The recognition of Oakhaven as a "Sovereign Industrial Protectorate" brought a ceasefire to the Southern Pass, but the peace was more claustrophobic than the siege. The Lord High Steward's withdrawal had been a tactical retreat, not a surrender. Under the terms of the treaty, the valley was now flooded with "Standardization Engineers"—an army of Imperial observers, clerks, and "collaborators" who arrived on every incoming barge.
Deacon stood in the newly constructed Bureau of Weights and Measures, watching a group of Southern Guild-masters examine the master gauges. They weren't soldiers, but they were more dangerous; they were looking for the "how" rather than the "where."
"They aren't just here to learn the gauge, David," Julian said, leaning against a display of standardized Whitworth threads. "I've caught three 'Engineers' trying to sketch the internal baffling of the geothermal heat exchangers. The South is desperate to replicate the 'Deep-Pulse' without having to pay our subscription fee."
"Let them sketch," Deacon replied, his eyes fixed on a Southern surveyor who was surreptitiously measuring the vibration of the floor. "The baffling is designed for high-silica volcanic steam. If they try to run southern coal-smoke through those designs, the pipes will clog with soot in forty-eight hours. The trap isn't in the design; it's in the chemistry."
The "gritty realism" of the protectorate era was a war of administrative attrition. Deacon had to implement a Tiered Security Clearance for all foundry workers. The "Inner Works"—where the geothermal siphon was regulated—was restricted to Oakhaven-born laborers, identified by a unique, copper-embossed badge that featured a primitive photographic portrait, a technology Deacon had refined using silver-nitrate plates.
"The Southern Guilds are fighting back with 'Economic Sabotage,'" Miller reported, slamming a ledger onto the desk. "They've started a rumor in Oryn-West that the Oakhaven Labor Notes are 'tainted' by alchemical residue. Merchants are starting to demand a fifteen-percent 'Surcharge' to accept our currency. They're trying to build a wall of inflation around us."
To counter this, Deacon introduced the Oakhaven Quality Seal. Every ingot of steel, every bushel of kale, and every crate of survival rations was stamped with a unique, etched serial number.
"From now on," Deacon announced to the Trade Guilds via the telegraph, "the value of the Labor Note isn't just backed by the product; it's backed by the Warranty. If a piece of Oakhaven steel fails within five years, we replace it at no cost—provided it was purchased with a Labor Note. If you use Imperial Scrip, you buy it 'as-is.'"
The move was a masterstroke of market psychology. The Southern merchants, initially skeptical, quickly realized that the "Iron Lord's" warranty made his products the only safe investment in an Empire where the quality of steel was notoriously inconsistent. The Labor Note didn't just survive; it became the preferred currency for heavy industry across the North.
However, the internal pressure of the valley was rising. The laborers, once united by the siege, were now split between the "Old Guard" who wanted to keep Oakhaven isolated and the "Newcomers" who were being bribed by the Southern Guilds to leak proprietary secrets.
A fire broke out in the Cylinder Glass Works at midnight on a Tuesday. It wasn't an accident; someone had tampered with the pressurized gas lines. While the volunteer fire brigade fought the blaze with high-pressure steam-hoses, Miller caught a "Standardization Engineer" from the South fleeing the scene with a set of blueprints for the double-glazed greenhouse panes.
"He was going to sell them to the Coal-Lords for ten thousand gold sovereigns," Miller growled, dragging the soot-stained man into the command center.
Deacon looked at the man—a middle-aged clerk who looked more terrified than malicious. "You think the South can build a Glass-House? They don't have the heat, and they don't have the discipline. You didn't just steal a blueprint; you stole the survival of the men who work beside you."
Deacon didn't hang the man. Instead, he forced him to work the "Slag-Duty" in the foundry for a month, showing him exactly how much sweat was required to turn a blueprint into reality. It was a gritty, public lesson in the cost of progress.
"The infiltration won't stop, David," Julian warned as the spring rains turned the valley into a sea of grey mud. "The Steward is waiting for us to trip. He's building his own 'Standards' in Solstice, and he's using our stolen data to do it."
"Then we have to innovate faster than they can steal," Deacon said, looking toward the High Cleft where the telegraph wires hummed in the wind. "We've mastered the steam and the rail. Now, it's time to master the Spark. If they want to steal our light, they're going to have to learn how to touch the lightning."