Chapter 26: Silk and Steam

They laughed at first.

The heads of the Weavers' Guild—grey-bearded, silk-robed, fat with coin and legacy—dismissed Magnus's invitation as a novelty. A blacksmith playing at invention. A commoner with soot-stained hands speaking of cloth.

But curiosity was a powerful thing.

And fear, when sown right, was even more potent.

I. The Challenge

The Great Hall of Threads in Goldhaven buzzed with soft conversation and sharp suspicion. Beneath vaulted ceilings hung tapestries decades in the making—pride pieces of handwoven mastery. Magnus walked among them in a jacket of soot-grey velvet, stitched with copper thread, boots clicking against marble.

"Is this supposed to impress us?" sneered Master Corran, guildmaster of the textile province. "A child of steel and smoke, daring to step into halls of art?"

Magnus gave a shallow bow. "Not to impress, no. Merely to show you the future."

They were not impressed. Yet they listened.

Everyone listened to Magnus now.

He nodded toward a long crate wheeled in by Tobias and Rell. Helena stood beside it, pale gloves resting on the release latch.

"Gentlemen," Magnus said, "I present the Weave Engine Mk I."

With a hiss of steam and a pull of the latch, the crate unfolded.

Metal limbs extended like skeletal arms. A framework of iron and brass revealed rows of gears, pulleys, and programmable cams. Silk threads shimmered through tension wheels. And then—

—It moved.

II. The First Thread

The loom came to life in silence. Not the harsh cough of industrial machines. No roar of pistons. Just the soft, rhythmic click of elegance.

Thread passed through the shuttles with a whisper.

In three minutes, it had woven an identical segment of the Goldhaven sigil—a hawk across a sunburst—perfect in tension, spacing, and dye.

Master Corran's mouth twitched. "A trick."

Magnus stepped forward. "This unit replicates patterns by memory. Input once, repeat forever. Ten yards an hour. No sleep. No error. No union wages."

"You'd ruin families with this."

"I'd feed them. Train them. Multiply their reach. Let mothers raise children instead of bleeding their hands on wooden frames."

"And control them."

He met Corran's gaze. "Naturally."

III. The Unraveling

By dawn, whispers had spread.

Guild apprentices gathered in alleys, arguing whether their ten-year training could be matched by brass. Artisans begged to inspect the machine, half in awe, half in dread.

The Guild Council convened an emergency session. Magnus was summoned again—this time, not to demonstrate, but to explain himself.

"You intend to replace our craft with soulless metal," Corran accused.

"No," Magnus said smoothly. "I intend to enhance it. The poor shall afford silk. Merchants shall trade in mass. And the Weavers' Guild… will become the richest institution outside the Crown."

"And if we refuse?"

Magnus leaned forward.

"Then I sell the Weave Engine to your rivals. In every duchy. Every slum. Every rebel lord who wants to clothe their soldiers in silk for the price of linen."

Silence.

Helena passed out signed contracts.

IV. Threaded Allegiances

A week later, Magnus stood in his new factory—the first textile plant run entirely on steam power.

Automated looms lined the walls, each churning out precise bolts of silk, wool, and dyed cotton. Guild workers—those wise enough to adapt—stood at controls and spindles, learning the future.

Above it all hung a banner:

"Progress Is the Only Tradition."

Tobias approached, handing him a report. "Sales tripled overnight. Merchants are begging for licensing."

"And the nobles?" Magnus asked.

"Some frown. Some panic. House Nareth tried to undercut your design with manual copies. They're two weeks late and twenty percent inferior."

"Then they'll burn soon enough."

Helena stepped beside him. "You turned silk into steel."

"No," Magnus said, eyes glinting. "I turned guilds into puppets."

V. The Threads Behind the Curtain

He wasn't done.

Using the Weave Engine as leverage, Magnus forced a seat on the Guild Coalition Council—a circle previously reserved only for noble-backed trades.

There, he began whispering deals.

A loom for a vote. A patent for silence. A bribe shaped like innovation.

Within two months, the council swayed in his favor on every industrial vote.

Rell, now embedded as a logistics overseer, tracked dissenters and reported saboteurs. Tobias hired thieves to intercept rival schematics. Helena quietly expanded the Weave Engine's reach to military suppliers.

Uniforms stitched overnight. Banners made in minutes. Marching cloth that doubled as propaganda.

"Efficiency," Magnus called it.

But it was control, and everyone knew it.

VI. A Loom and a Letter

Late one night, as the factory hissed and clicked beneath the stars, Magnus received a letter.

No seal. No signature.

Just eight words, scrawled in perfect ink:

You've woven a beautiful noose. Yours or ours?

He read it twice. Burned it in the boiler.

Then looked at the dark horizon, already thinking of the next invention.

"The hammer broke bones," he whispered. "But silk... silk wraps the throat before you even feel it."