Chapter 105: Telegraph Lines
Construction officially began twelve days later.
The beginning of the Kingdom of Belfast’s first telegraph network arrived without fanfare. There were no speeches from ministers, no ceremonial shovels, and no crowds gathered to witness history unfold. Instead, the project began with forty-seven laborers unloading timber poles from wagons outside the gates of Helmarte Machine Works while foremen shouted measurements and surveyors argued over maps spread across makeshift tables.
Ernest stood near the entrance with a notebook tucked beneath one arm as workers stacked the timber into organized piles according to size and treatment markings.
Most of the poles were pine. Straight trunks were preferred because they simplified installation, reduced stress along wire spans, and made maintenance easier years later when crews inevitably had to replace damaged sections. Every pole had already been measured, trimmed, treated against rot, and marked with colored paint indicating where insulators would eventually be mounted.
They looked ordinary.
That somehow made the moment feel even larger.
Beside him, Hollen folded his arms while staring at the growing mountain of timber.
"Those are very expensive sticks."
"They’re infrastructure."
"They’re sticks."
"They’re the future."
The forge owner stared at him for several seconds before shaking his head.
"The fact that both of those statements are technically correct concerns me more than it should."
Nearby, a government surveyor was engaged in what had apparently become a long-running argument with one of the foremen.
The original route followed the main trade road north toward Northport, but the revised proposal shifted eastward to avoid a stretch of marshland that became nearly impassable every winter. Judging from the expressions on both men, neither side intended to surrender the argument anytime soon.
After listening for less than a minute, Ernest stepped forward.
"The eastern route is better."
The surveyor frowned immediately.
"It adds another two kilometers."
"And removes three kilometers worth of maintenance problems."
The foreman scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"He’s got a point."
The surveyor sighed.
"I dislike how often he has a point."
The route changed.
Engineering, Ernest had discovered long ago, was rarely about creating brilliance. Most of the time it involved preventing future disasters that nobody else could see yet.
The first poles entered the ground that afternoon.
Workers dug holes nearly two meters deep before lowering each timber support into place using ropes, temporary braces, and far more swearing than the official reports would later mention. Earth and stone were packed tightly around the bases while supervisors checked alignment using plumb lines and measuring rods.
Straight lines mattered.
Not because they looked nice.
Because sagging wires became maintenance problems, and maintenance problems eventually became budget problems.
Governments tolerated engineering difficulties.
They hated expensive ones.
By sunset, eleven poles stood proudly beside the northern road leading out of Helmarte.
Eleven.
The complete Belfast to Northport route required nearly six thousand.
The scale of the undertaking hit Ernest with surprising force.
Apparently Hollen reached the same conclusion.
"We’re never finishing this."
"We’ll finish."
"At eleven poles a day we’ll complete the project shortly after civilization ends."
"Construction speed improves with experience."
The forge owner glanced toward the exhausted workers wiping sweat from their faces.
"I sincerely hope you’re right."
Fortunately, Ernest was.
The crews improved faster than anyone expected.
By the end of the first week they averaged almost forty poles a day. By the second week they had pushed past sixty. By the third they were approaching eighty installations daily as teams developed routines and specialized roles emerged naturally among the workers.
Some men became experts at excavation.
Others specialized in lifting and positioning poles.
A few developed reputations for identifying unstable soil before problems appeared.
The telegraph crews were quietly transforming into professionals.
That realization fascinated Ernest more than he expected.
Entire careers were being created around a technology that had not existed in this world three months earlier.
Wire installers.
Insulator manufacturers.
Battery technicians.
Signal operators.
Maintenance crews.
Children somewhere in the kingdom would eventually grow up dreaming about professions that nobody in history had ever imagined before.
Industrial revolutions often announced themselves through new job titles long before anyone recognized what was happening.
Back in Helmarte, however, another problem was beginning to grow.
Copper.
More specifically, the complete lack of enough copper.
The telegraph consumed wire at an alarming pace. Production increased every week, yet demand somehow continued growing even faster.
Eventually the head of procurement entered Ernest’s office carrying several ledgers and wearing the expression of a man preparing to deliver bad news.
"We have a problem."
Ernest looked up from the route diagrams spread across his desk.
"Which one?"
"Copper."
Ernest leaned back in his chair.
"That was my first guess."
The official dropped the ledgers onto the table with enough force to rattle the ink bottles.
"Our suppliers can’t keep up anymore."
Hollen opened one of the books and frowned.
"We used this much in one month?"
"Yes."
"We used more copper this month than some towns use in years."
"Also yes."
The forge owner closed the ledger and rubbed his forehead.
"I miss soap."
"You always say that."
"Because soap never required mining expansion."
Unfortunately, the solution was obvious.
The kingdom needed more copper.
Not next year.
Now.
Within days government geologists, surveyors, and mining officials began appearing in Helmarte with increasing frequency. Reports concerning potential deposits started piling onto Ernest’s desk faster than he could read them.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
The telegraph had been intended to strengthen the kingdom.
Instead, the kingdom itself was beginning to reorganize around the telegraph.
Infrastructure had a tendency to do that.
Roads changed trade routes.
Railways changed cities.
Electrical systems changed entire civilizations.
One afternoon, Lord Ashford arrived without warning.
The Prime Minister stepped from his carriage and spent several moments simply observing the industrial complex surrounding him.
Smoke drifted lazily from factory chimneys.
Steam engines hissed somewhere in the distance.
Workers pushed carts loaded with castings and machinery between workshops that seemed to multiply every time someone looked away.
The place had grown enormously since his last visit.
"It feels larger than I remember."
"It is larger," Ernest replied.
Hollen smiled proudly.
"We’re approaching thirty-eight hundred workers now."
The Prime Minister stopped walking.
"Thirty-eight hundred?"
"Just under four thousand if current hiring continues."
Lord Ashford looked around once more, this time with entirely different eyes.
"That makes this one of the largest employers in the kingdom."
Neither Ernest nor Hollen had actually considered that before.
Apparently it was true.
The older statesman slowly nodded to himself.
"So this is what the newspapers mean."
Ernest raised an eyebrow.
"What newspapers?"
"The ones calling this the Industrial Revolution."
That earned both of their attention.
"The Helmarte Industrial Revolution," Lord Ashford clarified.
Hollen looked genuinely horrified.
"We have a revolution now too?"
The Prime Minister laughed.
"A peaceful one."
The forge owner visibly relaxed.
"Good."
After a moment he added, "I prefer this version."
Lord Ashford spent most of the afternoon touring the facilities.
The soap works impressed him.
The machine halls impressed him even more.
The battery workshops fascinated him.
The Lightning Room nearly broke him entirely.
Rows of batteries lined shelves stretching across the walls while technicians recorded voltages and chemical conditions into notebooks. Copper wire ran through testing frames while receivers clicked softly in the background.
The Prime Minister stood silently in the middle of the room for almost a full minute.
Finally he turned toward Ernest.
"Five years ago this room would have been considered sorcery."
"Five years ago I probably would have agreed."
The older man laughed before approaching one of the batteries.
"This powers the entire system?"
"Part of it."
"And eventually there will be hundreds of these?"
"Thousands."
Lord Ashford stared at him.
"Thousands?"
"Probably."
The Prime Minister looked mildly overwhelmed.
"Baron Teucher, do you ever sleep?"
Ernest considered the question seriously.
"Occasionally."
"That explains a great deal."
By autumn, the first completed section of telegraph line stretched nearly twenty kilometers north of Helmarte.
It wasn’t operational yet.
Not quite.
But it was real.
Travelers using the northern road now passed endless rows of poles marching toward the horizon with wire glimmering between them beneath the afternoon sun.
Naturally, questions followed.
What were they for?
Why did they need wire?
Could lightning travel through them?
Some explanations became increasingly creative.
One merchant became convinced the poles existed to discourage dragons from approaching trade routes.
Another believed the king intended to control weather.
A farmer reportedly informed his children that the wires carried royal thoughts directly from city to city.
Ernest found that explanation strangely beautiful.
The newspapers proved even more dramatic.
One publication described the network as the kingdom’s nervous system.
Another called it the Wire Road.
One particularly enthusiastic editor referred to it as the Iron Voice of Belfast.
Hollen framed that article and hung it in his office.
"I’m still not convinced the writer was sober."
"That’s not mutually exclusive with good journalism."
"Fair point."
Three months after construction began, Ernest stood atop a hill overlooking one of the completed sections.
Hundreds of poles stretched northward beside the road while construction crews continued working in the distance. Supply wagons moved back and forth endlessly as wire glimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
From up here, the scale felt entirely different.
Much larger.
Beside him stood Lord Ashford and King Edward, who had personally traveled to inspect progress.
For several minutes none of them spoke.
Eventually the king broke the silence.
"When I was younger, my father taught me that roads were the arteries of kingdoms."
His eyes followed the line stretching toward the horizon.
"I wonder what he would call this."
"Nerves," Ernest replied.
The king looked toward him.
"What?"
"The roads move people and goods."
Ernest pointed toward the wire overhead.
"This moves information."
King Edward considered that quietly before nodding.
"Yes."
A smile slowly appeared on his face.
"Nerves."
Lord Ashford followed the line toward the distant horizon.
"One day every city in Belfast will be connected."
He sounded remarkably certain.
Ernest smiled.
"And eventually every business will want access as well."
The older statesman looked surprised.
"Businesses?"
"Factories. Ports. Banks. Merchants."
Understanding slowly appeared.
Lord Ashford looked toward the king.
"We aren’t building military infrastructure."
King Edward smiled.
"No."
"We’re building national infrastructure."
Below them, workers continued raising poles beneath the afternoon sun.
They laughed.
Argued.
Complained.
Worked.
Most of them probably believed they were simply building another government project.
A road.
A bridge.
A military line.
Few of them understood they were laying the foundation for an entirely new age.
Perhaps that was fitting.
History rarely announced itself while it was happening.
Most of the time it simply looked like ordinary people going to work.
Beside them, Hollen suddenly appeared carrying lunch baskets.
The forge owner looked around the hilltop gathering.
"Did I miss something important?"
King Edward pointed toward the telegraph line.
"We were discussing the future."
Hollen followed his gaze before shrugging.
"Looks expensive."
The king burst into laughter.
Lord Ashford joined him.
Even Ernest couldn’t help smiling.
No matter how large the project became or how many kings and ministers became involved, Hollen possessed an almost supernatural ability to reduce history to accounting figures.
Honestly, someone probably needed to.
Far below, another pole slowly rose into position.
Then another.
Then another.
Kilometer by kilometer, the Kingdom of Belfast was wiring itself together.
Somewhere beyond the sea, the Republic of Valoria remained completely unaware.
They still believed armies moved at the speed of horses.
They still believed governments reacted at the speed of couriers.
Soon enough, those assumptions were going to become very expensive.
King Edward watched the workers for a long time before speaking again.
"I wonder if they understand what they’re building."
Ernest followed his gaze toward the distant construction crews before shaking his head.
"No."
The king smiled slightly.
"Neither do I."
For perhaps the first time since arriving in this world, Ernest wasn’t entirely certain he understood it either.
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