The air in the Great Hall of the Cassian estate was thick with the scent of roasted venison and expensive imported wine, a sensory smokescreen designed by Julian to lull Inspector Vane's team into a state of bureaucratic complacency. Above the clatter of silverware and the polite laughter of the local gentry, the low, distant hum of the valley's industry continued. To the uninitiated, it was the sound of progress; to Deacon, it was a countdown.
"A toast to safety," Julian proclaimed, raising a crystal goblet that caught the flickering light of the chandeliers. "To the Imperial Regulatory Commission, for ensuring that even in the rugged North, the law remains as unyielding as the mountains."
Vane sat at the center of the high table, his eyes never truly leaving the door. He sipped his wine with the clinical detachment of a man checking for poison. "Your hospitality is noted, Lord Julian. But the law is not just unyielding; it is precise. I find it curious that your foundries' coal consumption reports for this quarter show a twenty percent decrease, yet your steel output has doubled."
"Efficiency, Inspector," Deacon said, leaning back in his chair. He had swapped his grease-stained duster for a formal coat, though the calluses on his hands remained visible. "We've optimized the air-intake on the Bessemer converters. Less fuel, more heat."
"Or perhaps a different fuel entirely," Vane muttered, his fingers tapping a rhythmic pattern on the tablecloth that mirrored the subterranean pulse he had felt earlier.
While the "Safety Banquet" proceeded, two levels below the kitchen floor, Miller was standing before a massive iron housing that looked like a cross between a mill-wheel and a pressurized boiler. This was the Geothermal Turbine, the crown jewel of Deacon's secret integration.
The turbine wasn't driven by combustion. It was fed directly by the high-tensile main they had finished welding the night before. The 180°C steam, held at a constant, terrifying pressure, was channeled through a series of angled bronze blades.
"Open the primary shunt," Miller whispered to his apprentice, his voice barely audible over the hiss of the steam.
As the valve turned, the turbine began to moan—a deep, metallic sound that climbed in pitch until it became a steady, singing whistle. The massive central driveshaft, connected to a series of leather belts and geared pulleys, began to spin. This was the first time in the Empire's history that mechanical power was being generated without a single lump of coal or a single drop of mana.
In the Great Hall, a chandelier flickered. Vane's head snapped up.
"The wind," Julian said smoothly, though a bead of sweat tracked down his temple. "These old mountain manors are full of drafts."
Deacon caught Julian's eye and gave a subtle nod. The test was successful. The power was flowing. But they couldn't keep the turbine hidden forever; the sheer mechanical output was already causing the streetlamps in the square to burn brighter as the town's primitive electrical experiments drew off the excess kinetic energy.
"Inspector," Deacon said, standing up and drawing Vane's attention back to himself. "Since you are so concerned with our fuel efficiency, tomorrow I will show you our secret. We've developed a new method of 'Coal Gasification.' It's messy, complicated, and entirely within the safety codes. It will explain the drop in consumption and the increase in heat."
Vane narrowed his eyes. "Gasification? A bold claim, Lord Cassian. I look forward to the demonstration. But if I find a single trace of unauthorized geothermal tapping, I will not just quench your fires. I will seal this valley under an Imperial Interdiction."
As the guests began to retire, Deacon felt the "Logistical Insight" in his mind shifting to the next phase. He had bought forty-eight hours with a lie about gasification. In that time, he had to build a dummy gas plant to hide the turbine, or Oakhaven's new heart would be ripped out by the very laws meant to protect it.