Amusement Doesn't Build Itself

A married couple in simple linen attire are walking in the cool spring day’s morning sun along a stone sidewalk in the town center of rural Marshall County. Roughly 2,000 people engage in work or commerce within the humble urban center of slate roofed 2 to 3 story wood and plaster buildings. On the cobblestone road passing the two residents are horses moving cargo in carts while the more affluent ride in simple 2 wheeled carriages. Suddenly the middle aged couple stop and bow deeply, “good day, Countess Hilcrest.”

“Good morning, James and Laura Geran,” Dasha nods slightly with austere acknowledgement continuing along her way with her maid in tow behind carrying a satchel and holding a yellow parasol above to shade the two of them on their shopping trip. They have been stopped and greeted by dozens of people along their walk, but to Dasha, it is an ingrained duty for nobility to regularly greet their residents instead of hiding within the manor’s walls isolated from the commoners..

“Ah, good we’re here,” Dasha announces then approaches a door leading into a smokey shop that smelled of burning coal.

Her maid, Nancy, folding up the parasol, though taken aback by the idea of nobility entering a blacksmith shop which Dasha has never shown interest in before asks, “my, lady?”

Adjusting her white gloves, Dasha pushes the latch lever and enters into the rustic shop where shelved walls hold a menagerie of polished iron and steel items shining with protective oil while the rest of the store spoke of lack of care. A young man rather busy sharpening a pair of sheers sets it down upon hearing the copper bell announcing a new customer entering.

“Hello, and welcome to our shop, madam,” the apprentice just starting to grow facial hair in thick linen cheerfully beamed at the prospect of a large sale based on the Dasha’s attire.

With a wave of her hand, “do fetch the blacksmith, Jerod. He should be working the furnace if I recall right. Tell him that Countess Hilcrest is waiting for him.”

The boy loses track of his thoughts, surprised that the Countess knew his name, but quickly realizes he was asked to complete a task and regroups. After performing a quick and clumsy bow, “yes Countess,” Jerod darts through a back door that lets in wafts of smoke that clings and spreads along the ceiling.

Nancy, eying the smoke with disdain, approaches Dasha’s side with a handkerchief over her mouth and nose and offering Dasha a spare which she declines, “Countess, do you want me to place the order for you? The count would be upset if you fall ill from this air.”

“Thank you, but it is fine,” Dasha dismisses the notion knowing only she understands what is needed. Approaching the polished wood counter adorned with dents from heavy tools here and there she mentions over her shoulder towards her maid, “hand me the parchment and pencil if you would.”

Quickly opening up a satchel slung over her shoulder, Nancy digs out some parchment sheets then presents a case holding a selection of sharpened charcoal pencils. Dasha places a sheet down on the counter and starts sketching on it while waiting for the blacksmith to make his entrance.

“My lady, Countess Hilcrest,” a barrel chested man comes in with a soot tinged face and arms wearing a leather apron marked with burn spots and scratches from wear, “welcome to my humble shop. I’m honored to introduce…”

Dasha cuts him off from an overly lengthy introduction, “Darren, come here, I need you to make something for me if you would.” As she continues to sketch on the parchment a design that looks like a spoked wheel without the outer rim, off to the side she finishes a simple cross section showing a ‘T’ shaped iron design for the spokes.

“Oh dear, Countess,” he exacerbated announces rushing over to the opposite side of the counter to look over her work, “you needn’t trouble yourself with such tasks when I can…”

Lowering her eyes in annoyance, “Darren, focus, I don’t want to spend all day extolling formalities if you don’t mind, I would welcome getting home before dinner.”

Shirking back timidly, “yes, my lady,” Darren takes in the design and notices some of the dimensions denoted, “um. That carriage wheel is a little big to be practical, Countess. And I’m not sure you can use pins at the axis to keep it stable,” Darren adds pointing towards the design.

“It is a wheel, but not a wheel,” she starts pointing to the joints, “it’ll sit on the ground and spin, there’s no need to be that structurally sound.”

“Like a millstone,” Nancy asks perplexed peeking over Dasha’s shoulder to see what they are talking about.

Dasha nods, “close enough, Nancy.” Directing her attention to Darren, “do you think you can apply your smithing skills to produce this device?”

The blacksmith stares for a while considering the size and unusual application of simple concepts, “I guess? I don’t have that much iron on hand, and honestly, I may need to ask a compatriot in the capital to potentially smelt and cast an axle that big because my shop doesn’t have room to do that sorta thing.”

“That’s fine, just send the bill to my husband as you need to,” she hands back the pencil to Nancy who dutifully puts it back in its case.

“Countess, I don’t quite understand, and I won’t do a good job if I can’t,” Darren proposes sheepishly. “What is this for?”

Dasha considers an explanation that would make sense to someone that’s never seen this before then starts with the basics, “it is a ride for people, in a way.”

“Like a carriage? But they won’t go anywhere except round in circles, if’n you can get it moving,” he asks still perplexed.

“You are correct, the carpenter will do most of the work, but I need you to take care of the frame the seats will be placed on,” Dasha mentions as if it was well known fact.

“Sure? I have a feeling that once I see it, I’ll understand your ideas, but this doesn’t…” he scratches his beard trying and failing to imagine the functionality in any way.

“That is good enough, Darren,” she smiles sympathetically and turns towards the exit, “please do call on me if you have any questions. I will do what I can to explain the design.” Quickly reaching the door where Nancy has rushed to open it for her to depart.

“Yes, my lady,” Darren says lost in thought as she exits the blacksmith shop.

As Dasha walks along the sidewalk in the small town center, Nancy quickly rushes the parasol upon and above the two of them to lessen the sunshine, “Countess, what are you planning? I don’t understand any of that discussion.”

Dasha mentions casually recalling her education, “there was an emperor from a long time ago. You wouldn’t know about Nero, but I have a mind to reenact that story. Since I can not play a fiddle, I think a park would be as fitting.”

Nancy listens without feeling any more informed than before, “I’m sure that you could hire the best instructor for you, my lady. You excel at everything… Was this Nero person such a brilliant musician that the people told stories about it for generations?”

“In a way. It was a recital no one would hear but everyone would remember,” Dasha responds not seeing a point in clarifying.

Nancy considers the idea, “Well that’s a shame, isn’t it! Being remembered for something no one saw is like having the rug pulled out from under you when you achieve your greatest success.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Dasha remarks forlorn not even sure she agrees with her words, “I suppose.”