Chapter 35: Roots in Stone, Rhythm in Steel
The morning haze clung to Jerusalem's streets like wool, but the city stirred early now. Market stalls were opening before sunrise, construction crews were at work by the first bell, and carts loaded with linen rags, timber, and quarried stone rumbled across the cobbled roads before most noblemen had broken their fasts.
King Baldwin IV—Ethan—watched it all unfold from the east tower of the citadel. From here, the veins of his ambition stretched outward. Not yet complete. But real. Alive.
He turned as Anselm, his steward, entered, clutching a bound ledger and bearing the dust of early rounds.
"We've results from Acre, sire," Anselm said, bowing. "The lime furnaces are consistent now. We can supply your pulp vats for the next two months."
Ethan took the ledger and flipped through the neat columns—pulp weight, yield ratios, drying times. All progressing. Slowly, methodically. But progressing.
"Good," he said. "Any trouble with the new filters?"
Anselm shook his head. "The reed-mesh design you suggested holds. We're making paper twice as strong and with fewer splits."
They walked down the stone stairs together, descending into the heart of the citadel as Anselm continued his updates.
"The print team has finished their second full month of work. They've mastered block alignment and ink spreading. Master Tommaso reports that four pages can be printed per hour now, reliably. We've moved from Psalms to the Sermon on the Mount."
Ethan nodded slowly. "Still hand-pressed?"
"For now, yes," Anselm said. "The screw-press prototype is being reworked. Too much torque—one cracked the wooden plate last week. The Templar carpenter is reinforcing it with iron bands this week."
Ethan made a mental note to review the design sketches again—maybe reinforce the lower pressure plate with a layered lattice of hardwood. This world was always reminding him that shortcuts didn't last.