Chapter 103: Demonstration of Telegraph
The following morning arrived beneath clear skies.
Ernest appreciated that.
Rain would not affect the demonstration inside the palace, but storms had a tendency to make people nervous whenever electricity became involved.
Particularly when the electricity existed inside glass jars filled with acid.
The servants certainly seemed nervous enough already.
By sunrise, the temporary telegraph line had already been inspected three separate times.
The batteries had been checked twice.
The wire connections had been tightened, cleaned, and checked again.
Ernest trusted the design.
He trusted the mathematics.
He trusted physics.
What he did not trust was fate.
Fate had a habit of choosing important moments to become entertaining.
A knock sounded against the door.
"Master Teucher."
"Come in."
A servant stepped inside and bowed.
"His Majesty requests your presence."
Ernest nodded.
"It’s time then."
Apparently, the servant found that statement significantly more dramatic than intended because the man swallowed nervously before departing.
Across the room, Hollen adjusted his coat.
"You look calm."
"I am calm."
"You’re lying."
"Probably."
The older man nodded.
"Good. I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous."
Together they walked toward the prepared room.
The closer they came, the more crowded the corridors became.
Royal guards stood beside the entrances.
Servants lingered nearby pretending not to be curious.
Several palace officials had apparently found reasons to be in the area despite having absolutely no business there.
Word had spread.
Of course it had.
The inventor of steam engines and soap had arrived with boxes capable of trapping lightning.
Nobody was missing that.
The doors opened.
King Edward was already waiting.
Beside him stood Queen Eleanor, Prince Arthur, Princess Amelia, Prince Cedric, and Lord Ashford.
Several ministers Ernest did not recognize stood nearby as well.
Finance.
Trade.
Military.
Possibly infrastructure.
If he had to guess, the king had invited half the government.
King Edward smiled the moment he saw him.
"Good morning, Baron Teucher."
"Your Majesty."
The king glanced toward the equipment arranged around the room.
Several batteries rested on a wooden table.
Copper wire disappeared through a hole drilled temporarily through the wall before continuing down the corridor toward the receiving station.
The telegraph key sat in the center.
Simple.
Unassuming.
Almost disappointingly ordinary.
Prince Cedric looked around the room.
"That’s it?"
Ernest blinked.
"Your Highness?"
"The machine."
The young prince pointed accusingly at the telegraph key.
"I expected something larger."
Hollen coughed suspiciously loudly.
Prince Arthur crossed his arms.
"To be fair, so did I."
Even the king looked slightly surprised.
Ernest almost smiled.
Steam engines were impressive.
Telegraphs were not.
Steam engines announced their importance with noise, movement, and smoke.
Telegraphs sat quietly on tables looking like office equipment.
History rarely looked dramatic while it was happening.
"The machine itself is simple," Ernest explained.
"The infrastructure is not."
Lord Ashford nodded thoughtfully.
"Roads are similar."
That was actually an excellent comparison.
Nobody admired roads.
Everyone admired what roads made possible.
The king stepped closer.
"What happens now?"
Ernest gestured toward the paper resting on the desk.
"You write a message."
The king raised an eyebrow.
"Any message?"
"Any message."
King Edward considered this for several moments before writing a short sentence onto the paper.
He folded it immediately afterward.
No one else saw the contents.
Not even Ernest.
The king handed it to the operator.
"Transmit it."
The operator nodded.
The room became quiet.
Very quiet.
Even Prince Cedric stopped moving.
Click.
Click click.
Click.
Click click click.
The telegraph key moved beneath the operator’s fingers.
Short signals.
Long signals.
Letters transformed into sound.
The message disappeared into copper wire.
For several moments, nothing happened.
Actually, that wasn’t true.
Something was happening.
Nobody simply couldn’t see it.
Electrons raced through copper at speeds beyond anything horses could dream of matching.
The operator finished.
Silence returned.
Then footsteps echoed through the corridor.
A palace servant entered carrying a sheet of paper.
He handed it directly to the king.
King Edward unfolded it.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
The room remained silent.
Finally, Queen Eleanor spoke.
"Edward?"
The king slowly looked up.
His expression had changed.
"The message is correct."
Nobody spoke.
Prince Arthur stepped forward.
"Exactly correct?"
"Word for word."
The Crown Prince looked toward the telegraph.
Then toward the corridor.
Then back toward the telegraph.
The distance between the rooms was insignificant by military standards.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that nobody had carried the message.
Nobody had run.
Nobody had spoken.
The information had simply... arrived.
Prince Cedric looked horrified.
"The wire stole the words."
That statement nearly destroyed the king’s composure.
Queen Eleanor covered her mouth.
Princess Amelia laughed openly.
Even Lord Ashford smiled.
Ernest made a mental note that the prince’s explanation was not entirely inaccurate.
King Edward turned toward him.
"Again."
The second message came from Prince Arthur.
Military by nature.
The receiving station returned it perfectly.
The third came from Queen Eleanor.
Perfect again.
The fourth came from Lord Ashford.
Again.
Perfect.
The atmosphere inside the room slowly changed.
Curiosity gave way to realization.
The ministers understood first.
Finance understood tax collection.
Trade understood markets.
Military understood command.
Infrastructure understood administration.
The king understood all of them simultaneously.
King Edward walked slowly toward the window overlooking the capital.
"How long?"
Ernest understood the question immediately.
"For what distance?"
"Belfast to Northport."
"Minutes."
The king remained silent.
"And Belfast to Eastgate?"
"Also minutes."
Another silence.
Lord Ashford spoke quietly.
"The army in the field could report enemy movements immediately."
"Yes."
"The admiralty could coordinate fleets from the capital."
"Yes."
"The treasury could receive provincial reports the same day."
"Yes."
The Prime Minister looked toward the wire.
"My God."
The king turned back.
"Can it scale?"
"Yes."
"Reliably?"
"Eventually."
King Edward raised an eyebrow.
"Eventually?"
Ernest nodded.
"This demonstration is proof of concept."
The ministers exchanged glances.
He continued.
"A kingdom-wide network will require better batteries, stronger wire production, maintenance crews, signal stations, trained operators, and standardized procedures."
Lord Ashford looked impressed.
"You’ve already thought about all of that."
"I had to."
The Prime Minister laughed softly.
"Of course you did."
Prince Cedric walked toward the telegraph key.
"So if I press this..."
"Please don’t."
The prince froze.
"...it’ll send messages?"
"Eventually."
The young royal looked disappointed.
Princess Amelia smiled.
"I think he’s disappointed that he can’t start a war accidentally."
"I wasn’t going to start a war."
The room grew quiet.
Cedric frowned.
"...could I start a war accidentally?"
"No."
"Oh."
He seemed genuinely disappointed by that answer.
King Edward laughed.
Then the laughter faded.
The king looked toward the machine once more.
Then toward Ernest.
Then back again.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally, the king walked toward him.
"Baron Teucher."
"Your Majesty."
King Edward extended his hand.
"Congratulations."
Ernest blinked.
"For what?"
The king smiled.
"I believe you have just changed the world."
The room became quiet.
Because unlike praise.
Unlike titles.
Unlike rewards.
Everyone present understood something important.
Steam engines had changed industry.
Soap had changed commerce.
This...
This changed governments.
Armies.
Kingdoms.
Perhaps even history itself.
Lord Ashford slowly looked toward the maps hanging beyond the room.
For the first time in centuries, distance itself had become negotiable.
The implications were terrifying.
And magnificent.
The Prime Minister finally broke the silence.
"Your Majesty."
"Yes?"
"I recommend immediate funding approval."
The king laughed.
"So do I."
He turned back toward Ernest.
"How long until construction begins?"
Ernest thought carefully.
"Copper production must expand first."
The king nodded.
"Done."
"Battery manufacturing facilities need to be established."
"Done."
"Operators need training."
"Done."
Ernest blinked.
King Edward folded his arms.
"You seem surprised."
"A little."
The king smiled.
"Baron Teucher."
He gestured toward the telegraph.
"You’ve already convinced me."
His expression became serious.
"The Royal Telegraph Project is hereby officially authorized."
The words echoed through the room.
A project that had begun as chalk on a blackboard inside a machine shop office had just become national policy.
The king continued.
"You requested six months."
"Yes."
"You have them."
Then he smiled.
"And if you require more money, ask."
Hollen nearly fell over.
Again.
The forge owner looked personally offended by the concept of unlimited funding.
King Edward noticed immediately.
"Master Hollen."
"Your Majesty?"
"Is something wrong?"
The older man hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"I’ve spent most of my life worrying about money."
The king nodded.
"A sensible concern."
"And now I’m watching governments offer unlimited budgets to projects involving invisible lightning."
The room exploded into laughter.
Even Ernest couldn’t help smiling.
Perhaps Hollen had earned the right to be confused.
Because honestly?
This entire situation was absurd.
Six months ago they were selling soap.
Today they were building the world’s first electrical communication network.
Outside the palace windows, the capital continued moving as it always had.
Merchants argued over prices.
Ships entered the harbor.
Workers crossed bridges.
Children played in the streets.
Most of them had absolutely no idea that inside the Royal Palace, something fundamental had just changed.
But one day historians probably would.
And if they ever asked when the Electrical Age began in Belfast...
The answer would be simple.
It began with a wire stretched between two rooms.
And a king watching words outrun horses for the first time.
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