Chapter 23: The Skeleton of the Beast
I marched straight to the West Wing. Lucas was already there, standing in the center of the workshop surrounded by five burly men. They wore leather aprons and held heavy iron hammers.
"Asher," Lucas nodded, gesturing to the men. "These are the finest blacksmiths in my employ. They usually make swords and armor. Today, they are yours."
The blacksmiths looked at me skeptically. To them, I was just a young man in a fancy coat.
"Gentlemen," I said, walking to the main workbench. "Forget swords. Forget armor. Today, we are building a chassis."
I grabbed a large sheet of parchment and a charcoal stick.
"We have the engine," I said, pointing to the humming machine in the corner. "But an engine is useless if it doesn't move anything. We need a frame."
I began to draw.
"Two main steel beams, parallel," I instructed, sketching rapidly. "Connected by cross-members here, here, and here. It needs to be rigid enough to hold the engine, but flexible enough not to snap on these cobblestone roads."
The head blacksmith, a giant man named Gora, squinted at the drawing. "You want us to build... a metal wagon?"
"Not a wagon," I corrected. "A frame. And for the wheels..."
I paused. This was the hard part. There was no rubber in this world yet. Wooden wheels with iron rims would shatter under the torque of an engine.
"We need composite wheels," I decided. "Oak spokes, iron rims... but I need you to line the outer rim with layers of thick, treated leather. It won't be as good as rubber, but it will provide some grip."
I looked at Lucas. "And I need gears. Lots of them."
"Gears?" Lucas asked.
"To transfer the power," I explained. "The engine spins fast. The wheels spin slow. If we connect them directly, the machine will explode. We need a transmission."
I drew a simple chain-drive mechanism, similar to a bicycle but scaled up for a tank.
"Gora," I looked the blacksmith in the eye. "Can you cast gear teeth with a tolerance of less than one millimeter?"
Gora puffed out his chest, offended. "I can cast a needle that fits in a flea's ear. Give me the molds."
"Good," I smiled, rolling up my sleeves. "Let's get to work."
For the next ten hours, the workshop became a hellscape of noise and heat. Sparks flew as the blacksmiths hammered red-hot steel. I was everywhere at once—checking the alignment of the axles, measuring the gear ratios, and modifying the carburetor on the engine to handle the load.
By the time the sun began to set, the skeleton of the beast was finished.
It was ugly. It was just a bare steel frame with four wheels, a seat taken from an old carriage, and the roaring engine mounted in the front. But to me, it was beautiful.
"It looks... like a skeleton," Lucas muttered, walking around it.
"It's a prototype," I said, wiping grease from my cheek. "We don't need it to be pretty. We need it to run."
I climbed into the driver's seat. There was no steering wheel yet—just a tiller, like on a boat.
"Open the garage doors!" I yelled.
Gora and his men heaved the heavy wooden doors open, revealing the long, paved driveway of the estate.
I looked at Lucas. "Want to go for a ride?"
Lucas hesitated for a split second, looking at the vibrating, smoking machine. Then, that familiar grin spread across his face.
"Absolutely."
He hopped into the passenger seat.
I released the handbrake. I engaged the clutch lever.
The chain tightened. The gears bit.
"Hold on," I warned.
I slammed the throttle open.
ROAR!
The tires spun, smoke kicking up from the floor, and the first car in the history of this world shot forward like a cannonball.