Chapter 161 The Bookseller’s Apprentice

Walking through the center of the capital, Erika passed landmarks that surpassed the tales told in the northern halls.

She walked past the front of the Praetorium and paused before the basalt rotunda of the Grand Assembly.

At the center of the civic plaza stood a 100-foot bronze Colossus of Prometheus, its torch burning continuously from a pressurized coal-gas feed.

Beyond the parade grounds lay the Great Municipal Hippodrome, its concrete bowl built to hold 80,000 spectators.

Along the boulevard, she boarded a public rail-omnibus alongside academy students her age, listening as they discussed engineering clubs, rowing regattas, and dramatic festivals.

Watching their easy laughter, a quiet envy touched her.

At the next stop, Gunnar urged her down, though she lingered on the platform as the car moved along the rails.

She turned to her escort, frowning.

"Gunnar, I asked to see the common wards. Why have we spent the morning touring state monuments? Were my father’s accounts exaggerated? Are the common quarters no different from Rome?"

The warrior cleared his throat. "You misjudge the route, Lady Erika. The Archduke’s villa stands on the northern perimeter, leased from the Forge Master’s personal holdings. Reaching the residential wards from the north requires crossing through the administrative quarter. I simply followed the road."

"I see," Erika replied, her irritation fading.

10 minutes later, they crossed a canal bridge into the working-class residential district.

Within 50 paces, Erika saw that her father had spoken truly.

Even in the artisan quarters, the streets were well kept...

Paved in gray cement with brick gutters along the curbs, the avenues were clear of refuse and standing waste.

Hundreds of draft horses moved carts along the thoroughfares, yet no manure marked the stone; collection pouches were strapped beneath the harness of every team.

Public bathhouses and washrooms stood at every second crossing, fed by city water mains.

Cast-iron gas lamps lined residential alleys... fixtures reserved for royal halls back along the Rhine.

Constables directed traffic at intersections with brass whistles. The 4-story brick tenements were adorned with window boxes and ceramic tile across the thresholds.

Without seeing it firsthand, she would have assumed the district belonged to merchant guilds rather than foundry workers and dock clerks.

Moving through the market crowd, Erika paused along a lane of food stalls. She bought honey pastries and fruit tarts across 3 bakeries, keeping her purchases measured.

In the mercantile arcade, her reserve gave way...

Faced with stalls offering wool-silk gowns, silver filigree, dyed leather bags, and a hinged cosmetic box fitted with 12 pigments and a glass mirror, she bought steadily.

Within an hour, Gunnar was carrying stacks of wrapped parcels in both arms.

Finally, Erika entered a multi-level bookshop. The elderly bookseller looked up from his counter.

"Take your time browsing, miss."

"Thank you, I will look through the shelves first," she answered in Latin.

Tutored in the language since youth, she read the printed notices along the walls without difficulty.

"Proprietor," she asked, pointing toward 3 gold-stamped volumes on a central table. "The Aeneid, De Rerum Natura, and The Meditations... these 3 are set forward. Are they recent releases?"

The bookseller adjusted his spectacles. "Are you a student newly arrived at the university, miss?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Travellers from beyond the frontiers are usually the only ones who do not recognize those titles. They are the classical foundations preserved across the libraries of the Republic."

Erika hesitated, glancing back at Gunnar. "Are they sacred texts? Have I caused offense?"

The shopkeeper chuckled. "Not at all. By your accent, you come from across the Rhine. I keep dual-language editions in northern runes if you wish to purchase them."

Unsure of her father’s view on classical philosophy, Erika shook her head. "Do you have serialized works like The Alchemist of Delphi? Standard Latin print is fine."

The bookseller nodded with approval. "When it comes to modern prose, Lady Valeria’s work stands apart. If you have finished the Alchemist, have you read The Shield of Spartacus?"

"I read the first volume, but found the military campaign grim. I prefer stories of exploration."

"Then this should suit you," the proprietor said, retrieving a volume from the shelf. "Corsairs of the Erythraean Sea. It arrived from the presses last month and has cleared 3 printings."

Erika checked the pages, noting the woodblock print of an ironclad ship facing a sea creature on the title leaf, and counted out the coin.

Turning to leave, an unfamiliar apparatus on a side desk caught her attention.

It was a compact iron frame enameled in black, set with 4 rows of small brass buttons before a rubberized roller.

"What is that mechanism?" she asked.

"The new Scriptor-II mechanical typewriter," the bookseller said. "My son earned a post as copy-editor at the Lugdunum Herald. I ordered it for his work; it was delivered this morning."

"May I test it?"

"By all means."

Erika pressed a brass disk; a steel typebar struck the inked ribbon against the roller with a sharp snap.

"It prints letters directly onto the sheet?"

"It does. The High Council requires official petitions and legal filings in mechanical type, and newspaper desks use them exclusively."

"How does it operate?" she asked, looking over the keys. "Why are the letters different from script?"

"Operation is direct," the proprietor explained. "You feed the paper behind the platen and strike the keys. When the carriage reaches the margin, a bell sounds; you move this brass lever to return the carriage and advance the line. Traditional scribal Latin with its ligatures would take 300 separate keys. The Bureau of Standards simplified the layout to 26 block letters, alongside 10 numerals and punctuation. A clerk can type 40 words a minute."

Erika struck 3 more keys, listening to the crisp cadence of the mechanism.

"Can you sell this unit? Or tell me which foundry casts them?"

The bookseller shook his head. "It was ordered for my son. But the Arles Tooling Outlet 3 streets east on the Boulevard of Vulcan takes orders. The price is 3,000 sestertii, and delivery takes 7 days."

Erika considered the delay. 7 days was too long...

"If I place 4,000 silver sestertii on your counter, will your son wait 7 days for the next machine?"

The bookseller paused, looking at the coins, then nodded.

"Agreed. Let me endorse the factory warranty slip to your name."

An hour later, with the hired carriage loaded and the iron typewriter across Gunnar’s knees, Erika returned to the diplomatic residence, ready to show her purchases to her family.

***

December 28, 228 AD.

Lugdunum, Roman Gaul.

The opening of the Great Trans-Gallic Canal drew immediate notice across the Republic and the wider Mediterranean.

Foreign rulers... from King Shapur in Ctesiphon to the client princes of Numidia, the British chieftains, and the Senatorial remnants in southern Italy watched the engineering work with unease, measuring their own treasuries against the scale of Gallic construction.

Within the Republic, the reception was largely celebratory.

Broadsheets published projections of reduced freight costs, while barge captains and coastal shippers praised the completion of the waterway.

"From the hour the canal charter was ratified, the risk was clear," wrote Doctor Plinia, Dean of Physiology at the Lugdunum Medical Academy, in the Herald.

"Breaching the estuarine divide has altered the river systems of the lower Rh?ne and Garonne. Field surveys along the lower locks confirm the damage: dead carp and pike line the concrete embankments, while freshwater reeds are blackening at the roots."

"Native species cannot tolerate the influx of marine brine. The die-off is currently centered in the lower lock chambers where salinity has peaked, but as tidal backflow pushes inland, the lower reaches of both rivers face severe disruption."

Plinia’s findings provoked debate among estuarine fishing communities, but the issue gained little traction in the wider press...

Commercial returns from the canal were substantial, and editors gave little priority to fishery losses against freight revenue.

Within 3 weeks, the winter Saturnalia celebrations moved public attention elsewhere, followed shortly by the Quinquennial Year-End Summit.

Lucius had established an elevated press gallery within the Grand Assembly rotunda for accredited correspondents.

Long before the morning bell, journalists from the printing houses entered through their designated archway, taking their seats with notebooks and graphite ready.

Outside, a crimson carpet crossed the plaza.

Armored steam carriages arrived in sequence, cabinet ministers acknowledging the crowds along the barricades before climbing the steps.

At the 9th hour, the Director of the Constabulary arrived, followed by the remaining portfolio heads and First Minister Aulus.

Minutes before the session opened, the doors behind the dais swung open.

Lucius entered the amphitheater, taking the central seat.

The Presiding Tribune brought his gavel down, opening the summit...

First Minister Aulus stepped to the lectern.

"Territory administered by the Republic encompasses 1.25 million square kilometers, excluding Cisalpine Noricum and the maritime protectorates. Registered population stands at 14 million. Romano-Gallic citizens comprise 92%, Germanic federates 4%, Eastern Greeks 2%, Iberian and Punic populations 1.5%, with desert and steppe groups making up the remaining 0.5%."

"The subsistence labor tier has contracted to 82%... a 2-point drop since the last census. The skilled artisan class has reached 12%, the commercial tier 5%, and the capital directorate 1%."

Aulus yielded the floor to Commander Valerius, who approached the lectern, clad in his formal military armor.