Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.

26 December 1025, Tuppenny Wagons, Bois-de-Bas

My dear Amelia,

I can hardly express my delight in writing you a letter to which I can expect a response while I still remember just what it was I had written.

Moving on. We have achieved a great and substantial achievement; but it is still merely the beginning. We must establish both the capacity and the durability of our Iturian Terminals, which is to say: how much can we send at one time, and how many times can we do so before one of the terminals breaks?

I propose to begin sending you boxes of increasing weight and size, starting tomorrow at noon. Each box will include a small card, identifying the box and its contents; on receipt, please send the card back to me so that I know the box was received. I will leave a space on the card for any pertinent details you may wish to send me.

I suppose you might even return the entire box…unless you wish to build a collection of Armorican pebbles and stones.

I have included such a card in this letter; if my plan suits you, please send back the card post-haste.

Christmas was indeed delightful. We heard Mass at midnight in our old village church. It was such a joy, to be there with all of friends and all the townsfolk—those who were able to join us. The village church was built when Bois-de-Bas was but a village, and though it was then much larger than required, it is now rather smaller—a good sign, a sign of our growth! But it gives Père Chambord a busy day, for he must say several Masses each Sunday.

The folk of the Deuxième Debarquement who built Bois-de-Bas were far-sighted: they allotted quite a large plot of land to the village church, so that on some future day we might expand as needed. The church is the heart of the village, just as the Hot Springs are its mind; it delights me that we can build the new church we need without moving that heart away from the village green. We hope to begin that work at winter’s end.

After Mass our neighbors separated, each group going to one or another family home. Jack closed the Two Sloops to paying guests for the week, and the Tuppennys and the Montjoys (and their dependents) went straight from the church to the nearby platform and boarded the inn’s caravan. 

It was magical, flying through the night air to the L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau. The snow lay thick on the ground below us, and the stars were bright, for the night was calm and clear. And, of course, very, very cold. We were glad of the potbelly stove in the caravan…and of the warming blocks many of us carried in our pockets. Madame Truc wore her new coat with the warming blocks sewn into the lining—for we had given it to her before leaving for the church—and she looked unusually content with life.

It being quite late, we all dispersed to our rooms in the inn as soon as we arrived, and woke in the morning to a Christmas feast. We were there all the day and the night, and there was much merriment. We finally returned to our homes this morning.

We have kept word of our Iturian terminal and our experiments with it very quiet; it sits in a locked room here at the wagonworks, and until yesterday only I, Marc, and Master’s Luc and Bastien—and Dr. Tillotson, of course—were aware of it. Yesterday, however, Jack and I had a long talk by the fire in the home he built for Cathy: a simple but glorious place on the edge of the island, with a grand view of the lands east of Bois-de-Bas.

I had worried about unqualified folk taking our ideas and using them without due caution and skill, in ways that might lead to disaster. Jack agrees with you and I that guild law is our best defense against this. But we still need to be careful.

“The brass back in Yorke will be all over this once the cat’s out of the bag,” he said, “and they’ll be right. The ability to send messages instantly across long distances will change the face of warfare. If they can, they’ll try to stop you from selling your circuits to anyone else. I shouldn’t be surprised if the Parlement in Toulouse attempted to do the same,” he told me. “You need to present them with a fait accompli.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said. 

“The circuit must be made available for public use before His Majesty’s government is aware it exists,” he said, in the tones of one speaking to the obvious to the slow. Which, to be fair, I was. It had been a short night, for the girls woke us at first light, and I was full of good food and good drink. “After that, it will be impossible for them to keep it secret.”

“Oh, I see. We have been planning on working with the Courier’s Guild,” I said. “If we sell circuits to them, they’ll be on our side.”

“That will help…but be careful who you speak to. Make sure they’ll keep it secret until they have it working, and that they have several circuits ready to go before they make it public. And then, have Max Archer speak to Lord Ellesmere on your behalf the day word goes out, offering to sell circuits to the diplomatic service at a discount. His lordship will know who to talk to.”

“Perhaps I should suggest that to the Courier’s Guild, instead.”

“Nah, nah, go straight to the Foreign Secretary’s office. Diplomatic pouches are carried by government couriers on navy packets, not by the guild.”

I’m sure I’ll hear any concerns of yours right speedily!

But we have a long way to go before providing a working circuit to the Courier’s Guild. We have our experiments to do; and then we must design a circuit for sale.

I propose we design them so that each terminal is rather larger and heavier than strictly necessary, with the final forming of the node to be done in place with the node rooted in the ground. And then, we include chutes and baskets for the letters and small packages being sent, so that no one will be tempted to climb in and try to send themselves.

And then, when some officious person asks us whether we might make terminals that are large enough for people, or terminals that can be moved from place to place, we just say, “We are working on that.” 

I am sure that His Majesty’s governments, both here and in Cumbria, will be delighted at the thought of sending diplomatic messages hither and yon in moments. But the stationary nature of our first terminals should make them less attractive for military use, and may save us from our leaders’ worst intentions.

Your cautious cousin,

Armand

Next letter

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Photo by Alistair MacRobert on Unsplash