! It is a metal beast!"
"It is a combustion cycle," Arthur corrected, checking the RPM. "120 Revolutions Per Minute. Approximately 15 Horsepower."
"Fifteen horses?" The Duke shouted over the noise. "You stuffed fifteen horses inside that metal tube?!"
"It is a unit of measurement!" Arthur yelled back.
The Duke didn't listen. He stared at the spinning wheels, mesmerizingly fast. A grin spread across his face.
"It growls," The Duke laughed maniacally. "It eats black rocks and spits white smoke! We shall call it... The Ground-Dragon!"
Arthur sighed. "Technically, it is the Pendelton Mark I Logistics Vehicle."
"No!" The Duke patted the hot metal flank of the boiler (and immediately pulled his hand back). "The Ground-Dragon! Arthur, this will terrify the enemies of the Kingdom! When can we ride it?"
Arthur looked at the vibrating chassis. It had no suspension. The seat was a wooden crate.
"Tomorrow," Arthur said. "But bring a cushion. The ride quality will be... firm."
[Observation: The Duke is now obsessed with mechanics.] [Warning: Do not let the Duke operate the vehicle. He will try to drift it.]
End of Chapter 12