Shropshire, Summer 1780
The forge yard of Imperial Dynamics bustled with noise and heat. Sparks leapt from anvils as smiths hammered glowing billets. The deep roar of the blast furnace filled the air, punctuated by the hiss of steam and the clatter of carts bringing in coal and ore. To an outsider, it might have looked like chaos. To Phillip, it was the steady heartbeat of progress.
Phillip dismounted his horse at the yard gate, boots crunching on the gravel. In his hand he carried a new set of drawings rolled into a leather tube. Behind him, Sebas and two clerks carried a crate filled with ledgers and fresh steel samples.
Henry Carter, his technical assistant, spotted him at once and came over, wiping sweat and grime from his brow with a rag.
"My lord," Henry greeted, "we've tapped another batch this morning. Two tons ready for casting. The men have been asking when you'd be back."
Phillip gave a short nod. "Good. Gather them. Everyone—smiths, fitters, carpenters. I have something to announce."
Henry raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Within half an hour, the yard was full of men. They stood in loose groups—faces smudged with soot, aprons stained, sleeves rolled. Nearly one hundred twenty men in all, the backbone of Imperial Dynamics.
Phillip stepped up onto a timber crate so that all could see him. He held the rolled drawings in his hand and looked over the crowd. A hush settled slowly, broken only by the rumble of the furnace behind them.
"Men," Phillip began, his voice steady, "these past two years, together we have done what no one in England believed possible. We turned pig iron into steel faster and cheaper than Sheffield. We built engines that pump mines, turn looms, and drive tools. You have proven that Imperial Dynamics is not just a name, but the future."
A murmur of pride passed through the crowd. Several men straightened their backs.
Phillip continued, his eyes gleaming. "Now, a new challenge lies before us. One greater than any we've yet faced. And if we succeed, it will place our name not only in the ledgers of merchants, but in the records of Parliament itself."
Henry crossed his arms, frowning slightly. "Parliament, my lord? What business would they have with us?"
Phillip unrolled the drawings and held them up. The parchment revealed the side profile of a massive contraption—wheels, a boiler, a smokestack, and a frame of steel.
"This," Phillip declared, "is what they demand: a steam locomotive."
The yard erupted in murmurs. Some men whispered, others chuckled nervously, and a few simply stared. One young apprentice blurted, "A wagon… moved by steam?"
Phillip nodded. "Exactly. Wagons that move not by horse, but by fire and steel. On rails strong enough to bear their weight, they will carry goods and passengers faster than any carriage."
A seasoned smith, arms like tree trunks, raised his voice. "But my lord, wagons are heavy! And steam engines are fixed in place, like the one we built for the mills. How can one of those drag carts along a track?"
Phillip smiled faintly. "That is the very question we shall answer. Think of the engines you already built—boilers, pistons, flywheels. All the same parts, but mounted on wheels and coupled to carriages. The principle does not change. Fire makes steam, steam drives pistons, pistons turn wheels."
Another man, older, shook his head. "Aye, but can it haul more than itself? Horses pull wagons because they walk. A machine has no legs."
Phillip raised his quill and tapped the drawing. "Steel rails, gentlemen. Not wood that cracks, but rails of our own steel. Smooth and strong. On them, the wheels turn with little resistance. One engine of twenty horsepower could pull a dozen wagons that would take twenty horses."
The murmurs grew louder. Some men still looked doubtful, but many now had sparks of curiosity in their eyes.
Henry spoke next, his tone cautious. "My lord, forgive me, but this is no small task. Boilers that large, wheels cast to such size, axles, couplings… and the cost of rails alone! Why take this leap, when the mills and mines are already paying us good money for the engines they understand?"
Phillip met Henry's gaze firmly. "Because Parliament itself is watching. They search for solutions to London's congestion, to filth in the streets, to slow trade between cities. If we build the first working locomotive, we will not be one supplier among many—we will be the nation's chosen. Do you understand? A government contract worth tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. That is why."
The crowd fell quiet again. This time, it was not disbelief, but the weight of what Phillip promised settling in their minds.
One apprentice finally asked, "And what do you want from us, my lord?"
Phillip lifted the parchment high. "I want what you've already given me—your skill, your labor, and your trust. We will not build a grand railway tomorrow. First, we build the prototype. A single locomotive, with rails laid in the yard here in Shropshire. We will prove it works. Then, we will take it to London, and Parliament will see with their own eyes what Imperial Dynamics has created."
He paused, scanning their faces. "There will be long hours. There will be failures before success. But remember what the first converter looked like—some of you thought it would explode. And yet here we stand, masters of steel. This will be no different."
Henry sighed, rubbing his beard. "Always pushing, aren't you? Very well, my lord. You've never asked us for the easy road. What's the first step?"
Phillip lowered the parchment and laid it across the crate. The men pressed closer to see. His finger traced the parts as he spoke.
"First, the boiler. We already build them for our engines, but this one must be longer—eight feet at least. Double riveted seams, steel plates two inches thick. Henry, assign the best fitters to it."
Henry nodded reluctantly.
"Second, the wheels. Cast from steel, four feet in diameter, with flanges so they grip the rails. We'll need new molds for these. Thomas," he gestured to the foundry foreman, "start on them tomorrow."
"Aye, my lord."
"Third, the frame and pistons. Much like what we already know. Two cylinders, each eighteen inches across, stroke of two feet. Mounted low to drive the wheels directly. We'll need precision, but we've done tighter fits before."
The machinists exchanged glances, already discussing tools and tolerances.
"Fourth, the rails," Phillip continued. "Laid along the yard, one hundred yards to start. Each rail forged from our steel ingots, bolted to wooden sleepers. We must show not only the engine, but the movement of wagons behind it."
The carpenters nodded, already thinking of timber supply.
"And last—the carriages. Simple at first. One flatbed wagon with weights to show hauling power. If that succeeds, we'll build a passenger carriage with benches."
The yard was alive again, but this time with energy rather than doubt. Men murmured about molds, hammers, rivets, and coal. Some smiled with excitement, others frowned with worry, but all of them knew they stood at the edge of something unheard of.
Phillip straightened, rolling up the parchment. His voice carried above the noise.
"Gentlemen, Parliament does not wait for dreamers. They wait for proof. Within six months, we shall give it to them. And when we do, Imperial Dynamics will not be known only in Shropshire—it will be known across the kingdom."
The men cheered, some clapping, others raising fists blackened with soot. Henry, still frowning, leaned closer to Phillip.
"Let's go!"